I swallow. He’s not actually going to spank me, is he? A rush of conflicting feelings washes over me. I mean, I wouldn’t want him to actually put his hands on me like that, would I? I shouldn’t.
Bad girls get what they deserve. Oh God, where did that come from? Forcing the memory away, I press it deep into the recesses of my mind. I refuse to let Dad’s legacy mess with me after so many years. Take deep breaths, focus on Keegan, focus on the bench, focus on anything that’s not the past. Focus on the fact that a drop dead gorgeous dominant therapist with sex for a voice is about to give me a hands on lesson.
“Fuck, that’s beautiful,” Keegan whispers behind me. It’s quiet enough that I don’t know if he realizes that I heard. I might not have, had my senses not already been on high alert, but it brings me back into the moment. I’m here with Keegan, and I trust him.
“Thank you, Sir,” I respond in almost as low a whisper. The room is so full of tension that it feels as if the slightest sound might break it.
He moves out of my field of vision. The temptation to look up to see what he’s doing is strong, but he wouldn’t approve. He hasn’t said so explicitly, but I know it, and I don’t want to do anything wrong—not out of fear, I realize, but because I don’t want to disappoint him. Is this what submission is supposed to feel like?
He returns, his footsteps echoing in the small room. He comes around behind me, but when he stops, he’s just at the edge of my vision. At the height my eyes are at, all I see is his legs in starkly creased black suit pants and, hanging next to them, a cluster of black leather strands. A flogger.
I bite my lip. There are a lot of bookmarks on my computer to different floggers, and videos of their use. They’re the most beautiful whips, and the one he’s got is a mix of black and deep purple tails. I can’t stop looking at it.
“Has anyone ever whipped you?”
Wide-eyed, I shake my head as much as I can without losing contact with the bench.
“Speak when I ask you a question.”
“No, Sir.”
“I’ll give you a chance to say no, without using safewords. If this is a hard no, then I’ll put the flogger away and think of something else.”
I’m not sure how he does it, but he makes me feel safe like no one else ever has, even when he’s standing behind me with a whip. I trust him to do this. I want him to do this.
Clenching my fists behind my back, I draw a deep breath. Dad’s already forgotten. “Go ahead, Sir.”
He lets out a short breath of air, as if he’d been holding it while waiting for my answer. “Very good. I’ll start easy. Remember your safewords.”
“Yes, Sir.” I clench my eyes shut and wait.
The only warning I get is a slight rush of air as he swings the flogger. A moment later, it connects with my ass, stinging even through my skirt and underwear. It aches, but not enough to really hurt. My skin tingles as blood rushes to the surface, and even when he pulls the flogger away, I can sense the red hot stripes the leather strips would surely leave behind if he was using more strength.
I can only imagine what that’d feel like if I were bare.
I have to admit I’d been a little unsure as to whether I would like this in practice, even as much as I’ve watched, read and heard about it. Can you really enjoy being in someone’s power and let them punish you, just because they feel like it?
As my panties dampen and a surge tightens my stomach, I find myself pushing my ass back, eagerly awaiting the next strike.
So yes, apparently you can. I do, and it’s amazing.
He swings again, a little lower this time, just above where my thighs meet my ass. One of the strips connects below the rest, smooth leather licking actual bare skin just below the hem of my skirt. I draw a short breath between clenched teeth, shocked more than hurt.
I want to take everything he can give.
My eyes are still shut, but in my mind, he’s standing over me, broad and powerful with the flogger clenched in one hand, watching me react to his actions. He’s in power, making me feel things whether I’ve asked for them or not.
Making me his.
“You’re quiet.”
“Yes, Sir,” I force out.
“But you’re okay?”
“Yes, Sir.”
He strikes again, the soft leather hitting the fabric of my skirt, with a muffled thud. It would be a sharp crack against my bare skin, but what would it feel like if I wasn’t wearing anything? An image of him standing over me bare-chested as he whips my exposed ass makes me shiver deeply.
The next hit is harder, the swish louder and the stinging trails of leather more obvious where they slide across me. I grunt and clench my jaw against the slowly building burn the flogger leaves behind, along with a tingle that worms its way straight to my core, super-heating it.
Another. My breathing comes faster, and my whole body vibrates with tension. All common sense would dictate that I should stop him, call out my safeword and get away from this kind of craziness. Mom would call this straight out abuse, forget about submission. There would already be police reports in the process of filing. But despite that, my excitement is unlike any I’ve ever felt before. Calling out any kind of safeword is the furthest from my mind as adrenaline courses through me, and my ass pushes back on its own in anticipation of the next blow.
The next one actually stings, the flogger landing across the backs of my thighs, right where the hem stops and my bare thighs begin. Not just a single strand across bare skin this time, but several. Oh crap.
“Yellow,” I call out, and open my eyes.
“Are you okay?”
I find Keegan crouching right in front of me, so quick that it seems like he’s teleported. I nod, still in position. “I don’t have anything to cover my legs. Don’t leave marks that will show when I leave.”
Relief floods his eyes. Did he think I didn’t like this? I just wish I’d thought to bring pants.
“I’ll be careful. None of these marks will last much past the session, but I’ll leave exposed skin alone.” He pulls the strands of leather through his hand as he talks. I catch myself licking my lips as I watch. “Was that it?”
“Huh? Oh, yeah, that was it.”
He grins. “Game on, then.”
I bite my lower lip as I smile back. “Yes, Sir.”
He stands, and I listen to each step with anticipation until he stands behind me. A second or two passes, and then the whip comes down with a swoosh and connects right on my ass. That was the hardest one yet, and I yelp. I get an urge to put my fist in my mouth so I won’t make too much noise, but I’m supposed to pretend that I’m cuffed. This would be a lot easier if I actually were.
What I definitely don’t do is use my safeword.
It’s weird. This should freak me out, but all I’m feeling is a sort of catharsis. I’ve been thinking about this so long, and for the first time, I’m actually doing it. Not just getting spanked, though I’ve certainly had that fantasy more than once, but being in this situation, where I have no choice. I mean, I do, with safewords and all that, but also I don’t. I’m at Keegan’s mercy until he sees fit to let me up, and meanwhile, I’m free to enjoy being dirty and kinky, because it’s not my choice anymore.
Until he’s done, I’m his, and I love that.
We fall into a rhythm, and it actually takes several moments before I realize he’s not flogging me anymore. Instead, the warmth of his finger touches my cheek, scooping up a tear I didn’t know I shed and wiping it from my face.
“We’re done.”
I look up at him, my face still pressed against the seat. “We are, Sir?”
God, I want to look up at the smile he’s giving me every day. A pang of guilt hits me the moment I think it, and it’s not even over what we’ve just done. It’s for expecting him to do anything beyond his job, or even imagining that he’d want to.
“We are.” He holds a hand out. “You’re not cuffed anymore. Come on.”
I let him he
lp me gingerly off the bench, and only then do I realize how unsteady I am. “I think I need to sit.”
“Of course. Let me bring you to the couch.” And with that, he picks me up. I’m not a tiny girl, but he’s got me right up in his arms as if I weigh nothing. I knew he was built, but I had no idea how strong.
“Thank you, Sir.”
He chuckles. “You don’t have to call me that anymore.” Then he turns and sinks into the couch with me still in his arms, so that when we land, I’m curled right up in his lap, leaning into his warmth.
Should we be this close? We’re just in a professional relationship, right? Is this cuddle therapy? I could grow to like that.
“Given your apparent love of Google, I assume you’re familiar with aftercare.”
I nod, my face pressing into his chest so I can hear his heartbeat. “It always sounded nice.”
“It’s supposed to be.” His powerful arms flex, pulling me closer. “After putting you through that, I thought it was only right that I try to give you the proper care as well. I hope you’re okay with that. If I’m getting too close here or being inappropriate in any way, please stop me.”
I cling harder. “Don’t even think about it.”
“How do you feel?” His one hand plays with my hair. I’m not sure he even realizes that he’s doing it. This is a lot closer than I expected us to get today. Maybe ever.
I don’t know how to feel about it. Is it real? Or is this just part of the exposure therapy? Right now, as I think about what we just did, it really seems like we’ve stepped over a line somewhere along the way. But therapy comes in many different forms, apparently. Is it a line I’m comfortable with having overstepped?
That’s the big question. And how does Keegan see it? If I feel like this is something more, and he just thinks of it as part of his job, well, how freaking awkward is that?
But right now, he’s asking about my guilt complex. I think so, anyway, so pushing away thoughts about how much what we just did means or doesn’t mean, I look for those feelings instead.
“Guilty, you mean? Not yet. I’m too content right now.”
He hmms, nodding slowly. “I think that’s a good sign.”
“I mean, I know it’s coming. Sometimes it’s kind of like… like walking down an alley. Everything’s okay, but at the end of it there’s a shadow and you know it means someone’s waiting right around the corner to jump you, even if you can’t see them yet.”
“At the risk of stretching the analogy too far, can’t you turn around and walk in the other direction?” There’s no judgement in the question. Exploration maybe.
I shake my head, stroking my cheek against his broad chest in the process. “No. It’s one of those alleys where someone’s furiously bricking it up behind you as you go. The only way is forward.”
“Right, one of those alleys,” he replies as if they’re a real thing and as common as streetlights.
“There might be a people mover floor too, like they have at the airports.”
“This alley seems really set on getting you to the end.”
My lips twitch. “Yeah, it’s a really stupid alley.”
We sit quietly for a while. His fingers still toy with my hair, but I don’t mind. It’s reassuring. Comfortable. My hour must be over by now, right? I turn up to talk to him.
“Hey, isn’t—”
“Listen, we—”
Just as I look up, he looks down, and suddenly we’re face to face, only an inch or so between the tips of our noses. His deep emerald eyes bore into mine, and all we see is the other. His arm wrapped around my waist to keep me in place tightens, the fingertips of his open hand pushing into my back.
“We—”
“I—”
He licks his lips, and my eyes follow the path of his tongue intently as it moves. I swallow once, then whisper, “I’m sorry, Sir.”
“Wha—”
And that’s all he gets out before I press my lips to his. He stiffens for a moment, but then his grip on me tightens even further, pulling me closer. Reaching up, I wrap my arms around his powerful neck, and cling to him as we lose ourselves in each other.
His kiss is as good as he looks, which is saying something. He works magic with his tongue, chasing mine around while we cling to each other like we’d float away forever if we let go. Shivers race up and down my skin, leaving tingling trails in their wake. I’ve never felt as safe in my life as I do in his arms.
When we finally separate, it’s reluctantly, coming to the surface like we’re emerging from underwater. We both draw deep breaths and face each other. His expression is difficult to read, but there’s an intensity in his eyes that’s impossible to look away from.
Even so, he pushes me gently until there’s a little distance between us, even though I’m still curled up in his lap.
I screwed up. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have— I mean, you must think that—”
“No, I’m the one who should apologize. I should’ve stopped you, not—” He sighs. “This was a very intense session. Emotions run high, and it can make us—us, not just you—do things that aren’t appropriate. I’m really sorry. If you want to file a complaint—”
“A what? No! But—”
“Exposure therapy might have been a bad idea. You’re reacting too strongly to me, and… fuck, I’ll admit it. I’m having a hard time maintaining a separation between the personal and the professional.”
I lick my lips nervously. “What if I don’t mind it getting personal?”
“It can’t get personal. It’s unethical.” His expression is pained, as if even uttering those words hurts him.
I know he’s right. Of course he’s right. But what also feels right?
This.
Him over me, me in his arms, us together. If I could undo our professional relationship, so we could just start over, I’d do it in a heartbeat, but that’s not how this works. And if we only met personally, would I have ever dared to open up to him like this?
Not likely.
“So now what, then? I want you as my therapist. You’re the only one who’s managed to get me to… do this.” I gesture around us. “You’ve helped me dare things I thought I never would.”
“And I want to help you.”
“What if I fire you?”
“What?”
“If you’re no longer my therapist, then it’s not a problem, right?”
He sighs, though there’s a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “It doesn’t work like that. All it will look like is that I groomed you to be my submissive. And you need to consider that it might be true. Not intentionally, but I’m in a position of power over you.”
“I like having you in power over me.” It just slips out of me, but it’s true.
A short laugh escapes him, even with the gravity of our situation. “That might be the problem. You need to consider if what you’re feeling for me is real, or if you’re just forming an attachment to the first person you feel safe with.” Seriousness returns to his expression. “Listen, I want to see you succeed with this.”
Oh no. “Don’t say you’re dropping me. Don’t you dare.”
He shakes his head. “I’m not. I have to have enough confidence in my abilities to do this right, but we’re going to have to back off a little. I will work on you, but I think taking you here was going too far. We’ll have our next session back at the office.”
I nod, my mind racing with what-ifs. Trying to find a way to deny what he’s saying but coming up with nothing. It’s not the end of the world. I’ll still see him. “Okay. I’ll call in the morning to schedule it.”
He reaches out as if to stroke my hair, but stops halfway and pulls back. “That sounds good. I suppose we should get out of here.”
What would he do if I just threw myself over him? Push me away and recommend a new therapist probably. Even if it worked out the way I hoped, what would it solve? He’d come to his senses afterwards. Besides, maybe he’s right and I just n
eed a little time to cool down. I’m not sure he realizes exactly how worked up he’s gotten me.
A few minutes later, after he’s walked me to my car, the thrum of the music inside the club is a muted backdrop as a cool wind blows down the street, getting up under my skirt. I shiver. We’re facing each other, and my first instinct is to hug him goodbye. I reach up just as he puts his hand out for a shake.
Crap. Distance, right.
So we both switch, making this even more awkward, him raising both hands and me lowering mine for a shake. He laughs while I blush, then takes my hand before I can embarrass myself again, but instead of shaking, he just holds it. “We’ll talk soon.”
“Yes. Definitely.”
He watches until I’m driving away, waving one last time in my rear view mirror. I finally find someone who manages to tick all my boxes, and it’s just my luck that he’s about the only man on the planet I can’t have. I touch my fingers to my lips. That kiss will be with me for a long time, even if it’s the only one we get.
12
Miranda
Before I enter my apartment, I slide my hands over the backs of my thighs. The skin is spotless, but I can still feel tingles, deep inside, from Keegan’s flogger. I almost wish there were marks, but of course that would raise a lot of questions I really don’t feel like answering for my mother.
God, I can’t believe he kissed me! That I kissed him. And the flogging. That was amazing. I overcame my fear. And for once, I feel proud, still vibrating from the adrenaline rush, even now.
Fuck you, Dad.
I don’t carry the same anger towards Mom, because she’s as scarred as I am. Probably more. But even still, now I somehow have to hide my elation at what I’ve just dared to do, or dared to let him do, from her.
Why can’t we both live in a world where I can be into a man who can both be a gentleman when it counts and who will happily flog my ass when I want him to?
As I close the door behind me, Mom calls from the living room. “You’re home. Where were you so late? I was getting ready to call someone.”
Trust Me: A BDSM Romance Page 7