“I don’t get it. And it sounds like you don’t either.”
I didn’t know how we got on this topic. I only wished I knew how to get off of it. This was not a conversation I ever dreamed of having with my conservative, morally upright baby sister. But somewhere between trying on designer shoes and ordering coffee with blueberry scones, the conversation took a sharp left and ended up at kinky sex—spanking, to be exact.
“Gah, it seems like everyone is into this kinky shit since that book came out. I don’t understand this fascination with spanking. What makes a woman let a man put his hands on her like that? He must be an abuser and she must be mentally unstable.”
“Who are you to make that kind of blanket judgment on people? There are plenty of men who aren’t abusers who spank and I’m positive that women who like to be spanked aren’t all mentally ill.”
Mercedes screwed her face into a frown and asked in a voice tinged with a hint of disgust, “And what would you know about it? Have you been spanked before?”
I stalled for a moment. Brought my coffee mug to my lips and took a deep swallow of the rich, dark brew.
“You have, haven’t you?” Mercedes accused with narrowed eyes.
Yes, I had been spanked. More than once in fact, but this wasn’t something I was willing to admit. At least not in this moment with my sister eyeing me warily as if I had somehow transformed into some crazed, sexual deviant.
“I dated a guy who was into it,” I admitted. A half-truth.
“Does it matter?”
Mercedes’ eyes widened. “It’s Elijah, isn’t it?”
I didn’t answer but for Mercedes my silence was answer enough. “Humph,” she grunted while shaking her head. “That just proves my point. You were in an abusive relationship for how long?”
That grunt and the subsequent judgmental statement should have pissed me off, but I was too busy thinking about Elijah’s hands. His big hands with the smooth, soft palms that he had used on me last night. I clenched my thighs together, remembering the sting of his hand meeting the sensitive skin at the curve under my buttocks–the sweet spot. And the sound…the ringing smack of his hand meeting my flesh as his voice hissed in my ear, “What are you doing so naked, you little slut?”
“I don’t get it.” My sister’s voice brought me back into the present. “How is that sexy?”
I shrugged again, squirming in my seat. Thinking of his hands had made me inconveniently aroused. “It just is,” I said then brought the coffee mug to my lips again.
“You probably deserve it,” my sister joked.
I laughed and then muttered into my coffee, “More than you know.”
Mercedes blushed and leaned in conspiratorially. “What does he spank you with?”
“His hand mostly. Sometimes a riding crop or a flogger if I need or want it.”
“Coño,” she said shaking her head again. “I can’t imagine Elijah doing that. I don’t think I can ever look at him the same. ”
“Why? Nothing’s changed.”
“Except the fact that I now know he’s a sadist–”
“Don’t do that,” I warned. “Don’t make him into some sort of villain. He does those things to me because I want him to.”
I’ve never had to do this before so I launched into the scientific explanation. I blathered on about endorphins and how being spanked heightened every sensation making the slightest touch intensely erotic. Halfway through my explanation Mercedes rolled her eyes.
“That’s bullshit and you know it.”
She was right. I just wanted to give her something–anything–she would accept so she would shut up about it.
“Are you going to tell me truth? Why do you let him do this to you?”
“I told you I don’t let him do anything. I want him to.”
“¡Por que yo no se por que! Alright? I don’t know why. I just like it.”
Mercedes scoffed. “I don’t get it. And it sounds like you don’t either.”
My sister couldn’t resist trying to get in one last dig, but the implication that I didn’t know myself stuck in my craw. Mostly because it felt like there was some truth in it. Why couldn’t I come up with an explanation for my desire to be spanked? I loved being dominated by Elijah, and yes that conflicted with my history. But this was not something I discovered when he introduced me to the lifestyle. It was more likely that I’d always been this way. Mercedes’ cross examination made me second guess myself though. I was still worrying over this when I arrived at Elijah’s condo a few hours later.
Elijah was banging around in the kitchen when I came in, filling the space with warm, tasty, homey smells. I dropped my purchases at the door and followed my nose. It was a Friday night and sundown signaled the start of Shabbat. Elijah rarely went to Temple, but he did try to make an effort to keep the Sabbath holy. Shirtless with a dishtowel draped over his shoulder, he sampled whatever was in the pot then chased it with a swallow of beer. I stood in the doorway for a moment and watched him. My domesticated frat boy. There was something undeniably sexy about a man in the kitchen.
“Hello, my love,” I cooed, sliding up behind him and slipping my arms around his waist.
He flinched. “Hello, cold hands.”
“Maybe I need you to warm them up for me.”
“Mmm…that I can do.”
I plunged my hands past his waistband and felt him come to life against my palms. “What ya makin’?” I asked.
“Red pepper soup, a chicken, some greens and a pretty amateur challah is in the oven.”
“Amateur or not, I’m sure it will be delicious.”
“I made enough to feed six. I thought Mercy and the girls would come home with you.”
“That was the plan, but I think I’ve had enough togetherness for today.”
I shrugged and moved away to retrieve two big bowls from the cabinet. “Yeah, she actually got kinda judge-y with me.”
“Judge-y is not a word, Yves.”
“Good girl,” he said with a smile.
I rolled my eyes. This was an unfortunate side-effect of dating my editor. He was always correcting me. Always. Nevermind that he had little to nothing to say about my work, but whenever I misspoke he couldn’t resist the urge to bring it to my attention.
“About what?” he asked.
“Well…we kinda ended up talking about kinky sex.”
Elijah really laughed then. “You’re kidding?”
“I wish that I was. And trust me, it’s the last thing I wanted to talk about.”
“That must have been uncomfortable.”
“Uncomfortable is an understatement.”
“How did you get on that topic?”
“I don’t know. She said something about how mainstream it had become lately, you know, since that book. Then the judgmental questions started.”
“Questions? About kink in general or about you?”
I made myself busy, setting the table and placing the silverware. “General stuff at first.”
The tone of his voice was husky and menacing when he asked, “What did you tell her?”
“What makes you think I told her something?” I countered, defensive.
“You’re acting squirrelly. Look at me, Yvie.”
I turned around and met his eyes.
“What did you tell her?”
“I may have told her that you spank me,” I blurted in a rush.
The hand stirring the soup stilled for a moment. “Hm,” he grunted then began to stir again.
“Well, before I told her, she was being super judgmental,” I said rushing to cover my own ass. “She said it had nothing to do with sex and that people who were into it were twisted and mentally unstable.”
“So that’s when you decide to tell her I turn you over my knee and spank that gorgeous ass of yours until it’s nice and rosy?”
My clit immediately pulsed to life at the suggestion of a spanking. My ass was still sore from last night, but that didn’t keep me from hoping he’d do it again.
“Well, I didn’t use those words exactly.”
He smirked and held out of those big hands of his for one the bowls I had retrieved from the cabinet. “And what did she have to say to that?”
“She said she couldn’t imagine you doing that. Said she wouldn’t be able to look at you the same. Of course, I had to defend you.”
He shrugged. “She shouldn’t be able to imagine me doing it. I take that as a compliment.”
“You’re missing the point–”
“No, I think you are.”
I arched a brow at him. “How do you mean?”
Elijah grimaced at my poor grammar, but really, he should get used to it. English was my second language. Third if I included my South Philly vernacular.
“I don’t think that’s what upset you.”
“You’re right. That isn’t what upset me.”
“So what was it?”
I watched him fill the bowls then took them over to the table which he had already set with candles and silverware for Shabbat. He followed behind me with gorgeously browned challah. My stomach rumbled in anticipation.
“Yvie,” he said in that stern way that made all of me go liquid. “What upset you?”
He cupped the back of my neck with his hand. The feel of his cool, smooth palm against my heated, sensitive skin relaxed me. “She kept saying over and over. I don’t get it, I don’t get it. Even after I explained it to her. Then she accused me of not getting it either.”
Elijah hummed thoughtfully while rubbing the back of my neck. My shoulders sagged and my head rolled forward. “And because you couldn’t explain to her why you liked it, you’re wondering if there is something wrong with you?”
“Yes,” I admitted reluctantly.
Elijah turned me into his chest and wrapped his arms around me. “Nothing is wrong with you, sweetness.”
“But why can’t I–”
“There’s nothing wrong with you,” he reiterated, quieting me. His hand slipped lower to palm my ass. “Would you like me to tell you why you like getting spanked by me?”
Of course he knew. Elijah knew all of the things I hid from every other man I had slept with. Surely he could explain the real purpose behind my need to be spanked in a way I could understand.
“You’re worried that Cesar broke you. You’ve already told me as much. It’s pointless to deny that he is part of it.”
Cesar…everything always came back to Cesar. Would I ever be free of him?
“But…” Elijah cuffed my chin, tipping it up until my eyes met his. “It has more to do with me. Maybe that’s arrogance, but I think it’s true. You trust me. But I had to earn it, right?”
I nodded. He kissed the tip of my nose.
“That’s what it’s about, sweetness. Trust.”