Smoke

by C. P. Mandara

  Chapter Five

  There was no one in the room when I entered. This was part of the game plan. I'd been informed anticipation was a potent aphrodisiac and I could wholeheartedly confirm that to be true. My body got wet at the mere thought of James, and when he was wielding a paddle or a whip, I almost spontaneously combusted into a million, desire-soaked, glittering pieces of confetti. It was nearly enough to make me climax – almost.

  I'd never wanted to have sex so badly with anyone before I'd met James. Perhaps that was doing Kiel's memory a disservice, but then Kiel had never come at me with a riding crop or butt plug before. Pain turned me on something fierce when tempered with pleasure, and as far as arousal went – it sent my body off the charts. James had done his best this week to make me crave him with every pore of my being – and at the end of the day, I was a mere mortal, and he was a God. Snap out of it, Lois. I was about to enter a pit of vipers. Seriously, I had no time for nonsense like this.

  My overactive imagination disagreed. Realistically, could I really have a relationship with him? He ran a fucking shop, for Christ sakes. The man brought women to orgasm for a living, and that wasn't going to be easy to get past. Don't get me wrong, I'm not the wildly jealous type, but some things are harder to deal with than others.

  You do it, too. That little voice inside my head was just pointing out that I also had sex with people for a living. If my assignment called for it, I performed to order. Hell, if I was with James right now, I could just imagine telling him that I was about to be a general plaything for hundreds of men to enjoy when I got to Carte Blanche. Be realistic, Lois. This is a relationship that is never going to work. He knows what you do. There would be no hiding secrets from him. The man was far too intelligent. Maybe I'd hold off on getting that number. Besides, his ego was bad enough as it was.

  Reaching the lone wooden chair that had been left in the centre of the room for me, I donned the black, silk blindfold that was nestled upon it. Draping my ass over the base as I had been taught, there was nothing left to do but wait for my tormentor to appear – and the bastard took his time.

  Sinking deep inside myself, I embraced the hard lines of the chair and the discomfort it provided. This position was meant to make me feel exposed and vulnerable, and with anyone else, it might have, but with James all I felt was exhilaration. Even though I knew the spanking would not be sexual, and all I would receive for my trouble was a sore ass, I was already desperately aroused. All I could think about were James's hands on my body, inhaling his scent, and hearing the beautifully soft burr of his voice. Trust me to realise I'm attracted to someone just as I'm about to leave the building.

  The sound of footsteps then snapped me out of my reverie, and I tensed slightly. It was an automatic reaction when you knew something would shortly be crashing into your ass.

  “Are you ready for your last session, Black Diamond?” I think I swooned a little at the sound of his voice.

  “Please tell me that is not my code name.” I rolled my eyes, but that would have little effect on James because a) I was wearing a blindfold, and b) the damn man was behind me.

  "Codename, no. Slave name, yes. For the auction, however, you'll just have a number. CB tends to prefer calling slaves by their number. It keeps things simple, and it's de-humanising, as you'll soon find out. Anyway, Lois is a boring name. I have no idea why you chose that for Cellular Operations." His warm hands chose that moment to rest on the globes of my ass, and I sucked in a tight breath.

  “I’ll have you know that ‘Lois’ is not a boring name,” I said indignantly. Having no idea why I felt slighted at the insult, especially as I hadn’t actually chosen my latest cryptonym, I growled silently to myself.

  “I can imagine you as a Valentina, or a Seraphina, perhaps, but not a Lois. It doesn’t suit you.”

  “James doesn’t suit you, either, but I’m not picking holes in it,” I muttered.

  He laughed. “Will you tell me your real name, Lois Reeves?”

  “No,” I grumbled. “You’ll have much more fun trying to figure that out on your own. Now am I getting a decent spanking or are we here to exchange names and telephone numbers? I’m afraid I’ll be unavailable for the foreseeable future, but feel free to leave a message on my answerphone.” There, I’d said it – not in the way it was supposed to be said, but that was all he was getting.

  "Lois, that's not even funny." His hands began kneading my backside rather fiercely then, so I guessed I'd pissed him off a little, but the feeling was exquisite. Rough, firm, a mere hint of teasing pain here and there – it was an excellent warm up. The trouble was, I needed more. I knew better than to ask for it, though. There was no rushing the man.

  “Mmm, that feels good,” I purred.

  “It won’t in a moment.”

  He was wrong, but I wasn’t about to tell him that. I loved being spanked. If there was one thing I would take away from this week, it was the fact that I loved being over someone’s lap with their hand slamming into my backside. After this assignment, I was going to have to find someone in the lifestyle. James had given me a taste for it. Hell, perhaps I could even go back to Elite Encounters and book a session with him. Stop it, Lois. Just stop it.

  “I know you think you’re just getting a spanking before you go off to Carte Blanche, but you’re going to get a little more than that, Lois, and I’m sorry.” He patted my ass as if in commiseration.

  That immediately had my attention. What was going on now and why had I only just heard about it? I didn’t have to wait long to find out.

  “To give you the best possible chance of success, we need to show Dumortier that you’re into pain and a simple spanking won’t suffice. You’ll be a much more interesting prospect to him if you have evidence of whip marks, or worse. This means using the cane or tawse if we want to get maximum results, but I’ll go with what you’re happy with. The crop is a possibility if we use it hard, and I’m more than happy to give you some pain relief before we start, if you think you need it.”

  James hadn't given me any kind of pain relief the whole week I'd been here so that immediately told me this was going to get nasty.

  "I'm not likely to get any pain relief while at Carte Blanche, am I?"

  "Probably not. Depends on which animal picks you and whether he has any shred of humanity left, but I wouldn't count on it. Having said that, the place is rife with drugs. Have enough of those pumped into your system, and you probably won't care about pain."

  "You're not selling this to me, Leveritt." My mouth wrinkled up in distaste, but I knew what I was signing up for, and this was not news to me.

  "Good. Are you going to back out then?" James sounded hopeful, and I could have hugged him for it.

  “You know me better. Warm me up with your hands, and then let loose with both the tawse and cane. I might as well see what I’m letting myself in for, and anything that might help me get to Dumortier has my vote.”

  He sighed. "I knew you'd say that. This is going to really hurt, Lois. You won't be able to sit on your ass for a couple of days, and at the auction, they'll be prodding and poking you. I'd feel better if you took a couple of painkillers. Just for today. I know you'll cope when you need to, but this is probably too much suffering to go through on day one."

  “I’ll deal with it, James. I like suffering,” I teased.

  He growled. “Not this kind of suffering, but suit yourself. It’s probably better if your reactions aren’t slowed by a dose of Codeine, anyway.”

  “Codeine? Is that all I was getting?” I almost sneered my nose up.

  “Yup. There’ll be plenty of time for the hard-core drugs later, Lois.” With that, the spanking began in earnest.

  As far as warm-up’s went, it was fairly intense, but I knew that he was just trying to raise my endorphin level close to something that could cope with the pain of being whipped. I guessed this was the practice session that would tell me whether I could deal with Dumortier or not. It was a bit last-minute but better
late than never.

  Gritting my teeth, I held my body still as James's hand crashed down upon my backside over and over again. Repeatedly telling myself not to clench my ass cheeks, as it would only make the pain worse, I remembered to breathe as I had been taught – in and out through both mouth and nose. I'd been told it was important to get as much oxygen in as possible because it would become harder and harder to breathe the longer the session continued. So far, I was a textbook pupil. I wondered how long that would continue for?

  James was relentless, of course. I knew that this session wasn’t going to be pleasant, but I had no idea how he could deliver such impressive smacks using nothing more than his hands. Before long my ass felt like someone had set fire to it, and each new spank poured fuel upon the blazing inferno. Breathe. All you’ve got to do is breathe. It was easier said than done.

  “Nearly there, Lois. You’re doing great.” My ass disagreed. James then increased the speed of his spanking, until they were raining down like hailstones, golf ball-sized hailstones - the ones that impart shock and awe when they leave a fist-sized dint in your car. I had no idea what he was doing to my ass, but I had faith that it would recover – eventually.

  “It’s getting nice and red now, Lois. Just a few more swats and we can move on. Try to stay relaxed and focused. You can do this.”

  Easy for you to say. On the plus side, this wasn’t as bad as being shot, but I was disappointed it wasn’t turning out to be the fun spanking I had expected. Realistically, I knew that all this and worse was what I had to look forward to in Carte Blanche, but I didn’t want this to be my last memory of James. I had selfishly wanted something flirty and sexy just for me. Perhaps it was time to get with the programme and look ahead. Where I was going, there was no place for daydreaming.

  Automatically tensing as the next blow came down, I let the resulting sting eat away at me for a moment, before I relaxed enough to swallow the heat up. Concentrate, Lois. This is just the warm-up for fuck's sake.

  “Right, you get a short breather while I go and collect my instruments of torture. Use the time wisely to get your breathing under control and find a nice place inside your head where you can hide away for a while. Remember what I said about breathing – calm, deep, and slow, Lois. Oh, and remember to repeat your meaningful phrase - over and over again. Although it will feel impossible at the time, it will help you to get through it.”

  Putting James's advice to good use, I went through the meditation techniques I had been taught, doing my best to calm my body before the bad boys were brought out. In the past week, I'd experienced my fair share of paddles, whips, and crops, but none of them had left any marks. Still, if this were to be the only reminder of my time with James Leveritt, then I would wear my bruises with pride. I doubted I'd feel the same about anything that Dumortier would care to dish out.

  By the time James had come back, I'd slowed my pulse rate down considerably, and the stinging throb of my backside had settled into a dull, burning ache that I could comfortably deal with. That was all about to change. The soft, black silk around my eyes felt heavy and suffocating, but at least it helped me to concentrate on the task ahead.

  “Are you sure you’re ready for this, Lois?” James came to stand in front of me, and he lifted my blindfold up for a second. “I don’t want to do this, but I need to make sure you understand what’s at stake here. These beasts will do damage, and you'll see them often at Carte Blanche. Being a good girl won't get you out of being punished, either. They often do it just for sport – purely to entertain themselves."

  He held out the tawse first, which was about half a metre long and made of sturdy, thick leather. It had two prongs to the design, each of which was about three centimetres wide, and it looked like a large paddle. I knew from experience that it would deliver a little something extra, though.

  "This will impart a powerful, thuddy sting, which will leave behind some thick, red welts. It won't break the skin when used correctly, but you'll have some bruising." He flicked each of the two prongs in his finger as if to reinforce his point. I nodded. I could handle a few swats with that, I was sure of it.

  "The next is the cane, and this one is made of rattan. This almost whistles through the air, and it cuts like a knife. Most dominants use it in a parallel line fashion, but if you want to be really sadistic, you can use it in a crisscross design. If it's used hard enough, it will break the skin, and you will bleed, which means there will almost certainly be bruising. If they bring these out at Carte Blanche, you do everything in your power to avoid them, understand?"

  I nodded. I'd already pretty much figured I'd be an angel with everyone bar Dumortier. Besides, dusting down my halo and straightening out my wings might be fun. I couldn't behave around the head honcho, though. If what James was saying was correct, that would be the fastest way to see the back of him.

  “Okay, are you ready for this, Lois?” James patted my ass and waited patiently for my answer.

  “Yes.” Truth be told, I wasn’t, but that answer would get me sent home and I’d got too much riding on this project to fail now.

  “Brace yourself.” That was all the warning I got before James Leveritt unleashed the furies of Hell upon me. He didn’t do it all at once, of course. It was a slow and measured approach, designed to wear me down, but the man had charted his course carefully and knew exactly what he was doing. Three soft strokes, or as soft as they could be when wielding the tawse, followed by three medium-sized beasts, and the subsequent three had my fingers gripping the legs of the chair as if my life depended on it. The sound of the tawse flying through the air was terrifying enough, but when it landed hard on raw skin, it was all I could do not to get down on my knees and start begging for him to stop.

  Relax and remember your meaningful phrase. I wasn’t sure I would be able to stop my body from tensing in response to the blows, but I would give it my best shot. Concentrate, Lois, you can do this.

  At first, my task seemed almost insurmountable, but I concentrated on one body part at a time, as I'd been taught, and consciously tried to relax it. All the while, I was chanting, ‘Death to Dumortier,' in my head. It wasn't a great phrase, as far as meaningful inspiration went, but I would have plenty of time to work on it later.

  The thuds of the tawse were relentless. Over and over the two-pronged leather paddle crashed into my poor backside, and when the cycle reached the three most powerful lashes, I wanted to sob but refused to let myself utter a sound. It was unfair to James. He needed to feel that I'd be able to cope with the dark depravities of Dumortier, so for the time being, I needed to scream inside my head. If the man could have heard what was going on inside there, he'd have sent me packing in a heartbeat.

  “I have to say, you’re doing better than I expected,” he said, after what seemed like an eternity but was in reality probably less than five minutes.

  “Mmm?” I tried my best not to make the grunt seemed pained, but that was all the speech I was capable of at that moment in time.

  “I figured you’d have been begging me to stop by now, at the very least.” Rubbing his hand gently over my ass, I felt the urge to utter a sharp hiss, but I clamped my jaw shut. Hold it together, Lois. I wasn’t even halfway through this test. There was still the rattan cane to look forward to. When the silence dragged on for longer than I was comfortable with, I realised he expected a reply. Taking a deep, calming breath, I concentrated on speaking as evenly and as clearly as I could.

  “I don’t do begging, James.” There. I sounded almost normal. An Oscar would be coming my way shortly for that performance, I was sure of it.

  “You will under Dumortier,” he replied ominously. There was a horrible feeling in the pit of my stomach that he was right, but it wouldn’t do for me to dwell on it now.

  "Are you ready for the cane, or would you like a breather?" He gave my ass a squeeze this time, and I wanted to let forth a stream of violent expletives, but my jaw was once again locked, which meant he had to wait a while for
his answer – but that wasn't my problem. I pretended to think about it, humming thoughtfully, as my ass bleated ‘no' at me with everything it had.

  “Perhaps it’s best just to get it over with,” I said. As much as I would have liked to have put off the caning for as long as possible, the more recovery time I had between now and Carte Blanche this evening, the better. Besides, the horrible anticipation of what the cane would feel like was almost more than I could bear.

  "Suit yourself, my little masochist." The tension in the room was so thick it would have blunted a thousand knives. Anxiety swirled around me in jittery waves, and I could hardly stop myself clenching my poor, abused rear. Somehow, I did, because doing so hurt, and by the time James had finished, I was pretty sure it would hurt a hell of a lot more. Seriously, I was going to have to pee standing up for the next three days at least, and we weren’t finished yet!

  “Here we go, Lois. Brace yourself. I’m giving you five stripes, and all of them are going to feel like they’re melting your flesh. All you need to do is stay there and take it. Yelling and screaming are expected, so if you want to blast out your lungs – feel free. Now hold on tight.”

  It was a good warning. The first lick of the cane came at me with such force that I nearly knocked the chair over. Before I'd had a chance to process the splintering pain that had almost knocked me sideways, another vicious stripe was upon me. All I could hear was the cane whistling back and forth, and if the sound wasn't distressing enough, the damage it inflicted undoubtedly was. James wielded the implement like a soldier of war, and by stripe three I had tears pouring down my eyes. It was almost an automatic reaction – one I couldn't control – but somehow I managed to keep my voice mute. Yet again James was trying to tell me that I should get the hell out of here, but I don't think he'd counted on how stubborn I was. Once I'd set my mind to something, there was no changing it. No way was I going back now.