He couldn’t have her love, but he certainly could have her body and her obedience. “Your punishment last night was aborted by your failure to stay in position. We’ll finish now where we left off.”
Her eyes widened in fear, her breath catching at his pronouncement. Good. She was right to be afraid.
“Since you’re not yet properly trained, this time I’ll restrain you more thoroughly so you can’t move.” Pulling her to her feet, Mark led the now trembling young woman to the playroom. He stripped her of her robe and attached the heavy metal collar around her neck. Leading her to the St. Andrew’s cross, he positioned her so she was facing the cross. “Raise your arms and spread your legs,” he instructed. He clipped her bracelets in place and, for good measure, he added the belt restraint at her waist. This time, he would leave her mouth free. He wanted to hear her cries.
He went to the rack and retrieved a longer, thinner cane than the one he’d used the night before. He returned to her and stopped short, still in awe of her gorgeous ass. He loved the two dimples, one above each perfectly rounded buttock.
He blew out a long breath. It wasn’t fair to be angry with Alana because she didn’t love him. He knew rationally there was no reason she should love him. Patience, he reminded himself. Give her more time. These thoughts calmed him somewhat, easing the ache in his heart.
“I’m going to give you twenty strokes,” he announced. “Your job is to take your punishment with stoic grace. You may scream. You may cry, but you may not ask me to stop. When I’m done, you will thank me. Is your assignment clear?”
“Please, Sir” she begged, twisting back her head to catch his eye. “Please don’t—”
“Silence,” he boomed, irritation easier to handle than regret. “You protest again and I’ll gag you and give you fifty.”
She sucked in her breath and turned her head back to the front, her body sagging in defeat.
“We begin,” he announced. “You will count aloud for me.” The cane sliced through the air with a whoosh. It landed perfectly, just above one of the welts he’d painted there a few hours earlier.
“One,” she yelped. Good girl.
He placed another just below the swell of her ass, across her slender thighs.
“Two! Ah, god, that hurts,” Alana wailed.
Again and again he marked her, reaching in from time to time to run his finger along a rising welt, or place his hand between her legs to feel her heat. After the tenth stroke of the cane, she stopped wailing, her ragged breathing slowing to something deeper and more accepting. When he hit her for the eleventh time, something in her tone changed as she breathed the word. The sound was low and sensual in her throat, almost as if the cane were arousing her.
Thrilled and intrigued, Mark continued to punish his beautiful slave girl, his cock poking through the fly of his pajama bottoms and pointing straight at her all the while. When she finally sobbed the final count, he dropped the cane and yanked his pants from his body.
Moving close, he pressed himself against her heated ass. Instead of flinching or crying out, she only moaned, the sound like fingers cradling his shaft. Quickly, he released her from the cross and took her into his arms. He carried her to the soft lamb’s wool throw rug in the corner of the playroom and set her down on her hands and knees.
“Stay up like that,” he instructed. “I’m going to reward you with my cock.” Crouching behind her, he draped himself over her, using one hand to guide his cock between her legs.
To his delighted shock, his shaft slid easily inside. She was wet! She wanted him, or at least what he was offering. Thrilled, he began to move, thrusting in and out of her perfect, tight cunt as he whispered her name over and over like a mantra, like a prayer.
~*~
What’s happening to me?
Alana lay on her stomach on the soft rug, exhausted but also, and this was the strange part, curiously at peace. Something had happened while he was caning her. First there had been terror and pain, yes, but as he’d hit her again and again, something had shifted inside her. The fear bled away, replaced with something that wasn’t quite pleasure, but something darker and more complex.
When he’d taken her down and entered her from behind, for the first time his large, hard cock hadn’t hurt her—hadn’t torn the sensitive flesh at her entrance. Instead, it had felt good going in, and even better as he’d filled her, his hands on her hips, pulling her back into him with each thrust. Though she couldn’t come from that angle without direct stimulation to her clit, she’d experienced the warm, buttery feeling of sexual pleasure, pleasure that could lead to orgasm with just a touch of his fingers, the press of his lips, the stroke of his tongue…