Asher knew Jessika would regret this. He thought he might regret it, too. Try me, she’d said, and, oh, he couldn’t resist.
It wasn’t that he was controlling, or dominant. Or, he was, he supposed. People said he had a certain air about him, a kind of possessive, obsessive quality. He owned himself and knew how to put that forward to others, but sometimes he felt helpless, too. Sometimes he felt like he couldn’t do anything and it was all a farce. Silly, really, since he was rich and powerful, except that wasn’t everything. In fact, if he had to meter it out, he’d say power and riches were only a small part of who he was as a person; the smallest part.
Asher was a dreamer. He was a thinker and a doer and a wanter. Not needlessly, though. He wanted to share with others, and in turn share in their feelings. He liked when people were happy. Beatrice called those people his pet projects, but he didn’t think that was it. Jeremy was one such “pet project,” but Jeremy was eternally grateful, too. He liked Jeremy and he never thought lesser of him, even if he’d first met the man working in a dead end job as a busboy.
He never wanted to control Jeremy. In fact, if Jeremy wanted, he could leave at any moment and Asher would never begrudge him that. He’d give his friend enough money to settle into a nice life of his own, and ask him over for dinner every so often.
Jeremy never left, though. He appreciated everything Asher did for him, and in turn Asher understood and appreciated him, too. Even though Asher asked him, sometimes ordered him, to drive him somewhere or pick something up, Jeremy did it willingly. It was Asher’s request, but also Jeremy’s offer.#p#分页标题#e#
Jessika was much the same, except so very different, too. He wanted to explore her, discover her, control her. But, then, not control her, too. He wanted her to be willing. She could leave at any moment.
Except, right now, she wasn’t leaving. Sitting on the couch, with Jessika draped over his lap, stomach pressed against his thigh, Jessika wasn’t going anywhere. Not because he wanted her to stay, even though he did, but because she wanted to.
…
I wasn’t quite sure what I’d agreed to, or why I was doing this, but a part of it excited me. Asher picked me up like a ragdoll and draped me over his lap as easy as that. Arms still strapped tight behind my back, his belt keeping them stuck in place, he leaned back and admired my ass.
“Are you sure?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” I said. “I’m not sure if I’m sure, but I’m willing to try.”
He laughed. “Alright.”
“I… I trust you,” I said.
Asher remained quiet. Contemplative. He rubbed his hand across my ass, caressing my bare flesh. The g-string that came along with the babydoll didn’t do much to hide my rear assets. It did even less when he plucked at the strings and pulled them down to my knees.
“Tell me if you want to stop,” he said. “Like… like a safe word. Alright?”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“Pick a word. Any word at all. If you say that word, I’ll stop, but if you don’t, then I won’t. So you can flail and scream and say no, no, no all you want, but if you don’t say the word then I won’t stop.”
“Isn’t that a bit extreme?” I asked.
“Maybe,” he agreed. “But, just in case.”
I didn’t know what I’d gotten myself into. I had no idea what we were doing. It turned me on so much, though.
“Leather,” I said, saying the first word that came to mind. His leather belt wrapped tight around my body and my arms.
“Alright. Ready?” he asked.
Before I answered, he slapped my ass with the palm of his hand. I squeaked, silenced, and my body jolted beneath his rough handling.
It didn’t hurt, but that didn’t stop the surprising abruptness. He lifted his hand and spanked me again, harder this time, louder. I wriggled, squirming in his lap as he spanked me harder and harder.
He stopped for a moment and rubbed my ass, squeezing my butt in his palm. “You have a nice butt,” he said. “I just want to…”
He slapped it hard. A resounding smack echoed through the air. I bucked my hips up high, relishing in his touch.
“Does it hurt?” he asked, sounding concerned.
I grinned to myself and refused to answer him.
He spanked me. “Does it hurt, Jessika?”
I whimpered, but said nothing.
He slapped my ass again and asked me the same question, but didn’t even wait for an answer before he spanked me once more. It didn’t hurt so much as it tingled, pleasant and rough. I could tell he was being careful, unsure, but trying to be dominant. Controlling me, dominating me, so close and intimate and…