by Linnea May
"Eyes forward, Button."
I pull my gaze away from him, facing the headboard in front of me. Again, I can feel the leather draping across my skin, this time drawing circles on my bruised ass. I mewl, even though the burn doesn't feel bad at all. It fuels my excitement, and I hollow my back, sticking out my ass to let him know that I'm ready. I can take this last one. I want it. I crave it.
Doubts hit me when the blow finally comes, sending an agonizing sting all the way up to my spine. I howl out in pain, and before I can find a moment to recover from the pain, I'm blindsided by his iron-hard cock stretching me as he shoves himself inside of me with one brute thrust. He groans in relish, digging his hand into my burning skin, as he rams himself inside of me. I knew he was big, I could barely get my hand around him. But this feels like so much more. He feels huge, and I'm no longer groaning because of the ache his spankings caused me, but because of the way he stretches me with his enormity. He's relentless, too. I can barely hold on to the headboard as he fucks me like a savage, ramming his length in and out of me in an animalistic assault.
I groan a complaint when he withdraws, turning around to him with an angry glare. But he leaves me no time to voice my dissatisfaction. I'm swung around on my back in no time, his hands pushing up my legs as he stretches my pussy anew, except now facing me. His face is different, almost scary. Dark lines mark his expression and his eyes, his eyes. There's a glare in them that I haven't seen before. A wild, furious, burning flame.
Each time he rams his length inside of me, it sends another wave of ache and pleasure through my core. It's still faint, but my climax is already within sight.
"Come!" he yells at me. "Touch yourself. Do whatever you need to do to come on my cock."
I reach between my legs, finding my swollen clit. Lightning strikes of sensation spark through my core when I start massaging myself. I'm so close, so aroused, after all this build-up.
But I can't come. I can't find my rhythm, and after a while I decide that my hand is only in the way. I retreat and move my hips upward, changing the angle in which he fucks me. He slows down, relishing each and every shove as he continues stretching me. Our eyes meet, and in the darkness of his, I see an idea, blazing with intention. He buries himself inside of me and stays there, his cock stretching my channel as his hand goes up to my neck. I gasp in shock when he closes it around my throat. His grip tightens, cutting off my breathing.
I stare up at him, void of air and filled with a moment of panic, while he continues fucking me, with his hand still wrapped around my throat. Instinct tells me to fight him, but when I reach up for his hand, he shakes his head.
"Don't!" he hisses. "Come. Now!"
I can't breathe, but he doesn't care. He continues to thrust himself in and out, sending waves of pleasure and pain through my core as I continue to fight for air.
Until I don't.
I'm beginning to feel dizzy, my arms helplessly resting at the side of my body, when I decide to give in. He told me not to fight it; maybe I should listen. Trust him. I give in to the vertigo and let it carry my entire being to another place. It feels like I'm floating on a cloud of bliss. That's when it hits me. My eyes widen and my mouth opens for a silent cry when I'm hit with the first waves of my orgasm. Pleasure takes over, removing every worry, fear, or pain, and numbing my senses to anything but ecstasy and delight.
My vision blurs and the last thing I hear is his groan as he joins me, careening over the edge and finding his release deep inside of me. I'm flying, wailing, finally breathing again, before my world darkens and sound and vision are nothing more than a memory.
Chapter 21
Jared
I'm standing in my newly renovated kitchen, brewing coffee and preparing breakfast, while the little princess is still fast asleep. I rub my temples, knitting my eyebrows as I try to wake up and put the restless night behind me.
I made sure that she was okay several times after she passed out, her pussy still clenching around my cock. I knew she'd be this kind of girl, the kind that needs to be forced. The kind that doesn't want to let go of control, but tends to lose herself completely once she does. It's a dangerous contradiction, something that could get her into a lot of trouble if she ends up with the wrong person.
I could be that wrong person. I purchased her before knowing entirely what I was getting myself into. I thought her profession would cause the biggest problem for me, but as it turns out, it's a lot more than that.
She lost consciousness mid-orgasm. Nothing I haven't seen before, especially in combination with choking. It's a dangerous game, a game no one should play if they don't know who they're dealing with.
What was new to me was that she didn't wake up. She didn't return to me all night, and it worried the hell out of me. I let her lie in my bed for a while, staying at her side and watching the steady heaving of her chest to make sure she was still breathing. Minutes passed and she didn't come back. An hour passed, and she was still out. I turned her, gently pinching her face to see if she would react, and after a while, she did. Her eyes opened for a second, finding mine for just a moment before she closed them again.
As it got later, I carried her over to her bedroom. I don't sleep in the same bed as my girls, never. Even under these circumstances, I had to stick to my rule.
But I couldn't sleep. I found myself checking on her every hour, making sure that she was still breathing, sleeping, and not falling into a coma. She was fine every time, sleeping like a baby and breathing in a steady rhythm. Worn out, that's all. Once, she woke up when I checked on her, feeling her pulse on her neck, right next to a faint bruise left by my grip.
She opened her eyes and fixated on me, not moving an inch, just looking at me.
"You," she whispered after a while. And then she fell back asleep.
You.
What am I supposed to make of that? Nothing, probably. She was sleeping, dreaming maybe.
It's close to nine in the morning, the coffee is almost done brewing, and I want to check on her one more time, if only to decide whether I should prepare eggs for the both of us, or just for myself. But just as I'm about to make my way up to her bedroom, I see her coming down the stairs, looking tired and vulnerable, her hair tied up in a messy bun. She's wearing the white silk robe I deposited in her room, and it drapes her limber body in a soft embrace as she staggers down the stairs, rubbing her tired eyes. I cleaned her face before I left her to sleep, removing the crusts of smeared make-up that covered her eyes and cheeks, reminders of her tears of torment and bliss. I fucking love that picture on a woman's face. There's nothing more satisfying in the world. But so is seeing a pretty girl's face without any paint on it for the first time. Especially on a natural beauty like my Button.
She takes a deep breath before she comes up to the counter separating the kitchen from the living area, climbing on one of the high chairs while holding on to the counter top. The bruises on her neck have darkened and are clearly visible now. She needs to take precautions if she wants to leave the house today.
"Coffee?" I ask her.
She nods. "Yes. Please."
I place two mugs of freshly brewed coffee on the counter, leaning on my elbows opposite her. She evades my eyes and reaches for the mug right away, only to realize that it's still way too hot to drink.
"How are you feeling?"
Her face grimaces when she burns her lips on the hot coffee. She places the mug back on the counter top and shrugs.
"Fine. Exhausted."
Fine? That's all she's giving me? After all that happened last night?
"Fine, huh?" I say. "Glad to hear it. And I'm sorry if you missed me this morning."
She looks up with a puzzled expression. "Missed you?"
"I've heard complaints from girls about them having to sleep alone after I fucked them."
She huffs. "You won't hear those words from me. I like having my own bed."
I take a sip of my coffee and try to swallow the weird knot her words cau
se in my throat. "Good."
"Besides, I know what I signed up for," she adds, casting me a tired look. "Just fucking and playing loyal partner in the public eye. I don't believe the contract said anything about cuddling sessions."
I snort and shake my head at her. She's unbelievable.
"Was that just fucking for you last night?" I want to know. "You passed out while you were still wrapped around my cock."
She lowers her eyes and presses her lips together, a hint of shame traveling across her expression.
"It was intense," she admits. "And I'm sorry I passed out. I didn't want to ruin it for you like that."
"You didn't ruin anything. Was this the first time you were choked while getting fucked?"
She looks up at me, knitting her eyebrows as if I'd just said something ridiculous. "Of course it was. No normal person would do that."
"Did you not like it?" I ask. "Because if you didn't, I won't do it again."
Her face relaxes, making room for an expression that's impossible to read, solemn and contemplative, maybe sad. Is she afraid to tell me?
"You need to tell me if I ever do something you don't feel comfortable with," I say seriously. "We haven't established a safe word, but maybe we should if-"
"No, I liked it!" she interrupts me, lifting her hand. "That's not it. I liked it a lot, actually."
I knit my eyebrows and lean down so I'm at eye level with her, but she evades my gaze.
"What is it then?"
"Nothing," she lies. "Don't worry about it."
"Don't tell me not to worry."
She turns to me and looks at me through narrowed eyes. "You're not my boyfriend, you don't have to care about this."
I roll my eyes at her. Does she really think she's the one who gets to draw the lines here?
"Maybe. But I also can't fuck a girl who keeps shit from me that I should know about," I say. "Believe it or not, I don't enjoy that."
She sighs and drinks from her coffee cup. "Have you never learned something new about yourself that... kind of shocked you?"
So that's it. She's afraid of that persona we're about to uncover. She has always been the strong girl, the confident one, strong-willed and mouthy. And now she realizes that she gets off on being humiliated, spanked, and choked by someone like me.
"No, I haven't," I tell her. "But I've seen many girls go through what you're going through right now. Believe me, you'll be fine."
"Of course I'm going to be fine!" she says, furrowing her eyebrows as she glares at me. "It's just..."
"New? Strange? Something that's hard to accept with who you thought you were?"
She huffs and nods. "Yeah. I guess you could say that."
I get closer to her, stroking along her neck and moving the long strands of hair to the side to reveal the bruises beneath. She lets it happen, neither moving away from my touch nor leaning into it.
"Don't question yourself," I tell her. "You're not weak for letting this happen. It's a part of you, something that makes you the person you are, in every aspect. You just need to find the right person to unveil that part of you."
She flinches when I let a finger travel across the sensitive skin of the bruise on her neck, tilting her head to the side to grant me access. Her eyes find mine and fixate on me solemnly.
"And you are that person?"
I should have expected that question, but still, I find myself unprepared to answer it.
"You should know the answer to that better than I do," I tell her. "Do you trust me?"
She ponders the question, moving her lips as if she's tasting the words, while tense silence stretches between us. I watch as she lowers her eyes and absentmindedly plays with her coffee mug, her slim fingers touching the brim, turning the mug in endless circles while she makes me wait for a reply.
"You know..."
She takes a deep breath and clears her throat before she continues speaking.
"They say the most vulnerable part of our body is the throat."
Her gaze meets mine again. "You never know how you feel about someone until they've had their hands around your throat."
I huff. "So? How do you feel about me?"
A shy smile appears on her face. "I trust you, Sir."
Such a fucking good girl. I wish I could show her just how much those words mean to me right now.
But I can't. I'm already late and, unlike her, I have places to be, work to that has to be done. After breakfast.
"You need to eat something," I say, turning away from her. "Eggs?"
"I can do that," she says, on the point of getting off the chair.
"No, let me," I tell her, raising my arm. "I don't want you to burn the place down again."
"Ha-ha."
She gives me a playfully grumpy look. "But I have nothing else to do! You have to work and I just-"
"You have plenty to do. I want you to go shopping today. Get a new wardrobe for yourself, a few nice dresses, blouses, skirts, jewelry. Soon enough, we'll have our first official public outings, and I want you to be prepared."
She winks at me. "Lingerie, too?"
I catch her mischievous smile and nod.
"You wouldn't hear me complain," I say. "Just promise me you'll cover up those bruises before you leave the house."
Her eyes widen and she reaches up to her throat. "Is it bad? I haven't checked..."
"Bad enough. Just make sure no one but us ever gets to see them."
She nods. "Yeah, yeah."
"Button."
She lifts her eyes up to mine, looking attentive and worried.
"I'm serious. Promise me you will."
She bites her lower lip. "Yes, Sir."
Chapter 22
Ann
The past few weeks have been exhausting. Things started out slow, and for the very first week, I thought that my position would be filled with a lot of waiting, reading, shopping, and fucking.
More than just fucking, actually. I knew things would be different with Jared, challenging, new, and often on the verge of dangerous. I'm still struggling with the person I become once he puts me into that special place, mentally and physically. We always play in his bedroom, but I've never spent the night there.
At first, I felt like I was losing myself, drifting away from the person I thought I was. There was so much that I didn't understand, so much to cope with, so much to process, because I've never experienced anything like it before. But now I want him to test my limits, sometimes more than he's willing to. Luckily, I also learned how to get what I want from him. It may look like it from the outside, but he's not truly the one holding all the power in this relationship.
I am.
Or at least that's what I like to tell myself, especially when I write. I'm still taking notes almost every single day. I need the outlet. I have no one to talk to, no one to reflect on my experiences with. There's so much going on in my new life with Jared, inside and outside the bedroom. I have to leave it somewhere, and paper has always been the best listener. But Jared still doesn't know about it. At this point, he doesn't even know that I write at all because I do it in secret when I'm alone. I don't even know why I don't want him to know because I'm not doing anything I'm not supposed to be.
Or so I want him to believe.
The thought has crossed my mind. I am growing closer to him, and I get to know him better every day we spend together. I may know more about him than anyone, intimate details that would sell if he is elected to Congress, or eventually higher than that. I have to think long-term here. My secrets won't be worth much unless he makes it in politics. I doubt anyone would bat an eye at the story I’m writing right now. He's just a businessman, even though he’s filthy rich and powerful, especially considering how young he is. But who would be interested in the private details of his extravagant life now?
I shake my head, chasing away my shameful thoughts. We're at the Rotary Club attending a campaign event for Jared. I'm standing next to him on stage, as he’s introduced to speak -
and here I am, thinking about when or how I could sell the private details of our arrangement someday.
I’m a bad person. And he has no idea.
I watch him stride confidently to the center of the stage. He’s welcomed by a timid round of applause. I stay a few feet behind him, in the background like a decorative flower in my new Gucci dress. I smile and nod, knowing there's press here covering the event, photographers, maybe even people I used to work with.
I hadn’t realized that this first week was something like a test run, a time for Jared to determine if I was suitable for the position. He never told me a lot about the girls he considered for this role before me, or why he didn’t select any of them. All he said was that they "didn't work out" for several reasons. I don't know why, but it seems that he's of the opinion that I am “working out.”
He has been busy from the get-go, leaving me by myself during the day while he was away working. In a way, my life is one that many women dream of. I have all the money I could ever want at my disposal - even though it's not my money - and all the time in the world to do what I want. He even explicitly told me to go out and shop for clothes and jewelry, something that most women wouldn't have to be told twice.
But I'm not like most women. I never developed a taste for shopping, mainly because I never could afford it. I’ve been trying to get used to it. When I first stepped in the store, I felt so out of place and uncomfortable that I almost turned around and walked out. I couldn't, though, because Jared had advised one of the sales ladies that I was there as soon as we walked in the door and proceeded to treat me like I was the God damn queen.
It turns out that I completely underestimated Jared's standing and his wealth. He's not only a lot richer, but he’s also more well-known and considered more powerful than I first thought. As soon as he introduces me as his girlfriend, people everywhere around me completely change their attitude toward me. I don't know how to feel about this. While this special treatment is flattering and nice in a way, it also exemplifies what’s wrong with this world.