Falling For The Forbidden

by Hawkins, Jessica

  “I can read your body language,” he whispered. “I know what it was you wanted. What you still want.”

  “Thank you, Sir.”

  He released her hair. “Your skin is sensitized and now that you’ve had a break, starting again would be painful.”

  He was ending the scene. Alena looked at the floor, past her flushed breasts and hard nipples. It was in part to stretch her neck, and in part to hide her disappointment.

  The crop came up under her chin, forcing her face up.

  He looked like some dark, avenging prince—his face stark and merciless. “Beg.”

  “Sir?”

  “Beg me to keep whipping you.”

  “And if I don’t?” she whispered.

  He slapped her right nipple with the crop. Sharp, hot pain lanced through her. From her nipple right down to her sex, which throbbed in response.

  “Thank you,” she moaned.

  “Turn around.”

  Slightly wobbly, she rose onto the balls of her feet and turned, presenting him with her backside.

  The crop swished through the air, and she cried out in sweet pain as it lashed her ass. In a matter of moments, or was it minutes? She was shifting and wiggling, seeking an end to the constant throbbing interspersed by bursts of sweet pain. Her whole body was humming with need. The need for it all to stop, for her to catch her breath and calm down.

  The need for him to do even more. Harder, longer, more sensitive skin.

  “Please, please,” she sobbed.

  “What?” he demanded.

  “More, Sir.”

  The chemistry she’d been surprised by when he first touched her was nothing compared to the connection she now felt. She felt submissive, truly submissive, for the first time in years.

  And it was that full submission that sparked a terrible desire. She wanted to beg him to hurt her until she was bruised and bleeding. Knowing, trusting, that he wouldn’t go that far.

  “Turn around, offer me your breasts again.”

  Her tits ached, especially her right nipple, but she obeyed, presenting her breasts to be cropped.

  Thwack, thwack.

  A dry sob escaped her, and Alena was no longer thinking about this moment. Instead all the things she’d shoved down, all the things that secretly hurt her, surfaced.

  Insults and abuses that she’d dismissed with a witty comment or comeback were now dragged up from the depths of her memory.

  Only to burn to ash as they met the ferocious heat of Alexander’s dominance.

  He switched to the flogger, starting up the sideways figure-eight pattern once more.

  When the first pass struck her breasts, Alena nearly screamed. She was so sensitive. She couldn’t take it.

  She could. For him, she could.

  And at this point it wasn’t the pain she feared, but the private, personal revelations.

  She wore a mask, which wasn’t remarkable. Everyone did. It just so happened that hers was a bit thicker, a bit more permanent, than what other people wore.

  And Alexander was stripping all that away.

  She still heard the flogger but no more blows fell. Chain clanked and her wrists lowered a few inches. Her overworked arm muscles sent up a protest, but that was minor pain in comparison to her aching breasts.

  “Feet together. Now bend over.”

  She was tired and aching, raw emotionally and physically.

  And he was still going to use her. “Sir, I…”

  “I’m not done using you. You will submit until I release you.”

  When she’d first been exploring BDSM, and had stumbled while explaining exactly what turned her on, a Domme had given her the language she’d been missing to verbalize her desires.

  Submission by force.

  She wanted the Dom to force her to find and touch her own limits. When she pleaded prettily that she couldn’t take a bigger plug, she wanted the Dom to hold her down and work it into her ass anyway. It was the very opposite of the affirmative consent that every man or woman should have in real life, which made it taboo, and probably why she found it so arousing.

  The flogger was finally silent, its soft, wicked tails still.

  If she hadn’t been so emotionally wrung out, she would have told Alexander exactly how hot she found his words and actions. How a moment ago she’d been on the verge of breaking down and crying about things that she’d bottled up for years, and instead she was so turned on she could feel her heartbeat in her pussy.

  Alexander’s hands helped her into position, firm and a bit impatient, but not rough when he grabbed her red, aching hips.

  With his help, she assumed a somewhat awkward position. She was bent at the waist, not at ninety degrees, but closer to forty five. Her elbows were crooked, wrists behind and above her head.

  She wasn’t sure how long she could hold this. After only a minute she felt the strain in her shoulders and lower back.

  His fingers, which now felt cool in comparison to her heated flesh, glided over her back, pausing occasionally, probably to inspect her for any bruising.

  Then he slid his fingers under the back waistband of her panties, and tugged.

  Alena sucked in air and froze.

  Ignoring the bows on the sides, he pulled her panties down to the tops of her thighs, her bare ass exposed for the first time.

  “I will not penetrate you,” he said. “I’m only looking, and making you aware of my right to look.”

  Alexander palmed her butt cheeks, spreading them, holding them open just long enough to make a powerful statement.

  He released her ass, and then shifted so when he ducked down she could see him. He tucked her hair behind her ear, and it was such an unexpected, tender gesture that she couldn’t stop the gasp of surprise.

  “These will hurt,” he warned her softly. “But you will take them.”

  A fresh wave of arousal shot through her, even as she whispered, “Yes, Sir.”

  “I will not tell you how many. You must trust me.”

  “I do.” It was utterly stupid. She had just met him, even if she felt like she knew him from the months of research and planning.

  He was the one who shouldn’t trust her.

  But the knowledge she had about him belonged to Magdalena Moreau, not Alena the submissive.

  Alexander swiped his thumb over her cheek, then stood, moving out of her line of sight.

  A second later the flogger landed on the ground right under her head. His way of telling her he wouldn’t be using the flogger.

  Which meant the crop. A more precise, sharp pain on her ass that was already aching thanks to the very flogger she was staring at.

  Did she trust him? Far more than she should. She had her safeword, but a safeword couldn’t magically unlock cuffs and disintegrate chains.

  Crack.

  Alena screamed, rising up on her toes as sharp, pinching pain flared on her left ass cheek. She would have lost her balance and toppled over if Alexander hadn’t grabbed her. He forced her back into position.

  Once she had her balance, and against all reason and sanity, Alena bowed her back, canting her hips and ass towards him.

  He rewarded her with a single soft caress on her right ass cheek.

  Crack.

  He struck the flesh he’d just caressed. This time she screamed, but didn’t move.

  Her back and arm muscles were tight and burning, nearly every inch of skin from knees to shoulders throbbing.

  Crack, crack.

  Two more, in quick succession. The sensation was huge and hot and she wasn’t sure if it was pain or pleasure anymore, because when he struck her, her breasts bounced, pussy clenched, and even as she wanted to run from the pain she was already fighting the urge to demand more. To demand he be faster, not make her wait even one second to feel it again.

  Hands slid under her torso, helping her to straighten.

  Alena blinked, momentarily confused as she saw the people gathered around them. They’d attracted an audience.
>
  Then Alexander’s lips brushed her ear. “You’re very beautiful. Well done.”

  Several moments later the cuffs were gone and her cloak was settled on her shoulders. Alena reached up to pull it closed, more out of fear of it sliding off than modesty, but Alexander caught her hand.

  “No. Let them see.”

  Well-abused breasts and thighs on display, ass aching, Alena followed her Dom out of the dungeon.

  * * *

  When her ass made contact with the firm floor pillow, Alena moaned.

  “Remove the cloak and roll onto your stomach.”

  The words were not exactly clinical, but they were far more dispassionate than his expression.

  His face was stark, a muscle in his jaw flexing as his attention shifted from her face to her body.

  He wanted her, and the struggle to master that arousal was playing out on his face.

  She shrugged, the cloak falling away.

  “On your stomach.”

  She paused, caught in a moment of indecision. The scene was over; this was aftercare, which meant the power exchange should start to shift back, to equalize. In practice, he was still giving orders, and her first instinct was to obey.

  Time to take back some of her power.

  “Alexander?”

  A rather plaintive sounding question wasn’t the strong statement she’d hoped for, but she’d used his name.

  His gaze returned to her face, and his expression softened, became tender. He crouched and reached out to touch her, but paused, fingers only a centimeter from her cheek.

  “May I?”

  Alena nodded. His tenderness made her feel soft and vulnerable. When his fingers brushed her cheek she closed her eyes and leaned into his touch. It was, at least for her, a poignant moment completely at odds with the way her well-beaten ass and breasts throbbed.

  This man was dangerous, and not for the reasons she’d thought coming into the job.

  Alexander was dangerous because his perversions fit nicely with her own taboo desires, she was ferociously attracted to him, and above all he was a very good Dom.

  She needed to get through aftercare, make sure that tomorrow night he’d partner with her again, then take a frigid shower and reassess.

  Alexander pinched her chin with thumb and the side of his forefinger, bringing her back to the moment. She blinked her eyes open, focusing on his face.

  She should lean in and kiss him.

  She should not kiss him. That was a very bad idea.

  She loved bad ideas.

  “Lay back. Face up to start, if you prefer.”

  She was glad he was no longer restricting himself to single syllable words. Ironically, now she was the one who felt mute.

  Alena stretched out across three pillows, the cloak under her like a blanket. When she moved her legs, her attention shifted to her sex. She was so wet that her labia were sliding against one another.

  Lace wouldn’t show dampness the way satin or cotton did, meaning he didn’t have to know exactly how wet he’d made her.

  Alexander dropped onto one knee and leaned in, examining her breasts. He touched her with the tip of one finger, the bare minimum contact needed for him to shift the flesh and assess.

  The tender moment had passed. This was clinical. He was inspecting her.

  It was demeaning and crude to be treated like a horse who’d been ridden hard and was now being checked before being turned out for the night.

  She should hate it. This sort of objectification wasn’t something she enjoyed.

  But her pussy was pulsing, the slight pressure from her panties against her labia a tantalizingly feather-light sensation. Enough to keep her painfully aware of her sex, but not enough to provide real stimulation.

  Alena squeezed her knees together and nearly moaned.

  Impact play scenes, rope bondage, even some role play, could all take place without sex or even nudity involved. In more private settings and munches, subs were often naked because it increased their feelings of vulnerability and heightened the power disparity, not as a prelude to sex.

  She’d trained with a Dom who’d enjoyed topping her, used orgasms as a reward, but hadn’t ever made any sexual advances.

  Even in her first proper scene, when novelty and uncertainty had heightened every sensation, she hadn’t felt this combination of soft submission and aching need.

  What would it be like if they changed the rules? If she added penetration and sexual options to their play?

  Her stomach twisted at the thought. If she fucked him as part of the job, what did that make her?

  A whore, and not the fun kind.

  Or…

  She could mentally separate what was happening. Alena the submissive versus Magdalena who was working Alexander as part of a job.

  If she did that, and had sex with this man, it wouldn’t be about the job, it would be about them. Their chemistry. Natural sexual chemistry, combined with the power exchange of BDSM.

  She wanted to kneel at his feet. Wanted him to call her a good girl as he forced his cock into her mouth and fucked her face. Wanted him to make her helpless again, to wrap her up in chains and rope until every inch of her flesh was his by right of possession.

  Alena’s breath hitched as her imagination painted vivid pictures. He shifted his attention to her thighs and hips. When he leaned down, Alena held her breath, hoping he couldn’t see how wet she was, couldn’t smell her arousal.

  “Sekunde,” he murmured.

  Watching him rise and walk away she realized how desperately she wanted to see him naked.

  Her imagination began crafting a fantasy that began with him stripping off his clothes.

  Alena licked her lips, which were dry thanks to her heavy breathing. Her naked Alexander fantasy gained traction and she imagined all the wonderful, wicked things he would do to her when they were both naked.

  He’d force a plug into her ass. A big one. One that would make it impossible for her to ignore the invasive presence. A fat plug that would remind her each time she moved that she was a submissive. His submissive. That he was preparing her body so he could fuck her.

  He’d clamp her nipples, then twist the clamps until she cried out. Then he’d soothe her with his mouth.

  He’d use his tongue and teeth on every inch of her skin.

  He’d bury his face between her thighs. Tongue-fuck her as he worked a dildo in her ass.

  Alena’s breathing hitched, her imagination adding fuel to the already dangerous bonfire of her arousal, but the fantasies just kept coming.

  She wanted him to turn her over his knee and spank her with his hand.

  She wanted him to gag her so she’d have no way to work her secret agenda.

  Her runaway kinky thought-train derailed as reality stepped onto the tracks. She had a job to do, and lying here fantasizing wasn’t going to help.

  “Roll over.” Alexander had returned to her side, holding several things, the only one she could see clearly a bottle of lotion.

  She rolled onto her belly, her nipples burning as she lay on them. Alexander briskly tugged her panties, forcing them into the crack of her ass. She smelled the spicy scent of the bruise balm commonly used by those who enjoyed impact play a moment before his hands began to stroke and knead it into her ass.

  It hurt, her skin sore, the muscles of her ass aching. She hissed out a breath, feet rising off the floor as she bent her knees. He briskly grabbed her ankles and forced them down, continuing his ministrations with the other hand.

  The pain from her ass muted her desire, though the absolute dominance with which he handled her didn’t exactly help her come fully out of her submissive headspace. Still, this was the pain of a deep tissue massage, not the sexy pain of a flogging, and she grimaced into the cushion below her.

  Alexander carefully untucked her panties, patting her ass fondly when he was done.

  Alena took deep breaths, strangely relaxed now that it was done. She lay there for what felt like no m
ore than a moment, but was probably several minutes.

  “Alena, how do you feel?” The soft question came from close by, surprising her.

  Raising her head, she propped herself up on her elbows, her belly still on the floor in a modified cobra pose.

  Alexander was seated cross-legged with his back against the wall. He held a large water bottle in one hand, a folded towel in the other.

  “I’m wonderful.” She tried to smile, the sort of knowing wink-and-a-nudge smile that would put them back on equal footing now that the scene was over.

  “I asked you not to lie.”

  Apparently she hadn’t been successful. “I didn’t lie in the scene,” she countered. “Outside of the scene you don’t have the right to ask me that. The world keeps turning because of all the little lies we tell.”

  Her lies were rarely little. God knew this one wasn’t.

  “I prefer the truth.” He paused, but after a long moment spoke again. “If anything is hurting in a way it shouldn’t, you will tell me.”

  “Has anyone ever told you that you’re bossy?” Alena rose up onto her hands and knees, then froze, realizing that she really didn’t want to sit on her aching ass. Kneeling here with her tits hanging down also wasn’t a good option.

  Alexander snorted in amusement, and then he smiled. Oh that smile was bad, bad news.

  He picked up the towel and unfolded it with a snap. Rather than looped terrycloth, this massive bath sheet was a Turkish-style weave. He draped it across his lap and chest.

  Alexander’s gold-green eyes were focused on her face, pointedly not looking at her naked body. There was something old-fashioned about it—chivalrous. He wouldn’t look at her nakedness now that the scene was over.

  “Let me hold you.”

  Alena’s heart lurched in her chest, and her head shot up. She stared at him, unable to think past the knot of feelings that seemed to have scrambled her brain.

  “If you would prefer not?” One brow went up, but she thought there was a bit of uncertainty in his eyes.

  “I’d like that.” It wasn’t a lie.

  Tentatively, Alena crawled onto his lap, twisting so that she minimized her ass’s contact with his hard legs. Her forehead fit perfectly against the side of his neck.