Page 10 of His to Teach
I nod, relieved, as the man in the room begins the task of securing the woman’s arms and legs to the cuffs. “I think I’d like to hear.”
Nate reaches out to press a few buttons. There’s a static sound in our room and then the voices come through. Murmured tones from what I assume are the other viewing rooms. And the sound of the man’s voice in the performance room as he continues with the straps.
“You’re doing beautifully,” he tells the woman. “What are your safe words?”
“Yellow to slow down and red to stop.”
She’s strapped in place now and he kneels down in front of the bench, his face even with hers, and kisses her lightly on the mouth. “Very good.”
The man stands and walks to a small table where he picks up a rope-like object. Awhip.
Shit. I feel suddenly weak in the knees, uncertain if I really want to see this. Then he raises the whip above his head and I slam my eyes shut. It doesn’t stop me from hearing the swiftwhistle of the leather, or the sickening sound of it hitting her flesh. Or her small cry of pain.
There’s an appreciative sigh from the speakers, the faceless strangers in the other viewing rooms reacting to the scene.
“Harper,” Nate says softly, his mouth right next to my ear. “Harper, open your eyes.”
There’s a part of me that’s scared to do as he asks, to confront what’s happening through that window. To confront the way it makes me feel. But there’s a command in Nate’s tone, as soft as his voice had been, and there’s something inside me—deep inside, in a place I’ve always been too afraid to examine closely—that insists I do as he asks.
His gaze is steady when I turn to look at him over my shoulder.
“He’s not abusing her. I promise,” he says, voice both soothing and authoritative. Just the sound of it sends shivers across my bare arms. “I want you to watch this. I want you to watchher.” When I don’t immediately turn back to the glass, a small smile tugs up the corners of his mouth. “Trust me.”
Idotrust him. As crazy as that is, trusting this man I barely know, I can’t deny it. Out in the front room, I’d gotten the impression that Nate wants to look after me. That he cares about me. And I know, in this moment, as the whistle of the whip once again breaks through the silence, that my impression was true.
I turn back to the glass just in time to see the whip biting into the skin of her ass. Again, she cries out, her eyes squeezed tightly closed. My gaze is drawn to the red marks appearing on her skin, easy to see under the bright spotlight over the bench.
“Her face,” Nate whispers, as if he can tell where my concentration is. “Look at her face, Harper.”
I do as he asks, trying to focus on her expression, to look for a clue as to how she might be feeling. Her brows are furrowed, lips clenched in a tight line while she waits for the next blow.It hurt her, that’s obvious from the way she cried out when she was struck. But her eyes are open now, bright under the lights, gazing in our direction.
I know our window is mirrored on her side, but still she seems to be watching us like I’m watching, her eyes fixed directly on our glass. She’s panting, the rise and fall of her shoulders against the leather almost eager. As I watch, she wiggles her ass a little bit, and I get the distinct impression that she’s trying to create some friction between her legs.
“She likes it,” I whisper.
Nate tightens his arms around me. “She does,” he says softly. “Many in the lifestyle enjoy whip play. And if it gets too intense for her, she has a safe word. Her partner will stop the second he hears it. She’s in no danger.”
“But sheisin pain,” I argue.
“The line between pleasure and pain is thinner than most think. For some of us, pain increases the pleasure. Heightens it.”
I watch for a minute more, absolutely enthralled now. Just as with the blindfolded woman, I find something beautiful about this scene. The way her partner seems to know her body, anticipating her every response. The way she trusts him so fully, to be completely at his mercy. It’s thrilling.
And so fucking hot.
“She likes it,” I say again, my voice stronger this time. And with those words a weight seems to lift from my chest. All those years of wondering about this, of trying to ignore the dark fantasies. Of trying to convince myself that I don’t want those things, that Ican’twant them, that they’re wrong. Watching this woman give herself so completely, the trust so plain on her face, the sounds of appreciation I can still hear from the other viewing rooms, knowing that other people feel this too, that I’m not the only one…the weight of the guilt I’ve carried seems to fade away with the sounds of her cries.
“So now you know how she’s feeling,” Nate murmurs in my ear. “How doyoufeel?”
“I…I feel…” I don’t know how to explain this to him, how to describe the sensation that’s filling me as I stare at the woman’s face. “I feel good,” I finally whisper, the word in no way big enough to encompass the depth of this feeling, this relief.
“Good is good,” he replies, laughter in his voice. He pulls me back tighter against his chest and I can feel the warmth of him seeping through my dress. “Can you elaborate?
I concentrate on that warmth, on the feel of him behind me, so strong and solid. I shift a little and feel his obvious hardness brush against me. I gasp. “Excited,” I blurt out. “It makes me feel excited.”
He pulls me tighter still, and I can feel his erection pressed against my lower back. He’s hard and the feel of it sends a thrill of desire through me.
“Aroused?” he whispers.
