My Kingdom for a Corner (8 page)

“You’re going to be spanked.”

Francesca smiled. “This from a man who doesn’t use spanking for punishment.”

She watched as he chewed the food in his mouth, then swallowed. After he’d run a napkin over his mouth, he said, “The spanking is not the punishment. It’s the trip through the club, naked and in chains, that’s the punishment for you.”

Chills ran through her. Mistress C could not be seen in chains in Mr. Oliver’s.

“This weekend is over.” She stood.

“What a pity. I didn’t take you for the type that would give up so easily.”

“I’m not giving up.” She picked up her plate and tossed the remainder of her food in the trash before she turned back to him. “Mistress C can’t be seen submitting to you like that. I would lose all credibility with my subs, with the BDSM community in general. I’d be a laughing stock.”

“Who said Mistress C was going?”

Sometimes the man was so thick. “The people who see me will think of Mistress C, not missy.”

“If they see your face, yes.”

Realization dawned over her.

“But, if you’d like to run and hide, go and get both copies of the contract, and we’ll tear them up.”

It was a damned if you do, damned if you don’t situation. Running would keep her from finding out what else he had in store for the weekend. But if even one person figured out it was her behind the mask, it could be disastrous. But could she give up the idea of being spanked in public? What would it feel like, both emotionally and physically?

The curiosity was killing her, but that emotion was at war with the need to keep her strength, to be on top, to not let anyone see her submit to Mr. Oliver. What she wanted right now was a fairy who told the future to perch on her shoulder and let her know what was going to happen today. She wanted a play-by-play video, in fast time of course, that showed her she would be safe, that her identity would be safe.

But she didn’t have that, and never would. She thought about how she could say no, and still get screwed this weekend, and suddenly, her mind changed as she thought about something he’d said earlier.

Mistress C never told her subs what was going to happen. They trusted her enough to lead them in the scene, to take them on a ride that included pain and pleasure, and took them to an unknown destination. She’d never experienced that before. How would she know whether or not she’d enjoy it unless she allowed it to happen?

“It all comes down to trust,” she whispered as she fixed her gaze on him. “I’ll do it.”

“Excellent. I have a most beautiful harness for you to wear. It will keep your tits and pussy bare, and it has lots of rings where I can attach chains.” He pointed to a spot near his chair. “Kneel.”

When she was in position, he turned toward her, spreading his legs so that she was between them. He had on jeans, and she could see the bulge that promised a nice, hard dick.

“Where could I put my cock?”

“My mouth,” she said, even as that orifice watered at the idea.

“Where else?”

“My pussy.”
Please, please let him change his mind about fucking me tonight
.

“And?”

Francesca closed her eyes. It had been forever since she’d had a cock up her ass. “My backside.”

He chuckled. “Where?”

“My asshole.”

The chuckle deepened. “Better. Now, let’s go and get you ready for your parade.”

* * * *

It had been so easy to say yes, she’d do it. But now, standing in his living room in a red leather harness that ran from neck to crotch, she wasn’t so sure about things. The straps affixed to a wide leather belt wrapped around her waist. Two of them ran downward, around her thighs and were attached to the back. The four straps above went around her breasts, two in the center, two on either side, and attached to the collar.

The cuffs on her wrists didn’t help things much. Neither did the boots, the same ones she’d been wearing earlier. She still hadn’t quite gotten the hang of walking in them, but she was sure Mr. Oliver was not going to let her fall. She studied herself in the full-length mirror, wondering about the mask. Would it be red leather? Or black leather for some contrast?

Masks were nothing new to her. When she’d first started as a Domme, there had been a sub that loved to see her in a leather hood. He said it added to the excitement, and the danger. Would she be wearing a hood instead of a mask?

Her patience was wearing a little thin. Mr. Oliver had dressed her, no words spoken between them at his order. Then he’d disappeared and had been gone a good two or three minutes. While she was waiting, that felt like an eternity.

“Hurry up,” she whispered even as she admired herself. The harness looked pretty good. She might have to buy one, and find a sub that could eat her out while she wore it.

“Hurry up,” she said a little louder, surprised when he appeared behind her.

“Patience, missy. You’ll get your punishment.” He held up an item in front of her. She studied it, and her eyes widened as she realized what it was, a Lady Godiva type wig, with a mask affixed to her. The mask had feathers that came off either side, and would run down the wearer’s cheeks. No one would know who she was while she wore this.

It took some doing, but they got the mask in place, the long, almost white hair hanging down her back. He’d piled her own darker hair on top of her head, which made the hood very snug. The mask itself hid everything but her mouth. He ran what she estimated to be a three-foot chain between her wrist cuffs, then attached another chain to the middle, and affixed it to her belt.

Yes, she was definitely going down in chains. When he held up another chain, she stiffened, for she recognized it for what it was…a dog leash.

“No, no way.” She started to back up, but he grabbed the O-ring on her collar, jerking her to a stop.

“What did you say?”

“I said no, no way, I…I…”

“If you wish to end this, you know what to say.”

What the hell had she chosen as a safe word? Something with an S…skins, shirts, steel…no, shortbread, that was it. All she needed to do was say it, and this would all be over. The idea of being led on a chain was almost too humiliating to bear.

“Say it, missy. Say it, or submit.”

Shortbread, shortbread, shortbread!
The word rang over and over in her mind, but what came out of her mouth was, “Submit.”

The clink of him attaching the leash to her collar made her tremble. Mr. Oliver gently rubbed her arm. “So beautiful, my little missy.”

Her eyes were screwed tightly shut. She didn’t want to see herself in the mirror, with a leash hanging from a collar.

“It’s all right,” he whispered in her ear. “Take a few deep breaths and look at yourself.”

She shook her head emphatically.

“You’ll do as I say,” he said, “or I’ll add clamps to the costume, three of them, two nipples and a clit.”

The pain, mixed with the embarrassment, would almost be too much. Francesca took several deep, calming breaths, then opened her eyes. The woman looking back at her was not Mistress C, that much was obvious. She was missy, being led by Mr. Oliver, submitting to him, giving herself over to his training.

“There are two more things to complete the outfit.” He moved across the room, and was back in moments. He handed her a ping-pong paddle. “For your spanking.”

She looked at the wooden paddle, lined with rubber mats that had little, raised bumps on them. This was definitely going to sting.

“And this is part of your punishment.” He handed her a sign, two pieces of printed cardstock paper pasted to a wooden handle.

She read it, her eyes widening. “I am being punished by Mr. Oliver for being a bad little missy. I am very disobedient and need to be trained. Would you like to watch, please, to make it complete? I will be spanked at midnight in the main room.”

Mortified, she stared at him. Before she could voice her objection, he started to speak.

“You won’t say a word when we’re downstairs. For one thing, there is every indication someone might recognize your voice. For another, I demand it of you. And, if you feel the urge, you will not climax until if, or when, I say you can.”

“That’s not going to be a problem,” she said, waving the sign in his face. “This will keep me from being aroused.”

“We’ll see about that.” He tugged on the leash. “Now, let’s go downstairs and play.”

* * * *

Francesca was pretty sure her whole body was as red as the leather she wore. The minute they’d stepped into the club they’d attracted attention. At Mr. Oliver’s urging, she’d shown her sign to every Dom who stopped to talk to them. He’d let two of them attach clamps to her nipples, pulling on them until she whimpered before they released them, reattached them and played it out all over again. Then, they ordered their subs to suck her abused nubs to, as they’d said, “Ease the ache.”

It had been hard to stand still while the other women nursed on her. She’d looked at Mr. Oliver both times, to see him watching her face, and not the woman suckling her. The idea had aroused her more than she wanted to admit, and when he finally took the paddle from her, slapped it against her thigh and ordered, “Wide,” she complied. The people around them watched as he rubbed the edge of the wood against her clit.

Francesca bit back a moan, and the Doms murmured their approval when Mr. Oliver said, “She’s soaked. What a little slut I have on my hands.”

She shouldn’t have been surprised that she was so wet, but she was. She attributed it to the attention paid to her nipples, but she’d be lying to herself if she didn’t admit being led on a leash by Mr. Oliver wasn’t fascinating. But it wasn’t something she wanted to make a steady diet of. Or would she? Her insides quaked with a need to be fucked, and she was sure that, when he allowed it, she would shoot off like a volcano.

When midnight rolled around, he led her to the middle of the main room. Francesca fought back terror as she looked at a large, leather spanking bench that had been set up there.

“Mount it,” he ordered. He took the paddle from her and pointed it at the contraption. “You know how to do it.”

Oh yes, she did. She’d never done it herself, but she’d made many a sub do it. Sally loved it when her pussy sat on the edge of the leather-covered bench. She said each strike pushed her clit against the support system, and increased her enjoyment of her “punishment.”

There was no turning back now, Francesca knew. She bent over the bench, not surprised when four women appeared at each end, securing her wrists and ankles to the legs. The two in back had to attach cuffs to her ankles, still encased in the boots, and took longer. While they worked, Francesca listened to the people who had gathered to watch.

Murmurs of “Beautiful,” “Extraordinary obedience,” and “Who is she?” reached her ears.

She still held the sign in her left hand, and when Mr. Oliver took it from her and crouched down next to her, she looked him in the eye.

“Kiss the paddle,” he said loudly. The rubber felt cold as she obeyed, and when he took it away, he placed the handle of the sign between her lips. “Hold it in place, or there will be hell to pay.”

“Look at the way her cunt glistens,” someone said behind her. “She’s as wet as a river. Maybe we should all be wearing rain boots.”

Francesca flushed as the crowd roared with laughter. The truth of his statement shocked her, and she realized she couldn’t blame it on the newness of the situation. She was aroused because Mr. Oliver was topping her, was about to spank her, had devised a fitting punishment by making her parade through the club naked.

Damn the man, she thought. She almost dropped the sign when he rubbed the paddle against her ass.

“Would someone like to count for me, please, since missy’s mouth is otherwise occupied?”

Good one, she thought, nice way to make sure she didn’t speak.

“I will, Mr. Oliver,” a woman said from the side.

“Thank you,” he said. “Make sure everyone can hear you, loud and clear. We’ll take our first break at fifty.”

The words, “Yes, Sir,” were barely out of the woman’s mouth when the first strike landed. He’d been rubbing the paddle against her skin, getting her ready for what was to come, but she still hadn’t been quite prepared. She started to yelp, but as the sign began to slip away she grabbed it with her teeth, holding onto it for dear life as the second strike fell.

She fought to keep the sign in her mouth as he spanked her, the strikes falling in different places, hard, then soft, and then hard again. Her ass started to burn at fifteen, and by the time they’d reached twenty-five the burn had spread throughout her lower region. She groaned against the impediment as she realized Sally had been right. Each hard blow pushed her clit against the spanking bench, and increased the arousal she already felt.

Each strike brought a strong burst of pain that turned into pleasure, and she marveled at the transition. Her subs always told her about how the strikes shot straight to their cocks, clit or nipples, depending on who was on the receiving end. Sally had always told Francesca she could climax just by being spanked.