Bondage Ranch 4: His Little Tart

by Sindra van Yssel

  “What are you thinking?” she asked, turning to him.

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  He thought of making up something innocuous, but he wanted her honesty, so he owed it to her in return. “About fucking you. But I want to show you one other scene, and then I want you to experience a flogger for yourself. They aren’t as intense as they look, and I think you’ll actually like it.”

  “I really doubt it.”

  “Do you trust my judgment enough to try anyway?”

  She made a face at him. “Yes. But please be gentle.”

  “I’ll be as gentle as you need me to be.”

  Her face relaxed; then her eyes narrowed suspiciously. She was too intelligent to miss the ambiguity of his statement, and she seemed to understand that he’d be deciding what she needed, not taking her word for it. But she nodded. “As you wish, Sir.”

  He’d been getting so relaxed talking to her he’d forgotten to enforce protocol.

  Now that she said the word, he realized how much he missed it. “I like it when you call me Sir. I’ve been forgiving about that, but if you forget again, I’ll be giving you a swat on your beautiful bare ass.”

  She blinked. “That’s not necessary. Sir.”

  “But I’ll enjoy it, and I’ll enjoy having you call me Sir. So I’ll win either way.” He grinned at her. “Now do you understand what I might get out of topping?”

  She gulped. “Yes, Sir.”

  “Good girl.” He took her by the wrist and led her over to a place where they could get a good view of the waxing table. It was time to move on anyway. Mistress Sue had gotten out a single-tail whip, and she was trying to clear space around her. If he hadn’t been with a sub, he’d have helped her police the area, but as it was, he’d help by making space for the people moving out of the way. As they moved, he noticed Sue had signaled a sub he’d seen her with earlier in the weekend to assist her. The man looked

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  eager to help the woman he adored, but Aidan thought that must be the worst kind of torture—helping someone you were attracted to play with someone else.

  And yet, in the big picture, that was exactly what he was doing with Constance.

  Helping her learn so she could play with someone else. He tried to brush the thought out of his mind. He didn’t want to imagine her with anyone else.

  “What is it you want me to look at this time, Sir?” asked Constance, cutting through his thoughts.

  “That scene, there.” A big, brown-skinned man with black hair had a cute brunette on the table. She was still wearing a bra and panties; he was stripped to the waist. He’d enjoyed a long conversation with Diego the last time he was at Bondage Ranch, and he liked the man’s take on BDSM. Constance could do worse, but that wasn’t why he’d brought her over.

  “Oh. Him.”

  Aidan raised an eyebrow. “You’ve met Diego?”

  “Yes. He pretended to think I was a Jehovah’s Witness or something when I came to the door.”

  Aidan laughed. “Wearing a dress like that? Even with knickers, I don’t think that’s very likely. Although they’d get more recruits, I’m sure.”

  “I wasn’t wearing this dress, Sir. This is actually Alex’s dress. She made me change the moment she saw me.”

  “Ah.” Alex had a domme streak. That came in handy, no doubt, running the Bondage Ranch events. He was surprised to find his possessiveness extended even to another woman over something so minor. My sub. I get to decide what she wears. Then again, if Constance had come to the door dressed so as to be mistaken for a proselytizer, Alex had done him a favor.

  “He also offered to whip me, Sir,” Constance added and fixed him with a speculative look.

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  Okay, I really need to get this jealousy thing under control. He kept his face impassive as he nodded to acknowledge what she said. If Constance could read his emotions, she’d think he was in love with her or something. And that was the last impression he wanted to give. It wouldn’t be fair to either of them to get involved in a relationship that couldn’t work.

  A moment before, he had been contemplating Diego as a future partner for her, and now every instinct was casting the man as unwelcome competition. He hadn’t expected to feel that kind of jealousy. “We’ll take care of that later.” And I will be your first. “For now, watch what he does.”

  Constance turned and obeyed. Diego had a few implements laid out on the table, all seemingly harmless. A pair of gloves. A pelt of fur. A toothbrush. A loofah. The tool in his hand, on the other hand, was a Wartenberg pinwheel and probably looked a lot more scary to Constance than it really was. A sharp wheel of spikes at the end of a handle, it was designed for neurologists to test nerve reactions, but doctors weren’t the only people interested in nerves. If pushed hard, it could puncture the skin, but rolled lightly, the effect was a series of tiny pinpricks. As Diego moved it over his sub’s breasts, she strained at the bonds that held her to the table. “Oh my God. Oh my God,”

  she cried out.

  Constance watched, transfixed, as Diego switched between the various tools. Soft and fuzzy, scratchy, prickly, he alternated the sensations the brunette felt, moving around her body seemingly randomly, paying attention to both the traditionally erogenous zones and everywhere else in turn. As he did so, Aidan knew, he was creating connections until everywhere he touched would feel erotic to the woman he was with.

  “That’s beautiful, in a way. I thought he was so scary.”

  He is, Aidan wanted to say. But Diego took good care of his subs. And unlike Aidan, Diego was looking for the one woman who would complete him, a sub he could

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  live with for the rest of his life. Maybe this brunette was the one, and Diego wouldn’t be interested in Constance.

  Aidan moved behind Constance again and rested his hands on her legs, just below the hem of her dress. She needed to see this, obviously. And he was going to take advantage of her interest. Gradually, he caressed her thighs, higher and higher. He was rewarded by a catch in her breath and a small sigh that unmistakably signaled her arousal. He kissed her neck and inhaled, enjoying the sweet tangerine smell of her hair mixed with her womanly scent.

  “Are you lifting my dress intentionally, Sir?” she asked.

  “Yes.”

  She leaned against him, and he was surprised at how relaxed she was. “Then there’s nothing I can do about it, is there?”

  “No, little tart.”

  He stroked her thighs, not quite reaching her pussy. He only lifted her dress an inch or two; it would still barely cover her private parts. Her resistance was gone, and he wasn’t sure why. Maybe being in the company of other half-dressed or undressed people made her less inhibited, but he suspected it was more than that. She was falling deeper into submission, submission to him, and he craved that.

  His cock ached as it pressed against the crease of her ass. She moved her hips, grinding against him. It was so tempting to lift her dress higher, slip his fingers inside her and tease her clit until she begged to be fucked. The feeling would be exquisite for him, just what he loved—a woman surrendering to him and her passions, and a tight pussy around his cock. But he held back. He remembered her shyness after sex in the woods, and he didn’t want to push her someplace she’d regret. He needed to know more about her so that he didn’t do anything that would leave an emotional scar.

  “May I turn to face you, Sir?”

  “You may.” She’d seen all she needed to of Diego and his sub, he thought. He wanted her full attention now.

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  She twisted in his arms. She kissed him greedily, and he held her close, crushing her body against his. “Sir,” she whispered.

  “Tell me about your fantasies.”

  She blushed. “There’s not much to tell.”

  “Te
ll me anyway.”

  “Well, they’ve never really involved all of this. No leather, no cuffs, no whips. Not even any ice cream or chocolate fondue or bits of fur and toothbrushes. Although I suppose that might change. I’ve gotten very curious.”

  He gave her a light pat on her bottom and then indulged himself by squeezing it.

  She really did have a great ass. “I didn’t ask you what they weren’t. I asked you what they are.”

  She looked at him and blinked several times. He could tell the gears were grinding in her head.

  “Don’t figure out how to say it in a way that sounds good. Just tell me,” he told her.

  “Just being held. No, that’s not right. Being held down. Not being given choices.

  Being ravished. Feeling a man’s lust and being overpowered by it, by him.” She frowned. “But I don’t—”

  “You don’t really want to have no choice,” he finished.

  “No.”

  “Which is why we have safe words.”

  “It’s fine when I’m just fantasizing. When I get to pick what I have no choice about. When I get to choose who it is that overpowers me. But Sir, I think I would be very happy if it were you.”

  Those words were impossible to resist. But he had promised to let her experience one more thing, and he was going to do that before he satisfied his lust. “I’ll ravish you—in private, if you feel safe. On one condition.”

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  She giggled. “Now, those words were never in any of my fantasies. Sir.”

  “Nonetheless.”

  “In private would be wonderful. What’s the condition?”

  “First, you experience the flogger.” He wanted her consent.

  She raised her eyebrows. “Why, Sir?”

  “Because it’s an important part of your kinky education.”

  Her eyes danced. “Just looking out for my interests?” she mocked.

  He picked her up, pulled up her dress, and swatted her hard on the behind. He’d accept a few missing Sirs, but he was doing her no favors if he let her get away with backtalk.

  “Sir!” she yelled.

  He set her back on the ground. She pulled her hem down and then rubbed her ass gingerly through the vinyl. “Ouch.”

  “Darling, I’ll do my very best to be honest with you. And if I said it’s for your education, then it’s not all about me. I’ll enjoy it, but not half as much as I’ll enjoy plunging my hard cock into your sweet pussy. It’s been aching ever since we’ve gotten in the room, in spite of the fucking we did earlier. Got it?”

  She gulped. “Yes, Sir.”

  “Now lucky us, there’s a free cross. I’ll tie you up nice and tight and give you your first flogging. And if I don’t get any more sass, you’ll probably enjoy it.” He’d intended to get her to say yes to the flogging, but the mood had shifted with her smart-assed reply. Her confessions of semiconsensual fantasies probably had something to do with it too, unlocking a part of him he normally kept well in check. He detected in what she said a desire to be pushed. Now he was content as long as she didn’t say her safe word.

  He grabbed his bag and walked toward the St. Andrew’s cross. He heard her bare feet behind him as she followed.

  “Yes, Sir.”

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  Music to his ears.

  He stopped when he reached the cross, dropped his bag, and turned to face her.

  She looked up at him. He pulled the zipper down on her dress and pushed it over her hips and off. Her mouth went wide with shock. She pulled one arm over her breasts and used her other hand to cover her crotch.

  He pulled her over to the cross and stretched out her wrists. The cross faced the wall, and while there was space so that a dom could play with his sub from both sides, no one would have a perfect front-on view of Constance. The arms of the cross would provide her some cover as well, but he’d have to work fast to stop her from overthinking it.

  “But, Sir, everyone will see me naked.”

  The “Sir” stopped her from getting another swat. “Keep your arms up where I put them,” he said. He quickly got out Velcro cuffs—they were faster than rope—and wrapped them around her wrists, using rope to tie them in turn to the eyebolts set in the upper arms of the X.

  “Why can’t I have my dress on?”

  “Because it’s not your choice.”

  “I could safe word.”

  “You could, darling. And if you have to, do. But don’t ever use it as a threat, because that’s not what it’s for. Say it or don’t.”

  He didn’t wait for an answer but reached down to get a soft deerskin flogger. He had two in his bag; the other was made of buffalo hide and much heavier to swing or to feel. He was pretty sure it was staying put. The one was all he’d need for a novice.

  He brushed it against her back, letting her feel the tails without the force of impact. She didn’t say her safe word. She didn’t say a thing.

  He began.

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  THE WOOD WAS cool against her skin. That was what Constance noticed first. If she stood on her toes, she could convince herself that the intersection of the two wooden bars covered her pussy, so she tried to stretch as much as she could. She’d been startled by his sudden reaction to her remark, but she supposed she had been smarting off. She didn’t trust herself to open her mouth again. All sorts of emotions warred within her—anger at him for his abrupt change of pace and the way he picked her up and swatted her, and worse, removed her clothes without warning in such a very public place, and desire from the fact that he was taking charge. Her pussy was wet, but it was all she could do to stop her fists from clenching.

  The first stroke of the flogger brushed across her back. He had to have been holding back —she suspected he could sting her more if he whacked her with a towel. It reassured her. He wasn’t angry or out of control. This wasn’t punishment, like the swat had been. She relaxed against the frame, which was tilted slightly forward so she could lean her weight on it. She closed her eyes and focused on the sensation of the flogger. It was better than thinking about the fact that she was naked in a room full of people.

  The first dozen blows landed on her back as he slowly built up intensity. Then a couple on her bottom, sending shivers up her spine. There was a huge difference, as far as she was concerned. The ones on her back felt good, almost like a deep massage. On her butt, on the other hand, the tails of the flogger stung and carried an erotic charge that caused her pussy to tingle. He nudged her calves with his foot until she spread her legs farther apart, and she was aware of how exposed her pussy was if he decided to stroke upward with the flogger. Surely she was too sensitive there for that kind of treatment. She hoped he agreed. But she found peace in knowing he was in control. He seemed to know what he was doing.

  He returned to her back, leaving her frustrated. This time, he swung harder, making her gasp with every other blow. To her surprise, she discovered she could take it. He gave her a mixture of sting and thud, of sharpness and ache. But the stings faded quickly, and the ache had a way of spreading through her body, feeling more like need

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  than like pain. Her nipples bunched tighter with each stroke of the leather, and when he moved back to her ass, her pussy wept. She hoped no one could see. She scrunched her eyes tight. If anyone was looking, she really didn’t want to know.

  His hand rested on her back as he flicked the tails against her backside, and as the strokes got harder, his fingers drifted downward. She stopped bracing for each touch of the tails as they started to blend together in her head. She was only barely aware they had stopped when his hand slipped between her legs, his fingers penetrating her silky folds. She moaned when he withdrew and began whipping her again, the tips of his flogger getting ever closer to her aching and engorged pussy.

  She wanted his fingers back, but she didn
’t want him to stop flogging her. She wanted both. She moved against the cross and found it was impossible to get any useful friction against it. She was vaguely aware that she probably looked like a total slut writhing under the lash. She didn’t care anymore. The room and the presence of others, even though she could hear their moans and whispers, were an abstraction now. All that mattered was what she could touch, and what touched her. The cuffs, the cross, the flogger, and his hands. And then even those seemed to fade away, as if she’d floated off on a cloud and the slapping of the flogger against her ass was mere background music to her reverie.

  She fell into his arms, at last. He must have uncuffed her, must have stopped whipping her at some point. Her body had never felt so soft, so flexible, so relaxed. He kissed her cheek and carried her. She wanted to see him, but she didn’t want to break the spell by opening her eyes. Slowly she became more aware of the specifics of her own body. She still ached for his touch. She was still wet. His fingers moved inside her, and pressure started to build behind her clit, begging for release.

  “Please,” she said. It felt strange to talk.

  “Hush, love, almost there.”

  I am almost there. She gritted her teeth in frustration when he withdrew his fingers and opened her eyes to find herself in the hall between the dungeon and the Allisons’

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  living room. There were doors all along both sides of the hall, and he stopped at one.

  He twisted the knob, and pushed the door open with his foot as he clasped his hand to her bottom again. He carried her into the room and thrust his fingers inside her again, this time rubbing his thumb against her clit.

  She came as the door swung closed. She thrashed in his arms, and he managed somehow to get her safely to the bed. He cradled her, moving his thumb skillfully and curling his fingers up inside her, extending her pleasure. She gasped, trying to catch her breath. He bit her neck, and the sharp pain brought everything she’d done back into focus. Thank God they were alone when she came, but everything else had happened in front of everyone. She ought to feel horribly ashamed.