Spanked into Submission

by Ravenna Tate

  EVERNIGHT PUBLISHING ®

  www.evernightpublishing.com

  Copyright© 2017 Ravenna Tate

  ISBN: 978-1-77339-328-5

  Cover Artist: Jay Aheer

  Editor: Karyn White

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  DEDICATION

  To Evernight Publishing. Thank you for being so supportive and encouraging. And thank you for taking a chance on this series.

  SPANKED INTO SUBMISSION

  The Spanking Experiments, 2

  Ravenna Tate

  Copyright © 2017

  Chapter One

  The inside of Sensations BDSM club smells of vanilla and peppermint, which is not even close to what other clubs I’ve been in smelled like. Not that I’ve been inside very many. But each of them so far are housed in warehouses that appear abandoned from the outside.

  They remind me of the college bars I’ve heard my mom talk about from the seventies. Buildings on quiet streets that, by day, no one would glance toward a second time. But if you walked inside after eight or nine, especially on a weekend, the place was filled with people, music, and laughter.

  Only this club isn’t filled with laughter, music, or people. In fact, the only thing inside so far is a huge sign pointing toward the reception area. Behind a glass insert in the door, complete with a speaker set into it, is a woman with a huge smile and a frazzled appearance.

  “Hi there! Welcome to Sensations. What can I do for you?”

  “I’m Macie Brooks. I’m a survey participant.”

  “Awesome!” She reaches under the desk and the door pops open. “Come on in.”

  Hip-hop music blares from the radio perched on top of a tall cabinet, and a fan ruffles the stacks of paper placed on every available surface. There is a filing cabinet in here as well, and I want to ask her if it’s full, but refrain from doing so. Sometimes, I’m too quick to speak and it comes across as rude.

  “I’m Daphne Morris.” We shake hands, and I like her on sight. She’s one of those people I imagine has a ton of friends, and could call any one of them at all hours of the day or night, simply to chat. I’ve never had that in my life, and I envy people who do.

  “Please, sit down.” I take a seat across from the desk, in the only chair without papers stacked on top of it. Have I made a huge mistake? How does she keep track of anything in here? I’ve given this club some very personal information, and I certainly wouldn’t want to find it on the Internet one day.

  “May I see your driver’s license, please?”

  After I hand it to her, Daphne prints two pieces of paper from her computer and hands them to me, along with my license and a pen. “Please read the survey and the consent again, and sign if you agree.”

  I don’t bother to tell her I’ve already read these same two documents, more than once. I’m sure this is part of their security check, and it puts my mind at ease a bit to realize how careful they are. Maybe she simply needs another filing cabinet, or two?

  After I’ve signed the papers, she asks if I have any questions. I have about a million, despite having read the particulars over and over again. And despite having watched hours of educational videos, and read countless articles. My hesitation stems from my own insecurities, and I recognize that. Doesn’t make it any easier, though.

  “This is an experiment, correct?” I hold up a hand. “I know. You’re not calling it that.”

  “We prefer the term ‘survey’ because we’re not testing a hypothesis. We’re gathering subjective information, and will use that information in future educational resources.”

  I smile. An educated, articulate person always has my undivided attention. “The Dom who will introduce me to impact play…” I glance at the paper I just signed because I’m suddenly nervous as hell about this. “Dakar Garcia. He’s seen the pictures I submitted as part of the app process, correct?”

  We had to send in full body shots, clad only in a bra and panties, plus a face shot. We were told this was so the Dom chosen to top us would recognize any physical limitations or special considerations we had. What I’m trying to ask without voicing the words is whether this dude knows I’m pushing size sixteen.

  “Yes, he has seen them. Each of our Doms chooses a participant. He has the final say. You’re here because Dakar wants you here.”

  “Oh.” That wasn’t what I expected to hear, and it’s a game changer. My clit begins to throb as I struggle to recall the other questions I had. “And I’m free to withdraw my consent at any time, even after we’ve started. Correct?”

  “Absolutely. Dakar will discuss that with you, as well as safewords and limits. Nothing tonight will happen unless you want it to, Macie. You’re welcome to stay the night, but you’re free to leave any time before that if you want to.”

  When I first read about these surveys, I thought it was a joke. But a quick check with the one kinky friend I have revealed they were legitimate. The Doms who own this club are looking for those curious about impact play to spend the night in the club with one of them, and experience it firsthand. As much or as little as we are able to take.

  They will send us the narrative afterward for our approval before they print any of our experiences. No photographs will be taken, and of course our real names will never be used. It’s a chance to engage in BDSM play within a safe, secure, no-strings-attached environment.

  For a woman like me, who’s had spanking fantasies pretty much since she hit puberty, but who has had no chance to explore them in real life, it’s a dream come true.

  “If you have no more questions,” says Daphne, “are you ready to meet Dakar?”

  “Yes.” What’s the worst that could happen, after all? He takes one look at me and changes his mind. Not like that hasn’t happened a time or two. Doesn’t mean it won’t sting like hell, but at least I’ve been through instant rejection before, and I know I can handle it.

  Daphne leads me through another door and into the club’s play area. No one is around, but I hear soft conversation off to the left. “Are we staying in here for this?” I ask.

  “No. These surveys are conducted upstairs, in private play areas the owners and a few select Doms have exclusive use of.”

  Oh, I like the sound of that. I’d had visions of being among everyone else, not that it should matter. But since I’m a newbie to play, I’m nervous about appearing ridiculous. I shouldn’t be, and intellectually I’m aware of that fact, but knowing something and putting it into practice are two different animals.

  “Through here.”

  After she unlocks a door, Daphne leads me up a carpeted stairwell. It’s dimly lit with red lamps, and I’m reminded of the inside of Warren Beck’s office where I work. He’s one of the attorneys in the firm where I’m a legal secretary, and he keeps his office so dim I have no clue how he reads anything. It’s also very quiet, and he practically insists people whisper.

  The idea of Warren Beck in a BSDM club nearly forces a giggle from my throat. He’s the most conservative, stick-up-the-ass person I’ve ever met.

  The upstairs hallway is similarly lit and decorated. We pass several closed doors, finally stopping in front of one on the left. Daphne knocks, and a deep male voice calls to come in. Oh lord, I hope that’s Dakar’s voice because it just sent a shiver down my spine.

&nb
sp; Inside, the room is lit by several soft lamps, and I’m grateful they’re not red. I like the color, but I’ve already seen enough of it coming up the stairs and walking down the hall. If I had to spent the night in a red room, I might have nightmares.

  The lamps in here have deep blue shades. As I glance around, the color scheme is consistent in the furniture, draperies, and carpeting. Everything is rich blue and dark wood. Very elegant and expensive-looking. Also a very masculine room, if one can assign gender to inanimate objects.

  It’s a room in which I’m comfortable, and it smells great. Musky and woodsy. Or that might be coming from the tall, muscular man who stands and approaches us. My mouth drops open as he strolls closer, his expression firm yet intrigued. Crystal blue eyes peer at me as if I’m a bug under a microscope. Dark, close-cropped hair that is slightly graying at the temples adorns his head, but it’s his bare torso I’m drawn to.

  Sculpted muscles, including a six-pack. An actual six-pack. I’ve never seen abs like that in person, and I instinctively suck in my gut. Why in the hell did a man who looks like him choose me for this survey?

  “Thank you, Daphne. You may leave now.” My escort has just been dismissed.

  “Have fun,” she whispers, brushing past me.

  The door closes and I’m alone with the bronze god. His face has those chiseled features of every boy I ever dreamed of going out with, but never did. Boys that looked like him in school didn’t go out with girls who look like me.

  “Are you nervous, Macie?”

  His voice, deep and sexy, is also kind. I let out the breath I’ve been holding. “No.”

  “Good. I want you to be comfortable. I understand you’ve consented to sexual touching, and penetration if it comes to that. Is that correct?”

  “Yes.” Oh, man. The idea of fucking this guy sends a gush of wetness to my pussy.

  “I have no STDs, and I use condoms on general principle.”

  “I haven’t any either. STDs, that is.” Get a grip, Macie! “And I’m on the pill.”

  “You’ve consented to try impact play, plus other types we discuss beforehand, correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you have no experience with play, but you have been inside clubs before.”

  “Also correct.” I’ve been inside two clubs, and did nothing but gawk at everyone the entire time. Should I mention that?

  He’s in front of me now. There’s a power coming off him, raw and in command. It’s intoxicating. I can’t tear my gaze from his eyes.

  “Your safewords are ‘yellow’ and ‘red’. The latter stops the scene. The former is used for everything else, including the need for water, or having to use the bathroom. Do you understand?”

  “Yep. Got it.” Let’s get to it, already. My skin is on fire.

  “I want you to address me as ‘Sir’ tonight. Are you able to kneel?”

  Excuse me? “Y-yes. Sir. Of course I can kneel.” I’m only twenty-seven years old. Why in the hell did he ask me that? Do I look like I’m not physically able to kneel, for God’s sake?

  “Then why aren’t you doing it now?”

  Oh shit. That incredibly sexy voice just got lower. So it’s going to be like that tonight. This is already way more than I’d hoped for. I drop to my knees and gaze into those ice blue eyes. I’ve never seen any that color before.

  His surname and appearance suggest he’s Hispanic, but you can’t tell from looks alone. My appearance is biracial, but the green eyes throw people off. I get asked all the time about my heritage. I want to ask him about his, but some people are offended by the question. I’d best keep my mouth shut unless he brings it up.

  “Much better.” He walks around me slowly, like a jungle cat teasing its prey. I’m trembling, but not from the effort of being on my knees. This man has an aura about him that screams dominance and control. It’s everything I’ve ever fantasized about, and I have the entire night to enjoy it.

  As he circles me, I detect the scents I first noticed. They are coming from him. He’s wearing worn jeans and, if the bulge in his crotch is any indication, nothing else. Plus, he’s barefoot. He stops in front of me, and my gaze travels over his lower body before inching up that magnificent torso once more, and finally landing on his face again.

  “Like what you see?” His eyes and tone of voice are filled with humor, and heat floods my face. I’ve officially been caught checking him out.

  “Yes, Sir. I sure do.”

  A soft chuckle escapes his throat. “Macie, I understand you’re twenty-seven. Is that correct?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “And a legal secretary. Do you enjoy your work?”

  “Very much.”

  “Have friends?”

  “A few close ones.” Why is he asking about my work and friends? Odd situation in which to make small talk, looking down on someone kneeling in front of you, eye level with your groin.

  “Explain something. How is it a beautiful, intelligent woman like you is still unattached?”

  I swallow hard. No one except my grandmother ever called me beautiful, and that was because she loved everybody. She was the kind of person who saw the beauty in all creatures, because she looked into their hearts, not at their outer appearance.

  “I … I had a few boyfriends over the years. Nothing serious.”

  “Why not?”

  What is it about this man that leaves me so vulnerable and shy? I’m not one to avoid personal questions. “Well, Sir, to be perfectly blunt, once they found out about my kinky fantasies, they wanted no part of me. And, to be blunt again, I’m not exactly the type of woman most guys go for, so the pickings have been slim to begin with.”

  He cups my face, and I have to stifle a moan at his touch. “Why do you believe you’re not the type of woman most guys go for?”

  I’ve heard people swear they felt electric jolts when someone they’re physically attracted to touches them, but never experienced it myself. Not until now, that is.

  “I’m not skinny, and some people get a bit freaked out by my biracial features.”

  “Tell me about it. I’ve had people ask me, point blank, ‘Are you black or white?’ When I tell them I’m Portuguese and Puerto Rican, they’re dumbfounded.”

  I laugh softly, understanding completely. When he smiles at me, the gesture lights up his entire face. He really is gorgeous. At the very least, this night will be freaking awesome because I get to spend it with some serious eye candy.

  “For the record,” he says, “there’s nothing unappealing about your body or your face. But true beauty comes from within.”

  “I agree.”

  He releases my face and leaves me there, still kneeling, to cross the room and pick up something from a chair. “I’d like you to wear this, and only this. You may rise and change in the bathroom, or stay in here to do so. Your choice.”

  I stand, walk toward him, and take the clothing from his hand. He was holding nothing except a leather spanking skirt, completely open at the back. I stare at it for a few seconds, turning it around and back again. “You’re kidding.”

  His gaze darkens, and I swallow hard again. “Macie, change into the skirt. For your comment, you’ve earned ten swats on each cheek. Hard swats. They will hurt.”

  I bite my lip as tiny contractions flutter inside my pussy. Dear God in heaven. I believe I just came.

  Chapter Two

  In order to collect my thoughts, I choose to change inside the bathroom. Once the skirt is on, and I’ve gawked at the cherry wood and gold trim that’s on every piece of furniture and each fixture in the room, I turn sideways in the mirror to observe my lower body in this ridiculous skirt.

  I wouldn’t call it a skirt, unless you count the flap in the front that hides my hoochie, or those two semi-flaps at each side that almost cover my thighs. But my big, fat ass is completely exposed, which I gather is the point. How the hell can I go out there like this? I’m naked on top. I might as well be naked on the bottom, too.

&
nbsp; He did say only this. What the hell have I gotten myself into?

  This is what you wanted. He’s fucking gorgeous. He thinks you’re beautiful.

  True. All true. But the last time I was naked in front of a man, it didn’t end well for my ego.

  I don’t want Dakar to assume I’m never coming out, so I leave my bag and clothes in the luxurious bathroom, and open the door to the bedroom. He’s sitting on the edge of the bed, flanked by toys. In his lap rests a thick, leather glove. A spanking glove? I’m not sure.

  “Come closer and let me have a good look at you, Macie.”

  I obey, walking slowly to check out what’s next to him on the bed. Two paddles, one wooden and one leather. On the other side are two floggers. One is leather, and the other appears to be made from chainmail. What?

  “Shall I kneel again, Sir?”

  “No. Walk right up to me.”

  The closer I come, the more difficult it is to take a full breath. Sweat breaks out along my hairline and under my arms. This was sexy and exciting a moment ago. Now, it’s anxiety-ridden. What if I’m unable to take any of this? What if I end up making an ass of myself, no pun intended? What if he realizes what a huge mistake he’s made, and sends me home after the first few swats?

  His gaze travels over my body, slowly, sending shivers down my spine. I wish he’d say something, though. I’m not used to such scrutiny without words attached.

  “Turn around.”

  At least I got my wish. He spoke. I do as he says, imagining his reaction to my naked rear end. It’s now or never. I hope if he’s changed his mind, he puts me out of my misery sooner rather than later.

  “Exquisite, Macie. Fucking exquisite.”

  Again, not what I expected. “Thank you.” Sir! He told you to call him “Sir”! “I mean, thank you, Sir.”