The woman in the photo was naked, save for the knotted rope wound in intricate patterns over her slender body. The rope circled tightly around her breasts and ran down between her legs, pulled hard against her bare, shaven sex in a way that had to be painful.
Beneath a cap of dark, cropped hair, the woman had almond-shaped eyes, her lips curved in an enigmatic smile. She stared into the camera with a bold, almost arrogant expression, as if to say, “Yes, this is what I want. This is what I need.”
Something resonated deep inside Ava as she stared into the woman’s eyes. What she was seeing wasn’t the image of a victim, of someone suffering, but of someone proud, even defiant.
She was balanced on a block of wood no bigger than a shoebox. Her arms were extended over her head, secured at the wrists by more rope that hung from a wide beam. The nipples on her small, raised breasts were erect and her body looked as if it had been sprayed with droplets of water, which, as Ava continued to stare, she realized was probably sweat
Ava tried to swallow, but her mouth was too dry. Sweat pricked at her armpits and her sex felt swollen and hot between her legs. She wanted to look away, but the image held her there, rooted to the spot as the rest of the gallery receded, fading into silence and stillness. She had the peculiar sensation of being pulled forward, literally drawn into the picture, into the bound, suspended body of the woman before her. She could feel the cut of the rope beneath her breasts, the twist of it between her legs. She felt dizzy, aching, as she leaned closer.
A strong arm circled her shoulders, steadying her. “You feel her power, don’t you? The strength of what she willingly surrenders.” Jude’s voice was close beside Ava’s ear, his breath warm against her neck. She could smell his scent, sandalwood and soap. She resisted the sudden urge to lean into him, to nuzzle his neck, to fold herself into those strong arms.
“Yes,” she whispered, surprising herself with her candor. Suddenly embarrassed, she stepped away from Jude. He let his arm fall away and in that instant she felt its lack, and regretted her sudden movement. But the moment was lost.
*******************************
Mistress Ashlyn produced a second cane, identical to the one he held in his hand. “Hold the handle like so,” she said, demonstrating the grip. “This gives you a better range of motion. You can vary the intensity and placement by using your whole arm, or just a flick of the wrist.” She demonstrated and then said, “You try it. Just like I did.”
Peter tried to mimic her actions, swooshing the cane in the air while slave Drew lay still and quiet on the table, his cheek resting against the sheet, eyes closed. They practiced for a while on a pillow. “Excellent,” Mistress Ashlyn eventually pronounced, which pleased Peter. “You’re ready to start on the real thing now.”
To slave Drew she said, “Offer yourself, boy.”
Slave Drew lifted his ass, thrusting it upward. “It will hurt him more this way,” Mistress Ashlyn said, stroking the slave’s bare bottom. “When the muscles are taut, the sting is felt through all the gathered nerve endings, as compared to when he’s just lying flat. That is a bonus for our pain slut, but for our purposes, it’s to give you easier access. You want to make sure you never hit his back with the cane. Focus only on his ass and upper thighs.”
She placed her hand lightly on Peter’s back, gently urging him forward. “Go on. You’re ready. Start gently at first, lightly tapping the skin, covering the area. You want to awaken the nerve endings and get the blood flowing before you really get going.”
Peter was hesitant, though he had to admit he would have been even more hesitant if it had been a woman lying there. At least this guy was tough—an admitted pain slut with an ass that appeared to be solid muscle. Peter began to tap the skin with the tip of the cane.
“Use the shaft at first,” Mistress Ashlyn advised. “Not the tip. Not yet. Combine gliding strokes and brushing movements.” She watched as Peter tried to do as she said. He felt self-conscious but determined to see this through.
“That’s it,” she urged. “Light strokes, warm the skin. See that, his skin is turning pink. You want it a nice, deep pink before you really begin the caning in earnest.”
Peter began to find his rhythm. He could do this! He moved to the end of the table, repositioning the cane in his hand, tapping a little harder now, his confidence growing. The man was perfectly still beneath the cane. He might have been a mannequin. Peter found he wanted to elicit a reaction. He brought the cane down harder, its whistle a split-second warning before the cane met flesh.
The man grunted and jerked. Peter watched in horrified fascination as a long, angry red line appeared over both cheeks. He felt cold suddenly, the cane slippery in his sweaty palm. He took a step back, barely realizing it as the cane clattered to the hardwood floor.
*******************
“Hey, babe, your lord and master has arrived. What’s for dinner?”
Sienna jumped, startled. Shit! How had it gotten so late? “Oh, gosh. Sorry, I didn’t realize the time.” She’d opened her laptop to do a quick search on John Stanwick and his erotic photography and had ended up once again captivated by the compelling images. She had completely lost track of time. She rose hurriedly from the desk, turning to step into Bryce’s open arms, praying he was in a good mood.
Instead of hugging her, Bryce gripped her forearms, holding her at a distance as he looked down at her. “I asked a question. What’s. For. Dinner.”
She hated when he did that, dragging out the sentence, each word dropped like a hard stone. She forced a smile. “I, uh, I didn’t get a chance yet. I’m really sorry. I can make some hamburgers in five minutes—”
“You didn’t get a chance?” Bryce’s fingers tightened on her arms. “I just spent all day working my ass off. You know I like dinner ready when I come home. Is that so much to ask?” He squeezed harder. “Is it?”
She could feel his fingers digging into the muscles. She hoped it wouldn’t leave bruises like the last time. She’d had to wear long sleeves for a week in the middle of summer. Damn, damn, damn, why had she fucked up again?
“Ow, let go, you’re hurting me.” Sienna wrenched away from Bryce’s grip. She hated when he got like this. It was her own fault though, and she knew it. She should have paid more attention to the time.
“Oh, yeah? That’s nothing to what you’re gonna get, babe. I think you need to be taught a lesson. A nice, hard spanking on that sexy ass of yours should remind you of your number one priority—me.” He lunged toward her. Sienna squealed and ran toward the bedroom, at once frightened and excited by his behavior.
She jumped onto the bed, tucking her knees up to her face and wrapping her arms around them. She watched as her handsome boyfriend threw down his jacket and tore off his shirt and tie. He was grinning at her, but his eyes were hard and cold, like blue marbles. She understood on one level this was a game, but at the same time it frightened her. So why did it make her so hot?
With a whoop, Bryce leaped onto the bed, grabbing Sienna’s arms and pulling them away from her body. They wrestled playfully for a moment, both knowing the petite Sienna was no match for her tall, strong lover. Within a minute he had her flat on her stomach, both wrists pinned at the small of her back in one of his large hands.
He flipped up her skirt and yanked her panties down her thighs, pulling them from her legs. His open palm came down hard on her bare ass—no warm up, no warning. Sienna squealed and tried to wriggle away, but was unable to move. A steady rain of hard smacks fell over both cheeks, heating her skin to fire.
“Please!” she whimpered. “I’m sorry, Bryce! Please, stop! Ouch, it hurts! Stop!”
And it did hurt. At the same time, Sienna couldn’t deny the tug in her pussy with each smack. When Bryce finally stopped, Sienna rolled to her back, her heart thudding, her pussy throbbing.
Even so, a small, mutinous part of her brain was angry. She didn’t want to have sex right now. He’d hit her harder than usual. It had felt less like sexy BDSM play and more like punishment. Still, she knew better than to protest.
She watched as Bryce took off his pants and kicked them away. He grinned at her as he pulled down his underwear, taking his hard cock in his hand. “Spread your legs for me,” he ordered. Sienna hurried to obey.
He draped his hard body over hers. It took her a while to relax, to let go of her residual anger and irritation. She closed her eyes, letting the photographs from the exhibit move through her mind as Bryce thrust inside her. She imagined herself bound to a cross, arms extended, head back in ecstasy as her lover stroked her skin with his whip and covered her face with kisses.
The fantasy, the heat on her skin from the spanking and the pounding thrust of his hard cock began to fuse into desire. Sienna felt her body relax and open. She gripped Bryce’s muscular body with her legs and lifted her hips to take him in deeper. It wasn’t long before her whimpers turned to gasps of pleasure and grunts of pure lust.
“That’s it,” Bryce urged, panting over her. “Come for me. Now.”
Sienna did, reaching instinctively to pull Bryce’s face to hers, aching for his kiss. But instead Bryce lifted himself from her body, throwing his head back as he rutted against her.
Biting back a sigh, Sienna turned her head away.
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