Agony/Ecstasy: Original Stories of Agonizing Pleasure/Exquisite Pain

by Litte, Jane

  Thank goodness. If she had to get intimate with him in the bright lights he had on before, she would have felt even more vulnerable and exposed. But the dark suited her just fine.

  She didn’t even realize she was looking down at the concrete floor—which was unlike any concrete floor she had ever seen, as it was so nice looking—until Eric lifted her chin, compelling her to look into his eyes.

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “Are you scared?”

  Yes. “No, Sir.”

  “Then I want you to take off your clothes for me.” He made no move to help her, so she put her purse down and started unbuttoning her blouse. At least he had already seen her scars, so there would be no surprise there. But he hadn’t seen all of them.

  Letting her blouse drop to the floor, she touched her belly self-consciously. She could feel his eyes linger on the crisscross of healed cuts across her stomach, but he didn’t say a word.

  She unzipped the fly of her black slacks and shimmied them down her pale thighs. When she stepped out of her heels, she dropped a good three inches. Eric positively towered above her at six foot three. He held his hand out for support when she wobbled, unsteady on her feet as she stepped out of the pants and kicked them to the side.

  “God, you’re beautiful,” he said, running his hand across the underside of her brassiere. “Take off the bra.”

  His commanding tone had her wet already, but the silence he had imposed on her made her feel acutely off balance. She was used to saying what she wanted to, when she wanted. Unhooking her bra, it fell to the floor next to her other clothes, leaving her in nothing but a thong.

  “Leave the panties on,” he said, “and go pick out your whip.”

  What? How could she possibly pick out the very implement that would be used on her? She looked at the wall of floggers, whips, and paddles, and raised her eyebrows.

  “Have you ever been whipped before?” he asked.

  “No, Sir. I wouldn’t know what to pick.”

  “I’d recommend the second from the right. It hurts like a bitch but it doesn’t raise any welts or cut the skin. I could punish you all night and you’d leave here without a mark on you,” he said. “Bring it to me.”

  Nodding, Natalie walked across the room to the wall of implements. Second from the right. She carefully grasped what looked like a long, flexible leather riding crop and held it reverently in her hands. Could this crop be the outlet she craved—a way for her to stop cutting?

  “Where do you want me, Sir?” she asked, then instantly bit her lip since she had spoken out of turn. Being silent was more difficult than she had anticipated.

  Eric shook his head with a smile as he took the riding crop from her trembling hand. “Did I say you could speak?”

  “No, Sir.”

  “Then I think you need a reminder of who’s in charge. Bend over this and hold on.”

  She looked at the wide, padded leather-covered spanking bench he was pointing to and carefully laid herself over it. Her heartbeat raced in anticipation of the first lick, but instead of the riding crop across her back, she felt his hard hand spank her ass cheek.

  It stung more than she expected from just a simple hand spank. This guy meant business.

  More spanks covered her ass cheeks, sometimes alternating back and forth between the left and the right buttock, and sometimes smacking the exact same spot over and over until she squealed and gripped the handles on the spanking bench tightly.

  “Now, Natalie,” he murmured, running his fingers lightly over her scorched bottom, “you’re nice and pink.”

  “I thought you wouldn’t leave any marks,” she said. Oops—she kept forgetting she didn’t have permission to speak whenever she felt like it. “Sorry, Sir.”

  He smacked her ass again, hard, in response. “It’ll fade. This is actually the best way to avoid leaving bruises and marks. A nice light warm-up spanking to get you all pretty and pink before I get serious with your punishment.”

  That was a warm up? What on earth was the “real thing” going to feel like?

  “Don’t move,” he said softly, and she heard the sound of the riding crop whipping through the air before it made contact across the center of her ass cheek. She howled in surprise more than pain. “You’re a drama queen, aren’t you,” he chuckled, bringing the crop down again, hitting the other cheek.

  It hurt. Damn, it hurt. But she was still here, still hadn’t disappeared off into subspace like when she truly lost herself in an endorphin rush of pain.

  He whipped her again, the crop falling on a slightly different part of her bottom, feeling like it was cutting her skin, but she knew it couldn’t be. Even though Eric Turner was a stranger, she trusted him to keep her safe. Something about him felt right. She gasped as the whipping picked up pace, not leaving her time to catch her breath or compose herself.

  But she wouldn’t even think about calling it quits. She needed more.

  Suddenly, Eric stopped. “You’ve had enough.”

  “No!” she wailed. “Keep going . . . Sir.”

  “I decide when you’ve had enough. Not you.” He lifted her up, her knees feeling weak and shaky, and pulled her toward his muscular chest. “This is the reason you’re covered in cuts on your arms and belly,” he chided. “Because you don’t know your limits.”

  “Please, Sir,” she whispered. He couldn’t stop, not now.

  “You’re a pain slut, aren’t you,” he said, dropping his hand to her cunt, his thumb dipping under her thong, feeling her wetness there. She felt her face flush with embarrassment and she nodded, looking away.

  “I think I have the perfect experience for you,” he said.

  She looked at him again, feeling that glimmer of hope once more. “I’ll do anything you want, Sir.”

  He slapped her ass once, pressing her against his chest. “If that were true then you would respect me enough to obey my rules. You only speak when I give you permission. Do you understand? Speak.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “Have you ever ridden a wooden pony?”

  “No, Sir,” she said, her eyes wandering to the corner of the basement where he had gestured.

  “Then I’d like to suggest we give this a try. I think it will be right up your alley.”

  Natalie opened her mouth to agree but quickly shut it, nodding instead.

  The wooden pony, as Eric had called it, was basically just a two-by-four plank of wood, narrow side up, supported by adjustable wooden legs so it was about waist height.

  “Take off your thong,” he said, and she did. “You know, before you go for a ride on the pony, I think your clit should be nice and swollen, to really drive home the experience for you.”

  She smiled. That sounded like a good time.

  “Sit in the chair,” he said, guiding her by the arm to the bondage chair. She sat immediately, looking at the restraints on the chair with interest. “Now spread your legs.”

  Spreading her legs, she felt her nipples become erect as he kneeled at her feet to cuff each ankle to the chair, keeping them spread wide. Her hands were cuffed to the arms of the chair. She loved the feeling of being helpless, but what on earth could he do to her while she was sitting in a chair?

  He walked out of her sight line and she twisted in her seat, trying to get a handle on where he had gone. Then he was back, holding a roll of duct tape and a large back massager with a cord. “My favorite, the Magic Wand,” he said. “This thing can bring you to orgasm literally within seconds.”

  Plugging the Magic Wand into a surge protector, Eric positioned it between her legs, spreading her labia so that the little nub of her clit was exposed, pressed up against the massager head. He ripped a piece of duct tape off the roll with a loud tearing sound

  Is that for my mouth? she wondered, but she didn’t dare ask. Every minute he kept her from speaking plunged her deeper into a submissive mind-set, and she was enjoying it. It was nice to let go control and have
the fantasies they chatted about online come to life.

  Eric lay the duct tape down over the Magic Wand, securing it in place between her legs by taping it to the chair. Then he turned it on. Natalie gasped as the vibrations hit her clit and she gyrated in the seat, unable to move away from the sensation. Not that she wanted to, because it felt incredible. Where was the pain in this? She cried out as an orgasm wracked her body, the contractions nearly lifting her up off the seat as she curled forward.

  You can turn it off now, she thought, but again she didn’t speak. I came.

  Surely he noticed that she climaxed, though, right? So why wasn’t he doing anything . . . where did he go? She looked around the room frantically, the vibrator still going, the constant stimulation to her post-orgasmic pussy almost too much to bear. The sensations began to build and she inhaled sharply as she came yet again.

  “Sir? Won’t you turn it off?” she asked, her voice shaky, not knowing if he was even in the room anymore to hear her.

  He came up behind her and whispered, his breath hot on her ear, “What did I say about speaking without permission?”

  “I’m sorry, Sir,” she said, unable to even think straight as the vibrations shot through her, making her climax again. Her muscles shook like she was having a mini-seizure and she gasped as the vibrator kept going.

  “You just earned yourself a punishment,” he said, coming around front and dropping between her legs. He flipped the switch, and it went from the low setting to the high setting. The buzzing was so intense that there was no way she could come from it, it simply caused her to focus all of her attention right on her swollen, over stimulated pussy. “Five minutes on high.” He walked behind her chair again and she moaned, biting her lip to keep from begging him to let her free. She knew she could always say the safe word, but she wanted the experience he had promised her—she wanted to ride on the wooden pony.

  A minute into it she started to sweat and wondered how much longer she had. Just when she thought she had reached her orgasm limit, another electrifyingly painful climax ripped through her body, leaving her gasping and panting for more.

  “Please, fuck me,” she begged, barely aware she had spoken the words.

  “We’re not going to fuck—not tonight,” Eric murmured. She groaned in response, her head falling back against the chair as her legs shook from sensation overload. By the time five minutes was up, her clit had popped out of its hood and stuck out between her nether lips like a crude tongue.

  He turned off the vibrator and smiled, touching her swollen clitoris before he uncuffed her from the bondage chair. “Now you’re ready to ride the wooden pony. That is, if you’re still up for some real pain. Are you?”

  Natalie stood up, staring straight into his cool gray eyes. “Yes, Sir.”

  She wanted to ask what she should do, but Eric led her by the hand to the “pony.”

  “Hop on,” he said. “Straddle it.”

  Raising one leg carefully, she positioned herself so she was standing over it, with the narrow plank between her legs about an inch below her pussy.

  “Up on your tippy toes,” he said, “so I can adjust this.”

  She rose up on her toes as he ratcheted up the height just a little, so that when she was on her toes the plank wasn’t touching her labia.

  “Drop down on your heels,” he ordered.

  The plank ground into her tender flesh, pressing against her pubic bone. “Oh,” she said in recognition, before covering her mouth with her hand. So that was what the wooden pony was all about.

  Then Eric ran his fingers along her labia, separating then, pulling her outer lips wide so that the board was pressed directly against her engorged clitoris. She moaned at the new sensation.

  Without even meaning to, she went up on her toes, trying to relieve the intense pressure on her pussy. But her calf muscles soon began to tremble and tire, and she used the last bit of strength left in them to slowly lower herself back down onto the wooden pony.

  Shifting her body, Natalie tried to find a slightly different area between her legs for her weight to rest on, but the pressure of her body resting all its weight on her clit had her in exquisite pain almost immediately.

  She couldn’t take it any longer. Rising up onto her tiptoes, she breathed a sigh of relief as the pain in her pussy went away, only to be replaced within moments by a cramp in her calf muscles.

  “Fuck,” she groaned, unable to even slowly lower herself. She slammed against the plank, screaming as it hit her clit with over one hundred pounds of her own body weight.

  “Scream all you like, Natalie,” Eric said. “The walls down here are soundproofed.”

  She rocked back and forth, trying to put her hands in front of her to hold up some of her body weight. The pain moved but was always there, just relocating to torture a slightly different area of her groin.

  “You’ve only been riding the wooden pony for less than ten minutes,” he laughed. “You can go much longer without causing any damage.”

  “No, Sir, please,” she said, panic in her voice at the thought of him keeping her on there for a long time.

  “If you want to see how much you can truly take, then you’ll stay on the pony until I say you’ve had enough,” he said, his voice quiet but firm. “But if you’ve changed your mind, then you’re free to go. Just say the safe word.”

  She shook her head. Why did he have to give her a choice? She wanted her choice taken away. She wanted to be bound, told what to do, with no way of escaping it. Choosing her torture just didn’t seem right to her. But now she was affirming, once again, that yes indeed she was a pain slut. She’d stay right here on this pony for the duration—because as much as she wanted to get off the ride in that moment, she knew she’d be masturbating to this experience for years to come.

  “Hands on your head,” he said, and with that order went any hope she had of keeping some of the pressure off her pussy by pushing up off her arms.

  She cried out as the plank ground against her clit.

  “Now we’re going to make it interesting,” he said, as he came up beside her. “Up on your toes.”

  She obeyed even as her calf muscles burned in protest, her eyes widening as she saw what he was up to. He raised the pony so that even on her toes the board pressed against her. Raising it just half an inch past that, her feet cleared the ground and the real torture began.

  A sheen of sweat broke out across her upper lip as she breathed raggedly, the sensation more than she could handle.

  “Breathe into the pain,” Eric whispered, and she exhaled slowly, rocking carefully back and forth, her hands still on her head, tangled now in her thick black hair. The pain came in waves like an orgasm, flowing through her, and suddenly she was flying, floating through the atmosphere, the stars twinkling around her, glowing brightly as she glided effortlessly across the sky.

  She threw her head back, lost in ecstasy, and then she felt Eric’s arms around her, lifting her against his muscular chest, holding her to him, showering her lips with kisses.

  He let her rest against him like that for a while before he softly murmured, “Are you with us again, Natalie?”

  She smiled. “Yes, Sir.”

  He touched her pussy, spreading her with his fingers, inspecting her closely before turning her around and looking at her ass. “Looks good. No marks, just like I promised. Do you want me to put some ice on your pussy to make it feel better?”

  She shook her head. The soreness was good. She’d like to hold on to it for a while at least, the way the effects of a glass of merlot stayed with her past the last sip of wine.

  Taking her clothing off the concrete floor, he dressed her tenderly, as if she were a beloved doll. “Ready to go upstairs?”

  “Yes, Sir.” But she didn’t want to leave his basement just yet. She wanted to stay there, chained to his wall, ready for him to do with her as he wished. But the real world called. She had office hours in the morning, and she was the doctor on call for the hospit
al next weekend.

  “Thank you for a lovely evening, Eric,” she whispered as he led her up the basement stairs.

  Back in the grand foyer, he leaned down and kissed her. “Don’t cut yourself anymore, Natalie,” he said. “Call me instead.”

  “I will,” she said. She meant it, too.

  Multi-published erotic romance author Shoshanna Evers is published with Ellora’s Cave, The Wild Rose Press, Cleis Press (Best Bondage Erotica 2012) and Berkley Heat (Agony/ Ecstasy). When she’s not writing hot romance, she’s a syndicated advice columnist, a registered nurse, and a stay-at-home mom. She’s the editor of How to Write Hot Sex: Tips from Multi-Published Erotic Romance Authors, which includes essays from several of the authors in the Agony/Ecstasy anthology.

  Visit Shoshanna Evers at www.shoshannaevers.com, on Twitter @Shoshanna Evers, and on Facebook.com/shoshanna.evers, Sexily *Evers* After . . .

  KISS OF LIFE

  LILY DANIELS

  AUTUMN 1912

  Theodora clutched at her nightdress with damp hands. White bridal silk decorated with lace insertion and embroidery. Above the square neckline her pulse hammered.

  Her groom was sitting on the bed, quietly disrobing.

  She must tell Hugh the truth; she ought to have done before now. But her father’s heart was weak, and he had so wanted them to marry. What if Hugh decided on an annulment?

  Her husband was sure to be angry. The damask-papered walls and coffered ceiling inched nearer. She’d been relieved by Hugh’s sensitivity in suggesting they forgo a honeymoon trip. After the Titanic, the Carpathia’s rescue, and the voyage back home, she’d sworn never to board another ship. But she did not yet know Hugh well. How would he react when he learned what she’d done? Here, in the privacy of his Berkshire country manor, he could do anything—

  “Come, Theodora.”

  Nude, Hugh reminded her of a sleek Arabian. He was as handsome as Martin; handsomer, if one preferred the dark, broad-shouldered sort. His keen gray eyes sought hers as she neared him.