Page 147 of Wanting What's Wrong

My heart pitter-patters watching Jack shirtless on the treadmill, pounding away at the belt as he pokes a finger to the control panel, sweat wetting his caramel-brown hair and running down the indent between his pectoral muscles, making my girl parts clench.

I have a fleeting memory of a video clip on TikTok. It’s odd what is clear about my past and what is an utter void. There’s a guy on a treadmill, supposedly there’s a woman in a gym taking a video without his knowledge. He’s wearing gray athletic shorts and clearly, nothing else.

The video centers on his generous junk flinging around under the thin gray fabric and I do remember, it was mesmerizing in its own way.

That pales in comparison to what I’m watching right now. Jack’s cock is clear under the white shorts he’s wearing and yes, it’s doing this sort of circular loop but it’s half hard and darn near as long as my forearm.

I know from kissing the tip, grinding on him and all the times I’ve seen his harness through his pants that things downtown are impressive.

But, there’s something about the thin fabric of his shorts, the fact that he’s obviously commando, and it makes me want to explode.

“I know you’re over there, lil’ mint,” he grumbles, not missing a stride. “You’re supposed to be sleeping.”

“I’m not tired.” I sashay into the workout room, running my fingers along a long metal bar on a bench, popping my lips together, then settle on some medieval looking piece of machinery with an inclined sort of deal and some handles out in front. “I want to be close to you.” I shrug, gripping the two foam-covered handles about chest high, my legs straddling the bench, my knees falling open, tip toes on the carpeted floor.

I’m starting to sweat myself but it’s not from exertion. Watching Jack move, I’m hypnotized. His every muscle shifts and flexes. His biceps tight, fists clenched, jaw square. He’s solid and fluid at the same time. He’s made of brick and mortar, and I want his walls around me, keeping me safe forever.

“Yes, but I told you to stay in bed. You’re teasing me again and sometimes, daddies need time alone. You’re going to learn to listen. That’s another rule, when I tell you to stay somewhere, you do it. It’s for your own safety and wellbeing.”

I shrug, pushing at the mechanism, watching my boobs raise and lower, pushing together as I work the mechanism.

Conflict twists on Jack’s face. I saw it before when he went from sweet, caring, here’s-a-thousand-gifts to the other side of the Daddy coin.

Hard and filthy. So unpredictable, but that danger is headyand compelling. I want to see how far I can push to get what I want.

“Am I doing it right?” I ask, pushing my chest forward, spreading my knees unnecessarily wide then adding a little grunt on the end of my effort.

The loop, loop, loop of his cock has stopped. It’s more a slap, slap, slap as it stands straight, pushing on the elastic waistband as he knits his brows together. I wiggle on the bench, licking my lips, unable to keep this naughty, tempting vixen inside me at bay.

Jack pounds on the console of the treadmill then jumps off, making me whine at the sight of his strength and arousal, but something in his eyes tells me I’ve pushed and it’s going to be Mean Daddy time again.

“You want to play?” he says, wiping his hands down his gleaming chest.

Heat courses over my skin. Every inch of me is hyperaware and on alert. I feel like if he doesn’t touch me, I’ll die. He’s close, close enough the tang of sweat and his cologne assault my nose as he squeezes his chin and a small dark spot appears where the tip of his cock is clear at the top of his shorts.

“I…I like playing,” I stutter, knowing what he’s planning may deviate slightly from what I hoped would happen.

“Then we’re going to play,” he murmurs as he walks by into a small closet. I follow him with my eyes. When he reappears, there’s red rope draped around the back of his neck and he’s opening a small white box, withdrawing a thin pink object that looks like rubber of some kind and somewhere deep in my sketchy memories, I know this is not a children’s toy.

He sets the object on the black vinyl of the bench. I give the machine one last push as Jack leans down and presses his lips to mine then withdraws, those silver eyes pinning me in place.

“You have no idea what you are doing to me.” He grunts, a hint of anger lacing his words. “But, if my baby wants to play,then Daddy is going to teach you what that means. Sooner or later, you’ll figure out that little pussy of yours doesn’t run the show. You may drive me fucking crazy, but I’m stronger than you think. You can bend over and flash that greedy little cunt of yours, pull out your tits, pout and beg, but I’ll give you what I know you need when it’s god damn good and well the right time and not a second before. Now, sit there and get ready for the games to begin.”

His harsh words make me dizzy but I’m alive inside wondering what’s about to happen. I didn’t come down here for a punishment, but now that it’s coming, I think it’s exactly what I need.

Jack spins the rope around my wrists, lacing them onto the handles of the machine before reaching down and ripping my panties down my legs as I yelp. He darts a stern look my way as he works making me fight against the lump in my throat.

“Knees wide,” he rumbles, tugging my ass lower on the bench, the upper section adjusted so I’m leaning back, arms secured, half sitting up as he laces my ankles to the little bars on the end of the bench so my knees are high and wide.

“What…are you going to do?” I stutter, a sudden rush of fear carrying me to a dark place. “Have we done this before? I’m not sure I like it.”

“You’re not sure?” He chuckles without making eye contact, checking the knots that hold me in place then flipping my tank top over my tits, exposing me as he steps back, licking his lips, hands on his hips.

I shake my head, trying to wiggle free but I’m stuck, secure and yes, wet.

His exhale is uneven as he grips the front of his shorts, squeezing his erection until his knuckles are white.

“You have no idea how many times I’ve imagined you like this, baby. Spread, waiting, wet, helpless. Who am I?” he asks, running his tongue over his teeth, nostrils flaring.

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