“I can’t believe how out of it I am now,” I murmured, more to myself than to Hunter.
“That can happen sometimes,” he explained. “Especially if you’re really into it.” I had definitely been into it then. I told him what I wanted to eat for dinner, and he ordered while I sipped some water and got my head on straight.
We went to the living room, and Hunter sat on the sofa. He suggested I lay across his lap. I gave him a skeptical look.
“Not for that, I promise,” he laughed. He pointed to the bottle of lotion he’d brought with him, which sat beside him. “I thought I’d help you out a little. Lotion makes the sting feel better, especially when it has Vitamin E in it. You pick up on these little tidbits over time.”
“I’m glad one of us knows what they’re doing,” I said with a laugh of my own, and I lay across his legs. Unlike the last time I was in this position, we talked about life and our jobs and anything else that came to our minds.
“What do you do?” he asked, rubbing the creamy, cool lotion into my skin with great gentleness.
“I’m an assistant at an investment company,” I told him. “It’s about as glamorous as it sounds.”
“You don’t sound very happy about it,” he pointed out.
“It’s not exactly my dream job,” I admitted. “I don’t think it’s really a dream job for anybody. It’s one of those situations where I took the job right out of school because it paid better than anything else I’d come across, but then my mom died, and I had to take care of her bills and the house on my own. It’s a good, secure job. I just need to remember that.”
He made a sympathetic noise. “And your father?” he asked. “Was he not part of the picture anymore?”
I tensed up. He must have felt it. “I’m sorry, did I hurt you?” he asked.
“Oh, no. That wasn’t because of anything you did,” I said. “My dad died when I was little.” Even I heard the way my voice changed. For some reason it was still, after all these years, difficult to talk about him.
“I’m so sorry to hear that,” he murmured. His touch was gentle and smooth on my skin, and it provided a measure of comfort.
“He had cancer, had it for a while, and didn’t want anyone to worry about it until it was too late. He just collapsed one day, and that was it,” I told Hunter. “I didn’t get to say goodbye. I think it’s that lack of closure, you know?”
“How old were you when it happened?”
“I had just turned 8,” I replied.
“Wow. You were very young. I’m sure it made an impression on you,” he sympathized.
I was lost again; this time, it was memories that had me wrapped up. “It wasn’t that I didn’t love my mother; it’s just that Dad was different. He made everything feel fun and magical. He used to take me to the park, down the street from here, every single night. No matter how tired he was or the kind of day he had, we’d go to the park after dinner. There’s a big, wooden castle there for kids to climb on and inside of. The kind with a slide, you know? And I’d play in there and imagine being a princess waiting to be rescued by her prince.
“Even after he died,” I continued, “I would sit in that castle for hours at a time. All alone. I’d wish and pray that my prince would come to rescue me. And guess who the prince always was in my dreams?”
I felt Hunter’s hand, the one without the lotion, squeeze my shoulder. I patted it gratefully.
“My best friend, Megan – oh, of course, you know Megan,” I remembered. “She’s sort of an armchair therapist, if you know what I mean. Anyway, she calls me a total textbook case of a girl with Daddy issues.”
Hunter snorted. “Sorry, I don’t mean to laugh,” he said.
“It’s okay, really,” I assured him. “I get the humor. That’s the whole reason she brought me along with her on Friday night. I’ve always dated men much older than myself. She tells me I’m looking for a replacement father figure. I guess she thought it was time for me to meet a Daddy.”
I felt Hunter’s hand, still caressing my skin. “I’m glad she thought it was time,” he said softly. I was glad he couldn’t see the blush that touched my cheeks or the ear-to-ear smile.
Dinner arrived soon afterward, and we spent the rest of the night eating and talking and watching TV. Just like any normal people.
But we are normal, I reminded myself. Just as normal as anybody.
Chapter 8
Days passed, and before I knew it, we had known each other for two weeks. In such a short span of time, we got to know a lot about each other; funny what instant physical intimacy will do to people in terms of becoming acquainted.
Daddy and I had played four times since our Chinese dinner. He would come through the door after work, and I would be waiting for him. One night, I had dinner all ready and waiting on the stove, and he was very pleased. I also wore the outfit I’d worn to the club, when we first met, and I saw a certain spark in his eye when he walked into the kitchen and saw me there. He then picked me up, sat me on the counter and went down on me, then and there. I had to remember to be a good girl every once in a while too, if that was what being good got me.
As much fun as we were having together, though, I couldn’t shake the thought that this was wrong somehow. I couldn’t put my finger on it; it wasn’t that I felt that what we were doing was bad, per se, but rather the feeling that something was off with Hunter. There was something about him that caused him to hold back. When we played, even though I was going through the motions of a role, I was still feeling things. I was part of the experience. It felt as though Hunter was always watching from a distance, rather than really being involved.
I could hardly even explain to myself how I felt, so I didn’t bother trying to explain it to him. I couldn’t put it into words; besides, I didn’t want to scare him off. Whether or not I wanted to admit it to myself, I was growing more and more attracted to him every time I saw him. And I was afraid of losing this strange, tenuous relationship we were falling into.
One day, a couple of weeks into our relationship, I got home after a hard day and was just bushed. I was too tired to even consider making dinner, even though it was a play night for us. I half-considered calling him to cancel, I was that tired. But then I remembered him telling me that it was okay if we just hung out sometimes. This was going to have to be one of those times. Maybe we could order Chinese again tonight.
I hardly had the energy to change my clothes, but I managed. Then I flopped down on the couch and started flipping through channels; I heard the front door open and close and realized I had started to doze off while waiting for him.
Daddy was not happy with me when he saw me lying there. “I come home after a long day and find you lying around, watching TV? Have you at least gotten dinner started?”
I didn’t take my eyes from the TV. “No,” I told him. “I had a long day, too, you know. I do things.”
“Have you already forgotten the lesson I taught you last week?” he asked. I glanced up at him, and I felt a tingle between my legs when I saw the look in his eyes. “Do I need to teach you again?”
Part of me really did feel like the naughty, insolent teenager. I was tired and cranky and unwilling to play nice. I wanted to see how far I could take this. What could he do to me, really? So I didn’t reply, instead choosing to focus on the TV again.
“Did you not hear me?” he asked. “Do I need to teach you again?”
I smirked and rolled my eyes. That did it.
“Up,” he ordered. “Off the couch. It’s time for a spanking. Maybe this time you’ll learn not to play games or take me for granted.”
“Please don’t spank me,” I said, allowing a little fear to sneak into my voice. Strangely, it seemed that he responded more strongly to me this way. He looked excited. Normally, he looked stern and no-nonsense, but now that expression was mixed with a gleam. I had a mental image of a kid on Christmas morning.
“You’ll do as I say, and you’ll do it now,” he ordered. I coul
d tell there wasn’t much further I could take this without getting into unknown territory. So I stood.
“Bend over the coffee table,” Daddy ordered. “Hands on the table, feet on the floor.” This was different, and I felt a little hesitant about it. Normally, I laid over his lap, or over the kitchen table. This was almost more of a flogging stance. I had done my research on the internet after we first got involved, and I remembered seeing this. But I did as I was told.
I was wearing a pair of leggings and was shocked to feel him roughly pull them down along with the panties I wore underneath. I looked sharply up at him, but he didn’t seem to notice my surprise. He was lost in his own fantasy or scenario or whatever it was. Something inside me decided I didn’t like this side of him as much as what I’d seen of him so far. I couldn’t put my finger on it but knew I felt distinctly uncomfortable. Normally, I didn’t feel this way.
He didn’t bother with the preambles this time. He’d usually tell me how he didn’t like having to do this or about how it would hurt him more than it would hurt me. Now, he simply whacked me across the thickest part of my ass with the palm of his hand.
“Oof!” I couldn’t help exclaiming. Again, I was surprised. This was progressing so quickly. “Daddy . . .,” I said, the uncertainty plain in my voice. But he didn’t notice.
He focused on the other cheek then, with another full-palm whack that left my arms trembling.
“That really hurts,” I whimpered. It was as though he didn’t hear me at all, and instead, just spanked me again.
“Maybe next time you won’t disobey me,” he growled. “You don’t seem to be learning the lessons you’re taught, and I’m getting tired of having to teach you.” He smacked again across my bare bottom, and I felt a sharp, stinging pain. As always, it melted into a pleasurable warmth, but the flashing red lights I was seeing across my consciousness were standing in the way of my normal enjoyment.
He whacked again, and I heard the sound reverberate through the living room, just as it reverberated through me. The force pitched me forward, and I had to brace myself more strongly or else fall on my face onto the table.
“I don’t feel like this is really bringing the lesson home,” he said in a soft and menacing tone. I couldn’t see him, as he stood behind me, but I heard in his voice that he was enjoying this. I was thinking we might have to have a talk about this when we were finished, and I might need a soak and a rub down in lotion when all was said and done.
It sounded as though he was moving away from me. I started to stand up and felt his hand on the back of my neck. “Stay there,” he whispered. “Don’t move.” Somehow, even though I wasn’t impressed, part of me still responded to him. I did like feeling as though I was being dominated. That’s what made this all the more confusing.
I heard him cross the room, and I could hear him fiddling with the blinds for some reason. Then he came back.
“This will teach you,” he muttered coldly. Then I felt pain as he struck me several times across my ass with what felt like a stick.
“What is that?” I gasped.
“Something to help you learn better,” he replied, then I felt it against my skin three more times in rapid succession.
“Ow!” I cried out. He laughed softly. This felt like some sort of strange nightmare. The sweet man I’d been spending my nights playing with was a stone-cold sadist.
Then he started striking me, again and again. Soon the pain was too much for me to bear anymore.
“Stop, please!” I begged, and I could feel tears spilling over onto my cheeks and dripping onto the table. He didn’t hear me, or didn’t listen. Either way, I felt more blows rained on me.
Then the thought hit me. “Latte!” I screamed. “Latte! Latte!”
Just like that, the blows stopped. My arms folded beneath me, and I rested my head on them, then sobbed. I hadn’t been spanked. I had been beaten. I had never been beaten before in my life.
“Hayley,” I heard from far away. I was too lost in pain and bewilderment to care. I felt his hand on my arm and shook him off. I didn’t want him to touch me.
“Hayley, I’m sorry.” He knelt down beside the table; he didn’t touch me this time, but just stayed there. All I could do was cry. The pain in my backside was terrible. It stung and throbbed horribly. More than that, though, was the memory of the fear I’d felt. He wanted to hurt me. Why had he wanted to hurt me?
Eventually, I noticed he placed a box of tissues beside me, and I reached for them without a word or look at him. I was angry and disgusted. Also, I was ashamed at how I’d let him make me feel. How had that happened?
After a long time, I calmed down. The pain hadn’t dulled in the least. I didn’t even want to reach a hand back to touch my sore skin. But I was getting over that first rush of emotion nonetheless.
“I’m sorry I made you use the safe word,” Hunter whispered. I had my forearms on the table with my hands clasped and had been looking down at them. When he first spoke, I looked up at him out of the corner of my eye. Just like I had seen that wicked gleam in his eye and heard the pleasure in his voice when he was tormenting me, I could see and hear real sorrow now. I knew he meant it. He was sorry.
“That was awful,” I whispered. “Just awful.”
“I’m sorry,” he said again. “What did I do to make you use the safe word?”
I couldn’t believe he needed to ask this question. What did he think? Were we even in the same room?
“You hurt me, very badly,” I managed to say before the tears welled up again. “And you scared me. What the hell did you even use on me?” I looked around the floor and saw what it was: the rod from the blinds, used to open and close them. Well, he was creative. I had to give him that.
“Where the hell did all of that come from? The force you used, the way you didn’t care if you’d hurt me?” I asked, once the tears had passed and I could trust myself to speak clearly. “Why did you do that?”
He sat back on his heels. I could tell he had no idea what to say. That didn’t bode well.
“You know what? It doesn’t even matter why you did it. You did it, and that’s all that matters. If you think I’m just going to let you hurt me and get off on my pain, you’re dead wrong.” I stood up, slowly. I winced more than once, but I refused his help. I needed to get some of my own back, I guess.
I braced myself, then pulled up my underwear and leggings. It hurt terribly, terribly. Even the faint pressure of the fabric against my skin was sharp and stinging. But I needed to feel some sort of dignity, and walking around with my pants around my knees wasn’t going to do it.
I finally looked him in the eye. I saw how contrite he was, but I remembered that even the worst abuser is contrite after the fact. Not that I felt I’d been abused, per se, but I no longer felt as though I could trust him to use his best judgment. That was for sure.
“I got into this to play with you,” I said. “And up until now, it’s been fun. But I’m not a masochist. I don’t like to be in that sort of pain, especially when the person who’s beating me is laughing about it. I’m not some animal to humiliate.”
“I didn’t mean to humiliate you,” he said, his voice quiet.
“Yes, you did,” I insisted. “You weren’t just playing at discipline. You wanted to hurt me. And fuck you if you think you can just do that to me. I think maybe you should leave and think about what the hell is broken in you if you need to hurt people.”
“Hayley . . .,” he said, his voice breaking. “I don’t know what to say to tell you how sorry I am. Please, believe me. I didn’t mean to upset you like that.”
“How could you think that I wouldn’t be upset? You beat me with the rod from the blinds!”
He shrugged. “I didn’t think about it. I was caught up in the moment. I’m sorry I hurt you. Please . . .” He reached out to touch me, and I flinched. He dropped his hand, and I sensed how distressed he was at my reaction. But I was glad he felt that way. I wanted to give back some of the hurt he g
ave me.
“Can I run you a bath or anything?” he asked. I thought about it for a moment. I could tell he wanted to make it up to me somehow. Maybe he hadn’t meant it after all.
“Yes, a bath would be good,” I told him. “But I’ll be taking it alone.” He nodded and went upstairs.
I was lost in my feelings. What did all of this mean? He’d been so good to me, so gentle and caring when it came to introducing me to this new world. Up to this point, except for the one conversation we’d had about how the pain in his life informed some of his behavior, he’d been perfect.
But there was that pain. And the pain he inflicted on others because of it. Before, he’d only pulled my hair and spanked a little more roughly than I would have liked. Now he’d nearly drawn blood he’d beaten me so hard. I should have used my safe word earlier, but I’d forgotten all about it. I hadn’t needed it before now, after all.
“Bath is ready,” I heard from upstairs. I took a deep breath and climbed the stairs carefully, taking my time against the soreness that was getting worse by the minute.
Again, he’d lit candles around the bathroom and had soft music playing. This time, I didn’t invite him in with me, of course. I only closed the bathroom door so I could get a look at my backside after I’d undressed. I gasped softly when I saw the bruises that were already coming up on my skin. There was a crisscrossed pattern of red stripes, too, from that damned rod.
I was looking over my shoulder in the mirror, and I caught Hunter’s eye. He was looking at the same thing I was, and I saw concern on his face. “I’m so sorry,” he said again.
I didn’t reply, instead turning toward the tub and climbing in. I slowly lowered myself into the water, wincing when it hit my skin. I hated him in that moment.
I settled in, then spoke quietly. I didn’t even raise my eyes to look at him. “Thank you for the bath,” I said. “And now I think you should leave. I need time to think about this.”
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