“See what you do to me?” he asked, although his question was rhetorical. He pushed the screen up so his face was back in the camera’s view, and his attention drifted to E. “Again.”
The fingers inside me retreated, and E’s deep breath in was so heavy, it was audible. He had reservations, but Clay did not, and he looked irritated at how his stand-in was hesitating.
“Again?” Clay asked me. If I wanted it, that should help with E’s unease, wouldn’t it? And I did want it . . . because E had stopped touching me, and with the pain I’d get pleasure.
“Again,” I confirmed.
ELEVEN
E’s inhale had been loud, but his sigh was so quiet, I doubted the microphone picked it up. Clay didn’t seem to hear it either. He was pleased when E adjusted his grip on the paddle and prepared.
Trepidation swirled in my stomach, and shivers broke down my legs. Would it be worse this time? And if so, would the ‘after’ be even better? Or would the strike of the paddle be less intense than the anticipation of it?
On top of it all, there was my strange fascination with the experience. A large part of me wanted to see how much I could take. It hoped for the vicious slap of leather in a place that would make tears spring into my eyes. I sank my teeth into my bottom lip and held my breath, bracing for the blow I knew was coming while my gaze was fixed on both the man who’d ordered it and the man who’d carry it out.
The paddle swung so fast, as it cut through the air it made a whooshing sound, and I heard the crack of it against my skin before the impact registered. The pain entered my body through the back of my thigh and stormed up my body, filled with fury. It consumed me with its white heat, the strength of it so powerful I couldn’t breathe.
Agony carried me away, but this time instead of fighting it, I let it sweep through me. A sob welled in my throat, but I cut it off, so it came out as a startled cry. In my misery, I was only vaguely aware of the paddle dropping to the floor and the hands on me.
I stared at the screen through blurry eyes, seeing one man while being touched by another, and the two of them began to morph into one. He told me I was beautiful while his fingers stroked my clit, and as the pain gripping me started to relax, I began to float.
“Such a good girl,” the man cooed. “You’ve earned this.”
He pushed his fingers inside me and reached around with his other hand to rub my clit, and a long moan poured from my mouth. My ass and the backs of my legs were on fire, but everywhere else was lit up and singing.
In my floaty space, time seemed to slow to a crawl. Even my thoughts slowed, as if my brain had been powered down to conserve energy and only the critical systems were still operating. It was nice and dreamy.
But it couldn’t last forever.
A sense of urgency grew and swelled, spinning my mind back up and making me aware. Oh, my God, I needed to come. The fingers plunging inside me, working together with the ones massaging my clit, created an ache that rivaled the one throbbing in my skin. I had an irrational fear that all the tension inside me was a bomb, and I had to get it out before it detonated and killed both me and the man at my side.
“Oh, my God,” I gasped, shifting my hips against the table so his fingers could drive deeper and hit just where I needed them to. “Oh, God . . . oh, God . . .”
“Yes,” he encouraged, although it came in two separate voices, one echoing the other.
The orgasm swelled as a tidal wave of ecstasy and crashed into me, wiping all thought away. It was far more devastating and amazing than anything that could be done with just a paddle or a pair of hands between my legs.
I writhed against my restraints, making the cords wrapped around my throat constrict, but the sensation only added to my enjoyment. Just as I couldn’t escape the pain, I couldn’t run from the pleasure either. Not that I wanted to.
The orgasm crested and started to recede, and the man began to peel apart, splitting back into two separate bodies. Clay and Mr. E were equally responsible for my pleasure, and as they shared the credit, they also shared the same look of satisfaction.
My knees were jelly, and I lay on the top of the workbench, not caring how my breasts were flattened against the rough surface as I struggled to catch my breath. There was movement behind me as E stepped back and disappeared out of the frame. I turned my head, resting it on my outstretched arms, and watched as he pulled open the door to the storage closet.