Hard Choices (25 page)

I shake my head.

“I reckon I’ll know when you reach that point, but you’ll tell me anyway, yes?”

I nod, then scramble awkwardly into a kneeling position because I want to sign and it’s difficult lying down. Nick hasn’t told me I can’t ask questions. He watches me, my movements clumsy, but doesn’t offer to help.

“How long will it last for?”

He cocks his head to one side and smiles, not especially pleasantly. “That varies. Some people are more susceptible than others. Not less than fifteen minutes, and not usually more than about ninety.”

“How long do I have to keep it there?”

“I’ll remove it when it stops working. Or when your caning is over. So the quicker you get through that, the better.”

I wince, my breath hissing from me as a sudden tingle graduates to a definite burning sensation. I clench hard without thinking, and the pain radiates sharply through my arse. I flop back onto all fours, my eyes watering as I struggle to weather the sudden wave of pain.

“From that little performance, I’m thinking we’re there or thereabouts. Let’s press on then.” Nick pushes himself to his feet and stands over me, his hand outstretched, offering to help me up.

I take his hand, and clamber to my feet displaying none of the grace he did. His fingers still interlaced with mine, Nick leads the way across the dungeon to the plain, straight-backed chair he generally uses for spanking me. He sits down, and gestures that I’m to take my customary position across his lap.

I ease myself slowly into position. This is familiar territory and I’m not particularly fearful of the spanking, though I am acutely conscious of every movement now. Every slight shift or the slightest pressure on the root lodged inside me sends waves of pain pulsing through my lower body. Nick was right—this is definitely not nice, very unpleasant indeed. Guaranteed to ruin a decent spanking.

“Remember, the more you relax, the more you can control the level of discomfort. Clenching your bum will hurt like hell. Lie still, and don’t tighten up if you can help it. And remember, you have your wristbands, you can call for a time out whenever you need to. Okay?”

I nod and squeeze his ankle in acknowledgement. Then I nearly fly off his lap as he lands the first spank and my body spasms in shock. That was a seriously hard slap, or it felt like it.

“Keep still. I don’t want to have to tie you up, but I will if I need to. So, can we continue?”

I take a couple of deep breaths, forcing my muscles to relax again. It’s a considerable effort, but at last the burning in my arse subsides to a gentle simmer and my smarting buttock cools. I squeeze his ankle again, and he lands another slap, this time on the opposite cheek. I manage not to shift, but can’t prevent the involuntary clench.
Jesus, this hurts!

Nick waits a few moments then lands the third stroke. I’m managing—just—to remain still and not clench too much, but I can’t totally control my reactions. Still, he doesn’t mess about now that I’m in some sort of rhythm and delivers the next five or six slaps in quick succession. Although he’s not pulling his punches I can handle this, just about. After ten he stops then gently palms my smarting bottom.

“Do you need to stop?”

I shake my head. I just want to get through this. He pats my bottom playfully, then takes hold of the length of root protruding from my arse and twists it inside me. I jerk sharply as the burning sensation shoots in every direction.
The bastard, just when I was on top of it!

“Just making sure I have your attention, girl. So, are you all right to carry on?” His tone is light, almost teasing.

I make a supreme effort not to grind my teeth in frustration. I know that would be a mistake, though, so instead I just nod.

The next four slaps are difficult, but then I’m back in some sort of groove again, riding the pain and managing not to squeeze around the ginger plug. Well, not much. By the twentieth stroke I’m gasping, my breath shallow, but I get there. Nick stops, his palm stroking my tender buttocks possessively.

“Do you need a breather before we move on?”

I lie still, and despite my eagerness to be done with this, I know I do need to regroup. I nod.

“Open your legs, girl. I want to know if you’re wet. You’re such a randy little slut I bet you’re actually getting aroused by this.”

I seriously doubt that, but if he wants to check I have no objection. I part my thighs obligingly, and sigh contentedly as he slides his fingers through my hot, slick folds. That feels so nice, I could almost purr. Almost.

“Mmm, I’ve known you wetter. Maybe this is a good punishment for you. Nice and effective. I’ll have to buy in some more ginger root. Still, while we’re waiting for you to collect yourself so we can move on, let’s see what we can do to juice you up a bit, shall we? But you’re not allowed to come. Is that clear?”

I nod—anything as long as he continues to stroke his talented fingers across my pussy like that. I shift under his hands, earning myself a tap on my bum. It’s not painful, just one of his ‘behave yourself’ reminders. I lie still as he slips three fingers deep inside my pussy, and I feel the wetness start in earnest, all discomfort momentarily forgotten as he rubs my G-spot mercilessly.

“If you orgasm without my permission you’ll earn yourself ten more spanks before I move you to the bench. Got that?”

I nod, but I doubt that he sees me as his attention is on my quivering pussy. He uses his free hand to part my lips as he finger-fucks me, his rhythm smooth and firm and very, very effective. I squeeze then wince as even that movement sends hot tingles of discomfort shimmering through me. He chuckles and splays his fingers inside me to intensify the feeling, at the same time reaching his free hand around to rub my clit. Ten extra spanks or not, I know I can’t stand much more of this without orgasming. And I know that’s going to hurt, as well as earn me more time over his lap.

I bite my lip, chewing on it nervously, now trying to think of something nasty, anything to take my mind off the delightful sensations in my pussy and coalescing at my clit. I’m grasping his ankles, my fingers digging in fiercely as I feel my body start to betray me.

Then, suddenly, he stops. He helps me to stand, his hands on my hips to steady me as I sway in front of him. His smile is sexy, his eyes dark with lust, and his erection is straining inside his jeans. He looks almost as uncomfortable as I am, and I suspect he’s as keen as me to get to the end of this. Sure enough, he stands and takes my hand, leading me to the spanking bench.

“Lie along the top, lengthways. I want your hands on top where I can easily see them if you need to signal me.”

I’m accustomed to this position so I quickly manoeuvre myself into place. Nick releases straps from the sides of the bench and uses those to encircle my elbows, pinning me to the top of the bench. He straps my ankles too, and my knees so I am held securely in place. I am bent over the bench, unable to move my body at all but my hands are free.

Nick parts my buttocks, checking the position of the ginger root. He twists it again, and I glance over my shoulder in time to see his wry grin as I hiss in pain.

“This bit is harder, so I’ll check you often. But I expect you to use those wristbands. Yellow for a rest, or if you need a drink, anything at all. Red means you’ve had enough. For now. We can pick this up where we left off. I’ve plenty more ginger so we can come back to it tomorrow. Or the day after. There’s no hurry.”

He may not think so. For myself I’m determined not to be coming back to this any time soon, so it has to be finished today. Only twenty strokes with a paddle, I can manage that, ginger root or not. I’m not so confident about the cane—I’ve never managed to endure a serious caning, and Nick knows that. I have no doubt that’s why he’s decided on it for me today. Twice before, in the early stages of my training with him, he caned me, and each time I gave my safe signal. The first time I only managed two strikes, the second time I got as far as five before I waved my red wristband at him. After the second attempt Nick advised me to put caning on my hard limits list for the future, but like an idiot I refused, said I’d practise until I could do it. Nick just shrugged, and we haven’t practised it any more since then. Until now. Still, there’s a first time for everything. And by the time we get to that stage I’ll be past caring probably.

Somehow, though, I doubt that. And even if I am, Nick won’t be. He’ll stop whether I ask him to or not if he thinks it’s gone far enough.

From my vantage point on the bench I watch as Nick strolls across the dungeon to the rack where he keeps his paddles, whips and canes. He selects a solid-looking black rubber paddle, and I’m relieved to see it’s one we’ve used a number of times before. It’s heavy, has a real bite, but I know I can live with it. In fact, I’ve developed a certain fondness for this particular paddle in the past.

The cane he chooses is more worrying. It’s light, slender, built to cause a sharp sting rather than to land a heavy blow, but nonetheless painful for that. From my two previous brief encounters I know enough now to appreciate that these thin canes are more often used on female submissives because they don’t usually leave any bruises, but they hurt like hell. I shiver, not yet ready to throw in the towel, or red wristband, but definitely scared.

Nick comes back over to me, drops the cane onto the floor where I can see it clearly, and moves behind me.

“Twenty then. I’ll count these out loud. Are you ready?”

I give an ‘okay’ sign with my finger and thumb, and brace myself. That’s my first mistake as the ginger radiates its own brand of vile heat inside me. I struggle to loosen my muscles just as the first blow lands. I jerk violently, winded by the intensity of the pain, inside and out.

“One. Can I continue?” His tone is clipped and formal, Nick in absolute Dom mode and intimidating as hell.

He doesn’t hurry me, though, and I have time to take several deep breaths before giving the ‘okay’ sign again. And I gasp as the next blow lands.

“Two. Freya?” Still that unsympathetic, businesslike tone.

I know he intends to make this a memorable occasion and I’m by no means certain now that we will complete my punishment today. I don’t recall this paddle ever hurting as much as this. My buttocks feel to be on fire already, and my arse is even more painful on the inside.

I steel myself and sign ‘okay’ again, and we repeat the process. Then again, and again. Each time he waits until I signal I’m ready to continue, and I manage to reach seven before I raise my right hand, the one with the yellow wristband. Christ, I know I begged him for this, but I never anticipated it would be this hard.

“Okay, time out.” He drops the paddle beside the cane and walks away, only to return moments later with an uncapped bottle of chilled water. “Take small sips,” he instructs as he holds the neck of the bottle to my lips.

I try to gulp the sweet, cool water, but he tips it away from my mouth. “Slowly, Freya. Take your time—you can have as much as you want. And try to relax for a few minutes.”

I obey, and he slowly pours water into my mouth. At last I’m satisfied and shake my head as he offers me more. He smiles, glances at my tender buttocks. “Your arse is turning a beautiful shade of pink. Positively glowing. We’ve a way to go, though. Do you think you can continue yet or do you want more time? If you like we can call it a day for now, and you can go lie down, take a nice long soak in the bath, whatever?”

I shake my head firmly. This is awful, utterly horrible, but the ordeal won’t be any less for being kept on hold overnight. If anything the anticipation will make everything he has in store for me much worse. The idea of a long soak is tempting, but I want it to be after the caning if I can possibly manage that. So I brace myself, do the best I can to ignore the ferocious sizzling inside my arse as I clench on the ginger root, and prepare myself for number eight.

It doesn’t disappoint, harsh and solid, sending waves of pain through my body once more. I grind my teeth, and abandon any attempt at bravado as I let my tears flow freely.

“Eight.”

I signal the okay, and he continues. After another five strikes he stops and once more insists that I take a few sips of water. “Just seven more, then this part is over. Can I continue or do you want to wait a while?”

I shake my head, then realise he could misunderstand me, and give the okay signal as well.

“We’re continuing then, yes?” Just checking, as always.

I nod, close my eyes and relax my weight against the soft leather beneath my body, convincing myself that the pain will flow through me and be absorbed by the spanking bench. I spread my fingers out on the yielding surface under them, caressing the buttery padding.

“If you want me to stop, just raise your hand. Otherwise, though, I’m just going to get this done now. Are you ready?”

Another okay signal, and I lie still, accepting the inevitable.

He’s as good as his word. The final seven strikes are delivered swiftly, and I somehow manage to distance myself from the pain. I know my natural endorphins have a lot to do with that, but it’s also a state of mind. I’m visualising my goal of completing this punishment, accepting the discipline I deserve, and reaching a point beyond it where my Master approves of me once more. I crave his approval, yearn for his acceptance more than anything, and I’ll submit willingly to whatever I need to endure to achieve it, to win it back.

The discarded paddle lands on the floor again, next to the cane. I force my eyelids to open, knowing it’s time for the final lap. But first, there’s more hydration. Lifting my hair away from my face, Nick holds the bottle to my lips, and I sip the remaining few drops. He goes back to the fridge for another bottle then pours more of the chilled water into my mouth.

He continues to stroke my hair as he crouches beside me. “Do you want to continue, Freya? You’ve done really well, and we’re a lot further than I imagined we might be. You’ll have appreciated I laid the paddle on harder than I have before, and if you’ve had enough for one day I’ll understand that. I
am
going to insist on the ten strikes with the cane, but the timing is up to you. We can do the whole lot here and now, or we can take days over it. You
will
get there, eventually.” His tone is a gentle murmur. Gone, just for the moment, is the stern Dom. He’s been replaced by the caring lover. I adore them both.