He chuckles, his tattooed hands opening his pants, and I shudder as the black trail of hair on his lower stomach comes into view, knowing exactly where that leads. The show he’s giving me is such a turn on I feel I could come from the lightest touch.
After what feels like hours, but were probably only minutes, he’s finally naked. I shamelessly drink in every ridge of his body; from his shoulders to his feet, and everything in between. It’s hard not to get stuck on his long, thick cock, and the pre-cum beading at the tip.
“Look at you,” he murmurs, circling the bed like a predator. “So willing to surrender to me.”
Surrendering to Nicklas feels natural, necessary even. My body responds to his proximity, to the dominant energy he exudes. There’s no room for fear, only a deep, aching need.
He traces a finger down my arm, and it leaves a trail of fire in its wake. He pulls out a feather tickler from the drawer and runs it over my sensitive skin, eliciting involuntary shivers. My breath hitches as he explores, learning what makes me gasp, what makes me squirm. Much to my disappointment, he stays completely away from the apex of my thighs, only grazing the surrounding areas.
“Please…” I don’t even know what I’m pleading for—his touch, his possession, his everything. All I know is that I’m teetering right on the edge. My body is slick with sweat and arousal, and I’m desperate to come.
“I told you to be patient.” With a swift movement, he spins me to my stomach, helping me regain my balance as my arms and legs twist. My restraints feel tighter, but it’s still not too uncomfortable, or even painful. “Have you ever come from pain before?” he asks, his voice husky.
“P-pain?” I stutter, my heart beating harder at his question. “I-I don’t want pain.”
His large hand runs across my exposed backside, he nudges one finger into the crevice of my ass cheeks. I tense as the tip finds my puckered opening. No, surely he doesn’t mean… I swallow, feeling embarrassed but also so, so aroused by the thought of him taking methere.
“Stop,” I beg.
“You don’t get to deny me,” he corrects me sharply. Before I can process what he’s doing, his hand disappears, and the next second, there’s a sharp crack as he slaps my ass.
“Ouch!” I cry out.
“Never.”
Slap!
“Do.”
“Nicklas!” I howl.
Slap!
“That.”
Slap!
“Again.”
I writhe, uselessly trying to avoid the unforgiving slaps as he rains them down, but it’s not happening. Tears stream down my face as he ruthlessly spanks my ass, my breath is coming in ragged, shallow bursts. He keeps going, and each time his palm connects with my skin, I jolt.
“Nicklas!” I scream, not sure I can take any more.
I hide my face in the sheets, tensing as I wait for more pain to come, but it doesn’t.
He gingerly begins to stroke the abused skin, his soothing touch both making it better and worse at the same time. Better, because I think I crave knowing he won’t hurt me again—worse, because I’m scared to relax if more pain is to come.
“W-what did I do?” I hiccup, my sobs muffled by the sheets. “W-what d-did I do w-wrong?” He bends, kissing my throbbing backside, the scruff making me whimper even more as it feels rough against the sore skin.
After releasing my wrists and ankles from the restraints, he lies down next to me as I cry. I want to curl into a ball, but I’m scared to make the wrong move. I tense as something cold and wet hits my abused ass, then his hand appears, carefully rubbing it into my skin.
“Don’t ever deny me again,” he growls, anger coating his words. “You do what I say, when I say it. Is that understood?”
Even though I’ve signed a contract that basically states just that, I balk against saying the words out loud, so I press my lips together.
“Say you understand me,” he barks, the words so different from the feather-light touch of his hand on my burning flesh.
“No!” I refuse on a hiccup. “I won’t say it. Not now. Not fucking ever.”
