"That's a good girl," he hisses, squeezing my ass especially tight.
I yelp with delight when he slaps my ass, leaving a significant sting on my skin.
"More!" I breathe, and he abides by my wish, landing two more blows on the same side. A tantalizing throbbing remains, adding to my agitation and need for more.
My eyes seek his, and without stopping to ride him, I quietly beg for more, hoping that my eyes alone will transmit the message. Of course, that doesn't do it. He knows that I want more, but he still needs me to say it.
"The belt," I exclaim in an exhale. “I want the belt.”
A dark smile spreads across his handsome face.
"Beg for it."
Oh, God no, why does he make me do this? Why does it have to be this hard? And why am I still so shy about expressing my desires, even to him, the only person who would never belittle me for them?
"Please, Sir," I beg, casting him a seductive look. "Please give me your belt."
His eyes flicker with excitement. I follow his powerful motion when he pushes me off his lap and jumps up from the couch, getting rid of his remaining clothes in a swift move and pulling the belt out of his pants before ushering me out of the living room.
"Your bedroom," he orders.
I hesitate for a moment, casting him a quizzical look for confirmation, and he beckons me to walk in front of him.
The belt hits my skin with unexpected intensity as soon as I turn away from him. I throw him a look over my shoulder, playfully frowning before continuing to move toward the stairs leading up to my bedroom.
I can feel his eyes on my behind as I walk up the stairs, trembling with buzz and awaiting another blow at any time. But it doesn't come. He leaves me in a constant stage of anticipation, without ever following up with another strike on my ass until we get inside my bedroom.
We've never played in here before, and I'm filled with a sudden rush of shame when we enter the room because it's a terrible mess. I've been writing in here, leaving my laptop and my notes lying around willy-nilly all over the place, especially around the small work desk that he bought for me.
I cast him an apologetic look, and he shakes his head at me, smiling.
"Jeez, Button, looks like I don't even have to look for a reason to punish you."
I jerk up when he hits me across my ass again, herding me over to the bed.
"On your knees, ass up."
I climb up onto the bed and do as I'm told, but even before I'm fully in position, I'm hit with two more strikes, leaving me with throbbing pain before I prepare myself for the actual spanking to come.
"Hollow your back, Button. Look pretty for me."
"Yes, Sir."
I stick out my ass, hollowing my back for him and shrieking out in agony when the belt meets my sensitive skin for the next round of lashes. Nothing but the whooping sound of leather cutting the air before it meets my flesh and my anguished cries fill the room as he gives me what I asked for. I will never understand why I need this, why bathing in a scorching pain such as this gets me off like nothing else.
But I know it's not the pain alone, it's the entire scope of submission that comes with it. I would never let anyone else do this to me. I trust him like no other. I trust that he knows where to hit me, how far he can go, and when to stop. He observes my reaction to every single blow, sometimes adding a short break to watch me breathe through the pain while I process its aftermath.
His spankings equal a kind of devotion that I've never found anywhere else.
Tears of agony are streaming down my face by the time he's done with me. I'm panting erratically, dizzy with emotion when he turns me around to lay on my back. The silk sheets press against my tortured ass when he brings me in position, pushing my legs up and spreading them apart before he teases my entrance with the tip of his iron-hard cock.
I squirm and mewl beneath, partly because of the pain at my back and partly because of impatient arousal.
"Fuck me."
The words are barely more than an exhale, but he's heard them nonetheless. I sigh with delighted relief when he shoves himself inside of me, granting me consistent, deep thrusts while I coil with relish beneath him. I'm quivering with lust already, but the feeling is elevated even more when I feel his hand around my throat.
Our eyes lock onto each other, and despite my blurry vision from the almost dried-up tears, I can see him smiling. I smile back at him as he closes his hand around my throat, slowly cutting off my air supply while he continues to rock back and forth, fucking me with deep thrusts.
A familiar vertigo begins to set in, taking over my entire being, numbing my hearing and my vision. My mind is put to rest, settling into a mode that bounces between panic and extreme relaxation. The waves of pleasure set in just a moment before I threaten to lose consciousness. He notices my muscles tensing up around his length and loosens his grip around my throat just in time.
I inhale with frenzy, my entire body tensing in a frantic call for oxygen mixed with throbbing bliss as we both find our joint release and become lost in ecstasy and elation.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Jared
She excuses herself to go to the bathroom, and I watch the blooming red stripes on her ass as she walks away. She’s seductively swinging her hips because she knows that I'm watching her.
My little Button. What am I to do with her?
I sit up on the bed, just about to make a move to leave the room so I can clean up myself, when my eyes land on her messy work station. There are sheets of paper, an empty mug, and pens lying about, the light on her laptop still blinking. Everything looks as if she just jumped up and left everything as it was before suddenly darting out of the room. She's been at the event with me most of the day, but I remember her spending the morning inside her room when I was busy making phone calls.
I roam over to her desk, absentmindedly stacking a few papers and touching the mouse in the process. The motion brings her laptop from sleeping mode back to life, and an open Word document appears on the screen.
I know I shouldn't be snooping. It's exactly the kind of thing I've always accused her of doing. But I've always wondered what she could be working on. I've seen her writing a lot, almost daily, and she's always super engaged in it. The day when she almost burned down my kitchen wasn't the only time her attention was soaked up by the screen. She doesn't know it, but I've been watching her type way from afar many times, when she was still working in the living room. Lately, she's been retreating to her room to write more often, which fed my growing curiosity.
I lean down, scrolling up to the beginning of the current page she was working on.
And a moment later, I see my entire world collapsing in front of me.
The trust that has begun to grow inside me. The strong connection I thought I felt between us.
And with all of that, my political career that was just beginning.
My eyes are glued to the screen as I read.
It doesn't look like an article, but it sure as hell sounds like one.
An article about me.
An article about "A dark soul, struggling to shine on a new stage".
First of all, what kind of terrible title is that?
Secondly, what the hell is she planning to do with this?
I read on, my heart hammering in painful fury as I follow the details she’s penned about recent events between us. The text is almost verbatim at times, reflecting on conversations we've had and on the thoughts she assumes may be going through my head while I close my hand around her throat and watch her choke as she climaxes on my cock.