Chapter 10
The underground playroom is for the vampires. Emmy had been here when they wanted to feed from her, but shifters can’t reserve it, usually.
When she’d asked Spence at breakfast, though, he’d made it happen.
Felix had offered to give her a massage, to help her get to sleep, the night before, and the two had talked about limits.
Today, she’d looked up the recommended ratios for cinnamon oil, plus she had a talk with Spence about best practices.
Felix trusted her to get it right, and she didn’t take that lightly.
She picked a plastic cane without as much weight as the Delrin, but it would still hurt like fuck. A little whippy, a lot thuddy. Not as bad as it could be, though.
Instead of a horsewhip, she chose a three-tailed whip.
Short enough to handle with precision, long enough he’d feel it, but the three strands wouldn’t do as much damage as a single.
Felix would enjoy the single without all the other things thrown in, and it might even be okay today, but she decided to play it a little safe.
If he looked bored, she could always swap them out.
Instead of using a strap on his dick and balls, she opted for a cock-flogger. Plastic and cruel, but mostly surface-level pain without the deep bruising.
She didn’t want to injure him. This was about control and pleasure. Painful pleasure, sure, but the goal today was to hurt him in similar ways to what the bastard had done to her — but to make him enjoy it.
Felix stripped without being ordered, his cock already half-hard from nothing more than anticipation, and he didn’t try to hide it.
She put his wrist cuffs on, caressing his arms a little during the process, and then ordered him to put the ankle cuffs on. He bent over and did so, and she didn’t need to check them because he’d worn these countless times in her bedroom. He knew which hole to buckle them into.
“Hands on the post,” Emmy told him. Her voice was flat and controlled with no room for questions.
He obeyed, wrapping his fingers around the steel, feet spread shoulder-width.
The short chains barely clinked when she secured his wrists.
The first crack of the cane made him hiss, but he didn’t flinch away. She stepped back and watched the red stripe form across his ass cheeks. Emmy worked methodically, ass and thighs, alternating sides, keeping him guessing, watching every shiver in his muscles, every shift in his scent.
She stopped a few times to caress the welts, squeeze them. While she was at it, she added a few handprints. Kissed his shoulder.
No words yet. Lucien had been silent the entire time, but she hadn’t decided if she’d do the same. Other than the orders she’d given at the beginning, she was playing that one by ear.
By the time she swapped the cane for the three-tailed whip, Felix’s cock was fully hard, straining against nothing.
His breath hitched when the first stroke kissed across his ass, then his upper back.
He cried out on the fifth lash, the sound breaking at the edges.
Not a safeword, not even close, but Emmy scented the edge of panic threading through arousal.
She eased the tempo, then snapped the whip hard against his thighs, and paused to watch the heat bloom scarlet.
She caressed his back and ass. Jacked his cock a half-dozen times. Kissed his shoulder again.
And then let the whip fly two dozen times with speed while his screams filled the room.
She wasn’t under a strict time limit. They had the room for three hours, and that would be plenty of time for both the scene and the beginnings of aftercare, because Felix would sleep in her bed tonight so she could make sure he was okay. Make sure he slept peacefully.
There was no romance between them, no love. Both were clear this was just two people enjoying each other’s bodies, but it worked for both of them.
And they were friends, so of course she would make sure he was okay after she hurt him.
He was a mess after the two dozen strikes, but she wrapped her hand around his cock and jacked it instead of soothing him this time. He’d softened a tiny bit, so she made sure he was granite hard before she did it again.
Only a dozen strikes this time, but harder. Dragons are strong, and she swung with all she had.
And her wonderful Felix screamed and cried, but never safeworded.
She needed to see him under the winch, so she moved him to it, but she didn’t suspend him. Her shoulders and arms had fucking ached from holding her weight.
She did pull it up enough to lengthen his spine, but she put the spreader bar on first, before she lifted his arms over his head. For good measure, she connected the ankle cuffs to the floor, but that was more about making him feel helpless than worry he might try to kick her.
And then she lifted the flogger. Her own personal cock flogger is hard plastic and painful, but this one, from the playroom’s drawers, was hard plastic beads and would hurt so fucking much more.
She’d hit herself with it earlier, to get an idea of how hard she could use it.
And then she put a device on to separate his balls and pull them forward. Keep them out of his body and available to be struck.
A few caresses with the flogger first, and she watched his cock jerk, scented his arousal and fear. Spicy sweet rather than sour.
She walked across the room, rolled a stool over, took her time adjusting the height. And then caressed his cock with her hands and fingers a few minutes, drawing it out a little more before the pain started.
Because she was going to hurt him bad. They both knew it, both anticipated it for entirely different reasons.
When she finally let the cruel plastic strands fly, she did so a dozen times before she paused.
No buildup for his poor cock and balls, she hit him hard and fast right out of the gate, and he thrashed as much as his bondage allowed.
His screams filled the room, pain and panic, adrenaline — edging toward sheer terror.
But she didn’t let him get all the way there before stopping and running a single finger from the head to the base, and then cupping his balls. He tensed, afraid she’d squeeze, but she didn’t. She had in the past, but today wasn’t about that. This wasn’t traditional CBT. Only one specific kind.
The cruelest plastic flogger.
She gave him slow strikes for a while, much harder, but one every seven seconds. Or however long a slow count of seven in her head was.
He didn’t know if she’d focus on the head of his cock, the shaft, or his balls. He only knew he had a set amount of time to recover from the last strike before the next arrived.
Eventually, she went back to fast, giving him a dozen, a little time to recover, and a dozen more. Not as hard, but one-after-another and all over the place.
His entire body trembled, tears streaked his face, and his cock was deep red and twitching.
She released his feet first, then his arms, but she immediately connected his wrists behind his back.
She walked him to the large bondage table and gave a single order. “Kneel in the center facing the cross.”
He obeyed, tears still slipping down his cheeks despite the fact he was no longer sobbing.
He had to move his knees wider when she connected his ankles to the sides of the table. He’d be able to lean forwards to eat her out, to go to knees and chest for her to fuck his ass, and to lie on his back so she could ride his cock.
And if she decided to allow it, he’d be able to fuck her however she wanted him to at the end.
But she was getting ahead of herself.
She walked across the room, removed her clothes and put them with his, lifted the cinnamon oil concoction, returned, and sat in front of him.
She used the eyedropper to release a few drops onto the head of his cock and then ran her fingers through the oil to distribute it.
Felix jerked hard, and a strangled sound tore from his throat as the burn bloomed. His hips tried to thrust, tried to escape and chase friction at the same time, but the cuffs held him where she wanted him, and his hands were trapped behind his back.
More drops on his cock. A dozen drops on her palm, and Emmy stroked him slowly, deliberately, every pass of her slick hand driving the oil deeper, until the scent of his arousal was thick under the sharp burn of spice.
She felt the heat in her hand, but it was manageable. She’d decided if she couldn’t stand it on her hand, she had no business coating his cock, balls, and asshole with it.
And next came his balls. The eyedropper above them, and then her hands smoothing it onto them.
The sobs returned, but she didn’t slow. His cock was standing tall and pulsing, his scent told her the burn was intense, but his arousal was tangling with the pain.
His asshole could wait, though. No sense in overloading him too much, too soon.
Emmy walked to the sink, washed her hands, returned, and went to her back before him, judging the distance before she spread her legs and ordered, “Eat. Make it good for me.”
With his hands bound behind his back, he’d only be able to use his lips and tongue, but he was quite talented.
He only took a handful of seconds to lean over and adjust his knees so his face landed in the right spot, and then he worked his tongue in all the ways he knew she liked — around her clit, around her hole, and then in her hole, his face pressed so hard into her he had to pull back to breathe.
He pleasured her while he cried, his cock and balls on fire.
He sobbed against her clit, sobbed while he rimmed her, while he tongued her pussy, then her asshole.
Back to her pussy. Every whimper vibrated into her cunt until she gasped and shuddered and came against his mouth while she held the back of his head.
Again and again he brought her, until finally she stood and donned a strap-on, covered it in cinnamon oil, ordered him to knees and chest, and fucked his ass without prep and without mercy.