Chapter 9
Mara walked slowly, aware of the heavy plug in her ass and the weight of the clamps pulling on her nipples with each step.
She was hoping for the bed, as she was already trembling, but instead, he took her to a maroon velvet fainting couch.
Cole positioned her with her ass on the curved arm, then lay her back on the gentle slope.
Once he lifted her legs so the weight of them wasn’t pulling her down and forcing her back into an uncomfortable stretch, it was nice, though having her head lower than the rest of her body wasn’t going to help the lightheaded floaty feeling.
Cole buckled leather straps around her upper thighs, cuffs around her ankles, and then fastened them together. He stroked and kneaded her legs.
She realized he was waiting. Her knees were raised, her legs closed, and he wouldn’t force them open. She knew what was coming, but he wouldn’t hurt her in that terrible, intimate way until she spread her legs for him.
Trembling, Mara let her knees fall apart.
She’d never felt so exposed or vulnerable.
“Good girl,” he murmured, gaze fastened on her sex. “And what a pretty pussy you have.”
His hand rose, then came down on her. He struck the soft, fleshy top of her sex in a gentle spank. It wasn’t even the first time he’d spanked her there, but after what he’d done to her ass and breasts, she knew this was only the beginning.
He wouldn’t go easy on her. Wouldn’t make it light and teasing.
The second spank confirmed it, harder than the first and angled to strike her labia more than her mons.
Three more times, he struck her vulva until a heat built below the sting.
The next time, her hips bucked, and not from pain. She felt hot, swollen, and needy. The sting of the spank faded more quickly each time, leaving only warm, swollen throbbing.
He struck lower, right over her entrance. The slap sounded wet.
Two gloved fingers thrust into her pussy, unexpected but so welcome.
Pleasure washed over her, briefly magnifying the feeling of her sore and plugged ass, aching and clamped nipples. It was a mini orgasm, the pleasure taking the edge off the pain.
And maybe that was part of his plan.
After circling his fingers in her and rubbing her G-spot, he withdrew from her pussy and lifted the slapper.
“M-master,” she stammered, staring at the short, stiff black leather toy.
“Yes.”
It wasn’t a question, but a statement. Yes, he was going to use it on her pussy.
Yes, it would hurt.
She whimpered, a low continuous sound as he positioned it with the tip over her mons.
Slap.
The sound was worse than the sting, though it hurt enough, tears leaked from her eyes.
“Let me see those brown eyes.”
She blinked and met his gaze. Cole didn’t smile, and she was glad. If he’d smiled or teased her, she wouldn’t have been able to handle what came next.
He looked at her with a calm command that told her both he was in control of the situation, and that this would happen no matter what she did or said.
She kept looking at him, studying his face as he switched his attention to her pussy.
He worked her pussy with the slapper, focusing first on one side, then on the other. Each blow felt sharp, almost like he’d cut her, and she sobbed, her legs trembling.
Leather-covered fingers stroked and tugged at her pussy lips…before spreading them open, leaving her clit fully exposed.
He spanked her clit.
Mara screamed, covering her throbbing sex with her hands.
“Palms,” he ordered, voice hard with disappointment.
“Master, please,” she whimpered.
He paused, waiting.
Waiting for her to use her safeword.
She didn’t.
“Move your hands.” It was a command, but the tone gentler than it had been.
Shaking, she shifted her hands to her inner thighs.
“Palms up.”
She was expecting it, but it still hurt when he struck each palm.
“Hold your pussy open for me. Expose your clit.”
Yes, of course she would. It was a terrible, dark thing she would do because he’d ordered her to. Because he wanted to hurt her clit, and therefore he would.
She was slick with arousal, her labia sliding from between her fingers before she managed to pin her pussy lips open with her fingertips.
Her reward was a few gentle thrusts of his finger inside her, the pleasure of that muting the pain.
That same finger, now wet with her arousal, circled Mara’s clit. She shrieked through her clenched teeth.
She was seconds away from orgasm and she’d hadn’t realized until he touched her clit. Her body was warm with pain, but apparently that heat was, at its core, no different than the heat of arousal.
“Close,” he murmured, and it wasn’t a question.
“Master, I’m going to come if you keep touching my clit.”
“I know.”
He didn’t stop. Around and around, his fingertip circled her clit, an endless, steady rhythm. It was so good, she worried she wouldn’t be able to come. That she was past the point of that, her body too sensitive.
Her worry was unnecessary, because a second later, the orgasm ripped through her.
Like an overinflated balloon, she tore apart, pleasure shredding her as her muscles quaked and toes curled.
Her ass clenched around the plug, and her nipples jiggled as she tensed.
All the pain, every aching place on her body, became an accessory to the pleasure of the orgasm.
When his finger lifted from her clit after one last stroke, she went limp. She was flushed yet shivering where her sweat-dampened skin was starting to cool.
She’d forgotten about the slapper.
“Look at me.”
She did, smiling softly. Until she saw his expression. And the slapper he still held.
The orgasm had forced away much of that floaty feeling, leaving her clearheaded and all too aware of the sore places on her body.
“Hold your pussy open,” he commanded again.
The scene should be over, shouldn’t it? Except maybe for him fucking her again since he hadn’t come in a while, but he’d used and abused every part of her.
And she’d called him Master. First Sir, but now Master.
It had been instinctive, as he’d said it would be.
Now, he was expecting her to submit in the cold, sober light of post orgasm. It had been a long time since a Dom had asked that of her.
He was going to strike her orgasm-sensitive clit. It would hurt. A lot.
Given what he’d done to her ass and nipples, he might even put a clamp on her clit afterward.
She questioned if she was submissive, and now he was giving her a chance to answer that question.
Mara slowly spread her pussy lips once more.
They shared a long glance, and it confirmed the gravity of this moment.
Cole positioned his hand so the tip of the slapper lined up with her clit, then pulled it back and let it snap on her swollen, vulnerable clit.
Mara screamed, her whole body arching up.
Her thoughts were buzzy and white with pain.
She’d cupped her pussy and closed her legs in the moment after the slap, and when she rolled to the side, she would have fallen off the chaise if Cole hadn’t caught her.
He eased her down onto the floor, then tugged her hand from between her legs.
Forcing her onto her back, he got down on hands and knees and examined her tender pussy, fingers gentle as he manipulated her flesh, checking every inch.
When he unclipped the ankle restraints from the thigh straps, she sighed, relaxing into the aftermath.
Cole wasn’t done.
Silently, he helped her up onto her knees, then fisted a hand on her hair and forced her onto hands and knees.
Using her hair as a handle, he forced her to crawl across the floor to the bed.
Not just to the bed but to the cage under the bed.
When he flipped up the cover and unlocked the door, she balked, pulling back. He didn’t let go of her hair, but didn’t force her any closer.
“Master,” she pleaded.
The word took her by surprise. She wasn’t mentally impaired by arousal. That lightheaded feeling was gone.
Yet the word felt right. True.
This was her truest submission. Past the point where arousal and need could be blamed for her decisions. Stone-cold sober, yet stripped down to this raw version of herself.
Cole crouched in front of her, finally releasing her hair.
“You’re in control here, Brown Eyes.”
“It doesn’t feel like it.”
The corner of his mouth quirked. “I know, but you are.”
Always before, she’d felt in control, even in her most submissive moments. She’d never considered statements like “the sub is in control of the content of a scene” all that remarkable, though other people seemed to think that was a revelation.
Now, she understood that reaction, because it was unthinkable that she was in control. He was. Cole. Her Master.
She stared at him, unsure what to do or say.
He licked his lips then sucked his teeth as he considered her.
“I’m going to put ginger oil on your nipples, clit, and ass, then put you in that cage.” He tipped his head toward the bed.
That sounded horrible…and wonderful.
She realized that though the floaty feeling was gone, her mind was strangely quiet. At peace. Instead of the inside of her head being the equivalent of a foggy night on a city street, it was a still lake on a sunny morning. Peaceful. Calm.
She nodded once, then sat back on her heels, hissing as her ass touched her hard feet.
Then she spread her knees, hands palm up on her thighs.
Cole went down on one knee, almost like he’d taken a blow and had to brace himself. His breathing was heavy, his gaze possessive as it ran up and down her.
He stood, getting the tools he needed, and was back a second later with a small bottle and a paintbrush.
He dipped the brush into the oil and painted it onto the top of her nipples without removing the clamps. Nothing happened until after he’d guided her to lie on her back, legs spread.
The burning started as he pulled the plug from her ass.
Now, she could see she’d been right. Instead of a tapered shape, the plug was a fat, round ball with a skinny neck. He gave her ass a moment to rest as he painted her clit with the same burning ginger oil.
It took even longer for her to feel it on her clit, her arousal fluid acting as a thin layer of insulation.
He painted her anus with more of the oil before adding fresh lube to the toy.
“Relax,” he ordered.
She couldn’t. By that time, the oil on her clit had started to burn. Her nipples were throbbing and felt like they were on fire. Her arm muscles were trembling from the effort it took to keep from desperately rubbing the burning sensation away from her nipples and clit.
Except rubbing would only spread the oil. Make it worse. She knew that, though she’d never had any sort of chemical play in a scene.
Cole forced the plug back into her ass, the pain of the sudden invasion enough to distract her for a moment.
She was trembling and crying silently, the occasional sniff the only sound.
Cole shifted to sit beside her, gloved hands running over her naked, abused body.
“Please,” she whispered, voice raw. “Please.”
He stared at her, forcing her speak her need aloud.
“I need your bare hands,” she whispered.
Cole’s eyes widened with surprise, but he pulled off one of the gloves.
He raised his hand, palm out. “My hands are rough.”
She pressed her palm to his, feeling the hardness and sharp edges.
“That’s why you wear gloves.” She had to think about every word to get it out past the throbbing, burning pain. “I thought it was a control thing. A way to keep your distance.”
“No. I have too many calluses.” Cole laced his fingers with hers, then gently rubbed his palm against hers. She felt the hard edges and patches of leatherlike stiffness.
Silently, she drew his hand down to her breasts, sliding her own away and molding his callused, rough hand to her aching, soft breast.
Cole breathed out hard, then squeezed her tit, making her moan at the deep, aching pain, so different than the sharp, acute burn in her nipples.
Cole used his teeth to take off the other glove, then swung a leg over her.
He straddled her, both hands gripping her breasts, kneading and stroking. Touching everywhere but her nipples.
He looked like a pagan god looming over her.
“Stick out your tongue.”
She did, and he thrust two fingers into her mouth. Mara kept her tongue out as he finger-fucked her mouth, watching him watch her.
His gaze flicked from her mouth to her tits and back.
“So fucking pretty when you suffer, Brown Eyes.”
He twisted the clamps and she whimpered around his fingers.
Swinging one leg so he was kneeling beside her, Cole slapped her inner thigh so she’d spread wider, then plunged the bare fingers of his other hand into her pussy.
He wasn’t gentle or slow. He shoved three fingers in, filling and stretching her.
It was too much—the pain from the beatings, the pressure of the toys, the burn of the ginger.
Mara yanked her head to the side, his fingers sliding from her mouth. She gasped and panted, and Cole went still, watching her.
She could use her safeword. Being overwhelmed was a perfectly valid reason to put a stop to what was happening so they could reassess.
Don’t. You can take it. Give in. All the way.
Mara took several deep breaths, then turned to look at him.
Slowly she opened her mouth, sticking out her tongue.
With a satisfied snarl, Cole thrust two fingers deep into her mouth at the same time three penetrated her pussy. He fucked her in tandem, mouth and pussy. She gagged, drool everywhere, as her pussy clenched on his fingers.
Suddenly, he pulled out. “Not much time left on the oil, and I want you to feel it.”
She wasn’t sure what he meant, until he gestured to the cage.
“Slide in on your back, with your feet at the entrance.”
Mara looked at him, pleaded with her eyes.
There was no quarter, no mercy. She could refuse, but he wouldn’t walk back the order.
Slowly, Mara obeyed, turned, and then slid herself sideways under the bed. The floor was padded with what felt like gym mats, but it was dark and close. She’d be able to roll over, but not sit up.
When her knees had cleared the entrance, Cole gripped her ankles.
She sagged in relief. He wasn’t really going to make her do this.
“Spread your legs and bend your knees. Good. Now push your hand under your thigh.”
It took a moment, but he positioned her with her wrists clipped to her ankles, her legs butterflied out to each side.
Experimentally, she tried to close her legs, but her knees hit the top of the cage/bottom of the bed.
The door closed with a clank, leaving her in throbbing, burning, pain.
And when he lowered the coverlet blocking out most of the light, her world went dark.