Free Natural Law by Joey W. Hill Page B

like fire, screamed for release on a couple different levels. His back, shoulders and thigh muscles had hours of tension in them, and yet he was sure sinking into her body would make all of that go away.
    She stepped away from him, in front of him, four steps past the chair. She kept her back to him and he watched, stunned, as she shrugged the clinging material off her shoulders. With the black wig in an upswept style, it exposed her nape, emphasizing the beauty of her bare upper torso, the sweeping line of her shoulders, arms and back.
    Her back was smooth and golden, the spine a shallow valley drawing his eyes down to the beginning rise of her buttocks, visible because she pushed the dress low on her hips.
    He saw that tiny mole on the inside of her shoulder blade.
    “Mackenzie?” She tilted her head so he could see her profile just above her right shoulder.
    “Y-yes, Mistress?” He cleared his throat. Why had he thought she was green?
    Because she didn’t have much experience? He had forgotten the wisdom that all subs knew, that great Mistresses were born, not made, and the really great ones relied as much on intuition as training to do what needed to be done.
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    Joey W. Hill
    Most Mistresses had respected his boundaries, would have good-naturedly moved past the sticky point of his pride and gone onto something they both found pleasurable.
    Not this one. She wasn’t here for recreation. She wanted to crawl into his soul, or rather make him crawl into hers. Hadn’t she as much as told him that?
    “Mackenzie?”
    He froze. He’d done the unthinkable. “I’m sorry, Mistress. Can you repeat that?” Her lips curved, but he wouldn’t have called the expression a smile.
    “I said, pick up the cat, and lash me with it. Ten strikes.” 44

    Natural Law

Chapter 6
    This time he bit down on his tongue before he asked her to repeat the question. He had heard her clearly enough, but shock made him want her to rewind, play it once more.
    “I’m waiting.”
    “Mistress. I can’t.”
    “Did I or did I not just give you a direct command?” Her tone sharpened.
    “But I’ll hurt you. Forget it. I won’t hurt you.” He felt his loins tighten along with his heart as she turned her body several degrees, showing him the curve of one bare breast. The silver ring of the nipple chain glittered in the light. A small tassel of sapphires and silver beads hung from it, beneath the stiff peak.
    “Then I’ll show mercy, and reduce the count. You will strike me once, and put all your strength behind it, or this will be the last time you’ll ever see me. You’ll leave this club and never come back to it. Do it.”
    She turned away from him again, folding her arms at her waist in front of her.
    Mac closed his hand on the handle of the cat o’nine. Nine lash ends, all tied in knots with a fringe of tiny pewter tassels, a variation of the metal-tipped cat some favored here at The Zone. He’d been lashed before by Mistresses, but had never done it himself.
    “Put your back into it,” she said quietly. “Like an overhand throw.”
    “Mistress—”
    “Mackenzie. Do as I tell you.” Soft words, but steel underneath.
    She would leave and he would never see her again. Did she get off on being whipped? He’d not heard of a Dominant who did, though many did it as training for themselves to learn how it felt, how to do it without hurting their subs in irreparable ways.
    “Just do it, and it will be over. Three seconds. Now,” she snapped.
    Mac jerked forward, and put his strength behind the strike, though everything in him told him not to do it.
    He had misjudged her height. The lashings struck her shoulder in a sparkling fan and then curled over, the metal tips slapping her front sharply, so that he felt the tug of her flesh as he reflexively jerked back.
    He knew the signs of pain, heard it in the cry she bit off, the indrawn breath through her teeth, the tightening of her shoulders and buttocks beneath the dress.
    He