“I don’t know,” Michael said shrugging.
“A boy’s pu**y,” she said, grinning wickedly. She took the cat back from him. “You didn’t know you were going to get a history lesson tonight, did you?”
“No, ma’am.”
“I believe in the value of a thorough education. Tawse,” she said, naming the heavy leather strap that lay next to the flogger. “Used to discipline schoolchildren in the nineteenth century. It won’t break the skin but it will burn like fire. And this,” she said sliding one more object off the table, “is exactly what it looks like.”
“A cane, ma’am.”
“Exactly. Rattan cane, ten millimeters thick, seventy-six centimeters long. So painful that its use on prisoners has been condemned by the United Nations. It can not only permanently scar a person but permanently disable them as well. Even used lightly on the bu**ocks or thighs, the pain will be so intense that you will choke on it. Traditionally six strokes are delivered at a time; five horizontal and one diagonal. That is called barring the gate. It’s sadistic enough that your own priest rarely uses it on me. Although, admittedly, sometimes I do deserve it.”
Nora stepped back and with astonishing expertise twirled the cane in her fingers like a baton. He could hear the hissing sound as the reedy wood sliced through the air.
“Now…” Nora placed the cane back on the table. “Choose.”
“Choose?” he asked, unable to take his eyes off the dozen or so various kinds of floggers, whips and canes on the table.
“Yes. Pick one. Whatever you pick I will use on you tonight. So think about it carefully.”
Nora stepped away and left him alone at the table. He heard her opening a trunk near the bed to take out something. But he didn’t dare turn around to see what it was.
Michael raised his hand and passed it over the objects on the table.
I could beat you with this until you cried.
Loveliest freckle bruises.
It will burn like fire.
You will choke on it.
“This one, ma’am,” he said, picking up the cat-o’-nine-tails. He turned around and Nora gestured for him to bring it to her. She was standing at the foot of the bed. She took it from him. His pulse quickened as she twined the lashes through her fingers.
“Angel,” she said as she gripped the thongs and pulled them taut. “This will hurt you. Badly.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Nora raised her eyebrow at him.
“One for you. And one for me.”
She tossed the cat onto the bed and picked up the cane again. Michael swallowed hard but said nothing.
“Come,” Nora said. “Stand dead center between the bedposts. Face the bed. Back to me. Take heavy, deep breaths. Focus on the heat from the fireplace. Let it seep into your muscles.”
Michael obeyed as best he could. He knew he needed to relax. As he stood and breathed as instructed, Nora clamped leather bondage cuffs around his ankles. The tension in his legs started to dissipate. She grabbed his scarred wrists and yanked them behind his back. As she cuffed his wrists, the stress he carried in his arms and shoulders flowed through his veins and out of his fingertips. He inhaled sharply as she brought a black leather collar around his throat and buckled it at the base of his neck.
“Now, Angel,” Nora whispered in his ear as she ran her hand over the one part of his body that remained tense, “let’s spread your wings.”
She raised his left arm and bound it to a leather cord at the top of the bedpost. With his right arm she did the same. His arms stretched out into a full, wide wingspan.
“Breathe the heat of the fire into your arms,” Nora said as she strapped a two-foot spreader bar to his ankles. “Feel them getting longer with each breath.”
Michael pulled on his bonds and found he couldn’t move. They had no give at all. He couldn’t run away, couldn’t escape. Trapped, imprisoned, helpless…
Nora picked up the flogger from the bed.
There was nowhere else in the world he wanted to be.
“What’s your safe word?” Nora asked.
“Wings.” Michael answered.
“You’ll say that word if you want me to stop, yes?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Good boy. Now take one more breath. This will only hurt a little bit. Oh, wait,” she said, laughing. “No, it won’t. It’ll hurt a lot.”
With that one last taunt, Nora took a step back and landed a hard blow right in the center of Michael’s back. He gasped from the shock of the pain. He had the time to inhale and exhale only once before the second blow hit. The third one struck his left flank, the fourth his right. Nora painted crosses across his back with the flogger and each slash left him crying out.
Fire…she’d lit his back on fire. When the blows finally ceased, Michael could do nothing but drop his head to his chest and pant. His heart raced, his blood burned. He’d never felt calmer in his life.
“Here,” Nora said as she brought a small glass of water to his lips. “Drink.”
She tilted the glass and he drank the water with a grateful gulp.
“You did very well,” Nora said. “You took a lot of pain for a beginner and didn’t even beg me to stop. Think you can take more?”
Could he take more? Did he want to take more? His entire back smoldered from neck to hip.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“God, I love masochists,” Nora said, setting the glass aside. “Such gluttons for punishment.”
“A boy’s pu**y,” she said, grinning wickedly. She took the cat back from him. “You didn’t know you were going to get a history lesson tonight, did you?”
“No, ma’am.”
“I believe in the value of a thorough education. Tawse,” she said, naming the heavy leather strap that lay next to the flogger. “Used to discipline schoolchildren in the nineteenth century. It won’t break the skin but it will burn like fire. And this,” she said sliding one more object off the table, “is exactly what it looks like.”
“A cane, ma’am.”
“Exactly. Rattan cane, ten millimeters thick, seventy-six centimeters long. So painful that its use on prisoners has been condemned by the United Nations. It can not only permanently scar a person but permanently disable them as well. Even used lightly on the bu**ocks or thighs, the pain will be so intense that you will choke on it. Traditionally six strokes are delivered at a time; five horizontal and one diagonal. That is called barring the gate. It’s sadistic enough that your own priest rarely uses it on me. Although, admittedly, sometimes I do deserve it.”
Nora stepped back and with astonishing expertise twirled the cane in her fingers like a baton. He could hear the hissing sound as the reedy wood sliced through the air.
“Now…” Nora placed the cane back on the table. “Choose.”
“Choose?” he asked, unable to take his eyes off the dozen or so various kinds of floggers, whips and canes on the table.
“Yes. Pick one. Whatever you pick I will use on you tonight. So think about it carefully.”
Nora stepped away and left him alone at the table. He heard her opening a trunk near the bed to take out something. But he didn’t dare turn around to see what it was.
Michael raised his hand and passed it over the objects on the table.
I could beat you with this until you cried.
Loveliest freckle bruises.
It will burn like fire.
You will choke on it.
“This one, ma’am,” he said, picking up the cat-o’-nine-tails. He turned around and Nora gestured for him to bring it to her. She was standing at the foot of the bed. She took it from him. His pulse quickened as she twined the lashes through her fingers.
“Angel,” she said as she gripped the thongs and pulled them taut. “This will hurt you. Badly.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Nora raised her eyebrow at him.
“One for you. And one for me.”
She tossed the cat onto the bed and picked up the cane again. Michael swallowed hard but said nothing.
“Come,” Nora said. “Stand dead center between the bedposts. Face the bed. Back to me. Take heavy, deep breaths. Focus on the heat from the fireplace. Let it seep into your muscles.”
Michael obeyed as best he could. He knew he needed to relax. As he stood and breathed as instructed, Nora clamped leather bondage cuffs around his ankles. The tension in his legs started to dissipate. She grabbed his scarred wrists and yanked them behind his back. As she cuffed his wrists, the stress he carried in his arms and shoulders flowed through his veins and out of his fingertips. He inhaled sharply as she brought a black leather collar around his throat and buckled it at the base of his neck.
“Now, Angel,” Nora whispered in his ear as she ran her hand over the one part of his body that remained tense, “let’s spread your wings.”
She raised his left arm and bound it to a leather cord at the top of the bedpost. With his right arm she did the same. His arms stretched out into a full, wide wingspan.
“Breathe the heat of the fire into your arms,” Nora said as she strapped a two-foot spreader bar to his ankles. “Feel them getting longer with each breath.”
Michael pulled on his bonds and found he couldn’t move. They had no give at all. He couldn’t run away, couldn’t escape. Trapped, imprisoned, helpless…
Nora picked up the flogger from the bed.
There was nowhere else in the world he wanted to be.
“What’s your safe word?” Nora asked.
“Wings.” Michael answered.
“You’ll say that word if you want me to stop, yes?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Good boy. Now take one more breath. This will only hurt a little bit. Oh, wait,” she said, laughing. “No, it won’t. It’ll hurt a lot.”
With that one last taunt, Nora took a step back and landed a hard blow right in the center of Michael’s back. He gasped from the shock of the pain. He had the time to inhale and exhale only once before the second blow hit. The third one struck his left flank, the fourth his right. Nora painted crosses across his back with the flogger and each slash left him crying out.
Fire…she’d lit his back on fire. When the blows finally ceased, Michael could do nothing but drop his head to his chest and pant. His heart raced, his blood burned. He’d never felt calmer in his life.
“Here,” Nora said as she brought a small glass of water to his lips. “Drink.”
She tilted the glass and he drank the water with a grateful gulp.
“You did very well,” Nora said. “You took a lot of pain for a beginner and didn’t even beg me to stop. Think you can take more?”
Could he take more? Did he want to take more? His entire back smoldered from neck to hip.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“God, I love masochists,” Nora said, setting the glass aside. “Such gluttons for punishment.”
