Chapter 3: The Paddle and the Promise
Iris lay sprawled across the settee, her chest heaving, her body humming with a satisfaction so profound it felt like a drug. The remnants of their exertions gleamed on her skin—sweat and spend and the lingering warmth of their touch. She should have been spent. She should have been satisfied. But something restless coiled in her belly, something hungry that refused to be fed.
"That was..." She trailed off, searching for the word. "Delicious. But I feel like you were holding back."
Klaus raised an eyebrow, still buttoning his trousers. "Holding back?"
"You barely left a mark." She pushed herself upright, gesturing at the faint pink flush on her thighs. "I asked for punishment. I got a love tap."
Elijah's lips twitched. He had retrieved his shirt, though he hadn't bothered to button it, leaving his chest bare and sculpted. "You're suggesting we were too gentle."
"I'm suggesting you treated me like I was made of glass." Iris stood, letting them look at her, letting them see the challenge in her eyes. "I'm not. I've been through worse than anything you can dish out. The question is whether you've got the nerve to actually hurt me."
Kol's eyes darkened, the playful spark in them giving way to something more predatory. "Careful, little bird. You might get more than you bargained for."
"That's the point, isn't it?" She smiled, slow and wicked. "I didn't come to New Orleans to bargain. I came to play."
Klaus studied her for a long moment, his ice-blue eyes unreadable. Then he crossed to a cabinet against the far wall, its surface carved with symbols she didn't recognize. He opened it, revealing an array of implements that made her breath catch—crops and canes, floggers and paddles, things she couldn't name but desperately wanted to feel.
He selected a paddle, held it up for her inspection. It was made of dark, polished wood, its surface smooth and worn with age. A handle wrapped in worn, dark leather.
"This," he said, "was made from the wood of a ship that sank off the coast of Haiti in 1732. It's been used on every kind of creature you can imagine. It's seen more use than most weapons in my collection." He ran his thumb along its edge. "Are you sure you want to feel it?"
Iris's heart pounded, but she held his gaze. "I want you to make me feel it for a week."
Something flickered in Klaus's eyes—respect, perhaps, or fascination. "Then come here."
She crossed to him, her bare feet silent on the warm floor. He took her wrist, guiding her to the center of the room where a wooden bench sat. It was padded with dark leather, shaped like a sawhorse with a narrow trough in the center—a spanking bench, she realized, designed to hold a body in perfect position for what was to come.
"Over you go," Klaus said, his voice low.
Iris draped herself over the bench, her hips settling into the trough, her torso supported by the padded surface. Her legs dangled, her feet not quite reaching the floor. The position left her utterly exposed, her arse raised and vulnerable, her cunt on display for anyone who cared to look.
Elijah moved to stand beside her, his fingers brushing through her hair. "Beautiful," he murmured. "You look like a painting, little bird."
"Less talking," she said, her voice muffled by the leather. "More hitting."
Klaus laughed. "So impatient." He stroked the paddle across her arse, a feather-light caress that made her shiver. "You'll learn patience, little one. By the time we're done, you'll be begging for mercy."
"Hasn't happened yet."
"It will."
The paddle lifted, then fell. The crack echoed through the room, sharp and definitive. Iris gasped, her hands clenching into fists. The sting was immediate, blossoming across her skin like a flower opening to the sun. It hurt. God, it hurt. But beneath the pain, pleasure coiled, hot and demanding.
"Count," Klaus said.
"One." Her voice was steady. Barely.
The paddle fell again, lower this time, catching the sensitive curve where her arse met her thigh. Iris bit her lip, the taste of copper flooding her tongue.
"Two."
"Good girl." Klaus's voice was warm with approval. "You can take more, can't you?"
"Yes."
"You're certain?"
"Yes."
The paddle came down harder, and Iris cried out. The sound was raw, animalistic, pulled from somewhere deep inside her. Her eyes watered, but she refused to let the tears fall. She wouldn't give them the satisfaction. Not yet.
"Three," she gasped.
"Still counting," Kol observed. He had moved to stand in front of her, his hand stroking his already hard cock. "Such a brave little thing."
"Bravery has nothing to do with it," she managed. "I'm just stubborn."
Klaus's laugh was warm. "That you are."
The paddle fell again, and again, and again. Each stroke landed on a different patch of skin, painting her arse in shades of red and pink. The pain built, layering on itself, until Iris couldn't tell where one stroke ended and another began. She lost count somewhere around fifteen, her mind going fuzzy and soft, the world narrowing to the rhythm of the paddle and the heat spreading through her body.
But instead of breaking her, the pain only made her hotter. Her cunt ached, slick and empty. She pressed her hips back, seeking friction, seeking anything to ease the ache.
"Please," she whispered. "Please."
"Please what?" Klaus's voice was calm, controlled. "Use your words, little one."
"I need..." She swallowed, her throat dry. "I need to come."
"Not yet." The paddle landed again, and she sobbed. "You'll come when I allow it. Not a moment before. Do you understand?"
"Yes." The word was barely audible. "I understand."
Elijah's hands moved over her, soothing the burning flesh with gentle strokes. His touch was grounding, a counterpoint to the fire Klaus was stoking. He dipped his fingers between her legs, finding her soaked, her clit swollen and desperate.
"So responsive," he murmured. "The pain pleases you, doesn't it?"
"Yes." She was beyond pretense. "Yes, it pleases me. Fuck, please—"
Klaus set the paddle aside. "Enough warm-up. Bring her to the rack."
Kol moved to the bench's side, flicking some hidden latches. He and Elijah lifted Iris between them, carrying her to where Klaus pointed—a wooden apparatus with an X-frame, leather cuffs attached at the corners. They positioned her with her back to the frame, securing her wrists and ankles with practiced efficiency. The new position left her completely exposed, her arms stretched above her head, her legs spread wide.
Klaus looked at his brothers, a silent conversation passing between them. "You know what I want."
Elijah moved first. He lifted one of Iris's legs, hooking it over his arm and stepping close. She felt his hard, wet cock slide against her thigh, and she realized he was already slick with her juices. He guided himself to her already soaked, loose hole. She was dripping, desperate. He pressed the head of his cock into her slick, reclaimed entrance, and she groaned at the feeling of being filled so completely.
"How does she feel, brother?" Kol asked from behind her.
"Like she was made for me." Elijah began to move, slow and deep, each thrust hitting a spot that made Iris see stars. She had already been thoroughly fucked by them, and they were nothing if not generous with their attention.
"Is that so?" Kol's lips brushed her ear as he squeezed behind her, hands stroking her hips. He nudged her legs together, and she felt the blunt, demanding pressure of his cock against her entrance.
"Yes," Iris cried, shameless. "Please, both of you—"
Kol drove into her with a single, brutal thrust. The pain of the intrusion was exquisite, and she screamed, a sound that mixed agony and ecstasy in equal measure. Her body arched against the frame, her muscles straining against the leather cuffs.
"Fuck," she gasped. "Fuck, yes—"
The two brothers found their rhythm quickly, moving in a synchronized push-pull that drove her to the edge of madness. Each time Elijah pulled out, Kol pushed in, creating a continuous sensation of being filled and emptied from both ends. Her body was just a tight, wet channel for their pleasure, and she loved it.
Looking up at Klaus as he stood in front of her, she licked her lips. He had begun to touch himself, stroking his length slowly, his eyes fixed on the point where his brothers' bodies met hers.
"You like watching?" she asked, her voice hoarse. "You like seeing your brothers fuck a useless little cunt like me?"
"I like seeing you take what you deserve," Klaus said. He stepped closer, still stroking himself. "And you deserve everything we give you. You're so perfect, little one. Made to be used."
"I was made for this." She was babbling now, her brain addled with pleasure-tinged pain. "Made for your pleasure. I'm nothing but a toy for you to use however you want."
Klaus smiled, all predator. "Exactly."
Kol leaned forward, his fingers digging into her hips. "You're going to come for us now," he commanded in her ear. "You're going to come when we tell you. Not a moment before."
Iris whined, desperate. The pressure was building inside her, the pain and pleasure tangled together into an unbreakable knot, but she held back, waiting for permission. Her entire body quivered and shook, a live wire barely contained.
"Do you want to come?" Kol asked.
"Yes," she sobbed. "Please, yes, I need to come so badly—"
"Then come." Kol picked up the pace. "Come for us, you filthy little thing."
Iris shattered. Her orgasm ripped through her like wildfire, burning through every nerve ending, leaving her gasping and trembling in its wake. She felt Elijah spill inside her, felt Kol pull out and finish on her back with a strangled shout, painting her skin with his spend.
But Klaus wasn't done.
He moved in front of her, his cock hard and glistening with pre-cum. He took her jaw in his hand, tilting her face up to meet his eyes.
"Open."
She obeyed, her mouth falling open. He fed her his cock, holding her head steady as he pushed past her lips. The taste of him was heady and dark, slightly sweet. She took him as deep as she could, using her tongue on the underside of his shaft, desperate to feel him come undone.
"That's it," Klaus groaned. "Swallow every drop, little bird."
The taste of his seed was nearly too much. But she swallowed anyway, her eyes locked on his as he shuddered through his release. He was losing control the more he took her, and she loved it.
When he finally pulled out, she was a mess, but heaving for breath. The brothers untied her, her legs giving way, and she collapsed onto the warm, soft floor, her body covered in sweat and their combined spend.
Klaus crouched beside her, brushing the matted hair from her face. "You took that beautifully."
"Of course I did." She grinned, panting. "I'm a menace. We established this."
Kol laughed, collapsing beside her. "You're something else, little bird. I'll give you that."
"Flattery will get you everywhere." She looked at Klaus, at Elijah, at Kol, taking them all in. Her body was sore and aching, and a raw, screaming void had just been satisfied beyond her wildest dreams. She should have been exhausted. She should have been complete.
But the thing inside her, the thing that had been empty and raging for years, was still hungry. There was a restlessness in her that refused to be sated.
"So," she said, stretching her aching limbs, "what are we doing tomorrow night?"
Klaus raised his eyebrow, a slow smile spreading across his face. "You're not going anywhere?"
"Ha." Iris laughed, sharp and unapologetic. "You're not getting rid of me that easily. I've finally found playmates who actually know their way around a paddle." She pressed a kiss to Klaus's jaw before scrambling to her feet, wobbling slightly. "I'll make my own way home. You'll be seeing me."
She dressed quickly, leaving the remnants of her torn dress in a heap on the floor, and made her way out. She was a mess, but she was a triumphant mess, and when she slipped out the back entrance of the compound, the city gleamed, beginning to wake into the humid dawn.
She stopped at a fountain, cupping her hands under the water. The liquid felt cool against her flushed, heated skin. She looked at her reflection in the rippling surface. Her hair was a disaster, her body a canvas of bruises and bite marks. She could still feel the phantom weight of them inside her, stretching her, claiming her. She looked different. Wilder. A little bit feral.
"Fuck," she whispered, grinning at her reflection. "That was exactly what I needed."
But even as the words left her lips, she knew she was in over her head. With the Mikaelsons, you didn't just fuck and walk away. They were monsters, hundreds of years old, and they didn't play games.
Neither did she. Which meant one of them was going to get burned.
She just hoped it wasn't her.