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Her lip hurt. She was scared of what was coming next. She just wanted this to be over.
And yet she was reveling in his utter control over her. An outside observer would have said this was madness. His cruelty and willingness to hurt and humiliate her would shock them.
It was those very things that made her feel wonderfully, deeply submissive.
As much as she might tout this journey of self-discovery that she’d been on, sometimes her submission was too focused on her own needs to be fully authentic.
But this… There was no masochistic pleasure. There was no pain-laced sexual arousal.
Just pain.
Pain and submission
“You’re going to take it for me, aren’t you, darling?” Benson’s quiet murmur cut through the buzzing in her ears. It was the second time he’d called her darling. The way he used to.
He pinched and pulled on the underside of her arm.
She felt the cold metal slide against her skin. This time, the pressure was slow, the massive clip closing on the fold of flesh and subcutaneous fat little by little.
“Don’t move your arm. Hold it still. It will leave a fucking massive bruise if this slides and pinches only skin.”
Mal couldn’t really see anymore, even when she blinked, because she was crying too hard.
The pressure built, and this felt vaguely familiar. Her muscles twitched, and she hunched forward when the pain hit a peak.
Benson’s hands were at her waist, both of them. That meant the binder clip was in place. She didn’t dare move her head to look at her arm. Seeing it would only make it worse.
“This is pain. We have P.”
Mal stared at Benson through a haze of tears, utterly confused. Why was he telling her that? She really didn’t need the reminder.
“Careful if you use those anywhere delicate, though the labia would be safe enough.”
The voice came from behind her.
Benson hadn’t been talking to her, but to someone else. They apparently had an audience of at least one. It was only now she realized that some of the buzzing sound she heard was probably other people talking.
The sensation from the clip had settled to a constant, painful pressure. A vague sense of familiarity confused her until she realized that this reminded her in some odd way of a blood pressure cuff. The painful squeeze when they measured blood pressure—because no matter what the nurse said, that shit hurt—was in the same pain family as what she was feeling right now.
Benson pinched her other arm, tugging and pulling as he sought to find the right spot.
“’aster, please no. Please.” The words were muddled, and a long string of drool slid from her lip to land on one tit.
Immediately, Benson was there. He cupped her jaw, finger stroking the very corner of her mouth.
“What color are you?” The gentle tone, laced with concern, was such a shocking contrast to his actions that Mal felt the world rock and tilt around her.
This time, he wants to hurt you and protect you. You’re worth both.
“Mal.” He barked her name. “I need you to talk to me.”
“Yellow.” The garbled word was understandable. “I hurt and I’m scared.”
“You’re scared…of me.”
“No.” Luckily, that was perfectly enunciated and clear. She didn’t need her lower lip to utter that vitally important word. “Not scared of you.”
“Mal…”
