IN HIS KEEPING: TAKEN
: Chapter 16

She knelt beside the door, trembling. She was terrified of what would happen next. She’d seen him put the flogger, the riding crop, and a thin wooden paddle on the bed before he’d placed the satin blindfold over her eyes. He’d tied her hands together with something soft and silky: a scarf or tie perhaps. Then forced her down on her knees to await her fate. He’d bound her wrists securely, but not tightly. She’d tested the bindings; twisting her wrists, tugging, and struggling in a futile attempt to free herself. She hated being restrained. It made her feel helpless, vulnerable. It was hard to believe there were actually people who enjoyed and willingly allowed themselves to be trussed up this way.

Connor was planning to punish her for what he called Sylvie’s ‘absolutely outrageous behavior.’ According to him, she’d been insolent, and insulting; as well as surly, contemptuous, and combative. Sylvie didn’t see it that way. As far as she was concerned she was merely sticking up for herself, standing up to a bully…him!

He saw things differently. He thought she’d behaved like a vindictive harridan, a harpy, a foul-mouthed battle-ax who attacked him with jeers and sneers and every curse word and obscenity she could think of. Connor wasn’t about to put up with her temper tantrums or profanity. ‘An attitude adjustment is in order,’ he warned. Her bottom would pay a heavy price for her misbehavior.

It wasn’t like she meant to piss him off or start an argument. She’d simply told him she didn’t think it was fair for him to punish her for the things she’d said and done before she agreed to abide by his stupid rules. Unfortunately, Connor didn’t see it that way. Worse still, he couldn’t be reasoned with. All Sylvie’s pleas fell on deaf ears. That irked her no end. How could he be so damn unreasonable?

The fact that she dared argue with him about a punishment, instead of meekly accepting it, rankled Connor. Making him even more mulish and bullheaded. He flat out told her he didn’t want to hear any more from her on the matter. End of discussion! The decision was made. He wasn’t going to let her off. And if she knew what was good for her, she’d stop antagonizing and hassling him about it. ‘You’d be wise not to lock horns with me little girl,’ he cautioned her. ‘You won’t win!’ To Connor’s way of thinking, her disagreeing with him so vehemently was tantamount to ‘back talk’: something he wouldn’t tolerate and would punish her for.

‘Subs submit to their master’s will,’ he lectured. ‘Or they suffer the consequences. Period. End of story!’ The words were spoken through tightly clenched teeth. He didn’t like being challenged. The fact that she would defy him right out of the gate angered him. It certainly didn’t bode well for her ass.

Too bad for him! Sylvie didn’t believe she deserved to be punished and refused to let the matter drop; no matter how much he scowled, glared, and glowered at her. They’d started out bickering about it. As much as one can bicker with an authoritarian control freak like Connor. Then things escalated. He became more overbearing and inflexible, more dogmatic and chauvinistic. He started laying down the law to her. That didn’t sit well with Sylvie. She exploded. Her indignation, her petulance and peevishness was like throwing gasoline on a fire as far as Connor was concerned. He was furious with her. If he hadn’t been in the middle of writing a new chapter, he’d have probably blistered her ass right then and there. But instead he made her wait for her punishment. Making her spend the day dreading what was to come. Giving her time to reflect on her misdeeds. Take responsibility for her actions. Contemplate the severity of the judgement he’d mete out. If he was trying to scare her, it worked.

He was already plenty pissed by the time they got to the doctor’s office around 5:30 PM. But then everything really turned to shit! She thought she was just going to get a prescription for birth control pills. Instead she found herself lying on a table with her legs spread apart while Connor’s doctor friend poked and prodded her crotch. It was humiliating. Made more so by Connor standing beside the table, glaring down at her, telling her to ‘be still’ and threatening what would happen to her backside if she didn’t calm down. Let’s see how calm he’d be if someone jammed a piece of metal up his dick and told him to relax?

There were footsteps in the hall. Sylvie wanted to run. But she had no place to go. She could scream, but there was no one in the house to hear her. Connor had sent Mrs. Cosgrove and the rest of the staff home early tonight, telling them he didn’t want to be disturbed this evening. Not that they would have interceded on her behalf anyway. Everyone knew what was going on between them now. How could they not? He’d posted copies of the rules in just about every room in the house. They’d been printed in a fancy font and had a purple, black, and gold border around each page. It looked like a royal decree. Sylvie was mortified. She’d purposely avoided Mrs. Cosgrove and the rest of the staff today. When she did have to interact with them, she couldn’t make eye contact. Her mother was turning over in her grave right about now, shocked at the unseemliness of her daughter’s situation. If there was a hereafter, Mom was staring down from heaven, shaking her head, wondering how in hell a girl who got straight A’s, scored 2280 on her SAT’s, and graduated Summa Cum Laude, could be so fucking stupid!

The footsteps stopped outside the door. A shiver went up her spine.

Sylvie heard hinges creaking and felt a gust of air blow in as the door opened. The noise faded quickly; the room becoming quiet again, save for the sound of Sylvie’s labored breathing. She waited, but he neither approached nor addressed her. She wished she could rip away the blindfold and see his face. Was he still angry with her? Her heart began to hammer. The darkness, the bonds, the silence frightened her. What was he doing? Why wasn’t he saying anything? Should she speak? No, she didn’t dare. Knees throbbing, back aching, she struggled to maintain her position.

Connor smiled, relishing the scene before him. This was how he wanted Sylvie: on her knees, blind, bound, and completely powerless against him. At his mercy! She appeared fragile as a flower, so frail and helpless. He licked his lips. He had absolute control over her. The thought made his cock harden. His eyes feasted on her. Sylvie was lovely. A wholesome, fresh-faced, natural beauty without paint or pretense. There was nothing artificial about her. Her skin was the color of palest pink alabaster. Its texture as flawless as porcelain. Brown curls tumbled to her shoulders, soft, shiny, and glinting with golden highlights. Her limbs were slender, the muscles lean and sinewy. He loved her back, the graceful arch, willowy and supple. The cute little dimples above her bottom. And what a lovely bottom it was, so soft and round. She was enticing. The firm little breasts with their rosy nipples hardened into peaks. The smooth curve of her hips. The glistening pink lips of her sex, peeking out from between her slightly parted legs. She was tiny, dainty really, not an ounce of fat on her. Her figure was more girlish than womanly. Like a child, a tomboy, with budding breasts and narrow hips. His mouth watered. He wanted to rain kisses down on her breasts, on the curve of her back, on the sensitive little pearl hidden between her legs. Did she have any idea how breathtakingly beautiful she was? He thought not. He’d asked the employment agency to replace him an assistant: a hardworking, intelligent, plain, quiet, sober young woman. And they’d sent him Sylvie? He shook his head, all the while smiling to himself. What were they thinking? Obviously, the person who sent her here had never really taken a good look at her. Maybe it was her lack of make-up. Her bookishness. Or how shy and timid she first appeared when meeting new people. How nervous she became when placed in stressful situations or unfamiliar surroundings. Or perhaps it was the clothes she wore: mostly frumpy and out of style. Whatever their criteria had been, they were wrong. She was a tempestuous little firecracker. Not worldly or sophisticated. She was an innocent who wandered through life oblivious to the brutality, deceit, and danger in the world around her. If anything, her honesty, her lack of artifice or guile made her more beautiful to him. It was refreshing to replace a woman who wasn’t jaded. Who wasn’t greedy or grasping, mercenary or materialistic. Who wouldn’t flatter, connive, or manipulate to get what she wanted. Sylvie was like a breath of fresh air. Connor was a cynic by nature. There were very few people he trusted, but he knew instinctively that he could trust her. That she would never betray him. He wanted to protect her from the world, from everyone but himself. He’d imagined this scene a hundred times over and now it was actually coming to pass. He had her exactly where he wanted her. He would be her dominant, her lord and master. He would groom her, training her to be his obedient, obeisant, amenable submissive. A compliant little pet that he could stroke and pamper or chasten at will. Everything he’d ever wanted in a woman was kneeling there before him.

Sylvie was obviously frightened. He could see the vein in her neck pulsing wildly. Watched her chest heaving, rising and falling with increasing frequency as she struggled to catch her breath. She wheezed, the little puffs of exhaled air making her lips tremble. She looked so vulnerable, so sexy. His cock strained against his jeans. All he could think about was pushing into her and spending himself. Sylvie fulfilled some primitive visceral need in him. He reacted to her on a primal level. With her he was man the master, man the protector, man the provider. Looking down at her stoked his testosterone. Ignited his animal urges. He could envision himself as an alpha male beating his fists on his chest, grunting with lust, grabbing Sylvie by the hair, and mounting her. Taking her by force. Crushing her beneath him. Pounding into her while she screamed in pain and pleasure. The image caused his cock to quiver and his balls to ache. He’d better dial his libido back a notch or two or he’d cum in his shorts. Not very manly! He had big plans for his little girl. He didn’t need to imagine what it would be like to fuck and subdue her, not when the luscious creature was his for the taking here and now.

‘I’m extremely displeased with you Sylvie,’ he said, walking slowly toward her.

She flinched at his approach. Her head bowed; her shoulders slumping.

‘I expect absolute obedience, respect, and submission from you Sylvie. I thought I’d made that perfectly clear. Did I not?’ he admonished. He waited a moment, but she didn’t answer. Tears leaked from under the blindfold; her whole body shuddered. He reached out his hand and gently stroked her hair, his voice no longer as harsh. ‘But instead you insist on behaving like a willful, defiant, impudent child. I can’t allow that Sylvie. More to the point I won’t allow it.’ His fingers brushed the soft skin of her shoulder then reached up to wipe the tears away. ‘Your behavior has been deplorable. You’ve been argumentative, irritable, and rude all damn day. Especially at the doctor’s office! For your information, I know it’s your body, but just because your college roommate, your cousin, and all the waitresses you worked with at the greasy spoon took oral contraceptives, doesn’t mean you should.

I called Jack yesterday morning after breakfast. He’s a member of one of the country clubs I belong to and we’ve played in several golf tournaments together. I needed advice about the morning-after pill and that kind of thing. He asked me a lot of questions about you. One of them had to do with your family health history. I didn’t know much except that you’d said your Mom died of breast and ovarian cancer and so did your grandmother. He told me then that he thought the copper IUD was probably the best birth control method for you. Evidently there are studies suggesting women who have a family history of breast cancer and who take oral contraceptives have a higher risk of developing cancer themselves. Then when you said today that your grandmother’s sister had breast cancer and your aunt has it too, well that cinched it. The IUD starts working immediately and compared to the pill the side effects are minimal. Most importantly, it won’t increase your risk of cancer. My job is to take care of you. That’s what I’m trying to do. I don’t know why you pitched such a damn fit. The man agreed to see you after his normal office hours as a personal favor to me. People normally wait weeks for an appointment. I wasn’t expecting to have to stand over you in the examining room, threatening to spank your butt or make you walk the fifteen miles home if you didn’t lie still. Then you had the audacity to push him away and kick at him when he tried to examine you. You embarrassed me Sylvie! All that wiggling and flailing, crying and carrying on! It’s a wonder he got the damn thing inserted in you.’

She whimpered, her face turning red.

‘You acted like you’d never seen a doctor before.’

Her whimpers turned to sobs. Her face was so red it was almost vermilion.

What the hell? What was this about? He hadn’t even laid a hand on her yet. He didn’t expect this kind of outburst until he’d applied the first few strokes to her hindquarters. His eyes narrowed as they studied her. He didn’t think she was play-acting. Trying to elicit his sympathy and lessen the punishment he intended to administer. It was more than her just being frightened; she was genuinely upset about something. She’d been weepy on the drive home and hadn’t said a word to him all through dinner. He’d assumed she was just pouting about getting her ass roasted tonight. But now that he thought about it, she hadn’t said word one to him since the doctor. Jack said she might experience some cramping. Was that it? ‘Sylvie are you in pain. Is it hurting you?’ he asked in concern.

She shook her head no, but didn’t say a word. Sniffling and sobbing instead.

What then? He touched her cheek again. It was hot. Her skin looked scalded. The redness extending all the way down to the top of her belly. She was blushing furiously, but why? She huddled on the floor, her back bent low, shoulders hunched, trying to make herself as small as possible. Whatever set her off must have happened at Jack’s. She’d fought them about the examination, refusing to get undressed, refusing to get up on the table, or put her legs in the stirrups. It had been a battle of wills the whole time. He thought she was just being contrary. What was the big deal? Women were used to having this kind of thing done to them on a regular basis weren’t they? Then it hit him! His hand went to his forehead then covered his eyes. How could he be so stupid? ‘Sylvie,’ he asked gently, ‘Have you ever been to a gynecologist before?’

Tears poured from under the blindfold as she shook her head no.

‘You should have told me…’ he stopped himself. He wasn’t being fair. This wasn’t her fault. It was his. Connor hadn’t given her an opportunity to tell him she was frightened. In retrospect he could see that she must have been terrified. He was her dom. It was his job to protect her and make her feel safe. Instead of assuaging her fears he’d shushed, belittled, and threatened her when she resisted. Sylvie had been a virgin. She’d never been with another man before. Of course she’d be afraid of exposing herself to a total stranger, even if he was a doctor. Or allowing him to intimately examine the most secret parts of her body. Connor felt like a total shit. Instead of holding her hand and gently reassuring her that everything would be OK, he’d hustled her into the office, forced her to strip, and submit to what must have seemed to her a sexual assault. ‘Sylvie I am so sorry. I didn’t realize you were scared, that you’d never had a pelvic exam before. I’m sure Jack didn’t realize it either. I’m afraid I handled the whole thing badly.’

Her body began to uncurl at the gentleness of his words.

Connor watched, wishing he hadn’t promised she’d be punished tonight. He’d much rather comfort and hold her. But he didn’t have a choice. He had to do it. Otherwise she’d lose respect for him. He wanted her to regard his word as law. How could she do that if he didn’t follow through? He sighed. ‘I was going to punish you for your behavior at the doctor’s office. But I can see now that you acted out of fear. I don’t think it would be fair to spank you for that. I know I can be an overbearing asshole sometimes; but the next time you’re scared, please tell me. Will you do that for me Sylvie?’

She nodded meekly.

‘I’d like to hear you say it please.’

‘Yes,’ she whispered.

‘Yes, what,’ he corrected firmly. ‘I expect you to be polite and respectful when you address me.’

Her bottom lip began to wobble. ‘Yes sir.’

‘That’s better.’ He cupped her chin with his hand, lifting her face to him. His other hand gently brushed away the tears. ‘I had hoped the first time you knelt before me you’d experience more pleasure than pain. But there’s no chance of that now. I can see from what happened this morning that I have no choice but to take a firm hand with you, a very firm hand. I don’t approve of willful, defiant, bratty little girls. You might have gotten away with that kind of behavior before, but no longer. The swearing and vulgarity, the sassiness, the doing as you please with no one to answer to…those days are over! You answer to me now. I promise I will take good care of you. You can be sure of that. But part of taking care of someone is doing what’s best for them even when they don’t want you to. I can see from your behavior that you are sorely in need of guidance and discipline. I intend to provide that

She shuddered. Confusion fogged her brain. There was a disconnect between the words he said and the sound of his voice. The words were frightening, but his voice was low and seductive.

‘Tell me why you’re being punished?’

Her mouth was so dry she could barely speak. ‘Be-be-because I argued with you.’ She sounded like a frightened little girl.

His eyes softened. She was adorable, so endearing. He was pleasantly surprised that she no longer resisted. That she had accepted his authority and was resigned to her fate, meek and contrite. ‘I know that you don’t like the rules. Don’t think you should have to follow them. The fact that you disagree with me on the need for them doesn’t warrant punishment in and of itself. But there’s a right way and a wrong way to put forth your opinion, to present your argument. And you, my dear, did it the wrong way. You crossed the line. You’re in trouble because you were disrespectful and belligerent and wouldn’t listen to reason. We’re adults; we’re supposed to be civil and courteous when we speak to one another. You thought you could win the argument by shrieking at me. Did you really think you’d sway me by being sarcastic, insulting, and rude? All that kind of behavior will get you is a very red backside. Your outbursts today prove what I’ve suspected all along. You’re in dire need of rules and boundaries. Your conduct is unacceptable and I intend to change it. We will not have a repeat of today’s behavior. Ever! Am I making myself clear?’

‘Ye-yes sir,’ she responded.

‘You might not like being disciplined. But you’ll learn from it. You’ll benefit from the experience.’ His tone was kindly, but firm. ‘Why else are you being punished?’

‘I swore at you,’ she whispered sheepishly.

‘Indeed you did. But you went way beyond what most people consider swearing. Swearing is saying damn or hell every now and again. But you, Sylvie, have single-handedly raised profanity and vulgarity to a whole new level. If I remember correctly, I’m an asshole, a dipshit, a son of a bitch, a bastard, an asswipe, and a fucking pervert. That’s quite an indictment,’ he said, his voice taking on an ominous tone. ‘According to you I’m also a motherfucker and a cocksucker. I replace that particularly insulting. Then you suggested I attempt a physical impossibility. I believe you told me to go fuck myself. And if memory serves…I was also directed to ‘eat shit and die.’ Really Sylvie, the filth that comes out of your mouth sometimes is absolutely appalling. Your language, young lady, leaves a lot to be desired. Do you have anything to say for yourself?’

‘I’m sorry sir,’ she said, words filled with remorse.

‘Not nearly as sorry as you’re going to be by the time I’m finished with you,’ he warned. ‘I’m your dom. You seem to have forgotten that. You are subject to me now. And I expect to be treated with the deference due me. I will not tolerate any attitude, argument or temper from you. You will be respectful, obedient, and submissive even if I have beat your ass raw and strip every bit of skin off it to make you behave. Do you understand me?’

‘Yes sir,’ she squeaked, unable to still the shivers of fear coursing through her.

‘Stand up!’ he ordered, grabbing her elbow and helping her to her feet. He led her to the bed.

She could hear the plopping sound of pillows being piled one on top of another. She started to cry in earnest now.

When he was satisfied that all was ready Connor walked behind her, put his hands on her waist, and lifted her off the floor depositing her on top of the pile. Her twitching bottom rested up on the pillows while her arms and head were on the mattress two feet below. Her legs dangled in the air, her feet unable to touch the floor.

He patted her behind. ‘You have a lot to answer for little girl. I expect you to lay still and accept the punishment you’ve earned. If you try to roll off the pillows, kick your legs, or resist in any way I will double the number of strokes you’ll receive. And then we will start the punishment all over again from the beginning. I’m gravely disappointed with the way you acted today. Under normal circumstances you’d be severely punished for such misbehavior, but seeing as this is only your first day as a sub I’ll give you just 12 strokes with the paddle, 6 with the flogger, and 6 with the crop. But I warn you! I won’t be this lenient in the future. Are you ready for your punishment?’ he asked, reaching for the paddle.

‘No! Please! I don’t want a spanking!’ she cried out, her courage deserting her.

‘We’ll need to work on your manners, Sylvie. That’s not how you address me,’ he said reproachfully.

‘Sir, please sir, I don’t want a spanking! I’m sorry,’ she pleaded.

‘That’s not your decision to make. Is it?’ When she didn’t answer he repeated the question. ‘Is it?’

‘No sir,’ she conceded, shoulders shaking.

‘Who decides whether or not you’ll to be punished?’

‘You do sir.’ She choked the words out between sobs.

‘That’s right. I suggest you keep that in mind in the future. I’m the dominant here. I determine whether you need correction. I decide when, where, and how it occurs. I’m the judge and jury. I deliver the sentence and mete out the punishment. You’re the submissive. Your role in the grand scheme of things is to know your place. To do as you’re told. And, most importantly, to not arouse my ire. If you choose to misbehave, as you did today, then you suffer the consequences. And as for your being sorry, I think you’re sorry about getting your backside paddled, not your behavior. But trust me, five minutes from now you’ll be truly repentant!’

He put a hand on the small of her back to steady her then brought the paddle down hard in the middle of her quivering bottom.

‘Ow!’ Sylvie shrieked when the dreaded implement connected with her fanny. The pale skin of her backside pinked.

The lady needed a painful lesson in acceptable sub behavior and he had no qualms about administering it. Spare the rod, spoil the sub! He alternately paddled her left and right cheeks.

‘Ow! Don’t!’ Sylvie screeched like a banshee every time the paddle fell across her stinging bottom. ‘Ow! Please stop!’ she sobbed. ‘It hurts! It hurts!’

‘It’s supposed to hurt. Are you going to sass me again?’ He raised the paddle and gave her two smacks where her buttocks and thighs met.

‘No!’ she screamed, bucking and writhing, trying to evade the paddle.

‘Lie still,’ he commanded, giving her two more whacks on the fleshiest, roundest part of her bottom.

‘Aargh!’ she groaned in agony. Her legs shook as she struggled to keep them from kicking back at him. Each crack of the paddle was like a hundred hornets stinging her ass. She was sniffling; gulping air through her mouth. Her tears soaking the bedding. Sylvie jerked her head and the blindfold slipped off. She gasped, terrified of what he’d do to her now.

Her bottom was a bright rosy pink with splotches of deep red. ‘One more stroke of the paddle and then…’ His face froze when he saw two terrified eyes staring back at him.

Sylvie held her breath. Dread overwhelmed her when she saw him glowering at her. She flinched when his hand reached down and picked up the blindfold.

He studied it a moment then threw it on the floor. ‘I guess we can dispense with this.’ His gaze was drawn back to Sylvie’s face. Her eyes were red from crying, her cheeks splotchy. She looked absolutely panic-stricken. He wanted her respect and obedience. Her submission! But he didn’t want her to live in mortal fear of him. Sure there were doms who used cruelty to enslave their women. Controlling them by inflicting pain rather than pleasure. Abusing them physically, sexually, and emotionally. Who relished seeing them cringe and cower. They were sexual sadists. They tortured rather than disciplined, devising barbaric punishments, inflicting excruciating pain and suffering. But he wasn’t one of them. Yes, he was stern. Yes, he was strict. But he wasn’t sadistic. He’d never hurt Sylvie! He didn’t want to crush her spirit. Hell, it was her feisty nature and intellect that attracted him to her in the first place. Their relationship was consensual. He hadn’t compelled her to do this. She agreed to it of her own free will. But she didn’t look like a willing participant now. She looked scared to death! She should have been prepared for this. Sylvie had been researching the topic for weeks. She was well aware of what this kind of relationship entailed…wasn’t she? How could she not be? They’d spent the whole morning talking about rules and boundaries. He’d laid it all out for her. Hadn’t she been paying attention? It confounded him how different women were. He couldn’t help comparing Sylvie’s reaction to Marisol’s. But there was no comparison. Marisol thrived under his firm hand. She was a natural submissive, reveling in his dominance. When he’d paddled Marisol, the redder her ass got, the hotter her passion flamed. Punishment aroused her. She got off on it. But it wasn’t lust he saw in Sylvie’s eyes, it was fear. She looked like a mistreated animal, recoiling in the presence of a cruel and callous master. Her blue eyes shimmered with tears. She didn’t look like a woman right now; she looked like a terrified child. He had to rethink his approach. His hand began rubbing small circles on her back. He didn’t want Sylvie to think he was a heartless monster. She had to understand that he was doing this for her own good. Like a father who chastises his child; he was trying to impart a necessary lesson. His motives, however, weren’t quite so noble or nearly as innocent. The difference being that unlike a stern father…after he made sure her little ass was red hot and blazing. After he was sure she repented her transgressions. After she contritely whimpered her apologies, and begged his forgiveness…he would set fire to her sweet little pussy too. Sylvie knew she’d done wrong. If she didn’t know it before, her throbbing ass was sending her that message loud and clear now. He wanted her to accept his correction and promise to do better. Was that too much to ask?

‘We’re almost done with the paddling. One more and this part of your punishment will be over,’ he announced, watching her lip tremble and her eyes blink back tears.

Her body went rigid as the paddle met her scalded ass. She screeched and yowled as the pain ignited. Her bottom rose off the pillow, her legs shaking. The pain was too much, it overwhelmed her. She pushed her face into the blanket and tried to smother her screams

He touched her back and she turned to look at him. Connor placed the paddle on the bed where she could see it. His hand reached out to touch her throbbing, red rump. He couldn’t believe how hot her skin was. Her bottom felt like it was on fire. He gently stroked her aching flesh. She quieted. Her wails reduced to whimpers. She looked so miserable, so pathetic. He stared at her, his mind whirling. She wasn’t Marisol. He had to get that through his head once and for all. Marisol had craved discipline. Loved being commanded and controlled, compelled to obey. Yet there had been no outward sign of her secret desires. She was an alpha female, neither shy nor retiring. Far from it! She was driven. Two years out of college and she was at the top of her game, the star listing agent at one of Manhattan’s most prestigious real estate companies. She was no shrinking violet; most men who knew her thought she was a ball-buster. But something in her psyche craved subjugation. On the surface, the face that she showed to the world was that of a strong, confident, independent woman; but in the bedroom, with Connor, she was the opposite: a true sexual submissive. He’d exercised absolute control over her. She loved being bound and gagged, tied to a bed, a horse, or a cross, her nipples clamped tight, butt plugged, a dildo, or vibrator shoved up her pussy. The kinkier it was, the more she liked it.

But Sylvie wasn’t like that. At least not yet! Maybe she never would be!

Marisol had started prowling clubs when she was in college. That’s how they met. It was his senior year at Columbia. He’d heard about a wild private club in the East Village called Dom’s Playhouse. He’d been told it was a sex club. He was thinking strippers, lap dances, backroom blowjobs. He bought six memberships and gave them out to the guys as Christmas and Hanukkah gifts. He thought his buddies, who ragged on him for being a studious stick-in-the-mud most of the time, would see him in a whole new light. Viewing him as a cool dude, an in-the-know hipster, a total badass for having the connections to get them into an underground club like Dom’s. It wasn’t the kind of place moneyed, Ivy League, rich-kid collegiate types frequented. Connor figured that since it was a private club he and his buddies could drink without the hassle of being carded every round. Have a few yuks. Maybe even get laid.

He had no idea what went on in there till they walked through the door. It was so not what he expected! His mouth gaped open. His eyes nearly bulged from his head as they surveyed the room. It looked like a gigantic dungeon, a torture chamber. All he kept thinking was ‘What the hell?’ There were people wearing dog collars and being led around by leashes. Chained to the walls. Suspended from the ceiling. Imprisoned in cages. Tied to tables and benches. Being flogged, caned, paddled, whipped, strapped, spanked, and clamped. The first words out of his mouth were a shocked ‘Holy shit!’ Followed by ‘This fucking place is sick!’ He couldn’t take it all in. The club gave a whole new meaning to the words perversion and depravity. There were people prancing around with what looked like horsetails protruding from their butts. Metal and leather bits causing their mouths to gape and grimace. Others were bound and gagged. Trussed up in ropes that cut into their skin. Limbs forced into painful, contorted positions. Everywhere he looked faces were obscured by leather masks. Piercings were tugged and yanked. Flesh was being tortured and abused. He was both repulsed and intrigued by what he saw. Much to his surprise, instead of turning him off, the spectacle of such a kinky carnival of debauchery fascinated him. It was spellbinding…seductive.

He and his friends made their way through the crowd. Past tables where women lay, legs splayed open, their cunts on display. Past sobbing subs with tearstained faces. Past stern doms beating out steady tattoos of pain on the bare skin of their submissive partners. The room was alive with movement. Bodies wriggled and writhed under painful supervision and tending. While down in the dance pit, undulating figures were bumping, grinding, and swaying to the sensual rhythm and pounding beat of the music. The place was loud with shrieks and moans, cracks, thwacks, whacks, and swishing sounds. Connor had never seen anything like it in his life.

The air was hot and thick with the fetid smell of sweat and sex. The pungent aroma left him light-headed, almost dizzy.

They were taken to one of the private VIP tables that ringed the room. That’s when he first saw Marisol. She was in a short, skintight black dress, sitting at the table next to theirs. She was stunning! He couldn’t take his eyes off her. She was oblivious to him at first, focusing on the goings-on in the room. She watched the paddlings, strappings, and whippings with keen interest. She’d wince every time a blow landed; then her chest would heave, and she’d smile. Glassy eyed, she kept licking her lips and squirming in the chair; furtively rubbing her thighs against each other, trying to quench her arousal. She needed release, but had been reticent to make eye contact with the men hovering near her table. He could understand why. They looked like a pack of wolves, carnivores drooling over fresh meat. Connor wasn’t about to cede such a prize to them; at least not without a fight! He walked over to her table, grabbed her hand; and, without saying a word, led her to an empty bench in a darkened corner. There he bared her, spanked her, and brought her to an explosive orgasm. He’d never felt more powerful, more in control in his life. From that day forward, she was his. She never set foot in a club again. Connor wouldn’t allow it. He didn’t want men ogling her, fantasizing about fucking her…

Damn! What was he doing? Why was he going down this road again? Marisol was dead! She was never coming back! When was he going to accept that and move on with his life? That beautiful, dark-haired woman no longer existed. She was a moldering corpse, confined forever to a cold dark grave. Sylvie was here. She was warm and alive. He could see her, smell her, taste her. Why was he so hell-bent on tossing aside the present and clinging to the past? A past he could never reclaim. Was he trying to fuck this up? He had to focus on the here and now, on Sylvie, and stop pining for Marisol. He had to figure out a way to make this work. But that might be easier said than done. Right now Sylvie was probably so frightened and angry at him that she’d bolt and run at the first opportunity. He needed to do something to fix this. For starters he should stop treating her like a seasoned sub…like Marisol. Sylvie was inexperienced; he had to bring her along slowly. Maybe treating her like a naughty child when she misbehaved was a better approach, at least until he got her properly trained. She might be more comfortable with that scenario. She’d been OK with the hand spanking he’d given her. She hadn’t liked it, but she hadn’t hated him for it either. She’d accepted the punishment and then surrendered to him in bed. But that didn’t necessarily mean she was a true submissive. If her behavior today was any indication, he had to assume that if she had the inclination, she was trying hard to suppress it. What if she really didn’t want this? If the very idea repulsed her? How could he convince her to change her mind? Not like this he couldn’t! What made him think roasting her ass would make her want to embrace the lifestyle? Run for the hills was more like it! He had to back pedal, but how? He’d promised her six with the flogger and six with the riding crop. He couldn’t go back and tell her ‘never mind.’ She’d lose respect for him and the whole arrangement would go down the shitter. He looked down at her bottom and cringed. Her fanny was crimson and swelling. Purple bruises were beginning to form.

He tried to help her up, but she flinched and turned away, so she didn’t have to look at him.

Grabbing her by the waist, he lifted her off the pillows and into a standing position. ‘I think you need to spend some time in the corner before we continue,’ he said, taking her arm and marching her toward the far wall. Had he really just said that? Good grief! He was stealing bad dialogue from domestic discipline spanking novels? He cringed.

In all their time together, Connor had never once put Marisol in the corner or interrupted a punishment to give her respite. Such a thing would have been out of the question. He’d never gone easy on Marisol; but then, she’d never wanted him too. She got off on pain and punishment. Needed it! Craved it! He couldn’t say the same for Sylvie.

He maneuvered her into the corner. That’s when he noticed the red marks on her wrists. Welts had formed where she’d tried to twist free of her bonds. He reached around and untied her hands. ‘Keep your arms at your sides and face the corner,’ he instructed. She was still sniffling. He felt like a complete asshole! He hadn’t meant to manhandle her, but he had. She’d be wearing the bruises for days.

This exercise was supposed to be consensual. But seeing her cowering in the corner, she didn’t look like a consenting adult. Far from it! She looked confused, coerced, abused…victimized even. If she didn’t want this, then why in hell had she agreed to it? He hadn’t forced her! Hadn’t held a gun to her head! She could have said no. Why didn’t she?

Did she go along with it because she thought she’d benefit financially? Would she threaten to have him arrested for assault now? Then blackmail or sue him? Trying to leverage the incident to her advantage? No way. Sylvie was neither devious nor avaricious. Gold, diamonds, designer clothes, riding in limos, living in mansions, penthouses, or villas, summering in the Hamptons, hanging out with the rich and famous, the whole lavish, affluent lifestyle…Sylvie could care less! Money didn’t impress her. Most times she acted as though being rich was a moral failing. Evidently, somewhere in her Catholic upbringing she’d been taught that God despised the rich for oppressing the poor…economically, socially, and politically. She took great pains to regularly remind him that scripture said ‘it’s easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than it is for a rich man to get into heaven.’ Turns out she knew each and every passage condemning wealth in the Bible and could quote them chapter and verse. And this from a girl who never went to church! Though he’d found it hard to believe at first, Sylvie didn’t aspire to a life of privilege. Given her druthers, she’d rather be out on the streets protesting and marching for social justice than be a country club socialite. And as for the prestige of being on a rich man’s arm…that didn’t impress her either. She hadn’t agreed to this to elevate her social standing! So the question remained…why?

He made his way to the bed and sat down, watching her fidget. She shifted her weight from one leg to the other, wiggling her bottom all the while, trying to ease the pain in her backside. It wasn’t working! Her hand moved from its place at her side and inched its way toward her throbbing ass. Connor cleared his throat loudly and the hand immediately dropped to her side. He couldn’t help noticing her fingers had clenched into a fist. She was crying and outwardly obedient, but he hadn’t conquered her. Not by a long shot! He might want to consider sleeping with one eye open tonight, lest Sylvie decide to stick a knife in his ribs while he slept.

What motivated her to agree to this? Possibilities continued to shuffle through his brain. Was she looking for excitement? Adventure? Kicks? A new thrill? No, not Sylvie! Her idea of a rousing good time was reading Jane Austin for the umpteenth time. Was she trying to break free from mundane, uninspired sex? Challenge existing sexual taboos? Experiment with her own sexuality? Hardly! Or was she simply curious? No, that wasn’t it either. There was only one possible answer…she’d done it to please him! That made him feel even worse. He had no idea how he was going to fix this or even if he could. He took solace in the fact that she hadn’t fought him. Hadn’t run. Maybe he could make it right.

‘Sylvie, come here,’ he said gently. ‘Let’s get this over with.’

She turned, quaking, her eyes flooding with tears. Head bent, she slowly shuffled toward him, unresisting, seemingly compliant. But as soon as she was able to…she’d leave. Coming here had been a mistake. The worst mistake of her life! This was never going to work. There was a darkness in him, something frighteningly sinister. If his actions today were any indication of his true nature, then Connor was not only cruel, but possibly dangerous. She would not allow herself to be enthralled by him. She had to get away.

The breath caught in his lungs. She was a vision of perfection. Penitent. Obedient. Subdued. Submissive. Big blue eyes glistening with tears. Body trembling. A red flush staining her cheeks. Similar in shade to her well-paddled derriere. Connor had to fight the urge to throw her down on the bed and ravish her. He knew he was probably going to regret this; but… ‘Sylvie I know this is hard for you. The punishment has been harsh, but I truly believe your behavior warranted it. I meant what I said. I expect obedience, respect, and submission from you. I didn’t get that today. I was angry, and punished you accordingly. But the whole point of correction is to make the offender regret their misconduct and resolve to do better. I think we’ve achieved that goal. This was your first real punishment. Now you’ll know what to expect when you misbehave, won’t you?’

She stopped a few feet away from him and nodded her head.

He pointed to a spot on the floor right in front of him. ‘Here.’

Sylvie obeyed, taking a faltering step forward. Her legs felt like rubber, unable to hold her weight. She hung her head.

‘That’s better.’ Connor’s his right hand lifted her chin so he could see her face. She quickly averted her eyes. ‘Look at me Sylvie. I don’t trust people who can’t look me in the eye.’ She lifted her gaze to meet his. His eyes pinning hers. ‘You haven’t answered my question yet. Tell me what will happen when you misbehave?’

‘You’ll punish me sir,’ she answered. Though she was crying, her reaction to this humiliation wasn’t meek acceptance. It was rage. Pure unadulterated rage rising up inside her like a tide. Sylvie wanted to hit him. Bite him. Scratch his eyes out. Her hand formed fists. An uppercut to the chin. A knee to the groin. He wouldn’t be expecting that. It would incapacitate him long enough so she could…

He grabbed her round the waist, pressing her to his chest. His lips grazed her cheek then descended, smothering her mouth with a kiss. It sucked all the air out of her lungs, leaving her weak. He gently rubbed her arms and shoulders, reveling in the softness of her skin. The smell of her perfume wafted over him. Opium, he thought. The fragrance suited her. The scent was an intoxicating mixture of spice, fruits, and flowers. He could smell jasmine and roses, cinnamon and clove, orange and peach, musk, patchouli, and sandalwood. He breathed her in. Filling his lungs. His thumb tugged at her chin forcing her mouth to open. Connor’s tongue invaded the soft wet cavern, plundering and probing. Snaking over and around hers. His hands shifted to the small of her back. Fingers drawing small circles on the skin, kneading the flesh ever so gently.

Sylvie found herself yielding. What the hell was wrong with her? Was she going to let herself be controlled by a nubbin between her legs? Like some sex-crazed nymphomaniac? Oh crap! She could feel her juices flowing. Feel the wetness on her thighs. Obviously so! She waited for reason to kick in. But it didn’t! Stop! The little voice in her head screamed. But her body wasn’t listening. Her fists unclenched, hands slowly slipping around his waist.

Connor changed the focus of his attention to the cleft in her bottom. He drew his fingers down the seam of her behind, then took a cheek in each hand, and squeezed. He didn’t do it hard; in fact he hardly exerted any pressure at all. Still, she winced and let out a hiss of pain. ‘I know you’re hurting, but I need to make sure the lesson’s been learned. Do you have anything you wish to say to me?’ he asked, pushing her an arm’s length away from him.

She lowered her eyes. ‘I-I-I’m sorry sir.’

‘For?’ he asked, waiting for her answer. ‘Look at me please!’

Sylvie lifted her eyes and gulped down a breath. ‘Sir I’m sorry for swearing, and ar-arguing. For being defiant and dis-dis-respectful. For losing my temper and yelling at you. And being willful and st-stubborn and not o-o-beying when you told me to be quiet.’ Her eyes darted around the room as though looking for something. Was there more? She couldn’t remember. She began to panic. ‘I think that’s ev-ev-everything sir. I think…’ Tears dripped from her eyes.

‘Very well. I accept your apology. I believe you’re truly remorseful.’ His hands caressed her face, thumbs brushing aside the tears. ‘I wish I didn’t have to cause you any more pain Sylvie, but I can’t just let you off. You know that don’t you?’

Sylvie nodded in resignation.

‘You broke the rules and have to be punished. I need to make sure it won’t happen again. But in light of your contrition, I’ve decided to be lenient and forgiving just this once. Instead of an additional six strokes of each, you’ll receive just one stroke of the riding crop and one with the flogger. I want you to fully understand what awaits if you choose to displease me again. I don’t intend to be so easy on you the next time.’ He moved closer and kissed her on the forehead. ‘The sooner we get this over with the better.’

She didn’t resist when he bent her over the pillows. This time her feet remained on the floor. Dazed, she didn’t know what to make of him. Three minutes ago she thought him a cruel, cold-hearted bastard. Then he kissed her. Now what was he? Authoritarian and autocratic? Absolutely! A domineering control freak? Sure! But he wasn’t a tyrant! Not really! Part of this was her fault. First she’d agreed to his rules, then she’d reneged. She couldn’t say he hadn’t warned her. It was her decision. He hadn’t forced her to stay. She could have walked away at any time. The problem was she didn’t want to leave him. But, by the same token, she didn’t want to stay on his terms, living under his rules either. To vent her frustration at what she viewed as the unfairness of the situation, she’d spent the entire day needling him and pushing his buttons. Not very smart on her part! She hated to admit it, but she’d brought some of this on herself. Connor was what he was: a hunk, a sexy stud, a handsome hottie with six-pack abs, and a body to die for. But he was also a dom and a strict disciplinarian, with a definite penchant for corporal punishment. Regrettably, she couldn’t have one without accepting the other. Like two sides of the same coin, it was a package deal. You got both whether you wanted to or not. This was the second time he’d spanked her in less than 48 hours. How often did he intend to do this to her? And how far would he take it? Maybe this was as bad as it would ever get. Then again…maybe not. Just how much slack was she prepared to give him? He picked up the flogger. Dread overwhelmed her. Two more. Only two more. That wasn’t so bad was it? Sylvie didn’t struggle. She was no longer trying to escape the lesson.

Though his anger had abated, he had no intention of making the remaining strokes love taps. He’d insure she’d feel this punishment for days. He lifted his arm high then brought it down quickly. Thwack! The flogger hit its target, thirty strands of leather striping her quivering bottom. Her body jerked at its painful caress. She let out a shriek. Every inch of her ass was smarting. Like she’d backed into a patch of stinging nettles. Her first impulse was to jump off the bed, grab her tender rear, and hop around like a crazed kangaroo, trying to rub the pain away. But she willed herself to stay in place. She didn’t want to give him an excuse to increase the punishment. He put the flogger down and grabbed the riding crop. In addition to its swollen dark crimson glow, her bottom was now covered with over two dozen thin red weals that extended from one hip to the other. He couldn’t decide where to lay the new stripe. Her thighs? No. It was hot outside. The temperature was in the 80s. He didn’t want to embarrass Sylvie by having the marks show below her shorts. He would strike her at the lowest, fleshiest part of her bottom. He swung back and let fly. Sylvie recoiled at the pain, letting go a strangled scream, as he laid down a line of fire across her nether cheeks. It felt like he’d branded her with a hot poker. The welt bloomed, red and angry. Sylvie was sobbing pitifully as he lifted her to her feet. Sniveling, she wiped her dripping nose with the back of her hand. Her breath coming in short hiccups. Sylvie huffed and puffed, unable to get enough air into her lungs. If only the pain would go away. But it wasn’t easing. It remained a constant misery.

Connor pushed the pillows out of the way and in one fluid motion laid Sylvie down on the bed. The sheets were soft and luxurious; but when they touched her scalded backside they felt like coarse sandpaper, exacerbating her suffering. She tried to get up, but Connor stretched an arm across her chest, effectively restraining and pinning her to the mattress. Before Sylvie could protest he forced his hand between her legs. He parted her outer lips with the fingers of his right hand. Then dragged his middle finger over her opening. It was slick and drenched with honey. He smiled broadly, eyes surveying every inch of her. The look was blatantly lecherous.

Connor snapped his fingers and the room filled with music. It started out low, drums softly tapping out a steady beat. Strings joined in, playing the staccato rhythm. Musicians plucking rather than bowing them. He hovered over her, so close she could feel the heat of his breath and smell his scent. When the flutes began to play the melody, she recognized the piece as Ravel’s Bolero.

‘I promised you pleasure and I’m a man of my word!’ His fingers began stroking her lower lips ever so slowly. It felt like a feather lightly grazing her sensitive flesh, leaving a tingling sensation in its wake. She wiped the remaining tears away and focused on him.

Connor’s fingers traced around her opening again and again. Sylvie began to squirm in response to his intimate attention. The movement rekindled the fire in her bottom. She was alive with sensation. Her body swinging wildly between searing pain and glorious pleasure. She could feel arousal building in her core.

‘Do you like me touching you here?’

‘Yes’ she squeaked, ‘It feels nice.’

‘Nice. Is that all?’ he laughed, sounding miffed. ‘I was going for fucking fantastic!‘

Before she could respond, he began to suckle on her earlobe. Then proceeded to kiss her neck. As the wind instruments joined the swelling strains, he slipped his index finger inside her. Then began fingering her in time to the music. The pad of his thumb drew tiny circles on her clit. She arched against his hand, driving his finger deeper into her core. He pressed his mouth to hers as the horns joined in. The melody was haunting, almost erotic. A second finger joined the first, stretching and filling her. His kiss was ravenous. Forcing her lips apart, he dragged his tongue over hers. Probing. Taking possession. Delving deeper, he plundered the succulent orifice. Sylvie rolled her head from side to side enraptured. The music was like an aphrodisiac, drugging her. Sensual. Seductive. In and out, in and out, his tongue fucked her mouth. Sylvie began to writhe with pleasure; but the movement was like blowing on a smoldering fire. Her bottom ignited again, throbbing in pain just as her sex thrummed with passion. It was sweet torture. His fingers and tongue kept time to the music. Plunging into her in unison. While his free hand alternately plucked and squeezed her nipple. She was panting. Connor watched the steady rise and fall of her chest, her body almost humming with need. She was so sexy, her hair mussed, eyes half-closed. When the horns picked up and the music got louder, Connor rose from the bed tearing off his shirt and taking off his jeans and briefs in one motion. He crawled back on the bed; and slipping his arms under her knees, lifted her legs, spreading them wide apart. He smiled as his head descended. His lips encircled her clit and began to suck. Sylvie mewled and moaned.

‘Ah…ah…ah… Aargh. Oh God Connor!’

His tongue began to lave attention on her tender bud as he continued to suckle.

She arched her body, so he could feast on her flesh.

He loved it when she was like this: wanton, passionate. He let loose her nub and drove his tongue into her passage. His entry and exit became the rhythm, beat, and melody. The music swept her away. She was part of the orchestra. Her body was an instrument and Connor was playing her. His tongue and fingers elicited the notes, sighs and moans, grunts and groans. The fire in her core was flowing like molten lava, pulsing through her body, rushing through her veins, consuming her.

‘I need to feel…,’ she panted, ‘feel you inside me. Please! Oh please Connor! Now! Fuck me now!’ Her breath was coming in fits and starts.

His lips bestowed one last delicious kiss on her throbbing clit. ‘Your wish is my command!’ He settled between her legs, pushing her knees toward her chest. He positioned his manhood against her opening and with one swift stroke his cock drove into her. He relished the feeling of his penis resting snug inside her. They fit so perfectly together: his sword, her inviting sheath. He made love to her in long, slow, deliberate stokes. Plunging deep then pulling almost all the way out again. His cock moved in cadence with the tempo. Driving harder and deeper as the music swelled. He studied Sylvie, watching every reaction. The flush of her cheeks. The rise and fall of her breasts. The sweat glistening on her skin. The movement of her tongue as she slowly licked her luscious lips. Her beautiful blue eyes becoming dreamy and unfocused, lashes fluttering. So blissful. So sexy! He adjusted the angle and depth of his penetration, rolling his hips from side to side, trying to give her the greatest possible pleasure.

The strains of Bolero reverberated in the room while he orchestrated her ecstasy. His cock pounded into her, his fingers attending to her quivering clit, his tongue dueling and dancing with hers.

As they neared the crescendo, Sylvie begged for release. Her heart thumped in her breast, her breathing ragged.

The music surged, horns blaring. He pulled out then rammed into her, the force of his thrust lifting her as he buried himself to the hilt. Connor roared as his body exploded with pleasure. He came hard. Thousands of electric shocks jolting him.

She could feel his warm cream bathing her insides, the heat of his body scorching her skin. Her fingers played on his flesh, stroking, kneading. Her lips sought refuge in his. She wanted to be one with him; to melt into his every pore, joined with him forever.

The kettledrum pounded and her body convulsed. Her muscles began to squeeze his cock. As the cymbals crashed, wave after wave of rhythmic rapture pulsed out from her core. Connor pounded into her again and again and she screamed, almost delirious now. The orgasm engulfed every part of her body: her legs and arms trembled and shook, toes and fingertips tingled, her eyes rolled back in her head. It felt like she would swoon. As the convulsions lessened and the twitching stopped, she lay on the bed completely spent and exhausted. He didn’t pull out, unwilling to let her go. He kissed her. A sweet kiss filled with unspoken promise. Sylvie looked up at him. His eyes were shining. There was such tenderness and affection reflected in them. She didn’t know what to make of Connor Hudson. He was such a contradiction: on one hand cruel and punishing; on the other gentle and caring. It was like living with Jekyll and Hyde. Was this what life with Connor would be like? Whatever he was. However disconcerting. However irritating and annoying. However sullen, stern, and unreasonable. She knew she couldn’t leave him. Not yet anyway.

Her life had taken a strange turn. It had all the elements of an erotic novel. An innocent heroine. A dark, brooding, dominant, anti-hero. A conflict of wills. She wasn’t sure where fantasy ended and reality began. But one thing was certain: she had to know how the story would end.