by Livia Grant
His free hand lightly circled the front of her throat. “You forgot to say sir.”
Klara could not help but feel something tighten below the waist over thoughts of what Will Coleman might do to correct her.
His chocolate eyes slipped from her face to take in what waited at her back. Leaning forward, Will pressed his lips to her ear. “It would appear the stage has been cleared. I believe it is time I showed you how bad you have been.”
Chapter 8
There had been scenarios on the roulette wheel Klara had been hoping to avoid. Whipping was not one of them. How bad could it be? In the weeks she’d worked there, no sub at Black Light had ever been truly hurt. Even better, she was able to face the wall and avoid making eye contact with anyone watching.
Will had slowly stripped her naked, unzipped her dress and had her step out of it, unhooked her new racy bra and slid the matching thong down her hips. Before too many people might gawk at her nudity, her wrists were strapped to a wooden whipping post, and spectators would only be able to view her ass. As far as she was concerned, all of them could kiss it.
Especially Spencer, who had taken it upon himself to hover and monitor her scene. He’d even been the smirking bastard who’d prepared the equipment on Will Coleman’s direction.
Klara had expected as much. Fortunately, it was much easier to tolerate the unwelcome Dungeon Master with Will running the show. Her dom for the evening was overwhelming despite his soft-spoken voice and languorous movements. It was more than the height of him, his bulk apparent when he pointedly stripped off his suit jacket, tie, and lavender button down. When he was shirtless, the crisp line of his tailored slacks riding low on his hips, Klara let her eyes linger over the insane definition of his musculature. The man was an Adonis, smooth and hairless, moving with a panther-like grace as he slid his hands to her hips. He turned her away from Spencer’s eyes and towards the wooden pillar, his every movement as drawn out as his speech—the grip on Klara’s wrist as he stretched her arm upward and cuffed one limb then the other above her head, deliberate yet lingering.
When she was bound the way he desired, Will pressed his chest to her back. He was large enough to surround her, warm hands running over her belly, weighing her breasts. It was all long strokes, no pinching of her nipples, no teasing of the trimmed blonde hair above her sex. He was petting her like a cat, fingertips to shoulders, flank to hip, over and over until Klara felt the strain on her wrists from wilting.
The moment should have been between only the two of them, even Klara was willing to pretend they were somewhere else, intimate under different circumstances, but an intrusive voice crashed into her headspace.
“You understand that you can safeword at any time. Just say it once and this can all be over.” Spencer had circled the stage, standing right in front of the whipping post, directly in her line of sight.
Yes, she understood, and she didn’t appreciate being interrupted or talked to like a child. “Yes, Spen—” Klara caught herself before she said her chosen safeword, gritting her teeth to complete the sentence, “—yes, boss. I understand.”
There was a grumble from the man at her back, though his hands did not waver in their warming strokes. “Princess, were you just rude to Black Light’s Dungeon Master?”
There was no apology in her reply. In fact she was still glaring at the man in question. “Perhaps, sir. It’s open to interpretation.”
Will stepped away, his body heat fading with him as he purred, “I’m starting to think you don’t want to win after all.”
Klara had never seen him pick up an implement, but before Will’s last words had left his lips there was a whoosh through the air. Something fell with a snap across her shoulder blades, something that felt like it should have been soft, but stung with a vengeance.
The first strike had been so unexpected that Klara squeaked. When the second blow came she’d locked her grunt behind her teeth, but tensed and pulled against the restraints. Three fell in quick succession, no longer peppering her upper back, but scathing dots of fire from her ass to thigh.
Spencer was still watching her, observing every time her body jumped, the way she had screwed her eyes shut and breathed too shallowly.
There was no rhyme or reason to Will’s tempo, no way to count through it or breathe in time with his strikes. There was only pain.
Klara tried to tell herself that Viking blood ran through her veins, that she was better than this. She tried to think of anything but where she was or why. It was impossible.
Will gave her a few seconds of reprieve, probing, “Why are you really here, Princess?”
She had yet to catch her breath, struggling to pant a reply she thought he’d want to hear. “To please you, Sir.”
He brought his implement down again, hard. Even his voice, that voice that had been velvet, turned sharp. “Why are you here, Princess?”
Fuck, it hurt. It hurt bad. Klara turned her head, needing to see Will’s face so she might find the answer that would make him stop.
Spencer interjected when Will drew back his arm, a black deerskin flogger ready to crack down on the place that made her squeal loudest. “Don’t tense up, Klara. Relax your muscles.”
Her head swung around to find the familiar voice had come closer. Spencer waited, arms crossed over his broad chest. A vein bulged at his throat, and his eyes burned when she finally met his gaze.
The first thought in her brain was so bizarre Klara wasn’t sure if she’d gone loopy. It was Spencer’s red tie. In that instant, she realized it was the same one he’d worn the day they’d met—when he’d sat her down for that five minute sham of an interview.
Honey eyes were on it when the next blow landed. From shoulder to shoulder she was on fire yet shivering from cold. Klara knew there were silent tears on her cheeks, but what she didn’t know past the shock was that Spencer saw it all.
Accusation, anger, and frustration, all twisted up in grief, and it was directed right at him. One look laid all the blame at his feet.
Spencer uncrossed his arms, shifting his weight. “Say your safeword, Klara.”
The second he challenged her to do it, stone-cold resolve took over. A switch flipped, Klara relaxed as he’d suggested, closed her eyes, and tried her best to let Will hurt her without making another noise.
She had to win.
The world was against her, all the weight bearing down on her shoulders. Pain, responsibility, culpability for every time she’d failed Elias. Klara was drowning in it, could feel it pool like sewer water building up around her toes. It crashed against her legs, scorched up her thighs, and twisted where for some reason she’d grown wanton and thirsty.
Another volley of quickly fired stings landed across her buttocks.
God help her, she moaned. And then the hurt twisted into something more—calm amidst the shower of pain, her breath leveling into slow, even breaths. The next time she heard the whoosh of her dom’s impending blow, Klara opened herself to it.
“Good girl, that’s right.” Will’s strong body was at her back once more, the man curved around her, his touch instantly pressing up between her legs. He was careful there, one hand’s fingers pumping smooth and slow into her pussy, the other hand swirling deliciously over her clit. Half of her body burning, the other half cooled from sweat, he blended all she was and was not, deliciously.
It built like a spark of electricity from the roots of her hair, jolting through a pounding heart, to crash like thunder in a fluttering belly. Sex had never been like this, it had never drawn out animal noises. It had never shaken her to the point her beginning and end were one.
She came on a deep inhale, toes curling, the world nothing like what it was supposed to be.
Lips soft, full and tempting at her ear, again Will asked, “Why are you here, Miss Eriksson?”
He gripped her hair, pulling enough to send a ripple of sensation through her scalp. Turning her head, he demanded honey eyes meet deep chocolate brown.
&nb
sp; She could barely manage a whisper. “Because I need it.”
“Yes, you do.” For a moment Will was as gentle as he’d been at the start. “Let go.”
Just like that, whatever high she’d indulged in was over. There were too many things in the way. Too much she had to do. “I can’t.”
His thumb pulled her bottom lip to the side, smearing her juices all over her mouth. He looked unmoved by her resistance, leaning down to press a kiss to her forehead. “Then I’m going to have to hurt you until you can.”
Will backed away and spoke louder. “Mr. Cook, hand me the Loopy Johnny.”
Klara had no idea what that was, or why Spencer seemed to disagree with her dom’s choice of tools. It was not as if the Dungeon Master had vocalized dissent or even hesitated to retrieve the flogger Will had chosen. But there had been something in his mannerism Klara had seen before.
Spencer had gone from swaggering to grumpy.
It should have made her nervous. Instead it gave her a thrill. Enjoying her momentary, silent rebellion, Klara sighed, closing her eyes and resting her forehead against the whipping post.
Behind her the men, their gathered audience, admired what had been done to her body. Will’s blows had been well-placed, avoiding delicate internal organs, and spread out to maximize discomfort. Klara’s round ass was cherry red, stripes crisscrossing in a pleasing array. The pattern across her shoulders was just as lovely, angel wings spanning her ribs.
But he had only just begun.
A whistle of air preceded Will’s chosen toy.
When it landed, the strike was more precise and the sting far more intense. Klara screamed. Whatever Will had struck her with before was child’s play; she’d been foolish to think that she’d known pain. Three more snapping strikes and her thready composure crumbled into nothing.
Wailing, Klara began to cry. She cried as if her mother was still alive and might be there to comfort her. She sobbed as if Elias’s father had not been a deadbeat who’d smacked around her baby brother until Klara had found out and taken the boy away. She wept as if she had not given up a scholarship and any kind of future she’d imagined for herself to raise him. She cried until there weren’t tears or hiccups or screams.
Limp as a rag, she hung from her restraints and grew empty. The subsequent blows still hurt, but over time each kiss of the Loopy Johnny began to feel almost good. Before she knew it she was nearly swooning, purring out nonsense groans, unsure why her pussy throbbed in time with the welts on her ass.
Chapter 9
After a heavy male sigh, the scratch of curtains pulling across their rod sounded, and a soft spoken argument filled the semi-private enclosure. “You took it too far.”
“I respectfully disagree. Look at her. She’s flying.” Gentle fingers brushed back the sweaty hair stuck to Klara’s forehead, a low rumble staking claim. “She may have entered subspace sooner if you hadn’t been distracting her, Mr. Cook. Don’t spoil Princess’ lesson by drawing her out before she has fully enjoyed it.”
Ice cold water was at her lips, Klara sipped, half-awake and comfortable.
She was draped over someone’s lap, wrapped in the softest of blankets and unwilling to move anytime soon. From toes to fingertips her skin tingled, muscles loose and drowsy. Klara had never felt so contented or so disconnected.
Spencer was still mumbling, though he had lowered his voice as if not to disturb her. “It was her first time sceneing.”
“I am aware.” A hint of annoyance colored Will’s deep timbre. “And she did very well. Every moment of pain was good for her.”
Disagreement raised his whisper to a hiss. “Klara is complicated. You’re not the type of dom she’ll learn from.”
“From one sadist to another, you’re out of line, Spencer. You shouldn’t even be in here right now. These moments should be about her, not you.” Will gathered his dozing sub closer, rocking Klara gently until she smiled softly. “If you need your turn at the whipping post, I’ll be happy to see to your issues later.”
A low growl preceded, “You might be Dungeon Master back in L.A., but I am in charge at Black Light.”
A flap of fabric and quiet stole in. With Spencer gone, at last Will had Klara all to himself.
Spencer was looking for an excuse to disqualify them, and having a prominent member of the community all but accuse him of unfairness right to his face had been... frustrating. It didn’t change the way he felt. There was something wrong with him, how he’d stood by and salivated watching another man undress Klara before her scene. There had even been a stifled groan in his throat when red fabric had parted and the tattoo right in the center of Klara’s back was exposed.
A knotted ouroboros—a depiction of a serpent swallowing its tail, rendered with Nordic influence—delicate yet stark.
It was the sexiest fucking thing he’d ever seen. Or it had been before he’d seen the trimmed wisps of blonde on her mound. Even if she’d grown it out, Klara’s pubic hair would never be a thatch. It was shiny and sparse and looked downy soft.
One glance and Spencer’s fingers had instantly formed a fist. Because, in truth, he wanted to reach out and touch it.
He should have sent Owen to monitor Klara; he should have known Will Coleman would push her right to the limit in her very first scene. There was something about the guy. Deep down Spencer didn’t trust the man. Not when it came to Klara. He knew her better. The nuances of her stubbornness only he could interpret.
Spencer didn’t believe she would safeword if she needed to—not when she was trying to make a point.
If he didn’t watch, she could get hurt. Furthermore, how could he resist?
In pain, Klara’s face had been perfection. Watching her unravel... he’d never grown so hard. If he’d glanced down even once to see her naked breasts jolt with every strike, his aching cock would have spurt a mess in his slacks.
Which is what brought him to the men’s room the second he’d left Klara and Will alone in the semi-private booth.
Behind the isolation of the stall door, Spencer did something unthinkable. He reached into his pants, hard dick caught in his hand. It took less than three manic pumps of his fist before he’d come, biting back any noise, filling his palm with creamy white.
Teenage boys had more control.
Staring down at the slimy palm of his hand, he sighed. The orgasm had been unfulfilling but at least his dick was starting to go limp.
After a few minutes of collecting himself, Spencer washed his hands, smoothed his hair, and walked out of the restroom and into a new fresh hell.
Klara was on stage, and she’d spun Breath Play.
Breath Play. Klara didn’t even know what that was.
Choking? Was that it? One guy she’d dated back in her twenties had wanted to try it. It hadn’t really done anything for her, but Will Coleman was not the kind of man who was going to be squeamish about it.
Considering the praise and massage he’d just lavished her with, the care he’d taken explaining how she was feeling and why it was okay, she was willing to give him a go.
But she did not know him well, and even with the lapse of thirty minutes, she wasn’t one-hundred percent normal. Truth was, she felt drunk... and it was kinda nice.
Warm and fuzzy even though Will had taken the blanket away so all who saw her might enjoy his handiwork, she smiled. For some unknown reason, naked in front of the room, Klara was even proud of herself. She’d made it through one intense scene. The rest of the night would be a cake walk. After all, what could be worse than being whipped for thirty minutes straight?
After sneaking side glances at other scenes and moaning couples, Klara had to admit she was surprised by how much everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves... even the subs being tormented. It was a revelation. And yes, her back stung, yes, she was drowsy, but she also felt powerful for the first time in weeks.
If she was going to do this, she wanted to experience it all the way.
Klara wanted to come scr
eaming like the girl in the stockade. She wanted to test her bravery and see if this good feeling might expand. Mostly, she wanted to make Spencer eat every last mean word he’d ever said to her.
Unlike their last scene, Will was not leading her to the stage. Instead he’d chosen a place near the corner where massage tables were available for use. In all her weeks at Black Light, Klara had never seen those tables used for an actual massage. He was going to fuck her on one... at least that’s what she hoped.
Even after the orgasm he’d given between strikes on her back, she was horny. Ridiculously horny, and Will was ridiculously hot. From the look of the bulge in his pants he was most likely ridiculously well-hung too.
The fact she was even slightly excited about having sex in front of people she knew made the whole thing ridiculously insane. That didn’t change how much she wanted him inside her.
Klara was pretty certain from the wicked look Will had just shot her that he could read her mind.
Around them congregated several Black Light party goers who’d come to witness a scene suiting their tastes. Since the table was not on a raised platform they seemed more a part of the moment when they gathered around, and Klara was not sure she liked it.
“Pay attention, Princess.” Will patted the end of the massage table, motioning for Klara to take a seat. “The nature of Breath Play is very advanced. You may not be able to safeword if you want out.”
All her cocky self-assurance evaporated with that one comment from her dom. “Sir?”
“The first round, I went easy on you. Pain was nothing but a fleeting sensation. Your issues were here.” First he tapped her skull, then he smoothed his fingers down from her forehead, over the slope of her nose, her lips, pinching her chin. “Our next scene will be less mental and much more physical. Think about that before you commit.” For the first time in the night, Will pressed a lingering kiss to her mouth. His tongue dipped between her parted lips, and the moment she began to kiss him back he pulled away, warning, “I want you to know I am going to use you.”
