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“Bend over,” I tell her.

She does as she’s told, placing her front on the playroom bed and turning her face to the side.

Her blonde hair is braided into two braids, as I require for play. Her face is already beginning to heat.

“You’ve done nothing requiring punishment, but I need it. Is this amenable to you?” I ask.

“Whatever you require, Sir.” I can hear the lusty undertone of her voice as she slips into her arousal.

“Colors?”

“Red, yellow, green, Sir.”

Grabbing the tassel whip off the wall, body tense, I nod at her perfect answer.

“Just your submission alone pleases me tonight. I thank you for it, sweetheart.” I rub her ass cheek with the palm of my hand, kneading the flesh and hearing her hiss in response.

“My pleasure, Sir.”

“Mmm. It will be,” I purr as I rear back and let the tassels whistle through the air before meeting her flesh.

She moans. “Thank you, Sir.”

“I’m nowhere near done with you.”

By the time I’m sated, Cheryl’s ass is thoroughly red, and her pussy is glistening with the need to be filled.

For some reason, I can’t be the one who does it tonight, to my utter annoyance.

“Color, sweetheart?” I ask, even though I can hear how different my voice sounds. How much calmer I am now that I’ve taken my anguish out on Cheryl.

“Green, Sir.” Her answer skitters more energy through my bones.

I run my fingers through the madness I created, leaking from her. “Mmm. What a good girl you are tonight.” I slip a finger inside her heat, and she bucks back toward me, moaning languidly.

“Thank you, Sir.”

“No, sweetheart. Thank you.” I flip her onto her back and dive into her center, my tongue lavishing her as I spear two fingers back inside her tight, convulsing channel. She’s already so close from the whip; I can feel her pussy shuddering toward her orgasm as she squirms and cries out.

I let the tip of my pinky finger slip into her ass, and she groans just as gutturally as I do.

“Show me how beautiful you are when you come for me.” I drag my tongue back over her clit, giving each subsequent stroke more pressure.

“Yes, Sir!” she cries, and her body clamps down on my fingers.

The first pulses of her orgasm vibrate through her like a runaway train, and they send me soaring through the clouds of my despair with relief. This is what my fucked-up brain needs.

I need to take my partner to the edge of pain, only to caress her back to the deep trenches of pleasure.

No one will ever want me.

“Thank you, Sir,” Cheryl says as the last waves of pleasure sputter through her.

“You were amazing tonight. Let’s get you into the tub.” I unbind her hands, allowing her to move her wrists to return blood flow, before I heft her into my arms and walk her into the master bathroom to care for her.

Who the fuck could ever want me when this is the shit that makes me happy?

Only people who are paid to do so—that’s who.