Broken Submission

Consequences of the Lie

Her first panicked instinct was to slam the door shut. But he was quicker, grabbing the handle and holding it open.

"Don't you dare," he growled, eyes dark and grim. She released the door and glanced around in panic. The only other exit was the fire escape. There was a snapping sound and the tinkle of metal links falling as the chain on the door snapped, and Derek stepped inside. His expression changed to one of surprise and disgust. She didn't think that he'd meant to break it.

"That was it?" he growled, seeming to grow even angrier. "That was all the security you had?"

Derek almost couldn't believe the scene before him. Her lock situation would've been comical if it wasn't so damn frightening. She stood in the center of her living room in a T-shirt and panties, her expression a mixture of fear and shame and need. The latter was subtle, but it pulled him out of his anger enough that he could be what she needed. It also gave him permission to play that role, something that had been in question with her dissolved club contract.

He approached his shaking sub slowly. Her breaths came in quick pants, eyes glued to the floor, hands clenched at her sides. Reaching down, he uncurled one fist and brought her palm to his lips, kissing the angry red marks that marred her skin.

He'd kissed her scars. Those small silvery marks—her only sign of distress so long ago. The trembling grew despite her attempts to quell it. He was such a confusing mix of rage and tenderness. But after this last week of withdrawal from the scene, she shook with need and adrenaline.

"Please," she whimpered and instantly ducked her head. His dominance was like a drug. She needed it. She needed him. And she knew why he was pissed. She had been stupid, and she had put herself in danger, and she needed to be punished for it. She whined softly, and her face flushed as the sound escaped.

Derek ruthlessly reined in his arousal at the sounds that slipped out of her mouth. They needed to have a serious conversation, but right now, he doubted she was capable of it. In her own unassuming way, she was begging him to give her what she craved. He had no idea how this woman had ever survived a vanilla lifestyle. After barely a week, she was so clearly fraying without the support, the outlet, of the club.

"Sh..." he murmured, stroking her hair. She nuzzled her face into his hand, eyes closing in bliss from the simple contact.

"You've been a very bad girl, haven't you?"

She nodded immediately. His hands stilled, and her eyes popped open.

"Yes, sir. I'm sorry, sir," she whispered. A tear slid out of her eye.

"Oh sweetheart." He moved forward, wrapping her in his arms. He dropped his face to the top of her head. "We're going to make this right—we're going to make it all better."

She had no idea how she had gone so quickly from lust to tears. Her emotions were all over the place. Her nerves were frazzled, and all she wanted was to be held like he was holding her. But something wasn't right yet. She needed more than his comfort. She needed his strength. And she didn't have the will tonight to beat that part of herself into a corner, that part that just wanted to be taken care of. Tonight, that girl had seen something she wanted, and she was taking the reins for the first time in over three years.

Derek felt the shift in her. He raised one hand to tug at a lock of her hair.

"You're ready, aren't you?"

She nodded and a muffled, "yes, sir," floated up from his chest region. He let out a little chuckle before guiding her over to the ratty sofa. The afternoon sun had faded, and if not for the lit candles and ambient light through the windows, it would've been completely dark.

She sighed as he gently draped her over his lap. He continued stroking her the entire time—her hair, her back, her bottom. A dreamy calm settled over her as she laid her head on the sofa, backside gently raised in the air over his knees.

He massaged the globes of her ass. This was a punishment, but it felt more like a slow seduction. They were righting a balance in the universe, giving them both what they needed. When the time felt right, he brought his hand down in the first blow. He left his hand covering the spot his palm had struck, easing most of the sting. After a minute, he lifted his hand again. There was no count. They would continue until the slate was wiped clean.

Her bottom pulsed with each throb of her heart. His palm had risen and fallen with an inexorable judgment countless times, but it wasn't enough. She needed to hurt; she needed to suffer. He seem to sense it, his hand coming down harder and more frequently until she exhaled a constant stream of whimpers.

"Please, sir," her voice cracked with pain and shame.

He sighed heavily. She was shifted slightly as he pulled his belt from the loops. The first blow was salvation as it seared across her skin, her back arching and toes curling to avoid the agony. Again and again it fell, until her heart was light and her eyes heavy. Throbbing and spent, her body finally released the tension it had been clinging to. She lay in a daze, not quite asleep as he rearranged her against him.

His palm stung. She had finally let go of her burden she'd been holding so tightly. He yawned, emotionally spent. He didn't even notice when his eyes drifted closed.