and then I’d fuck her hard, deny her orgasm, and spank her ass. The paddle had holes in it, and it was going to hurt worse than she’d expect, but that was tonight’s theme. My intention was to negotiate these nights in the future. Two or three times a year, extreme pain that she’d have to change to heal from, but that we’d time so I could see the marks for several days first. I was fine with spanking and flogging her the rest of the year, and being in control of her orgasms, but I’d need this, too. Not much. Just a few times a year.
I let the whip fly twice, and this time, her screams seemed to rip through the air in the room, as if they were physical things. She was still screaming when I pressed into her cunt and shoved it all the way in. Fast and brutal, fighting past the resistance from the plug, forcing my way in.
This cross had handles for the victim to hold, and her fists squeezed around them, as if holding on for dear life while I fucked her like an animal.
But this wasn’t the owl, not that kind of animal, this was me letting my inner sadist out to play.
I fucked her until I was so close to blowing my load, I felt it boiling in my balls, and then I stepped away from her and denied my own damned orgasm. Sometimes, the sadism blows back on me, but I wasn’t ready to lose my edge yet, and I might if I came.
“Paddle now, kitty cat.”
“I don’t think I can, Frost. Please.”
Her calling me by my name pulled me back, a tiny bit. I’d been the animal, and now I was a little more human. I didn’t want to lose that edge. It felt too good.
“No more speaking. You can scream, but no words or I’ll whip you again.”
Not another seven strikes, but she didn’t need to know that. I just needed to shut her up.
And then I looked at her back and realized she shouldn’t take even two more. Seven had been the right number. I walked to the wall and grabbed a tongue clamp. It works like the chopsticks and rubber band combination, but it clamps down without having to fuck with rubber bands or string. I talked her through opening her mouth and sticking her tongue out, and fastened the foot-long piece at the base of her tongue, so it was trapped, and stuck out her mouth with a few inches showing. There was no way for her to form words now. I touched the tip of her nose for a brief second.
“You can’t take the whip anymore. This keeps you from talking without me having to risk hurting you worse than you can handle.”
I’d always known that I’d have to find someone who trusted me not to use safewords. I needed this to be real, but I also needed the woman I loved to understand that I’d know when things were too much. I wasn’t going to permanently damage her, but I also wasn’t going to give her more pain than she could handle and stay sane. PTSD is a real thing, and I needed her to associate this kind of pain as good, even when it hurt so badly she’d have done just about anything to make it stop. The tongue clamp seemed cruel, but it was nicer than giving her more of the whip because she talked when I’d told her not to.
I kept the paddle behind her, so she wouldn’t see it. I didn’t want her knowing which one I used. Not because it would scare her, but because of the mind-fuckery. When she asked me the next day, I still wouldn’t tell her. Five years later, she’d still wonder. She’d probably narrow it down to a few, but she’d never know for certain.
It was one more way to make sure the entire night stayed alive in her head. It wasn’t going to blend in with other nights, other scenes, other times we use this room.
Chapter Thirty-One
Cheyenne
I awoke in a cage, my shoulders on a padded bar, my waist bound and hanging from the top of the cage, and my ankles restrained so I couldn’t move them. Something padded was under my knees and feet, too. My hands were free, and I rubbed my eyes.
“There aren’t many ways to get comfortable and sleep,” Frost said from behind me. “You needed rest, so I