“Are you sure? We can take a break.”
“Green, ma-ma’am.”
The next one is harder. And it’s higher, causing me to scream again. The sheets are wet—drool, sweat, or tears, I’m not sure. I just know, I’m falling apart.
“F-four,” I stammer.
“You’re doing so good,” she says with gentle praise, and it’s like warm water dripping down my spine, but the pleasantries end there because, a moment later, she lands blow number five, and everything that was holding me together, shatters like glass hitting the floor.
How can one stinging sensation on my ass feel so intense? I must be fucking weaker than I thought. In my head, I’m chanting to myself, be like Emerson.
Be strong like him. Be brave like him. Be dominant like him.
Every stupid thing I’ve done replays in my mind like highlights from the worst moments of my life. Treating Charlie like shit. Cheating. Torturing my dad by withholding contact just because I could. Judging every single person who came to this club or lived a life different than mine.
I deserve this, but bearing the brunt of my punishment isn’t making me feel any better.
“Five!” I shout, squirming against the bindings. The bedsheets are clutched in my fists so tightly, my knuckles are aching.
“Color?”
“Green, ma’am,” I grunt. Clearly, I’m losing it. It’s obvious now, and I hate myself for the way this is affecting me. I can feel the tears streaming through my tightly-closed lids, and I can’t bear the thought of her seeing me like this now. We were supposed to have sex after this, and now I’m bawling like a child.
“One more. If you really want it, beg me for it.” Her tone is so cruel. I almost don’t recognize her voice.
I really don’t want another one. I want her to leave me alone, so I can recover without the embarrassment of her seeing me like this. But I have to take the full six. I have to.
“Please, ma’am,” I say with a wheeze. “One more, please.”
The last one is the worst one. On already tender flesh, it feels like a knife, and I have to bite down on the bedsheets as I drag out the longest painful sounding moan.
I don’t hear her set the crop down, and I don’t even feel her untie my legs, but suddenly, I can move, and I use the new mobility to try and hide my face from her. But she won’t let me.
Once my hands are untied, I wipe at my tears, and she quickly brings a soft cloth to my eyes, tenderly wiping them away.
“You did so good, Beau. I’m so proud of you.”
“I’m fine,” I lie, turning away from her. And I wish I could get up and move away, but my limbs are heavy, and I feel like I’ve just smoked a whole joint by myself. My body sinks into the mattress as her touch surrounds me. I bury my face into her neck as she holds me, stroking my back and whispering words that make me want to cry even more.
“You did so well. You’re so perfect. I’m so proud of you.” Over and over and over.
And I might be high or in shock, but this time, I let them sink in until I start to believe them.
Rule #28: Aftercare is not the time to make promises.
Maggie
Nothing will ever compare to this moment, his shivering body in my arms, seeking me out for comfort. I knew the pain would take him by surprise. Eden only gave me three hits with the crop and it felt like a hundred.
But I’m not going to lie…that felt good. It felt really good. And not because I want to hurt Beau or because I don’t care about him. If anything, it made me care about him more. It was all about both of us scratching an itch we needed. It was like sex. Finding the sensation we both craved in each other. And watching him take the pain, trying to hide it and fight it, only to succumb to it, was actually sort of…beautiful.