by Zoey Marcel
“Just use your safe word if you have to.”
“Yes, Sir. I won’t need to.”
She would need to. He could already tell, but she was trying to mask what she felt and that was no good. She had to be honest with him.
First he used the dull end of the knife and watched her closely. She was stiff and her lips were pursed with apprehension.
“Is everything all right?”
“Fine, Sir.”
“It’s okay to use your safe word if you have to.”
“I don’t need to.” Her pupils dilated when he raked the blade over her breast without cutting her.
“If you use it I won’t be disappointed in you, Melanie. It only ends the scene, not our relationship.”
Her eyes squeezed shut when he raked the knife down her belly.
He stopped. “Open your eyes and look at me.”
She did, squirming under his reproof.
“If you’re not honest with me, I will be disappointed in you.”
Her eyes misted. “I’m okay, Sir.”
“You don’t look okay.”
She bit her lower lip when he moved the knife to her thigh. He turned it over and lightly skimmed the dull part over her shaved mound.
“Freakin’ wallaby!” She shut her eyes, looking ashamed. “I’m sorry, Sir.”
He set the knife aside and lifted her chin. “Good girl. I’m proud of you.”
Her moist eyes met his. “Y–you wanted me to say it?”
He nodded. “In the future you’ll probably never have to use it. A good Dom should be paying attention to body language and breathing in his submissive.” Greyson cradled her jaw. “But it works both ways. A good sub shouldn’t be afraid to use her safe word if she has to. Diego said you had a habit of trying to be submissive to the point of doing things that scare you. I don’t want that. We all have limits and we’ll push yours, but I don’t ever want you terrified or feeling ashamed of using your safe word if you need to.”
She gave him a grateful smile. “Thank you, Sir. I really want to overcome this. Being tied up and feeling a knife on me is too much right now, but maybe…I don’t know.”
He untied her and led her by the hand back to the bear rug. “Kneel.”
She obeyed and he desperately wanted out of his clothes.
Picking the knife back up, he turned to her. “Are you comfortable with feeling it on you without being tied up?”
“I think so, Sir. Just please go slowly.”
He smiled and knelt on the rug with her. They were making terrific progress. She seemed fine with him using the dull end of the knife on her arms.
“Did Saul use knives on you?”
Her face fell. “Yes, Sir. I was tied up when he used them on me. He never left any scars, but he liked to make threats while he role-played with me. It might have been enjoyable if he hadn’t been using me for catharsis. Sometimes he looked like he might really hurt me. He didn’t, but I was afraid.”
Greyson scraped the dullness over her soft tit, noting the way her breath caught. “Did he cut you?”
“A few times, but never seriously. It just scared me. I don’t want to be afraid of knives, though.”
“Knives are dangerous. It’s okay to be afraid of them.”
“What about being in the kitchen and imagining a knife is going to come to life and stab you?”
He dragged the blunt side over her stomach, making it quiver. “No. That’s not normal. His treatment of you left a bad taste in your mouth. It’ll take time, but eventually you won’t have horrific thoughts while making a salad in the kitchen.”
“It doesn’t bother me when I’m holding the knife, just when they’re sitting there looking suspicious.” She smiled a little and he cracked a lopsided grin at her cuteness.
“Suspicious-looking knives, huh? Keep calling me Sir, by the way.”
“Yes, Sir.”
He raked the knife over her leg and saw that she was still fine. Today wasn’t the day to use it on her pussy. He could tell. Instead he held up her arm.
“I’m gonna drag the blade over it, but I won’t cut you.” He met her nervousness with adamant sternness. “You have my word on that.”
“I trust you, Sir.”
“Good. Don’t move. I don’t want you getting hurt.”
She appeared nervous, but not petrified as he gradually slid the sharp side of the knife over her inner forearm without drawing blood. At first she watched the blade as he wielded it slowly over her flesh. When he repeated the motion with the other arm, she trusted him enough to look into his eyes and not cut her.
Greyson set the knife aside and then stood in front of her, tilting her face so they made eye contact. “It means a lot to me that you trusted me enough to let me push your boundaries.”
Her eager-to-please smile moved him deeply. “You’re welcome, Sir. Thank you for helping me with my knife phobia.”
“No problem. We’ll practice a little bit each time we do a scene together before we move onto something else. Eventually you’ll come to associate knives with pleasure, but don’t go cutting yourself deliberately while making dinner. You’re not allowed to hurt yourself.”
“I won’t, Sir. Can I ask you something?”
“What’s that?”
“Will you ever want me to call you Master like Diego does?”
Greyson heaved sigh. “I don’t like being called Master. It feels fake and over the top to me.”
But not when he called Diego Master strangely enough.
“So will I just be a bedroom submissive with you then, Sir?” she asked.
“No. I want more than that from you.”
“But you only want me to call you Sir?”
He’d thought the same thing before. He liked being called Sir, but didn’t know what exactly it was called when a man wanted a woman to be more than his bedroom submissive, but not really a twenty-four-seven slave either. Balanced is what Melanie might call it, but having a BDSM relationship that wasn’t clearly defined and went outside traditional parameters would be chaos to his mind.
Maybe he should just stoically tolerate being called Master since he wanted her to obey him outside of the bedroom, too. However, he wanted her to have her independence to some degree and be able to speak her mind, even disagree with him sometimes, but somehow know when to drop to her knees and submit to him even outside the bedroom whenever he decided it was time to dominate her. Even so, he wanted her to carry out instructions, but also have her space, and while he loved things to be in order, he didn’t want to control every aspect of her life or feel obligated to ride her ass like he’d had to with Nakota.
“Did you have Nakota call you Master?” Melanie asked glumly.
The hurt in her eyes intrigued him. She acted jealous of the other woman from his past.
He shook his head. “She didn’t call me Master either. No one did. I wouldn’t allow it. She was a slave to Diego, but I always referred to her as my submissive and had her call me Sir. Nakota was too needy for my tastes. She belongs in a total power exchange relationship. Frankly, I find those exhausting and not feasible for me with a ranch to run.”
“So bedroom only with you, Sir?”
“No.”
He wanted to have days where she was his darling wife and they were vanilla and then other days where he walked into the kitchen and told her to stop what she was doing and get down on her knees. What the fuck was that called? Besides his idea of heaven.
Greyson exhaled in frustration. “Let me get back to you on that.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Stand up.” He smiled when she obeyed, trying to give his brand of BDSM a name. Damn it, there was no word for in between bedroom bondage and twenty-four-seven submission. He was screwed and it would probably confuse the hell out of the poor woman.
He had Melanie sit on her knees on the bed and then held eye contact with her while he undid his pants. Hot desire sparkled in her eyes.
“There’s a position
for deep-throating that might be easier for you.” He got onto the bed and lay on his back. When he guided her down into sixty-nine, he pushed his jeans and underwear down just enough to get his dick out. “You can lie with your legs to the side. Whatever is comfortable. It helps if you get your head really low while sucking in this position.”
She seemed eager to please him as she grasped his swollen flesh.
Her touch made it difficult to think. “Also, for some people relaxing their throat works and for others widening it like when you’re yawning works better. Do whichever works best for you, and don’t worry about getting me in all the way. It takes a lot of practice before—”
Her luscious heat drove the words from him when she took his engorged cock into her mouth. She sucked him like she knew what she was doing. After spending as much time in the sack as she did with the other four men on this ranch he would certainly hope she’d been paying attention.
Melanie hummed on his organ and the hot vibrations reverberated on his glans, snagging a broken cry from him. He struggled to keep from sounding too enraptured by her oral prowess, but god, was she good.
He felt her trying different things out with her throat to see how best to fit him back there. He knew he was wide, but Diego had deep-throated him on more than one occasion and he had a feeling Melanie could learn to do so.
Greyson felt a bonding pull toward her when her breasts squished against his skin and her jaw rested on his abdomen. He felt her face working and her gag reflex kicking in. She paused and breathed before taking his length in farther. He smoothed his palm over her back to steady her when he felt the back of her throat against the tip of his penis. When she accepted him into her throat he nearly passed out. The slippery slide down scorched his flesh and fondled him all over with satiny swallows.
He made the mistake of thrusting and she gagged. Pausing, he waited a second for the gag reflex to pass before coming up slowly. He gave two shallow thrusts and pulled out of her carefully.
She coughed, wiping the drool off her face. “I did it.”
“You sure did.” He grinned and laced his fingers through her shiny tresses. “You did great. I’m proud of you.”
“Thank you, Sir. What you said helped.”
Standing, he closed his pants. “I’m glad. With practice you’ll be able to take me deeper. Maybe even to my balls someday. It takes experience, though. You’re off to a damned good start.”
“I’m glad you liked it, Sir.”
He nodded once and stepped back. “Lean over the bed so I can cane you.”
Melanie swallowed and obeyed, but her face radiated with anticipation despite her obvious anxiety.
He pulled the thick rattan cane from its blue tube-shaped bag that he kept it in. “Tell me what you’re feeling.”
“Nervous, Sir, and excited. I dreaded the idea of this before, but I’m really curious about it and kind of looking forward to it because I know you won’t hurt me.”
“I won’t hurt you,” he agreed. Then he recanted with a smile. “Well, it’ll definitely hurt, but I won’t do you any lasting damage. I’m glad you trust me.”
A breathy sigh floated from her lips when he skimmed his fingertips over her curvaceous rump.
“You’ve got a great ass.”
“Thank you, Sir. Sometimes I look at yours while you walk.” She paused and his cock swelled. “Is that okay to say?”
He grinned. “Absolutely. You can stare at my ass all you want. I plan on looking at yours every chance I get.”
When he slowly pulled the anal plug out of her, the sensual motion dragged a long, pleasured moan from her. He kneaded her buttocks and squished her pleasing ass cheeks in his hands. Next he reached for the cane again, unable to contain his excitement.
His dick pounded and strained against the back of his fly. Pure elation sizzled with cold, electrifying energy in his veins at the sight of her bare ass, an unmarked canvas just waiting for the thud of the cane. She would take the pain for him and proudly wear his marks of ownership on her flesh. Then he’d bury himself balls-deep in the tight heat of her perfect ass.
* * * *
Mellie’s breath caught when she felt the hard wood slide across her buttocks in a deceptively gentle stroke. The cane taunted her, offered friendship, but she knew the lying rod would start nipping at her bottom soon enough.
Sir alternated between these sensual glides over her skin and gentle taps and pats on her butt. She figured he was warming up her skin so as to lessen the chances and severity of marks when his strikes became more intense.
He gradually increased the energy behind these light taps, bringing them in more rapid succession all over her rump. The slides always caught her off guard, but she enjoyed the smooth, reassuring caresses before the cane knocked faintly on her rear end as if it were a door he wanted her to open to him. The taps became more insistent like an annoying salesman that just knew she was home and wouldn’t go away until she checked out the crap he was selling.
Except these touches felt like big mosquitoes that nipped at her butt, warming her skin. The pressure behind the tapping turned into warning little thuds that started to hurt. She could do this.
A sudden strike thudded on her backside, forcing the air from her lungs. The cane was pulled back immediately and no blow followed for several seconds. The pain and heat registered in her body, but the effects quickly lessened. A similar hit followed in a different place on her bottom, jolting her. The impact startled her, though not severe. Heat radiated, suffusing through her system.
The next thud on her ass shocked her. She felt the impact deep in her muscles, the effects resonating with her like ripples over water in a confined area after a big splash. Her ass burned and she realized Sir hadn’t moved the cane from her bottom once he’d struck her this time. The results seemed to intensify and linger in her body because of the prolonged contact with the cane.
She melted into his soothing hand when he rubbed the heat deeper into her buttocks, massaging away the pain he’d caused.
What followed was some kind of rhythm—natural, captivating, yet unpredictable. He alternated places of contact on her bottom and used various strokes and touches on her with the thick cane, throwing in the occasional hard thud that vibrated through her. Her butt felt like it was on fire and the heat dissipating through her made her blood feel like simmering water in her veins.
Sweat poured out of her body, clamming her underarms and dampening the hair at her temples and the fine, tiny hairs on her nape. The front of her body moistened against the bedspread. Even the soles of her feet seemed to sweat.
She smelled her jasmine perfume saturating her conquered body and her summer-scented deodorant doing its job.
The big bad cane seemed to have vanished and a thinner cane glided up her thigh, which was probably Sir’s way of alerting her that he’d switched to a thinner cane. The thin invader moved to her ass, brushing over the inflamed territory it intended to assail.
“Good girl.” Sir’s voice broke through the dreamy fog.
She moaned and her body went languid against the bed. What was he doing to her? The pain was too intense, the bond too incredible to assess when she was flying so high.
Mellie cried out when the cane nipped at her bottom, the sting prevalent, bringing a torch of fire with it. She’d been aware of her cries all along, but they sounded fainter now, more primitive and wanton as though she were being fucked instead of caned. The touch of his hand in between every few strikes consoled her and chased away the painful shock.
The cane struck her and slid almost at the same time, igniting the fiery coals on her battered rump all the more. Her mouth made an O as her pussy leaked. The sensation of her vagina flooding with arousal was faint in the storm of pain that flared on her backside, but the wetness was there, coating her inner thighs and rolling in erotic drops down her legs along with anxious perspiration.
A similar strike occurred, stinging and burning her flesh, giving her the sensatio
n of tearing skin. Had he broken the skin? She doubted it. He probably knew of strikes to give that impression without actually damaging the flesh. His skill made her woozy and euphoric. He could create illusions. She whimpered, pressing her pussy harder onto the bed. The idea of bleeding for him made her hot and bothered. He really needed to get her off right about now or she’d combust.
The cane was gone. She waited a few seconds before the wonderful bastard returned and resumed the gliding and gentle tapping rhythm he’d used to warm her up. Was this cool down perhaps? She felt like a drum being played by a druid. Then again, the tempo was a bit swift for Celtic music, though the tiny beats would hardly impress the drummer in a rock band.
The otherworldly utopia persisted as the touches of the cane became lighter until all contact ceased. She was vaguely aware of that throbbing mountain of fire behind her that was formerly known as her ass. She’d bet he’d left marks on her. Decadent marks of ownership and power. The mental image made her womb clench.
Orgasm, please before I die.
Sir helped her stand. Her legs felt like cranberry sauce at Thanksgiving and her mumbles sounded more like primate lingo than actual words. He had her lean against the bed. The edge pressed into her sore posterior, making her mewl in pain. Wonderful, nasty oppression.
Sir watched closely, not hitting her, merely touching the tip of the cane to her areola before using a gentle probing motion to lightly touch her nipple. The sensual pressure and consistent tipping there made her womb spasm. He did the same to the other nipple, hiding his aroused smile at her responsive body language and horny sounds. She saw the smile in his eyes, though.
Then the delightful tip of the cane moved to her pussy. He avoided her clit, but started a gentle prodding on the labia just slightly above her clitoris. The probing touches drove her wild with need. Electric energy filled her body as her clit swelled and pulsed with the urge to explode. Her cunt released a fresh flow of cream, pounding and probably aching with the need to be penetrated, though her ass throbbed too painfully to tell.
The next touch of the tip sent her over. Mellie choked on a gasp, vaguely aware that she sounded like she was being strangled by someone. Her broken cries emerged into a full-blown scream as intense pleasure that bordered on pain took hold of her.
