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Hailey lifted her arms and rested her wrists against the open leather
cuffs that dangled by chains from the roller on either side. Ronan
closed the cuffs around each wrist and then reached for the handle to
the left of the roller. He turned it slowly. As it moved, the chains at
both sets of cuffs tightened, stretching Hailey’s body into a taut X.
At first the feeling was purely sensual—the rush of release and
pleasure she always felt when properly bound. Then he turned it once
more, and her muscles and tendons strained against the tension. He was
watching her carefully. She felt faint, her heart beating wildly. He
turned the handle once more, and her shoulder and knee joints popped
softly. She yelped without meaning to.
Shit! Was she going to have to use her safeword so soon?
But he had let go of the handle. He moved in front of her and placed
his hands over her breasts, cupping them. “Shh,” he said soothingly.
“Shh, slow down. Breathe. You’re okay, Hailey.”
As she caught her
breath, Hailey realized she was, indeed, okay. True, she was stretched
more tautly than she’d ever been, but she was extremely limber due to
her yoga training, and her muscles and tendons seemed to be adapting to
Ronan leaned closer, his lips brushing hers with just
the hint of a kiss that nearly had her begging for more. He leaned away,
his hands still cupping her breasts. He must have been able to feel the
pounding of her heart. “That’s as far as I’ll go with the roller. I
would never harm you.”
He moved his hands from her breasts,
trailing them down her stomach to her thighs. He cupped her cunt with
his right hand and stroked the heat between her spread legs. She was
unable to stop the low, feral moan of pure lust his touch wrenched from
her lips. His smile as he stared into her eyes was a knowing one, and
she felt the heat of a blush flame over her face and neck.
“You’re wet, slave Hailey. Did you know that?”
Her face still hot, Hailey nodded and then forced herself to answer. “Yes, Sir.”
“Why are you wet, slave?”
Hailey blew out a breath. “Because I’m bound to the rack, Sir. It’s
that feeling of being held down, the giving over of myself. I’m—I feel
helpless, erotically helpless.” And because you’re about the sexiest man
I’ve ever been with. No. I can’t say that. “It’s hard to explain but—”
He touched her lips with two fingers. “You just did. Perfectly. And I
understand. I am the flip side of your coin, Hailey. As you were born to
this, so was I. We both get it. I know what you need. Not just what you
want. And I plan to give it to you.”
He stepped back, and though
she couldn’t move even a fraction of an inch, Hailey strained in her
bonds, her cunt throbbing, her nipples aching with longing for this man
she’d only just met.
She could see the outline of his cock, long and
hard beneath the white cotton shorts. His legs were strong, his stomach
flat, his shoulders and chest smooth and broad. No wonder women swooned
over this guy. And yet, while clearly masterful, he didn’t come off as
an arrogant creep. How in the world had she gotten so lucky?
watched as he went to the wall that contained the floggers and whips.
She hoped he would choose the flogger, her favorite. Her skin began to
tingle in anticipation of its sensual, all-encompassing caress. But when
he returned, Master Ronan was holding a cane.
He released some kind
of lever at the base of the rack and pushed the apparatus, causing the
whole thing to tilt back, lifting Hailey from a standing position to a
forty-five degree angle above the ground. The disorienting effect of her
new position was heightened by the taut stretch of her limbs and her
complete inability to move a muscle.
Standing beside her, he ran the
edge of the long, thin cane along her stomach and tapped her breasts
lightly with the tip. “Do you like the cane, slave Hailey?”
“Yes, Sir.” A tremor rippled through her core. Like was such an inadequate word to describe how she felt about being caned.
As if reading her mind, Master Ronan supplemented, “You’re a masochist,
and you have a love-hate relationship with the cane, am I right?”
“You thrill to its anticipatory swish in the split second before it
lands, aching to feel its cleansing, sharp cut.
But when it actually
hits, the pain is excruciating—you can’t take it. And yet you do. And a
moment later the pain eases into something deep and powerful, something
that grabs hold of you and pulls you into its dark, erotic embrace. And
you want another. And another. And another.”
“Oooh,” Hailey breathed, stunned at the picture his words were creating, amazed he understood so well.
“I know,” he whispered, his eyes blazing. “I know.” He stepped back and
raised his cane arm. “I’m going to cane you now, slave. I’m going to
take your measure. You will thank me for each stroke. And if you want
more, you will ask me for another. Understood?”
“Relax your hands.”
Hailey realized she had unwittingly clenched her hands into fists. She forced her fingers to uncurl.
The first cut landed across both thighs. No gentle warming of the skin
with the light tapping she was used to during caning sessions at The
Compound. Just one brutal crack and then the sharp, cutting pain.
“Thank you, Sir!” Hailey cried, remembering only just in time his
instruction. She was breathing shallowly, and she forced herself to take
a deep breath, the air shuddering through her and then easing as she
blew it out. Precisely as he’d described, the pain had shifted into a
dark, perfect craving, and she begged, “Please, Sir. May I have
The second stroke landed slightly higher than
the first, the tip of the cane hitting her hipbone and sending a
stinging jolt through her that emerged from her lips as a cry. She felt
the sweat breaking out on her forehead and beneath her arms. She
swallowed hard and managed, “Thank you, Sir. Please…may I have another?”
The third stroke hit the tender flesh of her abdomen and she groaned. “Thank you, Sir. Please, may I have another?”
She expected the next cut to land on her breasts, but instead the
stroke seared across her left thigh. A rapid second stroke landed on the
right. “Oh god,” she breathed. I can’t do it. But I have to. I can’t
let him down. I want it. But I hate it. I want to be let off this thing.
I want to suck his cock. I’m thirsty.
“Focus,” Master Ronan warned.
Focus. The word cut through the jumble of her unruly thoughts.
She was supposed to do something. Say something. Her skin was on fire,
her joints and muscles aching, her heart pounding, her cunt throbbing,
her senses whirling.
Finally she remembered, and
belatedly cried, “Thank you, Sir!” She swallowed and twisted to look at
her tormentor. He was watching her intently, the cane poised in his
She knew what he wanted. Did she want it?
“Please, Sir. May I have another?”
This time he struck the underside of her left breast, the blow gentler
than the others had been, but it still hurt like hell against the tender
skin. She hissed her pain, then managed her thanks. As much as it hurt,
her right breast was aching for the symmetry of a like cut, and she
asked for it. “Please, Sir. May I have another?”
He obliged, searing
her second breast with the cracking cut of the cane. A trickle of sweat
rolled down her back. The welts she couldn’t see but certainly could
feel undulated over her skin like fiery snakes. At the same time, her
cunt ached and she silently begged her new Master to climb on top of her
and fill her with his hard, perfect cock.
“Slave. You are forgetting yourself.”
His words startled her and for one terrified second she was afraid
she’d accidentally uttered her wanton thoughts aloud. Then she realized
what she’d forgotten and hastily said, “Thank you, Sir.”
Did she want another?
This time the cane hit the upper side of one breast, and then the other
in rapid succession. “Fuck,” Hailey whispered, and then blushed, the
word not usually part of her active vocabulary. In a louder voice, she
cried, “Thank you, Sir,” and before giving herself a chance to think
about it, added, “May I have another?”
The stroke to her nipple made
her see stars, and she heard herself scream. She knew if she had been
standing, she would have fallen to the ground at that moment, her hands
clutching her throbbing nipple. It was too much. Too much.
she could do was open and close her hands as she struggled to maintain
what was left of her decorum. “Thank you, Sir,” she finally managed to
She knew he was waiting.
I’m going to take your measure.
This was a test—her first test. She would not fail. “Please Sir,” she
said, the sound of her words faint in her own ears. “May I have
The second nipple exploded in a ripple of
radiating pain and a sob burst from Hailey’s mouth. She pressed her lips
together and blinked back tears.
“Thank you, Sir,” she whispered.
Her eyes were closed, but they flew open when she felt his mouth close
lightly over her nipple, his tongue licking away the pain. He lifted his
head and lowered it again on her second nipple, again kissing away the
worst of the pain.
“You please me, slave girl,” he murmured. He
stepped back and to the side of the rack. She heard a clicking sound she
recognized as the lever release. He pushed against the rack until it
was parallel to the ground so she faced the ceiling, which was comprised
of rough, bare wooden beams.
Master Ronan ran his fingers lightly
over the welts he had left on her body. His hand trailed down between
her legs, his fingers once again finding her spread cunt and slipping
inside. “You’re soaking wet,” he announced, and Hailey closed her eyes,
embarrassed her lust was so obvious, even though she recalled his
mandate that she always be wet and ready for him.
Now the question was, would he do anything about it?