Making a Scene (7 page)

Marc eased his
fingers out of me, and I all but wailed in protest, the release I’d
been craving ebbing out of reach as I shuddered with need. I could
have cried.

Then something
new pushed against my hole, eased smoothly inside, helped along by
a new coating of lube. It was thick, more solid than his fingers,
and just as I identified that it was the butt plug he’d been
talking about, he’d pushed it in all the way and my body had
accepted it, clamped around the narrower stem before the flared
end.

I tried to
catch my breath, adjusting to the new sensation. It felt larger
than Marc’s fingers, but not too bad. Not that pleasurable now it
wasn’t moving, but it was acceptable.

“Colour,
Eleanor.”

“Green.” I
nodded breathlessly, though I had no idea if he could see it.
“Thank you, Sir.”

Marc tapped
the end of the plug, sending a tremor through me, before moving
away. I heard something else being picked up, though I wasn’t sure
what, and steeled myself.

“I’m going to
warm you up with the first cane. Just relax into it.”

The
first
cane? How many is he going to use?

I swallowed
the exclamation before it reached my lips and tried to relax, but
my apprehension made it impossible.
I can do this. Just
breathe.

The light,
gentle taps against my ass-cheeks almost made me break into
hysterical laughter. Far from the swooshing and agony I’d expected,
the cane seemed to be hitting me from a very close proximity,
bouncing back, hitting something that sounded like flesh, but
wasn’t mine—Marc’s hand?—then bouncing off that and back to my
butt, many times in rapid succession. It felt good; not painful at
all.

I relaxed, the
way Marc had ordered, and let my mind drift a little as he warmed
up the skin of my ass and the backs of my upper thighs. The strokes
gradually got harder, but there was only a minimal amount of
pain.

When the whole
area felt pleasantly warm, he stopped and set aside the cane with a
click. I tensed slightly, but with nowhere near the anxiety I’d had
before.

The next
strokes were farther apart, and landed with more force. The first
two didn’t do more than startle me a little, but the third landed
as a thin stripe of fire across my ass. I cried out, and Marc
immediately smoothed his hand over the area, massaging the pain
away.

“Colour.” His
voice was slightly rough. Was he turned on?

God knew I
was. The butt plug was still lodged inside me, and when the blow
had made me flinch, the plug had shifted a little, making its
presence known. I wanted more, even if it hurt.
Because
it
hurt, even.

“Green,
Sir.”

“Good girl,”
he growled approvingly, and dropped his hand from my body
again.

He hit me at
around the same intensity as the last stroke, and this time I only
caught my breath a little. Again, and I gasped. Again, again,
again, each stroke igniting a sharp sting that slowly faded to a
hot tingle, even as the next fell a little lower down my butt, then
down to the crease where the cheeks met my thighs.

I struggled
for breath, agony flaring, but before I could find the air to call
‘yellow’, Marc returned to my side. He smoothed the sting into my
cheeks with a hand that seemed cool in comparison to the boiling
blood beneath the surface of my skin.

“You’re doing
well, my sub.”

The validation
made my heart soar, and I would have taken anything for him, just
to hear it again. I almost thanked him, but stopped myself after
the first syllable. Marc gave my ass a light spank—or was it light?
Was I just too used to the cane there, so it seemed light in
comparison?—and moved back.

More sounds of
canes being set down and picked up. I wasn’t sure what the
difference was between them, except that each one seemed to
successively hurt more.

I was ready
for more…until the dreaded sound I remembered from the movies
swooshed through the air.

Chapter
Five

I cringed
instinctively, but no agony flared in the wake of the sound.

The cane
whistled through the air again, and once more I flinched, but
nothing followed. A third time, it cut audibly through the air, and
I trembled, waiting for the moment it would actually fall onto my
skin.

Then Marc was
there, scratching his fingernails up over the lines of pain on my
upper thighs, then tugging the butt plug partially out of me while
I gasped, reeling at the combined sensations. “Oh!”

He didn’t
reprimand me, so he must not have counted it as speaking out of
turn. Instead, he worked the butt plug in and out of my stretched
hole, never pushing it in all the way, just teasing me with it
until I forgot my fear in a rush of need. I swallowed the urge to
beg him to take me with difficulty, riding the surges of pleasure
as they gradually increased in intensity.

He pushed the
plug back in and stepped away once more, while my entire body cried
out in protest. “Colour, Eleanor.”

“Green…”
…you bastard.

Marc must have
inferred the unspoken insult from my tone, and this time he really
did bring the third cane down on my skin, though without the
dramatic sound effect. I yelled out, verbalising to deal with the
sting, wriggling to try to ease it, but gaining no relief as it
slowly faded to a bearable tingle.

The second
stroke seared a line of agony farther down my cheeks, and I sobbed,
unsure if I was actually crying into the blindfold or whether it
was just a hitch in my breathing.

Seconds
passed, the pain faded, and…

“Ahhh!” I
cried, the third blow almost too much. Writhing on the bench, I
tried to get away from the smarting pain—as stupid as that was,
since it would have followed me—and only succeeded in shifting the
plug lodged inside me. Pleasure bloomed to temper the pain, making
it easier to bear.

“Colour?” Marc
massaged my skin again, smoothing the hurt away.

The blindfold
felt wet—I really was crying, although I was unsure whether it was
from the pain or from frustration.

I searched
myself—was I okay? Could I handle the rest?

“Still green,
Sir. Keep going, please. Don’t stop.”

He kissed my
tailbone gently. “Atta girl.”

Taking deep
breaths to brace myself, I listened for the slightest cue that
another stroke might be coming. Instead, something narrow and
smooth pushed between my labia from behind, startling me, then
sending my pulse skyrocketing again when he rubbed it gently back
and forth over my clit.

“Canes aren’t
just instruments of discipline, Eleanor. Remember that.”

Arching
against the slow, back and forth glide of the cane between my legs,
I murmured a wordless response.

Too soon, he
stopped, and the next cane strike came almost immediately, flaring
twin lines of heat across my upper thighs. I groaned, weathering
the sting as it bloomed and faded, and another strike followed,
slightly lower, shocking the breath out of me again.

And again. And
again. And again.

I sobbed,
twisting my hips, fighting the stocks for control of my wrists
although I knew there was no escape. Every time the cane came down,
my flinches jolted the butt plug and made the strokes worthwhile.
My entire ass felt as if it was on fire, almost unbearable now, and
I sucked in oxygen frantically, searching for a way to cope.

Another blow,
and…
Oh, god…

The pain was
gradually receding—I still felt it, but as if from a distance, as
though it didn’t really matter. The sensation of the butt plug also
seemed reduced, and I drifted through the strange, disconnected
experience in a haze, unsure of anything, even my own name.

“Colour,
Eleanor.”

I heard Marc’s
voice as if from far away, and smiled to hear it. I was safe with
him. “Green, Sir…”

Faint flares
of pain as he massaged my inflamed skin again, but nothing like it
had been before. I was good. I could take way more than this. I
already had.

“No, you’ve
had enough,” he said, and I felt a pang of loss.

But,
Sir…
I wasn’t sure if I’d thought it or said it out loud.
Either way, Marc didn’t respond, but trailed his fingers up my
spine as if coming around to the front of the stocks.

I wasn’t sure
exactly what was happening, but I was fine with floating on through
my private reverie, my pulse pounding through the areas Marc had
been hitting.

My perception
tilted a little, and then there was warmth—skin against mine. I
wound my arms around Marc and nuzzled his skin, loving his scent,
everything about him.

The next thing
I knew, I was cocooned in a blanket, held in Marc’s arms, with only
a vague idea that I’d been taken out of the stocks. The blindfold
was gone too, and I smiled up at him. “Hi.”

Marc loosened
his hold on me enough to get a good look at my face. “Hey. You’re
back.”

I reached up
to brush his hair out of his eyes, and his expression softened.
After brushing a kiss over my forehead, he asked, “How are you
feeling?”

I took stock.
My ass and the backs of my upper thighs felt bruised, but apart
from that I was fine. “Good, Sir. Did I fall asleep?”

“No, Nell.” He
looked amused, though I thought I’d glimpsed a shadow of relief,
too. “You went into subspace. It’s an altered state where your body
distances itself from pain to deal with it.”

“Okay.” Still
a little disoriented, I tried to snuggle farther under the
blanket.

Marc reached
over my head, then held a small bottle of water in front of me.
“Drink.”

Now that he
said it, I was thirsty. I took the bottle and gulped down half the
contents within almost no time at all. By the time I’d finished,
the strange, intense, headspacey feeling had been much reduced.

“Swap?” Marc
held up a chocolate bar, and I grinned, exchanging the water bottle
for it immediately.

“Are you sure
I didn’t die and go to heaven or something? You’re feeding me
chocolate now?”

He laughed.
“Trust me, if this was heaven there’d be more chocolate than
this.”

“Good
point.”

I bit into the
chocolate-and-caramel goodness and savoured the taste and the sugar
rush, while Marc held me and stroked my hair. It was only a small
bar, but it was enough to bring me around.

Marc eased me
off his lap, and I winced at the soreness of my bruised buttocks,
rolling onto my stomach on the bed. “I’m not going to be able to
sit down for a week, am I?”

“Not
comfortably.” Marc pulled something out of the nightstand and
returned to my side. Squeezing ointment out of the tube, he
examined my ass. “But you have some gorgeous stripes for now.”

As best I
could, I twisted my upper body to get a look at the affected area.
It wasn’t easy, but I glimpsed the top couple of straight,
horizontal red welts, with a deep flush of purple beginning to
emerge beneath them. “Wow. I’ve never seen anything like this.”

Marc smoothed
cooling ointment over the skin, and I winced at the pressure before
the heat receded a little. Sighing, I lay horizontal and let him
take care of me. “That feels amazing. Thank you so much.”

We spent a few
minutes in companionable silence as he finished with the ointment,
then used a wet wipe to clean the excess from his hands. Then he
slid his fingers between my ass cheeks to tap the end of the plug.
“Get on your hands and knees, Nell. We need to take this out.”

I obeyed
slowly, shivering slightly as the plug made its presence known. I’d
almost forgotten about it until now.

“On second
thoughts…” Marc rolled me onto my side and stretched out beside me,
pulling me close. He kissed me, then teased my lips open with his
tongue. I fell into the kiss, the urgency I’d felt when he’d rubbed
the cane against my clit returning.

Marc ground
his growing erection against my pussy, and with a moan I tilted my
hips, pressing my swollen clit against the hardness beneath the
leather. The combination was too erotic for words.

“I’m going to
fuck you while you’re still wearing that plug.”

I writhed
against him, impossibly turned on by the idea, and he dipped his
head to take one of my nipples in his mouth, sucking hard, then
flicking the hardened nub with his devious tongue. While he
transferred his attention to the other breast, I ran my hands
through his dark hair and pulled his head closer.

After teasing
and tormenting, pinching and stroking my nipples until I panted, he
returned to my lips for a brief, hard kiss. “God, you looked
fantastic locked into the stocks, wearing a blindfold and waiting
for whatever I chose to do to you. I nearly gave up on the cane and
took you right there.”

Another zing
of pleasure travelling down my spine, straight to my clit, I began
to unbutton his pants. He groaned as I pulled down the zipper,
freeing his hard cock—he hadn’t bothered to put on underwear before
donning the leathers.

“Permission to
give you that blow job I promised earlier, Sir?” I whispered
against his lips.

With a hungry
grin, he grabbed my head and guided me down, an order I was more
than happy to comply with. After tugging off his pants and casting
them aside, I took his cock into my mouth and ran my tongue up and
down the vein on the underside. Marc cursed softly and entangled
his fingers in my hair, guiding me up and down his shaft while I
sucked and licked. Gratified when he grew even harder against my
tongue, I moaned and took him as deep as I could.

“Fuck, Nell…”
His thighs tensed on either side of me when I cupped his balls,
squeezing just slightly. I flattened my tongue against the spot
just beneath the rim of his cockhead, and he sat up abruptly,
pulling me up too, almost before I could process what was
happening.