He kissed her forehead. “You took those so nicely for me.” He brought his hand softly down to her behind, and she wished she could feel what he did, could touch the searing heat of those five stripes.

He breathed into her hair, and she softened under him. He held her close, and she realized how utterly natural this all felt. All these thoughts, all these fantasies—she had kept them so sequestered that even when she allowed them to creep outside the black box she kept secreted in her head, they felt somehow removed, as if she were watching a movie from the last row—the images sharp, and focused, but far, far away. But now, he seemed to have floated her down, and she stood, not watching, not performing, just herself with him.

She pressed hard against him and felt washed in shame and love, and she sighed into his chest and was closing her eyes when the next swat came. It hurt more than the others, and she jumped and tried to pull away.

“What was that for?” she said, and glared at him.

“Because I wanted to.” He grinned, and his eyes were so radiant, she had to look away.

The unfairness of it pricked her, and she tried to turn her back to him, but he held her still. He ran his fingers through her hair and held her tightly. “Now,” he whispered. “I’m going to give you five more, and you’re to count each of them, nice and loud. Do you understand?”

It was unfair, but she felt her head expand, her body yield, and she nodded.

“Good.” He stepped away and brought the crop down, a hot fiery snap.

“One,” she said.

Quickly, he did it again, and she cried. “Two.” It was electric, and she could feel the welts rise, the heat emanating from the crop to her flesh to her very center. “Three.” The top of her head seemed to open up, and with the next molten snap of the crop, she felt sucked into the ether. It was a familiar feeling, this going outside herself, but this time, her consciousness disintegrated, leaving her body below and counting. “Four.” Just bones and flesh planted firmly. “Five,” and then he was telling her to beg to be fucked, and she was begging, over and over until he was cupping one of her breasts in his hand, and then pushing inside her, his mouth tight on her ear, telling her all the nasty things she’d only thought to herself for years and years and years, and her head was pushing into the cold iron, full of nothing but space and air, her insides alive and present, her outsides his completely.

CHAPTER FIVE