With This Collar (17 page)

Finally he took the belt from her.

“How many minutes late were you?”

“Four, Sir.”

“And how many spanks do you deserve?”

“As many as you see fit, Sir.”

“Twelve.”

Her body went rigid. That sounded excessive. Most people wouldn’t have even noticed four minutes.

“I’m going to rub your ass a bit.”

His touch was so vigorous she could hardly stay in place, and she had to fight for her balance. All of a sudden, she realised she had nothing to hang onto. He expected her to remain on the table with no way to support herself.

“After every hit, arch your back and then lift your hips for the next one. Unnecessary delays will cost you. Any questions?”

She shook her head. Then, remembering his rules, said, “No, Sir. Please, Sir, will you punish me for being tardy?”

He landed the first across both buttocks, scalding her.

She screamed. The pain had lanced her, so unexpected in its intensity. She wanted to get up and run away.

Other than her sobs, the room was silent. He hadn’t touched her again. Obviously he was waiting for her to continue.

She slowly got back into position.

She offered a quick prayer that they could find a rhythm that would enable her to get past this quickly. She couldn’t—honestly could not—take a dozen like that.

He caught the backs of both legs and she folded up on herself, anything to escape.

Again, he said nothing, allowing her to sort through the experience on her own.

Several minutes passed before she got herself back into position.

The next was placed beneath the first, and she bit out, “Fuck!” She hated not being able to see him. She hated that it felt so coldly impersonal. The first time he’d spanked her, he’d engaged her, had talked to her and had even reassured her. This time truly felt like a punishment. She hated it—
hated
it.

If he wanted to ensure her good behaviour in future, his method was effective. They were only twenty-five per cent finished, and she knew she’d leave an hour early the next time they were supposed to get together.
If
they saw each other again.

She forced herself to get ready for the next impact. Feeling wanton, she stuck her ass high in the air.

Instantly he obliged, again catching the backs of her legs. He was being methodical, one on top, one on the bottom, then filling in the space between.

She blinked back blinding tears and took a couple of deep breaths. She told herself she knew what to expect now. She had figured out his pattern. That made it easier to endure.

The fifth blazed across the bottom of her buttocks.

Despite her determination, she dropped her head to the tabletop.

Her body shook from the relentless pain.

“Tell me your colour, Julia.”

The sound of his voice blasted through her internal dialogue. Somehow the fact that he’d spoken to her helped ground her. She could do this. “Green, Sir.”

He never hurried her. Instead he waited patiently for her, letting her take her punishment in her own time.

Within a fraction of a second of her getting into place, he striped her again.

Her entire rear, the curve of her bottom to her knees, was singed. But they were halfway there.

“Are you horny, Julia?”

“Good God no, Sir.” She was struggling back onto all fours, determined to endure. Pain had obliterated any thoughts of sex.

“I’d like to see for myself. Spread your legs. Put your forehead on the tabletop, your ass really high in the air.”

His voice, the heat where his belt had impacted, all melded. He stroked her pussy.

“You’re right. You hate this entirely.”

“Nooooo!” Stunning her, her pussy was wet.

“You hate to be punished, don’t you?”

He inserted a finger deep inside her and fucked her with it. He found her G-spot and pushed against it. Within moments, she was ready to come. Like a shameless hussy, she forced her body back, silently seeking more.

Her body vibrated with knotted tension.

Before she could steal an orgasm, something she was willing to do at this point, he stepped back.

She remained where she was for long moments, silently pleading with him to finish what he’d started. When he didn’t, she drew a ragged breath, lifted her head, arched her back and waited. She decided to mentally start the count over. Twelve was a lot of strikes. Six was doable.

He started over, too, catching the top of her buttocks.

She’d found that stalling between each hit didn’t really help. She wanted it over with. Curling her hands into fists, she waited for the next.

She was sliding a little, so she decided to place her palms flat on the table for the next blow. She was accustomed to the belt now and, like her first punishments over a month ago, she tried to relax into them, no longer fighting—absorbing it, breathing with it.

“That’s a girl,” he said, matching the pace that she set.

He delivered the last with a fury that left her screaming again, despite her intentions.

He manhandled her, grabbing hold of her body, pulling her towards him, then flipping her over and placing her on her back.

Before she could think anything through, he dragged her closer so her buttocks were perched on the edge of the table.

She was barely aware of him kneeling. Then he lifted her legs and held them apart.

He licked her cunt.

She screamed.

“Put your knees over my shoulders.”

He held apart her labia and ate her out. She thrashed and screamed, trying to hold back her orgasm. She had never been more desperate to come in her entire life. “Please. Please! Oh, Sir.” She shuddered. “I need to come!”

He inserted two fingers in her and thrust hard and fast, over and over.

Her thighs shook from the effort of restraining herself. She wrapped her legs around him for support. She couldn’t…

He continued to lick, to suck, to fuck. She was falling apart from the inside out. “Master Marcus! Master, Master, Master… Oh…” She grabbed hold of the edge of the table and dug in her fingers. She bit her lip to distract herself.

“Come
now.”

He shoved a third finger in her, stretching her mercilessly.

She reached for him as she orgasmed in a wet gush that left her panting, replete, unable to think or move.

Nothing in her life had prepared her for the experience of hanging on the precipice for so long, only to have him shove her off it.

“That will do for a warm-up,” he said, taking hold of her wrists.

Chapter Seven

Marcus had been determined to keep her on the edge, denying her time and again, but her use of the word Master undid him. Although he was formally known as Master Marcus at the Devil’s Den, he generally required his subs to address him as Sir. Master felt pretentious and implied a level of commitment in a relationship that he wasn’t willing to give. Perhaps it was similar to the way Julia drew a distinction between submissive and slave.

He knew she hadn’t called him Master during a scene for any reason other than that she’d been overcome. She wasn’t asking for anything from him. She had no expectations. She was simply a sub having an overwhelming experience. Her naïvety and courage appealed to him. She had no pretences, therefore he was able to let down his guard. He was different with her than he’d been with any other woman, in or out of the lifestyle.

He lowered her legs from his shoulders and helped her to sit. Since he was reluctant to let her go, he eased her out-of-control hair back over her shoulders.

“I…”

She leant forward, letting him take her weight. He kissed the top of her head and held her. He’d turned up the heat before she’d arrived, but she had perspired during their session. He wrapped his arms around her and held her tight.

“Thank you, Sir.”

“For?”

She curled her arms around his neck, for support he imagined. He gathered that she wasn’t a woman who had been nurtured a lot, and he liked being the man who did it for her.

“The orgasm,” she said. “It was…”

Was he so arrogant that he wanted to hear her say it?

“Spectacular.”

He’d settle for that.

“Probably the most intense I’ve ever had.”

That was what he’d wanted to hear. He didn’t normally lick and finger-fuck a woman’s cunt until she’d climaxed. But then, no other woman had screamed out Master for the first time and begged for release like Julia had. His cock had been throbbing with need, but he’d forced himself to think about her satisfaction.

Generally, as a Dom, he felt it was his obligation to keep a little distance, emotionally as well as physically. If his sub needed something, he had to be resourceful enough to provide it. He endeavoured to always keep his objectivity, stay in control, and to gauge his sub’s reactions so he could draw out every possible nuance of their experience. He wanted his subs to work hard for the orgasm and be shattered as a result.

The way she’d grabbed his hair unthinkingly and had tightened her legs around his neck had sealed the deal. He’d concentrated on her and only her.

She’d ground her pussy demandingly into his face while she’d begged.

Quite probably he could have made her wait just a little longer, but suddenly nothing had been more important than guiding her as she had gone over the edge and had come for him, all over his face. Truthfully, this woman could get a lot from him that he’d never given anyone else.

He picked her up and carried her back to the great room. “Stay here,” he instructed, placing her on the couch. “I’ll be right back.”

“But—”

He placed a finger against her lips. “No arguing.”

“Sorry, Sir.”

He grabbed a blanket and covered her. She looked perfect snuggled there, her hair an untamed mess, her lips slightly parted, her eyes bright blue as she looked at him with something that might have been comprehension, or maybe completion.

Less than a minute later, he returned with a bottle of water, a hand towel and a warm washcloth. He made her drink half the bottle, then he moved part of the blanket aside to wipe between her legs.

“I can do that, Sir.”

He loved the way she blushed. After everything they’d done together, she still felt embarrassment? “One day, girl, you’ll stop arguing. Your keeping quiet when things are not open for negotiation will save us both a lot of aggravation. Or there’s always a gag so I don’t have to listen.”

She wisely shut up.

He dried the sweat from her body before saying, “Let me see your buttocks.”

Soundlessly, she threw the blanket off her and turned over.

“How did it feel?” he asked, tracing his marks and the garter belt straps. There were several marks and a couple of places that might have a slight bruise.

“Unbearable. I’m sorry for being late. I’ve learnt my lesson.”

“It won’t be mentioned again. The next time you’re late, you will realise I went easy on you.”

“This was easy?”

“There are other ways to punish you, Julia. And that may involve me withholding my attentions, or giving you a prolonged period of time to consider my wishes.”

Her words were muffled by the cushion as she said, “Thank you for my punishment.”

“I would rather give you a sensual experience. Through your behaviour, the choice is always yours.” He draped the blanket back over her. “Stay there.”

He found some arnica in the bathroom linen closet then returned to rub some of the cream into her ass cheeks, paying special attention to the areas he’d chastised.

“That feels good, Sir.”

“You’re welcome, girl. When you’re ready, the playroom is prepared for you. Unless you’ve had enough?”

“No, Sir!”

He turned her back over.

She scooted into the corner.

“Before we go upstairs, I want you to clean up the mess you made in the dining room.”

“The mess
I
made?” she asked, looking up at him.

“Crawl to the kitchen. There are furniture wipes under the sink. I want the dining room to look as presentable as it did when you arrived.” He stood and folded his arms.

She hesitated for a few moments, but then she threw back the blanket and lowered herself to the floor.

“Stop.”

“Sir?” She turned her head to the side.

“You’d look nice on a leash.” He saw her suck in a breath. “Nothing fancy for my subs. Very plain. Very serviceable. I’m not into bling.”

She hesitated for so long he wondered if she was going to use a safe word.

“If it pleases you, Sir.” The words were clipped, and her tone implied that it certainly didn’t please her.

“It does. Kneel, please, and pull your hair up.” He fetched the leather pieces from the closet near the front door.

He was pleased to see that she was kneeling as he preferred, with her knees wide, her gaze on the floor. She was using both hands to keep her hair off her neck.

Even when he moved in, she continued to look down. “Your skill as a sub is impressive,” he told her.

“Thank you, Sir,” she whispered.

He fastened the collar into place and tightened it. He placed his index finger beneath it to be sure it wasn’t too tight. Seeing her there, wearing a collar that he’d bought for her, socked him in the gut. It fitted perfectly, as he’d known it would. And, more than that, he liked what it represented. This fiercely independent woman was accepting his domination and his punishment, if only temporarily. “How’s that?”

“Fine, Sir. For a pet collar.”

He dug his hand in her hair and forced back her head so she was looking at him. “Do you need to use a safe word? Or do you need a spanking to adjust your sour attitude?”

“Neither, Sir.” She expelled a breath. “I apologise.”

“Ask me to attach the leash.”

He could hear her internal dialogue.

But aloud she said, “Please leash me, Sir.”

“My pleasure, pet.”

The sound she made could have been considered a growl. He let it pass without a comment. He clipped the pieces together. “You may release your hair and drop your hands to your sides.” After she did, he wound the leather around his hand once to make it shorter. “This time I want you to crawl behind me. Stay close to my heel.” She’d been appalled by the male sub being leashed that night at the Den. He wanted to show her that, with the right attitude, it could be a pleasure. He traced one of her eyebrows with his thumb pad. “Earlier this evening, what did you tell me about your experience of kneeling?”