Chapter 103
Noah
I’d never known. Not really. I knew Mr. A was powerful, that people
respected him, feared him even–but I didn’t know he’d actually been
wanted here. That Masters like Hale had watched him, had studied his
scenes, his videos. The thought burned. He’d filmed himself with
others before. He’d done scenes with other subs. How did I not see
any of those videos? And what did this guy mean about Master
“joining them“? He hadn’t said anything to me at all… Not that he
needed my permission, but if he was gonna be dominating other
people and being the big shot of a place like this, I fucking deserved
to know. I was jealous. I won’t deny.that–our damn contract said no
sex with other people, no sharing, and that meant no other damn
bitches were gonna look at my Master, no submissive other than me
was gonna even breathe his air, and he was not fucking allowed to
boss around anyone but me.
So when Master Hale asked him to perform with those other
submissives, my brain went straight to panic mode. Two thoughts,
loud and ugly.
One: staying alone with Hale? Hell no. The way that guy looked at me
-like I was already on the menu–gave me the creeps. I could
practically see the wheels turning, and none of those ideas were ones
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I wanted anywhere near me.
Two: if Aiden touched someone else up there, if he reminded himself
what a “real” sub was supposed to look like–trained, polished,
perfect–then what? He’d see how much better it felt. How much
easier it was. How much safer than me. Like Micah. Yeah, I
remembered the name. The one he treasured.
Over my dead fucking body.
I knew it was insane, how jealous I felt. How scared. A voice in my head kept screaming that I’d already gone way too far, that letting
him drag me into this would screw me up in ways I wouldn’t ever come back from. But none of that mattered. Not the logic, not the fear. Because the second I thought about him putting his hands on
anyone else, it made me sick.
So here I was. Leashed, trembling, staring out at a room full of strangers who all wanted to watch me fall apart. And yeah, I wanted to bolt. My knees were shaking, my chest was so tight I could barely breathe. But the only thing keeping me from losing it completely was him. Just him. Aiden’s hand on me, steady, grounding. That was it.
That was all I had.
He led me up onto the stage. My legs felt like they didn’t belong to me, but somehow I moved. The bench was waiting–big, solid, all leather and straps. It looked like something out of a nightmare. Or
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porn. Or both.
He pressed me down over it. Cold leather under my chest. The first
strap bit tight around my wrist, and my stomach dropped. Then
another. Ankles buckled down, spread wide. My face burned. Everyone
was watching. Everyone could see.
My throat closed up. My eyes stung. By the time the last buckle
snapped, I couldn’t fight the tears anymore. They slid hot down my
cheeks as I squeezed my eyes shut and just… gave up. Not to them. To
him. To my Master.
Scared out of my mind. Humiliated. Shaking. But still his. Always his.
The whole damn room went quiet, like everyone had leaned in at
once. My chest was so tight it hurt. Aiden bent close, so close I could
feel the warmth of his breath against my ear.
“How many points have you earned today?” he asked. Calm. Steady.
Like he wasn’t about to put me on display in front of the entire
planet.
My throat was dry, the word barely making it out. “Seven.”
He nodded, like he’d already known. “Seven points. That means thirty–five hard strikes, Crop or cane. Or…” He paused, and my
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stomach dropped. “…you can take whatever number I decide, with the
whip. It won’t break you, but it will sting. Deeply.”
Thirty–five. The number rattled around in my skull. Those would
leave a mark, and we were close to the school year, football season… I
couldn’t show up bruised, but the whip could go for much longer. No
lasting marks but a much longer agony… What did he want me to
choose? This was also his big night. I wanted to make him proud-
what would offer a better show for him? I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t
think. My voice cracked when I blurted, “Sir, I—I don’t know… what
should I choose? Help me…”
His hand slid over my cheek, his thumb brushing my lip like he was
proud of me, even when I felt like a wreck. He kissed me, soft, steady,
and the crowd disappeared for a second. Just him. “Good boy,” he
murmured, and my chest caved.
“You’ll take the whip,” he said, certain, like it was already decided.
“You’ll trust me. Relax. And if it’s too much, you’ll use your safeword.
Say it now.”
“Mercy,” I whispered.
“Again.”
“Mercy.”
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My voice shook, but he nodded, satisfied. Then he stepped back, and I
wanted to scream for him not to.
The first crack split the air like a gunshot. The lash bit across my back
and I jerked so hard the straps rattled. The burn lit me up from spine
to throat and the sound tore out of me before I could swallow it
down. Gasps echoed around the room, but I barely heard them.
Then another strike. And another. Each one snapping sharp, burning
into my skin, rolling through me like fire I couldn’t escape. I
whimpered, begged under my breath, the leather kissing my thighs,
my ass, my shoulders, over and over.
The rhythm was brutal in its steadiness–every time I thought I could
brace for it, it came again, and again, and again. The crowd wasn’t
laughing. They weren’t mocking me. They were watching. Silent,
hungry, locked on me like every sound I made was part of the show.
Minutes? Hours? I didn’t know. My face was wet, my throat raw, my
whole body a live wire. Somewhere in there, the pain started to twist.
It blurred at the edges, the sting melting into something far away. My
cries turned to broken whimpers, then to sobs I barely recognized as
mine.
And then… nothing. No more panic. No more shame. The straps held
me down, Aiden’s presence held me together, and the rest just…
slipped.
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I was gone.
The last thing I felt before the world emptied out was his hand on me
-steady, grounding, safe. Then it all went black.
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Sara Lili is a daring romance writer who turns icy landscapes into scenes of fiery passion. She loves crafting hot love stories while embracing the chill of Iceland’s breathtaking cold.
