Home > Monica (Songs of Submission #7.5)(4)

Monica (Songs of Submission #7.5)(4)
Author: C.D. Reiss

I opened my pants and wiggled them down. I wore lace and garter, which felt scratchy and uncomfortable under jeans, but I wore it because I promised I would, even if I’d promised a different man.

He slipped his finger under the straps. His touch had gone electric, exactly right, like when we first met. I felt it through layers of skin and muscle, to my bones.

“All the way off.”

I stepped out of my pants.

“Why are you crying, goddess?”

“I don’t know.”

“What’s your safe word?”

I blurted a laugh to the ceiling. “Fuck. I forgot.”

“Do you want a new one?” He slid his finger under my bra, pushing it up, releasing my br**sts. The ni**les were hard candies, ready for him.

“Yes, sir.”

“Your choice.”

“Invictus.”

He pinched a nipple and pulled it to the point of delicious pain. “Out of the night that covers me, black as the pit from pole to pole, I thank whatever gods may be, for my unconquerable soul.”

“Jonathan…” His name was a prayer.

“Turn around.”

I faced the piano, putting my back to him. He slid his hand over my neck and around my shirt collar, pulling it down my arms, drawing his hands over my skin.

“I’m going to ask you something,” he said, pulling my long sleeves halfway off. He twisted the sleeves around my arms, wrapping them around and tying them tightly at the elbows.

His pause long enough for me to say, “sir?”

“Are you happy?” he asked. I heard the distinct clack of his belt buckle.

I didn’t answer. He slid his belt out of his pants with a whook.

“I asked you a question.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Is that the answer?” He gripped the back of my neck

“It’s confirmation that I heard you.”

With a sharp push, he pinned my face to the shiny black of the piano.

“Are you happy?” he repeated.

“Can you be more specific?”

“Sure.” With a thwack that was as hard as it was unexpected, he slapped my ass with his belt. I screamed.

“Too hard?”

“No, sir.” It was. A fierce burn was settling where he’d hit me, and I already wanted more. I wanted him to tear me apart. In the second, the breath’s worth of time it took for my body to register pain, I cracked. I didn’t want to go to dinner with Jerry and the guys and I didn’t want to go home. I wanted to hurt, and hurt deep. I wanted to feel pain, and safety, and surrender; to lose myself and my own will. I’d forgotten how much I needed it, but like a woman waking from a dreamless sleep, the reality of who I was came back to me. I swore I wouldn’t say my safe word until I was near death.

“Behave, then, before I gag you.” He whacked me again, and again. I grunted, but didn’t cry out, even when he hit the sensitive area at the backs of my thighs.

“Now,” his breath rasped with effort. “Tell me, goddess, are you happy?” his last stroke was so hard it felt like a blowtorch on my ass. He took the hair on the back of my head in his fist and brought his face close to mine. “To avoid misunderstandings. Are you happily married?”

I swallowed.

He put his belt down in front of my face and squeezed my ass. The pain was overwhelming. I could barely see through it, nor could I form words past the gushing arousal between my legs.

“Answer me,” he said. “And the truth. Are you happy?”

He was foggy through my tears, but his voice was clear enough to focus on.

“No,” I said. “I’m not.”

As much as I broke down into tears and hitched sobs, he seemed unfazed by the news. As if he’d already known. And as if he didn’t give a shit about my happiness. He brought his hand over my burning cheeks, lacing a finger in the crack, down to my opening.

I was soaked. Dripping. Gushing readiness for him. I wished he’d asked me for the truth after he f**ked me, because how could he now? I tell him I’m miserable and expect a body-ripping, passionate screw? Crazy, magical thinking.

He slipped a finger inside me. I’d f**ked him a few hundred times in the past six months, but that finger cruelly jamming into me, with the palm laying against my scalding ass, was the best thing I’d had in half a year.

“Thank you for telling me the truth,” he said. “But you’re wet. And crying.”

“I’m sorry, sir.”

“Poor goddess.” He pulled his finger out and slipped it to the hard nodule of my clit. My eyes shut. My mouth opened. My cunt was awake with anticipation as he continued. “Even in love, you need pain.”

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