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The sound that came out of me was somewhere between a sob and a groan. Fuck, that was disgusting and wrong and so...so hot. It was terrifying and cruel and...damn it...how could I want that? How could that thought turn me on?
“But we’ll get to that, won’t we, angel?” He pressed me forward. Then further...further. “Bend over. Head down to the ground.”
I had to reposition myself to manage what he was demanding. With my torso and face dangling off the couch, he forced me to put my legs up so that my thighs straddled his lap and all my intimate parts were bared, open and spread for him. He moved my feet behind him, crossing my ankles and leaning back, so I was effectively locked into position.
“Awww, angel, you’re so wet.” His hands squeezed my thighs, his rough palms moving higher until his thumbs fit right beneath the curve of my ass. I opened my mouth in a silent gasp, thankful for the darkness and my lowered face, my hair helping to hide the fire that was blazing across my cheeks. After all the shit I’d given Manson, after all the nasty things I’d said behind his back, said to his face - I was completely melting in his hands. I was craving his touches, craving his grip. I began to shake as I was held there, bent over, helpless except for the safeword that waited tucked at the back of my brain, utterly unwanted.
“Feeling a little scared now?” he murmured, as my legs shook. “You’ll be more afraid in a moment, you know. But it’s alright: the door is shut, and the music out there is so loud that you can scream and cry all you want, but you won’t disturb anyone.”
“Fuck you,” I hissed. “Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you.” The words weren’t angry - they were desperate, needy, heavy with desire. “Please Manson, don’t...don’t…”
“Don’t what?” he chuckled. “Don’t punish you? Hmm? Is that it? My naughty little angel doesn’t want to be punished?” His voice, suddenly, was serious. “If you really don’t want this, say so now. Right now. You’re safe to do that, I promise you.”
“I want it,” my voice cracked, but I had to be honest. I had to tell him the truth. “I’ll use my safeword, if I need to, but I...I want it.”
He squeezed my ass, kneading and gripping my flesh in his hands. “Such a cute little ass, Jess. It’ll look even cuter with bruises.”
The final chase scene in the movie had begun. A woman ran through the empty halls of a hospital, limping, looking behind her with wide, terrified eyes as the killer made his slow, trudging way after her. He’d catch her eventually. They always did.
Manson’s palm slapped across my ass with a crack loud enough to be heard over the horrifying screaming coming from the screen. I sucked in my breath, then held it through the next swat, and the next, and the next - but the fifth - god damnit! Manson was determined to break me. I could feel it in the strength he was putting into every slap. My skin was tingling, then stinging, then burning. I had never been spanked like this. Little slaps on the ass during sex, sure; but bent over and slapped repeatedly, purposefully, painfully? Never. His sixth smack made me shriek and wiggle my feet, a useless attempt at squirming away from the pain.
“It’s okay to struggle, angel,” Manson’s voice was soft, soothing. “Struggle all you need to, you won’t get away. You’ll stay right here and take your punishment until you’ve learned your lesson.”
Smack, smack, smack! I was wiggling in earnest now, grinding over his lap. My clit kept rubbing against his jeans, and the tangle of pain and pleasure made me moan. Manson moved his legs, and I felt that pressure on the back of my head again - he’d slid one leg over my back and pressed his boot onto me, forcing my face against the carpet and holding me pinned.
“Doesn’t it feel better to be restrained?” he said, speaking over the brutally loud sound of the swats he kept raining down on me. “Doesn’t it feel good knowing that you’re getting what’s best for you? Learning to be a good girl.”
I gave a long low cry, the pain and my nearly unbearable humiliation winning out over my pride. Just a few more swats, I told myself. Just a few more. But there were always more, and more, the pain growing worse as my ass grew hotter. Manson was right: in some twisted way, putting all my strength into struggling and finding that it got me nowhere was a relief. I couldn’t kick my legs, I couldn’t squirm away, I could even raise my head up from the floor. I had no choice but to submit, to give into the punishment and accept the pain.
I was getting wetter from this. My insides clenched, but with Manson’s leg on top of me, I could no longer grind my crotch against him, and that denial was a whole new torment. I was so tense, I was certain that the slightest touch from his hand would make me cum instantaneously. My clit was pulsating with need, my nerves on fire.
I wanted him to touch me, desperately. Instead he switched back and forth between slapping first one cheek, and then the other, the burn so intense that my eyes welled up with tears. I was squirming and yelping with every strike, and finally, when I knew I couldn’t take anymore without crying from the awful sting of it, I began to beg, “Please, stop, stop, stop, I’m sorry, please, Manson, I’m sorry!”
“Are you really?” The swats paused. On screen, the girl had been cornered by the killer in the woods. She was screaming, crying, begging for her life.
“Yes!” I shook under his boot, trying to move my face enough so I could look up at him and he could see how sincere I was. “I’m sorry! I won’t talk back anymore!”
“You’ll be a good girl? You’ll obey?”
“Yes,” I groaned, and remembered something he’d told me earlier. “Yes, Master. I’ll obey.”
“That’s better.” His boot slowly moved off my head. The girl on screen had been caught. Every stab of the knife into her chest was punctuated by the shrieking of violin strings. “Give those boots a kiss while you’re down there. Show me how thankful you are for your discipline, angel.”
I kissed one boot, and then the other, more lipgloss prints on the shiny black leather. Manson helped me sit up, slowly, and eased me back onto his lap despite my ass stinging as it made contact with his jeans. I settled against his chest, the buckles of his harness cold against my back. For a moment, all I wanted to do was lay there close to him, feeling his heartbeat against my back. His arms encircled me in an embrace - soothing but not demanding. When I settled into it with a heavy, trembling sigh, his hold tightened.
Slowly, I drifted back to reality. The house around us felt real again. I could hear the bass thumping through the walls, and the distant murmur of the crowd. Manson’s fingers traced circles on my arm.
“Are you alright, Jess?” he murmured.
I nodded, then said, “I can’t believe you...you actually…”
“I can’t believe you let me,” he said softly.
I sat up, enough so that I could look back at him. He wiped a rogue tear from my eye before it could fall, and I leaned into his hand. Manson Reed - weirdo, freakshow Manson Reed. He made me feel safe and terrified, protected and brutalized, all at once. But it wasn’t only that.
In that moment, I wanted nothing more than to get in his pants.
“Are you going to be a good girl from now on then?” he said, taking my chin in his hands. “No more sass?”
