And then…fuck, maybe a paddle. All of this going through her head while she screamed in pain.
But the next blow wrapped around her hip, which ruled out the yumminess of wood or lucite.
Then the after-pain hit just like a cane, and she knew.
A fucking loopy johnny.
But knowing what it was didn’t help, because it still hurt like everloving fuck.
And it justkeptcoming, unpredictable and relentless, layering fresh fire over the marks the cane, whip, and belt had already left.
Her body was a live wire — ass and thighs burning, the high buzz in her ass never letting up, the memory of the TENS still tingling across her clit. She was shaking, sweating, floating in that terrible, perfect space where everything hurt and her body still begged for more.
Somewhere in her haze, she figured out he knows where a blow will hurt the most. Where the nerve clusters are. Where the bone is closest to the skin.
And the loopy johnny was finding every damned spot. Over and over.
Until everything stopped without warning.
Her mouth was unzipped, the straw touched her lips, and she drank until he removed the straw.
This was the first time she tasted a flavor.Grape.
After hours of nothing but cinnamon, the sweetness hit her like a physical thing: too intense, too tart, too sweet, and then exactly right. An unexpected burst of sensory input she savored.
The zipper over her mouth closed again, and then she felt the heat of his hands at her breasts. Seconds later, thechest harness was released from the cross, and her balance was fucked all over again, her torso suddenly free of the anchor it’d been attached to. Her wrists and ankles were still connected, but still, she swayed.
He steadied her with one hand, then guided her head, gently tilting it back until she was facing the ceiling she couldn’t see.
She held the position because he’d put her there, and then his hands stroked her ponytail.
After everything — the cane, the whip, the belt, the loopy johnny, the hours before that — his hands in her hair were so unexpected and so almost-gentle, she went very still, trying to understand it.
She felt him pulling and working, doing something deliberate, his fingers moving through the strands, separating sections, pulling them taut.
Meanwhile, her weight settled differently, her spine bowed backward once again, her weight on her feet. Thank goodness her wrists kept her from falling.
Eventually, he stopped and ran his hands down her sides, over rope marks engraved into her skin throughout the long day, and over welts and bruises he’d so recently made.
They stopped at the plug. Tugged. Pulled. She didn’t remember him turning it off, but it was no longer on.
And now it was out, and her asshole felt wrong. It should’ve been a relief, but it wasn’t.
After hours of it being part of her body, the removal left her feeling hollowed and obscenely aware of the absence. Her body clenched on nothing and she couldn’t stop it.
Something else pressed against her. Not the plug. The shape was different. It was harder to get in, andsomuch bigger.
Also,cold… which is what finally clued her in. It was a damned anal hook, forging its own path inside her, uncaring of the geography.
She breathed through it while he disconnected her ankles, then her wrists, and immediately lifted her back into his arms, cradling her once again to his chest, and she rested her head against him.
But it didn’t last anywhere near long enough, and he was placing her on a mat she thought was on the floor. Knees first, and then he pressed her forward, holding her body up while he situated her hands.
Clearly, he wanted her on hands and knees.
Her arms shook with the effort of holding herself up. Her back screamed in its new configuration, every stripe and mark he’d just put on her stretched and hurting, the fire igniting all over again.
And then he pulled at her ponytail, and…
