Unbound Surrender

by Sierra Cartwright

  Her leather collar hung from the tie rack in his closet, thrown away like their marriage vows.

  She met his eyes, even though he preferred she keep her gaze downcast during a scene. Confusion swam in the depth of her golden eyes; wordlessly she asked him to guide her. This time, he refused. He wanted to see where she would go, how much intimacy she wanted. “Squeeze my nipples…” he prompted.

  “Squeeze my nipples, Sir. Please.”

  Sir. That worked for him. For now.

  When he took that final step that brought him only inches from her, she lowered her gaze. “Perfect.” He took each of her nipples and gently rolled them between his thumbs and forefingers.

  She moaned slightly then apologised breathlessly.

  “No apologies,” he said. “I don’t care if everyone in the household hears your moans and screams.” He exerted a tiny bit more pressure.

  “I…”

  “You’re not thinking of climaxing, are you?”

  “I’m getting wet,” she confessed. “Sir.”

  That she was still so responsive ripped away his next breath. That had always been something he loved about her, the way she got so damp so quick, the way she orgasmed. It made it fun to punish her, draw out the climaxes until she squirmed. Once she’d even stamped her foot in frustration. “What happens to a sub who comes without permission?”

  “It’s a very long time until she’s allowed another one.”

  “Good girl.” He twisted her nipple then pinched and squeezed with deliberate, painful intent.

  “Sir! Sir, sir, sir!” She gasped. She threw her body forward, trying to lean into the pain. She released her breasts, reaching for his wrists like she had earlier.

  “Compose yourself.” He was relentless. “Back into position.” He saw what it cost her to steady her breaths as he continued to compress her nipples.

  “It hurts!”

  “Does it?”

  She fought her way back into position, struggling to cup her breasts. At least he was some help there since he was tugging so hard on her nipples they were nearly next to each other.

  He noticed the exact moment she regained control of her body’s reactions. Her breaths were still shallow, but she intentionally drew each breath. She forced her knees apart, and she leaned back slightly, even though it meant her nipples were more distended.

  By degrees, he eased up on the pressure. When she totally surrendered, he released his grip and took a step back. God, he loved the sight of her, so responsive and beautiful, blonde hair, longer than it had been, cascading over her trembling shoulders.

  He was undone.

  He crouched in front of her. She still held her breasts for him. Although her head was tipped forward, he saw she was blinking rapidly, unsure of his next move. Gently he sucked one of her nipples into his mouth and laved away the hurt with his tongue. She moaned, a sound he recognised as pure pleasure. After soothing the tip of her other breast, he slowly stood. “If you wish to stay, strip. I will be in the parlour.” Then he said, “Look at me.” As she complied, he took the time to purposefully unfasten his belt and draw it from its loops.

  Her gaze was fastened on his motions, not on his face, just as he’d intended.

  “If you join me,” he said, “you’ll experience my punishment.”

  “You said… You aren’t into revenge.”

  “Revenge, no. Punishment that you richly deserve, absolutely. There’s a difference, and you know it.” He waited until she looked at his face. “If you choose to leave, you know where the door is. Your choice, Jessica.”

  Chapter Two

  He hadn’t called her Jess. He hadn’t called her sub.

  He’d offered her an out that he was probably betting she would take. Clearly he didn’t trust her determination.

  Her mouth dry, she watched him double over the belt. Without another word, he turned and walked away.

  She remained on her knees and struggled with her emotions. This afternoon, on the train to his country home, she’d never expected him to order her to stay. She hadn’t been prepared for the possibility they’d be in a scene within minutes of her stepping foot inside his home. And she’d believed two years was long enough to break the staggering mental hold he had over her.

  Seeing him enter the foyer ten minutes ago had taken her back to the first time she’d met him at a charity function. Her date had introduced them and Stephen had charmed her, even gallantly kissing the back of her hand. There had been an undeniable darkening in his stunning blue eyes as he’d looked at her, smiled at her. She’d splurged on the gown, and it was more risqué than what she’d normally wear, slit up the side and only one strap across her left shoulder. His smile of appreciation had made the extravagance worthwhile.

  Later that night, he’d presented a large cheque to the charity, and it was only then that she’d learned who he was. Stephen Duvall was the reclusive owner of one of the most exclusive private security firms anywhere.

  The next morning she’d received a royal summons. In less than twelve hours, he’d learned more about her than her parents knew, including the fact she’d once visited a London BDSM club.

  They’d had a few dates before he brought up BDSM. But after he mentioned it and saw her reaction, he’d had her naked and bound in less than ten minutes.

  She’d dated a lot since their divorce, tearing through men, trying on relationships, looking for something she’d turned her back on. She’d learned no one was like Stephen. And, more painfully, that the only person standing between her and happiness was herself.

  So, was she going to seize the moment?

  She thought of him, of the belt, the look of deadly intent in his eyes. Her nipples throbbed. For a couple of minutes, when the pain had rocked through her body and she didn’t know what to do with it, she’d thought that maybe she’d made a huge mistake in arriving unannounced at his country home, but as she’d breathed, as she’d stopped fighting and started to surrender, remembering what she ultimately wanted, things had gotten easier. And then, then she’d felt carnal desire. Her knickers were damp with her desire. Her body was always more honest than she was.

  By turning his back on her, he’d given her an out. She’d walked through that door once and she knew what lay on the other side and it sure as hell wasn’t sunshine and rainbows.

  Her ex-husband might not be into revenge, she believed him when he said that, but he had always been a strict disciplinarian. If she followed him into the parlour, she would be punished, but it would be without anger. That final realisation was the only thing that gave her courage. He never held back like she did, but he never allowed his emotion to rule his treatment of her.

  She slowly broke position and stood, stretched from the uncomfortable position and rubbed her knees. She slipped off her heels and shimmied out of her skirt. She’d gotten past being self-conscious with him years ago. She might have a few hang-ups about the extra weight she carried, but he didn’t, and he had little tolerance for any stalling that came from her wishing she was hotter.

  She tugged off the thong that matched her bra and left everything in an untidy heap in the foyer. She’d taken a few steps down the hallway of his grand, historic home, a place she’d once lived, before she froze.

  He would fully expect her to crawl to him.

  Her cheeks burning with embarrassment, hoping Mrs. Boxley wasn’t somewhere spying on her, Jessica got on all fours. She crawled down the hall, and she paused at the entrance. He’d left his belt, still folded in half, just inside the doorway.

  She glanced up. He was standing next to the fireplace. As was his custom, the day’s newspaper had been deposited in a bin near the hearth, ready to be used in the fire. Funny how she’d remember a habit like that.

  He offered no encouragement or instructions. He didn’t need to. She knew what he expected.

  With her mouth, she picked up the belt. She used her lips, not her teeth.

  Aware of her every motion and the lewdness of her pos
ition, she continued across the polished hardwood floor, stopping in front of him. She held onto the belt until he reached down to take it from her mouth.

  “Well done.”

  Even the small approval was enough to keep her resolved, no matter what came next.

  He moved one of the chairs back from the fireplace. He was still fully dressed, which made her nudity all the more keen. He had power and control over her, like he’d always had.

  “I want you facing the chair, bent over, your hands on the arms.”

  Which meant he didn’t intend to restrain her. She had an odd relationship with bondage. She hated the restriction and intuitively struggled against it, but she also found it oddly liberating. When she was tied, she could surrender totally, knowing she had no other option.

  She deliberately shut off the part of herself that drew a parallel between bondage and her own internal struggle with her ability to be emotionally vulnerable.

  Taking her time, she crawled to the chair and then positioned herself.

  Her heart thundered.

  It had been so long since any man had taken such control with her, stood over her implacably, demanding and expecting her capitulation. She was frightened. She was aroused.

  She drew a steadying breath, but it was as shaky as her pulse.

  Without being instructed, she spread her legs farther. She knew the position left her defenceless. She was wide open to the chastisement of his leather belt. She knew it would hurt, maybe even scorch her pussy, but on some level, she craved its caress.

  She heard him moving, felt his nearness.

  He crouched behind her, making her dizzy. He ran a hand across her bare mound. Her eyes closed. She dreamt of this, fantasised about it. She never dared hope his fingers would be on her, and she was oh-so-grateful they were.

  “You’re properly shaved.”

  She hadn’t dared not be.

  “So tell me again you weren’t expecting me to dominate you this evening. In fact you were hoping I would.”

  She couldn’t admit the truth, and he would know if she lied. She remained silent, desperate for more of his touch.

  She was aware of him pushing to his feet.

  “Why are you being punished?” he asked.

  She’d always hated this part. He’d always talked to her before spanking her. He wanted to be sure she got the full impact of the lesson. She’d prefer to go someplace deep inside her head, but he rarely allowed that. He wanted her fully present, understanding what he was doing and why he was doing it. But this time, she was not sure she understood his motivation. “Sir,” she said. “I am not certain.”

  “Try.” He touched the small of her back, a silent reminder to dip her back.

  She was aware, again, of how lewd her position was. All her intimate parts were exposed.

  He ran a finger between her labia. She knew he felt her dampness, but he said nothing.

  “For running away?”

  “Keep going.”

  “Uhm…”

  He pushed his thumb against her clitoris. She wanted to grind backward, seeking the orgasm that was just there… “For coming back unannounced.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Because you want to?” If he would just move his thumb a bit, maybe back and forth, even in a circle, she could…

  He pulled his hand away.

  She moaned. She dug her fingers into the upholstery to prevent herself from wantonly thrusting her hips towards him.

  “Any other reason?” he asked.

  “For always holding back.”

  “Ah. Now we’re getting somewhere.”

  “You want…” She bit her lower lip. “You want to break me. I asked you to break me,” she said with realisation. “This is part of it.”

  “Good girl.”

  Without warning, his belt fell. She cried out. She hadn’t been aware of him taking a step back, hadn’t been prepared for the debilitating sting.

  “How many do you deserve?”

  One. One was enough. After being away for so long, not engaging in a scene with anyone in years, she was unprepared for the emotional and physical devastation.

  “Jessica?”

  Tears stung her eyes. “As many as you determine, Sir.” She remembered that response, at least.

  “How many, Jessica?”

  She thought backwards. She’d received eight for standard punishment, and once she’d been subject to ten strokes from a cane for being deliberately disobedient. Running away, coming back, surely was much more punishable. “Twelve?” But even as she said it, she doubted she could take anything close to that. Part of her was tempted to push away from the chair, head for the door. She’d wanted him to break her, no doubt he was the only man who could.

  He hit her a second time.

  She moved her hips from side to side, trying to dissipate the pain.

  He landed a third solidly in the exact spot where the first two had fallen. She tightened her buttocks, but before she could force herself to relax, he’d added a fourth and fifth in the same spot.

  She knew a huge welt would form there, making it impossible to sit for a few days.

  And she also realised he wasn’t exploiting the punishment. He hadn’t varied the distance or the force of the impact.

  She was taking his beating because he was pacing it, allowing her to take it.

  Without being coached, she dipped her back, held onto the chair again, and turned her toes slightly inward.

  “That’s a girl.”

  The sixth lash fell on top of the others. She breathed in and then blew out the breath, surrendering by measures.

  With the next one, he caught the tender flesh beneath her arse cheeks. The tip of the belt caught her upper thigh in a deliberate sting. She whimpered.

  He was punishing her now, in earnest. He’d warmed her up, allowed her to feel some confidence, and now he was undoing it.

  She could not endure twelve, if, indeed, that was where he intended to stop.

  His next one had an upward motion, and when it landed beneath her buttocks again, she broke position.

  Angry, hurting, she ignored all her training. Pushing against the chair for leverage, she stood and whirled to face him.

  The implacable set of his body and face made her tremble.

  “Your choice,” he said. “You know where the door is. If you stay, your defiance will negate the last stroke, and I’ll add another for good measure.”

  “I…”

  He didn’t respond. The horrible length of leather dangled from his right hand. He’d rolled back the sleeves of his T-shirt. She saw the tendons and sinew of his forearms, and she knew he was just as capable, or had been at one time, of using that strength for tenderness.

  So what was she going to do? Submit? Or flee?

  He drummed the fingers of his left hand against his jean-clad thigh. The clock above the mantel ticked ominously.

  His midnight-coloured eyes were unreadable, as if he didn’t care one way or the other whether she stayed or went.

  Damn it! Why hadn’t she remembered how bad his beatings hurt?

  Then she recalled how much his aftercare had soothed everything that ailed her, mentally, as well as physically. That had always made everything worthwhile. She knew there was no guarantee of being back in his arms tonight. In fact, he may very well make her sleep at the foot of his bed, rather than beside him, and she’d deserve it. But even the thought of him placing a kiss on the top her head was enough to compel her to lower her head. “I’m sorry.”

  “We’ll talk about it later.”

  That sounded more like a threat than a promise. “Will you restrain me?”

  “No. You can choose to accept my punishment, or not. I won’t make taking it easier for you.”

  She’d expected no less.

  Slowly, she resumed her position, fighting the instinct to rub her posterior.

  He continued the punishment where he’d left off, landing the next blow precisely on t
op of the previous one.

  “How many is that, Jessica?”

  She tried to recount. He knew how much easier it was for her to zone out, and he was having none of it. “Eight.” She thought. “Nine. No. Wait. We had to repeat one.” She swallowed. “Eight?”

  “And this next one, that will circle your right thigh…?”

  Dear God. Knowing what to expect was no blessing. “Nine, sir.”

  When he delivered, she shrieked.

  “And the next, around your left thigh?”

  She forced down the lump in her throat. “Ten.” At least she was getting closer.

  Oh my God! The tenth wrapped around her thigh and stole her breath.

  He gave her no warning for the eleventh, hitting both of her thighs simultaneously, on top of the two previous ones.

  Tears shimmered, but they didn’t fall, and she gnawed on her lower lip, anything to distract herself from the agonising pain.

  “Put your head on the seat cushion.”

  Her breath threatened to strangle her. She knew what to expect, and it terrified her.

  “Do you need me to repeat my order?”

  “No.”

  “No?”

  “No, Sir. You don’t need to repeat your order.” She moved slowly, delaying the inevitable.

  “Now spread your arse cheeks.”

  This was her biggest test, and they both knew it. As she reached back, then changed her mind and dropped her hands, she knew that he realised what he was demanding of her. He’d never offered the easy way out, and this was no different.

  Determinedly she pushed her forehead deeper into the cushion, spread her legs a bit wider, then brought her hands behind her to part her buttocks for him.

  She was tense, nearly on the balls of her feet, in anticipation.

  Instead of getting it over with, he parted her labia with his thumb and forefinger. “Your clit is swollen.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “And your pussy is wet.”

  He slipped a finger inside her. Her internal muscles clenched deliciously. She was seconds away from an orgasm, despite, or maybe because of, her punishment.

  She pushed back against him, silently begging for more.