by JS Taylor
Then he runs the whip handle softly over my ass.
Every part of my skin is electrified.
“I’m going to discipline you hard,” he whispers, and at his words, a spasm of warmth erupts between my legs.
James pulls away my panties, roughly, in one movement. I twitch at the unexpected contact, and suddenly I feel the flat of his hand slam into my behind.
“Keep still,” he admonishes. “You agreed to accept your punishment. I don’t want to spank you unnecessarily, but I will.”
“Yes, Sir.” The words of my character come tumbling out, from a hidden place inside of me. Would Issy have said that? It all comes so naturally, I’m a little shocked at myself.
“Now,” says James, “I’m going to whip you.”
My breath is held.
“I won’t go easy on you,” he warns. Then his mouth is at my ear, and some of the sternness is gone from his voice. “If it’s too much,” he whispers, “tell me, and I’ll stop.”
I nod into the hay bale, still hardly able to breathe. Then he pulls away, and he’s back in character again.
He lets the leather whip frond dangle over my naked behind, and I hold my breath.
Laid over the hay bale, I feel my ass begin to shudder in anticipation. Then the end of the whip strokes gently across my buttocks, and I convulse.
“Are you ready for your punishment?” asks James.
I nod. Because I am, truly. I want this. I want to know what it’s like to be disciplined at his hands.
He places a strong hand on my neck, restraining me tightly against the hay bale. And then I hear a swish as he raises the whip.
I screw my eyes shut, waiting for the contact, and then the end of the whip hits my bare ass with a loud crack.
“Arrgh!” My whole body jumps, and then hot pain radiates out from where the whip has struck. But before I have time to register the sensation, he whips my naked skin again. Wham! And then a third time.
Holy hell. He’s really letting me have it.
My eyes are still screwed up tight as the fourth stroke whips across my buttocks. And I realise that he’s being true to his word. James really is punishing me with the whip.
I don’t know if I like this.
Before, James has used a riding crop to tease me, and it has been thrilling. On the verge between pleasure and pain. But as the strokes come hard, I’m registering that this is a real beating.
My mind casts a mental image of my situation. I am stretched over the hay bale with James standing tall above me, whip in his hand, beating the hell out of my bare buttocks.
He’s whipping my ass.
“Keep still,” James growls, pushing my face harder against the hay bales. The whip cracks against my ass again. Hard.
Arrgh!
My ass is alive with pain, but the rest of me is warm with a completely different sensation. Being degraded like this. Bent over a hay bale and whipped. I can’t deny it. It’s hot. But it’s painful too. I don’t want him to carry on.
“Stop,” I whisper. “Stop.”
James freezes instantly. This has given my ass time to catch up with what’s just happened. And suddenly, I’m flooded with burning pain.
Ouch. It feels as though my rear end has been laid out in the midday heat with no sun-block.
“Too much?” he whispers.
I nod, and I feel tears in my eyes. Something about this. It doesn’t feel like my James. It’s out of character. As though he’s exorcising some demon.
My mind is a whirl. Does he like hurting me? Do I like being hurt?
The context of what we just did is hot. No question. My body is ready for him. But the pain? The beating?
James is still standing over me, and I hear him drop the whip.
His mouth is at my ear. “Do you want me to stop everything?” he asks. His voice is gentle, and concerned. And my body is charged with a sudden panic. The whipping might have been too rough. But now my lust is overtaking the pain in a sudden, torrid surge. There’s no denying I want him. Now.
The idea of him not taking me over the hay bale is excruciating.
“Yes,” I groan. “Please. Take me.”
The urgency in my voice must have been evident. Because I hear him make a tight gasp of desire. Then his denim-clad hardness pushes tight against my ass.
“Careful,” I groan. The feeling is good. But the pressure on my ravaged skin is still painful.
He pulls back fractionally. I hear him unbutton his fly, and then his hot skin is against mine.
He’s so incredibly hard.
Desire grips my body.
“One day soon, I am going to claim your ass,” James murmurs, pushing himself between my buttocks. He presses his hardness firmly into the centre.
“Here,” he says. “Hard.”
Laying prone over the hay bale, I can feel the muscular strength of him. How easy it would be for him to drive deep into my ass with a single thrust.
I shake my head fractionally. Part of me feels afraid.
Would he ever truly hurt me? Do something I didn’t want?
His hands move to stroke along my buttocks. Across the hot skin.
“I like that you’ve bourn this for me,” he whispers. “That you’ve taken this pain.”
His voice sounds wistful. And I wonder if there’s something else about these stables. This place of boyhood memories. That he wanted to claim. Certainly I’ve never known him so eager to inflict pain on me. The thought brings another flood of uncertainty.
Do I really want this man, and all his demons?
Before I can follow this thought fully, his hardness has shifted to where I am wet for him. I feel him roll on a condom.
He slides himself back and forward against me, teasing me. “I can feel how badly you want to be fucked,” he murmurs.
I moan aloud. The heat of his thighs against my ass add a new dimension of sensation.
“You took your beating very well,” says James. “Let’s see how you respond to the second part of your disciplining.”
Oh no. The second part?
“Your punishment fuck,” he clarifies. And then he thrusts hard inside me in one insistent movement.
“Aaaahhh!” Every part of my body balls up into one pulsing centre of lust. And all of me is focused on James Berkeley’s hard body.
I feel myself softening, absorbing as he takes me fast and urgently. His hands move to pin down my shoulders, and he slams me relentlessly.
“James!” I’m hardly aware of what I’m saying as he takes my body without mercy, without restraint. In the boiling whirl of lust and desire, his movements are almost frightening. I never knew he could take me this hard.
I am bent over, and he stands upright, using my shoulders to slam forcefully into me, again and again. There’s no kissing or tenderness. Just straight carnal fucking.
As if sensing my anxiety, James leans forward and pauses, hard and deep inside me. I feel my body quiver around him. He makes a line of gentle kisses along the side of my face.
Then I see his hand close on the whip again and feel my breath tighten.
“No more beating,” James murmurs. “But I have another use for this.”
With an assured single arm, he moves me back so there is space between me and the hay bale.
Then he positions the whip handle between my legs. He uses the narrow tip to seek out my clitoris, and I hear myself gasp.
“Since this is a punishment fuck,” he murmurs, “it’s only appropriate that I use this on you. And you are so very, very wet. I think the whip will work very well.”
He twitches it, and a riot of sensations come alive across my clitoris. I moan, unable to speak as my body lifts towards orgasm.
“Not yet,” he growls, and then his other hand is pushing me down again, and his body is taking me hard.
Then the whip end twists against me, and I feel myself erupt.
Golden shafts of light run down the length of my body, and every inch of my skin
bursts into glorious hot pleasure.
“Ahhhh!” My entire lower half is shuddering in climax, and my upper body is limp, and lost.
“Issy!” gasps James, and then I feel his hands tighten on me as his body gives itself up to satisfaction.
He drops forward, covering my body with his, breathing heavily into me. Then his arms are wrapped around me.
I turn so we’re cuddled up, facing one another, and he buries his head into my neck. The position is so un-James-like, so little boyish, that I wrap my arms tightly across his back, pulling him close.
His breathing slows, and he clasps at me – a desperate, comfort-seeking gesture.
Have I brought him closer by allowing him to whip me?
I rock him slightly, and kiss his tousled brown hair, burying my mouth against his scalp. I hear him make a little moan of happiness.
Is this what I can give him?
It’s such a strikingly odd situation. A moment ago, he was beating the hell out of my naked rear. Now he’s snuggled up against me, like I’m his sole source of comfort in the world.
I stroke his hair gently.
This wonderful, complex man has done so much for me. Could I do this for him? Is it too much to ask?
But I feel myself shaking my head at the thought. I don’t want to be beaten. Not like that.
Mentally, I examine my butt. The bright heat has settled to something more like a pulsing throb. I don’t know if I’m bruised. But I’m sure the whole area is flame red.
In my arms, James stills, and I feel, rather than hear, a different energy from him.
I remember how he was swinging the whip, and a burst of unease shoots through me. He felt different then. Not like the man I’m used to.
As if sensing a change in my mood, James shifts to bring his eyes to meet mine. He catches my expression. And his face twists in horror. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him look so vulnerable.
“James?” I pull him closer in alarm. “What’s wrong?”
He kisses my mouth.
“Issy,” he whispers. “I’m so sorry.” He sounds desperate. Distraught. So unlike his usual commanding self.
“I hurt you,” he says. “I frightened you. I could see it in your eyes just then.”
I say nothing in reply. Because he’s right. Something about what we just did has given me some uncomfortable feelings. The truth is, I don’t know if I can take being beaten to be what James needs.
“Talk to me,” he begs, his green eyes locked on mine. “Please.”
“You did hurt me,” I admit. “It was different to… to what we’ve done before.”
He looks absolutely crushed.
“Before, you would tease me,” I explain. “It was more about the idea of discipline and punishment. I felt as though something changed in you today.”
I sigh, and retighten my arms against him. “But I think it’s helped you feel closer to me too.” I frown, trying to think how best to put my thoughts into words. “I’m frightened,” I admit, after a moment. “Because I want to help you… come out of yourself. Open up. But I don’t know if I could take being beaten. If that’s what you need.”
I am staring straight into his face now, radiating my love for him through my eyes. “I thought I could do anything for you,” I conclude, in a whisper, “but I don’t know if I’m strong enough… for that.”
James pauses for a moment, and then to my deep distress, his eyes fill with tears.
“Issy,” he whispers, “Issy, Issy, Issy. My brave, beautiful girl. Just by being you… You do so much for me.”
He moves his hand up and strokes my face.
“How could you think,” he adds, “that I would need to beat you to be happy?”
“Don’t you?” This surprises me. Because I always thought that our physical relationship was part of what helped him open up.
“No!” The fire in his voice takes me by surprise. “You are the most precious thing in the world to me.” A jolt of joy sears through me. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he adds, “I want to... explore you. In every way.”
“Does it make you feel closer to me,” I ask, “making me submit to your will?”
I remember one of our earlier conversations. James explaining he was an old-fashioned man.
“You are my girlfriend, Issy,” James says, “and that means your safety and happiness is in my hands.” His voice sounds stern. “It also means I am entitled to take you in hand, if I see fit.”
Oh.
“And this… taking in hand,” I venture, “is that part of your wanting to be in control always?”
We’ve discussed his controlling nature before. And he’d agreed to try and curb some of it. The old-fashioned part, at least.
James closes his eyes tight, as though he’s in pain. “In the beginning, that might have been part of it,” he admits, opening his eyes again. “And your bravery… words can’t describe the admiration I feel for you – the sheer humility that your openness brings.”
His green eyes are on mine now, alive with sincerity.
“It’s unbelievable, the gift of your faith in me,” he says. “I feel like a mortal man in the presence of a Goddess.”
He does? Wow. I flush with pleasure. I never knew my faith in him touched him so deeply.
James nods at the unspoken question in my voice.
“You make me better than I ever thought I could be,” he says. “Your love makes me a man. Better than a man. With you at my side, I feel… I feel as though I can do the impossible. I would move heaven and earth to keep you happy, Issy. I could tear down a mountain to make you safe.”
Tears spring to my eyes, and I’m kissing his face.
“I love you,” I reply. Because truly, I am so choked with what he’s just told me, that I can hardly say anything else.
This man loves me so much.
Then James’s face darkens. “Something about being back at the estate,” he whispers. “I don’t know. I think it was a need to drive away memories. It just took hold of me. I… I wasn’t in control.”
Exorcising demons. With a horse whip.
He looks so ashamed. “Issy, please forgive me. I hate myself. I can’t stand that I would hurt you.”
He runs his hand softly onto my buttocks. The heat has gone out of them now, but they’re still sore.
“Do they hurt?” he asks softly.
I shake my head. “Not so much.”
I remember his nightmares, his being sent away from home and blamed for his mother’s death. And just like that, my love for him is strong enough to overcome anything. Whatever it takes, I will stand by this man.
“Do you… Do you think it will happen again?” I ask.
Does he need to beat me?
James shakes his head firmly. “My pleasure comes from your pleasure,” he says. “I like to help you explore your submissive side because I think you enjoy it.”
He’s examining my face as he says this, checking in.
I nod slowly.
Yes. I do.
“I told you before, I have an addictive nature,” he adds. “And this sexual side of me. It was something I became addicted to, at one point in my life. I found that creating submission in those who desired it was a useful outlet for my demons.”
James is looking away from me now, and I feel the closeness slipping.
Creating submission. His time in Hong Kong. With the girlfriend who died of a drugs overdose.
I let the few facts I know about his past jumble around in my mind.
“Today,” says James. “It was like an old habit arose. It won’t happen again,” he adds.
But what if it does? whispers an evil little voice. What if this man likes beating women? Don’t all wife-beaters say sorry afterwards?
I feel myself mentally shaking my head. I trust him.
“What is it about the stables?” I whisper, not sure I want to hear the answer.
James looks shame faced. “This was where I went as a boy, when I was sa
d. I came here a lot,” he adds with a rueful smile.
I ponder this.
“I want you to let me in,” I decide. “I want to know everything about you. I love you James.”
He blinks back at me, as though he’s not sure he believes it.
“Issy, I love you too,” he says. But his eyes close again, in a shamed, pained expression.
Chapter 3
We walk back hand in hand from the stables. But after our moment of brief intimacy, James has stopped talking. We’re both deep in thought. My mind is turning furiously, trying to think how I can possibly get through to him.
So far, I realise, he’s found out everything about me, my past. I know hardly anything about him.
I mentally rake over what I really know of James. He told me about his mother. About the roses. The memory softens me a little. But it was from long ago, I remind myself. Something tells me that James’s real demons happened more recently. And he won’t tell me anything about the time he was addicted to drugs.
I feel a sudden stab of pain. Why won’t he let me in?
Please James. You must know how much I love you.
I gaze around distractedly. It’s so beautiful here. The green grass of James’s country estate. Ordinarily, this landscape makes me feel serene. But the loveliness of the surroundings are failing to have their usual calming effect. I am in turmoil.
James stops suddenly and points to a red-brick wall running along the length of where we’re walking.
“See that?” he asks.
“The wall?” I frown in puzzlement.
“Not just a wall,” says James. “It’s a secret garden.”
“A secret garden?” I can’t keep the frown from my voice. “Like in the children’s book?”
I read The Secret Garden as a kid, and enjoyed it. But as far as I knew, it was all fiction.
James nods and squeezes my hand tighter. His green eyes look darker in the dusk light. It’s hard to see what he’s thinking.
“A lot of these old country estates have hidden walled gardens,” he says. “That’s where the idea from the famous book came from.”
“Why would you build a garden which no one can see?” I’m confused.
James laughs.
“Secret garden is more of a loose term,” he admits. “They’re screened off from staff. So if the lord and lady wanted some alone time, they could go in and be in total private.”