Page 23 of The Devil's Spawn

“We both know I don’t need your permission to punish you, but I’m asking for it anyway. Do you give me permission to punish you as I wish?”

Oh, what a sadistic question. I considered saying no, mostly because I was curious if he’d honor my wishes for a change. I faltered for a mere second, and that was all it took to come to the conclusion that he wouldnotbow to what I wanted. If I went against him, even verbally, he would still go through with the punishment, only he’d do his worst.

But what if I were wrong? What if accepting his firm hand and sadistic need for retribution was the only way past what I’d done today? I’d kneeled with the intention of asking for forgiveness in Gage’s language.

So I answered in the most honest yet harrowing way I could. “You have my trust and permission, Master.”

I heard him exhale—a telling sound indeed. And as he placed one palm on my left ass cheek, rubbing some warmth into my skin, I knew I’d given the right answer.

“Your submission is like a drug, baby. It’s precious, and it means the world to me.” He landed a smack that not only smarted, but it fucking turned me on. Then he repeated the stinging swat on my other cheek. Back and forth, he continued the spanking, escalating in velocity and strength until he had me tensing with each calculated swat.

Gage wasn’t doing this to punish in the painful sense; he wanted me aroused before he went haywire on my backside.

God, why did I love this sadistic prick so much?

“I love how vulnerable you are right now. You are physically incapable of denying me anything. I can beat your ass for as long as I wish, fuck it for as long as I want. Or,” he said, his tone dropping to a dangerous level, “punish it until you lose the ability to scream.”

My blood turned to ice. “Master?” I said, a mere whimper.

“No begging. I won’t warn you again. Next time you disobey me, I’ll gag you.” He commenced with the spanking for a while longer, working me into a quivering mass of arousal. “Your cunt is leaking all over the wood.”

“I’m sorry, Master.” Closing my eyes, I gnawed on my lip.

“Don’t be. I want you on edge, your cunt dripping in shame even as you tense from not knowing what I’ll do next.” He rubbed his palms over my smarting backside, then he inserted a finger into my disloyal cunt. “Are you wondering how I’m going to hurt you?”

“Yes,” I moaned, wishing I could squirm from his touch, or at the very least, block it out. I’d give anything to have control over my body, to be able to deny him in some small way.

“We’re going to go slow and steady, working our way through each implement one by one.” His hands disappeared from my backside, and he came into view, stopping in my line of sight to work the buttons of his white dress shirt free. The material slid over his shoulders and down his arms, and he laid it over the arm of a chair before unbuckling his belt.

Swish.

The belt slipped free of his pant loops. “After your ass is nice and red, and beautifully welted, we’ll move on to the punishment of your hole. I made you wet first to ready you for punishment because I do intend to make you scream.”

Tears threatened to flood my eyes. I blinked them back with sheer willpower. Crying would not endear me to him right now. He didn’t want crying or begging—only my absolute acceptance of his discipline.

And right then I understood more than ever how his mind was wired. Accepting pain equaled disowning my past with his brother. I ached to wrap my arms around him and tell him how much I loved him. Tell him I’d never betray him again. But Gage didn’t need that. A normal man might. For Gage, true apology lay in the steadfast way I took his strikes. My redemption lay in an ass left so red and beaten and welted that the mere act of sitting would be impossible.

So I apologized in the only way he understood—I gritted my teeth and silently accepted the first strike of his belt.

11. Severity

The smoldering ash of Gage’s retribution encased my backside. He wasn’t counting tonight, which made receiving the lashes of his belt even more challenging because I didn’t know when they’d stop.

I thought they’d never stop.

Through the strikes, I refrained from sobbing, bit back every moan of pain, every whimper at the bone-chillingcrackof leather against flesh. But then he moved on to a paddle riddled with holes, and I couldn’t help but let loose a whimper. The real test came with the cane, never mind the bullwhip because I couldn’t begin to comprehend making it through that, and I prayed to anyone listening that Gage would stop after the cane.

Crack!

“Ahhh! Plea—” I choked on the plea, horrified at the thought of starting from square one.

He walked to the front of the bench and stared down at me. I could only imagine what I must look like—blotchy skin from the tears that finally escaped, mouth open to pant through the pain, and strands of hair caught in my eyes, stuck to my cheek from sweat and saliva.

His soft, warm fingers brushed my hair back from my face. “What could you have done differently?”

“What do you mean, Master?”

“At the hotel when you first saw him. Tell me what you could have done differently that might have saved you this level of punishment.”

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