“I think you have to agree, Lara, that your behaviour today has left something to be desired.”
His footsteps, soft but unmistakable, approached me and then a cold presence alighted between my shoulder blades, moving up to the nape of my neck, then back down again, following every bump of my spine as the words spun around my head.
“Against my expressed wishes, you stalk me to my home and spy on me. You spark a panic amongst my neighbours, who have the police called out. And you yelled at me! I’d say all of that merits some fairly rigourous chastisement, wouldn’t you?”
“Yes, Sir,” I mumbled, glad that he couldn’t see the hot flush of embarrassment warming the bedclothes beneath my face.
“I should think so.”
The crop had found my buttocks now and was circling them with menacing intent, then flapping about between each cheek, tickling the sensitive skin there. I squirmed and clenched my fists, waiting, waiting for that first stroke…
When it came, it seemed harder than it really was, its effects exaggerated by anticipation, so I howled dramatically, causing Dexter to tut and tap my thighs in reproof.
“I think you may be overstating your case there,” he warned. “That was a very light opening stroke. Did you really find it that painful?”
“No, not really, Sir,” I confessed. “Just caught me off guard, that’s all. I thought it was going to be harder.”
Suddenly I leapt halfway off the bed, stunned by a swift, hard slice to my rear end that really did catch me off guard. “Owwwww,” I sang, reaching bound fingers down to try to clutch at the line of fire on my bottom.
“Like that, d’you mean?” Dexter’s question was nonchalant. He tapped my hands with the crop and used the tip to push me back down into position.
“That really hurt,” I sniffed. “Yes. Something like that, Sir.”
“I see. Well, we’ll aim for something in between then, shall we? Ten strokes, I think. And I want you to count them for me, just so I know you’re still conscious down there.”
Ten. Ten wasn’t so bad. Ten was bearable. I could grit my teeth and do this, and af
terwards, I would bear his mark and I would be his. The thought caused me to press my thighs together, feeling that familiar musky warmth there, and I pushed my bottom out farther, wanting his approval for my obedience.
He rewarded me with a slash of hot pain. I gasped and counted it. “One, Sir.”
I held onto my resolve, kept my nerve and regulated my breathing. I could take it. I could get through it. I rocked on my knees, through the first five strokes, taking them with the minimum of fuss, but it got harder as the whip fell on already tender portions of flesh and my count wavered, my back arched, my lip was chewed down.
I wanted him as my master, I reminded myself. This was a test. I must see it as a test. This made it easier; I had always been good at exams. I was taking a paper in Submission one-oh-one. I had to pass this if I wanted to move on to the higher levels and achieve my goals.
This isn’t difficult, I told myself. “Eight, Sir.”
No pain, no gain. “Nine, Sir.”
You have marked me as your own. A jubilant moan and a, “Ten, Sir.”
“Oh, well done,” he crooned, bending his mouth to my ear, placing the crop on the bed in front of me. “I am pleased with you. I’m going to reward you now. Take the crop between your teeth first.”
I could hear him undressing behind me, soft swishes of fabric, then the snappy rubbery noise of a condom, while I tried to snatch the rod up between my teeth, unable to use my hands to help. I tried to imagine how I must look to him, bent over with a burning red bottom on display, chewing at the duvet in my efforts to obey him, hands belted securely in the small of my back, and I felt the warm gush between my legs get stronger and wetter by the second. He must have been seeing that too. I felt utterly naked, physically and emotionally, in front of him. I had no secrets anymore.
“Remember the rule, Lara,” he whispered, crouching over me with the tip of his cock dipped between my sex lips. “You come when you have my permission, and not before.”
I groaned. “It’s too difficult. I’ve never been able to do it!”
“Yes, it is a skill. It involves self-discipline, so I don’t expect you’ll be able to do it, yet.” He chuckled diabolically. “You’ll get there, though.”
And then he got there—all the way there—in one deep, full stroke.
He felt so good inside me, so firm and hard and devoid of doubt. A man who really knew what he was doing. I contracted my muscles around him, trying to convey how very welcome he was, and pushed my hot backside against his pelvis. His hands lay heavy on my hips and he used his thumbs to spread those punished cheeks a little wider. I flooded with embarrassment, suddenly aware of what he was looking at.
“Ever taken anything up here?” he asked softly, dragging his cock very slowly back down my channel.
“Noooo,” I whimpered, wildly aroused and afraid at the same time.