Page 50 of Monarch
I could do that,I think.I could tell Mari exactly what to do next. I could help them see to Roos’ needs while also seeing to their own.
It’s an uninvited and unwelcome line of thought, and yet it sticks, like a fleck of unwanted oil paint on an otherwise perfectly painted canvas. I grip my glass tighter, again fearing that if I move any other part of my body, my impulses will propel me onto the stage.
Finally, Mari seems to realise they need to take action. Roos has been in this position for an uncomfortably long time, and I know Mother Maria is very aware of how each minute takes us closer to it being adangerouslylong time. I wonder if she says something toMari to prompt them to step back and lift their hand holding the paddle.
They say something I don’t catch, although my ears strain to hear it. I want to know what they’re saying. What they’re thinking. What they’re feeling.
I shouldn’t, but I do.
Their first strike is awkward, clumsy. It’s like they decide to slow down right at the last minute, and it hits Roos a little higher than any kinkster would say is advisable. Roos trembles. Mother Maria winces. Somebody in the audience gasps. And Mari curses.
“Fuck,” they spit, loud enough for everyone to hear.
I ball my free hand into a fist. I have never felt more torn in my life. Split right down the middle between wanting to charge up there and take control and wanting to stay where I am transfixed on whatever happens next.
Mother Maria talks to Roos, and then Mari. Her words are inaudible, but her tone is clipped, curt.
Mari nods and lifts their hand again. The lean muscles in Roos’ back tense. The most beautiful little pout appears on Mari’s face. A carbon copy of the one I kissed away when I took their lips with mine in my studio. I find myself reliving the kiss, their sweet taste, their reluctantly eager tongue.
Their second swipe is perfectly executed. Right in the middle of Roos’ already red right butt cheek. Mari smiles for half a second before moving so they can do the same to the left side. And so it goes on. After a few strokes, they stop alternating, which has Roos throwing her head back in surprise when she gets two consecutive hits in the same place. Only occasionally do they step closer to caress the flesh they’ve hit, and each time, I hear Roos moan in a way that has my cunt swelling. I itch to plunge my fingers into my underwear. I am desperate to fuck. Roos. Mari. My hand. Anybody. Anything.
But still, I don’t move. I am a statue on the outside, and a riot of colours and shapes and senses and feelings inside.
“Ten more, baby girl,” Mari says, loud enough for everyone to hear. I feel something I shouldn’t when they then follow this by biting Roos’ hip.
Pride. I’m so proud of Mari for taking up space in this way. I’m so proud of the way they grin at Roos and kiss her before saying, “And you’re going to count each one.”
Roos’ face is flushed. Her cheeks pink, and a glimmer of perspiration coats her skin. She looks good enough to eat.
“Yes, Mari.”
“Mx Mari,” they correct her.
“Yes, Mx Mari,” Roos says immediately and obediently.
I realise then what I’m witnessing. This is a key moment in Mari’s journey with kink. I don’t know what has happened between the last time we played together ten years ago and this moment in time, but I sense that this is the first time Mari has owned who they are. Maybe they’ve always stuck to being submissive, like they were for me back when we were clueless teenagers making it up as we went along. Or maybe they have dabbled with being Dominant, but it’s only today that they’ve done so in public. I wonder what it would be like to have Mari dominate me and Roos together. Could they do it? Could I?
I let myself have that fantasy for three seconds, and then I shut it down. Not only because I want to focus on watching Mari give their all to these last ten strikes.
Brave Roos counts down the lashes dutifully, the strain and the pain more and more evident with each shout. Mari pauses at five, and there’s a quick, mumbled exchange between them and Roos. It ends with Roos calling out, “Yes, please, Mx Mari, more.”
Mari resumes their position, and I hold my breath. Roos is not the only one shaking as they deliver another hard thwack to Roos’backside. Each time they lift their hand, I study the slight tremble in their grip. I am possessed by the curve of their shoulder each time their arm is raised. I could paint a thousand paintings of the determined set to Mari’s mouth, jaw, and stare.
It’s impossible to say who I want more. Innocent, beaten, and used Roos, or determined, empowered, and emboldened Mari.
What I do know is that I can’t have either of them, and not just because I know they don’t want me.
“Two!” Roos gasps out, her voice fragile and beautiful.
Mari pulls their hand back higher than before. They use their whole body to make their arm swing. The crack of the paddle against Roos’ thigh reverberates around the room, the only sound in this vast space.
“One,” Roos says, and she’s crying now.
And oh, how sweet her tears will taste. How much I want to lick up each one. How much I want to bite them off her soft cheeks. How much I want to use them as lube to get myself off.
But I stay where I am. That is until Mother Maria and Mx Mari have Roos’ cuffs undone, and they help her out of position. Roos immediately falls to the floor and that’s the moment when I move. I dart forward as if to run to her, but I stop myself before I’ve made any distance because Mari is there, pulling her into their arms and cradling her.
They stroke the hair away from Roos’ face, and they kiss the top of her head. They are saying words I can’t hear into Roos’ ear, but I know they’re soothing, I know they’re helping because Roos turns to look up at Mari, and she gives them the very same look she used to give me. Big, cloudy sky eyes. Quivering bottom lip. A pleading frown.
