by Natalie Dae
A thought struck her then. Perhaps one of her email responses had alerted him to what she was up to. She had planned to continue with the paddling even when it got too much. She wanted to surpass any previous pain level, to get over it and drown in the pleasure that was sure to follow, as it always had in the past. Had he strode in here tonight after reading between the lines and was now working out how best to put it to her that their play session wouldn’t go ahead? That he couldn’t trust her to use their safe word when things went beyond anything they’d indulged in before? She loved him dearly for his concern, but—
He lifted his head and stared across at her, halting her thoughts. She stopped breathing for a second, then exhaled through her teeth, the sound of it a loud hiss in the quiet. His eyes glittered, and he drew his eyebrows together as though trying to figure out how he would tell her something. She wasn’t so bull-headed that she’d fight him on this, cause a scene and stamp her feet to get what she wanted. No, if he felt even he couldn’t hit her as hard as she wanted, she’d back down until he’d had more time to think about it. He might be a Dom, but his sense of right and wrong always played a part in their sex games. She wouldn’t think him weak if he refused to play a certain way. On the contrary, she’d think of him as stronger for it.
“Jacobson pulled out of the deal,” he said, standing upright and planting his hands on top of the chair. His knuckles whitened, and the muscles in his jaw worked, a steady pulse she longed to smooth away with her fingertips.
She stared at him. Oh, God… What is Jacobson playing at? He promised me he would be on board. That his wife wouldn’t like to know he spent some of his evenings in a BDSM club…
He smiled, a quick flash of stretched lips, a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Speak, pet.”
She opened her mouth, stopping herself from getting up and rushing to him, from holding his head to her breast and stroking his hair. Comforting him. This was a major blow. Their pharmaceutical business needed Jacobson’s expertise, needed him involved in order to produce the drugs needed for cancer patients. John would be crushed.
“Oh, John. Are you sure there’s no one else? Someone who has been researching the same thing?” Please let him say yes…
“No, there’s no one else.” He turned away to stare at the mirror again. “I wanted… Fuck, I thought we’d be helping so many. He promised. I thought…” He pressed his lips together, then, “This can wait. We can talk after play. For now I need you to make me forget. Make me forget every goddamn thing except for you.”
Chapter Two
My pet,
I’ve been thinking since your last email. I know I’ve said this before but I think it bears repeating. You have no idea how much I love you, do you? How I would give up everything for you. The company, the money, the healing—none of it matters as much as you, not one goddamn thing.
Remember when we first met? You were the most seductive-looking sub I’d seen at the club, and I knew right then you were mine, were destined for me. Yeah, that sounds far-fetched, a bit unmanly, but I don’t give a fuck. That’s how it felt, how it still feels. I had millions and you didn’t know, treated me as you would any other, and you restored my faith in women. That love does exist, that a woman can love me for who I am and not what I earn.
You being beside me, giving me your support, helping me to see how to increase revenue at the same time as expanding our reach, extending hands to those in need, has been indescribable. You’re one of the most unselfish people I have ever met. A Godsend. My lady.
Now, try to imagine hurting someone you love as much as I love you. As much as you’ve said you love me. Try to imagine why, even though the one you love assures you they want the pain, they want to push the envelope, even going so far as to cause themselves injury, you’re reticent to oblige. Oh, I’ll paddle you all right, but what you must understand is that I’m not prepared to continue with it past the point when you may not get the pleasure you crave. Some pains are too painful, you understand? This is the proper behaviour for a Dom, me warning you, and you are aware of this, but it is also the proper behaviour of a man who loves his woman. I will do this, but I will stop when I sense you’ve had enough.
All I ask is that you respect that and say the safe word. What is it about saying it that has you so obstinate? Are you trying to prove something to yourself, is that it? Prove that you can take whatever is dished out? You said it wasn’t that, so what is it? Tell me. Admitting the pain is too much isn’t something to be ashamed of, pet. It’s something to be proud of, that you can own your feelings and know when to call it a day.
A part of me wonders whether what I have just said has been a waste of time. You’re stubborn, I get that, but think on this. If you ignore my warnings, your body’s warnings, and continue to be paddled long after the time when it should have stopped… Let’s just say I will be disappointed that you didn’t trust me enough with that secret. The secret of admitting your breaking point. My knowing it can only enhance things between us, you do realise that, don’t you? That you trust me enough to reveal what you’d call your failings. I will keep it to myself forever, I promise.
He knew just how to get to her, and after she’d read that particular email she hadn’t felt he was manipulating her back. No, he’d bared himself, had been completely honest, and she’d been awash with a sense of shame that she had even contemplated trying to dupe him. Yet still that little voice nagged at her, telling her that when she’d first been whipped there had been a point where she’d thought she couldn’t take any more, where it was nothing but pain, pain, pain. And then it had swiftly changed just as she’d opened her mouth to say their safe word, the raw, feral snap of toy upon arse switching from teeth-gritting agony to the boiling euphoria of pleasure.
Her cunt lips had swelled, her clit had grown, seeming to strain for fingers that weren’t there to touch it. She had humped the air, seeking out something to rub herself against, to get herself off. She’d tingled all over, the skin of her arse burning—so fucking hot, so damn itchy—and had gulped in air as though she’d been drowning in a sea of suffering and had finally, finally been allowed to the surface to breathe. She’d ridden the mighty waves, the undulating sensations that had doused her lust-riddled cunt, falling, falling into the violent yet welcomed crests, letting them envelope her in their scream-inducing glory.
“What are you thinking?” he asked. “Tell me, pet.”
She clenched her hands to prevent herself pushing off the sofa and going to him. He hadn’t said to move. “That you’re right. That I promise to say the safe word if I can’t take any more.” And she would, but would she forever wonder whether that magnificent crest had been just around the corner? What if she gave up and it had been lurking, waiting to change from pain to bliss a few seconds after she said ‘renoncer’? What if John decided they wouldn’t use the studded paddle again because she’d been unable to stand it this time? “I’ll keep going until I recognise the pain level from my first time with the whip, perhaps a few more strikes after that. Then…then I’ll admit defeat.”
He nodded. “Good. Make sure you do. Now, into the playroom.”
His command made shivers dance down her spine, made them shoot from there to her cunt, where they spread and infused her sodden folds with a clit-tingling ferocity that had her sucking in her breath. Her heart rate increased, and her pulse fluttered in her neck. She swallowed, maintaining eye contact—her way of showing him she’d meant what she’d said—then stood.
She brushed past him on her way to the playroom, his body heat and nearness prickling her skin, the hairs on her arms standing at attention. She was unable to resist letting her fingers meet with his in a brief touch of comfort. Yes, play would take his mind from what had occurred within the company today, but for her to continue as though his announcement hadn’t been made wasn’t something she could do—even though he’d prefer it that way. He smiled, just a quick lift of his lips, and this time that smile did reach his eyes. She k
new what had gone through his mind—he’d told her often enough in the past what her small gestures made him feel. Loved, safe, cherished.
Lucky.
She released his hand then strode away with her head held high, a pose she knew would make him inwardly chuckle. She’d never been one to bow, to stare at the floor, but this time she kept her chin lifted as a means to control herself, not as an act of defiance. Her eyes stung a little, and she blinked, telling herself that to allow her emotions to get the better of her now would mean her letting him down. He needed this play, and if he saw her welling tears he’d call it off, wanting to cosset her and find out what was wrong. That she had been overcome by that slight touch of their hands and the enormity of her feelings for him would be by the by. He would think something more serious was afoot and wouldn’t let it drop until she’d convinced him otherwise.
I love you, John.
She walked down the burgundy-carpeted hall with its embossed wallpaper then entered the playroom through a doorway to her right, taking a deep, juddering breath and giving herself a stern talking-to. Now wasn’t the time to indulge in soppiness. She had to remain strong, for John, and get him to that place where only they existed.
Approaching the smooth wooden table in the centre of the room, she fixed her gaze on the paddle, riveted by the way the studs seemed to sparkle from the harsh overhead spotlights. She rested her hand on top of them then pushed down as hard as she dared, the jab of each stud threatening to pierce her palm and fingers. The spanking was going to hurt, no doubt about it, but she needed to do this. She couldn’t explain why it was so important, how pain gave her such a sense of security that she craved it, loved being embraced by it, and in between sessions she thought about the pain she would endure in the next. Some might say she was obsessed, that her wants were skewed, twisted thorns that poked at her relentlessly, and maybe they would be right. But John understood. John knew. As much as she desired receiving pain, he desired giving it.
They matched in every way.
She clenched her teeth as emotions threatened to overspill again, and stood upright at the sound of him walking down the hall. His shoes made a soft swish on the carpet, the leather creaking a little. Her stomach contracted in her excitement, and once again her heart and pulse went haywire. She inhaled through her nose then out through her mouth, stepping back, taking her hand from the paddle. She fisted her hand, the movement bringing a snap of after-pain where the studs had been, and smiled at the thought of what her arse would feel like come tomorrow.
The sound of the door to the playroom closing had her looking up to stare into the floor-to-ceiling mirror opposite the table, one that covered the whole wall. John was leaning on the door, hands pressed to it, fingers splayed, and she eyed him, letting him know she was ready. He didn’t walk towards her, though, as he usually did, but studied her. By the look on his face—soft eyes, a slight tilt to his lips—he was feeling emotional himself. They were both in a state of high expectation—her to overcome the pain and seek out her goal, John to make sure she didn’t go too far. She wondered, not for the first time, whether him monitoring her so closely during play meant he lost some enjoyment. He’d assured her that wasn’t the case, that the monitoring enhanced his pleasure, but surely he couldn’t fully let go if he was overly concerned about her. If the roles were reversed, she wouldn’t be able to relax. Which was where she got lucky. She was the sub, able to relinquish everything to him, knowing he would take care of it all. Would make her happy.
My pet,
The reason I’m a Dom is because I actually like making sure you’re receiving the best care during play. I’ve told you that before, so please do not worry about what I get out of it. You know damn well I get pleasure without coming too. I don’t have to spurt cum all over your pretty tits, your rounded arse or your mouth in order to get a high. Maybe it’s different for me. Maybe I’m not wired like other men, who knows, but just having the sensations, the straining cock, the tightening balls, many times that’s enough. As I said once before, sometimes chasing pleasure is the most exciting part and the orgasm is just the release.
Don’t forget I also like the build-up, the denial of allowing myself pleasure. It’s torture to some—and yes, to me too at times—but that’s the whole point. I love that. It makes me look forward to the next time even more.
Think of when we have four or five play sessions a week and I don’t come until the last night. What happens? Think about it. Remember. That last night we’re both rabid, because you and I know I’m going to let myself come. You’re excited to watch me, to feel me, to have my spunk shooting inside you, over you, and I’m filled with a sense of euphoria knowing I’m finally going to reach my goal. To have your cunt milking me, or your mouth sucking me, or your tight, sweet arse clutching my cock so hard I almost convince myself I’ll stop breathing forever when my cum jets out.
It’s just the way I am.
But yes, tonight I’ll come, but only after the paddling is complete. I need to make sure you’re okay before I think about myself, and that’s only as it should be. Only as a good Dom should behave. You understand that. Know it and accept it, because I’ll never change.
They had played three times this week, and by this morning Shara had begun to think the paddling wouldn’t happen. They’d discussed it on Monday as he’d whipped her arse, John breathlessly grating out that he would paddle her, would buy the toy the next day and…spank…ah…her…ah…hard. She’d come then, a violent string of convulsions raging through her, losing herself in an eddy of ecstasy that held the warning of taking her to subspace. She’d just avoided going there, hovering on the brink, one foot outside the imaginary ring of safety surrounding her, the other inside. She could have stepped over, floated into the realm of that world where she watched herself from the outside in, but a sudden jolt of bliss had streaked from her clit, right up into her centre, leaving her belly somersaulting and her breaths coming out in wickedly forceful bursts.
Tonight was John’s turn, and he was right in saying that she’d enjoy herself more as she anticipated him allowing himself release. As she stared at him in the mirror, she wondered which way he would choose. Her arse would be sore, so she wouldn’t be able to sit on his lap as he sat in the ladder-back chair. Wouldn’t sit, or lie on the table on her back, or even on her side. Perhaps she would kneel before him, inviting him with a flick of her wrist to settle his cock between her breasts and look down as he rode them, her squeezing them together so he had a thicker valley to glide through. And he would come on the downstroke, cum splashing onto her chest, then on her neck as he surged upwards. If she timed it right she could open her mouth and catch some, or have him spurt on her mouth so he could watch her licking it off.
She surreptitiously squirmed, wishing his hand was between her legs, his fingers delving inside her, thumb massaging her clit so she could come, come, come and never stop. Her imagination had run riot today while she’d prepared for his return, and it didn’t appear to want to give up throwing scenarios her way now, images for her to feast on, tease herself with until, if she wasn’t careful, she’d come before that paddle had even been lifted from the table.
“Again, what are you thinking, pet?” he asked, keeping eye contact.
She’d known he’d been watching her as she’d lost herself inside her mind. Had known he’d taken pleasure in wondering what she’d seen. It was evident in the bulge beneath his zip, in him pressing his fingers further onto the door so they bent at the knuckles, the tips whitening. In his barely controlled breathing.
And you say you’re the one in complete control, John.
He’d needed these moments, she knew that, a few minutes to erase the day from his mind and concentrate on what was to come. On only them and what would happen inside this purposely stark room with its white walls, plain table and double bed, black iron railings at the head and foot. A long metal rack with hooks on the wall that held all their toys. Cold, polished-stone tiles beneath their fe
et designed to bring to mind medieval times, of straw-strewn floors, maidens bound and gagged, their lords in command. She had wanted it this way—no comfort, no frills—and he had obliged. “Anything for you, pet,” he’d said once, breath hot on the shell of her ear as he’d embraced her from behind and caressed her breasts.
Anything for you, too, John.
“I was thinking of how you’d come,” she said.
“And how did you envisage that?” He pressed his fingers harder against the door. Let out a ragged sigh that spoke of longing, of need, of barely suppressed excitement.
“Between my tits. Your cum over my chest. On my lips.”
“Fuck,” he whispered, pushing off the door and striding towards her.
She watched his hair flying, spotted the primal need in his eyes, and knew she’d sent him to that point where he was ready now. She released a splintered breath and straightened her spine, turning to glance at him over her shoulder instead of the mirror image, wanting to see him in the flesh.
“Bend over the table,” he said, lifting the paddle and inspecting it.
She obeyed, stretching her arms out so she could grasp the opposite edge. The coolness of the wood seeped into her skin, and goose bumps sprouted, streaking over her whole body in a random race that appeared to have no particular destination in mind. Anywhere and everywhere would do. She widened her legs, and air rushed in as though it had only been waiting for an invitation to kiss her cunt and cool the raging hot flesh there. She felt the heaviness of her pubic hairs, her juices weighting them, and knew they’d be clumped together in several question marks instead of their usual abundant riot.
She turned her head to the side, resting her cheek on the tabletop, and watched John twist and turn the paddle. The studs caught the light, sending white streaks across the ceiling, one particularly bright slice of illumination seeming to score her eyeballs and render her momentarily blind.