Sierra Cartwright - Doms of Dark Haven

“We have an audience,” he told her. “Xavier has been watching for the last few minutes.”

That thought turned her on. She did have a little exhibitionist in her, but she respected that he might want to keep her punishment private in future. “I hope he's satisfied. Because you're definitely making me feel punished.”

“You don't sound repentant.”

She'd have to lie to say she felt repentant.

“Mira?”

Mira had wanted to feel his lash; she knew she would misbehave again to get it.

Before she was fully ready, the beast landed the next one across the uppermost part of her left thigh. The tip of the belt bit into her pussy. She moaned. She groaned. She wiggled, trying to escape. But he'd confined her perfectly, exquisitely.

“So I assume you're not repentant?”

“No,” she confessed.

He laughed. “Well then. You've had six strokes,” he said. “You've almost satisfied Xavier's club's demands. But you're not even close to satisfying mine.”

As he'd talked, the searing pain receded.

He moved to her other side to catch her right thigh; again, the end of the leather monster sliced against her exposed pussy.

“I can smell you,” he said.

“Seven…and it freaking hurt,” she protested.

“Bad?”

“Bad,” she said.

“Poor thing. And that's why your pussy is wet?”

He added the eighth on top of the last two, as if tying them together.

“Those satisfy the club,” he said. “And Xavier is gone. The next three are for you allowing Blake to touch you.”

The next three were perfectly timed and impeccably landed. Each stripe was on top of the previous one, across her butt cheeks instead of the upper part of her thighs. They hurt like hell, and he wielded the leather aggressively. He gave no quarter, and she asked for none, wanting to feel the full power of his lash.

Each of the three blows dragged a scream from her.

She'd never been beaten so soundly, never felt so overcome with pain, with emotion.

“Now for the ones I owe you.”

She squeezed her eyes shut.

She heard the sharp clatter of metal against rock. It sounded as if he'd thrown his belt on the floor.

Before her mind could assimilate, he spanked her, his open palm landing against her already raw skin.

Unbelievably his hand hurt far worse than the bite of leather.

“How many more, Mira?”

“Two.”

“Ask me for them.”

She wanted to sink into the oblivion of her thoughts, absorb the pain, make sense of it, savor it. But he wouldn't allow her that luxury. “Please, Master Torin.

Please give me the spankings I deserve for leaving the house without your permission.”

“Where do you want them?”

“On my ass, Sir.”

“Not on your cunt?”

Her insides constricted. For a moment she forgot to breathe. The idea of his powerful hand landing on her pussy scared her, thrilled her. And suddenly she had to know, had to know what it felt like, had to have the experience. “Yes,” she whispered.

“I didn't hear you.”

“Yes,” she said louder. “Punish me there.”

“Where?”

“My pussy,” she said.

“Your cunt,” he corrected.

“Spank my cunt, Master.”

He played with her first, stroking her labia, teasing her clit, dipping a finger inside her desire-slickened vagina.

She was going to go mad. Mad, mad, mad. Her body convulsed. She was so close…

The first stinging blow made her gasp, made her even wetter.

“One more.”

She moved slightly, arching her back, giving him better access to her private parts.

“Good girl.”

His final slap forced her onto her toes. She cried his name.

Then she felt him behind her, his strong hands forcing her butt cheeks apart even farther, making her entire body strain.

She screamed again when he tongued her. He had to be on his knees, and he was forcing her to fight her orgasm. She jerked convulsively. She groaned when he pressed his thumb against her anal opening. All the sensation was too much, beyond endurance. She knew she should fight off the impending orgasm. She had the skills, but she didn't have the desire. She wanted the relief that coming would bring, wanted to no longer feel the tension that was clawing inside her. “Master!

Ohhh, Master! I need to come.”

He moved away from her and pinched the inside of her right thigh, but the distraction wasn't enough.

“I'm going to come,” she shouted. “Please? Please, may I?”

He said nothing.

Then, without permission, breaking his rules, she shattered, pulling against her restraints, her hips jerking uncontrollably, her entire body convulsing against the rigid wall.

The orgasm was powerful, debilitating, every bit as emotional as it was physical. She was drained, her body limp in her bondage.

His presence overwhelmed her.

Her eyes were squeezed shut, but she saw him as he'd been before he'd secured her to the shackles—tight blue jeans, made even tighter by the size of his erection, scuffed and scarred boots, a black T-shirt with short sleeves, the fabric showing the cut of his biceps and power of his arms.

His scent was consuming, spice mixed with a hint of pure male sweat and the tanginess of a cool Bay Area evening.

But it was the way he'd beaten her that drained her completely.

He'd been relentless, demanding.

He made her hornier than she'd been in years.

“Mira?” he said, his tone was gruff, and it cut into her fantasies. Then, against her ear, he asked, “Did you come?”

She froze. She'd seen this kind of behavior before. Other doms she'd been with had acted the same way, feigning shock and disbelief that she'd come without permission.

She knew intuitively that Torin would have continued to eat her, tongue her, press into her anus until she came. He knew how to touch her, how to encourage the response he desired. Torin Carter had forced her into a no-win situation. Still, Mira was startled into complete silence.

“Mo shearc?”

“Yes,” she whispered. “Yes, Master, I came.”

“Most unfortunate. Now you truly will be punished.”

He'd been an idiot not to play with her before now.

Mira Araceli was totally responsive, utterly lovely, completely captivating. He wanted her again and again.

Her orgasm had been loud and unrestrained, like the woman herself, filled with passion.

He wanted to fuck her senseless.

And that, he knew, would be even more idiotic.

They were partners. Down the road, they'd be counting on each other. Their lives could depend on the way they interacted. Clouding the issue with sex was beyond stupid.

For once he didn't think logic and reasoning were going to stop him from taking her. This physical demand was undeniable.

After removing her shackles and rubbing her muscles to help restore circulation, he helped her back into her ridiculous gown and the annoying petticoats or whatever the hell they were called.

“Stand still,” he said, working on the frustrating number of hooks and eyes. “I prefer you naked,” he said. Much easier.

“Yes, Master.”

“Goddamn idiot who thought up this outfit.”

She laughed.

“I'll ignore that rudeness,” he said.

His thumbs and fingers were too big for the tiny metal clasps. In frustration, he skipped a few of them. Good enough.

He picked up his jacket from the bench, and he draped the soft leather bomber over her shoulders. He fed his belt back through his belt loops.

One hand in her hair, her leash wrapped around his wrist, he moved her toward the club's exit, past Destiny.

“Hey, Master Torin?”

He stopped and looked at Destiny, keeping his hand firm against Mira's skull.

“Next time you break our rules and come storming in here in street clothes, Xavier said I get to punish you.”

He laughed. The idea of the woman with purple-tinted, spiky, Goth-style blonde hair and a sparkling lip piercing being able to kick his ass was intriguing.

“You're a domme?”

“If it means beating your ass, I am.”

“I promise I'll follow the rules in future, Destiny.”

“Or I get to punish you?”

“Yeah.”

Beside him, Mira gave a rude hoot of appreciation. He'd take that out of her hide later too.

Destiny gave a cheery wave. The move jiggled her breasts, which were barely covered by flimsy pink netting. He bundled Mira outside and into his illegally parked car. He'd gotten a ticket for his aggravation, but fortunately, San Francisco's finest hadn't towed his vehicle.

With his cock throbbing, the drive back across the Golden Gate Bridge to the Marin County safe house would seem interminable. But once he had her there…

The Hawkeye house was remote and private. He'd be able to fuck her as hard as he wanted; she'd be free to scream as long and as hard as she needed.

He parked the car in the garage, then held open the door into the house. She preceded him, then stopped and turned back toward him when she reached the kitchen. She stood there alluringly, her head tipped back slightly, her lips parted.

There were few thoughts in his head, and every one of them had to do with him penetrating her. “Turn around.”

He closed the distance and plucked the jacket from her shoulders and tossed it in the general direction of one of the kitchen chairs before unfastening her confounded dress for the final time. When the voluminous amounts of fabric pooled to the tiled floor, he put his hands on her shoulders and gently spun her back to face him. “Kneel.”