I strip and watch as he wanders off to a closet and rummages around for a second. By the time his back has turned, I’m on the floor, kneeling how he taught me. Back straight so my perky boobs stick out, and the cuffed nipples are prominently displayed. Legs spread slightly, so he can see my bare pussy and the slick folds.
When his eyes run over me, a sense of pride does too. I gained the weight the doctors deemed imperative to my health, and Nate worships my new form every day. You can no longer see my ribs, so I can’t deny there’s a huge difference appearance-wise.
In his hands, he has a box, and without meaning to, my head tilts to the side to stare at it with curiosity.
I bite my tongue, even though I’d loved to ask what it is. His eyes gleam with the knowledge that I’ve managed to restrain myself.
He settles down on the armchair and puts the box on his knee. This close, I can see it’s a jewelry box. If curiosity killed the cat, then I’m dead and buried. It’s hard to stay quiet, and I can feel myself rock forward a little, as though getting closer will let me see through the thick velvet covering.
“Do you trust me, Marina?”
My head shoots backward at his use of my name. I frown and hesitantly, cautiously, say, “Yes, Sir. Of course.”
“Do you trust me to care for you, to keep you safe?”
“Of course, Sir.”
“Do you give your submission to me of your own free will and know that I will always safe keep what is, to me, a precious gift?”
His formal wording, when Nate is anything but formal, is starting to freak me out. My tongue feels heavy in my mouth, and I form the words, “Yes, Sir.”
“Do you know that I will never violate your trust or abuse the position of power you’ve given to me?”
“Yes, Sir,” I whisper, shaken by this sudden drop into formality.
He nods, reaches for the box and opens it. As he turns it around so I can see it, he murmurs, “Will you accept my collar?”
Eyes widening, my hand leaps from its resting place on my knee to my throat. I cup the soft skin there and close my eyes, as my shoulders sag a little. I know what this means; I’d have to be a moron to fail to realize what’s going on. He’s formalizing our life together. Just like proposing, he’s offering me his collar.
A low hum of excitement throbs through me and my eyes flutter open to spot the vulnerability on his face. Seeing it, feeling touched by it, I breathe, “Yes, Sir. I will.”
My words are imbued with longing and his lips quirk up in a smile that is the usual cocky twitch I’m used to.
He fingers the collar and says, “I had this made a long time ago. When I was in Chicago, waiting for your plane to get in. I didn’t even know if I could introduce you to this lifestyle. I just had this idea in my head. I knew what I wanted it to look like, and I knew it would suit you perfectly.”
“It seems, in many ways, like our life together started in Chicago,” I murmur.
“You’re right, princess. It did.” He moves the box over to me and my smile is tremulous as I look at the master craftsmanship. Rose and white gold have been entwined together in a rigid plait. I don’t often wear jewelry, nothing more than a pair of earrings, but this suits me perfectly. How could I expect anything less from Nate, my Sir, though?
As I look for the clasp, my smile widens into a grin at the cutest padlock I’ve ever seen. About the size of my little fingernail, it’s tiny but the meaning is there. Our relationship, our inclusion in this lifestyle is private and so is the meaning behind the collar.
“It’s beautiful, Sir,” I tell him, every word the truth.
“These occasions can be quite formal, princess. But not for us.”
“No,” I whisper. “Not for us, Sir.”
He licks his lips and quickly says, “I’d like our marriage ceremony to be low key too. That’s if you agree.”
“Marriage?” I blurt out, blinking.
“Yes. I want you to marry me, Marina.”
I love that he didn’t ask me about that, but did hesitate over my preferences on the ceremony. I can’t help it, I chuckle. “I’d love to, Nate.”
For the first time, his smile is wide and relaxed. “I wasn’t going to ask you for a while longer. I wanted this situation to be cleared up and your head free from the crap. What better time though? We’ll survive stress and strain, Marina, because we have each other.” He leans forward and cups my cheek. I nuzzle into him and sigh, at peace with myself and the world. “I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
He trails his fingers over the curve of my jaw and says; formal again, “You willingly wear this public display of our relationship together?”
“Yes, Sir. I do. Happily. More happily than I’ve accepted anything in my life. With you, I’m free. Free to be the true me. I can only thank you from the bottom of my soul for that gift.”
With that, he removes the collar from the box and places the cold metal against my skin. I flinch at the chill but ignore it as he moves my hair to the side and fastens the tiny padlock. It settles above my collarbone but not high on my neck. I thought it to be rigid, but there’s a flexibility to it that makes it conform to my throat.
“There is no key, Marina. We’re in this together. Forever.”
“Sir, I’m yours.”
My words have a heavy effect on him. He sucks in a breath and his eyes flutter shut. The tiny muscles in his eyelids are visibly clenched, and my gaze drifts down to his cock which is harder than stone.
“Just because you’re mine,” he grunts. “Doesn’t mean your punishment is forgotten.”
“Because I am yours, you’ll punish me as you see fit, Sir,” I retort, knowing I’m being cheeky but also knowing he can’t punish me when I’m agreeing with him. Or so I thought.
“Insolence, princess? That will never do. That makes four infringements today. I’m in a good mood, so I’ll set the bar at four spanks per rule break. Sixteen in total.”
My butt groans but my pussy flutters with delight, as he stands and holds out his hand. I take it and rise to my feet. He guides me to the bed and says, “Lay back, legs in the air.”
Having never been disciplined in this position before, I nervously lie down and raise my legs upward. He wanders off, and I hear the drawers move, before he returns with a paddle in his hand. Something else I’ve never experienced before. This is fairly long, the size of a ruler if you include the handle and it has an odd flex to it. I just know it’s going to hurt.
“Hands beside your hips, palms to the mattress. Keep your butt down, legs together and don’t move a goddamned inch. Every time you move, you add another swat to the total. Understood?”
“Yes, Sir.” The new position and new toy has me trembling with nerves and zero anticipation. But he starts off gently, as is his way with gentle taps of the flogger to my butt and that part between thigh and butt cheek.
By the time I’ve said, “Five,” I’m pleasantly buzzed. Yes, it hurts, but in a good way. My mind is clear and my eyes are fluttering to a close with the delicious release of endorphins winging their way around my system.
At six, he taps a little harder. I tense my stomach muscles and biceps to breathe through the pain, remembering his rule not to move. The next few have me breathing harder and my eyes alternate between wide-open and clenched shut. By twelve, each one has me shrieking and the skin of my butt feels like it must be glowing with radioactive heat.
Breathing through each swat gets me through, until fifteen. As internally, I screech, “Bastard.” Nate decides to let loose on the penultimate one and I can’t help it. I not only scream, but my ass rockets upward, leaving only my upper back on the bed. He grabs my ankles and forces me back down, I know he’s mad at my rule break, but Oh. My. God.
OW. OW. OW. OW.
It feels like fire ants have descended on my poor butt. I can’t stop the wiggling, the jiggling. The position has my ass cheeks pulled taut so the sting is immense. He’s talking to me; I can hear him, b
ut I can’t understand him. Tears roll down my cheeks as the sting reverberates and seems to never end.
By the time it dissipates, I’m exhausted. My legs are quivering with the strain of remaining upright in the air.
“Two more to go, princess. You moved.”
“Yes, Sir. Sorry, Sir,” I choke out and pull in my belly so hard I think it pops up through my ribs.
“Sixteen,” I breathe out, relieved this is a gentler one and then, scream out, “Seventeen.” as Nate lets loose again.
How I keep my ass pinned to the bed, I have no fucking idea.
No. Fucking. Idea.
“Relax,” he says, and if I thought he meant that seriously, I would have told him to fuck himself. As it is, I know he means the punishment is over so I can wriggle all over the bed like a puppy on coke.
I do just that. My hips wriggle from side to side, my arms flail on the bed, and my legs flutter up and down. All in an effort to escape that fucking thudding sting.
OUCH.
I want to scream. Really, really scream. Let the fucking world know how much this fucking hurts. As it is, I settle on a loud growl and roll over on to my hands and knees.
The move does little, but the skin on my ass cheeks relaxes slightly. Head bowing, I breathe through the pain. In. Out. In. Out. A hundred times, or what feels like it, I mutter those words and finally, when it goes, I fall flat on my face on the bed.
Not the most perfect display of decorum, but hey... Fuck. YOU. You endure what I just did and you tell me I should act with better submissive decorum.
Christ Almighty, that hurt.
Suddenly, hands are there. Smoothing over the flesh and there are two reasons why I don’t move away. One, I’ll get another punishment. Two, he’s rubbing lotion on to the sore skin.
The latter works. Eventually, I start breathing like a normal person and not someone who’s been running uphill for the last ten hours straight.
Feeling calmer and a lot less like using the word fuck, I sink into the comforter. When Sir grabs my legs and pulls them apart, I let him, content to let him do what he wants now the pain has gone.
He frigs my clit for a second, making my butt automatically arch upward. I ignore his chuckle and screech at the slap on my ass, before freezing entirely. Something is on my clit. Something hot. Something tingly.
A low, long groan escapes me as the tingle burns a little higher, a little stronger. I can feel myself getting flushed, feel the start of moisture gush after the Sahara of moments before when agony reamed me. His fingers return to my clit and that heat intensifies, doubles. I moan, the broken sound has him moving toward me, leaning at my side and whispering into my ear, “Cinnamon oil, princess. Does your little clitty need some attention?”
“P-p-p-please, Sir,” I stutter as a delicious wave of sensation roams up my spine. Just the thought of his tongue on my clit has my pussy dripping.
“Roll on your back.”
I grunt as I obey, wincing as my still-sore ass makes contact with the comforter. Sucking it up and praying to the BDSM angels that he’ll make me come, I force myself to relax.
He widens my legs, bending them to spread me further apart. His head drops down and his tongue immediately hones in on the entrance to my body. He tongue fucks me, sliding through the copious juices and slurping them up. The sounds, more than the sensation, get me hotter. My clit is begging for attention, in fact, it’s standing up, waving hello.
Apparently, the polite greeting worked, because his fingers return and in tandem, he tongue fucks me and frigs my clit. In an embarrassingly short length of time, I can feel my skin start to flush with impending climax.
“S-sir? Can I come, please?”
He doesn’t reply, but as he shakes his head, his tongue lashes inside me. My back arches with pleasure, pushing all the weight on to my abused ass. It’s sick, but that pain, that additional buzz of discomfort, lifts my hips off the bed. Not to escape the pressure on my ass, but his attention to my cunt.
“P-please, Sir. I’m going to come. I can feel it. Please. S-stop.” Oh, how it hurts to say that last word, but he hears it and pulls away.
His mouth glistens with my juices, the sight sets my insides to quivering, and his smile is hungry as he grabs my hips and drags me to the edge of the bed. My poor butt protests, but I ignore it to focus on the fact that Sir is unfastening his pants.
Moisture gathers on my tongue as I watch him release his cock. It’s hard, of course. Throbbing. Pre-cum is beading at the tip, making my mouth water all the more. My pussy clenches down, making it ache harder, and then, he’s bringing me to him, in the earlier spanking position, legs up and together, but supported by his chest this time.
When he nudges his cock against my pussy, I moan. When he slides it between the lips, I grunt. And that’s my only opportunity to acclimatize. He thrusts in, hard, deep and all the way to the root. My head supports my entire upper body for a moment, as the move oscillates through me, setting nerve endings afire in a glorious blaze. He stays there, holding himself deep inside, as my cunt grips him in a ferocious clasp, and then, he retreats.
Slowly.
Dragging against soft, wet, needy tissues, he pulls out and then slams back in.
Only to repeat the torture.
A slow retreat to a quick, impaling plunge.
The contrast has me squealing. My hands grip down on the mattress, and suddenly, his mouth is at the fleshiest part of my calf. I feel him suck there, his teeth grabbing the skin. He times his next move perfectly, giving me no choice in the matter.
As he thrusts into me, so hard and so deep I feel overfull, he bites down on my calf.
The pain and the pleasure intertwine, embracing, fucking each other in the glory of the moment. In the back of my mind, I hear him yelling at me to cum but I’m far past his orders.
I’m floating. My head is no longer there. It’s somewhere else, and because it feels so damned good, I don’t care if it has a name. I’ll just call it ecstasy.
Chapter Thirty
After being spanked and fucked, there’s nothing better than the aftermath. I’ve noticed Nate’s tendency to soothe me as though I were a baby. He wraps me up in his arms, strokes his hands down my back. Soft kisses are pressed to my temple, and as much as our positions allow, at least half our bodies touch.
Connection. It’s amazing. It’s astonishing. It’s all the more powerful, because of what goes on beforehand.
From rough to smooth, hard to soft, fierce to gentle...the combination is like boiling water on ice. I have no choice but to melt. And with the emotions coursing through my head, the endorphins triggered by pain, with the high comes the low. I accept that. Sub drop is hard. Harder than I ever believed. I’ve read about it, seen it sometimes when one of my girls would appear sobbing for no apparent reason. And when one of my girls was upset, you’d better believe I was in her face, wanting to make sure no fucker had caused her any pain.
Rosalie, more than anyone, used to come in like this. At first, before I understood, I was concerned, fearing the men were abusing her. Or that, outside work, something was going on and she wasn’t comfortable explaining it to me. But then, after much harassing on my part, she told me how she felt.
Confused, low, depressed. Out of control. Her emotions and moods impossible to control.
Now, the scenes Nate indulges in with me don’t last that long. An hour, maybe two? Rosalie was worked over on a nightly basis, sometimes for three to four hours, longer. She was involved in the business so there was little aftercare, as she called it. The little there was, was rudimentary. For me, that isn’t the case. Even when I didn’t realize Nate loved me, when I thought he was closer to hating me, he still treated me like a princess after he took me high. He grounds me, presses me close to the Earth, so that if the drop does come, I don’t have far to fall.
It’s just a bastard that my version of sub drop has to happen on the goddamn day of Greta’s eviction. A day when I wanted to be sharp and cuttin
g; instead, I’m as weak as a newborn calf. My muscles feel lax and on the whole, I feel like a soggy lettuce when I’d far prefer to be a robust Romanesco cauliflower.
Why?
The memory makes me laugh, actually, because when Mona, Eddie and I were in one of the restaurants owned by Eddie’s boss, Frexo, one of the specials was Romanesco cauliflower soup. Mona and I had no idea what a Romanesco cauliflower was; think spikey heads, with little points on them. Bright green, the buds conical and as far as a vegetable can be, sharp. Eddie asked one of the waiters to bring one out to show us both and Mona had looked on in revulsion at the badass vegetable that looked like some kind of Sci-Fi weapon.
So yeah. Soggy lettuce or Romanesco cauliflower? Which would you prefer?
It takes a huge amount of effort to climb out of bed and to walk over to the bathroom. I woke up twenty or so minutes ago and managed not to disturb Nate, even though the emotions curling through me are very unnerving. In fact, it’s weird that this is happening at all. It was an intense scene, very much so, but still, he coddled me afterward. Embraced and showered me with affection and attention. We fell asleep in each other’s arms, and I, for one, felt cherished. To the bone.
So why this has come now, I’ve no idea. He’s pushed me through harder paces. I’ve been bound, bared and disciplined. With riding crops, floggers, toys, rope and God knows what else. And while the spanking was hard and prolonged, my butt stinging afterward, it was enjoyable. The flush of energy through my system as he punished me for my bad behavior had my head soaring; freed from the weight of the stress Blue Ridge causes me. Maybe because I needed to soar, the drop was a little farther than I’m accustomed to. Especially with what’s coming today.
Greta is a fighter. This won’t be easy. Nothing about today will be easy, even if it will be worth it.
There’s nothing more that I’d love to do than crawl back into bed, tuck myself in Nate’s arms and just stay here until this shitty feeling goes away. I don’t. I trundle on to the shower and when the water flows hot, I push myself under it and have a good cry. I don’t know why I’m crying. There’s no specific reason, and I can say that afterward, I feel much better for it. My eyes are sore, swollen by the burst of emotion. I guess deep inside I feel a little better. Like I’ve relieved some pressure, and feeling Nate’s collar at my throat further soothes that ache in my soul.
Sinfully Mastered: Naughty Nookie Page 39
