Chapter 14
==

The next morning the bedroom door was thrown open, waking me with a start.

“Morning little brother.” Rose said, leaning on the door frame.

Still half asleep, I barely mumbled in response.

“Come on,” she said, walking out. “Jessica made breakfast.”

I got dressed and wandered downstairs to find that she had indeed made breakfast; bacon, eggs, and freshly made waffles. She set down a plate for Rose and I, but not for herself.

“Not hungry?” I asked.

“Oh, she doesn’t eat breakfast.” Rose said, “It makes her sick.”

I looked at Jessica curiously.

“Yeah, I can’t really eat first thing in the morning.” she explained, “It always makes me nauseated unless I’ve been up for a few hours. This is all I need.”

She held up her coffee cup.

“Hm.” I said, picking up my fork.

“See, you guys are learning all kinds of stuff about each other.” said Rose.

I rolled my eyes at her, and she laughed.

I ate my breakfast quickly, trying not to feel Jessica’s eyes on me. I kept thinking about the last time she’d cooked for me, and how happy it seemed to make her.

“So are we going home then?” I asked Rose.

“No, we’re staying today too.” she said. “If you want.” she added.

“Just the three of us?” I asked.

“Yep, parents are gone for the whole weekend. They’re both ‘on business trips’.” Jessica answered, her voice dripping with disdain, “As if I don’t know what they’re really up to.”

I smiled at this. It was strangely comforting to hear that Bob and Alice were on some kind of romantic weekend together, which is what I assumed she meant.

But there was a sudden lull in the conversation, and Rose was looking at me strangely. She looked guilty.

“What are they really doing?” I asked her, seeing she was hiding something.

She just shrugged, and looked away. What a bad liar.

“They’re cheating on each other.” Jessica said.

I thought she was joking until Rose looked up sharply. She already knew, but I could tell she was surprised Jessica had told me.

“Are you serious?” I said, “No way.”

Bob and Alice had been a part of my life since I was a kid; they were closer to me than most of my own family. But Jessica definitely wasn’t joking.

“Yeah,” Jessica continued casually, “They think I don’t know, but it’s so obvious.”

I was stunned. I didn’t know how to respond.

“We’ve suspected it for a few years.” explained Rose, “They’re not even that subtle about it anymore. I mean, what did you think Uncle Bob was up to while we were in Paris with Auntie Alice?”

I shook my head.

“Never really thought about it.” I said, keeping my expression neutral.

“Wow, you’re taking this a lot better than your sister did.” Jessica said. “She cried when she thought they were going to get a divorce.”

“You think that’s where it’s going?” I asked her, meeting her eye.

“I… I don’t think so.” she said. “They hardly fight any more. They used to get in to huge arguments about it when I was a kid, but I think now they’ve just decided to lean in to it. They cheat on each other, and then they’re happy when they’re together. It works.”

She shrugged, and went back to her food. My first instinct was to ask for some sort of proof, but I ignored it. Jessica was smarter than me, and they were her parents. If she was certain that this was happening, what choice did I have but to believe her?

“Shit.” I said, still stunned. This was a lot to process.

“It’s not that bad, really.” Rose said, as if still trying to convince herself, “I mean, they’re both happy like this, right?”

“Right.” Jessica agreed, her tone sharp.

This bothered her, but this wasn’t really the time and place to talk about it. Or was it? I found myself wishing Jessica and I were alone so I could ask her how she felt, but why would she have to hide that from Rose? She knew her better than I did, probably.

“Well, at least someone in the house is getting laid.” Rose said, looking pointedly at Jessica.

I laughed despite myself, and so did Jessica. Rose had a knack for diffusing tense situations that I’d often envied. She could make people feel so at ease, even with an atmosphere like this.

After breakfast Rose decided that we were staying the whole day, and overnight again, and the two of us walked home so I could shower and get a change of clothes.

On the way back she steered the conversation back to me and Jessica, although I was still trying to process the bombshell that had just been dropped.

“So you had fun with Jessica, then?” she asked, not too subtly.

I sighed.

“Why does it matter so much to you?” I asked.

“It… it just matters.” she said. “I want you two to be close.”

“What, are you trying to set us up or something?” I asked bitterly.

She laughed loudly.

“No, no. Jesus, don’t be ridiculous.” she said. “I mean, you’re not exactly her type.”

I let out a breath of relief. This thought had been swirling around for a while, but I wasn’t sure how to ask her. I still wasn’t close to ready for Rose to be involved with this, and her trying to secretly get us together would just complicate things.

“No, I just want you to be friends.” she said, “Not just my friends, you know? Like, friends with each other.”

“I get it.” I said.

“So,” she continued, “We’ll hang out today, all of us, but I’m going to leave again, and you and Jessica can watch some movies or something, get some dinner. Just… just hang out with each other.”

What she was describing sounded a lot like a romantic night in, but I guess Jessica was so beautiful and I was so overwhelmingly plain that she couldn’t even consider that something might happen between us. She was just too out of my league.

I would have been really offended if it wasn’t so accurate. Also all the sex we’d been having sort of took the sting out of it.

“Ok?” she asked.

“Ok.” I said, “I’ll do what I can.”

==

The rest of the day should have been easy. We just watched TV and talked, but I couldn’t shake the tension I felt in my stomach. Rose was being even more obvious now, trying to encourage us to talk to each other and laughing a little too loudly at the jokes we made. Or maybe she’d always been doing this and I was just noticing it more.

At around 5, Jessica got up and left the living room with no explanation. She was gone for about 20 minutes when we smelled something delicious.

“Is Jessica… cooking?” I asked.

Rose and I looked towards the hallway, in the direction of the kitchen.

“I don’t know… I thought we were ordering pizza again…” she said.

We shared a look of confusion before we got up to investigate. I followed Rose into the kitchen to find Jessica wearing an apron, chopping vegetables.

“Wow Jessie, I’ve never seen you looking so… domestic before.” Rose laughed.

Jessica turned around, looking embarrassed.

“Well, I don’t normally have guests…” she said blushing.

“Smells good.” I said, gesturing towards the oven.

She beamed at me.

“Another 45 minutes.” she said, “You two can go watch TV while I get everything ready.”

Rose and I shared another look before heading back in to the living room.

“I didn’t know Jessica could cook.” I said as we sat back down.

“She can’t really.” Rose said, “Well, she can make a few things, but she’s not as good as me.”

She said this without any trace of arrogance. She was just stating a fact.

“And you’re not as good as me.” I said, mimicking her deadpan tone.

She laughed, and didn’t deny it.

“What happened with that?” she asked, “The cooking thing. You were getting really good!”

Our parents always made sure we knew how to cook a few decent meals, and had been teaching us since our early teens. I’d gotten a bit obsessed with it for a few months when I was around 16. I’d cooked every single meal we ate as a family for weeks on end, trying out a new cooking styles and perfecting my favourite meals.

I shrugged.

“Just got bored with it.” I said, “I mean, once you’ve cooked the perfect steak, what else is there to learn?”

“The perfect steak?” she asked disbelievingly.

“Of course.” I said, continuing my serious tone, “I learned how to mix a steak sauce so delicious that if I ever bottled it, I would be a millionaire. Combined with your preferred preparation of meat, sides, and seasoning, it’s simply impossible to beat.”

This was almost the exact description on the website I’d gotten the sauce recipe from. It really was incredible, by the way, better than any of the many varieties I’d tried from the supermarket. I could never figure out why the cooking blog I’d found it on wasn’t more popular.

“Oh wow,” she said laughing, “That sounds amazing!”

“Yeah, it really is.” I said, finally smiling.

“You should think about cooking again.” she said, “I miss trying out your more… experimental dishes.”

“Maybe I will.” I said.

“And… you used to play guitar too, what happened to that?” she asked.

“Wow.” I said, “What brought that up?”

It had been years since I’d even touched a guitar.

“I was just thinking about it.” she said, “You played, like, every single day for a while.”

“I used to do a lot of things.” I said, “I just get bored, I guess.”

“You were getting good.” she said.

“Always getting good, never actually good.” I joked lightly.

“You could play a whole bunch of songs…” she continued absently.

A memory twitched to the front of my mind from nowhere. I’d been into guitar when I was maybe 12 or 13. I had learned a lot of songs, but at some point Jessica had decided that she didn’t like the sound of guitar. She’d scream at me when I tried to play, or sing over me in an off-key wail just to annoy me. It was when she started barging into my room to demand I stop, because she could apparently hear it from downstairs, that I gave up trying.

I sighed, trying to suppress the long forgotten annoyance. My life was filled with things like that, a thousand little ways that Jessica would make my life just that tiny bit darker.

But to be fair to her, I was never going to be a rock star. Before guitar it was skateboarding, and afterwards I think it was the telescope and long nights trying to make out stars through the light pollution. I had a habit of getting really interested in something for a few months before dropping it. It was like I would find a point where I was decent, good enough to play a few songs perfectly or cook a few perfect meals, then just stop. The mid-point between being a complete novice and being an expert. The problem was that it wasn’t hard to get good, but it took years of dedication to be amazing. And there was just always something more interesting to explore.

I still had that habit. Even the camera I’d gotten as a gift for Christmas was because I’d had a few conversations with my aunt about photography, which I’d been interested in up until just before last Summer.

“Fuuuck!” Rose shouted suddenly, “Talking about that steak made me hungry! How long do you think she’s going to be?”

“Hopefully not too long.” I said, realising that we’d only eaten a few snacks since breakfast.

It wasn’t too long, and soon we were at the table with an aproned Jessica serving us our meal. The talking stopped abruptly as three hungry teenagers tore into their food.

“Meat’s a little dry.” said Rose off-handedly a few minutes in.

Jessica glanced at me, worried, as if she cared more about what I thought. Itwas a little dry, but I was trying to be polite. I just smiled at her and kept eating.

“You cook it next time, then.” Jessica told Rose.

“I will.” Rose answered “And it’ll be awesome. And then Steven can make his perfect steaks, right?”

“Perfect steaks?” asked Jessica, picking up the exaggerated tone.

I just rolled my eyes at them.

“I’m not sure you could handle my steaks.” I said, “It would ruin all other meat for you.”

They laughed, and kept eating.

Dinner was over quickly, and no sooner had Rose laid down her knife and fork than she jumped up and announced she was leaving.

“Got to go, losers.” she said jokingly, walking into the hall.

“You’re just running out again?” Jessica called out to the hall, “Not staying for dessert?”

Rose, now wearing her jacket, stood in the doorway to the kitchen.

“Nope, I’m already late.” she said, smiling.

“Good, ‘cus there’s actually no dessert.” Jessica said.

Rose laughed, and blew Jessica a kiss. She winked at me, then walked out to the front door. Just like yesterday, Jessica and I sat in a silence punctuated only by the sound of Rose driving away.

“Wow, she got out of here in a hurry.” Jessica said, standing up to clear the table.

“She’s just nervous.” I said, “Hasn’t quite mastered a subtle way to leave yet.”

“Nervous?” Jessica asked. “About what?”

“Yeah, she’s obviously nervous. She blew you a kiss for God’s sake, has she ever done that before?” I said. “She’s not confident about this plan, leaving the two of us. She thinks there’s a chance it could backfire, and we would end up at each other’s throats again. She’d been considering just staying for a while, in fact I don’t think she planned to stay for dinner…”

I was just thinking aloud, trying to work through the impressions she’d given me.

“Did she tell you that?” Jessica asked.

“No, it’s just… I don’t know, a feeling. You didn’t notice?” I asked.

Jessica shrugged. She’d finished cleaning the dishes, and she’d moved to stand beside the table. I got the feeling she didn’t want to talk about Rose any more.

“I’ll be right back.” she said.

“Ok.” I said, standing up.

“No!” she said, “Just… wait right there. Wait right there.”

“…Ok?” I said.

I sat back down and waited. She bolted upstairs and came back about ten minutes later.

She’d dressed up for me.

She was wearing something I’d never seen before, a yellow piece of lingerie that I would later learn is called a “babydoll”, a thin gown that left virtually nothing to the imagination. It was similar to the black one she’d worn on our first night after New Year’s, but this one was frillier, and obviously much brighter. She’d put on more make up too, her eye lightly shadowed with purple and her lips dark and full. She was wearing matching yellow panties, and her toenails were painted to match, as always.

“You look…nice.” I said, understating just how rock hard I’d become in the few seconds I’d taken to study her.

“Thanks.” she said.

“So I guess it’s just the two of us.” I said innocently. “What do you think we should do?”

“Whatever you want.” she answered.

“Good answer.” I smiled.

She took a step towards me, but I suddenly didn’t feel like standing.

“Get on your knees.” I ordered gently.

She obeyed right away, gracefully sinking to the floor.

“Come on.” I said lightly, tapping my thigh. Calling her like she was a dog.

She looked embarrassed, but crawled under the table anyway. She got in front of me and just waited.

“Take it out.” I said.

“Yes Sir.” she said, and slid both hands up my inner thighs.

She unzipped me and pulled out my hard cock, holding it with both hands. It was a little strange, not being able to look down at her while she touched me, seeing only the table. Kind of a waste of the new outfit, I thought.

I could feel her hot breath against my cock, but she didn’t try to lick me. I realised she was waiting for me to order it, but was so eager to begin that her mouth was only an inch away from me.

“Suck it.”

I suddenly felt her tongue swirling around the head before she took it into her mouth. I sighed with pleasure, leaning back into my chair. She was limited by her position, and the fact that she couldn’t access my balls from inside my jeans, but she still tried her best.

I just sat there, enjoying her hot mouth around my cock and wondering, not for the first time, just how this had happened. To be pleasured like this by her, in her own kitchen, in the middle of the day. So erotic and exciting, and if I’d been told at the end of Summer that this was how I’d be spending my senior year, I never would have believed it.

My thoughtful silence was broken when I felt Jessica’s teeth scrape against the head of my cock, causing me to grunt with displeasure.

“Watch it.” I said.

She didn’t respond, but slid my cock out of her mouth to kiss and lick along the shaft.

I relaxed again, but a few minutes later I felt it again, this time in a slightly more painful bite.

“Hey!” I said, reaching down to her hair to yank her away from me. “Watch the teeth.”

“Sorry.” she said, and squeezed my shaft reassuringly.

I was confused and slightly angry at her mistake. I hadn’t felt her teeth on my shaft since the first time she’d tried to pleasure me. Well unless you count that time she nibbled my scrotum, which was actually kind of nice, if unexpected.

“Ow, fuck!” I grunted as I felt her teeth again. This time it was definitely a bite, and was way more painful than uncomfortable.

I slid my chair back and yanked her forward with me.

“What the fuck are you doing?” I demanded.

She looked up at me with those wide green eyes, and I immediately saw what her game was.

“I’m sorry Sir.” she lied.

She wanted to be punished. She wanted me to spank her, but didn’t want to ask for it. She was hurting me on purpose, so I would punish her for the mistake.

The little bitch.

“You’re doing this on purpose.” I accused.

“No, I-” she protested.

“Don’t lie to me, slut.” I said, “You want me to punish you, don’t you?”

She hesitated, opening her mouth, and then closing it again.

“Get up.” I said angrily.

She ducked quickly out to the side of the table and stood up.

“Are you going to-”

“Shut up.” I grunted standing up with her.

I stood behind her and grabbed her hair, forcing her towards the table. She collided with it, and bent at the waist to press her face against the cool wood. I flipped up her skirt to reveal pale blue panties, which were already starting to get damp at the crotch.

“Naughty slut.” I growled. “Biting me because you want to be hurt. We can’t have that, can we?”
“I’m sorry.” She whimpered, but I didn’t believe her.

“Shut up.” I said. “I’m going to have to really punish you now. Show you what your disobedience costs.”

I dug my fingers hard into her hips and pushed them down passed the hem of her skirt. I forcefully pushed it up over her hips, exposing her.

She yelped with excitement, giggling.

I smirked. She had no idea how much pain she was about to be in.

I rub her damp crotch with my fingers, making her gasp with pleasure. I hooked my fingertips into the sides of her panties and pulled them down around her knees. I liked the way they looked there.

I quickly unbuckled my belt and slid it off, eager to punish her. I pulled my jeans off too, then my t-shirt.

“Beg.” I ordered harshly, snapping the belt against my hand. She turned to look at me, biting her lip as she stared at the bulge at my crotch.

I grabbed her roughly by the hair and forced her back to the table.

“Cheek against the table.” I ordered.

I pulled back and waited for her to follow my earlier command, but I was met only with her heavy breathing.

“Jessica.” I said, “Beg.”

“Sir…” she said, but nothing else.

I frowned, and snapped the belt hard against the table, inches away from her.

She jumped, but still didn’t speak.

“Jessica, you bit me.” i said angrily. “You hurt me deliberately because you wanted this, didn’t you?”

“I’m sorry.” she said.

“No, sweetheart. Tell me what you did.”

“I bit you.” she said softly.

“Why?”

“Because… because I wanted this.”

“Wanted what?”

“To be… punished.” she said guiltily, “I wanted to be punished.”

“So fucking beg when I tell you to beg.”

“Please-”

The second the word left her lips I pulled my arm back and lashed out with the folded belt, cracking it against her ass.

She jumped and whimpered with pain.

“One…” she said.

“Don’t bother.” I said.

I hit her again, then again, loving the way she’d yelp with every snap, revelling in the chorus of her pain. She reached out and grabbed the other edge of the table until her knuckles turned white. I finished the remaining hits fast and hard. I got to ten, then turned away from her saying,

“Don’t fucking move.”

She was panting hard, but let out a sultry giggle as I walked to the sink.

“Mmm… Thank you, Sir.” she said.

“Shut up.” I answered. This wasn’t even close to finished.

I poured myself a glass of water and took a long, slow drink. I refilled the glass and walked back to the table.

“Stick your arms out.” I said.

She obeyed, spreading her arms out to the side. I pressed the bottom of the glass against her hand.

“Hold.”

She grabbed the glass and set it down.

“Up.”

She raised the glass up and held it in the air.

I walked back to the sink and filled up another glass, then put it in her other hand.

“Don’t. Spill.” I ordered.

I walked behind her and just enjoyed the moment. I grabbed my hard cock through my boxers and slid my hand along it. Her ass was perfectly presented to me, her wet, pink pussy just waiting for me. I thought about making her strip out of the lingerie, but it was actually exciting with her still in it. Like this, it looked like I was really just taking her, not even bothering to undress her first.

“Jessica, in future when you want me to punish you, you just have to ask.” I said, my tone light, “Do you understand?”

“Yes Sir.” she said.

“But now…” I said, “We can’t have you disobeying me, hurting me just for a little fun. You’re about to see what a real punishment feels like.”

I dropped the belt on the floor and walked over to her. I ran my hands over the warm, soft skin of her ass, already pinkening from the first ten strokes. I slid my boxers off, standing naked with my hard cock pointing right towards her pussy. I spanked her once, not too hard.

“Don’t spill.” I said.

I stepped between her feet and slowly slid her legs open, pushing her ankle out. She let out a sudden gasp of anticipation, followed by a drawn out whimper.

“And don’t… cum.” I said, thrusting my head of my cock against her soaking wet pussy lips. I entered her slowly, at the same time pulling back on her hair.

“Oooh, fuck Sir.” she whimpered.

I slapped my open hand down against her back, making her jump. The glass in her right hand spilled slightly, the water just about dripping down the side.

“Don’t talk. And watch the water.” I said.

I gripped her hair tighter and pushed into her. She was so tight from this angle. I entered her quickly, pushing hard against the wet, hot grip of her pussy.

She moaned loudly as I pulled out and began slowly fucking her with about half of my length. Her hands were gripping the two glasses tightly, and her arms were already shaking.

I enjoyed my slow pace while I watched her, minute by minute, as her arms got tired and her pleasure increased. Eventually I could feel her pussy gripping hard around my shaft, and I knew she was close to orgasm.

“Careful sweetheart.” I said, thrusting harder, “You don’t have permission yet.”

She inhaled sharply and let out a purring whine.

“Please…” she whimpered.

“No talking.” I said, thrusting even harder.

Within a minute it was too much for her, and her pussy was twitching around my cock. She gasped and moaned, and as the pleasure took her she let the glass in her right hand bang against the table, causing water to slosh over her hand. It seemed to be a small, gentle climax, but it still counted.

I sighed with frustration and pulled out of her. I knew I had to punish her, but it took all of my willpower to actually stop.

I leaned over and took the glasses out of her hands, moving them out of her reach.

“I’m sorry…” she gasped, still shaking.

Without answering her, I grabbed the belt from the floor and lashed her ass hard.

“You talked twice, came once, and spilled the water.” I told her. “If my math is right then that’s… twenty lashes.”

“Twenty!?” she gasped.

“Twenty-five now, and more if you keep talking.” I said.

She whined, but didn’t speak again.

“You don’t have to count… but don’t be afraid to make some noise if you have to.”

I wanted to enjoy this too, after all.

I started slowly, leaving long pauses between each hit, but soon I sped up, each snap of the belt coming just a few seconds after the next. I felt my cock throb with every hit, but I didn’t stop no matter how much I just wanted to forced myself back into her.

I reached 25 surprisingly quickly, and I let my arm drop. It was very tiring, putting so much strength into each swing. I was so excited, but by mind felt strangely still, my thoughts calm. All day I’d been irritated by the behaviour of my sister, and haunted by the memories of Jessica’s abuse. But now, watching her shaking with pain, listening to her gasp and pant, probably on the verge of tears… it just felt right.

I took a deep breath and stepped forward. I slowly put each glass into her trembling hands and grabbed her hair again, lightly tugging on it.

“What are the rules, sweetheart?” I asked.

Silence.

“It’s Ok, you’re allowed to answer me. What are the rules?”

“Don’t… don’t talk. Don’t spill… don’t-”

Her words were cut off by a sharp wail as I pushed my thick cock back into her tight, silky pussy.

“Don’t what, sweetheart?” I asked, filling her to the hilt.

“Uhhnnn… mmm…” she moaned, “Don’t cum!”

I laughed and started to fuck her again, keeping my pace steady so she wouldn’t spill any water. Her earlier orgasm didn’t seem to have satisfied her at all, only serving to make her hotter and wetter.

I increased my pace until I was fucking her hard, finally giving myself the pleasure I’d been holding back. I grunted with pleasure and suddenly felt the table lurch beneath us. I pushed down on her head and shifted my legs back, slamming into her as hard as I could. Within seconds, she was cumming again, helpless to resist the pleasure overwhelming her.

I watched her hands, knowing what was about to happen. When Jessica really came hard, her hands would always twitch and shake. I always thought it was weirdly sexy, but now it was about to get her punished.

Her right hand dropped first and the glass tipped, spilling water over the edge of the table. She frantically tried to grab it, but could barely move with my weight on her, and so only managed to push it, sending it spiralling off the table where it shattered on the floor. In her haste to save one glass, she dropped the other, sending water all over the wooden surface of the table.

I laughed at her panicked whines, and fucked her like I was trying to break her, the table shifting away from me with every thrust. Her pussy was still quivering around my cock, and I let myself join in her pleasure, shooting my cum into her. My orgasm was quick, but intense.

I laughed again, breathlessly, and slowly pulled out of her.

“Well, no talking this time, at least.” I said, “But let’s do the math, two glasses and one orgasm, meaning-”

“Two.” she interrupted breathlessly.

“What?” I asked.

“Two… I had two orgasms.” she confessed.

“Well… thank you for being honest.” I said, smiling. “But I don’t remember telling you to interrupt me.”

If she hadn’t corrected me, I never would have known. did that mean she wanted more punishment? Or maybe she was remembering my order to never lie to me, and felt not telling me would be dishonest.

Either way, I loved that she’d done it. Although I didn’t tell her she could speak…

“Two orgasms… two glasses… and talking without permission..” I said.

She groaned at the last addition, but didn’t respond.

“I believe that’s… thirty-five lashes.”

She gasped, and went stiff.

“Oh, the glasses were worth ten each, didn’t I tell you that?”

I was distracted for a second when I realised we were now standing in a small puddle of water in our bare feet, and there was a broken glass nearby. I made a note to order Jessica to clean up the glass as soon as I was done. After all, she was the one that made the mess.

I looked up and delivered the first blow, taking her by surprise again. I went about her punishment slowly, not allowing my anger to take control. The regular sounds of her pain were almost comforting, and the motion of whipping her already felt natural to me. My cock was rock hard again by the tenth swing, which was the same swing that made her break down in tears.

On and on I struck at her, blow after blow marking her perky pink ass. I lost myself in it, finding an easy rhythm, each violent crack bringing me almost as much joy and pleasure as it brought her pain. I felt right, like this. It felt natural, and good. It felt-

“STOP!” she screamed suddenly, breaking my wonderful sadistic trance.

I stopped, and let my arm fall limp, exhausted.

Thirty two lashes, I’d counted out so far.

“I can’t take any more, pleassse stop.” she whimpered, sobbing.

It seemed while I’d been further exploring my sadistic urges, she’d been approaching the limit of her tolerance for pain.

I walked to the side of the table and looked at her. She was in agony, her legs were shaking and barely holding her up. Her face was red and wet with tears, and her eyes were bulging in pain. Her make up had smeared and run down under her eyes. The dishevelled look made me even harder, made her pain look so much more intense.

‘Jessica…’ I said gently.

‘Please… no more, I can’t do it… you said you’d stop…” she whimpered, closing her eyes tight.

A strange rush of pleasure flowed through me, seeing her like this. This was exactly the type of pain I’d always imagined her in, in my darkest moments, all those years.

I had to stop now.

But at the same time, I couldn’t…

“Jessica, there’s just three more.” I said, gently stroking her face, “Just three more and it’s over.”

She looked up at me, blinking back her tears.

“I can’t!” she croaked, “I can’t do it.”

“You can!” I said, dropping the belt and holding her face with my other hand, “You can do it, sweetheart. You’ve taken so much already! Just three more, and your punishment’s over. Just three more!”

I leaned over the table and kissed her gently, tasting the salt of her tears on her lips.

“You can do this…” I whispered, “You can take it, I know you can.”

She looked up at me, so utterly vulnerable and uncertain.

“Just… just three?” she whispered.

“Three more, and we’re finished.” I said.

She closed her eyes, and let out one more sob.

“Ok…” she whispered.

“What was that?” I asked.

“Ok… ok, do it.” she said, almost too quiet to hear.

“No Jessica.” I said, “Tell me what you want.”

She opened her eyes again, and stared into mine.

“Please… please finish punishing me, Sir.” she begged.

I swear to God, I almost came again right then and there. This was it. The peak of my dominance and sadistic glee. Pushing her to her absolute limit, then literally making her beg for more.

I kissed her hard, forcing my tongue into her mouth, tasting the salt of her tears on her lips. She responded desperately, whimpering submissively. I pulled away and kissed her once more on the head.

“Three more.” I said, standing up.

I grabbed the belt and took my position behind her. Her ass was badly bruised, and she was barely standing.

Three more hits.

They would have to be good ones.

I summoned all the remaining strength in my exhausted arm and struck down with everything I had. The crack of leather against skin echoed louder than any previous one had, and Jessica screamed in pain. She pushed herself up onto her toes, causing the table to slide forward. By this point it was almost at the wall.

Again, I reared back and struck out, using my whole body to deliver an incredible blow that made her whole body shake and quiver. From behind her I could see her open her mouth to scream, but only a few small whimpers escaped. She quickly lowered her head to the table and let out a long, moaning breath.

Finally, I let out a my own loud grunt as I whipped her one final time.

And suddenly she was silent. After a few seconds, she let out a small whimper, then a louder whine, and then her legs fell out from beneath her.

I lunged forward to catch her as she fell, her weight taking me by surprise and knocking me to the floor underneath her. I sat up and held her in my arms. I looked at her, panicked, worrying I’d pushed her too far. But when I saw what was happening, I couldn’t believe it.

She was cumming.

Her whole body was trembling against me, and her hips were thrusting weakly forward. Her eyes were totally glazed, staring up at the ceiling but seeing nothing. Her orgasm seemed to last and last, as her body tensed and relaxed with the waves of pleasure. Tears were still streaming down her face, and she was gasping irregularly.

I was fascinated by her. I gently cupped her face, and she buried herself into my body, whimpering. I slid my finger down her body and into her pussy, and suddenly another orgasm was upon her, so powerful she squirted all over my hand.

This was incredible. She really was a masochist, able to cum from nothing but extreme pain. She was so beautiful.

Eventually her shaking and twitching stopped, and her body went limp.

“Jessica.” I said gently.

She reacted to my voice, but didn’t speak. She turned to look at me, seeming to be possessed by some barely conscious level of instinct. She grabbed painfully onto my hair and pulled herself close to me, then pressed her head against my neck and breathed deeply, in and out.

“Jessica…” I whispered.

This time she didn’t move. She just clung to me, shaking.

I’d read about this, so I wasn’t too worried about her. I was actually excited. This was a level of submission and masochism that few people could reach, a complete emptiness of mind and body. From what I’d read, some people weren’t even convinced it was possible, but here it was, right in front of me.

I just held her, and watched her, gently stroking her hair from her face, until I realised I was sitting in a puddle of water and she should probably be in bed right now.

“Jessica, I need you to stand up.” I said gently, trying to stand her.

She barely reacted, needing me to practically lift her onto her feet and hold her there. It was a few minutes before she seemed able to take her own weight, and still clung tightly to me even when she could.

“Just wait here for a second, sweetheart.” I whispered in her ear. “Just stand right here.”

I ran out of the kitchen and over to the bag I’d brought my clothes in, barely registering that I was now walking around naked in Jessica’s house. I took my camera out of my bag and sprinted back to her.

She was exactly how I left her, standing unsteadily in the middle of the room. She’d spilled water on her thin yellow lingerie, which was now transparent enough to show her dark, hard nipples through it. Her yellow panties were still bunched around her knees, and her arms were crossed in front of her stomach defensively.

But it was her expression I was most interested in. The tears were streaming down her face had blurred her make up, but her eyes were wide and her lips parted. She had such a look of complete peace and bliss that it took my breath away.

I snapped a few quick pictures of her in that state, then moved behind her to get a complete view of her abused ass, and her wet pussy which was dripping with my cum.

I was fast with this; she needed to get to bed, that was obvious, but I couldn’t not capture this moment.

Getting her up the stairs was its own ordeal, as I had to guide her up each step. She was limping badly, and I knew it wasn’t really from the physical damage. I’d seen women online take twice as many, on some occasions even ten times as many lashes with a variety of different tools. But the pain I had given her had been enough to make her like this, to clear her mind so completely…

I finally got her into bed, only stopping to strip her. She lay down on her side, and curled up in a ball. I ran out to the bathroom and grabbed some lavender scented lotion that promised to be kind to sensitive skin, and a small pack of wipes that were on the sink.

I sat down next to her, took her in my arms, and reached over to gently spread the lotion over her bruised cheeks, making her whimper and moan. As I finished, I squeezed her gently, almost playfully, and was surprised when she jerked forward and started to shake again. She was cumming again, this time from nothing more than a touch. She pushed her head against my shoulder as her orgasm took her, and I wrapped my arms around her. The sounds she was making sounded almost distressed.

“It’s ok, sweetheart” I said soothingly, “It’s ok.”

I didn’t know how I was supposed to be treating her right now. I’d read about after care and things like that, but when I was faced with this almost catatonic, yet hyper-sensitive woman, I was somewhat lost.

I gently wiped away the make up smeared on her face, then just cuddled her until she started to relax, counting down the minutes until she was asleep. When she when totally limp in my arms, I gently laid her to the side and went back downstairs.

I picked my clothes up off the kitchen floor finding them damp. Maybe I should have used smaller glasses for my little game. I mopped up the puddle she made, then swept up the glass, putting it in the trash. Hopefully her parents wouldn’t notice one missing. I made sure to tidy away any trace of your session, then locked the door and turned off all the lights. Just like the night before, I was faced with the choice of where to sleep, except this time it didn’t feel right to leave her alone.
When I went back into her room she was still asleep, but seemed to be sobbing quietly to herself. I lay down beside her and took her into my arms again. I didn’t know if she could even notice my presence in this state, but the very least I could do was to comfort her.

I softly kissed her head a few times, then started to relax beside her. She gasped in her sleep and dug her fingers into my shoulders. Was she dreaming already? Or was she still just reacting to the pain? I had no idea. I just tucked the blankets in behind her and stroked her hair away from her face.

I remembered, barely, to set an alarm for about 4 hours away. I wanted to talk to her before the morning, before the real world intruded. I just hoped she’d be somewhat recovered by then.

–

I woke up just a few minutes before the alarm, strangely. I switched it off and looked at the woman lying next to me. She seemed to have calmed down since earlier, and now was in a true, deep sleep.

I caressed her cheek, and softly called her name.

She awoke slowly, moaning softly as she came back to life. Once she opened her eyes, however, she suddenly pulled away from me.

She glared at me almost angrily, and bunched up the covers in front of her, hiding herself.

“Are you Ok?” I asked.

“Of course I’m not fucking Ok.” she spat bitterly.

I frowned at her.

“Hey.” I said soothingly, “What’s wrong?”

She watched me suspiciously for a few seconds before letting out a huge sigh. She closed her eyes and lay back on the bed.

“It doesn’t matter.” she said, “Don’t you have to run off now?”

I ignored her question.

“Tell me what’s wrong.” I said forcefully, slightly worried.

She looked at me strangely. Sadly.

“Nothing.” she half whispered, turning away. “Nothing. I’m just tired.”

“Talk to me.” I ordered.

“It’s nothing, really.” she said, a soothing lie in her voice.

I stared into her eyes, trying to find the truth. Was this just because of the abuse she’d taken earlier? Was she just pissed at me for hurting her? Or maybe it was some sort of reaction from her earlier submissive daze, like coming down from a high.

“I guess…” she started, seeing I wasn’t going to back down, “I guess I’m just remembering what a… disgusting slut I am.”

“Jessica…” I said, surprised at her.

“I know, it’s not like it’s news.” she continued glibly, “But sometimes my own sick, disgusting body takes me by surprise.”

“You’re not… sick, Jessica.” I said slowly.

“I am.” she said simply. “I just don’t know how… I don’t know why I like it… It’s so fucked up…”

“Jesus…” I whispered to myself.

It was finally time, I realised.

I suddenly regretted waiting so long to have this conversation with her.

I’d been struggling with the idea that I was an actual sadist, and what that meant about me as a person, but I’d never had a single conversation with Jessica about her being a masochist, or a sub. She was ashamed of herself for it, because she didn’t understand it. She’d been doing all of this, submitting to me, without ever knowing what it really was.

I’d fucked up. I’d let her go on hating herself for too long.

“Jessica, do you know what a submissive is?” I asked.

“A submissive what?” she asked.

I sat up, and she sat up with me, curling her knees up to her chest and hugging them.

“Ok Jessica.” I said slowly. “We need to talk.”

She frowned at me.

“Talk about what?”

“About why you like… the things I do to you.” I said slowly. “Why I treat you the way I do.”

She didn’t answer.

“Jessica, do you know what BDSM is?” I asked, looking at her.

“Uh… is that like, S&M stuff?” she asked.

“Yeah, kind of.” I said, “Do you know what S&M stands for?”

She shook her head.

“Well do you know what it is?” I asked.

“Uh, like… whips and chains and stuff?” she said.

I waited for her to get the link to what I was saying, but for a girl so smart she was taking her time to understand this.

“Jessica, S&M, or, you know, BDSM, is this. It’s how you would describe our relationship, basically.” I said.

“Um…Ok?” she said.

I took a step back, and realised I had to start from an even more basic point if I wanted her to understand.

She had only the most shallow understanding. I remembered how she’d told Rose about seeing my cock. She’d been embarrassed even saying that she’d accidentally seen it on the internet, and that was to her best friend. She was an incredibly intelligent woman, but everything she knew about sex was from what people told her, and thinking back, she’d probably had very few conversations about it before.

“Ok. How about this. Is our relationship… normal?” I asked her, trying to find exactly where her misunderstanding started.

“Well… no, obviously.” she said, a profound sadness in her voice.

“How is it different from normal?” I asked.

“Well…for one thing, you hate me.” she said, a touch of bitterness in her voice.

That made me pause for a second.

“Ignore how we feel about each other for a second.” I said eventually, “Focus on what we do. What do I do that isn’t normal?”

“Well… you hurt me.” she said. “And you… tie me up.”

“Right, and what do you do?” I asked.

“I… I don’t know.” she said.

She was getting confused, and I could see she was getting more and more uncomfortable. It was incredible how different she suddenly seemed to me. She was so lost, so strangely innocent and naive.

“How do I put this?” I thought aloud, “Our relationship… is based on control. Would you agree with that?”

“Uh… yeah.” she said, considering it, “That sounds right.”

“But most relationships aren’t, at least not in the same way.” I said, “Most are based on the idea of equality, but not ours, right?”

“Right.” she said.

“Our relationship isn’t unique.” I said, doing my best to explain in a helpful way, “A lot of people do the same kinds of things that we do. It doesn’t mean we’re sick or wrong, at least I don’t think so. It just means… we want different things from most people. We have different urges.”

“Ok…” she said.

“For example, Jessica, you’re a submissive.” I said.

She laughed suddenly, before I could continue.

“Submissive? Me?” she laughed harshly, “I’m like the least submissive person I know!”

She had a point. Normally Jessica was as confident and strong willed as anyone you could meet.

“True.” I said, “In everyday life, you don’t seem to submit to anyone or anything. But you call me ‘Sir’. You beg for your orgasms. You claim that I own your body.”

“Yeah…” she said uncertainly.

“That’s called submission, sweetheart.” I said, smiling, “You submit to me, and you like it. You have these submissive traits that allow you to tolerate, and even enjoy all the things I do to you. In the BDSM community, you’re known as a submissive, or a sub. Someone who finds pleasure and satisfaction in submitting to another.”

By this point I was pretty much quoting a blog I’d read about “The Lifestyle” verbatim. It had been one of the more helpful things I’d read when I first discovered how satisfying it was to dominate Jessica.

She was looking down, considering my words. She looked placated for a second, but then frowned and shook her head.

“So, what’s… BDSM?” she asked.

“We’ll… we’ll get to that.” I said, wanting to talk through each aspect first. “I’m what’s known as a Dominant, or Dom. Someone who gets pleasure from… well, the things I do. Basically from making you submit.”

“I thought that was just because you hate me.” she said quietly.

“My feelings for you… are complicated.” I said, “And not what we’re talking about right now. I started to dominate you because I was angry with you, but then I realised that I liked it on a different level. On a few different levels, actually…”

I trailed off.

“So that’s why I like being… hurt?” she asked.

“Well, that’s something slightly different.” I said, “I mean, you should know this. What’s it called when someone enjoys pain?”

“Um… being a freak?” she said.

“Masochism.” I said simply.

“Oh.” she said, surprised. Then, as if finally understanding, “Oh…”

“Yeah.” I said. “Earlier today you had an orgasm from nothing but being whipped. You like pain. You’re a masochist.”

“I’ve never…I’ve never thought about it in those terms before… I thought…well, I don’t know what I thought.” she said. “I thought I was just… fucked up. Or that I liked you so much that I even enjoyed you hurting me.”

I gave her a few seconds to digest this information. She looked afraid of the implications of this news.

“So you’re a sub, I’m a Dom.” I said, “And if you’re a masochist, then I’m a…”

I trailed off, seeing if she’d answer. She didn’t, but her eyes widened.

“A sadist.” I finished.

She didn’t move a muscle, but suddenly I could almost feel the fear coming off of her. I’d had much the same reaction when I’d first considered applying that label to myself.

Outside of the BDSM community, the only people who were considered actual sadists were usually criminals, often the most violent and hated. It was pretty much synonymous with ‘evil’, or ‘psycho’. At least, that had been my perception of the word. Learning that there were people who lived fairly normal, happy lives who would proudly give themselves that label had been an eye-opening discovery.

“Does that scare you?” I asked in a teasing tone, “To think that the man you love is a sadist.”

She flinched when I said the word again.

I suddenly felt totally vulnerable.

“It’s not a surprise, is it?” I asked, “After all the times I’ve hurt you…”

“I don’t know.” she almost whispered, “I’ve just… I’ve never-”

“Thought about it in those terms?” I finished.

She nodded, still wide eyed.

“This doesn’t change anything… not really…” I said.

I didn’t know what else to say, so I decided to move on. I turned onto my back, looking up at the ceiling.

“The exact wording of BDSM can sometimes be interpreted a few different ways.” I said, changing the subject, “But it’s actually six words arranged in three couplets.”

“Oh.” she said, “You mean like, BD, DS, SM?”

I laughed. It took her so long to understand that she had submissive traits, but this she got instantly.

“Right.” I said. “BD is Bondage and Discipline. That’s when I tie you up, and punish you. They’re basically just tools for dominance, at least for me. Some people like them for different reasons. There’s a lot of room for personal preference and interpretation in this kind of relationship, not everyone has the same way of doing things.”

It felt good to talk about all of this, about what our relationship meant to me. I wanted to tell her about what it had felt like to discover all of this, but I didn’t want to get distracted.

“D/s usually stands for Dominant and submissive.” I said, “Dominant is usually stylised with an upper case ‘D’, while submissive has a lower case ‘s’, to highlight who’s the more important one. I mean, obviously both are important, but it’s another power thing. Sometimes it’s interpreted as Dominant and slave, which is just another way of saying Dom and sub. I mean, some people think there’s an important distinction, but I don’t know…”

I knew I was rambling, but I was nervous about her reaction. This was another of those topics that I wasn’t used to talking about, but had only ever discussed with people online, who were mostly just screen names to me. I’d never actually breathed a single word of this to anyone before.

I hadn’t looked at her yet.

“So…” she said, surprising me, “Then SM is… sadist and masochist.”

“Right.” I said. “That’s what ‘S&M’ is too, by the way… Sadomasochism. Or, again, sometimes people will say that for them ‘SM’ means slave and Master, but…”

I trailed off, shrugging. I was really bad at this, I was starting to learn. When faced with this kind of difficult emotional conflict my first instinct was to retreat to logic. Facts and definitions, things I could argue and manipulate. This wasn’t helping her, that was obvious.

“This is a lot to take in.” she said.

“I know.” I answered.

“So… so I’m really not.. normal?” she asked, emotion creeping back into her tone.

“Well… I mean, it depends on-” I started.

“God, so it’s not enough that I’m a slut, now you’re telling me that deep down I’m some kind of… masochistic freak?” she accused, the anger in her voice rising. “Like, that all I want deep down is to be someone else’s bitch?”

“I… I mean, that’s one way of putting it-”

“Fuck that, that’s not… you don’t fucking know me, you don’t know how this feels.” she said angrily. “You can’t just tell me I’m all fucked up and just expect me to accept it.”

“I didn’t say you were fucked up, I’m-”

“But I don’t want it to be like this.” she said, interrupting me again, “I want just want things to be normal.”

I laughed. How could anything between us ever be normal?

“Jessica… you wouldn’t give a shit about me if I didn’t treat you like this. You don’t want normal.” I said.

She flinched away from me, as if she’d been slapped. Her rage seemed to dissipate, only to be replaced by a cold, intense stare.

“That’s fucked up.” she said, “You think I love you because you hurt me?”

“All I’ve done is hurt you.” I said calmly, “You treated me like shit until I did the same to you, and then you fell in love with me.”

She didn’t respond.

“Think about it.” I continued, “You had a boyfriend already, you had a normal relationship with Mike and look how that ended.”

“Mike had a tiny dick.” she said defensively.

“Did he ever kiss you?” I asked.

She furrowed her brow.

“Of course he kissed me, he was my boyfriend.” she said.

“Did it feel the same as when I kiss you?” I asked.

She paused.

“And I assume he played with your tits whenever he got the chance. Did it feel as good as when I do it?” I asked.

“No! Ok? No, he never turned me on like you do, is that what you want to hear? Does that make you feel important?” she shouted.

“This isn’t about me!” I raising my voice slightly, “All I do is hurt you. When I kiss you, I either violate your mouth with my tongue, or I bite your lip so hard you almost bleed. You literally did bleed the first time! When I play with your nipples, I twist them until you scream. That’s how you want it.”

She flinched again at my harsh tone.

“That’s… no, that’s not right…” she said.

How could she be in so much denial? After all the things we’d done together?

“You told me yourself, I remember what you said right before I fucked you for the first time, you said… ‘I like it when you hurt me, it makes me feel like I’m yours.’ You don’t want a boyfriend, Jessica. You don’t want me to get over my anger or to start treating you like an equal. You want to be used. To be fucked. To belong to me.”

“Stop it.” she said.

She’d said all this to me herself, why was she still fighting it?

“Jessica-”

“No, stop! Just… just shut up!” she shouted. “Just shut the fuck up!”

For a few seconds we just sat silently in the dark.

“It’s been a while since you talked to me like that.” I said eventually, smiling tiredly.

“Oh, what are you gonna do, whip me again?” she hissed.

“Keep it up and I probably will, yeah.” I said.

“What if I don’t let you?” she said. “What if I don’t just bend over and accept it?”

“Then I won’t do it.” I said.

“So… so really, I can do whatever I want and you can’t stop me.” she said with a challenging tone.

“I can leave.” I answered, meeting her eye.

She frowned, then sighed shakily.

“So that’s it.” she said, “I let you treat me like a slut or I don’t get you at all.”

“That’s it.” I said.

She seemed to think on this for a second. In the low light it looked like she was just pouting at me, but then I saw a tear well up in her eye. She cried silently, tears running down her cheeks. She covered her eyes with her arm for a second, then wiped the tears away.

I didn’t know what to say to her. This wasn’t how I’d thought this conversation would go. Well, maybe that was because I’d never seriously considered having this conversation with her.

“Is this really so bad, though?” I asked, “I mean, no one’s getting hurt…”

I trailed off as she snorted with laughter, then wiped away another tear.

“Right, bad wording.” I said, smiling, “Well, no-one else is getting hurt, and when you do get hurt, it’s always something you agree to…”

She was quiet for a while, thinking about what I said.

“I want you to decide… if this is still what you want.” I said.

She just looked at me, her expression unreadable.

“Decide if you still want to belong to me. To be mine. You need to think about what that means, and decide if it’s a relationship that can make you happy.”

Despite everything, I half expected an immediate agreement, another confession of her undying love.

But she just nodded and looked away.

“I told you from the beginning that I didn’t want a girlfriend.” I said, “I never misled you about anything. This is… this is how I need things to be.”

“I get it.” she said, a touch of bitterness in her voice.

She lay down on the bed and tried to relax, letting out a deep breath, but she still held her body too stiffly.

“We can keep talking about it, if you want.” I said.

She didn’t look at me.

“Actually…” she said, “I think… I need to be alone.”

I opened my mouth in surprise. That stung.

“Fine.” I said, trying to sound neutral and calm.

I got up and left without another word passing between us.

I crossed the hallway to the the guest room, got in and lay down on the blanket without undressing. How long was I going to be in here? How long did she need to think?

God, why did it hurt so much to be asked to leave? Was it just a bruised ego, for once not having her fawn over me and worship me? Well, partly.

But mostly I was worried. Genuinely worried that she wouldn’t want me again. Worried that by tormenting her instead of being honest with her from the start that I’d ruined everything for good.

But I didn’t even like her at first, I reasoned. None of this would have happened if I hadn’t wanted to hurt her in the first place. It was that original dark desire that lead to all my sexual self-discovery, there was no possible way I could have handled this properly. Responsibly, like I should have.

I cringed as I remembered all that justification to myself, telling myself over and over that she wanted it and I didn’t owe her any explanation. I’d been dragging her into this unknown world of pain and control, and she responded to it better than I’d ever hoped, but had no guidance or information to help her.

I’d failed her. And somewhere along the line I’d started to actually care about her. That thought irritated me. I started this all for revenge and I’d ended up getting too attached to her to even enjoy it.

I could break her heart right now, if I hadn’t already. Just by saying a few simple words… I could destroy her.
And a part of me still wanted to.

I hated myself for it.

======

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 @ kendean11

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