Page 118 of There Are No Saints

Another pause.

“And did you?”

This is the part that shames me worse than anything. The thing I most hate to admit.

But he’ll know if I lie. If I even try to hold back.

“Yes,” I sob. “He wouldn’t stop ‘till I cried. He hit me over and over. If the hand didn’t work, he used the belt. I tried so hard not to cry. Not to let him break me. But he always did. Every time.”

I’m bawling now, I’m so fucking ashamed.

I tried so hard to be strong. To beat him at his game. But I never did, not one fucking time.

Cole shifts behind me, and I think he’s going to hit me again. Instead, I feel the warm, smooth, infinitely pleasurable sensation of him sliding his cock inside of me.

My pussy is hot and thrumming, the vibrator still buzzing against my clit. Cole’s cock fills me all the way up, pushing down against the vibrator, giving me that deep, intense pressure I’ve been craving. The vibrations run through my body, into his cock. The oscillation is inside and outside of me, back and forth.

I sob again, but this time from pleasure and relief.

Slowly, gently, Cole begins to thrust.

I can’t move my hips. I can only squeeze around him, clenching him tight with every thrust.

The vibrator has engorged my pussy all the way along its length, all the way around the opening. I can feel every millimeter, every part of me that grips him, every part of me stroked by him. His cock rubs the inside while the vibrator buzzes on the outside, creating a friction so intense, so pleasurable that I’m crying again, tears of joy this time, from this sensation I can hardly stand.

I start to cum, my pussy clenching and twitching around his cock, his weight pressing me down against the vibrator.

“Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop,” I beg him.

He doesn’t stop until the orgasm is over. Then he pulls his cock free, sitting back again, his ass against my thighs, my pussy still spasming.

I’m a fucking mess. I’m glad my face is pressed against the table so he can’t see the tears and mascara smeared everywhere.

Gently, but with deep, soothing pressure, Cole begins to massage my ass cheeks. Soothing the pain. Soothing the spanking.

“It’s alright,” he says, his voice low and caressing. “It’s going to be okay.”

I press my cheek against the tabletop, my face crumpling.

He draws back his hand and spanks me again, but this time it’s lighter. With the vibrator pushed against me, buzzing and thrumming, sending pleasure waves through my body, the slap doesn’t really hurt. In fact, it almost feels pleasant.

Smack!

Smack!

Smack!

He’s spanking me in time with the beat.

The slaps don’t frighten me anymore. I know when to expect them. Instead of hurting me, they feel satisfying: deep itch finally scratched.

SMACK!

SMACK!

SMACK!

He’s ramping up the intensity, but it still doesn’t hurt, because the pleasure of the vibrator drowns it out. My ass is throbbing, probably bright red, all the blood rushing to the surface of the skin. It becomes more sensitive with every slap. But the pain stays even with the pleasure, a carefully balanced combination like watermelon and salt.

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