by Cecilia Tan
Ouch. I deserved that. “I … I’m in your hands.”
“Yes, you are.” The hand on my knee moved to my crotch, cupping my mound through my bunched-up skirt. “Face down, ass up. Move.”
It took me a bit of struggling to turn over again without the use of my arms, but I eventually got myself on my face and knees, my rump in the air, which was exactly what he wanted.
The pencil skirt was too tight to flip over my back so he used a pair of scissors to cut it and then cut away my stockings and panties. Funny how having my clothes cut away gave me a wave of something like nostalgia. I’d missed him! He was the only one who had ever done that to me. I remembered him saying it was one of the hottest things he’d ever done.
He wasn’t saying anything now, but that didn’t bother me. One of his hands caressed my flank while the other one worked the scissors. Just knowing it was him, just being there under his attentions, made it feel like a huge stone had been lifted off my back.
By the time he’d gotten me completely exposed, I was trembling with anticipation. He ran his finger up and down my seam and I wondered what he would do next.
I felt the van come to a stop.
Someone opened the van door, the driver perhaps, and next thing I knew the two of them were carrying me. I felt one of my shoes fall off, then the other.
They brought me into a building. I heard a sound like metal scraping, then a clang. An industrial door being opened and shut? I could no longer make out the pink of the pillowcase. It was dark wherever we were, and they put me down. I was expecting concrete but it felt more like a thick shag carpet beneath me.
“Thanks for the help,” Axel said.
“Anytime, bro,” the one who had driven answered, and then I heard the metal door open and shut again.
Now we were alone, or so I presumed. I decided I could ask, couldn’t I? “Are we alone?”
“We’re all alone in the universe,” Axel answered. “Every one of us. But if you mean is it just you and me here, yes.” I heard a click and a bright light came on from directly overhead.
I bent my legs and sat up, my feet to one side of me, and then shifted onto my knees, feeling the tatters of my cut skirt brushing my skin. I wondered what he thought of me kneeling like that.
Even through the pillowcase I could feel him coming close, standing directly in front of me. I tried to calm my breathing, but I could imagine him looking down at me, and equal parts excitement and shame coursed through me. Excitement because, well, being kidnapped—even pretend-kidnapped—was supposed to be an edgy thrill, wasn’t it? Trust me, it was. Shame, though, because I knew I’d hurt him. What had I been thinking? Had I really yelled “I love you, get over it”? My father definitely wasn’t the only one who ran hot and cold in our family. I had convinced myself that if I just never spoke to Axel again we would both move on. We’d both get over it.
I was definitely not over him. Even as he said coldly, “Ms. Ricki Hamilton, perhaps you’d like to tell me why you deserved to be brought here,” most of what I felt was pure thrill that it was Axel, that the man I’d completely failed to get out of my mind was right there in front of me.
“I’m waiting,” he prompted.
My mind went blank for a moment in a flash of blind panic. What was the question? Why did I think he had brought me here? What if I gave the wrong answer? But wait, maybe there was no wrong answer. This was like a cue line in improv class. What I said in reply was going to determine the direction of the scene. This was obviously supposed to be an interrogation. I sucked in a breath, trying to feel my way through it. What did I want? How did I want this to go?
He clucked his tongue impatiently.
I swallowed, no time to think of something else, or something better. “Because …” I couldn’t say it. Could I? I hung my head inside the pillowcase. “Because I’ve been a bad girl.”
“Ohhh, have you, now?” He started to walk around me in a circle. I couldn’t hear his footsteps but I could hear his voice and I fought the urge to follow him with my head. “Care to elaborate on that?”
“Will my … punishment be lightened if I confess?”
“No, but your conscience might be,” he said. “Trust me: you will get exactly what you deserve, regardless.”
His words sent a shiver through me. He was going to show me no mercy: he was going to make me surrender.
Like he always did. I suddenly remembered something Sakura had said. Surrender wasn’t something you could do for yourself. Someone else had to do it for you. Maybe I had been thinking about it backward all along. Axel wasn’t going to “force me” to surrender. He was going to make it possible for me to surrender.
My insides were melting suddenly, as all the pent-up desire and need I’d had for him over the past few weeks of isolation broke free.
“I’ve been a bad girl,” I said. “I said some really stupid things. I believed some really stupid things.”
“Stupidity isn’t a crime, exactly …”
“No, but I pushed you away and treated you like you didn’t matter.” He was right: hearing myself say it I felt 100 percent lighter. The elation coursing through me spurred me to confess even more: “And I … I didn’t tell you everything.”
“Ahhh. I wondered if you were hiding something. Which is why I’m going to get the truth out of you even if I have to torture it out of you.”
My heart was hammering as much in anticipation as in fear of what he might do. I bowed my head even more. “Yes, Mr. Hawke.”
“Any questions, then?”
Are you doing this because you still love me or because now you hate me? I thought. But I couldn’t ask that. If he hated you, he wouldn’t be going through this much trouble, I told myself. And Sakura and Gwen would never have gone along with the plan. “If I go through with this, will you forgive me for being jealous about Sun-Lee?”
His chuckle was warm rather than cold. “I’m not angry about you being jealous. It proves you’re human and that you really do want me. But if you want to be forgiven for, oh, cutting me off without so much as a word and making my life a living hell, well, take your punishment. This is going to hurt.”
I sucked in a breath as I realized I’d be disappointed if it didn’t. “I’m ready for it.”
“Good.”
He pulled the pillowcase away and the overhead spotlight made me shut my eyes. He forced me to my feet with one fist in my hair. The cuffs behind my back separated and he took them away, leaving my wrists feeling suddenly much lighter. I shifted from foot to foot on the carpet.
“Strip,” he said, and resumed his circling.
I took off my blazer first and let it fall behind me. My fingers were trembling with excitement, making it difficult to undo the buttons on my blouse. I stole a glance at him standing at the edge of the beam of light.
Axel was wearing artfully faded jeans and nothing else. The dragon tattoo stood out starkly against his chest and his feet were bare. If the situation had been different I would have lingered over looking at him, drinking in the gorgeous sight. Instead, I snuck looks while trying to get my ruined stockings down.
When I had nothing on, not a stitch, I stood there unsure what to do with my hands.
“Lean forward,” he said. “Spread your feet apart, hands on your thighs.”
I did as he asked and my palms felt hot against my legs.
He stopped directly behind me. I felt very naked then, even though he wasn’t wearing much himself. I shivered, wondering if he was about to caress my buttocks or spank them.
Instead he spoke. “Tell me what you’re feeling.”
“Uh …”
“Take your time. But tell me the truth. You haven’t always been so good at telling me what’s going on inside you, Ricki.”
“I know. I know; I’m sorry about that,” I said, turning my head to look at him.
He made a warning noise, “Uh-uh, hold your position and answer the question. How are you feeling?”
I took a
deep breath. “Exposed.”
“Like you want to cover yourself?”
“No. Not in front of you. Just … exposed.”
It sounded a little like he might have been smiling when he said, “Okay. What else?”
What else, indeed. “Shame.”
“Shame, really? Because kink is something shameful?”
“No, just ashamed that I was so stupid. And that … that leads me to feeling like I’m not good enough for you. Like I fail at BDSM.”
“Fail? How so?”
“Everyone’s always going on about how the basis of BDSM is honesty and trust. And I haven’t been honest.”
“Sometimes honesty takes practice,” he said. “Training. If we’re talking dominance and submission, I’d much rather train you to tell me the truth than train you to come on command.” He stepped close and I felt his hand slide down the skin of one butt cheek. “What else are you feeling?”
Things always come in threes, I suppose. So, exposed, shame, and what? “Anticipation.”
“Not fear?”
“I’m not afraid of you.” I was surprised to find it was true, but the longer the scene went on, the less and less afraid I felt. “Or of pain. Not when I know that pain will make us both feel better.”
“Mm-hm. Maybe when I’m done with you, you’ll feel ready to tell the truth.” As if to challenge me, he smacked me hard on one ass cheek. It really stung and then burned as I stood there, waiting for the sensation to fade. Before it did, he smacked the other side and I lurched forward and caught myself with a step.
“Straighten up,” he said. “Put your hands behind your head. Keep your feet apart. Wider.”
If I thought I felt exposed when I was bent over showing him my ass, this was a new level. My breasts were thrust forward and I could feel the open air between my legs.
He stood in front of me and ran his thumbs ever-so-lightly over my nipples, then teased them between his thumb and forefinger, not pinching at all but instead using more of those almost-not-there touches that had me wishing for a pinch. His eyes were so green under that bright light, it felt like he was seeing right through me.
“So. You almost came from me doing this, that time in the limo.”
When had I told him that? Oh, right. “I was very, very aroused that time in the limo.”
“Mm-hm.” He seemed in no hurry, luxuriating in torturing me with caresses. If anything his touch seemed to get lighter and lighter, and I thrust my chest out more and more trying to get more stimulation. The next thing I knew I was all the way up on my tiptoes and it felt like the skin all over my body was alive with electricity. Every breath-light touch to my nipples felt like it was echoed by a throbbing longing between my legs. “And how aroused are you now?”
“V-very,” I said, having trouble catching my breath.
He stepped back and I sank back onto my heels again, panting. He took another appraising walk around me. “If you can, look back at your butt. The handprints are impressive.”
I craned my neck, twisting to look. He was right: a bright red handprint was practically glowing off my skin. I felt a warm wash of pride seeing that, and a feeling I didn’t know how to name. It was like possessiveness, except I was the one being possessed. Having his handprint on me drove my desire to new heights.
“Back to position now,” he prompted, and I put my hands behind my head again.
Now he ran his hands lightly over the spots where he had left his mark and it made me shiver delightfully. “These’ll fade soon enough. Or they’ll be blurred by the other welts I’m going to put on top of them.”
I swallowed, then stumbled forward a little as he urged me to move toward the edge of the room. Until I stepped out from under the bright light I hadn’t been able to make out what else was in there. He steered me in the direction of a large wooden stand in one corner that looked like something you’d see in a historical film: stocks? A pillory? It was T-shaped and there was a large hole in the middle with smaller holes for a person’s wrists on either side. He lifted the top half and I obediently placed my neck in the middle slot. I discovered it was padded and nowhere near as uncomfortable as it had looked like it would be—there was a chin rest I hadn’t noticed at first glance. I was bent over slightly, a position that would get tiring to maintain but for now was fine.
I could hear him rummaging around behind me somewhere. Now that I had a chance I could see we were in a playroom of some kind, with a high ceiling and industrial-looking walls. In this corner a coiled whip, a leather blindfold, and a few other BDSM toys hung on the wall, looking more like they were there for decoration than for actual use. They were slightly dusty. Funny what you notice when all your senses are heightened by arousal and endorphins.
His hands slid up my hot butt cheeks again and then he pressed his denim-covered hardness against me with a frustrated-sounding groan.
“Remember what being flogged feels like?”
“Yes.”
“This isn’t going to feel like that. But maybe we’ll have some flogging later.” The next thing I felt was something cool caressing my ass. Cool and flat.
The first whack wasn’t that hard but it made me jump in surprise. A matching one on the other cheek followed and I hopped on one foot, trying to make it stop smarting. That was either a paddle or the back of a very big hairbrush.
“One moment,” he said, and I heard him cross the room again. When he came back he put my ankles into heavy leather cuffs lined with thick fur and then attached them to either end of a bar that kept my feet apart. “That’s better. Now you can’t hop around so much.”
And that was all the reprieve I got from the paddling that followed. I already knew how relentless Axel could be—with his kiss, with his cock—and in a way this was no different. His desire demanded that he give and I take, and give he did, in endless rhythmic smacks, all over my buttocks, down my thighs, and even a little bit between my legs, though he didn’t hit as hard there.
And just like he had worn down the fight in me until there was none left that first time in the limousine, he chipped away at my pride and the lies I told myself and the wall I had built up with them. Don’t ask me how he did it, exactly, since he didn’t say anything. He didn’t tell me I was wrong or explain or anything. He just hit me, and hit me, and hit me some more until my armor was completely worn through and everything I had been bottling up came out in a rush of tears.
It’s one thing to tell yourself you feel a certain way: regretful, sad, angry, disappointed. It’s another thing entirely to feel it so strongly you can barely breathe and water pours from your eyes. I don’t think I’d cried so hard in my life. Not as an adult, anyway.
At that point he tossed the paddle away and ran his palm over my reddened flesh so tenderly I cried even harder. “That’s it, let it out,” he said gently.
“It isn’t fair!” I heard myself shout.
“Life isn’t fair,” he said, rubbing harder and then grabbing a handful of ass that hurt but in a deeply delicious way. Even through my tears I could feel that. “But why don’t you tell me what, exactly, isn’t fair?”
“I made a promise. A stupid promise. I’m caught between you and Dad and my boss and Schmitt and every stupid man in my life and there’s no way to make you all happy!”
“Ahhh, okay. So the game you’re trying to play is to make all of us happy and it turns out the rules are rigged against that.” He ran his hand soothingly down my back and somehow that encouraged me to take deep breaths. “What was the promise?”
My resistance was gone. In fact, I couldn’t even remember why I had tried to keep this a secret from him. “I promised my father I wouldn’t … do bondage.”
Axel made a sound of sudden understanding. “And you thought that meant we couldn’t have a relationship?”
“You’d be disappointed! I can’t be what you want! I’m a bad sub!” I suddenly started to cry again.
He stood close behind me, so close I could feel the heat of him i
n the air on my back. A gentle hand stroked my spine. “We can talk about boundaries later,” he murmured. “For now, try to hear me on this, Ricki. You’ll never disappoint me, in the dungeon or in life, if you’re just trying your best. What I want isn’t for you to become some kind of perfect sub, okay? What I want is you. You being you.”
I was crying so hard now I could barely hear him. When I slowed down again he came around to the front of the stocks and slipped his fingers into my hair. He held on firmly, securely. “Listen. The way to win the game is to play a different one. How about instead of trying to make all the men in your life happy, you work on what makes Ricki happy?”
He pulled gently until my head was turned and he could look into my eyes. He kissed the tracks of the tears at the corner of one eye and then my mouth, bringing me the taste of my own salt and sadness.
He let go and looked at me again. “Can you tell me? Can you tell me what you want, Ricki? What you need?”
None of this was easy to say, but it was easier, somehow, having him draw it out of me like that than it would have been sitting down to tea. I fought down a full-on, chest-heaving sob. “I need you …!”
I had meant to say “I need you to help me surrender” but I never got the end of the sentence to come out and I decided that what I’d said was perfectly true as it was. Terrifying as the thought was, I needed Axel.
“I think I figured that much out,” Axel said. “But I can’t keep doing this, Ricki. I can’t keep chasing you down every time you run. We have to talk about it with all the cards on the table. No hidden agendas. You’re a better actress than you give yourself credit for.”
“I need to surrender,” I said then, my heart pounding suddenly in the way it’s supposed to when you say “I love you” for the first time.
“I know,” he said gently, and kissed me one more time. The kiss flooded me with relief, and so did what he said: “The important thing is that you know it.”
Yes, I knew it. Yes, I accepted it at last. “Yes!”
“Good.”