by Dee Palmer
“Yes,” I whisper. He waits, because I am distracted by his touch, I forgot, but then quickly add, “Sir. Yes, Sir,” I exhale. I have to remember to breathe.
“Tell me about the pain, Lola?”
“Da-”
“ADDRESS ME LIKE THAT AGAIN, AND SEE WHAT HAPPENS!” His voice booms so close to my face, his sweet minty breath rushes my face, but the volume makes me jump back, and I stumble. He grabs my arm to prevent my fall and growls in anger. “The pain, Lola, tell me about the fucking pain.” His voice is calm but no less demanding.
“I… I…” My voice is quiet, tentative, but that is mostly because I don’t know how to say this. It is so raw, and although with anyone else, it is just as easy to lie, I know I won’t have that luxury with him. “I never knew there could be pain like this, Sir.” My voice starts to break, and I suck in a steadying breath. This isn’t a cry and cuddle session, so I need to not cry. “Mostly I am numb, but sometimes I just can’t stand it, Sir.”
“This pain consumes you?” It is a statement and a question.
“Yes, Sir.” I can feel the tension in my own jaw as he forces this excruciating admission from deep inside.
“This pain you can’t handle?” He pushes, relentless, oblivious.
“No, Sir.” I swallow the sudden sob but he notices.
“Then I will give you pain that you can handle. Do you understand, Lola?”
“No, Sir.”
“The pain I can give you will be a pain you can handle, a pain you can focus on to get the release you need.” His deep breath exhales across my sensitive skin.
“You are going to hurt me?” My voice is quiet as I try to understand the implication of what he is suggesting, when he all too quickly replies softly.
“You hurt me.” But then he adds louder more forcefully. “Yes, I am going to hurt you, but no more than you can take and no more than you need.”
“You think I need this pain, more pain?” I am struggling with this concept.
“No, I know you need this pain, and I know you need the pleasure too.” His voice sounds so wicked, my core clenches, and I squeeze my legs at the thought of this pleasure.
“Will I need a safe word?” I can’t believe I am asking this question. The Daniel I trusted I could say stop to, but this feels different. The trust is there, but there is also a darkness.
“Oh, you know, Lola, I think you might.” His voice is seductive, but he speaks with a clenched jaw and repeats, “I think you might.” I get a chill across my skin that makes me tremble, and it is then I realize that this is just as much for him as it is for me. I need to focus on a different kind of pain, and so does he. “So what is your safe word, Lola?” My mind has gone blank, not only can I not think of a suitable safe word, I can’t think of any words. It feels like ages before I manage to speak as my mind tries hopelessly to think of something that isn’t no, don’t, or ow.
“I’m sorry, I don’t know, I can’t think of anything.” I still have my head lowered, but if he could see my eyes, he’d see my vacant expression.
“A colour perhaps. Red is standard,” He offers as a suggestion. It helps.
“Blue!” I fire at him abruptly. “Blue is my safe word.” Blue is not an angry colour, it doesn’t bleed or break. It is calm, safe, and cold.
“Good, let us begin.” He puts his drink on the coffee table, takes my trembling hand, and leads me into the bedroom.
“I like what you’ve done with the place.” His warning glare silences any further comments. It’s only because I’m nervous, a little out of my comfort zone, a little out of any of my zones. I’m not in Kansas anymore.
This room is very different, the walls have a dark silver silk wall covering, and the carpet is a thick dark grey. The windows are covered with a rich, deep red velvet curtain, but it’s the furniture that is the most surprising. The bed is easily a super, super king and has four posts, which reach up from the corners, but don’t join each other. There is no comforter or blanket, although there are several black pillows and the sheet is also a dark silver silk similar to the walls. It is the padded bench with cuffs and chains at the end of the bed that has my heart racing. So do the ropes and ties on each of the four posts of the bed. There is also a rather ominous looking black briefcase next to the bench and a small whimper leaves my throat followed by a louder swallow. Unexpectedly, I receive a small hand squeeze in return, and the gesture is enough to settle me.
“Are you happy with the choices you have made, Lola?” His deep voice brings me back from my assessment of the interior design of his bedroom.
“I don’t have choices, Sir,” I snort.
“Really? All right. Are you happy with the decisions you have made?” Whether he is referring to saving my family or coming here tonight, the answer is the same.
“Yes, Sir.”
“Very well. What we are going to do tonight.” He clears his throat, his voice is deep and raspy. “What I am going to do to you tonight, was always inevitable with us. It’s just that your decisions have made tonight more of a ‘baptism of fire’ as it were, rather than a more gentle introduction, which would have been the case had you behaved differently.” He is standing directly behind me, gently scraping his fingernail up my arm, tracing a line all the way up my neck, and then down my spine to the top of my corset. A trail of sparks follow his touch. It is very distracting, as I try to understand what he is saying.
I think I understand from my limited research that a Dominant/submissive relationship would involve whatever he has planned. He’s a Dom, he does what he wants. I clench at the thought, and I can feel the liquid heat at my core building, my pulse is racing. I am so fucking turned on right now. But he is saying he would have taken it slow, and now that is no longer an option. I didn’t have a choice in this. There wasn’t a choice with the decisions I made, it wasn’t him or them. It was them. He doesn’t love me. He thinks I’m a liar and a cheat who gave up on her family. I am angry, in love, and in pain, and he has promised to help. I hurt him, and he needs something from me, and I think this is it. If he thinks his ‘baptism of fire’ speech is going to have me running for the hills or crying out my safe word every five minutes, he doesn’t know me at all. He may hear me cry out, but he won’t hear my safe word, not tonight.
He walks to the bag and removes some more cuffs. He then turns to face me, and he takes one of my hands. “I had these made for you. The leather is very soft, like your skin. It will constrict you, but it won’t hurt.” He fastens the cuffs on each of my wrists before kneeling and doing the same with cuffs on my ankles. He stands and places his large hand around my neck; his hold is firm. “Your pulse is racing. Do you trust me?”
“Yes, Sir.” My response is an exhaling breath. I must stop holding my breath, or with my blood rushing around my body at this pace, I am likely to pass out. He takes my hand and leads me to the bed where he sits in front of me. He pulls me roughly across his lap, my hands reach to the floor and my feet are on tip toes. I can feel his hot arousal through the material of his trousers, hard against my side. He holds me with one arm across my back. His hand is on my hip, and his other hand pulls my panties down over my bottom to my knees. I feel more exposed than if I was completely naked, certainly more vulnerable. He rubs his hand in circles smoothing the skin creating a gentle heat, and I feel a deep rumble vibrate through his chest. My head shoots up with a cry at the first strike.
“This is your warm-up, Lola. It will help you prepare for your punishment.” He warns.
“I’m being punished?” I whisper.
“Ask me another question, Lola.” His voice is husky, and I can hear his grin. “Please, ask me another question.” Three hard rapid strikes follow his words and I grip my lips together to prevent another question. He rubs his hand over the area, alleviating the sting, but the heat generated is intense. I can’t get enough purchase from my toes to move at all. I can’t wiggle or dip away with his strong arm holding me in place. He continues a steady relentless
rhythm of spank, stroke, spank. My head is dizzy, and my butt is on fire, but then he moves lower and strikes his palm against the sensitive skin below my bottom, on the very tops of my thighs. I scream out; fuck, that hurts. I squeeze my eyes tight, and all I can see is the colour blue, bright blue and bright blue piercing eyes staring into my soul, but I grit my teeth and focus on the pain. I alternate panting and grinding my teeth, but the individual strikes no longer register, just a burning, stinging sensation that I happen to know has me dripping wet.
“You have no choice, Lola? Why is that?” He growls his question.
“I have no choice, Sir,” is my only response.
He helps me to stand, and I have a momentary head rush, where my eyes are glazed, and I am light headed. He stands and leads me over to the bench. I am still a little dazed when he pushes me over to lay my tummy flat across it with my bottom over the end. He clips the cuff on my wrists to the chains stretching my arms over the other end. He stands behind me and pulls my panties all the way off my legs before he clips the ankle cuffs to the chains at the bottom. My legs are spread, not wide but I am again exposed. He runs his hands up my legs and over my burning backside. His hands aren’t rough, but they feel like sandpaper against my now raw and ultra-sensitive skin, and I can’t help but tremble. I have an urgency and desperate need for release. I know if he was to touch me, even slightly, I would come. I am so on edge, I don’t feel any of the pain in my chest, and I don’t feel any of the pain from my spanking; I am just alive with sensation.
“You know you glow for me, when you’re aroused, when you’re wet.” He swipes his finger along the length of my sensitive folds and lightly touches my clit. I buck and jerk, instantly consumed with uncontrollable spasms sweeping my body. A violent explosion takes me completely by surprise with its speed and intensity and leaves me panting for air. He tries to suppress his groan, releasing a sexy primal noise from the back of his throat. “Mmmm,” I hear him lick his finger. He moves back and again reaches into the bag. I can’t see what he has retrieved, but I don’t have to guess because he walks slowly around the bench to where my head is facing and carefully traces the tip of the riding crop down my cheek and across my moist lips. His fingers follow the crop and tuck the stray hair that has fallen across my face behind my ears. “Look at me,” he demands quietly. I obey instantly, I can’t deny the way my body responds to him. I love this feeling of giving him total control, and now I can see his eyes. I love that this clearly pleases him. too. “You have a safe word for a reason.” He clears his throat. “Understand?”
I catch a glimpse of the strained outline of his erection in his trousers, and I am pleased he is as affected as I am. And although I have had my release, my body is clearly building again, and I try to press into the bench for some friction. He very lightly taps my bottom at this movement, and I still. “Yes, Sir, I understand.” My anticipation has my voice on edge.
“Tell me, Lola. Why is it you have no choice?” His repeated question makes me angry, so he gets the same answer.
“I have no choice, Sir.” I snarl my response.
“Mmm lying and impolite, let’s see how that works out for you, and let’s see how long it will be, before you safe word on me, shall we?” He sounds so fucking smug. He stands to the side and strokes my bottom with the length of the crop; I clench with tension and anticipation. I hear the whoosh of air and the loud crack against my backside. The instant slice of pain causes me to scream loudly, and my whole body to jolt. The chains, which hold me, are pulled tight and the cuffs bite into my skin with the force I have pulled at them. Oh, Fuck, that hurts! My tight eyelids are awash with the colour blue, when I jolt again with another swipe. I whimper, but I feel another and another.
“Why do you have no choice?” His voice is raised above my loud panting breaths.
“I have no choice.” I spit out again followed by a ‘fuck you’ in my head. More strikes follow, I don’t know how many. He pauses, allowing me to catch my breath, before he repeats his question. He gets the same response, and I can hear his frustrated, angry breaths, but he continues his strikes moving the crop across every inch of my bare backside. I can feel my skin flame and rise in welts, but rather than tense, I find my body relaxing. A warm blanket flows across my skin, and I sigh; the tension evaporate, and I rest my head. I no longer count, my hearing is muffled, and I can just make out his voice.
“Safe word, Lola. Use your fucking safe word!” His demand sounds desperate. He is furious when I shake my head. He asks again with gritted teeth. “Why do you have no choice?” His voice is angry; he is angry, and I am calm.
“There was no choice,” I sigh, and he has stopped to hear what I am whispering. “Because you don’t love me.”
“Fuck!” He throws the whip across the room. It takes only a moment, and all I can feel is heat, an unbelievable inferno across the top of my thighs and my backside. This heat is quickly replaced by the reality of unbelievable pain. Now this is a pain I never knew existed, and it takes all my focus to concentrate on trying to control it. I focus on small breaths, holding the pain tight, and then releasing it with each tiny breath. I do this a few times, while I am aware that my cuffs are being loosened. I find I am in control of this pain, I can hold it, absorb it, and release it, and I feel better for letting it go. How fucked up is that? How fucked up am I? I let out a small laugh and wince at this tiny movement. Oh, fuck, this is going to hurt. I feel his warm hand on my neck and he rubs his fingers into my hair and leans in to whisper.
“Don’t move, I need to get some cream. I had no idea you’d take it that far.” He sounds upset; he gently kisses my ear. I can’t have him being sweet and tender, not when I’ve gone through that to have a level of pain I can cope with. He leaves the room, and I push myself up and stifle my tears, and I bite a little too hard on my lips, causing them to bleed. Tiny cries are kept silent in my mouth, and I walk out into the living room before he returns from the bathroom. Every step causes a thousand hot needles to race across my skin, and I continue to focus on my breathing; it’s effective, and if I didn’t have to move so much, it would be a perfect distraction. I just manage to pull my dress over and down my body when I hear him.
“Fuck! What do you think you are doing? You need treatment; your skin needs treatment,” he scolds.
“Yes, Sir, and I will treat it when I get home.” He is about to argue, but I continue, “You were right; I did need the pain and the release.” I swallow quietly. “Thank you, Sir.” I go to pick up my coat but struggle with the bend, and he rushes forward to hand it to me. Our hands touch, and I snatch mine back at the painfully familiar spark.
“I should be taking you home,” He grumbles angrily.
“You should, but you can’t,” I confirm, and for the first time tonight, I look into his eyes, which are the deepest blue and swirling with anger. Mine are filled with regret. I am strangely grateful for tonight, but it doesn’t change anything. “Good night, Sir.” He walks to the door, but before I walk out I add. “Don’t call me again.”
“Good night, Lola.” He closes the door.
I have the most uncomfortable taxi journey of my life, as I try to hold my body weight hovering above the seat, my arms shake with tension, and we finally pull up outside the restaurant. The driver has enough tact not to ask why I can’t sit down, I don’t need to add embarrassment to my already painful night. I ask him to wait a minute while I take my boots off in the taxi, I have to crawl onto my knees and pull them awkwardly off from behind but they are killing me, too, and it’s just a few steps barefoot to my door.
“Thank you.” I grab some money for the tip and hand it through the window. “I’m all good here, you’re okay to go home now. Thanks for waiting.”
“My pleasure, love, take it easy.” He winds his window up and pulls away, as I rummage through my bag for my keys. My fingertips just touch the metal when I am forced with brutal strength against the wall, my face pressed hard and my cheek being ground against the rough b
rick. The stench of warm stale smoke fills my nose, and the attacker’s breathing is laboured. His lips are at my ear, and his big strong body has me pinned immobile. His fingers are pressed around my neck. Why can’t I think of what to do? My heart is panicked, and my head is screaming, but I can’t make out what it’s trying to tell me. I am just frozen, terrified.
“There’s my little whore. What kept you so long? Eh? Who have you been fucking tonight eh?” His dirty laugh makes me shiver, his filthy fingers are caressing my neck, squeezing a little too tight, making my pulse race in fear. “It doesn’t matter. After tonight no one’s going to want to fuck you again. I’m to make sure no one wants you after I’ve finished with you.” He grinds roughly into me, pushing my hips hard against the wall, and his other hand tries to grab the hem of my dress under my coat. His nails claw at my thighs trying to grab at panties that aren’t there; they would still be with Daniel. “Ah, fuck, you are a dirty whore, wouldn’t know it to look at you, but, look…” He paws my bare arse, and I scream as he scrapes the tender skin. He pulls me back toward him, and I instantly try to fold forward, the stiff curve of my spine making it impossible for him to get me on my back and drag me that way. He picks me up as if I weigh nothing and throws me with his weight against the wall. I hit hard, winded and feel a crack in my back or might be my ribs, and I fall in a heap on the floor. I flinch from the shooting pain from landing on my backside, but I am quickly lifted by my throat, my feet dangling as I fight for every breath. My head is spinning. What are you doing, Bets? Stop trying to fight him, look at the size of him, think! For fuck sake, think!