Swallowtail Ch. 08

Dex adds, "You're only part-way there. You haven't really accepted it. You don't know if you want it."

"You're right."

"Then we both have some thinking to do."

"Why do you want it?" I ask.

She thinks for a long time. "I've been buried in relationships before. I don't want to be buried again. You'll always be older and more successful and exert more influence. Even if I were your equal in a traditional relationship, it would only be an illusion. You'd still bury me."

"So this levels the playing field?"

"That's part of it."

"What else?"

"I've been on the other side. I know what it takes."

"You think so?"

"I know it. I want to test the limits. I want to do it with you." She says it with such utter conviction that I'm tempted to agree just to see if she's right. "Last time we got into trouble because you hadn't consented and really didn't have an out. You didn't know what I had in store for you. You didn't trust me. I'd done nothing to earn your trust. I want to show you what submission can be. I also want you to be secure in it and I want the opportunity to earn your trust."

"Are you asking me to go steady?" I ask.

Dex laughs. "Something like that. I want you to submit. Willingly. I want you to accept me as your dom."

"What's in it for you?"

"Pleasure. For both of us."

"That's it?"

"Play."

"Oh God." I'm disappointed that it all comes down to something as mundane as play.

"Think about it for a minute." Dex is uncharacteristically animated. She leans forward. Her eyes flash. "Humans are one of the few animals with an innate capacity for play. We build playgrounds, gymnasiums and stadiums, all for play. We devise games of skill and chance. We have complex rules that govern competition and fairness. On the other side, we have the fact that sex drives a lot if not most of what we do. And somehow, despite our innate capacity for play, we let one of the most important parts of our lives become a rote behavior and let it descend into routine and boredom. Why should an innate capacity for play be divorced from what gives us the most pleasure?"

"So you've found a playmate in me." I'm disappointed. I'd hoped for more.

"Don't be stupid. Yes, I've found a playmate. I've found someone to apply my imagination to. Someone with whom to explore the limits. Someone who's strong enough to answer. I've also found a companion and a lover. Play is the language of our relationship. It's not the relationship itself."

***

Dex leaves me to my own devices for several hours that afternoon. I think of the submission that she wants of me and wonder whether I'm capable of it. I think back to where I was and how I got to this point. It's difficult for me to take the individual links to form the chain of events that has led me here. But a chain is what I have and there look to be more links to come. I attempt to immerse myself in the mindset. I'm a submissive waiting for his dom. I wait for the image to settle in my mind, to evoke some kind of reaction. There's no incredulity. There's no great anticipation either, only a vague disbelief buttressed by an amorphous anticipation.

It's dark when she returns. I know that she has gone for a change of clothes and to retrieve the paraphernalia that I've somehow agreed to be used on my person.

She kisses me on her return. We chat for a few minutes. It's all very normal. How was your day? What did you do? She pours herself a whiskey and sips from the tumbler. I'm mesmerized by the distortion of her lips on the glass, the glint of liquid.

Without warning, she asks me to strip, which I do without complaint or hesitation. This is what I have agreed to and now that the next link is about to be forged I'm curious and a little excited to see what Dex has in mind. She leans against the sofa, observing me.

"Do you think me cruel?"

The question surprises me. "No."

"Kind?"

"Not particularly."

Dex nods and approaches me.

"Both," I say.

Dex smiles. "Both."

She asks me to bend over the back of the armchair in a way that reminds me uncomfortably of the last time we were together. This can't be an accident, I think. She doesn't restrain me there, and I understand that she's counting on my self-restraint against whatever is to come. I hear her disrobing.

I see Dex's reflection in the window. She's wearing an underbust corset, stockings, and vicious looking heels. The sight is arousing—the hourglass figure, the long legs, breasts framed by leather. She's holding a flogger loosely in her fingers.

"Ready?"

I wonder if it's a trick question. I don't answer. I can't. The sight of the flogger has stolen my capacity for speech.

She allows the fells of the flogger to lightly cascade down my back and over my ass. I squirm. This, I know, is an introduction to a play I'm not sure I'm prepared for.

"Ready?" Dex asks again.

"Sure."

"You can stop me at any time. Remember that." Her voice is quiet. I would have expected some cockiness or gloating superiority but there's none. She's attentive. I'm grateful.

The first blow is light. There is a muted slap of leather striking flesh. I'm jolted more by the sound than by any discomfort. I let the breath whistle out from between my lips and tell myself to relax. I'm surprised by the pleasant solidity of the stroke. Surprised too that it could be pleasant. Dex lands a few more of the same. She's taking it easy on me. I feel a growing warmth across my lower back and butt and fall into an expectant calm at the rhythm she has established. I close my eyes. Each percussion transmits a wave that extends to my groin and I feel the first stirrings of arousal.

I'm startled by an underhand stroke that is channeled between my legs. It's a gentle swing but my knees almost buckle.

"Just so you're paying attention," says Dex.

The cadence of the blows across my back and ass increases as does the texture of each impact. I have allowed myself to be lulled into perverse enjoyment and this new intensity jolts me back to the present. Dex unleashes a rapid series of blows. I look to the window and see her reflection again and observe how she gathers the fells in her hand before launching them at me. I don't know what is worse—seeing the blow that is about to land or being caught unawares. I close my eyes.

The fells divide during a stroke and set a wide swath of skin ablaze. For the first time, actual pain registers. The pain dissipates into heat onto which another blow is landed. Dex is layering the strokes now, overlapping them, increasing their force. There's no teasing in the play; there's a statement, and each of these is answered by a noise that I recognize as my own gasps breathed out through clenched teeth.

Why am I doing this? How am I proving my strength by allowing myself to be beaten by a girl? I push the thought away. This is what I've agreed to. Pass through this test of pain and the pleasure will be that much greater. I hang onto that thought as the flogger whistles through the air.

I know I can end this at any time. I can speak the word that we've agreed upon and it will be over. Instead, I grit my teeth.

"Three more," says Dex.

I nod.

One fast, stinging stroke for each cheek and a thundering blow across both. They come in rapid succession, each one building on the next. I collapse against the chair.

Dex sets the flogger aside. I hear the ticking of the clock in the kitchen. She gives me a moment to collect myself. I hear our breathing. I am bathed in a cool layer of sweat. I'm grateful for the respite. Dex presses herself against my flank. Her skin against my ass stings as her sweat mixes with mine. Her hand insinuates itself between my legs while the other winds around me and rests on my chest. Her touch is almost too much after the impersonal embrace of leather. The lightness of her touch has an intimacy that I've never felt before. It's now that I understand.

"Are you okay?" she whispers.

"Uh-huh."

"Do you want me to stop?"

"There's more?"

She doesn't answer.

"No," I say, surprising myself. "Don't stop until you want to."

"If it's too much..."

"I know."

She squeezes my balls before withdrawing. I miss the feel of her skin already, more so because I fear what will replace it.

A swish through the air tells me that she is not wielding the flogger anymore. The sound is sharper and more sinister. It's a warning of what is to come.

She presses the hard length of the new device across my cheeks. It feels cold and unyielding. I decide that it must be a cane or a crop. Dex runs it up the inside of one leg and presses it against my testicles before running it down the other.

As before, she starts lightly, allowing me to get used to the new sensation. There's a pattern to the strikes, a cross-hatching of blows. What has started slowly becomes sharp and intense, a whistling followed by a sharp crack as the crop lands against me. I will myself to concentrate on the patterns, allowing myself to be lulled despite the pain that flares every time the crop lands.

The anger that I have expected remains dormant. I have chosen this, after all. I have submitted to this treatment. The crop falls and a bolt of pain blazes through me.

This is my penance.

Time ceases to have any meaning. There's sound and pain and arousal and little else.

Her hands tremble over the burning welts she has inflicted.

It's over. The room is quiet except for my breathing and hers. I am surprised by the peace that I feel now. I have come through the pain and sense a clarity that I've never felt before. A desire to possess her burns as hotly as any stroke from the cane, but I suppress it.

***

Dex is silent as her fingers travel the Braille of the welts she has written on my body. Perhaps she's surprised at what she has inflicted, surprised that I have submitted to it as I have. If so, I am glad and submerge myself in the sensation of her cool, small hands on my skin.

I feel her rise from the bed.

"Onto your back," she says.

I comply.

"Hands on the headboard."

I grasp the spindles.

"Don't you dare let go."

"I won't."

Dex stands beside me. Her fingers move over the clasps of the corset until it opens like a shell and falls to the floor. This is my prize for the pain, my reward for submission. I have had her before but the anticipation is greater now. This time I feel that I've earned her.

She explores every inch of me in a way few woman have. She navigates me intently and unhurriedly, with fingers and lips and tongue.

She kisses the crown of my tumescent cock. There's no urgency in her actions, no headlong rush to release. She licks my entire length before taking me gently between the fullness of her lips. Her motions are unhurried and intent, squeezing my base gently between her slender fingers as her mouth slowly descends to claim me. Her eyes are closed. She withdraws, exposing my saliva-slick length before descending again. I lose track of time, abandoning myself to the undulating bed of her tongue and the gentle pressure of her teeth.

"I want to touch you," I say.

"You are."

I don't let go of the headboard.

At length she sets her hands on my chest and straddles me. Her breasts—I so long to touch them—sway with the motion. The piercings there catch the light.

Dex watches my face as she lowers herself. Her pussy brushes my cock. I've never been so alert. I can feel the softness of her vulva as it travels up my length, feel the dampness that she deposits there only to have it cool in her absence. She repeats the movement, harder this time, running herself along me.

With a quick sway of her hips she captures me, taking the tip of my cock within her. She places her elbows on my chest and rests her chin on her hands. She watches me as she lowers herself until we are fully joined.

I am possessed and for the first time appreciate the various meanings of the word. The meanings—all of them—excite me. She begins slowly, whether consciously or not mimicking the rhythm with which she so recently punished me.

The wood of the headboard gives a warning pop as I strain against it. I try to relax.

"Don't you dare come," she murmurs.

Her dance, the slow rising and falling upon me, the deliberate subtlety and control of her motions, keep me just barely on the right side of her demand. If I focus on the feelings of possession, it'll be all over. So I think of the flogger and the crop and the stinging pain she has inflicted on me. It doesn't work. The pain has become another facet of the pleasure.

"Stop!" I gasp.

Dex sits on me, watching. She grins as I wrestle with my self-control. I should look away but I can't. I have one of those moments of disbelief, a brief pause during which I confront the improbability of this moment, of occupying this woman. She sways ever so gently on me. The subtlety of it is almost as profound as her more vigorous movements. Her hands have slid up to her breasts, fingers brushing the piercings of the nipples. I follow the curve of her ribs to the swell of her hips. There in the shadows rests the swallowtail tattoo. The pierced navel glints like a star to its side. Beneath it, I know, is the pierced clitoris and the tight confines that I occupy.

My mind wants to be far away from the feelings of this embrace. She's hardly moving but it's all I can feel.

When it appears that I have some grasp on control, Dex says, "I want to be fair." She looks earnestly at me, but with a hungry gleam in her eye.

She turns to face away from me and bends forward towards my feet. From between her legs emerges her hand. Her fingers follow the glistening contours of her sex and then up to her anus. She plays with its surface for a moment before inserting a slender finger.

I'd like nothing more than to let go of the headboard and run my hands up the soft curves of her ass. As it is, I merely watch as her finger dips in and out of her hole. She's teasing me with the possibility.

Finally, she positions me at her anus, rubbing my head on that unyielding opening. It seems impossible that I can breach it, impossible that I should be allowed to.

This is a show for me. Her hand holds my cock poised as she presses against me. She opens to me grudgingly, a yielding that is accompanied by a gasp from the foot of the bed. The crown of my cock has entered her and her hand leaves me. Her hips swivel and my cock obediently follows the motion, burrowing itself more deeply into her.

She raises herself and without warning impales herself upon me, swallowing my entire length.

She sits upright on me and I feel the vibration of her fingers on her sex. Her motions begin again, slowly at first. Within a few tortured minutes she forces herself upon me, as merciless with her own body as mine. This is no longer play. There is nothing conscious about our actions now. There is only an ache for release.

I grab her hips then, heedless of the consequences and push her upon me. I am as violent with her as she is with me, but it's a violence born of desire. I press myself into her and she grinds her hips. There's a cry of pleasure or pain from one or the other of us, a swelling of pressure.

And finally surrender.

***

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