19. Judge
CHAPTER NINETEEN
While Myla showers, I light my candles, kneel in front of the altar, and pray. Rocking back and forth, I mouth the Act of Contrition over and over with my hands clasped around a rosary over my heart until I nearly have myself in a trance. I lose touch with what’s going on around me, blocking out all sound and movement, though I still sense when Myla steps into the room.
Stilling myself, I say a final “Amen” and open my eyes. Myla is standing at my side, looking so sexy and sweet. Her face is red and scrubbed free of makeup, her wet hair tucked behind her ears, and she’s barefoot. She’s also wearing one of my shirts that hangs nearly to her knees, but it’s tight enough that her puckered nipples strain against the fabric. She looks so perfect in my space and in my clothes, like she belongs.
I realize I’m no longer falling in love with Myla. I’m already there. I’m madly, hopelessly, and irrevocably in love with this woman.
“Are you sure about this?” She’s nervous, though she’s trying to hide it. The only way I know is because her cute little toes with black painted nails are wiggling.
“I need to try,” I say, picking up the flogger and offering it to her. Bringing her into my dysfunction is humiliating, and I know she doesn’t want to do it, but if this works and feeds the compulsion to punish myself, it will change my life—at least until Myla decides she’s done with me.
She takes it from me. “Stand up.”
“Okay.” Embarrassment almost has me telling her never mind, that I don’t need her for this, but I remind myself that Myla isn’t like that. She’d never make me feel bad for my trauma.
I’m still naked, and my half-hard cock juts out as I stand, revealing another secret that’s maybe even more shameful than all the others: my flagellation gets me hard. It would be a given if this was a BDSM thing, but it’s not. It’s spiritual and a penance, though having my sexual partner administer the punishment muddles things.
“Does it have to be your back?” She grimaces. “I just don’t think I could add to what you’ve already done. Like you said, you’re one bad swing away from putting yourself in the hospital.”
“I don’t know. That’s the only place I’ve ever done it.”
“Can I flog your ass instead? It’s close to your back.”
“You can try, but it might not work.”
“What do you mean it won’t work?” she demands, her voice laced with confusion and her lips turned down in a frown. “I’m not understanding. You have rules, but there’s no one to enforce them, so why can’t you just stop?”
It’s almost satisfying to see her lose her cool for once. Ever since we met, her attitude has been one of two levels: cold or bitchy. It’s not a bad thing. I love her fire and sass, but as we grow closer, I see the cracks in that fa?ade. She’s not as unemotional as she likes people to believe.
“It’s a compulsion, really. I was taught that the only way to absolve myself of sin was this.” I take the flogger from her. “It was also the only way I was allowed back in Father Kerrigan’s good graces, and of course, I know now how fucked up and manipulative that is, but I wanted to be loved so desperately. He was all I had, so from an early age, I began associating pain with repentance. Now when I sin or I take on the sin of a brother, I’m like an addict needing a fix. Even right now, I’m twitchy, and my skin is crawling. I can’t do anything until I follow through with this ritual.”
She nods with a sad smile on her pretty face. “I want to try your ass first. If it doesn’t work, then I guess I’ll do your back.”
“Thank you.” I tip her chin up and kiss her sweetly, not missing the hungry way she returns the show of affection. “You like kissing me.”
“Whatever,” she huffs in annoyance, taking the implement from me. “Place your hands on the cabinet, bend over, and spread your legs.”
Wrapping my rosary around one hand, I brace myself in front of a portrait of Mother Mary and Jesus that’s enshrined in gold. Closing my eyes, I whisper my prayers, getting my mind right. I’m not so sure this will work; everything is different, and the mood isn’t as reverent as it should be. But part of me feels strangely okay with it, so I try to focus on that.
“I’ll loan you my safe word,” she says.
“Pothos,” I say, fully knowing I won’t use it. She could tear me to shreds, and I’d let it happen.
“Okay. Here goes nothing.” I hear the whir of the thongs gliding through the air in a circle. The sound gets closer and closer until the first strike lands on the fleshy part of my ass. Instinctually, I clench, but when my body only registers a thudding sensation, I relax. Unlike what I do to myself, Myla’s intention isn’t to hurt me. The repetitive, arching smacks feel strangely satisfying.
She moves from side to side, only occasionally veering lower to just under my asscheek or slightly higher, where it delivers an attention-grabbing sting. I wish she would focus more on those places because what she’s doing is nice, but I need the pain. Without it, there is no repentance, and I will have humbled myself for no good reason.
“It’s not working,” I say, and immediately, she stops. “That feels really good, though, almost comforting.”
“But you don’t want comforting?”
“No.”
“Okay. I haven’t practiced the overhand move as much as circles, but I can try.” She holds the leather thongs straight up over her shoulder, her other hand arched back and holding the handle, ready to strike. “Brace yourself.”
I close my eyes, running a thumb over my rosary beads and whispering my prayer when the thongs meet the fleshy part of my ass. This time, I clench hard, the stinging pain warming my skin. I exhale in relief. This is what I need. This will work.
“Again,” I say, and she repeats the same movement. “Keep going.”
Each strike is like a flaming hot brand against my skin, leaving behind an inferno of agony that never seems to end. Blood rushes to my cheeks as I try to suppress my growing erection, but it’s no use. The never-ending assault on my ass has taken all of my attention, and now I’m painfully aroused, the evidence dripping down onto the cold wood floor below me. Humiliation washes over me as Myla watches on, a spectator to my twisted desires.
I whisper the confession of my sins, seeking forgiveness from a higher power, and as the pain intensifies, a strange sense of liberation sweeps over me once again, freeing me from the confines of my own mind.
“That’s it, Judge. I’m done. Any more, and I’ll break your skin.” She’s concerned, but I’m so fucking thrilled.
I move slowly, my burning ass smarting with each step as I turn around. Her pretty mouth forms an “O,” and she presses her bare thighs together when she catches sight of my engorged cock, only proving how perfect we are for each other.
“Does that normally happen?” she asks.
“To some extent. Usually, I just try to ignore it.” I crowd her space, tipping her chin up to look me in the eyes.
“You’ll give yourself blue balls. Haven’t you had enough pain today?”
“I think blue balls was made up by horny boys who wanted a way to pressure girls into bed. Ignoring an erection can be a little uncomfortable, but it’s not harmful.” I dip down to kiss her split lip that’s reopened too many times today. I’ll make her be more careful tomorrow.
“I don’t know, he looks pretty angry. I wouldn’t risk it.” Her teasing tone makes me grin.
“Are you saying you want me to fuck you, Myla?”
“God, yes.” The flogger falls to the floor and she uses my shoulders to propel herself into my arms, attaching to me like a little spider monkey. I catch her, my hands gripping her soft thighs as she peppers my face with kisses.
I moan when I feel her bare, wet pussy against my lower abdomen. “You’re not wearing panties.”
“I didn’t feel like putting dirty underwear on after my shower.”
“You’re wet,” I state, bringing attention to the fact that flogging me must’ve aroused her too.
“I couldn’t tell,” she sasses.
I slam her against the wall, propping her up so I can pull my shirt off her. She helps, just as frantic as I am. Leaning back enough to guide my cock into her entrance, I spear her in one thrust, and we both moan.
“Fuck, you feel so good. I can’t hold back. This is going to be fast and hard.”
“Please.” She grinds against me, searching for friction.
Walking us over to my small dinette, I reluctantly lower her ass to the table and pull out. I set her on her feet and spin her around. “Your turn to bend over.”
Eagerly, she presses her body flat against the table, presenting her perfect ass to me. My hand traces down her spine, eliciting a shiver from her as I spread her legs apart and enter her with a powerful thrust that sends the table skidding across the floor. Each time I push into her warm pussy, I’m consumed by a primal desire to go deeper, harder, faster.
Her moans, mixed with the slapping of skin against skin and the screeching of the table as it inches across the floor from my forceful plunges, are like music to my ears. Every cell in my body screams for this moment to last forever, but at the same time, I can feel myself on the brink of ecstasy.
I’m not sure Myla can come this way, though, so I pull out and turn her back around. Her fat tits bounce, and I can’t stop myself from palming one and bending over so I can suck her little nipple as I stroke myself, using her arousal as my lube. I can’t get enough of her, I never will, and it should scare the shit out of me, but I’m too busy being obsessed with her.
“Judge,” she breathes out.
I tear myself away from her breast and lift her onto the table. Coaxing her to lay flat on the surface, I spread her legs wide and place her heels on the lip of the table. If I could have one wish, it’d be to have Myla in this position every morning so I could eat her for breakfast. I grip her thighs and pull until her ass hangs over the edge, opening her up nice and wide. I rub up and down her parted folds as she gasps in anticipation of what’s to come. “Look at this pretty pussy, dripping with arousal for me.” Bending down, I lick her from ass to cunt, savoring her flavor.
“You promised fast and hard,” she says.
“Sorry, I got sidetracked.” I straighten and position my cock at her entrance, spreading her inner lips open for an unobstructed view as I push inside. She practically sucks me in before gripping me so tight that my balls immediately draw up. I’m going to come, but not before she does.
Holding onto her thighs to keep her in place, I fuck her the way I intended to when we began. Her tits bounce, and I recognize the look of pleasure on Myla’s beautiful face. She clenches around me, and I curse, unsure if I can hold out for her to join me.
“Rub your clit. Make yourself come,” I grit out.
Her hand slips between her legs, and I watch as she rubs small circles right above where we’re joined. A new rush of arousal coats my cock, making the glide in and out even better. She calls my name as she comes, her neck stretched long and her back bowing off the table, thrusting her breasts into the air. Watching her come is a gift I’ll never take for granted, especially since I don’t know when the last time will be.
Her thighs tremble, and she becomes impossibly tighter as a tingle starts at the base of my spine and works its way through my entire body. My vision goes black, and my brain short circuits for a second as I blow inside her, coating her insides with my seed. It’s such a claiming feeling, and I find myself regretting that she’s on birth control. I’d be the luckiest bastard alive if she allowed me to put a baby inside her. A second wave of an orgasm ripples through me at the image of her round with my child. It’s a fantasy I’ll keep to myself because if she knew what I was thinking, she wouldn’t let me anywhere near her.
“Fuck,” I curse, pushing in one last time, holding myself in as deep as I can get. No contraceptive is a hundred percent, though, right? Shaking my head, I push that thought far away. Bringing a baby into our fucked up lives is the last thing we need.
Myla throws her arms out wide, and her head lulls to the side dramatically. “I have no bones. You fucked them out of me.”
“Good thing you’re pocket-sized.” I pull out, watching my cum leak from her slit. The sight makes my cock twitch.
“Hey, weirdo. Eyes up here,” she says through a yawn.
Trailing my gaze up her body does nothing to stop my dick from twitching again, trying so hard to get back in the game. “You have no goddamn idea how sexy you are, do you?”
I pick her up and carry her to my bed. We’re both exhausted after little sleep last night and our activities today, so even though it’s only late afternoon, I carry her to my bed, hoping she’ll stay. I kneel on the bed and lower her to the mattress, dipping down to give her a chaste kiss so I don’t hurt her lip.
“Stay here. I’ll be right back.”
Her arm barely leaves the mattress to give me a thumbs up. “Boneless, remember?”
My grin lasts through cleaning Myla and me up. She didn’t even fight it when I parted her legs and ran a washcloth down her pussy. That earned me another cock twitch.
“What’s with all the antique furniture and grandma decorations?” she asks as I climb into bed and cover us with the patchwork quilt.
“A lot of it was here when I moved in.” After the events of the afternoon, I’m still a bit raw and emotionally drained. I don’t know if I have it in me to tell her anything else that would embarrass me further.
“And the rest?”
I sigh. “You’re going to think this is stupid, but I like to pretend I have certain memories that most people take for granted. When I was a kid, that meant I used my imagination to give myself the family I always wanted. Each night, I’d relive my day, only this time, I’d be part of this family I made up. I’d go to school, play video games with my older brother, and fight with my younger sister. That family was every bit as real to me as the nuns or Father Kerrigan. I loved them. But as you grow older, your imagination gets weak until one day, they were just gone.”
“That’s not stupid; that’s sad.”
“It was, and I spent years trying to figure out how to get back the sense of belonging I had with my imaginary family. One day, after I left the group home, I was at a thrift shop to get a new pair of shoes and saw a pocket watch. It wasn’t anything special; the nickel plating was rusted, and it didn’t work, but I bought it anyway. Later that night, as I was lying on a cot in the middle of a gymnasium full of other unhoused men, I held it in my hand, closed my eyes, and thought up a story about how it was my great-great-grandfather’s and was given to the eldest child of each generation until it was mine.
“From that moment on, I started collecting things that I could give a story to. Like a special plate that my siblings and I used to leave cookies on for Santa, or Grandma’s old sofa I couldn’t bear to get rid of because it held so many memories of trips to her house, or the patchwork quilt that was my mom’s first sewing project.”
“Judge—” My name is a sad whisper, and I realize my chest is damp from her tears.
“Please don’t cry. It’s not sad to me because having all of these things around ease my grief of a life I didn’t have.”
“I’m not crying over how you coped. I’m crying because I spend so much time picking out all my parents’ failures and never take time to remember the good. I’m realizing how incredibly selfish I am because I got to experience all the things you dreamed of as a kid.”
I kiss the top of her head. “You can’t think of it that way. There will always be someone who had it better than you and someone who had it worse. It doesn’t invalidate your experience or your problems.”
“That was a good Judge-ism.” She rolls onto her back and wipes the tears off her face and my pec.
“Judge-ism?”
“It’s what I’ve decided to call all the things you think of that are the exact right thing to say.” Her voice is a breathy whisper as Myla teeters on the edge of consciousness.
“Get some sleep.”
“I just need to rest my eyes for a minute. Then I’ll go.”
“It’s okay if you stay.”
“We’ve crossed too many lines today, Judge. I can’t cross this one.”
She’s right, but it doesn’t make it easier to digest. She’s made it clear from the beginning that she doesn’t want me. She wants my cock, she wants me to keep her secrets, and she might even want a friend, but she doesn’t want me. Somehow, that hurts more than everything else I’ve been through, yet when she rolls away from me, I still curl my body around her and pretend she’s mine.
I’ve always been good at make-believe.