Bound, Spanked and Loved: Fourteen Kinky Valentine's Day Stories (49 page)

"No, I believe you, Sir. Do you want to see mine?"

He treats me to a lecherous grin. "No Rose, I don't. At least, not your medical certificates. Do you want me to touch you? Apart from the impact play itself?"

"Touch me?"

"You'll be nude, draped across my spanking bench. It will be easy to touch you, to fuck you. And I will, if you want that, but not otherwise. Is this about sex for you, or is the spanking enough on its own?"

I stare at him. It's a good question, an excellent question, in fact. Every other time I've been spanked, it was in the semi-public setting of a BDSM club. On each occasion the Dom touched me, brought me to orgasm and, of course, I liked that. But none of them fucked me. That seemed fine, for then. Not so much, now.

"It
is
about the sex, Sir."

"So?"

"So I'd like you to fuck me. If that's what you want, too, of course."

He inclines his head. "Of course. And you know you can change your mind at any time. There'll be no coercion, no overstepping the boundaries."

"I don't want boundaries. I want it all." And I do, I really do. My pussy is already weeping, convulsing as my arousal builds, just from discussing what is to happen. He hasn't laid a hand on me yet, and I'm already half way to climaxing here on his kitchen stool.

Iain places a cup of tea on the worktop beside me then, unexpectedly, leans in to brush my lips with his. "We're going to have a good time together, you and I. I confess you took me by surprise downstairs, but I'm glad you brought my Valentine's card in person, little Rose Hawkins from form 11M.

"I'm not little now."

"You are, but not in any way that would be a problem."

"Not like before. At school."

"Exactly."

"You said you fancied me then. Was that allowed?"
When did I get to be so daring? Or so picky?

His expression is hard, stern as he considers my question. "I couldn't help fancying you. Most of the male staff probably did, and maybe some of the females, too. As I recall, you were gorgeous, with a sensual allure I suspect you had no idea of at the time. You were sexy as hell, but that was just biology, and I had no control over it. What I did control was how I behaved. I was your teacher and, yes, that did come with clear rules. I was also a Dom, back then, just as I am now. In this lifestyle it's all about consent, and fifteen-year-old girls cannot consent. However much you might have smiled and wiggled your very spankable little bottom at me, there was no way you could have properly understood what you were getting into. I'm not interested in taking advantage of naive, vulnerable children, I never was. My submissives are always willing, always consenting. You were a child then. Now, you are not."

"I see. That was... noble of you. Very principled."

"Not noble, though I am a man of strong principles, I hope. I believe a good Dom has to be. I am demanding though, and uncompromising. I know what I want. As do you, it would seem."

I meet his steely gaze again. "Yes, Sir. I do." The impact of my words is perhaps undermined by the insistent growl of my empty stomach.

Iain's expression softens into a broad smile. He is dazzling, utterly beautiful in that moment. "Sit at the table before you expire with hunger. I'll bring the food over."

I could gaze at Iain McCain all day, but I drag myself away and do as I'm told.

Chapter Four

––––––––

"A
re you full?"

"Yes. Thank you, Sir, that was delicious." The meal long since finished, I push away my empty teacup.

"You're welcome. Now for the main event."

"Yes, Sir." I swivel my head as I peer around the spacious dining room and adjacent living area.

"Have you lost something?"

"I was wondering... You said you have a spanking bench, Sir."

"Ah, so eager. I like that in a submissive. It's in my bedroom. Everything is set up in there, ready for you. I was busy while you soaked in the bath." He pauses, one eyebrow raised. I guess this is my last chance to make a run for it. I have no intention of doing any such thing. He continues. "That door, over there."

I turn in the direction indicated. "Should I?"

"Yes, please. Wait for me beside the spanking bench. I'll be with you in a few minutes."

I stand and walk across the room. At the bedroom door, I pause for a moment to offer him a smile. I'm going for the confident, self-assured look, though I’m not at all sure it works.

He doesn't return the smile. He just watches me, his features impassive. Gone is the pleasant, affable companion of only a few minutes ago. Instead I am facing a man who is pure Dom: controlling, stern, exuding alpha male authority. He stands, leans against the edge of the table, his arms folded. My stomach does a little flip and I recall a saying my mother is fond of.

Be careful what you wish for.

Did she have this sort of situation in mind? I doubt that, somehow. I open the bedroom door and slip through.

Iain McCain's inner sanctum is large, and as I might have expected, the huge bed dominates from the centre of the room. The spanking bench is also prominent, occupying the open space at the foot of the bed. Against one wall is a low chest of drawers, the entire top covered in an array of spanking implements and other toys. I am familiar with most – floggers, a couple of tawses, paddles, a selection of canes of varying lengths and weights. There are also nipple clamps, butt plugs, a vibrator and, If I'm not mistaken, a violet wand. Now I understand why he was so keen to know if I was pregnant or had a heart condition. I've never experienced the sensation, but I gather it can be intense. Will he use it on me? There are so many items here that he can't possibly intend to use everything. Or can he?

I should have told him I don't fancy nipple clamps. Is it too late now? I hug my arms across my chest in a defensive gesture and consider adding to my list of hard limits. Maybe I should leave the nipple clamps in the possibles group and see how it goes. One thing is for certain – if I'm about to start experimenting, I'd rather do it with Iain McCain than any other Dom I've met so far. I unwrap my arms and loosen the tie belt on the borrowed dressing gown. Mr McCain didn't actually give me instructions on how and where to wait, but I know what I want to do. I slip the robe off and fold it, before placing it on a chair. Then, naked, I walk over to the bench and sink to my knees beside it.

I lower my head, part my knees and lay my hands palms up on my thighs. I am ready.

Iain McCain is true to his word, he doesn't keep me waiting long. The gentle click of the door closing behind him signals his entry into the bedroom. My back is to the door, but I follow his soft footfalls as he moves around the room behind me. The atmosphere changes, seems charged somehow with his presence. I am tingling, shivering with anticipation.

I know when he approaches me, I can sense him, right behind me. I lift my head when he lays his hand across my hair. My eyes are closed. He strokes my hair, then closes his fist around a handful of it. He tugs my head back and around to face him as he crouches beside me.

"Look at me, Rose." His voice is not harsh, but I know I must obey.

I open my eyes. His face is close to mine, his own eyes a deep blue, more intent than before, and his handsome features hardened into that Dom mask I recognise. I should be scared. Incredibly, the more controlling he becomes the safer I feel.

"Sir?"

He breaks our connection to peruse my naked body, then captures my gaze again. "You're beautiful, little sub."

"So are you, Sir."

He smiles. "You think so now. I may be able to cure you of that. I'm going to start by clamping your nipples."

My reservations of just moments ago evaporate. "Yes, Sir. Thank you."

"Put your hands behind your head."

I lift my arms and do as he tells me. He strides across to the chest of drawers where he picks up a pair of clamps, then returns to stand in front of me. He opens his hand before my face to allow me to study the delicate-looking tweezer clamps, then he slips them into his jeans pocket.

"Stand up, Rose, and keep still."

It's not so easy to comply with my hands positioned as they are but I manage to get to my feet. I know what to expect. He will squeeze and twist my nipples to make them erect, hard as pebbles, then he'll apply the clamps. This will hurt. It's my first test.

"Look at me while I do this. Don't look away, don't lower your eyes, or close them. I have no near neighbours so no one will be disturbed. You can be as vocal as you please. Do not suffer in silence, I expect you to let me know how you are feeling."

"Yes, Sir," I whisper.

He takes each of my nipples between his fingers and thumbs and tightens his grip, He tugs, and I step toward him.

"Did I tell you to move?"

"No, Sir. I apologise."

"No, indeed. I distinctly instructed you to keep still. I expect you to obey."

"I'm sorry. I will, Sir."

"We'll try again then. Remember, you have safe words if you need them."

I gnaw on my lower lip as he takes my nipples in his harsh grip again and goes to work. He compresses the tender buds between his fingers and thumbs until I can't contain my squeal of pain. Only then does he stop ramping up the pressure, though he does not reduce it one jot. He twists, tugs, tortures the swollen peaks as I yelp and whimper in pain. The entire time his gaze is locked on mine, his eyes searching for - what?

It's too much. I open my mouth to utter yellow, though it might come out as red. But, without warning, he stops.

"Enough. You'll do." He retrieves the clamps from his pocket and slides one around my left nipple. He adjusts the fit, sliding the small bead up the device until I cry out again. He loosens it, just very slightly. The second clamp is applied just as efficiently. He stands back to admire his work.

"Very pretty. They match your beautiful emerald eyes. Look." He gestures to a full length mirror away to my right.

I turn my head, then angle my body to see. I have to agree: despite the biting grip of the clamps, they really are lovely to look at, decorated with green jewels which dangle and catch the light.

"Do you like them?"

"They hurt like hell."

"I know that. But do you like them?"

"Yes Sir." And it's true. Incredible as it seems, especially to me, I do like them. The pain is exquisite, already causing me to writhe and arch my back, presenting my breasts to him for further torture, or whatever he might decide to do.

"Lie along the bench, and press your breasts into the top."

I groan. He really is a Master, arranging me so I'll cause my own pain. I don't hesitate, though. The top of the bench is padded with soft suede. It's warm against my skin, would be comfortable, even, but for my swollen, taut nipples. It's high and I have to stretch to reach.

"Could you lower it a little?"

"No. This is the right height. For me."

"For you? But, I—"

"For me to fuck you."

Ah, right. I settle my weight and stifle my moans. This is all about sensation, and about handing over control. Iain McCain knows his stuff.

"I've decided not to strap you in place, unless you really want me to. You'll be there for a while and I don't want you getting cramp half way through. Okay?" His tone is curt and matter of fact as he circles the bench, inspecting me from all sides.

"Yes, I think so. Am I allowed to move, then?"

"Within reason, yes. But your breasts stay pressed into the bench. If the sensation in your nipples deadens tell me. I'll tighten the clamps or remove them. Either will hurt."

"I see, Sir."

His palm is on my bottom, massaging each cheek in turn. He parts the globes to trail his fingertips down the crevice between them. He stops at my arsehole and traces slow, leisurely circles around it. "We'll start with a hand spanking, then move on to sample some of my favourites here. First, though, I want you to accept a butt plug. Is that all right with you?"

"I've never had a butt plug inside me before, Sir. It may be a bit much..."

"Let me be the judge of that. What about anal play? Have you experience of that?" He presses the tip of his finger against my rear hole, experimenting.

"Yes, Sir, a little." I try to relax. I know it's better that way, easier.

"This should be straightforward enough, then." He drops a light spank onto my bottom before going back over to the chest of drawers. I turn my head to follow him, and watch as he picks up a metal butt plug: one of the smaller ones, I seem to recall, and a pump container of lube. He smiles at me then returns to stand behind me. There's a distinct squelch as he pumps lube into his palm. I gasp as the cool liquid hits my bottom. He parts my buttocks again to have clear access to my arsehole, and he works some lube in there. It doesn't hurt: in fact, it feels pleasant. This is the first really intimate touch he has bestowed on me. I don't count the nipple squeezing as that was more functional, a means to an end, and so far I have no complaints. I let out a contented sigh as he slides first one finger, then two, right inside my arse. He withdraws, then drives them home again. He repeats the action as my muscles relax to permit the act of trespass. To welcome it.

He pulls his fingers out. I shudder as the blunt, cool end of the butt plug replaces them. He presses, and it starts to penetrate me. He leans over to murmur in my ear.

"Push back against it, as I press. Relax, Rose, let it in."

"Yes Sir, I... Aagh!" It's the work of just seconds, and the plug slides home. The length of it remaining on the outside is angled, and as I squeeze down around the strange intruder, Iain rotates it inside me. He's gentle, but still the effect is intense and unexpected, pressing against my inner walls in a sensuous, circular motion. "Oh, oh, God."

"Liking that?"

"Yes. Yes, Sir, definitely liking that."

"Good." He continues to turn the butt plug, the sensation building.

I spread my legs, though he hasn't asked me to. It's just instinct, and need. I grip the arm rests on the bench and try to rub my clit against the buttery suede. A sharp slap across my bottom stops that little ploy.