Page 57 of Broken Princess

I can hear him walk across the room and start pulling open drawers. The metallic snicks of blades being placed on the counter and the whisper of leather straps as he draws them through his fingers make my cock strain behind the zipper of my jeans. They’re tight and restrictive, and the slight pinch is as tantalising as it is uncomfortable. If I thought I wouldn’t be punished, I’d complain, but tonight there’s not a trace of brat in me.

I want to be owned by my man, and I want it to hurt.

I know better than to lift my head up to see what he’s doing, but I can hear him. I listen as discarded items of clothing drop to the floor. First his jacket, then his shirt, and then I hear the dull thuds of his boots being kicked off.

When he returns, I can only see his bare feet and the bottoms of his dark, low-slung jeans. I’m salivating at the image. Why is barefoot in jeans so fucking hot? I bite my lip to stifle the moan that wants to erupt from me.

I hear the scraping of a chair across the floor as he places it in front of me. “Elbows on the seat and brace yourself, Bambi.”

I do as I’m told.

I say nothing.

I do not have permission to speak.

He moves in a slow circle around me. I can appreciate him now that my head is off the floor. He is a sight to behold. He’s monstrous in so many ways. The tallest of us, and the strongest. Every inch of his body exudes power and menace, and the tattoos only add to his intimidating presence.

My favourite of all his ink is the black flames that wrap around his torso and along his shoulder, trailing down his right arm. They wind across his skin like they’re alive—like they’re licking at his skin and feeding his darkness. Fuck, they’re enticing. The tendrils of flame lick at his bicep the way I want to.

I notice that he’s tucked the leather straps I heard earlier into one of his back pockets, and several handles poke out of the other, belonging to blades of varying sizes. I know roughly what’s coming next, but I never know exactly what to expect.

He comes to a stop behind me, and I try to quiet my breathing. It’s loud in my ears and blocks me from being able to hear the brush of his hand against the soft denim of his jeans. It teases me and I can’t figure out which pocket he chose first.

However, I don’t have to wait long to find out before I feel the leather against my skin, softly dragging over my back. The ends of several wide strands are scraping across my shoulder blade, travelling down my spine in lazy sweeping motions. Repeating the pathway, up and down. This is torture, this endless teasing. He knows what I want. He knows this isn’t enough.

With no warning, the soft leather cracks across my skin, burning and making my cock weep. The sting of pain fading almost immediately, transforming into a heat that burns and runs rampant through me, making me want to beg for more. We’ve played with so many floggers over the years, but my favourite is always these large belts of suede. They leave me streaked with gloriously angry brands, marking me as his and warming me from the outside in.

I stay hunched over the chair, never moving, taking every stroke of pleasure my master will give. That’s what he is to me. The master of my pleasure, master of my pain, master of everything. As he continues to streak my skin, I come undone. Near feral noises escape me as I sink into the pain, my words completely incomprehensible as I slip into a state of mind only Nico can put me in.

Subspace is different to everyone and difficult to describe, but as I stare across the room, I focus on the shafts of light streaking down from the recessed bulbs in the ceiling, highlighting the specks of dust that refract the light. Tiny glistening particles dancing in front of me that float away with every breath I exhale. That’s how I feel. Like I’m untethered, not bound by the forces of gravity, and moulded by influences outside my control.

Being fully aware of my change in demeanour, Nico checks in with me. “Colour, Bambi.”

“Green, sir.”

“Can you stand? Or do you need help?”

It’s hard to form sentences in this headspace, but if I want to carry on, then I have to rally my senses.

“Help please, sir.”

His thick arm reaches around my chest, and he hauls me to my feet. At six-feet I’m not small, but he throws me around like I’m a rag doll—and I love it. He untangles me from my shirt, and I rub my wrists.

“Hands behind your back.”

I do as instructed and feel the softness of one of the suede straps being wrapped around my wrists, followed by the tip of a blade being dragged delicately down my spine. I know better than to flinch by now, and I remain impassive as he teases my skin with the scratch of the knife—my cock pulsing, leaking a near constant stream of pre-cum in response to Nico’s attention.

As he reaches the waist of my jeans, the blade disappears, and his hand moves to grip my length over the denim. I can’t stop the needy words that escape me.

“Please, sir. Please.”

“Tell me what you want, my needy little slut.”

His words only heighten my arousal and inspire my desperate pleas. “I need more. I need to come. I need everything. I want your hand on my dick, your cock in my ass, and your knife at my throat. I want you to savage me. Leave nothing left of me. Please, sir, fuck me hard and leave me broken.”

With a beast-like snarl, Nico’s response is instant. My pants are shoved down past my knees, the knife pressed to my throat, as I’m dragged to the nearest counter and bent over it roughly.

“You won’t come until I say so.” I can feel his hard cock through his jeans, resting in the crack of my ass. It makes me clench, and he steps back while I mewl at the loss of him. He grabs me by my hair and wrenches me back to his chest. “Fucktoys don’t get to bounce on my cock until I say they’ve earned it.”

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