Page 24 of A New Year's Toy

“Faster.” My sweet sadist smacks the leather surface on my waist, the side of my breast, my nipple.

“I’m trying,” I whine a second time, even though I know it’ll bring more pain. Maybe because of it.

And I get what I want. Smack, smack, smack. One of my breasts flares in a tingling sensation, then the other.

Alistair pushes his body weight on top of me, slithering the paddle to my navel. “Be my good little girl, Nola. Try. Harder.”

His tone is harsher than any whip, softer than the fluffiest cloud.

Alistair is love.

Seeing my legs locked by my panties and Alistair’s pressure on me, my twist to my back is far from elegant. I collapse on it, a toy for Alistair’s pleasure.

“Beautiful girl,” he muses, entangling our brown eyes in a sensual bind. “Beautiful, beautiful girl.”

The longer he looks at me, assessing his next move, the faster my pulse goes. Alistair stands there in all his glory, his full dark-blond hair, the breadth of his shoulders. The thick member in his pants.

Even in this delicate room—contrary to his clean, modern home—Alistair doesn’t lose an ounce of the brutal force his body emanates.

This impressive statue of a man moves, starts by removing my boots and socks. My panties come off next.

“Part your knees to the sides.” Arousal coats the words he drawls out of his sinister mouth.

The vulnerability of lying there bare naked while he’s fully dressed doesn’t put me at a disadvantage. It sets the mood for our dark sex games. I do as he asks.

“I can see your pink, taut clit.” He brings my panties to his nose, sniffing them. “Fuck. Feel up that little nub, baby. Touch yourself for Daddy.”

His lust and filthy mouth spike my ravenous need for him, burning me, incinerating me to the ground. He doesn’t have to provide me with any further incentive to do as he says. I just do it.

“Pinch it. Pull on it.” His eyes are hooded, his speech slow and sensual. “Make it hurt.”

He’s never given me that kind of power. Alistair prefers to hold onto control, inflicting the pain himself. It’s the second time he’s gone out of character on this trip.

But now I already anticipate his response, how temporary the power shift will be.

I follow his orders, anxious to see where they’ll lead us. I squirm at the pain of twisting and pulling on my clit, sucking my lips in. It hurts. It arouses me. Though it’s nowhere near the heights I experience under Alistair’s physical torture.

“See, that’s not what I asked.” He tsks.

Alistair discards my panties, throwing the paddle at his side to the nearest wall. With the force he applies to it, even though the instrument is light, the crash is audible.

“What I asked”—he meanders to the bag on the rug, returning to the edge of the bed with a black plastic box—“is for you to make it hurt.”

“It did.”

I don’t argue to prove him wrong; I argue to egg him on and get to the fun parts faster.

“Since you didn’t follow my instructions.” He quirks an eyebrow as if his X-ray eyes see right into my very soul. “I’ll have to do it myself.”

All while he talks, his hands are busy snapping the box open. He removes the metallic rose gold nipple clamps from it. The metallic chain connecting the adjustable alligator clamps glints in the light of the lamp behind me. A threat as well as a promise.

Then Alistair climbs on top of me, menacing and hot. “Hands up, sweetheart.”

The cold chain lies on my skin until I do it. His hands work me, one tweaking my erect nipple, making it even harder. I groan and moan, panting at the intense methods he uses to arouse me.

“Stay still.”

He slides the black plastic parts of the clamps to clasp around my nipple. The screw-pin turns between his fingers, enhancing the crimping sensation on my nub.

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