“Yes, sir. I’m sure.”
He rolled the wheel back and forth over my clit, making me jerk against my bonds. Growls erupted from my body, but then his tongue lapped gently at my tortured nub, and I felt tears well up in my eyes. The combination of rough play mixed with tenderness—that was what captured me, bound me to him. It wasn’t just about pleasure and pain. It was about the sweetness of the juxtapositions of mean and thoughtful, hateful and loving, giving and receiving. For a split second it was as if he’d opened the door to the deep, dark secret of the world. Then it was gone as fast as it came when he rolled that freaking instrument over my pussy again.
I howled, which got a washcloth shoved in my mouth, and just when I was about to utter a muffled safe word, he put his tongue to work again, licking and sucking me. The more he pleasured me, the more I forgot about the pain. All that was left was that ultrasensitive little bud and him. He pulled my clit into his lips, rolled me around in his mouth, released me, then licked me up and down again. Finally, using the tip of his tongue, he located my most sensitive button and made teeny circles around it until finally every muscle in my body tensed and I collapsed.
“Take a breath, but don’t worry. I’m not done with you yet.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Sunday morning, I awakened to a tray of bacon and eggs as well as pancakes, served by my beloved Sir along with tall glasses of frothy mimosas.
I stretched like a cat, the corners of my mouth stretching wide across my face. “Breakfast in bed?” I asked. “You’ll spoil me.”
He tilted his head. “You’ve earned it this weekend, my dear. You’ve been quite the compliant submissive.”
That thrilled me. “I really want to please you, sir.”
“Well, you have. Now eat up your breakfast. I have many more things I want to do to you, and we’re running out of time.” He speared a bite of eggs on a fork and offered it to me.
“Yes, sir.” I sat up and, not bothering to cover myself, took the bite he fed me.
After we finished breakfast and he’d gotten rid of our room service tray, he asked me to lie on the bed spread-eagled again, but this time on my tummy.
I did as he asked, and I felt the fwap of several silky fingers landing on my skin. The impact made a light thud as it hit me. “What’s that?” I asked.
“It’s a flogger,” he said, and out of the corner of my eye I saw him wield it in a deliberate arching motion before its tails landed on my rear end.
“Awesome! I’ve wanted to know what those felt like. I kept seeing people use these online and I was dying to try one.”
“I know. And, while they aren’t as useful for cyber, I knew you would enjoy getting acquainted with this one.”
“What’s it made out of?”
“Leather. All right, enough talking, girl. Silence. I want you to focus on what I’m doing.”
As much as I hated to be shushed, he was right. I needed to focus my attention on the delicious blows he delivered to my arms, back, legs, and tush. The rhythm of his strokes mesmerized me, and when he was finished he almost had to wake me up again.
He rolled me over. “What did you think?”
Gazing up at him lazily, I managed, “I loved it.”
“Each swat triggered a pain receptor in your brain.”
“But it didn’t hurt that badly.”
“That’s because I made sure to straddle the line between pain that makes your brain say ‘Danger! Danger!’ and pain that barely gets the brain’s attention. The goal is to make your brain release endorphins. That’s what we want.”
I nodded, still feeling slightly out of it.
“My god, you are tempting,” he said, placing a hand between my legs to inspect my pussy. “Nice and wet. Such a good girl. You know, you haven’t had my cock the whole time we’ve been here.”
I stuck out my bottom lip. “I know.” Since we’d been in the hotel room, he’d made me come a dozen different ways, but he’d yet to actually fuck me with his cock. He’d shot his load down my throat, on my breasts, even on my face, but he still hadn’t given me what I wanted most.
“You’ve been such a good girl, maybe if you keep being good you’ll get it,” he said. Climbing on the bed on top of me, straddling my face with his hips, he shoved his cock between my lips. “Get it all nice and wet. Make it hard, bitch.”
His words had me wriggling with excitement underneath him. I opened my jaw as wide as I could and took him in my mouth. He plunged forward until the head of his cock nudged the back of my throat. I tried not to gag, and soon he pulled out and smacked my breasts with his erection before kneeling between my legs.
“Just a minute.” He got off the bed, rustled around in the bathroom, then I heard the unmistakable sound of a condom wrapper opening. He returned to the bed, a predatory gleam in his eye and his cock sheathed in a rubber. My stomach tightened. This was it. I was finally going to have him inside me.
Shamelessly, I opened my legs wide, beckoning him with my wetness to enter my folds. He licked his lips and pushed my thighs apart as wide as they would go. Then he positioned himself between them and pushed the head of his cock inside me.
Immediately, I lifted my hips to take him deeper. He met my efforts and drove farther into me.
“Your cunt feels so fucking good,” he said, his voice husky.
“Yes, sir. Your cock… It feels incredible.”
He nodded, consumed with the sensations. I could see his control slip for a split second, but then he got it back and began to pound into me.
His technique was amazing, the way he paced his thrusts and hit my G-spot with each one, but I think it was feeling the heft of him on top of me that I liked most. The way he spread my thighs as his hips ground against my pussy. The way he grunted into my ear as his balls slapped my ass.
“Is this what you wanted?” he taunted me as he fucked me harder.
“Yes, sir,” I whimpered.
“Then say it. Ask me. Beg for it.”
“Please, sir. I need you to fuck me. Please let me have your cock,” I pleaded.
Then he paused and I felt him slide something under my bottom, but I couldn’t see what it was.
The next time he pressed his cock inside me, I felt them. I knew those suckers so well, there was no mistaking them. The bastard had set a pair of forks underneath each of my butt cheeks so that each push brought an extra scrape and sting.
“Ouch!” I yipped.
He covered my mouth with a hand. “Quiet, you little bitch. Do you need me to gag you again?”
I shook my head and tried to squash my cries each time he plowed into me and those wretched forks bit into my ass.
He was right about the combination of pleasure and pain. Even though it hurt like the devil, I felt my arousal ratchet up a notch with each assault on my backside.
Just when I thought those forks would lead me to the Promised Land, he lifted my legs and hooked my ankles around his neck. This angle allowed him to dive even deeper into me, and every few thrusts I felt his cock bump my cervix. It hurt, but it felt good at the same time, and I felt I was drowning in a sea of pleasure and pain.
Balanced back on his knees, he reached out and grabbed my nipples between his fingers. First he squeezed and pinched them until they were hard as stone, then he pulled them high above me, as if attempting to lift me off the bed by my nipples. I cried out in a combination of agony and ecstasy, and he dialed it back to twisting them, all the while fucking my cunt like he owned it.
Soon I could feel him speeding up the pace, which told me he was close to his own orgasm.
“May I come, sir?” I asked.
“Yes,” he said in a strangled voice. “Come all over my cock. I want those fuck juices all over me, trickling down everywhere. Do it! Fucking come now!”
His commanding voice always did it for me. That trigger helped release all the tension that had been building inside me. One more stroke broke the dam in a gush of silken girl-cum.
“You’re so f
ucking delicious,” he growled in my ear as he leaned over and kissed me. His tongue danced with mine as he buried himself as deep as possible inside me and, I could tell by the familiar catch in his throat, we fell over into the abyss together.
A few hours before Quentin’s plane left, we sat together on the couch in our room. I huddled next to him under a blanket. We were both naked, as I had been ninety percent of the weekend.
“I love the harsh way you talk to me. It makes me feel so dirty. I love it,” I giggled.
“It’s even more important when we’re not together. It establishes my authority, and reminds you of your place. As long as you’re a good girl, you will earn your pleasure and my soothing words. But if I believe you’re not giving me your all or you need more pain, you can expect my words to be mean and nasty.”
“Yes, sir.”
He tugged at my lip and I swung myself astride him, letting the blanket fall to the side.
“You’d better ride me, little girl. Ride me hard.” He smacked my bare bottom, and the slapping sound rang through the room.
I lifted up and fit his erection snugly inside me.
“That’s it. Ride me, you little bitch,” he snarled, but he wore a crooked grin on his face that made me unsure whether I wanted to kiss him or slap him. As if reading my mind, he grabbed my wrists and began pumping into me from underneath. The way our bodies joined together, moving as one, our passion for one another spilling until it was hard to tell where one of us ended and the other began.
I raised and lowered myself onto him.
“Fuck me like your life depends on it,” he growled.
“Yes, sir,” I said, and in that moment, as my hips undulated over him, taking his cock deep inside me—it did.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Two days after I returned from Houston, my mother called me. “Sophie, are you sitting down? I need you to sit down.”
I plopped onto the couch in my living room. “What is it, Mother?”
“Your father has had a heart attack, dear,” Bunny said, matter-of-factly.
“What? Is he okay?”
“Yes, the doctor says it was a mild one and they want to keep him here in the hospital for observation, but he’s going to be fine. That is, if he cuts back on the fried foods and takes his cholesterol medicine. I swear, that man…”
I breathed a sigh of relief and inquired about the hospital’s visiting hours.
“He’s sleeping now, but you might stop by this afternoon, dear.”
For all her irritating qualities, I had to hand it to her. Bunny Davenport was good in a crisis.
My relationship with my dad was complicated. He spent the majority of my life at work, so I didn’t know him the way I did my mother. But later that afternoon, when I saw him lying in that hospital bed, looking so small, all the walls we’d built up between us over the years crumbled, and I remembered the dad who used to stand in the pool and coax me to jump to him. I always feared water going up my nose, but he always caught me and showed me I didn’t need to be afraid.
“Hi, Daddy.” I leaned over and kissed him on the cheek.
“Sweetheart.” He smiled up at me with a weakness in his eyes I’d never seen before. “I guess your mother called you.”
I nodded. He reached for my hand and squeezed it tight. “Please do what the doctor says, okay?”
“Sure thing.” But I knew he’d do whatever he damned well pleased.
Still holding his hand, I sank into the chair my mother vacated when she set off for the nurse’s station, certain that they weren’t taking care of her husband properly and determined to set them straight.
“What are you watching?” I wasn’t used to having to carry on a conversation with my father, and this seemed like a safe start.
“Judge Bernice.” He pursed his lips. “She’s pretty good. A tough ole bird. I like that.” He grinned and turned his focus back to the feisty, hulking woman on television in a black robe, who was admonishing a stripper for loaning her unemployed boyfriend her car and five hundred dollars and expecting him to pay it back.
We watched the show until my father fell asleep again. He dropped my hand and I sat back, watching him sleep with the TV droning on in the background. Soon my mother came back, and she and I talked for a while. When our conversation came to a lull, I stood up and hugged her. “Tell Daddy goodbye for me.”
“I will. He’ll be fine. Maybe a scare like this is just what he needs to make him pay attention to his health. You know?”
Patting her on the hand, I nodded in agreement. “Maybe so. Remember to take care of yourself, too.”
Bunny dragged a hand over her perfect hair. “Well, I’ll try. I had to cancel my appointment with Rinaldo this afternoon to be here, but he says he can squeeze me in at the end of the week if I can make it.”
“That’s not what I meant.” I made a face at her.
“I know.” She batted her false eyelashes at me.
“Oh, Mother,” I sighed.
“What?” she asked, doing her best impersonation of complete innocence.
I gave her a fake smile. “Nothing. I love you. Call me when you have an update on Daddy.”
“I will,” she said, picking up the remote control from the bed. As I left the room, I heard the television switch from Daddy’s court show to a soap opera.
The walk down the sterile hallway seemed to go on forever.
My parents were old. When had that happened? I wasn’t ready for this new stage in my life. I always thought I’d have kids by the time my parents’ health started to fail. The whole thing made me want to reevaluate my life. What was I doing anyway?
I wanted a family of my own, but I was divorced and not even really on the market. I had some bizarre, albeit hot, relationship with Quentin, but that was more about fun and excitement than long-term commitment. Not exactly the stable base you need to build a relationship.
But I was addicted to him. The man was like a drug, and I would do anything for a fix. Not exactly healthy…
I mulled things over during the drive home. When I got home, I made myself some spaghetti. As I sat down to eat, I realized I’d turned my phone off when I entered the hospital, but had forgotten to turn it back on after I left. On the voicemail, there was a message from Spencer saying how sorry he was to hear about my dad.
Feeling vulnerable and eager for someone to talk with, I called him back.
“You okay, Sophie?” he asked.
“I guess. Thanks for calling.”
“You know I always liked your dad. Great guy. He’s going to be okay?”
“Yes. Mom thinks this may be the wake-up call he needs to take his medicine and eat healthier.”
“That’s good. I hope so.”
Suddenly it occurred to me that I hadn’t told Spencer my dad was ill. “Hey, how did you find out my dad was in the hospital?”
“Your mom called me.”
“She did?” My blood started to boil. What was my mother trying to do?
“Yeah, but don’t be mad at her. She’s just not used to the divorce yet.”
I took a deep breath. “Yeah, okay,” I responded, knowing that my mother didn’t do anything without a reason.
For the next few minutes Spencer and I carried on an awkward conversation, caught between the old feelings of belonging together the way married couples do, and the new status quo where, in actuality, we had no real ties to each other. In the world we presently inhabited, there was no reason at all for Spencer to care about my dad or how I was feeling, other than it was his habit to care. A habit that would eventually fade.
I thanked Spencer again for his concern and hung up, wishing I could have the same conversation with Quentin.
A few days later, I was talking to Quentin. We were discussing our incredible sessions in Houston. Thinking we were on the same page, I said, “You know, since we had such a great time, maybe we could do that more often?” My timing might not have been great, but I’d been ruminating about our sit
uation ever since we said goodbye to each other in Houston.
He paused, then said, “Let’s focus on what we can do over the internet.”
“If it’s too much for you to come down here, perhaps I could fly up there. To see you.”
“Now that we’ve met, I’d like to do some cam sessions.”
“Oh.” I hadn’t expected him to shut down the possibility so rapidly.
My heart sank. I still wasn’t comfortable with the idea of doing cam sessions, and it felt like we were going backward instead of forward. It wasn’t that I didn’t trust him, I just didn’t trust the security of the internet. Sites constantly got hacked by one bunch or another, and I feared I’d lose my job if anything related to my secret life were made public.
“I don’t see that happening,” I said flatly.
“Oh. Well, I hoped that meeting each other would change things.” His voice was sharp, and suddenly I wanted to cry.
“Me too.”
The conversation went downhill from there. I went through the motions, spanking myself like he asked me to, but I couldn’t get in the mood. He must have sensed it because he cut our session short.
When we hung up, a lump started to form in my throat.
What had I thought anyway? That because we had a nice weekend together, he was suddenly going to want to move to Texas and see me every day? As much as I’d tried to keep my expectations under control, they’d run amok. Now that I’d experienced what it was like to be with him, I wanted to be with him more rather than less, which made the distance between us a bigger problem than it had been before.
The next day I sent him an email apologizing for sulking during our session the night before. When I didn’t hear back from him for two days, I started to worry so I sent him a text.
A few hours later he responded tersely that he was fine, saying he was otherwise occupied on a business trip.
Stung, I set down my phone.
He must be really pissed at me. He’d never been short with me in that way. Sure, he abused the heck out of me in other ways, but he’d never been completely unreachable before, or irritated with me for contacting him. That’s how he acted now—annoyed.
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