by Liz Meldon
I didn’t want to, of course. But that flogger—I yelped, the sound muffled by my pink bit gag, when the tassels smacked across both cheeks, merciless and cruel. My sex clenched, an intense fire crackling in my core, radiating across every inch of me. I burned with pain, yet I dripped with pleasure, my pussy swollen and slick, need coating my forcefully parted thighs. Each gentle gust of wind was pure torture, but no more torturous than the squish of Dean’s footsteps across the sand. Squish. Squish. Squish. I didn’t dare look over my shoulder, because I wasn’t sure I could take his mocking smile, his sinful gaze, his body taut and glistening, even here, beneath the canopy’s flickering shade.
I wasn’t sure I could look at him and not come.
The sea was better. Safer. It—
“Ahhh…” My hands dug deeper into the sand, toes doing the same, when he slipped two fingers into me—slowly, as if testing me. My cheeks stung painfully when he tsked, the admonishment paired with a dark chuckle.
“Oh, kitten, you’re so wet.” Dean pumped once, twice, my sex clinging to him as if to trap him, make him give me what I so desperately needed. I could practically feel his gaze drifting lazily across his handiwork—my red skin, my engorged lips. I could taste his smirk in every word he spoke. “Your cunt is positively dripping. Tell me, kitten, is it the flogger that’s getting you off? Or is it this, how you’re bound up tight, on your hands and knees—like a pretty present? Hmm?”
I bit down hard on the gag, drool dribbling over my lower lip and down my chin. Dean’s fingers milked a strangled moan out of me in response; he already knew the answer. I was wet for him, for what he was doing to me, for the way he tied me in place. For the pain. For what I knew would be earth-shattering pleasure.
And for the journey between the two.
Birds twittered somewhere far away. Another sweeping gust of wind barreled along the path, rustling the trees, the shrubs. Not only did the breeze torment my exposed sex, kiss my flogged flesh—but, occasionally, it rustled the delicate gold chain dangling between my clamped nipples. I closed my eyes, tensing, as the wind did Dean’s sordid work for him. While thin and delicate enough to snap with one pull, the chain tugged ever so gently at the clamps. Flickers of sharp, intense pain bolted through my breasts, not as powerful as my first encounter with the clamps—I had gotten used to it, to that very specific, awful, delicious sort of discomfort.
The bratty side of me wanted to reach up and remove them—or, at the very least, open them, just for a brief reprieve—but I couldn’t.
While the leashes held me in place, clipped to my collar, the spreader bar between my ankles made it impossible to escape. And the cuffs around my wrists, attached by thin silver chains to that spreader bar, limited my mobility even more. Stuck on all fours. Spread open. Trapped, right here, right where my Dom wanted me.
His fingers slipped out of me quickly, as though his clinical investigation of my wetness was complete. My body sagged slightly, the pleasure of him stroking my inner walls dissipating. Yet my clit pulsed, desperate for attention.
Had we done something like this the first week, my arms would have trembled, my shoulders ached from the exertion of holding this pose. I’d grown stronger—in more ways than one. I could take it. I could take him.
Hopefully. We hadn’t discussed this scene in detail. It was supposed to be the walk Belle like a dog and take her from behind fantasy, but it had evolved into something so much more. Something wicked and wonderful, something so wrong that it was beyond right—
Crack. Crack. I straightened with a cry, eyes shooting open, breasts bouncing, clamps clamping, pain blooming once more, the embers stoked. Tears gathered. Now my thighs quivered, the sole focus of the flogger’s wrath this time, and I whimpered as I tried to close them. Tried and failed—all for show, my squirmy, whiny escape attempts. Each failure made my heart race—made me wetter, hopefully made Dean harder.
I tensed, waiting for the next strike, only to hear—a hum. Over the crash of the waves, I heard it again: the buzz of the vibrator. A quick glance over my shoulder confirmed that Dean had switched tools, and I faced forward with a desperate, heady moan. At this point, I almost preferred the flogger.
I take it back. I take it back—my clit doesn’t need any attention—
“Ahh!” I jumped as soon as the bulbous vibrating head of the wand pressed up to my swollen little bud. Squirming, wriggling, I did my best, but somehow Dean managed to keep up with the inch or two I danced out of reach. He pressed harder, massaging me in slow, steady circles. My head yearned to drop, to bury itself in the sand, but the leashes kept me upright. Pleasure surged, pounding through my system, picking up where Dean’s fingers had left off. He had been edging me for what felt like hours. Dragging me to excruciating highs, only to stop with a chuckle, spank me, and bring the flogger back into play.
It was torture, but I wasn’t allowed to come anyway. Not at all. Not until he gave me permission. If I asked before that, Dean had promised he’d deny me. No matter how hard I cried, begged, pleaded with the gag in my mouth, tears streaming—he would tell me no.
My hips jerked, even as I fought the spasms, even as I tried to arch away from the vibration. Heat pulsed through every limb, coming and going in waves. Sweat dripped down my face, gathered in the dip of my lower back. Couldn’t he see how good I was being? How much I was fighting it? Didn’t I deserve a little reward?
I exhaled shakily through my nostrils when Dean removed the wand from my clit—only to press it to the flat metal base of the stainless-steel plug currently occupying my ass. It was the smallest of the trio Dean had on hand, but my god did I ever feel stuffed.
“No!” My protest turned high-pitched fast, dragged out and strangled as the vibrations hummed through the plug, tickling something inside that shot electric jolts of pleasure straight to my clit. I lurched forward, the sensation too much, too overwhelming. The jarring movement jostled my clamped nipples, pain intermingling with the fog of pleasure, and my collar tightened, a stark reminder that I wasn’t going anywhere.
“Ah, ah, ah,” Dean chided, the hum stopping as tears rolled down my cheeks. He then patted my pussy, hand cupped, each light smack sounding wet as I tried to arch out of reach. The final tap was the hardest. “You’ll take what I give you, naughty kitten.”
Groaning, I added a slight bend to my arms, then shuddered when he stroked my folds, smearing my wetness down to my still-stinging inner thighs.
We had been at this forever with no end in sight. When Dean had first showed me the box of toys he’d brought on our little walk, I’d been excited. After all, we had played this game before, but with the riding crop. Smack, smack, smack, then, between my thighs, the vibrator, which I’d eagerly ridden, my arms strung up above my head. Only then, he had let me come whenever I wanted, so long as I asked first. That game had gone on forever, too, but at least I’d been allowed to climax.
Now, thinking back to the treasure trove of Dean’s toys and restraints sitting somewhere behind me, I was starting to have regrets about agreeing so keenly when I didn’t know what my Dom had in mind. This could, quite literally, go on for hours. Maybe he would take me for another walk, stretch my limbs, but then he could easily tie me back up between the two trees to start all over again. Pain. Pleasure. A climax denied. Pain. Pleasure. Repeat.
Oh, who was I kidding?
I loved it.
Hated the teasing, the denial, but loved the pain, the pleasure, the way Dean spoke to me. The two warring emotions were equal in every way, and then there was me, trapped in the middle, torn—desperate for it to finally end, yet thrilled at the thought that it could last all day.
Squish, squish, squish—his feet across the sand. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched him step over the leash. Then, slowly, walking like a god among men, he strolled around and squatted in front of me. When we had first come out here, Dean had worn a pair of black swim trunks. Now—nothing, his cock an iron shaft, sticking straight up from between his muscular thi
ghs. His excitement glinted off the thick head; I swallowed hard, imagining my tongue sweeping across it, tasting his faintly salty essence.
His sage-green gaze drifted over my face, his head tipped to the side, then down to my breasts. I knew better than to bow my back, to try to tuck them out of sight. If he planned to tug on the golden chain, then there was nothing I could do to stop him.
Dean smiled, a hint of the mocking sort, a hint of the dangerous sort.
“Look at you…” He brushed his thumb across my lower lip, my chin, smearing my saliva down my neck. “You’re a mess, kitten.”
I blinked my watery eyes up at him, silently agreeing—silently thanking him for the state I was in, the state he put me in.
“I have another gift for you when we get back to New York.” Dean grasped my cheeks, squishing them together, forcing them up against the pink silicon gag between my lips. “It’s similar to this collar. Pink. Leather. Pretty, just like my Belle. But the ring in the center is much larger—and it’ll keep that little mouth of yours open while I fuck it.” My eyes widened slightly as he leaned in and nipped at the tip of my nose, just missing, teeth snapping together. “Would you like that, sweetheart? Something to keep your mouth open wide, so I can use it as long as I want?”
The thought made my stomach somersault pleasurably. I moaned and nodded as best I could, my gaze imploring. Dean held me a moment longer, stroking himself with his free hand, and then gave my cheek two gentle pats.
“Good girl. So good for your sir.”
His growl had me aching—and I hated to see him go. Squish, squish, squish—his feet across the sand. Dean stepped over the leash, trailing a finger along my body as he went, until there was nothing.
Nothing—for so long that my heart hurt, that I was tempted to turn back and look for him, but frightened he’d be gone. My heart thundered. My teeth sank into the gag. My toes curled. I waited.
Then, just as I was about to stomp my feet and emit a very bratty squeal, the whispery tail of the flogger caressed me. It drifted up the cleft of my thighs, then up, up, between my pleasantly warm, pleasantly sore cheeks. Its touch was gentle, reverent—like the sea. Soothing. I looked to the great wide blue again, to the glittering sunlight and crashing whitecaps. The combination stilled me, centered me, gave me focus. I could do this. I could fight the desire to shatter into a thousand pieces every time he touched me. I could conquer the burn.
The flogger’s tassels blanketed my shoulders, then trickled down my back, eliciting a storm of goosebumps despite the heat. As soon as they crested the curve of my backside, I closed my eyes and dragged in a deep breath before the inevitable—crack.
My right cheek.
Crack.
My left.
Crack-crack.
Both.
I screamed, clenching around the steel plug in my ass, little waves of pleasure rippling through me amidst all that fire. My collar, the leashes attached to it, held firm when I faltered, and I lifted my chin, eyes to the sea.
Bound on all fours, forcefully spread open, gagged, clamped, plugged—I still stood tall.
My Belle looked so beautiful right now.
A magnificent vision. Utterly divine.
And after all that had happened in the last forty-eight hours, I needed her beauty, her strength, her endurance. I needed her for support, for balance. After all, my life was changing—from here on out, nothing would ever be the same.
I wasn’t sure where my bravery had come from at the gala. Perhaps it was seeing my brother put his fucking hands on the woman I loved—that was the straw that broke the camel’s back, even if that time should have come long ago. Our relationship should have disintegrated the night I returned home and found Richard burning my paintings with his friends—that should have been it. Instead, I went on for years, biting my tongue for the sake of peace in the family, for the sake of our mum, our sister, who both loved us unconditionally.
But no more. Seeing Belle so distraught, her words bouncing around my skull…
That’s psychopathic.
Your dad and your brother are taking advantage of that. They’re taking advantage of you.
Dean, you are a fixer. You’re a caregiver and a problem-solver. You’re happy making other people happy.
I’d had enough. I’d finally said what needed to be said, and while it had knocked the wind right out of me, I had no regrets. No more would I work myself to the bone, sit at that desk and bleed for our empire, when neither Richard nor our father appreciated the fact that I had been killing myself. Nor would I do all the work while my brother swanned about at parties, taking all the credit. I needed more self-respect, and the gorgeous creature bound at my feet had reminded me of that.
So, I had scheduled a video conference call with my father’s assistant yesterday afternoon. Naturally, I received an earful. It didn’t surprise me that Richard had toddled off to daddy, whingeing about what a horrible little brother I’d been, that I wasn’t willing to be his indentured servant anymore. My father had tried to talk me into it. When that hadn’t worked, he had brought up the information he had on me—information that Richard had acquired, apparently, a year ago, through some PI in New York, back when he’d decided he was done with rehab and wanted to return to the job he had left in tatters seven years ago.
I hadn’t yielded.
I remained unbowed. I’d smiled, calling my father’s bluff. Tell the investors. Tell our staff. Tell the world. Those who had worked for me all these years knew what sort of person I was—I knew that now. I also had no qualms in finding a reputable entertainment rag to sit down with for an interview, alongside Belle if she so chose, to dispel any of the nastier rumors that were bound to arise.
My father, as I’d started to suspect, hadn’t wanted to deal with the fallout.
In the end, I’d agreed to sell him my shares in the Donahue empire. The paperwork was already underway, and my legal team, my accounts manager, my CFO would handle the details. By the time I returned to New York, it would be done. All I’d have to do was sign on the dotted line.
My time working with family had come and gone, and I had no interest in going back. Initially I’d planned to sell to investors, infuse the business with some new blood, but my father wanted to be the majority shareholder over Richard—we three had been equals before, but not where it counted. I had no idea what he planned to do with that majority, nor did I care.
At the end of the call, my father had seemed to understand, albeit begrudgingly, my list of grievances. He’d still offered some snide little comment about how I’d put my own happiness over the empire’s well-being, but I’d let it go. I had no interest in fighting with him anymore. I would be civil at family gatherings, for the sake of Mum and Adelaide, but as far as I was concerned, I had nothing left to say to either my father or my brother.
Maybe in time, years down the line. Maybe when I had my first child, my father’s first grandchild, we would find a way to mend what had been slowly destroyed over the years.
It wasn’t ideal, wasn’t a happy solution, but for now, I could make do. I could spend the final day of this vacation with Belle, outside of my own head, family tensions forgotten—and really just enjoy myself.
Flogger in hand, I stood admiring the scarlet flush across her ass and thighs, her cunt dripping. She was utter perfection like this. Even if I removed the leashes, she wouldn’t get very far with her wrists chained to the spreader bar, though I would certainly love to watch her try. With a determined furrow in her brow, she’d scoot down to the beach to avoid the flogger’s lash, a few inches at a time, while I meandered along after her. Escape was futile—just the way I liked it.
Smirking, I rained down another five-count of lashes, alternating between her thighs, her ass, and her feet. My restrained submissive squealed, pounding the tops of her feet in protest, the movement wiggling her ass, crowned with a gleaming steel butt plug, and jiggling her breasts, her nipples pinched between relentless clamps, connected with go
ld. I loved it, every torturous second—almost as much as I loved her.
Tossing the flogger back into the small metallic box of toys, I grabbed the vibrator again and clicked the button on the bottom. The wand whirred to life, and Belle’s cunt tightened as I approached, her hips bucking forward to avoid me. Crouching behind her, I gave her ass two reprimanding slaps, one for each side, and then stroked the humming head between her folds. Belle jerked in place, whining, toes digging into the sand, then squealing so shrill, so loud, that she frightened a pair of birds from a nearby palm. I grinned, feeling particularly ruthless on our last day, and rotated the butt plug in slow, lazy circles by its base as I worked her clit with the wand.
Her entire body trembled, almost violently now, as she fought her climax. I had told her when this all began some forty minutes ago that I wouldn’t let her come, no matter how sweetly she begged. If she did climax, and there was no way she could hide it from me anymore, I’d told her I’d fuck that pretty ass of hers with the handle of the flogger.
I wouldn’t, of course. The lubricated steel plug was enough in that hole for today; but my threat seemed to have worked. She had held off for so long, her body coated in the evidence of her restraint.
Meanwhile, there was so much blood in my cock that it was a miracle I could see straight, never mind torment my submissive so beautifully. This was our most intense play session so far—but by no means would it be our last. I could have dragged it on for the next hour, pummeling her with the flogger, torturing her with the vibrator, until she was nothing but a dribbling, weeping wreck.
But I was mindful of the heat, of the strain on her body—of the fact that if I didn’t fuck her soon, I might explode.
The day was young. Our flight wasn’t until tomorrow morning. I could have her as many times as I wanted in the next ten hours, and I planned to make good use of the time.
