13. Funny Stuff #2
The second stroke is harder. Left cheek this time. I cry out, grip the edges of the bench, and force the word out: "Two."
He finds a rhythm. Strike, soothe, strike, soothe.
The pain builds with each blow, layering on itself, but so does something else.
A heat that isn't just from impact. A flush that spreads from my ass to my core, the Protocol amplifying every sensation until I can't tell where pain ends and pleasure begins.
"Ten." My voice is wrecked. Tears are streaming down my face, but I'm not crying from sadness. I'm crying because my body doesn't know what else to do with this much sensation.
"Halfway." His hand gentles on my abused flesh. "You're taking this so well. So beautifully. Your skin is perfect. Pink and hot and mine."
I moan at the praise. The Protocol turns his approval into something physical, a pulse of pleasure that makes my hips jerk forward.
"Ten more. Can you take them?"
"Yes." I don't even hesitate. "Green. Please."
The second ten are harder than the first.
He doesn't hold back now. Each stroke drives a cry from my throat, each impact sends shockwaves through my body. By fifteen, I'm sobbing openly. By eighteen, I'm begging—though I'm not sure for what. For him to stop. For him to never stop. For something to release the pressure building inside me.
"Nineteen." The word is barely recognizable.
"One more." His voice is rough. Strained. "Give me one more, and I'll give you everything."
The final stroke is the hardest. I scream into the leather, my whole body convulsing, and somehow I manage—"Twenty."
"Perfect." He's on me immediately, hands gentle now, soothing the fire he lit. "You're perfect. God, you're?—"
He doesn't finish. He's pulling me up, turning me around, kissing me with a ferocity that steals what's left of my breath. His tongue claims my mouth the way his hand claimed my ass, and I melt into him, boneless and burning.
"Bed," he growls against my lips. "Now."
The bed is massive. He lays me in the center, wrists above my head, and produces silk ropes from somewhere I didn't see.
"Is this okay?"
I nod. Words are beyond me.
He binds my wrists to the headboard. Not tight. There's give, enough to work free if I really tried. But secure. Then he produces a blindfold. Black silk, soft against my skin.
"I want you to feel everything." He settles the blindfold over my eyes, ties it at the back of my head. "Without sight, sensation intensifies. The Protocol will do the rest."
He's right. The moment my vision disappears, everything else sharpens. The brush of air against my nipples. The heat radiating from my spanked ass. The sound of him undressing. Fabric sliding, a belt buckle, the soft thud of clothes hitting the floor.
Then his weight on the mattress.
He doesn't warn me. Doesn't ease into it. He spreads my thighs with his hands and drives into me in one brutal thrust.
I scream.
The penetration is overwhelming. I'm so wet, so ready, but he's so big and the angle is so deep. He holds himself there, buried to the hilt, letting me feel every inch.
"You took the pain so beautifully." His voice is ragged. "Now take the pleasure."
He fucks me.
Hard, relentless, exactly the way he promised.
The blindfold makes everything more. The sound of our bodies colliding, the wet obscenity of his cock driving into me, the way his breath catches when I clench around him.
I'm pulling against the ropes, not trying to escape but needing something to anchor me.
"Come." The command cuts through the haze. "You've earned it. Come for me."
I explode.
The orgasm is violent, collapsing into a single moment of release. The Protocol amplifies everything until I'm convulsing, sobbing, and screaming his name. He doesn't slow down. Just keeps fucking me through it, prolonging the waves until I'm begging him to stop, then begging him not to stop.
"Again." His hand finds my clit, presses, and circles. "Give me another one."
I don't think I can. I'm wrung out, destroyed, but his fingers are relentless and his cock is hitting that spot inside me, and impossibly, it builds again.
"I can't?—"
"You can. You will."
The second orgasm shatters me. I come screaming, thrashing against the ropes, my whole body arching off the bed. This time, he follows. Slamming deep and holding, the pulse of his release inside me, his groan rumbling against my throat where his mouth has landed.
We stay like that. Connected. Trembling.
Then he pulls out. And his mouth replaces his cock.
"Oh God—" I try to close my legs but he holds them open, his shoulders between my thighs, his tongue sliding through the mess we've made. "Sebastian, I can't, it's too much?—"
"You can." He licks into me, tongue curling, finding my oversensitive clit with devastating accuracy. "One more. For taking the pain so beautifully. One more, and then I'll take care of you."
His mouth is relentless. Gentle compared to the fucking, but inescapable. Soft licks, careful suction, his tongue learning exactly what makes me shake. I'm crying again, overwhelmed, the pleasure almost painful in its intensity.
The third orgasm rolls through me like a wave. Slower than the first two. Deeper. I crest and fall and crest again, his mouth guiding me through every shudder, until finally, finally, my body goes limp.
He lifts his head. Unties the blindfold.
I blink in the low light. His face is wet, his eyes dark, and he's looking at me like I'm something precious. Something rare.
"There you are." He reaches up, unties my wrists. "There's my good girl."
The aftercare is revelation.
He carries me to the bathroom. Actually carries me, because my legs don't work anymore. Sets me on the edge of the massive tub while he runs a bath, tests the temperature, adds something that makes the water smell like lavender and eucalyptus.
Then he lowers me in.
The heat envelops me. Soothes the ache in my wrists, the burn on my ass, the tender emptiness between my legs. I float, boneless, while he strips and climbs in behind me.
His hands find my shoulders. Begin to knead.
"You were incredible." His voice is soft against my hair. "I've introduced dozens of women to this. None of them responded like you."
I don't know what to say. Don't know if I can speak.
"The way you took the pain." His hands work down my arms, back up again. "The way you surrendered. It's rare. To find someone so responsive. So willing to let go."
"The Protocol?—"
"The Protocol helps." He turns me in his arms, so I'm facing him, straddling his lap in the warm water.
"But it doesn't create what isn't there.
You were made for this. For surrender. For trust. You've just spent so long taking care of everyone else that you forgot how to let someone take care of you. "
His hands cup my face. Hold me steady while those ice-blue eyes search mine.
"I can't believe how well things are going." The admission sounds like it costs him something. "I had expectations. Plans. You're exceeding all of them."
"Is that good?"
"It's terrifying." He says it simply. Honestly. "You're getting under my skin. And I don't let people under my skin."
"I'm not trying to?—"
"I know." He presses a kiss to my forehead. "That's what makes it worse."
He washes me. Slowly, carefully, the way he washed me that first morning. But different now. There's tenderness in his touch that wasn't there before. Attention that feels less like inventory and more like worship.
He washes my hair. Massages my scalp until I'm practically purring. Rinses the suds away, wraps me in a towel, carries me back to his bedroom.
Not my room. His.
He lays me in his bed. Climbs in beside me. Pulls me against his chest, one arm wrapped around my waist, his breath warm against the back of my neck.
"Sleep." The word is a command and a gift. "Tomorrow, the Protocol will be stronger. The rest of the week will be more of this. Learning you, teaching you, finding out what you need."
"And after the week?"
"Steady state." His arm tightens. "You'll feel different. More settled. The adjustment will be over."
I'm too exhausted to ask what that means. Too wrung out to worry about tomorrow, or next week, or the collar, or any of it.
Right now, in this moment, I'm warm and safe and held.
It's enough.
I close my eyes, and sleep pulls me under.