Hot Lessons

by Annie Windsor

  Alan dropped the tip down to her clit so fast she slammed her head against the padded part of the cross. Lower, through her juices—and he slid the flogger’s end inside her—barely.

  The walls of her pussy clenched around the rough bulb, sending hot tremors in every direction.

  “If you hadn’t come without my permission in the limo, I’d be fucking you right now.” He moved the flogger in and out, in and out, slowly, mocking, taunting.

  His tongue flicked against her unbelievably sensitive nipples. Her groans came like spasms with each wet contact and each thrust of that flogger handle.

  I’d be fucking you right now.

  Whatever. If he kept it up, she’d have another unauthorized orgasm in about three seconds.

  “Give me the control, Celia. Turn yourself over. Let go.”

  The flogger handle left her pussy. The next thing she knew, it was pressed against her lips.

  “Taste yourself,” Alan instructed.

  Tentative, embarrassed, but willing to do anything to have an orgasm, Celia flicked her tongue across the rough leather grip.

  “Sweet,” Alan said as she sampled the forbidden flavor. “Like honey. I love how you taste.”

  The handle left her lips.

  The music got a little louder.

  Oh, God. She knew what that meant.

  “You can make noise if you’d like,” Alan said offhandedly, as if the offer didn’t scare her half to death. “But first, tell me why I’m punishing you.”

  “Because I came without permission, Master.”

  Master-bastard! I really, really need to come!

  “Yes. And that means you saw to your own pleasure before mine, and that you didn’t trust me to be the Master. Do you think you’ll make that mistake again?”

  “No, Master.”

  A pause. Celia counted twenty heartbeats, all in time with the steady drum of the music.

  “You’re not very convincing, djinni.”

  The first lash of the flogger fell across one breast.

  She screamed from the shock of the intimate sting, at the sudden yank on the nipple chain. He was flogging her chest! Whipping her from the front! Was he nuts?

  But honestly, it didn’t hurt like she thought it would. No more than when he spanked her ass. And by the time the flogger stung her other breast, the heat had faded into amazing pleasure, making her nipples swell even larger in the confining clamps. She gasped and arched forward. The next stroke fell on her belly, and the next on her hips, just above her pussy.

  Alan worked her with precision, warming her thighs, her arms, her legs. Celia had that strange sensation of breaking free of her body again, of climbing, then of floating.

  The lashes fell across her pussy, and she heard herself scream again. When the leather stroked her clit, her head slammed backward out of reflex again, cushioned by the pillowed part of the cross—only it didn’t feel like her head at all. She was up, up, up, somewhere on the ceiling, sailing away to some perfect, quiet place.

  A place where that emptiness way down inside simply didn’t exist. A place where she felt completely full and satisfied, forever loved and cradled.

  Some part of her thoughts found it bizarre that pain could push her to such pleasure, that being tied up could make her fly, but that logical part got more and more quiet as Alan’s careful lashes brought her closer and closer and closer to the orgasm she was fighting so, so hard.

  She did trust him to be the Master. She did trust him to teach her this lesson, and to take her to those places he promised. Where she never thought she’d go. Places she might never want to leave.

  A few moments later, she grew vaguely aware that the flogging had stopped.

  Once more, male voices murmured, and she caught only bits and pieces.

  “…whip like that, Alan—not for many months, or perhaps years…face-out, not in good whipping position…nearing the breaking point. Look at her.”

  “She hasn’t used her safe word.” Alan’s voice. Concerned. Excited.

  “She is helpless, completely at your mercy.” Reggie’s answer. Clinical. Precise. “It’s up to you to care for her completely, to realize when she has reached her limits…”

  And the voices were gone, a million miles away. She faded into the darkness of the blindfold, the stinging pound-pound-pound of the music and the matching pulse in her nipples and clit.

  Damn, she needed to come so badly.

  Somebody was moaning, whispering, “Please, please, please…”

  Was that her?

  It had to be.

  Alan’s hands were on her body again, stroking her hips, moving upward. She felt him grip the chain connecting the nipple clamps. He tugged it hard, and she cried out, heading straight back to that place…that place above everything.

  The pressure on her right nipple abruptly eased, followed by the pounding pain of blood flowing back into the tortured nub. Alan’s mouth was there, sucking, soothing, cooling…

  Oh, God, so good.

  Her left nipple next. First the release, then the intense shock of pain eased by his tender suckling. The man was a wizard with his mouth, a magician with his tongue.

  The music picked up again, this time with a louder beat.

  “That’s it,” Reggie instructed. “Massage them. Make certain blood returns to the confined tissue—and make the best use of sweet, sensual bruising.”

  Celia groaned and moved against her restraints as Alan switched to using his fingers, gently pinching and rubbing her nipples. They were so ripe, so sore. Each second of contact made her head spin. With his free hand, he was checking her wrists. After a few seconds, he knelt and checked her ankles, then straight back to her nipples.

  She wondered if she could come just from his touch on those throbbing, aching points. No, scratch that. She knew she could come. She just didn’t know how long it would take.

  I can’t believe he can make me come just by touching my nipples. Unreal.

  “Still warm, no cuts or tears,” Alan murmured. His husky voice sent shivers to her pussy, as did Reggie’s matter-of-fact response.

  “Good, good. Then proceed.”

  Chapter Six

  When Alan’s hands left her nipples, Celia almost swore—partly because she was seconds from orgasm, and partly because she had no idea what the hell he was going to do next.

  That split-second of fear and uncertainty gave her as much charge as the violet wand.

  Was he kneeling? She thought she heard him close by. The soft silks of the blindfold didn’t give an inch even when she turned her head.

  Then his fingers were on her pussy. Without warning or hesitation, he jerked open her lower lips and fastened his mouth dead center on her clit.

  All Celia could do was scream.

  Her juices flowed like a hot river. Her body shook and thrashed. She chewed her bottom lip to stave off the orgasm, tried to think of anything but what was happening, but oh, dear God, the way he was sucking, the way he was using his tongue, his teeth, biting her, eating her, possessing her. His breath felt like flames. The way he rumbled and purred against her wide-open flesh trapped her breath.

  The things coming out of her mouth—she had no idea what she was saying. She couldn’t have stopped herself for all the punishments on the planet. “Yes. Damn you!” Screaming, her screaming, her gasping, then, “God, yes, bite me!”

  Alan stopped so abruptly she screamed again and thrashed against her bonds. Fucker. She’d kill him! KILL HIM!

  He stood quickly and started unlashing her from the crosspieces.

  “Don’t you dare!” She wanted to scratch his eyes out. He had to let her come. She’d taken everything, damn it. Everything!

  “Tell her what you are doing and why,” Reggie commanded. “Anticipation is half the pain—and the pleasure.”

  “I’m going to punish you, djinni.” Alan spoke in that low, clit-grabbing growl. The throbbing soundtrack in the background seemed like accompaniment to his dangerous mo
od, his Masterful insistence. “I’m going to strap you to the whipping table and lash your ass until you learn to follow the rules.”

  Celia heard herself actually snarl. She had gone feral, and she had absolutely no control.

  “Answer me,” he commanded. “Tell me what you did wrong, and what I’m going to do.”

  “Yes, Master,” she spat—only the venom she felt didn’t carry into her tone. She sounded more like a sixties groupie than a wildcat. “I spoke without permission. You’re going to whip me for it.”

  “I’ll sting you until you beg, and it better not be too soon.”

  Mind and body growing more and more separate, Celia stopped struggling as Alan moved her away from the wall and the St. Andrew’s Cross. He stroked the back of her neck. “Now, djinni, lean forward.”

  Celia wanted to refuse, to fight him a little more, but at the same time, she wanted to do exactly what he said. Just the sensation of his hand on her neck excited her more than she could comprehend. Totally gone now. Totally helpless. Part-feeling, part-flying.

  She leaned forward.

  In a few seconds, he had her facedown on one of the padded tables. She extended her arms without him asking, and he tied her wrists to either side. He repeated the process with her ankles, until she was spread as wide as she had been on the wall.

  She liked being spread. Liked her pussy pulled open for his inspection, his touch. She didn’t even care if Reggie looked, too. The thought of anyone being able to walk in and see her stretched wide, so red and wet and horny, felt more naughty than anything in her life.

  She liked naughty, too. Loved it.

  Ice clinked in Reggie’s cup. He was on the move again, but Celia couldn’t see him. She heard him rattle something on the far wall, walk back across the floor, and hand something to Alan.

  “This flogger is deerskin,” Reggie said. “Soft, but firm. Take your stance.”

  Oh, shit. Celia tried to force the rest of her consciousness up, up, out of her body, but that stubborn part of her that refused surrender, it just wouldn’t let go.

  Not even when the flogger came down hard across both ass cheeks, setting her completely on fire. That wild, uncontrollable reaction started again. She gasped and wriggled on the table, even though she desperately wanted to stay still, to give no response at all.

  The second blow didn’t fall. And still didn’t fall.

  Sweat ran down her neck, between her breasts. She’d give anything to see what Alan was doing.

  But I can’t. I have to trust that he knows what he’s doing.

  The flogger bit her ass again, harder. Celia choked out a scream, surprised to hear it sound more like a moan of pleasure. And the pleasure was starting. The heat of the sting flowed down, down to her pussy and up to her heart, up to that stubborn part of her mind that still wouldn’t let go.

  Another blow. Another.

  Then too many to count. One cheek, the other, never quite the same spot, striping, blazing across her ass and thighs.

  Another piece of her mind let go and headed upward, to that quiet perfect place she had so briefly touched.

  He was whipping her. God, he was whipping her. Probably marking her for days, leaving a reminder of his power. It hurt so damned much, but more and more, the pain was fading, leaving, singeing her ass, then turning into a rushing flow of need and want and desperation.

  “You are not allowed to come.” Alan’s authoritative tone cut through her stupor, and the lashing stopped. Celia groaned as he cupped the swollen lips of her pussy with his hand, letting his fingers slide through the wetness. He rubbed and stroked, never touching her clit. “Tell me when you’re approaching the edge. Don’t disobey me, djinni, or I’ll have to punish you again.”

  Edge.

  The word fixed in what little of Celia’s consciousness held on.

  Edge. Edge. I’m on it. I’m on the edge.

  His fingers moved away and the lash returned once, twice, making her move, making her scream and groan. Then his hand was back, fondling her slick folds, darting in and out of the cleft, swirling around—but never ever touching.

  The lash again.

  His hand.

  The lash.

  His hand.

  The lash.

  Her groans were no more than broken gasps.

  Then, he sank three fingers deep in her channel.

  Celia thrashed so hard in her restraints she thought they might squeeze off her wrists and ankles. The walls of her pussy clenched convulsively, over and over, pushing her closer, closer, closer. Her ass burned. God, how it burned. She needed to come. She needed his cock. She needed something. Anything.

  He was fucking her with his hand then, and not just fucking her. Pounding her. In and out. Over and over. Her screams hurt her own ears.

  “Edge,” she managed to gasp at the last possible second. “Edge!”

  All sensation stopped.

  Celia sucked in air, trying to bring herself down, determined to see this through. She could barely think, barely plan, didn’t care what came next as long as it was in her pussy and didn’t stop.

  Please don’t let it stop until I come. Please!

  Hands on her ass. Alan, massaging, massaging, reigniting the sting from his whipping. Then nothing. Then the lash smacked her cheeks again, harder than ever.

  Moans tore from Celia’s throat. Sounds she didn’t recognize at all. Another chunk of her awareness spiraled up and away. Just a thread now as he whipped her again and again, side to side, up and down. Then something cool and hard was shoving inside her pussy, filling her, stretching her even more. A dildo.

  A big dildo.

  Thrust.

  Lash.

  Thrust.

  Lash.

  Celia bucked and groaned, shaking and shaking, fighting the pain, fighting the orgasm, fighting Alan, herself, the world, the universe. The music pounded into her just as hard as the rubber cock.

  “Imagine what you could have had if you had followed the rules.” Alan’s growl almost pushed her past the point of no return. “Answer me now. Tell me you understand.”

  Talk? He wanted her to talk? How? Her words were gone.

  The flogger struck. The dildo rammed deeper, deeper, deeper. He was fucking her so damned hard.

  “I understand, Master!” she gasped, and heard the overcharged desperation in her own voice.

  I’m leaving…

  I’m leaving…

  And she was gone.

  Not a bit holding back.

  No part of her left behind.

  Her whole soul and spirit seemed to leap up into that absolute high, a total distance and relaxation she never knew existed.

  Pain and pleasure blended into perfection. Her body felt like a tool, an instrument of her mind, showing her how far she could go, how much she could take. The lash, the dildo…she wanted him to fuck her harder. Deeper. Fuck her forever.

  Then she couldn’t feel the fucking, either.

  She felt only a warm, dizzy bliss. A woman with wings. She had wings and she was flying, flying, flying…

  When Celia finally sank back into her aching, throbbing, still-as-yet unsatisfied flesh, she had no bonds, no blindfold. She was cradled in Alan’s arms. He was rocking her, kissing her face, stroking her arms.

  Had there ever been a better feeling?

  Her lips found his, tasted the salt and sweet of his mouth. He was whispering to her, how beautiful she was, how well she had done.

  She was saying something too.

  “Thank you.”

  And, “Please fuck me, Master. Please. I can’t wait anymore.”

  Seconds later, he was carrying her so gently, so sweetly, to the leather swing, hanging her in midair. Legs spread wide and tied into stirrups. Arms fastened above her head.

  “I want you,” Alan said over and over. “Sweet djinni. You’ve earned whatever I can give you.”

  Celia loved the sensation of floating in the swing, loved how she was helpless and exposed to him
again. His eyes, so alive, so penetrating. His smile, so real, so full.

  No doubts now. No reservations.

  Alan gripped the swing’s leather ropes, positioned his cock…

  Celia’s heart slammed against her ribs.

  Her breath caught.

  Her pussy was so damned sore. So tender. So wet.

  With one last, long, perfect and possessing look, Alan drove his cock into her throbbing channel. Deep. God, yes! She felt it in her belly, that stroke. Felt the welcome hot iron of his cock filling her core. Heard her own breathy screams again.

  Nothing—absolutely nothing—had ever felt like this.

  When he pumped his hips, she thought she’d die. Her entire body felt like a sweet, burning bruise, covered with sweat, hot enough to burn to ashes. The swing moved her back and forth, letting him take her deep and hard with each slamming thrust.

  The thick smell of sex and leather overwhelmed her nose. The slap of flesh on flesh filled her ears.

  “Fuck me,” she gasped before he reduced her to shrieks and moans, and finally to incoherent noises.

  “Harder,” Reggie commanded, and the sound of his voice gave her a doubled thrill.

  Someone was watching.

  Reggie was watching her get fucked like this, so totally, so absolutely. She was completely open to him, to anyone who wanted to look.

  “She’s trusting you to hold nothing back, to see to your own pleasure and thereby double hers.” Reggie’s voice was as close to the edge as Celia felt.

  Yes, yes, yes, yes…

  “Fuck her, man!” the doctor shouted. “Fuck her!”

  Alan roared and plunged his cock even deeper, hammering her channel like he would never get to fuck anything again.

  He was everything to her.

  She felt like everything to him.

  There was nothing on the planet except that sweet, wet, pounding connection, cock to pussy, cock to pussy.

  Celia couldn’t take it anymore, not even another second. She let out a scream that seemed to have no end, but somehow, she shoved in the word, “Edge!”

  “Come for me,” Alan shouted over the music. His order seemed to echo between the stone walls. “Do it. Do it now!”