Total pages in book: 147
Estimated words: 141810 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 709(@200wpm)___ 567(@250wpm)___ 473(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 141810 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 709(@200wpm)___ 567(@250wpm)___ 473(@300wpm)
Not that he thought Greg would hurt him or anything. Because he didn’t. Not only had Jon from anger management class given the guy a shiny star of approval, but Max had checked out Greg’s website, too, and found lots of other satisfied testimonies. Everything looked legit, nothing seemed sketchy. So much so, that Max decided to keep going, researching anything BDSM-related he could find online. Absolutely anything at all. The lifestyle just captivated him, luring him in immediately. Like it somehow clicked perfectly with his brain.
It’d taken quite a few months, though, to grow big enough balls to actually contact the Dom. Fuck it. Max had only just turned nineteen in April, so in his book, he was doing alright.
Ironically, as he laid there with his ass cheeks burning, he wondered if he’d made a mistake. Not because of the pain, though. God knew, the shit he’d endured for the last nine months was worse than anything anyone could dish physically. Every brawl he’d gotten into could attest to that. As could all the self-inflicted shit he’d tried. No, it was the bondage, the being stripped of control, that was starting to really get to him.
And not in the good way that submissives so clearly liked.
For Max, it made him feel like he was about to go postal. And that prospect definitely made him wary. Because the only person getting hurt in that kind of scenario would be him as he tried to break free. Not that Greg wouldn’t honor their chosen safe word and let Max go if he wanted. Because he would. Hell, he’d already done so a shit ton of times. Probably why he seemed so short on patience. Which Max couldn’t exactly blame the guy for. Max made an absolutely terrible sub. Possibly the worst one in history.
But Greg refused to bend on the age-old dogma that before one could ever become a Dom they first had to be a true sub. To truly grasp the beauty of the whole exchange. To thoroughly understand every nuance. Which sounded logical in theory. Even to Max. He just couldn’t seem to get in that headspace. To that place Greg insisted Max needed to experience. That place of surrender. Of letting go.
Of trusting another with his soul.
Problem was, Max didn’t believe such a thing was even possible. Not for him, at least. No way. Got burned too bad for doing exactly that. Shit, he was still recovering.
On the flip side, however, he firmly believed that he could take care of others no problem. And do so with inept and dedicated devotion. In fact, he yearned fiercely to try.
Which was why he’d gone to Greg in the first place. In hopes that the man would teach him to dom. Not to fucking sub. That would never be Max’s thing. Never would he give over that kind of control. Not over his head, or his body, or his fragile-ass sanity. Never would someone have the kind of power over him again. Just the thought of such a prospect made him shudder.
Kind of like he was doing now as he readied to take another paddling. This whole fucking scene was just all fucking wrong. He should be the one in command.
“You ready?” Greg murmured, rubbing Max’s cheeks. “If you are, ask politely for more.”
Max grit his teeth and drew in a breath. Goddamn it. He wasn’t a quitter. And he really needed to get through this. Get through this so Greg would finally teach him to dom.
Greg tapped on Max’s butt plug with what felt like his paddle’s edge, driving a beat of stimuli against Max’s prostate. “Max?” Tap, tap, tap. “You still need more time?”
Max squirmed in response to the tantalizing pleasure. “No, Sir,” he rasped. “I’m ready. Please, more.”
“Alright. Here we go then. Make me proud and I’ll reward you.”
Max tensed as that telltale whoosh sounded behind him, then—
SMACK! SMACK-SMACK!
Max’s spine bowed hard.
SMACK-SMACK!
“Aw, fuck, Sir! Fuck!”
“Good,” Greg purred. “You’re a pretty little thing. Made my cock just buck in my leathers.”
Goosebumps erupted across Max’s skin as fire branched from his ass in all directions. He must be redder than a fucking fire truck for as long as Greg had been doing this.
SMACK! SMACK-SMACK!
“Ah! Fucking fuck!”
Greg paused to stroke Max’s dick, pumping it steadily between Max’s thighs. Soon he’d have it hard again—Greg was good at that shit—with Max needing desperately to come. A tactic, as it were, Greg had been working all night to keep Max’s head in the game. And he’d been wise to do so. If Max hadn’t received all those constant rewards, he’d have up and left hours ago. Because like he’d said to Jon that night months before, he wasn’t a fucking masochist. He enjoyed the pleasure of foreplay, and this dark shit really rubbed him right. But it couldn’t be all about just the pain. It had to be equal parts of both. But strategically so. A mentality Max couldn’t wait to try out on others. A methodology he couldn’t wait to perfect. He’d make his subs tremble, shout out, even cry, overwhelmed by sheer pleasure as much as pain. By his own artistic craft. Until they knew from the start just how in control he truly was. Over their heads’ every thought, over their bodies’ every twitch, as he drove them to fucking oblivion.