Spider Page 12

  ‘Why aren’t you sitting where I told you to sit?’ he barked.

  Beth gulped. She put the wine down and scooted over to the loveseat.

  Yash moved to the upper floor and stood at the base of the bed. He pulled off his t-shirt and flung it to one side. His chest was broad and muscled. She’d never seen a man with muscles so defined. Muscles weren’t her thing. She much preferred Harry’s slender physique.

  A lump filled her throat as she thought of Harry. Nice, gentle, safe Harry.

  Yash unbuckled his belt, all the while watching her as he pulled the belt through the loops of his jeans. His hips were slim; there wasn’t an ounce of fat on him. There were scars, though. The skin on his entire right arm was puckered, and there was a thick scar on his hip that disappeared into the waistband of his jeans.

  ‘Your first lesson today will be obedience, and I’m going to beat it into you,’ he said, the belt hanging from his hand.

  TWENTY-ONE

  ‘No, no, Y-Yash, please.’ Beth stood up from the loveseat, so inappropriately named, and held up her hands as if she could ward him off. The visual of him—standing there naked from the waist up, with the belt hanging from his hand—created a wave of panic in her. She couldn’t take her eyes off the belt.

  ‘You need to surrender all of your control. All of it,’ he said.

  She shook her head, her mouth making a ‘No’ shape, but nothing came out. She could taste her own tears and snot as they coursed into her mouth. She stepped backwards, feeling the seat behind her knees.

  ‘You no longer have control. You no longer have a name. You are my subordinate and only here to serve me. What you say, do, or want has no bearing on me. Come here.’

  Legs trembling, she took a step forward. ‘Yash, please…’ she said, imploring him.

  ‘I haven’t asked you to speak. Next time you speak without permission, you’ll receive extra lashes. Now, come here. I won’t tell you for the third time.’

  Beth was openly crying. She wasn’t conscious of taking more steps forward, but somehow she was standing before Yash. She forced herself to raise her eyes to look at him, maybe to appeal for mercy. He wasn’t looking at her. He hung the belt around his neck, holding the ends; he nodded towards the table.

  ‘Lay across it.’

  Snivelling, Beth turned and, with one final terrified look his way, leaned over the table.

  ‘Right over. Stomach resting on the top,’ he said.

  She wriggled over the table and stretched her hands across to grip the other side. Her feet were no longer on the floor. It wasn’t comfortable. She let go of the table edge and made a cushion beneath her face with her hands, moving her head first one way and then the other.

  ‘The longer you take, the longer you prolong your punishment,’ he said behind her.

  Beth stopped all movement.

  Get on with it, bastard.

  She didn’t hear him behind her, and flinched when she felt the hem of her dress raise up. He rested the skirt of the dress on her back. She felt utterly exposed. Exposed and humiliated. She closed her eyes, held a breath, and waited for the first lash of the belt. If this was all he wanted, she could endure it. But the stroke didn’t come and his silence behind her taunted her senses.

  She began to count. At first it was because she wanted to know how long her punishment was going to last, but then because it calmed her.

  One, two, three…

  Her count got to forty-four and he’d made no move to touch her. She continued to count, forty-five, forty-six…

  Seventy-one, seventy-two—

  She jumped and stopped counting when big hands smoothed the material of her silky knickers. Yash flicked the elastic in response and Beth squeezed her eyes closed, determined to see this through.

  Seventy-three, seventy-four. Bastard. Seventy-five.

  His hands stroked her backside, the touch becoming heavier and heavier until her hips were pressed into the hard wood of the table. There was no sound from Yash and Beth tried to concentrate on her counting as his hands continued to stroke. To pet.

  She couldn’t concentrate and her counting became confused.

  Seventy-two, seventy-five, seventy-six.

  Then the feel of his hands was gone. Beth stopped counting and strained her ears for movement behind her. A crack of a whip fractured the air, and Beth gave a shout of alarm. She hadn’t realised she’d moved until Yash’s hand, in the centre of her back, pushed her back down.

  The noise of the whip had been crude. She was going to be whipped, and it was going to hurt so much. She tried to count again, but this time she didn’t have the brainpower for such an activity. She closed her eyes, gritted her teeth, and waited. Her heart was hammering so much she felt faint. She felt clammy with nerves and knew she was visibly shaking.

  ‘Stop it,’ he said, and she realised she was loudly sobbing into the wooden table. She sniffled and tried to halt her crying. ‘I haven’t even started and you’re blubbering like a baby already. Shall I give you an itinerary of what’s going to happen to you tonight?’

  She didn’t bother to reply.

  ‘First, I’m going to beat you. You slapped me, remember? Disrespected me, and I can’t tolerate that. So I’m going to beat you until your backside resembles mincemeat. Hmmm, maybe that’ll take thirty minutes or so. How many strokes could I deal you in thirty minutes, do you think?’

  Beth’s tears were making a puddle on the wooden tabletop.

  ‘I asked you a question,’ he said softly. ‘When I ask you a question, you are permitted to speak.’

  ‘I-I don’t know. I can’t answer that.’

  ‘Try.’

  ‘I can’t think straight! Please, Yash,’ she begged him.

  He chuckled. ‘Reduced to pieces already. Humans are so weak.’

  ‘I hate you,’ she said and flinched as a warm hand caressed her ass. It smoothed the knickers over her buttocks.

  ‘I should think I’ll get a hundred strikes, easy.’ The fingers moved over her cheeks, their gentleness contradicting what he said he had in store for her. Stroking, pinching, patting. ‘But I might go easy on you and just give you a lashing of eighty instead. Call me soft if you like.

  ‘After your beating, I might rest a little. I’ll be tired, I should think. Anyway, I’ll rest while I look at my handiwork on your arse. And then I’m going to treat you like the brat you are and spank you over my knee. And then you’ll get the hell out of my home and carry on with your sorry little life until I call you again for the final payment, where we will repeat it all over again but over a longer—much longer—period.’

  Hands seized her hips, and she felt him press against her. His erection felt long and incredibly hard. That, somehow, terrified her more than the threat of his belt. No man had ever made love to her apart from Harry. And it was only Harry she wanted. The thought came to her suddenly. It caused a mental panic inside her.

  She’d treated him badly, sent him away not once, but twice now.

  ‘Now, no flinching, no speaking, and no crying,’ Yash said, breaking into her thoughts.

  He stepped away from her, and she braced herself for the feel of the belt.

  ‘Open your legs,’ he commanded.

  Sniffing, she opened them.

  ‘Wider,’ he said. She heard the soft sound of the bed creaking and imagined him sitting on the end.

  She opened her legs a little more. Yash sighed and then she heard the bed move and sensed, more than heard, him behind her again. Large hands gripped her upper thighs and pulled her legs wide apart until she was opened to him. She gave a shriek of protest and tried to close her legs again, but received a painful slap on her thigh. Her legs were pulled uncomfortably apart this time, and she didn’t dare close them.

  The bed creaked again as he sat on it. She felt his eyes on her most intimate parts. With her legs spread wide, all of her was on view to him. She listened for movement. There was nothing. All she could hear was the sound of her own breathin
g and the thud of her heart.

  She moved her head, realising she’d made a wet patch with her tears on the table. There was still no sound from Yash, but she felt his hot, burning eyes on her. She raised her head, trying to listen, and noticed a wall mirror to her left. She couldn’t see much of herself but Yash’s upper body was visible. His boulder-like arms, broad chest with his impressive pecs were all covertly observable to her. Maybe he engineered it like that, so she had a good view of his magnificent body. She much preferred Harry’s slender physique.

  Then she heard it—the small creak of the bed—and he loomed up in the mirror. Beth ducked her head back down, bracing herself.

  The belt licked her softly on one side of her cheek. It wasn’t hard, but she jumped. Her other cheek was whipped just as softly. And then the belt struck her, again and again, becoming harder until she was gasping with each stroke.

  It hurt, she couldn’t deny, but strangely it felt so good. It drew feelings from deep inside her, like a purging of emotions. She sobbed as the belt came down over and over on her arse.

  Beth had tried to keep as still as possible, but then something began happening in her body. She felt an old stirring between her legs—a stirring that only Harry had induced before. The belt came down repeatedly, and with each stroke, the heat inside Beth became hotter and hotter, and she began to writhe in erotic delight on the table.

  The beating stopped, and Yash’s hand stroked at the heat in her buttocks. Beth, breathless, glanced up in the mirror. In a horrifying mortification, she saw herself as a wanton, a harlot, pushing out her bottom as if to entice her flogger for more.

  She stilled all movement and lowered her head back to the table.

  ‘Let yourself go, Beth,’ Yash murmured behind her and Beth’s face flamed.

  The belt hit her across one cheek and then the other, alternating sides until she didn’t know which side was struck. Her bottom was a vibrant sensation of pain mingled with pleasure. It was a surreal experience.

  She realised that, by allowing Yash complete control of her body, she was also becoming submerged in a pleasure that was pure sensory.

  TWENTY-TWO

  The tip of the belt caught her between her legs, and the gasp she let out was a build-up of anticipation from pleasure and pain that had her insides convulsing and her body urging for more.

  Her eyes squeezed closed in horror at her own body’s treachery. She felt more relaxed than she’d ever been before, yet, even though the belt hurt, the bliss it brought to her body made her crave it more. It confused her—horrified her.

  The belt got her a second time between her legs, curling around her before falling away. It happened again, and she was practically purring in pleasure. She was in a kind of euphoria that she didn’t understand.

  Hands stroked her bottom, and her knickers were eased down to her knees.

  ‘I didn’t tell you to move!’ he barked as she moved to kick out of them. She stilled instantly, but he slapped her arse with his hand. It hurt more than the belt and the sting bit into her flesh, and she pressed her mouth against her hands to stop herself from making any noise. Fresh tears pricked her eyes. Strangely, she felt more hurt when he’d shouted at her than from him beating her.

  His hand slipped in between her legs and roughly pulled them apart again. His fingers were impersonal and didn’t stray even once to where she wanted to be touched. She felt like she had an electric current between her legs, and it throbbed in rhythm to her heart. She silently willed him to touch her. All sensible thought had vanished from her mind. She felt primaeval. She was a mere sensation.

  Yash moved away, and Beth mewed in disappointment. She sensed him standing to her right, and she turned her head towards him but could only see him from the corner of her eye. Remembering the mirror, she looked up at it. In it, Yash’s eyes were intent on her backside. He’d stepped forward and was stroking her arse, turning his head this way and that as if admiring an exquisite piece of artwork. He had a look of satisfaction on his face. He was admiring the prints he’d made on her flesh. His hands were cold on her glowing skin. He stroked her, soothing her. Then he stepped back again and folded the belt in half. He raised his arm, and Beth sighed with pleasure and lowered her head on her arms.

  The first crack on her arse seemed to cover both cheeks, but she didn’t have time to think of the pleasure-like pain because he brought the belt down again. The belt cracked her across one cheek and then the other. Her entire body was on fire, but her mind had wandered. She felt trancelike. She let herself go and allowed her body to do what it wanted.

  The beating stopped again, and his hands felt cold against the heat of her arse. She moaned, unable to control a wave of longing. He’d beaten her, yet she wanted him to fuck her.

  ‘Grinding against the table?’ His voice blazed into her mind, and it was so unexpected she failed to capture the meaning of his words, but she couldn’t form her lips to ask him to repeat it.

  Beth saw the belt being tossed towards the floor from the corner of her eye. Then both her arse cheeks were cupped and squeezed. And then she was left alone. She heard the bed creak and felt his eyes on her again as if admiring his handiwork of criss-cross marks on her backside.

  Her entire body goose-pimpled under his gaze.

  ‘Take your knickers off and come to me,’ he said.

  Beth felt like she was bathed in warm sunshine. Her body was gently pulsing, waiting to be taken to the next level. The table was no longer wood. It had yielded to her body, and she lay across it feeling fragmented from the experience she’d encountered.

  ‘Beth.’ She felt Yash next to her again, and gently he lifted her up and sat her on the edge of the table. With his hands on her shoulders, he lowered his tall frame and looked into her eyes. Beth stared back, uncomprehending. ‘I’m going to remove your knickers,’ he said and bent to pull them further off her legs and over her feet. He tossed them to one side as Beth watched, detached.

  Yash helped her off the table. She stumbled slightly, feeling light-headed and not herself. It was a weird sensation—she felt both high and depressed.

  ‘Take your dress off,’ he said.

  She stared at him blankly, unable to comprehend what he was saying. Her brain felt fuddled. She frowned at him in confusion.

  ‘You’re doing very well, Beth,’ Yash said gently. ‘Some people call the feelings you’re experiencing as subspace. And now I’m about to take you further into it, okay? So let’s get this dress off, hmm?’

  He spoke to her like a child, and Beth couldn’t have taken her eyes off him even if she’d wanted to. She slipped the straps off her shoulders and let the dress fall to the floor. She stepped out of it and stood naked, save for her sandals and stockings, in front of him.

  Yash stepped away from her, and looked over her body, appraising her.

  Beth closed her eyes, unsure of what was happening to her. She felt hypnotised. When she opened her eyes again, Yash was still watching her.

  ‘Okay? Ready for more?’ he asked.

  She nodded dumbly.

  He held out his hand. ‘So, let’s go again.’

  She took his hand and allowed herself to be led up the two-step divide to the bed. He sat on the edge, then tapped his lap. ‘Over you go.’

  He tipped Beth across his knees. He pulled her into position and then drew a line down her nude back with the tip of his finger. It made her shiver. He stroked her back, drawing invisible lines of pleasure over her skin.

  ‘Pleasure and pain,’ he murmured.

  She purred in agreement and then felt her backside slapped hard. It stung and brought tears to her eyes, and seemed to wake her slightly from the weird trance state she was in. Yash’s hand came down hard again and she yelped. She felt her flesh wobble beneath the attack, and she kicked her legs against the pain.

  Another smack and then another in quick succession. The smacks came faster and faster, one after the other, and Beth felt her mind wandering again. She hissed and wriggled
to bring it back, but the more noise she made, the harder Yash pounded her arse. Beth couldn’t help it—her mind went to that weird place Yash had called subspace. Her body began to pulse, and between her legs was a hot, molten mess.

  Yash stopped spanking her and stroked her arse, drawing a line down her crack with his finger, then she felt his hand raise again and then connect with her backside. Another smack on the upside of her arse cheek, and then another on the other side.

  He wasn’t striking her hard—not the full force of his arm. And then his swots became more intimate—and not even swots—more like pats between her legs. Beth gasped, then bit her lip as an overwhelming feeling—like many bursting bubbles inside her—made her squirm. She felt an explosion deep inside her uterus and gripped the bedspread with tight fists, burying her face in the fabric, as a cry built up in her throat. It was a guttural orgasm, she couldn’t explain it any other way, and it seemed to last far longer than any other orgasm she’d ever had. Yash stroked her as she rode it out, and then she was lifted until she was sitting on his knee.

  A finger brushed her tears away, and then she was cuddled, and she felt so safe and secure. She wanted to stay in those big arms forever. At that moment, she thought she’d follow Yash to the end of the world.

  She moved her head to look at him, and as he looked down at her, she lifted her chin and closed her eyes expectantly, but the kiss she expected—no, wanted—never happened.

  Yash stood up with her in his arms and moved around to the side of the bed. He pulled back the covers and gently placed her inside and then covered her up with the soft duvet. She raised a hand towards him as if to beg him to make love to her, but he pushed her hand back beneath the covers.

  ‘Sleep now, Beth,’ he said.

  TWENTY-THREE

  Something woke her, and for a moment she couldn’t remember where she was. Then it all came back—along with the sting in her buttocks from Yash’s whipping and the ache between her legs from his neglect.