Page 71 of Surrender

“I am being aggressive,” Cristiano says, coming around so he can kiss the top of my head. “I’m being cruel, just not in the way you want. I want my boy to know he’s safe, and valued, and good. For me, and for no one else.”

My chest tightens and I pull my limbs as close to myself as I can—which isn’t very, because he didn’t give me any slack with the chains.

I hate how just those few words are threatening to make me cry. I don’t want to cry. I’m not a fucking weakling, and I don’t need kind words.

“Being nice isn’t being cruel,” I complain, although my voice wobbles. “And you’re so full of shit. I’m not… I’m not good.”

“Isn’t it? You’re close to tears because I’m being nice. It’s cruelty all the same, isn’t it? You get off on me being mean to you. You think you’re worthless, but you aren’t, and I’m damn sure never going to let you think you are again. Even if that means pushing you as far as you can go,” Cristiano tells me.

“Please just hit me,” I beg. I should have realized he’d want to do something like this. I thought he wasn’t going to anymore. He held off on saying these awful words the last few times we’d fucked. I squeeze my eyes shut and try not to think about how my stomach is fluttering.

Cristiano obliges me, and his hand comes down hard on my ass. “There. I hit you. Does that hurt more or less than me calling you a good boy, my Fox?”

The pain is good, spreading out across my ass and distracting me from everything else. I want to ignore his question, but… “Less, Daddy,” I admit, biting my lip.

“Do you see now? I’m teaching you to withstand pain—pain from a loved one, because that’s what you are to me. I don’t know how you’ve managed to get inside this heart of mine, but…” Cristiano sighs, then spanks my other ass cheek, even harder.

How I’ve managed? That’s my line. How the fuck did Cristiano get me to care about him, when I’ve lived my entire life not caring about anyone, not even myself?

I raise my ass for more pain, which is still preferable to the words that are making my thoughts jumble and my heart tighten.

“Tell me, Fox,” he says. “Tell me you’re mine.”

“I’m yours, Daddy,” I agree. I’ve never belonged to anyone more than I’ve belonged to him.

“Now tell me you’re Daddy’s good boy,” he commands, emphasizing the words with another slap to my ass.

Fuck. I don’t want to. I shake my head and bite my lip. “Please don’t make me, Daddy,” I say hoarsely. “I… I can’t.”

“You can,” he says, his voice steely. “You can, and you will. Say the words, Fox. Tell me you’ll do anything your daddy wants you to do. Tell me you’re Daddy’s good boy.” No smack to my ass this time, just that grim order in his tone.

I sob, wishing he’d just give me the pain that I crave. “You’ll hit me if I do?” I ask—beg.

“I’ll whip you, my little fox,” Cristiano says. “I’ll give you so much. But you have to say those words.”

The promise of those lashes is enticing, but it still takes me another few breaths before I can whisper those awful words. “I’m… I’m… I’m Daddy’s good boy. I’m… your good boy.”

Fuck. I start sniffling, and my eyes blur. Why does it hurt so much to say it? I know it’s all lies.

But what if he actually believes it?

“You are,” Cristiano says, his voice quiet. “You are Daddy’s good boy. And you’re going to take your whipping like a good boy, too.” He retreats, and he rustles through an armoire. I crane my neck to see what he’s holding, and it’s a well-worn looking flogger. “Is this what you want, Fox?”

I nod quickly, and sag into my bonds in relief. Pain will take it all away. All I’ll have to do is feel.

The first lash is light, controlled, and he murmurs, “Tell me again, Fox. You know what I want to hear. So tell me.”

Fuck. That light strike isn’t enough. I want to protest, to shake my head, but I need the pain so much. “I’m… your good boy,” I mumble hurriedly, blinking hard to stave off the tears.

“Yes, you are,” he says again, then the flogger comes down again, its tails spreading across my ass cheeks. This time it’s harder, and I hope he continues, but he pauses again. “Tell me,” he orders. “After every strike, tell me you’re my good boy.”

I don’t want to. I just want to take the pain, and I almost resent him for insisting on this. We could both simply be getting off without any of this.

Cristiano reaches out to touch the small of my back. “It gets me so hard, hearing you say those words. Knowing how difficult they are for you, but you’re doing it for Daddy. You want to please me, don’t you?”

I sob and nod. Yes, I want him to be happy. Yes, I want to give him everything. He saved me, and all he wants in return are some stupid words. I can give him this.

I can surrender to him.

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