Red Velvet (The Velvet Rooms Book 3)

by Linnea May

Four simple words. A command so clear and so unyielding that it stuns me for a second.

  “W—”

  “Pull up your dress,” he repeats. “You have five seconds.”

  My heart jumps, and while my overactive mind recoils at his demand, my core responds with a warm invitation. Obeying his words is easy and hard at the same time. I hook my finger underneath the hem of my short dress and pull it up until it gathers just below my belly button, exposing my bare ass to him. Within an instant, I feel even more vulnerable than I did before, already at his mercy.

  And he’s not even touching me yet.

  “Good girl,” he breathes right behind me, his lips close to my ear.

  The words send a shiver down my spine.

  I want to hear them again.

  “Now listen to me,” he continues, ignoring my slight flinch when he cups my ass cheeks with his big hands. It’s a gentle touch, nothing possessive about it as his palms barely grace my skin, but it feels all the more powerful.

  “You’re probably wondering what those would feel like on your pretty ass, aren’t you?”

  I nod quietly, bereft of words.

  “I’ll show you, if you’re a good girl for me,” he promises. “Just do what I tell you to. And if I ever want to take anything from you that you’re not willing to give, you’ll say ‘red.’ Understand?”

  I know what a safe word is, but I never thought I’d ever find myself in a situation where I’d need one.

  I nod again.

  “I need more than that,” he insists. “When I ask you something, I need to hear your voice in response. I want you to say, ‘yes, sir.’ Understand?”

  “Yes,” I hurry to reply, failing a mere moment after he’d told me what to do.

  He squeezes. Hard. His fingers tighten around the soft flesh of my ass, pinching with a force I didn’t expect.

  “Yes what?”

  “Uh… yes, sir!” I correct myself, squirming under his painful touch.

  He lets go immediately, leaving me with a racing heart and a throbbing behind. I’m breathing heavily, a strange dizziness taking over when he places his hands on my shoulders from behind.

  “I’ll be nice today, because it’s your first time,” he says in a soft voice. “You even get to choose what I should use on you. Isn’t that nice?”

  I nod, adding a “Yes, sir” just in time.

  “Pick one.” He points at the array of whips and floggers in front of us. “Tell me which of these you want to feel.”

  My eyes travel along the wall, wide in wonder. I’ve never been presented with anything like this. I’ve never even seen these kinds of utensils up close. They vary so much—different sizes, different number and length of tails, even the material isn’t the same on all. Most of them appear to be made of leather, but there are some that have tails made of rope. Some have knots, others don’t.

  “I’m waiting,” he urges. “If you don’t decide, I will. And trust me, you don’t want that.”

  I want to tell him not to pressure me, but I know this isn’t the right time and place to do so. Even without a clear layout of some kind of contract or instructions, I know the power paradigm has shifted between us. He’s in command, and my only job is to obey.

  I reach forward, aiming for one of the smaller floggers entirely made of leather, with rather thin tails about as long as my forearm. The knots at the end of the tails don’t seem nearly as frightening as some of the others I’ve seen.

  “Good girl,” he praises.

  He turns me around so I face him with my core still exposed, holding the flogger in front of my partially naked body like a futile shield. His gaze locks on mine with purpose, as if trying to find something behind my shy look. If it’s approval he’s seeking, it seems like he finds it just a few seconds later, stepping aside and stretching his arm in a wide gesture toward the bench at the other end of the room.

  “After you.”

  I pause for a moment, my grip around the flogger tightening as I approach the bench with small and timid steps.

  Why didn’t he take it from me? Is he going to let me try it first? I don’t think I could ever hit anyone, including myself, with this, even if I was asked to.

  I come to a halt in front of the bench, unsure what to do next.

  Luckily he doesn’t make me wait and ponder long.

  “Give me the flogger,” he demands, stretching out his hand. “And bend over the bench.”

  I swallow hard as I follow his command. My hand appears to move on its own as I pass him the flogger, followed by a robotic motion as I turn back to the bench, moving so close that the leathery edge comes in contact with my belly. He didn’t say anything about climbing on top of the bench, so I keep my feet on the ground and bend at the waist, supporting myself on the upholstered bars at the sides.

  Bending forward like this, with absolutely nothing covering my ass while he shifts behind me, sends shocks through my body. Shame and arousal take turns ruling over my mind. I want to focus on the latter, but it’s apparent that, in this particular scenario, one cannot exist without the other.

  “Arch for me. Show me that pretty ass.”

  Oh my God.

  My fingers curl, trying to dig into the hard leather as if I needed something to hold on to, something to ease the humiliation that blossoms deep within my chest as I hollow my back for him, exposing my bare center even more. My obedience is a natural response to his dominant imperative, despite the shame that comes with it.

  “Perfect.”

  His whispered assessment not only enhances both of the rivaling emotions within me, but also adds a third one: pride.

  Does he think I’m pretty? A man like him? He’s so far out of my league that it doesn’t seem right for me to believe that, but the adoration was obvious in his voice.

  And it’s just as palpable in his touch when his palm connects with my left ass cheek, moving in circles as he caresses my skin.

  “Are you ready?”

  It’s a simple question, allowing for only one of two possible replies, and I know which one I’m leaning to. But I struggle to say it, even though I know he’s waiting.

  A squeeze, not strong enough to hurt but vigorous enough to help me find my voice.

  “Yes!” I blurt out. “Yes, sir.”

  “Good girl.”

  His hand retreats and I hear him move behind me as he positions himself, seemingly getting ready for the first blow. I squeeze my eyes shut and tense up, bracing myself for an assault that doesn’t come. Taut silence stretches between us, only my erratic breathing disturbing the quiet as I wait for the leather to cut into my skin.

  Just when I’m beginning to think I’m doing something wrong, I can feel the tails prickling over the curves of my ass. But he’s not whipping me. The touch is gentle, nothing more than careful fondling.

  A sigh escapes my lips as the exertion from waiting for the first strike finds a temporary relief. My body melts into the leather, my heartbeat calms and my breathing normalizes while he continues to drape the thin tails over my ass. It feels so good, so relaxing and soothing. I’m dizzy but calm, drunk with anticipation that wasn’t met with the harsh infliction I expected. Instead, it’s an affectionate kiss, easing my tension as the leather strings trail across my skin.

  A kiss that turns into a bite a moment later.

  Chapter 13

  Kade

  Her reaction to the first blow is everything. It’s beauty, innocence, shock, fear, pleasure, desperation—desperation to run away, and desperation for more.

  Her body coils under the flogger, losing its beautiful arch for just a moment before she catches herself. She’s panting, sucking in a sharp breath when I let the flogger meet her ass for a second time.

  I’m gentle with her. These whips are nothing but a taste of what I’m capable of, but she’s already heaving as if I was giving her a true spanking.

  I alternate, letting the thin leathery straps trail along her pretty ass in a slow and steady
motion that’s closer to a lascivious caress than an actual flogging.

  So far.

  It’s not pain that caused her strong reaction in the beginning, I know that. No one is that sensitive. And it shows in the way she eases into the lashes as they keep coming. They increase in intensity, thus coming closer to inflicting pain, but her response to it doesn’t grow stronger in the same manner. Instead, she’s calming with every strike, regulating her erratic breathing until it’s almost back to normal. She’s relaxing, apparently finding solace in the blows on her skin.

  Getting used to it. That’s all she needed. Now that the first shock is receding, she’s giving in to this new sensation almost too quickly. Her gasps turn into feeble moans while the skin on her ass changes color.

  I watch her, taking it all in. The way she gives in to it, her demeanor changing with each smack. The leather collides with her skin with more force, each time leaving an impact stronger than the one before. The pallid pink soon turns into proper red, speaking of the increasing pain the whips must cause her. But it doesn’t show in her reaction. As intense and vivid as she was in the very beginning, I didn’t expect her to be able to take a lot. In fact, I would’ve expected her to cry for me to stop at this point, even though it wouldn’t mean anything.

  Contrary to that, she appears to be in a trance. I can’t tell whether her eyes are closed or not, but judging from the way she carries herself, still bent over the bondage horse like I told her to, her head hanging low, barely moving when the flogger comes down on her ass, it looks like she’s already riding a high that comes at a far later point for most people.

  Mind you, my strikes are still meager. I’m not hurting her nearly as much as I could, even with a benign flogger like the one she chose.

  Should I dare? Is she really capable of enduring that much more?

  Is there a pain slut hiding beneath all that apparent chastity?

  Once again, there’s only one way to find out.

  I pause, giving both of us a moment to process the situation, before I hit her. Really hit her.

  This smack evokes a cry from her, finally. It’s a short and suppressed shriek, gone as soon as it reaches the ear, but it won’t be her last. I wind up, bringing the flogger down on the other side of her ass with even more ferocity.

  This time she not only yelps in pain but also loses her stance, her hands flying up in the air as she rounds her back instinctively to protect herself from more torment.

  “Stay!” I bark at her. “Don’t you dare move!”

  She whimpers but complies immediately, bending forward until her chest rests on the upholstery again. Her hands find their place once more, holding on tightly as she prepares for the next infliction.

  I wait just long enough for her to return to her position before the flogger hits her sore skin again, driven by almost as much force as the blows that drove her away from the bondage horse.

  She stays put, tensing under each strike, her fingers curling until her knuckles turn white, her body so stiff that the posture alone looks painful.

  “Arch for me,” I remind her, adding another smack. “Show me that pretty ass.”

  She groans, taking two more swipes before she reluctantly hollows her back. I know exposing herself like this will only intensify the ache, but that’s what she’ll have to do right now. Endure, control, and mend the pain into something else—pleasure. She can only do that if she’s ready to own the agony that comes with a proper flogging.

  And it looks like she’s up to the task. Her fingers still dig into the upholstered planks to the side, but no longer with that same desperation I saw before. She’s visibly loosening up, accepting the pain as the leather straps rain down on her again and again, driven by my strong lead.

  I’m still holding back, because it would be reckless not to. She may be strong, and she may be ready for more than this, but today will not be the day I break her. I will leave her with a distinct taste for more, however, because I want her to come back to me, to crawl on all fours and beg for more.

  Her perky ass is blossoming in a deep red by the time I’m done with her. My blows didn’t draw blood, but I’m sure she’ll have something to remind her tomorrow. Even now I can tell her pale complexion allows for easy bruising.

  Neither of us says a word, heated silence stretching through the room, only interrupted by her heavy breathing. Tiny droplets of sweat are pearling at the small of her back, running across her skin as her tortured body trembles. Her face is hidden behind strands of hair, falling down at both sides in a blonde curtain while her head hangs low. I kneel next to her, placing the flogger beside me so she can see it. She doesn’t move nor acknowledge my presence when I lift a hand to push away the strand of hair hiding her face from my eyes. It’s sticking to her temples, a blend of tears and sweat having wet her skin.

  Her eyes are shut, and her lower lip’s shivering under heavy tremors.

  “Look at me.”

  At first I worry she might be too deep in the zone to hear my command, because she doesn’t react to my voice right away. Her eyelashes are fluttering nervously when she conforms herself to my demand. Red shadows cross her pretty face, but her makeup is holding up surprisingly well, not running down her face in black streams.

  Yet.

  Her gaze is fogged when her eyes meet mine. The light in here is just bright enough to recognize the delicate indications on her face that allow for an assessment of her emotional state. Her expression is absent at first, her mind probably still floating in a trance induced by pain that has now fully converted into nothing but pleasure.

  The hint of a smile plays at the corner of her mouth when I say, “You enjoyed that, didn’t you?”

  She bites her lower lip, her eyes darting back and forth between mine before she nods.

  “Speak to me,” I urge. “Did you enjoy that?”

  “Yes, sir,” she breathes, and the smile that comes with her words makes my heart jolt.

  So fucking perfect. Her immaculate beauty in this very moment trumps the dolled-up appearance from her sister’s wedding by far. I lose myself in the sight of her, the allure of her exertion, her eyes drunk with wonder.

  And she only makes it worse by uttering the most precious words I could ever think of.

  “Thank you, sir.”

  I want to believe that it’s mere surprise spreading through my chest, rapid like a shock wave following an explosion. But the feeling is driven by something else, something deeper. Something I’m not ready to accept.

  Focus. I need to fucking focus.

  Pulling myself away from her intoxicating gaze, I rise to my feet and return to my previous spot. She lets out a sigh, still hollowing her back for me like a good little girl, possibly expecting another series of blows to darken the color on her ass even more.

  But that’s not what she’s getting from me.

  I’m done giving for now.

  It’s time for me to take.

  Chapter 14

  Lila

  I had no idea. No fucking idea.

  I never thought this could hurt so much. That flogger looked so harmless, small, soft, not threatening at all. I picked it because it looked the least frightening among all the utensils lined along the wall. And truth is it didn’t really hurt at first. It was more of a demanding caress, little more than affectionate fondling.

  But it turned into so much more. Something vicious.

  He turned it.

  He dealt the flogger in a way that transformed the innocent-looking tool into something truly ferocious. The tails felt more like molten iron, giving meaning to the phrase ‘burning like hell.’ The pain was terrible, blazing hot, overwhelming, a fiery reminder that I’m alive.

  I’ve never felt anything like this. Nothing even close. It was brutal, vital and bracing like a storm. It made me want to scream, not with pain but with gratitude for everything I have and am. Gratitude for him, for the handsome man who’s still a stranger but also the one opening this door for m
e, the one introducing me to a world I never knew I’d been missing.

  That’s why I said it. That’s why I thanked him out loud. But the words felt wrong as soon as they left my lips, and his reaction only confirmed that assessment. He didn’t look happy, the smile vanishing from his handsome face as he rose to his feet.

  I’m getting ready for another series of whipping as he positions himself behind me once more, still holding the flogger.

  But he obviously has other things in mind. I jerk in surprise when I feel his hand on my bruised behind. My skin is in flames, still throbbing with the heated afterburn from the torment he unleashed upon me. I’m so sensitive that even a feeble caress feels like a hot knife burning into my flesh.

  I wince, biting my lip to stop from groaning too loudly. I don’t think he would mind; he seems to appreciate any sound leaving my lips, always seeking a reaction from me to draw conclusions. Even now as he moves his hand across my aching cheeks, it feels like he’s testing, searching, moving so slowly and with such caution it’s as if he’s afraid to hurt me.

  Oh, the irony.

  “Arch!”

  His voice thunders through the room, making it impossible for me not to obey. I arch my back as much as I can, hoping for his approval, which he gladly grants me.

  “Good girl.”

  A smile spreads across my face as I let those sweet words echo within my chest. They bring a comfort I never knew before, easing the shame that follows when his fingers glide between my legs toward my exposed core.

  Fuck.

  No matter how gentle his touch, the electric spark it sends through my center has no equal. He barely grazes the sensitive area between my lips, only suggesting the proper contact I crave. I find myself leaning into him, moving closer to his playful fingers while he teases me by withdrawing.

  “So eager,” he comments, only adding to my delicious humiliation. “And so fucking wet.”

  I yelp out in surprise when he shoves a finger between my lips, his palm pressing against my core while he stretches me.

  “Why are so fucking wet?”

  I groan in lieu of a verbal response, squirming while he moves his finger inside my channel, toying with my arousal.