Sybil Disobedience (9 page)

“Are you wet?” he asked her.

“Yes, Sir,” she breathed.

“Because of the others?” he asked, reminding her they weren’t alone as he unzipped her skirt. The leather and metal garment fell heavily to the floor, leaving her naked to everyone’s gaze. “Or because of the idea of getting paddled.”

“Because of you, Sir,” she replied.

“Thank you,” he said again. His kiss to her shoulder was far from punishment, but she suspected he was merely softening her resistance for what was coming. Tension would only make the blows worse. But nothing could free her from her worry over the coming discipline.

She heard him walk away, but in moments, he returned.

“You will count the blows. You will say ‘One o’clock, Sir. I’m sorry’. Just like that,” he instructed, any trace of his gentler nature gone now that the paddle was in his hand. He smoothed it over her ass, tapping slightly along the surface of her skin from the crease where her ass met her thigh and to the upper swell just below her lower back.

She held her breath, anticipating the first strike. He was torturing her, making her wait.

“You have permission to come whenever you’d like today,” he announced.

“Thank you, Sir,” she replied. Syb doubted that would happen. It was one thing to be spanked. A paddling was quite different.

Because of his delay, the first blow, when it came, was a shock. She gasped a choked cry. “One o’clock, Sir. I’m sorry.”

Her teeth bit into her lip. She would not scream though the stinging pain shocked through her buttocks. Only now that she was saying her contrition did she realize that her apologies would give her ass time to recover slightly between each hit of the paddle, making them worse.

“Two o’clock, Sir. I’m sorry,” she called on the next swat. Oh, was she. The smooth birch wood seemed to bite into her ass. She struggled to control herself, but as they reached ten, the sting still wasn’t morphing to something better, and her words were coming out as sobs. Tears seeped below the blindfold that had ridden up during the punishment. She could see beneath as her head bent forward. Dark lines of tears ran from her cheeks to her chest.

“Noon, Sir. I’m sorry,” she gasped, trying to keep from losing count as she studied her nipples trapped in the clamps. So pretty…

Her mind started to wander, and she realized the pain wasn’t as great on her ass. Her pussy was getting hot. So hot.

Her body swayed forward with the next swing of the paddle. The flame seemed to lick at her entire center. The tension in her womb twisted so tight she could barely breathe. Goose bumps from the heat rose on her thighs, but it was her clit that throbbed with an unrelenting beat that stabbed through her will to be strong.

Her lips moved, but she wasn’t sure if her words were audible.

Her fingers curled. She wouldn’t come, not from the sting of the paddle, not from the pleasure it pounded through her.

Four, five, six… Her head swam, her wails echoing through the auditorium. Kellon didn’t relent. His strikes remained even and measured.

The paddle hit the sweet spot at the base of her ass, and her legs buckled. She swayed, hanging from the chain around her arms. Immediately, his arm came around her belly. He supported her as she bent over it.

“Ten,” he murmured, prompting her as she wallowed.

“Ten o’clock…Sir…I’m…
sorry…
”

“Two more, Sybil mine. You’ve come this far. Hold it off.”

She drew in a choked breath and nodded. “Yes, Sir.”

She sobbed through the next two strokes, “Midnight, Sir. I’m sorry,” barely intelligible.

The paddle clattered to the ground, and Kellon moved close behind her. She groaned as his work pants abraded her flaming, bruised rear. She wouldn’t sit easily for days.

“Well done,” he said, his hand on her hip holding her to him. He slowly gyrated, sending more pleasure/pain through her. “I’ll bet if I touched you, you’d be sopping.”

“Yes, Sir,” she answered, sniffling. Quiet sobs rocked her body as he held her, giving her his strength and whispering his pride in her behavior this morning.

She felt lips at her ear. “Now, you’ll publically show them all your submission to me.”

A shiver scraped down her spine. Clawing pleasure yanked at her core, demanding her release. From a distance, she heard moans. Not hers, but utterly arousing.

“They’re all having an early morning fuck,” Kellon told her, revealing what she couldn’t see. “You did this. You got everyone worked up with your cries. Rob has his wife bent over a seat.” His fingers parted her as he spoke. “Natalia is riding Ethan. Rob’s brother and his wife are at it, too. Colin’s wife Olivia is on her knees, sucking his cock—”

“Do you want me to suck your cock, Sir?” she asked, thinking it might be how he wanted her submission.

“No.” His fingers rubbed over her clit. “I want you to come. Come now, Sybil mine,” he demanded, shoving two fingers deep into her cunt. Her scream echoed around them, her orgasm exploding from her at his command. He didn’t try to stifle the sound, as he finger-fucked her harder. “That’s it, baby. Let it out. Show everyone who you belong to.”

“Kellon,” she wailed. There was a jerk on the chain, and her arms were freed though her wrists were still bound. He bent her farther over his arm, and his hand clapped onto her ass.

“Yes,” she wailed. “Yes…”

Distantly, she heard a zipper. Before she registered its meaning, Kellon’s cock probed her. He drove deep, his hips slapping hard into her ass. Over and over, he pounded into her while she cried out, helpless to do much more than to grasp at his arm and take his shaft to the hilt. The wet slap of their bodies filled her senses.

There was nothing but them. She was his vessel of pleasure; he protected her, used her, his cherished possession.

He took her to her knees, the shackles allowing her the movement but keeping her feet far apart. Her shoulders pushed to the wood as he knelt behind her, still pummeling in and out of her cunt. She lost track of how many releases he gave her, of where they were, of why they were fucking with such ferocity. She only knew pleasure so deep it was imprinted on every cell and would never leave her.

The feral drives pushed them flat to the stage, their legs hanging from the edge of the dais. His hips continued moving between her splayed thighs. “Whose body is this?” he demanded.

“Yours,” she cried. “Yours, Master.” In that moment, he was for more than Sir. He
was
her Master.

“Who do you belong to?”

“You, Master. Master,” she screamed as another orgasm twisted through her. Her clamped nipples scrubbed across the smooth wood beneath them.

“For how long?” he growled, giving her no quarter. His drives grew shallow and quick as he jerked inside her.

“Forever! Yes,” she wailed when his cum splashed inside her, marking his total possession.

“Mine.”

“Yes,” she sighed back with a smile as they both sank to the floor. Kellon was still over her, his weight pushing her down, but she didn’t care. She was his, and she liked his weight on her.

“You’re grinning,” he observed.

“Mmm,” she murmured. “Disobedience isn’t so bad. As long as I’m safe with you. I love you, Kellon. Spank me, punish me, but don’t ever let me go. Ever.”

“Never.” His lips brushed her shoulder, his cock still slowly throbbing inside her, but both of them were too emotionally drained to move. “You belong with me, Sybil mine, forever and always as my love and my disobedient sub.”

She chuckled, and her ass ached a little as it rubbed against him. They’d needed this—healing at the end of a paddle. Everything was going to be okay. “Remember you said that. I’ll probably never change.”

“I’m counting on that.” He kissed the back of her neck, sending a shudder through her body as he fanned the ebbing flames of arousal inside her. Maybe they could retire to their private spot in her workshop.

“Fuck me again,” she suggested. “All day long.”

“Sybil…you are so bad.” But she had a feeling, as she felt his cock growing, that she was about to be rewarded for that, and that was why Kellon was her perfect Dom…and Master.

About the Author

When it comes to books and movies, Brynn has one rule: there must be a happy ending. After that one requirement, anything goes. And it just might in her books.

She lives in Michigan with her husband and two children, who love her despite her occasional threats to smite them. They humor her and let her think she's a goddess...as long as she provides homemade chocolate chip cookies on a regular basis. Brynn has conducted workshops at several writers’ conferences around the country and enjoys mentoring and meeting new people.

According to Brynn, her writing success can be attributed to an eclectic collection of music, her local road construction crews, a trusty notebook, and of course, her husband, Mr. Inspiration, who puts up with a lot in the name of research.

Brynn loves to talk to her readers and can be found at
www.brynnpaulin.com
.

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