Attention

I wasn't paying enough attention.

In my defense, he didn't tell me to put the book down.

To be honest, I thought if I tried hard enough to be non responsive that he'd give up and go away - while also secretly hoping that he'd persevere, notice, and not go away at all. The strange thing is that I want both of those things simultaneously. If the first outcome occurs, I'm justified in having behaved the way I did in the first place since he clearly wasn't that interested after all, and if the second outcome occurs, I get laid. I want to get laid more, but I nearly always have myself convinced that I prefer to be justified.

He slid under the covers next to me, chatted to me a bit about the book I was reading, slid his finger under the waistband of my panties and asked "Um, what's this?"

"Underwear."

"Why are you wearing it?"

"Because I am?" There's no rule that says I can't. I didn't say this because the last time I voiced it he responded with "Yet."

"I see," he responded, then ducked his head underneath the blankets, disappearing.

"What are you doing?" I asked, momentarily alarmed, disconcerted, things not going like I had thought they would at all.

"Giving your legs some love!" he responded happily, and proceeded to stroke, kiss, squeeze and fondle both my legs from hip to toe. He made a lot of happy sexy noises, seeming to enjoy himself quite a bit. I kept reading, though he did feel nice. He eventually yanked the panties off of me and kept touching me. When he finally reappeared from his comforter kingdom he looked at me and my Nook. "Still reading, huh?"

"What do you want from me?"

"Your attention."

"You didn't tell me to stop reading."

"That's true. How about you put the book down now." It wasn't a question. I hesitated for a moment, then did it. "You think you can just ignore me. You think I like that? I like a girl who's happy to see me. Here I am just trying to give you some affection, and you just keep reading. You're being standoffish and I need to fix it. Let's see..." He rummaged in the drawer with the hurty things in it. I squeezed my eyes closed and breathed deeply. This wasn't quite what I'd thought would happen. I heard a clanking, and then a slight whoosh and a vinyl belt was slapping against my ass. I jumped. "You can't ignore that, can you?" he hit me again, a third time, a fourth.

"Ouch!"

"Hurts, doesn't it? Sounds like it does. How about this?" With a resounding SMACK, he hit my ass with a ping-pong paddle.

"Ow!" That one was quite painful. He used it a bit longer, then stopped, murmuring something about it being too loud. It was very very loud. He pulled the wooden ruler out and hit me with that. What on earth? Since when has he experimented with so many different implements at once?

"You know what this is good for?" he asked me as he continued hitting my poor ass with the ruler.

"Oh, no." I whispered. I knew what he was talking about, yes. But no.

"Oh, yes. It's good for nipples. Get yours over here." He hooked his fingers around my shoulder and pulled me onto my back, then in what felt like a continuance of that motion slapped right on my nipple with that fucking ruler. I screamed, trying to curl into a little ball of pain, but his steel grip on my shoulder kept me there while he continued delivering blow after blow of that fucking ruler against my nipples that had not been abused thusly in a long time and were therefore out of practice. I kept trying to curl into a ball and protect myself, and he kept tightening his grip on my shoulder and telling me to take it, and that I had behaved badly and needed correcting.

"Go on, protect your nipples," he finally said, letting go of my shoulder and allowing me to turn away. Then I felt the flogger thwacking against my ass.

He's just going to beat me all night long, I thought to myself. I was getting pretty turned on by all of this too, I won't lie. Especially since he was lecturing me like a being made of sex might lecture some lesser being who is not made of sex. In plain English, he kept talking and everything he said just aroused me more.

"Turn on your back," he ordered me harshly, and I did. He yanked my legs apart and then I felt the paddle on my inner thighs. Oh, how that stung. He hit me there long enough that I was prepared for another strike on one of my thighs, when SMACK, the next blow was straight onto my breast. I squealed in pain and surprise. Back to the thigh, then the other breast, then the thigh. My head swam with the randomness of the blows.

"I like to feel your body shudder when I hit you," he spoke in a gravelly voice straight into my ear. I melted. "Does that make me a bad man?"


"Yes," I breathed out softly.

"If you ask me nicely I might fuck you with this cock." He rubbed said member against my leg.

"Please fuck me with your cock."

"What's that?"

"Please fuck me."

"With my cock?"

"Yes, please."

"Turn over."

I did, and his fingers slipped to my slick folds and stroked, probed, and then slid inside me completely. Clearly not a cock, but then I was on my knees and he was pulling my hair with his other hand and I was rocking and panting.

I lost track of time like that. I had a few orgasms; eventually he let me go, gathered me into his arms. "See? I can be nice to you. But you have to pay attention."

I snuggled against him, kissed his chest. We talked drowsily, I apologized for being distant, and we drifted off to sleep.