I pressed myself against his back and he flinched. His marks were beautiful, loops of raw red pain, a stunning pattern. I traced a loop with my tongue, wrapping my arms around to squeeze his cock. It sprang back to full hardness, and I jerked him off until he relaxed. And that’s when I fucking hit him, over and over until the chains were straining and his knuckles were white. He’d lurch forward with every lash, and his legs were shaking.
“Please,” I hissed. “Please just give it up.”
“I don’t know how,” he growled, and he meant it. “Jesus, Faye, I don’t know how.” It nearly broke me. I lowered the cable and sighed, and his eyes met mine over his shoulder. “What are you doing?”
“I’m not sure.” I shrugged. “I don’t know if I can do this.”
Darkness flashed in his stare, goading me, driving me. “Do it,” he snarled. “You wanted this, you see it fucking through. No fucking chicken shit here, Faye. Just me and you. This is your fucking fantasy. Take it.”
I raised the cable, but my stance was weak. “It’s ok,” he said, and his voice was softer. “Do this, Faye, don’t fucking stop.”
I kissed his shoulder, and it was all me in charge, not some ridiculous Vincent-style protégé. There was only me.
And then I did it, I did what I needed to do. I whipped him without mercy, without restraint, and he snarled, and howled and jerked. And then he shook, really shook, and his back was a beautiful crosshatch of pain, blood pooling and spilling, and it was stunning.
“Good,” I hissed. “That’s right.”
I whipped him until his knuckles loosened around the chains, until he was limp and willing, taking whatever came without fight, just grunting with the pain, and then I stood before him, and his eyes were glazed.
“Are you ready?” I cupped his chin. “Andy, are you ready?”
His eyes closed and he shook his head, and my heart lurched. “No. I’m not ready.”
I stayed where I was, and recoiled the cable. “I’m sorry,” I whispered. “This is really going to hurt.”
I whipped his front, and it flamed red. His knees buckled as I caught a nipple, and he didn’t recover. He hung slack, panting hard, covered in angry red welts, and still I whipped him. My eyes welled and still I kept those lashes coming, and it was the most intimate thing I’d ever experienced, the greatest gift he could have offered.
Finally, when I didn’t think I could hit him anymore he said the words.
“Stop,” he said. “Please, stop. Faye, stop. I’m done.”
I looked into his eyes. “You’re not ready, Andy. I know you’re not ready.”
“Wait,” he said, then caught himself. “Oh fuck, Faye, just do it. Fucking hit me.”
I hit him again and again, and we got somewhere. He looked at me through every lash, and he stopped crying out. His body was mine. Acceptance of his fate in my hands, acceptance of my punishment.
My eyes welled up, and I smiled, and pressed my lips to his chest. “Oh God,” I breathed. “I’ve never seen anything so beautiful as you are now.”
He didn’t respond, didn’t ask for anything. Didn’t ask for more, didn’t ask to stop. I ran my fingers down his chest and took his cock, gripped him tight until he moaned. I pushed my fingers in his mouth. “Make them wet.”
He did as he was told, and didn’t even flinch as I slid two fingers in his ass, he just groaned, pleasure and pain inseparable. His endorphins would be spiking, and his mind still, I knew exactly how it was in that place.
I smiled.
He was ready.
I lowered the shackles until he was on his knees, and pressed his mouth tight against my pussy. “Lick me,” I hissed. “Love me.”
His eyes were like coal, as they stared up at me, hazy but full of willing. He looked up at me like I was everything, like I was all he’d ever need, and it made me cry.
“I’m going to take you now,” I said. “And I’m going to make it feel good, I promise.”
I fell to my knees and kissed his mouth, and he was right there, loving me, wanting me.
“It’s time,” I said, and he nodded.
***