Chapter Seventeen
Quinn reached inside his shirt and pulled out a satin blindfold that he put over her eyes after placing a kiss over each one. Cheyenne unconsciously inhaled sharply.
He leaned into her and spoke low. “Breathe, baby, slow in and out. Listen to my breathing.” He continued when she didn’t follow his direction, “In... out. Again. In... out. That’s it, you need to relax.”
His voice and movements soothed her, calming her breathing. He kissed her lips. “I love you.”
He led her to what must have been a semi-secluded area at the rear of the great room because there was still noise but much lighter and there were no steps up or down.
She would be easily seen if one looked. When Quinn scened, he was sought out, so she expected to be instructional entertainment for plenty of people, both members and non-members.
Suddenly, she was thankful for his thoughtfulness. She wouldn’t see anyone.
“Cheyenne, I’m going to put you on the bench, different than you’ve experienced, but one you’ve seen used before, so your luscious bottom is where I want it to be.
” His tone changed to commanding when she breathed quickly again, “Cheyenne, stop free falling in your mind. I’m going to protect you, lómhara.
Piscín, now. Anois. Breathe with me. Breathe in.
Breathe out. Concentrate in and out. That’s it, baby, that’s it. Keep slow, even breaths.”
“I’m...trying.”
“ I know, piscín. The next time, I’m going to take control of your breath. If you concentrate and relax, you won’t need me to do that. This is a scene, just like any other.” Except, of course, it wasn’t. It was public punishment. “Do you understand me, beag amháin?”
“Yeesss, Sir.” Her voice and her body were shaking, and when he asked if she was cold, she shook her head.
“Cheyenne, words, baby.”
“Nervous, Sir.”
“Do you believe that I would let anyone or anything hurt you?” his voice was kind but not gentle like before.
Her world was so dark with the blindfold making everything more vibrant.
The sound of whimpering, slaps of skin against skin, the snap of a whip and the aroma of perfume, deodorant and sweat wafted past her.
“Um... no, Sir.” She heard her trembling voice and felt the tightening of her stomach and neck muscles.
“Okay, then you’re having trouble trusting me because you’re too anxious.
Let me help.” She flinched when his fingers touched her arm.
“Let me help you up onto the bench. Don’t think about anyone else, not the pin dropping, the strap ‘thwapping,’ not the people talking.
I want you to listen to my voice, listen to my footfalls, my breathing.
Feel my breath on your face, and your body, meditate on my touch.
Don’t allow yourself to be distracted by other things.
I’ll be touching or talking to you, so concentrate on me. I’ll be concentrating on you.”
As he continued to speak, she felt him wrap the straps around her arms, then her calves and thighs.
Next, he buckled her upper body to the bench, placing her nearly bare ass up into what she had heard was the striking zone.
The air that felt hot everywhere else on her body was cold on her backside.
Her breathing hitched, stalled, then she felt air-hungry, desperate for air.
She pulled against her restraints and the panic was real.
She was drowning in her fear. Something was brushing her lips, and she jerked and cried out.
“Cheyenne, piscín, let go, let me breathe for you.”
She could hear Quinn’s confident stride coming from behind her, and she felt his warm hand on her back, rubbing and massaging in solace but her anxiety had taken over by then.
Quinn, he was here. She felt his lips on hers, reaching down into her very soul, breathing in and out.
She felt his ministrations, but she couldn’t concentrate on them to help her calm down.
She wanted to cry yellow, but she was suffocating. The air wouldn’t move in or out of her lungs. A mouth, Quinn’s mouth again descended over hers, sealing his lips to hers, creating a rhythm. She resisted. He persisted. Slowly, he took a step back, and she continued the beat of his breath.
She felt a solid swat on her ass. Another smack on her exposed and proffered bottom cheeks made her concentrate. “Piscín, listen to me. Trust me.”
“Yes, Daddy. Sir. I’m trying.” Her chest was easing.
His hand rubbed her thighs and bottom, moving up her back to her neck, bringing on a comfort and her body relaxed after some minutes.
He rubbed the back of her neck. It soothed her.
He encircled her, consumed her every thought, and whispered endearments and encouragements to her until she was completely relaxed.
“Good girl. Very good girl.” He stood, and without releasing her, there was another smack.
Firm, but not Quinn’s hand. Somewhere in her mind, she knew Quinn didn’t do that smack, but he allowed it.
It was leather. It was possibly a strap or a belt.
She loved leather. It comforted her. Was it Master Josh?
Had she told him her affinity for leather? Had Quinlan?
She felt slow, methodical strikes of the leather as Quinn repeatedly demonstrated the rhythm for her breathing.
He inhaled through his nose, exhaled into her mouth as she inhaled his breath, creating a similar effect to the paper bag method.
One, two, three, four breaths exchanged, each accompanied by calming stripes taking away her anxiety.
After each round, she breathed on her own.
Then his tongue was in her mouth, caressing her, his lips kissing her—she felt calmer.
She expelled the shared breath and sighed.
This time, when he set the rhythm, she followed him willingly and then he stopped as she pulled away.
Quinn continued to speak low and gentle leaning into her, reminding her he was there. “You’re okay now, baby. Remember, piscín, even though I quit touching you and stopped talking to you, I’m here beside you. Trust me to never leave you alone and vulnerable. What’s your color?”
“Green, now. It was close, but I’m okay now.”
“You’re more than okay, piscín. Do you need the blindfold off?”
She spoke the breathy words, “No, sir, I’m good.”
She rested her body on the bench, listening. She heard more murmurs as though they were close, watching. There were members waiting to watch what Quinn did. She knew most people would be impressed with his breath control. Hell, she was impressed, and thankful.
“Mhuirnín, sweetheart, please listen to me and to the sound of my voice. I’m going to bring out the buffalo and elk floggers.
Do you remember how soft, and well-worked the elk leather is, and how you loved the thud of the buffalo?
Listen to the swish and thud, feel them lightly dancing over you and flow into it.
I’ll be helping you experience it, but this is also a punishment, so while I’m helping you to trust me, you must remember obedience. ”
He shifted from his space in front of her to the side and continued to speak.
“Then I’ll talk to you again, touch you again.
I want you to always listen for me. Try to mentally absorb me.
I’m going to really push your limits tonight but you are always safe with me.
Be alert so you know what is going on and you’ll stay in the moment. Feel your penalty.”
Cheyenne barely heard Quinlan before she was starting to float and relax, lost in his words.
She was falling into the strokes he was bathing her body and senses in.
It was heaven. Suddenly it stopped, and she tried to pull herself back from where her mind had wandered.
He was walking off. She could hear that.
Where was he going? Rising worry returned. She reminded herself that she was safe.
Cheyenne marveled that with her eyes covered she could hear so much more, smell scents strongly, like the hot leather under her or the alcohol in the fire of a nearby scene in play. Now there were light touches on her arms moving down, touching every part of her. She was so hypersensitive.
A swish and the many tongues of one of the buffalo floggers landed.
Cheyenne jumped at the sound of it landing, but she didn’t experience any pain, just thuds.
Quinn spoke in hushed tones in sync with the swish and slide of the floggers.
He must be using one elk and one buffalo, she thought.
The feel of the floggers merged with the rhythmic sound of the thudding, but it was the swish that she experienced the most.
Two floggers are what it felt like. She had watched him practice before and thought how wonderfully graceful this big, tough Irish lawman and rancher was with those floggers.
While this flogger was not the softest, it was strong and smooth from use.
She wondered how many women he had used these on, and as the thought crossed her mind, she thought of Maggie and her leg muscles tightened.
She knew he had played with plenty of other women before her, but did he play with Maggie now when she wasn’t there?
“What are you thinking, mo ghrá? It isn’t concentration on me or what we’re doing that has made your body tense.”
“The flogger, Sir, I was wondering how many women you’ve used it on.” She was surprised that she was panting and so aroused and yet annoyed. A light sheen of sweat coated her brow, and she was struggling to bring things into focus.
“Minx,” he chuckled. “Piscín, you’ve no need to worry, I’ve only used these for practice and on you, my love.”
She relaxed. Soon, she was lost in time, space, and the mesmerizing sound of the flogger falls as those strands of leather landed on her upper back, legs, and buttocks.
She fell into the cadence of the stinging kiss of the instrument, and then it stopped.
The silence thundered, an inarticulate sound left her lips.
It was as though the pulse of her existence had stopped and gravity grew heavy, pushing her to the earth.
There was movement, and then she felt a faraway stinging in the region of her buttocks.
Cheyenne tried hard again to pull her thoughts back to identify what was happening, and she called out Quinn’s name when she felt the next ones, which cut through her fog quite effectively.
She struggled. The strikes were firm and solid without the caress of Quinn’s hand.
This was some paddle. Where leather was warm, this was harder and colder.
After an indeterminate number of strikes, she had begun to tremor, and she could have sworn that she heard another shuffle.
It was quiet, and she listened for Quinn.
He was at the implements table if they didn’t move it.
There was a swat, then another. Wait. Quinn was not next to her.
She listened for him and knew he was at the table. She screeched.
The intensity of Quinn’s response was tangible, comforting. “Safe. You’re safe. It’s just a rubber paddle courtesy of Master Lars.”
Another slap of the paddle elicited a screech, “It hurts, Sir.”
“As it should, young lady,” answered the voice she knew as Master Lars. “I thought I had hit the jackpot with you only to discover you were not only regularly playing with another but engaged to him.”
She panted. Her words came out as a whisper. “You didn’t ask.”
After a few more prances of the paddle across her globes, she heard a shuffling, a discord.
Angry murmurings were heard, and she was positive it wasn’t another scene but the onlookers to her scene.
An unfamiliar hand lay on her back, slipping under the invisible, emotional webbing her lover had left covering her, moving in a circular pattern that would have been comforting had it been Quinlan’s.
But it wasn’t aggressive, just unknown. More movement and shuffling, Master Lars leaned down to speak to Cheyenne.
“I’ve got you, little one. Don’t worry about the noise, your Sir and Master Josh will handle the rudeness. I’m standing guard over you.” The slow and methodical massaging of her back continued.
The murmuring of other voices, too far away to decipher, barged into her mind. Master Josh, she heard him as well. He was close. Her sir was close.
Cheyenne struggled to hear what was going on, but it was difficult.
An unidentifiable male responded, but she was unable to understand him.
Then she would have sworn she heard a woman’s whimper and Quinn curse.
Quinn didn’t curse, he intimidated. Fear and panic took her over, and Cheyenne grappled with the restraints.
The hand on her back disentangled itself and landed on her bottom, hard. The next whimper was hers as she was recovering; one more fell. She felt a soft caress on her upturned and most likely rosy, warm bottom.
“Pay attention to me, little one. Worry about me, not what is going on in the rest of the place.”
Finally, she heard things calm down, and two hands were on her back. Master Lars and Quinlan’s.
“I think that covers it for me,” said Master Lars after the last bite of his palm was rubbed away. “I need one like this one. You guys need to help me find one who is feisty but melts like butter with some love. Just like this one.”
Quinn chuckled. “Done.”