Tease (Songs of Submission #2)(16)

“Jonathan,” I said.

“Monica.”

“Hurt me.”

“What?”

“Do it so it hurts. Break me apart. Make it hurt so I scream. I want everything. All of it.”

He paused and slid his hands down my back. “Say it again.”

“Hurt me, Jonathan. Hurt me. Please.”

After a long exhale that sounded like a decision being made, he started moving faster, but that wasn’t the half of it. He gripped my ass, a hand in each cheek, and spread me apart until I thought he’d rip me. When he pummeled me then, he was in my pu**y so deep I felt the head of his c**k hitting the end of me. But he didn’t ease up. His fingers dug into my skin. My ass became dough in his hands. My wrists kept me steady against him. I wanted to scream, but I couldn’t, or he’d stop. I didn’t want him to stop because the pain was exquisite, focusing me on his pleasure as it peaked my own.

He took a hand off one cheek and grabbed my hair. I moaned so loud it came out as a bark. He pulled my ass up again, his fingers digging into my skin, as he f**ked the shit out of me. I was damp all over from sweat and juice.

“Say my name,” he gasped.

“Jonathan.”

“Again.”

“Jonathan, Jonathan, oh God, Jonathan.”

He came as if he’d hurled himself off a cliff, with a long grunt and a longer groan. He pumped at me from behind, still groaning, going on forever. Nothing had ever given me more satisfaction than hearing him come so hard.

He stopped and fell on top of me, his chest to my back, his dick falling away from me. We breathed together for a minute, our bodies still in tune.

“Are you okay?” he asked, brushing the hair away from my face.

“Never better.”

“Give me a minute. You’ll be even better.”

He kissed my neck, then between my shoulder blades, down my back, then to my ass cheeks, which hurt. I groaned and arched my back.

“Stay still,” he said. I dropped down. “Very still.”

“Okay.”

The skin of my slit was sore and bruised from his fingers. The sting felt wonderful as he licked the insides of my thighs, then my soaking pu**y, which throbbed with the hurt and pleasure of him. His tongue went up and down my snatch, landing on my clit, teasing the tip with tiny, imperceptible motions. Then he drew his lips around it and kissed, ending in a light sucking.

“Oh, Jonathan…”

“Don’t move.”

“Please let me come when I’m ready. Please don’t make me wait more.”

“Only if you stay still. Move, and I take you out for coffee.”

“Yes.”

He spread me apart, which hurt until he slipped his tongue inside me, then drew it out, along the slit, which was so sore, and over my clit, slowly. Then back, into my hole and down until he sucked on my clit one last time. I went rigid, crying out with everything I had. My back wanted to arch, but I couldn’t let it. My hips wanted to thrust, but my mind overrode the impulse. I became a vessel for my pu**y and my clenching ass and the pressure on my wrists. My body’s stillness drew out my orgasm, because I couldn’t surrender to it until the final moment when I lost all sense to his touch and tongue, screaming his name at the top of my lungs. He sucked gently on my clit until I was a shuddering mess, way past the point of agony.

CHAPTER 8

Kevin had been the f**k of my life. That didn’t mean much as he’d been one of two. Darren had been serviceable, but we were young and inexperienced and in love, so we had no idea how boring it was.

Kevin had seemed like a white hot ball of fire. He was all hands and lips. He masturbated in front of me, and I tried not to giggle because I thought hot people would be very serious. He told me I was pent up and repressed in a way that made me want to get unrepressed, but I didn’t know how. I tried to get wilder by wearing lingerie and groaning louder. I sucked his dick more. I danced for him. All that seemed wonderful at the time, like really being grown up and sexual. But he didn’t know how to take my repression, wring it out, and throw it out the window. He didn’t know how to f**k it out of me or quietly tell me to get undressed in the night air while he watched in such a way that wouldn’t make me laugh. I couldn’t have given Kevin my orgasms, because he didn’t want them. I could never have asked him to hurt me, because he would have.

I watched the sun come up through Jonathan’s window, felt his breath on my neck, and thought don’t fall in love don’t fall in love don’t fall in love. I didn’t look at him while he slept. I didn’t stroke the top of his hand where it rested on my belly. I didn’t think about him. Nothing. Not his scent or the sound of his voice. Not his sharp wit or his easy smile. My job there was to enjoy him, and sense sooner rather than later when it was time to move on. That was the only way I would get out intact.

I heard steps in the hall, and some loose, non-English muttering between a man and woman, which alarmed me. But then I heard a broom on the hardwood. The staff. They probably lived in a house out back and were like furniture to him.

My bag was on the floor. The second and last time we’d f**ked, I went downstairs for it because he ran out of condoms. I’d rooted in the pockets and found a little latex sack a month from its expiration date.

I had to grab that, and my clothes, which were probably still on the porch. That would be tricky. It was broad daylight, and I couldn’t leave the room naked with the cleaning staff around. Or maybe I could. Who knew how people with money lived?