She turned back around and spread her legs once she was facing the wall.
Crack. Crack.
He delivered two precise, hard strikes, one on each ass cheek. The contact burned with a sharp pain that was totally at odds with the thud of the flogger. She danced up on her toes, crying out as her bottom burned.
He made her suffer for a moment, then rubbed away the sting.
“Turn,” he commanded.
This time when she turned around he reached up and unclipped the cuffs.
“Master, I’m sorry did I?—”
He pressed a finger to her lips, waiting for her to meet his gaze.
“Offer your breasts to me.”
Her eyes widened even as she caught her breath. Slowly she cupped her breasts, lifting them a little.
He flicked her nipples with the slapper, the smooth, hard edge causing bursts of sensation.
“Do you need the pain?” he asked.
“Yes, Master.”
“Do you need a reminder that your body is my property?”
The words were delicious, and the fact that they didn’t put her on edge was a sign of how deep into subspace she’d slipped. They never used words like property except for when she needed help getting into subspace.
“Yes, Master.”
“And what do I do with my property?”
“Whatever you want, Master.”
“Good girl. Now you’re going to hold still while I hurt those pretty nipples. If you need to, you can flinch and move if it helps you get through the pain, but you may not touch your nipples and I expect you back in this position, offering up your breasts, after each strike.”
“How many, Master?”
“As many as I want.”
The first strike hit her left nipple dead on.
Cessie screamed. There was a time when only after ten strikes would the pain of having her nipples paddled be enough to elicit a reaction. But she was out of practice. She’d forgotten how sharp the burn was, how her first instinct would be to rub away the sting, but she couldn’t because she wasn’t allowed to touch her own nipples.
She’d forgotten how peaceful her mind became when the impact play hit this level of intensity.
He struck her left nipple a second time before switching to her right. They weren’t soft or gentle strikes. Her tits bounced and jiggled with each strike. Her nipples and areolas deepened in color to almost maroon after she’d had five on each nipple.
She hunched forward after the tenth, silent tears sliding down her face. Slowly she straightened, shoulders back to thrust her breasts out, hands still holding them up, offering them to him.
People were watching, concern on some faces, understanding on others. It was easy to spot the masochists.
Drake, the Dungeon Master was also watching carefully, so she smiled at him, even as her breath came in uneven starts and fits.
Then she looked at Leon. Her master. Her lover. He was the one place in the world she was safe.
Something passed between them, and the best term she could find for it was relief. Relief that they’d found their way back here.