Page 43 of Salt Kiss
The ruler comes again and again, diabolical and hot, and Mark straightens and steps back so he can hit my ass everywhere, until I’m sucking air through my teeth, until my head is rolling on the desk. And then like he’s building a sick kind of ladder, he layers stripes one above the other, from my knee to the lower curve of my ass.
The last one stings so much that my knees buckle, and I suck in a wounded breath.
“Mmm,” he says. “Such a nice little spot, isn’t it? So good for the strong subs who need a little bit more...effort.” He strikes me there again, pausing to listen to my low groan before he moves to the other side and does it again, taking care to layer two extra stripes along the bottom of my ass.
The ruler clatters on the desk near my hand, and Mark seems to be admiring his handiwork, chafing his large palms against the welts he’s left all over me.
“So pretty,” he murmurs to himself. “So sweet.”
I feel the slide of his hand and then gasp again as it finds my erection, giving it a sharp squeeze that has me moaning. His thumb swipes expertly over the head and goose bumps erupt all over my body as he smears the slick precum everywhere.
I would have never believed before now that I could still be hard after being worked over with a ruler, but here I am, shamelessly trying to press into his touch, widening my legs. Too late, I realize that might have been his aim all along, because then he runs two fingers slick with my own arousal over my newly exposed hole. I shiver on the desk, my hips rocking mindlessly back to meet him, and he rewards me with a slight press of his fingers inside.
“Oh,” I say, like he’s surprised me.
He pauses.
“Don’t move,” he orders and then leaves the room. I see bare legs, the low light catching on the golden hair of his calves and thighs. He must have discarded his pants at some point. And I have the strange feeling that I shouldn’t lift from the desk to see where the pants ended up, that I must stay exactly as he left me. I want to prove myself to him—prove that when he commands, I will listen.
He comes back, feet padding on the stone flags of the hallway and then on the wood planks and rugs of the library. I can almostfeelhis pleasure when he sees me in the same position he left me in. And I hear it when he says, “Good boy,” along with a light caress to my spine.
My toes curl at those two words.Good boy.
He sets something on the desk near my hip, and I hear tearing and then the noise of something slick on hard flesh. A condom.
I knew it was coming, and yet my breath catches in my chest. He’s going to fuck me with his cock now. He’s going to slide into a place so tight that even a single finger feels like an invasion.
His mouth drops to my shoulder and then to the nape of my neck.
“I wish you could see how incredible you look,” he murmurs, and then he reaches for something. A plastic click—a bottle—the sound of liquid. Something cool and slick is painted over the tight eyelet of my ass and I shiver.
“Shh,” he says. “It’ll warm up in just a minute.”
And then his finger circles me, slow but not sweet, more like the touch of someone savoring a first course, knowing a full meal is ahead. It breaches me with leisure; first the fingertip, then up to a knuckle, and then another.
I’m starting to sweat, my skin so flushed it feels like I’m burning. Between my legs, I feel each and every infinitesimal draft of air along the swollen and slick end of my cock.
“Have you ever done this to yourself?” he asks.
He runs a club where sometimes people sleep in dog crates for fun. I shouldn’t feel so flushy and awkward when I reply, “Yes, sir.”
“Just fingers? A toy maybe?”
“Just fingers. I—I was too embarrassed to buy a toy.”
There’s a huff of laughter; warm air brushes past the place where my neck meets my shoulder. “Just wait until someone tells you about the internet.”
His finger is thick, long, and he turns itjust so. It brushes against the place inside that makes me wild.
“I’ve never—” I’m squirming underneath him now, and if I thought him lying on top of me was heavenly, it has nothing onmovingunderneath him. On writhing and bucking and being held pinned in place anyway.
“I’ve never had a real place of my own,” I continue, and this is almost more embarrassing than anything else, but then there’s another caress inside and any emotion that’s notoh God, right therevanishes. “I was nervous about ordering something and having someone find out I’d bought it for myself.”
“So just your fingers, then,” Mark says, and then when he pulls out and pushes back in, there are two fingers. I’m being stretched. Dilated. This is as much as I’ve ever done to myself, and the angle has never been like this, it’s never been this deep and adept. I make a noise as he begins to fuck me slowly but thoroughly with his hand, grazing my prostate with every stroke, working me open bit by bit, until it gets easier and easier to take.
He’s moved off me, and I try to look over my shoulder at him. I can’t see much, but I can see that his expression is pleased and darkly ravenous. His eyes are fixed on where his fingers move in and out, and his free hand is sliding up and down my abused flank, sending sparks of sensation all over my body.
“I used to dream about having a submissive like you,” he murmurs. “Just like you.”
