Chapter 16

SIXTEEN

brOOKE

Without light, it’s difficult to tell what time it is, but I think I’ve begun to tell a rhythm to the days because Domhnall comes down and feeds me by hand three times a day now in addition to doing one of his scenes .

After yesterday’s frustrating experience, I’m not sure what mood I’ll find him in today. He should be happy. I passed his infuriating little test.

He thinks he can control me without even being here? He thinks his words have enough power to make me do things just because his instructions are in my head, like some religion? Like God?

Just a few more days .

Or sooner, even. Because I thought of something else last night while my pussy was throbbing with the anguish of getting so riled up only to be denied at the last moment.

I don’t have to wait for his timeline, if he’s even telling me the truth about going to the club and it’s not just another game. Either way, a good chess player prepares multiple paths to victory because you never know what your opponent might be planning to throw at you. And after yesterday, I don’t know if I can trust myself to stay here much longer.

As much as I want to think I’m the better strategist… the truth is… I can feel Domhn overwhelming me. The craving hasn’t stopped. Every time he touches me, in fact, I think I’m getting more addicted and falling deeper into the warm, dark abyss of his sensual world.

But right now, without him here, my mind is clear. There aren’t any ghosts hovering. Maybe I should start to count that as a good thing. Maybe if my past was so bad… maybe I forgot for a reason.

I just have to play my part today and take every chance I can. I can’t be picky, and I’ll have to be brave. Braver even than when I woke up at the hospital and felt the panic of not recognizing anyone or anything around me. They had to sedate me that first night when I woke up and there were only night shift nurses there, I threw such a fit.

I kept asking for my family. I didn’t know anything—I can’t tell you how disturbing it is not to know your own name— so I just kept asking for my family. Family should always be there for you. Family was on TV. Where was mine?

No one had come for me, they said, and I fucking lost it. I screamed that they were lying. That they’d kidnapped me.

I kicked the nurses and ran out of my hospital room. I barely made it to the large, antiseptic hallway with several other nurses looking curiously in my direction before a needle sank in my ass and everything went black.

The next morning, I was in restraints when I woke back up and doctors calmly explained what had happened. They took me outside in a wheelchair to prove I hadn’t been kidnapped and brought in the police to talk to me.

The police!

I’ll be brave again and go straight to the police when I get out of here. 911. The nice officers told me all I had to do was call that number and they’d come in their big cars and flashing lights. The nurses put a phone by my bedside, so I’d feel comfortable.

I grin, thinking of the uniformed men coming to put Domhnall in restraints and how they’ll haul him off to be locked up in a little room. Now that will be justice.

Fuck the past. For real this time.

Fuck anything he thinks he knows about me.

The satisfaction of fantasizing about him in cuffs is still easing the sting of last night’s denial when I hear the elevator’s soft ping .

Shit! I roll off the bed and sprint down the half hallway to drop to my knees, heartbeat racing right as the heavy doors open. I wince, face down at the ground. Only a little rug burn. Definitely worth it when I hear Domhnall’s pleased little harrumph as he looks down at me.

“I’m happy to find you in position.” I watch his shined black shoes and ironed suit pants step forward, and then a gentle hand lands lightly on my head before caressing his fingers through my hair. It sends a little shiver down my spine. Damn it. I’m supposed to be holding strong today. I don’t care if I’m starving for his touch. Focus . Escape. That’s all I care about. He just thinks he’s got the upper hand.

“And as for yesterday, all I can say is, very good girl .” His mouth caresses the rumbling words in a way that hits deep. “You were exquisite.”

I swallow hard. No one’s ever called me exquisite before… that I know of. I try to shake it off. I’m sure former-me had people calling her exquisite all the time.

But fuck remembering. He’s never going to tell me anything about myself, anyway. Yesterday made that clear.

Escape . It should have been all I was focused on from the beginning. He types in the code to that keypad every day.

A clever kitty could get her hands on it.

His hands comb through the back of my hair down my scalp before he moves on, and my eyes drop closed in spite of themselves. Goddamn him for his touch feeling so good. He latches his leash to the collar around my throat. “Come, pet.”

He mistakes my compliance for obedience as I turn around on the carpet, still on my hands and knees. I keep to his side as he heads back into the dungeon.

After our normal ritual of him feeding me breakfast from his hand, he swipes my mouth with a cloth napkin and gives me water from a glass, then puts aside breakfast.

“Today, we’ll finally be getting on to a proper scene,” Domhn says. “You’ll do exactly as I say. Respond yes, sir, if you agree.”

I bite back my instinctual fuck you, sir . “Yes, sir.”

“Excellent. You’re doing well already, pet.”

I roll my eyes at the floor as he leads me across the room. I keep my eyes down, half because I’m not sure I want to know what piece of furniture or torture implement he’s leading me towards until the last minute. I’ve told myself I’m going to comply all day like a good little pet so I can have my chance later, but dear god, now that it’s actually getting to the comply part…

“Stand up, face against the St. Andrews Cross.”

The what ? I can’t imagine there being any sort of cross in this unholy place. But Domhnall drops a hand down to help me up. Ever the gentleman. I’d roll my eyes again, except now I’m half up from my hands and knees and he or one of the many cameras might catch me at it.

Soon I’m all the way on my feet and can’t help swallowing hard because I see exactly what he intends.

In front of me stands a six-foot tall wooden X with hand and ankle restraints, like some medieval interrogation device. I start to turn around for him to strap me to the damn thing, but his deep voice reminds me, “No. Facing the cross. Ass out.”

Jesus Christ, I don’t know why that makes me all but start to hyperventilate. If I’m strapped with my head facing the cross, and essentially, the wall, I’ll have no idea what the hell he’s up to behind me.

But I suppose that’s the point. If I start looking over my shoulder too much, he’ll just put a blindfold on, anyway. He likes it when I don’t know what’s coming. Sadistic bastard. Because with my ass and back to him like this, it has to mean there’s going to be more flogging.

My traitorous body is the only one that thinks that’s a good idea, all my muscles going suddenly tense in anticipation, including my clenching sex.

Domhnall obviously sees it because he runs a hand down my back. “Relax,” he murmurs. “We’re just going to play a little game.”

I let out a disbelieving huff of air.

“You may say red at any point, and I’ll release you,” he says as he cuffs my ankle securely to the bottom left of the X. The cuff is lined with some sort of soft fur, so there’s no chafing. I bite my bottom lip.

The scaredy cat in me wants to shout red right now. The chess player in me stays silent. If I say, “red,” he might do something really dastardly like the last few nights and play my own body against me again. I’d prefer a little pain to that, thank you very much. There’s got to be things harsher than that massaging flogger he used on me the first night and surely that’s what we’re graduating too, right?

I need him to finally hurt me so I can hate him like I’m supposed to.

His hands slide up my arm, caressing as he lifts it up to the cuff at the top right of the X. My heart starts to speed up, both at his nearness at my back and at being constrained again. Stark naked like this, I feel exposed except for where his closeness covers me.

But then, as soon as he’s cuffed my left wrist, he pulls back and I’m left there, spread-eagled and completely vulnerable. My instinct is to draw my limbs into myself and ball up when I feel like this— hide away, hide away! seems to call some voice from deep inside me—but I quite literally can’t, cuffed in this position. A small whine I can’t help escapes my throat.

“What, my pet?” Domhn says, his heat and the comfort of his weight at my back again. His breath is warm in my ear, and I sink back against him as far as the restraints will allow. “What are you feeling? Tell me.”

It’s only because I’m playing along that I actually respond honestly. Or so I tell myself. “I- I feel exposed.”

“That’s good,” he murmurs in my ear. “What else?”

“I want to curl in a ball and hide. I’d rather be in the cage. This is too exposed. ”

He nods and for a second, just a second, I feel his forehead drop against the back of my neck.

“Thank you for telling me something real.” His voice is rough and intimate.

Then his weight disappears and again I’m left cold and clinging to a hard piece of polished wood.

There’s a long moment of silence before his voice comes back, and when it does, all the warmth is gone. “Our game will be one of impact play. There will be ten strikes, ten being the highest in intensity and one being the lightest.”

I blink at the wall, feeling like crying suddenly at the withdrawal of his intimacy. Which is stupid. This whole thing is just an emotional mind-fuck. He’s toying with me. Of course my emotions are all over the place and he knows it. He’s trying to throw me off-kilter. The fucking cunty bastard.

“You must take one strike of each intensity level, but you get to decide what order you take them in,” he continues in his instructional monotone. “You must ask for each blow, stating which number you want. Afterwards, say thank you, Sir, and ask for the next. But remember, you must take all ten.”

I breathe out, full of rage, grit my teeth, and say, “Ten.”

“Yes, there will be ten.”

“No, Sir,” I correct him. “I want number ten.”

He’s silent a moment. “You’re getting it backwards. One is the least intensity and ten is the?—”

“I want ten. Sir . You said it was my choice. ”

He can’t see my face but if he can feel any of the furious energy radiating off me, I’m not exactly playing a good little pawn. But fuck it. I have a feeling I’m about to go through a thing . I can worry about all my big plans ten strikes from now.

I can’t see him, either, but it’s as if I can feel him bristling as he walks towards the wall. I try not to picture the implement he’s picking up. I spent too much time the other day examining each one of them in detail. There were some vicious-looking rubber whips. What would that feel like biting against my flesh?

“Number ten,” he says, and then, with no more preparation, I hear the slightest whirring noise and then?—

I see white and scream. Not from pleasure. This is pain, only pain. It explodes across the very bottom of my ass cheek, barely above where it meets my leg. Like a burn more than a blow. Tears immediately burst out of my eyes and down my cheeks.

“Now,” he says, sounding short of breath even though I’m the one weeping in pain here, and all he did was whip me. “Thank me and ask me for the next.”

How? I doubt if I can find my voice. I suck in a hiccupping breath. Though I suppose, as I finally do manage the breath, endorphins rushing in and the pain ebbing away with each heated pulse of blood towards the spot, I feel a little more back in control after the moment of absolute panic. My voice still wobbles as I make out, “T-thank you, Sir. Nine. ”

“You don’t have to go in order,” he snaps. “Choose a lower number to spread out the pain.”

“Nine,” I say stubbornly through my tears. I’ll get through this my way, dammit.

Almost immediately there’s only the barest noise of air being displaced, not nearly enough warning before my opposite ass cheek lights on fire. Again, it feels like all the breath I’ve only just barely gotten back is knocked out of me. More tears spurt from my eyes. My whole body shakes, and I go limp in my constraints, knees weak.

“Stand up,” Domhn says ruthlessly. “If you ask for it, you take it. You’ve done this to yourself. It’s much better if you build up with the lower numbers. You still can. Now thank me and be wise when you ask for your next number.”

“Thank-you-Sir-eight,” I say all at once before I chicken out, then suck in a deep breath and hold it, readying myself.

I’m still not prepared for the strike of what has to be one of the whips across my bare shoulders. The bite comes in such an unexpected place that again my knees go out from underneath me.

I swore to myself nothing could make me say “red”, but I’m not sure if I can take much more, even if it’s true that each blow is slightly less painful than the last.

But right as I’m about to say the words that will free me from this ridiculous pain, the warmth of Domhn’s forehead is there again, pressing against the top of my spine as his voice comes back in a guttural whisper .

“You’re doing so beautifully, love. I’ve never seen anyone take their first caning with such grace. Try not to stand so tense. Give yourself over to it. Go loose and give in. You’re close to subspace. You’re so savage, you got me banjaxed jus’ like you always did.”

His brogue comes on thick suddenly. “This is how it always coulda been between us, Mads. You an’ me givin’ in to our darkness t’gether. We coulda done aright, Mads. We coulda been jus’ fine if you hadn’a run off ‘n leff me like ya did. So give in now. Give in an’ let it turn to ecstasy. Listen to me voice and give in. Take me marks like the good lass I know ya can be. Go loose, love. Go loose.”

His drugging voice has me doing exactly as he says. I stand on my own two feet but go loose at the same time. I let go of all tension in my body.

“Tha’s me good lass,” he whispers, voice still musical as he backs up and another strike falls, again a whip, I surmise as a different spot on my butt cheek lights up with fire. But to my shock, while yes, there’s pain, and more tears… it feels… it feels…

“Thank you, Sir,” I say in slow wonder as a buzzing warmth flushes through me. My head goes fuzzy as if it fills with helium, lifting off from my body.

“Number?” he asks, voice heavy and thick.

I blink, still in my warm balloon lift-off. It takes me a moment to focus on his ask. “Seven,” I finally drawl.

I blink again when a narrow, stinging paddle smacks across my ass. My lift swings even higher. The rush of heat is incredible, and I wonder vaguely as my buzz lifts even higher, oh shit, is this what it’s like to do drugs? Sweat beads my brow at the intensity of everything I’m feeling.

“Thank you, Sir,” I say breathlessly. “Six.”

I don’t know what comes next but I’m excited and yearning in a way I shouldn’t be considering how I was feeling at the start of this. But it’s transformed, somehow. I can’t tell if it’s the power of the pain or Domhn’s words or Domhn himself. I can’t worry too much about whys right now. Especially not when the next thudding paddle against the round of my buttocks lifts me high again, the happy buzzy haze settling over me like a cloud.

“Thank you, Sir! Five.”

There’s a pause now before another, thuddy paddle thwacks the other butt cheek. There’s a sting where it intersects some of the previous marks and it still fucking hurts. But overall, it’s just this jiggle that resounds up and down my backside and it feels… good . And not enough, almost.

We’re spiraling down in intensity even while I’m still up in the clouds and I’m starting to regret my choices. I wish I’d kept some of the higher numbers for the occasional lifting spike.

But there’s nothing to do now except keep on the path I’ve chosen.

“Thank you, Sir,” I swallow hard. I should try to get my wits back about me. I really should. But I’m such loose jello, I can’t quite manage. “Four.”

Then he spanks me with his bare hand, and it stings and feels wonderful at the same time.

My voice clogs a little as I whisper, “Thank you, Sir. Three.”

It’s almost over. I’m not crazy enough to say I’d want to start over from the beginning, but some lunatic part of me isn’t ready for it to be over, either. This unthinking, nonjudgmental fuzzy place is such a relief, and it’s about to be gone. I’m not ready yet.

A bright spot of pain lights up my already sore ass when the thuddy tendrils of a flogger, harsher than the first one he used but gentler than everything else, lands. I suck in a stuttering breath. “Thank you, Sir. Two.”

I gasp as the gentle flogger flips up between my spread legs and licks at my pussy. I wasn’t wet until now, but at the gentle sting, moisture immediately springs up. I want to rub my legs together, but of course that’s impossible with them spread and cuffed on the X.

“T-thank you, S-Sir,” I barely manage to breathe out. “One please.”

His voice comes out husky. “You can still say red. Anytime with no consequence. You’ve done so well. Perfect in fact. You’re exquisite. I’d like to reward you. And myself.”

What does that mean?

But he answers quickly enough. I’m still facing the wall, but I feel him as he crawls between my legs. And I definitely feel his mouth, breathing warm breath there , in and out for several moments signaling what he’s about to do.

Red. I can say red. The fog clears and I try to pretend that I’m not saying red because I’m still playing chess. But I can’t lie to myself like that.

I want his mouth on me. After the experience we just went through together and the rollercoaster of intense sensation, I need his mouth on me and the ecstasy I know will follow. I could argue I deserve it, even.

But I think that’s a lie too. I just fucking want it. Fuck the ghosts. The me that’s me wants it. Little needy whines escape my throat, the longer he lingers, hot breaths tickling me and driving my need higher.

Maybe he’s twisted my mind. Maybe somewhere in this I’ve gotten befuddled and turned backwards inside out on myself.

But the man who whispered in an intimate brogue about going loose and giving in—I want that man. In spite of how insane these fucking circumstances are. Fuck sanity. Fuck chess and all my well-laid plans. The craving has struck, and I need him with a wild fury as he waits, poised there between my legs.

“ Please , Sir,” I beg, my voice breaking with need.

The second the words escape my lips, his mouth is there. There’s just enough space between the St. Andrews Cross and the wall for his head. He clasps my sore ass in his hands, clenching in a way that lights up the pain and sends me right back up into the swirly space as he drags my sex into his voracious mouth.

He only pulls away for a moment to demand, “Scream for me.”

So I do.

It feels— Oh god?—

I open my mouth and let out a high-pitched moan that rises up the scale as he drops his jaw, lunges forward, and devours me. I can’t tell where my body ends and his mouth begins. His tongue, oh god, his tongue ? —

The orgasm denied yesterday howls back to life and I scream, pelvis spasming against his face. His fingers dig into my ass. He knows he’s digging into the soreness. The pain and pleasure spike simultaneously, the one driving the other, taking it higher than it’s ever been.

It ramps higher and higher, my entire body shaking.

And when I finally come, I shudder hard, once, twice, white spots taking over my vision and then I collapse against the cross.

Tears flow down my cheeks. “Please, Sir,” I beg with the last of my energy. “Who am I to you?”

“The love of my life.” His voice is hard. “And my greatest mistake.”