Chapter 12 #2
I bite down on my bottom lip as I watch him with bewilderment, his hand pulling back and then coming down hard on my ass cheek.
I yelp, the taste of blood bursting into my mouth from where I was biting down on my lip.
It stings, and black spots dance across my vision.
When I can refocus, he’s staring at me, the raw burn of his handprint on my skin feeling like a brand.
I realize he’s pushing me. I shouldn’t want this, but my body hums with anticipation. I want more. More from him. It hurts, the pulsing of his mark on me, and yet my body naturally arches into him, a silent request for him to continue.
I’ve lost my fucking mind.
I’ve never liked pain, but this feels completely different. It’s not to hurt me; it’s being completely dominated in a way I’ve never known, and testing my limits.
And I fucking like it.
His other hand brushes my hair from my face, his thumb rubbing over my bottom lip.
When he pulls his hand back, he looks down at the small smear of blood.
It’s embarrassing. I should be mortified, and yet, when his fingers slowly wrap around my throat, my body is arching farther into him, a victim to his touch.
“That just won’t do,” he says as he readjusts my head, angling my neck into the position he wants. “You like the pain.”
“No,” I say defiantly, because I can’t be into this depravity. Shouldn’t I be ashamed?
His hand that rests on my ass skims lightly over my panties, and I bite down on my lip to stifle the moan.
“You’re soaking wet for me, Sunshine,” he says matter-of-factly. “Let’s see how you like this on your cunt.”
I gasp at the vulgar word. But I don't have time to dwell on it, because he pulls back his hand and then smacks my pussy.
A moan escapes me as I buck against him, still held by the throat. My pussy pounds angrily. It hurts so damn much, but then a wave of pleasure flows through my core as he circles my clit through my underwear. Fuck, what is he doing to me?
“Do you understand you’re being punished for being a brat today?” he growls. I can feel the hard press of his erection against my ribs. Another flood of liquid rushes to my core, and I can't help thinking about that cock.
Wanting that cock.
Crack! I buck as he slaps my pussy again, eliciting goose bumps and a new threshold of pain. It’s too much… isn’t it? A more treacherous pulsing begins.
I want this.
“Every time you step out of line, you will be punished. Do you understand?” He tightens his grip around my throat to the point I can barely breathe, and angles my head to face him. “Answer me, Sunshine.”
But all I can think about is his cock pressing against me. This is turning him on, right? He wants this, too, doesn't he?
But more importantly, he’s still waiting for my answer.
“You will never own me” is the most truthful answer I can give, because I don’t understand what the fuck is happening. All I know is my body loves it, but I’m not going to give in to his every demand.
That almost-grin teases his lips, and his hand comes down, hard, this time on my ass. I buck as his fingers press tighter around my windpipe, and I can’t even squeak. A shudder of fear runs through me for the first time. Have I bitten off more than I can chew? This isn’t who I am, so what—
My thoughts cut off, and my eyes roll into the back of my head as his thumb circles my clit again, and his grip around my throat loosens.
“So fucking beautiful, how wet you are for me. Fucking perfect in every way,” Lorenzo praises, seemingly enthralled by my ass.
A different warmth floods my chest, and I bat it away.
This isn’t normal. I shouldn’t feel anything for this man.
But I’m not used to a man whispering such sweet nothings to me.
If anything, it infuriates me. Sure, you’ve won this time.
I find you attractive. But don’t say unnecessary things, like I’m beautiful and perfect, when you don’t mean them.
All of a sudden, I want this to be over. I want to go to my room.
“Do you usually talk so much to all your torture victims?” I grit, now all fire.
One more smack and then I’m gone. Hell, I know I don’t even have to stay for it, but there’s a sense of sheer determination and rebellion that fuels me now.
I try to ignore the throbbing of my pussy, which wants more, and cling to my self-preservation instead.
His gaze slides to mine, the fire previously burning in them gone. “I only torture if I want something from it.”
Slap. I’m blinded by the pain that sears my flesh. It’s so strong that tears spring to my eyes. My body tingles everywhere, something new and dark unfurling within me. Something I don’t want to greet.
I open my eyes and scowl. “Are you done now?” I ask, as if unaffected by the thrumming of my body, which wants to sit up until I’m straddling his cock.
He's too beautiful. I’ve become disarmed around him.
His eyebrows furrow slightly as he says, “Yes.” His hand gently caresses my ass, as if soothing it, then he gives me the space to stand. His hand is still resting on my hips as he helps me to my feet.
I don’t understand him, nor do I have to.
“Good night,” I say as I pull my dress down and walk away with my head held high.
My body aches, the subtle friction of my dress shifting back and forth over my skin irritating every step.
But I pretend to be unfazed as my inner world spirals, awoken by something new I’m not entirely ready to address.
I don’t look over the railing of the spiral stairs to my bedroom, but I can feel his gaze follow me as I slam the door shut. The moment I’m in my room, I rest my head against the door.
What am I doing?
I bite my bottom lip, the small split apparent, but the taste of my own blood isn’t off-putting. In fact, I feel alive. The throbbing in my pussy lingers, and I can't help but stretch my hand farther down.
I’m irritated and frustrated, imagining his rock-hard cock pressing against my ribs, curious as to what it would feel like inside of me.
Fuck him and whatever game he’s playing at.
But it doesn’t take away the hum of the mark he left.
And although I might not have given him permission to finish the job, I'll certainly finish it myself.
I walk to my bathroom, stripping away my clothes before turning the shower on.
I look over my shoulder through the mirror, staring at the large handprints branding my ass.
The mark is so big, almost covering my entire ass cheek.
Dark-brown eyes appear in my mind. I try to blink them away as I step into the shower, embracing the pulsing heat from his punishment. My pussy is still thumping wildly, and I try my hardest to let the day go down the drain with the running water. I don’t want to think about it. I just want…
My hand lowers, and I begin to circle my clit, looking for a release. Yes, that’s exactly what I need.
Fuck him for leaving me like this.
Every thought continues revolving around Lorenzo—the last person I want to be thinking about. Though, honestly, it's not the first time I’ve used him as inspiration. I rub more vigorously, cursing him.
I can’t stand him.
I shouldn’t be into these types of things.
He treats me like a child.
The angrier I get, the more I assault my clit, thinking about him, expressing my rage.
Fuck him and those callused hands.
I replay the strike on my ass. The shock and pain. The pleasure that’s quick to follow.
Warmth floods my core, and I moan. My other hand comes up to grab my breast and twist. It hurts, but it acts as a tug at my core.
A delayed response, but well rewarded.
Fuck me, that feels good.
I relive each and every slap, squeezing my breast mercilessly.
A steady build begins to grow, and I chase it like I’m running away from the very man who put me in this situation. Fuck me. Why does he have to be so…
The climb continues, and my breathing comes in shallow pants as I swallow steamy air.
Infuriating!
I break apart, crumbling into my own touch as I ride the wave of bliss. I'm shocked and confused.
I’ve never been able to please myself like that. Not without a toy. I've never truly understood how to satisfy myself, and I've been too shy to explore self-gratification further.
But what happened tonight felt incredible.
Empowering even. The dull throb where he spanked me continues as I take a deep breath, realizing that perhaps the pain might be the gateway to my pleasure.
That makes no sense, though. I’ve always been scared of a raised hand.
I've heard women talk about it over cocktails, but never thought I’d be into it.
Because… I’m a good girl? Right?
I hate that I even think that. I've been conditioned even in my sexual exploration, and I only have myself to blame.
Low, consistent knocks on my door rip me out of my thoughts, and I turn the shower off. “Don’t come in!” I shout as I reach for the nearest towel. I step out of my bathroom, surprised that my bedroom door remains closed.
When I open the door, no one’s there. I furrow my brow as I look over the railing to see him working on his laptop beside a crackling fire.
I go to step back into my bedroom, and that’s when I see it. A plastic bag. I expect it to be one of my favorite meals—something he’s been in the habit of leaving for me every night. But instead it's filled with ointment, bath salts, and cream.
“For the marks. It’ll help with the swelling.” His voice drifts up to me, and if I had to guess, he’s not even looking in my direction.
My heart skips a beat, and I hate how easily it betrays me.
It’s silly. And I still don’t know what to make of the entire situation, let alone what happened earlier.
What I do know is that Lorenzo is a man like no other I’ve met.
And my curiosity might be leading me into a world of depravity, but I can’t let my heart get involved because I know where this ends.
The same place it always does—in disappointment, my heart shattered into a million pieces.
Because men don’t want me, and if they do, it’s only about what my father can provide them.
I doubt Lorenzo has any interest in that, but only a few moments ago, I was also certain he had no interest in me.