Free Jeremiah Quick by SM Johnson Page B

only one unafraid to teach
her, and she is afraid, yes, but still she…
    …wants this.
    I turn her, bend her over the table again,
and push her down, face first, my hand cruel against the faint
marks on her back. She's really made much too much of her
"beating," and the thought of beating her for real makes me smile.
But before that can happen, I'll hold her trust in my hands, have
her will aligned with my own, dependent, co-dependent, immersed so
far in me that she'll never be a thing apart from me ,
ever again in her life. Mine, for always.
    I speak to her."Forty," and watch the line
of her back tense and twitch. And then, lowering my voice, infusing
it with kindness, I let her off the hook. "Forty bare-hand to
bare-ass smacks," I whisper into her ear, and use my feet to kick
her legs apart.
    She is silent, rigid, and I suspect furious,
as she waits for me to hit her, so I set my hands free to roam over
her back, decorating the switch marks with pretty red half-moons
that I gouge into her flesh with my fingernails.
    The line of her back somehow communicates
her anger, her pure defiance.
    Oh, really? We get to play this way?
    The rush of pleasure I get from
this thought curls my lips even more.

Chapt er
7
     
     
    P retty clamped her
lips, clenched her jaw, waited for him to start spanking her so she
could start waiting for it to be over. She understood his purpose.
By never telling her exactly what punishment she was earning, he'd
be able, at times, to force his 'punishment' onto her arbitrarily,
meaning there was no meaning to the numbers.
    Ten could be strokes, or spanks or minutes
or hours. It could be almost anything, really, completely dependent
on the spin he chose to give it.
    Completely dependent, like she would
become.
    She had no doubt he would prevail, would
obscure her ability to reason and muddy her sanity, but he couldn't
make her hate him, even if he tried.
    She waited for him to hit her, but he
didn't. He smoothed his hands over her flesh, stroking, then
pinching, pinching then stroking.
    It felt like a long time.
    But then, there it was, the smack and the
shock of heat all at the same time. Not exactly pain, not yet, but
a rush of uncomfortable warmth, the press of her body hard against
the table for just that instant.
    There was just that one.
    She… wanted to look back at him, to see what
he looked like, try to guess what he was waiting for, but before
she could decide if that was a good idea or a terrible one, his
palm hit her ass again, harder this time, and she had to argue with
her throat to be quiet.
    And then came a flurry of blows, some harder
than others, and she hoped he was counting, because she wasn't –
she was trying to breathe through the sudden surprising strength of
him, the pressure of the table against her abdomen, the sudden
warmth of her buttocks that was building to pain.
    The pain part, the moment of omg, I hate
this, make it stop seemed very sudden. One smack was tolerable,
the next and every one after utterly intolerable for the next, oh,
minute and a half? And then the strange thing happened, the thing
she'd read about but never quite believed was real.
    The pain started to feel good. Like…
blissful sort of good. Her brain releasing endorphins.
    And her hips were pressing toward him just a
tiny bit, moving into the connect of flesh on flesh, and she was
fighting off a moan. Silence was nearly impossible.
    When the spanking stopped and his cock
nudged between her legs, she was already wet, and her body welcomed
him.
    He filled her utterly, as if he belonged
inside her, seeking and claiming, a perfect fit. His attention was
total. She'd say adoring, but no, his hands started those tiny
little pinching fires again, playing with whatever marks the switch
had left in its wake. It wasn't a loving act, and probably had
little to do with Pretty at all. It was maybe even an avoidance
maneuver, manipulating his own desire because he didn't enjoy
hurting her as much as he'd thought he