Each belt stroke made him impossibly harder for her. Her hands curled into fists on the wood of his desk and she whimpered, the sound perfect and orgasmic in his mind.
Six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen...
He gave them to her fast and hard, and she took them, eyes frantic, mouth hanging open.
“Stop, stop!” she gasped, blocking access to her ass with one of her small hands. “Fffffuck.”
The arm supporting her gave out and she flopped belly down on his desk, panting. She wriggled and gasped and clutched at her abused ass, and he watched, heart pounding so hard he was sure she could hear it.
Stop wasn’t her safeword. Was he allowed to ignore requests if they weren’t her safeword? Maybe he should be careful or she might not let him do it again.
His breaths escaped him in harsh grunts, and his cock strained at the confines of his jeans, feeling like it might blow just from watching her process the pain he’d inflicted on her.
He paced back and forth, the adrenaline high almost unbearable, urging him to hit her again. To grab her hair. To...to... He didn’t even know what he wanted to do. Everything. He wanted to hurt her with his hands – control her. Force her down and make her...
What the fuck was he thinking?
He’d known this would happen, that his control would slip. The vile urge to keep hitting her tore at him. He snarled something inarticulate and left the room before he did something evil and unforgivable. Long strides took him up to his room where he prowled around in frustration, eventually smashing a glass in the fireplace. That felt so good he threw a chair at his television, smashing the screen. As soon as he’d done it, he felt like an idiot.
“Whoa there, big boy,” the girl said, reaching the doorway to his bedroom. She walked in uninvited, her hands up in front of her in a warding gesture.
What the fuck was she doing in his space? Couldn’t she see he was out of control?
“Wow. I’ve never had a guy go full-on rock star because of me before.” She bit her lip. “I’m flattered.”
“This isn’t okay. I’m not okay.”
“Shh. You’re okay. Sometimes we freak ourselves out. It’s almost expected, and it even happens sometimes after we’ve been into it for a while.” She came closer, but didn’t try to touch him.
He paced, feeling caged, backing away from her to keep her safe from him.
“Did you like it too much? Did you have trouble stopping?”
He was gulping air, panic making him want to escape her and go out to the forge. Lock himself in and never come out again.
“This was the one thing I was never supposed to do,” he ground out, the words the echo of a condemnation.
“And yet you’re still turned on.”
He flashed a glare at her, and she smiled sympathetically.
“I am too, even though you destroyed my ass.”
There was no way she could understand this feeling of loss of control and the self-condemnation that went with it.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry.” She smiled up at him. Not angry. Not afraid. “This is part of what some people enjoy. You liked hitting me, and I liked you doing it. You’re new to this, and you don’t know me very well. You just hit a little harder than I’m used to.”
“You didn’t safeword, but I had to stop.”
“You were afraid you wouldn’t be able to stop?”
He nodded, watching her warily. She was close enough for him to feel her body heat, but she still didn’t touch him. Maybe he could bear it from her.
“You need to blow off some steam.”
Yes. He needed to go out to the garage and work on a project. There must be something he needed to do with a sledgehammer.