Page 14 of Forbidden Mistress

“You will be punished.”

My own breath catches, and I suddenly feel super awkward, standing here, just watching this intimate scene unfold.

The woman nods, her face half-buried in the mattress.

“Tell me you understand,” he says.

“Yes, Master,” she says with a breathy voice. “I understand that I must be punished.”

Reaching down, he unfastens her bodysuit at the crotch and rolls it up so that her sex is exposed. Then he readjusts his grip, pulls his arm back, and releases the whip with a sickening crack. I only know it connects with her skin because of her yelp and the angry red welt the braided leather leaves in its wake.

When he pulls back his arm again, ready to repeat the action, I can’t help but gasp. He’s seriously going to do it again? Wasn’t once enough? His head whips up, and his steely gaze from behind the mask connects with mine.

Oh, shit.

I was probably supposed to remain silent, like a fly on the wall. But to be fair, I wasn’t given any instruction on how to behave once I’m in this room. Taking a step back, then another, and another, my spiked heel bumps into the chair and I fall to the floor, squarely on my ass. It could have been worse, but the hard marble isn’t exactly forgiving, and I groan.

Okay, so far, my first day on the job has been a hot mess…and I’m only five minutes in.

Before I can get to my feet, Hart is barreling toward me. I can’t see much of his face, but his dark eyes are snapping in anger. Will I be punished next? That thought fills me with fear.

And something else…

I flinch as he reaches down, grips my upper arms and hauls me up. Everywhere his skin touches mine, it feels like sharp, electric jolts zipping through my body. I’ve never felt anything like it. Of course, I’ve also never been in a situation quite like this. I consider myself pretty adventurous, but this place is pushing it.

I’m a vanilla sex kind of girl. Lights off. Missionary, maybe the occasional cowgirl or doggy-style. It all ends the same way—an orgasm, and a good night’s sleep. What’s not to love? Why all the theatrics?

“Stay,” he says gruffly, depositing me firmly in the chair. “Do not move, unless I’ve told you to do so.”

I press my lips together and nod.

Releasing my arms, he turns and goes back to the woman waiting to be punished, and I’m not going to lie, I feel a little twinge of regret that his attention is being pulled away from me. Swallowing, I watch as he picks up the whip and delivers another blow. Then another, and another. Even as he’s whipping her, though, his gaze never leaves mine. It’s both awkward as fuck and, oddly, fascinating.

When it’s done, the woman is whimpering. He pulls back and sets the whip down. Tears are streaming down the woman’s face from under her mask—and I only know that because she sniffles, and I can see the tears trickling down her neck. But there’s also a smile of deep satisfaction etched on her face, like something from within her has been released. Exorcised.

Hart gestures to me. “The lotion is in the wardrobe. Hand it to me.”

Oh, me. This is my job, I guess. Fetcher of things. I jolt into action, skittering across the slick marble floor to the wardrobe. I pull the huge piece of furniture open, and a little light flickers on to illuminate the inside, which is fortunate because it is quite dark in here. On one side of the wardrobe, there are whips, paddles, ropes, blindfolds, dildos…every sex toy I could dream up. On the other side are lotions, salves, jellies, and all the after-care stuff. There’s a ton of it. I grab one of the bottles of lotion, shut the thick doors, and walk it over to him. He takes it from my hand and begins messaging the sweet-smelling lotion into the woman’s reddened skin.

As I walk back to my chair and sit down, I take note of her face. Even behind the mask, I can still see the pure ecstasy in her relaxed features, and for a second, I feel envious. All of this man’s attention is on her, his anger, his pleasure, his devotion. I might find that deeply satisfying, too.

When he’s done, he sets the lotion aside and gently pulls her body suit over her swollen bottom. Then, he pulls her into a standing position in front of him. “You’ve pleased me,” he says affectionately. “Now, you may leave.”

I can see the hesitancy in her stance, but she ultimately complies, walking stiffly out the door.

“You may leave as well,” he says to me.

I clear my throat. “I, um, I was told I would be here for a full shift.”

Normally, I wouldn’t argue about being sent home, but I desperately need the money.

“You are no longer needed this evening, but you’ll be paid the full amount. Return tomorrow, same time,” he says in an even voice. Then, after a pause he adds, “We’ll see how much more you can take.”

Am I seeing things, or is there a little glint of amusement in his eyes when he says that last bit?

With a nod, I stand up and walk to the door. Should I thank him or say goodbye? Should I call him “master?” I decide not to say anything. I just flash him a tight smile and walk out. But his words follow me.

We’ll see how much more you can take.

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