The Delicious Torment

by Alison Tyler

  “Face down,” he said, first words I’d heard from him since we’d begun. “Wrists over your head.”

  I obeyed, and he bound me quickly, easily. Being tied down made the rest somehow more bearable. I didn’t have a choice anymore. I had to take this. And then that soft knowing voice in my head whispered, You deserve it. You named your punishment, and look at you now.

  This time I watched over my shoulder, watched as he removed a thermometer from the doctor’s bag. Watched as he got out the lube and moistened the tip. He set the thermometer on the edge of the dresser, then slid on a pair of rubber gloves, slowly, knowing I was clocking every step.

  Then he was behind me once more, slipping in the device, holding it in place. The same shame filled me, and yet—my body was responding. I hated the fact that I was wet. So fucking wet. That being probed like this, clinically, without any apparent emotion, was turning me on.

  When he had removed the thermometer and recorded the number on a notepad, he returned to the doctor’s bag and removed a type of speculum I’d never seen before. The keywords of this evening seemed to be ass play. Once more, I felt the smear of lube between my cheeks, and then the total chill of the metal tool entering me, penetrating me. Alex worked slowly, carefully, spreading me wider and wider. And then his fingers were inside of me, stroking, petting, so that the sensations of pleasure and hopeless humiliation warred a private battle within me. If he kept doing that, would he make me come? I wondered what would happen if I did. Nobody had told me that I shouldn’t enjoy myself during this little performance. Again and again, Alex fluttered his fingers between my spread cheeks, until I shuddered, right on the bridge of climax—and that’s when he backed off. Pulling his gloves off his fingers with a resounding snap.

  “I’ll call in Jack now,” Alex said. I could feel how wet this examination was making me, but the thought of Jack walking in, of Jack seeing me like this, made me more aroused yet.

  Jack chuckled as he entered the room. He liked the sight immediately, and I registered the fact that the doctor’s bag was probably going to be at the forefront of our toys in the future. But it would be different to play only with Jack, wouldn’t it? The true shame came from having Alex carry out his Master’s commands.

  “Has she behaved?” Jack asked Alex, his eyes still on me.

  “Yes,” Alex said honestly. Thank god. I’d thought for a moment that he would lie, to pay me back.

  Jack’s fingers were on me now, closing the device, sliding it free. I felt gaping without it. Empty.

  “Lovely,” Jack said. “So on to the reward.”

  “Reward—” Alex repeated. “But—” He seemed hesitant to disagree in any way with Jack, and yet he had something to say.

  “The cane, of course,” Jack continued, and I shut my eyes once more. Was being caned a reward? Not like spanking. Not like the feel of Jack’s worn leather belt on my skin. The cane was something else. Something that took me to an entirely different place.

  “Five,” Jack said. “I’ll watch.”

  It was Alex who was going to whip me. Ah fuck. So now I got it all. I understood. I shouldn’t have tried so hard to behave, thinking that would win me points. I could have begged him not to go through with the enema. I could have kicked and screamed and acted the regular brat the whole time and the result would have been the same. The reward was for Alex, not for me.

  “Count them,” Jack said, coming closer. “Count them out loud.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “And thank him for each stroke.”

  I swallowed over my hatred for the cruel blond Baby Dom. “Yes, Jack.”

  Jack lifted his chin in a silent gesture toward Alex, and I heard the swish in the air before the cane connected, and I sensed the moment of impact for a second before I saw the blinding red light of total pain.

  “One,” I managed somehow. “Thank you.”

  “Sir,” Jack instructed.

  “No—” The word slipped out before I could stop it. Before I could think of what the repercussions might be. Alex wasn’t Sir to me. He just wasn’t. But I could have pretended I was talking to Jack. I could have played a trick on myself. I could have…

  “Let’s say ten,” Jack said, stroking my hair. “We’ll tame our little outspoken filly yet.”

  The cane landed a second time, and I shut my eyes tight. “Two. Thank you.” There was a naked pause in the room. Everyone was waiting for me. “Thank you, Alex.”

  Jack stepped forward then and grabbed the cane from Alex’s hand. It was a blur of movement as he landed three strokes on the fleshiest part of my ass before I could even process what he was doing.

  “You’re disobeying me,” Jack hissed. “I’ve told you what I want.”

  Once more my face was wet with tears, but I looked at him dead on. I wanted to talk to Jack without Alex in the room. Jack could sense that. But he took his time before he told Alex to wait in the hall. Then he bent close to the bed.

  “He’s not—” I started. God, how to put this in words? “He’s not you. He’s not the same as you.” Almost sobbing. “He’s not your equal. I don’t want to call him Sir.”

  Jack smiled at me, startling me. “Yet you’re disobeying an order.”

  I didn’t know what to say to that. I had no response.

  “You’ll say, ‘Thank you, Sir,’ after each blow.”

  “No.”

  We were at the same place we’d been in the New York club when I’d refused to give my safeword to a Dom I didn’t consider my own. I’m a stubborn animal when I want to be. I wouldn’t say Sir. And Jack, after regarding me for a moment, seemed to realize that. His eyes took on a glow.

  “Ten extra for disobedience.”

  I grimaced but nodded as Jack let Alex back into the room.

  Chapter Eight:

  Modern Love

  Pain takes me to a different place. The sensation of being whipped, or cropped, or caned elevates me to a state that meditation (and probably self-medication) takes other people. But I have to be steeled inside to get there. Jack had Alex cane me—properly cane me, as I’d written in my own damn story—and then he uncuffed me, rubbing my wrists where the silver metal had chafed the skin.

  There was silence in the room. Both men watched me.

  Trembling and tear streaked, I still understood what Jack wanted. What he expected. Eyes down, I went on my knees before Alex on the cold wood floor. Head bowed, I found it within myself to apologize for asking him to lie for me.

  “I’m sorry, Alex.”

  “A bit more,” Jack demanded. “I’d like a bit more—”

  I wasn’t meeting Alex’s eyes. That was the problem. “I’m sorry,” I said again, looking up at him. “I should never have done that, Alex.”

  He had his half-smile, a smirk really, in place on his handsome face. As difficult as I was finding apologizing to Jack’s second in command, the boy was loving every fucking moment.

  “A bit more,” Jack continued, and now I was at a loss. I looked up at him from my position on the floor, and my eyes widened as I saw Jack give Alex a nod over my head. What was going on? When I glanced back at Alex, I saw him working his belt buckle open.

  No—I didn’t say it. Sometimes I’m smart. But I thought it—No. I don’t want him to use his belt on me. I don’t want any more. All I did was ask Alex to lie. That wasn’t such a huge offense, was it? I might have done so much worse. If anything, they’d gone over the top in teaching me my place. Jack could have washed my mouth out with soap. Could have let Alex simply spank me. Could have done so many other…

  Christ, he was pulling the belt free now. I’d written two scenes. Was that what this was about? Jack had chosen that crumpled-up piece of paper, and I’d assumed he was discarding my second attempt. Clearly, he had put the two together in his mind, recreating my work as a good editor should.

  “Over the bed.” Alex was the one to say it.

  No—my head said again. But my body obeyed. My body was better trained
by now than my brain. I climbed into position, tense to see if Jack would cuff me once more. He didn’t. And somehow that was worse. There was no talk about how many I’d take. There was no discussion of thanking the Dom-in-training behind me. There was only leather and skin, and my harsh breathing, and Jack watching. Because Jack loved to watch.

  Alex didn’t put his full force behind the blows. I could tell. But that didn’t mean he went easy on me. He heated up my skin everywhere the cane had missed, and he intensified the fire where the cane had landed, until I was wrecked, my head on my bent arms, my body shaking with silent sobs, and that’s when Jack moved.

  I had my eyes closed. I didn’t know what was happening. I simply felt the air still around me. Knew that the thrashing was over. Could feel Jack’s sturdy weight on the bed, his body behind me. Then against me. He was hard. Probably had been hard since the first snap was popped open on my nurse’s dress, simply thinking of me in this room with Alex. I visualized him out there in the living room, scotch in hand, imagining Alex touching me, examining me with those slick rubber gloves in place. Had Jack worked himself while he thought of the fantasy coming true down the hall? Or had he waited, growing harder by the moment, knowing the pleasure would be so much better if he didn’t give in right away?

  Now, there was no reason to hold back any longer. He slid into me, and relief flooded through my body.

  Too soon, of course. Too soon.

  Jack gripped my heavy hair in one hand, pulling my head up, and I saw Alex in front of me. Alex stripped down. Alex, with his cock right in front of my lips.

  I slid backward on the mattress, moving closer to Jack, who kept his hand even tighter in my hair. Was this how he really wanted me to apologize? Or was this my reward?

  “Do I have to tell you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Apologize,” Jack said calmly.

  “I’m sor—”

  “With your mouth.”

  Alex moved closer, but my lips remained sealed.

  Jack’s cold laugh was more of disbelief than anything else. “Don’t test me, kid. You don’t want to see me get mad. I’m not sure you could take my wrath tonight.” His words let me know precisely how upset he’d truly been with my underhanded ways. And I started to think that perhaps this whole scene was only the beginning. Jack had much more in store for me. He always did.

  I clenched my eyes shut tight. I parted my lips. I tasted the head of Alex’s cock for the first time. Jack didn’t stop fucking me. If anything, he rode me harder, slamming his body against mine, so that I had to work to keep steady, work to suck Alex in a pleasing, easy rhythm. My thoughts raced as my body struggled for some sense of balance.

  Was this what Alex had wanted the whole time?

  Had he ratted me out in hopes I’d be presented to him on a platter?

  Or was this scenario a long time coming?

  Had Jack always known Alex would ultimately be introduced into our bed?

  Alex pressed forward, taking control of the rhythm, fucking my mouth now, as Jack fucked my body. Jack let go of my hair, and the long curls fell forward around my face. He was using both hands on my hips now, rocking me, grinding inside of me. His palms on my heated skin simply turned me on even more. Jack knew me so well. As the action between the three of us built in intensity, he began slapping his hands on my ass. Not hard enough to make me cry out, but hard enough to show me he was in control.

  Of course I didn’t doubt that for a second.

  Alex pumped his cock between my lips over and over, and then he tensed, and I pulled back instinctively and closed my eyes. Jack must have watched Alex come in my hair, on my face, and that took him to his limits, jerking my hips back against him, sealing himself to me…

  Chapter Nine:

  Always Falling

  “Phone’s for you,” Jack said, and his eyes narrowed. So I knew right away it was a man.

  “Who is it?”

  “You tell me.”

  I’d known from the start that life with Jack would be the antithesis of my experience with Byron. Jack had told me what he was about from our very first date. He’d explained step by step what he wanted to do to me, if I’d let him. You couldn’t get much clearer than the description he’d offered. Jack didn’t play head games. Not in the way that Byron had. Yeah, sure, Jack mind-fucked me. But in the most deliciously sexy ways possible.

  What was missing from our relationship?

  Arguments. Byron and I fought all the time. At least until I stopped arguing back and simply let the verbal abuse rain down on me. In the months before I left Byron, I walked around our house as if there were a constant weight on my shoulders. I felt unbelievably lighter when I moved out.

  Stress. There was none. Jack had his job—which had been his life before me, as far as I could tell. And then he had me, and when he was home, he was focused. Attentive. Interested without being intrusive.

  So when Byron tracked me down, looking for a second shot, I was floored. Had he not lived in the same environment? Had he enjoyed the tension, the live wire of constant anxiety that illuminated our townhouse? I remembered one night when he wanted to “have a talk” with me. But we had to attend a function at his father’s mansion first. Knowing I was in trouble made me jittery. And being jittery around two hundred people in fancy clothes made me drink. Every tray that passed provided relief. I don’t know how many glasses of champagne I managed to swallow before Byron realized what I was doing. I do know that I spent the night in one of his father’s guest bathrooms, curled up on the cool marble floor between the toilet and the bidet. That night perfectly illustrated our life for me. I wondered what image did it for him.

  “Hello?” My voice was tentative, as I was aware of Jack’s eyes on me.

  “I’d like to have to lunch,” Byron said, no preamble. No small talk.

  “Why?”

  “See how you’re doing.”

  Jack’s eyes were pure ice. I put my hand over the phone.

  “It’s Byron,” I mouthed. “I don’t know why he’s calling.”

  Jack leaned against the kitchen counter, watching me. This had become a test. I could tell.

  “To see you,” Byron said, and his voice didn’t seem so confident anymore. He sounded hoarse. I thought back to our last fight, when he’d told me that Los Angeles wasn’t big enough for the two of us. As if he were some gunslinger from the Wild West.

  “I can’t,” I told him.

  “I know who you’re with,” he said, and his voice hardened into a sneer now. “Jody told me.”

  I shrugged, but of course he couldn’t see that. I didn’t look over at Jack now. I wanted to get off the phone.

  “He’s bad news,” Byron said, “watch yourself.”

  “Thanks for the advice,” I said, my tone matching his. “I have to go.” And I handed the phone back to Jack—remembering as I did that there were friends who had offered the same warning about Byron. Bad news. He was edgy. He was dark. In real life, he was a mama’s boy.

  Jack led me back to the living room, hand on my wrist rather than on my waist. I felt the chill coming off him, and I knew he was displeased, even though I’d done nothing wrong—in my opinion, anyway.

  “What’d he want?” Jack asked, as he sat on the sofa, sitting me on the edge of the coffee table in front of him.

  “To see me.”

  “Really?” Jack’s eyes weren’t cold anymore. They were on fire.

  “Jack,” I started, “come on. I didn’t do anything.”

  “Where’d he get your number?”

  That was easy to guess. “He worked for Jody. He entered his whole Rolodex onto the computer. I’m sure he had a backup at his house. You’ve been to parties at Jody’s place. You’re listed in his database.”

  “Why’d he want to see you?”

  “I don’t know.” I was feeling nervous now, guilty. But that didn’t stop me from adding, “I’m not a mind reader,” which was obvious from the look on Jack’s face. Had I been
a mind reader, I would have known not to be flippant. Not to push my luck.

  “Why do you think?”

  “Because Byron likes to spread out all of his choices. He’s probably hooked up with his old girlfriend. And now, when he’s getting ready to commit, he’s making sure he’s through with me.” I said this from experience. When Byron and I first were dating, he had done the same thing. Gone through a slew of women before he committed to me.

  “Through with you…” Jack echoed. “I thought you were the one to break up.”

  My head was spinning. He was turning my words around in his neat lawyerly way. “Come on, Jack,” I said again, pleading now. “I don’t want him. I wasn’t going to see him. I hope he never calls again.”

  Jack stared at me, leaning back on the couch and regarding me as if I were a piece of art he was interested in purchasing. He stood up and left the room. I heard the front door open and shut, and realized he’d left the house.

  Oh Jesus. I didn’t know what to do. Race after him? Or wait for him to return? Beg him to believe me? Or act as if I didn’t know why the fuck he was angry? But I did. Someone had managed to infiltrate Jack’s world. Had managed to throw off his balance. And Jack couldn’t stand that.

  It was after midnight by the time Jack came back. I was in the same place as when he’d left. I had tricked myself into believing that if I didn’t move, if I stayed exactly where I was, then everything would be okay.

  He walked into the darkened room, but he didn’t turn on the light. Instead, using the lights from Sunset, the neon glow, he walked toward my silhouette, came behind me, put his arms around me. He kissed the back of my neck, then slowly unbuttoned my shirt and slid it off me. He took off my bra next, his fingers deftly working the clasp. He pushed my skirt down my hips, hooking my panties with his thumbs. I lifted up, so that he could take the clothes all the way off me. And then I was naked, sitting on the coffee table, with Jack behind me, his breath on my bare skin.

  He didn’t say a word. Gently, he ran his fingertips along my shoulder blades, then down my arms, raising goose bumps all over my body. He kissed me, tenderly following the route of his fingers. I expected him to switch into high gear at any moment, expected him to grab me up, carry me to the bedroom. Or to bend me over the sofa or his lap. I thought he would punish me for the phone call—regardless of the fact that I hadn’t instigated the connection with Byron and it wasn’t my fault.