Free My Kingdom for a Corner by Melinda Barron

disobedient and need to be trained. Would you like to watch, please, to make it complete? I will be spanked at midnight in the main room.”
    Mortified, she stared at him. Before she could voice her objection, he started to speak.
    “You won’t say a word when we’re downstairs. For one thing, there is every indication someone might recognize your voice. For another, I demand it of you. And, if you feel the urge, you will not climax until if, or when, I say you can.”
    “That’s not going to be a problem,” she said, waving the sign in his face. “This will keep me from being aroused.”
    “We’ll see about that.” He tugged on the leash. “Now, let’s go downstairs and play.”
    * * * *
    Francesca was pretty sure her whole body was as red as the leather she wore. The minute they’d stepped into the club they’d attracted attention. At Mr. Oliver’s urging, she’d shown her sign to every Dom who stopped to talk to them. He’d let two of them attach clamps to her nipples, pulling on them until she whimpered before they released them, reattached them and played it out all over again. Then, they ordered their subs to suck her abused nubs to, as they’d said, “Ease the ache.”
    It had been hard to stand still while the other women nursed on her. She’d looked at Mr. Oliver both times, to see him watching her face, and not the woman suckling her. The idea had aroused her more than she wanted to admit, and when he finally took the paddle from her, slapped it against her thigh and ordered, “Wide,” she complied. The people around them watched as he rubbed the edge of the wood against her clit.
    Francesca bit back a moan, and the Doms murmured their approval when Mr. Oliver said, “She’s soaked. What a little slut I have on my hands.”
    She shouldn’t have been surprised that she was so wet, but she was. She attributed it to the attention paid to her nipples, but she’d be lying to herself if she didn’t admit being led on a leash by Mr. Oliver wasn’t fascinating. But it wasn’t something she wanted to make a steady diet of. Or would she? Her insides quaked with a need to be fucked, and she was sure that, when he allowed it, she would shoot off like a volcano.
    When midnight rolled around, he led her to the middle of the main room. Francesca fought back terror as she looked at a large, leather spanking bench that had been set up there.
    “Mount it,” he ordered. He took the paddle from her and pointed it at the contraption. “You know how to do it.”
    Oh yes, she did. She’d never done it herself, but she’d made many a sub do it. Sally loved it when her pussy sat on the edge of the leather-covered bench. She said each strike pushed her clit against the support system, and increased her enjoyment of her “punishment.”
    There was no turning back now, Francesca knew. She bent over the bench, not surprised when four women appeared at each end, securing her wrists and ankles to the legs. The two in back had to attach cuffs to her ankles, still encased in the boots, and took longer. While they worked, Francesca listened to the people who had gathered to watch.
    Murmurs of “Beautiful,” “Extraordinary obedience,” and “Who is she?” reached her ears.
    She still held the sign in her left hand, and when Mr. Oliver took it from her and crouched down next to her, she looked him in the eye.
    “Kiss the paddle,” he said loudly. The rubber felt cold as she obeyed, and when he took it away, he placed the handle of the sign between her lips. “Hold it in place, or there will be hell to pay.”
    “Look at the way her cunt glistens,” someone said behind her. “She’s as wet as a river. Maybe we should all be wearing rain boots.”
    Francesca flushed as the crowd roared with laughter. The truth of his statement shocked her, and she realized she couldn’t blame it on the newness of the situation. She was aroused because Mr. Oliver was topping her, was about to spank her, had devised a