Angels Who Prefer To Walk 4

One lash. Two lash. Rachel was brave. Unashamed of crying out. I wished I could smell, wished I could feel out the welts that raised on her bare back. Logan was good at what he did. The strokes he left were vivid, but transitory. They wouldn’t leave scars. And all that hurting but harmless sensation was intoxicating. I wanted it for myself. It was unfair that I could see all the fun but not play.

I could tell Logan knew I was enthralled, but couldn’t bring myself to care. He was no animal. He had to be given permission to make the kill. I didn’t have to give it to him. I didn’t. I could indulge myself as much as I liked and then simply take myself away from this.

Five lashes. Rachel’s pain was indistinguishable from orgasm. I wanted to be there, wanted the scent, but I couldn’t lie hard enough to make that ordinary curiosity. Climaxing, even from that, looked as good to my starving body as water in a desert. Who wouldn’t want to come so hard that it hurt?

This was impossible. My mind was bouncing back and forth between two extremes like a ping-pong ball. I could always give into Logan, be another DVD girl, and afterwards tell him it was the heat talking. Nothing to do with little ol’ me except for my genetics. And a liberal guy like Logan wouldn’t think that mattered any.

On the other hand, I wanted to control myself. I didn’t want to be some robot carrying out orders, anyone’s orders, even if it was an order to procreate from my stupid DNA.

And on the other, other hand—what was the point of controlling myself if it meant missing out on fun like Rachel was having? Mingled pain and pleasure as Logan petted her naked ass, provoking the soreness of her blazing welts, but soothing her at the same time. Keeping her perched on the ridge, unable to fall into the definite of it either feeling good or bad.

Except if she was split down the middle, I was cut up into quarters. Did I want this or not? Did I admit to wanting this or not? I could let him seduce me—let him think he’d overcome my resistance—but was that any better than just saying I wanted it?

Fuck it. If I was going to be in a car crash either way, I’d rather be in the driver’s seat. I turned around to face him, putting my back to the Sexual Olympics starting up on the screen, and this awareness of Logan flooded my senses.

I could feel him wanting me and I could feel him needing and what, what was all this desire? Did he want my body? My heart? My submission? All of the above or something else—a piece of me or the whole damn thing?

You’d think the simple knowledge that desire was in play would simplify things. At least he wasn’t just screwing with me. But there were all kinds of ways you could want someone, much less have them, and I had no idea which I could live with. If it was just a fuck, would that be okay? Or was that beneath this half-assed DIY project I’d been working on called my dignity?

Always so many questions. It was like my mind was trying to keep my body from getting a word in edgewise. Because all my body wanted to know was if his eyes were bigger than his stomach. Could he handle all he was asking for? Could I be the porn star on the TV screen that was having a religious experience?

Maybe Rachel had it all figured out. Ask for cock. Get cock. Enjoy cock. That was how the boy-girl thing was supposed to work, right? Men pursue, women are pursueable. Me Tarzan, you Jane. What had prepositions ever done for me anyway?

I forced my mouth to open. Once the stopper was gone, words jumped out. “So that’s the deal, huh? I let you top me and you make me come like her? How many more videos did she make?”

“Three,” Logan said, and reached out. Picked at the left strap on my tanktop. I let him. Tried not to give away how bracing it felt to have his fingernails brush against my skin. To have little traces of myself that were given over to him instead of wholly mine. More and more of my flushed skin felt like his. Not just from him touching it; from him seeing it.

“Not too many encores,” I retorted, like he couldn’t do it, couldn’t get me off. Why did that thought seem so defensive now?

“It can be a lot to take. Overwhelming, even.”

“Talk’s cheap. Prove it.”

His eyes were on my pulse. I felt it throbbing. We were on the same wavelength: him knowing how turned on I was and me not being able to deny it. As shitty as it was for him to know, how shitty would it be for him to know and me to still be pretending otherwise?

“Bend over.”

My stomach tightened. The muscles of my ass clenched. Rachel’s exuberant response to being whipped was still fresh in my mind; how could it not be? And now, just like that, it was straight to business? My nerves took over and I quailed.

“You’re going to punish me?” I demanded. Then my voice soured even more: “Yeah. That makes sense. Even if you can’t make me come, at least you’ll have gotten some licks in on my ass.”

“I’m punishing you because you’ve wasted my time and yours being willful instead of just admitting what’s been painfully obvious. And you also watched a very dirty movie. That’s naughty, Max. I can’t have my girl doing things like that.”

“I’m not your girl,” I gritted out.

“You are for the next hour. Unless you’re tapping out already. So either admit that it’s too much for you—one minute in—or bend over and let me correct you.”

A deep breath was drafted into my lungs, then ran away from me. It tingled. Was I getting enough oxygen? Too much? I felt lightheaded. Not ready for how ably Logan stepped into this role as my lord and master. Did he even feel a little awkward about all this? Or had he been thinking about it, getting ready for it, since we first met?

“Make me,” I whispered, without realizing I was saying it until the words reached my own ears.

He grabbed me by the back of the neck and thrust me down across the back of a couch. Bending me over it, my ass in the air—I automatically tried to crawl away. He grabbed me by the waist of my pants and pulled me back into place.

I forced myself to hold still—it wasn’t very dignified to scramble around on all fours. And it wouldn’t be very dignified to throw him across the room when we’d been dragging this whole thing through my inhibitions for the past twenty minutes.

Logan pressed up close to me. I felt him across all of the bulge of my ass, his hardness, his heat, while he reached around me and opened my belt, my button, the zipper of my fly. It was down and my pants were open and he backed up.

I let out a dismal moan. I’d felt him, but I hadn’t bothered to memorize the sensation—hadn’t registered how his size or his stiffness. Not like her—I looked at the screen: Rachel’s mouth stuffed full, her dribbling lips pressed to the granite rockface of Logan’s groin. Big enough to make the mascara run on a slut like that.

“I think someone’s about ready to accept her punishment,” Logan said, a definite wicked spark in his voice. Who knew he could talk like that—like some sort of pervert whose personal fetish was me?

“Just figured it wouldn’t even hurt, so why not let you enjoy yourself?” I fired back, hoping I didn’t sound as breathy as I felt, my lungs small and tight as ball bearings.

He pulled down my jeans, careful—surgeon careful—not to peel away my panties with them. Small mercies. With them still on, maybe he couldn’t smell how wet I was. To me, though, it was like the smell of rain during monsoon season.

“I’m going to give you one to start off with,” Logan said. “And I’ll let you keep your panties on for it. Afterwards, you can tell me if you liked it or not.”

“Does it matter if I like it or not? Isn’t the only important thing whether you like it?”

I heard a smile in Logan’s voice: “Is that what would make you happy? Knowing you’d pleased me?”

“Stop arguing me in circles.”

“I only need one argument,” he said, and I got only a razor-thin moment of anticipation, hearing his open hand whistling through the air, then wham! It sounded like thunder reverberating in a tiny room.

My ass was on fire. Not just the pain. Humiliation. I’d really been spanked like some bad little girl back when kids were actually punished instead of sent to therapy.

But the thing was, there was something clean, something pure about the heat. It wasn’t… muggy. It was dry and crisp. Like he’d opened up a crack in me and all that boiling I’d been carrying around inside, trying not to acknowledge, could leak out.

It hurt. But at least I was evening out, having some of the pressure on the outside instead of simply inside. Or like I’d been in continuous pain, an ache, and then I’d broken a finger. What a relief to suffer in a new way, to be rewired so your world didn’t revolve around the old hateful constant.

“You’re trembling.” Logan’s voice. There was calm under his excitement. He was in control of himself as well as me. “You wanted that. You want more. I wouldn’t underestimate your ability to talk your way out of something you liked, if it makes you feel safe, but I’m only going to give you ten more seconds to convince yourself you didn’t enjoy that. Then I’ll give you another and I don’t care if your panties are ruined when I do.”

Guiding me through it all just like he did on the radio. I didn’t have to hold it all in. I could let him take care of it. Ten seconds passed. I counted them off in the pounding of the blood in my temples. One, two, skip a few…

And his hand was back. No pause afterward, not this time. I’d have to deal with the pain. I’d have to admit I liked it, admit I liked exactly how he gave it to me. Hard and fast and thorough, covering every inch of my ass so it was all tanned an even red, stinging with the violence of his admiration.

I knew he loved my ass. He loved it enough to make it feel this way… not caring of the danger, the risk that it’d hurt too much for this frail arrangement of ours. Because the bigger risk was that he’d be too gentle, too nice, and not give me what I had to have. I’d rather get what I needed, even if it hurt, than have half-measures when I needed everything.