Naughty Bits Part III: Bound to Please

by Hill, Joey W.

  He cuffed her ankles and just above each of her calves so her legs were drawn up into a bent angle against the surface of the planks. Pulling her hips to the back edge of the beam put her pussy in a highly exposed—and accessible—position. He adjusted her wrists and elbows like he had her knees and ankles, only in the opposite direction, so her upper arms were clear of her breasts, giving him clear access to them. She realized she looked somewhat like a jockey riding a racehorse running full out. Her heart was racing like one.

  Being vulnerable and helpless to Logan shot her arousal up to a level that eclipsed even the most intense climax she’d had before she’d met him. When he took advantage of her helpless position, bending over her to take a solid grip of her breasts on either side, she gasped and moaned as he fondled her nipples, squeezed the curves. He pushed himself against her exposed cunt, rubbing his steel cock beneath his jeans over the moist lips, making her twitch and squirm, trying to rub back. He drew back before she could get any measure of pleasure out of that.

  “Already hot and slick. I think it’s a good thing I recognized you as a discipline problem, Miss Fine. Your shameless teasing corrupts innocent, hormonal boys like Troy.”

  Because she couldn’t resist the impudent eye roll, she won a firm, sharp slap that made her buttocks wobble and her hands ball in the cuffs. “Every time I strike,” he said, “I expect you to say ‘I’m a bad girl, sir.’ If I don’t feel certain you mean it, I’m going to use something that hurts more.”

  He struck again, harder, and she yelped. “I’m a bad girl, sir.”

  And again. “I’m a bad girl, sir.”

  And again.

  “You’re just not repentant enough, Miss Fine.” He moved to his workbench, rummaged through it, came forth with a wooden dowel. “This should help.”

  “Please . . .”

  “Not one of the words we discussed.” He brought the dowel against her hindquarters again, and fuck, it definitely hurt more. She wondered if the ruler she’d used on Troy’s flesh was comparable to this. Then Logan hit her again and she realized she hadn’t obeyed his command.

  “I’m a bad girl, sir!”

  He kept doing it, and she kept saying it. It was supposed to be a game, right? So why was it, every time she said it, every time he made it more painful, more emphatic, a lump grew thicker in her throat? And she didn’t want him to stop, even though it hurt like hell. There was a moment of Oh, fuck, please stop, followed by No, don’t stop. Don’t stop . . . Then the really crazy one: Make it hurt more. Until she was begging for mercy.

  Somewhere along the way, she wasn’t saying she was a bad girl. Not exactly.

  “I’m a bad . . . I’m bad . . . bad . . .”

  Things started to unfold in her mind. Alice dying. Leroy leaving. Every time a man had walked away because she’d failed him. Actually not so much him at all. Herself. She’d failed herself. Over and over and over again. Because she couldn’t figure out how to get it right.

  I’m so bad . . . I failed . . . I was wrong . . . I’m sorry. Sorry . . .

  She was saying the words whether he was striking her or not. When he switched from the dowel back to his hand, every impact resounded through her like the bell of a church. It vibrated through her feet, her chest, a call to salvation, to redemption, to damnation, regret and unforgivable sin.

  “I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry . . .”

  She remembered holding her sister’s thin hand as life slipped from her, and now Madison was crying, her fingers clutched into fists in the cuffs. Her heart clenched up the same way. And yet, as he punished her, her sex was as wet as her eyes. If he were a magician and had sawed her in half, she couldn’t be more divided.

  She was lifting into his strikes, because she craved his hand more than the dowel, his heated palm smarting against her flesh. He paused, and she heard his belt being unbuckled. Was he going to hit her with his belt? Given the power and strength he had in his hand, the idea made her quake . . . and yearn. She could use her safe word. She could, even if saying Alice’s name right now might literally tear her heart open to bleed out inside the rest of her body. But she wanted this, wanted all the punishment he could dish out. She wanted to immerse herself in the pain of redemption and paying for her sins, for the hope that on the other side of it she could come out clean. Deserving of love.

  He didn’t use his belt, but a weapon far more potent. He leaned over her, rough jaw brushing her cheek. “You aren’t bad, Madison. Just lost. We all get lost.”

  A sob choked her, and he pressed his jaw harder against her, making an incoherent, soothing noise. “I’m going to fuck you now, make it all better. Would you like that?”

  She nodded, feeling the scratch of his five o’clock shadow against her fairer skin. She needed him to make it all better.

  “Then ask me.”

  “Please . . .” She swallowed, tasted the salt of her tears. “Please, Master. I need you . . . I need you.”

  She was supposed to say “Please fuck me,” but that was all she could get out. Fortunately, Logan seemed to realize it meant the same thing.

  She was vaguely aware of the ripping noise of a condom. Then the head of his cock was against her cunt, spread and flushed for him, the juices sucking him in so that she let out a deep, shuddering sigh as he slid into her, worked his way deeper, all the way to the hilt, so his thighs were pressing against the back of hers. He hadn’t taken his jeans all the way off. He was still wearing everything, underscoring her nakedness, his total control of her and the situation.

  She dug her fingers into the polished wood beneath her, her eyes closing so her wet lashes fanned her cheeks. He didn’t move, didn’t start to thrust as her quivering tissues anticipated. Instead, he laid his body over hers and gripped her wrists above the cuffs, his fingers tangling with hers. With a muffled sob, she clung to them so hard she was afraid she might hurt him, but he didn’t draw back. Instead, he placed a long kiss on her nape, bared because her hair had slipped down over either side of her neck. Then another kiss on the top bump of her spine. Each touch of his mouth was full of quiet meaning that broke her open further.

  “Logan . . .”

  “Sssh. I’m here, Madison. I’ll always be here. Long as you want and need me.”

  At this entirely raw moment, she couldn’t imagine needing anyone more. The depth of her feelings frightened her. She’d thought herself head over heels in love before, had torn herself open for lovers, removed all shields so she’d had no defenses when a lover thrust the steel of rejection through her. She’d sworn she’d never do that again. Sworn it in heart’s blood. Meant it so much she’d sacrificed her relationship with the one person she’d always loved soul-deep. Alice.

  She trembled. “Please start moving, Logan. Make the thoughts go away.”

  “You don’t have to be afraid of them.” He surrounded her, held her. “I won’t let them tear you apart.”

  “I’m afraid they’ll ruin this. Please?”

  “Beg, and maybe I will.” He shifted, a push deeper, and her tissues convulsed around him, making her moan. His fingers were still tangled with hers, and she was able to move her head, put her mouth on them, her lips parted so her teeth cut against his knuckles.

  “Please, Master. Please . . . fuck me. Make me forget.”

  “I’d rather make you forgive. But one step at a time.” Slowly, he straightened above her, moving his hands from her wrists to her back, sliding down either side of her spine so she didn’t feel the loss of his weight, his heat, so keenly. Putting both hands on her hips, he withdrew just as gradually, then pushed back in the same way.

  Just like that, every thought went away, her body’s responses taking up all her energy to laser in on the wealth of sensations he created. He was a nice, thick size that rubbed the right ways, inside and outside. As he thrust into her more firmly, his testicles pressed into her clit, sending
a pleasurable little spasm through her.

  “Oh,” she whispered. “Yessss.”

  He did it again. Her backside was sore from his punishment, but the impact of his body against that tender flesh just added to the spiraling feelings. He held to the same pace, though from the clutch of his fingers, the rasp of his breath, she could tell he was like a bow being drawn, close to loosing the arrow. She was right with him. She couldn’t control any of it, except for lifting her hips to every thrust, trying to push back against him, inspire him to increase his pace, but he was stubborn as hell, holding on to all control, making sure the buildup was excruciating. She gasped at each stroke, then moaned, then pleaded.

  “Please . . . Master . . .”

  He caught a fistful of her hair, pulling her head up and back, emphasizing her bondage, the imposition of his will. She cried out as her clit and the walls inside began to spasm, a precursor to climax. With every stroke, her clit was rubbed against those smooth tacks.

  “Ask me to come, Madison. You don’t come until I say so.”

  “Please, Master. Please let me come. And you come, too. Please.” She wanted to feel it, wished he would tear away the condom.

  “You don’t want it bad enough, Miss Fine. You aren’t really begging.” Sliding his hand beneath her, he lifted her hips, denying her the bumpy stimulation of the golden tack heads as he continued to thrust.

  By the time he let them both go, she was begging in ways that creatures tormented by hellfire would. She was crying out his name, calling him Master, pleading for his permission. When at last he let her have that contact with the beam, gripped both hips anew and started thrusting hard enough he was smacking his testicles against her with every stroke, she was screaming. She couldn’t hold off any more.

  “Please . . . Master . . .”

  “Come now, Madison. Let me hear you.”

  The sound that ripped from her throat was like the dying shriek of a civilization, long and drawn out, laden with the emotions she was releasing along with the climax. New tears bathed her face when the intense spasms started to ease, and then he set her off again by releasing at last. A paroxysm of aftershocks gripped her, goaded by his groans of male pleasure, the bruising grip of his fingers. He slammed into her, not holding back, letting her feel the sheer, rutting animal demand, his mastery unleashed fully in the ultimate act of control, fucking her into insensibility.

  Every second of this would haunt her dreams. He hadn’t climaxed until she did everything he commanded, holding control over her pleasure and his own until the very end. The significance of that alone would give those dreams an erotic, liquid turn. She anticipated waking in an intense state of arousal every morning for the foreseeable future.

  She bet he knew that. He’d said most Doms had a sadistic side, after all. But the real surprise was finding she was more of a masochist than she’d known. His brand of sensual cruelty only made her want one thing—more.

  * * *

  When he released her, there was no choice but to be carried. She was boneless. He readjusted his clothes and lifted her off the structure, then put her feet on the floor only the second needed to scoop her up in his arms. He took her to a curtained opening she’d assumed held more tools, but instead she saw it was a small office, complete with couch, flat screen and desk. He settled on the couch, holding her in his arms, keeping her warm with his body. She was perspiring, but shivering as well, as much nerves as anything, but the cooling sweat was part of it. Pulling a throw off the top of the couch, he put it around her, though she threaded her arms under his and stayed against his body so nothing interfered with her connection to his heat, the warmth she needed most of all.

  He made her drink water, eat a couple of crackers. Even on top of the trembling, occasionally her body would jerk in a new set of spasms. Tears kept spilling out of her eyes, no rhyme or reason. He wiped them with tissues, even wiped her nose because she couldn’t let go of him. If he shifted, her grip only tightened. She was broken down so thoroughly she had no restraint or filter for her emotions.

  He stroked his hand over her hair, cupped her skull, rocked her, spoke quietly to her. She had no idea what he was saying. His voice was the important anchor, not the content. He could have been reciting a bus schedule to her.

  “Oh, God, Logan.” Those were her first three words, when some rational thought returned. Her voice was high and thin. “Is it always like that?”

  “No. The first time you crack open your soul, it has to bleed out all the pus and pain. It might take a few sessions, but eventually it starts to run more clean. You reach a different kind of subspace. Just as powerful, but different.”

  She turned that idea over in her head in a drifting, hazy way, then gave up any in-depth analysis tonight. She’d have as much chance of discovering a cure for cancer with peanut butter and bananas. “Okay.”

  His jaw tensed against her, probably a smile. But when she tipped her head up, she found his gaze roving her face in a way that felt . . . overwhelming. He touched her mouth, tracing it, then cupped the side of her throat, his thumb sliding over her windpipe. “That was remarkable for me, too. You were extraordinary.”

  “Don’t,” she said softly, feeling the first shard of fear. “Please don’t say anything more.”

  He tucked her head back under his chin, increased his hold around her. “I am going to beat those fears out of you,” he promised.

  She snorted on a weak, hysteria-induced chuckle. Anyone else might say such a thing as a joke, a teasing threat. Her Master meant it. Meant every word. It made her stomach flip in anticipation.

  Her Master.

  She told herself the same thing she’d just told him. Don’t.

  “I want you to think about something, Madison.”

  “When I can think again, I’ll get right on that.”

  He gave her a little admonishing shake, a nip of her ear. She squirmed half-heartedly. “What do you want me to think about?”

  “The difference between falling in love and wanting to be loved.”

  Her lashes lifted. When he looked at her and seemed to see things in herself she couldn’t see, that was when it was hardest to hold his gaze. She looked back down at his chest.

  He didn’t say anything else for awhile. She was the one who broke the silence, changing topic when she thought she could talk. “So I guess we found out I’m not a Mistress.”

  “Not with me, no. But we aren’t, any of us, just one thing. Look at your shop. You’re like a Mistress there. You take your customers’ desires, push them that last step, give them permission to be who they want to be.”

  “That might be a stretch,” she demurred, but she hadn’t really thought about it that way. She traced his forearm, the layer of hair there. “I think it’s the control freak thing that sometimes makes people think . . . I always want to be in control.”

  “It can be a gray line. Most Doms are control freaks.” He brushed his lips over her forehead. “Not me.”

  “Of course not.”

  He gave her a light pinch. “Ironically, I’ve found a lot of female subs are control freaks. Our society demands that women succeed at so many things. The only time you let go of that is with the right Dominant personality. Maybe that kind of sub recognizes a control freak bigger and badder than herself and, like a strong alpha female in a wolf pack, she’s willing to let him or her Dominate her.”

  She didn’t have the brain function to know exactly where he was going with this, but the words resonated. Rolling her head back on his shoulder, she turned her nose to his shirt, inhaling his scent. She hoped it would imprint itself on her, just like an animal. She was in a very odd place, for sure.

  He dipped his head, touched her lips with his, once, twice, then settled back a few inches. There were flecks of gold in his eyes, just like she imagined a wolf would have. “Alice said that the biggest thing you and I had in co
mmon is we never followed her relationship advice.”

  “She tried to give you relationship advice?”

  “All the time.” He grinned. “I needed it, but that didn’t mean I listened, any more than you did. The relationships I tried to have outside club sessions never worked. I had a knack for picking the wrong mix. Alice called it a case of the prophet being blind to his own humanity.”

  “Sounds like her.”

  In the wry twist of his lips, she saw an echo of the exasperation she’d often exhibited when her sister tried to impose her will upon her. At least that was the way it had felt at the time. She had a different perspective of it now. Alice had wanted her to be happy, and whether or not she had the right or wrong advice for that, the desire to put her on that path would have been driven by love, not a need to run Madison’s life, as she’d resentfully assumed. The thought sent a hard shot of longing through her, a couple more tears seeping out.

  He kissed the tears away, held her close, started that light rocking again. “Tell me the rest?” she asked in a whisper. He nodded.

  “Every time I hit that brick wall, failed again, she didn’t say ‘I told you so.’ She didn’t seem smug about it at all.”

  “I know. That’s part of what made it so infuriating.”

  “Yeah.” He paused, and he swallowed against her temple. “She was a true friend. I don’t think I’ve ever met someone so self-assured and yet devoid of ego. She was afraid of true intimacy with a lover; that was her kryptonite. Yet she had infallible judgment when it came to enhancing that quality between others.”

  He coiled his fingers in her hair, cradling her head in his palm so she met his gaze once more. “And before you even think it again, once and for all, now and forever, you are not, and never will be, a surrogate for your sister to me. What you are is my last promise to her.”