Naughty Nibbles Anthology

by Sierra Cartwright, SL Majors, Christy Lockhart

  First, she was free to go at any time, but if she did, she would never again be allowed to return. Second, she was required to hold nothing back emotionally. She had to give him the honesty he demanded.

  Third, she would be collared when and if he decided it was appropriate.

  Fourth, nothing was off the table. She made a tiny little sound of disbelief. Nothing?

  "Problem?” He arched a single brow. She'd never known anyone who could actually do that.

  Thinking of the second provision, that she was not allowed to hold anything back, she ventured, “Nothing is off the table?"

  He folded his arms across his powerful chest.

  He stood beside her. In her bare feet, she didn't even reach his chin. What was she getting herself in to?

  "I will obliterate every one of your boundaries."

  Barely able to focus, she continued reading.

  The fifth point was in italics. There would be no safe word. “The first clause would have been sufficient."

  He nodded. “It would."

  She was free to leave at any time.

  The importance settled on her like a heavy cloak. He'd give her the second chance she desperately wanted, but only on his terms.

  What choice did she have, really? A life of submission to the man who was truly her master, or a life of misery.

  She reached for the pen.

  "Not yet.” He grabbed her hand, holding it prisoner. “First, the play room."

  Now, now she was scared.

  There were things in the play room she had taken off the list in their previous contract. The dental gag. Canes. Knives.

  Chapter Five

  Sometimes they'd played there, but most often the room had only one purpose. Punishment.

  "Your choice. Your clothes are still on the settee. My driver can return you to London."

  He seemed to want her to turn tail and run. The clock ticked off nearly sixty seconds before he spoke again. “What's it to be? Are you going to stop fighting me?” He drummed his fingers in a silent staccato against his powerful thigh. He continued quietly, his voice controlled as he asked, “More importantly ... are you going to stop fighting yourself?"

  "Yes.” She would not be a coward.

  "To the playroom, then. You know the way."

  So she had to face it alone, did she? Well, she could. With a determined tip of her head, she left the room.

  It'd been half a year since she'd roamed the hallways of his vast house. She knew which room was his. The door was closed, and she didn't have the right to open it, to see if the sheets of the huge bed had been turned back invitingly for the night. Most often, unless he'd wanted her to learn something specific, she'd been allowed to share his bed. He'd often pull her against him, and she'd sleep in the shelter of his arms, the scent of him filling her senses as she drifted off. She had been cherished, she realised. And she hungered for it again.

  She climbed the stairs and entered the play room. The room blazed with lights and the temperature was just this side of cold. The chilled air made her nipples pebble. Once he began working her over, though, she knew she wouldn't feel the cold.

  Agnes stood off to the side of the room. Emily wasn't just scared, she was terrified.

  "It'll be all right,” Agnes said. “If he didn't want you, he would have sent you away by now. You've got your chance."

  Emily wished she had as much confidence.

  "Master wishes you to be prepared for him. Open your mouth for the gag."

  It could have been worse. She knew he had dental gags, the type that would hold your mouth open. She'd used a regular ball gag before, and although she disliked it, she didn't despise it.

  She swallowed deeply, then allowed Agnes to fit the gag. Was this submission to Agnes another part of her test? Emily had always been in charge of the household staff. But if she returned, things might be different. He'd made it abundantly clear she wasn't his slave, yet.

  Agnes buckled the gag into place.

  So much for a safe word, anyway.

  "Now you're to be secured to the St. Andrews Cross,” Agnes said, sounding somewhat apologetic.

  Emily crossed to the wooden structure fabricated into the shape of an X. She made no fuss as the servant buckled her into the straps attached to each end, even though she had to stand on tiptoes to reach.

  She was bound, spread and displayed.

  Then the door clicked closed behind Agnes, leaving Emily alone with her fear and doubts. Her gaze seemed riveted on the blade of the knife mounted on the wall in front of her.

  But then she closed her eyes, concentrating on her breathing. In. Out. She'd gotten what she wanted; one more chance.

  This time, she was going to prove she was worthy. This time, she would hold nothing back. This time, she would surrender, completely.

  In leaving, she'd broken the bond of his trust. Regaining that would take everything she had to offer, physically, mentally and emotionally. But what she wanted came at great cost. And, she supposed—hoped—that would make the reward all the better.

  Her heart was pounding so forcefully, she didn't hear the door.

  "Hello, Emily."

  She opened her eyes.

  She wanted to look at him, see his face, read his expression. But all she saw was the menacing glint of the knife in front of her.

  "You're ready for this?"

  Unable to speak, she nodded.

  "Raise the first two fingers on your right hand."

  She did.

  "That's your safe signal. Use it at any time."

  And get sent away.

  "Blindfold,” he said.

  He secured it in place, and she didn't mind. It was easier to block images that way and concentrate on the moment.

  "You will be punished, Emily."

  She nodded.

  "Not for leaving, for that was your right. But for the way you did it. Leaving my bed in the middle of the night, never answering when I rang, for not coming to me as you had promised you would."

  She deserved to be disciplined. He would not be a fitting master if he didn't administer the punishment; he would set a bad example for the rest of the household.

  "Are you sure you want this?"

  More than anything, she wanted to shout. More than anything, she wanted to be his. Only he understood her, the need, the hunger, the craving to submit.

  "Show me your hand signal again."

  She did, then she quickly splayed her hands.

  "Right, then."

  She heard the snap of his belt. She trembled inwardly but this time, she didn't move.

  Of all the implements of pain he could have chosen, this is the one she wanted. Surely he knew she liked the belt, its blunt pain, its strength, its intimacy.

  The first crack of leather against her bared buttock made her draw a sharp breath through her nose. He usually prepared her before hitting her. Often, he warmed her up with a few spanks.

  But not this time.

  He punished her, hard. But she didn't mind. How many nights had she lain awake, tossing and turning, tortured by images of him doing exactly this to her? And now she was here!

  Ten blows fell. Then it became an even dozen.

  At twenty, she could no longer count, lost in a daze of sensual delirium. And the punishment continued. Each breath she took was a shattered burst of hungered submission.

  As she rode the wave of pain/pleasure, sexual arousal built deep inside her. The throbbing in her clit was more demanding than her body's need to escape.

  Sterling shoved a hand between her legs. His thumbnail abraded her clitoris. She nearly came on the spot.

  "Are you warmed up?"

  She nodded, wishing she could speak, thank him, tell him how much she—

  How much she loved him.

  And that's why she'd run.

  Until now, she hadn't the courage to admit that, even to herself. Emotional commitment, she'd been willing to admit to feeling that. But love?

  A
nd where did that leave her?

  He'd never said he loved her. He'd never even hinted at it. Could she live like that? Being with a man, unsure if he returned her feelings?

  And she knew the truth: she had no other choice. She'd already tried to live without him, tried to find a replacement to take his place. And the truth was, none existed.

  No matter what, she was meant to be with Sterling. Honoured position as slave, or not, she needed to be with him.

  She moved against his hand, seeking the orgasm that was just out of reach.

  "Now for your punishment."

  She shook her head to clear it.

  "The thing you fear the most for correction, Emily. The one thing you wanted off the table."

  The cane.

  Her head fell forward.

  "Eight strokes. One for each month you were gone. Another for the way you left. And the last because it pleases me."

  Eight strokes? She wasn't sure she could tolerate the pain. Breathe. In. Out. She could do this. Schoolgirls had been caned since the beginning of time. And she was no schoolgirl. Her skin was already warmed up. And she was reeling from the knowledge she loved Sterling.

  Saliva pooled in her mouth, and she was helpless to swallow it. Tears would flow in moments, she knew it. This time, he'd have what he wanted. Her complete surrender.

  "Would you like to call a halt to this before we go any farther?"

  And never see him again? She shook her head.

  She heard the vicious whistle of the cane through the air. She braced herself. Then ... Nothing.

  Bastard. He was flexing the rod, scaring her.

  The first stripe of the bamboo made her gasp. He'd moved so fast, she hadn't even heard it.

  The second landed in the exact same spot—bisecting the globes of her buttocks. The third followed suit.

  She was gasping for air. Tears welled in her eyes.

  But he was a master. She thought she knew what to expect, but he caught her across her upper thighs. She jerked convulsively.

  "Use your signal."

  Fuck you. No. No, no, no.

  The fifth cut made her scream into her gag.

  The sixth caught her beneath the buttocks with a biting upslope.

  The seventh seared her right cheek—just the tip caught her flesh. Tears flowed freely down her face.

  Then the last...

  She waited.

  Then he removed her blindfold. “I want your eyes open."

  She met his gaze. There was no softness in the dark grey depths, nothing that said tenderness or love, nothing that she'd ever seen there before. This was a man intent on fulfilling what he saw as his duty.

  She'd never loved him more.

  "And I want to hear you scream.” Reaching around her, he unbuckled the gag. Her face was a mess, and saliva ran from her mouth. She looked a fright, and she knew it.

  "This last one, Emily, will have nothing held back. Are you ready?"

  "Yes.” Get it over with, she wanted to plead. Let me prove I am worthy of being your slave.

  He caught the fleshy part of her inner thigh. She threw back her head and screamed, then broke into convulsive sobs.

  As far as beatings went, Emily knew, that was nothing. He'd had a point to prove, and he had.

  He unbuckled the restraints, and she sank to the floor, at his feet.

  He left her and she struggled into the position he preferred, on her knees, legs spread, leaning back, her hands on her thighs, palms up in supplication.

  "On your stomach,” he said.

  She moved gingerly into position. His tenderness in massaging a salve into her broke the last pieces of her resolve. She sobbed convulsively into the carpeting. She loved his touch, craved it.

  "Emily?"

  She didn't answer.

  "It was that painful, then?” He helped her to roll over.

  No matter that she was breaking all the rules he'd ever taught her, she crawled the short distance to him. He was still on his knees.

  Shocking him as much as herself, she took his face between her hands. She looked deeply into his eyes. The grey wasn't as ominous, and it was as if a cloud had lifted. “I ran, Sterling, because I fell in love with you. And it scared me. I came back because I love you. And it still scares me. But I'm here. And I'll never go away. Not unless you send me. Because I know I can't live without you. I know I belong here. Even if you don't collar me, even if you'll never love me, please, allow me to serve you. Don't send me away."

  "This, Emily, is all I have ever wanted.” He roughly took her shoulders. “This. The raw honesty.” He pulled her close, despite the fact she still held his face cupped between her hands. “Submissives can be found anywhere. Submissives who love what they do—hear this clearly—submissives who love their masters, now that's a rarity.

  "I have wanted your love. It will make you a better slave."

  Slave. He'd said slave, not submissive.

  "You will wear my collar. You will be my slave. Everything you have, I want. Your love, your anger, even your struggles and defiance. I want them. No holding back. Am I clear?"

  "Yes...” She struggled for the right word.

  "Master."

  "Yes.” She sighed. “Master."

  "I would not have kept you if I didn't love you."

  "You...?” She blinked. Her heart did somersaults. Could it have been that easy? Could she have stopped fighting herself six months ago? He loved her. He loved her, he loved her, he truly loved her.

  "Stop focusing on yourself so much. Anyone with eyes can see it, Slave. If you had ever stopped running from your fear, you would have seen it, as well."

  "On your back, slut.” Abruptly, he released her shoulders. “I have a powerful urge to fuck my slave. My woman."

  His cock sank into her drenched pussy.

  She reached her hands around his neck. “I love you."

  He looked at her. The stormy intensity was back. “This time, don't forget it."

  * * * *

  * * * *

  About the Author

  Born in Northern England and raised in the Wild West, Sierra Cartwright pens book that are as untamed as the Rockies she calls home.

  She's an award-winning, multi-published writer who wrote her first book at age nine and hasn't stopped since.

  Sierra invites you to share the complex journey of love and desire, of surrender and commitment. Her own journey has taught her that trusting takes guts and courage, and her work is a celebration for everyone who is willing to take that risk.

  Email: sierracartwright@hotmail.com

  Sierra loves to hear from readers. You can find her contact information, website and author biography at www.totalebound.com.

  Also by Sierra Cartwright

  Naughty Nibbles: Fed Up

  * * * *

  * * * *

  213 HIGH STREET: PEEP SHOW

  Christy Lockhart

  Dedication

  For Cathy—Hey! You started this! Thanks for the friendship.

  Like a fine wine, it keeps getting better with time! Love ya!

  Trademarks Acknowledgement

  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmark mentioned in this work of fiction:

  Cadbury's: Cadbury Limited

  Chapter One

  It was a naughty thought wasn't it? Sophie shouldn't even consider masturbating in the back room of the shoppe. She should wait until she got home. There, in her small house, she could take a bath, light some candles, and have a nice glass of chardonnay as she pinned up her hair and slipped into her favourite fantasy.

  She could. But why would she?

  That would just prolong the inevitable.

  The postman had brought a new toy. And Sophie was duty-bound to try it out and see if it actually worked. No sense selling something that might disappoint the public. She'd learned that lesson. Returns and dissatisfaction were a nightmare.

  Well, that was just the excuse.
/>
  To tell the truth, Sophie couldn't wait to see if The Clit Rocket actually worked. According to the sales literature she'd received from the manufacturer's rep, the handy little device promised to deliver an orgasm that would propel her to ‘stratospheric levels of pleasure.’ Could it be? Could The Clit Rocket possibly be the holy grail of orgasmic pleasure? Well, for the sake of 213 High Street's demanding and discerning clientele, she was always willing to find out.

  She grabbed a pair of scissors and sliced through the tape sealing the cardboard box. Then she pulled out the packing material and tossed them in the general direction of the rubbish can. Her youngest sister, Gracie, was the neat one. She'd sigh, but she'd clean up the mess. No sense getting a dog only to bark yourself, Sophie always told Gracie and Katie.

  That's why things worked so well at 213. Gracie could organise a party for a thousand people in three point two hours. Sophie, as the middle child was adventurous and had never once coloured inside the lines. Katie, the oldest of the three, was management material through and through, or so her fancy university degree said. Even if it didn't, Katie would be sure to tell them all, daily. Sophie just figured that Katie liked to boss people around.

  After tossing the rest of the paper on the floor, Sophie pulled out a smaller box and opened that, too.

  The packaging inside was red hot. Fireworks, in vibrant, shimmering silver exploded all over the exquisitely designed top. She opened the fire engine coloured box to reveal an innocent-enough looking toy. The vibrator part was red and shaped like a bullet. The device was cordless, which would add to the cost significantly, but for the perfect climax, the women of Widby were willing to pay nearly anything.

  A remote control was nestled in a satin pouch. The manufacturer, bless them, had thoughtfully provided a battery.

  After figuring out the intricacies of taking apart the remote device and inserting the flat, lithium disk, Sophie considered the variety of silicone sleeves that slipped over the bullet. The first surprise, actually protruded a bit, and was shaped like a mushroom. Probably as close to a realistic firework as they could get. It didn't escape her notice that it also looked more than just a bit like the tip of a man's cock.