Thank you for arranging the apartment residence near the NSF Institute. I’ve taken a look online and I’m sure it will be satisfactory while I work with the ACE Consortium. However, I won’t be arriving today as planned. There was a problem with our flight, and I’m currently marooned on
the island of São Miguel, in the Azores. Until I line up alternative transportation, I’ll be reviewing the journals you sent from Denison, Tingle, Simpson et. al.
I’m not certain at the moment when I’ll arrive in New York.
I paused, wondering how late I could be before he lost patience and started leaking my sex photos to his cronies. I’d been a reckless freshman when he took them, just out of high school, and Leo had been a graduate assistant, ten years older than me, and far wiser and circumspect. He’d been smart enough to keep himself out of the photos so he could blackmail me with them years later, to force me to his professional will.
He knew that dispersing those photos would make it impossible for me to navigate the touchy gender politics within our field. They’d be forwarded from phone to laptop, from lab to lab, none of my male partners or competitors ever admitting they had them, even as they shouldered me out of important papers and projects because I was that slut.
I couldn’t let that happen, but how was I going to get out of the Azores now that Devin was gone? I’d never manage to fly to New York on my own, not next week or next month or next year. I should have left with him while I had the chance, but it was all so sudden, so recklessly soon. Now I had to negotiate with disgusting Leo, project leader and predatory scientist, to find out how much leeway I had in my start date.
I stood in a huff to close the drapes. I was tired of looking at the ocean, tired of its taunting waves and endless blackness. Why had I gone over to Europe in the first place? Why hadn’t I stayed in the U.S., where I could drive or take a train wherever I needed to go?
I turned at the sound of a keycard in the lock, a beep, and an aggressive turn of the handle. Devin, whom I’d imagined was somewhere over the Atlantic by this time, strode into the room.
“What—what are you doing here?” I asked.
“I checked out of my room before I left for the airport.” There was an edge to his voice. “So I guess I’m staying here.”
“I thought you were leaving for New York.”
“So did I.” He slung his suitcase onto the bed, arranged it on the edge, then turned. “You,” he said, pointing. “Come here and bend the fuck over. I’m not a happy camper right now, and I’m going to take it out on your ass.”
I stared at the suitcase, then into his eyes. “What?”
“You heard me.” His hands went to his belt, unbuckling it and pulling it from the loops. “It’s your fault I’m still on this island.”
I felt a flurry of panic. “I told you, you didn’t have to stay.”
“Oh, but I did stay,” he said, doubling the belt over. “And your butt cheeks are going to pay the price. Stand up and get over here.”
I looked at the email I hadn’t finished, then glanced at the way his fingers wrapped around the ends of his belt. I loved belts, and I had a feeling he knew how to wield one. I made a decision and stood.
“Fine,” I said, all bravado. “If that’s what you feel you have to do, then okay, but only over my jeans.”
“Fuck that noise. You don’t decide, I do, because I’m the one who’s fucking stranded here. We’ll start over your jeans, but you better believe I’m going to tan your bare ass before I’m done with you. I’m stuck here until Friday, Ella, until there’s another direct flight to New York, which you will be on, by the way. Now bend the fuck over.”
I took in his hard gaze. He was angry, yes, but this was something else, too. Playtime. Perversion. Maybe a little more adrenalized venting, like after the crash. I was so relieved he hadn’t left, I felt adrenalized too.
“Go on,” he said, gesturing with the belt. “You need this. You feel guilty for being a cowardly lame-ass, and I’m frustrated that I have to stay here when I could have been home in a few hours.” When I hesitated, he shook his head. “Uh-uh. I’m not going to do it for you.”
He meant he wasn’t going to force me to comply. He wanted me to bend over on my own steam, to ask for him to punish me. It was so much harder to do it that way.
“This is mean,” I said, bending over his suitcase. With the height of the bed, I had to straighten my legs to keep my toes on the floor. “I can’t help that I’m afraid of flying.”
“I can’t help that I’m annoyed by your fear of flying. Put your palms on the bed.”
God, I was already wet, just from the sight of him, the sound of his voice, and his rough orders. I opened my hands against the puffy white comforter, stuck out my ass, and waited for the first blow. When it came, it was hard and sharp, catching me across the bottom of my seat.
“Oh, shit,” I cried, reaching back to cover my ass.
“Don’t.” He pressed his crotch to my ass and grabbed my hands, holding them down on the bed. His chest covered my back, a Devin-cage, as he hissed in my ear. “A naughty, stubborn maso like you knows better than to reach back and interfere with a whipping. Keep your hands where they are.”
“It hurts,” I whimpered. “You didn’t even give me a warm up.”
“Having your jeans on is a warm up.”
I stared at the belt that had seared into my backside. It was thin, dark brown, real leather. Made for pain.
“Are you ready for more?” he asked.
He knew I was. I was practically vibrating from the feel of his body over mine, his hands pushing mine down. It seemed he knew everything about me, every button to push. “Yes, I’m ready.”
“Yes, Sir, I’m ready,” he scolded. “Scene language.”
“Yes, Sir, I’m ready for more.” The words tumbled out of my mouth, even as my brain told me I wasn’t ready. Was I insane to let him do this to me? No, I loved having my ass beaten, especially by someone who was good at the game. I forgot about work, about science journals, about how sad I’d felt when he decided to leave the Azores without me. All of that was chased away by the hard, rhythmic cracks of his belt against my form-fitting jeans.
“Ow. Ow. Oww.” I tried not to be loud, but he whipped the squeals out of me.
“Hush,” he said. “We’re in a hotel room, and the walls are thin.”
“I can’t… Ow…”
I felt his hand in my hair, twisting it hard. “You can, and you will. Be quiet. Keep your lips closed.”
I really started dying then, trying to keep my hands out of the way and my screams from bursting forth. My legs kicked up and my back arched as I instinctively tried to avoid the painful belt strokes. No matter what I did, they fell over and over. Thwack, thwack, thwack.
“Please,” I begged. “I need a break. You didn’t even give me a safe word.”
“You don’t get a safe word, bad girl. I’ll stop when you’ve had enough.”
“But I’ve had enough now,” I whined.
That was a lie. I was playing the game too, just like him. I wanted him to drive the pain in my ass as high as I could bear, until I was almost out of my mind, and then I wanted him to wreck my body with his cock.
“Such a baby,” he said, with coolly sadistic condescension. “I think it’s time for those jeans to come down.”
He made me stand and peel down my own jeans and panties while he watched, tapping the belt against his leg. It was so, so much harder to do it myself. I stole a look behind me, at my stinging butt. My cheeks had already bypassed pink, and were close to scarlet. It was even harder to bend back over now that my ass was exposed. My legs trembled as my toes sought the floor.
“Not a sound,” he reminded me. “And no flailing around on top of my suitcase. Stay just as you are until I’m finished with you.”
“Yes, Sir,” I said meekly.
Now that my ass was bare, he hit me even harder, resulting in a loud, crisp smack that turned me on as much as it pained me. Since I couldn’t scream, my agony squeezed out in tears. I choked back sobs, pushing aside my glasses to wipe my eyes as the belt spanking went on and on.
Ow, please, ow… He really was frustrated, because he didn’t let up. None of the strokes were unbearable, but they kept falling, one after the other
, all over my ass, and, now that my jeans were pushed down to my ankles, the backs of my thighs.
“Oh, please. Oh, God. Oh, Jesus,” I said through my teeth. A hard smack caught me across both thighs and my toes left the floor, my legs curling up in agony. “I can’t. I can’t. Please. I can’t anymore…”
“Five more,” he said, a classic sadist move. Let your victim know it’s almost over…but not quite. Still, it gave me the strength to live through the last five licks, which were the hardest of all. When he was done, he took my arm and made me stand, and pressed the belt under my chin so I’d look up and meet his eyes. “You’ll get more punishments over the next three days, girl. You’ll get all the punishments I want to give you. Do you understand?”
I rubbed my bottom, blinking at him through tears. “Yes, Sir.”
“And listen—you’re going to be on that next flight out of here, because you fucking trust me to take care of you, don’t you?”
“Please, Sir.” My ass throbbed, but my heart throbbed harder. “I—Okay. I’ll try.”
He tilted his head and pressed his lips against the curve of my neck, now wet with tears. I shivered as he tasted them. His lips roved up to my ear. “You can trust me,” he said, taking off my glasses.
I let go of his arms so he could set my glasses on the bedside table. Half-blind now, I held on to his chest, pressing my fingertips against his shirt. He said You can trust me like we ought to do something about it, and then we were doing something about it. We were kissing, grasping each other, touching each other’s face and hair. He pressed his hips against mine, forcing me against his pelvis, and the rigid outline of his cock.
“Thank you,” I said. “For not leaving.”