Page 63 of Knife Volume 2

She screamed into the cushion, body jerking hard. Before she could get on top of the pain, another landed, then another. Sharp, stinging strokes from something whippy and cruel. Each one felt like lightning across the tender arch and then the ball of her foot.

Oh God.

Bastinado.

Punishing her feet. The feet she stood on when told to kneel.

Right foot. Left foot. The right again. The left again.

A pause, and the next strikes were heavier, deeper — a denser cane that thudded into the muscle and bone, making her sob and thrash against the cushions, and his other hand gripped her calf, holding the foot in place.

The pain was blinding. Every nerve ending in her feet lit with fire.

And still the egg buzzed mercilessly against her G-spot, mixing the agony with cruel, unwanted pulses of pleasure.

She was crying openly now, tears soaking the cushion, her whole body shaking as he worked both feet with methodical, devastating thoroughness. Her feet burned like open wounds, but the blows kept coming while the egg hummed mercilessly against her G-spot. She was right on the edge of everything at once, and she was trapped, overwhelmed, and completely at the whim of a sadist in full-on punishment mode.

Chapter 26

Knife could scent her terror and arousal when he carried her to the sofa, and he knew the instant the vibrating egg pressed against her front wall.

Knew how close she was to losing control and coming without permission.

She was already in enough trouble though, so he quickly applied the fiberglass cane with purpose.

The first punishing stroke landed across her right heel with a sharp crack. She jerked hard, a muffled scream vibrating into the cushion. The second hit the heel of the left foot, and he worked slowly, methodically — heel to arch to the balls of her feet, each line about a half-inch above the one that came before. A strike to her right foot, and then the identical spot on the left.

The thin cane left bright red lines he knew would sting like fire with every shift of her weight until her wolf could manage to heal the damage.

Back to the right. Then the left.

Her scent was exquisite — sharp pain, frantic humiliation, and beneath it all a thick, desperate arousal that never quite left her.

He set the fiberglass aside and picked up the Delrin.

This one was heavier and denser. It would bruise so much deeper.

He held onto her right calf and started on her right foot again, the solid thud of the rod sinking into the already tender flesh.

Her screams grew louder and more frantic, her body thrashing against the cushions, but he didn’t relent and once again moved from her heel to the balls of her feet, though the arches gave him the most pleasure, watching the way the muscles contracted and spasmed after each strike.

Every strike fed the sadist in him like oxygen because this wasn’t playful pain, it was punishment. Teaching her about obedience with pain she couldn’t manage, undeniably underscoring their power exchange as not just sadist and masochist, or even Dom and sub. It was a statement of just how much he fucking owned her — not just her ass, cunt, and mouth, but even the bottoms of her damned feet.

He made it to the balls of her feet and added another two strikes to her arches, just to watch the muscles spasm and react.

His cock pulsed harder when he lifted the prison strap.

But she needed to know what was coming before it landed, so he draped it over her shoulder and then dragged the heavy rubber slowly down her back.

Tuesday’s fear response flooded the room, thick and heady, and he breathed it in like the sweetest essence.

He aimed for her arches. Right foot. Left foot. Right again. Left. Her entire body convulsed with each brutal blow, and her screams were hoarse and beautifully broken now.

Then he stepped to her ass and brought the strap down on it full strength. He hadn’t used even half of his strength on her arches, but her ass could handle a whole lot more than the delicate bones in her feet.

The first vicious lash landed with a loud, satisfying crash, leaving a deep burgundy stripe across both cheeks. He gave her six more — hard, brutal strokes that painted her ass and the backs of her thighs in vivid, overlapping marks. Each impact made his granite-hard cock throb painfully against his jeans.

Punishment was different from a scene, and the difference mattered a great deal. In a scene, he was always calculating — reading her scent, her sounds, the fine tremors in her body, making sure the pain balanced with her pleasure in the same way he was careful when adding jalapenos to a dish, so he didn’t drown out the other flavors.