Her eyes grew heavy-lidded, and Arran almost groaned when those sweet nipples hardened and pressed against the bodice of her gown. Hell and damnation, he should have purchased her a new one at the dressmaker. Because the way he felt right now, this gown would soon be in pieces on the floor. As would her stays and chemise. Only then would she receive her first lesson in the intertwined pleasure and pain of sexual discipline, something he understood now she had genuinely craved since the moment they met.
“Yes, sir,” she whispered, biting her lower lip.
“Good. Then let us retire.”
Oh God. Her silly, awkward plan to goad him into action had actually worked.
As they moved across the dining room toward the narrow staircase that led to the guest rooms, Rachel had to press her lips together to stop a sound of pure excitement escaping. She was going to be spanked. And it wouldn’t be like those half-hearted swats she’d received at the school that had first awakened this unusual and overwhelming need inside her. No, Arran’s big, stern hands would make her submit to him in every way. That she was sure of.
The thought sent a trickle of wetness between her thighs, and Rachel stumbled on the staircase as she attempted to hurry.
Arran’s arm curled around her waist from behind, hauling her back against his chest. “Easy, kitten.”
“But I need to be spanked now,” Rachel said bluntly, resenting even a tiny delay when she had waited to be taken in hand for what seemed like forever.
“I know you do. Trust that very, very soon your luscious ass is going to be holly berry-red and dancing on my lap. But let us be clear on one point, though. There are rules and boundaries to be established before we begin; sexual discipline is for pleasure, not abuse. After that, you will obey my every instruction, or we will stop. Do you understand?”
A wave of raw desire swept through her, and she nearly came, right there on the staircase. “Yes. Please, sir. Don’t make me wait any more. I can’t bear the ache.”
A laugh rumbled in his chest, and he brushed the lightest of kisses across the back of her neck, tormenting her further. “You shall have to bear it. Orgasms are a reward, and I will permit you to come when you’ve earned them. While I may consider leniency as this is your first spanking, do not think to test or try me.”
Rachel did moan then, helplessly aroused by his uncompromising words. He truly comprehended her need to be mastered in the bedchamber.
“Walk, kitten,” Arran added, nudging her to continue up the staircase.
The hallway seemed a mile long, but at last they reached their room. He unlocked the door and ushered her inside, then latched it behind them.
“What…what should I do?” she asked hoarsely, as he walked straight to the fireplace and stoked it until a healthy blaze burned. “Lift my gown and bend over the bed?”
His lips twitched as he removed his jacket, waistcoat, and cravat, before rolling up his linen shirtsleeves. “No. You will be entirely naked. I want to see every inch of your beautiful body when I discipline you, especially that backside of yours.”
It was almost unendurable, how slowly he undressed her. Every button took years, every rasp and swish of stay cords loosening seared her senses, and her breath came in shallow, unsteady pants long before she stood unclothed in the center of the room. Arran gently turned her, his hot gaze lingering on her rock-hard nipples, before moving down her fleshy belly to her soaking wet cunt, and back up to her face.
“Good,” he said, and although his nod of approval was brusque, it felt like a caress.
The way he drank in her naked form tempted Rachel to shun clothing for the rest of her life. In the past, she’d heard many cruel taunts about her weight and the size of her bottom, and while she’d never agreed with them and loved her ample curves, having a handsome gentleman regard her with such reverence was very nice indeed.
“What should I do now?” she whispered, ready to completely submit to him.
Arran regarded her. “Clasp your hands behind your back. You may choose if you want them bound with my cravat or not.”
“Bound,” she replied, bowing her head and staring at the wooden floor, her cheeks hot. “Do you have another in your satchel? I’m…I’m not sure if I can be quiet tonight.”
“You wish to be gagged, Rachel?”
“Yes, sir.”
Soon her wrists were secured behind her back in a firm but comfortable binding, and a clean length of linen had been folded in half, settled just in her mouth and fastened around her head. She was naked, bound, and gagged, and it felt so deliciously naughty. Freeing, even, like she could finally be her true self. The benefit of the gag soon became apparent as Arran expertly massaged her neck, shoulders, hips and belly, yet offered her taut, aching nipples and pulsing clitoris only brief grazes of his fingertips. Her moans of delight—and shrieks of frustration—were muffled by the linen.
When her need grew so great she could scarcely stand up straight, and the juices trickling from her cunt fragranced the room, he led her over to the bed. Arran sat down with his thighs spread and directed her to lie across his lap. Her cheek and breasts rested on the bed, her belly on his left thigh, her bound wrists sat on the small of her back, and her legs stuck out straight behind her on his right thigh.
The position left her near-helpless, and Rachel wriggled in anticipation.
“Now,” said Arran. “If you want me to stop, hold up one finger. Show me that. Good. You may do that at any time. As I said before, this discipline is for pleasure, not to hurt or distress you. Are you ready?”
She nodded
