The Ex (18 page)

He raised his head, uttering a soft, short moan as our lips parted. During a scene, he was so controlled that any suggestion of the effect I had on him struck me like lightning.

“Happy birthday, Sir,” I told him, risking the consequences of speaking out of turn.

“Thank you, Sophie.” He motioned to the bed. “Go. I want you bent over.”

I walked to the bed slowly, with a deliberate sway to my hips. My tight dress fit every curve. I wished I could see the rear view. When I bent over, the bottom of the skirt just barely covered my ass. I turned my head and rubbed my cheek against the thick down comforter.

Neil knelt behind me. “Spread your legs, darling. There’s a good girl.”

I giggled and did as he commanded. He took my ankle in both of his big hands and nudged me to raise my foot. He slid off my pump then repeated the action on the other side. I squirmed a little. I couldn’t help it.

“Stay still,” he warned me, sliding both hands over my calf, up my thigh, under my skirt. The fingers of one hand dug into my ass,while the other skimmed between my legs. The tip of his thumb pushed under my panties and found my slit. The gentle brush across my labia slicked the fluid evidence of my arousal over my skin. I shivered at the touch; I hadn’t realized how much I had ached for him all night.

His thumb penetrated me with the slightest pressure. “Do you remember earlier, when I said you looked good enough to eat?”

“Yes, Sir,” I breathed as he pushed my skirt up.

His hands closed over my hips. He rolled my panties down my legs and rubbed his cheek against my ass. “I am going to eat you, Sophie. I’m going to restrain you and take as much of that delicious cunt as I want. Until you’re begging me to stop. Until you’re begging for my cock.”

“Oh yes, Sir.” I stepped out of my panties and widened my stance to allow him better access to my pussy.

He pressed a kiss to the round curve of one cheek before he stood and stepped away from me. “I think some birthday spankings are in order, however.”

“It’s not
my
birthday, Sir,” I reminded him with a little wiggle. “But I suppose—”

I heard the crack of his bare hand against my ass before I felt it, and I jumped on the balls of my feet.

“Marks or no marks?” He rubbed his palm over my flaming skin.

I caught my bottom lip between my teeth to subdue my moan. “Marks. Please, Sir.”

He sat beside me on the bed and patted his lap. “Come on.”

I straightened and he reached for me, steadying me as I lay over his lap and adjusted so that the brunt of my weight wasn’t on my ribs. Stroking a fingertip down my spine, he said, “Oh. Just one more thing I forgot.”

He reached past my head for something. I squinted through the hair falling in my face to watch him pull on one black leather glove.

“Ohhh,” I whispered, and caught my bottom lip between my teeth.

“What do you think?” he asked, smoothing circles over my ass through my dress.

I thought of the first time we’d had sex at the W and about his gloved hands as he walked through the door to find me fingering myself on the sofa. He’d stood in front of me, taking those gloves off by loosening one finger at a time, while I’d lain there helpless in my desire.

“I think you’re…very creative, Sir,” I managed, when what I really wanted to say was, “Spank me, spank me, spank me, Sir.” If I tried to boss him around, I wouldn’t be getting far tonight.

He pulled the other glove on, the wriggling of his fingers making the leather creak. “That’s a yes, then?”

“Yes, Sir.” Now, I couldn’t help myself. “Please spank me, Sir. I’ve been a very good girl.”

His leather-covered palm connected with my backside, and I gasped a little “ah!” of excitement. The impact tingled all the way down to my toes, and I flexed them deliciously.

This was the point of the night when the pain I would receive was a delightful promise. It wouldn’t be long now and I’d be hating and loving every intense second, but the first few slaps were like gentle foreplay.

Well, maybe not
gentle.
He jerked my dress up to my waist and really let his hand fly on the next one, hitting me so hard that my body rocked. I would have spilled off his lap if he didn’t have me held captive by a hand at my waist.

I took a deep breath as he stroked the cool leather over the burning handprint he’d no doubt left on my aching ass. He landed another blow in the same spot, and I gritted my teeth.

Inexperienced Doms sometimes hit the same spot over and over out of ignorance. They just didn’t think of the fact that, if they moved their strikes around, playtime could last a lot longer. When Neil did it, though, it was always on purpose. I’d asked him for marks; he was going to make me suffer for each one.

The next slap landed across the super painful zone where my buttock and my thigh met in a crease. I hadn’t been expecting it—I knew better than to try to guess where he’d strike next—and I yelped. One of the benefits of having a huge house is that you don’t have to worry about noise from other rooms. The way this place was insulated, every room was practically a recording studio. Still, I made a conscious effort to be silent on the next hard smacks.

“You’re tense,” Neil growled in admonishment. The glove scraped a searing kiss across my burning skin before he struck me again. “And distracted.” The next one was harder. “And you’re letting trivial concerns intrude.” Two smacks, so hard I couldn’t help the cry I made.

“Up,” he commanded, helping me to my feet. He stood and steadied me with a hand that lingered at my waist as he moved past. “Wait here.”

Without the warmth of him pressed to me, I noticed how cool the room was. The air held enough chill that my raw ass definitely felt it, and I shivered.

Neil went to his side of the bed and picked up the remote control to turn on the built-in sound system. Neil had an entire playlist devoted to our scenes. He preferred music with a dark, slinky beat. When Gotye’s “Hearts a Mess” filled the air, my cunt clenched; we’d fucked to the song so many times before, it was like a Pavlovian response.

Music could do for submission what it does for studying. I instantly focused, even the movement of the air alerting me to his presence behind me. When he came back to the bed and sat, I sank gratefully into my former position.

The distraction worked. I slipped so easily into my submissive state of mind that I was content to lay there and take slap after stinging slap. Some blows were hard, driving the pain deep into the muscle. Others were almost gentle, and delayed so long that the pain was in the waiting.

The leather cracked against my flesh again and again; he was rarely this rough with a barehanded spanking. The gloves certainly gave his palm some protection. But wearing them seemed to help him achieve a distance that he couldn’t when we usually played. It almost hurt worse than the paddle.

Tears streamed down my face, and my chest ached with the sobs that would have crushed me if most of my weight hadn’t been supported on the bed. I gasped and cried and pleaded until I was near the breaking point. The moment I thought I couldn’t take anymore, he finished with one sharp slap and urged me to sit up. I cried out at that pain, too. I had no idea how long we’d been at it; a half hour at least. The slightest pressure burned.

“Stand up. Turn around.” His hands skated over the smooth surface of the dress as I turned, and he reached up to pull the zipper down. “Let’s take this off.”’

I wriggled out of the dress, and my bottom lip trembled at the cold.

With excruciating tenderness, he pulled me down again and cradled me against his warm, naked chest. I leaned my head against his shoulder, my eyes still leaking tears, my nose running. He held me, pulling off his gloves to stroke my hair back from my face, and murmured, “Check in, Sophie.”

“Green, Sir,” I assured him between sniffles. “Can we stop and get me some aloe, though?”

He kissed my forehead. “We certainly may.” He went to the bathroom and returned with the tube of green goo. “Bend over.”

I leaned over the bed and braced myself for the cool touch of the gel. I still jumped a little when it touched my skin. In my mind, I saw each enflamed ridge of the handprints Neil had left on me as he smoothed the gel over the welts.

“Better?” he asked gently.

“Yeah. We can go on when you’re ready.” I didn’t need to tell him that we were done with the spanking part. He would have taken the hint.

He went to the bathroom to put away the aloe and wash his hands. When he returned, he was fully back in Dom mode. “Stand up.”

I straightened, and he turned my shoulders, cueing my body to follow. I stood in front of him, close enough that our toes were touching. Without looking up to meet his eyes, our height difference left me staring straight at his collarbones.

“Well, now that we’ve moved on from
that
bit of business,” he said, pointing to the gloves still lying on the bed. “I think we can get to the part you’ve been looking forward to.”

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath as he traced a damp lock of hair that had plastered itself to my neck. I licked my lips in anticipation of him licking another, similar part of me. “I was looking forward to everything, Sir.”

He made a sound too brief to be a chuckle, but I could tell he was pleased with the answer all the same. He reached past me, his body tantalizingly close to mine, and lifted the black leather cuffs. “Lie on your back, across the bed.”

I sat, gasping at the pressure against my too-aware welted and bruised skin. I scooted back carefully.

Neil leaned over me, his chest hair brushing the desperate peaks of my nipples as he fastened the soft leather cuffs around my wrists. They attached by a chain to a discreet metal loop soldered to the bed frame and kept my arms stretched high above my head. I fought the urge to lift my hips and rub myself against the front of his trousers, but my hips shifted, anyway.

He slid down my body, his warm skin teasing my goose pimpled flesh as he went, and knelt between my feet with the spreader bar in his hands. I closed my eyes; my body was probably vibrating like a violin string, my anticipation ran so high.

In the past, Neil had expressed concern that I might break his neck when he was going down on me. I’d kneed Emir in the nose before. It was always beyond my control. The sensations overwhelmed me, and I snapped shut like a bear trap. It was considerably harder to do that when your ankles were kept apart by a metal rod.

The cuffs closed around my ankles. Neil, still at my feet, gripped my hips and gave me a gentle tug. “Nothing too tight? Nothing hurting or rubbing?”

“No, Sir.” As much as I liked pain, I’d learned that I did not like chafing or rope burns the first time I’d been bound in a shrimp tie. While the sting had been amazing at the time, the aftermath—and wearing ice packs in the sides of my sports bra to cool the burn—had not been. Neil had felt horrible, I still had two thin scars on the sides of my ribcage, and I’d definitely learned my lesson.

He made me wait a moment, just staring down at me as I trembled, ankles held wide apart. I tested, tried to turn my knees together, but it was no use. They would never touch.

He slid his hands up my thighs then back to my bent knees in a lazy, repetitive stroke that sped my breath. When he did lean over me, I jolted. My clit and pussy throbbed with my heartbeat. He brushed my labia with his nose and took a deep, audible sniff. The chains above my head clinked as I pulled against them. Vulnerability had a strange effect on me. Being held down tricked my brain into freak-out mode. A whimper of fear slipped from my throat.

“You must be—” He broke off to pinch my folds together over my clit and rub gently up and down. “Very anxious, right now.”

My breath shuddered from my chest.

He kept up the rolling motion of my labia over my clit as he continued. “I know it gets to you, not being able to hide yourself from me. Really, I could do anything…”

He spread me and used his other hand to flick my clit, hard. A short, sharp, “Ah!” of pain burst from me. I’d just started craving contact, and there he was, making me resist it again. Sir was so, so good at his job.

“I could make you really miserable, you know.” It wasn’t a question, but an observation. He petted my waxed-bare vulva, soothing the pain and driving me crazy at the same time. “I could keep you here for hours, and never let you come until you’re frantic for it.”

One part of my brain shouted,
Yes!,
because I knew how worth it the wait would be. The other part shouted,
No!,
because while I was definitely turned on, I was also exhausted from the party. Hours of sex really would be torment, but not the good kind. “Is that what you plan to do, Sir?”

“Sadly, no.” He leaned his cheek against my thigh. He’d shaved before the party, so his face wasn’t as stubbly as it normally was by this time of night. Boo. “I’m far too tired. What I would like to do is eat this pussy until you’re dripping all over the bed, then fuck you until your legs can’t hold you up.”

“Oh…please, Sir.” Knowing we were on the same page brought my enthusiasm back up. I didn’t like using a safe word to end our play just because I was getting sleepy or bored. It rarely happened, and I logically knew I shouldn’t feel bad about it, but I always found it slightly disappointing. I knew we couldn’t have amazing, mind-blowing sex every single time—we’d had our share of exhausted, doing-this-because-we-feel-like-we-should fucks, just like anybody—but I wanted to, damn it.