I’d probably come on the spot just from seeing her bra.
Idiot.
Why had he put off sex for so long? His dick already felt like it was twice its usual size and painfully swollen. Not comfortable to say the least.
“Come here, Angel.”
He stood and went to the bathroom door. She’d placed a couple of towels on the floor in front of the toilet with the lid up. The bottle of pills stood open on the back of the commode. She pointed at the padding and he didn’t need an explanation of what she wanted. He knelt before the toilet.
“What’s your pain tolerance like?”
With a grimace, he shrugged. “I don’t really know. This erection is painful. Physical therapy on my knee hurt like a bitch, but that was twenty years ago or more and I’ve never had anything else like it.”
“All right, we’ll take it slow then. I’m determined to give you all sixty-three swats so I’d better pace myself.”
He smirked. “Can’t wear yourself out too quickly, right?”
She patted his shoulder. “Exactly. Though it’s your pretty ass I’m worried about.” She pulled over a small bench that had held toiletries beside the soaking tub and sat beside him, adjusting her position until she was happy. “This is more fun if you’re bent over my lap or tied to an altar of some sort, but we can make this work. I want you to keep the count. Say the number out loud and don’t make me start over again.”
“Okay.” She squeezed his shoulder, letting her nails dig in a little as a reminder, so he hurriedly added, “Priestess. Is that what you want to be called?”
“That’s what I’m mostly known as, but you can also call me Mistress if you like. Just always show the proper respect, either to me or Lilly if we’re in a scene. She goes by Mistress L, but I have a feeling her sub might not like another man calling her Mistress. Maybe we’ll get the chance to see how he’d react.”
She stroked her hand down his back, tracing his spine. “Take a deep breath, Angel. Relax yourself as much as possible. Tense muscles will hurt more when I start. Ready?”
“Yes, Priestess.”
The first blow was surprisingly loud. It reverberated through the tiny room and he was suddenly grateful Donovan had paid a pretty penny to get such a large, exclusive room. Hopefully there weren’t any neighbors to overhear.
Then his skin started to throb. He blew his breath out with surprise.
“There. That’s what your body feels like. Starting to remember?”
He nodded, suddenly uneasy. Maybe she hadn’t been teasing about the whole crying thing after all. God. He hadn’t cried in front of a woman. Ever. At least not that he could remember.
“The count,” she reminded him, gently squeezing the pained buttock. “And throw one of those pills into the toilet.”
“One.” Damn, that felt incredible. Pain, soothed by her touch. It was almost worth the throbbing welt to feel her fingers gliding over his ass.
The next few blows were about the same, although she alternated the position of each blow, spreading them out so his entire ass felt like it was on fire. One by one, the pills plopped into the toilet bowl. The intensity of her blows started to push him over the commode slightly, as if he were hung over. He couldn’t help but look at those pills. Look, and remember how they made him feel. Fast, so fast, flying high. It’d been good, great even, until the crash came. Then he’d felt like something scraped off the bottom of someone’s boot and left to rot in a rat’s nest in New York City. So he’d taken more pills to avoid the low. Never coming down completely. Always flying.
Risky, so risky. Living on the edge. Always in control.
Or had he really been in control? Not of himself, for sure. Or he’d never have gotten to this place, where he’d missed a pill and collapsed on his friend’s couch for eighteen hours.
The last pill dropped into the water and for a moment, he couldn’t see it. It was too blurry.
Afraid he’d actually started to cry, he blinked rapidly, trying to remember what the count was. Twenty something. One? Two? He couldn’t remember.
“Twenty-two.” Her voice stroked over him with such intensity that he flinched like she’d snapped a whip in his direction. “That bottle held how many pills, Jackson? Thirty? Sixty?”
Sixty. He’d left Chicago with a fresh bottle, but he’d been to California and New Orleans and, if he checked his schedule, probably the East Coast too before he’d come to St. Paul to see Donovan. He probably would have needed a new bottle within the week, so he’d have gone to his other doctor to get the script filled. The one who didn’t ask too many questions. He liked people who didn’t ask too many questions.
“Never again, Jackson. Not on my watch. You’ll never forget this night. I’ll make sure of it.”
A Dominant never punished a submissive in anger. Discipline, sure. But never anger. That was abuse.
Diana paused and did a quick self-examination. She was pissed, yeah. He’d been an idiot and risked his life and career and health for absolutely no reason. She’d seen too many people ruin their lives for a chemical rush, leaving behind wrath and destruction in their wake as their loved ones had to live without them.
She took deep, measured breaths to bring herself back under control. Beating him within an inch of his life wouldn’t help him beat his own inner demons, and it sure wouldn’t bring her father back.
“Do it,” he ground out. He leaned further over the commode, lifting his backside for her paddle. “I deserve it.” When she still didn’t deliver another blow, he turned his head and gave her a sardonic smile. Those brilliant blue eyes of his pierced her to the quick. “Help me feel again, Priestess. Besides, you promised me forty-one more.”
His ass was already red enough to be hot to the touch. It made her smile back, though, pleased that he had that kind of spunk. “Are you sure, Angel? You probably won’t be able to sit behind your swanky lawyer desk for a few days if I give you that many.”
“Good,” he whispered, closing his eyes. “Make me remember every time I sit down. Take me as far away from that life as possible. Please.”
If he was going to make it all the way to sixty-three, she’d have to help distract him a little. It’d also have the secondary effect of making his first punishment session quite possibly the most rewarding release he’d ever have. “Stand up, then, and lean over the toilet. Brace your hands on the wall so you don’t fall down.”
He did as she ordered, looking like he was trying to take a leak. His cock hung soft and limp—so pain hadn’t turned him on. Yet.
“Remember your safeword, Angel. If you don’t want me touching you…” She grazed the tips of her fingers over his groin and he sucked in a deep breath. “Tell me. Some men don’t want to mix sexual pleasure with punishment. Others get excited just thinking about punishment. Where are you going to land on that scale?”
Leaning up against his thigh, she breathed against his neck and ear while her fingers played up and down the ever more rigid cock. His breathing came faster, his hips helplessly arching forward, trying to deepen the caress. She landed another blow, this time lower to the backs of his thighs. His breath rushed out and he quivered, but he didn’t lose the erection. She alternated blows back and forth, keeping the count out loud for him when he faltered. When she had his mind so confused and fuzzy, trying to figure out whether it hurt or felt damned good, she knew it’d be hard to keep count. Especially when she paused and pumped him firmer, driving him closer to the edge.
She kept the swats firm but not punishing. Not as hard as she would normally give for a shorter scene or more experienced sub. He’d feel it later, definitely. He’d have bruises to remember her by, even when he returned to his real life in Chicago.
That thought shook her out of her calm, almost clinical detachment. Focused on showing a novice a really good time, she’d turned off her own emotions. It was part of what
helped her excel as the Priestess with reserved, sometimes even strict, ritualistic scenes. She even had a mental trick to help focus her will where she built a tower in her mind that lifted her above and beyond her body. But this gorgeous Angel was different. He was merely a visitor, plopped down into her world ever so briefly. He might have fallen from his high lifestyle and courtroom warfare, but it wasn’t permanent. In fact, he’d need to head home tomorrow.
I might never see him again.
So she let herself feel. The exquisite velvet of his cock sliding through her fingers, his desperate little pants as she edged him, closer and closer to release without actually letting him come. His thighs trembled and his shoulders corded with strain, but he didn’t break away from her orders. He leaned harder into the wall as if he had to push to keep it from falling on top of them, but he kept his hands to himself. Probably not easy for a man who’d never played with a Mistress before. For a first-timer, he was doing extremely well following directions.
Which made him either a true submissive who’d never embraced his inner self, or a really good actor.
“Fuck,” he growled beneath his breath.
“Not yet, love.” She laughed low and wicked, rubbing against his thigh. “Maybe never. Maybe I’ll keep you like this forever. I love seeing you tight and sweating and desperate. Have you ever been this desperate before?”
“No. Never. God.”
She tightened her fingers in a firm ring around the head of his cock, squeezing without giving him any quarter. “Bet you’ve never needed to come so badly.”
He shuddered, sweat dripping down his chest. “What do you want from me?”
“I want to give you the last ten swats, but these are going to be harder than ever.”
He turned his head so he could read her face and body posture, though maybe he didn’t do it consciously. In his job, he probably read people without even thinking about it. His jaws were tight, his eyes narrowed with focus but blazing hot, brilliant as if he had a fever. “And then?”
“You can come. If you can.”
His eyes narrowed more, his nostrils pinched. “What’s the catch?”
Releasing him, she moved back a step to make sure she had a good angle for these last few swats. “I’m not going to touch you again.”
He almost laughed. If he could come? Really?
He’d never been so painfully aroused before. His cock felt a hundred times thicker, longer and more sensitive. Panting, sweating, he felt like he’d been thrusting into a willing partner for hours and hours, more than ready to release.
But as the next blows rained down, the urge to come bubbled ever higher, without any relief in sight. He tried to think about her mouth, those lush lips wrapping around him. It only made him harder—not giving him the release he craved. He squeezed his eyes shut and imagined hammering into her body over and over, the way her pussy would tighten on him as she climaxed. It made him shudder, so close, every muscle burning…
Yet he still couldn’t come.
Fire licked across his skin, intensifying every sensation. The air on his skin. The brush of that ridiculously sexy schoolgirl skirt on his hip. The whisper of her breath near his ear. Her scent. She wasn’t touching him, but he could feel her presence like a blazing sun, so close, so fantastically powerful and brilliant. One touch would incinerate him into a thousand pieces.
But she wasn’t going to touch him.
“Sixty-two.” Her words gave weight to the blow that landed across both buttocks. The thud reverberated through his body, singing through his bones, searing his brain to ash. “Sixty-three. That’s it, Angel.”
That’s it. He quivered all over. His hips rocked helplessly, but no relief came. In fact, without the rhythmic blows to steady him, the pain of his erection worsened a thousandfold. He let out a ragged groan, a wordless plea. If she’d lay a single finger on him—it wouldn’t even have to be his cock. Hell, she could probably touch the tip of his nose and he’d spray the wall. He just needed a touch. Something. Something to push him over the edge.
His heartbeat thundered in his ears but he heard her low command.
“Now you can come, Angel. Let it all go.”
His back arched and a guttural cry ripped out of his throat. His dick exploded, like all of his insides liquefied and had to come out of him somewhere. If he could have focused his eyes, it wouldn’t have surprised him to see rubble where the wall had been. He lost count of the number of spurts that rocked his body. Rubbery knees wouldn’t hold him up, but she was there. Her arms slid around his waist and she drew him back against her. For the first time in his life, he appreciated his smaller stature, because he could feel her entire body against his. She anchored him, strong, tall and fierce, even while she whispered in his ear.
“You did it, Angel. You took your punishment, every blow. I’m proud of you for throwing those pills out. You did well, especially for the first time with a Mistress. I couldn’t have asked for a better submissive tonight.”
“Am I—” He wheezed, trying to get his brain to communicate with his tongue even though all his blood seemed to still be pooled in his groin. “Submissive?”
She chuckled and stroked her palms over his chest. “You couldn’t come until I gave the command. In my experience, that’s a pretty instinctual indicator of a natural submissive. Plus you took punishment well despite never even playing a scene before.”
“You took it easy on me.”
“Not so easy.” She rubbed her mouth against his ear and damned if his depleted cock didn’t stir with renewed interest. “You’ll have plenty of black and blue marks to remember me by.”
It suddenly dawned on him that she’d taken care of him, but hadn’t come herself. He really didn’t know much about how the whole Domme-sub thing was supposed to play out, but wasn’t that backwards? Surely the slave should be servicing the Mistress and not the other way around. He started to turn so he could look her in the eyes, but his legs were still too shaky. She pulled him against her and helped him to the bed in the other room.
“I’ve never felt so weak before.” He tried not to reveal how discomfited it made him feel. Such a calm, confident, sexy woman shouldn’t be taking care of him. His ego was starting to ache almost as badly as his ass.
“You’ve never been whipped like that before,” she replied so cheerfully it made him grit his teeth. “Now it’s time for a little aftercare.”
He wasn’t entirely sure what that meant either. Evidently she meant cuddling, because she drew him tight against her, his head pillowed on her breast and her arms still around him. Her fingers danced across his shoulders and up and down his arms, a soothing rhythm that had him sliding toward sleep in moments.
He jerked to alertness, stiffening in her arms. He was the man. He should be…
“Forget about it,” she murmured in his hair. “What time do you need to head to the airport?”
“Donovan claimed the earliest flight out was ten o’clock, which I know is complete bullshit. I’m surprised he didn’t put me on an evening flight. Or claim there wasn’t a single open flight to Chicago for a week.”
He tried to laugh a little but it wasn’t heartfelt, because he suddenly wished that were true. He didn’t want to leave in the morning. Not when he had so much to unravel about the Priestess.
“So we have plenty of time for you to show me your manly prowess before you have to catch your flight.”
She was on to him. Shouldn’t surprise him, not really. She was too smart, too confident, too…
“Relax, Angel. Let your body rest. I promise I’ll wake you up in the morning for a slow, sweet goodbye you’ll remember more fondly than the bruises on your ass.”
Chapter Ten
It’d been a long time since she’d held a man. Diana tried to stay awake, unwilling to miss a single minute of this limited time she had with him. They might only e
ver have this one night. That thought made her tighten her arms around him.
One night. That was hardly long enough for all the wicked things she wanted to do with him.
She couldn’t remember ever having quite so much fun breaking in a new submissive. He’d been incredibly responsive and obedient, despite his profession and his ignorance about how the lifestyle worked. He was smart enough that he didn’t blindly and dumbly wait to be told what to do and how. Watching him slowly unwind from his day-to-day life and beginning to trust her to take care of him…
Straight to her heart.
And that was the problem. She’d never had a sub affect her heart so quickly. One night, that’s all she had. Then he was leaving and quite honestly, she might never see him again. Maybe he’d come back for Donovan and Lilly’s wedding, but certainly not just to see her. Would it be awkward? Would he straighten his tie and avoid looking her in the eye while shame darkened his cheeks? That would kill her.
He stirred, his breathing changing slightly. She kept up the slow, steady stroking on his back, urging him back to sleep, but this time, he wasn’t to be thwarted. He lifted his head and gave her a sleepy yet sexy grin that sent a pulse of yearning through her so strongly that she almost made a noise. Not pain, not exactly, but a fierce emptiness that took her breath away.
Don’t do anything stupid. You know he’s leaving.
“Feel better?” she asked lightly.
He nodded, watching her face carefully as if he’d be able to read what she wanted him to do. So she kept her face as smooth and blank as possible. She’d had her time. She’d never forget the beauty of watching him come at her command that first time. Never in a million years.
The Billionaire's Ink Mistress: Billionaires in Bondage, Book 2 Page 6