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I watched as Rick brought his hand to his face, then parted his lips, sliding one finger there, seductively running it in and out of his mouth as his eyes burned into mine.
Once the finger was sufficiently wet with his spit, he brought his hand down and pushed the finger into my ass.
I clenched around it involuntarily, but that didn’t bother him. He smiled at me, a wickedly evil grin that set me to shaking more. He was hot when he was thinking these things, dirty things, painful things. I’d never seen a sexier man in my life than when Rick was aroused and in his kink.
The way his eyes glowed, as if a strong lamp sat behind them, the cobalt dark, but those specks of gold letting through the light. He was a superhuman, at least to me, his power over me complete.
I was fingered as he watched my face, and I was scolded twice to look at myself and not at him. That was hard, however. Watching him, it was erotic.
However, that soon turned inward as I watched my reactions, as he’d wanted. My face was both slack and tense at once, and I’d never seen myself that way. Where my eyes squinted from the rough fingering, my jaw dropped, tongue ready to hang out of my mouth.
The finger was removed, and I wanted to collapse on the counter, but I knew better. I held myself up as best I could, trying to keep my eyes on myself more than him, though that was the hardest part up to that point.
I say up to that point because I had no idea how hard it was going to get.
From the bowl, Rick took something and though I couldn’t see, it wasn’t long before I felt it. The finger was being pushed back into me, but it wasn’t covered in spit again. In Rick’s hands was a piece of ginger. I didn’t know that at the time.
I felt the cool of it first, and it soothed me as it slid slowly inside my tunnel, but the burn started quickly, and it was intense on my rim. Still, that was nothing compared to the second it was pressed into my prostate.
It felt like acid was being dripped onto my G-spot, the heat rising and overtaking my lower body. It was mind-blowing, how intense it felt, but there was much more than that, and that is when I figured out what it was.
My dick had been half-hard up to that point, my mind so intent on pleasing Rick and keeping my body rigid to watch myself in the mirror, but once the heat from the ginger got to its pinnacle, my cock got hard enough to push painfully on the counter.
I moved so it could be free to stand against my stomach, and Rick saw it, taking it in hand. “Like that, huh? My sweet, slutty man that loves my pain.”
“Hurts so much, Sir. Hurts so much!”
“It’s meant to. Ready for more?”
Nearly sobbing, I belted out, “More?”
“Yes, babe. More. Remember that you have a safeword.”
I did remember, as it drifted through my mind in that moment as the ginger burned my insides.
“Good boy,” he said as I nodded drunkenly, my head heavy on my neck.
The cutting board, the thing I’d seen and mostly forgotten, Rick took it in hand and raised it up and away from him, staring at my ass as he held it high. “Ready?”
I braced even as I nodded, knowing the exquisite pain of a paddle. The flat, hard surface came down on a pair of muscles, purposely missing the end of the ginger, rocking it, sending a swift sting and a longer ache through my body, even as I fought to keep from screaming over the ginger.
Choking out a hard sob, I watched my face in the mirror as it contorted, and I felt the pain swell in my body. Just as I was ready to cry out, he brought the cutting board high in the air again, and all I could do was brace for the inevitable pain that would come.
He brought that makeshift paddle down on my ass and as I strangled out a scream, I barely saw my own reflection as my eyes were instantly filled with tears that kept welling and running down my cheeks.
Rick’s face, what I could catch a glimpse of, was peaceful, smooth and the only thing I saw of his arousal was again in his eyes. They were slits, concentrating on my ass and what I assumed were the bright red paddle marks.
Rick was in a Dom space so deeply, I’d never seen the like. His arm wasn’t flailing with the paddling, he was swift and sure, his arm rigid to keep full control.
Most people that had to be in control in their everyday lives lived for submission, to give up that control for a while and just hand it over to someone else. Rick was the other type, one that did have control in his everyday life, but with him, he needed more.
When I thought of it later, when my mind could actually work, I realized why. How much control did one truly have in being a parent, or being a businessman? Running a town, even, there was only so much control he could have over the thoughts and needs of his constituents.
With me he could have it, that complete control, where he didn’t have to wonder what to do and instead went with his desires and his gut.
He paddled me so many times, I didn’t know the count, but again, as I was about to scream my safeword, he stopped, caressing fingers down my back.
“Good boy, Kanan. You’re such a good boy for me,” he said as I was sobbing hard, no longer obeying and letting my head fall to the counter.
