Dominance and Deception (17 page)

When he gripped my hip, pulling me tighter against his stomach, I closed my eyes. This definitely wasn't going to be a fun spanking—he was holding me so tightly it could only be a punishment.

I didn't know why I was surprised. Some of the things I'd said while I'd had him tied up and at my mercy...

But hey, it was
fun
...

He slapped his hand down on my ass, and I gasped. He wasn't even trying to be gentle or warm me up—that would have made the full-strength blows easier to bear, and he knew I enjoyed the pain, up to a certain point.

He alternated between left and right cheeks, dealing out stinging slaps that brought tears to my eyes and drew cries from my throat. Way before I expected him to stop, he ceased, leaving my flesh tingling and a little sore, yet not as badly as I'd feared. Maybe he hadn't been as destabilised by the submission as I'd thought.

Pierce slid his hands over my smarting skin, lending a small measure of relief to the pain, before tapping the small of my back.

"Sit up."

Unsteadily, I adjusted my centre of gravity, and he supported me while I lifted my upper body from the bed and sat gingerly on my heels. Blotting the moisture from my eyes, I chanced a look at him, comforted by the way he'd helped me up. His gaze was impassive, and I fought disappointment, knowing there'd be more punishment to come.

"I went easy on you.” Pierce's voice was quietly calm, betraying no hint of anger—or of affection. “While you were playing your little game with me, I was calculating the punishment I was gonna give you. Wanna know what I decided on?"

My muscles knotting with apprehension, I nodded, my verbal agreement emerging inaudible. He didn't pull me up on it, instead continuing, “The cane."

I couldn't help but flinch, knowing he meant full-on schoolteacher caning, not the fun kind of caning with smaller, lighter strokes. He'd only ever tried the disciplinary method on me once before—it had been experimental, and he'd ceased after the first stroke as the word ‘yellow'—
slow down, go easy
—spilt from my lips. It had just been a little too much for me to take.

Pierce sensed my anxiety, and after a long moment, he took pity on me. “Course, that was ‘cause I was pissed at having to switch. I got a little perspective later. Caning's for if you
really
screw up."

Relieved, I let out the breath I'd been holding, scowling a little at the mind-fuck. It's a skill he's adept at, but he uses it sparingly, so I never see it coming. Returning the glare with an amused quirk of his eyebrow, he told me, “But you still need to be dealt with, little tease. The spanking was for putting Santoro's collar around my neck."

Oh. Yeah. Shoulda thought that one through.

It was exactly that kind of thing that pissed Pierce off, and I'd been so into planning the rest of the scene out in my head, I'd overlooked that fact.

He leaned over and opened the nightstand drawer, pulling out an object it took me a second to identify. When I did, I could only blink in confusion and wait for him to enlighten me.

Uncapping the thin-tipped black marker pen, he regarded me thoughtfully. “Be thankful I'm a detective and not a tattoo artist.” Without waiting for my reply, he took hold of my arm and carefully wrote something I couldn't make out. The marker tickled my skin, but I held still and let him finish.

"This one's for making me call you ‘Mistress',” he said, releasing my arm, and I tilted it to read the capitalised accusation.

Insolent.

Somehow, having the word written on my flesh imbued it with a power it wouldn't have had if he'd just spoken it. Flushing uncomfortably, I let him take hold of my other arm.

"This one's for calling me ‘boy'.” The ink felt slightly cool as it was brushed onto my skin.

Arrogant
.

"For implying that I can't Dom worth a damn."

I winced as I remembered that had been the exact phrase I'd used. Yeah, the power had definitely gone to my head... Glancing down at my left thigh, I read his assessment of my behaviour.

Brat.

"For telling me you'd take that riding crop to my cock..."

I almost opened my mouth to protest—I'd been kind of proud of that mind-fuck. It really had quietened him down, and it wasn't as if I'd ever actually have done it... Then again, I already knew he wouldn't appreciate my opinion on the subject. I didn't need to see the word
bitch
emblazoned over my right thigh to figure that one out.

"For touching yourself without my permission."

Nudging me so I leant back a little to support my weight on my hands, he wrote
slut
just above my left nipple.

"For denying me what you knew I wanted, over and over again."

Cocktease,
above my right nipple.

Okay, I'll give him that.

"For letting yourself come while you fucked me, again without my permission."

The word stretched across the skin above my navel.

Whore.

"For making me beg you to let me come."

He wrote the word
greedy
on my left shoulder, though it took me a moment to tilt my head to an angle where I could read it.

"For threatening to leave me tied to the bed while you went to finish off in the shower."

Harlot
, my right shoulder accused.

"For making me call you something I swore I never would."

Though I was ashamed to have my body marked by his disappointment in me, I couldn't help but smile a little at that one. I hadn't even known Pierce
knew
that word, let alone imagined he would ever use it in my presence. And I might have been getting punished for it now, but it wasn't something that offended me, and hearing him say it had just been mind-blowing.

He leaned in close to begin writing on the flesh just above my pussy, but when he saw my amusement, he changed his mind. Holding out the pen to me, he ordered, “Write it yourself. Upside down, so you can read it."

Hesitantly, I took the pen and pressed the point against my skin, then began to write.

Cunt.

Pierce got up off the bed, crossing to the closet, then searching inside for something. When he returned with a black leather leash, the insult was inked onto my body with the rest. He snapped his fingers, indicating that I should stand up, then attached the leash to the middle ring of my collar.

Our first stop was the bathroom, where he ordered me to look in the mirror. I took in the reflected criticisms and bit my lip, discomfited. Was this really how he saw me?

Releasing my leash, he left me to use the bathroom, and when I had finished I took a couple of moments to examine the writing in solitude. The longer it stayed on my body, the more ashamed I felt, and I turned from the mirror, trying to pull myself together.

Pierce was waiting outside the door, and he kept me on a very short leash as he led me downstairs, into the kitchen. The blinds over the windows were closed, and he'd turned the small fan-heater on, making the usually chilly room comfortably warm.

"There's one final thing we need to deal with,” he told me, and my shoulders slumped at the thought of more punishment. “You manipulated a reward I saw fit to give you. I let you get your way because I don't go back on my word, especially not in a relationship like ours. But I would
never
usually give up my control over you in a scene, and you knew that."

I whispered an apology, but he ignored it, throwing a square cushion down on the floor a couple of feet away from the kitchen units.

"Sit. Get comfortable."

I positioned myself in the centre of the cushion, drawing my knees up to my chest and hugging them, then nodded at him once I was in position.

"Don't move from that cushion. Just sit here and think about it."

Mental confinement? That was new. I hugged my knees tighter, biting my lip as I considered the risks of asking him how long I would be here. He saw it, and nodded.

"Speak."

"How long, Sir?” I whispered.

"Until I say so,” he said simply, and left me there, closing the kitchen door behind him.

I dropped my head onto my knees, sighing. This was an obedience test, to ensure I remembered my place. I didn't have any way of measuring the time—Pierce had covered all the clocks with cloths—so all I could do was wait. And think about it.

I'd known when I asked Pierce to switch for me that he wouldn't want to do it. But I'd asked anyway, and I'd bratted out at his refusal. I hadn't seen this extreme a punishment coming, but I knew I deserved it.

Stretching out one arm, then the other, I reread the words written there.
Insolent
and
arrogant
—definitely two words to describe me that night. Pierce loved a little resistance sometimes, but there was a limit to that, and I'd crossed it at a sprint and continued running for the next three miles.

Yeah, the end result had been incredible. I'd never seen him so out of control, never seen him come so hard—and I was still a little smug about that now. But just before I'd got him to plead for release, there had been something there I'd never seen with anyone else I'd topped. I'd been ready to stop at a moment's notice, even though I'd been just one touch away from coming, because I'd seriously thought he'd been about to safe word. I didn't know why he hadn't—why he'd given in. Why he'd held out so long before he'd even considered stopping me.

Shifting a little on the cushion, I sat lotus-style to give my arms a break, looking down at the words on my body.

Brat, bitch, cocktease, whore, greedy, harlot
.

And the last one, in my own handwriting. The one that had startled me out of my Domme-headspace for a moment—the one that had sent heat rushing through my body as he'd growled it in frustration.

Teasing little cunt.

I'd regret my cocky attitude, and I'd regret that I'd overstepped my bounds, but I'd never regret that. I had never been shocked by bad language, but hearing friends use it in conversation was completely different to hearing Pierce—my idol, my Dom—snarl it at me while his eyes were dark with lust and his body was—

Okay, calm down and repent, already

I realised I'd fidgeted myself dangerously close to the edge of the cushion, and drew my legs back up against my chest, wondering how much time had passed. I was pretty sure Pierce didn't mean for me to spend the duration of the punishment recalling how much I'd enjoyed teasing him.

So I focussed—first on the flat refusal in his face when he'd realised what it was I'd been asking of him, then the irritated resignation as he'd given in. I should have backed off then, when I knew he was only doing it to honour his word. Or when I'd felt the muscles in his jaw tighten under my hand, while I'd angled his head so that I could fasten Santoro's collar around his neck.

I'd really screwed up.

Shaking my head, I glanced down at the epithets written over my skin again. Had I really not seen? Or hadn't I
wanted
to see? A little of both, maybe. I'd known he wasn't happy about it, but I hadn't realised how deeply ingrained his instinct to retain control was. The way he'd looked towards the end... He'd seemed out of his depth, almost. There'd been an anger within him I'd only ever seen directed at his suspects, but I'd known he wanted me, so I'd just kept right on going.

I'd really,
really
screwed up.

Closing my eyes against the instinct to cry, I swallowed hard. A heartbeat later, a finger ghosted across my shoulder blades, and I gasped, twisting to look up at Pierce. I hadn't even heard him come in.

He helped me to stand and pulled me into his arms, and I clung to him gratefully, burying my face in his neck. “I'm sorry, Sir... I'm so sorry..."

Effortlessly, he lifted me, and I wrapped my legs around his waist, letting him carry me up the stairs back into the bedroom. I relished his warmth and the sound of his breathing, and he kissed my neck before sitting, still holding me, on the edge of the bed.

He slipped his arms around my waist, drawing me close, and murmured, “Easy, little tease. I'm here."

Sighing, I nuzzled his neck, letting the affectionate circles his fingers made over my vertebrae soothe me. When he was sure I'd calmed down enough to allow him to do so, he unwound my arms from around his neck to look at me.

The warmth was back in his eyes, and he examined my expression for long moments before gently kissing me.

"Sit on the bed. I'll be back in a moment."

I didn't want to let go of him, but reluctantly I did as he asked, feeling a pang of loss as he left the room. Less than a minute later, he returned, carrying a bowl of steaming water, a bar of soap and a sponge. As he sat beside me, placing the bowl on the nightstand, I glanced down at the pen-marks on my body.

Wetting and soaping up the sponge, he took hold of my arm and began to scrub at the word
insolent
. The soap-bubbles became grey as the ink started to dissolve, and I enjoyed the slightly abrasive contact, feeling the weight of the accusation begin to lift from my shoulders.

When my skin was free of ink, Pierce kissed the area before moving on to the next word. Content to let him wash away my sins, I watched him quietly, moving into a horizontal position at his urging so he could deal with the words on my stomach, abdomen and thighs. As each one vanished, my mood lightened a little, but the guilt remained with me.

Halfway through, I whispered, “Sir?"

"Yeah?” he asked, glancing up.

"I screwed up."

I wasn't wearing any clothes, and he was still dressed, but we were both used to that. It was only when I uttered those words that I felt truly naked.

He didn't stop sponging the ink from my body, but he ran his free hand over my hip. “Punishment's over, Faye. You're forgiven."

I drew in a shaking breath, wishing I could believe him.

"I ignored the signs, Sir! I knew you weren't happy, and there were like five hundred times that I coulda stopped—"

He immediately set down the sponge, enfolding me in his arms again.

"Remember that safe word you asked me for? I could have used it."