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  Dammit. She closed them. A moment later she felt something pressing on them and then tied around her head. A blindfold. She’d had a scarf tied around her once, and she’d been able to see a little light through that, and one boyfriend had put a blindfold on her but if she tilted her head she could see under it. She couldn’t do that this time. It was very dark.

  He touched her back. She’d decided to trust him. In some ways not seeing was worse than being chained, even though she didn’t need to see. She took a careful, deep breath and then another. He waited until she’d calmed down before moving his hand.

  His footfalls receded. It sounded like he was at the same place as before. Pulling open a drawer. Taking things from it. He’d wanted her to see the flogger and the crop, but whatever he was taking out now he didn’t want her to see. Maybe it was something more frightening. Maybe the flogger and the crop were the worst of it and he wanted to make sure she saw those. Had he seen her reaction to the flogger? He couldn’t have. His back was turned. But from what he said, he must have known or guessed even without that. But it was the idea of the crop, unknown and scary, that made her pussy tingle. She wanted to be struck with it. She wanted it to be intense. And she was frightened of it at the same time.

  His breath tickled her neck. He was close behind her. She didn’t know what he might have in his hands or what she might feel next. She braced herself, every muscle tensing, wondering if her penchant for bad boys was such a good idea. Maybe she should find herself a nice doctor or something.

  He ran his hands through her long, loose hair. They were empty, then. Perhaps that meant the crop and flogger and whatever else were still on the bed.

  He pulled her hair gently, enough that she could feel it. First he pulled one lock, then another. His touch was so soft and she’d been expecting something so harsh, she didn’t realize what was going on at first. He’s braiding my hair.

  Memories flooded back, of her mother doing that, and her father after her mother passed away when she was fifteen. Her mother had been better at it, and Terry had eventually learned to do her own, but both had acted out of love as best they knew. But Kyle didn’t love her. He was just being kind. Maybe he liked it up. “Thank you, Sir.” Maybe she’d disappointed him by arriving with it loose. Either way, it certainly wasn’t punishment.

  Obviously he’d had some practice, although whatever pattern he was doing was unfamiliar to her, at least by feel. Where had he learned to do that? She tried to imagine him with long hair, but that seemed ridiculous. She remembered the blonde woman in the picture. Karla. Her hair had been braided. Kyle had practiced on his sisters. Pleased by that deduction, she relaxed. Besides, a man who would braid his sisters’ hair, who kept photographs of them on his dresser and spoke of them with such obvious pride had to be a good man. She relaxed and enjoyed it, regretting that he was almost finished. He could pull it all out and do it again, and she could enjoy that all night.

  He tugged her braid upward and she jerked out of her reverie. That wasn’t gentle, not at all. And it didn’t go away when she heard him take a step back either. What was going on? She jerked her head and the bed shook.

  He’s tied my hair to the top of the bedframe. She quit pulling. That hurt. And it pulled even when she moved her head a little, but if she was absolutely still, her head bent slightly forward, it was okay. She took more deep breaths. Unlike her ankles and wrists, he’d bound her hair very tightly.

  What if I need to get free suddenly? “Sir?”

  “Shh. You’re okay.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes. I will keep you safe. I promise.”

  “What if there’s a fire?”

  “Then I will cut you free. I’ve practiced detaching those cuffs as often as I practiced assembling and disassembling my rifle in the old days, and I’m very fast.”

  “And my hair?”

  “Might be shorter, but I have a knife within reach that would get you free in less than a second in an emergency. I’m always prepared for things to go wrong, little sub. Always.”

  She took a deep breath. A sharp knife that could cut through her hair—she wouldn’t like having her hair cut that way but he was keeping her safe, and that was the important thing. It was all fine until she visualized the knife. She was tied up with a maniac with a big sharp knife. She yanked at her chains, hard.

  “That’s the only reason it’s here, love.” His voice was calm, but the hand he placed on her shoulder was better. “I’m an expert in its use, but it’s for chopping through jungle brush usually. There will be nothing done to you with a knife tonight, and I would never use that knife in any sort of play. It’s there for emergencies.”

  She started to nod but that hurt her scalp so she stopped. “Yes Sir.” Something in his voice reassured her. He sounded so calm and in control.

  He kissed the back of her neck. His hands slipped around her waist. She could feel leather against her butt and warm skin on her upper back. “You have such lovely skin. I could feel it all night long.”

  “Mmm,” she purred. “Why don’t you?”

  “I have to punish you. And besides, I enjoy giving pain.”

  “Are you glad I was late, then. Sir?”

  “No. I’d find a reason, no matter what.”

  “Oh. Why, Sir?” She didn’t understand. She enjoyed teasing her previous boyfriends, sometimes, but that was as much to make the moment last as out of sadistic pleasure. They’d fall asleep as soon as they were satisfied. Although there was a bit of evil glee there too. Still, she didn’t understand wanting to give pain.

  “It’s the way I’m wired. Why do you enjoy it, little sub?”

  “I don’t!” Although she had enjoyed it in the morning.

  “That’s one more stroke for lying, and one more stroke for not saying Sir. I’m enjoying this conversation more and more.” He was too. She could hear the smile in his voice.

  “Yes Sir.” She still didn’t know the answer to his question. Pain is not enjoyable by definition, right? Pleasure is good, pain is bad. Simple. So why did the flogger feel so good when it stung? Why am I moving my head to feel my hair pulling, as though scratching an itch? Why do I want to be struck with the crop?

  “Are you ready to be punished now, or should we keep talking?”

  She wanted to put it off, but she wasn’t sure she wanted to risk adding strokes given that she didn’t even know how one would feel. And she wanted to know. Dammit. She wondered if he knew what a dilemma he was posing and then she played back the tone of his voice in her head. Yes, he knew all right. He knew exactly what he was doing, and he was teasing her. That knowledge didn’t make it any easier to make a decision. Besides, she didn’t want to. She wanted to give the right answer, whatever the right answer was.

  “Whatever it is you wish, Sir,” she said. She said it to avoid answering, but it sounded so right. If he wanted to add more strokes, he would. She didn’t know how many she was getting anyway. But she wanted to please him.

  “We will start now then.” His hand cupped her breast, then plucked lightly at her hardened peak. “I’m eager to see your ass redden. To hear you shriek. But first, grab your chains, Teresa.”

  “Huh?”

  “It helps to have something to pull against. Grab your chains. If you have to, yank on them. They’re very strong and the bed is very well built.”

  “I might be a bit heavier than the other girls you’ve tested it on, Sir.”

  Kyle chuckled. “I tested it myself. If I can’t break it, you can’t.”

  Oh. The image flashed through her mind of Kyle, half-naked and chained, pulling on the chains, his muscles tensing with effort. For a split second she thought of herself as a Mistress, standing behind him with a flogger, and then she pushed it from her mind. She didn’t want their positions to be reversed. That was the craziest thing of all. Just because he pulled at chains on the bed didn’t mean he was wired that way, anyway. She would rather be struck by the flogger or the crop, or even whate
ver mystery he might have pulled from that drawer, than be the person wielding it. Even if he could take more than she could. It didn’t matter.

  She was where she needed to be, where she belonged. As she grabbed the chains in her fists she was glad of them. They kept her there and stopped her from fleeing. She couldn’t go anywhere. And that meant that in spite of her fear she was going to get what she wanted.

  He moved in front of her for a moment—picked something up, perhaps, there was no way of knowing what—and stepped behind her.

  “Seven,” he said. “One from this morning. Four for being four minutes late. One for lying about your desires and one for not addressing me with respect.”

  “Seven. Yes Sir. I will take seven.” Not knowing what she was taking, she didn’t know what she was promising, but she wanted to sound confident, at least.

  “If I enjoy the seven, I might continue.”

  If he enjoyed the seven. “Yes Sir.” She wondered what would make it pleasurable for him and what not. She wanted him to be pleased. She wasn’t sure how to please him but she’d try her best. She wanted to be the best woman he’d ever been with, and that made her falter. She had so little experience.

  “Just be you,” he said. Apparently he was reading her mind again.

  “Yes Sir.”

  She felt his hand leave her shoulder and heard him step back. “Bracing won’t help. Relax, little sub.”

  Easy for him to say. She didn’t even know what to brace for, although knowing might not help any. How could she be bracing? But she realized her shoulders were scrunched tight. Even her ass was tense. She took deep breaths, trying to follow directions and relax. She shook her feet and then stayed still.

  She wouldn’t have known what it was had it not been for the morning in her bedroom, but the cascade of tails that hit her back was a comfort. A flogger. It didn’t hurt; it was more like a heavy caress.

  “Should I count, Sir?” She remembered reading about that in some book.

  “No. And these aren’t part of the seven either.”

  Darn. “Will you tell me when you’ve started for real then?”

  “You will know. There will be no doubt.”

  That sounded ominous, but the thought was soon swept away as the flogger flicked into her again. He alternated between strokes on her upper back and on her ass, ignoring the parts in between. On her back it felt like a massage but heavier, but the smacks on her ass warmed and aroused her. She spread her legs wider, wanting a tail to flip up and caress her pussy, even though she feared it would be too much. Still, she wanted something to soothe the fire that was building between her legs. Or maybe she wanted more fuel for the flame. Either way she wanted more of what he was giving.

  She sagged in the chains, although her scalp instantly reminded her why that was a bad idea and she straightened. She was thankful now she couldn’t see. It focused her other senses. The smell of the leather. The swish through the air, the sound of his breathing and the thudding splash of the tails as they struck her skin. She rocked in time with it, catching on to his rhythm, pushing her butt out for more of what she craved. Who knew a whip could feel so good? I could get addicted to this.

  Something heavy hit the bed. For a moment nothing happened. Then something swished through the air, almost whistling. There wasn’t time for her to tense again before a white-hot bolt of stingy pain appeared on one butt cheek. “Ah!” she yelped in response, not wanting to say ow but unable to keep silent. It didn’t make her pussy juice or her nipples tighten. It hurt.

  She could take it but she didn’t have to like it. It was all sting and none of the heavy pressure the flogger provided, and it was way more intense than when he’d flicked the ends of the flogger against her breasts. I will never like this. He wasn’t lying when he said she’d know when the seven started. She grabbed the chain and pulled, half wanting to get away, half appreciating the comfort that came from knowing she couldn’t.

  Another high swoosh and the other butt cheek joined the first in distress. She managed to keep her voice down to a moan somehow.

  The next sounded the same but felt entirely different. Rather than a point, it made a line, all along the underside of her ass. And it was rougher somehow, but didn’t sting quite as much. She felt her butt quiver at the touch of it and the skin pulled on her pussy. It was intense, nearly as much as the first two, but she could somehow take it better. He laid down another line of fire an inch away from the first and she found herself sticking out her ass for another blow even though they hurt like hell.

  “Beautiful girl. You have a lovely ass, and it’s wonderful to see it red and marked.”

  He was pleased. She wiggled at him, although she couldn’t go too far back without pulling uncomfortably on her head.

  “You enjoy these ones, don’t you?” He punctuated the remark with another stripy blow that made her toes curl and her hands clench. But he was right. She did like it.

  “Yes Sir.” She wanted to lie, but she didn’t know what would happen if she did. The admission made her feel far more naked than her lack of clothing did.

  “Good girl.” He struck her again. It was much more painful than the flogger, but she wanted it more. That seemed wrong. Still, her pussy felt warmer and tingled more with every whoosh and painful line.

  “I like both kinds, Teresa. Will you take the ones I like as well as the ones you like?”

  Fuck. But she knew there was only answer she could give. She wanted more, and she’d take the pain to get there. Besides, she wanted to please him and loved hearing the pride in his voice when he called her a good girl.

  “Yes Sir. Your good girl.”

  “Mine.” His voice sounded dangerously low and fierce. He laid another line on her ass and then mixed in a couple points of pure sting, although they didn’t feel as bad this time. She rocked against the bed, pulling the chains. Even the way her hair pulled on her scalp felt pleasurable, and rather than trying to stand still in order to minimize it, she started dancing in tune with the punishment he was giving to her, using the hair-pulling sensation as counterpoint to the pain in her ass.

  We’ve gone way past seven. But that didn’t seem to matter anymore.

  “So beautiful. So lovely,” he murmured as he worked, in a voice that made her wonder if he was even conscious of what he was saying. It was as if he couldn’t help but say it. And she couldn’t help but believe it.

  The pain blurred until she could no longer be sure which blows were in a line and which ones flamed from a point, or which ones were “good” pain and which ones were bad. She felt a mixture of sweat and arousal run down her leg, cooling as it trickled. I shouldn’t be so turned-on by this.

  It wasn’t as if what he was doing was going to make her come. Her arousal wasn’t building that way, and in fact the need to have her pussy touched was receding, replaced by a warm glow. The stings stopped hurting—she knew they were pain, pain she’d decided a few minutes ago she didn’t like. Now it was all very distant and didn’t matter. She’d never been very good at meditation, but she knew the basics, the idea that when thoughts came one simply noted that they were thoughts and didn’t focus on them. Now she felt something like that about the pain. It was noticed and her mind moved on, focused on the fact that she was pleasing him and on the tingly ecstasy that wriggled over her body and seemed to be renewed with every blow. No matter how pink her bottom was, she felt beautiful, the way she’d always wanted to feel when looking in a mirror but never quite did.

  Funny, being whipped shouldn’t make me feel like a goddess, and submitting shouldn’t make me feel worshipped.

  But it did.

  He stopped suddenly and bent down and unstrapped her ankles. She panicked, afraid the moment of bliss was over, not wanting to return to reality. But then he lifted her in his strong hands and she felt his cock nestle against her pussy.

  “Yes,” she said. His cock was hard. She’d turned him on. Now she could satisfy him. She didn’t even think about her own plea
sure as he filled her, stretched her. She didn’t need any more than what he’d given her. So it caught her unaware when he moved his hand to her mound, rubbed her clit with his index finger and in three small strokes had her on the edge. It was as if her whole body had felt so good it had masked the intensity of her arousal.

  “Give it to me, little sub,” he whispered to her, and she wondered what more she could give. Then he told her. “Come for me.”

  She screamed. It was as if his words pushed her over, which didn’t make sense. Fingers could do that, a cock could do that, but not a mere command. Yet her pussy clenched around his cock, which seemed to grow even bigger inside her, and she was grateful for his strong grip stopping her from thrashing. Her hair pulled, the pain welcome in the mix of electric feeling that started in her pussy and spread down every extremity.

  Then he gasped and joined her, his strong body shuddering against hers. “Yes!” he shouted.

  “Give it to me, kind Sir,” she said softly.

  He kissed the back of her neck tenderly and held her tight while they caught their breaths. Then his deft hands untied her hair and unclasped her wrists.

  He lifted her and carried her to the bed, sitting down on it and holding her in his lap. Her bottom stung when it encountered his hard thigh.

  “How was your flight?” he asked.

  She didn’t understand what he meant. It seemed a very odd time to be asking about her trip from the States to Australia. “Hmm?”

  “Flying. That’s what people in the scene call what you did. Or sometimes they call it entering subspace. The way you felt when the pain changed.” He kissed her cheek. “I don’t want to describe it too much, because it’s what you felt that matters.” His hands went to work in her hair, loosening the braid.

  “Oh!” She blushed. Flying was a good term for it. On another planet might have worked too. She still felt as light as a feather and snuggling against him helped stop it from fading as fast. “It was wonderful. Why did you stop?” She giggled. “Coming was wonderful too.” She reached up for her blindfold.

  He stilled her hand with his. “But?”