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“Y—yes, sir,” I whimper.
Is he going to touch me? My thighs part, eager for some kind of touch. Do I turn over?
It’s not his hands I feel, but the leather of the belt dragging over my ass. Now instead of moving horizontally, it’s running vertically over my demanding pussy. Oh God. My legs part, widening, giving him better access.
“Scoot your ass back,” he says. “Plant your feet on the floor.”
I do as he says, shifting my weight back so my ass is hovering over the bed. I part my thighs further and spread my feet out. It allows him to drag the belt up and down over my satin-covered pussy. The pressure increases as he holds it tight against me. Up and down, up and down, the firmer edges of the belt a little sharp against my inner thighs, digging into my skin.
“Oh my God,” I whine. “I’m going to come.”
I’m already so turned on, this romantic room, the vibrations flowing through my body, his dirty words. The added feeling of the pressure of the leather rubbing up and down over my aching pussy and throbbing clit, it’s too much and everything inside me tightens at once.
My pussy clenches, my ass clenches, my nipples tighten and ache against the comforter.
My entire body quivers and I’m out of my body, floating above the bed. All my senses are heightened, and I can’t stay quiet. I call out—am I still only allowed to say yes, sir? I have no idea, but I won’t do anything to risk that belt leaving my clit right now, where it’s rubbing me into ecstasy.
So, I scream, “Yes, sir! Yes, sir!” An explosion of happiness takes me over, a waterfall of satisfaction flowing over and through my quivering body till I’m all loose and languid. He quicky removes the vibrator after my orgasm, pulling it from me and leaving me feeling empty. I collapse across the bed.
“Let me give you a moment. I’ll go clean up.”
He leaves me there, resting in my euphoria, enjoying the after-waves of the orgasm. I push away the thought of him cleaning the vibrator after where it’s been. Instead, I get comfortable, still lying on my belly, and enjoy the good feelings flowing through my body.
The well-earned reward for my submission. Giving into him. Learning what it feels like to be a woman of a Bachman man, not just eavesdropping on my aunts’ steamy secondhand accounts. It’s shifting something inside of me. As the euphoria ebbs, I’m left deep in thought.
Being forced to clear my mind and live in the moment while “playing” has made me reveal a truth I’ve buried, hiding it so deep I’ve even kept it from myself.
I’m scared.
I don’t want to travel.
I don’t want to go to Italy.
I don’t want to marry a Russo.
I grew up in a loving home, a stable environment. A week-long vacation is enough for me. I want to get my education, become a psychologist, and help my family. I want to live in this beautiful house my mom and Charlie designed for me in the Hamlet. I want a small, familiar life.
I’m a Bachman, through and through, fiercely dedicated to my family. And I want to marry a Bachman. Live in the Hamlet. And of course, one day, I want kids. And when that day comes, I want my mom and dad by my side to help me raise their grandkids while I work. I love my family. I love my town, my people, my life. I want to grow and work and challenge myself so I can help my family be the best they can be.
Take away all the money, the weekend girls’ shopping sprees to the city, the matinees, the last-minute table at the restaurant with the six month-long waitlist. The fully staffed, beautiful houses we live in, the sexy cars we drive, the closets filled with silky gowns made to fit our bodies and show off our best features, the heavy carats of gems we wear on our manicured fingers. Jeans that cost more than some people’s rent which are soft as butter and make your ass look fantastic. The amazing, fun Bachman tech devices that are easy to use and never let you down. Take it all away, and I’d still choose my family, my life.
One hundred percent.
It’s the people I love. The way I feel when I’m with them. The laughter we’ve shared. The tears. I don’t want what most girls my age want. Travel, adventure. A freaking castle in the Italian countryside.
Who would turn that down?
Me.
I just want home.
Basketball games with my brothers and their friends. Baking with—okay, watching Mary bake while taste testing the frosting, spending time with my silly but serious mom, curled up on the couch laughing at our favorite shows. The way my dad makes me feel unconditionally loved. For no reason other than belonging to him.
I can’t imagine living away from them.
And a man to share it with. One that gets me, that understands this crazy life we lead like only a Bachman can. While I don’t want Savage—God, no—I might let him punish me again, help me chase this feeling, do what he does to my body that helps me dip into this new knowledge he’s revealed to me about myself, but not him.
I know what I want. A suitable match for myself. Someone from my family.
