Chapter 8

CHAPTER 8

We're in a cabin that's like a sadist's playground. Before he strapped me down on this bench, I caught glimpses of floggers, paddles, riding crops, a dozen different things he could hit me with.

But he chose a belt. His belt, I'm pretty sure, though my memory of what he was wearing when I got into his car is a little fuzzy right now. Maybe he brought it with him in that duffel bag.

And then I quit thinking about the whys and wherefores of what he's hitting me with, because it's the getting hit that drives everything else out of my brain.

The belt snaps down on my bare ass and the end curls over my side with an extra bite. It hurts—of course it fucking hurts—but it's a lower, deeper hurt than the knife cuts. I can't help but tense up at the first few blows, even though I know that makes it worse.

He is very, very good at this. The first blow was across the fleshiest part of my ass, but then he moved to the very top and is raining blows in a steady tempo, moving slightly down every time. Each blow just barely overlaps the one before and he's working me up to taking it on the backs of my thighs, which are more far sensitive.

Usually, when my Daddy spanks me, he makes me count out loud. Sir doesn't demand that, but I'm so used to counting, that I know it's at six that I quit tensing up before the hits and just let them happen.

I think he notices, because there's a grunt behind me and his large hand comes down and rests around the middle of my back. He doesn't rub or stroke me, but the warm weight of his hand grounds me.

"You're going to take anything I give you, aren't you, boy?" He sounds viciously pleased and just a little surprised.

Of course I am. That's the whole point.

I take everything he has to give, and I give up everything I have to him. I belong to him.

And he belongs to me.

The blows stop and there's a slithering sound that ends in a soft thud. He's dropped the belt and it's laying in an innocuous pile under the bench. I hear a rustle of clothing behind me, the unmistakable snap of a lube bottle opening, and then I feel a cold smear across my hole.

Which is all the prep I get before he shoves his cock into me.

Even with the pain relaxing me and the forced spread of my legs and ass cheeks, I'm not ready for this. The blunt head of his cock jams up against my entrance and for a long, long moment, I'm sure he's never going to fit.

His hands grab at my ass, his thumbs digging into my flesh, spreading me wide. "No, please, Sir," I beg. "I can't."

"Yes," he growls. "You can. You will."

I think if words could melt my bones and open up my hole, these would do it. Because I don't just want to have my choices taken away from me. I want to be forced. I want him to take me, make me, give me no option but to submit to him.

Not all the time. Most of the time, despite calling him Daddy, I want our relationship to be on equal footing. He's a lot older than me, and I get a little tired of the judgmental glances we sometimes get when we're out together in public. Like I'm just with him for his money. Or he's only with me because I'm young, and he'll trade me in someday for a younger, hotter model.

None of that is true, obvs. And who the hell knows what sort of deep-seated emotional trauma I don't even remember having makes me want to be spanked, tied up, and fucked until I scream—all of which my Daddy has gladly done to me.

But I have jerked off a ridic number of times to the fantasy of being abducted and really, truly forced before having the guts to tell my Daddy about it, and I'm gonna ride this scene out as long as he'll let me.

"It won't fit," I plead. "You're too big, Sir. Please don't."

He heaves an amused grunt, and I can feel his sides brush against the insides of my thighs. He's still mostly clothed. "This hole was made for my cock, boy. You and I both know that."

He pushes and pushes and pushes against me. I'd struggle if I could, but I'm strapped down too tightly. And because there's nowhere to go but in—and because my hole really is made for him—his cock forces past the resistance.

He stops right there, with the fattest part of him splitting me open. "You see?" His voice is strained, like he's holding himself back. From coming, maybe, or ramming deeper into me, or both. "This hole is mine and I am going to fuck it until it's puffy and red and you think you can't take anymore, but you will."

Which is another set of magic words, apparently, because I loosen up enough that he slides into me. All the way, until his hips are flush against my ass. In between the fabric of his slacks that rubs against my blistered inner thighs, I can feel something at the base of his cock. Something hard and smooth, something that's not skin.

A cock ring. He's wearing a cock ring because he's serious about using me until I can't take anymore. He's already caged me to prevent me from coming and now he's done what he can to hold off his own orgasm as long as possible.

He pulls out, slowly, and there's not quite enough lube, so his cock drags against my inner walls. It burns in exactly the way I need. And burns again when he shoves back in, because I'm still tight and he still has to force himself inside me.

Just the way I crave.