Convincing Leah by Becca Jameson

Chapter 6

Leah

My evening with Craig haunts me a bit for the next few days. Whatever happened to send me into such a weird headspace is disconcerting. Was it because we have a deeper connection than any other Dom I’ve been with? Maybe I was hungry or dehydrated or couldn’t handle two intense orgasms.

It bothers me because what if it happens again? I don’t even know what contributing factor to watch out for.

I spend a lot of time pacing my office. I’m annoyed that my rabid fan won’t stop emailing me. I’ve even sent him several messages, telling him to stop contacting me. He won’t listen.

Maybe I should call the police, but what would I tell them? I don’t even know the guy’s name. He signs everything T. I doubt the cops can do anything about a cyberstalker who doesn’t like the ending of my book. How stupid.

I can’t focus on my new series. In truth, I’ve done little more than compile research. At least when I’m googling, I feel like I’m working.

Every time I’ve started the first book in this series, I’ve made it about two paragraphs, walked away, and dropped the beginning in the trash the next time I sit down. I’m not into it.

What I am into is my other project. My secret side project that not a soul knows about. Not even Eve. Some people have stories in notebooks under their beds from years of writing before they had the guts to publish.

I have those. Mine are buried in my computer instead of under the bed, but I have a lot of them. It’s silly really. I guard my pen name close, not letting anyone know who I am. Years ago, when I sent my first book to a publisher, they convinced me to choose a pen name just in case I ever reached a day like I have now. A crazed fan who thinks I’ve ruined their life and wants to tell me how to do my job.

It’s annoying, but it’s not like whoever T is can find me. Although it does bother me that Craig suggested I was naïve to believe no one can locate me. Maybe they can. I’m not a computer genius. I have no idea.

The point is I could start a second pen if I wanted. Not a soul would need to know. I’m too chicken to do it, so I haven’t. Instead, I indulge my other passion and then bury the accumulating novels in my computer and in my cloud.

I usually allow myself to write in my other world no more than an hour a day. Sometimes I let several days go by to build up my treat and permit myself to spend an entire day writing in my other persona.

I’ve done a lot of writing in that world this week and none in the new series I’m supposed to be deeply engrossed in by now. Thank God my deadlines are self-inflicted and nothing is up for preorder.

I haven’t even shared my series title with my fans yet. I prefer to wait until I have a substantial amount of work done before I put out a teaser.

By Tuesday night, I’ve spent the majority of four days doing anything to avoid my sci-fi. I’m starting to think maybe the plot is all wrong or something. I’ve never experienced this kind of writer’s block. There has to be a reason.

I spoke to Craig only briefly Sunday night. He wanted to make sure I was okay. I made it seem like I was in the middle of writing and couldn’t spare him any time.

I hate how I’ve put him off. It’s rude. I’m hiding from him. So, I call him Tuesday night as I flop down onto my bed.

“Hey, sweetheart. How’s the writing coming along?”

I sigh. “Not great. I’m struggling to get into the new series.”

“I’m sorry. I guess that happens sometimes?”

“Not usually,” I admit. “Writer’s block isn’t something I often suffer from.”

“What about that crazy fan? Has he emailed you again?”

“Yeah. I’m ignoring him now.”

Craig winces. “I hate that. Please tell me you’re going to meet me at Surrender tomorrow night.”

“Yep.” I try to sound more upbeat than I feel. I’m mad at myself for not getting more work done this week, but I don’t want to take it out on Craig. No matter what, he’s a great guy who adores me and treats me like a princess. I may be out of my mind for continuing to see him, but the thought of not seeing him makes me want to vomit. “Looking forward to it. Do you have something planned for us?”

“I do.”

“Are you going to tell me what it is?” I taunt.

“Do I usually tell you what I’m planning?”

I sigh. “No.” He never does.

“Which one of us is the Dom?” he jokes. He points this out to me often.

“You, Sir.” I throw in the title because I know it pleases him.

“Then let me worry about our scene. You get some work done between now and then so you won’t be stressed.”

“Yes, Sir.” My voice is sassy this time.

“Hey… Watch your tone, sweetheart, or your bottom will end up redder than I was already intending.”

“Mmm. That’s not necessarily a deterrent,” I point out.

He chuckles. “Get your work done. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Sounds good.” I end the call and roll onto my stomach. As I hug my pillow and close my eyes, I think about his threat, about him spanking me again. I’m addicted to his touch. The man knows me better than anyone I’ve ever scened with.

Granted, since we started playing together over two months ago, we’ve been exclusive, so he’s also spanked me more than any previous Dom. But even the first few times, he proved his worth.

I squirm against my mattress, remembering how perfect my butt felt Saturday morning when I woke up in his bed. The exact right amount of morning-after burn. The type of sting that reminds me over and over for a few days that my ass was swatted, without being so uncomfortable that I can’t sit.

I love the constant reminder every time I pull my panties up and down the days following a spanking. The rasp of the elastic over my tender skin. The memory keeps me horny afterward too.

Saturday was the first time I was with Craig—or any Dom for that matter—the morning after. I draw in a breath as I recall the way he led me back to his bedroom after our chat in the living room. Ignoring my protests, he’d guided me to his bed, told me to lie on my stomach, and then pushed his T-shirt up high on my waist.

I’d held my breath as he lowered my panties, not just down to my thighs but off my body. My heart raced as he examined me, satisfying himself that he hadn’t struck me too hard.

There’d been some bruising, but it was the good kind.

God, the feel of his fingers grazing over my butt and the backs of my thighs… So caring. Considerate. Cautious. Endearing. Very Daddy-like. I hadn’t minded. I’d liked it. A lot. My pussy had been wet the entire time while his fingers prodded around on my thighs. I’m sure he knew exactly what he was doing to me.

I’ll never admit how much I enjoyed it out loud. Just because there are some aspects of age play that make me squirm doesn’t mean I want to be a little. Those same aspects could be applied to any submissive. Just because I don’t mind aftercare and intimate inspections doesn’t mean I want to be little.

The truth is there’s a fine line between simple dominance and the kind that crosses into age play. Sometimes that line is blurry, and that’s fine. After all, Craig is a Dom. Doms are bossy. Bossy is inherent in the scene. When does bossy cross over from regular dominance to a Daddy fetish?

It’s Tuesday. It’s been four days since Craig last spanked me. We often go to the club on Fridays and Wednesdays. By Tuesday, I’m usually jonesing. Like a drug addict needing my next fix. My next impact play.

I’m fidgety and needy. Sexually frustrated too.

It doesn’t have to be this way. All I’d have to do is say the word and Craig would see me any night of the week. He’d see me all of the nights if I asked him to. I don’t have to torture myself like this.

Part of me thinks there’s something wrong with me. I’ve known it for years. I think I’m slightly addicted to being spanked. I practically start shaking after a few days, after the sting wears off from the last time my butt got swatted.

In my head, I bargain with myself. Two nights a week is all I permit myself. Any more than that would be borderline obsessive. Wouldn’t it? I feel like I need to control my urge. I don’t know anyone who craves impact play as often as me, so I never mention it. I keep my weird fetish to myself.

I’ve also resisted the urge to hurt myself. I’ve considered it, but I’ve never done it. After all, I could find a way to reach back and use a crop or a switch or something on my own ass. Or who says it has to be my butt?

I just want to feel the pain. Not so much pain that I’m hurting badly. Just enough to remind myself I’m alive and cleanse myself of my imaginary transgressions.

And then there are the sexual aspects. I haven’t always needed to reach orgasm just because I got spanked. Or maybe it’s more that I haven’t always had a partner who I wanted to touch me that way. Just because I ask a Dom to spank me doesn’t mean I’m interested in that same Dom getting me off.

With Craig though, I always want to come. And most often he indulges me. Lately always. The combination is delicious. I love how well he reads me. He knows exactly how hard to swat me and for how long before I’ve reached that pinnacle when I need him to thrust his fingers into me and let me come.

I groan and reach over to my bedside table to yank the drawer open and select a vibrator. I may not have anyone to spank me tonight. That will have to wait until tomorrow. But I can masturbate.

It’s getting late. There’s no way I’m going to accomplish any writing tonight, so I quickly strip off my clothes and settle on my back, legs spread wide. I set my favorite vibrator next to me and smooth my fingers over my breasts, circling my nipples for a while, teasing myself.

When I flick my thumbs over my nipples, I arch my chest, already incredibly aroused. My tits are sensitive today. Maybe I should have grabbed a pair of clamps too, but I don’t want to take the time now. I decide to refocus my energy.

The vibrator fits perfectly in my palm, and I moan into the silence as soon as I touch my clit with it. That’s all I’m going to need tonight. I haven’t had an orgasm since Friday. For some reason, I’ve denied myself that luxury too. I’ve felt like I haven’t earned the pleasure since I haven’t accomplished enough writing.

I’m aching to come tonight though. There’s no way I would be able to settle down and go to sleep after visualizing Craig examining my bottom. The memory of his fingers dancing over my heated skin has me close to exploding.

Sure enough, I don’t even need to turn up the level on my vibrator. I’m on the edge in moments, my free hand pinching one of my nipples hard enough to make me cry out as I reach my peak, both the orgasm and the tight pinch combining to engage my entire body in the release.

It takes me a few minutes to relax afterward, my hands shaking as I turn off the vibrator. I keep flinching in the aftermath, my arms and legs twitching. The glow leaves me drowsy enough that I don’t bother putting any clothes on. I just pull the covers over me and slide into a deep sleep.