by Watson, Rhea
Grinning, I flicked her other nipple just to hear her gasp again. Fuck. No better way to start one’s day than by making a submissive suffer.
And suffer she did. Leaving her nipples be—for now—made more room for flogging, and I worked the safest parts of her luscious figure hard, making her red all over like a delectable little cherry tomato. While my preferences erred toward single brutal lines blazing across a sub’s flesh, this was just as nice, Alecto all rosy and squirmy and whiny. She darted up on her toes with certain hits, danced around in place, squealed and cried out and tried to fold over or twist away from the lash.
To no avail, of course. I had my way with her until her head slumped forward and her breath came hard and fast; only then did I allow her a moment to find herself again, to come back down to earth and exist beyond the exquisite ache pulsing through her body.
And when she did, I was ready for her, standing there with the nipple clamps in hand, round two on the horizon. Head cocked, I held up the plier clamps for her to take in, then nodded at her perfectly pearled nipples.
“These are pretty,” I mused. Alecto swallowed thickly, throat bobbing again, and then forced a trembling smile.
“Th-thank you, Sir.”
Flogger temporarily set aside, I used my free hand to attack both breasts, pinching her nipples to make them even harder. When we had gone through the lengthy list of kinks and interests, Alecto had told me nipple play was a go.
Foolish girl.
“I’m going to hurt them,” I said softly, reverently almost, “so they’ll be even prettier.”
“Yes, Sir,” she choked out, shivering from top to bottom even as her skin burned bright like my own personal inferno. “Thank you.”
“You are most welcome, little one.”
Connected by a thin rose-gold strand, each clamp had adjustable screws attached to really tighten around some poor thing’s nipples. For today, I had no intention of squeezing beyond the base level; my girl had never done nipple play like this before, I could guarantee that.
Without warning, I attached the first clamp, mindful to pinch only her nipple and not the surrounding skin. Still, even with my tender loving care, Alecto’s eyes bulged as soon as the clamp was in place, and she immediately tried to squirm away.
“W-wait, Sir, wait a second—”
Oh, I so loved when they begged for mercy without using their safeword.
Meant I could ignore them to my heart’s content.
Her pleas triggered something feral inside, a part of me that had been dormant for too long, and I cupped her breast, pinched her nipple a few times while she squealed, then added the second clamp. A tear careened down her cheek the moment I stepped away to appraise what a pretty piece of art she was now, and I caught the droplet before it dribbled off her jaw. Let it hang from my finger until she lifted that bloodshot gaze to mine. Licked it away right before her eyes and groaned at the salty taste.
Although I had yet to pause the scene and check on her—as per her request—we were officially on a timer now. No Dom left anything precious clamped for more than twenty minutes, and there was still so much to do.
I left her to ruminate in her suffering, her sniffles and whimpers a symphony behind my turned back, and when I returned, I had the vibrator in hand. Activated its lowest setting. Trailed the tip along her parted lips so that she jerked and straightened, wincing through every movement. After all, everything jiggled those clamped breasts now, heightened the pain, centered her attention right there.
And here I was, ever the cruel sadist, to try and distract her with pleasure.
Moving in close enough that my chest brushed the chain, made her jerk and squeal, I fisted her wild hair and wrenched her head back so I could really lose myself in those amber pools. Then, without warning, I thrust the vibrator between her thighs, up against her clit, against cotton panties so damp with need I could practically smell it from here. Alecto’s eyes rounded further, and she struggled against her shackles, lips falling open in a silent scream. Even though I had the vibrations at their lowest setting, it was an assault all the same, a full-on attack of pain and pleasure.
Her poor body probably had no idea what to do with itself.
Might as well just come, little one.
What other option do you have?
Struggling up onto her toes, Alecto’s expression wavered between agony and ecstasy, that pained look threatening to punt me over the edge without warning. Beyond sublime, her struggles, fighting the chains at her wrists, my hand in her hair, the vibrator wand thrust ruthlessly between her thighs. In less than a minute, my new submissive devolved into a shuddering, squeaking mess, and I was about to call her a little piggy for all those squeals, when she choked out something that sounded like stop.
I slowed.
“Stop,” she gasped, eyes wild and body flailing. And I did.
Smirking, I completely detached, left her hanging there with her nipples clamped and her body coated in a sweaty sheen. The storm raged all around us, but I barely felt it in here. Barely felt anything beyond the unfettered high of dominating again, my many, many problems miles away.
If she couldn’t handle the vibrator, then she would take the flogger. Setting the instrument of pleasure aside, I picked up the tool for pain and got to work repainting her body red. Her screams came louder this time, every shift and squirm and wriggle upsetting her clamped nipples.
“Oh, I’m so sorry, little one,” I drawled, flicking the leather tassels at her ass, one side and then the other. “I thought you didn’t want pleasure?”
Head bowed, Alecto merely whined in response, then yelped when I struck both cotton-covered cheeks in a single blow. Always aware of the time, I alternated between the two, pain and pleasure, vibrator and flogger, one in each hand. Thirty seconds of pleasure humming in her clit, then a full minute of leather tails everywhere else. On and off, back and forth, pain and pleasure again and again until they melded into one.
Until I knew she couldn’t take it anymore.
Tossing the flogger aside, cock dangerously erect under my waistband, I strode up to her and upped the vibrator’s setting. A brat at heart, Alecto had tried widening her stance to make its rapid-fire licks less intense, but I pressed harder, easily finding her clit at the crest of her covered sex and massaging it in slow, torturous circles. Her glazed eyes finally drifted shut, mouth open, muscles tensing—and then I grabbed the strand dangling between the clamps.
Curled it around my finger.
And pulled.
Not as rough as I might have liked, but just enough to shove her into the black. Alecto’s eyes snapped open as she shrieked, her pain echoing through the dilapidated fort, and with a simple click of a button, I upped the vibrations to their max setting.
She came with a choked breath and a full-body shudder, scarlet erupting across her skin. At this point, it was a miracle I was even upright; every last drop of blood had to be in my cock, her climax a work of fucking art that I would crave from now until our next playdate.
But one last thing.
One final insult to wrap up the session…
As my girl squirmed over the vibrator, its assault ceaseless and no doubt far too strong for her sensitive clit, I removed the clamps. One at a time, quick and to the point, and she screamed twice more for me, endorphins at their zenith, the rush of blood back into the pinched buds a delectable, awful pain in its own right.
Struggling to keep my breath even, fighting for control, I forced myself back, arm outstretched so I could hold the vibrator in place just a little while longer, and looked her over from top to bottom. Drooped head. Tearstained cheeks. Trembling lips and flushed chest. Abused nipples and a core twitching through the aftershocks of a nuclear orgasm. Thighs aquiver. Knees weak.
Perfect.
Fucking perfect.
And then there was me with the worst case of blue balls known to man.
But I refused to pull my cock out and fist it away, spill myself all
over her poor nipples.
Not today, anyway. We needed more time together before I felt comfortable letting myself go in front of her. For now, Alecto relied on me—my experience, my guidance, and my support. As much as it pained me, I had to forgo my physical release for her comfort.
No telling how long that chivalry would last, of course.
But in a few hours, alone in my office or my flat or my shower, I would likely blow my load to the thought of her clamped nipples.
For now, there was still work to do.
Despite the throbbing erection, I moved swiftly and efficiently to put all the toys in the leather carrier bag, out of which I also pulled a blanket. Back by her side in a flash, I uncuffed her wrists without any fanfare, then hurriedly wrapped the blanket around her shoulders and dragged her into my chest. I’d expected her to fall, totally weak and helpless, but Alecto stumbled forward, then grabbed at my shirt, my jacket, her eyes nowhere near sleepy and spent.
But alive and ravenous.
Stronger than I had anticipated, my new submissive was in full control of herself as she climbed me like a fucking tree, threw her arms around my neck, and then slammed her mouth to mine. Her kiss was all raw passion and desperate fire, hard and needy, and for just a moment, I gave in. Kissed back. Threaded my hand into her hair and claimed her mouth for my own. Branded her with my tongue and teeth, snapping at that lower lip, determined to make it all plump and sore.
Pathetic.
My eyes snapped open, and as much as it pained me, I hurriedly wrenched her back by the shoulders, both of us panting, the pull between almost impossible to deny.
But I had to.
“Alecto,” I said firmly as my insides turned to mush, even more besotted with her now than I was a minute ago, “no.” Taking a deep breath, I shrouded myself in control. Made everything about me hard. Assertive. To the point. “This is a limit of mine, and you need to respect that.”
Eager as I had been to claim her mouth, fuck her with my tongue, I had set kissing as a hard limit back at that meeting. What we did in a session screamed intimacy, of course, but it was a negotiated intimacy—a fantasy and nothing more. Kissing her, even in aftercare, took it too far. After all, I came into this with… feelings.
Feelings I refused to acknowledge or investigate. Feelings I buried deep down below the mountain of other shit crushing me one stone at a time. Our connection was complicated enough without confusing a shared kink with romance.
I… I didn’t have time for love.
I had just enough time for this.
And when it was over, the session done, aftercare wrapped, we needed to be able to go our separate ways and live two separate lives.
Blinking hard, Alecto stared up at me for a long moment, hurt and confused and gut-wrenchingly lost, then finally seemed to come back to herself.
“Oh, I-I…” She shook her head, trying desperately to pull away, looking mortified to have broken one of my limits when I had been so careful with all of hers this morning. “I’m so sorry—”
“It’s fine,” I assured her, soft again, protective and warm as I brought her back to me. She went begrudgingly, stiff, perhaps even craving space, until I cupped the back of her head and forced her cheek against my chest—made her listen to my steady heartbeat.
Well, maybe not so steady now, but the rhythm would calm her all the same.
And as she softened in my arms, I made a note to tell her later that it really was fine. Yes, she had overstepped her boundaries, but this had been her first true scene as a submissive. All things considered, Alecto Clarke had been more than sublime. She took orders well. Cried beautifully. Accepted everything I gave her and then some. Came like a goddess. A little stumble at the end when she was deep in subspace, lost to the world and wholly in my thrall, was almost expected. The pleasure she felt would have come from kissing and touching and fucking in the past; no shock that she went there to chase the sensation, to bring some normalcy and familiarity to the moment.
In time she would learn that the closeness she craved could come from ropes and chains and the sting of the lash.
The thunder had blown over when our little cuddle ended some five minutes on. Exhaustion ringed her eyes, weighed down her shoulders, made her steps slow and sluggish when I left her to stand on her own two feet, which allowed me to partake in some of my favorite aftercare rituals.
I dressed my new submissive, manhandling her tenderly, hoping she took it as the worship it was—as thanks for what she had given me in that scene with her surrender.
Her willingness to take my brutality.
To minimize further stimulation, I tied her hair back in a loose ponytail to keep it out of her face, then bundled her up in the blanket again and sat her on the floor. Fetched an additional blanket as the rain poured beyond our grey surroundings.
Then set up the breakfast picnic that I’d had prepared in total secrecy…
Eggs benedict on brioche, drizzled with a thick, lush hollandaise. Smoked salmon and fresh-cut strawberries. Coffees and teas and juices for options. Waffle fries. I had no clue what my new submissive preferred, but from the way she took it all in, stomach gurgling and lips stretched wide, Alecto was more than pleased with the spread.
And despite my own hunger, my lingering hard-on, I fed her. Prepared her plate. Portioned her bites. Let her snuggle against me while I plied her with doughy, sugar-dusted fries.
All in the name of aftercare, of course.
Not because it made me feel.
Not because this was like a date no one would ever know about—no one but us.
Not because all of this made me genuinely happy for the first time in… gods only knew how long.
No. This was just me doing my duty, like always.
Taking care of business.
Oh, fuck it.
Even I didn’t believe that.
And neither would she, which meant I would have to correct course and establish much clearer boundaries in the future.
So, for now, might as well just enjoy it while it lasted.
18
Alecto
Ughhhhhhhh.
Fuck you, uterus.
For eleven glorious months of the year, I escaped the unfettered bodily bullshit faced by women worldwide. With a single dose of just one potion, I avoided period cramps, aches, and pains. No hormonal breakouts or weight fluctuations. No bloating. No overly sensitive breasts. No mood swings. No unwanted pregnancies. No STDs.
Honestly, that potion was probably witchkind’s greatest invention. Sure, it was expensive as hell and you had to baby it all year. I had spent my entire first Root Rot paycheck on a starter kit when I arrived back in July because I hadn’t been able to keep the petulant thing simmering when I moved from Canada to Scotland.
Since then, it had been bubbling away in one of my cast-iron cauldrons in the smallest off-limits greenhouse, maintaining the perfect temperature, stirred thrice a day, babied beyond belief.
All so I could avoid this.
Unfortunately, the side effects of taking a potion that kept a woman’s insane mechanics chill for an entire year took a toll. Cue all the standard period symptoms—without the intense bleeding, thank the gods, but the odd bit of spotting still dropped by to ruin your underwear at random. Throw in a migraine or two, followed by a flurry of flu-like symptoms, and it was a fucking party. Two weeks of hell for eleven and a half months of carefree sex and no periods or icky diseases?
I mean. I guess I’d take it.
Glowering at the stairwell ahead, Alice’s dark brown curls bobbing with every step, I slurped my ginger tea, death-gripping the thermos and wishing I was more than two fucking days into the fourteen.
But nope.
Just two.
And already I felt like death.
The next twelve were going to suck.
With a bristly sigh, I trudged down the stairs after her, then slugged another mouthful. While all the ginger I grew normally went to the infirmary and the kit
chens, I snagged a little for myself this month, relying on its anti-inflammatory properties to make whatever was clawing at my insides fuck right off. Besides that, however, I relished its bite, that spicy kick with every sip.
Same as I’d relished Jack’s bite, his spicy kick with every strike on Saturday. Knowing I’d be taking my potion Sunday, I had specifically requested Saturday for our first scene, which had been a blast and a half. Hot. Painful. The most efficient distraction from real world problems I had ever experienced, led by a master at his craft, followed by a breakfast feast?
Best morning I’d had in ages.
We had another session tentatively scheduled in about three weeks, and already I was counting down the days.
Just… had to survive this crap first.
At least I’d had one day of fun beforehand, the chance to forget and selfishly let go.
Because even though I felt like garbage, work didn’t stop. Students weren’t going anywhere. Staff meetings happened every Sunday no matter how gross I felt or looked.
Please gods, let the layered look still be in; I had layered the shit out of myself today, all shawls and baggy shirts and weathered leggings hidden beneath. Maybe it looked cool, maybe it didn’t, but I needed to fight the impending chills and I didn’t want anything touching my sensitive skin—so, win-win.
“Alice, aren’t we meeting him in the courtyard?”
As the end of the day dragged on, dinner conquered and night classes underway, I had become progressively more tired, grumpy, and antisocial. The last thing I wanted to do was haul this cranky body into the depths of the Root Rot castle, but I had promised Alice I’d formally meet this new beau she had been hinting at since November. All this time I thought he was a fake, but tonight could prove me wrong. Maybe there was a nice, kind, funny, attractive teenage boy somewhere in this castle who made her happy.
Still. As pleased as I was that Alice had either found a boyfriend in this cesspit of acne or at the very least made a really good friend, I wanted bed. Now. Wanted to sleep this body grump away for as many hours as I could before I had to wake up and do it all over again tomorrow.
