Accepting His Ways (Quinlan O'Connor Book 2) (18 page)

“There will be no attitude, understood? I expect you to let go and allow me to teach you to trust me and us together, to be obedient to me because of that trust, and to be compliant and respectful of others especially members of this club. I want you to allow yourself to experience it all, tonight.”

Cheyenne lowered her head and nodded her understanding. She realized she was going to experience his displeasure but also acknowledged a confusing rush of excitement and dread at the thought of his methods of punishment thus far. She had been introduced to crops, floggers, both good and bad, and oh, the dreaded plugs.

As they walked into the great room where she first encountered Quinn that fateful introduction night, she took a deep breath of the leather and sweat combined with that special musky scent that Quinlan had called nature’s ambrosia. She didn’t always agree. Her pulses raced and her breathing quickened. It normally excited her to be here. Today, mixing the scents with the fear of her punishment was nearly suffocating.

Quinlan noticed and leaned down to whisper, “I’m going to blindfold you,
piscín
, because your lesson in trust starts here. Last warning, if you need and don’t use your yellow, I will spank you raw every day, forcing you to cry popsicle each time. What is the acceptable word for tonight?”

“It’s yellow, sir.”

“Good, now no speaking unless I’m asking you a direct question, and then you must verbally respond, respectfully, understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then let’s play,
piscín
.”

* * *

Quinn reached inside his shirt and pulled out a satin blindfold that he put over her eyes after placing a kiss over each one. Cheyenne unconsciously inhaled sharply.

He leaned into her and spoke low. “Breathe, baby, slow in and out. Listen to my breathing.” He continued when she didn’t follow his direction, “In… out. Again. In… out. That’s it, you need to relax.”

His voice, and hand movements soothing her, calming her breathing. He kissed her lips. “I love you.”

He led her to what must have been a semi-secluded area at the back of the great room because there was still noise but much lighter and there were no steps up or down. She would be easily seen if one looked. When Quinn scened, he was sought out, so she expected to be instructional entertainment for plenty of people, both members and non-members.

“Cheyenne, I’m going to put you on the bench, different than you’ve experienced, but one you’ve seen used before so your bottom is where I want it to be.” His tone changed to commanding when she breathed quickly again, “Cheyenne, stop. Now.
Anois
. Breathe with me. Breathe in. Breathe out. Concentrate, in and out. That’s it, baby, that’s it. Keep slow even breaths. The next time, I’m going to take control of your breath. If you concentrate and relax, you won’t need me to do that. This is a scene, just like any other.” Except of course it wasn’t, she thought, it was public punishment. “Do you understand me,
beag amháin
?”

“Yeess, sir.” Her voice and her body were shaking and when he asked if she were cold, she shook her head.

“Cheyenne, do you believe that I would let anyone or anything hurt you?” his voice was kind but not gentle like before. Her world was so dark and everything was more. The sound of whimpering, slaps of skin against skin, the snap of a whip and the aroma of perfume, deodorant and sweat wafted past her.

“Um, no, sir.” She heard her trembling voice and felt the tightening of her stomach and neck muscles.

“Okay, then you’re having trouble trusting me because you’re too anxious. Let me help.” She flinched when his fingers touched her arm. “Let me help you up onto the bench and I want you to listen to the sound of my voice. Don’t think about what is going on in the rest of this place, not the pin dropping, the strap ‘thwapping,’ not the people talking. I want you to listen to my voice, listen to my footfalls, my breathing. Feel my breath on your face, and your body, meditate on my touch. Don’t allow yourself to be distracted by other things. I’ll be touching or talking to you, so concentrate on me. I’ll be concentrating on you.”

As he continued to speak, she felt him wrap the straps around her arms, then her calves and thighs. Next, he buckled her upper body to the bench, placing her nearly bare bottom up into what she had heard was the striking zone. The air that felt hot everywhere else on her body was cold on her bottom. Her breathing hitched, stalled, then she felt air hungry, desperate for air. She pulled against her restraints and the panic was real. She was drowning in her fear. Something was brushing her lips and she jerked.

“Cheyenne,
piscín
, let go, let me breathe for you.”

She could hear Quinn’s confident stride coming from behind her, and she felt his warm hand on her back, rubbing and massaging in solace but her anxiety had taken over by then. Quinn, he was here. She felt his lips on hers, reaching down into her very soul, breathing in and out. She felt his ministrations but she couldn’t calm down.

She wanted to cry yellow but she was suffocating. The air wouldn’t move in or out of her lungs. A mouth, Quinn’s mouth again descended over hers, sealing his lips to hers. Quinn was once again giving her rhythm in her breathing. He was taking her breath again only this time he was taking it all.

Cheyenne struggled at first. Another smack on her exposed and proffered bottom cheeks made her concentrate. Somewhere in her mind, she knew Quinn didn’t do that smack but he allowed it. It was leather. It was possibly a strap or a belt. She loved leather. It comforted her. Was it Master Josh?

She felt slow, methodical strikes of the leather as Quinn repeated the rhythm with her breathing. She didn’t know how many rounds he forced her breathing rhythm to match his but before too long, her anxiety lowered and she calmed down. Finally, she could understand what he was doing exactly.

He inhaled through his nose, exhaled into her mouth as she inhaled his breath, creating a similar effect as the paper bag breathing. One, two, three, four breaths exchanged, each accompanied by calming stripes taking away her anxiety. She could breathe, she could relax and his tongue was in her mouth, caressing her, his lips kissing her—she felt calmer. She expelled the shared breath. She sighed. This time, when he set the rhythm, she followed him willingly and then he stopped as she pulled away.

Quinn spoke low and gentle leaning into her, reminding her he was there. “You’re okay now, baby. Remember,
piscín
, even though I quit touching you and stopped talking to you, I’m here beside you. Trust me to never leave you alone and vulnerable. Do you need to use your slowdown word? Do you need the blindfold off?”

Cheyenne shook her head no and then spoke the breathy words, “No, sir, I’m good.”

She rested her body on the bench, listening. She heard more murmurs as though they were close, watching. There they were, waiting to watch what Quinn did. She knew most people would be impressed with his breath control. Hell, she was impressed, and thankful.

“
Mhuirnín,
sweetheart, please listen to me and to the sound of my voice. I’m going to bring out the buffalo and elk floggers. Do you remember how soft, and well-worked the elk leather is, and how you loved the thud of the buffalo? I want you to listen to the swish and thud, feel them lightly dance over you and flow into it. I’ll be helping you experience it but this is also a punishment, so while I’m helping you to trust me, you must remember obedience.”

He shifted from his space in front of her to the side and continued to speak. “Then I’ll talk to you again; touch you again. I want you to always listen for me. Try to mentally absorb me. I’m going to really push your limits tonight. Be alert so you know what is going on and you’ll stay in the moment. Feel your penalty.”

Cheyenne barely heard Quinlan before she was starting to float and relax, lost in his words. She was falling into the strokes he was bathing her body and senses in; it was heaven. Suddenly it stopped and she tried to pull herself back from where her mind had wandered. He was walking off. She could hear that. Where was he going? Right, the buffalo or elk flogger was coming.

She marveled that with her eyes covered she could hear so much more, smell scents strongly, like the hot leather under her or the alcohol in the fire of a nearby scene in play. Now there were light touches on her arms moving down, touching every part of her. She was so hypersensitive.

A swish and the many tongues of one of the buffalo floggers landed. Cheyenne jumped from the response of the sound but she didn’t experience any pain, just thuds. On and on he spoke as he tattooed her body with the swish and slide of the floggers. He must be using one elk and one buffalo. The feel of the floggers merged with the almost physical sound of the thudding, but it was the swish that she heard the most.

Two floggers are what it felt like. She had watched him practice before and thought how wonderfully graceful this big tough Irish sheriff and rancher was with those floggers. While this flogger was not the softest, it was strong and smooth from use. She wondered how many women he had used these on and as the thought crossed her mind, she thought of Maggie and her leg muscles tightened. She knew he had played with plenty of other women before her, but did he play with Maggie now?

“What are you thinking,
mo ghrá
? It isn’t concentration on me or what we’re doing that has made your body tense.”

“The flogger, Sir, I was wondering how many women you’ve used it on.” She was surprised that she was panting and so aroused. A light sheen of sweat coated her brow and she was struggling to bring things into focus.

“Minx,” he chuckled. “
Piscín,
you’ve no need to worry, I’ve only used these for practice and on you, my love.”

Soon, she was lost in time, space, and the mesmerizing sound of the flogger falls as those strands of leather landed on her back, legs, and buttocks. She fell into the cadence of the stinging kiss of the instrument and then it stopped. There was thunderous silence and inarticulate sound. It was as though the rhythm of her existence had stopped and gravity grew heavy, pushing her to the earth.

There was movement and then she felt a faraway stinging in the region of her buttocks. Cheyenne tried hard to pull her thoughts back to identify what was happening and she called out Quinn’s name when she felt the next ones, which cut through her fog quite effectively. She struggled. The strikes were firm and solid without the caress of Quinn’s hand. This was some paddle. Where leather was warm, this was harder and colder.

After an indeterminate amount of strikes, she had begun to tremor and she could have sworn she heard another shuffle. It was quiet and she listened for Quinn. He was at the implements table if they didn’t move it. There was a swat, then another. Wait. Quinn was not next to her. She listened for him and she knew he was at the table. She screeched.

The intensity of Quinn’s response was tangible, comforting. “Safe. You’re safe. It’s just a rubber paddle courtesy of Master Lars.”

Another slap of the paddle elicited a screeched, “It hurts, Sir.”

“As it should, young lady,” answered the voice she knew as Master Lars. “I thought I had hit the jackpot with you only to discover you were not only regularly playing with another but engaged to him.”

After a few more prances of the paddle across her globes, she heard a shuffling, a discord. Angry murmurings were heard and she was positive it wasn’t another scene but the onlookers to her scene. An unfamiliar hand laid on her back, slipping under the webbing, moving in a circular pattern that was comforting. More movement and shuffling, Master Lars leaned down to speak to Cheyenne.

“I’ve got you, little one. Don’t worry about the noise, your Sir and Master Josh will handle the rudeness. I’m standing guard over you.” The slow and methodical massaging of her back continued.

The murmuring of other voices too far away to decipher barged into her mind. Master Josh, she heard him as well. He was close. Her Sir was close.

Cheyenne struggled to hear what was going on but it was difficult. An unidentifiable male responded but she was unable to understand it. Then she would have sworn she heard a woman’s whimper and Quinn curse. Quinn didn’t curse, he intimidated. Fear and panic took her over and Cheyenne grappled with the restraints.

The hand on her back disentangled itself and it landed on her bottom, hard. The next whimper was hers as she was recovering one more fell. She felt a soft caress on her upturned and most likely rosy bottom full of warmth.

“Pay attention to me, little one. Don’t worry about what is going on out there.”

“I think that covers it for me,” said Master Lars after the last bite of his palm was rubbed away. I need one like this one. You guys need to help me find one who is feisty but melts like butter with some love.”

Quinn chuckled. “Done.”

Master Lars’ footfalls could be heard as he walked away. Right afterward, Cheyenne became restless because there was no activity. She wiggled and pulled at her restraints with a sigh. Still and silent but for the distant sounds of the club all around her, heaving breaths, whimpers and squeals, tears and the sound of paddles to bottoms. Her anxiety rose. She knew she couldn’t speak and ask for where Quinn was so her mind’s imagination shot off quickly. Maybe he walked off with Master Lars to talk but she couldn’t speak so she pulled more on her restraints—not hard, but she pulled. Maybe she was just on display in front of those watching.