Dominating Jess: A Fantasy Fulfilled Novella Read Online Free PDF Page B

back, my ass. He touched my shoulder with one finger, just a light
touch, but I almost jumped out of my skin. He laughed at my reaction, then ran
his finger along the top of my shoulder, up my neck, and then swept my hair out
of the way. He raked his nails against my nape. I got chills, goosebumps rising
on my arms and legs. My nipples tightened again.
    With one swift move,
he wrapped his hand around my hair, pulling my head back. With his other hand,
he undid the catch on the ball gag, and it dropped from my mouth, saliva
stringing out, wetting my chin.
    “Oh,” I couldn’t help
saying. I whispered, “Thank you.”
    In a heavy accent, Zee
said, “You do not speak.” He let go of my hair and I raised my head again.
    I heard something, a
swoosh of air, the second before something landed on my back. The pain was
instant and intense, streaming through me with a clear brilliance.
    He held the whip in
front of me, as if to get my reaction which should have been obvious. It was a
thick black braided handle with many short leather strips coming from it.
    And it hurt like a
motherfucker.
    “What do you think?”
    I was too scared to
say anything.
    Zee shook his head.
“Now, you speak. What do you think?”
    Quickly, I tried to
figure out what would be the best answer. Did he want to know I was terrified
of him hitting me again? Did he want me to be strong and pretend I didn’t mind?
What would save me here?
    “Thank you,” was all I
could gasp.
    Zee nodded. “Good.”
    And he hit me again,
the short strips landing in the same place in the middle of my back. I couldn’t
help the scream that tore out of my mouth, and I realized why he had removed
the ball gag. The men at the tables paused in their games to tilt their heads
toward us. Through the tears that swam in my eyes, I saw appreciative nods in
my direction.
    Another blow. I
screamed again, ending with a whimper that trailed off pathetically. The pain
was like none I’d ever had before. It was knife-sharp, coursing through my
body, almost unbearable.
    Yet at the same time,
I was astonished to find myself leaning back toward Zee as if I wanted him to
hit me again.
    I didn’t. Of course I
didn’t.
    Did I?
    The only thing this
pain reminded me of was when I got my tattoo. Getting the cherry tree that
curved from the bend of my right arm and up my shoulder, the blossoms dropping
down my back, was some of the most intense pain I’d ever gone through. But
then, trapped for hours in the tattoo artist’s chair, lightheaded and nauseated
from the pain, I’d felt something else: a pleasure-filled heat, knowing that
I’d chosen this for myself. I’d memorialized my seventh birthday when my mother
filled my bedroom with cherry blossoms still on the branch. I hadn’t known then
that she’d stolen them from the landlord’s tree, and that she did it because
she couldn’t afford to buy a gift. I’d just known I’d loved it, and I chose to
tattoo my body with the memory. I had put myself through the pain.
    And it was the same
now. I’d signed up for this.
    Zee hit me again, and
my thoughts scattered as I tried to remember how to breathe afterward. My back
felt more numb now, a relief.
    I’d chosen this. I’d allowed Jake to take me here. And over weak white wine served in tiny plastic bottles
on the plane on the way here, he’d taken out a black Moleskine notebook.
    “Tell me what you
want. I have a contract I’ll need you to sign later, when you’re totally sober.
But for now, we’ll just make notes.”
    I had smacked his arm
lightly and pulled the airplane blanket tighter around me. “I thought you were
supposed to give me what I want.”
    He nodded, but his
face stayed serious. “I can’t do that unless I know what that is.”
    I looked at the thin
man seated on the other side of Jake. The man’s eyes were closed, but I lowered
my voice anyway.
    “Just give me what you
give the others.”
    “Impossible. Everyone
has a different vision.”
    I shook my