Then he drew it away from me, moved behind and, without further ado, laid the first stroke, full across the middle of my bottom.
Oh, no. Eighteen was too much. Much too much.
‘I can’t,’ I whimpered, but I didn’t voice the safeword. Just wanted to warn him that it might soon get its first use. Without recourse to any kind of displacing movement, I just had to stay in my bonds and absorb the pain in its totality. And I would have to do it seventeen more times.
‘How many is that, Sarah??
?? asked Jasper. ‘You really don’t want to lose count, you know.’
‘One, Sir.’
I endured seven more shocking swishes, feeling the heat sear through me, holding myself at the very edge of my tolerance. I say I endured them, but in fact I begged for mercy throughout and made quite a yelping, pleading, gasping mess of myself.
The ninth stroke fell and I could take no more.
‘Pax,’ I squealed, then I started to cry. ‘I’m sorry,’ I sobbed. ‘I’m so sorry. I let you down. I’m a crap submissive.’
‘Hey, hey, shh,’ he said, leaning over me and massaging my shoulders. ‘No, you aren’t. You aren’t, Sarah. You’ve already taken more than a lot of girls can. Come on. Do you want me to untie you?’
I didn’t know what I wanted. He was going to France the next day and I had been avoiding thinking about it but now it all loomed in front of me, unbearably. This was going to be over. My summer of submission was going to become an autumn of mundanity. That cane stroke had been my last for some time.
No. It couldn’t be my last.
‘I’ve changed my mind,’ I said. ‘I want more. I want you to carry on.’
Jasper’s fingers pinched into my flesh.
‘Don’t say it if you don’t want it,’ he warned. ‘I won’t hold it against you, you know. It’s fine.’
‘I want you to finish. I want to take them all. Please.’
He kissed the back of my neck.
‘All right. But safeword again if you have to. Promise me.’
‘I promise.’
That tenth stroke was hell and heaven together, but I had new strength from somewhere and I knew I could keep going. By twelve, I was flying. I could take more and more and more. The pain was no longer hectic, shocking my body, but a constant erotic burn, feeding every nerve, filling me up.
I made it to eighteen and moaned out the count, ecstatic in victory.
Jasper put down the cane and knelt behind me.
‘I’m so proud of you, love,’ he said and he started kissing along each throbbing line, holding me by my hips as if he thought I might move away, not that I possibly could. After kissing each criss-crossed welt, he buried his face between my thighs, sucking at the delicate flesh there before pushing his tongue over my clit and into my cunt, licking me thoroughly until I yelled for permission to come, which he gave with a hot, breathy command that made my clit tingle underneath it.
‘While I’ve got you where I want you,’ he said, rising again and probing between my tender bum cheeks, ‘what about this arse? I’m thinking it’s looking a little empty. What do you think?’
He prodded my tight ring. I could only clench, immobilised as I was.
‘Take what you want,’ I said.
‘Oh,’ he moaned. I could imagine his face, that little flicker of bliss that sometimes passed over it. ‘I think I will.’
Then there was lubricant, cold and inexorable, then fingers inside me, then at last his hot, thick cock. How he fitted inside I couldn’t work out; it seemed contrary to the laws of physics, but he spread and stretched me while I tried to fight but, too tightly bound, could only submit. And I didn’t really want to fight him, but a little token resistance added enormously to our mutual pleasure.
I liked the feel of his linen shirt rubbing against my smarting bum cheeks as he thrust, creating a raw friction that seemed to complement that of his cock in my tight passage. I wanted the brutality and force of it, the sense of utter possession that came with it. Every single part of my body was his; every orifice had accepted his mastery of it.
And now, as his fucking of my arse reached its height, he cupped a hand beneath my cunt and began to rub my clit.