Page 56 of The Sadist and the Brat

He picked his head up. “Am I boring you, sugar?”

“Huh? What?” She shook her head, blinking as though coming out of a deep sleep. “Oh. You’re still here. I wasn’t sure.”

There was a snicker from the corner, and she turned to look at James. He shook his head, blue eyes dancing, and she sent him a wink before dropping her head back and letting out another bone-rattling, air-sucking snore.

“Hey. Wake up,” Jack said, and slapped her breast. Hard.

“What the fuck?” she yelled, head whipping around to look down at her breast. There was a handprint, bright pink, covering half of the pale globe. “That hurt.”

“Good,” he said, and slapped the other one just as hard. “Maybe it’ll keep you awake.”

“I’m awake, I’m awake,” she managed, gritting her teeth against the sting.

“Let me just make sure,” he said, and slapped both breasts at the same time, his hands swinging in to catch the outer curves. She yelped and he did it again, making her tits bounce and her skin burn. Then, with his glittering eyes locked on hers, he licked the fingers of both hands and brought them down—crack!—right on her nipples.

If she hadn’t been literally chained to the bed, she’d have fallen to the floor. Pain swam through her system, smothering her senses so his rumbling laugh sounded like it was coming from far, far away.

He laid a hand on her belly, warm and hard and rough against her soft skin, and she tried to focus on it, to center herself. But then something pinched her left nipple, and she looked down at the gleaming clover clamp pinching it tight. He gave the attached chain a tug, pulling the clamp tighter, and she let out a whimper.

“Still bored, sugar?” he asked, low and hard and with an edge that made her shiver, and attached the second clip to her right nipple before she could answer.

Pain enveloped her breasts, bathing them in fire. The lingering sting from the slaps, the hard, cruel pinch of the clamps. Instinct had her holding her breath, but experience told her that would just make it worse. She had to get ahead of this if she was going to be able to handle whatever came next—and there would be a next, no way he was stopping at the clamps—so she sucked air in and blew it out, and kept doing it until the bright, sharp spears of pain faded into a manageable throb.

It merged with the beat of her heart, rattling her ribcage and pounding in her nipples, in her clit until she wasn’t sure where pain ended and pleasure began. Maybe it didn’t, she thought dimly, and tried to get her whirling senses under control. Maybe they were the same.

“I assume I have your fucking attention now,” Jack drawled, pulling her focus from the pain swimming through her system to his face. He wasn’t crinkling now, and his beard didn’t twitch. His eyes were like ice, cold and hard and black as coal in the low light, not even a hint of warmth in their fathomless depths. For a moment she felt real fear, brighter and sharper than the pain, andyellowtrembled on the tip of her tongue.

Then he smiled, a slow, sly curl of his lips, and pleasure—genuine and true—slipped into his eyes. “Does it hurt, sugar tits?” he asked, and there was so much anticipation in his voice, so much eager lust that she answered honestly before she could think of a lie.

“Yes.”

Her voice was harsh, almost guttural with the pain, and his eyes flared brighter. “Good,” he replied, low and soft and smooth as silk. “Is your pussy wet?”

Was it? Her entire body felt like one big, fat, throbbing nerve—with harsher, heavier beats in her breasts and cunt—so she thought it probably was. But she couldn’t tell for sure.

She licked her lips, surprised at how dry they were and how much effort it took to talk. “Why don’t you…see for yourself?”

His hand still lay on her belly, hard and heavy, so he slid it down, past the spot where the zippers collided, down to the bare folds between her thighs. She shuddered when his hand made contact, fingertips gliding smoothly through the heat and the wet. She could actually hear him touching her, and when he lightly slapped her pussy, it sounded like he’d dropped his hand into a puddle.

“Yeah, you’re fucking wet,” he growled, and slapped her harder. Her hips jerked, shoving her cunt into his hand. “You like a little pain, don’t you?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she managed, and rolled her hips, hoping for firmer contact. The heel of his hand was lying right over her clit, and if she could get just a little more friction…

“I wouldn’t want to be ridiculous,” he scoffed and pulled his hand away.

“Dammit,” she muttered, and sagged against the bed. “If you’re not going to do the job, the least you could do is untie one of my hands so I can do it myself.”

He trailed his wet fingertips back up her belly, and both hands came up to cup her breasts. “Nobody’s getting untied, sugar tits. Your punishment isn’t over yet.”

Her breasts felt swollen and heavy in his hands, her nipples pulsing dully. He squeezed, pushing them together until the clamps clacked against each other, and she lost her breath in the wave of sensation. His grip was punishing, bruising, forcing blood into her trapped nipples, and it hurt. But it made her clit pulse and her pussy gush, and she wanted his dick inside her so badly she was close to begging.

Get a grip, she admonished herself, and sucked in air. “Get on with it, will you? I’ve got shit to do.”

He laughed and stepped closer, his hands tightening on her tits. He was so close that his cock dragged over the bare skin of her midriff, thick and hot and hard. “You do like pulling the tiger’s tail, don’t you, sugar?”

She could barely think with his dick trying to punch a hole through her belly button. She wondered what he’d do if she lifted her legs, wrapped them around his waist, and tried to impale herself.

If she could’ve grabbed onto the bed posts for leverage, she might have tried. But the wrist cuffs didn’t give her enough support, so she settled for angling her pelvis forward and rubbing herself against him. “Tiger’s tail?” she repeated, grinding against his dick. “More like a tabby’s tail.”

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