F is for Foul

 

Dear diary,

Foul. There is no other word that describes better how I've seen myself. Lying on my back at the edge of the bed, my hands and ankles locked in restraints and hooked to the spreader bar, knees wide open, my ass propped up with the pillow. Aldous milked my humiliation to the fullest, touching random spots on my body with buzzing Hitachi, waiting for me to beg, after edging me for what seems to be centuries. My ass and thighs, with marks in various shades of red, were smeared all over with his cum.

When he got me off that bench, Aldous made sure to demonstrate to me his handiwork in the mirror. The intermediate results, as he worded it. After that, he led me to the bed and showed me the proper waiting position. Bend over the pillows, cuffed hands behind my back, feet shoulder wide. The bed was too tall, without the bench to kneel on, my toes were barely touching the floor. 

“To give you a taste of how we'll do it next time,” he announced and tapped my butt with the edge of the belt.

“Aldous, please. I learned my lesson.”

“Who's Aldous?” The belt viciously bit into my already agonizing body.

“Please, sir!!”

“Keep your voice down.” He warned me, and I added ‘or else' in my head. “I like that phrase a lot, you are indeed learning your lesson. I will give you five more, and after each stroke you will say it.”

And that's how it went. “Owww! I learned my lesson.” Five more times, the harshest ones of that night.

True to his word, after that he called it a day and took me from behind. The height of that bed was not coincidental, it was built to his specifications, at the perfect height to bend me over and fuck me from behind. He didn't care much how long he lasted, the trusty Hitachi was there to finish the job. He laid on top of me, whispering in my ear a promise of glorious yummy cummies. His cum mixed with sweat dripped down my raw flesh, intensifying the pain.

Filthy, ugly, indecent. Foul.

According to Aldous, the ladies first rule was invented by amateurs. On the contrary, ladies second would give the lady in question all the time in the world. When it came to pleasuring me, Aldous was an expert to pick and choose the best tool of the trade. Funny enough, with Hitachi it never took me too long. Little I knew what he had in mind.

Only when he flipped me on my back, I saw the spreader bar. Aldous locked my ankles and extended the bar to the fullest. Then he put my wrists into the cuffs with a longer chain and told me to hold the bar myself. He yanked me to the edge of the bed and lifted my ass to add another pillow. I was holding myself open for him to draw the pain and the ecstasy from me as he pleased.

Obscene, unsightly, hostile. Foul. 

And then he invented a new game. Every time I was on the brink of an orgasm, he brought back the belt. And I had to yelp, I learned my lesson, again and again, after each strike. He would back out and edge me again. 

“Look at me,” I heard his voice too near to my face. I didn't realize that I kept my eyes shut the whole time. My body, exhausted from the pain, was screaming enough, but my reckless brain demanded to keep going. 

“I will not stop this time, Elizabeth, I will let you cum. And I want to hear the magic words as you cum.”

“Yes, sir.” I responded with a hoarse from all the screaming voice.

“What are the magic words?”

“I learned my lesson,” I chanted effortlessly.

“Good girl. And from this day onwards, whenever you cum, either with me, or by yourself, you will always repeat those words. I learned my lesson.“ 

He pressed the Hitachi against my clit and kept lacing my ass with his belt. I couldn't tell anymore, if I kept cumming from the Hitachi, or the belt, or the words that turned on some part of my brain I wasn't aware ever existed. 

Unclean, disgusting, miserable. Foul.

Aldous is long gone from my bed, it took me years to learn not to feel foul anymore, but the words stayed. No matter who I'm with, like a clock, even if I scream out my partner's name or God's name, in my head I repeat those words: I learned my lesson.

E is for Eager

Dear diary,

You have to understand, at that point Aldous was the only man I've ever been with. We met when I was seventeen, he was ten years older, patiently waiting for me to grow up. We didn't have sex till we got married when I turned twenty one. Maybe one day I will write about that. These days they would call it grooming. But back then, I liked how he was always there for me. He was there in the front row, when I fell on stage. He took care of everything. Maybe that's what I always wanted, to be taken care of.

As long as I could remember, I danced. Always in a pursuit of that perfect stance, perfect jump, always at the expense of an excruciating pain. When I fell, and it was over for me, there was another pain, of loss of something I loved the most. And Aldous was there for me as always. One day he just replaced one pain with another and took it to a different level. I was indeed a pain slut, as he liked to call me, and he was the only one who understood that part of me, how much I craved it, how eager I was to learn all the new ways to receive it. So he gave it to me.

It's weird, from someone who has never been touched sexually, I felt men's hands on my body quite often, of my ballet partners, of course. The hands that would hold tight onto my waist, lift me, ground me, keep me safe. Except when I fell. There was a deep connection between those strong hands on my body and feeling safe. And as anything else, Aldous took it one step further. His secret spot was the small of my back. With his hand there, he would guide me through a crowded party, lead me on the dance floor, nudge me into position. Like it was a switch to turn off my anxiety and connect me to him even more, with no words necessary.

So when Aldous slid his palm down my back and rested it on the small of my back, it wiped out all my fears and hesitation. I was his, eager to take whatever he planned to dole out. But this eagerness was calm and serene, if it makes any sense. Overwhelmed no more, I was eager to serve.

“May I please you?” The smell that sent me into the agony mere minutes prior, was now as welcoming as ever. 

“You mean, please me, please me?” He chuckled but I noticed the familiar twitch.

I was nervous, as we never tried it before, you know, him striking me with him in my mouth. What if I bite him by accident? But Aldous had more faith in me or just wanted to teach his pony a new trick. He unzipped and fed himself into my mouth. I wiggled my hands, still tied behind my back, and got my wish granted. After all, Aldous loved my inexperienced hands on his body, tugging, squeezing, pulling him closer. 

The blows that followed did not distract me, I welcomed them the same way I would his playful swats. The belt bit into my ass time after time, but I sucked on him with a newfound reverence. I even rocked my hips, following his rhythm, eager to feed his both needs: the need to give me that pain and the need to fuck my mouth. It shifted the mood. There was neither place, nor time, only his belt falling on my ass and his cock in my mouth.

Aldous admitted to me once, how many times he fantasized about my mouth, while watching me perform on stage or later, getting off to my videos. He was eager to teach me to suck properly. I couldn't take him in at first, which frustrated me so much. Obviously, I had no one to compare him with, but he explained to me that he was much thicker than average. So, he bought a collection of dildos for me to practice with, though I still had to learn to deep throat.

“Good girl,” Aldous touched my cheek, and I let him go. I didn't even notice that the blows stopped. “Stay here,” he got off the bench and patted my butt. 

Only now I realized how thoroughly he thrashed it. My poor ass burned the same as my thighs, before he numbed them with the cream. I heard the water running and the sound of a fabric being wrung from the excess water. When Aldous pressed the hot wet towel over my smarting cheeks and held me down, I yelped in agony. He was ticking off every single rule in the book of torture.

“You didn't think we're done, did you?” He adjusted the hair that was blocking my eyes, and I saw my pink Hitachi on the bed next to the pillows.

D is for Discipline

Dear diary,

The sounds of Aldous constantly moving behind my back were maddening, but I didn't dare to peek and kept my nose glued to the corner that pleasantly smelled of old wallpaper. There wasn't much furniture in the bedroom. When I heard something dragged to the middle of the room, it could only be the long tufted bench at the bottom of the bed that I knelt on, while waiting for Aldous. The old hardwood floor creaked as he walked to the bathroom and banged a few vanity drawers looking for something, then came back and rummaged through the drawer in the nightstand on his side of the bed, the side that was closer to the door. 

I heard Ellis, the gardener, watering the roses and walking away along the gravel path. My mouth felt dry, and my heart was pounding. If I could hear the dainty sounds of water and gravel, Ellis for sure heard me scream. As Aldous liked to joke, this guy worked longer at the estate than I was alive. Will he tell anyone else? Will I lose respect of the staff, or will they feel sorry for me? Will they tell Uncle James? To whom was Ellis more loyal, Aldous or Uncle James? Back then I was still trying to figure out their family dynamics, which our marriage affected so much.

I didn't stay in the corner for long, before Aldous called me out and pointed at the same spot in front of the mirror, but now there was also a bench right next to it.

“Pillows-shmillows, I will buy a proper bench for the next time.” He patted at the end nearest to the mirror. I froze at the words ‘next time', unable to move. “Hop on. Straddle it.” Aldous patted the same spot with more vigor and pulled my hand towards the bench. 

With two hands on my bare waist, he guided me over. My torso pressed flat on the bench, legs spread out wide, feet dangling in the air, face turned towards the mirror. He pulled out one of my scarves from his pocket and tied my crossed wrists together to stay behind my back. I closed my eyes from the embarrassment. His handprint on my ass faded away, the jarring contrast of my white butt and crimson thighs was terrifying and humiliating at once.

“Yes, dearest, I will not wait until you transgress again.” I felt his hand rubbing something cold on my burning thighs. I didn't care anymore, if it was to make me feel better or worse. Either way his conniving mind will come up with a new torture. I just hoped it was not capsaicin cream. “Little girls like you need discipline on a regular basis. Will start with weekly.”

The cream worked its magic, soothing and numbing the scorching pain. I understood his evil plan, to numb the pain in my thighs, so it will not distract me from the new batch. On my behind. But before proceeding any further, he sank two fingers deep inside me and quickly withdrew. I squirmed from the pain and sudden intrusion.

“Oh. You're as dry as the Sahara Desert!” He sounded genuinely puzzled. “Why? Is my little pain slut not happy to see me?” 

My eyes filled with tears, and I turned away. 

“Answer me.” Aldous poked my hand.

“No, sir. Yes, sir.” I yelped. “I'm always happy to see you, sir!”

“Then why so dry?” He kept his hand on top of mine, still tied with the scarf.

“It's the pun– sorry, the discipline, sir.”

Aldous shrugged his shoulders. “Doesn't mean I won't fuck you after. Doesn't mean I won't give you your yummy cummies.” He pinched my ass cheek. “I'm going to teach you a valuable lesson.”

“Please, sir.” I grabbed his hand with mine. I didn't know what scared me more, the further onslaught or the threat to fuck me after. Or even worse, to force me to cum with Hitachi, when all I wanted was to be left alone and fall asleep. All I wanted was for this to be over.

“Please what?” He freed his hand.

“I learned my lesson.” That was the first time out of thousands I uttered the wretched phrase. I learned my lesson. I sold my soul to the devil. I learned my lesson. Aldous was and will control every aspect of my life. I learned my lesson. There is nothing I can do about it. I learned my lesson. My ass is his, in any way he desires. And so is my pussy and my mouth and whatever else Aldous will come up with. I learned my lesson.

“No, darling. We are only halfway through your discipline. One third.” He corrected himself and straddled the bench behind my head. “Can't neglect those pillows.”

One hand on my neck, pressing my head hard against his crotch, I could smell him through the thin fabric of his summer linen pants. The smell, intoxicating any other time, suffocated me to the brink of a panic attack. I thrashed under his hand like a fish out of water, gasping for air. Aldous lifted my head and stroked my hair until I calmed down.

“I need you to stay still, doll.” He leaned forward, pressing one hand between my shoulder blades. And then I heard the belt buckle.

 

C is for Camel's back

 

Dear diary,

I cannot emphasize enough how that day changed my life, how the sole thing I crave turned into my worst nightmare. The very words that I whisper every single time I cum, “I learned my lesson”, were prescribed on that God-forsaken day.

“What the hell are you wearing?” Aldous charged from the doorway.

I jerked from the sound of his voice, the belt slid off my butt and fell on the hardwood floor with a loud bang. I jumped off the bench to pick the precious thing off the floor in a hurry and to kiss it, the same way I saw my friend N. kisses her prayer book. The parallel I just thought of, comparing the belt with N.’s prayer book, was appalling. I blushed profusely from that more than from any other reason. Starting from the fact that I had to face Aldous in nothing but a short blouse, while clutching his belt to my chest and cupping my bare bush, unable to raise my eyes. Anything to avoid that glare.

“You said to get ready and presentable,” I mumbled.

“Don't be ridiculous.” Aldous waved in the direction of the dressing room. “Go put that dress back on.”

“And panties?” I blurted out, as I scurried to get more clothes to cover my body, if only for a few minutes.

“Sure. Why not.” He plopped on the bench with a sigh of annoyance.

For a quick second I considered putting on my lucky yellow with white trim Zimmermann dress, but then decided that no luck in the world will help me and I wouldn't want to marr the dress with a memory of this day. Somehow, I already knew, this day will stay with me forever, the same as the day I fell on stage. The light green sundress with daisies I wore on the walk was pretty, but I wouldn't hesitate to get rid of it and throw it into the donation bin, if it comes to that.

When I came back, Aldous was standing in front of the full length mirror, fixing his hair. The Venetian mirror with an ornate wooden frame hung in between two tall windows, now suspiciously closed and heavy curtains drawn shut. This bedroom faced the back lawn, surrounded by the rose bushes, right now being trimmed by the gardener. I audibly gasped. Aldous expected me to get loud, he won't gag me, but he doesn't want the gardener to hear me scream.

He stepped back from the mirror and motioned for me to step in between. With his both hands on my shoulders, he positioned me sideways and pushed my head down, a sign to bend over. I usually liked to be manhandled in the bedroom, but there was something eerie in everything he did. I completely forgot about my plan to beg, I already molded into a puppet-like state of mind.

“Look in the mirror,” he touched my cheek. “Do you see your panties?” 

My back was parallel to the floor in a perfect upside down letter L. The dress rode up but nowhere near to show the white lace panties. I shook my head. Smack! His hand landed on the exposed skin just above my knees.

“I expect either of two answers: yes sir or no sir. What is it going to be?”

“No, sir!” I yelped, anticipating another smack. It was like I couldn't wait any longer and wanted to provoke him to get going. So at some point, he will be done with it. I wanted nothing more but to be done with it.

Smack on the same spot. “No reason to raise your voice, Elizabeth. I'm riiiight here. Not going anywhere.” His hand on the small of my back nudged me to bend more. “Come on, bend in half, like you did on stage. And grab your ankles.” I followed his order without any hesitation. “Look again, can you see your panties?” The dress rode higher but was still safely covering my butt.

“No, sir,” I whispered this time. Grab your ankles. That was one of the worst positions. I knew too much, I read too much, I saw too much. I knew exactly what was coming. The skin got pulled so tight on my legs and my butt, each stroke will hurt tenfold.

“Do you know why? Do not answer.” Aldous walked over to the bed to pick up the forgotten belt. “Because your dress is long enough.” Fire! It felt like fire just licked my upper thighs. Ah! With my head down, I could see the belt moving toward my legs with a threatening speed. One, two, three, four, five, six. He stopped at six. He went so fast, so hard. I was whimpering already.

“Do you think I'm giving you a whipping for being late?”

“Yes, sir.” I breathed out in between the sniffles.

“No, dearest, it was the proverbial straw that broke the camel's back.” He delivered another six before he paused again. He seemed not to be bothered by my bawling,  “Probably the cane would be a better substitute for a straw.

“Nooo! Please, not the cane,” I wept.

Aldous ignored my pleading and added three more. The bastard was aiming at the same spots over and over again. 

“It's not up to you, Elizabeth, and I've already ordered new canes.” He tapped my thighs with the edge of the belt, indicating that he was about to strike me again. One, two, three! 

“Ahhhh!”

“Be thankful that I chose the lightest belt.”

“Thank you, sir.” If you are ordered to be thankful, you better say it, that I knew well.

“Good girl, you're learning your lesson.” Aldous rubbed my burning thighs, as he paused. “Right, as I was saying, it was a long list of transgressions. Just this afternoon, before your fateful walk, you were arguing over the length of your dresses.” 

Another six, one by one, bit into my thighs. The stinging overwhelmed me. I was afraid to lose balance, to let go of my ankles, to do anything that would cause Aldous to hit me more and more. I so wished he would move onto my butt. He never hit my thighs before, I heard that it's more painful but the reality was way worse than I'd ever imagined. 

“Get up,” he patted my back, and I managed to awkwardly straighten up. “Do you see the beauty of it?” Aldous waved at my tearstained reflection in the mirror. The skirt of the dress fell back to just above my knees, covering the scarlet red thighs. “No one can see you've been whipped.” He picked up the hem to fold up and tuck it in between the buttons on the back, then yanked the panties down, revealing my still pale butt. He smacked it with gusto, leaving a red handprint of all five of his fingers.

“Go stand in the corner and think about it. I'm not done with you yet,” he smirked. “Your pile of pillows, too adorable to not give it a go.”

Please No

This story is from the very early days of their relationship. Nick knows nothing. 

Izzie's fingers, now done with caressing Nick's cheek, slide into his thick hair. She struggles not to pull on his curls too hard. Beats her, how a simple act of caressing one's hair is considered an encouragement. She hates a hand on her head whilst she bestows the hand owner with a blowie. But Nick doesn't mind, and  he definitely doesn't need any encouragement.

A stray thought shots through Izzie's agonizing brain, who knew that Nick is so good at... How many women out there know, in a very biblical sense, that Nick eats pussy like a pro? With each lick, bite, tug, and swift circle, he quickly ascends to the top of her personal eat-it-like-you-mean-it list.

He doesn't waste any fingers. While the palm of his hand applies some delicious pressure on her mound, the fingers spread the pink lips wide open for his tongue to dive in. The fingers of his other hand sink in and out, following the tempo of some heavenly song. He cautiously circled around her back door once, and she shook his hand off from there. Not all at once, Mister. Leave something for the next date. But that was the only time she intervened in his proceedings. Magnifique, he was simply magnifique.

She didn't notice how her usual 'please please please' mantra became audible, and seconds later interlaced with no's.

"Please no please no."

Screeching halt. All digits and tongue withdrawn at once, he jerks away too fast, dragging his stubble against the sensitive skin of her thigh. The burn is surprisingly pleasant, but not the feeling of the cold air where his face was just a moment ago.

"Why did you stop?" she pants.

"You said, no." The sound of his voice comes from somewhere awfully close. She opens her eyes, and, bam, he is staring at her, like a deer in the headlights, his worrisome eyes just a few inches away from hers.

"I didn't mean it," she mumbles. "Go back." She nudges his head down.

"Wait, wait a minute. What do you say when you do mean it?"

"I doubt we'll ever get there." She muses, pushing away a forgotten memory. But no, he doesn't buy it, still waiting for an answer. "Don Quixote."

"Is this some kind of a safe word?" Nick asks. 

"Yes," she nods. "It's my safe word." That was not safe enough, her memory reminds her. The safe word that was discarded, disregarded, violated. That night that broke her, send her running for the hills, and eventually, to this island. That changed everything, and most of all, her ability to trust, to put herself in the hands of the other, guarded only by one little word that draws the line between whatever they do and abuse. Since then, years past but she never tried again: to trust. 

Whatever Nick sees in her face, he freezes, but it doesn't stop him from asking more. "Did you ever have to use it?" 

And she can't, she simply can't admit, the shame, the betrayal, the failure she felt. How later she got caught up in a lie. It's so much easier to invent a lie, even only to herself, than to admit the inexplicable. So she repeats the same lie. 

"I consented." 

Q is for Questions

 

Another snippet from Izzie and Nick verse. 

Q is for Questions 

"Were you spanked as a child?" 

"No, got a lot of yelling. I danced since I was five. I think no one would ever touch me out of  fear of visible bruises or marks." 

"So, when did it start?" 

"My ballet teacher had this vicious bamboo cane that everyone was scared of. We never knew if these stories were true or just stories to keep us in line. Until one day, just before the recital, I could get my plies right, and he told me to stay after.. after." 

"How old were you?" 

"Old enough. It was horrible, but I was more scared that the next day everyone will see the marks. So for the recital I changed the tutu to a long skirt. He said that he will spank me again and cane me for changing the skirt, right after the recital. I don't know how I could dance, knowing of what was coming, but it was my best performance ever. And after..." 

"Are you sure you want to continue?" 

"At first I thought I will die, it was so unbearable, I was still very sore from the spanking he gave me before the recital. And then I reached the point when... I didn't want it to end." 

Nick holds his breath, afraid to interrupt her, but his treacherous hands hug her tighter, and Izzie speaks again. 

"He never touched me again. I turned to Mister Hairbrush, he was very handy and  accommodating, as you can imagine." 

"What about Aldous?" 

"Not today, Nick. Aldous is a bone fide sadist, and I'm not a masochist, not exactly. But I asked Aldous first, not the other way around. That's all you need to know."

Death, Taxes, and Belt

This story is a bit of a Dead Dove Do Not Eat variety, so proceed at your own risk. I promise there is a happy ending, as Aldous is Izzie's evil ex-husband, she left years ago. Mandy is Nick's ex-wife.

The memories that are flooding her brain, no, she's never going to tell Nick any of this. How she was lying on that rocking spanking bench, ball-gagged, hands tied behind her back, whipped into delirium, whimpering. How Aldous stepped on the runner to stop the bench from moving and pulled the gag out of her mouth. 

"What were you trying to say, doll?" Aldous asked. 

"Don... Don Quixote," she whispered her safeword. 

"Too bad, I'm done now." How the cold lube splattered on the small of her back. "What do you say now, doll?" 

"Please, Aldous, please. I learned my lesson!" 

"Tsk-tsk, that's not what you say, doll." He spread the lube over her reddened cheeks. It was one of those warming lubes, that was supposed to tingle, but on the whipped skin it burned like hell, same as fresh ginger juice or capsaicin cream. "Or should I pick up the belt again?" 

"No, no, sir," she writhed in pain. 

"Then say it." Aldous pressed two fingers till they sank in. 

"I'm just a hole, sir," she blurted it out in one burst. 

"Atta girl, now say it again, slower, and with more enthusiasm." 

Izzie stares at her shaking fingers. For the life of her, she doesn't know how to explain, what was a brutal nightmare with Aldous, would be a dream come true with Nick. But Nick is not ready for any of it. Not today, not now. The only thing she wants is to get out of here for Christmas. Next year will be different. There will be a whole year to figure it out. 

"That Christmas," she clears her throat,  "Aldous bought me a spanking horse, as a gift, and a Gucci scarf to tie my hands. I left him for good on New Year's Eve. Happy?" 

And the same as on The Day She Came Back, Nick crosses the distance between them in one move. Does he slide, like tennis players on a clay court? He holds her tight, as if his embrace can protect her from all the evil in the world, and in this moment, it feels like he can. 

"May I please kill him?" Nick says ever so plainly. 

"I consented. We were trying a new… dynamic, and I failed." 

"You failed? Izzie, I do know the difference between consent and abuse." 

"I consented." 

He holds onto her shoulders to look at her face. "What the fuck, Iz? You kept in touch with him. Hell, you were trying to conceive with him right up until you met me." 

"I did not sleep with Aldous since I left him!" she steps back. 

"I know, he told me." 

"What did he tell you?" 

"Ask her about the turkey baster, he said. Quite self-explanatory if you ask me."

"I wanted a baby, he was still my husband, legally. What was I supposed to do? Get pregnant from a stranger I picked up at..."

"Please continue, I dare you." Nick bites his lower lip, hands in his pockets,

"Piss off, Nick, not now," she pauses. "Stockholm syndrome. I don't know, the devil you know?" 

"Oh please! You let me be 'friends' with him, so to speak, I invited him into my house. For crying out loud, he slept with Mandy."

"More like, Mandy slept with him," Izzie rolls her eyes.

"Do you understand what you did?? Couldn't you bring this to my attention earlier?" Izzie buries her face on his chest, and that alone switches off his anger and into a protector that he is, first and foremost. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, forget everything I said." He pulls her into a bear hug, his lips pressing onto the top of her head. "I need to talk to Mandy. I can't let him anywhere near you, her, kids. Please don't go away, Iz. Not now, not fucking now." 

That’s just bloody epic, with Izzie on his lap, on the verge of a bloody nervous breakdown, he needs to deal with his ex-wife, aka Hurricane Mandy, thankfully on the phone.

“Mandy, Mandy, listen to me. I’m going to say it only once. I’ve just promised Izzie not to kill Aldous and not to put him in jail, and I’m not sure how to keep this promise. You’re not to see him ever again… Yes, that bad. You can get on Tinder and fuck half of  the tri-state area, I will say, good for her and give you a five-star review for excellent deepthroating skills... Why Uber? No reviews on Tinder? How do you know?.. No, I don’t give a fuck, I just told you. Have a nice and restless night!”

Free from the phone, his right hand presses Izzie’s head under his chin, fingers combing through her hair, touching her motionless shoulders, noticing how quiet she had gone. Gone.

Not today, not now but she will tell him one day. How she plays in her head this nightmare of a scene, an all-time numero uno mover and shaker of her personal wank bank. How the cameras roll every bloody time she is about to come, from the perfect vantage point of a pitiful but useless guardian angel, floating somewhere above, just underneath the mirrored ceiling, watching her old self, pinned down and screaming under the belt rising and falling in slow motion, as inevitable as death and taxes, on her crimson cheeks. Yes, that’s it, death, taxes, and belt. How she chants the words faster and faster until…

“Nick?” she cries out, holding onto the words that burn the bridges. Startled, he shakes his head slowly, sensing the disaster, begging not to speak, no more. She presses a single finger to his lips and takes the leap. “When I get off... it helps me to get off… in my mind, I see myself on that spanking horse, and I scream, please sir, I learned my lesson.”

“You mean, when you are by yourself?” he offers her a meek way out.

“Every time. I’m sorry.”

“When I make you come, you see Aldous beating the shit out of you, did I hear it right?”

“Nick, I’m so sorry.” 

UPDATE:

To read all the stories in order click here  I was hesitating to ask you, what would Nick do, but I'm afraid that the answer would be unanimous (Thank you, Hermione!). Hold your horses though, nothing is simple when it comes to Nick...