Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 82746 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 331(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82746 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 331(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
Next, he bound her to the St. Andrew’s cross for a caning. When he asked how many strokes she could take, she replied, “As many as you see fit to give me, Master Damon.”
Intrigued by this open-ended assertion, he told her, “You’re going to control this scene. After each stroke, you may ask for another. When you’ve had enough, you will use your safeword.”
Some emotion crossed her face that he couldn’t quite parse. But all she said was, “Yes, Sir.”
With careful precision, he let the cane land with a whistling thwack across her ass. Almost immediately, a welt rose like a slash of dark pink paint across her flesh.
Her only visible reaction was a sharp inhale of breath at the moment of impact. After a moment, she said, “Another, please, Sir.”
Damon complied, his blood fizzing with sadistic excitement, his cock stiffening with arousal.
“Another, please, Sir,” she asked again, her voice still steady.
A third stroke. A fourth. A fifth. A sixth.
Sweat sheened her skin, her face twisted in a grimace of pain. Her voice began to crack on the words, but she continued to ask him for more. By the tenth stroke, her hands had curled into fists above her cuffs. Her breathing was shallow, her body trembling, her eyes squeezed shut.
Damon lowered his cane and moved to stand beside her. “Open your eyes,” he said. “Look at me.”
Ellen obeyed, though it took her a moment or two to focus. He brought up his hand to stroke her cheek. Her skin was damp and hot to the touch. “Slow your breathing,” he reminded her. Lightly, he tapped her clenched fists. “Relax your hands.”
She released a shuddering breath and actually managed a small smile.
He smiled back. He couldn’t help but be impressed with her ability to tolerate the pain. She was breathtakingly brave and beautifully submissive.
“There’s no shame in using your safeword now, Ellen. You’ve taken quite a lot already.”
A look of determination came into her eyes. “Another, please, Sir.”
Damon focused on the backs of her thighs, not willing to add more welts to her striped bottom without some aftercare and healing time.
She yelped at the first stroke, no doubt feeling the sting more on her legs than her ass. But almost immediately she said, “Another, please, Sir,” in a breathless voice.
Fascinated and impressed by her submissive courage and ability to tolerate intense erotic pain, he caned the backs of her thighs with another five stinging strokes. But when she continued to ask for more, despite the tears now running down her cheeks, he understood she was not going to use her safeword, no matter the cost.
Taking back the reins, he said, “Enough.” Dropping the cane, he crouched to release her ankles and then reached to free her wrists. “You’ve had enough, Ellen.”
With his arm around her waist, he helped her to the bedroom. He had her lie on her stomach on the bed. After gently wiping her welted flesh with a cool, wet washcloth, he patted her dry. She sighed softly as he smoothed healing salve over her welts.
He leaned down to ask if she’d like something cold to drink. Her eyes were closed, her long, dark lashes brushing her cheeks. Her breathing had slowed in sleep. Her lips curved with the hint of a smile.
This woman—this beautiful, trusting submissive—had given herself to him so freely and with such grace. An almost painful tenderness seized Damon’s heart. At the same time, alarm bells jangled in his brain.
Watch out, Miller. You’re getting emotionally involved. Remember your objectives. Whatever you’re feeling, it’s temporary. Stay focused on the mission at hand.
It was good advice. Even if he had been looking for a love connection, he needed to remember that Ellen deserved someone whole—someone without scars, without demons in their head and snakes twisting through their dreams.
Quietly, he rose from the bed. She slept for over an hour. He used the time to check his work email. He also sent another quick text to Anthony, letting him know how things were going. Anthony had taken to texting daily, and Damon found their communication helpful. Anthony knew Ellen surprisingly well from her time training at The Enclave and had good suggestions and insights that Damon appreciated.
When she woke, they ate lunch. After making sure Ellen would be reasonably comfortable in a pair of his loose-fitting sweatpants, they took a walk outside. There was still an inch or so of snow on the ground, but the day was bright and clear, the air fragrant with pine.
By tacit agreement, they kept their conversation light as they hiked along beside a creek. They talked of their respective lives in Charlotte, and their degree of involvement in the BDSM scene prior to discovering The Enclave.
“How old were you when you had your first BDSM experience?” he asked.
“Sixteen,” she said. She slapped her forehead and made a face. “Oh, my god. It was a disaster.”