“Probably.” He takes my hands. “Are you good with that?”
“Yeah. It’s just a little weird.”
I’ve grown comfortable with the open display of sexuality long ago. Playing in the open seems to be second nature to everyone here, so it’s been easy to get used to. But Ulf watching is a different matter. I barely notice anyone else in the room when playing, but I always feel his eyes on me—a prickling sensation across my skin. I’m hyperaware of him. If he’s not in the room when we start playing, I feel it the moment he enters. The air grows heavier, and there’s this deep pull inside me that brings me a bit deeper into that trance—subspace.
I almost expect Asbjörn to suggest that we can play in a closed room—he’s always considerate like that when I hesitate. But he just offers reassurance. “Don’t worry about it. He enjoys watching you very much.”
“Okay,” I simply say. Part of me is a little disappointed he didn’t suggest a private playroom, but at the same time, I don’t think I’d take the offer. As much as Ulf unnerves me, Iwanthim to see me. Knowing he’s watching drives me higher and deeper at the same time.
“Come on, let’s go play.” Asbjörn offers me a hand, takes the toys in the other, and leads the way to the play area.
“Kneel for me, Elina,” he says when we stop in front of the St. Andrew’s cross, his voice deepening into that dominant tone that always stirs a buzzing anticipation inside me.
My breath deepens as I gingerly sink to my knees, lower my head, and place my hands on my thighs. The position feels natural, like I’m right where I’m supposed to be. A shiver rushes down my arms when I tilt my head a little and see the outline of Ulf in my periphery. I wonder what it would be like to kneel in front of him. I think I’d barely be able to breathe—that I might collapse fully, his dominance too heavy to remain sitting straight.
Asbjörn holds the long rattan stick in his open palms before me. “Kiss the cane. Show your gratitude for the pain it will inflict upon you.”
My pulse speeds as I imagine the sharp snap connecting with my flesh. My breath shudders past my lips. I close my eyes, lean down, and softly graze the rattan with my lips. It reminds me of all the times Ulf has pressed his praiseful kisses to my forehead. He always does the same after a scene. I’ve never quite understood why, but suddenly I realize it might be a way for him to show his gratitude for getting to watch.
Heat flows through me. I hope he’ll bestow me with his kiss again tonight. Somehow, it’s always the best part of a scene.
“Good girl,” Asbjörn croons, stroking my hair. I openly lean into his touch, craving his praise. But it’s never quite the same as when Ulf shows me those small glints of affection.
After helping me to my feet again, Asbjörn proceeds to take off my clothes and restrain my arms and legs to the cross.
I sink into the calm rhythm of his slow touch and steady guidance. It lulls me into tranquility—the quiet before the storm.
Instead of going straight to the terrifying implement I’m going to endure tonight, he continues the careful preparation, smacking my ass with his bare hand, warming me up.
When he finally picks up the cane, I feel soft and pliant, leaning against the cross, breathing deeply.
“Are you ready?” Asbjörn asks.
“Yes,” I say softly, genuinely feeling so.
He starts tapping the cane against my ass. Light blows in rapid succession. It’s not bad at all. It actually feels good, adding to the humming heat. But I know it’s not the true intent of the cane.
My nerves tighten when he pauses and rests the thin stick on my ass. I know what’s coming.
“Take a deep breath,” Asbjörn instructs.
I inhale deeply, grabbing onto the chains, steeling myself for the blow.
Just as I start to release the air, Asbjörn lifts the cane and flicks it through the air.
Thwack!
“Ah!” I cry out as pain rips through my flesh, sharp and unforgiving. I buck against the cross, clutching the chains as I pant hard and whimper repeatedly, struggling to process.
In an instant, Asbjörn is right behind me, covering my back with his warm body and stroking my arms and my waist. “Shh, I’ve got you.”
“Oh God,” I whimper. “That really hurt.”
Asbjörn hums. “I know.”
“Sadist,” I accuse, followed by a quiet laugh.
He strokes his hand down my cheek, leaning his head close to mine, and joining the warm chuckle. “You love it.”
