Too Hip for Love

by Sindra van Yssel

And she did, more powerfully than the first. She closed her thighs around his head for a moment, and then, not wanting to be taking control, spread them open for him again.

  “Good girl,” he said.

  “I have the best”—she wanted to say Master—“Dominant.”

  “As long as you know it.” He smiled and straightened, stroking her thigh. There was something wistful in the smile, though, as if he knew her thoughts.

  He probably noticed my hesitation. “I do.” She meant it.

  “Good.” He set the violet wand with its fragile glass electrode on a towel on the dresser. He always kept his toys clean, and she knew he’d take care of that later. It was one task he never assigned to her. She always supposed that was because he might play with someone else, and he alone wanted to be responsible for making sure everything was done properly.

  Then he climbed into bed with her and gathered her into his arms. I love you, she wanted to say. But she wanted him to say it more.

  I might as well sign the contract, she thought. I’m his slave anyway. So why doesn’t that make me happy?

  Because I want more than control, and affection, and stability. I want love and marriage and kids. I think Parker loves me, but he won’t say it. And I’m falling deeper in love with him every day.

  “Penny for your thoughts, my love?” He must have sensed that she wasn’t relaxing as she usually did.

  “You’d not get your money’s worth,” she told him. She wondered what she’d do if he ordered her to tell. Say everything, she supposed.

  “Oh, I doubt that very much.” He stroked her hair. “But I will respect your privacy. Just make sure to tell me sometime, okay?”

  No. You always make me feel so good, so worthy. Beautiful, sexy. I could never tell you that you’re not enough. Even if it’s true. She felt ungrateful for thinking it.

  They snuggled for a few minutes, but she didn’t want to be left to ponder. More sex, even though she felt satisfied, a flogging, anything was better than that right now. “Would you like to beat me, Sir? Or have me service you?” She reached for his cock.

  “I don’t think you need to be paddled right now,” he said. He held her wrist, not squeezing but enough to still her hand.

  “Or caned?”

  “Or flogged or whipped or spanked.”

  “As you wish, Sir. Then let me serve.” She slid down and took him into her mouth once more before he could stop her. He was soft, but he responded, hardening in her mouth and making her feel sexy, desirable. I’m good at this. She looked up at him and saw the mixture of emotion on his face. Do you feel out of control? Does it feel too good to stop me?

  Then he smirked at her, and she didn’t feel in control at all. He nested his hand in her hair enough to remind her that he could push down—or pull her off—at any moment. Unless she missed her guess, he hardened more as he made the gesture. We fit so perfectly in so many ways. He loves the control. I love the surrender. And I will never surrender to anyone else so completely. Not even the future father of my children, if he exists.

  She bent to her task, hoping she could please him so thoroughly that he would feel no need to guide her, but accepting and turned on by his right to do so. She loved the taste of him and the anticipation of building his pleasure ever higher, to climax.

  He gripped her hair and pulled suddenly. “Enough, girl. Fetch the riding crop.”

  Her eyes widened. She’d been so focused, and suddenly she was off balance. As he wanted, she realized, or he would not have shifted so abruptly. She scrambled off him, her head briefly light from standing so quickly, and headed for the door. He’d not asked her to fetch the toys lately, babying her leg far more than it needed to be.

  “It’s hanging in the closet,” he said after she took a step. “I thought it might be needed this evening for keeping your full attention.”

  I’ve been too much in my own thoughts lately, I suppose, and he noticed. She turned around. The closet was substantially closer and didn’t involve stairs, and for that she was grateful. She opened the door and found it hanging there, a long black rod of leather with a flap nearly two inches long and half an inch wide at the end. She lifted it by the handle, feeling the coldness of the metal tip, but then cradled it in both hands, one at each end. She did not for a moment want to be seen carrying it as if she might use it, even though she had with Tori and a few others.

  “Good girl,” he said.

  She handed it to him, feeling a mixture of dread, anticipation, and lust. A man with a riding crop shouldn’t make her excited. Maybe I’m not cut out to be a mother, if I like this stuff so much.

  “A little fear is intoxicating, Karen. And you’ve never lost that, no matter what we do together or what you’ve experienced. But this is not just fear I’m sensing. Or arousal. Did you know I can smell your lust? There’s some other sad thought that has struck your head.” He took the crop from her hands. “Tell me.”

  She sought for a lie but found none. “Just the usual doubt, Sir,” she said, knowing he would not give her long to come up with something. “What am I, to be aroused by this?”

  “A submissive, certainly. A masochist at times, but not always. There is nothing wrong with you.”

  “No, Sir. I know that. Sometimes I forget.”

  “You need only look around at the other submissives you know.”

  She nodded. She knew it was true. She remembered the moms at the munch. She didn’t doubt for a moment they were good mothers.

  “You have a choice—three choices. We can talk about it. You can go think about it by yourself or with a friend. Or I can distract you with this.” He tapped the crop.

  The first was right out. She could talk to him about a lot of things, but not that. And the second wouldn’t help. “Please distract me, Sir.”

  “Bend over the bed.” He set the crop down and got off the bed. As she bent over, he added, “Arms stretched out toward the other end. That’s a good girl.”

  He went to the chest of drawers and removed some rope. He tossed it on the bed. Then he started some music. He had a small portable speaker in the bedroom, and a remote that told his computer what to pipe through it. A steady beat in a slow 4/4 time filled the room.

  He tied her wrists together and then tied that rope to the far end of the bed, so that she couldn’t move back from where she was, or even straighten. The he picked up the crop and tapped on her ass with it lightly.

  She knew it wouldn’t stay light. And her pussy was getting wetter. She wiggled her ass at him. Harder, Sir. Take my mind away from other thoughts.

  He seemed to understand as he laid a stinging line across her butt that got her full attention. He knows me. He reads me. No other man can do that.

  He flicked the crop so that the end hit her, and she yelped. Then he did it again.

  He worked with the music, using it to let her know what was coming. She felt the crop on every other beat, for four stripes on her rear, and then he would pause and soothe the pain by rubbing her ass with his hand as she breathed and processed. It wasn’t thinking as much as going with the flow, and letting the sensations spread over her body. She was aware of her arousal but not able to focus on it, because the feeling on her backside was more intense. And when she started to feel her aching pussy and her hard nipples more than the memory of the crop, he would take a step back and refresh her memory with four swishes and whacks, each one stinging her flesh.

  “It was your choice to start. But only I decide when we end.”

  What the hell have I gotten myself into? It was a familiar thought and answered with the knowledge that he always got her safely through to the other side.

  The pain he gave her blossomed and spread. She had welts now. She’d have bruises in the morning, marks that would last for days. Maybe longer if he kept at it. It might hurt to sit down. No, it definitely would. Each time she did, she’d be reminded of him and what they’d done.

  She wiggled her ass for more. Marks could make even a short sce
ne last for days, sustaining the glow and warding off the dropping sensation she sometimes felt on Sunday or Monday after playing with Parker.

  “Good girl,” he told her. “You’re taking this so well.”

  Her heart warmed with the praise. She started to float away, content that she was pleasing him, drugged with her body’s response to the pain. She noticed the feeling, a feeling that she loved. Sometimes it was even better than coming. Noticing it made it elude her, as she was in her head for a moment. But the crop was insistent, taking her away, stinging more for her insistence on thinking. At last she gave into it, surrendering to his mastery of her and to the crop, her defenses gone in perfect submission and bliss.

  She didn’t know how many more times he beat her with the crop.

  “Mine,” he told her.

  Yours. But spoken words were beyond her.

  He set the crop aside, and she heard the crinkling of a foil wrapper. He pushed his cock inside her pussy. She came for him instantly, her pussy trembling at the touch. He wrapped his arms around her, grabbed her breasts, and squeezed them roughly. She pushed back against him, wanting more, feeling the hard muscles of his abdomen against the welts on her butt. He almost withdrew from her, then slammed back in, the sensation like a hard thud against her stinging skin.

  He knows what I need. Without even thinking about it, she moved her hips with him, adding to the roughness with which he took her. He went in so deep, and every time he thrust back in, he hit her G-spot on the way.

  She came again and again before he joined her, and then she closed her eyes and collapsed against the bed. He draped himself over the bed and cuddled her, holding her close with one arm while untying her with the other, then lifting her fully onto the bed. Exhausted, she drifted off to sleep.

  Chapter Eight

  The next morning, they were both up early. They had shifted positions once during the middle of the night and cuddled for a while, but still the early bedtime had left them both restless. Parker got dressed and went to work. Karen looked at her bruises in the mirror. They were already turning purple, and she smiled proudly. I took that. We did that together.

  Then she felt a twinge she didn’t want to deal with. Time to work. The familiar feelings of pride were easier to deal with than questioning it all. She went to her laptop at the table, where it was set up with her big monitor that Parker had carted from her apartment. She had a Web design to do for a new client. She sat down and was reminded of the crop anew.

  An hour later, she realized she was getting nowhere. Usually a sore bottom would focus her, but she was distracted. She looked at the clock. It was still nine hours until Parker usually got home, although he might get home early given when he went in. She picked up her phone to call Alicia, but there was no reply. Tori, ditto. She got up and paced, and decompressing her ass reminded her all over again of the punishment he’d inflicted on it the night before.

  I’m falling into his contract by inaction. Becoming more his slave every moment. And all my other dreams are fading away. Not because we’re just play partners. Not because I don’t love him, or he doesn’t love me. I do. And I think maybe he does, even if he doesn’t say it. It’s because I love him that it’s so intense, so inescapable. I can’t stand the thought of leaving him. I can’t wait for him to come home. And I can’t bear the idea of hurting him by telling him he’s not enough.

  If I don’t act now, it will be too late.

  Suddenly spurred into action, she closed her laptop. She put on her coat. She grabbed a pile of laundry that was waiting to be done and carried it to the car, tossing it in the back, and drove to her apartment complex. Sitting down in the car gave her another reminder of what they’d done. She remembered him fucking her too. She pushed the thought aside.

  She hadn’t set foot in the apartment for weeks. Was it her or Parker who had turned down the thermostat? Either way, it was cold, and her first stop after throwing the laundry on the sofa was to turn it back up to normal. Then she grabbed her two largest suitcases and ran back out to the car.

  On the drive back, she put her favorite CD into the car stereo and sung along, trying to blot out all other thought so she wouldn’t be tempted to reconsider. When she got back to Parker’s place, she threw the suitcases on the bed and started piling clothes into them.

  I’m going to miss him. And I will talk to him about all this. But at my place, not his. He’d be pissed, hurt, to see all her stuff gone. But better that than having him watch, or even try to help. Would he pack all her stuff for her, if she let him, hurting all the while? Or maybe he’d make her pack naked, with a butt plug in or some such. He had a devious mind sometimes. The thought made her aroused, but she pushed it aside. I can’t do my thinking with my pussy. I have to do it with my head.

  She went to the bathroom and got her makeup and shampoo and toothbrush and packed them all up. She put in her laptop and the charger for it. She’d took her big monitor, which he’d brought over, to the car by itself, because it wouldn’t fit in a suitcase. Then she went back into his house and resumed packing, tears running down her face. Damn, damn, damn.

  Leaning over the bed, she was so intent on packing that she jumped out of her skin when Parker’s voice came from the doorway. “What the hell are you doing?”

  He didn’t move. She didn’t turn. She took a deep breath and tried to settle herself while the silence lengthened. “What does it look like I’m doing?” she asked. “Don’t try to talk me out of it. And why are you home now?”

  “Because I wanted to be with you. I knew something was wrong last night and this morning. It looks like you’re packing. No, it looks like you’re running. Tell me what’s going on.”

  She pushed the jeans she was holding into the suitcase. Anger suddenly welled up in her, and even though she didn’t feel she had a right to be angry, it was still so much easier than tears. Anger would give her the strength to confront him. Anger would stop her from feeling like kneeling in front of him and telling him to take control.

  She whirled around. “I want more, Parker,” she said, deliberately not calling him Sir. “I want love. I want a husband and children, and hell, I want to see grandchildren before I die. I love what we do, but I want more. I’ve experienced a hundred things with you, and so much intensity, but I need to experience the rest of life too. That was why I went out with Gavin. I love you, but I need to be loved back. I think I need to be loved more than I need to love, which is supposed to be all wrong, but I need it. I love having you as a Master, but I need this more. So see? If you care about me, if you’re serious about protecting me, looking for what’s best for me, you need to let me go.”

  He stared at her. A mixture of emotions seemed to cross his face. Anger? Grief? Disappointment? She didn’t want to see anymore, so she turned back to face her suitcases. She picked up a shirt and slammed it into the suitcase, but slamming soft cloth onto a pile of clothes wasn’t satisfying.

  “Look at me,” Parker said.

  “No, Parker.” She walked to the closet to grab the next bunch of clothes, but in order to return to where she was packing, she’d have to turn around or back up very awkwardly. She wasn’t sure how she was going to manage it.

  “I won’t order you again. But if you don’t turn around, you’ll regret having had your back to me.”

  What was he going to do, beat her? Her ass was already plenty sore. “Grapefruit.” Was that her safe word? It had been a long time, and she wasn’t sure she remembered correctly.

  “I stand by what I said.”

  She gritted her teeth and turned around. “What?”

  “Just this. I love you, Karen.”

  Her mouth dropped open. The words seemed alien coming from him, even though she didn’t doubt he meant it. “Excuse me? I’m not sure I heard you correctly.” She wanted to hear it again.

  “I love you,” he repeated.

  She dropped the clothes on the bed, feeling her resolve disintegrate. She shouldn’t stop because he said three
little words. That wasn’t all that she wanted. In a way, he was telling her what she already knew. The only surprise was that he was able to say it.

  “I want a year,” he said.

  She blinked. “I’m sorry?”

  He shook her head. “I’ll explain later. If you are willing to stick around for the explanation. Get my cane from downstairs.”

  “I said my safe word.”

  He shook his head. “Your safe word is ‘tangerine.’ It’s been a long time since that discussion, and I should have refreshed your memory. I need your love too. And I need to be in charge. It’s not one or the other, lover or Master. It’s both. Get my cane. Or say the safe word properly.”

  They locked gazes for a moment. What was he saying? That he wanted a year apart? A year and then he’d let her go? He wasn’t that silly. There was no time like the present, he once said, to begin the rest of your life.

  Maybe I misheard him. Either way, I owe him a good-bye, whatever kind of good-bye he wants. She brushed past him, not trusting herself to speak, and headed downstairs to the dungeon. Following his direction let her be outwardly calm, even though her heart was in turmoil. She didn’t know what she should do, but she knew she needed to find out what he had in mind.

  She looked around. There was the swing he’d fucked her in. The cross he’d bound her to so many times. The dungeon hadn’t been used much lately because he’d wanted to spare her the stairs. Her doctor had told her it was good to do a few flights a day, and she’d told Parker as well, but still they’d been playing mostly upstairs.

  There was a wall where he hung his toys on hooks, and there were several canes there. He could have meant any of them, but she picked up the long flexible Lexan one she feared, the one she had bought for him years ago.

  A parting gift deserved to be done with a gift. And she knew he would be pleased with her choice. There were wooden ones next to it, and those would hurt less. They gave more. She hadn’t understood that when she’d bought him the cane; she’d thought it looked cool. But now she knew it was one of the most intense toys he owned. This would bring the finality she needed. That we both need, probably.