Beg For Me by Sierra Cartwright

Chapter Four

“You’re submitting to me?” he asked, pressing for answers so they were both clear. Consent was imperative. Without it, he wouldn’t move forward. “Willingly?”

She took a breath and exhaled it in shaky measures. “Yes, Sir.”

“Then, you’ll wear this?” He held up the collar.

When she answered affirmatively, he secured the sturdy leather around her neck. He tightened it to the point he could get just one finger between her nape and the buckle.

She looked up momentarily. Her mouth was slightly parted, and her breaths were shortened, whether from fear or anticipation, he didn’t know.

“I’m nervous,” she confessed.

“I think that’s what you want. Isn’t it? The rush? Adrenaline? Uncertainty? Expectation? A touch of fear, maybe?”

“Is that meant to reassure me?”

“Not in the least.”

“We’ve never played together before.”

“If you think I’m playing now, think again.” He placed his hands on her shoulders. “Now stand.”

Since the gown was a monstrosity of length and fabric, and because her arms were still bound behind her, she struggled to comply. He made no move to help her. The usually graceful Ms. Araceli was out of her element, but to her credit, she didn’t protest. When she stood in front of him, head bowed slightly, he said, “Good girl.”

“I—”

“You look lovely.” His cock had never been harder.

He fastened the leash to the collar’s attached D-ring.

Torin liked having her at his mercy, on his leash, the black collar tight and stark against her delicate olive-toned skin.

From the beginning, Mira had fired a protective streak in him, one he’d never had for another woman. It was more than just their being partners—something much, much more.

He wrapped a hand around her upper arm to give her stability as they walked up the stairs to the private rooms. In those, there were fewer rules. The club’s safe word would be honored, and DMs checked in on the scenes. Beyond that, nudity was okay, whereas it was forbidden in the rest of the dungeon.

He checked in with the DM who was in charge. “Room eight, Master Torin.”

“Thank you.”

When they were inside, with the door closed, he moved her to the middle of the room. “Limits?”

“What you might expect,” she replied. “Bruises are okay.” She smiled. “Hopefully they’re more fun than the ones I received during training.”

“I think you’ll find them much more pleasing. Yes.”

“No breaking the skin.” She exhaled. “Nothing that will impair my ability to do my job.”

He nodded. “Safe word?”

“Sangria.”

“Sangria?”

“Sangria,” she said. “It’s red. At least traditionally, it is.”

And it was a drink her country was famous for. Of course. And it fit with Ember. “What are your limits?”

“Permanent injury. Breath play. Knives. Unsafe sex.”

“Nothing else?”

“No.”

“You’re an extreme player?” It wouldn’t surprise him, with the way she approached life, as if everything was a challenge to be conquered.

“I have a safe word.”

“Any problems with complete nudity?”

“Whose, Sir?” she fired back, lips quirking a little.

He grinned. The other night, she’d clearly not had any issue with him being naked. He wondered what her touch would have been like on his dick. Firm, no doubt. Araceli wasn’t shy. “Yours, of course.”

“I’m…” She hesitated, and he was glad.

Torin wanted her to think it through. He wouldn’t be able to look without touching.

“Okay.”

“Penetration?”

“With toys, fingers, yes. But… We may need to take sex as a separate subject,” she said.

“Agreed.” Smart idea. He removed the bindings from around her wrists then smoothed the red marks from her skin. Her pulse quickened. “You may want to thank me, lest I think you’re ungrateful.”

“Thank you,” she repeated dutifully, respectfully. “Sir.”

Before he got lost in her fathomless eyes, Torin unclipped the leash and curled it up on a nearby table. Then he went to work unfastening the dozens of tiny hooks and eyes that held her dress closed. He gave silent thanks that women didn’t dress like this anymore. As it was, it took all his restraint not to go barbarian on her and rip her out of the yards and yards of material.

When it was most of the way open, he drew the gown off her shoulders and let it fall to her waist. “Good girl,” he said when he realized she wasn’t wearing a bra. His cock was hard, demanding. He reached around to cup her breasts.

“Commander…”

“Sir. Or Master Torin while we’re here,” he reminded her.

“Master Torin.”

“Much better. Are you protesting? Needing to use a safe word?”

“No.” Her response was instant. “It’s…”

“You trust me with your life. Here, you need to trust me with you emotions as well as your physical wellbeing. I promised to give you what you want. In return, you have to be honest in letting me know. There’s no room for lies.”

“You’re turning me on.”

“Good.” Outside of the Quarter, he wasn’t sure they would have ever gotten here. There was too much between them, real-world complications, of being partners, of her being his former student. He rolled her nipples between his thumbs and forefingers.

She moaned.

Even though they were well away from the rest of the club, nearby cries reached them, as did the bass thumping from the main dungeon.

He squeezed her nipples.

She moaned ever so softly.

He increased the pressure on her nipples until he knew it was painful.

Her knees buckled, but she caught herself and stood up tall before he said anything. “I assume that means you like pain.”

She didn’t answer.

“Araceli?” Then he frowned. “Or would you prefer I call you Ember?” It might be easier for her to separate her identifies that way.

“I go by Ember when I’m here.”

“Like fire?”

Her eyes were already hazy. Slowly, she nodded.

It suited her. Very much.

He squeezed her nipples even harder, then instantly backed off.

She allowed her head to tip back, and her mouth parted.

“I asked you a question a moment ago. Do you like pain?”

“Yes.” It was a whisper. A confession.

“I didn’t hear you.”

“Yes.” Her word was louder, clearer. “Yes, Sir. I like pain.”

He tightened his grip on her hard flesh

Though she moaned, she didn’t protest.

“Tell me what you think, what you’re feeling.”

“Damn. I like it,” she said. “It hurts. S-s-sir!”

“Shall I stop?”

“Oh heavens. No.”

Eventually, he relented and released her. She sighed and her head drooped forward. Behind his zipper, his cock throbbed. Torin wanted to be naked, buried inside her.

He unfastened the final hook and eye that secured the dress at the small of her back. The fabric pooled on the floor. Next, he untied the ridiculous layers of petticoats and let them fall, as well. “Step out of the dress and everything else.” Torin’s voice was scratchy, more hoarse than he intended. This woman…

Her motions exaggerated and delicate, she did as he said.

She stood in front of him, almost bare. Even though she couldn’t have known it, her choice in lingerie was perfect. Her black lace garter belt and silky, sexy stockings were the stuff of his fantasies. Her high-heeled, fuck-me shoes were definitely not around during the Victorian era, but they sure as hell turned him on now.

If he weren’t careful, she’d bring him to his knees.

He shrugged out of his jacket and tossed it on top of the table. “Remove my belt, please.” Since he didn’t have his toy bag with him, his options for beating her were limited.

Her eyes opened a bit wider, but she reached for the buckle. “I can’t help but notice your dick is hard, Sir.”

And getting harder.

She took her time drawing the leather back through its loops. Torture. Pure torture. And undoubtedly deliberate.

With both hands, she offered the leather to him. He accepted, placing it on the table near his jacket. “Now that the dress isn’t in your way, you may go to the far wall.” After a short paused, he added, “On your hands and knees.”

Her mouth dropped open. “You want me to crawl?”

“It’s not a suggestion, Ember. It’s an order. Do I need to repeat myself?”

She shook her head. “My stockings—”

“Can be replaced. Please do as I say.”

She sank gracefully to the floor before moving onto hands and knees, doggy-style. She moved across the floor with a flawless class that made his dick physically ache. Her pert rear swayed slightly. He admired the length of her leg muscles, and he wondered how her thighs would feel wrapped around his waist.

When she arrived at the wall, she stopped and waited for further instruction.

“Stand and face it, please. Arms above your head. I want you totally flat against the bricks. Press your breasts into them. Be sure the concrete is scratching your nipples.”

She hesitated only seconds before leaning in.

“I’m going to remove your panties.”

Although she tightened her muscles, she didn’t protest as he worked the wisp of material down her thighs. In turn, he lifted each of her feet to remove the thong entirely. Since he didn’t want to drop her underwear on the floor, he wadded the silk and stuck it into his front pocket. “Much better.”

Mira closed her legs, as if that could protect her.

“Feet shoulder width apart.” While she stood there, held only in place by the force of his will and her obedience, he grabbed two sets of restraints from the pegs on the adjoining wall.

He moved in behind her. “You’re exquisite, Ember.”

“Thank you…Master.”

Master. He liked the sound of that much better than “Sir.”

He crouched to wrap the restraints around her ankles and then secure them to the hooks in the floor.

He trailed his fingers up the inside of her right thigh. Her legs trembled. “Are you damp?” He drew a finger across her tender pussy lips.

She jerked and gasped, dropping her hands beside her.

“Keep your arms above your head,” he instructed her. “You are damp. Will you still be like that after I use my belt on you? Or will you be wetter?” He slid his finger back and forth then pressed the pad of his thumb against her clit.

She jerked convulsively. “I… Please. I need…”

“On second thought, lower your arms. Reach behind you and spread your ass cheeks.”

Slowly, she complied with his order.

For a moment, he closed his eyes to get control of his libido. Despite the fact they’d agreed not to have sex, he wanted to plunge deep inside her, slamming her against the wall, pounding out his orgasm, and taking her with him.

Intending to arouse her to the point she couldn’t think, he teased her entrance.

Arching her back, she silently asked for more. For a long time, he played with her before plunging a finger deep inside her.

With a whimper, she jerked.

Masculine pride rushed through him. He liked having this woman respond to him so completely.

Torin drew a deep breath. He was in control of the scene, and he intended to control himself as well. “How close are you to orgasm?” he asked against her ear. He moved his finger, and her internal walls constricted around him.

“It’s been a long time,” she said, her breaths becoming more and more shallow as he explored her insides. “M-Master Arthur warmed me up.”

Torin growled and impaled her with a second finger. The idea of Arthur taking any liberties with this woman, his sub, infuriated him. “You’re here with me now. You’ll not orgasm without my say-so.”

When she didn’t respond, he asked, “Am I clear?”

“Yes, Master. But…”

“Problem?”

“I come easily.”

“You’ll come when I say you’ll come. Keep your ass cheeks parted!” He knelt to lick her while he finger fucked her.

“Sir!”

He stopped short of letting her orgasm.

“Master Torin, you are impossible.”

He grinned but was glad she couldn’t see him. She delighted him, made him want to please her. “Did you have permission to speak?”

“No,” she said.

“And…?”

“The sub apologizes.”

“Apology accepted.” He loved the way she referred to herself in the third person. She was into the scene as deeply as he was. “We’ll just add another two lashes for insubordination.”

She made a funny sound, somewhere between a mewl and a protest, but didn’t say anything else.

He stood then pulled out his fingers from her, trying hard not to think about how badly he wanted to replace them with his cock.

He pressed a damp finger against her anus. Her muscles tightened, but instead of pressing forward and into the wall, trying to escape from him, she took a breath and pressed back in silent invitation.

Lust filled him.

He wanted her. “Bear down,” he told her.

“Yes, Sir,” she whispered.

As she followed his instructions, he pushed his finger in farther, past his first knuckle. She moaned and wiggled. Exactly the reaction he wanted.

“More,” she begged softly.

He continued on, stretching her wider, sinking his finger all the way to the hilt.

“Mas…Master… May I come?”

“No chance.” He pulled out.

She groaned in protest.

“Being impatient will prolong the amount of time until you are allowed an orgasm.”

“I understand…Master.”

After washing his hands in the nearby sink, he returned to her. “Arms spread, Ember. I want you properly secured.”

Her shoulders rose and fell, as if she was breathing hard. Although she hadn’t made anything ordinary off-limits, he knew he was pushing a boundary now. They’d never played together before, and all she had to operate on were her instincts. “I’m waiting,” he said softly against her ear.

Deliberately, as if it were mind over matter, she moved her wrists higher.

Beating her was going to be a pleasure. The scent of her arousal made him that much more anxious to get on with it.

* * *

Torin had been right earlier.To Mira, scening was about the rush. The anticipation of knowing he intended to use his belt on her was like a drug, one she couldn’t get enough of.

Realizing she was in danger of losing control, Mira called on her yoga practice and drew a breath deep into her lungs then exhaled it out in a controlled, measured way. When her nerves didn’t calm, she did it again

“Right wrist first,” Torin said, breaking into her thoughts.

His touch was uncompromising but surprisingly gentle as he secured her right wrist in place. Instinctively she pulled back on the tether, testing it. It was as unyielding as the Dom himself. A ripple of anticipation jolted through her body.

The wall was uncomfortably cold and the bricks scratched her tender skin. She was hyperaware of the room’s chill, of the door with its window, of Torin’s spicy, masculine scent.

He secured her left wrist in place, leaving her splayed and helpless.

Her pussy was still dripping, and her clit throbbed. For a moment, he traced the collar around her neck. Wildly, she wondered what it would like if it really was his, if he placed it on her as a sign of his ownership.

Scared by her own thoughts, she shoved the idea from her mind. It was ludicrous, something she didn’t want.

“How many strokes with my belt?” he asked.

Uh. He wanted her to decide? A chill—part delight, part dread—chased up her spine. Torin wouldn’t let her abdicate her role in their play.

“Ember?”

“Eight, Sir?”

“Good place to start.”

She shuddered.

“How many more for allowing Arthur to see you? And, worse, touch you?”

“When I invited him to play, I didn’t realize I wasn’t allowed to do that,” she protested.

“That wasn’t the question.”

How could he arbitrarily enforce rules that she didn’t know existed? It wasn’t fair. Then again, nothing about their time together ever had been, starting with the training exercise at the nightclub. “Two.”

“Three it is.”

She opened her mouth but clamped it shut again. He’d simply add more strokes the more she argued. And since she didn’t know how hard he would hit her, she figured she’d better err on the side of safety.

“How many total?”

“Eleven.”

“You forgot the ones from earlier. The insubordination.”

She sagged a little.

“So how many?”

“Thirteen.” Quickly she added, “Sir” so he didn’t add any extra for a lack of respect.

“Is your pussy still wet?”

“It was. Now I’m suddenly a little nervous,” she admitted, “so I’m not as turned on as I was earlier.”

He moved in behind her. Using his body, he pushed her hard against the cold, unyielding wall. She felt the scratch of denim and the hardness of his cock against her naked backside. Her breasts were flattened against the bricks. Her nipples hardened from her overwhelming arousal.

“I’m tempted to just fuck you with my hand while you’re strung up here, totally helpless.”

“Now I’m wet,” she whispered. He didn’t even need to touch her. He could turn her on just with words. He thrust repeatedly against her rear, simulating intercourse. She’d said no sex because it would be confusing outside of the club. But in this room, they could fuck, and maybe if they confined it just to here… More than anything she wanted his penetration, his possession. “Please,” she begged. “Please fuck me.”

“We need to discuss it when you’re not so aroused.”

His breath was warm, his body was hard, and his spicy, outdoorsy scent enveloped her.

“You’ll count each stroke for me, mo shearc.”

His use of the Irish endearment undid her. It was easy to keep herself emotionally detached from him when she thought of him as her trainer and he called her by her last name? But referring to her with tenderness, in that tantalizing brush of a brogue…? She squeezed her eyes closed, as if that could keep him at bay.

He moved away.

“Damn it,” she said. “Damn you.”

The bastard actually laughed.

He left her weak and needy, on the razor’s edge of fulfillment.

He caught her completely off guard, unprepared.

Torin landed the first blow, right under her buttocks, with a vicious upward stroke. She gasped from shock, from sudden pain.

His punishment had been much, much harder than she’d anticipated.

“Count,” he reminded her.

“One,” she bit out. There’d been nothing erotic about his first smack. Maybe he wasn’t as fabulous as she’d thought.

He caught her again, in the exact same spot, with the exact same pressure.

“Ember?”

“Two.” She braced herself as much as she could with nothing to hold on to.

The third followed suit, and it was then that she realized his skill. His aim was exact, his timing impeccable. He was a master of beatings.

“This is meant to satisfy all the nasty things inside you that you won’t give a voice to. Unless I do this, you won’t be happy.”

He was so fucking right that she hated him.

“How many?” he snapped.

“Three!”

He added a little more force to the fourth, and she cried out.

“Four!”

“That’s my girl.”

For the next few seconds nothing happened. He allowed the time and silence to stretch. The only thing she was aware of was her own frantic pulse.

“Let me know when you’re ready to proceed.”

He thought she was struggling to take it? That annoyed the hell out of her. “Bring it on.” She waited a couple of seconds before adding, “Commander.”

“You haven’t learned about goading me?”

Instead of hitting her, he tormented her, moving in closer, reaching between her legs, trailing his fingertips up her thigh…making her unravel.

He pinched her clit. She cried out. It hurt, but deliciously so. She ground her hips forward, all but trying to get off against the wall.

“Stop that. Naughty hussy.”

She would have stamped her foot if it hadn’t been shackled.

“Where were we?”

“Four,” she said.

“Are you ready to resume?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“More respectful. Better.” This time he caught her across the fleshy part of her butt cheeks.

Damn it! “Five.” It stung so bad. Hurt so good.

God, she’d wanted this. She’d wanted a man who could give her everything she needed. She liked the pain he inflicted, loved the fact he gave her a few seconds to savor the sensation before moving on.

“We have an audience,” he told her. “Tore has been watching for the last few minutes.”

That thought turned her on.

Before she was fully ready, Torin landed the next stripe across the uppermost part of her left thigh. The tip of the belt bit into her pussy. She moaned. She groaned. She wiggled, trying to escape. But he’d confined her perfectly, exquisitely.

He moved to her other side to catch her right thigh. Again, the end of the leather monster sliced against her exposed pussy.

“I can smell your heat,” he said.

“Seven…and it freaking hurt, Sir.”

“Bad?”

“Bad.” Miserably, she nodded.

“Is that why your pussy is so wet?”

He added the eighth on top of the last two, as if tying them together.

“Tore is gone.”

Torin’s next three were perfectly timed and impeccably landed. Each stripe was on top of the previous one, across her butt cheeks instead of the upper part of her thighs. They hurt like hell, and he wielded the leather aggressively. He gave no quarter, and she asked for none, wanting to feel the full power of his lash.

Each of the three blows dragged a scream from her.

She’d never been beaten so soundly, never felt so overcome with pain, with emotion. And yet, a small part of her realized they weren’t done yet. She still had to take the ones for her earlier insubordination.

“You remembered.”

And so had he, apparently. “I’m ready.”

“I’m not.” Instead, he scraped the prong of his buckle along the marks he’d made, digging into her skin.

It blazed torturously, pleasurably.

Her pussy was dripping from her arousal.

No other Dom had ever turned her on this way.

“I want your ass sticking out.” Torin bent to unfasten her ankles then pressed his palm against her lower belly to move her back a little. “How are the bricks on your nipples?”

Because she’d moved each time he landed a blow, her skin had been abraded. “They’re not as good as nipple clamps,” she confessed, not believing she was admitting this. “But hot.”

“Oh, Ember. The things I intend to do to you.”

She wanted to experience all of them in their short time remaining.

“Thrust your hips out from the wall.”

With her body secured, it was difficult to get into the position he’d requested, but she knew better than to complain.

Before her mind could assimilate, he spanked her, his open palm landing against her already raw skin.

Unbelievably his hand hurt far worse than the bite of leather.

“How many more, Ember?”

“Two.”

“Ask me for them.”

She wanted to sink into the oblivion of her thoughts, absorb the pain, make sense of it, savor it. But he wouldn’t allow her that luxury. “Please, Master Torin. Please spank me.”

“Where do you want them?”

“On my ass, Sir.”

“Not on your cunt?”

Her insides constricted. For a moment she forgot to breathe. The idea of his powerful hand landing on her pussy scared her, thrilled her. And suddenly she had to know, had to know what it felt like, had to have the experience. “Yes,” she whispered.

“I didn’t hear you.”

“Yes,” she said louder. “Punish me there.”

“Where?”

“My pussy,” she said.

He played with her first, stroking her labia, teasing her clit, dipping a finger inside her arousal-slickened vagina. Her body convulsed. She was so close…

The first stinging blow made her gasp, made her even wetter.

“One more.”

She moved slightly, arching her back, offering him better access to her private parts.

“Good girl.”

His final slap forced her onto her toes. She cried his name.

Then she felt him behind her, his strong hands forcing her butt cheeks apart even farther, making her entire body strain.

He tongued her, and she screamed. She hadn’t realized he’d dropped to his knees. Relentlessly he continued, forcing her to fight an orgasm. She groaned and jerked when he pressed his thumb against her anal opening. The sensations were too much, pushing her beyond her endurance capability.

Mira needed the relief from the tension clawing inside her. “Master! Ohh, Master! I need to come.”

He moved away from her and pinched the inside of her right thigh, but the distraction wasn’t enough.

Then, without permission, breaking his rules, she shattered, pulling against her restraints, her hips jerking uncontrollably, her entire body shuddering against the rigid wall.

The orgasm was powerful, debilitating, every bit as emotional as it was physical. She was drained, her body limp in her bondage.

His presence overwhelmed her.

Though her eyes were squeezed shut, she pictured him, tight blue jeans—made even tighter by the size of his erection—scuffed and scarred boots, a black T-shirt with short sleeves, the fabric showing his powerful arms.

His scent was consuming, spice mixed with a hint of pure male sweat and the tanginess of a heated Southern evening.

But it was the way he’d beaten her that drained her completely.

He’d been relentless, demanding.

He made her hornier than she’d been in years.

“Ember?” he said, his tone was gruff, and it cut into her fantasies. Then, against her ear, he asked, “Did you come?”

She froze. She’d seen this kind of behavior before. Other Doms she’d been with had acted the same way, feigning shock and disbelief that she’d come without permission.

She knew intuitively that Torin would have continued to eat her, tongue her, press into her anus until she came. He knew how to touch her, how to encourage the response he desired. Torin Carter had forced her into a no-win situation. Still, Mira was startled into complete silence.

“Mo shearc?”

“Yes,” she whispered. “Yes, Master Torin. I came.”

“Most unfortunate. Now I’m afraid you really must be punished.”