Page 54 of Conflict Diamond

I can cuff my hands together.

I can bind myself to the bed, to the iron footboard or the headboard.

I can go back to the shower and chain myself to the rainfall shower head.

So many options. And none of them the full punishment I deserve.

I slip the chain around a post in the footboard, then fasten the second cuff around my left wrist. I can slide the chain up and down the post, but I can’t slip it free. I can just reach the cane, on the foot of the bed. I fumble it a little because I’m also holding the key to the handcuffs.

I bend my neck, stretching to settle the cane between my teeth. Then I step close to the bed, near enough for my cuffed hands to meet at the V between my legs. I spread my feet, teetering a little in my heels. And I push the key into my pussy, sliding it deep, past my soaking wet folds.

I’m disgusting. I’m a bad girl. I deserve to be punished for so many things.

But I’m unbelievably turned on by the wrongness of hiding the key inside me.

The sun sets. The arches of my feet begin to ache. The cuffs are heavy on my wrists, and their sharp edges leave angry red lines where they press into my skin. My jaw trembles around the cane.

I can’t feel the key inside me. It’s warmed to match the furnace of my body. I worry it will slip out of me. I’m that wet, that turned on.

At last, I hear the sliding door open and close. I imagine Trap walking to the kitchen, leaving his glass on the counter. I hear him walk up the stairs.

And I see the surprise on his face when he comes into the room—mouth open, lips pursed, like he’s about to ask a question.

“Sweet fuck,” he breathes instead. And then, “It looks like someone’s been a naughty girl.”

The words are enough to start a drumbeat inside me. I twist my neck, brandishing the cane so he’ll know exactly what I need.

He toes off his shoes. Takes his socks with them. Walks around behind me, ogling the view.

My high heels leave my ass canted up and back. I’m on display, vulnerable to anything Trap chooses to do. He runs his palm over my ass, slipping the edge of his hand along my cleft to the front. The tip of his finger comes up coated with the honey I’m close to dripping on the floor.

“Very. Very. Naughty,” he says.

I moan a little, because I’m afraid to open my mouth, afraid that if I drop the cane, he won’t give me what I ache for. His laugh is like oil over river rocks. He plucks the polished bamboo from between my teeth, bending it sharply so I can see just how much it gives under his expert control.

“Please,” I whisper.

“Please, what?”

“Please punish me.”

His eyes flash at that, his face slipping for just a moment into a frown, into something worse. But he recovers quickly, tapping my rock-hard nipples with the tip of the cane. “Punish you how?” he asks.

I lean forward, gripping the footboard with both hands. My ass must look like a pure white target. I should be ashamed, but I’m so turned on I think I might faint.

“Eleven strokes,” I say. One for each of Best’s soldiers.

Trap unzips his pants. Takes out that gorgeous cock that’s so hard, so dark, so huge I wonder if I can take it all when he’s ready to share. “Eleven strokes?” he asks, and he grips himself tightly, tugging hard from balls to tip.

“No!” I cry, and I don’t know what I’ll do if I’ve ruined this, if he decides just to tease me, if he jerks off instead of giving me what I need. “With the cane,” I say. “Because I’m bad.”

He runs his thumb down my spine. I can’t help it. I arch to meet him like a horny cat. “It’ll hurt,” he says.

“I know.”

“And leave a mark.”

“That’s what I want.”

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