The well-worn and carefully knotted ropes at my wrists and ankles had just enough play to let me stretch and arch. The illusion of bodily control until I literally reached the end of my rope and realised I couldn’t escape. Face down on the bed, my ass already stinging from seven – or was it eight? – lashes of the belt, my pussy trickling wetness down onto the sheets as I screamed and squirmed. A steady beep-beep-beep broke through the haze of pleasure and pain and I twisted my head to hear it better. What was that noise? ‘How many was that?’ Aidan asked, trailing the end of the belt between my cheeks. The beeping had distracted me. I had lost count. I bit the inside of my mouth to keep from groaning. ‘Eight?’ ‘Are you asking me or telling me?’ ‘It was eight,’ I breathed into my shoulder. ‘I’m sure of it.’ The belt whistled through the air and I cried out even before the leather cracked on my already fevered skin. I jerked against my bonds, fingers tightening in the ropes, grateful for something to hang onto even while I strained to break free.
