Slow Seduction (Struck by Lightning)

by Cecilia Tan

  He slid one finger into me and I gasped at the sparks of pleasure shooting through my body.

  He finger-fucked me a few times, then pulled his hand free. “It is absolutely maddening that I can’t fuck you. I’m sure Vanette knew it would be. Up. Go clean up a little and we’ll go to breakfast.”

  In the hotel restaurant, Damon seemed moody and distracted as we sat near the wide windows overlooking the plaza in front of the train station. After a cup of strong coffee, though, he seemed to revive.

  “So a spanking wasn’t actually better than coffee,” I teased.

  “I meant for you, not me,” he said, but smiled. “I am not truly awake, or human, until I’ve had my first cup. Now. I have to rethink my plan for what to do with you today.”

  “You do?”

  “Yes. My plan revolved entirely around gradually wearing down your aversion to sexual pleasure. You pretty much threw that out the window within the first minute yesterday.” His hair was glossy black in the morning sun. We were sitting across the small table from each other. “So I need something else to challenge you with.”

  “Like what?”

  “You’re reasonably obedient when I insist on it, so I don’t think there’s much challenge there. I suppose I could put you through some tests of physical endurance, but they get boring for me, and I dislike being bored.” He yawned. “What’s your least favorite thing?”

  Getting dumped in the middle of a party after the best sex of your life, I thought, but didn’t say. That’s my least favorite thing ever. “You mean like what toy did I like least?”

  “Or activity.”

  I had to think about that. I hadn’t really liked the Wartenberg wheel but I didn’t hate it. The paddle had been kind of fun. The riding crop hurt, but the way he used it was thrilling. Activity? Going out in public, wearing Ben Wa balls, those things were fine.

  Oh, I knew what I was going to say. I glanced back to make sure a waiter wasn’t about to appear over my shoulder. “Once he made me go a whole week without an orgasm.”

  Damon cocked his head. “Was that a very long time for you?”

  “Well, he insisted on seeing me every day, and, you know, playing with me and bringing me to the edge, but not letting me come.”

  “An entire week? Every day?”

  “Sometimes more than once a day.”

  “That is dedication to training,” he said with a nod. “So what was it you didn’t like?”

  “The delayed gratification, I guess.”

  “You don’t sound sure.”

  “Well, I was still getting plenty of attention, and seeing a lot of him, and it was…It was very hot, in its way. It was just a long time. You asked what my least favorite thing was. That’s what it was.”

  “Huh. Then it sounds like you liked what he did to you, no matter what he did.”

  “I guess. Every time we tried something new, I liked it.” I wasn’t about to tell him about how I’d discovered the hard way that James was larger than my body was ready for. Besides, we’d gotten past that and that wasn’t the sort of thing Damon was after, anyway.

  “Then either he was very good at reading you and predicting your tastes, or you were exceptionally compatible,” Damon said with a small frown. “No wonder you’re so stuck on this fellow.”

  Or maybe it’s because I’m so in love with him, anything he did felt wonderful. I shrugged.

  “Let’s start over,” Damon said suddenly, tossing his napkin onto the table.

  “What?”

  “I’m going to go back upstairs. Follow me in half an hour.” He stood. “Let’s start again.”

  “If you say so.”

  “Indeed, my dear, it is my job to say so.” He grinned like a Cheshire cat, then disappeared.

  The waitress brought fresh tea and asked if I wanted a copy of the newspaper. I thanked her and told her no. I’d rather read it on my phone.

  I looked up more details about York and checked my e-mail to see if Martindale had e-mailed me back about the days off I would need. The dear man had answered not only saying that I could take the days, but he’d booked me a guesthouse, too. Apparently he wanted me to find James badly enough to lend some assistance.

  A half hour was done quickly, and I signed the check to the room and went back upstairs.

  This time I wasn’t surprised to find a small envelope on the door. The note inside read:

  Come into the room and remove your clothes. You will find a notepad on the desk. You are to write three things you deserve to be punished for. Then go stand in the corner.

  Well, that’s different, I thought. I went in and saw the bathroom door was closed. He must have been in there. I considered writing three fake things, as if it were a schoolgirl thing, like “didn’t do my homework, lied about my dog eating it, talking in class.” But that wasn’t what he was after, I figured. Like with this morning’s question about it, he didn’t want the “scene” answer. He wanted the real answer.

  I picked up the pen and sat down at the desk, the contoured leather of the chair feeling cool to my bare bottom. How to start? What to write? To get myself going, I wrote at the top of the page:

  Three Things Karina Deserves to Be Punished For

  I wrote a number one and circled it. If I were writing this list for James, what would it say on it? Well, I had already been reporting via text all the little white lies I’d told. There hadn’t been many, but there were a few.

  For the little lies I told the customs agent and other people, trying to make my way easier, when I had promised not to lie anymore.

  Okay, that was one. What was number two? Was there something else I actually felt sorry for?

  For not reporting my advisor for sexual harassment and attempted assault earlier. I might’ve saved other women some trouble.

  I closed my eyes then. Think, Karina. What else would you want James’s forgiveness for? Well, of course I wanted him to forgive me for forcing him to tell me his name, but I sure as hell didn’t feel I deserved to be punished for that. What did I feel sorry over, though? Or what did I want to feel sorry about?

  An idea struck me suddenly. Oh. Did that make sense? Maybe it didn’t have to make sense. I wrote:

  For letting Mr. George touch me and give me pleasure and make me come.

  My hand was shaking when I put down the pen. I hurried to the obvious corner that had been cleared of furniture and hunched with my face in my hands. What the hell was I doing here?

  I heard the bathroom door creak and I sucked in a breath as I heard him moving closer. The paper on the desk rustled.

  When he was standing directly behind me, he spoke. “You’re a very confused woman.”

  I could only nod.

  “And I would like to smack the man who confused you this much. Since he’s not here, though, I’ll have to settle for punishing you instead. You know what to say.”

  “Yes, Mr. George.” It came out a whisper because my throat was so tight.

  “Good. Now let’s see. I can see why you might feel guilty over not reporting the creep. Now, the lying thing. That was something your former master told you?”

  I wanted to argue that I hadn’t called him master, that we didn’t use titles, but this wasn’t the place for that. “Yes, Mr. George.”

  “And you’re trying to comply with it, even though it’s difficult. And even though he’s no longer around.”

  “Yes.”

  “Very well. Let’s clear your slate then. Come and put your hands on this chair.”

  I turned and saw he was dressed in a full three-piece suit, his tie smartly knotted, and I swallowed hard. He had no way to know that was how James dressed. It had to be a coincidence. But it made me feel even weaker in the knees than I did.

  I leaned over to put my hands where he showed me, gripping the seat of one of the dining chairs. Then he displayed a long, slender piece of plastic, flexing it slightly between his hands. If it hadn’t been bright red it would have looked like a shade pul
l.

  “Canes were traditionally made from rattan,” he said. “But the synthetic ones last longer. Head down and tell me how many lies you think you’ve told.”

  “Total?” I asked.

  “No. How many you think you need to be punished for.”

  “Oh. Ten or twelve for sure. Maybe as many as twenty over the past couple of months.”

  “Let’s do twenty to be sure your slate is wiped clean. Have you been caned before, Karina?”

  “Is it like the riding crop?”

  “Not exactly. The way this works is I deliver the punishment, and you keep the count and thank me after each one. If you mess up the count, you go back to the beginning.”

  “That is devious.”

  “These things usually are.” He chuckled and rubbed the tip of the cane against my ass. “Now, if you are ready, you know what to say.”

  “Yes, Mr. George.”

  He cleared his throat, and then a second later, a burning stripe of pain cut across my ass. I clamped down on the noise I wanted to make, waiting for the pain to dissipate. When it did, I was panting and immediately thinking, wait, nineteen more of these?

  “What do you say?”

  Right. “Thank you, Mr. George. Th-that was one. Nineteen to go.”

  He smoothed his hand over where he had struck and it felt wonderful. He sounded amused. “The traditional way to do it is, ‘One. Thank you, sir. May I have another.’”

  That sounded sort of familiar. There had been a man saying it at that party James had taken me to. “Should I call you ‘sir,’ Mr. George?” I asked, remembering what Vanette had said. “And do you prefer the traditional way?”

  “You know what, Karina? I don’t prefer the traditional way. I’m interested to see how you do. And I love it when you call me ‘sir.’ It’s like every time you say the word, you lick my cock.”

  He stepped back again and I knew the next one was coming. There was a second of silence and then bam, a new line of fire on my ass. He didn’t seem to mind that I wiggled as if that would make the pain lessen faster.

  “Two, sir, and eighteen to go,” I said. “Thank you, Mr. George.”

  “Good,” he said, and did not wait to hit me a third time.

  “Three! Thank you, Mr. George.” I squeezed my legs together. Oh, it hurt. “Seventeen to go.”

  He hit me again and I gasped a little as I said, “Four, M-Mr. George! Sixteen to go! Ahhhh…. ah, thank you!”

  He stepped close and rubbed my inflamed skin again. “You know, if you’re not ready for the next one yet, you can take longer to answer.”

  “But isn’t that cheating?”

  “I don’t think it is, dear. I think the point of having you count is to give you a chance to set the pace. If I think you’re going too slowly, I’ll harangue you about it.”

  “Oh. How was I supposed to know that?” I asked.

  “Well, since it wasn’t obvious to you, that’s why I’m telling you. If you’re worried that you’re taking too much control of your own punishment, don’t worry. I can always gag you if I want to. Remember that.”

  “Yes, sir.” It was an odd sort of back-and-forth, but I guess it made a kind of sense. “I’m ready for number five, sir.”

  He said nothing before delivering it, and this time I heard the cane cut through the air. I think that meant he hit me harder. This time I screamed. And it took me several breaths before I was ready to say, “Five, thank you, sir. Fifteen to go. I’m ready for another.”

  The next one wasn’t as hard, but that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt. The next few, in fact, felt like he backed off a little, and I didn’t have to scream on each one. I counted them off dutifully until I got to “Ten, sir, and ten to go.”

  Instead of caressing me with his hand now, he ran the tip of the cane up and down the backs of my legs and across my shoulders. “You’re doing very well. Ten is often as many as a punishment might be for.”

  “But we said twenty?” I squeaked.

  “Yes, we said twenty, so we should see it through. I’m going to put a few of these down your thighs, which I imagine will mean no miniskirts or short-shorts for you for a few days, unless you want to have to explain the welts.”

  “Yes, Mr. George.”

  The next five he did like a ladder climbing up the backs of my thighs until he had reached my ass again, with me dutifully counting each one. It hurt differently on my legs from my butt. I preferred it on my ass.

  “Five to go, sir.” I gasped.

  “These five will be the most difficult to take,” he said. “Your skin is already sore now, and I won’t be holding back.”

  So I was right, I thought. He was holding back. “Yes, Mr. George. I’m ready.”

  The next one made me scream loud enough my throat felt raw. “Sixteen! Sixteen.” That meant how many? The strike had driven all the thoughts out of my head. Think, Karina! “Four left. Thank you, sir.” Was I actually ready for another one like that? We’d find out. “May I have ah…another?”

  He said nothing, merely delivered the blow. This one making my knees buckle. It took me a moment to realize that what I was feeling then, as the pain slowly ebbed away, was him tapping me gently on the thigh with the tip of the cane. Aha, trying to get me to straighten up again. I did with some effort. “Seventeen. Oh God. Three to go. Thank you, Mr. George. I—” I took a few deep breaths. “I’m not sure I’m ready for the next one.”

  “You’re doing very well, Karina. I’m so proud of you. You’re doing terrific.”

  Hearing the words made me feel good, but I couldn’t help but feel they were kind of empty. They didn’t mean what they would have if James had said them. The same way the sex play we’d had yesterday didn’t mean anything. Though I still felt guilty about it.

  “Thank you, sir. I’m…I’m ready for another.”

  Oh, the bastard. What he did next was hit me hard, not once, but twice in quick succession, which made me crumple all the way down to my knees, screaming and hanging on to the chair. He didn’t touch me this time, leaning back and waiting until I made myself straighten up again.

  “That…” I was shaking like I was angry. “Did that count as one or two?”

  “Two, dear,” he said.

  “Wasn’t that cheating, then? Hitting me before I was ready?”

  “Would you prefer I count it as only one?” he asked. “Then there would still be two to go, instead of only one more.”

  “Oh.” I tried to clear my head enough to understand that.

  “You give me feedback by asking. It helps me gauge how much you can take,” he explained. “But you are not the one in control here.”

  “I see. Thank you, Mr. George. Does that mean there is only one left, then?”

  “It does. Are you ready for it?”

  I had to take a couple more breaths. I’d come this far. I could do it. One more. I could do it. “Yes, sir. I’m ready for another.”

  “Good,” he whispered. “Here you go.”

  He tapped me ever so lightly with the cane and then rubbed his hand over my ass, kneeling beside me and pulling me against him.

  Don’t ask me why that was what made me burst into tears. Somehow getting all worked up to one more shot of pain, expecting the worst, and then having him turn gentle, melted my resistance away and I started to cry.

  “There, there,” he said, stroking my hair. “You did very well. And now you’re forgiven.”

  But I’m not, I thought. You’re not the one I need to forgive me. The thought only made me cry harder.

  He held me and let me weep until I was cried out. I got tears all over his lapels, and he gave me the silk handkerchief from his pocket for my nose.

  And then, because I wasn’t in any shape to stand up, I guess, he brought me a glass of water and a bathrobe.

  After I drank the water, he helped me into a chair, and I belted the robe. He opened the curtains again, and the afternoon glow brightened the room.

  He took off his jacket
and laid it over the back of the chair, then sat down. “Do you feel better now?”

  I looked at the glass in my hands and he refilled it for me. After another sip I said, “I do and I don’t. I feel lighter now. My mind feels clear. But I still feel guilty about why I’m here.”

  “Explain.” His expression, rather than stern, looked concerned.

  I realized I had to tell him the truth. The big lie was that I hadn’t told him why I wanted to join the society. Duh. And that was tied up with the reason I’d let him do what he did to me in the first place. I wondered how I would start.

  “Maybe you should say a bit more about why you wrote you felt guilt over having sex with me. Wait, not-sex. You wrote ‘pleasure.’ Do you not believe you deserve pleasure and release, Karina?”

  “It’s not that.” I turned the glass in my hands. “I do. Everyone deserves that. It’s just…I don’t actually want it from you. Not that you’re not great at it. But…but it’s true. I’m thinking about him the whole time. Part of me says if I were really going to be loyal to him, I wouldn’t even do that much. And part of me says I’m being bad to you, too, by thinking about him instead of being here with you.”

  He said nothing, digesting my response.

  “And then there’s the fact that I haven’t told you everything.”

  He kept silent, the peaking of his eyebrows the only indication that his interest sharpened.

  “The man I’m trying to find? I think he’s a member of the society. I…” I tried to cover my nerves with a sip of water, but my hands shook. “I’m hoping I’ll find him. I’m hoping if he sees me there…” I couldn’t say any more. I had to hold my breath to keep back the tears.

  Damon took the glass out of my hand and set it aside before I could drop it. He then held my hands in his. He still didn’t say anything though.

  “I’m so stupid!” I said. “I don’t know what I was thinking. I saw…I saw a chance and I thought I would grab it, and here I am in trouble again because I didn’t tell the truth.”

  “No,” he said softly. “First of all, you’re not in trouble. Secondly, your situation is as much his fault as yours.”

  I looked into his eyes. “Surely, I’m in trouble with the society for trying to join them on false pretenses.”