Page 186 of Deep Cover

And as for her needs? Those pain slut needs? I saw to those.

In a rage, in fury and terror and unbearable stress, I ran to Ariel's room. She must have heard my boots in the corridor because she was on her feet and facing the door when I came in, her face open in delight and fear and surprise.

She's unmarked. It's been weeks since I've taken her. Weeks since I've touched her, marked her, or done the thing that makes her craziest: Dragged her down to the couch with me, turned her over my knee, given her a spanking that blisters her ass and my hand.

Then turned her upright and held her. Pressed against my chest. Her head pushed into the crook of my neck. My breath stirring her hair. Her tears of anger and fury and fear dripping onto my shirt or skin. Holding her while she cries out all the ugliness that was her life and all the ugliness that is her life and everything else she wants to drag into it.

The sight of her makes my cock hard. Unmarked. Clean. Ready.

"On your knees."

Seconds later my cock is in her mouth but it's not enough, there's no way I'll come this way, there has to be pain. There has to be screaming.

"Get up. Kneel on the bed."

Her reaction is so fast I can't help wondering if she practices. I should ask. She has communications systems to reach the main house but she rarely uses them. And there's surveillance of course – anything else would be foolish and dangerous and just because she wants to die doesn't mean I'm going to let her or in any way aid and abet.

I should ask if she practices.

Rising smoothly, stepping easily, climbing onto the bed on her knees, kneeling, head down, arms out ahead of her, ass up.

Presented.

I stepped away from her and heard her groan, anguish that I wasn't already touching her and I felt the barest response of smile. Patience, little one. Good things come. Or bad. Or at least, desired.

I gathered up what I thought I wanted to use, unlocking it from the shatter-proof glass case that taunts her when there's no one here to remove the tools for her.

The Lexan cane. The bamboo. The oak. The birch bundle. That was enough. Ariel's face fell. I could see her looking at the case, at the slappers and paddles there. She loved having my belt used on her, loved whips and crops.

But I needed her to scream for my cane and I needed it fast. This was no play session.

"Face forward."

She did so instantly, head up and eyes on the opposite wall until I told her otherwise.

Her ass was finally filling out. She had been here years, being fed, being cared for, being locked away from the world. Not dead. Not alive. In some stage she could somehow tolerate.

I brought up the bamboo. "I want you silent. Can you do that?"

She nodded.

"Stretch your arms out." Because she'd come up to all fours. Instantly she went down again, naked boobs hovering above the covers, hands fisting the blankets. Her head was as up as she could manage. Her ass was high and white.

I brought the bamboo down and the blow rocked her body. Ariel pushed back against the pain. I saw her breathe. Blink. And focus.

Good.

The sound of the cane flying through the air, the meatier-than-expected sound of it on her flesh. The angry red of her skin starting up, on her ass, on her thighs. I caned her until she was striped and threw down the bamboo, picked up the birch, the collection of thin canes held together by a handle and I went after her, finding her meeting each blow, crying silently but presenting herself to me. Thirty - her skin taking on the hard, shiny redness of enough.

Only ten then, with the oak, a thudding cane rather than a sting that bloomed into outraged red pain. Now she was crying openly, sobbing with every blow and when I stopped she begged for more.

I'd kill her if I didn't stop. It was inside me. That rage. That fury that made me unfit to be the doctor my family had expected and moved me to pharmaceuticals where I started St. Martin Pharma and then started working in natural solutions to unnatural problems.

"More. Please. Please. More, sir."

The darkness swirled up inside me. The need to seriously hurt. The drive that made me stay away from relationships, from anything that might be mainstream. Because it was too dangerous.

Because I was too dangerous.

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