Stormy Night Publications Publishers of BDSM and Kink Erotica
Billionaires call him the Patriarch. I’ll call him Master.
Saxon Thornburg is known to the world as a reputable businessman, but I knew his true nature even before he kidnapped me, bared, bound, and punished me, and then shamefully ravaged me.
He is not just the billionaire boss of a powerful crime family. He is the Patriarch.
Women drop to their knees on command for him, but he chose me because I didn’t surrender.
Until he took off his belt…
Author: Piper Stone
eBook Price: Kindle Unlimited/$4.95
Length: 80,700 words
Excerpt
His hold was firm, tight enough I struggled to breathe. He yanked me closer, so much so the heat of his body resonated through every cell and muscle. I was jerked in front of him, led past the group of women, through the circle of hungry men, tossed over an ornately crafted pulpit. My skirt was ripped and the feel of his hand as he slipped his fingers under the thin elastic of my thong sent a shower of electricity straight to my bones.
I was horrified that I was on display, my naked bottom becoming the focus of everyone in the room. He fisted my hair with one hand, holding me in place. With the other I sensed he was removing his belt.
Dear God. The Patriarch was going to spank me in front of everyone in the room. A wash of humiliation tore through me, my mind sputtering, skipping and restarting as I tried to process the horror. Heat tickled my cheeks, and I was momentarily frozen, gasping for air. Then I reacted, refusing to take the horrible punishment.
I slammed my hands on the hard wood, managing to push up by a few inches. The Patriarch slammed me down with enough force the wind was knocked out of me.
“If you disobey, you will face the consequences as will every other Sacrifice.” His voice was gruff yet sensual at the same time, evoking dozens of prickling vibrations, a rush of unwanted excitement. My body betrayed me, the treacherous bitch almost eager to be treated like a bad little girl.
Shivering, I twisted back and forth, hating the butterflies, the lump in my throat.
And the fact my pussy was already damp, juice trickling down the inside of my thighs. I was a sick woman, so much so I’d lost my mind. This was crazy, horrible. Embarrassing.
He took a few seconds twisting and turning the plug, my jaw clenching in reaction. Then I heard him chuckle, obviously amused by being in utter control. Slapping him hadn’t been enough.
I jumped when the bastard cracked the thick leather against the floor, the sound reverberating in the dense space. There wasn’t another sound. Not a whimper from one of the women or a grunt from the men. But I sensed they were eager to partake in the debauchery.
“You will receive twenty-five strikes as punishment.”
There was no wavering in his voice, the deep baritone pounding in my ears, his accent almost comforting.
And when his wrist snapped, I cinched my eyes closed only a split second before pain tore through me, rattling my senses.
The shame had a ripple effect, forcing me to jerk up from the table, hissing as I tried to move my head from side to side, but his hold was too powerful.
Just like the man.
He delivered four more, the savage cracking sound matching the bolts of lightning electrifying the sky. Tears immediately formed; my mouth twisted as the pain ignited a fire I hadn’t known existed.
There was no way to describe the intensity of my emotions or the cataclysm of vibrations skittering through me. How could anything so horrible feel so incredibly good?
“You will learn,” he roared, loud enough the entire crowd heard his sharp display of disappointment. “One way or the other.”
He wasn’t hesitant in providing the others with a full understanding of what they’d face, the harsh punishment just part of what was to be expected. If any of the women were terrified, I wouldn’t know it, not a single sound interfering with the discipline being doled out.
Another rumble of thunder rolled through the massive hall, several more strikes brought down in rapid succession. Then the Patriarch took the time to caress my aching bottom, acting as if only he could provide any sense of comfort.
“Please,” I moaned, hating myself for showing any weakness.
