Page 29 of Falling for the Mafia Dom
What am I doing?
Trying anything once.
Taking a deep breath as Kim opens the door, I step into the room before me. The décor is similar to the rest of the club – marble, leather, dark wood, and subtle gold accents – only this room is relatively devoid of furniture. The rich red carpet and dark leather bench centered in the room the only items filling space on the floor.
The walls are lined with black hooks. From them hang various wooden paddles. Solid wood. Wood with holes scattered throughout it. Some with words engraved backward on them. My fingers trace through the deep grooves of the letters –Sir’s– before continuing past the remaining paddles.
Sal is staring at me from the back of the room as he meticulously undoes the top three buttons of his shirt. Lifting his hand, he curls his finger gesturing for me to join him.
“You look nervous,piccolo fiore,” his tone is almost paternal.
Swallowing hard, I stare back at him in a complete loss for words.
“Do you prefer a stinging pain or a thuddy pain?” He questions so matter-of-factly that it sounds like he’s asking if I prefer red or white wine.
“I…um…,” I stammer and my voice cracks, “I don’t know.”
“Put out your hand. Palm up,” he grabs a thin paddle from the wall and flicks it against the fleshy part of my palm and I winch at the sharp bite I feel snap against my skin. Hanging it back on the wall, Sal says, “Stinging.”
He grabs a thick wooden paddle and slaps it against my palm. It still hurts, but more of an ache. It doesn’t have the same bite.
“Thuddy,” he brings my palm to his lips and places a soft kiss against the area he struck.
My breath quivering as his lips still brush over my hand, I manage to say, “Thuddy.”
He carries the paddle to the bench in the center of the room and places it on the edge of bench. People are slowly gathering in the room as he returns to me. My eyes dart between all the people and my nerves quickly begin to get the better of me. My heart races as I struggle to breathe, I feel Sal slide his fingers under my chin as he tilts my face up toward his.
“Eyes on me,” his voice is deep and firm, “Don’t look at them. You look at me. Or you look at the floor. Understood?”
My eyes locked on his, I nervously nod my head in acknowledgment. Not breaking our gaze, he steps closer to me, his arms snake around me, and I feel his hands against my back. My dress becomes looser, and I quickly realize that he is undoing the zipper running down the back of my dress.
“If it’s too much, you say ‘red’. Understood? Say it back to me.”
“Say ‘red’ if it’s too much.”
A man addressing the small crowd from the center of the room draws my attention and I break eye contact with Sal. Unable to fully concentrate through my nerves, I only catch bits and pieces of what he’s saying, “Impact play…spanking…positions…aftercare.”
Without context, it truly means nothing to me.
“Eyes on me,” Sal firmly grips my chin, repeating his previous demand as he turns my face back to him. Sliding the straps of my dress from my shoulders, he lowers it down my body. Standing before him in nothing more than a bra, panties, and heels, my chest is heaving as he stares at me.
Holding my hands, his eyes locked on mine, he leads me to the bench. He lifts my hand to steady me as he says, “On the bench. On your hands and knees.”
Climbing on the bench, Sal never breaks eye contact with me. As I bend down to rest my hands on the leather, I stare up at him standing at the edge of the bench. His knuckles slide along my jaw and under my chin as he looks down at me with pride.
“Eyes on the floor,” he moves his hand from my jaw to my shoulder, and I lower my head. “Focus on the sound of my voice and the sensations the paddle makes you feel.”
His hand doesn’t leave my body as he walks along the side of the bench. It tenderly slides down my spine until he stops, and it rests on the small of my back. I startle when his other hand brushes over the cheek of my ass.
“Relax and breathe,piccolo fiore,” his hand possessively rubs over my skin, “I will not hurt you.”
The hand circling my cheek disappears. It returns quickly as a palm, and I let out a surprised breathy yelp. His hand rubs over the warm skin. Disappearing again, it returns as a strike against the other cheek before he rubs over my skin.
“You’re doing so good,” his voice is soft and tender as he repeats the light spankings. My skin feels warm beneath the palm of his hand as he continues caressing my ass.
“Are you ready for the paddle?” he questions as he firmly presses it against my backside.
“Yes,” the word comes from my mouth as a groan.
