Rebecca's Lost Journals, Volume 3: His Submissive by Lisa Renée Jones Page B

his joining me in the small space was instant; the tiny box of a room suddenly made me feel like a caged animal, wild and uncertain. My emotions were a jumble of uncontrollable knots that he was pulling tighter.
    I heard the lock seal us inside, and I started to turn when he grabbed me and pressed me against the sink. My fingers curled around the white ceramic as he yanked my snug-fitted dress up my hips. Then he was at my side, his thick erection resting on my hip, his fingers sliding between my thighs, under the black silk of my thong. But what stilled my heart and then set it racing was the way the palm of his other hand began to caress my bare backside.
    “Do you know why you aren’t ready?” he asked, his head resting against mine, his fingers doing a delicious slide over my clit.
    “I am ready,” I declared—and while I tried to sound firm, my voice was a raspy whisper.
    “No,” he insisted. “You aren’t ready because you don’t understand the rules.” He slipped two fingers inside me and I panted at the intimate invasion, ripples of pleasure pulsing through me, as he added, “You don’t do anything unless I say you do it. That especially applies to signing the contract.”
    “I thought—”
    “Did you?” he challenged, flicking my clit with his thumb. “I’m not sure you did.”
    I opened my mouth to reply but one of his hands still caressed my backside, and the strokes became rougher, his fingers kneading into my flesh. Sudden realization overcame me. He was going to spank me. I knew it and it terrified and aroused me. I didn’t know how that was possible then, any more than I do now as I write this.
    “Did you read every line of the document, Rebecca?”
    “Yes.” I barely whispered the reply due to the sensations ravishing my body. His hand was still stroking my backside, his fingers stroking inside me.
    “Then you must understand that acting without my permission comes with punishment.”
    “I-I didn’t think . . . I—”
    “Exactly. You have to learn to think. You cannot be a sub, my sub, and not understand the rules and the consequences of misbehaving. I intend to give you a lesson on those things, Rebecca. Do you want that lesson?”
    No. Yes. What lesson? “You mean now, or . . . ?”
    “Now,” he said firmly.
    Looking back now, I should have said “no” or asked questions. I didn’t. I felt pressured to do as he wished, and his fingers were doing delicious things to my body. Actually, I’m lying to myself. I don’t think I felt pressured at all. I think I wanted to know what he would do to me. The truth is that all I was really thinking was to say “yes” so his fingers would keep doing exactly what they were doing in the exact spot they were in.
    “Yes,” I gasped, and his fingers sent wicked, wonderful sensations spiraling through me. “I want the lesson.”
    “Yes, what?” he demanded.
    “Yes, Master.”
    Instead of rewarding me for my agreement with the orgasm I so desired, his fingers stopped teasing me, sliding away so that his hand rested on my pelvis. I wanted to cry out, to demand satisfaction, but I was stayed by the way his palm on my backside stilled and flexed into my skin.
    “I’m going to spank you, Rebecca,” he declared, “and you need to know that I will do it again, or use other forms of punishment if we move forward beyond today and you fail to follow our rules. Understand?”
    No. No, I did not. I was scared and confused, but I was also aroused and curious. I wanted him. I want him even now, no matter how much he’s twisted me in knots. I knew I couldn’t turn back.
    “Yes. I understand.” I’d barely issued the approval when his hand came down hard. I gasped as the sensation rocked me, and I struggled to identify what I felt. My stomach knotted with the sting of my flesh that spiraled through me, and then, to my shock, tightened my sex. The rest of the punishment was fast and hard, ten full contacts of his palm, I think, all of