Page 22 of Cruel Master
If I concentrate, I can space the stripes evenly. Juliet is the artist of the two of us, but I’ve always had an eye for symmetry. There’s something beautiful about painting on her skin, and it draws me in, banishing the last of my uncertainty. I’m really doing this. And by the desperate way she’s stammering out the count, it’s working.
“Please. Stop a second, I need—”
Again.
When we reach twenty, I pause. Her ass and thighs are a bright red canvas, and she’s quivering, her breaths coming in ragged gasps. I run my finger along one especially livid mark, and Juliet hisses. Her skin is hot to the touch. It’s fascinating, and I wish I could tear off the mask. I want to press my face against her heated skin and feel it against my cheek.
And, Christ, I want to fuck her. Somewhere in the last few minutes, my cock turned into an aching iron bar, desperate to be free of its prison. Her pussy is right there; I only need to push her legs apart. I press a finger to her entrance experimentally, and her body stiffens as I push inside.
Soaking wet, and I’ve done nothing but hurt her. But there’s still twelve more to go.
I raise the strap again. This time, I aim for skin that’s already nice and red. The leather hits, and her strangled yell is fuel forthe twisted fire burning in my veins. Eleven more. Make them count.
By the time we reach thirty-two, she’s whimpering, and tears streak her face. Her pussy, though? It’s even wetter than it was before. Her body gives away her deep-seated need for discipline. She’s panting, skin clammy all over again, but I can hardly focus above the roaring in my head.
What am I going to do next?
Sweat coats my skin under the costume, and I’m desperate to rip the mask off. If it felt like a safe place to hide before; now, it’s a barrier. It's preventing me from giving my full attention to the woman who probably thinks she’s miserable right now but clearly isn’t.
Why didn’t I know she was like this before?
I’m supposed to leave her alone for the night, but why, exactly, should I? Don’t I own her? Isn’t that the whole point of this?
All at once, my carefully structured plan feels cowardly. Too slow, too cautious. Exactly the sort of thing the old Hadrian would do, not the man I need to become to keep Juliet happy. The real Juliet, not the one I thought I knew.
What would one of her dark heroes do next? The answer is so obvious I almost laugh.
I press three fingers roughly into her soaked pussy. “I’m going to fuck you now, but not here. You haven’t earned this yet. It’s a reward for slaves who know how to behave.”
Her only answer is a muffled sob, though she presses herself into me at the same time. Christ. Does she know she’s doing it?
I pull back, then force two slick fingers into her ass. It’s a tight fit, and she whines. We tried anal a few times while we were married, at her suggestion, but I could never get past thefact it hurt her. I was an oblivious fool. She must have been so frustrated with me.
Now, I get to make it up to her. “Here, though? This is for me.”
Her voice has that high, breathy note again as she stammers, “B-But—no. You said two punishments.”
I twist my fingers, and she groans. It doesn’t sound like only pain. “This isn’t a punishment. It’s me making use of what I own. And afterward, you’ll thank me.”
Chapter Nine
Juliet
There’ssomethingvery,verywrong with me.
Everything from the waist down burns, and I’m shaking from the pain. I thought I’d been spanked before, but nope, I hadn’t. Not really. It’s on another level, knowing I have no way to stop it. No magic word, no careful partner who wants me to have fun. Just a man punishing me for something. What was it again? I can’t remember.
My brain is a mushy lump of scrambled egg, and I’m drowning in heat. Heat from his brutal lashes, but also the other sort. No sane human being would feel horny in this situation but somehow, I am.
When he shoved his fingers into my pussy, they slid in easily because everything about this situation is tugging on the darkest threads of my soul. I’m helpless, and he’s a psychopath, but damn it if he hasn’t done his homework on the things that make me tick.
I tense up as he squeezes lube into my ass, but it’s not the painful sort. Of course it isn’t. He wouldn’t want to subject hisown cock to that, would he? Fuck, though. My ass is still sore. I try to make my muddy thoughts come out in a sentence.
“But…it’ll hurt.”
Wow. With that kind of argument up my sleeve, I should have been the debate team captain. It’s all I can manage, though, and it cuts off with a squeak as he sticks his fingers inside me yet again.
“That’s not my problem.”
