Page 45 of Make Me Scream

The relief of having them released from the ceiling lasts only a minute. Long before they have a chance to recover fully, Lane hangs them back up, but barely higher than my shoulder level. It’s not until Lane uncovers a metal ring bolted into the floor that I comprehend what’s coming.

He takes one more chain from his briefcase and locks it on my collar, then drags the chain down so I have to bend over and my arms are pulled taut. Once he locks the chain to the ring on the floor, I have no choice but to maintain the stringent position.

Within minutes, the strain leaves me sweating. My pussy clenches, fluid dripping. The chain dangling from my nipples gently sways, evoking a fresh buzz of pain.

This time, Lane draws my whole figure, from top to bottom. In the sketch, my eyes are closed, and the look of bliss on my face couldn’t be clearer. Is that what he sees? I’m sore in so many places, and moving even a little makes things worse, but no part of me clamors to escape.

“Gwen, I can see what’s going on between your legs,” Lane says, standing behind me. “There’s no hiding it. I’ve known since we started. I can practically smell it.”

Oh, fuck.

“I’m starting to worry you’re learning the wrong lesson, because you’re enjoying yourself far too much.”

I grunt at him. Am I supposed to be sorry?

He leans over me until I can feel him breathing against my ear. It takes every ounce of willpower not to grind against him.

“You’ve left me no choice but to take corrective measures,” he whispers.

Anticipation tingles within me, growing stronger as I hear Lane walking back and forth to his briefcase. What the hell did he mean by that?

I get my answer right away: a sharp slap of something hard but flexible against my exposed rear. I squeal, bobbing against my bonds as a burning sensation heats my skin. It hurts, but the shock of getting spanked affects me more than the pain itself.

“Sometimes successful artists begin to think that they can do whatever they want and people will love it. Then, when everyone hates their new album or movie or book, they fall flat on their faces. They don’t know where they went wrong or what to do next. They turn resentful and blame their audience, which only drives them away further. That’s why it’s important to always work hard, and stay humble. You’re a talented artist, Gwen, but even a prodigy can be taken down a peg. I want you to remember this if you ever think you’re beyond criticism or failure.”

I try to listen to him, but I find myself just waiting for the next swat. It’s coming, and it’s going to hurt. I want to be ready.

“Gwen, are you listening?”

Humming an affirmative, I nod, trying to meet Lane’s eyes.

“I hope so. If we have to repeat the lesson, we will. Trust me, I don’t mind.”

Yeah, I’ll bet.

Lane shows me the paddle he’s using: black rubber, with a miniature reproduction of the “Venus de Milo” on it. Then he smacks my ass, once on each side. I yelp with each one, shaking in place.

“If you can take this, you can take bad reviews.”

He’d better be right about that.

Each slap of the paddle releases a mixture of pain and pleasure; it all swirls through me, adding to the ache from my nipples, arms and jaw. My thoughts turn to what will come next — and what must. He has to let me relieve the need swelling within me, right? Is that the final humiliation? A sexual climax while in a state like this? At this point, I don’t care if I should be embarrassed by my need. So be it.

Lane paddles my ass harder as he goes along. He maintains the same deliberate pace, giving me time to anticipate each impact, but when he finishes I’m wincing and whimpering after each slap. Just when the pain intensifies to the point that I’m dreading any more, Lane rushes to his sketch pad and draws.

Waiting for him to finish, I process as much of the pain as I can. He can take as long as he needs as far as I’m concerned. The sound of lead on paper becomes a source of comfort: while it continues, I don’t have to worry about what else Lane has planned.

I’m not surprised to see Lane’s next drawing centers around my rear; if the dark shading is true to what he saw, my ass must look as red as it feels. However, seeing the result makes me oddly proud. I took a harsh punishment and didn’t let it break me. That said, I will definitely think back on this moment often — and hopefully it will keep me humble.

“You look pleased with yourself,” Lane says. He runs a finger over my rear, leaving a tingling trail along its path.

I nod, blushing.

“You should be, Gwen. You’ve done well today. I put you through a difficult challenge and you’ve risen above it.” His finger travels down and around my backside, stopping just short of my inner thigh. “You’ve earned a reward, if you want it.”

He reaches around my neck and releases the gag. I gasp as the hard rubber ball slips past my lips. My jaw hurts like mad, but it starts improving right away.

“So, do you want it, Ms. Carpenter?”

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