HE LED HER TO THE doorway to the dungeon, then stopped.
“Get undressed,” he said. “From now on, you enter my dungeon naked.”
Samantha stripped right there on the stairs, for once feeling cold and vulnerable in her nudity.
This Brian was not the same as the other night. This Brian reminded her of the way he had been with her during their last night together at the Hotel Bentmoore, when he had figged and caned her.
Dear God, was he going to cane her again right now?
The only reason why she didn’t run back upstairs and out the door was because she trusted him, even when he was like this. Brian had a beast buried inside him, an animal labeled Sadist, but no matter how far he released the beast, he never lost control over it. It was that measure of control that drew Samantha to him, and made her trust him so completely.
The last thing she removed were her shoes; she placed them on the top of the pile of clothes in her hands. Brian gave her a short nod.
“Go inside,” he ordered. “Put your clothes on the floor by the side of the door. Then get down on your knees before the St. Andrew’s Cross, close your eyes, and wait.”
Samantha followed his instructions without a word. She could hear him moving around, heard a door sliding open, more movements…and then nothing. When she felt a hand touch her shoulder, she almost jumped off the floor.
“Up, Samantha,” Brian said. His voice was low and reverberating. Samantha stood, one leg at a time. Her heartbeat drummed in her chest.
Brian ran his hand down her shoulder to her back, then grazed his fingers against her buttocks. “Against the Cross,” he whispered. Samantha took a step forward and felt the wood of the Cross touch her midsection and upper torso.
Brian grabbed her wrists, and one at a time, buckled them into the cuffs attached to the posts of the Cross. The cuffs were soft leather, wide but strong.
Brian cuffed her ankles next, taking special care not to squeeze them too tight. But the cuffs felt alien against her skin, and Samantha let out a tiny whimper.
When Brian was done, Samantha instinctively tested her bonds, and found she could not step away from the Cross even one tiny step. All she could do was shift her weight a bit. She could bend her arms a little, but not much, just enough to rattle the chains attaching the cuffs to the Cross.
Brian’s voice was a soft caress. “You have no idea how long I’ve waited to see you again like this,” he said. He circled her waist with his hands, brought them up her sides, then slipped them between her body and the Cross to cup her breasts. “You, spread against the Cross. Afraid. Wet, and waiting.”
He circled her neck with one hand, while his other slithered down her front until it cupped her mound. He slid his fingers inside. “So wet.” His fingers slid out, making slippery noises. The hand around her throat pressed her against him. “So beautiful.”
Samantha didn’t reply. She could hear him, but was already swirling into subspace. Her brain couldn’t formulate an answer.
Until Brian slapped her ass. “What do you say when I pay you a compliment, Samantha?”
“Thank you, Sir.” Her voice was weak and shaky, but the slap had brought her up a little.
Brian took a step back. “Let’s start with some tools you’re familiar with. You remember the paddle, do you not?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“I want you to count my strokes. Make sure you keep up.”
Samantha let out a tiny squeak. “Yes, Sir.”
She felt a crack against her right buttock, felt the sting hit, and gulped for air. “One!”
This time she felt the air move across her ass as Brian’s hand swung high with the paddle, right before he let it loose on her other cheek. The crack was even louder. “Two!”
Brian began to paddle her ass with heavy, stiff blows. There was no rhythm; sometimes he would pause between strokes, making Samantha wait just long enough to set her on edge, and sometimes he would pepper her ass with short, choppy flicks of his wrist. Samantha had to count each one, no matter how fast or slow he went.
Besides filling Samantha with dismay at the rising number, the counting was having another effect: it was keeping her out of subspace. Samantha couldn’t relax into the paddling and let her mind drift into subspace if she had to pay attention to the number. Part of her wanted to scream in frustration; she wanted to let herself go, sink into the pain. But she had to keep herself floating above the surface if she was to keep her mind clear.
Brian knew what he was doing. Her voice was becoming more and more desperate as the paddling went on. He could tell she wanted to stop counting, and just feel. But he didn’t want her to drift away, not yet. He had waited far too long to have her at his mercy again against the cross. He wanted her with him, in the moment, counting every second and every smack of the paddle against her ass. He wanted to share this new beginning with her for as long as possible.
Finally, when the number grew to be somewhere in the fifties and Samantha’s whole butt was a fiery even red from hip to hip, Brian stopped. Gently, he held a hand to her ass. It was hot to the touch.
“Time for something else,” he said, breaking through Samantha’s moment of respite. Samantha tried to glance over her shoulder, but couldn’t. She heard, and felt, Brian move further over to her side. “It’s a flogger,” he explained. “A rubber one.”
Samantha let out a quick, choked-off sob. Brian smiled. His voice grew soft. “You don’t have to count anymore,” he said, “but feel free to scream.” He stepped back, held his arm at the ready, paused to savor the moment, and let fly.
Samantha screamed loud and long.
The flogger left lines across her flesh that quickly turned an angry red, much darker than the blush that had stained her rear cheeks. To Samantha, they felt like claw marks. Brian hit her again with the flogger, and Samantha shrieked.
She’d been on the receiving end of different types of floggers many times. She had learned the hard way that rubber floggers and whips were different than leather ones: they were whippier, and had more bite. They were meaner than their leather sisters.
Brian fell into a rhythm this time, using carefully timed flicks of his wrist. Samantha stopped screaming after a while. The shocks of the stretchy ribbons cutting into her flesh felt just as bad, but her mind was flying away. She was flittering through her field of subspace, filled with nothing but vibrant colors, the heady scent of flowers, and glorious, brilliant, pain.
Samantha began to cry, big, wet tears, without even knowing it. Her tears fell down her cheeks and dripped onto the Cross. Brian kept swinging the flogger, harder now, and Samantha started howling again. With each impact, new fireworks of color exploded in front of her eyes, and the pungent smell of jasmine grew.
There was a long pause. Samantha stilled. She had a feeling Brian was about to deliver her his worst blow yet.
She was right.
The flogger licked into her flesh right under the sloping curves of her butt, so hard and so painfully Samantha felt sliced open. She screamed as hard as she could, without restraint. There was no way she could have controlled her scream any more than she could control the pain.
As her scream died down, she began to bawl with great racks of her body, worried Brian would do it again. She didn’t know if she could take another one like that without safewording.
“Samantha. Look at me.”
She opened her eyes, and saw Brian facing her, looking at her with half-hooded lids. He had taken his shirt off, and his chest and forehead were wet with sweat.
“Do you smell the flowers, Samantha?”
“Yes, yes Sir,” Samantha sobbed.
“My beautiful Samantha,” Brian said, wiping her cheek with his thumb. “I am going to get the cane now. I want you to take three with the cane. If you can’t, if you need to safeword, I’ll stop. But I want you to try. Can you do that for me, Samantha?”
Samantha rested her cheek against the Cross. She couldn’t control her crying. “Yes, Sir,” she said.
“Good girl. My beautiful girl.” He kissed her forehead, then moved back behind her. “I’ll count.” There was a moment of positioning, taking aim, and then his voice rang out. “One.”
The cane hit her not across the ass, but across her thighs. Samantha had not been expecting that. Her scream filled her head, surging with the pain.
“Two.”
The cane came down again, biting into her legs like holy fire, branding her in agony. Samantha’s screams choked her now. It was a hysterical bray of voice and tears, as Samantha shook and fought her restraints. The smell of flowers was overwhelming, making her feel sick with it.
“Three.”
The cane came down across her ass, slashing into her clawed and bruised bottom, and Samantha convulsed against the Cross. Her scream of anguish was so high pitched, it was almost inaudible; but her head bent back and her whole body stiffened as she screamed, locked as she was in her moment of deluging pain. Then she kept screaming, even as the Brian released her from the Cross.
“I can’t! I can’t! I can’t–”
“You did it, Samantha. You took it. My beautiful Sam.” He picked her up and carried her to the bed, being careful to lay her down gently. As soon as she was down, Brian removed his pants, opened the bedside table drawer, grabbed a condom, and rolled it on. The condom was lubricated, but that wouldn’t have been necessary. He slipped into her cunt quickly, with a single brutal thrust. She was sopping wet, ready for him.
Samantha moaned and seized him around the shoulders, holding onto him like a liferaft in choppy waters. Brian buried himself as deep as he could go. Then, balancing himself on his elbows, he began to fuck her with steady, powerful pumps of his hips.
“Brian,” Samantha cried, her eyes wild. “Brian!”
“Come, beautiful,” Brian said. “Come, now, my Sam.” He thrust hard.
Samantha came, shaking like a lightning bolt was tearing through her. It kept running across her body, looping in on itself, and Brian kept ramming into her drenched cunt as she writhed and clenched beneath him. He could feel her multiple orgasms–or was it just one long orgasm?–squeezing and pressing around his long prick. It felt wonderful, but not as wonderful as watching Samantha stuck in the throes of her own orgasms. Brian kept thrusting, and held on.
Sweat poured from his face. His balls twitched and jumped, wanting to explode. But still he held on, as Samantha kept coming. It was like someone was holding a livewire to her wet skin. After a while, she started to cry in a different sort of agony.
“Sir, I can’t take it,” she said, her face contorted. “I can’t–” her eyes widened as another orgasm claimed her.
“You’ll take it,” Brian growled as she came back down. “Again now. Keep coming.”
“Sir, please!”
“Again.” He grabbed her beneath her hips and pulled her up by her sore ass, and Samantha came again, howling like a wolf.
By the time Brian came himself, Samantha had been reduced to a whimpering, blubbering ball of nerves. She had come too many times to count, and felt completely fried, inside and out. Brian came with an exhilarated roar, thrusting so hard, Samantha was pummeled into the mattress–and came again.
He lay still inside her for a moment, unable to move. Then he lifted himself off, threw the condom into the trash can next to the bedside table, and looked at Samantha.
“Samantha.”
She looked at him through slitted eyes, dazed and slightly panicked. “Flowers, Brian,” she whispered. “Flowers. Jas–”
“Sleep now.” He lay down across the bed, pulled her into the crook of his neck, and held her there. “Go to sleep, sweetheart.”
“Thank you, Sir.” Her breath evened out, deepened, and fell into a rhythm of sleep. Brian hugged her to him, feeling more possessive than he had ever felt in his life.
“My Samantha.” He whispered into her hair. “You’re mine now. I’m not letting you go.”
