Waiting for Him

by Natalie Dae

  “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.

  “I fear I’ve selected the harsher type,” he said, then pursed his lips in a signal of regret. “What do you think, pet?”

  “No. It’s perfect.”

  “Perhaps the studs should have been more rounded. Like those on the leather armchair in my office, yes?”

  “No. No.”

  He slipped his hand through the thin loop and gripped the handle. She swallowed a swell of exhilaration that fizzled in her throat. He was going to use it. Was going to strike her.

  And she was going to be taken on a journey she’d been looking forward to for far too long.

  Chapter Three

  My pet,

  I’m just about to go into the meeting, but I wanted to address your last email. It’s good of you to say you don’t want me to change, but you’re so transparent! Of course you want me to change if you expect me to strike you when pain doesn’t turn to pleasure. I know there are things you want, and I know I come across as expecting to have it all my own way, but this is not about me wanting or needing full control. You have my motives confused. Can I just suggest that maybe you’re so fixated on what will occur tonight—possibly owing to having been thinking about it for such a long time—that all you can see is the word “No!” when in actual fact I haven’t said no, have I, pet? On the contrary, if you look back over this conversation you’ll see I’m more than willing to paddle you hard, studs and all—otherwise, why would I have bought the paddle?—but my main point has been that I will stop if I feel you can’t take any more.

  I don’t quite understand how you’re missing that aspect.

  Yes, I see what you’re saying about only you knowing your body and how much you can handle, but don’t forget, I’ve been a Dom for years and I know the signs when a sub is going beyond her pain threshold. I saw it with the whip, remember? It was luck on your side that meant I didn’t have to stop that time, but I was about to. Just hope that luck is on your side tonight and everything you anticipate happens. I want it to, of course I do, because you getting ultimate pleasure from this experience is paramount.

  Listen, I have to go. Now you need to take that shower. I’ll be thinking of you.

  The scent of polish from the tabletop wafted up. Shara’s cheek was getting hot, as was her cunt, the air doing nothing now to cool her exposed flesh. John was still examining the paddle, at first smacking it lightly against his palm then harder. He frowned, pursed his lips, and cocked his head as though thinking of whether she could cope with the studs. She counted the top row—ten studs—then counted down—fifteen studs—and fully understood why he had misgivings. If he smacked her with his usual force, all those studs connecting with her skin at once would produce quite a sting. She held back laughter. A sting… Still, she had mentally prepared herself for it, and although thoughts of what it might be like didn’t always match reality, at least she’d be some way towards realising the ferocious experience this spanking might become.

  I can do this, John. I want this.

  As John struck his palm again and again, she took the time to ask herself whether she had been totally honest with him. Was she really going to shout ‘renoncer’? Did she have the sense to override that stubborn streak inside her and know when to wave the white flag? Was she cutting off her nose to spite her face here? Just to show him that she called the shots? A small part of her—the part she was ashamed of—admitted that there was a likelihood she wouldn’t utter that word no matter what. Then she thought of what he’d said—about the trust and him keeping her secret should she be unable to continue. She’d be giving him a gift, one that spoke volumes regarding how she felt about him. She’d be handing herself over, all of her, including this nugget of separateness she’d been grasping to her chest so tightly, refusing to let it go.

  Shara shifted to become more comfortable on the playroom bed. Her wrists were bound to the far posts, the metal handcuffs on their tightest setting, clinking or scraping every so often against the poles. “What does the safe word even mean, John?”

  He stood at the foot of the bed and toyed with a flogger. The strands slipped between his fingers, reminding her of thick hanks of his hair. “It means to give oneself up, pet.”

  “I see. And in what way do you mean that?” The breeze from the open window cooled her overheated skin—especially that of her belly, scored as it was with criss-cross raised welts from the very strands that hung between his fingers.

  She had asked him to use it on her stomach rather than her arse, wanting to see what it felt like on even softer skin. To push herself. It had stung—God, it had stung—but the ends of those strands had met with the fleshy pillow just above her cunt opening, sending stunning vibrations to her clit. She had come after only ten strikes.

  He smiled. “When you speak it, you’re admitting you have had enough.”

  “Is that all it means to you?” She raised her eyebrows, knowing it went deeper than that. Everything went deeper with John.

  He stopped playing with the flogger. “No.”

  “Then tell me, tell me what else it means.” She wanted to get inside his head, like he was inside hers. She wanted to share all of herself with him—apart from that little nugget.

  “That you trust me to understand that you’re in control of yourself, you know your limits. And, in turn, it lets me know your limits for certain. Don’t forget, I will have been doing something to you that brings pain. I will have been watching your reactions, gauging when the pain level rose and how you reacted to it. I keep it in mind for next time, and as I near that point again, I become more alert, ready for you to say the safe word.”

  “But I haven’t said it as yet, John, and I doubt I ever will.”

  “Of course you will. One day.”

  “No,” she said, the word tinged with a little force. “I won’t.”

  “I could take that to mean you don’t trust me enough to know your limits, or that you can’t bring yourself to fully give yourself up. But that’s all right. It’ll come in time. Remember, we haven’t been together that long. Two years isn’t enough to know everything about a person. To feel comfortable enough to surrender all that you are.”

  “I trust you, John, I just…”

  “I understand, pet. Believe me, I understand.”

  And he did understand, she knew that. Knew it was she who had the problem and not him.

  He struck his palm hard, winced, then glanced at her. Smiled. “Are you ready, pet?”

  She nodded, several curt up-and-downs, thinking that she’d either come across as eager for him to begin or that she was convincing herself she was ready. She hoped he took it as the former—she was as ready as she
was ever going to be. Closing her eyes, she listened to him moving to stand behind her, the brush of his trouser leg on the back of her knee a tantalising thrill. Those goose bumps skittered again—here, there, everywhere—and she licked her suddenly dry lips. Excitement and a tweak of fear roiled in her belly, and her cunt responded with involuntary clenches, her clit throbbing, expanding so that she got the over-full feeling that made her think it was going to pop from the strain of bliss. She gripped the table edge harder, the wood digging into her skin a good distraction. If she concentrated on that…

  The paddle connected with her arse, and she let out a whoomph of air and a strangled groan. She hadn’t been expecting him to strike so quickly, and cursed herself for not being ready. The hit was light enough that she only received a smidgen of pain compared to what she’d endured in the past, although someone being spanked for the first time might say it was more than a smidgen. For her it was much like the bite of the whip, something she had grown accustomed to. But he had gone easy on her—too easy—and despite the warring emotions inside her—you should have struck me hard straight off, John… I’m glad you didn’t hit me full force… God, I’m so glad you didn’t do that—she allowed a second or two to berate herself then relaxed. Waited for the next hit. Her arse stung in what felt like a million places, a million pinpricks of delight that burrowed from the surface of her skin right down into her hip bones. She liked it, loved it, adored it, and for a moment wondered, if this light hit gave so much pleasure, what a harder one would deliver.

  John struck again, double the strength of the first one, and her body shunted up the table. She almost lost her grip on the edge, and as a shout of surprise brewed she inhaled deeply, losing herself in the million pinpricks becoming twofold, the heat of pain tunnelling deeper still, right into her damn marrow. She shuddered, the kick of getting what she wanted streaking through her to mesh with the sensations of pain. Her breath caught in her throat, her head spun, and one of her knees jolted.

  “Are you all right, pet?”

  She nodded again, catching her bottom lip between her teeth.

  “Is there anything you want to say?” he asked.

  “More. Do it again. Harder. Sir.”

  She lifted her head and glanced back at him, primarily to check whether he was willing to go further but also to let him see her eyes. The naked want in them, the message that she was fine, that she could handle this.

  “Very well, pet.”

  He lifted the paddle and for a split second she toyed with the idea of watching it arc, seeing it soar through the air then hit her. Instead, she closed her eyes and managed the count of ‘one Mississippi’ before that stud-covered rectangle whacked onto her arse, overlapping the previous site by what she judged as a couple of inches, gifting fresh, deliciously spiteful pain to the skin closest to her crack. Her flesh quivered from the assault, sending ripples of movement down her arse cleft and into the pulsating folds of her cunt. She wanted to order him to strike again, harder, faster, with barely any space in between, a full-on, frenzied thrashing that would have her sinking to her knees, her hands sliding over the tabletop as she scrabbled to regain purchase.

  “What do you want, pet?”

  “Lots more. One after the other. Quickly, Sir.”

  She angled her head and opened her eyes, looking at him in the mirror. He didn’t meet her eyes in the reflection but studied her in person. A curved curtain of his hair hung against one cheek, the ends resting on his shoulder, the other side flicked back so she could see all of his face. She felt like a voyeur, ogling his bare emotions this way, like someone spying on a private moment that wasn’t meant for anyone else’s eyes. But he wasn’t one to shy away from expressing himself—he’d given her all of himself too many months ago to count.

  Guilt prickled her. So why couldn’t she do the same for him? Why did she feel she needed to hold on to that one remaining thing?

  Because if I let myself go completely…I risk getting hurt.

  Shoving that thought aside, she held her breath as he lifted his arm. He grimaced, possibly steeling himself for the barrage she’d requested, then brought his arm down. This time she watched the paddle meet her flesh, surprised he had used the non-studded side to give her a flat, rigid slap to her arse cheek. About to protest, Shara was stunned into silence as, on the upswing, he flipped the paddle around then swung it down again, stud side on skin. She held back a scream through fear he’d think she was crying out from the pain being too harsh, and dug her top teeth into her lower lip. She gave in to the experience, seeing him repeat the motions—flat side, stud side, flat side—knowing he would continue now, his hair swinging along with his arm, his eyes flickering to check her face for signs of any distress.

  It hurt. Pain unlike any other streaked from the landing sites and echoed throughout her body. Homed in on her soul and squeezed, twisting and ripping, urging her to let go, to admit that it was too much. But, God, it was more than she’d imagined. Better. Fulfilling. The vibrations created were horrendous yet beautiful, the splashes of pure hot stinging a tortured delight. She struggled to keep her eyes open, wanting to see what he was doing yet wishing she could just drift away. There she was, one foot outside that outer circle, the other in. It would only take a second to float to the place where she could hover above herself, watching, seeing, but not feeling the pain as starkly as it was now. He continued slapping, his movements a blur, his breathing ragged, his grunts loud, and at last the thrumming in her clit began. With each strike her cunt buzzed, and she pressed herself to the table, gyrating so her hard nipples gained some friction. She licked her lips, a scream flowing between them soon after, and then her knees gave way.

  She sank to the floor as she’d imagined she would. John tossed the paddle aside and went down on his knees beside her, cradling her to him and murmuring that she would be all right.

  “I’ve got you, pet. I’ve got you…”

  The heels of her feet grazed the tender flesh of her arse, producing a fresh zing of pleasure in her clit. She rested her brow on his shoulder, shifting so she straddled him. Quickly, she unpopped the button of his trousers then drew down his zip, impatient to release his cock. It jutted out, a beckoning temptation she wanted to lick, to suck into her mouth until the head bumped the back of her throat, but her cunt was too needy—she was too needy. Being filled was uppermost on her mind. She positioned him at her entrance, gripping his shoulders, then lifted her head.

  As she lowered onto him, the burn of his girth stretching her wet and greedy hole, her gaze fixed on his eyes, she whispered, “Renoncer…”

  He didn’t respond with anything except crushing her to him and pressing his mouth to hers, giving her a spine-tingling, toe-curling kiss where he seemed to infuse her with his love. Tendrils of it spiralled in search of her soul, her heart, and touched her there with tender, wonderful fingers. Liberation sped through her veins, leached out of her body and onto the surface of her skin, spreading everywhere to envelop her in the safety freedom provided. She held back a sob as they kissed, raising one hand to grip his long hair and fist it. She started a frantic up-and-down rhythm, the width of him growing, the stretch of her cunt exquisite. Each time she lowered and her sore arse cheek met with the material of his trousers, it reminded her of what she had discovered.

  “I understand, pet. Believe me, I understand.”

  John broke their kiss and Shara leant back to look into his lust-darkened eyes.

  He stared at her for a moment, blinking several times. “Good girl,” he whispered, the words permeated with a breathy quality, as though he didn’t trust himself to speak any louder. Glancing down, he murmured, “Look at that, pet. Look at the way your cunt lips move. Look at that wet ring of flesh around my cock.”

  She did as he’d instructed, what he’d said encouraging a flourish of desire to flood her system. The sight of him inside her uncoiled the built-up excitement in her clit. It reached out as what she imagined to be shimmering vines that grew as
fast as weeds, seeking out her pleasure spots. Her channel spasmed, clutching his cock so she had to work harder to move him in and out. She rose quickly then slammed down forcefully, repeating the action again, again, again until her cunt grew wetter. She flung her head back and delighted in the slide of him, slippery from her juices.

  John tweaked her nipples, giving them short, sharp yanks towards him. She pushed her chest into his hands, then eased backwards, gazing down to look at how her buds distended and the lower swell of her breasts lifted. She grunted at the same time as John, pushing herself closer to the ultimate climax, wanting him to come at the same time.

  “That’s it, pet,” he ground out.

  She raised her head and stared at him, pumping up and down, sweat breaking out on her forehead. She went for it, a frantic fuck, bliss growing in intensity until she held her breath, awaiting to crest the peak. She reached it swiftly, tightened her grip on his hair and shoulder and let out an animalistic moan. She sounded primal, feral, and John groaned in response, jerking at her nipples, the heels of his hands resting on the lower half of her breasts.

  “I’m coming,” he said, still staring at her. “Fuck, Christ, I’m coming…”

  She upped her pace, canting her hips slightly and moving forward a touch so his skin abraded her clit. She gyrated on his patch of hairs each time she drew his full length inside, grinding, then rocked in quick-fire moves. He let go of one hard bud, smoothing his hand down her side to cup her tender arse cheek. His palm on her skin awoke the semi-slumbering pain, and that was all she needed to send her crashing over. She cried out, long and lusty, every nerve ending on fire. Darts of pleasure rippled from her cunt, a constant throb-and-thrum of ecstasy. Her body juddered, creating more rasping on her clit, and a gabble of nonsensical words poured out of her mouth.

  “Come, pet, come. That’s…ah…it. Come…” John said.

  She went to respond but John slapped her arse—hard—stunning her into silence. She shut her eyes. His hot cum heated her channel, seeping down as she rose up. Shara tried to soak up every feeling at once—cock in cunt, hand on arse, finger and thumb on her nipple, John’s hot, heavy breaths on her chest, her neck, her ear—but couldn’t bring them all together. They were fractions that made her orgasm whole, and as much as she tried to gather them together they remained apart, each sensation eddying in their various locations, driving her insane.