The Dark Forest: A Collection Of Erotic Fairytales(93)
“You’ll count these.”
“Yes, sir,” she said. “How… how many?”
“As many as I deem necessary,” Drake said, knowing that her mind would stay more focused without knowing when her whipping would be over. Lifting his arm, the belt whirred through the air and landed with a sharp crack against her bottom.
“One!” He gave her another, slightly beneath the first.
“Two!” Her voice didn’t waver until she reared her head up and shrieked, her feet dancing as her knees bent, her bottom bobbing up and down. “Six! Please… I’m so sorry!”
“Head down and back up on your toes. If I have to tell you again not to break position, we shall add the cane. Is that clear?”
Her body stilled, and she groaned. “Ye… yes, sir.”
Crack! “Seven!” Crack! “Eight!” Her bottom wagged, each stroke having her flesh flare white for the briefest moment before color rushed to fill the paleness. Crack! Crack! “Nine, Ten!” As the fifteenth stroke landed across the spot where her ass met her thighs, she shrieked, rearing up and dropping to a squat, her hands rubbing frantically across the wheal the belt had raised.
Drake simply waited, the belt hanging from his hand. Just as quickly as she’d dropped, she bounced back up, her eyes wide as she found his. “Oh, God… I’m sorry… I-I didn’t mean…”
Nodding towards the chair, he heard her sob and watched her drape herself over its back, smiling when she spread her legs even wider, lifted her ass higher as if that might have her Master ignore her transgression. It wouldn’t but he’d finish her strapping before addressing her newest naughtiness. The sixteenth stroke was placed exactly where the previous one had been delivered, testing her resolve to submit… to prove her contrition. “Sixteen! Please…” She was sobbing, the whipping testing her obedience with every stroke. Her voice quavered as he continued, the numbers becoming less clear and yet she didn’t break position again or miss a single count. Crack! “Twe… twenty-fi… five!”
Drake lowered his arm and stepped close, running his palm over her welted, flaming bottom. She didn’t attempt to pull away though he knew her ass was beyond scorched. Moving even closer, he pressed his groin against her and leaned over. “Do not ever lie to me again for the next time it will be fifty. Understand?”
“Ye… yes, sir. I’m so sorry, Master.”
Stepping back, he threaded his belt back around his waist. He was pleased that she didn’t attempt to rise while he moved across the room and reached into an antique umbrella stand and withdrew a rattan cane. Swishing it through the air, he heard her groan at the unmistakable sound and saw her ass twitch. Returning to stand at her side, he began tapping the cane against her bottom and then rolled it against the wheals that painted her sit spots red. “Was that rubbing worth it, Regina?”
“No… no, Master. I’m so sorry that I broke position.”
“I’m sure you are.” After a final tap, he lifted his arm. The whirring sound preceded the sharp thwack and was followed by her shrill cry as the thin red line instantly bloomed against her already crimson flanks. Though she didn’t push up, her ass jiggled and bounced, only stilling when the cane tapped again. “Please… please…” The plea was muffled as her face was buried in the leather of the chair. There was no need to rush. She’d been warned and needed to feel each individual bite of the implement he loved and she truly abhorred. Whir… thwack! Scream. The cycle was repeated, each of the half-dozen strokes given only after the lewd, erotic gyrations of her ass had stilled.
“Rise.” He stood close in case she faltered, giving her a moment after she stood to regain her equilibrium. She lifted her tear-streaked face to his.
“Thank you, sir.”
Nodding, he handed her the cane after telling her to return it to its place. “If I have need to have you retrieve it again tonight, the next set will go on your thighs.”
“Yes, Master.” As she walked to the stand, he admired his handiwork. It never ceased to amaze him how many hues of red there were. Her ass was a mottled swirl that ranged from red, to scarlet, to crimson, the backs of her thighs a rosy shade of pink. Six distinct wheals decorated her bottom, each one a fraction of an inch beneath the previous one painted. Still, her atonement was not yet complete. When she turned to walk back to him, he moved to pick up the nipple clamps.
Chapter Eight
“Play with your titties.”
“Wh… what?”
“You heard me. Come now, don’t pretend you haven’t played with them before. As you seem to enjoy touching what is mine, do so now. Get those nipples nice and hard.”
“Please… I… can’t you just… whip me again?”
“No. You don’t get to decide what punishment you are given and, Regina, let me remind you that there are many ways a girl can regret her naughtiness. I want your fingers twisting and pulling on those nipples until they are swollen and hard.”
He watched as she slowly lifted her hands, covering her breasts for a moment before her fingers took her nipples and began pulling. Despite her hesitancy, it didn’t take but a few seconds before both puckered, becoming tight as little berries. He’d seen her cream slipping down her thighs when she’d been bent over the back of the chair receiving the cane. He had no doubt the pain had been severe and yet it wasn’t only the cause of the tears she’d shed, it was also the cause of the arousal that seemed to grow with every stroke of each implement he’d used.