by Jade West
“Aye,” I said. “No kidneys, no knees, no neck.”
“That’s about it,” he agreed. “I’m not going to teach you to suck eggs, I’m sure you’re perfectly capable of reading a woman’s arousal. You’ll know when she’s hot enough to play.”
He pulled Cat’s ass cheeks apart, and groaned as he saw how wet she was. “I think you have a fan,” he laughed. “I think my dirty little Cat is enjoying this.” She shuffled in his grip, breath speeding up. “You want Callum to hurt you, don’t you, Cat?”
She nodded, groaning.
“Answer me.”
“Yes, sir, please, sir.”
“Good girl.” He gestured behind me, and I turned to find a rack full of fucking toys. Canes and floggers like the one I’d seen on stage. Flat wooden shapes too, that looked a bit like ping pong bats. “I think we should start with the paddle,” he said. “Good for close contact, easy to read the sub.”
“You want me to hit her with that?”
“Only if you want to.”
“If you’re sure, like.” I took it from the wall. It was heavier than it looked. The handle felt nice in my hand, like it was made for my grip.
“If you’re playing nice, with a decent build-up, you want your submissive’s ass to be well adjusted. The longer the warm-up, the easier she’ll manage the pain. Ever heard of the frog in a pan being warmed slowly?”
“Heard that, yeah.”
“I’m not sure whether the frog would sit it out that long, but the analogy works. Of course there are times you may want a quick, sharp punishment. The rules are there to be broken, but it helps to know them.” He slapped Cat’s arse, steady thwacks over and over. “See the way her skin blooms, Callum? Isn’t it fucking beautiful?”
I nodded, lost for fucking words again.
“Come over here, she doesn’t bite.”
I shuffled over, still unsure, like he’d flip out any second and swing for me. “Feel how warm her skin is.”
I reached out slowly to her arse, brushing her skin with my fingers. My dick fucking jerked, and I stepped away quick sharp. “Yeah, nice.”
“Are you ready for some proper pain, Cat?”
“Yes, sir,” she hissed. “Please, sir.”
“I think you should be asking Callum, not me.”
She turned her head over her shoulder, gorgeous green eyes on mine. My dick twitched again.
“Please, Callum. Please hurt me.”
Masque moved away, gesturing that I should take his place. I approached slowly, warily, out of my fucking depth but really fucking horny. I wished this was Sophie, wished it was her asking for pain. Soon. It would be soon.
I took a breath, looking again to Masque for confirmation.
“Short, sharp smacks,” he said. “Feel her pain, Callum. Her body will show you what’s right.”
Shit. My knuckles were white around the paddle, heart like a fucking steam train. I was too fucking gentle with the first thwack, it hardly made a sound. I didn’t make the same mistake with the second, and she flinched under me, breath heavy.
“That’s it,” he said. “Feel when she’s ready for the next, her body will tell you.”
When I felt her relax at my side, I hit her again, harder this time, and she clenched her muscles, letting out a groan. I found my groove, watching and feeling, and landing that fucking paddle on her skin whenever she felt ripe for it. She rocked against me, breath fucking ragged, the softest fucking moans from her lips.
“Harder,” Masque said. “She’s not made of glass.”
I did hit her harder, and this time the thwack was fucking loud. She yelped, and it got me straight in the dick, the scent of her pussy teasing my fucking nostrils. Her groans encouraged me, instinct taking over. I hit her fucking good, listening to her breath, feeling the tension in her legs as she jumped under the paddle.
It felt fucking awesome.
I felt like a king.
“Make her beg,” he growled. “You’re in control here, Callum, let her know it.”
“Beg for me,” I grunted. “Now.”
“Please...” she hissed. “More, please...”
I gave her more, so much fucking more. I felt myself burning up, stopping just a moment to pull off my hoodie. My hands on her ass, feeling the heat, her scent knocking me, the soft swell of her pink fucking ass threatening to knock me out of kilter.
“Focus,” Masque barked. “Read her body, Callum, read her.”
I reined myself back in, concentrating on nothing but her, the twitch of her legs as I landed her punishment, the moans from her throat. I could feel it, feel her. Feel when she was ready, when her ass was bared for pain.
And I knew, I knew what to do.
“Spread your legs,” I rasped.
She obeyed without question. Fuck, it felt so fucking good. I slapped her thighs, and she hissed in pain. I knew where to strike, I knew when to stop, I knew before she did. She softened, yielding, her breath shallow, legs trembling, and then she moaned, the softest little mewl. I gave her one for good measure and stopped to catch my breath.
Masque was at my side, a strong hand on my shoulder.
“Well done,” he said. “Nicely timed.”
My heart fucking bloomed, and it felt weird. Felt like I was a kid again, when old Jimmy told me I could paint good. Well done, lad, he’d said, you’re a natural. You’ll be an artist one day.
“Thanks,” I grunted.
Cat didn’t move, just lay there, breathing softly. Waiting. She was waiting.
“I think Cat wants to ask you a question,” Masque smiled.
“Please...” she said. “Please may I touch myself?”
I waited for Masque’s answer but he deferred to me. I moved to the side, giving her space before I answered.
“Yeah,” I said. “You can touch yourself.”
I could hardly watch as she reached between her legs. She bit her lip, teasing herself to orgasm without a care for who was watching.
“Tell her she can come,” Masque whispered. “Now.”
“You can come,” I said.
She did. She came fucking hard.
And I loved it. I really fucking loved it.
I was silent as she caught her breath, too fucking aware of the bulge in my jeans and the blood racing round my fucking body. She raised herself from the bench and shot me a smile. A warm smile, full of thanks.
“That was great,” she beamed. “You were great. Thank you.”
“No bother,” I grunted, self-consciousness returning to bite me in the arse.
Masque was waiting for her with open arms, holding her close as he instructed me further. “There’s another aspect of BDSM that may come into play. We call it aftercare in the scene, although I call it common sense. When a submissive comes down from the zone she may feel a little unsteady. It can be a big endorphin crash for the body to take, an adrenaline crash too. She may feel disoriented, shaky, maybe even cold. Physical contact can be good for that, a safe pair of arms to hold her tight until she’s back in control. You’ll know what’s right for the situation.” He led Cat to the doorway, turning back with a smile on his face. “Remember, Callum, the paddle was just one tool. You can use as many as you want, or none at all. The magic is in you, in your manner, in your composure. Find your own groove, use your imagination, and you’ll find your own way.”
I nodded, brain still reeling.
“We’ll send Missy in,” he said. “I think she’ll be keen to see you.”
I fucking hoped so.
***
Sophie
My heart leapt as Masque and Cat arrived at the bar, but Callum wasn’t with them. Masque ordered their drinks, pretending to be oblivious to my questioning stare. I had to reach for him, pulling him close with more urgency than I’d intended.
“Where is he?”
“In playroom four,” he said, simply. “Waiting for you.”
“What happened? Why couldn’t I come?”
He stared at m
e, and it was right about then that I realised how fucking nervous I was, how jealous, how fucking sick to my stomach. “A submissive has no business seeing her dom when he’s exposed in that way, Missy. I showed Callum a few pointers, and he took to them. I’m sure you’ll appreciate the result.”
“Did he... um... did you...?”
His mouth curled into a smile. “There was no sex, if that what you mean. Nothing of the kind. Please give me some credit, Missy.”
I could hardly contain the relief, it washed over me in a wave. “Callum knows I’m coming?”
“Of course. I’ve a feeling it will be a little explosive.”
“Why did you do it?” I quizzed. “Whatever you did, I mean.”
“Maybe I’m getting sentimental in my old age,” he laughed. “Or maybe I just felt like it.”
I stood to leave, excitement burning, stopping only to plant the softest kiss on his jaw. He took my hand in his, squeezed it tight.
“He’s a good lad, Missy. He’ll make a fine dom. Don’t lead him on, though, if he isn’t what you want. If you aren’t the one to give him the chance he needs, just do him a favour and walk away.”
“I’m not playing him,” I said.
“I know you’re not. It’s not your style,” he pressed his forehead against mine, just for a moment. “Just be sure, or let him go.”
I had no answer for him, and he didn’t expect one either.
I left them to it, Cat and Masque and Raven and Cara, and everyone else I knew so well in that place. My heart was already out of there, beating only for the dirty bad savage in playroom four.
He was pacing the room, hands in his hair. His hoodie cast aside, his t-shirt too. His beautiful skin was flushed, and he was hot, frantic, burning up. The room smelt heavy with the scent of sex and sweat, and him. I closed the door behind me, feeling so exposed that my legs started to shake. He had that wild glare in his eyes, the one that had driven me crazy, right from the beginning.
His gaze fell on me, and stayed there.
“Masque said to come in...” I stammered.
There was something different about Callum Jackson now. He looked taller than before, head high and shoulders back. His jaw was set like concrete, lips thin and deadly. Like Masque. He looked like Masque. Shivers danced up my spine, and I was nervous, really fucking nervous.
When the savage pounced I was unprepared. He took me by surprise, lunging without warning, clammy hands on my neck, his mouth hot and wet over mine. His lips suppressed my gasp, tongue forcing its way inside my mouth to wrestle mine into submission. He pushed me backwards without breaking the kiss, and I let him dance me across the playroom. The bulk of the flogging bench stopped me in my tracks, but Callum was prepared for that. He flipped me in a heartbeat, bending me with so much force that my cheek slapped hard against the leather.
“Hands above your head,” he barked.
I did as instructed, wriggling to help as he yanked my dress up and over. He unclipped my bra, wrenched it out from under me, then yanked my panties down until they were bunched by my knees.
His spanking was merciless, the heavy thud of his palm jamming my thighs into the bench with every strike.
“Oh God...” I wheezed. “Yes. Like that!”
His hand plunged between my thighs, finding me so fucking wet for him. He slid his thumb inside, fingers curling round to grind my clit.
“Yes, please!”
“Shut up, Sophie, shut the fuck up,” he growled. “I say what, I say when, I say fucking how.”
He resumed my spanking, and I stayed quiet, gripping the side of the bench as he landed his palms all over my ass, my thighs, even the swollen wet lips of my pussy. I didn’t care where he hit, slipping into subspace like a soft, warm bed. Its endorphin-high glaze cocooned me, swallowed me whole.
I didn’t notice Callum take up a paddle, not until it landed hard on my ass. I arched my back, wheezing out my breath.
“Yes,” he barked. “Fucking take it.”
I nodded, not trusting my voice.
Callum Jackson was brutal with the paddle in his hand, but he was polished. Way more so than I’d expected. He read me with surprising ease, aware of the arc of pain as it crested and eased. He kept me on the edge, until my breathing was frantic and my skin was raw, and then finally, he cast the paddle aside and pressed the weight of his body tight onto mine. His t-shirt sailed across the bench, the heat of his chest so nice against my back. I wriggled underneath him, spreading my legs without reservation.
“Fuck me,” I hissed. “Please, Callum.”
I felt him shake out of his jeans, relieved to feel the swell of his cock against my burning skin. “Gonna take you in the ass,” he grunted. “Gonna take you fucking hard.”
My stomach lurched, nervous of the intrusion, and I was right to be. He spat on his hand to lube me up, but it was fucking tight. I squirmed under him, letting out a yelp as he pressed the head of his cock inside.
“You’re so fucking tight,” he groaned. “You’re gonna milk my fucking cock dry.”
“Do it,” I rasped. “Make it hurt, I don’t care.”
“I hope you fucking bleed.”
I was pretty damn sure I would. It hurt like fuck, a searing pain right the way through me as he forced his entry.
“Do it!” I screeched. “Fuck me, Callum, just fuck me!”
He hissed and spluttered and ground his hips against my ass. Then he fucked me. Hard. It hurt so fucking bad, but it felt so fucking good.
“You wanted this,” he groaned. “You fucking wanted this.”
I had no breath, no words. Just pain. Glorious fucking pain.
“Gonna come in your dirty fucking hole,” he grunted. “Fuck, I’m gonna come.”
He wrapped his hand around my thigh, thumb circling my clit as his cock jerked in my ass. It was enough. Enough to send me tumbling, exploding in beautiful release. My knees went from under me, and only his weight kept me from falling. He pulled out slowly, hands under my thighs to support me as I found my feet.
He spread my ass cheeks, grunting at the view.
“I can see inside you,” he growled. His fingers stretched me open, straining bruised flesh. “Your arsehole is fucking ruined, you’re gaping so fucking wide.”
“It’s fucking sore. I’ll be walking with a limp for a fucking month.”
He let me go, and I rose slowly, flinching at the pain. His eyes were on mine as I turned around, softer this time.
“You alright, Soph?”
I nodded. “I’m great.”
“Sure?”
“Deadly.”
“What d’you wanna do now?” he asked, reaching for his t-shirt. I stroked his chest before he covered it from view, but he didn’t allow me long. His mood had changed, I could feel it, feel the shutters coming down.
“Go home,” I said. “Sleep. Rest my poor battered asshole.”
“You need a lie down? You know... aftercare and shit?”
I smiled. “I’m fine, thank you. Nice thought, though.”
He shuffled on the spot. “Ain’t no good with this small talk shit, dunno what to say.”
I reached for his hand, stroking his knuckles with my thumb. “You don’t need to say anything. Just don’t leave.”
“Ain’t going nowhere,” he smiled. “Not if you don’t want me to.”
My stomach did the dance again, the one packed with butterflies on speed. I didn’t want Callum Jackson to go anywhere.
***
Chapter Ten
Sophie
I squeezed Callum’s thigh, but he didn’t respond, staring blankly out the taxi window at the city lights. When the car turned onto East Veil he pulled his hood up, wrapped himself that little bit tighter.
“My stop,” he said. “Thanks for the ride and... you know.”
The driver pulled up on a side street by the East Veil subway, and Callum slipped away without any more words, raising his hand only briefly before disappearing into the night. He mo
ved quickly, like an alley cat, keeping close to the shadows of the buildings with his head down low.
“Canary Wharf, Miss?”
I met the driver’s eyes in the rearview mirror. Willed myself to say yes.
“Follow him please. Catch him up.”
Shit.
We caught up with Callum Jackson as he crossed the street by the old retail units. I wound down the window, beckoning him over.
He leaned down, his face right next to mine. “What you forgot?”
“You,” I said. “Come home with me. Stay.”
His face was a picture, eyes wide with shock. “Stay?! With you, like?”
“Yes. With me.”
“Can’t,” he said. “Gotta get back for Casey.”
I could feel the pulse in my temples. “Bring her.”
He smiled. “Ain’t no good indoors. She’ll mess things up.”
“So, we’ll cope.”
His expression turned dark, lost in bewilderment. “You shitting me? This some other game...?”
“No,” I said. “No game.”
He looked into the darkness towards tower two. “Shit, I’m not sure, Soph. She’ll trash the place.”
“We’ll keep an eye on her.”
“Yeah, but...”
I looked at the meter, at the driver’s amused eyes in the rearview. “Forget Casey for one second. What do you want to do?”
He shifted awkwardly. “I...um... ain’t really stayed over before. Nowhere. Not for the night.”
“Do you want to?” I knew I was pushing him, but the moment was passing us by.
“Yeah,” he answered. “Yeah, I’d like that.”
“Then, we’ll get the dog,” I said.
***
It cost me a small bloody fortune to have the dog in the taxi, but I’d shrugged aside Callum’s protests. I simply couldn’t care less. Casey bounced around my feet as we entered my building, provoking raised eyebrows from the reception desk. I glared them down, reminding them without words whose fucking parents owned the building. Tenancy terms and conditions can kiss my sore arse.
“This a pissing hotel or summat?” Callum asked in the lift.