Chapter 72

“Caning and choking.”

“Have you been caned before?”

“Yes, Master James.”

“Where?” He traced a pattern over the smooth fabric of the bustier with the tip of the cane.

Beth had to pause and think before replying. “My back and shoulders, thighs.”

“And did you enjoy it?” The cane dropped to her panties, catching on the lace.

“No, Master James.”

He stepped closer, his arm up to his shoulder now in the light. The cane slipped between her legs, pressing up on the sex.

“And do you think you’ll enjoy it now?”

Beth closed her eyes. A caning was brutal by anyone’s standards. She wasn’t a pain bottom, so for her the pleasure from a caning would have to come from the submissive aspect of it. With anyone else she would have said no, would have accepted the caning because that’s what a good submissive did.

Yet she knew, she knew, that with Master James even this otherwise terrifying implement of torture would lead to bone-melting pleasure.

“Beth, you didn’t answer my question.” There was a hint of chastisement in his voice. Instead of upsetting her, it pissed her off.

Her gaze snapped up, to the shadows where his face would be. “You know the answer to that.”

“I want to hear you say it.”

Beth jerked her chin to the side. “Why? You know how I react to you. You know I want…” More. I want to wear your collar.

The silence stretched, uncomfortable and tense.

“Take a small step backward, bend at the hips.” The cane guided her, pushing against her pussy. “Back up more. Arms together, bend your elbows.”

When he was done, Beth was bent at the waist, her torso not quite parallel with the floor, her arms together supporting her upper body weight, wrists higher than her head.

Master James laid his bare hand on the back of her thigh, and she felt the skin to skin contact along every nerve ending in her body. Unable to balance the physical demands of this position with the emotional work it took to hold on to her anger, Beth gave in, laying her cheek against her own arm.

“Beth…” His voice was soft, and lips brushed over the bare strip of skin between the top of her panties and the bottom of her bustier. Teeth nipped at the line of her spine.

“Master,” Beth whispered, squeezing her eyes shut.

There was no room for the future or the past, there was only now, only this moment, this man.

He nipped her ass through the lace panties, then inched them down. She was wet despite her efforts to ignore him, and the lace clung to the slick folds of her pussy.

“I can smell you. I know how aroused you are. You should be terrified. A caning will hurt.”

“I know, Master James.”

“Are you scared?”

“Yes, Master.” But not of physical pain.

His hands, which had been roaming over her now-bare ass, paused, as if he heard the things she didn’t say.

Finally he stepped back. “I’m going to cane your ass. Then I’m going to fuck you as I choke you.”

The words were brutal, his plan containing none of the more obviously pleasurable elements of last weekend’s scenes.

The first blow of the cane landed across the middle of both ass cheeks. The cane was quiet compared to the crack of a paddle, the whistle and small thump barely audible before Beth screeched.

It hurt—not more than was bearable, but enough that she couldn’t stop herself from reacting.

Master James ran his fingers gently along the mark he’d just left. The skin was too hot for the touch to be pleasant, but when he wrapped one arm around her waist, holding her tight against his side as his fingers dipped into her pussy, Beth forgot about the pain.

“You’re very wet, Beth.”

“Yes, Master James.” She moaned, arching her hips.

Two fingers stroked their way from her clit to the entrance of her pussy and back, moving with maddening slowness.

“I could train you to come from the caning alone.” His voice was dark, the hand around her waist tightening. “I could bring you right to the edge of orgasm a thousand times, each time stopping to lay a nice welt on your ass. Eventually you’d be so desperate to come your body would use the pain as the final stimulus to push you over.”

One finger entered her, curling to rub against her g-spot. Beth spread her legs more, rocking against his finger as much as she could.

“Eventually your body would associate the caning with orgasm.”

Beth didn’t understand why he was telling her this. That didn’t seem like his brand of BDSM. Did he think that’s what she wanted?

“We could get so lost, so wrapped up, that it would seem okay, seem normal.”

The finger slipped from her pussy, and before she could brace herself the cane lashed against her naked skin. This one was lower, striking the soft skin where ass met thigh at her “sit-spot.”

Again she screamed, this time dancing in place a little. Her underwear tangled around her ankles and she almost fell, but Master James again caught her, two fingers of his free hand sinking into her pussy.

He fucked her gently until her panting breaths of pain changed into a different kind of pant.

“I once trained a submissive to come when I used the crop on her inner thighs.”

“You did?” Beth couldn’t hide her surprise.

“I wouldn’t touch her except to tie her legs open and crop her. She’d come just from that. Then I’d put her on her knees, have her suck me off, and lock her in a cage. If she wanted to come again she had to beg me to beat her.”

His grip on her waist had tightened and, ignoring all the rules, Beth broke out of his hold and straightened, turning to face him, one arm pulled awkwardly across her chest. In the harsh spotlights, the lines of pain on James’s face were like gashes in his cheeks and forehead.

“James?” For the second time Beth failed to call him Master. This time it was out of concern. He didn’t look like himself—she had no idea what that expression meant, but it couldn’t be an indicator of happy feelings.

“The sub, the one I’m talking about, she wore my collar.”

“Oh.”

“And when we weren’t at Las Palmas, she was my fiancée.”

* * *

Saffron lounged on a brocade chaise in one of Las Palmas’s smaller playrooms. The double doors were open, inviting passersby to stop in. The sleeveless white robe she wore was belted around the waist, but the top was pulled open, revealing her naked breasts.

Reclining on her side, head propped on her elbow, she slid one leg forward, causing the robe to slither along her skin. The delicate gold chain wrapped around her ankle clinked softly. A matching chain connected her thin gold—real gold, thank you very much—wrist cuffs to a chunky gold necklace, slightly larger than a choker. If not for the chain looped through it, the necklace might have been an expensive piece of statement jewelry. Saffron’s rain-straight black hair hugged her head in a chic bob, complete with her signature bangs.

Saffron was bait, placed in full view of the door to lure people into the room. Master Benson had claimed her for the weekend. The club was packed. Almost every member was here, at the request of the overseers. The announcement of the checklist game had riled the hornets’ nest. Some assigned pairings had already peeled off to tackle their letter, and the Subs’ Garden—the rooms and spaces where the submissives waited or relaxed—was full of anxious women (and a few men).

Saffron had hung around for a few hours, intrigued by the game and wondering who her partner was.

When Master Benson called for her, she’d been delighted. He looked like a biker but topped like a billionaire. However, Master Benson had freely admitted that he wasn’t her partner for the checklist game. He frowned slightly as he said it, and the set of his shoulders made her think he wasn’t happy either with his partner or letter. He’d asked if she’d sub for him for the weekend, with the caveat that if her partner called for her, she could leave.

Saffron readily agreed. Her partner clearly didn’t want to play this weekend, which was certainly fine, but she was not the type to sit around waiting for anyone.

Master Benson shifted, the leather chair creaking under his weight. He tapped the control he held gently against the arm of the chair, then looked up from his book and smiled at her.

A second later the smooth vibrating egg he’d slipped into her pussy rumbled to life. Saffron tucked her head against her arm and moaned. The egg kept her on edge, kept her wanting, but wasn’t enough to push her over. It had to be nearing midnight, which meant he’d been toying with her for hours.

“Play with your breasts, but don’t touch your nipples.”

Rolling onto her back, Saffron obeyed. The chains from the collar to cuffs were just long enough to allow her to stroke her breasts with her fingertips, first tracing long spirals up to the nipple, then lifting and squeezing.

“Lovely.” Master Anderson had stopped to watch. He lounged in the doorway, shoulder propped on the frame.

“Spread your legs,” Master Benson commanded.

Saffron obeyed, dropping the leg closest to the door off the chaise to give Master Anderson an unobstructed view. The chain between her ankles was just long enough to allow it, the links digging into her skin. Instead of ankle cuffs, there were loops of chain wrapped around each ankle, heavy padlocks holding them closed.

“Good girl,” Master Benson murmured.