Cash and Sascha explore the wonderful world of roleplaying—that is, until their sexual adventures hit a little too close to home. Resolving the damages that they have done to each other in the past will take a little time and a lot of passion. (M/M)
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“Strip and stand against the wall.”
I can hear the excitement in his voice as he gives me the order.
I start by standing up, slowly and hesitating. I wish I could share his excitement. We started the spanking games by accident a few months ago with some play wrestling. That turned into play spanking, and when Cash discovered that the perfect harshness of slaps on my ass could get me turned on more quickly than anything else, we kept at it. He’s taken a hairbrush, a paddle, and even my own tablet to my ass, and each time it’s gotten me more and more excited. Not to mention, when he finally gets around to fucking me, all he really has to do is grab at the red skin on my ass to push me over the edge, which we both appreciate. I trust him, and I like the way his marks look on me the next day. And usually, I’m excited to try new things.
Not so much today. I move slowly, easing my way out of my shirt, and then my pants, and too soon my boxers are gone as well. I’m naked, trembling in the middle of the room, debating with myself whether I should speak up or not. I’ve waited too long; I feel stupid backing out now.
“Against the wall,” my master repeats. His tone is threatening, but I can tell he’s teasing. “Move it, Sascha, or I’ll hit you more when we finally get to it.”
I turn and face the wall, pressing my hands, then my arms against it and leaning over. Providing him with a nice target to hit.
I really do like this, usually.
“You move and I’ll tie you and keep going,” he reminds me.
It’s supposed to be playful, but he’s made the same threat for real. When he first bought me, I was nothing more than a commodity to him. A Demoted whore to drag with him to social events and punish when I misbehaved. He’s terrified me like this, bruised me for days. He never hurt me or tortured me like my prior owners did, but he made his orders clear. A part of me might rather be tied, just so I don’t have to fight anymore, but I can’t speak. I stay quiet, fixing my eyes on the wall.
I jerk when he brings the belt down on my ass for the first time. It’s stupid how I can still be surprised, but a part of me wants him to stop, to know that this is too much. I feel as trapped now as I did when he shoved me over the couch and beat me, when he laid into me against my own desk. I bite down on my lips to keep from crying out as he strikes me again.