Page 100 of Cruel Master
“Good morning, doll. Did you forget what I said about covering yourself?” I use my stern voice and see the change in her immediately. Her eyes widen, and black creeps to the edges of her irises, edging out the pretty green.
Shewastesting me. And by the look of the pink spots in her cheeks, she’s glad I picked up on her crime. This is all so new to me; it’s easy to forget that it’s a long-term fantasy for her. More than a fantasy—a need, which she’s never had met.
“Drop it,” I snap, and she complies straight away, flinging her towel down. My wife is naked in my kitchen, looking at me like a deer in the headlights. Jesus Christ. It’s almost too much before I’ve even had my coffee.
This is your life now. Get it together.
The thought strengthens me. This is my life.Ourlife, even though it might take Juliet a while to accept it. And day one is going to start with a punishment.
Nothing complicated today. I’m starving, and I’m sure Juliet is too. I just need to drive home that she has to do as I say. “Bend over the table.”
She draws in a sharp breath and glances between me and the sausages still crackling as the pan cools. Poor thing. She must be really hungry. “Do it now, or you get oatmeal for breakfast.”
It’s probably the worst threat I could have made. She flattens her body onto the wooden table, and God, she’s a beautiful sight. It’s a good thing I never have guests over; I can’t imagine sitting down to eat at that table with friends now. I’ll always be able to picture the exact spot Juliet’s breasts press against the wood and where her cheek rests.
Thank fuck I already dressed in jeans with a belt this morning. I should always keep one handy. Juliet watches, eyes almost black now, as I take my time unbuckling it. A thrill rushes through me as her body gives a little tremble. She’s excited, even though she stammers, “Sorry…Master.”
“Good.” I snap the belt free. “Perhaps you won’t forget again.”
There’s something primal about this, and my blood rushes as I take up position behind Juliet. She broke a rule. She takes her punishment. Simple. I fold the belt in two.
It’s been a few days since I left any marks on Juliet, and her skin is a smooth, pale canvas. I raise my hand and, with a movement that feels more natural every time I do it, bring it down hard.
Juliet jerks as the crack rings out. Her hands fly to her ass, and she yells, “Ow! Ow, that’s too—”
“Hands back on the table. Right now.”
She whimpers as she obeys, and oh God, that sound. It’s lightning to my cock. My free hand strays to my jeans, stroking along the growing length as I raise my hand again. I land five more strikes in quick succession, layering them across her ass.
She yelps and twists as they land, though she keeps her hands stuck to the wood. “Please…. That’s… Please…”
If I’d given her a safe word, I’m sure she’d use it, but we both know that doesn’t work for her. Juliet needs to be owned, and that means I decide when she’s had enough.
My belt marks are bright red welts on her skin, and I trace the edge of one before moving on to her thighs. I need to make sure she’ll be squirming right through breakfast. As I work, Juliet’s yells turn into quiet, pained whimpers. She must be slipping into her dopey, blissed-out zone.
I pause to run an experimental finger over her pussy, and of course, it comes back wet. It’s too good of an opportunity to miss, so I coat my fingers and move to her clit, circling it as she trembles. Juliet moans, wriggling herself against my hand as if she’s in heat.
My poor doll. She should know by now that I don’t hand out rewards for broken rules.
I tease her, rubbing her clit, then pulling away. It has to be driving her crazy, if the way her hips are moving is any indication. She’s practically humping the table. It would be fun to watch her get herself off like that—and really cement my ban on dinner parties—but what sort of message would that send?
I press my hand against her clit, let her grind herself on me for a few more seconds, then pull away. She groans, and my cock is an iron bar, fed by the frustration in that sound. I regrip my belt. “Halfway there, doll.”
“What? But—”
I start at the top, landing the first strike on her already sore ass.
By the time I’m done, her whimpers are almost sobs. The part of me that snuggled up in bed with her last night wants to comfort her, but that’s not the version of me she needs right now.
Show too much mercy, and she loses interest.
Right. That’s true.
I drop the belt and snap, “On your knees.”
She’s slow to obey, but we’re in no rush, so I just watch as she starts to move her limbs. Inch by inch, with a lot of hisses and squeaks, she shifts herself off the table and onto her knees, staring up at me through teary eyes.
Right here. In my kitchen.
