by K. Webster
What did I do?
“Nat here is going to help us. Clearly, I’ve struggled in my role,” he says in a gruff tone. “I’m a sadist and a dominant.”
I swallow and glance over at her. She smiles and nods her head. Despite her easy manner, I don’t like the fact that she’s been brought into the middle of our relationship. Why do we have to have roles? Why can’t we just be us?
“Then what am I? A whipping post?”
She speaks up. “Jessica, honey, from what Brax has explained to me, you’re a masochist. What the two of you have is a budding sadomasochistic relationship, as well as, a dominant/submissive relationship. He likes giving pain and you like receiving it. It is in a sadist’s nature to transform this pain into pleasure.”
I frown but she continues.
“The relationship is extreme to say the least but that’s what makes it so fulfilling for both parties involved. The dominant/submissive side, however, is about control.”
“You do as I say. No questions asked,” he says with a grunt.
Her lips quirk up into a smile. “Essentially, yes. But not because she has to, Brax. Because she wants to. It’s something each of you look to the other for.”
“I don’t like being controlled,” I argue, but my voice falters.
“But you do like the pain he gives to you? So you think you’re a masochist but not a submissive?”
Her desire to label me stresses me out. If I’d wanted help for my twisted head, I’d have sought out a therapist six years ago. “I don’t know what I am,” I admit.
“Jessica, I’d love to have a private session with you. To learn a little more about your sexual interests.”
I cringe at having the sex doctor pick apart my pickled brain. “No thanks. I’m over this.”
“Actually,” Brax barks, “you’re not over this. Lest I remind you that you agreed to this—that you’re being paid an exuberant amount to ‘pretend’ if you will.”
“I don’t know much about these labels you’re trying to slap on me,” I hiss out, my voice growing shriller with each word, “but I do know enough to know that some sort of safe word or some shit should at least be in play here. But I don’t have that. I’m homeless and I’ve signed a contract saying I have to stay or reimburse a twenty-five percent restocking fee. So there’s no ‘choice’ here for me.”
His voice is fire as he spits out his next words in anger. “I told you to read the damn contract. You don’t listen for shit sometimes.”
“I know for a fact that there’s an out for you,” Dr. Goldstein says in a calm manner, “if that’s what you wanted.”
Brax tears open his filing cabinet and shoves the contract in my face. This time, I scan it more carefully.
Safe word is pause. Mutual consent required by both parties at all times. Blah, blah, blah. A lot of fucking zeros.
I have the power to stop it any time I want to. Problem is, I need all those fucking zeros. My shoulders slouch in defeat.
He flashes me a satisfied grin and takes the contract back, safely stowing it away in his filing cabinet. “Training begins today, Bunny.”
I let out an irritated sigh. “And what might that be? Are you going to put a collar on my neck and make me eat lunch from a dog bowl?”
Our eyes are zeroed in on one another. His nostrils flare with each breath he takes and his jaw clenches with a fury that he seems to be summoning from deep within. I’m overwhelmed by this “sex intervention” and want to cry. I even bite my cheek to keep it from happening. Where is the man who held me last night?
“Dubois,” Brax calls out, his glare unmoving from my own. “Have Cartier dress my toy like the whore she is. I’m ready to impart her first lesson upon her.”
The disgust in his voice nearly cripples me with shock. I knew he was a moody fucker but this is downright twisted.
But then I remember the whole goddamned scenario is twisted. I agreed to come “play” with this rich bastard for six months. He doesn’t have a connection to me nor does he like me. He wants to use and abuse me. Just like the rest of them. A fire begins to burn in my chest and I desperately fuel the flames.
“You’re an asshole, Braxton,” I hiss as Dubois grabs my arm. “Have fun playing doctor with the old lady.” I’m momentarily satisfied when the doctor flinches at my words, her smile giving way to a frown. She seems hurt by my words though, not annoyed, and I hate that I feel guilty about that.
“Dubois, stop.” His voice is harsh and I startle.
A cold shiver crawls down my spine. I’d called him by his name all night but this morning, I can sense it is the very thing that’s pissed him off.
“Bunny, come here.”
I yank my arm from Dubois’ grasp and storm toward Braxton. Natalie has stepped away from him and sits on the window sill as if to watch with curiosity what he’ll do next. He wants to scare me—the rage in his eyes tells me so. But I’m not scared. I’m just as angry. When I’m near him, he sits back and his eyes peruse up my body. With a quick tug, he releases the rope on my robe and it falls open for him, revealing my nearly naked body.
“Take it off.”
My eyes flicker over to Dubois and I give Brax a slight shake of my head. His hands fist and I can tell he’s barely containing his anger.
“You’re a whore, Bunny. Or did you forget?” he sneers. “People see your body all the time. This isn’t the first time my staff has seen a naked woman. Now, don’t make me ask you a second time.”
I drop the robe and glare back at him. Hunger flashes in his eyes at seeing my sexy bra and panties but he feigns disinterest again. Fucking liar.
“Dubois, get Cartier and Christine in here. Everyone needs to see this.”
My brows furrow together in confusion and I silently question him but he doesn’t respond. His lazy stare inspects my features. He watches for cracks and fissures to see where to weaken me.
A shuffling behind me alerts me to the fact that everyone is here and for some reason, I feel ashamed. I made friends with Cartier and Christine but now they have to watch me—on his side. I’m the outcast here. The fucking loner.
“What have I told you that you were to call me?” he questions as he rises from the chair. His body towers over mine and the heat that pulsates from him warms me to my core. I miss the sweet man from last night—not the cruel bastard standing before me.
Sir or master.
I take a minute to study his features. To draw in the discomfort and tension of the room, thick with the charge of an impending storm. And then, unmoving, I raise only my eyes to meet his. Our eyes lock, his intense gaze imploring me. Imploring me to obey and submit to him as I did last night. And if I’m not mistaken, way in the back of his depths, I see it. That undeniable sliver of fear. Fear that I will disrespect him and humiliate him, just as he is trying to humiliate me in front of his army of faithful servants. “Fuck you.” I challenge him despite my trembling lip.
He flashes a light satisfied, sinister smile. “If you’re a good little toy.”
My mind attempts to veer off toward a safer path—to look anywhere besides into the malevolent eyes that remind me hauntingly of him. And yet, even now, when he’s being a creepy bastard, the down-to-the-core, bone-chilling evil is missing. No matter what façade Brax constructs, it will never compare to the depths of fear I’ve faced in my life. Brax may get off on control and playing his sadistic role, but his heart is good. I’ve seen it and I’ll be damned if I put him in the same category as the monster from my past.
His fingers are soon digging into my jaw dragging my gaze to his, tearing me from my mental comparison of him to the devil. “Bunny, what have I told you to call me?”
Sir or master.
Everything in me screams to just give him what he wants. To be the good little submissive he craves. Then, maybe, he’ll leave me be. I can run upstairs to my closet and avoid him at all costs. But deep, down inside, I want to let him know I won’t go down without a fight.
“Um
,” I say with an unsure Georgian drawl that makes Dubois suck in an audible rush of air. “I think you said you liked to be called Ken Doll.”
Christine curses at me under her breath and Cartier gasps dramatically.
The vein.
The adorable little vein that throbs out of control on his forehead is back.
I struck a nerve.
Before I can have a chance to start my victory dance, Brax twists me in his arms and pushes me over his desk. My hand catches a coffee mug that careens to the floor and shatters. Christine starts for it and Brax stops her. “Leave it!”
My body shivers when he drags my panties down over my ass and leaves them at my thighs. He begins undoing his belt and for a moment, I hope he fucks me right here over his desk. I’m not prude and would let him do it in front of his staff. I just want Brax to acknowledge we had a connection last night. Fucking me on his desk would at least help his body remember how good we were together. That we weren’t just two people playing roles.
But the second I hear the belt slide from the hoops on his pants, I start to squirm. His massive hand mashes against my lower back to hold me in place. The belt lashes across my bare bottom and I scream. He hits me so hard that I don’t know if I can endure multiple hits like last time.
Suddenly the lashes cease.
“Touch yourself.”
His command is confusing and I turn my head around to look at him. Stormy grey eyes are on mine. The hunger has intensified. He gets off on his dominant, sadistic behavior. On humiliating me.
“I’m not in the mood,” I say with a grumble.
He grunts and swats me again, this time harder. I howl in pain and scramble to get away from him but he’s too strong. “I said, touch yourself.” His order is harsh and unyielding. Deciding I don’t want any more whippings, I slide a hand under me and touch my clit. I wasn’t lying—I’m not in the fucking mood. But I’m not in the mood to get spanked either, so I do as I’m told.
The leather of his belt slides softly over my ass and it makes me try harder. If he wants me to come, then I’ll come.
But I don’t come.
I work myself for several minutes before I hit the desk with my fist. “I can’t do it!”
Slap!
The belt bites into my sore flesh and I scream again. Angry tears sting my eyes but don’t fall out.
“Make yourself come.”
My fingers hurt and my legs begin to shake as I try to make myself orgasm. I’ve never been any good at self-pleasure so this feels like torture. Several more minutes pass. All that can be heard is the soft breathing of everyone but Brax and I. We’re both struggling; me trying to get off and him waiting for me to stop so he can spank me again.
“Brax, I can’t do it,” I protest.
Wrong thing to say.
Slap! Slap!
This time, a tear rolls out. “I’m sorry, please stop,” I choke out, “master.”
My eyes find Christine and her cheeks are blazing red, her gaze affixed on her feet. Even Cartier is uncomfortable, his frown marring his perfect features.
“Christine,” Brax says, his words breathy, “take Dr. Goldstein to the dining room and serve her some breakfast. Cart and D, hold her arms.”
“Please!” I scream at anyone who’ll listen. I’m not sure what I’m begging for but I don’t want him to hurt me.
Dubois is the first to hold my arm down flat on the desk with Cartier not far behind him. Cartier’s touch is softer, he even swipes his thumb across my sweaty flesh in a comforting move but he’s just as strong as Dubois. I’m not going anywhere.
“You are to always refer to me as master or sir, toy. I want you to remember this the next time your mouth gets smart and you decide to call me Braxton. I’m tired of your bullshit. I am paying you a lot of money to behave and do as you’re told. Do you understand?”
I nod because I do understand. It doesn’t mean I like it though. Closing my eyes, I brace myself for a beating like the one back in London. Instead, Brax’s warm finger teases my pussy from behind. I’m mad at him but he touches me better than I touch myself. Soon, my body responds to his hand and I’m shamelessly working my hips in unison with his assault on my clit. The orgasm is close. Fucking finally. My breaths quicken and the second I gasp, ready to leap over the edge and give into it, his hand is gone and fire licks my ass.
“Owww!” I cry out and squirm against my unmoving captors.
Brax slips his hand back between my legs and begins his relentless teasing again. This time, I’m upset and don’t want to come. I just want to go hide somewhere in this big house.
“Do you want to come, Bunny?”
I shake my head in vehemence. “Not anymore.”
“Too fucking bad.”
Despite my being angry, I can’t think of anything else except for the way he teases me, so confidently and my pelvis aches for release. I’m trying hard not to show him I’m enjoying his touch but when my legs begin to quiver in anticipation, he stops and whips me again.
This goes on.
And on.
And fucking on.
After what seems like hours but can’t be any more than thirty minutes or so, I’m sweating and crying. I’ve come so close to coming multiple times. I’m pissed off and needy. I can’t think straight. My ass fucking hurts and I want to kill Braxton.
“Do you want to come?” he whispers, his lips grazing the shell of my ear.
“Please,” I beg.
“Please, what?”
“Sir.”
Another whip. Another scream.
His hands are back on me and I’m dizzy with the need to come. “You two, go.”
My arms are freed and those two bolt from the room without a backward glance. I’m too weak to move.
“Bunny, I want you to sit on my desk and face the window. I’ll be right back.” His voice is calm and I’m thankful for a moment to collect myself. He pats my butt, almost affectionately, and trots out of the room like an eager little boy. With a groan, I stand on shaking legs letting my panties fall to the ground and sit on the edge of the desk. The cold wood soothes my sore bottom and I sigh in relief.
Today, the sky is dark and ominous, kind of like the mood in this room. The lake ripples with raindrops and I can’t help but shiver. I just want to go upstairs and curl up under a blanket. To ignore the way my body responded to his brutal yet teasing touches. To forget the way I felt turned on at having two men hold my arms while Brax had his way with me.
“Do you want me to fuck you, beautiful?” The sweetness in his voice startles me and I cast a confused glance over my shoulder at him.
His mouth is lifted on one side in an amused grin that causes another shiver to course through me, which has nothing to do with the cold weather outside. As much as I hated him a few minutes ago, there’s no denying my attraction to him. I want him to finish the job he started.
“Yes, please.”
He chuckles and sheds his jacket. I watch with interest as he rolls his sleeves up. Before he sits back down, he reaches into his pocket and retrieves something.
“You’re going to fuck yourself,” he tells me simply, “with this.”
I gape at the object in horror. No longer than three inches long, the slender, pink vibrator mocks me from the palm of his hand. Once again, I’m just a player in one of his twisted little games.
“Don’t act like you’re offended. I would bet my entire bank account on the fact that you’ll come like the good little whore you are.” He smirks.
I curl my lip up in disgust. “You’re sick.”
His eyebrows rise to his hairline. “You think I’m the sick one? Oh, baby, you have no idea how sick I am. But this isn’t about me. This is about you. Despite your haughty attitude, you’re not so different. I like hurting and degrading you. And you, my dear, love it when I do it to you. Don’t you?”
I shake my head in vehemence.
He laughs but it is cruel and sinister. So why in the fuck am I becoming
aroused again?
“You do,” he assures me and hands me the vibrator. “Push the button on the top and play with your pretty pussy.”
Another wave of pleasure courses through me at his words. I’m beginning to think I’m as fucked in the head as he is, exactly like he says. The cold rubber chills my hand and with reluctance, I turn it on. It vibrates—not too much and not too little. I flick my eyes over to his stormy grey ones that match the sky behind him perfectly and suck in a ragged breath. Chewing on my lip, I spread my legs open, resting my heels on the edge of the desk, and then lie back.
“Ohh,” I gasp when the toy touches my sensitive clit.
I hear him release a breath. He stands back up and towers over me. “Fucking whore. Do you like touching yourself?” His face contorts into a pissy scowl but I see the desire swimming in his eyes. And when he presses his hard cock through his pants between the cheeks of my bare ass, my vision blackens with lust.
“Please fuck me,” I beg as I begin to grind my ass against his dick while I tease myself with the vibrator.
He growls but refuses to touch me. Instead, he leans forward and places his palms on the desk on either side of me, caging me in. “Always wants the goddamn dick like a filthy bitch in heat. I bet you’d suck off any motherfucker for a moment of bliss. You’re nothing but a dirty skank.”
I moan at his words and he grunts.
“See, Bunny, you’re just like me. You love playing with toys.”
Curls of pleasure bloom in my lower abdomen and I want to curse aloud. With every breath, another string of twisted words fall from his lips, and here I am getting off on it. I am just as messed up as he is. What the hell is wrong with me? Six years ago, I’d have thrown up at having been a participant in this game. Yet, now I’m squirming and craving more.
The vibrator brings me closer and closer to the ecstasy I need, with each wave of pleasure. He thrusts against me again and I cry out. It’s too much—he’s too damn much.
“I need more . . .” I trail off and flutter my eyes closed.
“Of course you do. You’re depraved like me. Tell me what you want, toy. You want me inside of your tight cunt? You want me to fuck your used and abused pussy until you can’t see straight?”