Page 21 of Turn Me On
“Whatever you want, babe.” I snapped the cane further down her thigh and she squealed. “I’m down.”
I struck her one more time on the same thigh, creating three perfectly pink stripes. Normally, I’d do ten of each with whatever instrument we were using, but it had already been a long night, and she was squirming against the bench in a way that told me she was feeling it.
“Colour?” I asked.
“Still green.”
My forehead scrunched. “You sure?”
“Yes,” she breathed. “I like it. It’s just prickling more than usual.”
I soothed my palm over the stripes, rubbing them down before starting on her next thigh.
“Three more. Count.”
Her body tensed before I’d even lifted my hand, so I waited until her muscles relaxed and her body was loose before slapping the bamboo against the plush curves I adored so much.
“One,” she gasped.
I hit her leg again.
“Two.”
I brought the final strike down with intention, marking her as mine. Making the last tiger stripe the most prominent on her body.
“Three!” she yelled, straining against the restraints.
“Colour?”
“Yellow,” she whispered.
I dropped the cane to the floor immediately and bent over the bench, cradling her to my front the best I could manage. She needed time to process. A pause.
I kissed the back of her shoulder blades before nuzzling my chin into the crook of her shoulder. “Thank you for telling me. Such a good fucking girl being so honest. We can stop any time.”
“I know. I’m okay. Just let me breathe for a minute.” She steadied herself, timing her breaths while I held her.
A responsible partner was a partner who communicated. Who was able to use the safe words and count on the person they were with to follow. If she was uncomfortable, or it was too much, I had no problem slowing down or stopping.
“We don’t have to keep going, babe,” I murmured.
“One more. Give me one more. The hurt feels good.”
“Good enough to handle another instrument?” I prodded.
She nodded against the bench. “I finally feel like I’m back in my body and out of my head. I just need one more. One big one.”
“Whatever you need.”
I backed off, swiping the evil stick from the duvet and standing to the side of the bondage bench. Though small, the carbon fibre stick packed a wicked punch, hence the name. It would get a huge reaction from Charlie and give her the last mean bite she was craving.
She exhaled loud and slow. “I’m ready.”
The doughy inside of her upper arm was the perfect place for the final strike. I pulled back the rubber-coated tip of the rod and let it go. It snapped on her flesh, instantly leaving a red welt, and she squealed so loudly, it echoed around the room. Her fingers and toes flexed and strained before finally relaxing.
My cock leaked pre-cum. I couldn’t help it. The way she groaned and squeaked and writhed against the bench always got me going. Strapped down, ass on display, curves spillingover every edge. Yes, there was a benefit to the impact play for her—calming her mind, centering her—but there was for me, too. A physical benefit. A rock hard fucking dick.
“I need you,” she purred.
