Cherise Sinclair - The Dom's Dungeon

No answer.

She looked up. He was waiting for…for the rest. “Please forgive me, Sir.” She felt tears still rolling down her cheeks and didn't dare move to wipe them away. His gaze held her pinned as he studied her, looking for…something. She wanted to give him whatever he wanted, and then maybe he'd hold her. She wanted to be held so badly.

“I forgive you, little cat,” he said gently. “Strip for me now.”

One second of shocked horror and then she caved. He had control, and she'd given it to him. To finish seemed…right, as if it satisfied something within her. Her clothes dropped to the floor, and she stood before him naked.

When he held his arms out, she fell into his embrace.

MacKensie vibrated in his arms like a badly tuned machine; the trembling rolled through her body in waves. Alex tightened his grip, tucking her head into the hollow of his shoulder, and let her feel his warmth and strength. His comfort.

“I'm proud of you, little cat,” he murmured, stroking her sweat-damp hair. “It's not easy to submit, even if it's what you want to do. Giving up control takes as much internal strength as taking control. Maybe more.”

He glanced up and realized the others had cleared out when the punishment began. Some discipline should be witnessed; some should be private. The Doms had known what he'd planned. They'd helped push MacKensie into defying him so he could give her what she couldn't admit she wanted. From the feel of her in his arms and the calm look on her face when she asked forgiveness, the spanking had satisfied something in her.

His next task would be to find out why.

But first she needed to be held, and he needed to hold her. Erotic pain aside, deliberately hurting a woman could indeed hurt the giver too. A Dom's nature was to protect a helpless woman, but sometimes the path to healing came through pain.

He pulled her closer, pleased at the way she snuggled into his arms, as trusting now as a sleepy kitten. And he knew he'd spoken truly a few minutes ago.

He did care.

A while later, Alex set MacKensie on her feet and picked up two heavy blankets. He wrapped one around her. “Time for some more fresh air.”

She glanced toward the clothing still piled on the floor, and he shook his head, amused at her look of outrage. His little cat recovered quickly.

The wind off the Sound moistened his face as he guided her down the beach to a spot where piles of driftwood on three sides gave an illusion of privacy, and the sand hid everything else. Not that restraints would be needed tonight.

After opening his blanket on the sand, he took a seat and used a weather-smoothed log for a backrest. Smiling at her wary expression, he drew MacKensie down to sit between his legs.

She gave a muffled yelp when her sore ass hit the rough blanket, then relaxed, resting her back against his chest, his arms around her waist. It was a rare evening with no rain, and there were few places as lovely as the beach. The waves washed onto shore in a soft rhythm as lighted freighters and ferries traversed the Sound with a slow dignity. Overhead, patchy clouds drifted in front of the waning moon, creating shadows that flowed across the white sand.

Gradually the tension eased from his little sub's body.

“I've canoed on a lake at night,” she said, her voice hushed. “This is like it but more…alive.”

“Yes.” He kissed her cheek. “I'll have to take you to the ocean. Our Sound is sweet and gentle; the Pacific has more moods.” In an unhurried move, he slid his hand under the blanket and cupped a pert breast. He could feel as well as hear her sharp inhalation. His arm tightened around her waist, a quiet warning about whose body he held.

He felt the tremor run through her and the stiffening of her muscles. Her discomfort at being touched intimately by a man, even him, hadn't diminished much. He had no intention of pursuing sex now, but he needed his hands on her to read her responses and show him the way.

Most people's beliefs and responses to spanking originated in childhood. He'd start there. “I've lived close to Puget Sound all my life,” he said easily. “Where did you grow up, MacKensie?”

“Iowa. You know that,” she said. Terse answer. Not a subject she wanted to pursue.

“Ah yes, that's right. Did you grow up in that town you came from? Oak Hollow?” He'd never have detected the quickly controlled jerk if his hand hadn't rested on her breast.

“That's right.” She tried to sit up, and he pulled her back.

“Are your parents still there?”

“They died. When I was four.”

He felt as if he were Butler, pursuing an elusive mouse through the grass. “Who raised you then?”

“I went into foster care.”

She strained against his grip. Foster care might hold the key. “How were you punished in foster care, little cat?”

“Frak, that's not… I'm not going to talk about… None of your business.”

Frazzled and a little lost, and the spanking still affected her emotions. He'd counted on that. “Answer me.”

“We had time-outs.”

Well, that sounded harmless enough, except the tension buzzed through her body so fiercely, it made his hands ache. What could go wrong in a time-out? Length or location? “ Send her where you didn't have to look at her ,” she'd said. “Where did you have your time-outs?”

Her whole body stiffened as if he'd hit her.

Right question . “MacKensie?”

“A closet. She'd lock us in a closet,” Mac said, her voice thin and high.

“So who got spanked?”

Mac could feel Alex's body surrounding her and his hand on her breast. Yet it was as if the real MacKensie had disappeared, and he held a doll rather than a person. “Her daughter got spanked. Arlene loved her daughter.”

“Oh hell,” Alex breathed. His words startled her, as did his kiss on her cheek. His scratchy chin nuzzled her neck before he said, “You know, little cat, I could tell you that the old bitch should be shot for abusing children in her care, and that you're a bit confused when it comes to being punished because of her, but my words wouldn't make much difference. Your thinking mind might take it in, but the subconscious resists any change.”

Confused? More like totally screwed up. Between her childhood and her whoring days, her internal map of the world looked more like a jigsaw puzzle dropped on the floor. This wasn't a big revelation. And the way her stomach clenched when his hand stroked her breast just emphasized that.

“Did anyone touch you sexually when you were little?” Alex asked. His other hand slid through a gap in the blanket. She gave up holding the edges closed and grabbed his hand. Warm fingers closed on her cold ones.

“MacKensie?”

“No.” Her voice came out slightly breathless. “No one.”

“Are you going to tell me what happened twelve years ago?”

“No.” She tried to pull away again, as useless an effort as a butterfly trying to escape a hungry bird.

“All right.” He didn't sound angry, but she knew him now. He didn't give. Persistence should be his middle name. But instead of talking more, he caressed her breast. His fingers circled her nipple, and she could actually feel the tiny muscles in the areola bunching in response to his knowledgeable touch. He moved to the other breast, and as if the two were joined by a wire, they both soon ached.

“Alex, I want to go now. I'm tired.”

He pinched her nipple hard enough to make her jerk, and yet the sizzle went straight to her clit. Her pussy started to burn. “Don't lie to me, pet. I prefer a refusal to a lie, but right now, I'll accept neither. I've had a long evening, and I intend to play with my sub a little.”