“Let me go, you fucker!” I snarled, aware that I was probably making the situation worse for myself but unable to help it. I didn’t like being strapped down and feeling helpless and little and scared. Didn’t like it one Goddamned bit.
Berkley’s face darkened.
“That will be enough of your nasty language, young lady,” he said sternly. “Hand me the crop, Michaels,” he told the guard. “No, not that one—the other one.”
To my mounting horror, Michaels handed him a long-handled, black riding crop. It had a flat leather attachment that looked a little like a miniature leather paddle on the end of a long stick. I had absolutely no wish to have it used on me.
“Let me go!” I demanded again. “What do you think you’re doing? You can’t even reach me to whip me this way!”
I was hoping that Berkley would unstrap my wrists and ankles in order to flip me over—then I might have a chance to get away. But I had misunderstood his intentions.
“Oh no, my dear—it’s not your ass I intend to whip,” he said, smiling unpleasantly at me. “It’s your pussy. It’s a much more tender area—excellent for punishment purposes. After a pussy spanking, I think you’ll consider your word choice much more carefully.”
“You wouldn’t!” Once again I tried unsuccessfully to close my legs.
“Oh, but I would! But don’t worry.” He gave me a leering grin. “Your little ass won’t be neglected for long. I think it’s long past time we inserted your first plug.” Reaching into a drawer of the cabinet beside him, he pulled out a black bulbous plug and held it out for me to see.
Every part of my body seemed to shrink back at the sight of the damn plug. Oh my God, no—he can’t! He won’t!
But the look on the director’s face said he absolutely would—and he would enjoy every minute of it. For the first time, I seriously considered blowing my cover. I could take the spanking—it wouldn’t be fun but I could do it. But I couldn’t lie here and let that disgusting bastard Berkley force foreign objects into my body. I just couldn’t.
But what about the video of the girl on Please begging to be fucked? What about the deadly drug flowing through this place like a poison river, just waiting to infect anyone stupid enough or unlucky enough to take it? What about everything I had already endured in order to make this case—could I really blow it all now?
I didn’t know.
“Enough idle chatter,” Berkley announced. “Time for your punishment.”
Before I could answer or protest, he swung the black riding crop in an expert arc. It landed with a flat smack against my bare pussy lips, making me jump and gasp. Then he did it again and again…and again.
I don’t know if you’ve ever been spanked in that area but I don’t recommend it—it fucking hurts. There was no padding to cushion the blows and soon my pussy lips were stinging like crazy. Also, unlike the spanking Salt had given me the night before on my bottom, this one was all pain and no pleasure. I don’t know if it was because someone other than my partner was doing the spanking or because they had me tied down and helpless, but it did absolutely nothing to turn me on—it just hurt like a son of a bitch.
I twitched my hips from side to side, desperately trying to avoid the blows. Berkley was an expert with the crop, however and I couldn’t get away from his merciless spanking.
“Stop—ow! Let me—ow—go!” I gasped.
“In good time.” Berkley landed one last blow and then examined his handiwork. “See this, Michaels?” he said to the guard, who was still watching with a lustful look in his mud-brown eyes. “See how the outer pussy lips are all swollen and red? That’s exactly how you want it to look.”
“Yeah, exactly.” The guard was practically drooling. Clearly he was less interested in the fine art of pussy spanking and more interested in my naked crotch. I prayed that Berkley wouldn’t leave me alone with him. I had a feeling he would use more than the crop on me if he got a chance.
“Would you like to try a few strokes before I insert the plug?” Berkley was handing the other man the riding crop.
“Uh…sure, I guess.” The way Michaels gripped the crop I could tell he wasn’t nearly as experienced with its use as Berkley. And sure enough, his first blow was much harder than any of the previous ones landed by the director.
I had been gasping and moaning before but now I screamed in real pain. This was a delicate area that was not meant to take such rigorous abuse. I felt like I was going to pass out for a minute, it hurt so badly.
“Huh—think I’m getting the hang of this,” Michaels grunted. The look on his face said he enjoyed the sound of my agony almost as much as he liked looking at my bare pussy. Sick bastard.
“Very good.” Berkley nodded and I saw that he was getting out a bottle of lube, presumably to help with the plug insertion. “Try again but use a little more finesse this time. It’s all in the flick of the wrist.”
“Yeah, okay.” Michaels raised the crop, a greedy look on his lumpish features.
But the blow never fell.
Suddenly Salt was looming in the doorway with a look on his face that was terrible to behold. His facial features were absolutely calm and cold but there was murder in his ice blue eyes. I thought it must be the same way he’d looked when he killed his own father.
Stepping forward into the room he grabbed Michael’s raised arm. With one swift motion, he brought it down around behind the man’s back and then sharply up.
There was a muffled popping sound and Michaels dropped the riding crop and screamed like a little girl. Then Salt had him by the neck, lifting him off the floor as though it was nothing to hold a two hundred and fifty-pound man several feet off the ground.
Berkley looked up from his plug preparation, clearly startled.
“Mr. Saltanov,” he exclaimed. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“I could ask same thing.” The look in Salt’s eyes was very ugly. “I leave my mishka alone for a few minutes and the next thing I know I am hearing her screaming. Then I come up and find this.” He nodded at the stunned Michaels who was still struggling feebly in his grasp. One of his arms was cocked at an unnatural angle—either it was broken or the shoulder was popped out of its socket. I couldn’t say I felt very sorry for him either way.
“But—” Berkley protested.
“How dare you touch her?” Salt growled, his eyes hot with rage. “How dare you hurt her? Mishka is mine—mine. No one is to touch her but me.”
“She was trespassing…snooping in a forbidden area,” Berkley blustered. “The contract you signed clearly states that I have the right to punish such infractions as I see fit. Read it again if you want proof—you signed it. It’s all perfectly legal.”
“I do not give fuck about contract.” Salt’s accent was getting thick again, as it always did when he was upset. “You hurt my mishka.” His fingers tightened on the guard’s throat and I noticed that Michaels’ face was turning a sickly shade of dusky purple.
“Salt—no!” I said sharply. If he killed someone we would be kicked out of here for good. “No, you can’t.”
“The hell I can’t—he hurt you.” There was still fury burning in Salt’s pale eyes but at last he dropped the guard in a heap.
Michaels moaned and moved weakly for the door, crawling on hands and knees—well, one hand, anyway. The other hung useless by his side as he dragged himself out of the medical suite.
“Well…” Berkley took a deep breath and seemed to take courage from the fact that Salt had let the guard go. “Mr. Saltanov, I must ask you not to molest the staff. They are only here fo
r safety reasons.”
“That man will not be safe for any reason if I see him again around my mishka,” Salt growled. “Keep him away from her or I swear next time he dies.”
“Understood.” Berkley gave a short, sharp nod. “Forgive me, Mr. Saltanov, I had, er, underestimated your attachment to your Babygirl.”
“No one touches her but me,’ Salt snarled. “No one.”
“Which is why you will be inserting her first plug all by yourself.”
Berkley held the black plug up significantly before placing it back on the rolling metal tray with the tube of lube.
“What?” Salt and I both exclaimed at the same time.
“You heard me.” Berkley leveled a stern look at Salt. “My guard there probably needs extensive medical care and your Little is guilty of a major infraction. However, I am willing to overlook this unpleasantness and allow the two of you to continue here at the Institute under one condition—Mr. Saltanov, your Babygirl must have a plug. All of the other Littles have them and there are beginning to be complaints about the fact that you are not training mishka properly.”
“I train her as I see fit,” Salt growled. “I am her Papa—not you.”
“Yes, but I am the director here.” There was a steely glint in Berkley’s eyes. “Either insert her plug or pack your bags, Mr. Saltanov. I’ll leave you here to decide.” He lifted his chin and stared down at me. “When the two of you exit this room, your mishka had better have her plug in. Otherwise you will be asked to leave within the hour.”
Then he swept from the room, slamming the door dramatically behind him.
Chapter Thirteen
For a moment neither Salt nor I spoke. Then he rushed over and cupped my cheek.
“Andi…mishka, are you all right?”
“I think I am,” I said, trying to keep my voice from shaking. “Just untie me, Salt. Get me out of these fucking restraints.”
“Of course!”
He began working on the wrist straps first, which were much too tight. I could barely feel my hands when he finally set them free.
“This is wrong.” Salt’s face was as dark as a storm cloud as he examined the marks on my wrists. “Look what they did to you!”
“I’m fine,” I said. “Just…just a little numb.”
“You are not fine, Andi. I should have been with you. Should have protected you.” There was remorse as well as anger in Salt’s eyes as he took my hands in his. Gently, he kissed the ligature marks that stood out like angry red bracelets around my wrists.
“You don’t have to do that,” I whispered as he placed soft kisses all over my hurt flesh. But I made no move to pull my hands out of his. It felt too good to let him comfort me and kiss me better. Too right to ask him to stop. I felt my eyes sting at his tenderness and had to blink the tears away.
“My poor darling…” Salt’s voice was thick as he stroked my cheek. “Why did they tie you down—what did they do?”
“You didn’t see them?”
“No. Did they…” He didn’t finish his sentence but he didn’t have to. The look on his face said it all.
“No, nothing like that,” I said hurriedly.
“Good,” Salt said darkly. “Or I would kill them both with my bare hands.”
“I believe you,” I said grimly. “And believe me, I would help.”
I was able to sit up now and I tried to flip my skirt down before Salt could notice the damage the riding crop had done. Unfortunately, I wasn’t fast enough.
“Stop!” He put his hand on mine and flipped the little plaid skirt back up.
“Salt…” I protested, trying to hide my shame with my hands. “Could you just untie my feet and let me out of here?”
“Not until I see what was done to you,” he growled. “Be still and let me see, mishka.”
Blushing and shaking, I let him spread my legs and examine me.
“Andi…” He looked up at me, his eyes wide and furious. “How dare they do this to you—how dare they touch you!”
“Well, no one actually touched me with their hands,” I said, trying to laugh and failing—it came out as more of a sob. “It was a riding crop.”
Salt swore thickly in Russian. “I will kill them!”
“No! Salt, you can’t!” I caught his arm when he would have gone out the door. There was murder in his eyes and I had no doubt he would carry through with his threat.
“Why not?” His eyes flashed. “They hurt you—beat you in a place you should never be touched with anything but love.”
“We’ll get kicked out!” I said in a low voice. “And then we’ll never make the case. And all of this…everything we’ve been through…will have been for nothing.”
“But you are hurt,” Salt protested. “Just look at you. You are all red…all swollen and in pain.” He spread my legs again and I let him, though I probably should have tried to keep him out. But my defenses were low and my feet were still strapped into the damn stirrups.
“Mishka…” Salt leaned over me and before I knew what he was doing, he had placed a soft, openmouthed kiss on the stinging lips of my pussy.
“Ahh!” I moaned softly. My hips twitched involuntarily but I wasn’t trying to get away from him. I don’t think Salt would have let me go even if I had tried. He was completely focused on me, his big hands holding my thighs apart as he studied my pussy.
“So soft and sweet,” he murmured. “Poor darling…poor mishka.”
Then he kissed me again, his mouth making more contact this time. I gasped as I felt his tongue sliding carefully over my mound, first the outer lips, one at a time and then in the center, delicately tracing my slit. The hot sensation made me bite the inside of my cheek to keep from crying out.
“Salt!” I protested weakly. “What…what are you doing?”
“Kissing you better.” He looked up at me, his eyes still fiercely protective but there was something else in their pale blue depths too—a tenderness that was meant only for me. “Do not try to stop me, mishka. Just relax and let your Papa care for you.”
His words and the deep, commanding tone they were spoken in sent a shiver through me. I knew I was drifting back into Little-space but I couldn’t help it—I stopped trying to stop him. Instead, I relaxed back and let my thighs drift apart, giving him access to my most secret and forbidden areas.
Before when Berkley had been whipping me with the crop, I had felt like my entire body was trying to draw in on itself, like my sensitive sex was trying to pull inward—to hide and avoid the stinging blows. Now, as Salt licked and kissed me, I had the opposite sensation. It felt as though my pussy was opening for him, spreading like a flower yearning towards the sun. As he lapped upward, his tongue sliding ever deeper into my cleft. I felt him bathe the tender little button of my clit with his wet warmth and I nearly cried with need.
“Salt,” I begged. “Please…”
“Call me Papa,” he demanded in a low voice.
“Papa,” I repeated in a whisper. I didn’t know why he wanted to do it this way, why he wanted us to be in our respective roles while we acted on these feelings that seemed to be between us. Maybe because using our proscribed names made our actions here at the Institute easier to separate from our lives and our partnership outside it. But for whatever reason, I was willing to go along. “Papa,” I said again.
“Good.” He stroked my thighs with his big, warm hands. “Now spread yourself for me, mishka. Spread your sweet pussy for your Papa and let me lick and kiss you until you feel better.”
Moaning, I did as he asked, opening even wider. God, how could I feel so panicked and frightened and an
gry one minute and so incredibly turned on the next? The answer appeared to lie with my partner.
Salt was a strange mixture of violence and tenderness, protectiveness and possessiveness and here at the Institute he was allowing those emotions out into full view. Gone was the calm, stoic officer of the law I had worked with for three and a half years. In his place was a passionate protector—a man who wanted nothing more than to care for and comfort me—and heal and pleasure me, apparently.
I didn’t know how much healing I was getting from his deep, intimate kisses but I was certainly feeling better than I had a minute ago. Part of me knew this was wrong—that I shouldn’t let myself go so far with my partner. But part of me just didn’t give a damn. I wanted more—needed more and Salt seemed more than willing to give it to me.
“God, mishka, your little pussy is so sweet,” he murmured hoarsely. Gently, he spread my outer lips with his thumbs to reveal my inner folds. I was embarrassed to see how wet I had gotten and how prominent my clit was—it was swollen with need, almost as though it was begging for attention.
“Salt,” I whispered. “I mean, Papa…”
“Did they whip you here too, my little darling?” he murmured, looking up at me. “Do you need your Papa to kiss you better?”
“Yes,” I breathed, though to be honest, the crop had mostly fallen on my outer pussy. Still, I couldn’t resist what Salt was offering, couldn’t tell him no when what he wanted was also what I wanted so damn desperately.
“Then I will kiss you better,” he rumbled softly. “Just relax, mishka.”
I tried to do as he said, consciously easing the tension in my muscles as he bent to frame my swollen clit with his lips. But then he began to kiss me—tender, openmouthed kisses as he bathed my sensitive little bud with his tongue, lapping over and over again until I could barely stand the pleasure he was giving me. My hips began to twitch away from him. It was too much—too good…too intense. I didn’t think I could stand much more of it.
Daddy Issues Page 19
