Make Me, Sir
Page 11

“Everyone has needs, Darlin’. That you think you don’t means we’ll just have to explore longer.”
This time the goose bumps came totally from his words and the implacable look in his eyes. Oh God.
“Tell me about other scenes.” He regarded her as if he could see right into her heart and soul, and that was just scary. He was demanding more from her than she wanted to give…to anyone.
No choice. She drew herself up, pretending he wasn’t touching her and that his masculine scent didn’t turn her brain to mush. Think. “The man locked in the cage creeped me out.” That was safe enough to say. “The wax play was…” She choked, trying to figure out what to call it. Definitely don’t say interesting and scary erotic. Acting rude when strapped down to a table with wax dripping onto her skin sounded past masochistic. “Frightening.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Was it now?” Why didn’t he appear convinced?
“And the sub seemed out of it, like she’d had too much to drink or something.”
“That’s called subspace, sugar. You could call it drunk on endorphins, maybe. It’s a good thing—a kind of euphoria.”
“Oh. Huh.” She considered the picture again. The sub had been smiling, obviously close to coming, and higher than a kite. A happy kite. “Okay.”
“More.”
“That’s all.” Better stop while I’m ahead.
“Did you happen on the scene with the dom taking his sub in the ass?” he asked softly.
She swallowed. Oh, had she. The woman had come so violently, she’d screamed louder than the submissive Master Sam had whipped.
“I see you did.” He put a finger under her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. “Are you interested in trying anal sex, Darlin’?”
God yes. No. “Um. Maybe? No.” She rubbed damp hands on her skirt. The thought of him behind her, pushing… “No.”
His right cheek creased. “Well then, we not only need to work on your honesty, but we’ll need to get that pretty asshole of yours prepared.”
What? Her “pretty asshole” puckered in terror. And her breasts tightened with arousal. Why did she have so much trouble remembering this was just a job? I’m so confused.
“And speaking of preparation, you’d best show me your pussy. I forgot to check your work during inspection.”
Lift her skirt up so he could look at her down there? She flushed, and then the rest of his sentence registered. “Check your work.” Oh God. Her breath caught, and her stomach dropped right out of her body. She hadn’t shaved. She deliberately hadn’t shaved, but now she really, really wished she had. He’d be so unhappy with her. Disapproving. Like her father, who acted as if she never did anything right.
I’m not supposed to care about Marcus’s reactions. Bratty sub, bratty sub, bratty sub. She dragged up her inner diva and tossed her head. “What work?”
His eyes narrowed as if he saw how much effort it took to put on the rebellious act. “Lift your skirt, Gabrielle. Now.”
The power of his voice swept through her, and she wanted to—needed to—melt into a puddle at his feet. She realized her hands had already gripped the bottom of her skirt and started to lift. No no no. She forced her fingers open, let the skirt drop. What I do must attract attention. Be rude. Blatant. Hauling in a quick breath, she blew a raspberry. “Lift it yourself, big boy.”
A moment of silence from him. Then he shook his head. “I believe I will do just that.” He gripped her arm, dropped down into the chair behind him, and yanked her facedown over his knees.
“Hey!” The realization of what he planned to do hit her. Spank her? As if she were a kid? Humiliation scraped her insides like sandpaper, increasing as she remembered how many people stood nearby. They’d see… The shame and horror and fury tangled into a foaming brew. She kicked frantically and tried to push back to her feet.
He shifted her until she had no leverage, and hooked his right leg over her ankles. She felt her leather skirt lifted, a brief wash of air, and then he slapped her bottom. Hard.
“Ow!” Fury won, and she yelled it. Make a scene? If he wanted to spank her, he’d just see what kind of a nightmare a poorly disciplined sub could create. Spank her? “You fucking dipwad!”
His voice remained perfectly controlled, but she could feel his anger simmering. “I’m getting downright weary of your ornery behavior. Yesterday, being as you were new, I didn’t take you much to task. But you’re trying to rile me up on purpose, and I do believe you’ve bit off more than you can chew.”
He paused as if to let her speak, but she had nothing she could say.
“You best count for me. If you show me you’re sorry, I’ll stop at ten. Otherwise I’ll spank you until the cows come home.”
“That’s a dumb-ass idea.” She was too angry to curb her mouth. “You’re a dumb-ass.” She tried to kick and got nowhere. “Even Jesus thinks you’re a dumb-ass.”
She heard a snort of laughter. Then his way-too-hard hand slapped her left butt cheek.
Burning pain. “Ow!” He can’t do this to me, dammit. “You dickweed! Are you always stupid, or is today a special occasion?”
“Gabrielle, I got a notion I might enjoy walloping you. Let me know when you’re fixin" to start counting, subbie.” Then the blows rained onto her bottom like all hell crashed down on her. And each slap hurt—really, really hurt.
She kicked and screamed. She needed to make him stop, to do something to hurt him back—she bit his leg.
He stopped and grabbed her hair before she got a good grip, then yanked her head away from his calf. Ow ow ow. “No, Gabrielle,” he said firmly as if to a child, and a flash of shame raced through her. She’d tried to bite him?
He held her head up long enough for her to get the point, then released her hair and spanked her again. Even more harshly. When everything around her seemed to pulse with red-streaked pain, he stopped for a second. “You want to count, Gabrielle?”
“One!” She sucked in a breath, mad enough the words slid right out. “You asshole, one!”
Marcus clenched his teeth together to keep a bellow of laughter from escaping. Nolan and Dan had stopped to watch, and their shoulders shook with the same effort. Damn, how could he want to beat her curvy ass and still think she was so cute?
He waited until his voice steadied. “Bad-mouthing your dom isn’t respectful, subbie. I do believe your count is at zero.” As she squirmed, he caught flashes of her curly pubic hair. He sighed and gave her three more swats, this time on the tender undercurve of her cheeks.
She let out half a growl, half a shriek. “I’m sorry. One! One, okay? One, Sir.”
He paused. “That does sound better, Gabrielle. One, then.”
Anger gone, she pressed her face against his leg and began to cry.
His gut twisted. He enjoyed giving erotic spankings. And although fighting with a screaming little subbie was fun, hurting a crying one was entirely different. This felt too much like kicking a puppy. But backing off would be the wrong choice. She had to learn at gut level that her behavior had consequences.
Still, he lightened his blows and slowed enough so she could count: “Two, Sir. Three, Sir…”
When the count reached ten, he looked at her poor bottom and shook his head. He hadn’t struck her nearly as forcefully as he did masochists and spanking addicts, but her fair, fair skin glowed a fiery red. She might even have a bruise or two just because her soft ass wasn’t accustomed to punishment. He sighed and stroked her back, giving them both a second.
He noticed Nolan’s sub when she trotted up and handed her dom a tube of lotion. Nolan caught Marcus’s eye and wiggled the tube, then ran his knuckles over Beth’s freckled cheek, her skin almost as pale as Gabrielle’s. The dom had obviously run into the problem before.
Marcus nodded.
Nolan came over, flipped open the lid, and squeezed some lotion on Marcus’s palm.
Wintergreen and the milder sunflower-like scent of arnica drifted in the air. Very nice. “Thank you, Nolan.”
The dom’s rough face held sympathy. “It really does help,” he said quietly, then led his sub away.
“Don’t move, sugar,” Marcus warned Gabrielle. Dammit, this would hurt almost as much as the spanking. He set one hand on her lower back to hold her and started to massage the ointment into her reddened skin.
Her soft sobs broke into a thin scream, obviously from between gritted teeth.
Marcus winced. “This will help the bruising, sweetheart,” he said, and despite her squirming, he did a thorough job.
Done. Marcus closed his eyes and exhaled. Damn Z for putting him in this position. This little sub should not be in the trainees. He waited another minute, stroking her gently.
“It’s over, Darlin’,” he said finally and helped her stand. Her face was tear streaked and red from crying, and his heart squeezed.
He pulled her down to sit on his lap, leaning back so she could get most of her weight off her tender bottom. She still gave little hiccuping sobs, and he cuddled her close. Damn, he hated having to punish a sub, no matter how well deserved, and this time seemed worse than normal. Despite all her insolent behavior, she was a very likable woman.