Hard Lessons

by Jasmin Quinn

  She slid two fingers into her vagina like Jack had done, fucked herself, then got her other hand involved in the action, rubbing her clit. She moaned as pleasure rippled through her. She needed more. Her hips started thrusting as the fingers of one hand fucked her while the other massaged her pussy. As she moved her hips, the plug in her ass pulled at her, nudging her up. She caught her breath as she climbed, her fingers, hands moving faster. She could hear herself moan, she wanted Jack now, to finish the job and she opened her eyes to his. He stared at her, into her soul as the pressure built.

  “God, god,” Mira gasped. “Jack.”

  It was coming, she was coming. Her hands moved faster and her hips bucked. And she, moaning, gasping, forgetting. Small hard cries, and then her orgasm hit her, ripped through her. She brought her legs together squeezing her hands, her fingers slowing but not stopping. The little tremors playing havoc with her awareness. She forgot everything in that moment, just let the spasms work their way through her, hard and jarring at first, then slowing, becoming lazy, then ebbing away. As she opened her eyes, she saw Jack across from her, his eyes stormy and his breathing heavy.

  She smiled at him, smiled at the knowledge that she did this to him. She turned him on. It was messed up, she knew, but there it was. Later, she was sure she’d hate him again, but right now, she wished he would come to her and fuck her. He shifted, expelled a breath and sat up. “You are utterly mesmerizing, Mira.”

  He stood then and loomed over her, gazing at her. “Don’t move,” he said and left. Mira didn’t, other than to shift for comfort. She drew her knees together, tried to sit up straighter but the fucking plug in her ass made it impossible. Then Jack was back handing her a glass of water, then seating himself across from her, a glass of whiskey in his hand. He took a sip.

  “I think you enjoyed that a little too much. It’s not a punishment if you enjoy it too much.”

  Mira sipped her water. “You wanted me to masturbate myself to orgasm, didn’t you? I did as you asked.”

  He grinned wolfishly. “You made me jealous. Come here.” He held his hand out to her.

  Mira shifted, winced as the butt plug pierced her, then walked to him, her nakedness forgotten. She stood before him as he looked up at her, whiskey in hand. He took a sip then brought his hand to her ass, rubbed it, dug his fingers into it, squeezing the tender flesh, then slapped it.

  Mira winced as the pain flared.

  “Was it enough Mira? To touch yourself? Or do you want more?” He slid his hand over her ass, his fingers gliding down the crack of it, over the plug, to her pussy. He put his whiskey on the table, pulled her toward him with both hands and slipped off the chair onto his knees, bringing his mouth to her folds, stroking his tongue across her clit, forcing her into his mouth, sucking her. She gripped his shoulders to steady herself as he tongued her relentlessly. Her desire built, she found herself thrusting against his mouth, fingers threaded through his hair, clutching him to her. He pushed back. “Should I stop?”

  “No,” she whispered.

  His lips curved up as he gazed at her face. “You’re a bad girl.” He smacked her on her ass again as he brought his lips back to her pussy, his tongue stroking her clit, two fingers sliding into her, her walls welcoming him, pulsing around him. Another orgasm swept through her, and she let it take over as she pulled at Jack’s hair and then fell forward, cradling his head to her chest. She clung to him as he brought his face up and kissed her belly, his fingers still working inside her. As he slid back into his chair, he brought his hands to her arms and forced her to her knees in front of him, then bent to kiss her, capturing her lips with his mouth. A hard, possessive kiss that made her moan under him as she tasted herself on his tongue.

  His eyes were speculative as he looked down at her. What now? Mira wondered. What would be next? But he didn’t move. Instead, he picked up his glass of whiskey and took a small drink, savoured it in his mouth, and she watched the bob of his throat as he swallowed it down. She shifted and he shook his head.

  “Stay there, baby, on your knees,” he said. “Until I’m finished my drink.”

  Nine

  Mira was losing her sense of time. There was no natural light to guide her in the playroom, no clocks to tell her. Only Jack, his desire, his whims, deciding what she would do, how she would do it, when she would do it. It had taken him several minutes to finish his whiskey, and she stayed at his feet like a slave, waiting for him, willingly.

  When he swallowed his last mouthful, he placed the empty glass on the table and stood, offering his hands to Mira. She took them and he closed his fingers around hers, swallowing them up in his. When she was on her feet, he turned her around, her back to him facing the armchair. “Bend over,” he said. “Put your hands on each arm, open your legs.”

  He helped by gently kicking her feet apart with his, forcing her legs further apart. She did as he asked, her arms stretched down on the chair, her back stretched flat, and her legs splayed for him to see everything. Exposed again. Not saying a word, not protesting, no longer fearful. He was making her want this, making her want him. The letting go of control was overwhelming to her, she didn’t have to be Mira the prosecutor or Mira the counsellor, she could just be Mira. She could trust that this weekend, these moments with Jack would be theirs, privately, between them. It was liberating.

  Maybe it was on the floor, as she sat on her knees, waiting for him to tell her what was next. Maybe that was when she decided she would give herself over to him, freely, without resistance. She felt like she was walking a tightrope with him, never knowing what might happen, what he would do. And it thrilled her even as her stomach knotted. It was dangerous, he was dangerous, but she was safe under his hand, within his realm. Because he made her safe with his dominance, his power.

  He brought his hands to her waist, caressing it gently, then drew one to the base of her neck, sliding his fingers down her spine. She shivered and good bumps covered her. “Are you cold?” he murmured, his fingers teasing the crack of her ass as his other hand rubbed her cheeks, caressing them.

  “No.” Her voice was barely audible.

  “Then what?”

  “I don’t know.”

  He leaned over her back as his fingers worked the butt plug out of her ass and dropped it to the floor. She almost groaned as he removed it, felt her ass clench. He caressed her hair then tucked it behind her ear. His warm breath on her face caused a ripple of desire to slip through her body. “I think you know, baby.”

  She trembled as he picked up the lube from the table. “What are you going to do?”

  He didn’t respond. She shifted and he splayed a hand across her back. “Don’t move, Mira.” His voice held a warning as he bent over her again, circling his hand on her neck, fingers around her throat, voice in her ear. “I think we’ve made some progress this morning. I think you understand better who you are and what you need.” As he said this, his fingers rubbed the ring of her anus, lubing it, sliding in and then out.

  “Jack,” she whispered. “Jack, I can’t…”

  “You don’t have to, baby. You don’t have to do anything but stay exactly as you are.”

  Mira pulled a breath deep into her lungs as she heard him pull his cock from his pants, but he didn’t enter her. Instead, he dragged his lubed fingers across her pussy, circling her clit, rubbing it gently with his thumb. Her breathing hitched as her blood heated up. How could he keep doing this to her? Making her want him with his words, his eyes, his touch.

  He was rubbing his cock against her, down the crack of her ass to her pussy and then he slid into her, and her vagina clenched around him. He thrust slowly, his finger still circling her clit, bringing her higher. His body still hugged her back, his breath in her ear, one hand circling her neck as he thrust. She couldn’t help herself, she moved her ass to meet his thrusts and felt a thrill when his breathing stuttered and his hand tightened on her throat.

  He dropped his fingers from her clit and she cried out at his a
bandonment.

  “Shhh,” he said, his voice a growl. “No sound, Mira. No crying, no sobbing, no screaming, no protesting, no moaning. No words. Not even a whimper.”

  Fear and anticipation warred with each other. “Jack –” she started and was rewarded with a hard, painful slap on her ass.

  “Nod your understanding.”

  She flinched, almost cried out again, then swallowed it down. She understood. She was to be silent. She nodded and he sucked in a breath. He removed his hand from her throat and straightened up, his penis still thrusting into her, her ass moving in concert. He reached for the vibrator he’d placed on the table earlier, she heard the small whir as he switched it on. As he slid out of her, he ran the vibrator through her folds, touching it to her sensitive clit then moving it away, moving it to her pussy, slipping it inside. Compared to Jack, it was small, but the curve vibrating against her g-spot forced a moan from her and elicited another slap from Jack. She swallowed the next one and bit her lower lip to steady herself.

  “Do you want me to move it to your clit?”

  Mira didn’t know. She wanted both. She wanted to tell him that. She shook her head.

  He pumped into her, then out, over her clit, circling it, letting it linger. “Take it and do it yourself. Do what you want.”

  She reached for it and he slid it into her hands. She moved it over her clit, her body bucking. She wanted to tell Jack to fuck her, but she didn’t dare. Then he did, but not as she expected as he slid his cock to her ass, to her hole, bridging the tight ring, and settling past it with the head.

  It hurt. Even though she was numb with desire, orgasmic, it hurt, painful, invasive. It didn’t matter that he was gentle, that she was lubed. The pain spread out and through her, forcing weakness through her legs and she faltered, but he caught her. She almost said his name, and then stopped herself. Fuck and not fair! Then he slid his cock further into her. It didn’t lessen the pain or increase it. Her ass was bridged. And she was letting him do it.

  The tears started then, silently rolling down her cheeks. He took her hand, the one that was holding the vibrator, and pushed it against her clit as he slid fully into her, her ass firmly against his groin, his cock bottoming. Then he stilled, ran his other hand over her nipples, pinching them, rubbing them, pushing her desire up against the pain. He started thrusting, moving her hand clutching the vibrator against her pussy. “Use it baby, find your pleasure,” he told her as he let her hand go, then groaned as he dented her hips with his fingers and pushed himself into her, deeply, before pulling out, then again.

  The pain diminished as he pumped but didn’t disappear. She held the vibrator against her clit, closed her eyes, tried to shift her mind to Jack as he fucked her, tried to imagine how he felt, his cock stroking her ass, so tight, too tight for his width. Was it better than her pussy or different? She pictured him in her mind, not fucking her ass, but forcing her to her knees, his cock in her mouth. It brought her pleasure to the fore and she pushed the vibrator against her clit, stroking it as he thrust. Finding the rhythm.

  He wanted her to come with him. She knew this. She knew he was getting close, his thrusts getting erratic, his fingers digging into her skin, his breathing faster, heavier. She needed him to come soon, she needed this to stop, then as she shifted the vibrator, her orgasm hit her, without warning. It pulsed through and she felt it sear down her legs, then back up to her ass where it clenched at his cock. He came with a shout, a savage release, some small thrusts and then stilling, his cock deeply buried in her. He bent over her again, his head on her back, his arm around her waist. She could feel his heart thumping in his chest, his warm rapid breath on her back. He stayed like this for a few moments and Mira didn’t dare move other than to flick off the vibrator and drop it the floor.

  It hurt again, without her arousal. She understood that what he’d done, everything was to get her ready, to make sure that when he took her ass, she was a participant. “Jack,” she said softly, preparing for a slap but none came. Instead, he pulled himself from her, straightening up, pulling her up with him and tucking his arms around her, holding her back against his stomach.

  He said nothing, not a word. No mocking statements, no soft toying with her name, nothing. Just held her to him. After a minute, he pulled away and took her hand, leading her to the bathroom in the playroom. “Shower, clean-up. I’ll come back for you in 30 minutes.”

  He closed the door and left her.

  Ten

  Lunch comprised a spinach salad with strawberries, walnuts and goat cheese, served with a strawberry vinaigrette on the side along with a grilled chicken breast, freshly baked harvest bread, butter, and cold freshly squeezed orange juice. It was served at the same table as breakfast and Mira felt a sense of déjà vu as she sat across from Jack in a soft, silky kimono. This time, though, Jack was dressed in jeans and a dress shirt, half-buttoned, untucked, the cuffs undone and slightly rolled up, revealing his strong hair-stroked forearms. And this time, her ass hurt from more than just the paddling.

  They were quiet as they ate, Jack stroking her with his eyes, she not quite able to meet his, not quite yet past the morning. Any of it. As if reading her mind, Jack reached across the table and took her hand, encasing it in his, squeezing it, pulling it part-way across the table, then stopping. His fingers twined with hers, twice the size, six times the strength. “There’s no shame in what we did, Mira.”

  Mira looked into his eyes, then down to her plate, spearing a spinach leaf but not raising it to her lips. She felt herself flush. He squeezed her hand, waiting for her to answer him. She looked up again, studied his face. “I know.” But her tone was discordant with her words. She knew it, and more importantly he knew it.

  He stabbed a slice of the chicken and forked it into his mouth, chewing it and swallowing. “Did you enjoy it?”

  Mira shook her head. “It hurt.”

  “But you came.”

  “Yes.” Her voice was docile. She felt like a school girl being lectured by the headmaster. It was disconcerting.

  “So is it the mix of the pain with the pleasure that you’re ashamed of? Or the fact that I fucked your ass?”

  She set her fork down on her plate and glared at him. “Crude, Jack. Stop being crude.”

  He shrugged. “Would you rather me say, made love to your ass. That’s not what we’ve been doing. It’s fucking between two adults.” He paused, then said softly. “I’m sorry I hurt you.”

  “Can we please talk about something else.” Anything would be better than this subject. Anything. She’d give up all her secrets, all her clients if he would just stop talking about her ass. But he didn’t.

  “Will you do it with me again, Mira?”

  Mira’s eyes roamed the room. Looking for what? Anything to focus on besides his face, his words. “Why, Jack? Is it better that way for you?”

  He let her hand go and sat back, his lips curling upward. “Is your pussy jealous of your ass, baby?”

  Mira couldn’t stop herself. She picked up a spoon and threw it at him. Jack ducked and the spoon sailed past him and clattered harmlessly to the floor. “I want to know,” she hissed.

  “It’s different, Mira. Like fucking from behind instead of on top, or with you sitting on me, or any other number of ways we want to do it. It’s different and exciting.”

  “Are you bored with me already?” She regretted the words as they slipped from her mouth. They revealed her vulnerabilities, insecurities, acceptance of him, of this.

  But he didn’t acknowledge any of that. Instead, he revealed his own when he said, “I could never be bored with you, Mira.”

  Then he dropped his eyes to his plate and the silence stretched between them again. Mira ate, almost on automation, but the food was excellent. She wished she had Jack’s money, wished someone would cook for her. The seconds stretched to minutes, then Jack pushed his chair back and stood. “Are you finished?”

  Mira touched a napkin to her lips. Yes, she was done, but she w
asn’t ready for whatever was next. How could she tell him that without her words pushing him to do something to her? Find a new way to fuck her? She nodded, then remembered to say, “Yes.”

  He held out his hand to her and as she took it, he led her over to the couch. “Let’s have a drink and talk.” Relief threaded through her.

  He poured red wine for her and scotch for him, then settled himself at the opposite end of the couch, tucking a knee under him, facing her, forcing her to reach and take the wine he offered. Her robe fell open a little as she did this, revealing her breasts. She pulled it together as she sat back and caught Jack’s heated gaze, his small smile. She ignored him as she sipped the French red, marveling at its richness, the full flavours.

  He watched her as she drank. “Do you have any idea how sexy you are?”

  Her hand shook, the wine splashed around in the glass. “Could we not talk about me, Jack? Please?”

  Jack shrugged as took a drink of his whiskey. “Okay, sexy, let’s talk about your last boyfriend.”

  “What?” Mira rounded on him. “No! I don’t want to talk about that.”

  Jack looked down and toyed with the glass in his hand, running his finger over the rim. “What you want is irrelevant, Mira. At least for this weekend. Maybe confession is good for the soul.” He looked into her eyes as he said this, piercing her with his intent.

  Mira set her wineglass down on the marble table in front of the couch and ran her hands through her hair pushing it back away from her face, tucking it behind her ears. “What do you want to know, Jack?” she snarled.