Night Beach (3 page)

It was a well-practiced ritual, but it didn’t make it any
easier. Her Sir liked to draw out a punishment, luxuriate in her embarrassment,
strip away any last vestiges of her dignity, and finally, enjoy her pain. it
sounded crueler than she really thought it was; he was quite open about
enjoying inflicting pain — but only if the person receiving it wanted it too.
She was ashamed to admit she was very much that person, disturbing to her
though it had been when she'd finally come to grips with that fact.

His hand stroked her hip. “Legs together.”

She complied, squeezing her thighs in a vain effort to hide
her sex from his gaze. She knew that with her height, bending over the bed
would blatantly display the swollen folds of her pussy.

As if to confirm this, his palm patted her labia. “I love
the way your pussy peeks back at me this way.” Hands smoothed over her
buttocks. “But I’m afraid this won’t do. Move your feet back.”

“What?”

“Come on, girl. Move them back,” he said, landing a slap to
her bottom. “Your ass is too tight bent this way. I want those cheeks loose for
your punishment. As much as I enjoy watching your cunt weep for me as I
discipline you, I don’t want you clenching.”

“Yes, Sir,” she whispered, pressing her burning face to the
thousand thread count sheets. She shuffled them backward until her heels came
off the carpet, the weight of her legs on the balls of her feet.

“That’s better; keep those thighs nice and tight now.” His
hands roamed over the taught hamstrings. “Such legs. These were what I most
wanted to get my hands on when I first saw you, Erica. These long legs of
yours. So powerful, so graceful.”

All she could think about was wrapping those legs around
his waist as he pounded into her needy cunt. But first, she would receive her punishment
… eventually.

She hissed in pain at the harsh pinch to her inner thigh.
“I’ve got plans for these legs, girl.”

Those little comments made her wonder. Erica had agreed to
see both Blaine and Kathryn on a regular basis. In truth, it had quickly evolved
into a one-sided arrangement: one of them would call her, and she would arrive
at the predetermined destination, aroused, fearful — and hopeful. She
considered if perhaps their arrangement was about to change. How would it? Was
she ready for it if it did?

Hands smoothed over the curves of her ass once more.
“Kathryn didn’t believe me when I told her about this ass,” he said, his voice
low, almost reverent. He grasped a cheek between finger and thumb, shaking it
back and forth like a dog chewing on a toy. “But when she finally got a look at
it, she marveled at it.”

She did?

Erica, like many women had a love/hate relationship with
her ass. It gave her great, forbidden pleasure when her Sir caressed it,
spanked it — even fucked it. But she thought it was much too big. Cursed, when
other tall woman typically had slender hips and asses, she bucked the trend
with what was (to her mind anyway) her too plump bottom.

“You still with us, Erica?”

“Oh — sorry. Yes, Sir.” The feel of his hands on her drove
her to distraction, the thought of his thick cock pushing between her cheeks
sending her mind spinning, even as her pussy clenched with need.

He continued. “Yes, well. As I said, she couldn’t believe
it. I think I remember hearing her use the words ‘dream girl’.”

Erica was stunned. She felt so inadequate when in the
presence of the icy, steel-willed Kathryn. Half the time, she wanted to either
kneel at her Mistress’ feet, or raise her ass for her whip. It was ridiculous
of course; why would she respond in such a way to that callousness, the
sometimes arrogant indifference? Could a woman even be described as arrogant?
If so, Kathryn could occasionally resemble the remark. Something about the
woman spoke to Erica though, spoke to her on a level that simply compelled her
to want to
obey
.

Kathryn was so different from Sir, though not in a way that
left him wanting in Erica’s eyes. No, to Erica, nothing about him would
ever
be found wanting. Nevertheless, the two certainly differed dramatically in how
they treated her, their styles of dominance. To Erica though, they were just
two halves of the whole — she responded (
God
did she) to both of them,
regardless of their differences in technique. Her pussy knew what she wanted,

“That first night we all got together,” he said, his
fingers stroking up and down the crevice of her buttocks. “She was almost
uncontrollable.”

It was at an outdoor light festival, one of several put on
display around the city during the winter holiday season, where Erica had
agreed to first meet them together (she’s seen Blaine alone before). Nervous as
hell, she’d perched herself on one of the wrought iron chairs, her breath
fogging in the chill night air. There were people all around her of course,
everyone bathed in the dazzling white light of the displays, but the only two
she registered were Blaine and Kathryn. Two beautiful, powerful, unattainable
people — both there for her.

God, she was so beautiful, so far out of Erica’s league,
she’d thought for a moment about just slinking away, wanting to avoid the
humiliation of those strangers’ eyes comparing her gawky frame to the classical
beauty of the willowy, elegant Kathryn.

They’d stood and moved away, just out of earshot of her
(she’d tried to listen though, oh yes, she’d tried). Erica had watched them talk,
watched them stare at her, the cold possessive calculation in their eyes
sending chills down her spine, yet moistening her pussy.

“She wanted me to bundle you up and take you home that very
night. No taking ‘no’ for an answer, either. Ours — whether you liked it or
not. She told me she wanted me to hold you down while she caned your ass until
it turned purple.”

Erica’s mouth went dry at the thought. Her pussy, however,
had an entirely different reaction to the frightening imagery.

Jesus Christ, Erica. You slut.

Cold leather covered her ass, tapping gently, and she
froze. “Do I have your attention?”

“Yes, Sir.”

Oh God, here it comes!

But there was no burst of pain, no loud crack of leather on
flesh. Nothing.

The tension in her calves and hamstrings was already
building, and waiting for her agony to begin only made it worse.

“I’m waiting, Erica.” The leather tapped her bottom.

“Sir, I don’t …”

“You’re clenching. Relax them.”

“Sorry, Sir.” Consciously willing your tense buttocks to
relax in the face of an imminent paddling was not a natural act, and despite
the fact that this wasn’t the first time he’d admonished her for clenching, she
still had a difficult time complying with his order. Her cheeks just wanted to
huddle together fearfully, as if they could better weather the coming storm.
She couldn’t blame them.

“Now, girl.” The leather snapped down, heat blooming across
her skin.

Come on, loosen. Relax! Get it over with, Erica.

“There, much better.” He pulled the leather away, and his
hand lightly smacked each cheek a few times. “I like to see them shudder and
wobble as I punish you. That doesn’t work when you’re clenching, and keeping
those cheeks tight just makes the strokes hurt worse. Unless, that’s what you
really want. I can oblige your needs by hitting harder if that’s the case.”

“NO! No, please, Sir!”

Her face heated at his low chuckle. “Okay, girl. Maybe
another time we can explore just how much you need that pain, hmm?”

She didn’t answer, afraid one day he’d go through with it;
afraid one day that he
wouldn’t
go through with it.

He laid the paddle across her ass once more, the leather
still, menacing. “Why are you being punished Erica?”

“Because I disobeyed you, Sir.”

“You did, though admittedly it wasn’t too serious. You’re
mostly a good girl.”

“Thank you, Sir.” She wanted to turn around and kiss him.
Praise helped her, gave her strength for the ordeal to come. The pain was bad
enough; his disapproval with her was worse.

“You just … lost your head for a moment,” he said. “Still,
punishment is called for here. How many do you think you deserve?”

None! A hundred! Shit.

“As many as you think I deserve, Sir.” Her voice broke ever
so slightly on the last word.

She tried to marshal her courage, to be strong. It was this
way every time, a warring within her between the urge to flee — fight or flight
— and the urge to tell him to hurt her, that there wasn’t
enough
pain
for her.

“Good answer,” he said. “I think ten will do — a minor
offense after all.”

The first stroke landed with a loud pop in the quiet room.
The tip of the paddle wrapped around her bottom and bit into her flesh. She
knew if he gave her a few more like that, she’d wake up tomorrow morning with
nice, deep bruising on that far hip.

The next blow was harder, and seemed to cover the whole of
her cringing bottom, sending the cheeks bounding.

Relax, relax.

His hand stroked gently over the marks. “Good start here.”

The next blow was much harder, and she yelled at the smart,
the sting digging deep into her buttocks. “Felt that one?”

“Yes, Sir.” She drew still once more, urging, begging her
body to cooperate.

The leather whipped down four more times in quick
succession, and though they were just as hard as the previous strikes, she just
managed to keep still for them, her cries muffled by the sheets she clutched to
her face in desperate, white-knuckled hands. His growled voice admonished her
to loosen her cheeks again before the last blow.

He stroked the body-warmed leather over the curves of her
bottom, his hand caressing her lower back. She could feel the fine sheen of
sweat on her skin already.

“These last three will be the worst, Erica. I’m going to
make these hurt, because you need them. Are you ready?”

Oh God, Oh God, Oh God!

Her ass burned, the skin feeling abraded the way it always
did after a solid leathering. It wasn’t nearly as bad as a caning, but she knew
she’d be a sore girl in the morning, even without the last three strokes still
to come.

“Yes … Sir.”

He bent over her, his lips whispering at her temple. “Be
strong, beautiful.”

Quick, crisp smacks rained down upon her ass. Each blow was
harder than the last, the pain searing, and she cried out at each one. He knew
how to make a paddling hurt when he wanted to — and this time it seemed he
definitely
wanted to.

Erica sucked in a great lungful of air, exhaling it in a
soft whine. The throbbing made her move her hips, trying to shake off the pain.

“Punishment over,” he whispered, making her kiss the paddle
once more. He grasped her arm, and helped her to her feet. Her head swam a
little and her bottom was definitely warm. Overall, though, ten strokes was a
very light paddling, and she was grateful that’s all she’d suffered for her
transgression. She knew it could have been a
lot
worse.

Blaine
sat on the edge
of the bed, tugging on her arm.

“W—what are you …?”

The fire in the hazel depths of his gaze was unmistakable. “The
paddling was for your punishment. This is for me. Over my lap.”

Oh no.

She swiftly found herself in that familiar, humiliating
position, blood pounding at her temples, the unruly dark curls of her hair all
around her. She felt heat against the side of her hip and looked back. His cock
stood up from the open fly of his slacks, its heavy length laid along her
flesh. The urge to turn and take him between her lips was so strong; she almost
risked further disobedience to do it.

Blaine
looked down at
her, his jaw clenched. “Get your head down.”

She obeyed, shivering, hiding her face back under her curls
once more.

The loose blouse partially covered her bottom, so he rucked
the fabric higher, fully exposing her, the air cool on her sweaty lower back. His
hands eased over her ass, the calloused fingers rough against her soft skin.
Her thighs shook, fatigued from holding them steady during the paddling. His
hands squeezed the lush flesh.

“Tired, little girl? We’re not done yet — not by a long
shot.”

Blaine
massaged each
cheek in turn, both hands stroking, kneading, working the tension from her
muscles. He traced each stinging, abraded mark with gentle fingertips, even
bending to blow on them once, making her shiver. “Scorched here I see. Might be
pretty sore after your spanking.”

“Um, maybe you could skip the spanking?”

His hands stopped moving, his body tense, still. She
swallowed. Maybe talking back hadn’t been the most brilliant of moves.

Fingers dove into the tangle of her locks, twisting as he
pulled her head up sharply. “Do you get to dictate what happens in this
relationship?”