Pain And Pleasure 18+✓

Five

"What do you mean?" I breathe smoothly, my attention equally divided between his words and his touch. "Is there any difference between the two?"

"Oh yes, there is, Miss Lincoln." He leans into my hair, my face uplifted by his strong grip around my neck. I shudder, but I don't move. "Unlike what you do believe at the moment, I do not draw pleasure in simply hurting my submissives."

My submissives. Point taken.

Does this mean he has many? I frown.

"Then what pleases you, Mister Castle? I don't believe all the bondage, cuffing, spanking, caning, and..." Oh God, where did I learn all this? "And...and..." I stammer.

"And what else, Miss Lincoln? I'm listening." He's highly amused.

Jerk!

I cling onto every thread of my left composure to ignore the sense of wetness between my legs. It's just hormones. It's been a while since I last got laid, that's all.

To stop the slut in me from rolling her eyes, I respond to Adrian:

"And... if all other stuff you do can not result in pain. I mean, you told me what we're having is different, right? It's BDSM. So how can you say you're different from those sadistic men if you can't settle for the normal arrangement?"

"Oh, Miss Lincoln." He laughs softly in response to my plain accusations.

I mean it, though. I've searched online about this. I've watched a few videos, too, and it's almost creepy that some people genuinely enjoy such stuff, even beginning to be beaten up by their masters just to please them. And by beat up, I don't mean a few swats in the ass while getting drilled, but a pink-turning kind of beating that can leave you sore for a week.

Okay, who am I to judge them? We all have our own nasty or gruesome fetishes but still, well, is that what I'm bargaining for? That dark, shady sex business with this man? Hell no! But I'm already into it, am I not? The minute I put on this dress and shoes with exorbitant price tags I've implied my utter assent to whatever he has in store for me, dammit.

Brushing his lips subtly against my neck, he slowly draws himself back so we're no longer in body contact. I keep my stance still even after a long, inaudible breath that I can't fathom as relief or disappointment yet. The former—it's certainly the former. His shoes click and I think he's now striding around me. My head stalks him even though it's useless.

I hate that I can't see him! Just why, huh? Why am I blindfolded, for Christ's sake?

And when no sound reaches my ears, I feel him standing right in front of me. Inexplicable thrill blooms inside me as his hand searches for my hair, gently squeezing his fingers at the back of my neck and fists into them. What is he doing to me? I gape my lips to release my shallow breath.

"Some things are better off experienced than told," he whispers. I lean onto his hand, letting his thumb pad my bottom lip in a soft, coquettish move.

"What does that supposed to mean?" I hardly make a coherent voice, for I'm wilted by his touch trying my head to imagine what he looks like based on the features I've gathered so far.

At the small of my back, his one hand basks me in toward him. I crush onto his chest without any protest, and slowly I rest my arms on what feels like wide shoulders resembling a rafter. Okay, Ara, easy. Yes, he's undeniably tall and fit, that's quite apparent by now, but so what?

My breasts are mushed by the masculine hardness of his chest. I'm suddenly feeling hot, like really hot. What kind of game is he playing now? I lose the last shred of focus as he pulls my hair briskly, tilting my head back, and then he plants a swift kiss on my neck.