Call Me Killer (44 page)

"Um, nothing?" The three he was holding all looked similar. They had handles and a series of long tails. She estimated that the tails varied from about a foot and a half to two feet long, depending on the whip.

"One of these whips is gentle. I would have to swing it hard to cause pain with it, and even then it wouldn't hurt much. Another is vicious. If I hit you with that it would hurt like hell and leave marks on your skin. The third is somewhere in between." He paused. "Pick one."

"I'll take the light, gentle one, thank you."

He smiled wickedly. "If you can select the light gentle one from among these three, then that is what you'll get. But if you choose one of the others, I will use it on you."

Oh, fuck, one of his kinky games. She had no clue which was which. "You choose," she whispered.

"Oh, no. I'm going to make you do it. Let me show them to you." He separated a rather beautiful whip from the others and brought it closer so she could see it. The handle was made of intricately plaited leather in two colors, red and purple. The tails were narrow and long. He held the whip close to her face and she could smell the leather, a scent she had always liked. It looked like a woman's whip, and she wanted to hold it. 

He switched to the second one, which was black and shinier. It didn't smell leathery; it looked more like rubber or perhaps some synthetic. She regarded it with some suspicion, although she wasn't sure why.

The third was also leather, although the hide looked more supple than the first. It was coffee-colored and the tails were a little wider than the others. Would wider tails hurt more or less? She had no idea.

One was gentle, one was vicious and one was in between. Dammit! She should have read up on whips on those web pages she'd looked at with the BDSM information.

"I don't know the difference. If you showed me something with barbs or knots on the end, I'd be pretty sure that would be vicious, but among those three, I have no clue."

"Choose," he said in a harder tone. "Now."

She was drawn to the red and purple one, which looked pretty and benign, so with her luck, it would be the harshest. What the hell. "I want the pretty red and purple. I just hope the colors don't represent blood and bruises."

He smiled. "Whip lessons: pay attention now and maybe you'll do better next time." He held up the brown whip with the broad tails. "Deerskin. Very soft." He trailed the tails of the whip over her bare breasts so she could feel how soft. "This is the gentle one. See how light and delicate the tails are? It would be hard to hurt you with this."

He set the deerskin whip aside and held up the black scary-looking whip. "It's a good thing you didn't choose this one. It's not leather, but rubber. The tails are heavy and they hurt like hell. Rubber is extreme. If you had chosen that one, I'd have had to go easy on you. I wouldn't want to mark you up too badly."

As he said this, she became more aware of the phenomenon she'd noted before
—
Other Stephen was speaking. Scary Stephen. She wasn't sure what she thought about Other Stephen. Was he just Regular Stephen acting, roleplaying? Every time she caught a glimpse of that darker self, she felt a strange combination of fear and excitement.

It was Other Stephen who took her to places where she'd never been with any other man. He was the one who did these darkly sexual things. He loved whips and chains and dimly lit medieval dungeons. He shared something with Bartholomew Giles.

Stop thinking that.

"So I picked the middle-of-the-road whip?"

"Yeah, you did. This one is moose-hide. Still supple, but tougher and heavier than deerskin. It is a beautiful whip, one of my favorites. It will hurt and it can mark, but it will not cause the kind of excruciating pain the rubber whip would cause. You should be able to handle it, but you'll have to be brave. Initially, it will feel intense." He looked deep into her eyes. "I want you to endure it. You can cry, you can scream, you can beg, but I am going to do this. I want you to ride the sensations. Feel them. Inhabit them. Let everything else go and just feel."

"Okay," she whispered, torn between dread and arousal.
He's going to freaking whip me.

"Do you remember your safeword?" 

"Yes."

"Use it if you need to. You ready?"

She nodded, her entire body tense as a board.

He walked around behind her, swung his arm and struck.

Stephen knew how to use a flogger; he had practiced his technique for years. It was his favorite BDSM activity, and he wanted Viola to learn to like it, too. He wouldn't have used the rubber whip on her, of course; that was no beginner's implement. The deerskin whip wouldn't really have done much more than caress the surface of her skin. She might not know it, but she had chosen well. A whipping scene should feel like a whipping, but it should also feel erotic.

He didn't use any dramatic flourishes the way he might if he'd been doing a scene in a club; this wasn't a performance. He would keep eye contact as much as possible so she would have something to hang on to emotionally. He wanted her to see that he was pleased with her for enduring his scene.

He kept it light, striking her first on her buttocks and being careful that the ends of the whip didn't wrap around to the front of her body. She would initially feel more sting than thud. Although she gasped and reacted to the blows—something he loved to watch—he could tell she wasn't uncomfortable—not yet.

He was damn uncomfortable himself, though—his dick swollen and aching. Getting more distended with every stroke as her body jerked and arched. After four strokes on her ass, none of them too hard, he stopped briefly to soothe and caress the area he'd been working on. "How's it so far?" he asked her.

She tossed her head. "Not too bad. I was scared, but I feel a little calmer now."

"Your body will react by sending endorphins out. Those are powerful chemicals...they'll help you cope and they may even give you a bit of a high."

He slid his fingers down into her cleft and found her wet. Passionate Viola, she was always wet when he touched her. It was one of the things he loved about her. He caressed her for a minute or so before stepping back and swinging his flogger again, switching to her upper back. "Count for me, love. I'm going to give you a dozen strokes in various locations, each one will get a little more intense."

"One," she said as the flogger landed. Her back arched away from him, and the chains securing her wrists jangled.

"Thank me for each lash," he ordered, feeling cruel, "Or I'll repeat it."

"Thank you, Master," she gasped.

One more blow across her shoulders, and this time he deliberately did allow the whiptails to wrap around to the side of her breast. She yelped, not having expected it, but managed to call out the number and the "thank you, Master."

"Handling the whip is an art. I can keep to a narrow location—" he struck her buttocks, much harder than he had at the start, "Or I can permit the tails to wrap around your body and land somewhere unexpected."

As he said this, he came around in front of her and aimed a strike at her belly at an angle that propelled the tails around to slap into her buttocks with considerable intensity. She cried out more loudly and closed her eyes, her face screwing up in reaction to the stinging blow. She forgot to count, but he cut her some slack. It could be difficult to count when you were being flogged, especially if you were new to these sensations.

He struck her thighs three times, then moved around behind her again to slash a blow across her ass that left clear red lines. Those marks would fade quickly, he knew, but he enjoyed seeing them while they lasted. He did it again and she cried out and tried to get away from him. The chains prevented it, of course. She wasn't going anywhere.

He delivered two more stinging blows to her ass. Her body arched each time he struck and the chain on her nipples clamps tinkled. More red marks. He wasn't whipping her hard enough to bruise her skin. Many submissives loved seeing the marks after a scene; superficial bruises were counted by some subs and masochists as badges of honor.

He thought briefly of Melanie, who had pleaded for him to use his cruelest toys on her—knotted cats, chain floggers, studded buffalo hide. She had been a true masochist, and the things she had urged him to do to her had scared him at times, pushing the boundaries of safe and sane.

He seized a large handful of Viola's lovely hair and pulled her head back. He kissed her mouth. "Okay?"

She nodded. Her face had that dreamy look he recognized of a submissive in subspace. "It doesn't hurt much now," she murmured, in wonder. "I feel all warm and tingly."

"Good," he said, and set the whip down. She'd had enough for now. He checked her nipple clamps, giving a little tug on the weight. He hadn't used anything too harsh there, and he thought they could stay on for a bit longer. He was looking forward to the surprise she would get when he jerked the clamps away. Nothing could prepare you for that feeling.

He loosened the overhead chains that were holding her wrists and lowered her arms to a more comfortable position—still up, but no longer extended. Without speaking, he showed her how to use some of the new slack to reach above her cuffed wrists and wrap her fingers around the chains, which would release some of the muscle tension that must have developed during the beating. Then he dropped to his knees on the floor in front of her and dug his hands into her burning buttocks, tilting her pelvis up to the right angle for him to tongue her mound.

She keened out her pleasure as soon as he began to lick her. Her hips, which were free to move, arched and her thighs tightened. He thrust his tongue between the lips of her vagina and sucked on her clit at the same time. His balls were aching with his own need for release, but he forced himself to ignore that for now. This was about her, his lovely Viola, who was as hot and wet and eager as he had ever known her to be.

"Oh god, oh god, oh god," she chanted, thrusting herself wildly against him. Her voice rose in a ragged scream as she crested and melted, her pulsations strong and hard against his tongue.

God, he loved it when she came—loved the way she tightened and arched her spine, loved the scent of her, the taste of her, the breathless cries she always gave, the little laugh of joy that came as she began to reconnect with her soaring spirit. She was made for this, his long-lost summer love. She was made for him.

Was this subspace, she wondered as she reeled deliciously at the end of her chains, still clinging to them with her fists as he had shown her to do. Her lower body was mainly supported by his arms now because her legs were so wobbly in the aftermath of an amazing orgasm.

She looked down at her breasts. The clamps were biting into her nipples, which looked plump and hard. They weren't sore now, though. They must have grown accustomed to the compression.

"I won't leave them on much longer," he said. "I love seeing them on you, though."

She did too. Her head was in a strange place. It felt as though she were floating...as if she were high on some sort of drugs. Endorphins and sex hormones, probably. Dopamine.

He unhooked her wrist cuffs from the chains. "You've been locked in the same position long enough. We're going to move to a more comfortable location."

He hadn't come yet. She longed to suck him off. His jutting cock was too damn tempting, but he stopped her when she tried to drop to her knees.

"No. You'll serve me though, don't doubt it. Come." He supported her shaky body, leading her across the dark chamber to an alcove she hadn't noticed before. It was dominated by a large bed.

He sat her down on it and produced a bottle of water from somewhere. He cracked it open and gave it to her, helping her hold onto it since she was a little unsteady. She hadn't even realized she was thirsty until the cool water filled her mouth. He allowed her to take several big swallows, then drank some himself. "D'you need more?"

"No thanks. I'm good."

"Feeling okay?"

"Yes." She smiled at him. "Yes, Master."'

"Lie down."

Again, he put her in bondage—the cuffs hooked to ropes that were already attached to the bed. But it was non-restrictive bondage with considerable freedom of movement. She still had the ankle cuffs on her feet, but once again, he left her legs free.

As soon as she was secured, he straddled her, sliding up so he was crouching at shoulder level with his cock looming in front of her face. He fisted her hair and pulled her head up. "Do you want my cock in your throat?"

"Yes, Master," she gasped.

"Good." He arched his back and surged roughly into her mouth. "Suck me."

She did, determined to please him with the best damn blowjob he'd ever had. She was licking, sucking and gallantly controlling her gag reflex as he forced himself deep into her throat. Just when she thought he was about to come, he jerked himself out of her mouth and slid down. He produced a condom from she didn't even know where and slapped it on. "Now beg me to fuck you, Viola."

"Please fuck me, Stephen. I mean, Master. Fuck me hard."

He surged into her, his face contorted in what almost looked like pain. For the first time his amazing control faltered. The bad boy master slipped away and he looked awed and delighted. He flashed her his dearest and most genial smile, saying, "It feels so damn good. Wow, love. I wish I could stay inside you all the time."