“I’m sorry, Patrick,” I say, softly. I am sorry, too. Anger, sadness, frustration: everything’s a spiraling morass of emotions that I’m not sure I even fully feel. My chest is a whole twisted mess that I can’t seem to identify, never mind express. In that moment, I’d do anything for a release. Some piece of me knew there’d be no way this could work. It just seemed like I am so close to the possibility of some kind of resolution.
“Let me be very clear. You’re welcome to any part of my house. Drive my Range Rover. Visit this office. Join me for any outing. Look at my messages, if you ask. But I don’t expect to find you rifling around in anything that’s clearly off-limits again. Understood?”
“I understand, Patrick.”
“Come here,” it’s a command again, but gentler. He doesn’t look pleased but he’s not as angry as I expect. His eyes search my face, and I have the uncomfortable sense that he’s reading me. Probing and digging into the emotions that I can’t even really find a name for. “What is it that you want from me? Right now?”
It’s like the words fall out before I can stop myself, before I can think. A common challenge around this man.
“I’m just so tired of always having to be in control.”
He pulls me down next to him on the small couch. “Are you asking me to take control?”
I don’t know. Honestly, I don’t know what I’m asking.
“I asked for the tapes for a reason, Jessica. You just need to trust me on that.”
It didn’t occur to me that he’d be working on this on his own. I hadn’t thought this through. Maybe I can ask him what he intends to do. Actually, that would have been the better course from the beginning. Because right now, there’s a different kind of tension taking shape between us. His anger seems to have given way to other strong emotions, and I can’t take my eyes off his face.
“Answer me.”
“I – yes.”
“Yes, what?”
I blink in confusion for a minute, but he just watches me. Waiting. We’re about to cross some line here – some intimate line – and he wants to be very clear that we’re on the same page before he proceeds. I could say no. I could get up and walk away. I’m practically vibrating with whatever is flowing between us. There’s something on offer, something that I want to say yes to, even though I’m not really sure what it means.
“Please take control, Patrick.”
One second I’m sitting next to him, and the next he’s scooped me up and tilted me forward over his knees. My eyes go wide first in shock, then in confusion. “If you want me to stop, say so.”
“I –“
One hand is adjusting my weight so I’m perfectly balanced across his lap, while the other is slowly drawing up my dark dress. He’s got a huge erection, and it’s pressing against me. Oh my god, is he seriously going to spank me? His hand is moving painfully slow, hot as it traces up against my tights. There’s so little fabric between that and my bare skin. My breath won’t seem to come. He said all I have to say is no and he’d stop. I can take back control at any point. But I can’t will myself to speak.
I don’t want to speak.
His fingers slide into the waistband of my tights and panties, sliding them down until my naked ass is bare in the cold air. Mortification, shock, wonder war. I’ve never been spanked; not as a child, not as an adult. But there’s no fear. Honestly, I’m practically vibrating with expectation. Someone could walk in. Anyone could walk in and see me being spanked by this man. God.
“Do you want me to stop?” He’s being so careful, even as his hands slide across my skin.
“No.”
His hand comes down with sharp sting on my right cheek and I let out a cry of distress. It hurts, just a little. There’s a pause, and then he brings it down on the left cheek. Something seems to break in me, like an easing of all that horrible tension, everything I’ve been holding back seeing a path for escape.
“I don’t like to be disobeyed,” he’s growls. His hand caresses my naked ass again, waiting. I can tell he’s giving me plenty of time to tell him to stop. But I don’t, I just wait. Before I can respond, his brings his hand up and then lands another blow. My body is betraying me. Heat and wetness pool between my legs. I wonder if he’ll dip his fingers inside me. It feels so fucking good to be a little bad.
His palm lands on ass, harder this time. A whimper escapes me.
“Jessica?”
“No, don’t stop,” I hear myself say. What am I doing?
The sting of the next smack is harder.
“I know what it’s like to be frustrated.”
Smack.