Revenge, Pt 12: The Aftercare

Chapter 12

I blinked a few times, laid out on her body, not entirely sure if I’d been conscious this whole time. I’d finally had my release, and it was like waking up from a trance. I slowly shifted back onto my knees and tried to get a grasp of my situation. The emotion had vanished as suddenly as it had come, leaving only cold, tired logic behind.

I was panting, I realised. Almost hyperventilating, in fact. My whole torso was shaking with every breath. I hadn’t been this physically exhausted since… I couldn’t even remember. Vague images of a particularly brutal gym class as a kid sprang to mind, although the details evaded me. I ran my fingers through my hair, realising that I was sweating too. I was drenched with my own sweat and barely able to breath.

It goes without saying that my cock was engulfed in a constant, dull ache, and was hanging limp and utterly lifeless.

I looked at Jessica. She was in a similar state to me, seeming completely exhausted, her hair a complete mess and her body covered in a light sheen of sweat.

“Jessica.” I croaked.

I cleared my throat and reached out to her.

“Jessica.” I said, louder.

I touched her shoulder and she turned towards me. She stared at me with glazed, unfocused eyes. I knew that look.

I sank forwards, letting myself collapse beside her. She pressed her head against my chest and inhaled shakily through her mouth, not saying a word.

She was in a trance of her own. Using only my cock I’d made her submit to me, helped her find that state of mind that she craved, driving every worried thought and stress from her head and replacing it with pure physical sensation.

For a while we just lay there, breathing heavily and trying to recover. The air was thick with the smell of sex, and I found it oddly pleasing. The smell of her sweat, of her hair, of her womanhood. It reminded me of her in a very visceral way. I pressed my nose against her head and inhaled deeply. I wrapped my arms around her and pulled her tight against me, gently running my fingers into her hair.

I felt myself drifting off when she suddenly let out a sob, and I realised she was coming down from her submissive high. She started to cry, and all I could think to do was hold her. I comforted her, after being the one to hurt her in the first place, the contrast of these actions still confusing me on some level.

“Good girl.” I whispered, kissing her head.

Her breathing slowly settled and I felt her relax completely against my body. I closed my eyes and just held her. Her breathing was laboured and she’d still sob occasionally, but I knew she’d be asleep soon. She always got tired after being dominated.

Using the last dregs of my conscious effort, I leaned over and set my alarm for one hour away, flicked off my lamp, and fell into a deep and restful sleep.

==

I blinked, and suddenly the harsh blare of my alarm was waking me an hour later.

I quickly reached over Jessica to shut it off, realising we’d drifted apart in our sleep, and now she had her back to me.

I lay back and closed my eyes, then forced myself to open them again, yawning loudly. My thoughts were slow and wandering, as if I was still dreaming. It was so tempting just to ignore everything and keep sleeping. I sighed and sat up, struggling back to full consciousness. Moving made me realise that my cock still had that strange, tired pain. I hoped I hadn’t accidentally broken it, or something.

Jessica had woken up too, and had turned to face me.

“Hey.” I said.

“Hey.” she said quietly.

She was just watching me.

“Are you… alright?” I asked, rubbing my eyes.

She nodded, but her expression was still serious. She had turned towards me, but seemed to shrink away.

“Come here.” I said impulsively.

I reached out to her shoulder and guided her into my arms. I’d forgotten for a second that I’d accidentally managed to dominate her, losing control of myself in the process.

“Do you feel ok?” I asked, as she let her body rest against mine. “I was… pretty hard on you.”

“Pretty hard on me.” she echoed, smiling.

We both laughed quietly at her immature pun.

“I’m fine.” she answered. “I mean, I’m kind of thirsty… and my pussy feels like a train drove through it, but apart from that…”

I laughed again. Her smile faded into a look of awe.

“I’ve never seen you like that.” she said quietly.

“I’ve never felt like that.” I admitted. “That…uh, that fourth one…”

I remembered the wild, animal ferocity I’d attacked her with, just pinning her and using her body to abate my lust, the mind-numbing level of Dominance I’d managed to reach.

“Jesus…” I swore quietly, amazed at how intense it had felt.

“Yeah it was… pretty incredible…” she sighed, a wistful smile on her face.

I couldn’t believe she was smiling. Thinking back, I realised how dangerous that had been. I’d covered her mouth and pinned her down. If she’d wanted to stop, she had no way of telling me. Would I even have noticed if she’d tried to struggle? I doubted it. I’d have to be more careful with that in future. I’d never expected to come close to losing myself, but now that I knew it was a possibility, I’d be ready for it.

I had to be able to control myself at all times. Despite how my complicated feelings for Jessica, I would never do something to her against her will. Even the most brutal and violent of our sessions had come with her consent, and they always would. Except for that one time with the belt…

I remembered the first time I truly lost control with her and sighed, feeling the shame wash over me. I really had to get my shit together, this wouldn’t work otherwise. I couldn’t help but think I’d gotten incredibly lucky. If she’d been anyone else, some other woman, she may have wanted to stop but been unable to. She might have ended up a victim.

But not Jessica. Lucky for the both of us.

“I’m sorry for crying.” Jessica said, derailing my train of thought. “It’s stupid, it just feels kind of… overwhelming sometimes.”

Jesus. I’m worried about almost raping her, and she’s sorry that she cried about it?

“It’s alright.” I said lightly, stroking her hair.

She sighed with frustration.

“It’s not alright, it’s stupid.” she said, “I’m 18 years old and I can’t even have sex without blubbering all over myself and… clinging to you like a child. It’s pathetic and-“

“Calm down.” I interrupted sternly.

My sudden gravity startled her. She looked so vulnerable.

“Look, sex can be… emotional.” I explained gently, “Especially sex like that. Afterwards, it’s understandable if you need to… release some of that emotion. And it’s… ok.”

I wasn’t explaining this very well.

“It’s just… ok.” I repeated, my voice more firm, “Given everything I do to you, I don’t mind cuddling with you afterwards. Just cry if you need to, in future. Don’t worry about it.”

“Thanks.” she almost whispered.

She went quiet for a few seconds.

“I still can’t believe you licked my pussy.” she said, as if she’d just remembered it.

I laughed gently. She rested her head against my chest and I started to stroke her hair again. I felt the pull of sleep sapping away my concentration.

“Hey… can we talk?” she asked.

“About what?” I sighed.

“A few things, actually.” she said nervously, “I thought about a lot of things while I was away… well, actually I thought about you a lot while I was away…and I sort of… realised a few things.”

“Like that I might like to have my balls licked?” I asked, remembering what she’d said before she tried it out.

She laughed lightly.

“Yeah, that was one of the things.” she said, “But there were a few things that I… I mean, it’s kind of hard to… to verbalize… and I guess…”

“Just talk.” I said sternly. It was getting harder to resist sleep, and I didn’t have a problem with listening to her, but I wouldn’t sit and endure her dancing around it. “Just say what you want to say.”

“Ok… well, one thing I realised is that I really like calling you ‘Sir’.” she said, “I know it’s weird, but it just feels right, you know? Like, that’s how I think of you now. When I’m thinking about you, it’s like… ‘I wonder what Sir’s doing right now.’ or, ‘I wonder if Sir would like to see me in this dress.’ It just feels right…”

I didn’t respond to this, although it was good to hear.

“And I like how you smell.” she said, kissing my chest lightly, “You smell like… well, like sweat, but it reminds me of sex. You smell like fucking. Is that weird?”

That made me smile, because I remembered that I’d been thinking much the same thing about her right before I fell asleep.

“S’not that weird.” I said, stifling another yawn. “What else?”

I was curious about a lot of this stuff, about how our relationship was affecting her. She seemed to mostly happy, but I couldn’t really be sure. Not that her happiness had ever been my first priority.

“Uh, I think there was a few more things. Let me think.” she said, her tone more serious.

I gave her a second, trying not to fall asleep. I was so relaxed, so comfortable.

“I like it when you call me sweetheart.” she said, tracing circles against my chest with her fingertip, “I mean, I’m pretty sure you’re being condescending most of the time, but I still like it.”

I just kept stroking her hair with a gentle rhythm. It was so hard to stay awake at this point, and her hair was so soft and warm. I wanted to just drift off again.

But there was something in her voice that I didn’t like. This was going somewhere, I felt. One of her little revelations wasn’t going to be something I’d want to hear. Or maybe something she didn’t want to say.

I didn’t know where the knowledge came from, but I was suddenly sure of it. She was hiding something.

“What else?” I said.

“Um…I like when you…when you pet my hair like this.” she said nervously, “But I also like it when you try to yank it out of my scalp, so…”

I stopped petting her. That sounded like something she’d just thought of on the spot. She was avoiding something, and I didn’t like it.

“What else?” I said, looking down at her.

She avoided my eye.

“Look, I gave you a hickey.” she said, smiling.

I looked down at my chest, near my collar bone, and found that she had.

“Oh yeah,” I said, rubbing my finger along the mark, “You bit me there when you came.”

“Sorry.” she said, but her wide grin made me doubt that she meant it.

I smiled at her, and for a small moment everything was good.

But then her expression shifted, and she looked away again.

“What is it?” I asked automatically, immediately uncertain if I even wanted to know.

“Nothing.” she said, forcing a smile.

I sighed. I didn’t even know what I wanted any more. Did I want her to share herself with me, or just to shut up and deal with it on her own? I frowned, wishing yet again that we didn’t have the history that we had, wishing that things were simpler.

But now that I’d seen that expression, I couldn’t just ignore it.

“Was that a lie?” I asked.

She looked shocked and opened her mouth to protest, but after a few seconds closed it and looked down sadly.

“Yes.” she said.

She rested her cheek against my chest, not looking at me. I gave her a few seconds of silence. We both knew that it was coming, whatever it was.

“Say it.” I ordered eventually.

“Do you still hate me?” she asked quickly.

She didn’t sound angry when she asked this. She didn’t sound accusing either, or offended.

She sounded tired.

And I immediately knew the answer. Despite everything we’d been through in the past few months… despite everything… I still couldn’t let go of all that had happened before. I found my mind wandering to a few key incidences, things I’d tried hard to forget.

Things she’d done that had gone beyond mockery and taunting..

And the one time even she knew that she’d crossed the line, when her senseless cruelty reached its peak.

How can you just let things like that go? Even if it meant losing what we had now, whatever that was, how could I just forget?

So, did I still hate her? Honestly?

“Yes.” I said, after a pause but she didn’t seem to notice.

She didn’t react at first. I think she knew it was coming.

“Ok.” she said in a small, broken voice. “I can live with that, I think. I don’t need you to care about me.”

I had no response to this. I wasn’t expecting it.

“I always tell you that I love you… ” she said, “And I only keep saying it because I keep finding new reasons for it to be true… but you’ve never said it back. It used to bother me, but when I was away I realised that I don’t need you to say it back. I don’t need you to love me. As long as I’m… as long as I’m yours.”

She slid her arms down my sides and lifted herself up. She leaned closer to me, and lowered her voice even more.

“And I don’t care what other girls you sleep with… or if you want to date Becky, or anyone else. I don’t care if you want to get a real girlfriend and go on actual dates.” she said, her voice getting heavy with emotion. “Because you don’t belong to me… I belong to you. And as long as that’s still true, then everything else is just… inconsequential.”

She bit her lip, then leaned forward to kiss me, but when she got close I gripped her jaw and held her in place.

“Do you really mean that?” I asked.

She tried to nod, but couldn’t move her head.
“Yes.” she said. “Yes Sir.”

I frowned. I didn’t even know what to think about this. This should have made me happy, but it sounded like she was giving up. Giving up on the idea that I would ever make her my girlfriend, that I’d ever treat her as an equal. She was submitting to me once again, but it sounded like it was breaking her heart.

She pulled away, and lay down against me again.

“I know it’s…ugh, it’s pathetic, but it’s how I feel.” she said, equal parts sadness and self-loathing. “This doesn’t have to be anything more than… whatever it is. I don’t blame you for feeling like that. We’ve never talked about it, but we both know I more than deserve it. I can’t expect you to forgive me.”

This should have been music to my ears, but I couldn’t handle any more of this, of her shame and self-hatred. I had no power to change how I felt about her, but I still wanted to help. For some stupid, nonsensical reason, I didn’t want the woman I hated to hate herself too.

“It’s not pathetic.” I said.

She laughed disdainfully.

“No, it kinda is. I’m just telling a guy that I don’t care if he loves me or not, and that I just want to keep having sex with him.” she said, as if explaining it to a child, “I’m a slut.”

The derision in her voice when she said the word “slut” surprised me.

“That’s not real though. You only think that because of… you know, cultural stuff.” I said.

“What?” she asked.

I frowned at my choice of words, and tried to martial my weary thoughts into something more coherent.

“Look… we live in a culture that tells women that love is the most important thing in the world. The idea is that men put up with romance in exchange for sex, and that women do the opposite.” I said, “You, as a woman, are taught that actually wanting sex is wrong, and shameful, yet it’s perfectly fine for me to want it because I’m a man.”

“Well, yeah.” she said dismissively, “That’s the double standard.”

I sighed and sat up, trying to delay my need for sleep. She moved with me until she was sitting across my lap. I pulled the blanket around us and settled in.

“Exactly.” I said, “It’s a double standard. The problem is that for some reason you still believe it.”

She cocked her head at me, seeming genuinely curious.

“What do you mean?”

“You don’t have to let other people tell you what to feel.” I said, “If you recognise that the shame you’re feeling is nothing more than the result of an illogical, bullshit rule, then you should be able to understand that the shame itself is illogical… and bullshit.”

“It’s not really that simple…” she said, frowning.

“But it is.” I said, “We’re all taught that what our society says is right or wrong is so God damned important, but the thing is that our society is almost always wrong about things like this.”

“You’re saying the basic morality of our society is just wrong?” she challenged.

“When it comes to women and sex, yes.” I said. “Women used to be considered basically the property of their husbands. You couldn’t even vote until like a hundred years ago for fuck’s sake. Western culture doesn’t know shit about what is or isn’t good behaviour when it comes to women. It’s all just patch-work bullshit made up of outdated moralities and sloppy adjustments to rapid cultural changes.”

I shook my head, realising I was getting off topic.

“The point is, when it comes to sex, you and I basically grew up in two completely different countries.” I said, “As a man, our culture taught me that sex is something I should look forward to, and have lots of when I’m an adult, whereas you were taught that it’s something to be feared, something you have to avoid as much as you can or else be seen as a slut.”

“But I am a slut.” she said, angrily. “I come over here whenever I can knowing that you’re going to fuck me. I’m a horny, disgusting slut.”

Her words surprised me, and confused me. My views on sex, just like with most things I knew at that point, were based on what I’d read on the internet. The people I’d talked to, and the things I’d read there had really influenced my personal morality.

To me, the idea that sex between two consenting adults could be considered shameful in any way was as archaic as the idea that we should be waiting until marriage, or that a woman’s place was at home with the kids while the man has to work. Just old, obviously outdated notions.

I’d never felt a single trace of guilt towards my activities Jessica. I mean, guilt about whether or not I was dominating her properly, or hurting her too much, yes. Guilt about keeping it from my sister, yes. Guilt about having to ignore Jessica’s love for me because I didn’t feel the same way… yeah.

But never about the actual sex.

Jessica seemed to have guilt over even having sex at all, or enjoying it.

It suddenly dawned on me that Jessica and I had incredibly different views about what we were doing. She was so repressed when it came to sex. This is something I already knew in a sense, but for some reason I’d never considered exactly how it might affect her.

“What I’m trying to say is that when I call you a slut, I don’t necessarily mean it in a bad way.” I said. “There’s nothing wrong with liking sex. You don’t have to be ashamed of it.”

“I can’t really help it.” she said quietly.

“Well… try.” I said uselessly. “You don’t have to let other people’s labels matter to you. Sex isn’t something to be ashamed of. “

There was a thoughtful silence. I lay down again, carrying her with me. I found myself noticing how much I loved the feeling of her body against mine, her soft heat enveloping me.

“Culture…” she said thoughtfully. “I’ve never heard you talk like this before. About culture, and society. Are you interested in that kind of stuff?”

“Uh, I was for a while.” I said, closing my eyes, glad we’d moved away from the heavier topics. “I used to read about it a lot.”

“For school?” she asked.

“Nah, I was just interested in it.”

“Not anymore?” she asked.

“Well sometimes, but it’s not what I’ve been reading recently.”

“What have you been reading recently, then?” she asked.

I yawned loudly, and shifted to get more comfortable.

“Umm… well last night I was reading about Astrology.” I said, “And about how horoscopes and stuff like that are usually just vague general statements that most people can relate to.”

“Really?” she said.

“Yeah, they’re called Barnum statements… like, people will read these sentences and claim that they’re designed for them personally, when they’re actually just generic descriptions of personality traits and vague events that everyone experiences to some extent. Called the Forer effect, I think.”

I yawned again.

“From there I clicked on a link about… Cold Reading, which is a technique fake psychics use to-“

I suddenly opened my eyes, realising I was just rambling about random crap I’d read online. I shook my head slightly, fighting off the fog of sleep.

“Why are we talking about this?” I said, mostly to myself.

“That’s really cool.” she said, sounding excited, “So you just read about all this different stuff?”

“Um…pretty much.” I answered.

“Cool.” she said again, “You know, you’re smarter than I thought.”

The was a slight pause as we both thought about her last comment.

I suddenly felt her stiffen in fear, and she let out an odd squeak.

“I… I didn’t mean-” she started.

“Relax.” I interrupted. “I’ve known you long enough to know when you’re being deliberately insulting.”

“Sorry.” she half whispered. “I just meant… you’re so quiet… it’s good to hear you actually talking about something you’re interested in.”

“Hm.”, was all I responded with.

“Is that really how you think about things?” she asked thoughtfully.

“Is what how I think about things?” I asked.

“Like… like you don’t care what anyone else thinks?”

Did I say that? I couldn’t remember…

“Mostly.” I answered, “I just try to focus on what I think about myself, what I know about myself. I don’t need validation from anyone else, you know? Or… that’s the idea, at least.”

“Hm.” she responded. “You’re a lot smarter than I thought.”

She said this with a such a thoughtful tone. For some reason I started to panic.

What was I doing? Telling her about my interests, my opinions, my fucking feelings? Jessica was not my girlfriend. Why was she even still here?

I was suddenly angry at myself for talking to her at all. I didn’t have to share anything with her. She’d spent years hating me, who the fuck was she to suddenly start caring about me?

“Alright, it’s time to go.” I said.

“Right now?” she asked.

“Right now.” I said, forcing my voice to be cold and uncaring.

“Ok.” she sighed, although there was humour in her voice.

She sat up and paused for a few seconds before she leaned in for a kiss. I gripped her face hard, stopping her. She smiled. Why was she smiling? I lead her closer to me, bringing her lips so close to mine. She kept her eyes open, and didn’t try to lean in any further. She just waited.

I thought about kissing her, her lips on mine, exploring each other’s mouths in that intimate and pleasurable way.

“Go.” I said, releasing her.

She smirked and leaned in to kiss me again, slowly, hesitantly.

I allowed her lips to softly brush mine, and then I slapped her face. She squeaked with surprise and pain.

“You don’t kiss me.” I said. I’d thought this rule was clear already. “If you want a kiss, you beg for it, understand?”

“Yes Sir.” she said quickly, holding her cheek.

Why the fuck was she still smiling?

“Will you please kiss me, Sir?” she asked sweetly.

“No.” I said sternly.

She nodded once, still with that stupid knowing smirk on her face, and then slid out my bed

She picked up her lingerie, and then paused. She turned with her mouth open, as if to say something. She seemed to reconsider, closing her mouth and shaking her head.

And then reconsidered again.

“Thank you, Sir.” she said.

“No problem.” I said turning away from her, once again unsure about what exactly she was thanking me for.

“Goodnight.” she sang happily.

I didn’t answer.

I waited until the door was closed before I let out the breath I’d been holding.

Something about all this was making me uncomfortable. The way she smiled at me, like she could see something I couldn’t. And why was I blushing?

“Wow, you’re a lot smarter than I thought!” I mocked aloud, mimicking her voice.

I scoffed gently. I pulled my blanket around my shoulders and tried to fall asleep, willing all that fatigue that I’d barely been holding back to sweep me away. My last thoughts were of the future. The toys I’d bought, and how exactly I would use them.

My fantasies drifted into my dreams, and my head was filled with nothing but Jessica, all her different faces, all the ways I knew her.

Jessica the Valedictorian, the future Law Student.

Jessica the Good Daughter.

Jessica the Best Friend.

Jessica the Bitch.

Jessica the Slut.

My Jessica.

Mine.

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Any fans, well wishers, or if you just have any questions, suggestions or the like……oh and girls wanting to be a sub, kik me @ kendean1

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