Callie couldn’t help but stare, shocked at the marks that covered the older woman’s body. There were myriad tiny cuts on her breasts and stomach, along with fading welts that matched Callie’s own.
What had Damon said about the couple? “She’s a total pain slut. They’re heavily into sadomasochism.”
A part of Callie recoiled in horror. How could this woman want what Callie so feared and dreaded? Yet, she also recognized that in a different scenario, with a different man, she herself might have been able to enjoy something a little edgy, like a flogging.
Yet Greta looked happy and serene, the love unmistakable in her eyes when she looked at her partner.
That was the difference, in a nutshell. The stark and insurmountable difference between what Damon had done and what this couple shared, was consent. Greta was a willing participant who loved and needed what Master Wolf gave her. Whereas, what Damon did on a daily basis to Callie was assault and rape, pure and simple.
“Let’s get you naked, too,” Damon said, yanking her back to the moment. Letting go of her neck, he moved around in front of her, blocking her view of the couple. He tugged at the column of tiny hooks that held the cincher closed. When it was completely open, he let it drop behind her to the ground. Reaching around her, he plucked the bow of the leather string that held the thong in place, allowing it, too, to fall away from her body.
He led her to the cross. Master Wolf was already in the process of securing Greta’s wrists into the dangling cuffs at the front of the cross. Damon had Callie stand on the other side. He cuffed her wrists into place and lightly kicked at her ankle, his signal that she was to spread her legs. With no choice, she obeyed, allowing her ankles to be cuffed as well.
As Damon moved out of Callie’s line of vision, she desperately tried to telegraph her distress to Greta with her eyes.
“It’s okay,” the woman said, smiling kindly. “I can see you’re a little nervous, ja? Lord Demon told us you are very shy with strangers. Hopefully by the end of tonight we will all be friends.”
Lord Demon? If only Greta knew how fitting that title was.
Callie shook her head, trying to convey her distress, but Greta continued to smile, clearly not getting her cues. “Shh. Entspannen. Relax. It will be fun. I love a good caning.”
Damon reappeared, his threatening presence making Callie’s face go instantly blank. She dropped her eyes, trying to harness her frustration and disappointment. She wouldn’t give up. Not yet.
The men took up their stances behind the women, Wolf behind Greta, Damon behind Callie. Wolf began to tap lightly against Greta’s bare bottom with the cane.
“Oh, come on,” Damon said from behind her. “I thought your sub was a pain slut. Surely you can do better than that?”
Callie heard the whistle of his cane in the split second before it made brutal contact with her ass, leaving a fiery line of pain in its wake. She squealed against her gag, tears leaping to her eyes.
“Like that,” Damon said, his tone smug.
“I prefer to warm and waken the skin,” Wolf said, frowning. “It is good to take one’s time with a caning.”
“Whatever,” Damon said dismissively. “My slave is trained to take whatever I give her, no matter how intense. She doesn’t need to be coddled.”
Callie could tell by his tone and somewhat snarky response that he was annoyed with Wolf’s implied rebuke. She was reasonably certain she would be the one to pay the cost for his annoyance.
Sure enough, a moment later another searing stroke whipped over her flesh, adding a second line of pain just below the first. She squealed again, her nostrils flaring as she sucked in air. She fervently hoped Master Wolf would intervene on her behalf, but all he did was shake his head, silently mouthing what looked like, “Americans.”
After a bit, Wolf, too, ratcheted up the intensity of his stroke. The canes whipped and struck in concert, punctuated by Callie’s muted cries and Greta’s sighs and moans. Though Damon had caned her easily a dozen times, she could never get used to the shocking intensity of the stroke. Each cut of the cane was worse than the last.
She tried to catch Greta’s eye to convey her distress, but Greta’s head had fallen back, her eyes closing as her lips parted. Her breathing had deepened, her chest slowly rising and falling. There was an expression of pure bliss on her face.
Giving up on the woman for the moment, Callie tried to telegraph her distress to Wolf. But he seemed entirely focused on what he was doing, alternating strikes of the cane with a tender caress or a whisper into Greta’s ear.