CHAPTER ELEVEN - MASON

 

“But—” she begins to protest.

“But what?” I ask her. I will not repeat my request. I will not. But if she’s got something to say I’ll listen to her.

“Are you going to hurt me?”

“Do you trust me?”

She shakes her head. Then sucks in a breath, expecting me to react to that.

“That’s fine,” I say. “I didn’t earn it yet. So that’s fine. But I told you. I’m on your side.”

She exhales. “So…”

“Do you remember what I just asked you to do?”

“Yes,” she mumbles.

“Good. Then do it.” She looks at my hands. Then back up to my eyes. “Or don’t. But I’ve already told you what happens if you make this hard for me. I’m on your side, Lyssa. I promise.”

She kneels on the couch, turns her body, then lies over my legs and buries her face into the cushion.

I lift up her dress, exposing the welts on her ass, and then drag my fingertips over the back of her thigh. Just like I did last night.

She sighs, but her body is still, and rigid, and untrusting.

When I get to the little dent on her knee, I twirl little circles there. Then drag my fingertips all the way down her calf and tickle the sole of her foot.

That’s how I wanted to do it last night, but couldn’t.

“Does it feel good?” I ask.

“Mmm-hmmm,” she mumbles.

“Yeah, I like doing this too. So just relax, Lyssa. Your slate is clean now. We’re starting fresh. No more spankings unless you disobey me again.”

She’s still stiff. Unable to believe me.

That’s not a good sign. I wouldn’t call myself a dom or anything. I’m not really into this BDSM shit. I know just enough to have fun every once in a while. I’ve never actually tried to train someone to submit. It was always just a quick game. Little bondage, little spanking, then I come and forget about it.

But that’s not what this is now.

I could probably fuck her up worse than she is if I make the wrong move. But if I’m careful with her, if I’m fair with her, if I can earn her trust and then not blow it by going back on my word… well, I think we’ll be OK.

I don’t really know what her stepfather expects me to do. When we were in the office just before he left I questioned him about that directive to break her.

Break her.

I don’t want to break her.

He stammered and stuttered and then changed the wording to tame her. Calm her down. Make her sensible. But he still meant break her.

Break her of this wild thing living inside her mind. Make her want to be married.

So OK. I take that to mean he wants her to be polite. And respectful to others. And realize her self-worth. Which, come on, wasn’t that his job? Didn’t he teach her those things? He’s her fucking stepfather.

What he really wants me to do is parent her.

Which is weird because I’m doing it with sex. She’s motivated by it. That’s really all I know about her. If I knew what else motivated her, I’d try that.

Maybe.

I stop playing tickle with her feet and drag my fingers back up to her thigh. She clenches her ass cheeks together when I do that. Which tells me she likes it and it’s probably turning her on.

It’s wrong. I know that. I don’t really have a name for what I’m doing, I just know it’s wrong. I might just be some dumb bounty hunter. Some guy who takes jobs that involve kidnapping rebellious corporate princesses. But it’s almost an honest living. My mother taught me right from wrong. I don't kill people, for fuck’s sake. Up until this job, everyone I’ve hunted down was a criminal who jumped bail.

Legitimate, all of them

But this one… isn’t. She’s not a kid, for one thing. Her stepfather has no real right to make her endure this. But I have to do what I have to do to give my mother another chance at life.

I trace one of the bright-red welts on her ass. This makes her hiss in pain. But I don’t do anything other than that. Just trace the outline so that she knows I know what I did to her.

My other hand drops to her hair and I pull it away from her face so I can see her cheek. I really did mean it when I said she didn’t need makeup. She’s very young and very pretty. She opens one eye to look at me and I smile at her.

She doesn’t smile back.

“You OK?” I ask.

She shakes her head no.

“You wanna talk about it?”

She shakes her head no again.

“Do you want me to make you feel better?”

She bites her lip and then nods yes.

My fingers trace a line between her legs and then push their way past the skin of her pressed-together thighs until I find her pussy.

She’s not wet so I go slow.

“Like that?” I ask her. “Because you can tell me no if you don’t want me to.”

She nods yes, then closes her eyes.

I continue playing with her. Pushing one finger in and out of her pussy until she begins to get wet.

One deep breath in, then out, and her body relaxes a little.

Something is wrong with this girl. I just can’t put my finger on what it is.

I’ve had my share of wild ones. And they are all a little fucked up. So that’s not so unusual. But she’s… damaged. Maybe badly damaged. The way her voice shook when she told me not to hit her with the belt. That was real fear.

It bothers me because she’s gone to a lot of trouble to cultivate this wild thing persona. She likes it. She likes being unpredictable and tough. But it’s an act, isn’t it?

“Should I make you come, Lyssa?” I ask.

Because I now know she uses sex to deflect. And she’s faced enough truth today to earn her default defense mechanism.

“Yes,” she mumbles.

“OK,” I say. But I just continue what I’m doing. Slowly pushing my finger in and out. She earned it. She earned a nice, long, quiet morning of undivided attention.

When she’s so wet my finger slides in and out with ease, I drag that wetness down her leg again. Stopping to make little designs in the dent behind her knee.

Then I place all my fingertips on the back of her leg and brush back and forth, back and forth, softly across her upper thigh.

She wiggles a little and I smile.

“Got something to say?” I ask.

“More,” she mumbles.

I could make her tell me more what, but that would defeat the purpose of what I’m trying to do. Which is relax her. And reward her too. She didn’t want those spankings. No one really wants to be hit with a belt. She just knew that if she wanted me to stay, she had to pay for her disobedience.

So she chose me, didn’t she? Over herself.

Her stepfather was wrong. She’s not selfish. At least she wasn’t in this instance. Selfish means self-preservation. Choosing me was something different.

Choosing me meant opening herself up to something new. Something she was probably afraid of. But she did it.

“I’m proud of you,” I say.

“Why?” she mumbles. “Because I gave in?”

“Did you give in?”

“What do you think?”

“I’m not asking what I think. I’m asking what you think.”

“A little,” she admits.

“Do you know why you did that?” I ask.

“Why?” she says, lifting head up a little to see me.

“No, I’m asking you. Why did you do that? Why did you give in?”

She lowers her head and stays quiet for a few seconds. Then says, “Because I wanted you to stay.”

“You don’t even know me.”

She shrugs. “I like you.”

“Why?”

She sighs. Loudly. “Because you… you tell the truth.”

“It’s not that hard,” I say.

“For most people it is.”

“Maybe,” I admit. “Do you think I’ll hit you again?”

She opens her eyes. Thinks about this as she looks at me. “Yes. If I don’t do as I’m told, you will.”

I nod. “So if I do spank you again, it’s because you wanted me to. Understand?”

She nods and closes her eyes again.

“Wild Thing,” I say, then chuckle a little. “I think I like you.”

And then she smiles.

I do like her. She’s kinda easy to like today. Last night, not so much. She did knee me in the balls, punch me in the face—twice—and make me chase her.

Which was kinda fun.

But I don’t want to chase her. I don’t want her to chase me, either. I don’t want to threaten to leave in order to get her to comply. That’s not how you build trust.

“Can you turn over?” I ask her. She opens her eyes to look at me. “Or does it hurt too much?”

She thinks about this for a moment. I know it hurts too much. She will not be able to sit today. But I want to see what she decides.

She nods. Then props herself up and I help her turn over and position her ass so it’s hanging off the edge of my legs and not pressing too hard against the couch.

“When we’re done here I’ll go see if there’s any ointment I can rub on those welts.”

She makes a face at me.

“What?” I ask.

“Nothing,” she says.

“I don’t want to hurt you, Lyssa. I don’t get off on hurting people. So if that’s been your experience in the past, forget about it when you’re with me. I did it because it was expected. And you were being belligerent.”

She sighs.

“But forget about that now,” I say, sliding my fingers right between her legs. She’s very wet and ready for what I promised her. “Just relax and let me make you feel good.”

When I push a single finger inside her she opens her legs a little, granting me permission and access at the same time.

“I want you to fu—” But she stops herself, just in time.

So proud of her.

“You want what?” I ask.

“I want you inside me,” she says.

“I am inside you,” I say, pumping her with my finger.

“Not like that.”

“Then like what?”

She sighs. “I want your… penis inside me.”

I laugh, I can’t help it.

“What?” She laughs too. “I wasn’t sure I was allowed to say c-o-c-k.”

“Wild Thing,” I say. “I definitely like you.”

“Anyway…” She sighs.

“You were saying? You wanted my penis inside you?”

“Yes. I’m very turned on right now.”

“Good. You’re supposed to be. And don’t worry, I’m gonna make sure you come.”

“But—”

“Shhhh,” I say, placing a fingertip over her lips. “Just enjoy it.”

She sighs again. Only this time she relaxes even more. The weight of her body falls into me. I play with her breasts a little, appreciating their fullness, their roundness, and her large, pink nipples.

I lean down and take one in my mouth as I slide a second finger up inside her.

She moans, one hand going to my head and grabbing my hair.

I like that. And the truth is, I want to fuck her. I’m so hard right now. Maybe more turned on than she is. But I can’t. Not yet.

I let go of her nipple and straighten up again. Sliding yet another finger inside her. She moans at that. Three fingers is her sweet spot, I realize. Take notes for next time. I’ll start with three.

“You know what?” I say.

“What?” she mumbles, moving her hips a little, helping my fingers fuck her better.

“If you’re very good I’ll let you suck my cock after I’m done with you.”

“Will you?” She laughs.

“Yes. Sucking my cock is a gift, Lyssa. I hope you appreciate that. But if you don’t want to, then that’s cool too.”

“I want to,” she says. “I do.”

“Perfect. Then we both get what we want, don’t we? Isn’t that kinda nice how it works out that way when you’re a good girl?”

“Mmm-hmmm,” she says, grimacing when I push all three fingers deep inside her and wiggle them.

I want to make her squirt like she did last night. But I don’t want to be rough with her and doing it like this would require me being rough. There’s another way, though. One I can try out when I do finally fuck her.

Tomorrow maybe. Or the next day. Or hell, maybe I’ll wait until the last day and use that as her reward.

Her hips start moving with the motion of my fingers and I know she’s getting close. Her mouth is open now, breathing heavier and faster. Ragged and not at all rhythmic.

I grab her breast and squeeze it hard. Kneading it with my whole palm until she starts to moan. My fingers pressing up inside her as my thumb begins to play with her clit.

“Oh, God,” she moans.

Yeah, that’s it. Come for me.

I want to flip her around, spread her legs open, and tease her clit with my tongue as she comes on my fingers.

But I can’t. She’s too sore to be that rough.

So I lean down and kiss her mouth instead. I whisper, “Do you want to suck my cock right now, Lyssa?”

“Mmmm,” she moans back as we kiss.

I stop playing with her breast and slide a finger up to her lips. She opens her mouth immediately, wrapping her lips around it.

“Show me,” I whisper. “Show me how you’ll suck my cock.”

She starts bobbing her head up and down, and oh, man. I want to fucking come right now too.

I slip all my fingers out of her pussy, wet and glistening, then place them up to her lips as I take the other one away. She licks them. Hungrily. Eagerly. I take them away and she moans out a protest. But when I slip all four fingers into her pussy and press my thumb up against her clit, flicking back and forth across her sweet spot, she forgets about where they were and only cares about where they are now.

Her mouth opens wide, and her back bucks, and when I begin to pump my fingers inside her as my thumb continues to massage her clit, she lets out a long, slow moan as she comes.

I don’t even give her a second to enjoy it, I just sit her up and turn her around with one hand as the other unbuttons and unzips my pants. I pull my cock out and then aim her mouth over my tip.

She sucks me off as I finger her ass. Her head bobbing up and down furiously. Her lips sealed up tight against my shaft. Her tongue flat and wide, pressing along the whole length of me as she takes me deep, then pulls back.

I fist her hair, force her down until her face is pressed up against my stomach, and come in her throat with a long, low, growly moan.

Jesus fucking Christ.

Never in my life has a blow job ever felt so good.

She pulls away, spitting out semen as she sits up.

I smile at her, pet her disheveled mess of blonde hair, and then kiss her on the lips.

“Oh, my God,” she whispers into the kiss.

But I just kiss her harder. Wrapping that delicious, unruly mess of hair up in my fist.

She climbs in my lap, hips slightly elevated because of her welts.

And it would be so easy—so fucking easy—to just let her sink down on my cock.

But I don’t let her do that.

Not yet, Mason. Not yet.

I control myself and push my cock out of the way, opening my legs wide enough so she can rest the inside of her thighs against mine and relax, and not have to worry about rubbing her welts against my jeans.

She places her head on my shoulder and I wrap my arms around her waist.

Just hold her tight.

Wild Thing, I think in my head. You’re gonna make me love you if you keep acting like this.

And that’s a very bad idea.

I sigh, because that’s just the truth.

This girl and me? We have no future together. This was just one of her lessons and nothing more.

Still, I let her cling to me. I let myself cling to her.

And then I go one step further. I hold her tight, lean over, giving her time to reposition her legs, then lie back and pull her on top of me.

She relaxes even more. I didn’t think it was possible, but there you have it.

I hold her like that. Her head on my chest. My head pressed against the couch cushions. And I don’t ever remember being so relaxed myself.

Her breathing evens out before mine does, letting me know I won. She’s relaxed, and calm, and satisfied too.

This is such a mistake. I know better. I might not be very experienced in this whole wild-thing-taming profession, but I know better. Damaged people are easy to hurt. You just give them attention. Show them kindness. Be understanding.

That’s all they want. That’s all they crave.

And it’s wrong. I know it’s wrong.

I just don’t care at the moment.

I close my eyes and fall asleep with her.

Dreaming about what my life would look like with Lyssa Baylor in it.