Shit. Shit. Shit. My body moved, unwilled, and suddenly my chest was flat to the worktop, palms against the tiles. I heard her position herself to my rear. It tickled as she raised the hem of my robe, hitching it up over my hips. I bit my lip, scorching with self-consciousness... and something else. She ran her fingernails over my ass.
“Ready?” she asked. Her tone was low, insistent. I nodded.
She slapped me hard and I jumped a little, settling down just before she landed another. It sounded worse than it felt, the bite of her palm morphing quickly into a gentle burn. She hit me quick, fast slaps over and over, and soon I stopped jumping and just felt. My breath quickened, the burning of my skin seeming to bloom under her touch. It felt good... great... it felt amazing.
She stopped a moment, long enough to trail a finger down the crease of my ass. “Want more?”
I nodded again, gritting my teeth through the embarrassment.
“I knew it. You’re a submissive, alright. Only I don’t think a slap’s enough for you.”
I wrenched my head back over my shoulder in time to see her delve into a drawer. She pulled out a fish slice, and slapped it against her palm over and over; a strange metallic thwack.
“I’m not sure about this...” I said, shifting on my feet but not breaking position.
“I am.”
My heart raced, brain pleading no, while my body pleaded yes. I didn’t move.
She hit me fucking hard. I leapt up, jigging around with a smarting ass.
“Settle down,” she said, simply.
I looked back at her like she was crazy, right until the pain smoothed into a tingle, a really nice tingle, like spidery itches in satin boots, dripping warm treacle over my skin, and there beyond the pain I got a glimpse of the calm place... the place the itches lead to. I settled back against the worktop, hands back against the tiles.
“I fucking knew it,” she said, and landed me another. This time I flinched but didn’t jump up, and she hit me again, and again after that in the same spot. Pain then tingle, pain then tingle, over and over, and soon I was groaning and whimpering and lost in this crazy sea of self-consciousness and confusion, where the only thing I really knew was that I didn’t want to move, not for anything, I just wanted more.
She ran her fingers over me, squeezing tender flesh. I wriggled at her touch, fighting the urge to spread my legs and show her how wet I was. I don’t think I needed to. I’m pretty sure Rebecca already knew, well before I did.
“Beautiful,” she said. “Shit, I’ve gotta go to work.”
She dropped the fish slice on the side and gave me a pinch, leaving me bent-over, bare-assed and totally shell-shocked, with a face that most likely matched the scarlet of the kitchen. I pulled myself together, yanking down my robe and choking back the shock like it never happened.
Rebecca grabbed her bag and keys and checked her make-up one last time, and I watched her as though she was some strange alien creature that I hadn’t spent the past month living with. She turned in the doorway before she left, a huge grin lighting up her face.
“Lydia Marsh, I think we have us a pain slut. Maybe Cinderella shall go to the ball after all.”
***
Chapter Seven
James
My mobile buzzed in my pocket. Text message.
“Do you want her or not? Last call.”
Writing my response was easy. Sending not so much. “Not.”
I counted the down the seconds until the second buzz.
“I don’t believe you.”
“Believe whatever you want.”
I cast the phone aside and returned to the paperwork in front of me. Lydia’s proposal was virtually faultless. The girl had skill. The phone started up again, rattling against the desk top. It disturbed my pen alignment. I put them straight again before viewing the message.
“Will I see you tonight?”
“No.”
“Definitely not?”
“Definitely not.”
“Positive?”
“Fucking hell, Rebecca. NO, you will not see me tonight.”
A few minutes delay.
“Spoilsport. Cara says she’s forgotten what your palm feels like.”
“I very much doubt that.”
I needed out of this Lydia Marsh shit. The suggestion that she move in with Rebecca had been a bad one, a rash decision made purely by my cock. Now she was there to stay, holed in tight with the only person I called a friend. I’d shit my own bed by courting a ridiculous fantasy. Bad form, James, bad fucking form.