Waiting for Him (3 page)

My pet,

The reason I’m a Dom is because I actually like making sure you’re receiving the best care during play. I’ve told you that before, so please do not worry about what I get out of it. You know damn well I get pleasure without coming too. I don’t have to spurt cum all over your pretty tits, your rounded arse or your mouth in order to get a high. Maybe it’s different for me. Maybe I’m not wired like other men, who knows, but just having the sensations, the straining cock, the tightening balls, many times that’s enough. As I said once before, sometimes chasing pleasure is the most exciting part and the orgasm is just the release.

Don’t forget I also like the build-up, the denial of allowing myself pleasure. It’s torture to some—and yes, to me too at times—but that’s the whole point. I love that. It makes me look forward to the next time even more.

Think of when we have four or five play sessions a week and I don’t come until the last night. What happens? Think about it. Remember. That last night we’re both rabid, because you and I know I’m going to let myself come. You’re excited to watch me, to feel me, to have my spunk shooting inside you, over you, and I’m filled with a sense of euphoria knowing I’m finally going to reach my goal. To have your cunt milking me, or your mouth sucking me, or your tight, sweet arse clutching my cock so hard I almost convince myself I’ll stop breathing forever when my cum jets out.

It’s just the way I am.

But yes, tonight I’ll come, but only after the paddling is complete. I need to make sure you’re okay before I think about myself, and that’s only as it should be. Only as a good Dom should behave. You understand that. Know it and accept it, because I’ll never change.

They had played three times this week, and by this morning Shara had begun to think the paddling wouldn’t happen. They’d discussed it on Monday as he’d whipped her arse, John breathlessly grating out that he would paddle her, would buy the toy the next day and…spank…ah…her…ah…hard. She’d come then, a violent string of convulsions raging through her, losing herself in an eddy of ecstasy that held the warning of taking her to subspace. She’d just avoided going there, hovering on the brink, one foot outside the imaginary ring of safety surrounding her, the other inside. She could have stepped over, floated into the realm of that world where she watched herself from the outside in, but a sudden jolt of bliss had streaked from her clit, right up into her centre, leaving her belly somersaulting and her breaths coming out in wickedly forceful bursts.

Tonight was John’s turn, and he was right in saying that she’d enjoy herself more as she anticipated him allowing himself release. As she stared at him in the mirror, she wondered which way he would choose. Her arse would be sore, so she wouldn’t be able to sit on his lap as he sat in the ladder-back chair. Wouldn’t sit, or lie on the table on her back, or even on her side. Perhaps she would kneel before him, inviting him with a flick of her wrist to settle his cock between her breasts and look down as he rode them, her squeezing them together so he had a thicker valley to glide through. And he would come on the downstroke, cum splashing onto her chest, then on her neck as he surged upwards. If she timed it right she could open her mouth and catch some, or have him spurt on her mouth so he could watch her licking it off.

She surreptitiously squirmed, wishing his hand was between her legs, his fingers delving inside her, thumb massaging her clit so she could come, come, come and never stop. Her imagination had run riot today while she’d prepared for his return, and it didn’t appear to want to give up throwing scenarios her way now, images for her to feast on, tease herself with until, if she wasn’t careful, she’d come before that paddle had even been lifted from the table.

“Again, what are you thinking, pet?” he asked, keeping eye contact.

She’d known he’d been watching her as she’d lost herself inside her mind. Had known he’d taken pleasure in wondering what she’d seen. It was evident in the bulge beneath his zip, in him pressing his fingers further onto the door so they bent at the knuckles, the tips whitening. In his barely controlled breathing.

And you say you’re the one in complete control, John.

He’d needed these moments, she knew that, a few minutes to erase the day from his mind and concentrate on what was to come. On only them and what would happen inside this purposely stark room with its white walls, plain table and double bed, black iron railings at the head and foot. A long metal rack with hooks on the wall that held all their toys. Cold, polished-stone tiles beneath their feet designed to bring to mind medieval times, of straw-strewn floors, maidens bound and gagged, their lords in command. She had wanted it this way—no comfort, no frills—and he had obliged. “Anything for you, pet,” he’d said once, breath hot on the shell of her ear as he’d embraced her from behind and caressed her breasts.

Anything for you, too, John.

“I was thinking of how you’d come,” she said.

“And how did you envisage that?” He pressed his fingers harder against the door. Let out a ragged sigh that spoke of longing, of need, of barely suppressed excitement.

“Between my tits. Your cum over my chest. On my lips.”

“Fuck,” he whispered, pushing off the door and striding towards her.

She watched his hair flying, spotted the primal need in his eyes, and knew she’d sent him to that point where he was ready now. She released a splintered breath and straightened her spine, turning to glance at him over her shoulder instead of the mirror image, wanting to see him in the flesh.

“Bend over the table,” he said, lifting the paddle and inspecting it.

She obeyed, stretching her arms out so she could grasp the opposite edge. The coolness of the wood seeped into her skin, and goose bumps sprouted, streaking over her whole body in a random race that appeared to have no particular destination in mind. Anywhere and everywhere would do. She widened her legs, and air rushed in as though it had only been waiting for an invitation to kiss her cunt and cool the raging hot flesh there. She felt the heaviness of her pubic hairs, her juices weighting them, and knew they’d be clumped together in several question marks instead of their usual abundant riot.

She turned her head to the side, resting her cheek on the tabletop, and watched John twist and turn the paddle. The studs caught the light, sending white streaks across the ceiling, one particularly bright slice of illumination seeming to score her eyeballs and render her momentarily blind.

“I fear I’ve selected the harsher type,” he said, then pursed his lips in a signal of regret. “What do you think, pet?”

“No. It’s perfect.”

“Perhaps the studs should have been more rounded. Like those on the leather armchair in my office, yes?”

“No. No.”

He slipped his hand through the thin loop and gripped the handle. She swallowed a swell of exhilaration that fizzled in her throat. He was going to use it. Was going to strike her.

And she was going to be taken on a journey she’d been looking forward to for far too long.

Chapter Three

My pet,

I’m just about to go into the meeting, but I wanted to address your last email. It’s good of you to say you don’t want me to change, but you’re so transparent! Of course you want me to change if you expect me to strike you when pain doesn’t turn to pleasure. I know there are things you want, and I know I come across as expecting to have it all my own way, but this is not about me wanting or needing full control. You have my motives confused. Can I just suggest that maybe you’re so fixated on what will occur tonight—possibly owing to having been thinking about it for such a long time—that all you can see is the word “No!” when in actual fact I haven’t said no, have I, pet? On the contrary, if you look back over this conversation you’ll see I’m more than willing to paddle you hard, studs and all—otherwise, why would I have bought the paddle?—but my main point has been that I will stop if I feel you can’t take any more.

I don’t quite understand how you’re missing that aspect.

Yes, I see what you’re saying about only you knowing your body and how much you can handle, but don’t forget, I’ve been a Dom for years and I know the signs when a sub is going beyond her pain threshold. I saw it with the whip, remember? It was luck on your side that meant I didn’t have to stop that time, but I was about to. Just hope that luck is on your side tonight and everything you anticipate happens. I want it to, of course I do, because you getting ultimate pleasure from this experience is paramount.

Listen, I have to go. Now you need to take that shower. I’ll be thinking of you.

The scent of polish from the tabletop wafted up. Shara’s cheek was getting hot, as was her cunt, the air doing nothing now to cool her exposed flesh. John was still examining the paddle, at first smacking it lightly against his palm then harder. He frowned, pursed his lips, and cocked his head as though thinking of whether she could cope with the studs. She counted the top row—ten studs—then counted down—fifteen studs—and fully understood why he had misgivings. If he smacked her with his usual force, all those studs connecting with her skin at once would produce quite a sting. She held back laughter. A sting… Still, she had mentally prepared herself for it, and although thoughts of what it
might
be like didn’t always match reality, at least she’d be some way towards realising the ferocious experience this spanking might become.

I can do this, John. I want this.

As John struck his palm again and again, she took the time to ask herself whether she had been totally honest with him. Was she really going to shout ‘renoncer’? Did she have the sense to override that stubborn streak inside her and know when to wave the white flag? Was she cutting off her nose to spite her face here? Just to show him that
she
called the shots? A small part of her—the part she was ashamed of—admitted that there was a likelihood she wouldn’t utter that word no matter what. Then she thought of what he’d said—about the trust and him keeping her secret should she be unable to continue. She’d be giving him a gift, one that spoke volumes regarding how she felt about him. She’d be handing herself over, all of her, including this nugget of separateness she’d been grasping to her chest so tightly, refusing to let it go.

Shara shifted to become more comfortable on the playroom bed. Her wrists were bound to the far posts, the metal handcuffs on their tightest setting, clinking or scraping every so often against the poles. “What does the safe word even mean, John?”

He stood at the foot of the bed and toyed with a flogger. The strands slipped between his fingers, reminding her of thick hanks of his hair. “It means to give oneself up, pet.”

“I see. And in what way do you mean that?” The breeze from the open window cooled her overheated skin—especially that of her belly, scored as it was with criss-cross raised welts from the very strands that hung between his fingers.

She had asked him to use it on her stomach rather than her arse, wanting to see what it felt like on even softer skin. To push herself. It had stung—God, it had stung—but the ends of those strands had met with the fleshy pillow just above her cunt opening, sending stunning vibrations to her clit. She had come after only ten strikes.

He smiled. “When you speak it, you’re admitting you have had enough.”

“Is that all it means to you?” She raised her eyebrows, knowing it went deeper than that. Everything went deeper with John.

He stopped playing with the flogger. “No.”

“Then tell me, tell me what else it means.” She wanted to get inside his head, like he was inside hers. She wanted to share all of herself with him—apart from that little nugget.

“That you trust me to understand that you’re in control of yourself, you know your limits. And, in turn, it lets me know your limits for certain. Don’t forget, I will have been doing something to you that brings pain. I will have been watching your reactions, gauging when the pain level rose and how you reacted to it. I keep it in mind for next time, and as I near that point again, I become more alert, ready for you to say the safe word.”

“But I haven’t said it as yet, John, and I doubt I ever will.”

“Of course you will. One day.”

“No,” she said, the word tinged with a little force. “I won’t.”

“I could take that to mean you don’t trust me enough to know your limits, or that you can’t bring yourself to fully give yourself up. But that’s all right. It’ll come in time. Remember, we haven’t been together that long. Two years isn’t enough to know everything about a person. To feel comfortable enough to surrender all that you are.”

“I trust you, John, I just…”

“I understand, pet. Believe me, I understand.”

And he did understand, she knew that. Knew it was she who had the problem and not him.

He struck his palm hard, winced, then glanced at her. Smiled. “Are you ready, pet?”

She nodded, several curt up-and-downs, thinking that she’d either come across as eager for him to begin or that she was convincing herself she
was
ready. She hoped he took it as the former—she was as ready as she was ever going to be. Closing her eyes, she listened to him moving to stand behind her, the brush of his trouser leg on the back of her knee a tantalising thrill. Those goose bumps skittered again—here, there, everywhere—and she licked her suddenly dry lips. Excitement and a tweak of fear roiled in her belly, and her cunt responded with involuntary clenches, her clit throbbing, expanding so that she got the over-full feeling that made her think it was going to pop from the strain of bliss. She gripped the table edge harder, the wood digging into her skin a good distraction. If she concentrated on that…