Page 81 of Carrick
I returned to her with the heavy flogger in hand—thick suede falls, dark and thuddy. Not cruel. Grounding. The kind of impact that settles the body deeper into itself, anchoring her here, in this moment. I let her hear it first, dragging the tails across her back in a whisper-soft tease, letting the weight of it settle into her skin before I ever struck. She twitched—barely—but it was enough to make me smile.
Then I let the first blow land low across her ass. A satisfying thud. She exhaled slowly through her nose, steady and measured, her body still. No flinch. The second strike landed higher. She shifted her weight. Adjusted. Still no tension. Just breath. Just being. I built a rhythm from there, deliberate and even. Left cheek. Right. Center. No rush. No surprises. Just repetition. The kind that unwinds the mind, draws it under, tells the body it’s safe. That she’s mine. That she can let go.
I didn’t speak. Didn’t need to. Her body answered for her. With each strike, her posture softened, hips loosening, fists unclenching, jaw going slack. She was sinking, and I was pulling her down. Ten strokes. Then twenty. Her skin bloomed with warmth, her breathing slowed, and her thighs began to tremble. I moved the flogger higher, letting the tails fall across her shoulder blades in an even crosshatch—never too hard. Not yet. Just rhythm. Just presence. Each stroke was an invitation: stay here. Stay with me.
And she did. Body loose, neck bowed, breath even. Every part of her asking formore.And she would get it. All of it. When her skin flushed a perfect pink, when her muscles hummed and her lips parted with every inhale, I set the flogger down.
She whimpered. Not loud—just enough. A small, raw sound that hit me like lightning, and made my cock throb with the sharp, unrelenting edge of control. She didn’t mean to make it. Didn’t even know she had. And that made it better. More honest. More hers. I smiled and let the silence stretch, longenough for her to feel the absence—of impact, of breath, of sound. Long enough to remind her exactly who owned the next one.
“You’re ready for more,” I said, voice low, thick with heat.
She nodded, quick and sure.
But I wasn’t going to let her get away with that. “Say it.”
“I’m ready for more, Sir.”
Fuck.The approval slipped out of me, low and satisfied, as I turned back to the table like it was an altar. The moment my hand wrapped around the wand, my pulse kicked—hard. My body already knew. Already understood what I was about to do to her. What she wanted. What she’d begged for. I plugged it in, and the wand came alive with a quiet crackle, just a whisper of current, but sharp enough to shift the air between us. It sounded like danger. Like a promise. Like everything we’d both been waiting for.
Behind me, her breath hitched, and I felt it like a pulse through the room, vibrating over my skin, setting my blood to hum with the same frequency as the coil in my hand. She couldn’t see the smile that curled at my mouth, but I let her feel it in the silence. The wand purred, low and greedy against my palm.
I stepped behind her, watching the subtle tension that pulled her spine taut at the sound, the way her shoulders rose slightly with anticipation. Good girl. I started with the mushroom head; simple, controlled, but wicked in its precision. I brought it close. Not touching. Just hovering. An inch above her skin, close enough to charge the space between us.
Goosebumps bloomed across her thighs almost instantly. Her inhale was sharp, startled, and fuck, it went straight to my cock. I moved the wand slowly down the length of her back, tracing the curve of her spine without contact, just the ache of suggestion.
Electricity danced between us, tiny arcs of violet flickering in the dim light, kissing the air above her body. The scent of ozone curled into the loft, bright and metallic. Sterile. Hungry.
“Stay with me,” I murmured.
“I’m here,” she whispered, voice tight but steady.
She was holding on—but only just. And she wanted it that way. I dragged the glass head of the wand lightly across the curve of her ass, a soft stroke laced with static. The contact was barely there, but it kissed her skin like fire wrapped in silk.
She jumped, a sharp shiver racing up her spine. Her voice broke—half gasp, half moan. “Sir?—”
My cock throbbed hard, pressing against the unforgiving restraint of my zipper. I grinned, letting the wand trail lower. “That’s right,” I murmured. “Feel it.”
And she did. I watched her unravel inch by inch, thighs trembling, breath stuttering, fingers flexing against the leather cuffs. She was lit from the inside out now, radiant with sensation. And I hadn’t even begun to hurt her.
This time, I made contact. A flicker of electricity skimmed the outside of her thigh, quick and sharp, like the first lick of a flame. She jerked hard, not from fear, but from pure, unfiltered shock. Her moan hit the air, broken and desperate, and she instinctively tried to hide, turning her face into the bench like she could disappear inside the feeling.
Not a chance.
I reached down and slid my hand beneath her jaw, curling my fingers beneath her chin with just enough pressure to guide her back. Her cheek flushed hot against my palm, but she didn’t resist. Her breath shook as she let me hold her there, exposed, trembling, and exactly where I wanted her.
“You asked for this,” I murmured, voice low and rough. “You don’t get to disappear now.”
Her lashes fluttered. Her breathing trembled. But she didn’t fight me. “Yes, Sir.”
Fucking perfect.
I released her jaw slowly and stepped away just long enough to change the attachment—switching out the mushroom head for the rake. Five metal prongs, evenly spaced, each one humming with anticipation.
There was nothing forgiving about it. This wasn’t meant to tease. It was meant to overwhelm. The first drag down her back pulled a sob from her throat—not from pain, not yet, but from sheer sensory overload.
Every nerve lit up at once, and her body didn’t know where to send the signal. Her brain scrambled to catch up and failed. That was the point. Her spine arched, breath stuttering in gasps as her thighs trembled. She gripped the cuffs reflexively, like they were the only thing keeping her tethered to earth.
She was panting now, sharp, broken whimpers spilling from her lips with every pass.
