by L. S. Scott
“Fuck! You!” I spewed, putting extra emphasis on every word.
My head pounded, my heart ached and anger raged through my body. Once we were in our bedroom, the door shut, he finally released me. I stumbled forward as I pushed away from him. He stood against the door watching me stoically, searching for the words and waiting for me to calm down. Unable to look at him, I busied myself by jamming clothes into a duffle bag, without speaking a word.
“What are you doing,” he asked, almost laughing at me, pissing me off even more.
“I’m leaving. You cheating piece of shit,” the words flew out of my mouth before I could catch them.
“You know, I won’t let you make it out the door. So you might as well stop it.”
His voice was cool but threatening and I knew he was right. I stopped and stood at the foot of the bed, staring down at the pillows, wondering if there were strands of blonde hair on them. It made me nauseous.
“It’s not what it looked like.”
“No, I’m sure it’s just a coincidence the one day I come home a little early, some bitch is kissing you on the front porch.”
I winced at my own words and the memory of her touching him.
“She didn’t know about you, about us. She’s been out of town for a while,” he continued trying to explain.
“Call me,” I mocked. “She obviously don’t give a shit if you’re taken or not.”
“That’s enough with the cussing,” he warned, only fueling my anger. He was in the wrong. He had no right to be self-righteous with me.
“You have some fucking nerve Jaron.”
“That’s enough! You cuss me one more time and I’m gonna bust your ass,” he said holding one finger up, low to his side.
“Go to hell!” I hissed, staring him in the eye.
With the speed of a rattle snake he grabbed me and slammed me face first into the bed and held me in place with his knee on the small of my back. I was shocked by the sound of his belt as it cleared his belt loops and even more stunned when the sting of the first swat bit into the back of my thighs, then another and another and another.
My tears of anger quickly turned to sincere tears of anguish, both physical and emotional. After the fifth lash of the belt, he removed his knee and stepped back. I buried my head in the covers and pulled my knees to my chest and cried uncontrollably. I heard the belt hit the floor and Jaron’s ragged breathe as he stood at the door. I expected, even wanted him to take me in his arms and comfort me but he reached for the door instead.
“When you want to act like an adult, I’ll be in the kitchen,” he said in a low strained voice, with his back to me and closed the door behind him.
I found it ironic. He wanted me to act like an adult after he had spanked me like a child. I crawled up to the pillows and cried myself to sleep, not so much from the pain of the spanking, but from the heartache of seeing him with someone else, no matter how innocent. When I woke I rolled over and stared at the ceiling. I started to have a small understanding of how his jealousy could cause him to lose control, only I could not imagine what would happen if he saw another man kiss me. It would be catastrophic for sure.
It was close to six and I could smell dinner. It didn’t matter what else was going on, we had dinner at six every night. I went to the bathroom and washed my face. With my pants around my knees I checked the whelps on my behind. They were red, and starting to bruise, especially the one on my thigh. It hurt the most.
I thought about what happened. The things I said to him, his warning, and came to the conclusion that I was not entirely without blame. I could’ve avoided the situation if I had calmed down and listened, instead of throwing a temper tantrum, if I had heeded his warning instead of telling him to go to hell. I was probably lucky he hadn’t busted me in the mouth.
I pulled up my pants, sucked up my pride and made my way to the kitchen. I loved the kitchen. It was light and welcoming and always smelled good, like you would imagine grandma’s house and Jaron always seemed calm when he was cooking.
I took the long way around the fireplace and entered quietly through the dining room, nervously glancing up from the floor just enough to keep from running into things. Jaron was retrieving plates from the cabinet when he saw me from the corner of his eye. He slowly closed the cabinet door and crossed the room. Without a word he handed me the plates. I placed them on the table and busied myself with forks and glasses, while he poured the stir fry into a bowl and set it on the table.
It had taken some getting used to, but over our months together I had grown to love and appreciate dinner time. It was one of those things that his grandparents had done and it kept him connected and grounded. It was very therapeutic for him I think.
I squirmed uncomfortably in my chair as we ate in silence. From time to time, Jaron would glance up at me, but didn’t question. He already knew the reason. I waited for him to apologize, but he never did. I waited for him to explain, but he never did. So, finally, I pushed my plate away and broke the silence.
“I’m sorry I cussed you,” I said pitifully, trying to control my trembling lip.
To my relief, he pushed his chair back and pulled me to his lap, as if he had been stubbornly waiting for me to cave first.
“I’m sorry she came here and upset you.” He tilted my chin up to look at him. “But I promise you, it was not what it looked like. You, are my world. This, is our home. I would never,” his voice trailed off as he shook his head slowly. My lip trembled. “Don’t cry.” He kissed me chastely and hugged me comfortingly.
“I got all A’s on my report card,” I mumbled poutily, remembering that I had been so excited about showing off my grades and maybe talking to him about college, before the bimbo debacle.
“Good job,” he said chuckling and looking at me amusedly.”
It did seem a little odd, being in such a grown up relationship and bragging about my report card, but he was the only one I had to share it with. I started to feel childish and immature. I was sure he didn’t have to discuss grades and high school with Alyssa. I found myself feeling insecure and wanting desperately to be all he needed.
“Jaron,” I whispered, laying my head on his shoulder.
“Hmm.”
“I want you to teach me,” I said vaguely.
“Teach you what,” he asked, confused.
I raised my head and slid to my knees on the floor between his feet. I looked up at him wide eyed and nervous. He tilted his head, his brow crinkled slightly with comprehension.
He shook his head and reached for me, trying to pull me up, “No, Natalie.”
I held tight to his legs, “Please Jaron?”
“You’ve done it before, you did fine,” he said.
“But I want to do it exactly the way you want me to. Please, just tell me how.”
He looked at me, pensive. “You don’t have to compete with anyone,” he reassured.
“Please Jaron?” I begged at his feet.
He took a deep breath and pushed his chair away from the table. I repositioned myself, back between his knees. He looked deep in my eyes, breathed deep again, and nodded.
I swallowed hard, nervous and anxious, and began to undo his jeans. He pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it on the table. I couldn’t resist reaching up and running my fingers down the ripples of his stomach muscles. That alone was enough to tighten the muscles deep in my stomach. I peeled the jeans and underwear down just enough to let him spring free. He was already hard. I took it in my hands and looked up at him, waiting for direction.
He cleared his throat to steady his voice.
“Lick, from the bottom to the top, slowly and back down, and again.”
I followed his direction, running my tongue up and down the rock hard shaft. His leg muscles tightened, pushing his body toward me. He labored to control his breathing as he watched me and continued.
“Run your tongue around the tip a few times before you take it in your mouth and move just the tip in and o
ut of your lips,” I did. “Suck,” he whispered hoarsely, as I popped my lips over the rim of the tip, several times. I added suction and he groaned low and deep, throwing his head back. His hands tangled in either side of my hair.
“Go deeper, take as much of it in as you can,” he paused, watching me. “Your mouth will water, don’t swallow, let it drip, and suck as hard as you can.”
He guided me with his hands as my head bobbed up and down. He controlled my pace, fisting his fingers in my hair.
“Oh, Fuck Natalie,” he growled.
He pushed the stray hair away from my face and gathered it in the back. I looked up at him for more direction. He closed his eyes and tried to slow his breathing.
“I’m gonna come in your mouth, just swallow,” he said, his voice almost a whisper.
I was shocked and unsure, but I wasn’t about to disappoint him, especially not after begging for it. I kept working. I felt him jerk in my mouth and the thick warm liquid hit the back of my throat. It was hard to swallow fast enough with him filling my mouth so completely without biting down and his hand on the back of my head kept me from pulling away. With a long, low rumble, he unloaded the last of the liquid in my mouth before releasing me.
I sat up, breathing heavily through my nose, my lips pressed tight together. Some of the liquid leaked from the corner of my mouth and Jaron wiped it away with his shirt.
“Do you need to spit,” he asked, still panting. I nodded.
“Okay, go to the bathroom.”
I jumped up and hurried down the hall, trying not to gag. I gargled and swished warm water around my mouth and spit several times before grabbing my toothbrush, slathering on toothpaste and shoving it in my mouth. As I brushed, Jaron appeared in the door, leaning shirtless and flushed on the frame, his jeans only half zipped. I felt my cheeks burn with embarrassment. Ashamed I couldn’t give him what he wanted without running to the bathroom.
“Are you ok,” he asked, sincerely concerned.
I nodded, toothpaste running down my chin. He moved to me as I spit and rinsed.
“Did I do it ok?”
“Yes. You did it perfect.”
He stared at my reflection and our eyes met in the mirror. His still boiled with lust. He pulled my shirt over my head and I tried to turn to him.
“No,” he said, holding me in place. “Keep watching.”
He slid my bra straps down and freed my breasts. I watched as he cupped one, then the other, circling my hardened nipples with the pad of his thumb. My eyes closed automatically.
“Open your eyes,” he whispered, before softly biting the tender skin below my ear.
I forced my lids up and watched his hands unbutton and unzip my jeans and peel them down.
“Look how beautiful you are,” he whispered, rubbing his finger-tips up my thighs, across my hips and outlined the hour glass or my waist.
Goosebumps rose all over my skin. He slid his hands over the small patch of hair between my legs. First cupping his hand over it and squeezing, then, pushing one finger between the folds.
“God, you’re so wet,” he moaned in my ear. I sucked in a ragged breath and whimpered quietly as I exhaled and worked hard to keep my eyes open.
The sight of my nipple being rolled tenderly between his fingers and his hand moving up and down as he fingered me was almost as stimulating as his touch. My back arched, pressing my striped, bruised butt into the rough denim stretched over his hard on. I barely registered the sting of my skin over the intense, aching pleasure of the orgasm that was fast approaching.
My hips rolled faster and faster. Jaron’s hand wrapped around my throat. His arm braced me against his chest. My eyes clenched tightly closed as my body began to shiver with waves of release. I closed my legs tightly around his hand, clenching and grinding against his fingers.
“That’s right, oooh,” he moaned. “Come for me baby.”
I leaned forward and braced myself against the counter, Jaron wrapped all around me, until the last of my convulsions were done. He turned me to him and hugged me up and I melted into him. He raised his head from my shoulder, studying the reflection of my back side. His hand brushed lightly over the whelps.
“Does it hurt,” he asked in a crackling voice.
“Yes,” I answered honestly.
Cradling me against his chest, he walked us toward the bed and laid us down. He was still bulging under his jeans and I moved my hand over it.
“No,” he whispered, pulling my hand up and pressing it to his chest. “I just want to hold you.” He kissed the top of my head and pulled the blanket across us.
Chapter Nine
“Sooo, you talked to your mom lately,” Tiffany asked nonchalantly as she dug in her closet looking for the perfect accessories to complete her slutty gypsie Halloween costume, still a little pissy because I wouldn’t be attending the Halloween party with her. Jaron had to spend a few days away so I was getting to spend some much needed girl time with my best friend.
I stopped thumbing through my magazine and rolled over, stretching out across the bed, starring up at the sparkling crystals hanging from Tiffany’s bedroom light fixture.
“No. I’ve called a couple times, but she won’t answer. Jaron doesn’t want me to go by there.”
“She’s your mom. I mean, I know it was a bad deal, but, the holidays are coming up. I’m sure she wants to see you.” Tiffany’s voice was laced with a hint of sympathy and I wasn’t sure if it was for me or mom.
“If she wanted to, she should answer her phone,” I reasoned.
“You shouldn’t give up, Natalie. Go by there, I don’t think its Jaron’s place to tell you that you can’t see your mom.”
“He didn’t say I couldn’t see my mom, Tiffany. He just don’t want me going there alone after what happened.” I started feeling defensive.
“Then he needs to take you there,” she said, looking at me around the door of the closet.
I rolled back over and started thumbing my mag. “Why do you always act like Jaron’s the bad guy?”
“I didn’t say he was the bad guy, I just,” she stopped talking mid-sentence.
Before I could turn to look at her she was on the bed beside me, pulling my long silk shorts up, revealing my upper thigh, and my faded stripes.
“What, the hell, is this,” she asked dramatically. I turned over, pushing my shorts down. “Natalie, answer me.” Her eyes were wide and her mouth gaping.
“It’s nothing Tiffany.” My mind raced, searching for a logical excuse.
“Bullshit!” She swallowed hard and I knew she was fighting a lump in her throat.
“It’s not what it looks like.”
“Really? Because it looks like you’ve been whipped.”
“We play rough, that’s all,” I said, forcing a playful grin.
“You mean Jaron plays rough,” she corrected.
“Tiffany,” I searched for the words.
I couldn’t tell her the truth. Jaron’s words replayed in my head, you can’t talk to anyone about what goes on in our lives, and he was right. I knew that. I had chosen to be with him, I wanted to be with him, and I would do whatever it took to keep us together.
“I asked him to,” I lied.
“You asked him to whip you,” she repeated doubtfully.
“Yes. I don’t want to tell you all the kinky details, just please believe me, he didn’t hurt me. If he did, I would be out of there in a heartbeat.”
“You promise?” Tiffany grimaced.
“I promise.” Not 100% convinced, Tiffany eyeballed me sideways then lay down beside me.
“What kind of crazy shit are you into Natalie Mills?”
We started laughing uncontrollably like girls do.
It was Halloween night, and instead of partying with Tiffany, I was at home with Jaron. He had returned from his trip in an exceptionally bad mood and I wasn’t even about to ask if I could go out.
I was sitting on the bar, picking through the bowl of Halloween candy, wa
iting for the dryer to stop so I could fold and put away the last load of towels and trying not to over-hear Jaron’s phone conversation. Typically, he took his calls outside, but tonight he sat on the end of the couch in nothing but a pair of faded plaid pajamas. His voice fluctuated in pitch and volume, at times sounded very agitated, until he finally snapped his phone shut and tossed it on the coffee table with a thud.
He was silent for a few minutes, before, “Natalie,” he barked. I flinched and swallowed, almost choking on the tootsie roll I had in my mouth.
I hopped off the bar. Before I could get to the living room door, he called again, this time louder. “Natalie!”
“What,” I responded, stopping at the entry and looking at him, wide eyed, nervous.
He was leaned back, one arm draped across the back of the couch, rubbing his thumb across his lower lip with his other hand.
“Come here,” he demanded.
Warily, I crossed the room and stood in front of the coffee table. I began searching my memory, trying to think if I had done something lately that might upset him, but I hadn’t.
“What is it Jaron?” My voice was weak and pitiful.
“Come. Here.” He said again, pointing to the floor between his feet. My body tensed as I rounded the table to stand in front of him.
“Jaron, I didn’t do anything wrong.” My knees began to tremble.
He sat up on the edge of the couch and clutched my hips.
“Walking around here in your little white t-shirt and your little white panties,” he said, scolding me playfully, raising my shirt and kissing my belly button. All the tension drained from my body.
“Dang-it Jaron, you scared me,” I whined, smiling, running my fingers into his dark hair that was longer than usual.
He grinned up at me, “Why were you scared, if haven’t done anything wrong?”
“Stop,” I said, not wanting him to get worked up, in the wrong way.
He turned me around and grabbed two handfuls of my butt. He pulled the white cotton of my panties up to expose my whole cheek and the faded bruises that striped it.
“Does it still hurt,” he asked, between the wet kisses he was trailing across my skin.