Chapter 5

CHAPTER 5

M arcus

I'm not sure what to expect when I arrive to pick Charlie up. Will she be defiantly wearing sweats and unprepared to come out? I know she hasn't left the building all day. My watchers have kept me apprised of her movements. She's been indoors. She's given absolutely nothing away. But it wouldn't surprise me if she rebuffed my invitation. She can't look at me without rebellion sparking in those pretty brown eyes.

I draw my car up outside her building and step out. To my surprise, I do not have to look far for her. She is standing outside, wearing a short black skirt and a long black coat, with boots that go all the way up to her thighs. That combination could bring any man to his knees. Looking at her feels like taking a kick to the gut.

She really is beautiful. She has well-defined features, a strong nose with a little crook in it. I can imagine her younger and breaking that in some ill-fated scrape. Her eyes are piercing and wounded at the same time. She could come across as a little too businesslike, I suppose, if you didn't see what I see. There's something about Charlie Crown that is ever so slightly feral—and this place she lives in reflects that. An alley cat has to live in an alley.

Her makeup is simple, but effective. Lips. Eyes. What else is there? She has been chewing on her lower lip, but she stops that when she sees me. She also straightens up and stands taller, meeting my gaze without the slightest hint of weakness or shame. It's hard to imagine that she ran out of my building just last night in a complete state. This is a strong woman, one who knows how to recoup. That's important, given what I'm intending on doing to her.

"Good girl," I say, approving.

A light flush appears on her face, and she tries not to look too pleased at that praise.

"You're here right on time, and you're ready to go out."

"I didn't know where we were going, so I didn't know how to dress," she says. "I hope it's not a formal ball or anything."

"You'd look perfect no matter where we went."

Again, she tries not to look too pleased.

"You're flattering me," she says. "I have to wonder why."

"Because I'm pleased with you, and when I am pleased, I let people know. You've been very well behaved so far this evening, which is quite a change. I'm going to reward you for that."

"Oh?" She arches a brow.

Charlie

I get into the car with him and wonder if I'll ever see my apartment again. There's something about Marcus that makes me pretty certain I could end up captive somewhere with very little notice. That something is mostly the fact that he more or less outright said as much. He makes these little threats, and I ignore them because I feel as though I am on the trail of something bigger than I could ever have imagined. I've already learned a lot about Marcus.

I've learned that he has a penchant for punishing women, and I know that he'll use his cock as a disciplinary implement too.

"You wanted to see my world," he says. "My personal world. Tonight, I am going to take you there."

"Really?"

I can't believe it was that easy. I am certain it won't actually end up that way. I am almost sure he's going to make me regret this date, just as he promised. But he won't be able to help revealing more about himself. Every word that falls from his lips is another clue.

We drive into the city, which I suppose to him must just feel like taking a tour of all the many buildings he owns. Though I've lived in the city all my life, I still feel like a stranger in so much of it. But Marcus' experience has to be entirely different. Everything is something either he or one of his friends owns, or could own, if they wanted to.

We end up in the old part of the city, where the skyscrapers aren't quite so high because most of the buildings are on the National Register here. These are grand old constructions, put up when the very first rich bastards came here and needed somewhere to be obscenely wealthy with one another.

We slide up outside one such building, and Marcus helps me out of the car, opening the door for me and offering his hand like a gentleman. I have a little flashback to the memory of last night, of how it felt when the hand now offered to me so genteelly was used for something else entirely. I try to hide the blush that inevitably rises to my face at the thought.

"This is The Embassy," he explains. "It is a very exclusive club. The membership consists of the rich, famous, and powerful. That is why you will be blindfolded as we enter, and why you will have to sign a binding agreement which states you will never share anything you see tonight. And I don't just mean one of your articles or stories. I mean you cannot tell your friends, your family. Nobody. What happens tonight will happen entirely between you and I. Understand?"

I nod.

"I need to hear it, Charlie."

"Yes, I understand. I can be discreet."

"You will have to be," he says. "You will have no choice."

I bite back a sassy retort.

He allows me to walk up the stairs to the front door without anything covering my face, but as the door opens, a blindfold slides over my eyes, just as he promised it would. I am now obligated to follow his lead, clinging to his arm as he leads me into the interior of this mysterious building. I feel us pass underneath several doorways before stopping.

"Don't move," he orders me, before stepping away.

Part of me wants to immediately take the blindfold off, but if I do that, there's a decent chance he will just remove me from the club, and I am starting to get excited about being here.

A low murmur of voices suggests a conversation is taking place nearby. I can't make out the content of the conversation, but I have the feeling it is about me. Who else would it possibly be about?

With my sight gone, I instantly find my ears straining for sounds. There really aren't any, except for a light little jingle as he comes back. This time, he does not come to my side. This time, he steps up behind me.

"This collar marks you as mine," Marcus purrs in my ear as he wraps a leather-feeling strap of material around my neck and secures it in place just firmly enough that I know it is there. "It is important here, because any uncollared women might very well find themselves being used in a way they will not enjoy. Are you familiar with the concept of an embassy?"

"Sure."

"Embassies are foreign soil inside another country," Marcus says, explaining anyway. "The laws of the country whose embassy it is are in effect there, even though they are located inside the jurisdiction of another country."

"Right," I say, already knowing very well how embassies work, and thinking it is a rather strange time to give a lesson on international law.

"This club is called the Embassy, and it is called that because laws as you know them are suspended when inside. You enter as flesh to be used, and nothing more. You have no rights, and you have no recourse."

"That can't be true."

"It is."

Hearing his voice in the dark makes this all the more intense. He sounds serious, and I have no doubt that rich, sick people would get away with creating a haven for them to be sick and rich inside.

"You are safe with me," he says. "But you will need to stay with me in order to remain so. There are sights in this place that will tempt you. Do not give in. Stay by my side, no matter what anybody says to you."

It is very strange to be given the stranger-danger, don't-take-the-candy talk on the precipice of going into a lawless rich man's sex club. I'm thoroughly intimidated by this point. Fear is running through me with every breath I take. There are places in the world I can feel safe, but I don't think Marcus Waterstone's company is ever going to be one of them. He is dangerous, and he is taking me further into danger.

"Now, I want you to be good for what happens next," he says.

"What's going to happen next?"

Before my breathless question can be acknowledged, let alone answered, I hear a female voice in the dark.

"Lovely to see you again, Mr. Waterstone. Is this a new pet?"

"Yes. She will need a tag."

I feel him remove my coat. Now I am standing in long boots, a short skirt, and a black tank top. It's a very simple outfit, because I am a simple girl on a budget.

I hear someone in expensive high heeled shoes walk around behind me. Female nails brush lightly against the back of my neck for a moment, shifting the collar up a fraction. Then I feel a sharp pinch, and something seems to enter underneath my skin.

"What the fuck!"

That's it! I reach up, rip the blindfold off, and stare, horrified, into the eyes of Marcus Waterstone and the… secretary? Greeter? Nurse? Of the Embassy.

She is a very beautiful, charismatic woman in her forties. Straight, jet black hair falls all the way to her waist. Her eyes are a piercing blue. Her makeup is dramatic and perfect and entirely smooth. This is one of those women I will always find intimidating. She is wearing a little white dress with an overcoat that makes her look like a nurse of sorts. She is also holding one of those thick needles much like those I've seen vets use, ones that deliver a chip underneath the skin of an animal.

"Did you just chip me like a fucking dog?"

"Language, Charlie," Marcus chides me. "You're being very chaotic and disobedient."

"What pup isn't at first?" The woman looks at me, smiling. She is not perturbed by my outrage. "She will settle down nicely. I will register her chip number to your account in a moment. Let me just check that it settled properly."

Marcus takes me by the hands, presumably to keep them occupied as she waves a dark plastic tool over me. There is a beep, and she nods, satisfied.

"Good," she says. "That's nicely seated there."

My outrage is growing by the moment. This can't be happening. It absolutely cannot be real.

"You just chipped me like a dog. How dare you!"

"Bark less, little pup," she says, her tone becoming firmer and more displeased.

"Who the hell are you?"

"Settle, pet," Marcus murmurs.

I don't fucking listen to him. He just let this stranger put something inside me. The indignation I feel at that realization keeps rippling through me. I can hardly believe it. It doesn't seem real. I reach back to the place where it hurts, and I feel a little lump there.

"What the actual fuck!?" I have never experienced such a thing before, and for it to have happened so casually, and without warning—I realize I am being treated precisely the same as any animal taken to a clinic. My body is not my own. It has been marked and will be recorded, and my owner—Marcus, is the one they will look to when deciding what to do with me.

I absorb all of this information from that one little act. From now on, anybody who has one of those scanners is going to know that I ‘belong' to him.

"You need to settle down, pup." There is a slight remnant of indulgence in her voice, but I can tell that she's starting to get annoyed.

"Don't call me that."

"It's what you are…" Her gaze slides over to Marcus, reproachful. "You didn't give her the slightest bit of training before she arrived, did you?"

"She will learn by experience," Marcus says.

"You mean the hard way," Melanie replies.

Marcus' eyes slide over me with dark warning. "That will be up to her."

I want to walk out of this place, but I know if I do that, I'm going to lose the chance to see some of the craziest, most fascinating stuff I've ever seen in my life. It is curiosity that keeps me here, even though I am brimming with outrage.

I again reach back to my neck and feel something about half the size of a grain of rice sitting beneath my skin. It's real. This is actually fucking real. Marcus had me chipped. He stood me here and he took my sight and he asked this woman to insert the device as if I were a pet at the vet.

He did warn me that going into this club would be intense, but I am now starting to feel what it is like to be owned by a billionaire who moves in circles where laws can be suspended. I don't have any rights whatsoever. I have just been tagged as a piece of property, and no matter how nonchalant those who did it are, it is a big fucking deal.

"I suppose there's no point putting the blindfold on again now," he says.

"I suppose not," I reply.

"Would you like to go to the lounge, the training room, or a more disciplinary space?" Mistress Melanie asks the question, with an emphasis on ‘disciplinary' that I could do without.

"I think we will start in the lounge. My pet seems a little on edge. I think she could do with a chance to relax."

"I hope you both enjoy your evening," she says, smiling at Marcus. The smile fades when she looks at me again. I narrow my eyes at her as Marcus leads me away, through a hall, and into a drawing room.

It is a very large space filled with a great many chaise lounges and other couch-like furniture. It is arranged in various little cloisters to create more intimate spaces for conversation and other such things.

Butlers move smoothly between the groups present, delivering drinks and other items. They all wear black three-piece suits and white gloves. I feel as though they should be wearing masks, but nobody here has their face obscured. Whatever happens here, these people feel comfortable with one another knowing, it seems. The blindfold is just so little normie pets don't freak out when they're being chipped, I bet.

Several people greet Marcus, mostly at a distance via little waves and head nods. Some of them wave him over, but it seems he has his own agenda, as usual.

There is a little end table, a very curious piece of furniture. It has been made to look as though a woman in a very short skirt, fishnet stockings, high heels, and not much else has been tied up so snugly she is in the form of an end table.

I stifle a little squeal as it moves slightly, just a little twitch of a toe, and I realize it is not a carved effigy of a bound woman—it is a bound woman.

"What the fuck…" I gasp to myself. I don't want to show shock or fear, but the sight of her is truly shocking. The expression on her face is one of blissful resignation. That's the only thing that stops me from straight up freaking out.

As I look around more, I see more. Everything here is very refined and well presented. In some cases, I cannot tell who is the controlling partner in a couple. Some of them look almost normal, until you spot a collar, or an ankle cuff, or perhaps a tattoo.

Marcus takes me not by the hand, but puts his fingers on the nape of my neck. I flinch, mostly because the touch reminds me of the sharp pain of being chipped. He steers me through the lounge with that possessive grip, making sure that everybody knows exactly who I belong to.

I feel eyes running over me. Are they wondering who I am? I am nobody to anybody here. I am a perfect, total stranger. Their interest in me is not personal, I am sure. It is the same interest a butcher has when looking over a pen of pigs. I am flesh, and they are wondering how I will look when I am strung up.

Marcus' fingers tighten on the back of my neck.

"Do not worry, pet," he says. "You are safe enough with me."

Those words are disturbingly reassuring. I am safe enough with him. Not entirely safe, just safe enough. I did need to hear something like that. I needed to be reminded that I am not here to be thrown to the wolves. That would be a truly terrifying proposition. I am here with Marcus, and he is initiating me into his world.

This is what I have been stupid enough to dream of. Simply paying attention to the goings on in this room would be enough to satisfy my hopes for a while. But I think there is more to come this evening. I think I am about to end up so far out of my depth, I have no sense of where the bottom is. Marcus has taken me to the very edge of an abyss, and he is going to force me to look into this void.

"Marcus!" A man with a voice like a bassoon greets us as one of the inhabitants of this lounge waylays us. "It has been a long time since we've seen you at the Embassy. I was starting to think you must have lost your appetite!"

Marcus looks him up and down. They are both tall men, though the greeter is older. He has salt and pepper hair, a sharp jaw, and the dull, dark eyes of a shark. I know instantly and instinctively that he is not one to be trusted.

"Perhaps I did for a time, Earnest."

"Yet here you are, with a very tasty morsel. She looks practically untouched. Did you pick her up off the streets and drag her here?"

These two men loathe each other. I can tell by the way Earnest is talking about me as if I look like a street walker. I don't look any less put together than the woman who is chained to a nearby man's wheelchair by her neck. I am more clad than many of the other female guests, most of whom lounge around with bared breasts and expressions like well-fed felines.

"Nice to see you again, Earnest," Marcus says. He does not attempt to defend my honor. He does not engage with the beastly creature at all.

Instead, he sweeps me away to another little group of people. These ones smile more genuinely at the pair of us. There are two men, a redhead and a blond, and they have a pair of dark-haired ladies with them. Nobody is collared, chained, or obviously marked. These four look as though they could be in the lobby of any number of fine hotels.

"Ladies," Marcus says. "And gentlemen."

"You," the redhead says, his lips twisting in a slight smirk. "I didn't think we'd see you here again. Not after last time."

I am now intensely curious as to what happened last time, but this clearly isn't a good opportunity to ask the question.

Marcus smiles, but does not dignify the comment with a response.

"He can't stay away," the blond says.

"Charlie, this is Steven and Steven," Marcus introduces me. "And their wives, Lisa and Lisa."

"Ha," I say, assuming it is a joke, but not a particularly funny one.

"This is Charlie. She is my guest for the evening," he says.

"We've not seen you before. This must be your first time," one of the Lisas says.

"What a treat," the other Lisa smirks. "I wish it could be my first time again."

"A dose of the right stuff, and anything can feel like the first time," one of the Stevens says. It doesn't really matter which one. They are all clearly playing up in some silly way.

"Is this why we're here? To have banal conversations?" I try to ask the question discretely, but there's no real way to do that, and I am sure I am overheard.

"She's eager to experience the pleasures of the Embassy," the other Lisa says.

"Manners, pet," Marcus chides me.

I never thought I could be bored by a conversation at a secret cabal's twisted sex party, but it turns out that some people can make anything feel very pedestrian and ordinary.

"Why are we meeting these people?" I murmur the question when we are out of earshot.

"Some of these people will be useful for you to know. Some of them will appear in your life again in various guises. It might come in handy, one day, pet. But I understand, you are done with petty socialization and small talk. It's time to show you what really happens here."

He leads me out of the lounge and through a door. As soon as it opens, I hear screams. It is impossible to tell if they are cries of pleasure or pain.

I hesitate, but Marcus pulls me through.

"A few silly conversations in the lounge might feel preferable now, might they not?"

He is teasing me, but I am not listening. I am too busy staring.

In this very large room, a woman is being whipped by two men, each of whom brandish a fearsome flogger. They are taking turns striking her across her buttocks and the top of her shoulders. Every time a flogger lands, there is a fresh flash of bright red on her punished skin, and a wail escapes her.

"What did she do?"

"I could not say. This treatment might very well be a reward," Marcus says.

"She might enjoy that?"

"She might."

I have heard of S&M before, of course. Whips and chains excite me, that sort of thing. I understand the theory of it, such as it is, but seeing it in action in this liminal space gives me pause. She is being beaten publicly, and she is suffering.

I find myself pressing back against Marcus, as though he might protect me from a similar fate. I already know I would not enjoy that treatment. I didn't like it when he spanked me privately. If I were to be publicly punished, I think I would physically melt through the floor.

"I'm sorry," I murmur. "I shouldn't have agreed to come here. I don't belong here. I don't want this."

"Easy," Marcus soothes me, his fingers rubbing the back of my neck in a way that is probably supposed to be soothing, but yet again reminds me that I have been chipped. I am here because he wants me here, and I don't think I am going to be allowed to leave without a taste of some of this depravity.

Whap! Whap! Whap!

The flogging continues as Marcus ushers me through the shadows.

Marcus

I take my newest pet through the other side of the public playroom and into one of the private rooms. She has barely seen anything of what the Embassy offers, and yet she is already shaken.

"I can't be here. I can't…"

My poor pet is so very afraid. It makes my cock rise as she looks at me with those eyes welling with emotion. I shouldn't enjoy her distress, but of course I do. She has been so composed and so cocky.

"Remember how mouthy you were back in your apartment? How much sass you gave me?"

"Yes. I'm sorry. Let me go. Just let me walk out of here and you'll never see or hear from me again. I'll move out of that apartment. I'll move out of the city. I'll move out of the state."

She is babbling.

"You are not going anywhere, pet. There are some consequences you cannot avoid."

"But I'm not… I'm not like this. I don't want to be tied up like a coffee table. I don't want to be beaten by two men. I am a boring girl. I like just normal things. Normal stuff. Nothing like this."

"I know," I say. "And that is what makes this so delicious. Taking that sweet normality of yours and corrupting it."

She looks into my eyes with a sudden doe-like expression. "What are you going to do to me?"

What a delightful question.

I could do quite literally anything to her. I could break her this very moment. I could ensure she would never consider sassing me again.

"On your knees, pet."

She hesitates, then obeys.

"You have the misfortune of having gotten my attention," I tell her. "And you have the added bad luck of having spoken to me in an entirely unacceptable manner this morning before you understood the potential consequences."

She is listening to me nervously, wondering what I have in mind for her. She expects pain, and she will experience that.

The room is well appointed in beige and cornflower blue. It does not have the gaudy or tacky appearance of many dungeons. There is a spanking bench, though it looks more like a piece of avant-garde furniture.

It is also well-equipped with everything I need to start training my pet.

I decide to start with something that is guaranteed to get her attention, and I pick up a cane. Even to the most vanilla, a cane sends a message.

"No, not a cane! They're terrible things," she gasps immediately, apparently forgetting that she has spent most of our interactions today being incredibly rude one way or another.

"You've experienced one before?"

"No!"

"You will tonight. Remember everything you said to me this morning? Remember how you were rude to the nurse who was nice enough to chip you and keep you safe?" I indicate a spanking bench with the tip of the cane. "Bend over for me, pet."

She does as she is told, her skirt pulling tight over her shapely rear as she gets into position. It is a pretty sight, but it is not one I intend to indulge for long. With a cane, I need to see what I am doing.

I reach down between her thighs, and pull the skirt up and over her hips, baring her ass. Today she is wearing a lacy black pair of underwear. Today she knew there was a chance I would be seeing her unclad and made an effort. Very cute. I do not say anything, but I mentally make a note to reward her a little for that.

The panties have to come down, of course. I lower them beneath her cheeks so they frame her round bottom. She is quite a pretty picture.

"I know the cane is frightening, and I know this place is scary," I tell her. "But you are here for a reason, and it will stop being such a frightening place once you accept your place."

Swish!

The cane makes a perfect sound as it connects with the fleshiest part of her round cheeks. A bright red welt rises across both of them instantly, accompanied by a shocked gasp.

"Marcus!"

"Call me ‘Master'," I tell her. Having laid the first stroke and felt the rush of satisfaction that accompanies giving a very deserving bottom what she deserves, I have to pace and contain myself. It would be so very easy to simply beat her. She deserves it, and more importantly, I would enjoy it.

Pain can be a beautiful thing, especially when it is given to someone whose flesh is so responsive and whose mind is so receptive.

She tries to get up of course, but it is a simple thing to push her back down, my hand between her shoulder blades. I hold her in place firmly and apply another stroke of the cane, an inch or so below the first.

Charlie

It hurts. I can tell he likes the fact that it hurts, too.

"Easy, pet," he purrs. "Relax. Breathe."

It hurts to breathe. Every time I inhale, it makes the cane lines flare into fresh life. I shiver as he raises that terrible implement again. I hear a short swish and then a sharp crack. Fresh pain ripples through me, a cold shock that leaves no part of me unaffected. This stroke is worse than either of the two before it, because it lands right at the very sensitive crevice where my cheeks meet my thighs.

" Fuck! " I curse at the top of my lungs and squirm as hard as I am capable of squirming. It does me no good. Marcus is much stronger than I am, and he is more than capable of keeping me in place.

"Let me go! You're a psycho!"

"There's my feisty pet," he says. "Rediscovered your bravery, have you?"

It's not bravery. It's desperation. I don't like being caned. I don't like pain. I don't like punishment. I've bitten off so much more than I can chew. I can't believe I ever had the nerve to think I could walk into this man's world and somehow survive. He is clearly going to ruin me in every way imaginable.

"Please let me go. I'm sorry I met you. I mean, I'm sorry…"

He gives a light chuckle. "Tongue-tied are we? Perhaps you should be tied in another way. That might help calm you…"

The sound I make when he says that is something between begging for mercy and cursing at the top of my lungs.

"Easy, pet," he says, shifting his grasp to the back of my neck. It's soothing, mostly because he's stopped hitting me with the cane. "You're more sensitive than I thought you would be after all that bravado today. Then again, I suppose you did run away after a little spanking. There's no chance of repeating that today, is there?"

I whimper and squirm, three horrible hot lines still burning their way through my flesh. He is toying with me, enjoying how quickly I have given up. It is impossible to resist him.

"You're hurting me. And you're scaring me."

"I know. You deserve to feel a little fear, and as for the pain, three strokes of this cane is nothing. You will take much more than that over time."

"Well, I can't, unless you want to end me completely," I sniff. This little interlude of words is feeling like a real mercy. I am so sore, and I am very sorry for myself. I have been ripped out of my world and thrown into an alternate reality.

I may have always suspected that the ultra-rich play by their own rules and answer to nobody, but it is something else to discover that it is true, and that I am stuck in the middle of it.

"Such a dramatic little pet," Marcus says, rubbing my scalp gently with the tips of his fingers. "I told you that I would make you regret your earlier behavior. Do you regret it yet?"

"Yes!" I say the word so quickly I almost trip over it. "Yes, I regret it, and I'm sorry, and please can I go home? I've seen enough."

"I will need some kind of demonstration of your proper chastisement," Marcus says. "Come down off that bench, but do it on your hands and knees. My pets crawl beside me."

I don't like that plural that slipped in there.

"Pets? How many women are you dragging through this sick ritual?"

Marcus

She's jealous. That is very telling, and rather adorable.

Of course I'm not going to tell her that she's the only woman I'm playing with, even though that is true. The unfortunate incident Earnest referred to has left an unpleasant taste in my mouth when it comes to playing with those who have surrendered to the Embassy. I decided that I was only going to entertain women I picked myself, and I was going to make absolutely sure I knew everything there was to know about them.

That's why I've been so careful about Charlie. That's why I've had her laptop hacked, and why my assistant has been going through her emails to highlight any areas of concern, and why I've had a full background worked up. I know as much about this half-caned woman in front of me as I can know.

"Off the bench and on your knees," I repeat the order.

"I'm not going to play your little sex games," she says, now apparently convinced that she is not the only woman in my life.

It's not an entirely strange conclusion to draw. It's assumed that most men of my ilk have more women than fingers. Sometimes, that's true. Other times, it's not. It depends how much a guy has to lose by allowing a string of women to have intimate access to him. More than one of us has been taken down by a siren sent by an enemy.

"Do as you are told, or I will give you another three strokes of that cane," I promise her. "Your impudence and resistance will not be tolerated."

She turns her head and looks up at me with a pouty expression. She wants reassurance. I hesitate to give it to her, because I want her obedience at all and any costs. But perhaps that's not fair. Perhaps if I want loyalty, I will have to demonstrate some of it.

I crouch down next to the punishment bench where she is still perched, and I loop a finger through the D-ring on her collar, drawing her face toward mine.

"I am not toying with, playing with, or seeing any other women," I tell her, watching as an expression of relief flashes through her eyes. "And… I will not tell you to get down on your hands and knees again, understand?"

She gives me a little nod. I release her collar and stand up, moving back to give her a chance to do as she is told.

Charlie

I shouldn't be this excited to hear he's single. More than single. He just said he wasn't even toying with anybody else. That means I'm the only toy in his box, as it were. I'm going to get all of his attention.

I slide down off the bench, knowing that he's not going to give me another chance. The motion makes me ache as the skin where I was caned is pulled tight.

Marcus stands over me, looking down with his charismatic, hooded gaze.

"You look good on hands and knees, with your punished ass on display," he says. "You look like you have gotten what you deserve, naughty little pet. You know what else?"

"What?"

"You're wet."

"No, I'm not." I deny it immediately.

"Yes. You are. As much as you hate the cane, the pain, the punishment, your body has responded to it with arousal. It's a common response for submissive women."

"I'm not a submissive woman!"

He laughs at me and tugs at the collar around my neck, his big warm hand still rubbing gently over my ass. He is careful not to make the cane lines hurt worse, he touches them carefully, but mostly rubs the flesh between them. And he lets his fingers drift down the center, following the tight crack of my ass until it parts and gives way to a part of my anatomy that is shamefully wet.

The sound I make when he touches me is guttural and animal and undeniably one of complete enjoyment. His fingers rubbing over my pussy feels like a circuit being closed.

"Fuck me…" I moan. "What…"

"You're probably not used to being this sensitive," he says. "The punishment… the pain that you are so reluctant to enjoy, it creates sensitivity in every part of the body, including this sweet mound."

I am on my hands and knees, panting my pleasure as my new master, a man who has turned my world upside down, strokes my lips with a tantalizingly light touch.

"You need one more thing before you can come," he says.

I have no idea what that could be, but I hope it doesn't hurt.

"Is it gonna…"

"No," he says, practically reading my mind. "This won't cause you any pain. Not if you relax. If they have the room prepared for me the way I asked them to…"

He opens one of the drawers and takes out a couple of items. One is lubricant, which I don't think I need. I am absolutely fucking soaked.

Then I see what he has in his other hand, and the lubricant makes so much more sense. It is a butt plug. I shouldn't be surprised by that—and I'm not. What I am surprised by is the tail attached to the other end of it. It is a thick, bushy, pale tail made from… I have no idea. It looks realistic, but I have to hope it hasn't come off an actual animal.

"What kind of… is that real?"

"It's real in the sense that it exists," Marcus says. "But it's not been cut off a fox, if that's what you're wondering. The only arctic vixen to suffer will be you."

He's so damn smooth.

"I want you to fold your arms in front of you on the floor, and I want you to turn your head and rest your cheek on them. Keep your hips high. Present your holes."

That order makes me blush furiously. He can say the most filthy things in a way that makes them seem almost suave.

"I can't," I whimper.

"Of course you can. You're capable of being a bad girl, which means you are capable of being a good girl for me too. Do you as you're told."

I find myself moving to obey him. It is a relatively small movement in the grand scheme of things, after all. I lower my arms, and I fold them in front of myself, resting my cheek on the back of my right wrist. My hips remain high, seeming higher and more vulnerable than before.

"Very good," he says. Those two words contain an intense approval that washes through me like a warm wave. Up until this moment, I didn't know what it felt like to be so intensely praised. He barely said anything, but his tone contains multitudes. I have become sensitive to him so quickly in this room in which only he and I seem to exist.

I feel his fingers on my ass, possessive digits tracing the cane strokes he laid down with such brutal accuracy. Those fingers slide into my cleft. I feel warm droplets of oil being dripped down my crevice and subsequently smeared into the tight little bud that has protected a part of my body I have never allowed any man to touch before.

"Very good," he says, repeating those two lovely words as he pleasures my sensitive butt. "I could have made this unpleasant for you, the same way the cane was unpleasant. But obedience will earn you pleasure."

The most pleasurable part of this is that all of the hot feelings that could be awful shame and embarrassment are becoming something else. They're swirling around inside of me, they're nestling into the dark crevices in my mind that I've never explored before. They're making me feel excitement rather than cold fear. They're activating every part of me, and they are making it possible for me to obey him when he gives his next order—which is to relax as he slides that twisted tail right inside my ass.

I feel the tight ring of muscle stretching around the warmed metal plug. This is a tool designed for a purpose, and it does its job well. It is not as large as I was afraid of it being—or at least it does not hurt the way I thought it would. The fur of the tail hangs down over my pussy and down between my thighs. I can feel the strands of it against my sex, sticking lightly because I am absolutely soaking wet.

"That is adorable," Marcus declares, wrapping his hand around the top of the tail and giving it a gentle little tug, making the plug bob lightly in my ass.

Adorable? I don't know if I feel adorable. I feel stripped. I feel bare. I feel as though all dignity has been taken from me and replaced by desire. My body is an ocean of need.

I want him inside me. The plug in my ass is not nearly enough. I want his cock. I want his cock like I have never, ever wanted a cock before. It's a level of need that makes me a little afraid.

My hips are swerving and swirling as he toys with me, teasing me in that careful, calculated way he does. I am already becoming accustomed to his behavior, to the way he handles me intimately. There is an assuredness to his touch, an easy command.

"You like this, don't you, pet?"

"Mmmmm…"

"You like it, don't you?"

"Yes," I admit, the word escaping me in a hapless whimper.

"You do, and you're going to like the other things I have in mind for you too," he says. "I want you to submit this evening, Charlie."

His use of my first name almost seems jarring now that he has taken to calling me ‘pet'. I want the intimacy of that moniker. I like how it implies that I belong to him somehow.

Marcus has gotten under my skin quickly by welting it with his cane.

The next thing I know, a rope begins to wind around my wrists. I take a deep breath and try to compose myself. I want to show him that I am trying, but there is something about being bound that just makes me want to crawl out of my skin. I start to breathe faster and more shallowly, trying to keep it together. Ultimately, I cannot hide my distress from him.

"Easy, pet," he murmurs, slowing his rope work.

He crouches down, takes my chin in his fingers, and inspects my face, looking deep into my eyes with an expression that makes me feel as though he can see everything that lives inside me.

"Not tonight," he murmurs, more to himself than to me. "You've suffered enough, and you've obeyed enough. You tried hard, pet. I see that."

I start crying. Tears well in my eyes and run down my cheeks as he gives me something I don't think I have ever truly had: appreciation of my effort. It doesn't matter that I couldn't give him everything he wanted. It doesn't matter that I'm not being perfect. My trying is enough.

I feel the rope fall away from my wrists, and then I feel him scoop me up into his arms. My legs wrap around his waist, my tail still hanging from its place in my ass as he cups me and holds me close, giving me reassurance, comfort, and praise.

And then I feel his cock sliding inside me. There are still tears in my eyes as he takes me with long, possessive strokes. He can be tender sometimes, especially after he has been harsh. Now is one of those moments that I feel not only completely taken and completely cared for, but also completely understood.

Marcus' cock feels as though it belongs in me. My pussy wraps around him and grips him with all the passion my flesh can muster. I want this moment to last forever, this twisted connection, with the tail in my ass brushing against his balls as he holds me curled up in his lap and fucks me in the most sensual of ways.

It's too soon to fall in love with him, but I don't know if I can help it.