Page 56 of Mob Knight

“And if youneedit lighter?”

“Deli.”

I can want it lighter all damn day, but I’m agreeing to the pain for pleasure’s sake. Before he tells me to pull my dress up to bare my ass, I push the right strap, then the left, down untilI slip out of them. I reveal my demi bra, and I know I have his undivided attention. He steps in front of me and runs the back of his fingers over my tits and down the valley between them.

I push the dress down to my hips, and his hand sweeps over my ribs before resting momentarily on my belly. It’s possessive with its insinuation, but I get the message. He’s laying his claim. I like it. I shimmy my hips enough for the dress to pool on the floor around my feet. His gaze watched the dress fall. Now it snaps back to my face as he cups my pussy.

“You enjoy being watched.”

“I don’t mind it. It can be hot.”

He pulls his hand away, and I nearly grab his wrist to keep it in place. He guides me to the bench, and I step up.

“In what way?”

“Knowing people envy me for the pain and for my Dom. Knowing my partner enjoys seeing me like that and that he wants people to watch. Knowing a person my Dom or I know might want what they see enough to ask to touch.”

“That is not happening.” He’s emphatic.

“And I don’t want anyone but you to touch me. I haven’t always felt that way before. It would flatter me if someone asked, but I trust you’ll say no because that’s a hard limit for me.”

“It’s a hard limit because I won’t share you. No one but you touches me.”

He skims his fingertips over my leg to the top of my fishnet thigh high. He pulls and snaps the elastic. He walks to the rack affixed to the nearby wall and considers his options. Much like the examining table was in the private room, it’s strategically placed behind the spanking bench, so a sub can’t see what their Dom chooses. I wiggle my toes in anticipation. I don’t know if he chose immediately and is making me wait or if he’s still considering the options. I jump when his hand runs down my back between my shoulder blades.

He palms, then squeezes each side of my ass before gliding his hand up my ribs and around to my tits. Only one hand explores, making it hard to concentrate when I wonder what he’s holding. His hand trails down my belly again until he gets to my pussy, which he cups. He leaves it there, just a heavy weight pressing against it. I fight not to squirm with impatience. He rewards me by sliding a finger between my pussy lips.

“Is my little girl eager to start?”

“Yes, sir.”

“So creamy and wet.”

I am. More than I usually am with a guy. It’s probably a fucking slip and slide down there. I hope I’m not so wet he gets no friction when he fucks me. He helps me straddle the vault-like bench and lean forward.

“Deep breath.”

I do as he commands, and the moment I do, a crop lands across the top of my left thigh. It’s far lower than I expected. I lurch forward and Cormac tsks.

“Do I need to strap you in place, or can you stay where you’re supposed to?”

“I can stay where I’m supposed to.”

I want the restraints, but I know this is a test. Can I master my instinctive reactions? Can I trust what he’ll do won’t make me fall?

I tighten my hands around the handles and squeeze my thighs like I’m on horseback. I used to ride all the time on my grandparents’ farm. The crop lands in the center of my right ass cheek. He sets a wicked pace, sparing no part of my ass and upper thighs. He nails my horizontal cracks several times. His free hand strokes my back, periodically massaging my shoulders. The contrast between comfort and discomfort is heady. The pain on one end and pleasure on the other.

He pauses for only a moment before I feel the feather swirling over my punished skin. It soothes, but I suspect it’s merely the intermission. He doesn’t wait until the sting entirely ends, but it’s lessened when the next form of torment begins. It’s a single tail whip. It’s the type that resembles a rose stem with thorns. He’s wielding it much, much gentler than he could. His pace is still slower than I expected, but he’s not putting nearly as much force into it as he could.

I shift, trying to find a more comfortable position as my thighs are already tiring from how hard I’m squeezing the bench to control my instinct to run from the pain.

“Deli?”

“No, sir. My legs are sticking to the leather. Just repositioning. Keep going, please.”

“Do not lie to me, little girl. Do not take more than you can because you think you have something to prove or some standard you must meet. If I harm you rather than this just hurts, we’re through. I won’t engage in any BDSM if I can’t trust you to tell me your limits.”

We’re through.

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