Page 120 of Masked Sins
It never occurred to me until recently that I could defy expectations and say whatever the hell I wanted to say.
“Fuck,” I whisper.
Thwack.
My whole body goes taut. With each new swat, pain and pleasure blur together, and the sharpness dulls into a deep, throbbing ache in time with my racing pulse.
“Louder.”
“Fuck,” I say, my voice clipped with irritation.
“Color?”
“Green,” I bite out.
Thwack.
Actual tears begin to squeeze out of my eyes. My body absorbs each hit, and the pain soon twists into a strange, perverse sort of pleasure. The heat from the paddle deepens, sinking into my bones and making the space between my legs slick with arousal.
It’s strange. It hurt so much at first, but the gnawing sensation of my swollen clit and the touch of his calloused fingers against the backs of my thighs overrides the pain.
Enhancesthe pain.
“We’re halfway done.”
Thwack.
He hits the other ass cheek. Guess we’re doing half and half. The pleasure shifts, its sweetness giving way to something more overwhelming, almost unbearable. The sensations boomerang back into full-blown pain, causing me to cry out. My muscles tensing involuntarily as the pain grows sharper, slicing through the haze of my arousal.
Thwack.
“Oh, fuck,” I cry out, my back arching.
Orion holds me down, running a hand over the sore spots, but even that hurts against my sensitive skin.
“Color?”
“Green.”
Thwack.
“Please,” I sob, my body wracked with only pain. My breath comes faster, shallower, as if I’m running out of air, and the warmth that once radiated through my body now feels like a scorching fire.
“You can take two more,” he growls.
Thwack, thwack.
I scream—two in a row sends me into a tailspin, and I can barely focus on anything other than the desperate, aching need for it to stop—and something that’s slowly simmering underneath the surface of my skin.
“You did so well,” he murmurs, running a hand over the backs of my thighs and down to the back of my knees. I hear the paddle clatter to the ground, but I don’t have the will to look, or to move. I’m still reeling from the amount of pain I just experienced.
“Thank you, Master.”
He chuckles, the sound low and deep. “You’re catching on. Very good.” His hand comes to my hairline, brushing the hair away from my face. The gesture is so gentle and sweet, and it catches me off guard completely. I feel drained in a way I’ve never experienced before, and despite the pain, I’m… content. It feels like I’m floating. “You can ask a question now,” he murmurs, running a hand under my dress and sending sparks of contentment through me.
“Why is penetration a soft limit?” I blurt. With the state I’m in, I can’t dredge up my tact filter, but something tells me he doesn’t care.
His hands stop for half a second, seemingly surprised. Then he continues to stroke me—light, featherlight touches, dragging his finger down to my ankles.
