In His Cuffs

by Sierra Cartwright

  Suddenly this seemed all too real. It was more complex than her usual scene where she would say, ‘I’ve been bad, Sir, please punish me’. Rather, this had the knife-edge of reality added to it.

  Releasing her, he said, “Over my knee, Maggie.”

  She moved towards him. He offered a hand for support, but he didn’t grip her. Symbolically he was letting her know it was her choice.

  He helped her into position.

  The weights on her clamps pulled her breasts and nipples towards the floor—the pain was relentless.

  Beneath her belly, his thighs felt strong. He was an unyielding Dom. The denim was rough against her skin, and the coolness from his handcuffs teased her hip for a fraction of a second.

  He jostled her so she was more secure. He placed his large palm in the middle of her back.

  She expected him to trap her legs between his, but he didn’t.

  “I want to see you flail. If you try to get away, I want to drag you back. A little resistance from the fairer sex does me good.”

  He traced a finger up the inside of her right thigh, making her tremble. He flitted across her pussy, sliding just a fingertip inside her.

  “Such a responsive princess.”

  He rubbed her thighs and buttocks with light motions. As he continued, he used a bit more force.

  She tried to relax, but anxiety held her motionless.

  He didn’t ask if she was ready, instead he swatted her hard. She cried out from the impact and she squirmed, making the clamps jump. “Damn.”

  “We haven’t even started.”

  It certainly felt like it to her.

  He smacked her again, burning her buttocks.

  “Your skin turns pink quickly. Do you bruise?”

  Without waiting for an answer, he seared her skin again, this time on her right thigh.

  Though she had intended to remain still and calmly take anything he gave, she flailed about. Each motion jerked her breasts, increasing the agony in her nipples.

  He shocked her by moving her onto her side so that she was facing him. The position changed the angle of his impact.

  For self-preservation, she curled against him. The dichotomy awed her—she was seeking stability from his body while he mercilessly beat her.

  “Your ass was made for this,” he told her.

  He rained painful spanks across her rear. She drank in great gulps of air, trying to reach a peaceful space deep inside her head. Normally when she received this kind of physical stimulation, she was able to exult in it. David—the Dom—didn’t afford her that luxury. His smacks were random, some horrible, others almost gentle. He didn’t pause between them. Instead he blazed them everywhere, keeping her on edge. Her brain couldn’t process the information fast enough to figure out where he was going to strike next. She was wading in darkened waters, yet she didn’t want to end it.

  He spanked the tender flesh below her buttocks. The force jolted her. The weights jangled together and she was assaulted by gripping pain. As a way to centre herself, she tried to count the hits, but she was unable to. This man brought determination to everything he did.

  Almost without her noticing, he slowed down the number of spanks.

  Warmth bathed her body.

  David sat her up and drew her against his chest. Her limbs felt numb, so when he placed her head against his shoulder, she didn’t protest.

  He stroked her hair and said words that sounded nonsensical.

  She heard the steady thud of his heart, and it gave her comfort.

  “I’m going to take off the clamps,” he told her. “Hopefully your nipples are sore enough that my touching them later will hurt.”

  He cupped her right breast tightly and parted the rubber-tipped clamp. He pinched her nipple and squeezed it several times, allowing circulation to return by measures.

  “Ah… Thank you, Mr Tomlinson.” Often her Doms released the clamps and allowed blood to rush back in painfully.

  He repeated the process with the other side.

  By the time he finished, she was holding herself away from him a bit.

  “How was your spanking?”

  She gazed into his eyes. This was somehow more intimate than having her pussy exposed to him. She inhaled his scent.

  His chest was more than broad, it was inviting. The HM band emphasised the ripple of his biceps. If she were the type of woman to lean on a man, she’d be tempted to rest against him again.

  As he had earlier, he pushed hair back from her face. His eyebrows were furrowed. She fought an insane urge to smooth his forehead. Instead she clasped her hands together. “Fine, Mr Tomlinson,” she said.

  “Fine?”

  Remembering he’d mentioned protocols earlier, she added, “Thank you for your attention.”

  “You wouldn’t be punished for that omission since I hadn’t instructed you beforehand. Rules must be understood ahead of time. Still, good manners are always appropriate behaviour. Continue about the spanking.”

  “I haven’t experienced anything quite like it.”

  “In what way?”

  “I’ve never had a punishment, only a scene.”

  “I told you I’ve imagined having you over my knee. And it wasn’t erotic and meant to get you off, but it was far from punitive.”

  “Mr Tomlinson?”

  “We don’t have a permanent relationship. Therefore, I am not in the position to mete our actual punishment. This spanking wasn’t delivered with the idea of correcting persistent or offensive behaviour. Well, maybe the offensive behaviour.” His quick smile took any sting from his words. “If I had punished you, you would have known it. There would have been no pleasure in it at all.”

  “So…”

  “It was more of a test, than anything.”

  She frowned.

  “I wanted to gauge your reactions, see what you disliked, what you liked, notice how your skin responded, where you’re most sensitive, what made you wince or cry out or sigh.” He threaded his fingers into her hair and pulled back her head.

  “Did I pass the test?” she asked.

  “Princess, you could not have failed.”

  Again, words that took her off guard. Was he simply a very considerate Dom? Or a man deeper than she’d believed possible from what she knew about him?

  Another thought followed that. He’d said he was learning about her, but she’d discovered a number of things about him, too. He paid attention to her. He hadn’t taken her too far, and he had given her enough that she wasn’t rolling her eyes or pretending it was hard enough so that she didn’t damage his fragile ego.

  “And when you’re ready, I want to tie you to the table and torment you.”

  “Is there an orgasm involved in that?”

  “I wouldn’t dream of sending you home unsatisfied.”

  “How about two?” she asked. “Or am I pushing it, Mr Tomlinson?”

  “Greedy sub.”

  “I prefer the word needy,” she corrected.

  He inclined his head towards the apparatus that came complete with extensions for her limbs. “Shall we find out just how needy?”

  Restlessness filled her. The spanking had left her wanting more, emotionally as well as physically. “Yes, please.”

  He tugged her hair a little harder. “In that case, lie on your back with your head in the cradle.” Without another word, he slid her from his lap.

  Chapter Three

  Damn. This woman, this sub, delighted him.

  David watched Maggie’s every move, much as he had for the last few months. Ever since he’d first been introduced to her, he’d been partial to her curves and the elegant way she carried herself. The pencil skirts she favoured during business hours were professional, but the way they hugged her full ass inspired some thoughts that were not appropriate in a work environment.

  At the office, she kept her black hair pulled back, wore minimal makeup and her shirts were never revealing.

  When he’d seen her there tonight,
sipping her drink, her hair spilling invitingly over her shoulders, dressed in a short skirt, tight top, platform shoes instead of pumps and topped off with a sparkly collar, he’d looked twice. At first glance, he hadn’t been able to believe she was the same woman who challenged him on a daily basis. She’d looked soft and approachable, so different from the woman who’d once entered his office without knocking, slamming the door behind her, making the solid wood jump in its casing.

  She’d stalked over on her sensible, I-mean-business-and-won’t-be-intimidated-by-you pumps, had planted her hands on top of his polished desk then leaned towards him and threatened to quit if he downsized and released a certain employee.

  For five minutes, she’d presented a logical—if heated—case for keeping the overhead so high.

  Her passion had captivated him. Her employment contract was ironclad. Her mother would lose out on a significant amount of money if Maggie walked away. That meant she had a lot to lose. So if she were willing to put that on the line for a co-worker, he’d listen.

  She’d convinced him. To her credit, she had not gloated.

  From that confrontation, amongst others, he’d taken her for a strait-laced, if not uptight, woman who might be sexually repressed. That hadn’t stopped him from imagining her luscious ass upturned over his lap as he spanked her. On many occasions, he’d jacked off in the shower with that picture in his mind, particularly after she had annoyed the hell out of him at work.

  Reality surpassed fantasy.

  Maggie Carpenter was as intriguing as she was responsive. She had told him earlier that she would encourage him to move faster, but he doubted she would need to. When he’d hit her hard, she’d made mewing sounds and had kicked her legs. It seemed he hadn’t got her close to tears, but the blows had definitely been hard enough to secure her attention.

  After keeping her waiting in silence for two full minutes, he stood. The chair legs scraped the floor. She didn’t try to see what he was doing, but he saw her belly move as she took a breath. “No doubt you’ve had some formal training,” he said as he walked around her.

  She followed him with her gaze. “I’ve had a little bit, Mr Tomlinson. I took some classes at a club in Denver. And I’ve had relationships that had a few BDSM elements.”

  He was discovering more and more layers to Maggie. Their remaining time together wouldn’t be nearly enough to uncover them all. “Extend your arms.”

  Unhesitatingly, she did so. He adjusted the table so that her arms were at a gentle stretch, nothing terribly uncomfortable, but not too much give, either. She’d be helpless in her bondage.

  “Now your legs,” he told her. He tied her ankles then strapped down her thighs. Next, he moved apart the table’s legs, so that her pussy was wide open and available. “Too bad I can’t keep you like this at the office.”

  “In your dreams, Mr Tomlinson.”

  “Yours as well, Ms Carpenter.”

  She shivered a little. Oh, yes. Doubtless his defiant employee would remember this. Perhaps she’d walk into his office on Monday morning and picture herself over his desk. Or maybe battle a compulsion to strip and kneel for him? It was impossible, he knew, but he couldn’t banish the thought. “Are you comfortable enough?”

  “It’s a bit of a stretch, but nothing that is causing muscle cramps.”

  “You can squirm without injuring anything?”

  “It shouldn’t be a problem.”

  “Shall we find out?” He touched her clit.

  She tightened her buttocks and pulled back a little.

  “How was that? And I’m not talking about your cunt. I’m asking if you experienced any discomfort in your thighs or arms.”

  “I’m fine, Sir.”

  He was going to enjoy this experience immensely. Bringing off the woman who constantly confronted him would be a great pleasure, better, he imagined, than spanking her had been. Listening to her cries as she called his name and begged for his touch would be intoxicating. “I’m planning to flog you, Maggie,” he said.

  “Thank you, Mr Tomlinson.”

  His cock hardened. He was trying to give her a way out in case she didn’t want a dozen strands of leather biting at her flesh, especially since she was face up, leaving her most tender flesh exposed. Instead, she encouraged him.

  He walked to the counter and selected a flogger with fairly thick strands before returning to her. Her nipples were pebbled, and he could still see small indentations from the bite of the clamps. “So inviting,” he said.

  “Please.”

  He’d never been with a woman who seemed to enjoy nipple play as much as she did. He laid the flogger across her body, just above her pubic bone.

  David pinched the pretty pink tips gently, watching her reactions.

  She sighed.

  He did it again and she closed her eyes.

  The third time, he held on tight and pulled hard, distending her nipples and forcing her to arch her back and shift in her restraints.

  Her abandon was intoxicating.

  David released her only to take hold again, squeezing brutally, rolling the flesh for added pain.

  This time, she breathed hard and opened her eyes, fixing her gaze on his. Trust was reflected in the wide, liquid, brown depths.

  He continued to watch her reactions as he pulled up even farther. Her breaths were forced out in little bursts, but she never protested.

  She didn’t gasp until he released her. “Sexy, Maggie.” He stroked her pussy, not surprised to find her moist. Damn, he wanted to take her hard, now. But he’d promised her an orgasm or two, and he intended to deliver.

  Telling himself the wait would make it better for him, he moved between her legs, leaving the flogger where it was. “I’m going to move back the part of the table where your butt is resting.”

  She moved, ineffectually—his restraints prevented her from moving more than a fraction of an inch.

  Within moments, her bottom had nothing beneath it. Even if she wanted to, she couldn’t escape his lash. “Your damp cunt is a beautiful sight, Maggie.”

  David moved away to take off his clothes then picked up the flogger. “I want you to cry.”

  “I won’t.”

  “There’s not a part of you from the chest down that will escape me,” he told her. The ability to mark all her skin was one of the reasons he favoured a flogger. He didn’t have to be as cautious as he was when utilising a crop or cane. He just needed to be careful about the distance and power he used.

  He started with the soles of her feet, using the leather lightly. She groaned just a little.

  “Ticklish?”

  “Not particularly, Mr Tomlinson. That’s just…”

  He waited.

  “New.”

  “And…”

  “Ah!”

  He studied her reactions. That wasn’t pain on her face, more like confusion.

  Before she could become too accustomed, he moved to the front of her feet, including her toes before working on her ankles. He loved to mix things up for his subs, giving them a wide variety of sensations. He didn’t mind staying in one place if he was giving an orgasm, but otherwise, he wanted her entire body sensitised.

  He continued with her calves, knees and the fronts of her thighs, flicking his wrist and alternating on each of her legs. He skipped over her pussy and went straight for her stomach.

  “Mr Tomlinson,” she protested.

  “In due time,” he promised.

  “Fuck,” she said.

  As much as possible, since there was no support for her bottom and she was partially suspended, she tilted her pelvis, as if that would change his mind.

  “You’re submitting to my pleasure,” he reminded her.

  “I thought we were getting to an orgasm.”

  “You’re not nearly ready enough,” he said.

  She gritted her teeth.

  “You’re adorable when you’re mad,” he said.

  “I am not adorable,” she insisted.

&n
bsp; He lashed her belly.

  She cried out. But at least he’d silenced her argument.

  “You’ve got a perfect body,” he told her. He loved her softness. He knew she watched her weight, and he’d seen her refuse the pastries that people brought into the office. From what he’d observed, she allowed herself the luxury of an unpronounceable frothy coffee drink only on Fridays. “Made for beatings and sex,” he added.

  “I—”

  “That’s my opinion and, at the moment, the only one that matters. Say, ‘Yes, Mr Tomlinson’.”

  She pursed her lips.

  He withheld the lash. “Say it.”

  Her exhalation was anything but agreeable or feminine. “Yes, Mr Tomlinson.”

  He immediately resumed his attention.

  She relaxed her body again, an outward sign of her submission in a way that was considerably more meaningful than any mere words would ever be.

  In submission, he’d learnt actions should be more carefully regarded than what was said. People lied all the time, small untruths mainly, as they tried to spare others from hurt or hide their own feelings. In that regard, he supposed, a scene wasn’t much different from any other area of life. Employees and associates, even professionals he hired, often told him what they thought he wanted to hear. But gestures revealed what lay beneath the veneer.

  When she either accepted defeat or claimed victory, her entire being lost its tension.

  Keeping her off guard, he switched up his pattern. After whipping her ribs, he flogged her arms and shoulders.

  “Sir is driving me mad,” she said, her voice a whisper.

  “Is that right?” he asked unconcernedly. At his own pace, he moved over her collarbone then down her chest.

  “I want…”

  “Tell me,” he said. He knew what she was going to say, it was obvious, but still, he liked to hear the words.

  “Attention.”

  “I’ll make sure I give you everything you can take,” he promised.

  “On my breasts, Mr Tomlinson. And my pussy. I’m getting horny.”

  He wished he hadn’t asked. Pre-cum leaked from his cockhead. He wanted to give her everything she desired and it took considerable focus to continue on his planned path. The longer he took, the more aroused she would be.