Click

by Tymber Dalton

  She fought the urge to cringe. “Yes, Sir.”

  Okay, screwing up in private was one thing. Well, being disciplined in private.

  Having to go to one of their dear friends and explain that Tony couldn’t volunteer anymore because she’d acted like an immature bitch was something she would not allow to happen.

  “Good girl.” He leaned over and stroked her hair. “Are you ready to begin?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “Greeting, pet.”

  She returned to his left boot, nuzzling it, kissing the top of it. Then the right. Then the back of his left hand, and his right. Then she nuzzled the front of his jeans.

  Unfortunately, his cock wasn’t hard, pressing against the fly like it normally would be just before play commenced.

  Dammit.

  He really was disappointed in her. That he couldn’t summon sadistic glee from this meant she truly had crossed a line.

  More guilt for her. He didn’t even have to say a word for her soul to feel weighed down by it. She would mentally beat herself up over this far more than he would physically. Her physical wounds would quickly heal.

  The mental berating she subjected herself to would last much longer.

  “Get your cuffs out of the bag and put them on, pet,” he quietly said.

  She rose up on her knees and quickly unzipped the front compartment where her things were kept for quick and easy access when at the club. Cuffs, the bit gag she preferred, her blindfold.

  She didn’t miss the fact he was making her put them on herself.

  Normally, when they were about to scene, he had her get them and present them to him so he could put them on her.

  Another silent statement, that she was willingly accepting this punishment. That she understood the line she’d crossed and was accepting the consequences of it. He was reaffirming her acceptance of his authority.

  To reinforce that this was a lesson he would not be compelled to repeat with her.

  That he expected far more from her.

  Far better.

  When she had her cuffs on, he pointed at the bench. She climbed onto it, straddling it.

  “You know how this works, pet,” he said. “I won’t restrain you for punishment. You have to willingly take them.”

  She felt her tears trying to break through already. “Yes, Sir.”

  Behind her, she heard him open the top of the tube, the unmistakable sound of him rooting through it to find what he wanted. She knew what he’d be looking for—the severe rattan cane he rarely used on her for more than a couple of lighter hits, just enough to spice things up if he thought she was getting too complacent.

  For tonight, it would be punishment.

  Fighting the urge not to flinch when he touched it against her ass, she curled her fingers around the end of the bench, closing her eyes as tears forced their way out and dripped to the floor.

  “Twenty punishment strokes with a cane, pet,” he said. “That is what you want?”

  “Yes, Sir.” She could barely talk without it coming out as a sob. She wanted this over with, quickly, so she could curl up in his lap and cry. They would likely talk again after. Then, maybe, they’d play. Depending on how they both felt.

  She might be too emotionally wrung out by then. She knew Tony was no longer angry with her. If he was, they wouldn’t be there in the playroom. Another benefit of his calm demeanor was he rarely showed anger when he felt it.

  But he refused to play angry—or to mete out punishment when angry.

  He was a man in control of himself above all else.

  “Count them, pet.”

  He slid the cane up and down her ass for a moment, then paused. She had just enough time to suck in a breath and start blowing it out when he took the first stroke.

  Zwhip.

  A sharp line of fiery pain sliced through her nervous system, making her gasp. “One, Sir…”

  By the fifth stroke she was sobbing, more from her own shame than the pain.

  By the tenth, it took every ounce of concentration she had to get the words out.

  He paused. “Do you want me to continue?”

  “Yes, Sir.” She didn’t want this dragged out, hanging over her head. She didn’t want them delayed.

  She wanted it done, over with, her soul and conscience purged and cleansed by the pain.

  Wanted to be able to move on and not dwell on her shitty behavior.

  No, in a normal relationship it wasn’t much more than a little snark. But Tony not only demanded calm and controlled behavior from himself, but from her as well. He wanted her using her brain and not simply reacting from emotions.

  He expected better of her.

  Hell, she expected better of herself and still couldn’t believe how she’d handled it.

  And this was what she’d signed on for.

  It wasn’t like she didn’t know his personality or the responsibilities on her head when she fell in love with him.

  She knew.

  She’d agreed to it.

  She’d wanted it.

  The eleventh stroke bit into her. Not even subspace could take the edge off the pain, because in her current emotional state she knew there was no way she’d drop into it.

  Enduring was her only option, because no way in hell would she safeword.

  Not for something she’d rightfully earned, something that was her fault.

  When she counted off the twentieth stroke, her emotional dam burst. She was aware of Tony draping a blanket over her, helping her off the bench, cuddling her in his arms.

  Calling her his good girl.

  This wouldn’t be held against her. He wouldn’t throw it in her face. It was done, as far as he was concerned. In the past.

  Eventually, he picked her up and carried her to their bedroom, laying her on the bed and cuddling with her. It was late, and now, with a world-class cry out of her system, exhaustion set in. Physically and emotionally.

  He didn’t seem to be in any mood to be frisky himself, either.

  He tenderly kissed her forehead. “Love you, pet. You’re My good girl.”

  “I love You, too, Sir.”

  She curled up next to him while he turned on the TV, and in seconds, she was fast asleep.

  * * * *

  No, this wasn’t how Tony thought he’d be spending his evening and night. He’d planned on tanning her ass, sure. In the fun way. Accompanied by a forced orgasm scene that would lead to hot sex upon their return home.

  Not…this.

  He really had thought he’d misheard Shayla at first in the club. In the early days they’d butted heads a couple of times, mildly and at home. Leftover emotional triggers from her ex.

  He got it. He didn’t fault her for it.

  But ’tude like that, at the club, and in front of Tilly?

  No.

  Had Shayla immediately backpedalled and changed her tone the first chance he gave her, he also would have let it drop with nothing more than a discussion in the car on the way home.

  But a negative pattern of behavior like that, especially a deliberately disrespectful one, not only as her Master and owner, but as her husband, wasn’t something he’d let go.

  And he had felt badly that it had been his fault her feelings were hurt. She was an adult, however. A writer. Able to use her words.

  Insulting snark over a situation beyond his control wasn’t tolerable. He’d never do it to her, and expected the same respect in return.

  He’d expected her to ask for five or ten with the cane, not twenty.

  That meant she really felt bad about what she’d done. He could have overruled her, but this way, she felt better about it. She’d be able to let it go now, the way he’d already let it go.

  But it sure as fucking hell killed his libido. He hated punishing her.

  Of course he’d beat her all day and night, if she wanted it, for fun.

  Punishment sucked. Anyone who said they enjoyed genuinely punishing a slave they claimed to love and cher
ish as a life partner, in his opinion, needed a full psych eval. Being a sadist didn’t equate, to him, with enjoying their partner’s emotional pain.

  He set the TV’s sleep timer, put the remote aside, and closed his eyes, hoping for sleep to come soon.

  * * * *

  Shayla awoke Sunday morning with a very sore ass.

  Oh, yeah.

  Moving carefully and quietly so as not to wake Tony, she slipped out of bed and into their bathroom. Before she used the toilet, she turned and looked at her ass in the mirror.

  Yep, twenty cane strokes.

  Normally, she enjoyed having his marks on her ass.

  This morning they were a reminder of her bad behavior. She knew it was in the past, done and done, but still…

  Had she just not been snotty to him, she could have ended the night at home with the fun kind of beating that was accompanied by lots and lots of orgasms, which would have left her wrung out in the good way, not the bad one.

  After using the bathroom and washing her hands, she headed to the kitchen to get the coffee brewing. Yes, it was a fresh start, clean slate and all that.

  Still, she couldn’t shake what she’d done. The more she reflected on it—with or without the cane strokes—the worse she felt. At the club, when he’d broke the news to her, she’d reacted without thinking. And she was better than that. Or, should be.

  Tony wasn’t her ex, James, but for a second there’d been a flash in her brain, of one of the many times her ex had said something, promised something, and then hadn’t followed through.

  But Tony was not her ex. She could count on one hand with fingers left over the times Tony hadn’t followed through on something, and all of them had good explanations.

  Like last night.

  After a couple of years of marriage, she should be beyond those old triggers. The emotional wounds.

  Her friend, Allison, who still lived in Ohio, had told Shayla in passing one time that James had been through a string of women and was still lamenting to anyone who’d listen that he wished he hadn’t screwed up things with Shayla.

  Serves him right.

  It pissed her off on a visceral level that she’d let old emotional wounds from James bubble up last night in her response to Tony.

  Yes, she was making a big deal about it. Because it was a big deal. She wanted to be better than that emotionally wounded woman who’d moved to Florida for a fresh start.

  She leaned against the counter and waited for the coffee to finish brewing so she could fix Tony his mug and take it in to him. On work mornings, they usually weren’t formal, both of them racing to get ready and get out of the house on time.

  But on weekends and holidays, they had a protocol. Today, it was more important than ever to her that she follow it to the letter.

  One of their cats, Cream, wound her way around Shayla’s ankles, twining herself back and forth between her legs. She stooped down and picked up the cat, who was black except for a white spot on her belly. They’d adopted Cream, and her brother, Bagel, from the local animal shelter. Littermates, their elderly owner had died and none of the relatives wanted the cats.

  “Mommy screwed up,” she whispered into the cat’s fur. “You guys are so lucky.”

  The cat, oblivious to Shayla’s mindset, happily purred at the attention.

  Once the coffeemaker gave up its last steamy, burbling gasp, Shayla put the cat down and poured Tony’s coffee, fixing it the way he liked before taking it into the bedroom.

  After setting it on the bedside table, she slid back into bed, wincing when he stirred.

  He rolled over and draped his arm around her. “Good morning, pet,” he mumbled, kissing the back of her neck.

  “Good morning, Sir.”

  He lifted his head. “What’s wrong?” Now he sounded completely awake.

  “I still feel bad about last night.”

  He made her roll over onto her back and look him in the eye. “Last night’s done. Over. Past. Clean slate.”

  She nodded.

  He sighed and sat up, looking for and finding his coffee. He took a sip before speaking again. “Why can’t you let this go?”

  “Because I should have been better than that.”

  “Things happen, pet. It’s all right. I’m not mad.”

  “I’m mad at myself.” She started picking at her fingernails. “I thought I was beyond James being able to get under my skin anymore.”

  He looked thoughtful. “You triggered because of James.”

  She nodded. “I know you’re not him. I know you felt badly about last night. It was like I just lost control of my brain. And I hate that. I’m better than that.”

  “Then remember it the next time something comes up. Try to remember to take a deep breath and think about that before you respond. Not just with me, but with anyone.”

  “It’s been a couple of years now. Why would I still trigger like that?”

  “Why does anyone? We’re imperfect creatures, pet.” He took another sip of his coffee before setting it on the bedside table again. Then he rolled on top of her, catching her wrists in his hands and raising them above her head. “Now, did you want to discuss psychology this morning, or would you rather me make up for last night?”

  “Make up for last night.”

  “That’s my good girl.” He kissed her, slowly at first, giving her time to disengage her brain and let her body take over. It took her a few moments until her tenacious thoughts finally faded away under his steady, patient, tender kisses.

  Nuzzling the side of her neck, he started nibbling at first, then biting, making her squirm and moan as the pain triggered the now familiar and deeply ingrained response in her.

  Her clit throbbed, pussy growing wetter as her ass rubbed against the bed. Now she was able to relish the pain in her ass, the sensation adding to her growing desire and helping fan the coals into a raging flame she needed him to smother for her.

  “There’s my good girl,” he murmured. He sat up and reached over to the bedside table, retrieving a snap clip from the drawer and using it to fasten her wrist cuffs together.

  His cock stood out, rigid, engorged, ready.

  But she knew he wouldn’t sate his own needs until he’d taken care of her first.

  He worked his way down the bed and shoved her thighs apart before burying his face in her pussy.

  With her eyes closed, she let out a loud moan, relief to finally have this need not only back with a vengeance, but also the promise of immediate gratification.

  He slid two fingers inside her pussy, slowly fucking her with them while his lips and tongue worked on her clit and pulled the first orgasm out of her.

  This.

  She didn’t bother trying to keep quiet, knowing he wanted to hear her as he kept her orgasm rolling, flowing through her, spinning and weaving, one long, slow burn that showed no signs of stopping. He knew her body better than her at this point, knew what tricks to use to keep her coming, each climax melting into the next so they were impossible to tell apart and it felt like one long release.

  At one point the fingers disappeared from her pussy. He reached up to her breasts, cupping and squeezing them even as his tongue still flicked at her clit. Fingers pinched her nipples, hard, triggering yet another orgasm.

  She didn’t know how long she lay there, helpless to do anything but endure it, sensory overload of the best kind. His hands, his mouth…

  His love.

  Finally, he sat up again, aligning his cock with her pussy and slowly sinking deep inside her, matching soft gasps of pleasure escaping them.

  He kissed her as he thrust, slowly, his hands once again clasping hers.

  This.

  The delicious feeling of being owned, swallowed whole by him, mind, body, soul.

  Heart.

  Patiently, he took his time, building her up again until one last orgasm bubbled and swelled inside her, deliciously bursting, giving him the signal he needed.

  “My good girl,” he
whispered. His thrusts sped up, increasing, harder, faster until he came and fell still inside her, his lips pressed against hers.

  Her soul felt at peace once more.

  After a few minutes, he unclipped her wrist cuffs and rolled to the side with her, holding her even as his cock went limp inside her. “Better?” he softly asked.

  She buried her face against his chest. “Better, Sir. Thank You.”

  “Thank you, pet.” He nuzzled his face in her hair, his beard lightly scritching against her scalp. “What say we laze around today?”

  “I thought you had stuff you wanted to get done today?”

  “I did.” He seemed to settle even more deeply into the mattress with her still wrapped in his arms. “But I think I’d rather spend it with you.”

  His heart softly thumped in her ear through his chest. “I’d like that a lot, Sir. Thank You.”

  John and Abbey

  Dynamics can be fixed, like a mountain.

  Sometimes they can be fluid and flexible, just like the tides…

  * * * *

  Back rounded, forehead on the cool floor, his knees and forearms also pressed flat against it—he waited.

  Naked, as she’d ordered.

  Nothing.

  Nothing in his head, and nothing on his body that didn’t belong to Her. Just Her collar.

  And rolling through his mind, thoughts of what she might have planned for when she arrived home.

  The thoughts were what made his painfully hard cock ache with every pulse throb.

  Normally, John and Abbey had a very fluid and easy dynamic, nothing formal, flowing back and forth from one end of the spectrum to the other at will and depending on the other’s mood.

  But every once in a while, she got a really Dominant headspace going…

  And he was more than happy to hang on for the ride until she got it out of her system. Especially today. It’d been a while since she’d done more than just top him in play and for fun.