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97 pages, Kindle Edition
First published May 6, 2013











In the single issue he’d read, the girl called Sub Red had worn a shiny black sleeveless catsuit thing unzipped almost to her navel, with suicidally high-heeled boots. Halfway through the comic, the pants had been replaced with short shorts for some reason he couldn’t recall.
He’d read that entire issue with a painful hard-on, put the comic aside and never touched another one for fear he’d explode. It was actually more potent than porn in its effect on him, but he felt horribly guilty for getting turned on by the stuff. He wasn’t supposed to be aroused by the idea of hitting girls on the ass with whips. Or his hand. Or any of the rest. He couldn’t understand why Lindsey, who seemed as progressively feminist as all the other girls of their circle, wanted to read something so misogynistic. True, there were as many women giving the beatings in Balls ‘n’ Chain as receiving them. But shouldn’t that be beside the point? Even the Dominatrices were objectified into sex objects. Hell, everyone was objectivized into a sex object.
He’d told her as much, maybe even scolded her a little, the next time she’d tried to show him a panel from the comic.
“Did that guy paddle your ass? Or spank you, or flog you, or any other variation of that?”
Lindsey shook her head against the tug of his fingers, her mouth suddenly too dry to speak. She was breathing too fast, practically panting. If Ben slid a hand between her legs right now she’d go off like a bottle rocket.
He seemed to give a lot of thought to what he said next, stating it slowly and clearly as though he wanted there to be no misunderstanding.
“I can’t stop thinking about doing all that to you. Not just the spanking, either, a lot more. A lot. If anybody is going to do that stuff to you, I want it to be me. Nobody. Else.”
She was so accustomed to thinking of him as cute, as harmless. The kind of man who would never hurt a fly. Softly focused, with his sandy hair and indeterminate hazel eyes, vacillating about his career. She’d never seen this version of him until last night’s assertive kiss, this razor-sharp Ben who knew what he wanted and seemed potentially ruthless about getting it.
But still. “Just because you think that’s what I wanted you to do before?” The music shifted gears, growing louder, and the bass drum throbbed through her bones in a maddening primal beat.
Ben shook his head and leaned closer, until their lips were almost touching. “No. Because the thought of putting you over my knee and smacking your perfect butt until it looks like my handprint’s tattooed on there makes me so hard I can barely walk. It made me hard before, too, but I was a fucking idiot and thought I had to feel guilty about getting turned on by shit like that. I’m willing to work on my guilt issues if you’re willing to let me take you up to that hotel room right now and violate you eight ways from Sunday.”
Oh, oh, oh…
