Chapter 24 - Jackson
I’m not sure what wakes me—the sensation of my cock filling with blood or the low moan that scratches at my dry throat. As I slowly drift up through the darkness, my breath catches when I feel that touch along the underside of my thickening shaft, the one that must’ve been there before.
When I try to open my eyes, the darkness doesn’t go away. That’s when I register the soft cloth over my face. A blindfold. It makes my cock grow harder.
I start to squirm, and another realization hits me. My hands are bound. The silky rope is tied around my wrists, holding them directly over my head.
I whimper when that brush of something against my cock comes once more, and I thrust my hips trying to chase it.
The featherlight touch moves to my balls, over my dick again, and then across my stomach.
If I didn’t already know what it feels like when he teases me with his crop, I wouldn’t know that’s what it was.
“Isaac,” I moan, already panting.
The touch disappears, and I huff, pulling at the ropes around my wrist.
“Sir, please.”
The touch comes back, moving over my hipbone, my outer thigh.
“Good boy.”
I sigh and relax back against the sheets, sinking in the feel of the leather traveling over my body, mapping the shape of me. Each gentle sweep sends a shiver up my spine, small but hot.
The kind that makes me feel alive and wanted.
Sir doesn’t stop, his crop roaming my heated skin, and it feels like he won’t be done until it’s kissed every inch of me. I don’t know how long it goes on, my head all hazy and light. I can no longer pinpoint exactly where the leather’s touching me because I feel it everywhere all at once.
“What’s your color, sweetheart?” he asks, bringing me back to the surface.
“Green, Sir.”
It’s a whisper, barely audible in the warm bedroom.
The next noise I make is louder.
The crop slaps against the top of my left thigh, and I jerk, pulling on my binds again. The first strike draws an involuntary cry from my lips.
This isn’t the first time he’s woken me up already in Dom mode. It’s not the first time he’s used a crop on me. It is, however, the first time I’ve woken up blindfolded and tied to the bed.
I’m not complaining.
The crop comes down again, this time over my right pec.
It’s not as hard as before, but it’s enough to sting.
The next hit is to my stomach, even lighter this time, barely a tap.
He does that a few times, enough to make me forget how much pain it can really cause, so when the leather smacks my right thigh with greater force, it hurts worse than the first hit.
“Fuck!”
My back bows off the bed, and I pant heavier, squirming and tugging at the ropes.
“I wish you could see yourself right now, Jackson,” Sir says, his voice steady but deep and drunk with desire.
“See how fucking beautiful you look tied to my bed, taking the pain I give you, your perfect body writhing on the sheets. You should see how much you’re already leaking for me, sweetheart. ”
I feel his finger brush my stomach, the precum sticky against my skin as he sweeps some of it up. Then his finger is at my lips, which I part, eagerly sucking him into my mouth, licking my arousal from his finger.
“My beautiful, good boy.”
I moan around his finger, and the sound turns into a pathetic whimper when he takes it away.
“These already look like they’re feeling quite heavy too.”
His crop skims over my balls, and I start squirming again. The moment I feel it drifting up the underside of my aching cock, I thrust up, desperate for some kind of friction.
The leather vanishes and comes down hard on my right thigh in the same spot as last time, making the sting radiate further and hotter as I choke on a sob.
“Oh, I’m sorry, sweetheart. Did that hurt?”
His voice is filled with a deceptive gentleness, dripping with poisoned honey. I’ve come to associate it with the times he’s feeling especially sadistic, so I know I’m in for it now.
I start panting heavier, my chest heaving as little whimpers slip free, forcing me to bite my lip to hold them back.
He tsks. “You poor thing.”
The bed dips beside me, and then I feel him straddle me, the cotton of his sweatpants brushing against my bare thighs. I love it when he’s clothed and I’m not, making me feel even more vulnerable and helpless and at his mercy.
His hands glide up my stomach, my chest, rubbing harshly against my skin and over my nipples.
When he gets to my throat, his finger hooks through the O-ring of my collar before he tugs on it, lifting my head off the pillow.
I gasp, but the sound is quickly swallowed up by Sir’s mouth as it crashes against mine.
The kiss is hard, fast, and messy, his tongue licking over my lips, teeth nipping at my bottom one, his beard burning my face.
He growls the moment he pulls back like he’s angry to do it.
“Fuck, you drive me crazy. Now on your stomach.”
He slides down my body so he can easily grip my hips and flip me over without practically any help from me. The ropes binding my wrists are tied to the headboard directly above my head, and they twist as my body does too, my right cheek pressed against the pillow.
This time, his hands rake down my back, which arches as his nails claw at my skin, nearly hard enough to break it.
Every place he touches flares like the striking of a hundred matches, sparks racing beneath my skin and having me ready to combust. Aching to burn.
If his weight wasn’t currently holding me down, I’d be thrusting against the bed, eager to ignite.
Grabbing hold of my thighs with rough hands, Sir pushes my legs apart and settles between them. He takes my ass in both hands, kneading my cheeks and digging his nails in, making me whimper.
“Is your ass feeling a little left out, sweetheart? Do you need Sir to give it some attention with his crop too?”
A whimper gets caught in my throat and turns into a desperate sob as I nod.
“Yes, Sir. Please.”
“Please what?”
“Please use the crop on my ass, Sir.”
“Such a good boy when you beg for me.”
I know there’s no chance he’s going to hold back. He stopped doing that weeks ago.
But, fuck…I want it to hurt.
I love the way he can make me feel with a little bit of pain. Not only the bite of it against my skin, but the way it unravels something tight inside me, relieving tension I never even realized I carried with me. There’s a release in it, a kind of quiet I can never seem to find on my own.
There’s something impossibly freeing about giving myself to him, surrendering my body, about choosing to let go and trust his hands more than my own doubts. Like my body isn’t mine anymore. Not in a frightening way, but in a way that lets me breathe.
Under his control, I’m not less.
I’m exactly where I want to be.
Isaac is the reason for my bi-awakening. If there’s such a thing as a pain kink awakening, he’s responsible for that too.
He reaches under me between my legs to grab my cock that’s trapped under my stomach, pulling it back until it’s trapped beneath my balls instead. A different kind of pain wrenches a groan from my throat until my dick starts to soften against my will, just until the ache fades.
“Leave your legs spread just like this, sweetheart. I want to see your cock leak while I turn your ass red.”
“Yes, Sir.”
My low moan joins the sound of the bed creaking as he shifts his weight to climb off the mattress.
I still can’t see anything with the blindfold over my eyes, and Sir has this way of somehow moving silently.
I’m left lying alone on the bed, trembling in anticipation, wondering how long he’s going to draw this out.
When the first crack of the crop comes against my right ass cheek, a shocked cry rips up my throat, and my hands scramble to grab the ropes, desperate for something to hold onto.
“That’s it, Jackson,” Sir hums as the crop trails lightly down the length of my spine, causing me to shiver. “Let me hear your screams. I want to see your tears too.”
A hand grips my hair. Sir turns my head so it’s my left cheek on the pillow, and I assume I’m facing him now.
I’m not crying yet, but I know from experience Sir is more than capable of pushing me to that point.
The crop comes down on my left cheek, even harder than before, my scream even louder.
This time, he doesn’t stop to give me a break.
He strikes my ass again and again and again until I’m a writhing, pathetic mess.
My eyes sting behind the blindfold, and I wouldn’t even know how to describe the incoherent noises that are coming out of my mouth.
Finally, Sir lets up, giving me a chance to catch my breath. I pant heavily while the burn in my ass spreads, hotter now that the initial sting is fading, as hot as the tears spilling down my face.
His hand comes down on my ass next, not exactly a slap but not gentle either. He kneads the abused flesh, parting my cheeks until I swear I can feel the heat of his gaze on my hole hotter than anything else.
“You have such a pretty ass,” Sir says, sounding a little breathless himself. “So fucking perfect. But it’s even more pretty and perfect when it turns red from what I do to you. Wearing the color like my mark.”
“Thank you, Sir,” I barely manage to whisper, my voice as wrecked as the rest of me.
I feel the leather of the crop brush over the head of my cock, and I squirm, imagining it becoming sticky with precum.
“Fucking beautiful,” he murmurs.
When the crop glides over my lips next, I jerk, not having expected it. At least, I think I do. It feels a bit like my movements are in slow motion, like I’m being held under water but still able to breathe.
Knowing what he wants without having to be told, I stick out my tongue, tasting the saltiness of precum and the earthiness of leather. At the same time, I feel Sir’s tongue sweep up my cheek, collecting my tears.
“And fucking delicious.”