To Command And Collar

He stepped behind the woman and ran his fingers over the pretty spattering of freckles on her shoulders. “Linda,” he said quietly. “Are you ready to begin?”

Under the freckles, her muscles tensed. She nodded.

“When I ask you a question, I want to hear your voice, girl,” he said in an even tone, setting up the rules of the game. His hands curved around her wrists, adding to her sensation of restraint as he pressed his groin into her from behind, then let his whole body meld with hers, pushing her ribs against the wood in the middle. “You can call me Master if you need to beg.”

He threaded his fingers into her short hair, tugging her head to one side so he could close his teeth on the curve between her neck and shoulder. He bit down firmly, enough to hurt. Waking her to her helplessness and his intent. The beast inside him moved forward; his body felt larger, stronger.

“If you yell, ‘Mercy, Master,’ I will…perhaps…give you a break,” he growled, sickened and aroused at the same time. He never worked without a safe word, without consent, but to save her from worse, he’d have to do so-or at least appear to do so. “Say it now.”

“Mercy, Master,” she whispered. Even her lips looked soft, slightly puffy. Kissable and damn fuckable.

“Good,” he grunted. He rubbed his hands over her arms and shoulders and down her back, pleased with the gentle hollow at the base of her spine. A big-arsed woman, his British friends would say. His favorite kind. He slapped that white ass, one cheek, then the other. Not hard, just enough to warm the skin, stroking the sting away before striking again. He hadn’t bothered with trying to fasten her ankles to the legs of the cross, not with one shackled, but he set one boot between her feet and shoved them roughly apart.

“I want you open to me,” he said in a raw voice and was hell of pleased to see a flush rise into her face. His eyes narrowed, meeting hers, and she flinched and dropped her gaze. Submissive. God, she was a beauty.

Pushing the noise of the auction from his mind, he filled his thoughts with only this woman. He slid his hands over her ample curves, over her rounded stomach to her God-bethanked breasts. Heavy in his cupped palms, spilling over the sides. Fucking her would be like burying himself in a down quilt, surrounded by feminine softness.

He pressed his chest against her back, delightfully surprised when she didn’t cringe away. When he rubbed his erection on her reddened ass, he heard the smallest moan-and hell with it, he needed to know. He put his hand on her pussy, unsurprised to find she’d begun to dampen. “You’re wet, girl.”

“I’m a slut.” The self-loathing and misery in her voice pissed him off considerably. Raoul had mentioned something about this.

He growled in her ear and pressed his cock between her buttocks. “Feel that, missy? A man’s dick rises with the smell of a female, with the sound of a woman’s voice, with the dawn, at the sight of pretty tits, at the touch of…anything. No one calls us names because our cocks aren’t under our control.” He cupped his hand over her- nicely-bare cunt, playing in the dampness. “So when a woman’s pussy reacts on its own, why would I call her a name?” He sucked on her earlobe, surprising a shudder out of her, then ran his scratchy cheek over hers, giving the so-sensitive nerves there a hint of pain. And her juices responded.

“I’ve been doing this a long time, girl,” he said, using her own arousal to slicken her vulnerable clit. “And I’m not only good at it, but we-you and me-we have something between us.”

“No,” she whispered.

“Yes, missy.” When she tried to pull her legs together, he kicked them open again and felt her tightening nipple press into his palm. The beast inside him said, Hurt this one and make her mine.

Dammit, not mine. I’m here to stall. Dragging his brains up from where they’d lodged in his balls, he diverted himself with a quick check of the restraints. Hands were pink, cuffs not too tight. Then to please himself, he cupped both of her breasts again, hearing her inhale, feeling her heat against his body.

“I’m going to make you hurt now, girl,” he whispered. Her breasts were heavy in his hands, and he tightened his grip until he heard her breath catch. “I’m going to whip you until you dance the dance, until your screaming wakes God himself.” He pulled her nipples, pinching cruelly.

Tears stood in her eyes-and her ass pushed back against his shaft. “No, please.” Her head whipped back and forth as she moved her body, trying to evade his grip.

He wanted to see her face. A shame he couldn’t walk around the cross and simply look at her; he preferred a chain station for that reason. But this was what he had. He grabbed her chin and turned her face toward him. Her eyes held the pain he’d given her, showing some fear-and more heat. Just right.

“Eyes on me,” he snapped. “And don’t look away.” He took one nipple, rolling it between his fingers. Damn, he wished the slavers provided breast clamps as well as impact toys. He squeezed harder, enjoying the whine in her throat. Pulled and pinched, studying her eyes to judge the right amount, and savored the blossoming of fresh pain in her eyes, her face, the way her body stiffened, muscles tensing here and there.

Sweat started to bead on her upper lip.

He smiled at her. “That’s a good girl. Let’s do the other side.”

“Master, please. My breasts are sensitive.”

He paused, knowing even now that she wouldn’t safe-word out, that this was the beginning of the dance, and he answered the need under her words. “I know they are, Linda. That’s why I’m doing this.” And he squeezed her other nipple.

“Eeeeee.” Her scream caught between her teeth as she shut it down. Her arms jerked with her efforts to escape. To push him away. Her knees sagged.

He stroked her damp face. “Those screams in there aren’t going to be buried very long,” he whispered into her ear. Her hair was silky, and he rubbed his cheek over it. “If we were somewhere else, afterward I’d fuck you hard…and pull on your nipples every time you came.”

The tremor ran from her breasts all the way to her fingers, and he smiled.

Stepping back, he ran his fingers down her ass, between her legs, to the dampness on her inner thighs. He teased the folds between her legs, nice fat labia-perfectly designed for clamps. His finger slid into her, earning a low moan and wiggle. Very wet. She’d be a joy to fuck. He played with her clit and cunt, the scent and little noises she gave upping his own desire.

She’d take more pain and last longer if he could keep her arousal high. Fucking slavers- he damn well didn’t want to be here.

He wiped her juices off on her leg and felt her flinch, remembered her word. Slut. He gripped her hair, pulled her head back. “I like you wet, Linda,” he growled. “And what I want is all you have to worry about right now. Clear?”

The way she moistened her lips to speak… The way her response flowed to him was getting to him. Hell. He took advantage of how he’d made her arch, and shoved his hand between her legs again-forcefully this time-pushing into her in a manner that showed exactly what he wanted to do to her.

A tremor ran through her as she clenched around him. More moisture wet his fingers.

She liked rough. Hell, maybe he’d add a little pussy pain while he was at it. Drive her high before endorphins shoved her head into the clouds.

He barely glanced at the two buyers who stood nearby as he strolled to his spot. Even turned away from her, he could almost feel her breathing. Feel how the ache in her breasts receded, but the memory lingered. Feel how she craved more.

After a second, he picked up the cane. Time to warm her up. A slow, slow warm-up. Damn them for not having his favorite toys available. But a light application would work well enough.

He started by sliding the rattan over her legs, letting her enjoy the smoothness of it, the hardness, before running it up her front.

She stiffened.

That’s right, girl. This is a cane. But pain wouldn’t come from it. It was just for warm-up to the whip.

Tapping lightly, occasionally giving her a feather-stroke touch, he woke up the flesh on her back, butt, and thighs. He followed the path of the cane with his free hand as her muscles gradually lost their tension.

Her breathing slowed.

He increased the intensity, keeping to the sting rather than the blow. Her body was still relaxed, and from the tiny curve of her lips, he knew the small smacking sounds of the cane pleased them both.

Her ass was turning a pretty pinkish red, a color that made a dom want to use his hand to see if he could darken it. Light play just didn’t do it for him. He glanced at his watch. How long could he drag this out? He saw an