Page 256 of Bad for Me

I spin on my heel, stalking toward the closet. My favorite implements hang in there, tucked away but never forgotten, and I retrieve a small, flexible cane I haven’t used in far, far too long.

When I turn back to the bed, Misha is looking at me.

“You’ll never get what you want,” Misha says quietly. “Because you think you have to take it by force.”

I stare at him hard, squeezing the cane so hard that my knuckles turn white. “I wasn’t taking your enjoyment by force,” I say through clenched teeth. “I thought we were having fun, Misha.” My voice goes cold. “But no. You just can’t accept that things can be good here, so fucking fine. Fine. I’ll show you just how miserable they can be so maybe you’ll appreciate it when I’m nice to you — which I don’t have to be, because you’re my fucking slave.”

Misha buries his head in the pillow again. “Just do whatever you’re going to do.”

Like I need his goddamn permission.

My mood has crashed so hard, so fast, that I feel the whiplash from it. It’s got my adrenaline going, and I want to make it allstop. I want to make it all go away.

Most of all, I want to make him hurt for hurting me — which is fucking ridiculous, because I’d have said that and worse if our situations had been reversed.

I approach him, and without warning, I snap the cane through the air, letting it fall across his bare ass. It startles a sound out of him, and I grimly hit him again with it, clinging to what little control I have left. I slow down, taking my time to set lines into his skin in a crisscross pattern instead of wildly bringing the implement down on him.

If I can’t have his willing submission, I’ll take his unwitting subspace.

He huffs and makes small sounds as I hit him. He relaxes into the pain, too, the way he’d done all of the previous times. He’s taking this thing that is meant to hurt and transforming it into something good for him, and that brings all sorts of mixed emotions out in me.

I want to confuse him, to fuck with his head by making it feel good, but I don’t want it to be easy. I want him to be as conflicted as I am, to find this as difficult to deal with, but no. He seems to be handling it just fine, and I don’t like that at all.

I switch to hitting the backs of his thighs, and he grunts at the sudden change. He hadn’t expected that. He thought I was going to stick to his ass. I’m going to keep him on his toes, though. I refuse to let him get complacent here.

After a few swats to his thighs, I move back to his ass, directly over an existing welt. He cries out and arches his back beautifully.

His hips roll, and his ass is even higher in the air. It puts his balls on perfect display, and I can’t help myself. I smack them with the cane, just as hard as I’d taken it to one of the welts, and I’m gratified to hear his scream.

Misha collapses back onto the bed, breathing hard. He’s no longer clutching his hands together; they’re lying limp above his head. The thin sheen of sweat makes his body glisten.

I get closer so I can force his head up. His eyes are dilated as he stares up at me.

“Do you want more?” I ask as I dig the end of the cane into his side.

Misha swallows hard. After a few seconds, he answers, “Whatever… whatever you want.”

“Good answer, but it’s not what I asked you.” I tighten my grasp on his hair, eliciting a moan that’s half-pain, half-pleasure. “Tell me, Misha. Do you want more?” I release him. “Or do you just want to feel my cock in your ass?”

He sobs and tries to shake his head. In the end, he says, “You.”

“You’re a fucking slut,” I tell him, but my voice isn’t as hard or cold as I expect it to be. It sounds strange, something I can’t identify —affectionate, maybe, though that doesn’t make any sense.

“Yes,” Misha agrees, and he raises his ass despite the awkward position.

I groan, unable to take it anymore. The cane falls from my hand, and I unfasten my pants with an impatient, shaking hand. I shed them and my briefs in a hurry, getting right up behind him. I press hard against his welts with my fingertips, marveling at the soft sounds he makes — the soft sounds of pleasure as much as pain, and I know I did this to him. I’m responsible for making him feel this way, and he wants it despite the fact that he’d never admit it.

“Tell me you want me inside of you,” I say raggedly as I push the head of my cock against his hole. “Tell me you want me to fuck you.Tell me, slut.”

“Want… want your cock…” Misha slurs, spreading his legs wider. “Please.”

I can’t help but groan again deep in my throat. I know he’s going to regret this after the fact. He’s going to try to hold it against me.

But I can’t stop myself from spitting on my hand and coating the tip of my cock with it, slicking it up as much as possible. “Of course you do, slut,” I tell him in a breathless growl. “Myslut.”

Mine.

Whether he wants it or not, heismine.

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