Something I’ve always liked about being over Jade’s knee is being taken from me—even as she’s flipped up skirts or pulled down pants and underwear, spanked me, pushed her fingers inside me and brought me to orgasm, I’ve always had a measure of privacy in being able to hide my face from her. Now, though, I’m not afforded the luxury, and am instead being exposed, my innermost feelings flayed open for Lowry to feast on. And my god, would Freud have a field day with this scenario.
I force myself to open my eyes, to see the expression on Lowry’s face, and when I do, what I see there stuns me. There’s a mix of arousal and tenderness that goes straight to my heart, and zings quickly to between my legs. Yes, this is what I want. What I’ve always wanted from him. Benevolence and nurturing but also wanting to fuck me into next week. My lips part to say I don’t know what, but as I hold his intense gaze, Jade’s hand lands on my butt.
Open hand on the fleshiest part of my bottom, it’s a stinging slap designed to get attention. Yes, we’re getting started now.
Chapter 24
Lowry
I had known there was something missing. Knew it in a restless, poked-at way. As though there were a mosquito buzzing about and I couldn’t see it, only hear it, and couldn’t slap the damn thing to kill it. The sound of Jade’s hand hitting Starla’s bottom and the way my Star’s mouth forms a perfect O in surprise when it does… What I wouldn’t give to have that be my hand.
Caressing Starla’s shoulders and neck, cupping her cheek and toying with her pigtail are delightful, wonderful, don’t get me wrong. I would take her head in my lap any day of the week over just about any other activity I can think of. But my God…I would like to make those expressions flit over her face, feel my hand bounce off the flesh of her bottom, force those noises from her throat. It’s a symphony of gasps, grunts, squeaks, squeals, cries, and giggles as Jade lays into her. The way Starla squirms and writhes while trying to keep her movements in check is delightful. As is the press of her breasts against my thigh and the way she buries her face in my legs before Jade scolds her and forces her to turn her head toward me again so I can see her. Yes, I want to see her.
My beautiful girl.
And yes, I know very well she’s a grown woman. An intelligent, industrious, indomitable woman. But in this moment, she’s also a girl who’s turned over Jade’s knee and receiving a spanking for no discernible reason other than they both like it.
I had wondered if this was going to be a role-playing thing, but it’s not really. It’s a different side of Starla than I’m used to seeing, but it’s still very much her. The her I’ve caught glimpses of. The one who desperately wants to be small and guided and taken care of. Not that a person needs a reason to want those things, but I can imagine why this would feel good to her. Being told for so long that there was a limit to the love she was allowed. That she could only take up so much of someone’s time and energy. I get it, sort of. People are not bottomless wells of compassion and sympathy and nurturing. We all get tired at some point. Overwhelmed, overtaxed. But we all have different tolerances for being needed as well, and I suspect her father’s was rather low. No shame in that, and I know he did his best by her, but…she needed more than that and I wasn’t able to give it to her then. I can now.
Jade is striking her rather hard now, and Starla’s arse has gone from a pale cream to a nicely warmed allover pink and is starting to turn red in places. The giggles have disappeared, and the noises now consist of mewls, whimpers, cries, and yelps.
Here’s yet another surprise: I’ve always fancied myself a gentle man, but those sounds have my dick straining at the front of my pants and it doesn’t help that Starla’s pain-twisted face is within licking distance of my cock. Christ.
The thing is, I’ve seen her in true pain before, anguish. Not that this isn’t hurting her, because I think it really fucking is and I can understand why—she’s being hit awfully hard. But it’s by choice. She could make this stop at any moment, and she’s choosing not to. I’m not entirely sure why and maybe she doesn’t know herself, although I’ll ask her about it later because I’m curious, but she’s getting something out of this.
“Hold her wrists, would you? It’s time for the hairbrush and it’s not meant for rapping knuckles. She’s gotten a bit out of control as you can tell.”
Tell? She looks incredibly composed while she’s catching her breath. Yes, she’d been moving a lot, but who can blame her? I sure as hell wouldn’t be able to lay there, draped over anyone’s lap, being hit. Yes, I understand it’s fundamentally different for her than it would be for me, and yet, it hurts, and she’s allowing it. And she’s going to tolerate a hairbrush? For fuck’s sake.
Jade is eyeing me, likely speculating on whether I have the stomach for this. To hold Starla down while Jade beats her arse with a hairbrush. I absolutely do, because my cock is pulsing with want and arousal thinking about my hands circling Starla’s slim wrists and holding her fast, and the idea of paddling her bottom isn’t unappealing—at all—I just…need a minute. There’s a difference between feeling that an act is fundamentally okay in a global way and actually performing it oneself.
Starla’s caught her breath by now, though, her inhales and exhales coming slow and even, and she’s looking up at me from where her head is cradled in my lap, scratching gently at my thigh through the fabric of my pants. Is she taunting me, daring me? Her sass is perhaps a front for fearing I won’t do it. Either way, there’s only one thing to do.
I catch up her wrists, one in each hand, and place them at the small of her back, gathering them into one hand. Aside from this being hot as all hell, I don’t want her to get hurt. Not for real, anyhow, and reaching her hands into the path of the hairbrush is a sure way to do that.
After she’s secured to my satisfaction, I look back to her face to see if she’s still okay. Her expression reads to me like gratitude and it tugs at something inside me. Am I reading her right? When she mouths, “Thank you,” I know for sure I am. Clutches my heart in a harder, more thorough way.
I don’t want to say you’re welcome, because I owe her as much thanks as she owes me. Not that she owes me anything. It seems the right thing to do is to brush some hair back from her face and stroke her cheek with the pad of my thumb. Tell her in more than words that I’m grateful for her. More than she could ever know. So, with one hand I restrain her, and with the other I pet and stroke her. If that doesn’t encapsulate what Starla enjoys, I don’t know what does.
* * *
Starla
I could die happy like this. Not that I want to die—I’ve spent an awful lot of my life trying not to die—but if I had to, this wouldn’t be a terrible way to go. Lowry’s stroking my hair and dragging his thumb across my cheek and the only thing I could want more than this is to take his thumb in my mouth. Suck on him while his other hand is pressing my wrists into the small of my back. Hell, I wouldn’t say no if he unzipped his pants and stuffed his cock down my throat. But that would be unwise given that I’m about to take a beating. I wouldn’t put anything…delicate in between my teeth during that—it seems risky. God knows I wouldn’t want to hurt Lowry at all, but especially not damage his beautiful cock.
Sometimes Jade gags me during this part, but she won’t this time. Won’t want to set a bad example for Lowry since she wouldn’t gag me if we were brand-new to playing with each other. Nor will she want to spare him from what this is like, for better or for worse. She wants him to hear me, see my face contort, I know it.
And then there’s the smooth plane of wood rubbing over my cheeks. They’re sensitized, tenderized already from the hand-spanking I’ve had, and the sensation is far more intense than had Jade done this when we first began. A hand brushing over my skin would set me to tingling, and this is nearly electrifying. I shift my hips in anticipation and I get a short, sharp tut of the brush for my trouble that makes me gasp. Oh, yeah, this is going to be a lot. She was very thorough with her hand and that’s going to make this a mo
re intense experience for me.
Like that. Shit.
A more serious crack of the brush across the fleshiest part of my bottom has me gasping for breath and my shoulders rising, as though I could escape that way. Of course I can’t. I know better than that. Even when it’s only me and Jade, I can’t, and now I’ve got Lowry ceasing his petting to press down between my shoulder blades in a way that makes me groan. There’s no escape, I have to take this. And if I do, I will make them both happy and will have earned whatever kind of affection and care they see fit to bestow upon me afterward.
Which is maybe kinda messed up? Do most people assume they’re worthy, deserving of affection? Kindness? Spoiling? Care? Cosseting? Or am I not as alone as I think in needing to prove myself worthy, of earning that, of repaying the person, or rather, putting a down payment on any sweetness they might have for me? Regardless, this is how I’ve chosen to receive this and it lets me have affection without embarrassment, without questioning why I’m receiving it. It’s obvious.
Which is why, despite it hurting like fuck, I relish the way the paddle strikes my ass, builds up heat, and is surely painting the pale skin a mottled red. Perhaps, if I’m lucky, with some bruises that will remind me of everything we’ve done here for days to come. Trophies, yes, of being strong enough to handle what Jade dished out, but also souvenirs from a time very much enjoyed.
My mouth works in ways I can’t control, parting on a yelp, tightening on a squeal and squeak, flying wide open with a cry as Jade takes a crack at a spot she’s been hitting over and over and over. My god, that’s painful. And when Lowry swipes at a spot of saliva at the corner of my mouth, I can’t help it.
I lick the pad of his thumb and then suck it inside, groaning with satisfaction when I can surround it with my mouth and suck it deep and hard. Makes it easier to take the stinging pain on my backside, how there’s pain on impact, yes, but how it also radiates and stays long after the hairbrush has moved on to other parts of my bottom, the backs of my goddamn thighs. It’s when Jade hits me there that I’m most tempted to swear, but I’m also acquainted with the consequences of spitting curses at her. So I’ll keep sucking at Lowry’s thumb and trying to breathe because I’ve been scolded often for forgetting.
You wouldn’t think it would be possible to forget to breathe, but when you’re being smacked and hit and swatted, it’s easy to hold your breath. Trying to manage pain is a tricky thing, and all sorts of normal, everyday things get left by the wayside. Which is one of the wonderful things about this: when you’re trying to figure out how you’re going to accept the next blow, when you’re trying as hard as you can not to break down into tears, it’s easy to forget about pretty much everything else. That deadline you missed, that email you need to write, the nagging decisions you haven’t made, how you’ve disappointed your father—yeah, everything.
I can feel it now, sneaking up on me, that feeling of being near the edge, of being so close to tipping over from I can do this into I cannot fucking take this anymore. Sometimes Jade will make me tell her—how many more swats I can take and I know she’ll make them hard and that I’ll have to count. It’s a kind of game I play with myself. How many can I take for her, how many will it take before I break down? I don’t want to guess too many because then I won’t be able to make it and I’ll feel shitty about disappointing her, but I also don’t want to make it too few because I want to be strong for her and also prove myself. I am tough, I am strong, look at everything I can take.
I don’t think she’s going to force me to do that today, which is fine since I have too much swirling around in my head already, though at the moment it’s static: a background thing, muddled together and happening somewhere in the distance. I’ve hit that deeper level of subspace now. Not the slightly disconnected pleasant feeling of letting things happen and not acting overmuch to try to prevent them, but that push under the water that makes me feel surrounded.
Nothing matters now except feeling, and I am feeling. Every inch of my body is alive and I feel more. Hypersensitive as though my nerves are straining toward any stimulus and intensely aware of what is happening now. The only things from the past that matter are the ways in which Jade prepared my body for what she’s visiting upon it now. Pain on top of more pain. Sting on top of ache, heavy thwack on top of an already stoked fire.
Which is when it happens. Really fucking hard on top of a spot she’s been paying special attention to since she bared my bottom, and that was the hardest she’s hit me all night, no joke. Most of the time, I have a hard time distinguishing between how hard she’s hit me. A softer swat can feel ouchier after she’s hit me there before. But this—this—I can guarantee that this is hard. So hard I almost choke myself around Lowry’s thumb instead of laving it. Fuck, fuck.
All of a sudden, I am there, very fast. That point at which the pain stops being manageable and becomes way too fucking much. The reflex of fight or flight I’ve been able to control breaks free of the tethers that held it. All of a sudden, this stops being a fun game and becomes terrifying. My body no longer gives a shit that if I say stop this stops. Fear overtakes me and everything human about me flees.
I have enough presence of mind to look up at Lowry as the next strike falls, and as our gaze connects, I think he can sense it or can read the expression on my face. He must, because unlike before when he’s silently studied me, even seemed painfully pleased with my predicament, he says, “I see you,” a split second before Jade whales on me again. Those three simple words buoy me, but I still freak the fuck out when the strike lands. Because it hurts enough to force me to tears and pained gasps, to render me into a mass of panic.
I’m not fighting because I can, I’m now fighting because I can’t not.
Lowry releases my wrists and I hear him say, “Stop,” but not to me, even though he’s looking in my eyes.
At this point, I’d usually curl up in Jade’s lap, cry on her shoulder while she caresses and soothes me, tells me what a good job I’ve done, how strong and brave I’ve been, how pleased with me she is, and how I’m okay. I’m okay because it’s over.
What she won’t say is that I can lose my shit because I’m allowed to now. That I have earned the right to cry and fall apart because I’ve withstood pain and punishment and humiliation and anyone under those fucking circumstances would be within their rights to hardcore lose it.
But I hear it nonetheless when we’re together because she knows. She knows why I do this, what I get out of it, even as my butt is bruised and sore for days, even during the times when I’ve yelled at her that I hate her and that this hurts like a motherfucker and she’s an asshole for doing this. Sure, I get mocked and punished for that too, but I’m allowed to say those things, allowed to be angry and hurt, which I haven't been permitted to for most of my life. Except with Lowry. He always let me have my feelings. He’s letting me have them now.
I am a mess, a wreck. The tears are flowing uncontrollably and I’m scrambling at, scratching at, anything I can get ahold of because I need something. Someone. I need to be held, reassured. I’ve done my time and now I want my reward. I want to be cuddled and consoled. And now my mind is faced with a question when usually I don’t have to deal with any: Jade or Lowry?
They’re both here. I’m…on both of them. While my inclination is to climb into Lowry’s lap, I don’t want to betray Jade. She’s been here for years. Met my needs whereas Lowry abandoned me, even if I understand why now. Will she feel badly if I choose him? I don’t want her to. But isn’t that what he’s here for? To see what this is like? To make an informed decision? To see the full burden of what it’s like to be with me, what I want? Because no one has had to take this on before. They’ve all gotten off easily. Or not, as the case may be.
Irritation pricks the back of my neck and frustration rises to the surface of my desperation because it’s not fair that I should have to think about such things when this hasn’t been part of the toll I’ve been expected to pay before. It’s too
much and tears of frustrated rage are about to join those of fear, pain, and release.
Could I be a little less of a disaster at some point? Pretty please? Although Jade can’t be surprised by how overwrought I am, this is par for the course. And Lowry… Well, he likely remembers this kind of tantrum from the ones I would throw on occasion because it wasn’t fucking fair. It’s still not.
But I’ve come a long way since then, found people who can service my needs, including Jade who is as good as a mind reader sometimes. That’s what really good dominants seem like sometimes. Even though they don’t really read minds. They pay attention and observe to an extent that’s mind-boggling to most people, myself included.
Jade’s voice, soft but clear, thankfully cuts through my confusion. “Go to him, it’s fine. You’re not going to hurt my feelings.”
Permission given, I crawl into Lowry’s lap in a wildly undignified way and fling my arms around his neck, burying my face in the crook between his neck and shoulder. A space that feels like it was made for me, and that allows me to inhale him.
There’s the scent of sweat and I can’t tell if it’s from now or if it’s soaked into his shirt collar from past wears. It doesn’t matter. It makes him more human. He smells like warmth and the faint tang of arousal and also the aftershave or cologne that used to make me go weak in the knees. It still does. And whether that’s from memories or the present, does it really matter? I’m going to go ahead and say no. Because the fact is that at this very moment, I’ve never felt safer, more contained. My feelings aren’t too big for Lowry, they don’t scare him. The only time I’ve ever scared him was when I told him I was thinking about hurting myself, taking my own life, and frankly that seems fair. And still he kept it from me so I wouldn’t hide it from him in the future.
For Her Own Good Page 27