“Get the red fiberglass cane with the black handle.”
Shit. That one was whippy as fuck. She retrieved it, went to him, dropped to her knees, and lifted it over her head in both hands, offering it.
He took it without a word, motioned her to the bondage table, and positioned her with her legs up and out, spread so wide she felt the stretch, and clipped her in by her ankle cuffs.
The first stripe caught the inside of her right thigh, the sting sharp, immediate. A breath later, the left.
Five seconds.
Again.
Again.
By the fourth round, she was crying. By the sixth, her whole body flinched before the impact, but he didn’t slow.
Right leg. Left leg.
Five seconds.
Repeat.
For two long, brutal minutes, she wept quietly, no sounds but breath and sobs, screams when the strikes hit, and then the silent march of seconds.
When he stopped, she couldn’t breathe. Both legs trembled, welts rising already.
He set the cane down, the carabiners came off in as many seconds, and she was free.
“Bed.” She’d barely slowed on the medallion before he said, “Permission.”
She climbed on and went to knees and chest.
She’d lubed her ass before going to him, and he didn’t add any, pressing his dry cock into her ass like he owned it — and fucked her with long, heavy thrusts that pushed her forward on the mattress, so he had to yank her back towards him.
The icy cold was gone from her ass, but she still felt the residual heat in her clit and pussy. On top of that, the burn and bruising from the cane echoed with every movement, and her cunt clenched hard — frantic, starving, so painfully empty it felt like punishment all on its own. Every thrust was another assault, another subjugation, and every drive into her pushed her closer to the edge. She craved the pain, the friction. She needed more. Her body throbbed for it, mindless in its need.
He finished inside her with a grunt, pulled out, and slapped her marked thigh hard enough to make her yelp a short scream.
“Good girl,” he said at last, just loud enough to reach her through the buzzing in her ears.
He kissed the back of her neck and left for his shower. No need to dismiss her when she was already in her room.
An hour later, when it was time to send him off with coffee and a goodbye kiss, he told her, “You’ll learn. It’ll be okay.”
And then he kissed her all deep and possessive.
On his way out the door, he quipped, “Even a collection of three holes with a heartbeat can be trained.”
And in the echo of his footsteps and the sting in her legs, she knew it was going to be okay.
Kenny had been right. She hadn’t been taking it seriously. She’d been coasting, and that ended today.
Chapter 23
The trip up Lookout Mountain gave them little sneak peeks of the view they’d see from Rock City, and Willow was excited to see the lights. She’d been a few times at night around Christmas, but it’d been years, and she was looking forward to seeing the fantasy world with her men.
She’d asked if she could wear jeans tonight, since it was thirty-seven degrees on the mountain, but she was in a denim skirt with her thick, insulated crotchless leggings, boots, and her sparkly red sweater.
She didn’t need a coat, but the humans would think it odd if she didn’t, so she had a lightweight one.
