Page 98 of His to Teach
I feel the cold against my nipple again, and I realize what it is. Nate has brought out his nipple clamps.
When we first began our relationship, I had told him nipple clamps were a hard limit for me. I was terrified of them. Eventually, as I came to trust him more and more, he had convinced me to give them a try, but they’re still something I have a hard time with. I’m a little surprised he would test me like this on such an already overwhelming night. But then I realize what it means—he has faith in me. He knows I can do it.
This realization fills me with confidence. When Nate attaches the first clamp, and then the second, I allow myself a low moan. Every fiber of my being trusts this man, and trusts my own ability to please him. This trust allows me to enjoy the sweet pain of the clamps—truly enjoy, not just tolerate—for the first time since Nate had first made me try them.
“You look exquisite,” he tells me, his voice as strained as I’ve ever heard it. He sounds like he’s just managing to keep from losing control. “Bound and blindfolded for me, displayed for all these strangers, your pink nipples squeezed tight under my clamps.”
My moan abruptly turns to a gasp as the clamps suddenly tug against my nipples. He must have attached a weight to the chain connecting the two clamps. If I make any move, the weight will swing and pull on them. He’s done this before to ensure I stayedperfectly still during a punishment. Which must mean that he’s about to…
The sting of the flogger on my thigh comes without warning. I struggle not to jerk away from it, but I can’t stop myself from crying out. Beyond my blindfold, I hear an appreciative sigh from someone in front of us.
Nate brings the flogger down again, this time lighter, against my stomach. The leather brushes against my flesh, barely painful. I know, from experience, that he’s using much less force against my front than he would against my ass. He seems to enjoy these lightly stinging strikes, against my thighs, my stomach, my tits.
I’m moaning continuously now, craving the pain of a harder strike. These light little stings are making me crazy with need. Finally, Nate relents, bringing the flogger down hard against my ass. The sting is so good—the kind of pain that melts into sharp stabs of pleasure, causing my pussy to flood. Before long I can smell myself in the air, and I’m sure Nate can as well. Can our audience?
The thought turns me on even more, and I think it does the same for him because his breathing becomes ragged as he continues to pepper my ass with strong slaps of the flogger. My own breaths are coming in sharp inhales, my chest heaving, the movement causing the clamps to tug at my nipples.
Suddenly, the flogging stops. The only sound I hear is the sound of my own gasping breath. Where has he gone?
“I need to get you out of here,” he growls into my ear, his hand finding my elbow once again, leading me to my feet and down off the platform. Nate doesn’t remove the blindfold or the strap binding my wrists, but holds me firmly by the arm so I won’t lose my balance. He removes the weight from the chain between my breasts but leaves the clamps in place. I wait for the feel of the soft swirl of silk over my heated skin but Nate doesn’tcover me in my robe this time. Instead he brings his strong arm around my shoulder as he leads me from the room, displaying my newly reddened ass and tightly clamped nipples for anyone we might pass.
With the blindfold on, I can’t see anything as we make our way through the halls, but I hear the whispers of guests as we pass. I don’t need to see to know he’s taking me up to his private room. I’ve never entered the space with a blindfold on before, and I feel a nervous rush of anticipation, knowing that I’ll have no idea what implements he plans to use until I feel them.
“You have your safe word,” he reminds me once more as soon as we step into the room.
I feel a jolt of confusion. Are we not going to talk about what happened downstairs? Nate is usually big on discussion after new experiences, always wanting to make sure I’m comfortable. But there’s urgency to his movements when he removes the leather cord from my wrists. He rubs the skin there as always, making sure my restraints haven’t left any marks, then pushes me gently to the middle of the room, raising my hands above my head.
I bite back a groan as he reattaches the weight to the chain between my breasts. He secures my wrists into leather cuffs, attaching each one to something above my head. The movement causes the weight to pull on the clamps, shooting zaps of fresh pain to my tits. My heart beat increases again as he spreads my legs, rough, wrapping each ankle in another cuff. A spreader bar, I realize. I’m now bound in a spread-eagle position, naked, sightless, unable to move, suspended from the ceiling.
“Nate,” I say suddenly, feeling overwhelmed. We haven’t talked about what happened down there and now everything is going so fast. I haven’t even been able to see him since we walked into the room downstairs.
His hand comes to my cheek, gentle against my skin, and I relax immediately. “You did so well,” he murmurs. “You can’t possibly know how turned on I am right now, what that did to me, seeing you like that.”
“You liked it?” I whisper, and the guttural sound he makes is half laugh, half groan.
“Like doesn’t begin to come close. I need to use your body right now, Harper. I need to make you mine.”
The slight panic I’d felt only a moment ago dissolves beneath his words. There’s no question to my response. “Yes.”
There’s a moment of silence, just long enough for my heart rate to pick up in anticipation as I wonder what he has planned. I don’t have to wait long. The soft clanking of metal as his belt is removed tells me everything I need to know.
Without a word, Nate brings that belt down across my ass. I scream and jerk, unable to help myself. His belt makes the flogger seem absolutely tame in comparison.
He brings it down again, hard, against the spot where my thigh meets my ass. Again, I jerk, not caring about the tug of the nipple clamps.
“Angel, where are you?”
I know he’s checking in, asking whether or not I’m okay with him continuing. I take deep breaths, trying to calm myself and stop the tears that begin to roll down my cheeks.
Nate has used his belt on me before. It always hurts like hell. But I’ve learned over the past weeks that it can be a rewarding experience. If I can control myself, calm myself, Nate’s pride is so intense it takes my breath away. And the desire he exhibits when he sees the reddened stripes on my flesh always results in very good things for me.
“Green, sir,” I tell him, my voice shaking but loud.
“Well done,” he sighs, admiration clear in his voice.
As he continues the spanking, I focus my mind on the sound of his breathing behind me. I try to picture him. Is he still in his suit or has he removed his shirt? Often, during our play, Nate will punish me wearing nothing but his trousers. He’s so hot like that, his chest bare, heaving, sweat gathering on his forehead as he works me over, his usual business-like facade broken for only me to see. I can imagine him so clearly like that and another wave of desire hits me.
The next time he brings his belt down, I don’t cry out or jerk away. The time after that, I allow myself a low moan. By the sixth lash, I’m panting again. Every strike makes me feel like screaming red but I picture Nate’s face and I’m able to hold it in.
