"You’re staring at my boots, love. Tell me why,” he said. He took her in his arms and held her close against him. The crop dangled from his wrist as he ran the flat of his hand down her brutalized back.
"I like them.” She panted between the words. Pain suffused her body. Her flesh smoldered like a hot sidewalk in the rain.
"I’m very glad you do. What do you like about them?”
"The gold buttons,” she said. "I can’t stop looking at them.”
"I’ll tell you what, my darling girl,” he said. "If you can take ten strikes in a row without me stopping, I’ll let you kiss those buttons on my boots. What do you think? Would you like that?”
"Very much,” she said.
"What do you say to me?”
"Thank you, Malcolm.”
"That’s very nice, yes. Could you call me sir? I think I’d like to hear it from you. Everything you say sounds so pretty.”
"I’ll say anything you want, sir.”
"Oh, that is even better than I thought it would be. Excellent. You’ve made me so very happy tonight.” He pressed a soft kiss to her lips once more. She would never tire of his kisses or his words of affection or his pride in her. How had she ever lived without this in her life? Without the crop and the counting and the pain that earned her such rewards, would she have eagerly signed up for a thousand strikes of the crop for the next thousand years?
"Are you ready, dear? Only ten. I know you can do it. I know you will do it—for me, won’t you?”
"Of course, sir,” she said, and her heart welled and she could have wept with love for him. What wouldn’t she do for him? Nothing. The answer was nothing. She would take his English kisses over French kisses any day.
She took a breath in and braced herself. Her hands were still on her head. Her arms ached but she didn’t care.
When the strike came she was ready. It hit her on an unmarked patch of flesh on the side of her hip. The second strike came right after, in the very same spot. And the third. And the fourth. It was agony by the fifth, terrible agony by the sixth, screaming agony by the seventh. And the eighth and the ninth and the tenth passed in a haze as she wept and shook.
Malcolm caught her in his arms again as she swayed on her feet. "I’ve got you,” he said. "You’re safe. You’re with me.”
She rested her head on his shoulder as he stroked her hair. She put her arms around his neck and he let her.
"I know that hurt, didn’t it?” he asked and she nodded. "I’m sorry. You’re doing so well though.”
"It hurts so much,” she said. "I didn’t know it could hurt that much.”
"You’re taking it like you were born for the crop. I wish I had a hundred men here to watch and see what a prize you are. I wouldn’t sell you to the highest bidder, not for all the money in the world.”
She needed to hear that. It was a balm to her soul. "Thank you, sir,” she said.
"Here,” he said. "This might help a little.”
He put the crop’s strap around his wrist again and slipped his hand between her legs. He stroked her labia and clitoris while she clung to his shoulders to steady herself.
"Isn’t that nice, love?” he asked.
She nodded against his shoulder, looking down to watch him touch her. She was hot between her legs, hot inside. When he stuck a finger up and into her, she gave a little cry of pleasure.
"That’s my girl.” He spoke to her like she was a child in need of soothing. So caring. So kind. It was easy to forget that he wasn’t simply the solace for her suffering, he was the cause of it. And she loved the suffering as much as the solace. What had he done to her?
"Can I come, sir?” She wanted to climax very badly. She could take more pain, if only she could come. Already his fingers were bringing her close. And his hands were so well-proportioned and muscular and lovely that she could rest her head on his shoulder and watch him touch her sex all night and all day.
"Can you come?” He chuckled lightly even as he wiggled his finger inside her. "What sort of question is that? No. Not yet. You know it’s not time yet, silly girl.”
"I’m sorry, sir.”
"It’s fine. It’s fine,” he said soothingly. "I know it’s hard, but you’re doing so well. I would hate for you to give up already.”
"I won’t give up.”
"That’s the spirit.” He grinned at her and tickled her inside to make her laugh. "Now I believe you’ve earned a treat. Haven’t you?”
"If you say I have.”
"And I say you have.” He stopped touching her, but that was for the best. She was almost ready to orgasm. If she did, she knew she’d be in terrible trouble. Even worse, she would have disappointed him, and she couldn’t live with herself if she disappointed him. Not that. Anything but that.
She slowly sank down to the floor, using his body—so solid and sturdy—to steady herself. Once on her knees, it was near torture not to unfasten the falls of his breeches and take his cock into her mouth and suck it. But that wasn’t what she was here for, even though he was stiff and straining so hard against the white fabric she saw it throbbing. She rested her head for a moment against his rock hard thigh and sighed with indescribable pleasure when Malcolm caressed her hair.
"My Mona,” he said. "My darling.”
She touched the side of his calf and stroked the leather of his boot from his ankle to his knee. It was smooth and supple and she couldn’t get enough of it. The two gold coin buttons glinted in the candlelight. First she kissed her fingertips and pressed the kiss to the buttons. Then she brought her lips down to the them and kissed them with her mouth. Malcolm shuddered. She felt it go through his body and into hers. She kissed his boots again, kissed the gold buttons, kissed the leg of the boot that was warm from the heat of his body. While she was on the floor on her hands and knees, Malcolm caressed her sex again with the tip of the crop. She spread her legs wider for him and arched her back, offering her cunt up to him.
He struck it with the crop.
She screamed in sudden agony even though she knew he would do it, even though she wanted him to do it.
"Count, love,” he said. "You know you have to count.”
"Forty-nine,” she said. She’d survived fifty-one strikes already and that last one was worse than all of them combined.
"We’re over halfway there,” he said as she rested her head against his thigh again. "You’ve made it so far and so well. Are you tired?”
She nodded and whispered, "Yes, sir.”
"I know you’re tired.” He reached down and lightly brushed her lips with his fingers, lightly teased her cheek with a lock of her own hair. That made her smile. "There’s my girl. So obedient. She’s even smiling.”
"Why do you do this?” she asked, so torn between loving the crop and hating it, loving him and hating him. "Why, sir?”
"I do it out of kindness, of course,” he said. "You understand that, don’t you?”
She thought of his kisses, his sweet words, and the caring way he touched her welts. He was a kind man. Who but a kind man would give her such affection, such tender concern with her pain?
"I understand, sir. You are very kind.” It made her smile to say it, not because it was a lie but because it was true. She understood it all now.
"Now only forty-eight more. Do you want to take them on the floor or would you like to stand again?”
A choice. How kind of him.
"The floor, please, sir.”
"If you like,” he said. "On your hands and knees. You’ll be more comfortable that way. Legs wide. There. Just lovely. I love to see you like this,” he said, standing behind her. She knew he was looking at her open and exposed holes. She wanted him to see them. She wanted him to see what he owned. "I’m so very glad I asked you to play this game with me.”
"It’s my pleasure, sir.”
"Oh, I know it is, but it’s so rare to find such an eager partner. In truth, my dear, you’re really doing me a favor.”