Page 8 of Good Girl

He chuckles, completely unruffled. “That’s fuck you, Master. Try not to forget rule one, Cadence.”

I’m about to tell him where he can shove rule one when he brings something down on my ass with enough force to steal the words and the breath from me. Before I can draw air he hits me again, on the top of my other cheek, right where he seems to have concentrated a lot of his strikes. I’m convinced he’s using a leather strap from the sound of it hitting my flesh, the smell of leather and his proximity right next to me. Oh shit. He uses the strap on my back too, and sometimes my…!

The thought is cut off as the leather strikes my shoulder blade. I twist in agony and cry out despite my silent declaration to hold the sounds in. He’s won. I can’t bear this kind of pain. I need to give him my safeword. And I will, just as soon as I can unclench my teeth and scream it at him.

I don’t get the chance. He hits me again, this time on the other shoulder. “You will repeat the rules as I speak them, Cadence. Understood?”

I unglue mouth lips and shriek, “Guacamole!”

He laughs, full-throated and uninhibited. The sound should be pleasant, and indeed, the deep baritone sends a shiver down my spine. But the reason he’s laughing is clear. He’s not going to respect my safeword. He follows up my thought by saying, “No safewords in my dungeon, baby.”

“You son of a bitch!” I shout, anger overriding my fear. Safewords are sacred in BDSM. His flaunting of my one way out of a scene is tantamount to breaking an underground law. Then I realize it doesn’t matter. He’s already kidnapped me, tied me up, beaten me. Ignoring my safeword is just another in a long line of crimes.

“Rule one,” he growls and starts hitting me with solid, rapid strokes, all across my upper back and shoulders.

At first I don’t understand. I’m too stunned by the force he’s using, the pain radiating through my back. Then I realize, while he won’t give me a safeword, he did give me another out. “Master!”

It works. Like magic he stops. I’m crying without inhibition now, the tears running down my face.

“Next rule. You are no longer just my submissive, you are my slave. I can and will do whatever I want with you. And that doesn’t include just the dungeon. When I feel you’ve had enough time down here to accept your new role, we’ll move our relationship upstairs.”

I barely have time to process what he’s said when he starts raining blows down onto my back, beating me relentlessly. I don’t know what he wants, why he’s doing this. I can’t think. The only thing I can do is feel. I want the pain to stop. I need the pain to stop. Words fly out of my mouth. I’m screaming now, begging him to stop, desperately repeating his rules. Eventually he stops.

I’m breathing heavy, whimpering. But I’m starting to get that floating feeling I get after a session. Like my brain is separating from reality and floating on a blissful cloud. I try to call it back. I don’t want this. I don’t want to get an erotic charge from a beating like this. From something I can’t control.

I flinch as I feel him touch my head. He pets me, moving hair off my forehead with his fingers, then separating and teasing the sweaty strands. I’m panting. From exertion, and because now I’m turned on. Vin knows exactly how I like to be touched. Knows to give me soft teasing touches after he’s finished hitting me. I hope this is what he’s doing. That he’s done whipping me with the leather. My back is on fire and my ass is now completely numb. I won’t be able to sit down for a few days. Chills start to set in as the high begins to leave me.

“Who are you?” he asks.

I open my mouth to answer back. I almost give him an automatic ‘good girl’, then I realize that’s not what he wants. I’m not his good girl. He made that clear. I was bad. I went on a date without his permission, let that date touch me, although he doesn’t know that.

“Slave… I’m your slave.” My voice sounds wispy to my ears, like it’s separate from me.

“Correct,” he says. But he stops petting my head and walks around behind me. I tense. What more does he want? I’ve given him my answer, and he said it was a good one.

It doesn’t seem to matter though. He slaps my ass so hard that I jolt, pulling against the handcuffs. The breath hisses out of me and I grit my teeth as my ass wakes up once more, no longer numb.

“Please Vin, please stop!” I plead, ending on a sob.

“Master!” he snaps and slashes the leather down against the tops of my thighs. I scream as it just barely grazes my cunt.

“Master!” I shout. “Please, please stop! I can’t take anymore.”

“You’ll take as much as I say.” He proceeds to hit my thighs, landing his blows all over, occasionally catching me between the legs. I scream, the sound ripping from my throat. I thought I was in pain before, but this is a whole other level. The leather strap on top of the marks the crop had already made was bad enough, but when the leather catches my labia as he slaps, it’s a fresh kind of hell.

He pauses and when my cries die down, he says, “Next rule. You will be punished for any bad behaviour or resistance.”

I want to scream and swear at him. He actually expects me to go along with my own kidnapping!? As if he senses my reaction, he starts beating me again, hitting until I scream out the magic words, “Yes, Master!” Acknowledging his rules. A brief image of me stabbing him and escaping the dungeon passes through my head, not fully forming, because I’m too wrung out.

I hear the strap hit the floor as he drops it. I’m still tense as he comes around to my head. He can do damage with his bare hands. He goes down to one knee in front of me and lifts my head with a fist in my hair. He’s gentle though. Or maybe it just feels like he’s being gentle compared to what he just did to the rest of me. He touches my chin with his hand, catching the tears on the edge of his fingers. He licks them then leans in and kisses my cheek.

“You’ll be a good girl again, Cadence. In time.” He runs his lips down the shell of my ear and then bends over to unlatch the cuffs. I groan when my hands are free. They feel raw too. I must’ve been pulling and twisting hard in the metal.

I don’t move as he stands. I don’t think I can move. I feel frozen in place. Shocked into submission by his vicious attack. He pulls me up into a standing position and I start to collapse. He grabs me and I hiss, “Fuck!” as his hand touches my back. Tears start in my eyes again.

“This is going to hurt, Cadence, but I don’t think you should walk on your own yet. Not until you’ve come down.”

I want to yell at him that I’m fucking fine, that I’m not flying in subspace thanks to him. But I’d be lying and my dilated pupils and flushed skin will give me away anyway. And I can’t take another beating right now. He picks me up, sweeping my feet out from under me. I groan in agony as his arm stretches across my back. He shifts me, sliding his arm lower, to where he hadn’t beaten.

I rest my head against the muscle of his chest, too weary to do anything else. He kisses my forehead and carries me toward the bed. I think he’s going to lay me down, but he doesn’t. He sets me on my feet and gently removes my clothing, first my skirt and panties, then my shredded blouse and bra, letting them fall to the floor at my feet. I do nothing as he bends, lifting my feet one at a time, with a hand on my calf to steady me, tugging my skirt and panties away from my body. I’ll attack him later, knee him in the face and run. But for now, weariness, pain, and a deep sense of self-pity are the only things I can feel.

He finishes and I turn toward the bed. As I reach for the comfortable looking mattress, he grips me by the back of the neck, pinching his fingers into the skin, forcing me to stand still.

“Kneel.”

The breath catches in my throat, but I do as he says. This man has been training me to obey him for months. My brain has become hard-wired to absorb his commands, especially when swamped by exhaustion as I am now. Plus, I’m not interested in learning the consequences for ignoring a command. Not right now. Not until I’ve had time to sleep and recover.

When I’m on my knees, he reaches down and flips the door to the cage under the bed open. “Inside,” he says. I look up at him then, pleading. I don’t want to sleep in a cage. Surely not all of his regard for me has been obliterated by one bad decision? He shakes his head. “Don’t make me ask again, slave.”

That word, slave, says it all. I have no choice. I crawl inside, flinching as he slams the door behind me, padlocking it.

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