Aching to Submit by Natasha Knight

have to earn that trust. Slowly, she extended her arms. He slid the first glove on and secured it, then repeated on the other arm.
    “Put them back on the windowsill,” he said quietly.
    It was so dead quiet in the room he could hear her swallow.
    “I want to whip you,” he said.
    “Whip?” she asked, her voice faltering.
    He retrieved the riding crop. It was a long, gorgeous piece, heavy but flexible. He imagined the damage it could do if not used properly. He knew how to use it though. Or at least he had enough experience with it with horses. He was an accomplished rider and since being back in Holland, he’d taken the sport up again, riding almost every weekend.
    He ran the slapper along the flesh of her outer thigh, caressing her hip, tracing it along its curve up to her narrow waist. He slid it back down to find her inner thigh and lightly tapped there, wanting her legs wider. She understood and took them farther.
    “Good. Walk your hips back a little more, just a few inches. I still want you visible at the window.”
    “Michael,” she began.
    Her gasp came simultaneously with the first strike of the crop. He’d stunned her and he imagined the pain of it, the sound of leather against flesh filling the room. He’d struck as soon as she’d said his name and he’d not been gentle. He’d chosen a spot on her outer thigh, knowing it would hurt.
    “Again?” he asked.
    He shifted his eyes from the reddened spot on her hip to her hands, which gripped the windowsill so tightly her knuckles were white.
    “Yes. Please, Sir,” she said in a breathy whisper.
    His lips quivered into a smile. His cock was hard, but more than that. Some other part of him was coming alive. He swallowed and, with a flick of his wrist, struck again, on her buttock this time. Again, she gasped, but no more than that.
    “Another?”
    She nodded. “Yes.”
    He struck twice; quick, short hits to her tender flesh.
    “Sir!” she called out, her lesson immediately understood. “Yes, please, Sir.”
    She was being so good, his little wife. He raised the crop and struck again. He didn’t put near his full strength into it, but with this implement, he didn’t need to.
    The sound she made this time came simultaneously with the blow and she leaned forward a little. He brought the crop down again, this time striking without stopping, alternating cheeks, until her bottom was reddened.
    “Sir!”
    When she called out he stopped, looking at the side of her face, at the sweat that had gathered along her forehead, her upper lip. Her face was flushed a pretty pink, a paler pink than her ass. Michael dropped the crop and turned her, taking her mouth with his. She opened for him, her lips moist, salty sweat mingling with her breath, her heat. He kissed her fully, a long, devouring kiss and she wrapped her arms around him, her wrists at the back of his neck pulling him to her, the sound she was making one of desperate desire. Michael lifted her and carried her to the sheepskin carpet. Laying her on her back, he pushed her legs open, bending her knees toward her chest, and gripped the base of the plug.
    “I want to fuck your ass,” he said. “I want to stripe you red and fuck your ass hard, Sophie.”
    “Do it! God, do it now, Michael!”
    “I’d hurt you,” he said, setting his cock at her pussy, sliding it slowly inside her. “You’re not ready yet.” The pressure of the plug made her pussy feel different. He moved slowly, somehow managing not to drive into her like he wanted to. Her pussy clamped down around his cock fast, slickening the passage even more.
    “Hard. Fuck me hard.”
    He pressed her legs into the carpet on either side of her. He watched her beautiful face as she struggled to see him from behind her mask. She opened her mouth when she came, then bit into her lip, drawing one single drop of blood. Michael’s heart pounded while he watched and he brought his mouth to hers again, his orgasm coming fast and hard, the taste of