by Sionna Fox
“Try not to brace yourself, little mouse. It makes it worse.” He chuckled as he landed the first blow.
Heat bloomed from the spot where leather met skin. It stung but faded quickly, giving over to the throbbing in my clit. He struck again, slightly harder, on the other cheek, and I groaned into the pillow in a heady mix of pain and pleasure. His rhythm was slow and steady, allowing me to breathe deeply between slaps, turning the stinging thud the leather left on my skin into a deep, thrumming arousal coursing through me.
Between the measured breathing, the arousal, and the pain, I found a place where my mind went blank. I focused completely on the feeling of leather on flesh, the burning on my skin, the sounds it made, Matthew’s soft grunts as he gradually picked up intensity and pace, the almost unbearable tension between my legs. Hissing and soft yelps of pain had given over to moans. I leaned into the strikes, trying to get closer, faster, harder. My pussy clenched with every slap, my clit ached, I wanted him to touch me, fill me, fuck me, let me come. I pushed the pillow up and away from my face and rested my forehead on the mattress.
“Please, sir.” I didn’t know what I was begging for. I simply needed to beg.
Matthew was breathing heavily, his whisper ragged when he leaned over me. “Please, what, little mouse? Do you want me to stop?”
“No! Don’t stop. Please. I need you.”
He brushed his hand over my butt and dipped his fingers into my pussy. A precious few seconds of attention were all that stood between me and having my mind melted. “Fuck, you’re wet.” He pulled his hand away. “Do you want to come, little mouse?”
“Yes, please. Fuck, don’t stop.”
He ran a cool hand over my scorching hot skin and lifted my hips, setting me on my knees with my ass in the air. A whistle, and a fraction of a second later, a snap as leather met skin. I sobbed into the pillow as the sharp, hot sting of it melted into pleasure. My hips writhed, searching for a friction that wasn’t there. He struck again. And again. Faster and harder, he worked over my ass, up and down my thighs, every blow adding to the ache in my clit. He landed the belt on the crease between ass and thigh, once, twice, three times, and I broke. My knees went out from under me. Matthew dropped the belt and pressed his hand between my legs, stroked my slick clit and I was lost to the orgasm that tore through me. I shivered and twitched as each shock passed, rolling around on my bed, as it went on and on.
Matthew ran a soothing palm down my spine, and the mattress dipped as he settled next to me. “You did so beautifully, little mouse.”
I turned on my side to face him. I needed to feel him close, needed him inside me. I wrapped a leg around him. “Please.”
He took a condom from his pocket and shoved his pants down. I turned on my back, the sheets rough against my tender skin, but I ceased to care when Matthew got on his knees between my thighs and pressed slow, sweet kisses to the marks he’d made.
“You were amazing, my little masochist.” He murmured praise as his mouth moved over my body, from my thighs to my belly to my breasts and up the length of my neck to meet my lips.
He put his hands under my hips to lift me slightly off the bed, sparing my tender skin some of the friction of the sheets as he slid inside me and moved languidly. I had expected he would fuck me hard and fast after a whipping, but he made love to me instead. There was no other way for me to categorize the long, slow stroke of his cock inside me or the deep kisses and gentle nibbling of my neck and ears.
I tangled my fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck and hitched my knees as far up around his hips as they would go. I wanted as much of him as I could have, and as deeply as possible. I hovered on the edge of coming, suspended with no sense of time or space, before it rolled over me in pulsing waves. It would have pulled me out to sea if not for Matthew’s slow, gentle touches bringing me back to shore before he let himself go.
We lay together, sweaty and boneless, for long minutes. He let me take my time coming back to myself from the dark, quiet place I’d found, bundling me into my comforter and holding me to his warm, solid chest. I nestled in like I was made to be there.
“Will you be okay if I get up for a minute?” he whispered, and I mumbled assent.
He gently extricated himself from underneath me and left the room with my top sheet wrapped rakishly about his hips. I rolled onto my stomach and stretched out like a starfish, relaxed and content. He came back with a glass of water and a warm washcloth. He cleaned me up and inspected my skin for any damage before he snuggled back down next to me.
“Izzy’s home,” he said without inflection, and I snort-giggled into the mattress.
I lifted my head and wiped my eyes. “Sorry,” I mumbled before I dissolved into giggles again.
When I finally stopped, Matthew brushed my hair out of my eyes and kissed my forehead. “How are you feeling?”
“Fuck, that was better than yoga and Xanax,” I groaned as I draped a leg around his hips and snuggled closer.
“I’ll remind you of that in the morning when you’re complaining about your sore ass.” He kissed me and tucked my head into the nook between his collarbone and his shoulder. We slept.
Chapter Ten
In the morning, Matthew and I tiptoed around Izzy’s closed door, sharing a hushed breakfast and a lingering kiss before we each had to leave. She texted me on her way to her first class to say she would be home early and suggest getting takeout and hanging out at home. I had a sinking feeling she’d overheard a lot more than I would have liked when she came in last night.
Every time I shifted in my seat, the soreness in my muscles reminded me of my tender skin, and the faint bruises I wore like souvenirs. I liked them. I liked the constant reminder of Matthew. I liked the visual proof of my ability to take pleasure in pain. I was proud of them, proud of what my body could do.
I’d spent my whole life tense and nervous, constantly in pain from the way my body held on to fear. Being with Matthew, letting go of those hurts through welts and bruises, making the anxiety that twisted my guts and my shoulders in knots manifest on my skin, it was a relief I’d never known I could have. The last week had been a revelation.
But I had no idea how to explain to Izzy that no matter what she heard, unless it was followed by a volley of red, yellow, no, or stop, it was consensual. I didn’t want to talk about it. I wasn’t ashamed of what we were doing, but it was private. The connection between me and Matthew was new and fragile. I was afraid to jinx it by hashing over the details.
Izzy wouldn’t be horrified by what we were doing, but she would be afraid Matthew was taking advantage of me. I’d had a terrible habit of getting overly attached to charismatic assholes in college, so it was a fair concern. I didn’t have words for how much I wanted the chance to explore this on my own, how much I needed it. I didn’t want to talk myself out of it, the fear of getting hurt later winning over what I had now.
Matthew texted in the afternoon to check on me. I snuck into the bathroom and sent him a discreet photo of the darkest of the purple marks on my ass and let him know I was staying in with Izzy that night. He had to know she was going to ask questions, but guidance for how to talk to your best friend about your experiments with kink wasn’t forthcoming. All I got was an eggplant emoji and a link to some bruise ointment. I was on my own.
I trudged home at the end of the day, steeling myself for a long evening of awkward questions and TMI. Izzy was in the kitchen, putting the heavenly smelling contents of a takeout bag on the table. Bribing me to talk with Indian takeout was all kinds of unfair.
I held up my hands. “I surrender. What do you want?”
“What, I can’t buy you dinner just because?” She widened her eyes and batted her eyelashes, all false innocence.
I laughed and raised an eyebrow. “You haven’t been home this early in weeks. Now you’re here, on a Friday night, with takeout. This is not ‘just because.’”
She set dishes on the table and sat, heaping rice and curry on her plat
e as she went. I dug into the box of spinach pakoras and waited.
“I want to make sure you’re okay.” Her voice was soft and serious, her normally serene features crumpled in concern. “You haven’t done the dating thing in a long time, and I worry about you, Mouse. I don’t want to see you diving into a shallow pond headfirst with your eyes closed.”
I cast my eyes to the ceiling and sighed. “I’m fine. I’m awesome, actually.” I casually popped a bite of pakora into my mouth, but my eyes tracked to the wall over her shoulder so I didn’t have to look at her face.
“Yeah, well, I came in last night and there was a lot of noise that sounded like hitting coming from your room. I mean, everyone seemed happy about it, but I have to ask.”
No amount of preparation for this conversation would have been enough. I wiped my fingers on the napkin in my lap and took a huge lungful of air. “Yes, okay, that’s…yes. You heard that. Can we not talk about it?” It was a pointless question. She was going to want to know everything.
“Holy shit! Seriously?” Izzy held her hand to her lips, cackling around a mouthful of naan. “Country Mouse is kinky?”
I blushed so hard, even my eyeballs were hot. “Apparently,” I muttered at my plate.
“Sorry, that’s—I can’t believe it.” She snorted one more time. “This came from him, right? But you’re not just going along with it because Matt’s into it? This is something you want? Because I swear to god, if he’s pressuring you into something…”
I took another deep breath and met her eyes. I needed to convince her so I would only have to say this once. “Izzy, I love you. I appreciate that you’re concerned, but I promise, I want it. It might have been his idea, but I want this for me. And now I would like to never, ever speak of this again. Please forget you have any idea what goes on in my bedroom.”
“If it makes you happy, Mouse, I’m happy for you, I am. But to be fair, he was going down on you on our couch the other night, so it’s not strictly in the bedroom.” She pointedly waved her fork at me, and my face turned an even deeper shade of scarlet.
“Shut up. You know what I mean.”
“Come on, Mouse, you know I’m teasing. Seriously, I’m happy for you.”
“Thank you. Can we please, for the love of all that is holy, talk about something else now?”
Izzy laughed and changed the subject. She regaled me with tales of awkward critique sessions and the series of paintings she was working on. She’d thrown herself into grad school full tilt and it seemed like ages since we had hung out, chatting over dinner and watching a stupid movie together.
She pulled me into a bear hug on our way to bed. “You know I love you, Mouse. I’m glad you’re happy. Promise me you’ll be careful, okay?”
“I know. I will. I love you too, Iz.” I squeezed her back and let go. “Goodnight.”
I was surprisingly relieved that she knew, and I didn’t have to hide. Izzy was happy I was happy. When I got my heart broken, she would be there to help me pick up the pieces. I got into bed and pressed my fingers to my bruises, headed for dirty dreams of a gorgeous, kinky nerd. My gorgeous, kinky nerd. For now, at least.
I hid in my room to do my “homework” the next morning. Whatever Izzy’s vague idea of what I was up to with Matthew was, I didn’t need her in the same room while I haltingly wrote down the dreams and fantasies I’d been having and made note of when and with what in mind I’d gotten myself off. There wasn’t much to tell with the amount of time Matthew and I had spent together in the last week.
The checklist was harder. It started with physical acts, most of which I had no idea if I would love or hate. I had no context for understanding what hot wax or caning or fisting felt like. I marked most things maybe. Tickling was a definite hard limit. When it moved on to the psychological aspects of scenes, I was oddly more certain. I didn’t want to serve him. I didn’t want him to call me names. I wanted the heady buzz of his attention and praise. I wanted to be a good girl.
That night, he picked me up, made me dinner, and settled me on his couch without asking for my homework or dropping any hints of what he had planned for us. The flock of birds in my chest was agitated, waiting and wondering what was going to happen. And the next morning. And maybe the next afternoon. Would I make it home before Monday?
When he finally asked to see what I had brought for him and we exchanged lists, my heart climbed into my throat. I prayed that what I wanted wouldn’t be so far off the mark from his that he would have to end it. I skimmed his notes, taking in all the things he’d marked yes for “experience” and whether he was willing to do them again. His experience obviously far outpaced mine, but his willingness was similar. I breathed a sigh of relief, then darted glances at him as he continued looking over what I’d brought in silence, his lips twitching into a wicked smirk as he read my journal. He didn’t ask many questions about my list, laughed at my note of “absolutely fucking not” next to tickling, and set it all on the coffee table.
He looked at me and smiled. “You’ve been a very good girl, little mouse.” I beamed. “We’re going to try something different tonight.”
I perked up like a dog that heard the peanut butter jar. “Oh?”
“Mm-hmm. Something you’re interested in and that I very much want you to enjoy.”
Please be bondage. Please be bondage. Please be bondage. God, I wanted him to tie me up. Though, I was so lust-drunk I would have agreed to almost anything.
“You said you wanted to be bound. Is that still something you want to do?”
“Yes, sir. Please, sir.” I couldn’t even pretend to be cool about it. I’d been looking forward to this since he’d sent me the damn photos. Was it only a week ago?
Matthew stroked my cheek with one long finger. “This goes a little differently. I need you to stay present with me while I’m tying you. I’ll ask you questions about how it feels, if you’re comfortable, if something is too tight, or anything pinches. If you start to lose feeling anywhere, you need to tell me immediately. Understood?”
I nodded, wanting him to get on with it already.
“The words, please, Jolene.”
When was I going to learn, a nod was never enough? “I understand, sir.”
“Thank you. We’ll start with a simple chest harness. You won’t be tied to anything, but you’ll get a feel for the rope and the process. Go into the bedroom, strip, stand at the end of the bed, and wait for me.”
“Yes, sir.” I skipped down the hall and tossed off my clothes in record time. I trembled slightly, nervous and hopeful. I wanted so badly for this to live up to how I’d imagined it.
Matthew came in with two glasses of water, set them on the dresser, and retrieved a coil of black rope from his closet. He unwound it before me, let me run it through my fingers to learn its feel, and told me to close my eyes.
“I want to watch you.”
“Closing your eyes will help you focus on what you feel.” He kissed me between my eyebrows. “And I can’t accidentally hit you in the eye with an end.”
I warmed at his admission of fallibility. “Thank you, sir.”
“Arms up,” he commanded, and I immediately lifted them. He stopped me when they were at shoulder height and had me hold them out straight from my body.
His fingers brushed my ribs as he reached around me to lay the first length of rope across my skin. It was slightly rough, not enough to itch, but I wouldn’t forget it was there. He lifted my breasts to pull it taut under them and around my ribs, running his fingers under the line. I flinched slightly where it tickled.
He smoothed a hand down my side. “Just making sure it’s not twisting or pinching against your skin, okay? I’ll be firmer next time.”
“Okay. Thank you, sir.”
Though I had promised to stay with him, with my eyes closed and my breathing deep and regular, I sank readily down toward the quiet place where I could feel everything and think nothing. Each time he wrapped a line around my chest, calm seeped deeper i
nto my bones.
Matthew worked with practiced ease, repositioning my arms, checking on me, keeping me from sinking completely under with murmured questions and explanations of what he was doing. Lines wrapped under, across, between my breasts, adding the delicious pressure of being firmly groped to the sensation of being held tight. When he pinched my nipples between two lines, I gasped and almost melted to the floor on the spot.
“Easy, little mouse.” Matthew chuckled and placed a steadying hand at my elbow.
The contrast of being utterly calm and completely aroused had me weak-kneed and whimpering. Matthew’s hands stopped moving around my torso and smoothed the hair away from my face. He kissed me between the eyes and held me to his chest. His cock pressed against my belly through the rough fabric of his pants. I was glad I wasn’t the only one helplessly turned on by the whole scenario.
“God, you look incredible.” He guided me away from the end of the bed. I’d lost my sense of the space, and I wasn’t sure where he was taking me. “Open your eyes, little mouse.”
I blinked, the room was painfully bright for a few moments before my eyes adjusted. He had led me to the mirror on the back of his closet door. I shied away from my reflection, but Matthew stood behind me and took my face gently in his hands.
“Look, Jolene.” He slid his fingers down my arm, took my hand, and placed it over the erection straining the front of his pants. “You are so beautiful.”
I looked. With black rope wound around my pale skin, hiking up my tits, pinching my nipples into aching points, I could see how I was pretty fucking hot. I felt pretty fucking hot. I smiled at myself in the mirror.
“Good girl.” Matthew hummed and spun me around before he crushed his mouth to mine. Holding me to his body with one hand at the small of my back and one hand seeking my pussy, he shuffled me onto the bed, stripped off his clothes, and rolled on a condom.
