I punch the code into the keypad with trembling fingers. I shoulder my way through the door, drop my leather pants, and palm my throbbing cock, biting down on my lips to keep from moaning—not in pleasure, but in pain.
Every time I get hard, the anxiety begins. I feel the need not for release but for pain. Pain and pleasure go together; when you’re taught this, it’s impossible to forget or move past it.
It’s probably part of what makes me such a good dom in a show. Out there on the stage, my anxiety focuses me. Causes a rush of adrenaline that keeps my spankings hard, my orders sharp.
Being reliant on my submissives to provide my pain makes me beholden to them. I know that. There’s no other choice, and I loathe that. I hate giving any amount of control to anyone.
Still, I make sure I’m the one in charge. I say when and how. My current sub enjoys inflicting pain—she’s confessed that much—but she also enjoys taking my orders, being submissive to me in every other way.
I find her waiting for me on her knees in the center of my king-sized bed, her body bent into a bow, her wrists still tethered to the bedposts the way I left them two hours ago.
When she sees me, she touches her masked face the mattress.
The mask is a necessity. Every sub wears one. So I can see their pale blonde hair and blue eyes, but not their faces.
“Get on your back,” I say in a low voice.
She complies quickly, moving into the spread-eagle position she knows I like. I hoist myself onto the bed and loosen the restraints around her wrists. Then I reach into the small brown box on the table pushed beside the bed, take out a small, velvet bag, and dump ten small, metal triangles into my palm. Just the sight of them makes my dick twitch. I grit my teeth and fit them over her fingertips. It’s been almost two weeks since we used these. Had to keep my back smooth for the show I just performed.
“Wrap your hands around my biceps,” I say as I move atop her.
She complies, applying a little pressure from the metal claws’ pointy tips as I palm my rock-hard dick.
Before I get a chance to shove myself inside her, I say, “Squeeze me.”
The order is unnecessary. After so many months spent in my bed, she knows what I like. With her fingers stretched out straight, so that her claws are nowhere near my dick, she catches me in between her thumb and forefinger, pressing and capturing my cock just below my head; tugging first, then squeezing. It wouldn’t normally hurt, but I’ve been hard the entire show. All the blood in my throbbing head is caught there for a moment, the pressure building.
“Hold,” I hiss.
She holds her grip. As I see spots behind my closed eyelids, the tightness in my chest begins to ebb.
If arousal brings on fear, the arrival of expected pain alleviates it.
“Down,” I groan.
She slides her hand down my shaft and bounces the palm of her other hand beneath my balls. They throb from heightened pleasure, but when she squeezes from the top down, as if she’s milking a cow, I cry out.
She lets me go, and then repeats. I see stars, moan “fuck.”
She repeats the agonizing ritual a few more times, until I’m so tender there, I know an orgasm will bring pain.
“Rest,” I tell her.
She lowers her hands to the mattress, and I part her legs. I slide my hand up her thigh and find her soft, warm folds. She’s already slick—probably turned on from what she just did to me—but after just a few thrusts of my fingers in her pussy, she’s writhing below me. Her nipples harden into pebbles. Her mouth “o”s, letting a low groan move out her lips.
“Spread your legs wider for me, and grab onto my shoulders.”
Her blue eyes flutter, peeking up at me, then closing.
“Yes, Master,” she whispers.
For just a moment as I push myself into her, I see a face that brings me peace. I hold onto the memory as I feel her stretch around me. She whimpers just a little, spreads her legs a little more. She pants as I work my way even deeper into her, then give a few taps on the buttplug she’s been wearing since this morning.
“Master,” she cries.
I start thrusting. Leah. Leah, Leah. Fuck.
I push in as deep as I can go and pull out slowly. My hips are shaking as my cock swells and pulses. My heart is beating hard; the air feels thin. I can’t wait much longer, and for a moment I’m so worried I’ll come before she grabs my shoulders, I fear I might pass out.
“Now,” I mange.
She cinches my shoulders like a hungry animal, gripping tight and clenching her fingers. The metal tips she’s wearing pierce my skin. My cock throbs. Pleasure has me grunting as I thrust. And when perfect pain lights up my deltoids, I allow myself to come.