Part 17 (1/2)

”Because you know me well.” His grin widened. ”At least it might not be today.”

”What's the task?”

”I'll explain it shortly. First, I do love putting you in bondage.”

I followed him to the fireplace, where a coil of blue rope sat on the mantelpiece. An elegantly curved sculpture hung from the ceiling, reminding me of a yoke for a pair of horses.

I soon realized it was a yoke for me. It settled onto my shoulders and he roped my wrists to the ends of it. ”And here I thought it was a piece of art.”

”It is a piece of art, but a functional one. The winch is for lifting sculptures. It also happens to be useful for lifting people, in certain circ.u.mstances. Now bend your knees,” he said, encouraging me to squat partway down. I felt like a bodybuilder partway through a lift. He adjusted the chains that the yoke hung from so that they were taut with me in that position, my a.s.s sticking out in back. ”Very good.”

He walked around me in a circle, admiring the view.

”No blindfold this time?” I asked.

”Not this time,” he said. ”And no gag, either. I think I want you to have full use of your eyes and mouth for this. There is one more thing I am going to use to restrain you, though.”

”What?” I imagined something with leather and buckles.

”I'll show you. It's a very simple thing.” He moved beyond where I could see and then came back holding an egg.

”Where is that going to go?” I couldn't imagine he was going to put it inside me, but what else could it be for?

”It goes right between your knees,” he said, and leaned over to place it between my two bent legs. He put it just above my knees, where the fleshy part of my thighs began. ”So, here is your task. Don't break the egg.”

”Don't break it?”

”If it breaks, you get a c.l.i.t-flogging. If it doesn't break, you get rewarded by pleasure,” he reminded me as he moved out of my sight to somewhere behind me.

”Huh. Sounds simple enough...” I couldn't turn my neck enough to see him. ”What will you be doing in the meantime?”

”I'll be switching you.”

”I thought switching meant we traded places.”

He chuckled. ”I mean switching as in birching. Although this is willow.” He plucked one of the long, slender branches from the tall vase and showed it to me, before retreating behind me again.

”Oh.” Birching was something like caning, if my half-remembered knowledge of Victoriana was correct. ”So... I guess it's not all pleasure, then?” My voice came out a giddy squeak.

He sounded just as gleeful. ”I said that would be after the task. I never said whether the task would be painful or not, did I?”

”You should have been a lawyer.”

”I like promises better than contracts,” he said, running his hand over my bare bottom. ”Negotiation is fun. Contracts are dull.”

”If you say so.”

”Hush now. Here comes the first one.” He stepped back and I heard the sound of something swis.h.i.+ng in the air. The sound made me startle, but it was just a test: nothing happened. ”Remember, don't drop the egg, or crush it.”

”Oh f.u.c.k,” I said, and I meant it.

The first blow with the switch felt like a slice of fire across my a.s.s, a thin line of burning, a little bit like the riding crop except not as hard. It didn't feel like an impact so much as a sudden blossom of agony across my b.u.t.tocks. I clenched my fists around the ends of the yoke and realized it was shaped perfectly for that. Kinky handlebars. I wondered if James had made them himself or if you could buy them on the Internet.

My wonderings were interrupted by the next stripe across a fresh part of my skin, and I shook a little, groaning to absorb the pain while fighting not to squeeze my thighs together and crush the egg.

Oh, that egg. It became the center of all my thoughts as he laid stripe after stripe onto me, down the backs of my thighs and across my b.u.t.t cheeks, never hurrying, savoring my plight. I tried to convince myself that he'd hardboiled it. Surely he wouldn't risk the finish on the fancy parquet wood floor. But could I risk it? I couldn't.

And I couldn't do anything less than my best for him. ”Ow ow ow! That's really starting to hurt!” I cried, around what must have been the twentieth one. I had lost track of how many I'd taken a long time ago.

”Back up,” he suggested gently.

”Back up?”

”Very carefully, take teensy steps backward toward me,” he said. ”Carefully. There you go. Stop if you feel like you're going to drop the egg.”

I shuffled backward a few inches, then a few inches more, while the winch pulled at the chains attached to the yoke. The result was I was bent forward more, my a.s.s even more prominently thrust toward him, my toes pointed inward as I kept my grip on the floor.

”You can't see it,” he said, ”but your p.u.s.s.y lips are protruding now.”

”Oh f.u.c.k,” I said, knowing full well that meant that tender area would be his next target for the switch. I had kept up shaving between my legs while we'd been apart, so there was not even hair to protect from the evil implement.

He was merciless now, not pausing between stripes, laying it on five, six, seven, eight times until I was screaming, and then another and another until I lost my footing. I curled instinctively, pulling my feet up, and I swung, hanging from the bar, forward and then back again. He caught me with a hand on my rump before I could go too far, then fondled me, working two fingers inside my wet core.

His voice was warm and sweet in my ear. ”You did very well.”

”Did I?” My legs trembled a little at the way his fingers were moving inside me.

”So far.” With that he gave my G-spot a sudden tweak and I gasped and spasmed...

And crushed the egg. The sound of the sh.e.l.l cracking and then the wet plop on the floor was unmistakable. ”Oh f.u.c.k f.u.c.k f.u.c.k.”

”Tsk tsk tsk. We're not to the f.u.c.king part yet,” he said with a gentle laugh. ”I guess it's c.l.i.t-flogging time after all.”

He released me from the yoke and led me to one of the covered pieces of furniture, sliding the drape off to reveal a seductively curved... chair? Divan? Imagine if an incredibly high-end furniture maker had designed a luxury gynecologist's table. He folded the sheet and placed it where I would be lying back, and then helped me up onto it. I was reminded of the bucket seat in his car, curved to my body. ”Now. Hold your knees with your hands. Keep yourself spread for me.”

He leaned down to plant a tender kiss right on my c.l.i.t, which throbbed wildly in response. I was so aroused.

I watched him saunter across the room to open a cabinet set in the wall. I couldn't see what else was in it, but when he closed the door again I saw he had a flogger with many short tails, only six or seven inches long, in his hand. ”I bought this for you, after seeing how you responded to one like it in London.”

He came and kissed me on the mouth first, another long melding of our lips and tongues until I was panting, and then he went to stand at my feet. He dragged the tails slowly upward, the friction across my c.l.i.t making my legs shake.

”That aroused already? My, my, someone really does love challenges.”

”Someone really does love you,” I confessed.

”Say that again when you're not high on endorphins.” He caressed the insides of my thighs with his fingertips.