Punishing Petra [Locks and Chains 3] (6 page)

“Twelve thousand by Master Frank.”

What the hell. He raised his hand ready to place his first bid. He turned in his seat and looked around the room, making sure to make eye contact with each bidder. He wanted them to know he was in the running. Five of the eight bidding nodded out. Kyle was one of the remaining three, and he had no concerns about Master Frank either, although Master Greg was another story.

“We currently have fourteen thousand dollars.”

Raising his hand again, he tapped Kyle on the leg, which was their signal for him to drop out of the bidding. It was now down to him and Master Greg.

“Twenty thousand,” he called in his deepest Dom voice. The audience gasped, this was by far the highest bid tonight. Would Master Greg continue, he wondered?

“Twenty-one thousand.” Shit, shit, shit, what to do. Should he let it go or should he push the envelope just that little bit further?

“Twenty-two thousand,” he called out.

He watched Master Greg cringe. That had him. He probably had a stopping point of twenty thousand, too. Who would have thought the extra thousand would get him his prize. And a prize she was.

“Calling twenty-two thousand once, twenty-two thousand twice, and sold to Master Caleb for twenty-two thousand dollars.”

He stood up from his seat and bowed to the audience. There was clapping and murmuring. He knew they were all wondering if he would do it. He also knew there were many who hoped he wouldn’t.

* * * *

Petra wanted to run screaming in fear but at the same time cheer with victory at winning what she’d ultimately wanted. She’d conquered her fear and stayed head held high on the stage, and she was proud. Even when the fear turned her body into one massive nerve ending and she literally shook from the pain. She watched as Caleb bid and prayed that some higher being interceded on her behalf to ensure he owned her, if only for one night. To be owned by him was literally a dream come true. She wasn’t some stupid, lovesick idiot. She knew it wouldn’t last longer than this night. She knew he wouldn’t want her after the whipping. He would have chosen her years before for some club play if he was in any way attracted to her. She understood that he only did it because he was a supreme sadist and the temptation of her offer was too good of an opportunity to miss. But she didn’t care. Just to be connected to him, even through a whip, would be enough for now, maybe enough for eternity.
Okay, enough morose thoughts. Time to focus on enjoying the experience.

For her own protection, she’d arranged for the delivery of the lashes to be performed on stage. Granted, she may end up naked in front of the entire club, but that was nothing new. She’d done it a number of times before. She wasn’t an exhibitionist. She just simply didn’t care. She was comfortable in her own skin, and nudity didn’t bother her in the least in the comfort and safety of the club.

She moved off the stage so it could be set up for the delivery of her lashes. She stood nearby, shaking and watching as the Saint Andrew’s cross was wheeled in and secured in place.

“It’s time, chickadee, let’s go,” Master Dylan, who was assisting Master Craig tonight, gently told her, as he led her onto the stage in front of the cross. She then watched as Caleb stalked up and onto the stage toward her. At the sight of him she forgot to breathe. The aura of power and strength that he projected was mind-blowing. He was the ultimate alpha Dom, the sadist of her fantasies. If only if only she was taller or prettier or something then she could call him her own.

“Sub Petra, as of this moment until the end of this scene, you are mine.”

“Yes, Master,” she dutifully answered.

“You’ve chosen to have no safe word. You have chosen to have no rights for the delivery of your punishment.”

“Yes, Master.”

“It will be done,” he commanded with the finality of a reaper. “Strip.”

Her hands shook as she started to remove the final pieces of her clothing. Not that she was wearing much to start with. The black corset and boy shorts covered enough skin for her to feel comfortable out on the street, and the tight fit accentuated her curves enough to entice. Her hands were shaking so much that the hooks of the corset were impossible to undo. Caleb moved toward her, and at first she thought he was going to help. But he simply stood in front of her, staring down into her eyes. She stopped struggling and took a deep breath to calm her breathing.

“Good girl.”

The deep-voiced compliment was like balm to her soul. It calmed her more than any medication or meditation. Slowly removing the corset, she continued to stare deeply into his eyes, never flinching as she stripped herself of her armor. The cool blue lakes of his eyes soothed and comforted her. Finally she stood naked and vulnerable in front of him, still looking deeply into his eyes and daring him to take her or reject her. Whatever he chose to do with her was out of her power.

“Turn and get into position.”

She immediately turned and took four steps toward the Saint Andrew’s cross. She counted each step in her mind, as if she were walking to the gallows. Looking at the deep black tone of the polished wood of the cross, she wondered who had lovingly carved it. Who had taken it upon himself or herself to make such a fine piece? Did they, like her, believe in the lifestyle? Or were they just trying to make ends meet? Was this an ancient piece or was it carved in modern times? She had to remember to ask Craig. Never before when she’d been strapped to the cross had she thought about its creator. Was the adrenaline that was coursing through her veins taking her to a place where she could think of things greater than herself? Was she slipping into subspace just by having Caleb present? Or was she just trying to distract herself from what was happening? Realizing how truly dangerous he could be to her, she raised her hands into position. Her wrists were cuffed and positioned on the mounted clips, and her legs spread wide so each ankle cuff could also be clipped to the cross. She felt his power as Caleb walked up behind her, and her skin prickled and goose bumps covered her flesh with the thought of him just looking at her naked body. The desire to fall to her knees and beg him to own her was overpowering. She really needed to get over this addiction to him. It was getting to the point of obsession, which wasn’t healthy.

Each cuff was locked into place, and she felt her mind begin to slip, and she struggled to keep herself in the present. Never before had she been able to slip into subspace just by a person being in the room. Was it even possible? Was she hallucinating, or had the fear driven her over the edge?

Over the years she had watched as new subs came to the club and found their soul mates. She’d spent years writing romance novels, never having loved anyone herself. Never having had the hero come and sweep her off her feet. Had all the disappointments of the past finally taken their toll? More likely she was just making a hell of a lot out of a small event. She was simply high on adrenaline and fear at the thought that she was about to be whipped twenty times naked in a public BDSM nightclub. She was helpless without the protection of a safe word. She couldn’t tap out, she would suffer her punishment. The part of her soul that she tried so hard to deny was cheering in joy.

Chapter Six

Caleb looked at the luscious morsel tied to the Saint Andrew’s cross in front of him. He had to give it to Petra. Although she was small, in fact tiny, she was built for pleasure. Her body was near sinful. Why hadn’t he noticed her before now? It must have been her size. Or maybe it was a closet racist thing? No, that couldn’t have been it. He loved her exotic looks. Her Spanish ancestry gave her a warmth and sexiness that couldn’t be ignored. He and Kyle had played with every nationality while at college, and it became a bit of a game for them. During summer each year they travelled to different continents and tasted the women of the world. So why had he missed her? He pushed his questions aside and focused back on the scene at hand. He had a role to play, and he took pride in playing it well. Stalking up to Petra’s splayed form, he said in his most commanding Dom voice, more for the audience’s benefit than anything else.

“So, Petra, my dear, you think you can handle twenty lashes from my whip, do you?” The power that vibrated through the air from the scene was palpable. It flowed over his body like silk, seeping into the very pores of his skin, and he lost himself in the sense of power and lust. He wouldn’t be able to stop himself even if he wanted to now. And he didn’t want to. Whipping a submissive with a single tail whip was like drugs to an addict. He needed to get his fix of her.

Holding the whip in his hand, he’d never felt more alive. He’d never had the opportunity to deliver twenty lashes before. The few submissives who’d agreed to the punishment had all safe-worded. He’d never gotten past twelve. He’d spent endless hours training with a whip. In the wrong hands, a whip could not only be dangerous, it could be deadly. The human body, while extremely resilient, had many weak spots. Vital organs could easily be damaged with a strike in the wrong place. He smiled, remembering back to his med school days, when he’d used the whip to study human anatomy. Calling each organ and their function as he lashed the area. It was many years ago, but the lessons learned enabled him to be confident that he wouldn’t cause Petra any permanent or even short-term damage.

“Yes, Sir,” she replied like an automaton.

If it wasn’t for the shiver in her voice, he would’ve been fooled into thinking this meant nothing to her and she had no sense of self-preservation.

“This is your last chance to offer a safe word, sub. Once this starts I will not stop until the full twenty have been delivered.”

“Thank you, Sir. No safe word.”

“So brave you are, my dear. Well, we’ll just see how brave you really are, won’t we?” he said as he uncoiled the whip and let the single tail fall to the floor with a resounding thud. He saw Petra flinch at the ominous sound and was pleased. To add to the experience he tested the whip, and a loud cracking sound vibrated through the thickness of the air.

“I’ll not ask you to count, my lovely. If I were you, I would slip as fast as possible into subspace, my dear. This isn’t something you’re going to want to feel the full force of, I can guarantee.”

“Please punish me, Sir,” she replied.

“Don’t try to top from the bottom, my little sub, or I’ll add another five lashes to your twenty.” He would not be topped, ever. When he was a Dom in training, it was required to be a submissive for a short period to understand what a sub felt. Not to mention, no one had the right to deliver a punishment they themselves had never felt. But once he’d learnt the craft enough to use it, he took his real place as a Dominant.

“Sorry, Sir.”

The whip flew through the air with such grace toward its target, and the tip just licked against the skin of Petra’s exposed back, the cracking sound answering a need deep in his soul. The red stripe blossomed across her olive skin and raised a welt of victory. The desire to coil the whip again and allow it to wrap around his captured victim overwhelmed him. Pulling back, he followed through and unleashed the tail once again. It met her back and wrapped round her rib cage. The tip licked against the underside of her breasts. Power flowed through his body. A shiver of euphoria overtook him, and he began to slip. He felt his consciousness move and flow to the next dimension. He was falling into Dom space, and the realization jolted him for a second until he allowed it to flow through him. Within five lashes this little doll had taken him deep into a place where no other sub ever had. He was deep in Dom space. The room around him disappeared, and he focused only on the whip, which now became an extension of his hand. He looked toward his possession, his prize, his conquered treasure spread before him, and she glowed, haloed like an angel. She was the doorway to the next world, and he owned it.

He drew his arm back, snaking the whip from her body, letting it drop to the floor. His canvas had already taken a few splashes of red, but his work of art wasn’t yet done. It needed more, and it was his sole purpose to finish it. This was what he was born to do. On and on he continued to paint his canvas. Her screams were food for his soul. Her tears were the only fluid he needed to sustain his body. He moved toward her, needing to drink those tears to make them a part of his body. He licked her cheeks and eyes, not letting a single drop escape. Looking into the windows to her soul, he saw that her eyes were glazed and lost. She was flying. She was deep in subspace, even deeper in than he was. His cock was hard and throbbing at the sight of the euphoric expression on her beautiful face. She was free. Not only was she the doorway for his entry, he was the key to hers. Opening his pants, he withdrew his rock-hard cock and rubbed it against her splayed naked body. He could feel the welts on her ass against his cock, and he shivered. It felt like nectar to the gods. He felt such power and majesty.

He saw another hand rubbing against her and looked into the eyes of his best friend Kyle. Kyle was as lost as he. Kyle was asking him with his eyes to play. Rubbing his hands gently against the welts on her back and buttocks, he felt her heat. She was like a hot-water bottle on a cold night, warming the chill he didn’t know he had in his bones and in his soul. He never shared his toys. He’d been part of many ménage scenes before, but never with women who were his. Part of him wanted to say no, she was all his. Although another part wanted to see her engulfed in so much pleasure that she wouldn’t be able to tell up from down. A piece of him also wanted to see his friend healed and finally able to let go of the past. He wanted to see pleasure and passion on his best friend’s face. He nodded to Kyle, accepting his participation. Together the three of them would fly together, come what may. Let today last for eternity.