Keep Me: A BDSM Romance (7 page)

With slow, measured steps, I circle her, like a shark closing in for the kill. I move close, whispering right into her ear, “I’m going to rip your clothes off, one piece at a time.” She shivers.

I come around to the other side, her other ear. “And every part I expose, I’m going to punish. Spank. Crop. Whip.” She closes her eyes briefly and bites her lip, like I’m already touching her, making her squirm. Fuck, I want to. By the time we’re done, I will.

At her front again, I grab the waist of her skirt. “I think we’ll begin here. It’ll only get in the way. Don’t you think so, Pet?”

“Yes, Master.”

“Good girl.” The hook opens easily and the zipper slides right down. I let go, and her skirt pools around her ankles, exposing a black pair of lacy panties that look amazing stretched around her round ass. “Climb onto the spanking bench.”

“Yes, Master.” Her words catch for a second, like she’s just realized what’s going to happen. I doubt that’s the truth, but she plays her role so well.

She climbs the bench with sexy elegance, lying face down over the padded leather platform and holding on to the handles near the front. The bench is tilted just a bit forwards, lifting her ass in the air. My hand already itches to tan it.

First, I secure her. I clip her wrist cuffs to steel rings near the handles, and her ankle cuffs to matching rings on the leg rests. A final clip attaches to her collar, keeping her face low to the bench. She’s trapped and exposed.

“Pet, are you comfortable?” She’s fine, but this is for the crowd.

“Yes, Master.”

“Do you understand what’s about to happen?”

“Yes, Master.”

“Tell me what it is. Tell the crowd that’s going to watch you get your punishment what I’m going to do.” She tenses when I remind her of the audience. She’s as lost in this scene as I am. This is going to be fucking amazing.

She swallows, then speaks in a clear voice, easily heard over the driving music. “I will be punished. Spanked, cropped, whipped, whatever Master desires. I’m his, and his to punish. I am ready.”

“Does it matter if you’re ready?”

“No, Master. I am yours.”

“That’s right.” I punctuate my words with a hard slap onto her panty-covered ass that makes the people in the front row wince. Viv grimaces, but takes it without a sound.

I strike again, harder this time. Her eyes shut, but she refuses to give me the satisfaction of crying out, rebelling the only way a slave can. “I
will
make you scream, Pet. Do you doubt it?”

“No, Master.” Her voice is choked.

“So why do you resist? How long can you keep it up?”

She doesn’t answer, closing her eyes again. Fine. I can work with that. It’s perfect, actually. I slide the soft tip of my crop, the keeper, gently along the inside of her bare thigh. Caressing. Warning. Making her quiver in anticipation.

“You know what this can do. Can you take it?” My voice is a harsh whisper.

“Yes, Master.” She swallows hard.

I begin tapping her softly with a light touch, then harder and harder, alternating between her thighs. Then a sudden hard strike, the sharp crack of the keeper against her skin loud in the room. She draws a hissed breath between her teeth, but no other sound comes out.

“I love that you’re trying, but you’re not going to win this one.” My taps grow more forceful.

“No, Master.” Her simple acceptance drives me nuts. I’m going to punish her, she knows it, and she knows I’ll win, but still she wiggles her ass at me, begging for more.

Another hard whack, on her other thigh. Just a hitch in her breath, but I’m getting to her. My taps grow harder. Their steady beat builds up another kind of heat, a slow burn, while my occasional hard strikes are flash fires, quick flare-ups that fade out almost as quickly.

I add new targets. She lurches forward on the bench the first time I strike her ass, the metal rings rattling as they hold her in place. Again. Each time the keeper kisses her skin, it leaves behind a bright red rectangle that fades slowly. Before long, her entire ass is a patchwork of those red rectangles.

Taking a step back, I survey her like a piece of art. She
is
art. This is what I work for, the contrast of the red marks with her pale skin, the carefully arranged patterns, the performance. All I’m missing is the sound.

She’s so beautiful, chained to my bench, her reddening ass in the air. Her mouth is open, drawing deep gasps each time the crop connects. Her cheeks are flushed pink. I strike, again and again. Faster and faster. The steel rings rattle constantly. She’s so close to giving in. I can feel it, see it in her movements. Hear it in how each breath gets closer to being voiced.

Then I stop.

I lay the the keeper right up between her legs, flat against the dark spot in her panties, an even darker black on the black fabric. Not hard, not moving, just pressing firmly against her. She lets out a soft moan that makes my cock strain against my jeans.

I wasn’t planning on it, but there’s only a faint glimmer of willpower that keeps me from tearing my pants off, pulling her panties aside and sinking myself into her. The effect she has on me is ridiculous. Even now she’s moving her ass in slow circles, grinding her wetness against the the leather.

Tap.

I pull back briefly, then smack the tip of my crop right onto the sensitive flesh of her sex. Finally, I get the cry I was after, though whether it’s pain or ecstasy is hard to tell from where I’m standing.

“Good. I knew you’d come around.” No matter how inevitable it was, it’s hard to keep the glee out of my voice.

Her reply is little more than a gasp. “Yes, Master.” She manages to convey so much with those two little words. I love it.

It’s time for the next part of the performance. Besides, by now I’m dying to see the rest of her. I unhook her ankle cuffs, then move to her front to do the same to her wrists and collar.

Her brilliant green eyes are open, staring up at me. She looks worried. “We’re not done, are we? Please, Master. I... I don’t think I’ve been punished enough.”

“You’re right. You haven’t.” I grin. “But you will be.” I take her hand to help her to her feet. Her pulse beats in her veins, so hard I can feel it.

Once on her feet, she peers out over the crowd, as if she’s just remembering she’s on stage. The audience is captivated, waiting for our next move, and for a second it’s like she and they are trapped in a staring match.

I put my hands on her smooth thighs, making her jump. I slide up to her hips, then force her to turn and face me. “I want to see more of you.”

She takes her lower lip between her teeth. “Yes, Master.”

M
y ass burns like I won’t be able to sit for a week.

It’s alright. I want it. God, I want even more. I don’t care about the crowd. I don’t care where we are. So long as Caleb doesn’t stop, because no one makes me feel like he does. It’s not just that he’s good with a crop. A lot of people know how to hit. It’s his presence. His strength, his bearing. The way he owns me while we play. I’ll let him do anything. Like now.

He pops the bottom button on my blouse, his clever fingers working quickly. Another, and the next. The final one goes and he draws a sharp breath as he pulls my shirt open. He looks me over, the hard mask he uses while he’s mastering me giving way to a sly smile and a gentle softening of his icy gaze.

I can tell he likes what he sees. His eyes explore every little bit of me. Even the parts I wish I could hide. It makes me self conscious, aware of every flaw, every imperfection. We all have those insecurities, but the way he looks me over, like he can see no flaw, makes me forget all about them. He doesn’t care, and that makes me brave.

He moves around me, pulling the shirt down my arms and off before throwing it aside. It lands in a little white pile on the stage, already forgotten. Then he’s right behind me, unclasping my bra. It goes slack and he pulls it forward. It joins my shirt on the floor, and all that’s left are my panties, heels and kneesocks.

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful.” His breath is hot on my ear. He reaches to cup me, then stops himself. Why? I want to feel those huge hands on me. I’ll use my safe word if I don’t like something. He knows that. He must know that. He can do anything, except stop.

“Walk to the cross and put your back to it.” His deep voice demands obedience. I have no choice. Not really.

First he clips my wrists to the cross, then my ankles, so I’m spread eagle, open for everyone to look at as he takes welcome liberties with my body. I keep forgetting about the audience, but they don’t matter anyway. Only him. I’m open for him.

He takes a step back. “If I could, I’d keep you on the cross all the time. You look fucking fantastic.” He grins. “My beautiful masterpiece. I’ll leave you there, and just take you down when I want to use you. Sounds good to me.”

Caleb turns, and picks something up from a table. There’s a slight clink, barely audible over the thrumming beat. As soon as he comes closer I recognize what he’s holding. Silver nipple clamps, with a thin metal chain hanging between them.

I swallow. My nipples are so sensitive. Even before he clamps, I can feel them in my mind, the sharp bite as they seize hold of my flesh, the crushing pressure, everything. Heat floods to my core at just the thought as I fill with anticipation.

He holds up the clamps, one in each hand, squeezing them open between his thumbs and index fingers. For a moment he catches my eyes with his, then he leans in and sucks one of my nipples into his hot mouth, swirling his tongue around it. Finally, he’s touching me like I want him to.

I make no attempt to stifle my moan as tingles rush from the sensitive nub straight through my gut to my molten center. Without thinking about it, I push my hips out towards him. My body knows what it wants.

When he pulls away, the slightly cool air in the room brushes over my wet nipple. While he already had it rock hard, now it could cut glass. Then the pain comes, shooting through me. I look down to see the silver clamp gripping me between its rough pads. I swallow, knowing I have one more to go.

Caleb grins before taking the second nipple in his mouth like he did the first. The contrast between the pain on the one side and the soft wet pleasure on the other is stark. Still, I know what’s coming, which makes a chill race down my spine when he pulls off with a wet pop, followed by another spark of pain as he applies the second clamp.

The cuffs bite into my wrists as I tug at them uselessly. It’s mostly for show, but man, if my arms were free and I could take those clamps off, I would. They’re tight. Not so tight that I’ll safe word, though. No way. Not now.

With his finger, he gives the chain hanging between my nipples a little push, making it swing back and forth. It doesn’t weigh much, but even still, I can feel the slight tugs from its motion.

“You can take more weight than that, I’m sure.” Teasing me with his words, he turns to the table where he got the clamps and picks up something else, brassy in color.

Oh God. A weight. There’s a small hook on top, which he gently slips into one of the chain links before he slowly lowers it until it hangs on its own. It’s one of the few times in my life that I wish I had smaller breasts, so that the chain wouldn’t swing so freely. I stand perfectly still, but it doesn’t matter when he gives it a little shove. I whimper softly. My poor nipples.

“Beautiful.” He gives the weight another push, making it swing faster. Sadistic bastard.

Good thing I’m a masochistic slut. What a pair we are.

He turns back to the table. Now what? I don’t think I can handle another weight. He seems to be assembling something. It snaps in place with a click, then he faces me again, holding something red and maybe a foot long, like a kind of wand. “Ever played with electricity, Pet?”

I shiver. “No, Master.” I’ve always been too scared. I know they’re not dangerous if you know what you're doing, and I bet Caleb does. I still haven’t dared. Do I safe word? Our eyes meet and he sees me. He waits, gives me time.

I trust him. He’d never harm me. Still, my heart’s thundering in my chest, pounding like it wants to get out. Closing my eyes, I center myself. I can do this. Forcing my muscles to move, I give him a slight nod.

His feet on the stage signal him coming closer. I have to look. He has the wand in his right hand, examining me closely. “It’s not dangerous. Watch.” He holds up his forearm and puts the tip of the wand right up against it. I don’t see a spark, but I hear it, a sharp crack as it connects, briefly completing the circuit.

His arm twitches just briefly, the nerves startled, but nothing else. He does it again, two, three, four times, each time marked by another crack. After the first time he keeps his arm steady. “It sounds scarier than it is. You’ll be fine, Pet.”

Keeping the wand aside, showing me it’s not a trick, he runs the fingers of his other hand into my hair, stroking my head softly. It’s comforting. I feel safer knowing that he’s watching me, reading me. So many Doms just charge in to do their thing. That’s how fuck-ups happen. Caleb isn’t going to fuck up. I nod again, a bit more confidently.

“Good.” The steel voice is back, and any softness in his face is replaced with stone. The show goes on.

Even with his reassurances, I watch the tip of the wand closely as he moves it closer. It emits a soft hum. He begins with the underside of my left arm, exposed to him by the way I’m strapped to the cross. I want to close my eyes, but I don’t dare to look away as he approaches.

He taps the tip to my skin, releasing a short spark of pain where it touches. I can’t help it. I squeal, as much in surprise as in actual pain. He holds off, waiting for my reaction. My mind’s yelling,
holy shit, Viv, you just got shocked
, but I try to stay objective. It doesn’t hurt any more than the crop did. Nowhere near as bad as the worst hits. No singed flesh, no strange smells. Just a little bite. I can do this.

He touches my side, a quick spark, and I lunge in the opposite direction as far as I can while restrained. Not very far. The weight on the clamp chain swings with me, making me wince as it tugs hard on my nipples. As impossible as it sounds, I’d forgotten the clamps.