It felt like a beginning, but she reined herself back because this was a single scene, not the start of a relationship. She needed to get a grip.
And yet, she hadn’t imagined that.
Kenny stepped behind her and Silas moved in, brushing his knuckles over one breast, then the other. “While he thrashes your ass, girly, I’ll see how much abuse your tits can take.” He met her gaze a beat before adding, “And then push beyond.”
Boone stepped forward. “I get this one, you can do your thing with that one.”
Without warning, the leather impacted her ass with a loud crack, tearing a sound from her throat.
The force of the impact embossed a blazing line across her ass so it was the only thing in her reality for two seconds, and then Boone’s giant hand was on her left breast, fingers cruelly plumping it into an engorged balloon before the thumb of his other hand flicked the nipple.Hard.
Silas took the right, knuckles digging just enough to make her squirm, and he caught the nipple between cruel fingers and rolled it.
Another stripe from the belt, lower this time.
Her knees flexed, and the gloves protected her wrists. The contraption they’d designed worked like padded cuffs — supporting her without hurting her wrists, but she barely had time to take that in before the belt landed again.
Boone pulled her left nipple out, stretching her boob away from her body, and Silas copied him with her right.
The belt landed again. And again. Again.
Each time, she was pushed forward, so the men moved their hands away, but then the stretch was worse when momentum stood her straight again.
Boone lifted his hand to be sure she saw what was about to happen before he brought his open hand down to slap her boob, still holding her nipple out.
She yelped and then gave a small scream when the belt landed again.
Boone and Silas didn’t talk, and yet, they found a rhythm of twisting, pulling, spanking — all while Kenny worked her ass over, moving from the top down, covering her thighs, and then moving back up.
And back down.
The belt made its own rhythm, each stroke an exclamation point over the brutality of the breast torture. Her breathing wasragged, her body strung tight between heat, sting, and the ache blooming deep in her chest.
Kenny stepped around to see her face. She met his gaze and then closed her eyes when Boone and Silas both twisted and pulled at the same time.
When she opened them, Kenny was behind her again, and the next strike of the belt made herscream.
Kenny’s voice came from behind her. Firm. Clearly giving an order, no matter how calm he said it. “And now you say,One. Thank you, Sir. May I please have another?”
She managed to get it out, and the belt came again. Another scream filled the room, and she said, “Two. Thank you, Sir. May I please have another?
“You may. You’ll get a dozen. After the twelfth, find a way to thank me for all of them, but you won’t need to ask for more.”
The belt was a line of fire every time. No matter that all the previous lines had blurred into a general conflagration, each new one burned fresh.
She was practically in tears when the twelfth one finally struck, and she said, “Thank you, Sir, for gifting me with pain.”
He stepped in front of her, Boone and Silas moved away, and he cradled her cheek in the palm of his hand. “Well done, little hawk. I’m pleased, and you are most welcome.”
He took a step back and, without breaking eye contact, said, “Let’s get her down.”
Boone snipped the zip-ties free with small cutters and pulled the gloves off while Silas twisted her already bruised nipples until her knees threatened to fold.
They didn’t walk her so much as steer her, turning her toward the wide, solid coffee table. Boone tossed a sofa cushion onto the center and guided her to stand at the side.
“On your hands and knees, girly,” Silas said, voice threaded with heat.
She climbed on, feeling the warm hands of all three men settling her where they wanted her — shortwise, knees just shy of the edge, palms planted, head and ass both hanging into open space.
