Torment Me (Rough Love 1)

He accompanied this insistent command with a couple of stinging slaps to my inner thighs. I tried to roll away from the pain, only to have my hair grabbed and my body yanked against his.

“Stay where I put you. Be a good girl. I like good girls.”

I gritted my teeth until he loosened his grasp on my hair. “So, are you one of those Master guys?” I asked. “Those BDSM Dominants with whips and chains and collars?”

“Sometimes.”

“You have slaves?”

His lips brushed over my cheek and down my jaw. “Sometimes.”

I shivered. I felt like his slave at the moment, although there were no whips, chains, or collars. My thighs still stung where he’d slapped me. “I’m not into that shit,” I whispered.

“Noted.”

“Why then?” I asked. “Why me? Why didn’t you make arrangements to see a call girl who’s into this?”

“The girls who are into this aren’t as fun to play with. They aren’t as fun to torment.” He stroked my breasts and squeezed each nipple until I whined and pulled away from him.

“The thing is—” I began.

“The thing is, I fucking paid for you, and I want to play with you. I don’t want to talk anymore about whether you’re into this. I don’t want any more complaining. I told you I wouldn’t hurt you. I promise you’ll always be able to walk out of our sessions with your body intact.”

“That’s so sexy. Leaving me intact.”

His hand tightened in my hair. “Don’t be sassy. I don’t like sassy. Try being submissive.”

“I told you, I’m not into—”

“And I told you I don’t care. If you complain to me one more time, I’m going to punish you.”

Holy crap. I should have passed him on to Nina, even with the huge gratuity from last time. “Do I have to call you Master?” I asked as submissively as I could.

“No. You wouldn’t mean it. But I’d like you to listen to everything I say, and obey me without questioning and complaining.”

“But what will you do to me?” That wasn’t a complaint, was it? Just a question.

“No bad things today,” he said. “Only good things. Well, we’re working up to the scarier things, aren’t we?”

“Are we?”

He didn’t answer. I was lifted and turned over, his compliant toy. He arranged me so my ass was in the air and my shoulders were pressed down on the bed. “Ever been spanked, Chere?” he asked.

“Of course I’ve been spanked, many times.”

“Hmm.” There was a world of amusement in that hmm. “So I guess a little spanking won’t bother you too much.”

Smack. He cracked his hand down on my butt cheeks and it wasn’t like any spanking I’d ever received. Ohmygodohmygod. I collapsed on the bed and used my bound hands to cover my posterior. “That fucking hurt. Are you crazy?”

“That sounds like a complaint.”

“No—” I cried, but the punishment had commenced. This was no playful, sexy spanking, but a major beatdown on my ass. When I tried to crawl away—as any sane person would—he slid an arm around my waist to trap me in place. He spanked me with his other hand, alternating from cheek to cheek, each spank harder than the last.

Oh God, I couldn’t be still. I yanked and jerked and fought him, but he was too strong. I added that to his list of attributes. So strong. Hard spanker.

“Quiet,” he said, as my cries rose in volume. “You’re in a hotel.”

As the spanking continued, it bypassed stinging and throbbing and settled in the area of agony. I tried desperately to shield myself but his body was in the way. “Oh please,” I whispered between yelps. “Oh please, stop.”

“When you’ve had enough.”

“Enough for what?” I started crying, I couldn’t help it. It hurt too much and he wasn’t allowing me time to process the pain. “Aren’t you supposed to give me some word to make it stop?”

“A safe word?” He paused for a moment. “I know how much spanking you need, Chere. I won’t give you any more than that.”

“But—”

Smack, smack, smack. Back to the spanking, which wasn’t a spanking at all, but freaking destruction. I kicked my legs and fought him as well as I could in my state of entrapment. There was nothing I could do to end it, no way to make it stop.

“Ow, please,” I cried. I was literally bawling now, rivers of tears seeping from beneath my mask. “Please, you’re hurting me.”

“I know.”

He knew. I wondered if he really knew. I wondered if he understood the power in those torture-slabs he called hands. My lips trembled with the effort not to scream. When he finally stopped, I waited in utter stillness, terrified he would start again. My ass felt like a thousand throbbing impressions of his fingers. His arm loosened around my waist as he caressed my butt.

“Now, Chere,” he said quietly, “now you’ve been spanked.”