Fighting Attraction
Page 17
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“What kind of hurt?” I reach around her neck and undo the clasp of the chain that holds the ring.
After a brief, tense pause, she says, “Physical pain.”
“There are all kinds of physical pain.” I place the chain and ring on a table beside the couch and watch her gaze linger on it. Wanting her full attention, I twist my hand in her hair, forcing her head back, bringing her gaze to mine. Her eyes widen, and she sucks in a sharp breath. I feel her fear as a throb in my groin, a delicious burn in my chest.
“There can be as much pain in withholding an orgasm as there is in whipping. Withdrawal of sensory stimulation can hurt as much as the sting of a cane. I can hurt you in every way you can imagine and then many you’ve never even considered. What are you looking for exactly?” I step in closer, invading her space, but with her hair firmly wrapped around my fist, she cannot retreat.
Her breathing hitches, and her cheeks flush with arousal. She may not be naturally submissive, but submission arouses her.
“I don’t know.” She shrugs. “I knew this kind of club existed, but I never thought about it in relation to me. I thought it was all about kinky sex. But when I saw you in that alcove the night I came to serve the documents…it wasn’t about sex. There was more. She was getting pleasure from the pain. You gave her…”
“Release.”
“Yes.” She lets out a breath. “That’s what I want.”
Christ. She’s almost too good to be true. Can she really need what I have to give?
“Do you need pain to get off?”
She struggles against my grip, trying to look away, and then she bites her lip so hard blood beads on the surface. Arousal surges though me, so fierce my body shakes. That blood is my blood. Her pain is mine to give.
“I don’t know. I’ve never been with anyone who didn’t… I mean, sex and pain have always gone together for me. But that’s not why I came here. I wasn’t thinking I fancied a shag and this was the place to get it.”
“I understand, Pen.” I don’t come to Club Sin for sex either, preferring to wait until my partners have gone home before I seek my release. The risks of mixing sex with BDSM play became abundantly clear after my one night with Sylvia, and I will not make that mistake again.
“Master Damien said you’ve only got one night here,” I continue. “We need to discuss what we’re going to do.”
She sucks in a sharp breath. “What are we going to do?”
“I want your clothes off. Everything except your bra and panties. I can restrain you, spank you, and use a soft flogger. I don’t think you’re ready for anything else.” I lift her chin up with my finger, directing her gaze to me. “You do what I say, when I say it, without question. You trust me to look after you and make sure you aren’t pushed past your limits.”
She trembles, cheeks flushing. “Everything you said is okay, but I want to leave my skirt on. I’ll do my best to follow your directions, but you’ll have to forgive me if I slip up because, to be honest, I’m not good with being bossed around.”
Don’t I know it. Which is why this will be so much fun. “No skirt. I need full access, and your clothes will get in the way.”
Penny’s mouth opens and closes again, and she fists the edge of her skirt. Clearly, there is more to her reluctance than just being shy or insecure about her body, but aside from the practical issues, clothing serves to hide the things we need to expose to embrace the core of our being.
Hands trembling, she slowly undoes the buttons on her blouse. Unable to look away, I follow her fingers as the fabric parts to reveal soft, creamy breasts nestled in a froth of pink lace.
Christ. I can’t remember the last time I was with a woman who wore pink. Usually, the women who grace my playroom are of a type—hard-core submissives covered in tats who wear black latex or leather, red or black bras and thongs, and black stilettos or boots. Penny’s skin is pale and unmarked. Soft.
I suppress a shudder of desire, and my mouth waters in anticipation of leaving my mark on that perfect skin.
Penny toes off her shoes and tosses her blouse on the couch. Her hands drop to her skirt, and she fumbles with the waistband. “I don’t think I can do it,” she whispers. “And it’s not that I’m trying to be difficult. I just…can’t.”
“I’ll help you.” With my hand on her lower back, I guide her to the center of the room where a pair of cuffs dangles from a beam across the ceiling. I make a quick adjustment for her height and glide my hands up her body, bringing her arms over her head. I’ve never touched Penny in anything other than a friendly way, although I’ve imagined how she might feel countless times. Usually only pain arouses me, but her soft curves and the slight tremble of her body send my thoughts in a direction I’m not prepared for them to go.
“You have your safe words. Use them if you need to.” I wrap a leather cuff around her slender wrist and buckle it tight. I give her a moment to adjust before I attach the second cuff. When she is secure, I pull on the chain, drawing her hands up just enough to stretch her past the point of comfort.
She swallows hard, and I gently stroke her cheek. “Anything too tight?”
“I’m okay.”
I come up behind her, cup her breasts in my hands. Her nipples are hard and peaked beneath her lacy bra. Although I’m tempted to stroke her pussy, test her wetness, my main goal is to lower her inhibitions enough to remove her skirt without having her retreat.
“This excites you.” I gently pinch her nipples through her bra, and she bites back a moan.
“No. It’s about the pain. Not sex.”
“There’s a profound connection between sex and pain.” I smooth my hands down her rib cage and over her stomach. She is warm, despite the slight chill in the room, her skin so soft I want to touch her all over. When she dips her head to watch my hands, her hair drops over her shoulders, leaving her neck exposed, vulnerable, and I struggle with an inexplicable urge to kiss her nape. “Sex and pain stimulate the release of similar chemicals and hormones in the body,” I continue. “The endorphins that are released in stressful situations or painful experiences are often perceived as pleasurable because they give a form of release.”
After a brief, tense pause, she says, “Physical pain.”
“There are all kinds of physical pain.” I place the chain and ring on a table beside the couch and watch her gaze linger on it. Wanting her full attention, I twist my hand in her hair, forcing her head back, bringing her gaze to mine. Her eyes widen, and she sucks in a sharp breath. I feel her fear as a throb in my groin, a delicious burn in my chest.
“There can be as much pain in withholding an orgasm as there is in whipping. Withdrawal of sensory stimulation can hurt as much as the sting of a cane. I can hurt you in every way you can imagine and then many you’ve never even considered. What are you looking for exactly?” I step in closer, invading her space, but with her hair firmly wrapped around my fist, she cannot retreat.
Her breathing hitches, and her cheeks flush with arousal. She may not be naturally submissive, but submission arouses her.
“I don’t know.” She shrugs. “I knew this kind of club existed, but I never thought about it in relation to me. I thought it was all about kinky sex. But when I saw you in that alcove the night I came to serve the documents…it wasn’t about sex. There was more. She was getting pleasure from the pain. You gave her…”
“Release.”
“Yes.” She lets out a breath. “That’s what I want.”
Christ. She’s almost too good to be true. Can she really need what I have to give?
“Do you need pain to get off?”
She struggles against my grip, trying to look away, and then she bites her lip so hard blood beads on the surface. Arousal surges though me, so fierce my body shakes. That blood is my blood. Her pain is mine to give.
“I don’t know. I’ve never been with anyone who didn’t… I mean, sex and pain have always gone together for me. But that’s not why I came here. I wasn’t thinking I fancied a shag and this was the place to get it.”
“I understand, Pen.” I don’t come to Club Sin for sex either, preferring to wait until my partners have gone home before I seek my release. The risks of mixing sex with BDSM play became abundantly clear after my one night with Sylvia, and I will not make that mistake again.
“Master Damien said you’ve only got one night here,” I continue. “We need to discuss what we’re going to do.”
She sucks in a sharp breath. “What are we going to do?”
“I want your clothes off. Everything except your bra and panties. I can restrain you, spank you, and use a soft flogger. I don’t think you’re ready for anything else.” I lift her chin up with my finger, directing her gaze to me. “You do what I say, when I say it, without question. You trust me to look after you and make sure you aren’t pushed past your limits.”
She trembles, cheeks flushing. “Everything you said is okay, but I want to leave my skirt on. I’ll do my best to follow your directions, but you’ll have to forgive me if I slip up because, to be honest, I’m not good with being bossed around.”
Don’t I know it. Which is why this will be so much fun. “No skirt. I need full access, and your clothes will get in the way.”
Penny’s mouth opens and closes again, and she fists the edge of her skirt. Clearly, there is more to her reluctance than just being shy or insecure about her body, but aside from the practical issues, clothing serves to hide the things we need to expose to embrace the core of our being.
Hands trembling, she slowly undoes the buttons on her blouse. Unable to look away, I follow her fingers as the fabric parts to reveal soft, creamy breasts nestled in a froth of pink lace.
Christ. I can’t remember the last time I was with a woman who wore pink. Usually, the women who grace my playroom are of a type—hard-core submissives covered in tats who wear black latex or leather, red or black bras and thongs, and black stilettos or boots. Penny’s skin is pale and unmarked. Soft.
I suppress a shudder of desire, and my mouth waters in anticipation of leaving my mark on that perfect skin.
Penny toes off her shoes and tosses her blouse on the couch. Her hands drop to her skirt, and she fumbles with the waistband. “I don’t think I can do it,” she whispers. “And it’s not that I’m trying to be difficult. I just…can’t.”
“I’ll help you.” With my hand on her lower back, I guide her to the center of the room where a pair of cuffs dangles from a beam across the ceiling. I make a quick adjustment for her height and glide my hands up her body, bringing her arms over her head. I’ve never touched Penny in anything other than a friendly way, although I’ve imagined how she might feel countless times. Usually only pain arouses me, but her soft curves and the slight tremble of her body send my thoughts in a direction I’m not prepared for them to go.
“You have your safe words. Use them if you need to.” I wrap a leather cuff around her slender wrist and buckle it tight. I give her a moment to adjust before I attach the second cuff. When she is secure, I pull on the chain, drawing her hands up just enough to stretch her past the point of comfort.
She swallows hard, and I gently stroke her cheek. “Anything too tight?”
“I’m okay.”
I come up behind her, cup her breasts in my hands. Her nipples are hard and peaked beneath her lacy bra. Although I’m tempted to stroke her pussy, test her wetness, my main goal is to lower her inhibitions enough to remove her skirt without having her retreat.
“This excites you.” I gently pinch her nipples through her bra, and she bites back a moan.
“No. It’s about the pain. Not sex.”
“There’s a profound connection between sex and pain.” I smooth my hands down her rib cage and over her stomach. She is warm, despite the slight chill in the room, her skin so soft I want to touch her all over. When she dips her head to watch my hands, her hair drops over her shoulders, leaving her neck exposed, vulnerable, and I struggle with an inexplicable urge to kiss her nape. “Sex and pain stimulate the release of similar chemicals and hormones in the body,” I continue. “The endorphins that are released in stressful situations or painful experiences are often perceived as pleasurable because they give a form of release.”
