The Billionaire Brute

by Hart, Romi

  He slaps me again and I jump back, alarmed at how the pain comes and goes quickly, leaving me reeling in mind.

  “Stop…” I mumble.

  He ignores me and slaps my ass-cheek even harder. “OWw! Stop!”

  “Beg me to stop. Whine.”

  “I’m not…oh…” I think back to the forgotten safety words and shout, “Yellow.”

  His next smack is less sharp.

  Even so, it shakes my whole body and makes my face goes red.

  “I’m going to stop now.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you’re not begging me to continue.”

  “Mmmm please, please continue. I need a good spanking.”

  “Where?” he says, rubbing both hands all over my quivering cold ass.

  “There? There?” he smacks me again with his hand, leaving me gasping for air and my heart pounding in suspense. It really feels like someone’s attacking me. Like my body is trying to go into defense mode, flight or fight, but then it drifts away.

  “Whine. Beg me for it.”

  I do my best “whine” voice and beg him to slap me again. This time, harder than ever before. “Green. Harder.”

  I grit my teeth as he smacks me hard, leaving my whole ass trembling. “Aaahh.”

  “How does it feel?”

  “It hurts.”

  “Want me to stop?”

  “Yes.”

  “But I thought bad girls don’t get a vote. You’re going to get spanked until you learn respect for me.”

  “Yeah?” I laugh this time as he slaps both sides of my ass with two strokes. “Ahhh… I respect you.”

  “WHAT?”

  “I respect you.”

  “Too bad. You still get spanked.”

  “AAH!” I spring back and feel the sting all over my skin. Worse yet, it leaves a sharp throbbing sensation in my butt-cheeks.

  “Maybe you should tell me to stop spanking you.”

  “Sto-Stop! Spanking me…”

  “NO. Beg me and then maybe.”

  “Please stop.”

  “Say no.”

  “NO! NO!”

  “Not good enough. Beg me to stop.”

  “Please stop!”

  My senses go into an overdrive, as he hammers my trembling cheeks with a series of sharp spankings. They pierce my soul, hurting so bad that tears well up in my eyes. My throat is sore, my body heaving. I want to cry. And yet I can’t explain why.

  He pounds my ass again, careful to make it hurt just so. After his tenth slap, my body starts to become numb. There…there it is! A release of endorphins, adrenaline, like a morning jog, or like a scary mind trip, where your heart pounds and you feel light-headed.

  “Mmmmmm! S-S-Stop!” I scream, right as smacks my ass so hard that it’ll probably be red for hours! “Oh God stop!”

  “No, you need another one.”

  “Yellow…” I mutter, as he obediently steps the pain back. And it’s just enough to make me feel a huge relief as endorphins build in my system. I become dizzy, relaxed and so chill.

  “Mmmmm, Wait…wait…”

  “Oh! I am waiting,” he says slyly.

  “What?” I turn over and look. A belt, he’s holding one of my white dress belts and threatening to spank me with it.

  “No! No!”

  “I told you to be a good slave,” he says, mocking me in a mocking-fatherly voice. “But you’re not listening. Now I have to punish you.”

  “Yellow,” I say as he strokes my butt with his hands, letting me take another inhale and feel a release of endorphins. “Yellow…”

  * * *

  “Shhh…just feel it. Feel that? The dizzy, relaxing gentle breeze coming over everything?”

  “Mmm hmm.”

  “And don’t struggle. Just let it be. Whatever you feel, ignore it.”

  “What?”

  I wake up, hands tied behind my back, lying on his lap, my jeans half-off, butt openly exposed and my panties missing. My bare ass shakes as I struggle to move.

  “Shhh…now let’s see how you fare with a loss of control. Remember the safety words?

  “Yeah,” I squeal nervously. “Wait. Yellow.”

  “It’ll be okay,” he says reassuringly, rubbing my ass, gently and tenderly.

  My whole body shakes, and I start breathing hard, terrified…yet exhilarated.

  “You okay?” he says, whipping the belt above me, getting ready for the first hit. My heart is pounding, my body spasms around, still helplessly in submission to him. I pant and wheeze, and my skin seems flushed. Everything is sensitive, almost numb.

  The first belt snap is heard, and my ass burns with pain! “OHH!”

  My butt wiggles all over his lap. My senses are heightened. More adrenaline and endorphins are released, and I tense. Panic sets in, but just for a second.

  When he snaps the belt again, the pain goes numb. My body shakes and my voice cracks high. I literally scream at the top of my lungs, but only for a moment. I wiggle around and he stops, watching me closely to see what happens next.

  My body is tense and an orgasm throbs through my arteries, from my head to my heart to my stomach and down into my moist pussy. My body shakes and my pussy contracts, pushing out the strangest full-body-orgasmic feeling I’ve ever experienced. I suck in air and feel a beautiful, serene wave of love and sweetness pass over me.

  I’m drunk with the sensation. My body hugs me, my limbs are numb, my whole essence seems to float outside my physical form.

  I can’t stop smiling or glowing. I look up at Byron. My wild eyes and open mouth so eager to see him, and then an angelic halo obstructs my vision. The face of an angel or the divine looks down at me.

  But surprisingly instead of feeling scared, I feel only light, whipping caresses. I don’t even feel the spanking anymore. All I have in me is light. Beautiful, sexual thoughts emanating inside, warming my every organ. Oh God, this is better than drugs.

  Better than sex. Better than life.

  “Red,” I mumble but I can barely hear myself say it.

  Within seconds, he unties me and carries me over to the bed.

  It’s that strangest detached feeling, all I can do is mumble. I can’t seem to speak. But my senses are still intact. I still see halos above me. I see him, his loving, gorgeous and caring face looking down at me. Blessing me, warming my every fiber of being.

  I make a childlike noise and point to him. I giggle for minutes at end. He seems very intent on hugging me and keeping me wrapped up in a blanket. He offers me water and orange juice, almost obsessively. I don’t even want any, but I drink it just to please him.

  Everything tastes so…fresh. Vivid.

  I roll my head around, drunk as a fool, falling in and out of consciousness.

  “I luff yew” I mumble. He smiles down at me. His eyes meeting mine. He says something back to me, but I can’t seem to make it out.

  “…”

  “Oh my God,” I say, waking up from the strangest hangover I had in years. Probably my entire life. “Did you drug me?”

  “No,” he says, offering me a cup of coffee, which is just what I need to wake up from this stupor. “You experienced what’s called sub-space. I underestimated how sensitive you were. I only spanked you about three times and then you were out.”

  “Oh wow. What was I doing?”

  “You were actually giggling, and laughing and stoning out,” he says, followed by a laugh.

  “Yeah, I sort of remember that part.”

  “Scientifically what happened was that you drained your brain of all good hormones and chemicals. Endorphins, adrenaline, oxytocin… and you just crashed. It’s known as a sympathetic nervous system response. Your body released epinephrine, natural chemicals that produce a morphine-like effect in your body. You stopped feeling pain right after that. But I stopped spanking you a long time ago. You’re a lightweight, darling. And I didn’t want to risk hurting you.”

  “That’s sweet of you, but I feel pretty good act
ually. So…how do you like my house?”

  “It’s charming. Thus far I’ve really only seen the couch.”

  “Would you like to sleep with me? And I do mean actual sleep this time.”

  “Sure.”

  “You don’t have to,” I say defensively, realizing this whole thing may be moving too fast. I don’t want him thinking that I need him to sleep with me after three dates. I’m not that needy…

  “I do kind of have to, actually,” he says with a straight face.

  “Why?”

  “Because you’re at risk of experiencing sub-drop, the opposite of sub-space. Sometimes when a person experiences extreme pain and pleasure in the same instance, they also have a ‘drop’, which means feelings of loneliness, confusion and well…insecurity.”

  I laugh out loud. “I’m not that type of girl, silly. Don’t you realize that by now?”

  “I know you’re not. But you’re not supposed to be left alone after an experience like that. I also have to make sure you’re not bruised or in too much pain. In fact, you’ll probably just sleep in for most of the day tomorrow.”

  “I doubt it!” I say caustically. “I’m not this lightweight foo-foo girl you seem to think I am, honey.”

  “I know. But long story short, I wouldn’t mind staying the night with you. If you don’t mind sharing your bed.”

  “I was going to put you on the couch.”

  “Oh come on, you can trust me. I promise not to touch you while you’re asleep.”

  “Hmm…okay but no dick surprises tomorrow morning!”

  “Promise. Let’s billionaire-pinky- shake on it,” he says with a teasing grin.

  I’m caught in between the waking world and dreaming world. My eyes seem like they’re floating. I can almost see the halos again. Ah, it’s coming back to me. The remains of last night, that I forgot.

  “I luff yew”, I mumbled to him. Oh God, what did I tell him? How high was I?

  “I love you too,” he replied softly. Oh God, did that really happen? Did he really say that or…no, I think I just hallucinated it. Oh Jesus, how embarrassing!

  Oh God, is he still here? Is he still in my bed? Am I here all alone? Ohh fuck me, did I chase him away?

  Oh God! The only good decent man I’ve ever met, and I chase him away with my psychotic neurosis! What the fuck is wrong with me? I hope I didn’t tell him that I love him. Oh God! Was I that stupid? No one could ever love me. Oh Jesus please don’t be gone. Please be here. I pray that it’s your body I’m cuddling up to and not just my pillow. I can’t stand to be alone. I hate being alone. I miss being in love, I miss you.

  “Urghh…” I mumble as I wake up. A horrible sense of loss and dread takes over me. I panic as I look over and see nothing, nobody. But then I look over to my left and see…

  He’s still here. He’s sleeping with me. His breathing is so soft, so soothing, so manly and strong. Oh God! and I thought he left me.

  I start crying into my hands, which wakes him up pretty quickly.

  I hide my tears from him, feeling stupid and not understanding why I’m falling to pieces over nothing.

  “Yeah, I figured you might want me to stay,” he says, not sarcastically or smiling. But just rubbing my back and calming my frantic breathing.

  “What’s happening?”

  “It’s just that your brain is feeling the hormonal change. Sub-drop sometimes feels like panic and dread. Loneliness. I’ve experienced it myself. Not always pleasant, especially if you’re alone.”

  “Oh God,” I say crying again. “You were alone when this happened?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’m sorry,” I say, weeping again. He giggles softly and hugs me. “I survived.”

  “How could anyone be alone and feel this way?! It’s horrible. I can’t stand it.”

  “You get over it, eventually,” he says with a calm and sobering simper. “You told me that.”

  “Oh, did I say anything stupid?”

  “No.”

  “Did you?” I say sheepishly, trying to figure out if he actually said he loved me too.

  “No, I didn’t,” he says suspiciously, not answering my question. Always has to be a mystery man.

  The next time I wake up in the middle of the night, I feel less panic and just more existential dread. The insecure feelings of “sub-drop” were scary and freakishly realistic. I felt so maddeningly depressed, and mostly because of the way he was making me feel. I was too intensely drawn to him, too obsessively interested in him.

  Now that I’m finally not suffering the most extreme effects of that “sex-drug”, I wonder if Byron is even capable of love? Or is THIS love to him? The experimenting, the free-flowing sharing of emotions? The reckless entitlement, risking everything, the impulsive, spontaneous emotional connection.

  He knows this isn’t love, right? Our relationship is intense but it’s not real. Dammit, Byron. This is getting too serious. And yet I can’t walk away.

  Shit, at the moment, I can’t even leave the bed. The image of you, the feeling of your body rising and falling each second, it keeps me warm. Keeps me stable.

  This isn’t me talking, Byron, you have to know that. I wish I could quit whatever this thing is I feel for you. Before it turns into something far more destructive than “love”.

  Chapter 9

  Byron

  Meaningless sex. Loveless sex. Mindless sex. I’ve never quite understood what those phrases meant. I have certainly had a series of affairs that didn’t matter, that didn’t amount to anything in the long-run. But I have no regrets. I’m not indifferent about what happened. I have no doubt that if I were on my death bed, my many affairs or flings or fuck buddies would be at the top of the things in my life-of positive, meaningful memories that I loved the most.

  Were they meaningless or loveless encounters just because I didn’t marry these girls? Or is it just society indoctrinating us to believe that a monogamous marriage is the happy ending everyone wants?

  I truly believe Laura and I have been lying to each other, telling each other that this is just sex. I tried so long and hard with her because I wanted to have sex with her, I wanted her body. Or more to the point, I wanted some drama, some confusing relationship-mess, complete with an older, complex woman. She wanted the same thing: confusion.

  But I know we’re both lying. Because when we lie in bed together, and we make other plans, there is a mutual sense of sorrow. We’re keeping a respectable emotional distance from each other. Maybe we’re both afraid of getting hurt. Or maybe we’re afraid of hurting each other by accident.

  I certainly don’t want to hurt her. She’s done everything right in my eyes, whether it’s staying independent, or staying true to her values. She has also played me perfectly, making we want her more and more with every passing day. And yes, she gave me her body all right. She gave me everything and I engorged myself in her every morsel.

  But her eyes look sad when I look away and she thinks I don’t notice. My heart feels heavy when we say goodbye because we never really discuss if and when, we’re going to get together again. We’re not boyfriend-girlfriend. We’re sort of friends, or maybe we’re just fuck-buddies like she says we are.

  Would I be lying if I say to myself, “I think I’m in love with her?” Or could it just be youthful enthusiasm? Hell, who’ll trust a twenty-six-year old, who claims to be in love?

  She is the first woman I’ve ever felt emotionally connected with. I don’t honestly know if it’s because she asked me questions that I’ve never thought about answering. Maybe it was just that she was so difficult in the beginning, a challenge I couldn’t resist!

  But if that’s the case, why do I keep thinking about her, long after the rush of passion has worn off? Every time she leaves me, I go home and think about when I’ll see her again.

  She waits for me to contact her. I can’t wait long, even though she can go days without needing to hear my voice. But I can barely cope, unless she tells me something, even if it
’s just a text. When we finally do arrange a day to meet, it’s a relief to us both. She smiles at me sincerely, not hidden or not cold like she used to be, but like right after we made love for the first time.

  Now she’s started trusting me. She’s kind and outgoing, but of course, always with that fierce-independent streak, whenever we part ways. She reminds me constantly that we live two very different lives. Maybe that’s because deep down, she doesn’t see our lifestyles as compatible. Whatever this is, it’s good. But it’s not going to last. She’s mature enough to see that and I, of course, am in a haze of youthful indiscretion.

  I’m allowed to be wrong and to make mistakes. She can’t. She has too much to lose. That must be what’s bothering her.

  I cum hard inside of her, not lasting very long this time, probably because instead of being with her in this lovely moment…

  “Urghhh!” I grunt, holding her head tight and running my fingers through her hair.

  I’m just worried about the future of our relationship. If you could even call it that. Wondering if this will be our last time or if the next time will be our last. When does it end? Who will be the first one to get hurt? Maybe this is why no one wants a goddamn emotional connection anymore. Sex is so much easier.

  I inhale hard and deep and we make eye contact. She smiles at me. A sly little devil of a look, letting me know that it was just as good for her.

  I roll over and fall back on the bed, my cock still reeling from that hard thrust.

  “I like it when you come in five minutes like a normal guy,” she says throatily, running her hands all over my chest.

  “You get turned on by failure or something?”

  “No,” she laughs, playing with my chest hair. She rolls halfway and leans on her side, eager to make eye contact with me. The sight warms my heart and I stay with her, admiring the way her eyes look at me when she talks. The way her smile forms when she knows she has my full attention.

  “No silly, I don’t want every time to be an hour-long marathon. Sometimes I like a quickie. It reminds me that I’m sexy and that you can’t control yourself around me.”