Chapter One Hundred and Twenty-One

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Another scream rips itself from my raw throat, my eyes slamming shut against the piling, cumulative pain.

My latest answer, like all the ones before it, voices both my victory and defeat, but the accompanying blow is especially hard this time, seemingly more punishing than all the others combined.

I try—and fail—to collect myself, swallowing and trying to breathe normally even though I feel like I'm on the verge of hyperventilating from how close he is, his fingers resuming their movements on my bare hip, the fact that my entire lower body is naked, unveiled and open for him to see in spite of the darkness surrounding us.

I inhale his crisp, spicy scent, breathing him in involuntarily, and I feel my treacherous pussy twitch and pulse from the combination of sensations, becoming more and more restless, as if it's asking for more of what happened earlier.

In horror, I realize that my hips just moved without my permission, before I can even think about it or stop myself, my body seeking more of the delicious friction his fingers are teasing me with. He doesn't say anything, and if he noticed, he doesn't give it away. But I'm sure he did. He's too observant and assertive not to. I steel myself against him, against the sensations his fingers are eliciting between my thighs.

I almost choke on my own spit when, almost painfully slow, his fingers trail over the curve of my thigh, and his large hand comes to settle right under my butt cheek, the action almost...natural. As if it's supposed to be there, as if it's done it so many times before.

He laces his fingers through my hair, grabbing a large fist full of the wild, tousled curls at the back of my head, his grip rough yet measured. The action forces my chin up, and the barrier of my glasses offers zero protection against the indescribable intensity in his eyes, against the severe expression that simultaneously mars and enhances his striking features.

I feel the crop at my inner thigh, the blunt edge of the head creeping up the juncture between my legs, settling precariously just mere inches away from the bare folds of my nether lips. Distinct moisture clutches at them; hot, slick liquid smearing and coating my most sensitive flesh as it trickles out. I clench my core muscles involuntarily, but the effort is futile and I feel the unmistakable plop of discharge force its way out.

I have to tear my eyes away from his at the knowledge my body is reacting this way, betraying me.

"You're not quite done yet, Ramona," he says after I go silent for a brief but significant pause. Well...silent save for the erratic wheezing I can't seem to control. "You still have one more to go. What else?"

"I don't know," I lie.

"Sure you do," is his verbal, measured response, but his fingers glide up the side of my hip, the crop still in place between my thighs.

After another awkward pause, I grit my teeth and my eyes slam shut as I force myself to say the word, unable to bear looking at him while I do.

"Semen."

The word leaves me in a shy, almost timid whisper, and the strained cracking in my voice only makes me sound even more nervous. I try desperately not to think about his cock, how it looked earlier, so naked and full and firm and ample.

Before I have time to shake the image from my mind I feel a sharp, intense pain explode in my pussy.

It's so abrupt.

So unexpected and out of the blue.

My eyes snap open with the speed of a meteor right before it hits, and before I can draw another breath, I feel the crop deliver a second blow.

My mouth falls open without a lick of resistance, fresh new tears instantly blurring my impossibly wide eyes.

I want to scream, to wail, to cry out, but nothing leaves my lips.

Nothing can.

For a fraction of a second, everything literally goes blank. I can't think. Can't move. Can't breathe.

One second passes.

Two seconds.

Three.

I stare with wide, confused, mortified eyes into those of a beautiful monster, into something I've never seen before.

A smirk dances on his face as he takes in my state. I can barely even process what just happened, my body overrun with sensations too intense for my mind to conjure, and my brain begins to combust inside my skull, unable to keep up.

At some point I hear his voice, low and seductive, but also extremely disquieting.

"Good, Ramona," he touches the head of the crop to my nether lips, and I damn near die on the spot when he starts to rub it against the sore flesh, his motions insistent. "I do believe you've earned your ass a reprieve."

My breath catches in my throat, hoping that it might mean this nightmare is finally over—though I doubt this spawn of hell would let me off that easy. I struggle desperately to ignore what's happening down below, to push past the utter mortification of what this bastard is doing to me even though I'm shivering like someone just shoved the world's biggest igloo in my back.

In a cracked, breathy whisper, I ask, "S-so my p-punishment is over?"

He lets out a light chuckle, pressing the crop a little harder into my pussy. A loud gasp forces it way out of me, my back arching as my hips retreat, seeking safety that is nowhere in sight. I have to bite on my bottom lip to stifle another gasp, involuntarily rising further on already tipped toes in a futile attempt to get away from his invasion.

"What do you think, Ramona?" he smirks.

I'm panting from the pressure the crop is now putting on my crotch.

"No," I whimper.

His eyes narrow dangerously, all trace of humor gone.

"Arriving late, not following instructions and now asking to have your punishment ended."

"But I didn't—"

This time, I can't suppress the gasp that rips itself from my throat, my words dying instantly, once again cut off when presses the crop so hard into my mound that it starts to slide into my opening.

"Let's add speaking out of turn to the list of infractions." His tone is murderous. Harsh. Unapologetic. Just like the look in his eyes.

"The correct answer you gave earned your ass a break," he says, his eyes flitting over my raw, throbbing cheeks. "Surely, that's something you don't contest. However..." his eyes rise to meet mine again, the most wicked, sinister grin tugging on his delicious lips, "your punishment is far from over."

He quickly pulls the crop out, causing me to gasp as the pressure is lifted, but with lightning speed, the crop descends on me again, and he gives my pussy another slap.

My eyes roll into the back of my head, my breath stuttering in my chest as a sharp blast of fire ripples into my core.

His voice brims with the amusement of a kid at a live circus.

"So let's continue, shall we?"

And without warning he begins to make quick, hard hits to my sensitive slit, so close that I have no time to breathe in between strokes.

My entire body tenses, every cell in my body rupturing and coming back together again in a split second. I feel the wind literally get knocked out of me, breathless as my lungs seize in my chest, my airways shutting down and all oxygen ceases to move. My skin buzzes all over, like it's stuffed with a colony of angry bees, and palpable fire burns between my thighs.

I blink rapidly against the sheer intensity of what I'm being subjected to, what I'm being forced to endure, my limbs going impossibly stiff, straining with the effort it's taking to support my taut, rigid body. My hands ball up into tight fists above my head involuntarily, my fingernails digging into the already bruised flesh of my palms. But the sharp sting is nothing compared to what I feel between my legs.

Out of nowhere, liquid heat rushes out of me without my permission, and I can do nothing to stop the vulgar flow. Wet smacking sounds fill the air one after another, hard leather colliding with moist, slippery flesh, like an obscene song.

Crack.

Smack.

Scream.

Repeat.

Tears flow freely down my cheeks, all my restraint to keep them at bay eroding with each whip to my pussy.

Oh God, oh God, oh God...

I don't know how long it continues until he stops abruptly and stares at me.

"Who said you could stop counting?" Frost growls through gritted teeth, the danger in his voice matching that of his eyes as they narrow viciously at me.

I try to speak, but a strained, incoherent sound is all I can manage.

Breathe, I have to remind myself. Just breathe.

And I try to, desperately, but each inhale feels like I'm attempting the impossible right now. My heart pounds too hard and too fast for my chest to contain it, feeling like it's going to break in half.

Large, strong fingers dig into my cheeks, forcing my chin up, squeezing the already achy sides of my face firmly. Frost touches the very tip of his nose to mine, the edgy gleam in his icy eyes driving a tornado of shivers through every inch of my body...shivers that somehow collect in my pussy, further inflaming the sharp sting that it's pulsing against.

"You seem to be enjoying this punishment," he whispers, a wicked grin offsetting the visible tension in his jaw. "I hadn't realized how much of a slut you were when I asked for this deal."

My eyes bulge at that remark, heat scorching my entire face, but before I can respond, I feel something being shoved into my mouth and fastened around my head. My blood runs cold as realization dawns on me as to what it is.

A ball gag.

A frickin' ball gag.

Un.

Fucking.

Believable.

Jesus, I really can't speak now—not that I was doing a bang up job of it before.

He takes a few steps back, his icy eyes boring into mine.

"I'm going to leave you here now," he says, the words leaving his gorgeous lips so easily, the statement so casual, so matter-of-fact. "You haven't earned a safe word yet because of your disobedience. However," he smirks, "if, at any point, you decide you can't take any more, there is a whistle in the ball. All you have to do is blow it and I'll end it...all of it."

He turns to do exactly as he promised, and with wide eyes, I can do little else but stare blankly at his back as he walks toward the door. Utter disbelief floods my already disheveled system, and my brain is having a hell of a time struggling to accept everything he just said when, abruptly, I feel the circle begin to move on its own...taking me with it.

My eyes widen in shock all over again, a gallon of adrenaline spiking my blood in milliseconds. My instincts kick in full force, my reflexes taking over, and I begin to jerk in my bindings impulsively.

Frost turns back to me.

"Oh, and one more thing..." he adds, clearly feigning forgetfulness. The amusement in his voice is unveiled. "In addition to the whipping, every seventy-one minutes—which, if you remember, is the number of minutes you were late by—the circle above you will move. And, in spite of that, you will keep your feet on the '7' and '11'."

It's not a request. Not by any stretch of the imagination. It's not even really a demand.

It's a statement. A simple, matter-of-fact statement that bears no repeating and requires no further elaboration.

The door swings open, and a block of dull light appears, ever so slightly illuminating the entryway and all in its path, including Frost. He looks over his shoulder one last time, one hand on the knob, his cold blue eyes piercing through the dimness.

"I suggest you use this time to think about what you have done and why you deserve this punishment."

As he says the last word the door shuts behind him and I'm left alone in the room.

In the dark.

Half-naked.

Bound and gagged.

Without a clue when I'll be allowed to leave.

***

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