Hardened (5 page)

“I’d like to use my belt. Is that all right?”

“Oh, I’m not sure…”

“Yes, you are. Remember, I’ll stop whenever you tell me you’ve had enough.”

“Okay then, just for a bit…”

I don’t bother to correct that. In truth, I’ll be the one deciding how much she needs, unless she calls a full stop to the proceedings, but I think that’s unlikely. I’ve never had a subbie safeword on me yet. I ease her forward slightly so I can reach the buckle of my belt. I slide it from the loops of my jeans and fold it into a double thickness, clasping the buckle within my hand.

“Ten strokes with the belt, okay? You can count them if you like.”

Her response is a breathy squeak, and she grabs my ankle again. I pull back my arm and take the first swing.

Molly lets out a yelp and her entire body jerks. I watch as the darker crimson line of the belt blooms across her right buttock, pausing to allow her to process the sensation and to settle again. It takes several seconds, then when she becomes still I drop the next stroke across her left cheek.

Molly flinches, but there is no sound this time. Neither is she counting, at least not out loud. I wait for a few moments, then deliver two more strokes in quick succession. This does elicit a sharp cry, and I half expect her to ask me to stop. She’s shuddering, and her grip tightens on my leg, but as the seconds pass there are no words of defeat or surrender from her. I allow her ample time to call a halt if she wants to, then I repeat the two strokes.

Molly manages to stifle a squeal, for which I am grateful. I suspect we are both mindful of the men milling about just on the other side of the cell door and neither of us wants to attract attention. Had I had longer in which to plan this scene I would have certainly opted for a more secluded setting, but we are where we are. Next time, perhaps…

I apply two more strokes with my belt, gathering in intensity now. Molly is absorbing the pain well, riding it like a natural. She is tense, still rigid across my lap, but if anything, she has lifted her cute bottom up for me to spank. I can only guess at what else might be going on in her head, but I know without a shadow of a doubt that she’s loving what I’m doing to her.

“These will be the last two. They’re going to be across the backs of your thighs and they’ll really hurt. If you think you might scream tell me now and I’ll find you a gag.”

“No, thank you. I’ll be quiet, I promise.”

“Good girl.” I spend a few moments stroking her flaming buttocks, the heat radiating up into my palm. Molly makes a sound deep in her throat, which I swear sounds like a purr to me. I continue the sensual caress, pressing my hand into her punished skin to better drive home the experience, to draw out for her that heady mix of pain and pleasure that will set the endorphins coursing freely through her system. This is why I didn’t want to rush.

“Are you ready?” I murmur.

“Yes,” she replies, pressing her bottom into my hand.

I draw my palm lower, down over the curve to stroke the backs of her legs, the crease where her bottom meets her thighs. This is the sweet spot I am about to thrash. I rub her there as I lean to my right, just enough to get a decent view of her pussy lips peeking out from between her legs. She is swollen, glistening, the moisture betraying her arousal. I trail my thumb along the length of her slit, ready to withdraw at the slightest protest from her. She submitted to a spanking, no more, and I won’t push her.

Molly gasps, but doesn’t pull away from me. Encouraged but still cautious I angle my hand so I can push my thumb between her folds to reach her clit. She parts her legs and lifts her bottom up. I require no further urging. Her clit is plump, swollen with her arousal. I take it between my finger and thumb and squeeze, gentle at first then firming up the pressure.

Molly is squirming on my lap, wriggling and writhing as she seeks to direct the touch to her sensitive tip. I know just what she needs, and have no intention of allowing her to set the pace now. I trail my fingertips around her clit, then flick the end. I swipe it from side to side, then from the bottom to the top. She is panting, thrusting her hips back, wordlessly begging me for her release.

She is there, right at the top, hovering at the edge of the precipice. I tease her for several moments, bringing her almost to the point of no return, then allowing her to slide back down. Her breath has been transformed into soft, sobbing gulps and her thighs are spread wide. When I am convinced she can take no more, I lift my hand from her.

“Close your legs, Molly.” I issue the command and wait for her to comply. She’s reluctant, but gloriously obedient even so. I transfer my belt back into my right hand ready for the final two strokes.

I thrash her across both thighs.

“Aagh!” Despite her good intentions Molly lets out a scream. I expected this, but even so, she did promise me that she would be quiet.

“Molly, I can still gag you.”

“I’m sorry, Jared, truly. I won’t make a sound next time.” She sounds so contrite I can’t help but smile.

“Good. Make sure you don’t or I’ll add on more strokes to help you learn that I mean what I say.” I keep my tone cool and clipped and the words stern because that’s what she needs. Molly MacBride is a natural submissive and she craves my authority and rigid control right now.

I drop the final stroke across her thighs, just below the first. She spasms hard, her entire body convulsing as she fights to absorb the pain. She shudders, her muscles softening as she lets it seep through her and away.

Even before she has finished processing the sensation I slide my hand back between her legs and rub her engorged clit. Her orgasm is instant, racking her body as I squeeze and tug on her sensitive nub. Her shudders, violent at first, subside but she is still trembling as I lift her from my lap and cradle her in my arms. She reaches up and locks her arms around my neck, her face buried in the dark grey fabric of my prison-issue T shirt.

I pull her in close and hold her. She is sobbing, her tears dampening my clothes. I rub my palm between her shoulder blades and kiss her short, sleek hair. It smells of apples, and something else. Cinnamon perhaps?

“You’re okay, I have you.”

She grasps me tighter for a few moments, then relaxes her grip. She lifts her face to look up at me.

Her eyelashes are spiky with tears, her cheeks flushed though nowhere nearer as pink as her bottom. Her trousers and those glorious scraps of lace that pass for knickers are still around her knees and as I shift my legs her sore buttocks are pressed against my jeans. Awareness of her discomfort flares in her eyes, though she does not protest. She gives a little shake of her head, as though recovering her senses and remembering where she is.

“I should go. My break…”

I glance at the clock. “You have a few minutes yet. How do you feel?”

Confusion flutters across her features. She grimaces. “Good. Bad. Christ, I shouldn’t have done that.”

Here we go.
I smile at her. “But you did. And you enjoyed it, yes?”

She shakes her head, denial etched across her face. She opens her mouth to refute my conclusion but I lay a finger across her lips.

“Think carefully, and only say it if it’s true. Don’t lie to me, or to yourself, Molly. So, did you enjoy what we just did?”

She hesitates, then flattens her lips and nods. It’s brief, but the gesture is acknowledgement enough. I leave it there.

“Do you want to go?”

“I should. Really.”

She makes to get up from my lap but I hold her in place. “Not so fast. Just take a moment to let your head clear before you try to stand.” Molly would not be the first subbie whose knees gave out as soon as I let go of her. I prefer not to have to pick her up from the floor of my cell if I can help it.

She accepts my advice and we sit in something close to companionable silence for a couple of minutes. It is Molly who speaks first.

“I really do need to be getting back on the wing. Mr. Drummond will be looking for me soon.”

She’s right, sadly. I help her to her feet and pull her pants back up for her, then I fasten them. It’s an effort but I try not to grin too much when she hisses with pain as the sturdy, serviceable fabric of her uniform rubs against her tender skin.

I lean across her to retrieve her jacket from my bunk and pass it to her, just as all hell breaks loose outside.

* * *

Jesus, what’s all that din? There’s a horrendous crash right outside the cell, followed by shouts and the pounding of running feet. I thrust my arms into my jacket as I rush for the cell door. It doesn’t budge

“It’s locked. Give me your keys.” Jared holds out his hand, clearly expecting my compliance.

I shake my head, my prison officer sense of duty coming back to the fore with a vengeance now. “No, there’s trouble on the wing, I need to—”

“Give me the fucking keys, Molly.” His tone is harsh, demanding obedience.

I swallow and hand over the keys, then step back away from him. Gone is the gentle, almost lover-like persona of moments ago. The man now confronting me looks nothing short of deadly

“You stay there. Don’t move and don’t make a fucking sound.” He unlocks the door and opens it just a few inches then leans through to check outside. A moment later he hurls himself back inside the cell and slams the door shut. He turns the key in the lock, then pockets it.

“What’s going on? You have to let me out.” I dart back to the door to rattle the handle uselessly. “Give me my keys back. Now, or I’ll put you on report.” My head is filled with all manner of nightmare scenarios, the worst of which is the dawning belief that Jared North somehow duped me into staying in with him here whilst goodness knows what was happening outside. I am mortified, and more than a little terrified. My only weapon is bravado, and I pile it on thick as I advance on him. “Don’t make this any worse. Let me out now and we can say nothing more about this.”

North’s handsome mouth twists into parody of a smile. “Sweetheart, you won’t be in any position to say anything to anyone, ever again, if I let you go out there right now. There’s a full-blown riot kicking off, and if you blunder into the middle of it, you’re dead.”

“What?” I whirl to gape at the locked door, processing the shouts and crashes from the other side. The din is getting louder, the sound of splintering wood and breaking glass gaining ground over the raised voices. I leap back in shock when something big and heavy collides with the cell door. It rattles within the frame, but holds firm.

Jared pushes past me to press his ear up against the door. He turns back to me, his expression grim. “Just an accident, I think, probably a couple of dickheads trying to kill each other. Doesn’t sound as though they’re trying to batter their way in here. Yet.”

“Why would they?” I’m baffled, bewildered, desperately searching my recollections of basic training for any instructions on how to respond to this sort of eventuality. My mind’s a blank.

“If they realise there’s a screw trapped on the wing, they’ll use you as a hostage. If you’re lucky.”

“And if I’m not?”

He shakes his head. “Molly, don’t go there.”

His meaning is clear. I’m a woman, trapped among a bunch of violent, angry, resentful men, convicted criminals all of them, who make their contempt for the prison authorities evident at every opportunity. Jared’s right. I’m in a lot of trouble.

“No one but me knows you’re in here, and it’s best that lot doesn’t find out. We need to get you out, and quick.”

“The other officers will come looking for me. They’ll know I’m unaccounted for.”

“Probably, but they’ll have to get through that set of mad sods to find you. It’s more likely the screws’ll wait it out, see what happens when the food in here starts to run out or the lunatics get bored of smashing this place up.”

“But—that could be days.”

He nods, his expression grim. “I can’t see a locked cell door being ignored for that long, can you?”

“No, but—”

“I’ll get you out of here, but it’ll be better if we wait until everything calms down a bit.”

“How? How do you intend on doing that?”

“I have an idea. First though, we need to let the other screws know you’re safe, at least for now. You have a radio, right?”

“Yes.” I pull the receiver from the breast pocket of my jacket.

“Right. Get on it and tell whoever’s out there and listening that you’re safe and unhurt.”

“I’ll tell them I’m not hurt. I don’t feel exactly safe though.”

My companion gives a sardonic chuckle, then silently unlocks the door again. This time he opens it just the merest crack, but spends a few seconds carefully scanning the scene outside. He closes and locks it again then turns to me. He gestures to the radio, still silent in my hand. His meaning clear. Do as I say.

I keep my voice low as I speak into the microphone. “MacBride to control. Can anyone hear me?”

There’s crackle of static, then a voice booms out. “MacBride? Where the fuck are you? We need you up here. Now!”

I adjust the volume to quiet the voice, then turn to Jared. “It’s Drummond,” I hiss. I could add that he sounds pissed off, but that would be superfluous.

“Right, just tell him you’re still trapped on the wing and to wait for more information.”

I get back on the radio and relay that message. It is met by a barrage of expletives from Drummond; the gist of his outburst being that I should know better than to get myself into a hostage situation, he’s not about to endanger other officers by trying to rescue me, and that I need to hang on until reinforcements can be drafted in.

His attitude rankles, but I seek to reassure him. “Sir, I’m fine, for now. And I’m not a hostage.” At least I hope I’m not. I glance at Jared for confirmation.

He smiles at me as he slides a finger across the front of his throat, signalling me to end the conversation with Drummond. I do so, and replace the radio in my pocket.

“So, what happens now?” I ask, my voice creditably steady, considering.

“I always had Drummond down as a prick. I was right.” He lies down on his bunk, his hands behind his head. “So now, we wait. I can offer you coffee, or a digestive biscuit. Or another orgasm if you prefer.”