Page 11 of Obey

It’s a damn good thing he doesn’t know Cristiano Fiore is pretty much my manager, right under Silvano Cresci himself. “Yeah,” I say, letting Carl secure my left wrist to the cross. I lean against the cool wood, inhaling deeply. It’s so familiar, so good, and I offer out my right wrist. He binds that, too, and I close my eyes.

I ignore Heather now as she chatters to Carl, already starting to sink into that place where I don’t care about anyone or anything but pain and submission.

“We’ll start slow,” Carl says, trailing the tails of the flogger along my back. He turns away from me and toward the other people who have come to watch. “The boy is going to take twenty-five lashes. Let’s see if he can handle it.”

I wish he’d get started already, but Carl is a bit of a showman. It’s fine. I can deal with that, because Carl is pretty good with a flogger, and I know he won’t go easy on me, even if he starts slow.

Knives would be better. He never starts slow when he fucks me, and I doubt he’d start slow with a flogger either.

I squeeze my eyes shut. No, I’m not going to think about him.

“Here we go,” Carl says before the first lash hits my back.

I shiver at the touch of the flogger on my skin, wishing it was harder, faster. It’ll get there. Carl will ramp up before long. I just have to wait for him to grandstand for the audience, then he’ll get into the zone as surely as I will.

He doesn’t make me count the lashes like some Doms, which I’m grateful for. I want to sink into submission, not focus on numbers that keep me from going so deep. I know others enjoy it, but it’s not for me.

I hear Carl saying something, but the next lash is finally harder. The pain zings across my skin, and I hiss sharply before it turns into pleasure. It’s like a jolt of electricity, one I feel throughout my entire body.

Each subsequent lash drives me deeper and deeper under the surface, until I feel like I’m drifting.

I want this to continue forever.

No more worrying about the thoughts swirling around in my head, the ache in my heart, or the constant guilt I’ve been dealing with ever since Knives popped back into my life.

Just pain.

Just bliss.

“What the fuck is this?” a dark voice asks in the distance.

I ignore it and relax, anticipating the next lash, but nothing comes.

“Buddy, it’s what it looks like. A public lashing,” Carl says. “Now let go of the flogger so I can keep going.”

“What gives you the right to touch him?” the voice says.

Not just a voice.

That’s Knives, I realize.

I don’t know why he’s here, but it starts to pull me out of subspace. I let out a little whine, not wanting to come back to reality—especially not when it means I have to face Knives, who hates me and doesn’t want me to feel pleasure.

“It’s all consensual,” Carl says.

I try to nod, but I feel like I’m moving through quicksand. Fuck, I don’t want to come back to this. Tears prick at the corners of my eyes, and I fight the urge to cry. I’m always so emotional when I’m down this deep, and tonight is no exception.

“Well, back off,” Knives growls.

I struggle against my bonds, and I can only barely turn my head to see what’s going on. Carl is between me and Knives. Other members of the club are standing around, whispering to each other.

“Friend, he asked me to do it,” Carl says. “Find somebody else to play with.”

This isn’t fair.

All I wanted was a night off from thinking about Knives, not to have a scene meant to wipe him from my thoughts crashed like this.

“Forks,” I choke out, a hysterical little giggle escaping me as I sag against the cross. “Of course. Of course you have to come here and fuck this up for me. Only fair, right? I fuck everything up for you.”

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