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“I don’t know. Even now, I can’t explain how I felt or why I orgasmed. I just kind of went wild.”
He nodded. “You take pain very beautifully. Was there any point where you felt…I don’t know. Transported? Heightened by the pain?”
“You mean subspace?”
“That’s one word for it.”
“It was just pain the whole time,” I admitted. “Even when I orgasmed…even then my body was hurting, and I felt scared and crazy, but I came anyway. How does that work?”
“I don’t know, but I feel the same way about giving you pain. It shouldn’t feel good, but it does.” He ran a fingertip up and down my forearm, beneath the softness of the robe. “I think we should have another session and see what else we discover, if you feel up to it.”
I nodded, but I also took a huge sip of wine. Then I saidYes, Sir, because he was looking at me like I should.
“It won’t be any easier than this session, Sparkles. It will probably be harder.”
I put down my wine, grimacing. I could tell it was good quality, but it still tasted strange in my mouth. “What’s the alternative to another session?” I asked. “Never seeing each other again?”
I took his silence to mean that yes, we would never hang out again. Well, I wanted to hang out. I wasn’t ready to separate my path from Fort St. Clair’s. I wanted to see where this BDSM adventure would end up.
“I’d like to do another session,” I said. “Sir.”
He smiled, pulling me into his lap and hugging me against him. I buried my face in his neck. This was as much of a safe word as I got:Another session, yes or no?But it made me feel a little more secure about moving forward.
“So…when?” I asked when he released me.
He got that distant look again, the one I couldn’t read. “We should wait a week before we meet up again. Process things. You should see how you feel after a couple days have passed.”
“And let my ass heal a little?”
“Your ass will be fine.” He lifted me, flipped me over, and draped me over his lap. I flailed for a second, but then I went still and let him manhandle me. He pushed up the back of the robe and traced fingers along the edge of my panties; he pressed one of the welts, as I had done in the shower. The same burst of arousal bloomed between my legs. “These marks will be gone by next week,” he said. “I’ll make more to replace them.”
His voice was deep, rough, and matter-of-fact. The bloom became a burn.
“Do you want to go home,” he asked, “or would you prefer to sleep here tonight?”
“I think I should probably go.” It would have been nice to sleep in his arms, but I needed to be independent and strong, and not fall into another ill-advised “relationship” that wasn’t really a relationship.
I went back to the guest room to dress, hiding my new marks under socks, undergarments, and my burgundy dress. When I returned to the living room, he said the car was waiting for me downstairs. I didn’t expect him to kiss me now that I was leaving, but he did. It was a probing, demanding kiss, the kind where he grasped my face between his hands. It encapsulated a lot of what we’d done tonight: his controlled force, my straining acquiescence.
“I’ll see you in a week,” he said, releasing me. “If anything changes, let me know immediately.”
“Yes, Sir,” I answered, and the kinky title didn’t seem so strange anymore.
*
I fidgeted throughmy brunch-and-business meeting with Goodluck. I wore my softest, most slovenly clothes, but they weren’t soft enough to cushion my sore skin. I tried my best to keep my boss’s attention as I went over the numbers from last weekend’s art sales, but he was flighty as ever, and my mind was somewhere else. Every time I moved, I felt the welts on my ass. My breasts were sensitive against my bra, and my muscles ached, over-exercised by flinching and tensing in Fort’s dungeon.
Of course, I couldn’t explain this to Goodluck or any of my friends. I didn’t want to confess that my darkest BDSM fantasies now seemed not so dark, compared to the stuff my new Dom was into. When Goodluck asked why I kept shivering in the middle of a sentence, I had to lie and tell him I was coming down with something.
“Coming down with something?” He scoffed. “You haven’t been sick in all the years I’ve known you.”
“There’s always a first time.”Yes, like my first time in a sadist’s dungeon last night…“I’m just…not feeling like myself this morning. I don’t know if I’m getting sick or if it’s something else.”
He paled. “Have you been eating spinach? They say it makes you stronger, but even the organic kind is full of toxins.”
“Where did you hear that?”
“I didn’t have to hear it, I can see it on the wilted, stunted leaves. It’s criminal, all the poisons and pesticides blanketing our green world. Don’t eat spinach, Starcomet. Don’t eat any vegetables unless you grow them on your own.”
