by Cara Dee
"You've really turned this day around for me," she whispers after a moment of comfortable silence. By her voice, I notice she's slipping out of her regression, slowly but surely returning as the beautiful young woman I wish to take on dates. Lifting her head, she gives me a soft smile. "You're amazing, Nicholas."
"So are you," I murmur and cup her cheek. I kiss her because I want to, our tongues meeting almost lazily. "I want this, you…us."
"I do, too." She hugs me tightly. "I know we have a lot to talk about…"
That’s certainly true. There are no rules or relationship boundaries established. We haven't discussed her family yet, and with my phone vibrating on the floor, that can't be postponed. There's no living arrangement, and given that Kayla's new in San Francisco and has no place to stay, it would be so very easy to give her the same offer I've given my previous Littles: a guest room, only…different. Because I want more this time. More than kinky weekends and lonely weeks. I want her in my bed, I want the dates, the vanilla side of things, too.
Patience.
I kiss her on the forehead and squeeze her to me. "This is just the beginning."
Behind the Scenes
Touching Truth, Part I
Greg Cooper
I have more money than they do. Greater success. A bigger home, a nicer car, the latest technology… Yet, they're the ones who are smiling, goofing around, and living life to the fullest.
I see it every time I come here, and I always have to pause before I enter their bar. A hole-in-the-wall kind of place I normally wouldn’t set a foot inside. Hell, I shouldn’t even be in this neighborhood, which happens to be San Francisco's gay district.
Ryan Quinn runs his bar with the familiar ease of a man who's always on top of things. He's friendly though constantly assessing, comes off as lethal and intimidating, and can flash the kindest grins as well as the most wolfish smirks. His chiseled body is battered and full of tattoos and scars, the latter serving as reminders of his years in the Marines.
He's got an easy two decades on his impish wife. Angel works alongside him in the bar, and she can't be more than twenty-two or twenty-three. She's short, soft, and curvy where he's imposing, hard, and immense. Her green eyes meet his steel gray eyes, and they quirk smirks at each other. They worship one another. He throws a wineglass her way, which she catches before opening a bottle for a patron.
When he passes her, he catches a wisp of blond hair that’s escaped her cheeky pigtails and drops a kiss to her neck. She's dyed the tips of her hair pink.
The envy burns hotly within me.
The envy is new.
Straightening my tie, I clear my throat and square my shoulders. Let's at least pretend I have some composure before they take it away from me—again. Twice a month, like clockwork. I always come back for more, because I am a weak fucking excuse for a man.
I take a deep breath, then open the door and enter the establishment. Memorabilia from the Marines, a sports team or two, and political messages fill the walls. Fucking liberals. Breathe a word of anything conservative around them, and they'll string you up by the balls. I would know.
Considering it's early, only a handful of customers are here, and they're gathered along the bar. The five tables and the dart area stand empty until people get off work.
Ryan sees me first and greets me with a lazy grin.
Angel, the little girl with the most deceptive name known to man, smirks deviously. "Hello, pet."
I suppress a shiver and choose a mild scowl instead. I absolutely loathe being called that in front of others, and she damn well knows it. Not that she gives a rat's ass. The only thing she respects are my hard limits.
"Miss Angel," I greet quietly, far more polite than I would've preferred. She grates on my nerves purposely, to push my buttons, and I won't do anything about it. Because I don’t know what's scariest, facing her wrath or Ryan's.
They're both Dominants in a small, private BDSM community. Although, technically, Angel would be a switch. However, she submits to one man and one man only—her husband. She's his angel, princess, baby, wife, treasure, the list goes on. He's her Sir, Master, Daddy, husband… And I'm…none of those things.
"How about a drink before Tory and TJ get here?" Ryan strolls over and pours me a beer, speaking of their two employees. While Angel busies herself with refilling bowls of peanuts, Ryan leans close as I sit down on a stool at the end of the bar. "A heads-up. She's extra punchy today."
Marvelous.
Of course, Ryan loves that.
I swallow hard and reach for my beer. If I were smart, I would hightail it out of here, but I know I won't. Ryan and Angel know it, too.
"You okay?" Ryan bends over slightly, resting his forearms on the bartop.
I incline my head. "Yes."
He cocks a brow.
Fuck. "Sir. Yes, Sir." I struggle with those goddamn titles.
"That’s my boy." He winks and returns to work for a minute.
I gulp down my beer. My boy. I truly am not his boy. He needs to stop calling me that. I'm thirty-eight, for chrissakes. I run a successful law firm with two of my brothers.
Along with the envy toward their evident adoration for each other, a couple other things are new developments. For about six months now, I've been their degradee, punching bag, and… I feel irritatingly embarrassed to even continue that thought. Nevertheless, what I'm not is anything sweet. Yet, the past three or four scenes they've done with me, aftercare has evolved into something deeper, and they've been a bit more affectionate with me.
It's awoken a yearning I have to squash down every time I leave.
I won't allow it.
I'm hardly special, regardless. Given that they're both Dominants, they take in male subs and bottoms regularly for their own amusement. I'm just one of them. I've heard mentions of three other guys, though I suspect one is no longer in service to them.
It's a trade-off. I get to be pushed down twice a month, and they get to let their sadistic streaks run wild. Nothing to yearn for.
Nothing.
*
An hour later, I'm the one who's nothing. In the Quinn couple's apartment upstairs, they roughly push me into their second bedroom, which is more like a playroom. I swim in shame and naked desire as Angel beats the shit out of me.
While I'm restrained on the bed, Ryan's sitting in a chair nearby, lazily stroking himself and enjoying the show. I can't see him too clearly for the tears blurring my vision. Whenever I do catch his heated gaze, the humiliation sears through me with as much force as Angel's lashes. The strands of her floggers patter my exposed body, until she switches to her favorite paddle.
"Kiss it, you meaningless waste of space." She holds the thick paddle in front of my face, and I screw my eyes shut and turn away. Meaningless waste of space. A hot tear trickles down the side of my face, and I have to bite my lip to withhold a pathetic whimper.
This is who you are, Cooper. Face it. Fucking meaningless.
"Daddy, he won't kiss the paddle." She stomps her foot.
"I guess he doesn’t respect you." Ryan hums gravely. "Is that’s how it is, boy? Don't you respect my princess?"
I nearly crush my molars with how hard I bite down. "I'm sorry, Sir," I manage to grit out.
In a heartbeat, Ryan is out of his chair and looming over me, a painfully tight grip on my jaw. "Are you really that fucking stupid? I'm not the one who deserves the apology." With that said, he grabs my balls and squeezes them.
"F-fuck," I choke out, eyes bulging. "I'm s-sorry!" The pain shoots through my body, threatening to cripple me. "Miss Angel, I'm so fucking sorry."
"Satisfied, my love?" he murmurs to Angel.
"Not yet, but I will be," she replies sweetly.
*
"Please," I rasp.
Take it. You deserve it.
I weep like a baby. By now, I'm on my stomach. Hands and feet restrained again. Thighs, chest, and arms burning from Angel's sadism. My cock and balls… I have no words t
o describe the pain. My skin is on fire, blood rushing, adrenaline pumping, shame suffocating.
Take it. You deserve it.
"Ten more," Ryan directs.
It's a thin cane this time. Angel strikes me across my buttocks and growls, "Count, garbage!"
"One, M-Miss Angel," I gasp hoarsely. Oh fuck, I can't. I can't. The pain is too much. "Two, Miss Angel." With each strike, it feels like she cracks my skin. I half expect to see my ass a bloody mess later. "Ow—motherfu—three, Miss Angel."
I bite into the pillow I've soaked with tears, snot, saliva, and sweat.
"Beautiful welts, baby." The lust is clear in Ryan's voice, drawing a shudder from me. "His back might need some claw marks, though."
"Ooh, can I, Sir? Pretty please?" Angel's giddy.
"Go ahead." This is one of Ryan's ways to spoil her rotten. He gets off on seeing her torturing me. "Then it's my turn."
Fuck.
"Yay!" Angel claps her hands and then straddles my ass. I flinch, her cotton panties feeling more like sandpaper. "Color, boy?"
"Gr-green," I cough, and she doesn’t waste time. "Oww!" The agony shocks me when I feel the trail of fire Angel's nails leave behind. All across my spine and shoulder blades, she digs her manicured fingers into my flesh. Downstairs in the bar, I spotted the pastel pink nail polish and white polka dots. Now they might as well be rusty knives.
Piercing through the haze of hurt, the sound of foil being ripped reaches my ears. This is it. More shame. My cock gives a weak twitch, proof of how fucking pathetic I am. Whether it's Angel who uses a toy or a strap-on, or it's Ryan who fucks me, it's the highlight of every scene.
This isn't why you're here. You can't fucking do anything right.
Ryan unties my hands and ankles, not that I budge an inch. I can't. Breathing hurts. Moving my arms would send me into hysterics. My thighs are even worse.
He climbs onto the bed, the mattress dipping with his weight. Angel, on the other hand, is as light as a feather and skips off with grace. I tense up as Ryan plants his big hands on my buttocks and kneads the flesh. I whimper, unable to hold it in.
He makes an appreciative sound. Then he's leaning over me, ghosting a kiss to my neck. "You take my little wife's beatings perfectly, pet."
I shiver to the point of shaking, and his thick cock presses against me, exactly where I'm not supposed to want it. So fucking badly.
He chuckles, clearly noticing when I involuntarily push my ass against him.
Rotten. Rotten through and through, Cooper. You don’t deserve to enjoy anything.
Hauling me farther down the bed, Ryan makes space for Angel, who returns with her favorite vibrator and finds a seat on the pillow I've smothered my sobs in. I cringe at the pain and drag a sore hand down my face, the stubble on my jaw creating a soft rasp. Opening my eyes again, I suck in a breath when I see she's removed her underwear. She spreads her legs, giving me an exquisite view of her baby-smooth pussy.
The words escape me, unbidden. "M-May I serve you, Miss Angel?"
She scrunches her nose. "Um, no. You probably wouldn’t do it right. No offense, but you're kind of useless."
Ouch. I lower my gaze and dip my chin in acknowledgment. Fresh tears well up, and this is why I'm here. To feel awful. To embrace the shame. To get what I deserve.
"I don’t know, princess…" Ryan leans over me again, this time pushing the head of his cock inside me. Slowly. Just an inch at first. "He's been good today, hasn’t he?" Another inch. One more. I gnash my teeth together, eyes closed, and accept the burn. I push back, the way he's taught me. My cock fills with blood and arousal, something I hate but can't stop. "Maybe he can earn a taste?"
Angel pretends to think about it as the vibrator buzzes to life. I doubt she'll want me too close. Fucking her is off-limits, and that’s okay with me, but I do get to please her with my mouth and fingers sometimes.
It makes me feel like I can at least do something good on this earth.
I hiss, Ryan's cock pushing deeper. He groans under his breath, and next I feel his large form covering my body. He's warm and oddly comforting. He's the thuddy hurt. Angel is the sharp, stingy pain. More bite in her.
"Such a sweet bottom." He grips my hip with one hand and drives all the way in, and we curse in unison. "Lovely little cock whore, aren't you?"
"Fuck," I breathe out. "Thank you, Sir."
"You're welcome." He rumbles a husky chuckle and begins to fuck me slowly. Deeply. "What do you say, my angel—should we let him come today?"
I don't deserve to come.
Angel lifts my chin and forces me to look her in the eye. Her gaze is almost as calculating as Ryan's. Sharp, knowing, severe.
Not knowing why, I turn my head and brush a kiss to the inside of Angel's thigh. Don't give me pleasure, please. Her gaze softens, which wasn’t my intention. Maybe I should call her a stupid bitch? I wonder what they'd do to me then.
No. This is the one place I won't step out of line and act like a complete asshole.
"Yes." She nods decidedly and turns off the vibrator. I find myself holding my breath, resigned by the affirmative I don't deserve but frozen with anticipation because she's scooting farther down. "Kiss my special place, sub."
I'm not a sub, but I'll definitely kiss her special place. Letting her sweet scent invade my senses, I drop a gentle kiss over her clit.
"Know what a fucking privilege that is." Ryan's lust-filled warning is emphasized by a harsh thrust of his cock. "Treat her like a queen, or you'll be breathing through a tube for a month."
"Yes, Sir." I bite back a moan and slide my tongue between the soft, glistening lips of her beautiful pussy. She smiles glowingly in approval, the sight filling me with warmth and contentment. It shouldn’t, but I'm helpless. I ache for them to be pleased with me. So I give her all the attention I can muster. I lick her greedily, slowly, quickly, tenderly, and lavish every inch of her with touches. They allow me to use my hands too, and I finger her lightly while I wrap my lips around her clit and suck gently.
"Oh…" She exhales and lets her head fall back. "Maybe he's not completely useless, Daddy."
No, I am.
Ryan grunts and picks up the pace, fucking my ass like he owns it. I suppose, in a way, he does. Without my permission, he has me meeting his thrusts, and my cock is painfully hard. The sensitive skin around it stretches in a way that I feel phantom zings from Angel's beating earlier.
"What would you say, boy?" Ryan dips down and nips sharply at my neck. Then his tongue follows in an openmouthed kiss that elicits an embarrassingly loud groan from me. "Are you completely useless or not?"
"I am," I pant. "Useless, can't do anything right, cock whore, waste of space—" I cut myself off.
Ryan and Angel are good people. If they knew exactly why I was here, they'd stop seeing me.
Angel snickers and snorts softly. "Spell all those words out with your tongue. Right here." She taps her clit.
I shudder and push my erection against the mattress, needing the friction. Even though it hurts like nothing else.
Ryan keeps fucking me, laughing breathlessly. "She's wicked, isn't she?"
"Yes, Sir."
I get lost in them. The pleasure can't fucking be stopped. Unbeknownst to them, he's the first man I've gone all the way with, and Angel… I swallow a trickle of her sweet juices and tongue-fuck her carefully. She's the first woman for whom my desire runs much deeper than I've ever experienced.
They can never know.
*
It becomes too all-consuming in the new position. My sore legs wrapped around Ryan's hips and Angel sitting on my face, they fuck me expertly into bliss I haven't earned for shit. Angel's moans whenever she bucks against my mouth and fingers create a surge of pride and joy within me. She's facing her husband, and I hear when they kiss hungrily above me, the sound only getting hotter with Ryan's groans and growls.
They whisper dirty promises and I-love-yous to each other, using me as the toy I am. I'm a mouth that get
s Angel off. I'm a hole Ryan fucks his release into. And then…the goddamn bastards, they fist my cock and stroke it firmly, slickly, too damn seductively. I nearly jump at the initial touch, but then I'm just begging, pushing my hips upward, and getting too greedy. Not by their standards, maybe. Definitely mine, though.
I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry.
I'm not suffering enough.
Aiming to get Angel off again, I push two fingers deep inside her and kiss whatever wet spot I can reach. She curls against her Master and moans while he murmurs things in her ear. His breathing is labored, a sound I'm growing too fond of.
The lust explodes inside me. I groan against Angel's pussy. Ryan's filthy talk gets to me, and I can't hold back. My entire being stiffens. No, please, stop. Don't. But the second he growls, "Come," there's a shock to my system. The command scares me enough to stop fighting. I let go too eagerly and give in to the orgasm.
Spurts of my release splash against my stomach and chest.
Angel crashes, too. With a gasp and a plea, she falls apart in Ryan's arms.
*
The self-loathing strikes harder than ever during their aftercare.
In the beginning of our arrangement, I didn’t even know it was a thing. My little brother is involved in another BDSM community here in the city, and he's open about it, but I can't say I've listened to any stories he's shared of the lifestyle. And when Ryan and Angel explained it to me, I admit I balked at it. I was firm in my decision. I do not want aftercare. I don't want care, period.
Lately, they insist.
"It's for us, too." Ryan gathers me close, and I screw my eyes shut. "We don't go easy on you, Greg."
I clear my throat, unable to speak. My eyelashes are thick with useless tears, and I'm sick of my own weaknesses. For some reason, I can let them see me sobbing like a loser while they take turns degrading and beating me, but once the scene is over and the vulnerability hits me, I can't stand it. So I hide. In the protectiveness of Ryan's arms, I hide my face and try and fail to reject his comfort.
Angel kneels behind me and rubs cooling lotion into my skin. The room smells of sex and aloe vera, and it's time for me to go. The sex, I can handle. The lotion symbolizes care. Same with her soft kisses. I feel them whenever she reaches a particularly nasty mark.