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“Please...” she hissed. “More, please...”
I gave her more, so much fucking more. I felt myself burning up, stopping just a moment to pull off my hoodie. My hands on her ass, feeling the heat, her scent knocking me, the soft swell of her pink fucking ass threatening to knock me out of kilter.
“Focus,” Masque barked. “Read her body, Callum, read her.”
I reined myself back in, concentrating on nothing but her, the twitch of her legs as I landed her punishment, the moans from her throat. I could feel it, feel her. Feel when she was ready, when her ass was bared for pain.
And I knew, I knew what to do.
“Spread your legs,” I rasped.
She obeyed without question. Fuck, it felt so fucking good. I slapped her thighs, and she hissed in pain. I knew where to strike, I knew when to stop, I knew before she did. She softened, yielding, her breath shallow, legs trembling, and then she moaned, the softest little mewl. I gave her one for good measure and stopped to catch my breath.
Masque was at my side, a strong hand on my shoulder.
“Well done,” he said. “Nicely timed.”
My heart fucking bloomed, and it felt weird. Felt like I was a kid again, when old Jimmy told me I could paint good.Well done, lad,he’d said,you’re a natural. You’ll be an artist one day.
“Thanks,” I grunted.
Cat didn’t move, just lay there, breathing softly. Waiting. She was waiting.
“I think Cat wants to ask you a question,” Masque smiled.
“Please...” she said. “Please may I touch myself?”
I waited for Masque’s answer but he deferred to me. I moved to the side, giving her space before I answered.
“Yeah,” I said. “You can touch yourself.”
I could hardly watch as she reached between her legs. She bit her lip, teasing herself to orgasm without a care for who was watching.
“Tell her she can come,” Masque whispered. “Now.”
“You can come,” I said.
She did. She came fucking hard.
And I loved it. I really fucking loved it.
I was silent as she caught her breath, too fucking aware of the bulge in my jeans and the blood racing round my fucking body. She raised herself from the bench and shot me a smile. A warm smile, full of thanks.
“That was great,” she beamed. “You were great. Thank you.”
“No bother,” I grunted, self-consciousness returning to bite me in the arse.
Masque was waiting for her with open arms, holding her close as he instructed me further. “There’s another aspect of BDSM that may come into play. We call it aftercare in the scene, although I call it common sense. When a submissive comes down from the zone she may feel a little unsteady. It can be a big endorphin crash for the body to take, an adrenaline crash too. She may feel disoriented, shaky, maybe even cold. Physical contact can be good for that, a safe pair of arms to hold her tight until she’s back in control. You’ll know what’s right for the situation.” He led Cat to the doorway, turning back with a smile on his face. “Remember, Callum, the paddle was just one tool. You can use as many as you want, or none at all. The magic is inyou, in your manner, in your composure. Find your own groove, use your imagination, and you’ll find your own way.”
I nodded, brain still reeling.
“We’ll send Missy in,” he said. “I think she’ll be keen to see you.”
I fucking hoped so.
***
Sophie
