Fighting Attraction
Page 27
“So you’re not addicted to tying curvy British girls to your spanking bench and giving them a sound beating?”
I look up and see that Jack has turned away again, but the rise and fall of his shoulders betray his laughter. Why does he feel the need to hide his emotions from me? I know Jack. He has a great sense of humor, and he especially enjoys British wit. How many times did we kick back in the lounge at Redemption watching reruns of Blackadder or the British version of The Office? Or practicing swear words in each other’s accents? I’ve never laughed so hard as when I heard bollocks in his Southern twang.
“I’m going to have to gag you if you keep this up.” He clears his throat and walks over to the rack of terrifying implements on the wall.
“I’m ruining the mood, aren’t I? I suppose this is supposed to be very serious and scary. I shouldn’t be mouthing off while I’m tied half-naked to a spanking bench. But this is why I…”
My words trail off when Jack holds up a gag with a ball in the center. I suck in a sharp breath, and he smiles.
“Now that’s the look I like to see. Fear.”
Fear is right. No way is he sticking that ball in my mouth. “Don’t put that on me…please,” I whisper.
“No more talking. I’m not your friend in here, Pen.”
But he is, because we’ve just had the kind of conversation we used to have, albeit about a topic I never imagined we would discuss. It was easy, fun. And yet something more. If we weren’t friends, I wouldn’t trust him enough to be here, or to bare my secrets and my body. If we weren’t friends, he wouldn’t call me Pen before he spanked me.
He places the gag on the table in front of me and slides a soft, padded cuff around my thigh.
I wince, and he freezes.
“Did you disobey me about the cutting, too? When I told you not to touch yourself the other night, I meant all kinds of touch.”
Embarrassed, I look away. “No, but the last time I went kind of deep, and it hasn’t healed. And the skin is all kinds of sensitive with all the scarring.” I shock myself with my ability to talk about this secret part of me so openly, but this club, this room, and this man I think of as a friend all seem designed to lower my inhibitions. Differences are celebrated here. Judgments suspended. Needs and desires, no matter how far off the beaten track, can be met and fulfilled. I feel relaxed here in a way I’ve never felt before. At home in a place that’s not going to exist in two more days.
Jack squats down in front of the bench and lifts my head with a finger under my chin so I meet his gaze. “I want you to make me a promise. A real promise. Not because I ordered it or because it is part of the scene, but because it is a promise you want to give a friend. The next time you feel like cutting yourself, you call me. No matter what time of day or where I am or what I’m doing, you call me and we’ll come here and I’ll give you what you need.”
“What do I need?”
He makes his way to the back of the bench and, without warning, strikes me with the full force of his hand. “This.”
Pain sheets across my left ass cheek, setting my skin on fire. My limbs jerk against the restraints, and my inability to move sends adrenaline coursing through me, making the pain more intense.
His hand smacks my ass again, and the burning sensation floods my mind, pushing out every thought except how to get away from his hand. I struggle furiously against the restraints, and my clit rubs against the bench, sending confusing signals of pleasure mixing with the pain.
“You’re very quiet. Makes me think I’m not working hard enough.” He grips my neck with one hand, holding me still, and swats again, this time so hard my breath leaves me in a rush.
“Why are you being spanked?” He hits me again, and my eyes fill with tears.
“Because I want you to hurt me.”
“No.”
Another blast of heat explodes across my skin, and my body jerks forward on the bench. Blood roars in my ears. My breath comes in short pants, and sweat beads on my brow. In the back of my mind, I know he’s waiting for an answer, but I can’t think for the pressure building up behind my clit that is somehow connected to the pain.
I freeze, shame heating my cheeks. I can’t come on the bench while Jack is spanking me. It’s not right. It doesn’t make sense. And he’s…my friend.
He strikes again, four blows in quick succession, two on each burning cheek. Fire sizzles straight to my clit, and I am awash in sensation: the cool wood against my thighs, the soft padding beneath my forehead, the firm press of the pad against my body, the burn of the skin on my ass, the slight pinch of the cuffs, and the pressure of the bench holding my legs apart. I squirm, unable to stop myself from seeking more friction where I need it the most.
“Don’t you dare come,” he barks.
Humiliation floods me with heat almost as intense as my burning ass. My breath catches in my throat, and I press my forehead to the cool bench and moan in frustration. “I’m sorry.” I don’t know what else to say. Every time he touches me, I turn into a raging horny beast, and that’s not why either of us is here.
“Nothing to be sorry about.” Still holding me firmly with one hand on my neck, he strokes down my back with a firm, knowing touch. Not sexual—thank God—but assessing. When he reaches my stinging ass, I wince.
“Nicely warmed up,” he says. But his voice cracks the tiniest bit.
Every muscle in my body tenses at once. That was the warm-up?
“You didn’t give me that promise I asked for.” His next blow sends me jerking forward so hard the small bit of friction from my knickers sliding on the bench is almost too much to bear. My breasts are aching and swollen, the nipples hard and peaked beneath my bra.
“I promise.”
“What do you promise?” The next few blows come in rapid succession, and I struggle to tell him what he wants to hear, but it’s so damn hard with my ass on fire and every muscle in my body tensed as I fight the urgent, desperate need to come.
I look up and see that Jack has turned away again, but the rise and fall of his shoulders betray his laughter. Why does he feel the need to hide his emotions from me? I know Jack. He has a great sense of humor, and he especially enjoys British wit. How many times did we kick back in the lounge at Redemption watching reruns of Blackadder or the British version of The Office? Or practicing swear words in each other’s accents? I’ve never laughed so hard as when I heard bollocks in his Southern twang.
“I’m going to have to gag you if you keep this up.” He clears his throat and walks over to the rack of terrifying implements on the wall.
“I’m ruining the mood, aren’t I? I suppose this is supposed to be very serious and scary. I shouldn’t be mouthing off while I’m tied half-naked to a spanking bench. But this is why I…”
My words trail off when Jack holds up a gag with a ball in the center. I suck in a sharp breath, and he smiles.
“Now that’s the look I like to see. Fear.”
Fear is right. No way is he sticking that ball in my mouth. “Don’t put that on me…please,” I whisper.
“No more talking. I’m not your friend in here, Pen.”
But he is, because we’ve just had the kind of conversation we used to have, albeit about a topic I never imagined we would discuss. It was easy, fun. And yet something more. If we weren’t friends, I wouldn’t trust him enough to be here, or to bare my secrets and my body. If we weren’t friends, he wouldn’t call me Pen before he spanked me.
He places the gag on the table in front of me and slides a soft, padded cuff around my thigh.
I wince, and he freezes.
“Did you disobey me about the cutting, too? When I told you not to touch yourself the other night, I meant all kinds of touch.”
Embarrassed, I look away. “No, but the last time I went kind of deep, and it hasn’t healed. And the skin is all kinds of sensitive with all the scarring.” I shock myself with my ability to talk about this secret part of me so openly, but this club, this room, and this man I think of as a friend all seem designed to lower my inhibitions. Differences are celebrated here. Judgments suspended. Needs and desires, no matter how far off the beaten track, can be met and fulfilled. I feel relaxed here in a way I’ve never felt before. At home in a place that’s not going to exist in two more days.
Jack squats down in front of the bench and lifts my head with a finger under my chin so I meet his gaze. “I want you to make me a promise. A real promise. Not because I ordered it or because it is part of the scene, but because it is a promise you want to give a friend. The next time you feel like cutting yourself, you call me. No matter what time of day or where I am or what I’m doing, you call me and we’ll come here and I’ll give you what you need.”
“What do I need?”
He makes his way to the back of the bench and, without warning, strikes me with the full force of his hand. “This.”
Pain sheets across my left ass cheek, setting my skin on fire. My limbs jerk against the restraints, and my inability to move sends adrenaline coursing through me, making the pain more intense.
His hand smacks my ass again, and the burning sensation floods my mind, pushing out every thought except how to get away from his hand. I struggle furiously against the restraints, and my clit rubs against the bench, sending confusing signals of pleasure mixing with the pain.
“You’re very quiet. Makes me think I’m not working hard enough.” He grips my neck with one hand, holding me still, and swats again, this time so hard my breath leaves me in a rush.
“Why are you being spanked?” He hits me again, and my eyes fill with tears.
“Because I want you to hurt me.”
“No.”
Another blast of heat explodes across my skin, and my body jerks forward on the bench. Blood roars in my ears. My breath comes in short pants, and sweat beads on my brow. In the back of my mind, I know he’s waiting for an answer, but I can’t think for the pressure building up behind my clit that is somehow connected to the pain.
I freeze, shame heating my cheeks. I can’t come on the bench while Jack is spanking me. It’s not right. It doesn’t make sense. And he’s…my friend.
He strikes again, four blows in quick succession, two on each burning cheek. Fire sizzles straight to my clit, and I am awash in sensation: the cool wood against my thighs, the soft padding beneath my forehead, the firm press of the pad against my body, the burn of the skin on my ass, the slight pinch of the cuffs, and the pressure of the bench holding my legs apart. I squirm, unable to stop myself from seeking more friction where I need it the most.
“Don’t you dare come,” he barks.
Humiliation floods me with heat almost as intense as my burning ass. My breath catches in my throat, and I press my forehead to the cool bench and moan in frustration. “I’m sorry.” I don’t know what else to say. Every time he touches me, I turn into a raging horny beast, and that’s not why either of us is here.
“Nothing to be sorry about.” Still holding me firmly with one hand on my neck, he strokes down my back with a firm, knowing touch. Not sexual—thank God—but assessing. When he reaches my stinging ass, I wince.
“Nicely warmed up,” he says. But his voice cracks the tiniest bit.
Every muscle in my body tenses at once. That was the warm-up?
“You didn’t give me that promise I asked for.” His next blow sends me jerking forward so hard the small bit of friction from my knickers sliding on the bench is almost too much to bear. My breasts are aching and swollen, the nipples hard and peaked beneath my bra.
“I promise.”
“What do you promise?” The next few blows come in rapid succession, and I struggle to tell him what he wants to hear, but it’s so damn hard with my ass on fire and every muscle in my body tensed as I fight the urgent, desperate need to come.
