And they’re always ripped away.
Better to connect with someone like this. A new city, a pseudonym, and a partner vetted by a club. One scene and then done. It’s too risky to try anything else.
It’s been so long since I’ve been touched softly, kindly, that I don’t know if I could take it. It might be too much to bear.
It’s not that I don’t need it. I need ittoomuch. If he touches me, I’ll need it again and again.
So I bite my lip. No touch. He’s abiding by the rules, and so will I.
He’s still flogging me. The lick of the strands leaves a sting that feels so good. This is what I’ve come for; his touch translated into the force of a strike, a heat on my back. If I can’t have touch, I can have this, and it’s better than a hug. It’s making me whole.
I fall into a rhythm, bouncing between the beat of the flogger and the gusts of his breaths. I’m so in tune that I can guess the timing of the hits. I can imagine the rise and fall of his arm. The ache in his own trapezius as he uses his muscles and works me over.
My blood pumps through my veins. I can feel the redness rising on my back.
Then the tide sweeps over me, and I’m lost.
“Little bird,” someone is calling.
“Mmmm?”
“Are you with me?”
I nod.
“You’re doing so well.”
I smile at the cross.
“So beautiful. So soft. I could flog you all night long.”
Yes. Do it.
“But then I wouldn’t get to play with the paddle.”
The softest fur rubs up my calf. It feels impossibly good.
“There are so many implements in here. I could try them all.”
I whimper with fear, drowning in happiness.
“But I don’t want to keep you in cuffs too long. And again, I wonder. . .” He pats something firm against me, and it’s no longer the paddle. Or it’s not the soft, fur-covered one. He swats me with the smooth, hard edge, and pain blooms through me. Another strike to the sensitive crease under the ample curve of my bottom smacks the breath out of me.
Then he does something new. He rubs the paddle between my legs. Lights flash behind my eyes.
“I wonder if I could make you cum like this?”
“Yes, please.” I rock my hips forward, wishing there was something between my legs I could rub against.
“An orgasm wasn’t a part of your scene requests. Some submissives separate kink from sex. I thought you might be one. But now, I wonder if you’ve never thought it was possible.”
He’s talking too much. I can’t think.Shut up and make me come!
“Your rules say no touching, and I agreed to follow the rules tonight. Unless you want me to break them. . .”
“Yes.” The word is out of me before I can stop it.
“But no,” he continues with that godsdamned patient and amused tone. He knows what he’s doing to me. “We’re in the scene now, and you’re not in the right mental state to consent.”
