Page 30 of Cherry Auction

So I hear the slightest swish before a ton of heated little pointed tendrils massage the underside of my ass at first contact.

I blink in confusion. It doesn’t hurt, exactly—it’s just sensation. Less intense even than when he spanked me with his hand the first night.

It lands again on the opposite cheek, and I jerk in surprise but not pain. I exhale sharply and the edges of my fingertips tighten on the bench pad.

Wait. I don’t understand. He called this punishment. No… He called it training. He said punishment would come if I disobey, but that he wanted to start my training when I called outredthe other night.

Another heated kiss of the flogger lands, a little more intense on the already warmed flesh of the first cheek and I squirm, short of breath at the senses he’s waking up.

Because instead of the pain I anticipated, this feels…good.

More intense than a massage and certainly more intimate with me spread out so vulnerably like this. I think of that moment we shared when his mask was down.I swear, Mads, I’d never hurt you, love.

If I really am this Madison woman, what the hell happened between them? Betweenus?

As the next few lashes land, though, I can’t help doing what he said and just giving in to all the alien, lovely, unexpected feelings he’s eliciting from my body. Warmth seeps through my ass and forwards to my groin. I allow my mind to go completely blank as my pussy swells and moistens, starting to pulse.

I stay in that high, buzzy place for long minutes after he’s stopped, only at some point blinking and squirming on the bench when I realize he’s pulled back. I can’t help the short little whine that escapes my throat. Because as I come fully back into my body, I realize I amsoturned on.

I don’t know how I’m going to stop from touching myself after he leaves. But he’s got that fucking camera on me, dammit. I bite my bottom lip.

He’s been so gentle. Would it really be so bad if I asked him to relieve this ache?

I’m immediately upset by my own thoughts. What the fuck?

I don’t care what the hell weusedto be to each other. Since I’ve met him this time around, he’s only face-fucked me, kidnapped me, and made me eat food out of a bowl like a dog. If I give him my body, it should be to get something in return, like when I was willing to sell myself at the auction.

I frown, then consider my willingness to wield my bodyfor gain. Is this another clue? Was I a sex-worker in another life?

“Did we meet because I was a prostitute?” I ask suddenly, looking over my shoulder at him. “Was my dad my pimp or something?”

He tilts his head at me. “I was fascinated to see how you’d play this. I have to say, I’m not sure I expected this. It’s an entertaining schtick if nothing else. And your ass is such a juicy little treat, isn’t it?”

He spanks me with his open palm this time, our gazes still locked.

I’m speechless at his audacity. At his confidence. At how this doesn’t feel like the violation some part of my brain knows it should be—if he was a stranger, anyway.

But he’s not.

My eyes widen.

He’s not a stranger.

It’s not a memory, exactly. It’s just a certainty.

I know him.

My— My— Mybodyknows him. My thighs rub together, aching.

So when he asks, Irish brogue heavy, “Would you like me to ease that for you, love?” I say “Yes,” before I can think better of it.

His warm hands are on me immediately, slipping between my legs to my wet sex. Just like the first night when he touched meso expertly.

I’ve always wanted him. For forever.

My whole body trembles and I’m glad for the blindfold now. I need it, as if it helps me hold up the pretense that I’m separate from what I’ve just asked for.

Because Idowant this, and that’s fucked up, andis it, really? My short-circuiting brain doesn’t know how to process one thought from the next. All I know is my body arches out in welcome for his finger as he slides it back and forth across my clit. Then he starts to rub it in slow, languorous circles. I shudder on the bench, all my limbs going gelatinous.

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