by Cynthia Dane
“Don’t make a sound,” he hissed in her ear as he bent her forward, her ass in the air in the moments before he spanked it with his hand.
The pain was embarrassing – and exquisite. Monica was at her most vulnerable. Everyone knew she wanted the punishment her Dom doled out, but they still sat on the edges of their seats to hear her let out that squeal of arousal.
Monica wouldn’t do it. She would swallow the sounds, because she was not green behind the ears.
New, untried submissives would squeal on the first spank. People would laugh. The Dom would scold her and punish her until she learned to no longer make those sounds until given permission. Monica was the opposite. She was expected to obey without fight. The joy she offered was being pushed until finally an experienced sub like her finally, finally cracked. Because they always did.
There were no rewards for her. Not like in the bedroom. The reward was for the audience.
Another spank hit her ass. Monica’s lips parted, her eyes fluttering open as the pain quickly turned to pleasure. She made no sound. The only sound she couldn’t control was the smack on her ass as Henry used his whole hand to turn her skin pink.
He left her side, rolling up the sleeves on his shirt as he observed the tools displayed on the table nearby. Monica regrouped in her head. It was only going to get worse.
Or did that mean it was going to get better?
A paddle. It was a damned paddle with holes in it. The first hit was merciless, making half the women in the audience jump out of their seats when Monica’s flesh screamed in her stead. The world turned a hot white for a split second. Shudders upon shudders of blissful pain claimed her, warming her stomach and hardening her nipples for everyone to see. A quiet chatter of glee permeated the audience.
Henry struck her again on the other cheek. Her skin burned, but Monica did not falter.
However, if Henry didn’t start holding up his end of their bargain, she might die from a lack of careful attention.
The edge of the paddle touched her collared neck and slowly drew down her spine. It tickled, so much so that Monica licked her lips and anticipated a strike to her ass again.
It didn’t come. Instead, Henry lifted the paddle and addressed the audience.
“I’ve had the tremendous opportunity to spoil and punish this delectable beauty for these past few months. I highly doubt I’m the only man – or woman – who has dreamed about it.”
The voices rose in intensity.
“It takes a lot to make a woman like this crack.” He struck her, the paddle shrieking through the air before hitting her ass. Monica jerked against the binds, but did not say a thing. This is getting harder… Her skin pulsed in pain. Her need for a tender touch strengthened. “I’m sure most of you would love to see that happen.”
Nobody said anything. They didn’t have to. Their hungry eyes, as Monica looked into half of them, said everything. “Spank her until she cries.” “Make her come from that paddle.” “Untie her and make her serve you.”
“Have you had enough?” Henry pulled her hair, forcing her head up. “Are you willing to serve me now?”
The bite in his voice filled Monica with a need she would instantly act upon if they were alone. For now, she had to hold a little back. “I am yours,” she said meekly. Half the audience couldn’t hear her, but they still knew what she said. “Please, Master. Give me your bidding.”
He released her from his hand, but not the binds. Not yet. First, Henry spanked her one last time, hitting her with the paddle so hard that Monica’s knees buckled and a tiny whimper fell from her lips. Just enough to send a flurry of donations in their direction.
The binds came undone. Monica sank to her knees and propped herself up with her hands, hair creating a veil of darkness around her face.
“Look at me.”
She did, but first she had to look at the audience. So many unfamiliar faces… so many ones she recognized. Her eyes met Ethan’s behind a table. He kept his lips taut, but his eyes urged her to press on. Beside him, his girlfriend Jasmine gaped as if she were at the circus.
Henry brought her face near his hips, his long fingers pushing hard into her cheeks. “Go to the table and bring me what I’ll punish you with next.”
She pulled herself with her hands, for even if she wished to stand, her ass was in so much pain that her knees would buckle in an instance. Besides, it pleased her more to crawl toward the table, slowly, her bare skin squeaking against the stage floor.
There was a wide variety of tools on the table, all neatly laid out for her to easily recognize. Monica looked past the hole where the paddle had been and instead looked at its compatriots. A flogger. A whip. A cat. Monica pulled herself up until she was level with the table, the edge brushing against her nipples and making her gasp unexpectedly.
Her hand latched around the first thing it could grasp.
When she turned around to crawl back, she found Henry sitting in a chair, his nonplussed demeanor blocking out the audience as he waited for Monica to return. She did so, wincing every time she moved her hips too much and her raw ass cried in pain. I can do this… In private, she may ask for a small break. Then again, Henry wouldn’t have struck her that hard in private.
As soon as she was by his side, Monica placed her next tool of punishment into his lap. “Here, Master,” she said. “Is this sufficient?”
Henry fingered the long handle in his reach. “Present yourself.”
Monica propped herself against Henry’s legs, aware that more than one person in the audience mumbled about what he held in his hand. “Is she insane?” “She really is a slut for pain.” Yet if Monica didn’t push herself in front of these people, they would never make enough money to free the both of them.
There wasn’t enough energy to pull herself across Henry’s lap. With a grumble that she was more trouble than she was worth, he hoisted her across his lap, her ass pointed up and her chest pointed toward the ground.
His half-erect cock pushed through his trousers and into her abdomen. Good. If Henry was getting hard, then half the men in the audience were probably ready to ask their women to start stroking them beneath tables. That meant more donations for them.
Henry pulled her hair, searching for the clunky silver leash beneath her curls. “Do you want me to do it?” He tugged on the clothes covering her ass, baring more of her pink flesh for the feasting eyes around them. “Do you want me to spank you until you cry?”
She fought her attraction to the way he said those words. If we were alone, I’d cry for you right now. Especially if it meant feeling his erection harden against her stomach. “Yes, Master.”
The cane she handed him hit her ass with the force of five men. She could not hold in her yelp of satisfied pain.
“Nobody heard you.” The cane tapped against her tender flesh, inoffensive, but present. “Say it louder. Beg for it.”
“Please!” Monica used every ounce of strength she had to project her meek voice into the void before her. She wanted it to echo like the sound of the cane hitting her ass. “Please give it to me, Master!”
Her prayers were answered when Henry smacked her. The snap of the cane was delicious even to Monica’s ears.
However, she was slipping. The adrenaline pumping through her – that fight or flight sensation that so many subs experienced – not only made her squirm involuntarily, but began to shut down her brain’s ability to process pain. She was slipping into that blissful subspace already.
Damn her Dom who knew exactly what she liked and wanted.
“Please…” Her feeble words disappeared into the mess of hair surrounding her face. “One more.”
“Please what?”
“Please, Master!”
Hot, white sparks exploded before her eyes as Henry hit her one last time. Monica’s mouth was left gaping open, Henry’s fingers shoving themselves inside before anyone in the audience got any ideas. He was definitely hard against
her stomach now.
This was the moment at-home Monica would be most excited to experience. Her ass may be raw, but Henry would push her to the floor, holding her head down against the carpet as he drove his cock into her from behind. They enjoyed such a scene on their collaring honeymoon, with the French doors wide open and the ocean crashing against the beach only half a mile away.
There was no beach or sunshine now. No cool breeze kissing her skin. And Henry was definitely not going to spend himself inside her anytime soon.
He did, however, push her off his lap and onto the floor.
She landed most unceremoniously, her body crumpling in a messed heap, yet no worse for wear. Henry pulled her up as he stood, leading her back to the hook and silk binds hanging from the ceiling.
Before Monica could open her eyes and stare into the audience, Henry bent her head forward and clasped his hand over her eyes.
What is he doing? Henry was going off script. A blindfold took her face, preventing her from seeing how the audience reacted to the performance. What? They had decided to forego a blindfold so Monica could gauge how well they were doing. This completely defeated that purpose.
Trust him, Monica. Trust your Dom.
So she stood, docile, her skin on fire as Henry finished tightening the blindfold around her head and began ripping off her jacket.
She wished she knew how the audience reacted to that. For beneath the jacket she wore her collaring corset, still painted, and still stained from the night Henry took her everywhere he could. Were people shifting in their seats, full of ideas and desire? Did they blanche at what it meant? Did they even understand? Surely, some did.
What Monica would give to know.
She disobeyed her Dom when he told her to keep quiet and then proceeded to rip her cherished corset. Pitiful sounds crossed her lips. I already knew it was ruined, but… She had been surprised that Henry kept it after their collaring night. Now she knew why.
Her breasts spilled from her ripped bodice. Her thighs poured out of her torn seams. Even though everyone had seen her naked parts before, they now saw her at her most vulnerable. Spanked, humiliated, and now denied one of her most precious senses.
Low whistles echoed from the audience. Chatter filled the air. Concerned chatter. Did they think Henry was pushing her too far? Even when Monica’s ankles were forced apart and a spreader bar shackled to them, she didn’t fear what Henry had planned for her. This was part of the script, at least. Even the tap of the cane against her inner thighs – gentle yet ominous – was something she anticipated.
Yes, even the cold, hard clamps pinching her nipples were not surprising.
Monica sucked her breath through her teeth, refusing to make another sound until her Dom allowed her to. She was not some newbie. She may have been spanked and struck raw, but she was not the type of woman to cry out every time she felt an ounce of pain. She had been through hell before.
This was nothing.
With her arms raised above her head and her legs spread below, she had no choice but to accept the end of the cane wetting itself on her exposed nether lips. She wanted to moan. She wanted to tell the audience how good it felt to have that corporal toy now give her direct pleasure.
“Let them know how much you like it,” Henry whispered into her ear – the rounded tip of the cane pushed into her wet folds.
A long, relieved moan filled the room as Monica was forced to take as much as she could. Although the cane couldn’t have been more than an inch in diameter, she felt full. The other end of the cane fell from Henry’s hand and smacked against Monica’s calf. Her kegels would have to do the job again.
“If you drop that, you will not be allowed to come,” Henry said, loud enough for the audience to hear.
On one hand, the audience would want to watch her falter. They wanted to watch her come a lot more than that.
Her nipples pulled against her breasts. Henry grasped her hair and pulled her head to the side, kissing her throat as his hand rounded her abdomen and slipped between her thighs. Her clit throbbed at the attention he suddenly paid it. When his hand cupped one of her breasts and his cock pushed against her worn ass, Monica nearly choked.
“Likewise,” he bellowed into her ear. “If you come too soon, that’ll be the end for you. Show these people what a good sub you are. No matter how much I push you, you won’t come. And I’ll reward you greatly if you fend off that demon scratching at your loins.”
Henry was the demon here. As always.
Monica had to call upon all of her training from over the years. If she thought fending off orgasm was hard enough that first time she was in Henry’s manor, then she was about to lose herself now.
The clamps tugged her nipples until ripple after ripple of pleasure filled her breasts. Her ass throbbed from the painful divinity Henry bestowed upon it only minutes before. The cane thrust into her, caressing her G-spot while Henry rubbed his fingers along her clit. Most of all, his erect cock pushed against her back, reminding her of the power he held here, in the bedroom, in her life…
…Against everyone judging her right now.
No, that was the most damning thing: the amount of people – including the women who worked for her, her friends, and the few remaining people who respected her – watching as she endured this pleasure and struggled to be a good sub. After all, Henry had partially trained her, although at the time Monica saw it as nothing more than lovemaking.
Whether people watched or not, Monica had to rely on herself. Henry was not going to hold back. That defeated the purpose of pushing her limits. “Don’t go easy on me. People will know if you do.” That’s what Monica told him the day before.
Henry’s onslaught ended. Monica let out a moan of relief, the cane disappearing from her body and dropping against the floor with a shocking sound.
The spreader bar unclasped.
The binds released her hands.
Monica dropped to her knees, Henry’s hand on her head as he pulled her back against his hips. He’s decided to do it. Monica didn’t care what he did to her while they were there. However, he cared about what she did to him.
A part of Monica was relieved. How else could they show how truly submissive she was if she didn’t obey one of their most precious displays? She was available to him, always. That meant giving him one of the simplest pleasures a man could ask for.
Everyone in that audience would love to see the madam of Le Château suck a man’s cock.
Why not? They had seen her spanked and struck. They saw her with nipple clamps dangling from her chest – that were still there. They saw her get fucked by a foreign object. They saw her corset covered with her Master’s seed and marked where he had claimed her.
Nothing was sacred in front of these people.
Blindfold still on, Monica focused on the intimacy at hand instead of how this looked to others. Besides, nobody in the audience was uncomfortable with this thought. If anything, they had been anticipating it. Even the women, who probably often performed such intimate acts on their partners. That was the key. Intimacy.
These people wanted to see her be dominated. They also wanted to see them be intimate.
They were an extension of everyone’s relationships, both good and bad. Every Dom imagined her as their sub, and every sub imagined being as good as her. What were her girls thinking? That they still had a lot to learn? That they never knew this side of her truly lurked within? She wasn’t worried about being lowered in their opinion. She was far from that.
But she wasn’t so far from Henry, who made it clear that he wanted her to serve him now.
Even so, a bit of apprehension crept into Monica’s stomach. She had to push it away in favor of succumbing to her desire to serve.
For the first time all night, Monica used her hands to do more than crawl on the floor and hand her Dom something to strike her with. She pulled down his zipper and drew out his cock for everyone who was paying attention
to see.
It wasn’t unusual for a sub to want to keep this kind of adoration a secret. Not because they were ashamed, but because knowing the details of a Dom’s cock was something for her to treasure. Sure, the audience couldn’t see the precum already touching her tongue, nor could they inhale his natural scent, but every businessman worth his shit on the planet had a good idea of how big Henry Warren was in his pants. That will get him business.
The funny part? It actually would. Henry was not lacking, and the way he stood, stiff and arms crossed, showed that he didn’t care if a single man in that room looked at his cock and compared it to his own. Why would it? He had a beautiful woman all to himself. Monica was the star of the show tonight, and her lavished attention was all for Henry. He was the envy of every man in the room.
