The Dom of My Dreams: A BDSM Novel (34 page)

He growled, grabbed my elbow roughly and forced me down over Mitch’s knees.
 
I squirmed and wiggled on top of Mitch, and felt his penis grow hard as I moved over him.
 
I rested my head against the leather couch, steeling myself for the inevitable blows.
 
My buttocks clenched when I felt Seton’s hands on my underwear.
 
He moved the g-string out of the way, lowering it so that it reached my thighs.
 
I glanced over my shoulder at Mitch.
 
He just sat there, his arms stretched out on either side of him.
 
He was staring up at Seton, awaiting his command.
 
Hmm.
 
He and Seton had obviously planned all of this beforehand.
 
Everything seemed too choreographed for my taste.
 
Sighing, I braced myself for the impending pain.

Seton smoothed a hand over my cleft, tracing it gently with the tip of his finger.
 
I clenched my buttocks in readiness for the blows, ignoring the wave of arousal coursing through me.

“It’s all right, darling,” Seton said soothingly, and I felt him crouch in front of me, leaning over my ass.
 
“Just relax.
 
Don’t be afraid.
 
I would never harm you, my pet.”

He kissed my buttocks—first one cheek, then the other.
 
Then he palmed the cheeks and parted them slightly.
 
I felt his tongue trace a slow, hot path over the cleft.
 
His teeth grazed the slit, nipping lightly.

I gasped in surprise and wiggled underneath him.
 

He chuckled softly as he spread my cheeks farther apart, his wet tongue sliding between them, its tip reaching the ring of my anus.
 
He probed me gently, yet masterfully, and I couldn’t help moaning at the tingling sensations flaring through me.
 
My hips bucked up as if in their own volition.

“You like that, my pet?” he asked, his breath warm against my buttocks.
 

I moaned in response and glanced over at Mitch through half-closed eyes.
 
He was watching me, assessing my reaction, desire written all over his boyish face.
 
I smiled sultrily at him as Seton’s fingers reached beneath me, moving down to my clitoris.
 
He flicked the sensitive nub using his thumb and forefinger while he blew a hot breath inside my anus, forcing a shiver out of me.
 

“She’s wet,” Mitch pointed out, voice thick.
 

“Yes,” Seton agreed just moments before he curled his tongue inside my anus, flicking it in and out in a hard, stabbing motion.
 

I gasped and thrust my hips toward his scintillating ministrations.
 
His body shook above me, laughing.
 

“My wanton pet,” he murmured affectionately.

Finally, my buttocks unclenched, tension leaving my body.
 
I closed my eyes and let out a breathy moan.
 
Seton’s fingers continued to move up and down my clit while his clever tongue laved at my anus.
 
I sighed, stretched and relaxed.

Suddenly, he ceased his ministrations and stepped away from me.
 
I twisted myself slightly and glanced up at him.
 
He’d straightened up, his gaze meeting mine.
 
Desperate, I thrust my hips upward in invitation.
 

“Don’t stop, Sir,” I whimpered.
 
“Please!”

“I have to, my pet.
 
We’ll continue later, I promise.”
 
He leaned forward and brushed a soft kiss across my lips.
 
“Now it’s time to punish you.”

No sooner had his words registered in my lust-filled head than he turned to Mitch and barked out, “Now!”

Mitch’s palm landed on my buttocks with a loud smack.
 
I cried out, more from surprise than from pain.
 
I squirmed on his lap and tried to move away, but Seton held me down against the couch, his hand pressed tight against the small of my back.
 

“Again,” he thundered at Mitch.
 
“Spank her hard!
 
And don’t stop until I say!”

Mitch struck me again, a little harder this time.
 
His hand landed four more times in quick succession.
 

“Spank her,” Seton ordered hoarsely.
 
“Spank that ass!”

The spanks became constant, one right after the other, and they gave me no time to catch my breath.
 
Mitch had seemed reluctant and somewhat doubtful at first, but as he continued to strike me, he got more and more into it.
 
The blows weren’t painful per se, but they made me uncomfortable.
 
I kicked out my legs and wiggled on Mitch’s lap, begging him to stop.

“Don’t try to resist, darling,” Seton whispered near my ear.
 
“Just go with it.
 
This is what you’ve wanted, hasn’t it?”

Several more blows landed on my sensitive flesh.
 
I resolved to lie there, helpless, waiting for the spanking to come to an end.
 
It would have to eventually.

“You’re not doing it right,” Seton complained, frowning.
 
“She’s practically falling asleep on your lap.
 
Here, let me do it.”

Before I could react, Seton curled his hands around my waist and whisked me away from Mitch’s lap.
 
He sat at the other end of the couch and brought me down over his knees.
 
The movement was so swift that it gave me no time to offer resistance.
 

“Now, Mr. Briars, watch and learn.”
 
There was a hint of amusement in his velvety-smooth voice.
 
“This is how you discipline someone.
 
Ready, darling?”

He gave me a sharp smack across my buttock, and I yelled in pain and shock.
 
A flurry of slaps soon followed.
 
His blows were far more intense than Mitch’s, more forceful and severe.
 
They seared my flesh with each strike.
 
They hurt horrendously and a muffled groan escaped me, tears welling in my eyes.
 
I thought of struggling, but I was wary of Seton’s reaction.
 
So I lay there, rigid, screaming as he continued to spank me.
 

And then, before I could prevent it, the tears trickled down my face.
 
I squeezed my eyes shut and bit my bottom lip hard, preventing a sob from escaping.
 
Though it hurt, I wasn’t crying over the physical pain.
 
The physical pain hadn’t gotten in the way of the heartbreak that whirled inside my heart.

I had, for the past several weeks, suppressed my feelings, refusing to weep whenever tears threatened to come out.
 
And now, as I sprawled across Seton’s knees, surrendering to his merciless blows, I finally let it all out.
 
Years and years of avoiding intimacy with men, probably hurting them in the process, had come back to haunt me as my heart yearned for the unobtainable—the love of a man who only wanted me for his personal amusement.
 
A man who thought I wanted his dick and nothing more.
 
I wished that was all I wanted.
 
But the more I fought against my feelings, the more I longed for him.
 
My desire for Seton burned, his aloofness ached, and the fear of losing him hurt.
 
In some twisted way, I knew I deserved this punishment and derived a certain pleasure from it.
 
This was karma, a way of making me pay for my own aloofness and coldness toward men.
 
Unable to help it, a sob escaped, and it sounded as if my heart had been ripped open.

Seton’s body stiffened for a moment, and the blows came to an abrupt end.
 
Gently, he slid my thong up my hips—carefully avoiding my scorching buttocks—then turned me over and hoisted me up, setting me gingerly over his lap.
 
I clutched the lapels of his suede jacket and flinched as my tingling, stinging bottom scraped against the rough fabric of his jeans.
 

His breath felt warm against my skin as he brushed a kiss across my tear-stained cheeks.
 
I glanced up at him and our eyes met for a moment.
 
His face was full of genuine concern.
 
“Are you all right, darling?” he asked worriedly.

I said nothing, just buried my face in his shirt and cried in earnest, my shoulders shaking with each hiccupping sob.
 
Seton let me cry and wrapped his arms around me, his lips nuzzling against my forehead.
 
My arms tightened around his waist and for a moment I never wanted to let go of him.
 
I felt Mitch shift awkwardly at the other end of the sofa, but I didn’t care at that moment if he or the whole world saw me in this vulnerable, pathetic state.
 
I wanted, needed to vent, to let out what seemed to be a lifetime of heartbreak and frustrations holed up deep inside of me.

When my crying subsided, Seton cupped his hand underneath my chin, lifting my face.
 
His lips grazed mine lightly, his thumb stroking away the tears on my cheeks.
 
“I’m sorry if I was too rough,” he said, voice sincere.
 
“You should have said something, should have used the Safe Word.”

“It wouldn’t have worked,” I croaked.
 
“You wouldn’t have stopped.”

“I would have stopped.
 
Whatever you think of me—however awful that may be—I want to assure you that I’m not a sadist.
 
This thing between us won’t work unless you tell me what you’re really feeling.”
 
He ran a hand across my wet cheek.
 
“You weren’t crying over the spanking, were you?” he whispered in my ear.
 
“You were crying over something else.
 
Something deeper.
 
Tell me everything, darling.
 
You can trust me.”

You want me to tell you that I think I’m falling for you?
 
I don’t think so,
Sir
!

“I have nothing to say to you,” I answered, my voice cold and remote.

A pained expression passed over his features.
 
I looked at him, puzzled.
 
Why was
he
upset?
 
Why was he behaving as if
I
had hurt
him
?
 
My mind whirled with confusion as his hand slid up and down my back, offering me warmth and comfort.
 
My eyes dropped to his shirt, suddenly finding it hard to look into that deep, brooding gaze of his.
 

He sighed and kissed my tear-streaked face.
 
“All right.
 
I’ll wait until you’re ready to open up to me.
 
Now I want to make you feel better.
 
I owe you one, my pet.”

His hand glided between my thighs, his fingertips trailing a languid path until they reached my crotch.
 
The
gusset of my panties clung to the slightly swollen lips of my sex
.
 
He moved it aside to rub on my clit.
 
His hand explored me—teasing me, coaxing me—until my body shuddered fiercely.

“Through it all,” Seton said softly, “you’ve remained wet.
 
Doesn’t that mean something?
 
You actually felt pleasure when I spanked you, didn’t you?”

I said nothing, just stared glumly at his t-shirt and sniffed.

“This is who you are, Marjorie,” he went on.
 
“This is what you’re into.
 
Don’t fight it, darling.”

I leaned my head over his chest again and sighed.
 
He was right, of course.
 
It shamed me to admit that his spankings, though painful, had aroused me in a dark, profound way.
 
They had helped me unleash the feelings I’d had bottled up inside since God only knew when.
 
I sighed again.
 
I enjoyed this kind of treatment, but it meant nothing if they were done by the wrong person.
 
I enjoyed the spanking, rough as it was, but only when they were delivered by
him
—the Dom of my dreams.