I only give her a minute to recover before I deliver another blow. She tenses again, but this time, she only lets out a yelp.
“See, it barely even hurts. I’m not as cruel as you think.”
Before she can respond, I strike again. The loud smack sends a rush through my veins. I wish she would scream again—but only if she means it. I hate fake. Vehemently, I suddenly realize as I remember all the other girls I’ve flogged. Soon enough, I’ll make Jenna scream with genuine despair. But not tonight. Tonight, I’ll have to settle for the brutal sounds of the flogger. So I swing again—harder. Again—harder still.
Jenna squeals and gasps every time, but before long, the sharp tension dissipates and she seems to flow along with the current. Her shoulders soften, and her ass stops tensing with each blow. After another ten minutes, she starts wriggling her ass with a short delay after each strike.
“Such a greedy little girl.” I strike again. Hard.
She yelps. “W-what?”
I land another forceful blow on her ass, and her breath hitches. But not from pain. It’s pleasure that has her breathing hard. I can tell it in every tiny reaction in her body. Her thighs squeezing together, her back arching, and her ass lifting in a blatant plea for more.
“You fucking love this. Maybe you’re not just an ass slut but a pain slut too?”Slam!I swing the flogger again, and the sound cuts through the room, almost drowning out her half-whimpered protest.
“No,” she repeats a few times.
“What did my dad say about lying?”
“I’m no—”
I cut her off with another smack, this time using all my force. She cries out, but I repeat. Five hard strikes have her writhing against the restraints, kicking her feet against the floor.
“No?” I challenge and drop the flogger. “Shall we put it to the test?” I trail my fingers up her inner thighs.
Her quick pants are sharper now. She’s hovering on a precipice, about to collapse off the edge and panic, or maybe fall off another edge if I go about this the right way. I press my hand to the small of her back, then slip two fingers through her pussy lips.
I tut. “So fucking wet. Youwantthis.”
This time, she doesn’t protest. She tenses up, but it’s probably because she’s trying to ignore the pleasure rolling through her body as I keep stroking her opening. Slowly, I insert one finger, then two. She can’t resist. She starts moaning.
“You want me,” I add, sliding my fingers in and out of her, making her gasp and pant. “Despite everything I’ve done to you—no matter how I demean you—you want me. And maybe even because of it. Am I right?”
“N-n… I—” she stutters, stopping herself from lying, unable to admit to her warped desire.
I lean over her, finger-fucking her. “It’s okay, Jenna. I want you too.”
She goes still at those words. Her hips keep jerking from the force of my fingers, but her shaky breaths pause and her eyes are swimming when she turns to look at me. She’s deep in a submissive daze. She parts her lips—her full, rosy lips. No words come out. Her brain can’t find them. I fucking love seeing her like this. I want to do despicable things to her—see just how much she can take before she starts crying. Then I want to keep going, taking her just a little past those boundaries and find out how far I can push her before she breaks.
But that’s not all I want. In a moment of unusual quiet in my mind, I act upon instinct. I lean down and press my lips to hers. She tastes sweet. Like strawberries and honey. Her lips part with a quiet inhale, and I follow the invitation, moving my mouth against hers in slow, deliberate motions, soaking up her taste and the soft feeling of her. She responds, not urgently, but openly—like she’s been waiting for this as long as I have. Her lips mold to mine, warm and eager, her breath catching when I deepen the kiss a little.
I keep fingering her, and the movements of her hips grow more urgent, little moans forming inside her throat. She’s nearing the edge.
And I’m fucking kissing her.Softly.
Realization strikes. I pull back, slap her face, and withdraw my fingers.
“Time’s up,” I tell her and glance at the clock to see that I’m two minutes away from my deadline.
Confusion draws her brows tight, but still, no words leave her. She moves her head from side to side, following me with her eyes, as I move around the bench and release her arms. When I help her to stand, it takes her a moment to find her footing. She looks almost hurt when she lifts her eyes to me, and it makes me want to punish her.
Or kiss her.
The idea scares me. I don’t like the way I’m reacting to her. Before I can find out just how much I like to kiss her, I make a sharp nod toward the door. “We’re done here.”
She starts walking. One slow step at a time. When she’s at the door, she turns her head and aims those huge, dazed, almost pleading eyes at me.
“Can I have a hu—” She cuts herself off, shoulders dropping in defeat. She wants a hug, and I damn near want to give it to her with the way she’s watching me.
