Page 12 of Bottoms Up
But he expects me to be still for a belting, his obedient little Silver, accepting whatever he gives me, so I’d do my best to stay in place.
“A few more,” he told me, his voice a satin command. “You know I like to properly season my meals. Put your arms out tothe sides. Tell me, would you like for me to freeze you and give you fifty more, or do you think you can handle twenty-five more while free?”
Fifty with a belt would destroy my ass, but it’ssomuch easier to take this level of pain when you absolutely can’t move — when you can relax into it rather than fight to remain in place.
“Freeze me please, Sir.”
“As you wish,il tesoro.”
The words curled through me like warm honey as the belt cracked down again. And again, raining down fire and pain. Over and over. Lash after lash. Pain, rhythmic and precise. He worked from the top of my ass downward, inch by agonizing inch, branding me with his dominance, his hunger, his love.
Long before he got to the backs of my knees, he traveled back up at the same slow, steady, excruciating pace. I screamed and tried to writhe and move, but he’d frozen my body in place so there was no moving around. No escape.
When he finally stopped, I was a mess — tear-stained face, snot flowing from my nose, fighting for air between my sobs. Raw, gutted, and flying high on endorphins.
“You mark up so pretty.” The coolness of his hand caressed my heated ass, and my sobs came harder and faster, but I didn’t pull away. I needed the contact. Neededhim.
“What should I torture next? Ass? Cunt? Dick? Tits?” His tone was warm honey edged in steel. “Everything’s getting it today,amore mio.”
God, the way he said it, possessive and reverent in the same breath, made my blazing skin hum. I’d had to learn all these Italian terms of endearment. This one meantmy love, but others meant things likemy treasureormy heart.
And then there were the words that didn’t translate easily, likepiccolo, which meanslittleortinyif you look it up in the dictionary, but it’s more like calling your girlfriendbabywhenused as an endearment. Same ascucciolo, which means puppy or cub, but it’s more about his caring about me and wanting to protect me than it is about calling me an animal.
“My body is yours,” I whispered, eyes closed. “Whatever pleases my Sir.”
Which translates tostop talking and just pick a body part so we can get back to the action, but never would I actually say that. Our relationship is about submission and respect, the real thing. I’d never disrespect him during a scene.
“Well then, we’ll do the outside bits and work our way to the center.” His cool hand brushed my hip. “Pull the round bolster down, so it can push those lovely tits into the air to be properly chastised.”
The bolster was near the top of the bed, so when Julian released me to let me move, I walked to the side of the bed.
My limbs felt shaky, so I moved with care, sliding off the bed, stepping toward the top to pull the bolster down, and then climbing onto the mattress again, bending over the bolster backward. The firm round cushion arched my back, pushed my chest high, my nipples pointing to the ceiling, and I lay there waiting — open, vulnerable, offering myself to him. My pain, my submission, my love, my affection.
Because always with my Julian,pain equals affection.
Julian disappeared into the bathroom while I followed his order, and I heard water running. He returned with a warm, damp cloth and leaned over me to clean my face — gentle swipes over my cheeks, beneath my nose, under my eyes.
“Amore mio bellissimo, la mia stellina. Such lovely tits, just waiting for me to turn them red.”
He’d called me his beautiful love and his little starlet, and those were possibly two of my favorite Italian phrases.
“Ti amo, Julian.”
“Ti amo, Jules.Ti adoro.”
And then, sadistic romantic that he is, my love grasped my left nipple between his fingers and rolled it slow, squeezing it into a tight, aching point. Pain sparked down my spine, stealing my breath. He hadn’t told me what to do with my hands, so I slid them behind my back.
He leaned in and kissed my forehead, lips soft, a tender touch, before pulling back and — lifting a flogger with an almost ceremonial calm — he let it fly.
The tails were all sting and little thud, back and forth, right to left, fast and brutal, a sharp, biting rhythm across my chest. He’d said he wanted my tits red, andfuckif this wasn’t going to deliver.
The sting was intense, but this kind of flogging has always come off as a purely pleasurable sensation, the kind that made my toes curl and my breath go ragged. An exquisite overload.
I let myself go limp over the bolster, every muscle surrendered, letting the sensations wash over me. Heat bloomed under each lash, sparks danced across my skin. It was almost meditative.Almost.
Until a tail licked across my nipple.
I gasped, hips jerking, pleasure twisting tight around pain, and still, he didn’t pause. Another strike, another. My whole body buzzed.
