Page 39 of Delicious Surrender
He half hoped she would decline. Allowing Ivanov to have his way put Gage on edge.
Dimitri pointed to the black-and-white elk skin thumper on the rack. It was a specialized flogger with six braided leather strands, unique because of the evenly spaced knots, which ended with soft leather tassels. It delivered a thudding sensation, not a sting.
He handed over the flogger and stood next to Brynne so she could see him in her peripheral vision. Meanwhile, Garrick inconspicuously shifted closer.
Dimitri swung the flogger and let it hit his own thigh. The second time he hit harder, testing the impact, and nodded to himself.
Brynne was grinding the fabric in her mouth. She shut her eyes, preparing for another sensation. Gage had to admit, she seemed determined to make it through without surrendering.
Judging by the muted sound of the elk skin strands hitting her bottom and Brynne’s murmur, the first strike was not very hard. Perhaps he was not familiar with this style of flogger, which was designed for longer punishment scenes. Dimitri raised his arm and just before impact, he flicked his wrist, causing a loud snap that was heard around the room. Brynne shuddered and whimpered loudly into the satin in her mouth. Dimitri repeated the action and struck her other vulnerable cheek, causing her to groan and jerk against the cuffs. The Russian moved closer and put his large hand on her flushed skin, lightly caressing the spot he had just punished. “Only two more, Devushka. I don’t want to bruise your lush bottom—too much.”
Gage clenched his fists, itching to remove the man’s hand.
Dimitri took his time, while the audience looked on withbated breath. He struck her left hamstring hard—and followed it with one more on the right. The muffled squeals she made reverberated along Gage’s cock, and he let out a sigh when it was over.
Dimitri handed the whip to him and nodded. “Spasibo.” His mouth twisted in a fake smile, then he turned and started toward the group. They parted automatically to let him pass.
Michael Richmond was the last person on the list. He was a newer member of Dominus, but Gage’s best friends and business partners knew him well and vouched for him. Aaron and Cole were longstanding members of Lucifer’s Eden, the most exclusive BDSM clubs with locations in New York, Miami, and Houston. Michael had sponsored their memberships, and when he’d interviewed, Gage found out they had several mutual acquaintances in the scene, including one submissive Gage spent several months with before he moved back to London. He was fastidious in the way he dressed and carried himself, and when it came to bondage and discipline, he knew exactly what he was doing.
They shook hands, and Gage greeted him warmly. “Good to see you, Michael. I trust you will show Tink what happens when a good scotch is trifled with.”
He laughed and winked. “It will be my pleasure to teach her a lesson she won’t soon forget.”
“Aye. And what were you thinking of using?”
Michael winked. “The cane would be my first choice.”
If it were anyone else, he would have declined, but he’d seen Michael use the cane and knew he was precise andcontrolled. It was obvious Brynne wasn’t traumatized by this experience. In fact, she may not have learned her lesson yet.
He nodded and handed the brown-haired man the quarter-inch rattan cane, then returned to his post beside the head of the bench. Gage knew that pacing and rhythm were crucial, and it took the body about five to six seconds to process the pain. If a Dom moved too fast, it would inhibit the pleasure that typically spread following the strike. Brynne would either love it or hate it.
Michael tested the spring in the rattan, ensuring it was to his satisfaction. Then he tested it on a nearby leather bench. The whistling sound and piercingthwackcaused Brynne to flinch.
He positioned himself and took a practice swing, not unlike a baseball player before the first pitch. The cane stopped just short of her warmed flesh, and she rattled against the restraints.
The first stroke landed squarely across both rounded globes, and Michael held it there to let her skin absorb the sensation. Brynne reacted seconds later, her head jerking up in shock and coming up hard against the chain on her collar. Gage watched closely for her “stop” signals.
The second stroke landed less than twenty seconds later, and judging by the sound, it was slightly harder. Brynne screeched and squeezed her eyes shut. A few errant tears dripped to the floor.
Michael waited a little longer before landing the third, this one above the first—where a faint red line had appeared. He held it there and let the sting radiate. She sobbed, and the sound thrummed along Gage’s senses, making him wish he was the one administering the punishment.
Brynne wriggled as much as the straps would allow and sniffed hard as she coped with the pain. Michael admired the marks and adjusted his stance. When he landed the last two strokes in rapid succession on her upper hamstrings, she lost it. A high-pitched wail pierced the air, and she shook in reaction. Gage reached down and pulled the soaked satin out of her mouth, and she drew in a deep breath and wept like a baby.
“Shhh, it’s all over now, Red.” He undid the collar, unbuckled all the cuffs, and deftly released the rest of the straps on the bench. She mumbled something he couldn’t make out.
“What was that?” he said, handing her his handkerchief. She quickly wiped her eyes and blew her nose.
She sniffed, hiccupping a little, “I said, th-thank you, sir.”
His mouth twitched. Garrick brought a blanket over, a knowing smile pasted on his face. Gage covered Brynne and carefully lifted her to stand, but she couldn’t hold herself up. He picked her up in his arms, and she made a feeble protest.
“I’ve got you.” Gage felt her hand grip his shirt as he made his way to the elevator.
When they entered his office, he flipped on the gas fireplace to warm up the room. She was looking up at him now, her eyelashes still wet, and little tracks of mascara staining her pale cheeks. He put her down carefully next to one of the large leather club chairs.
“I want you to kneel on the cushion and rest your arms on the back of the chair. I’m going to put some arnica gel and a cold compress on you.” He waited for the inevitable protest, but it didn’t come. Instead, he watched her position herself asinstructed. She rested her forehead on her arms, hiding her face from him. Gage got the compress from the fridge and the ointment from the cabinet above. He drew the blanket off and lifted her skirt to reveal her punished flesh.
“Brace yourself. It will be cold, but you will feel better soon. This will also help prevent bruising.” He squeezed a generous amount into his hands.