by EM BROWN
But I change my mind on the next blow. This one bites into my ass, leaving me breathless.
He puts his hand on the arch of my derrière. "Stay still. I don't want the crop to land in the wrong place."
The next few smacks are the hardest yet. I cry out at each one, and the stinging doesn't dissipate as quickly as before. The tingling of my skin turns into a burning sensation.
"How are we doing, Virginia?"
"Good."
Maybe I shouldn't have said that for it turns into an invitation to spank me harder. One of the strikes brings tears to my eyes. I start thinking about my safety word.
"You're doing great," he says, pausing to caress the need still pulsing between my legs, building the agitation and making me feel like I'll happily endure more of the crop if he will just make me come.
A minute or so later, he returns to hitting me with the crop. It's getting more challenging keeping my ass in the air for the sole purpose of receiving pain. But I don't want to come across wimpy. I don't want him to regret spending more time with me. So even though I feel like I'm getting poked by hundreds of needles each time the crop falls, I refrain from using my safety word. Plus, when he fondles me, the pain recedes in favor of lust. I moan in pleasure as he plays with my clit.
"You want me to make you come, don't you?" he asks.
I murmur, "Yes, Sir."
"That will be your reward for doing such a good job."
He leaves to put the crop in a basket by the doorway. I'm thinking that's where the used implements go, hopefully to be cleaned before their next use.
"Now for the thudding."
I wonder which items deliver thuds over stings. They all seem like they're capable of both.
He spots my textbook. "This will do."
Oh my God. I never would've thought economics could be used for this.
He kneels behind me, and there are no gentle taps this time.
Whack!
My body is driven into the mattress, taking away my breath. Whereas the sting of the crop made me feel as if my skin might crack open, the textbook feels like it will give me bruises. I'm not sure which is worse.
Whack!
I feel the blow all the way from my ass to my head. I'm never going to be able to look at my textbook the same way again. How am I going to read about supply and demand curves now?
"Stay still," Tony reminds me when my body wavers.
He delivers another teeth-jarring blow. Why did I agree to do this?
He answers my question when he touches me, tenderly caressing my burning, aching rump. His fingers return to working their magic. While he strokes my clit, he sinks his thumb into my slit. I’m still a little sore there, but it feels like my clit is being pleasured on both sides, inside and out. I start to tremble. The pain starts blurring with the pleasure, which is much more intense than the masturbation he performed on me at the Drescott. I pray he doesn't stop until I climax.
"Is there something you need to ask me?" he prompts.
Question? What the hell is he talking about?
He withdraws his hand.
No! Don't do that. I can do this. Question. He wants a question. I try not to panic.
And then it dawns on me.
"Can I come, Sir?"
He wallops me with the textbook. "That's to help you remember."
“Thank you, Sir.”
“You can come.”
When he returns to fondling me, I murmur another, "Thank you, Sir."
My orgasm swirls inside me, ready to burst, mixing pain and pleasure. And when I come, I’m riding a new and beautiful high. I’m like a surfer catching a wave, not the quaint Atlantic ones, but the larger Pacific kind. It washes over me, trembling my body. My limbs would probably be flailing if they weren’t bound.
When I finally wash up on the beach, a long and contented sigh escapes me. I wallow in the bliss until the discomfort of my position and the pain in my rear return to my awareness. The blood pulses strongly between my thighs, reminding me it was all worth it.
I want to stretch out or fall onto the mattress, but Tony isn’t done.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
I hear him unzip his pants and sense him kneeling behind me. Craning my head, I see him take off his shirt. He must have brought along one of the condoms, which he opens. After putting it on, he rubs his cock along my folds. I find myself eager for him. He’s given me two amazing orgasms, I want him to get his.
“You should see how beautiful your ass is right now,” he says as the runs his thumb where the crop had stung the most. “Do you bruise easily?”
“I don’t think so,” I answer, but it may be a while before I’ll want to sit down.
His thumb comes close to my anus, and I jump.
“Not ready to lose your last virginity?” he asks.
“Definitely not,” I reply.
He murmurs, “I may make you change your mind about that.”
My heart skips a beat. I’m not ready for anal sex. It just sounds so wrong. And I don’t see how it can be pleasurable. As much as Tony turns me on, I don’t know that I will ever want to do it with anyone.
Again I’m cognizant of the helpless position I’ve put myself in. If he wanted to penetrate me there, I wouldn’t be able to stop him. He’s right: selling my virginity this way was dumb.
But when his cock strokes my clit, I feel my IQ dropping. My body has become a glutton for orgasms. At the moment, however, I would be happy just to feel him inside me.
I push myself against his cock. He obliges and pushes a few inches into me. My pussy gleefully takes him in, though it hasn’t healed from the previous stretching. He rubs my lower back before sinking further in. I gasp at how hard and large he feels. He rests inside me, grunting when my muscles involuntarily flex about his shaft. Though my pussy is still raw, I savor how he fills me.
“What is your safety word?”
Why is he asking me that? What is he planning on doing?
“Tar Heel,” I answer.
He pulls out a few inches, then sinks back in.
“Did you like the crop?”
I hesitate, then say, “Yes.”
“Is that the truth? You must not lie to me.”
“I liked that I got to come after it was all done.”
He keeps his thrusting to small, slow movements, as if acclimating me to him while finding the angle that makes me go weak in the knees.
“Did you like being spanked with your textbook?”
“Honestly? I would have preferred something else just ‘cause...it’s a textbook, not a BDSM thing.”
“You’d be surprised what can be used for BDSM.”
He pushes himself deeper, then reaches for the vibrator, which he turns on and holds to my clit.
Oh. My. God.
The combination of the stimulation to my clit and the sensation of being stretched by his cock is other worldly. My arousal is doing the happy dance. Actually, it’s not just happy. It’s ecstatic.
I gasp. I moan. I whine.
I can’t believe I whined, but my control over my body is tenuous. I no longer feel how my shoulders and neck are sore, how my lower body is cramped. All that I feel is his hardness buried inside me and the vibrations jammed up against my clit.
His body cages me, and I bump against his chest. I want to drown in him, drown in the amazing sensations he’s wrecking me with, the climax he’s building for me.
But it’s not easy with Tony. He turns off the vibrator. After a few languid thrusts, he asks again for my safety word.
“Tar Heel,” I repeat.
He slams into me so hard I think I feel the concrete beneath the mattress. Over and over his pelvis slaps my sore bottom, reminding me of every strike of the crop, every smack of the textbook. I feel the drilling in my entire body, not just my pussy. After thrusting fast and furious, he gives me a reprieve and brushes aside the hair that has fallen over my face. I gulp, still semi-stunned at the throttling I just received.
> He changes up the motion, opting for a deep hard shove, followed by a slow withdrawal, then another deep hard shove. I whimper in between the pounding, but I refrain from using the safety word. I think it will please him if I don’t. I opened the door to all this, and I am not going to retreat.
He accelerates his thrusting, holding my hips so that he can go as deep as possible. After getting banged like this—I wonder if this is how it feels to get sacked in football, only football players have the benefit of padding—I start to crumble. The safety word is on the tip of my tongue.
Tony’s grunts turn into a roar. He bucks his hips ferociously before slowing down considerably. I can’t remember feeling so relieved. He came. Which means he’s done.
Hopefully. I think I can never be sure what to expected with Tony.
After a few more pumps, he pulls out and unties my wrists. Even though I desperately want out of my position, it hurts to stretch myself out. I collapse onto the mattress, my body feeling bruised on the inside. Tony wasn’t just trying to fuck me hard. It felt like he was trying to fucking kill me.
I hear the vibrator turn on. Part of me doesn’t want to feel anything. My body just needs to recover. But after a minute or two of the vibrations, I become receptive, then more than receptive. The vibrator still takes a little getting used to, but the stimulation has my arousal back to where it left off before he started pounding me into oblivion. I cry out as the orgasm bursts within me. As before, my clit quickly becomes overly sensitive, and I grab his hand with both of mine to push the vibrator away, but he keeps me in that head-rattling space for several seconds longer before easing the vibrator away.
Laying there, I feel like I might never be able to get up. I can’t believe what my body has just been through. Something more painful than running several miles when I’m one of the worst runners in my class, yet more thrilling than a roller coaster and waking up on Christmas morning.
“Was I too hard?” Tony asks as he lays beside me.
“Yes,” I say meekly.
“Why didn’t you use your safety word?”
“I didn’t want to.”
He eyes me with what looks like wonder. I turn my head and meet his gaze. The words are out of my mouth before I can deliberate their wisdom.
“I’d do it again.”
Laying back, he stares at the ceiling. “Don’t tempt me, ma petite.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
“Does this mean I get to finish out the week?” I ask when we’re in the car driving back to Marin County.
“I haven’t decided,” Tony responds. “You’ll get your money either way.”
I’ve made it known that I’m okay with sticking to the terms of the contract, so I don’t belabor the point. I’m just glad that he’s going to keep me a while longer. I wiggle a little in my car seat, stoking the rawness of my ass to remind myself of what I’ve been through. Tony had applied a balm to my bottom to cool the skin and help it heal. Even though I cleaned myself at The Lair, the wetness is still dripping, and I don’t like having to sit in moist undies. I’m also a lot more sore between the legs.
But it was all worth it. God Almighty was it worth it.
“I don’t have to call you ‘Sir’ in front of Eric and Sierra, do I?” I suddenly wonder.
“That wasn’t one of my rules,” he replies with half a grin. “That was all you.”
Realizing that’s true, I blush. "So, are you a long-time practitioner of BDSM?"
"What do you consider a long time?"
"I don't know. Over a few years?"
"Then yes. I started when I was about seventeen."
"Is that when you lost your virginity?"
"Not long after."
I wonder what it would be like to lose one’s virginity as a teenager, in high school.
"How did you get into it?" I ask.
"I have cousins who were into hentai. They especially liked porn featuring kinbaku."
I think about Christian Grey's background. "Did you have a special instructor?"
"My subs were my best instructors, but in terms of technique, I learned a lot from my cousin Shen. He used to go to school in this area. Stanford."
"Is he still here? In California?"
Tony seems to stare off into the distance, somewhere beyond the highway. "I don’t think so."
I get the feeling this cousin of his is a sensitive topic, so I veer the conversation elsewhere. "Has your family always been in the hotel business?"
"We've owned residential dwellings for centuries."
"Do you like it? The hospitality industry?"
"Do you like it?"
"It's a job. I'm not looking to be a hotel maid for the rest of my life."
He chuckled. "If you could be anything, if you didn't have to worry about money or what it takes to get there, what would you be?"
I think for a moment. "I’d still want to do something in social work.”
“You don't want to do something more glamorous? Become a singer or movie star?"
“Social work is meaningful to me. You won’t make a ton of money or change the world, but you can change someone's life, like Lila did for me."
"That's it? No other ambition?"
Maybe he thinks a career in social work is boring. "Do I need to have other ambitions?"
He looks over at me, appraising. "Most people I know aspire to money or power. And lots of it. They don't seek meaning."
"That's kind of sad. What do you aspire to?"
For a second he seems befuddled, as if no one's ever asked him that before.
"I have more money than I know what to do with. And money is power. So on those fronts, I'm done."
"And meaning? Is that something you feel you want?"
"I'm not like you, Virginia. I'm a selfish bastard. I don't have a lot of redeeming qualities. The world would probably be better off without me."
"That's a harsh thing to say about yourself. "
"It's the truth. I don't romanticize my existence."
"Even so, you’re more than you give yourself credit for."
"You think I fucked you because you wanted it? La merde. I fucked you because I wanted it. And I fucked you the way I wanted to fuck you. You can't pretend you liked it. I know it hurt."
I look down at my lap, then up again. "But you almost didn't. You wanted to take me home. I'm the one that convinced you otherwise. You can't take all the blame."
He frowns, and I feel as if I've said something else, something other than what I actually said or meant.
"And if I were a good person, you'd be back home instead of in this car. But like I said, I'm a selfish bastard. A part of me just wants you for a fuck toy and not care what it does to you."
I want to gulp but can’t. After I find my voice, I ask, “What does the other part want?”
He continues to stare ahead. “Maybe there’s no other part.”
It seems wrong, but I think I might be okay with that. Am I so starved for a guy’s desire such that I’m willing to be devalued into a sex object? Is my self-esteem that low? Or is it the fact that it’s wrong that makes it intriguing? I know I’m not okay with being a sex object for just anyone. In fact, I balk at the idea. But with Tony...I find it arousing.
For now. I may think differently, a whole lot differently, later.
We drive in silence for a while till I remember that I should give Talia the heads up that I might not be home tonight or she’ll wonder. I take out my phone to text her.
“What app is that?” Tony asks.
“It’s this new thing called BW2T, Better Way 2 Text. You can integrate it with a whole bunch of other social apps and create your own emojis. Plus, it has a huge selection of gifs. It’s supposed to make texting more fun.”
When the car pulls up in front of Eric’s place, I’m disappointed. I want Tony to myself.
“Changed your mind?” Eric asks Tony with raised brows when he sees us both.
“Yes,” is all Tony says, sounding slig
htly annoyed with the question.
“We had dinner already, but there’s probably leftovers in the kitchen.”
Tony turns to me, but I reply that I’m not hungry. I take my duffel bag and textbook upstairs back to the room I had the first night. At least now that I have my textbook, I can study. I’ll miss Mr. Parker’s office hours, but maybe there’s a computer or tablet I can borrow to download the class notes.
“So how’d you get Tony to change his mind?” Sierra asks, leaning against the doorway with her arms crossed in front of her.
“Pretty much begged him,” I reply, surprising myself with my retort. Usually I’m stumped and can never think of a comeback.
Sierra snickers. “So he felt sorry for the little redneck.”
Refusing to take the bait, I don’t answer.
“So how come you guys were gone so long?” Sierra asks.
“We went for a late lunch, early dinner thing,” I reply, then ask her so she doesn’t probe too much, “What did you and Eric do?”
“Hung out in the hot tub. Had drinks. Sex. What did you think we were doing? Watching a stuffy historical documentary on PBS?”
That girl needs some courtesy slapped into her, I imagine Lila saying. And Lila would do just that if she could be certain she wouldn’t land in jail for it. The thought amuses me and dissolves my irritation towards Sierra.
I pick up my textbook and open it, hoping she gets the message, but it backfires.
“I wonder what Mrs. Ruiz or Mr. Danforth would say if they knew you were fraternizing with a guest,” Sierra says. “And not just any guest.”
The Montclair has strict guidelines about employee interactions with hotel guests. I’d probably get fired. And I can’t afford to be without a job right now.
“Hopefully they don’t find out,” I reply, meeting her gaze. The only way they would find out is if Sierra tells them. Or Tony. But he doesn’t seem likely to.
“Yeah,” was all Sierra said.