Page 60 of Please, Sir

“Fuck, it feels so good,” he says, gently moving it over his cock, which grows the more he does it, gaining thickness and lift. “But I found out that deerskin is best served for teasing, and not for impact.” He snaps his wrist, quickly hitting his cock with the flogger’s unforgiving tails. Before my eyes, his abs tighten and he sucks in a breath. “Cowhide provides more snap, more thud, gives a better shock.”

“Is… is that cowhide or deerskin?” I ask of the toy he’s smoothing over his cock.

“Cowhide.”

He lowers his hands, the flogger falling lifeless against his thigh. My eyes veer to his erection, prominent and mouth watering, with grooves giving way to buoyant veins, rippling up his shaft. He just hit himself with the flogger that stings–the stingiest of all. His eyes glitter with mischief and desire, and without his command, I lower to the floor, onto my knees, and bring my wrists together behind my back. He wants this, I know he wants this. There are few things in this life I can be very certain of—cheerleading is way harder than people give us credit for, taxes are cruel andJake wants this.

“I want to feel it, too,” I moan, inflating my chest with a deep breath. “Please, sir, I want to feel it.”

Because the way his face filled with something serene and euphoric after the sting of that whip wore off.

I want that euphoric feeling. And I want him to deliver it.

CHAPTER

TWENTY-THREE

He walks around me,opening a drawer. I can’t see, and there aren’t any mirrors in this room, so I keep my gaze pinned to the floor. And I wait.

After some rustling, Jake is behind me, his breath feathering over my shoulders as he slips something soft between my wrists. “How does it feel?” he questions, tying off a knot. I attempt movement, but with each tug on the binding, my shoulders burn and my chest aches. I feellike I’ve been throwing basket stunts for weeks, and fatigue echoes in my lungs the way it does after a long run. It hurts. Despite the softness of the leather he chose, my muscles scream. But I love feeling pain for him. What I feel at this moment isclarity.

I am in Bluebell for this man’s pleasure, and I love what a slut that makes me. How powerless.

How free.

“It’s tight,” I admit, but before he can loosen it, I whisper, “but it feels good.”

He partially circles me, and it forces me to come face-to-face with his cock. He strokes it once, and shakes out a drop of precome, which splatters against my chest with a tiny thud. “Mm,” he groans, smoothing his fingers through the traces, rubbing himself into my skin. “You were made to submit,” he hums softly, his voice offering no threat. Just a simple statement. His palm slides over my eyes, rendering me blind for a moment. Hot flesh skims my lips, making my cunt weep down my thighs. Teasing his cock against my lips, eyes still covered, he adds, “You were made to use.” His voice plummets into something deep, dark and desperate. “You’remineto use.”

“Please.” The single word is a powerful beg, and I want it so intensely I’m shaking with desire. I feel like I've been edging myself since he sucked that splinter from my palm. My brain is full of sand and my limbs weigh a million pounds. All I can feel, all I can focus on is myneed. The burning, thrashing, starved, monstrous need between my thighs, screaming for Jake.

But he stops.

“Riley,” he says, the seriousness in his voice sudden. “We went over red and yellow.” He crouches before me, his smoldering eyes searching for mine. “But if you’re unable to speak,” he says, teasing out the statement, encouraging usboth to imagine for a moment. My stomach clenches. “Blink in rapid succession.”

He resumes and I finally take a breath.

I’m new to this, and so is he, and yet we operate seamlessly as I bob my head, promising to him that I will always let him know just how I'm feeling. Once he’s satisfied, he leans down, pressing his lips to mine.

And then we become something else.

Not Jake and Riley, but dominant and submissive, giver and receiver, ruler and subject, all of these roles more natural to us than anything to come before. The exchange of safe words feels necessary, but from here on, our bodies move together, and he guides with confidence and power.

I grew up knowing I wanted to teach. Knowing I wanted to coach.

But, being the one who can take his punishment, and who earns his praise–that feels all encompassing—far more important than anything else.

He rears back, twisting the leather shaft in his hand a few times before getting the grip just right. “Count,” he demands right before he strikes, sending the loose tails of the flogger soaring. Each end collides with my flesh at once, snapping at the moment of impact.

My spine holds straight but my shoulders jerk, and a tiny cry escapes as I count. “One.”

His rough praise tends to my stinging flesh. “God, I wish you could have seen yourself, Riley. You looked absolutely perfect taking that strike.” He shakes his head, and my world changes. “You look perfect now.”

He continues, pacing in a circle around me, dragging the stiff leather ends against the soles of my feet. Without warning, he whips me again, and I curl my toes in reaction, throwing my head back as I hiss, “Two.”

“What’s your favorite number, Riley?” Jake asks, moving around me in a dizzying circle. Each time his erection brushes me, I grow more disoriented, my head swimmy like staying under water a few seconds too long. My pussy clenches in overwhelming hunger, like those first few times you get turned on but don’t know exactly what it is. Electric. Puts your world on its axis kind of pleasure.

I used to say fourteen because it was the age I was when Michael and I finally became a couple. He was my first boyfriend, and it meant so much to me. But I was twenty-four when I left him, and came here, and coming here is now the best thing I’ve done. “Twenty-four,” I squeak out.

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