Primrose Thrills (Harry Styles mature)

Chapter 12

Being whipped was without doubt the most painful things that I'd ever had to - chosen to - endure. If you'd have asked me a couple of years ago whether I'd have gotten off on pain then I would have laughed. Never in a million years did I think that the beat of the crop or the sting of a hand would get me so wet. Thinking of times when I'd been bent over Harry's knee or on all fours on the bed, waiting for whatever impact I was about to take made me squirm with restless excitement. It made me hot, in every sense of the word. There was something about the anticipation, the clammy hands and pounding heart that I craved. The bite and the burn and the rush that came with it was addictive. Some people get their thrills from riding roller coasters; some from jumping out of a plane 2500 feet in the air; and some from simply reading a good book. I get mine from being in situations that are out of my own hands; situations that require another hand to do the work, so to speak. In essence there's no difference, apart from the fact that I often struggle to sit down for days afterwards.

But my real pleasure came from submitting myself to Harry. Though there were elements of my life in which I was independent- at work for example- I loved having that control over me; I loved being told what to do and doing as I was told. I loved pleasing him and having his praise. I loved hearing him call me a good girl and seeing the adoring look in his eyes as he called me his. But the thing with Harry is that it's never just about him. My pleasure is just as, if not more important to him than his own.

Harry and I had gotten in from the cinema on a Friday night; both completely clear-minded, until Harry came up behind me and spun me around, pressing me up against the bedroom wall and kissing me deeply until I went dizzy for lack of air.
"I've wanted to do that all bloody evening," he laughed as he tucked a strand of my hair behind my ear that had come loose during his hot assault.
"Sex mad," I whispered with a smile as I intentionally repeated myself from months ago.
He shook his head. "In love," he whispered back.
I hummed and he kissed me again, this time with more strength and conviction, hot lips, no time to draw breath. He pulled my top over my head and unclasped my bra in one swift movement, leaving me in just a pair of tight black jeans. Then his lips were on mine again, hands pulling my jeans apart before he dropped to his knees and helped me step from them, grazing his nose over my underwear as he slid them to my ankles. As always, he took his time; appreciative hands and lips even more so. He got back to his feet and I fingered the neck of his own t-shirt, to which he clasped his hands over mine and held them still, looking at me with glimmering eyes so deeply intense that I forgot to breathe. I knew that he had something else in mind.
"Will you slip your heels on for me?" he spoke lowly into my ear, nodding over to the black pair of patent stilettos that were situated just in front of his wardrobe. "And stand over by my desk. No peeking."

I'd left them there from the week before, travelling home instead in a spare pair of Converse that I'd also left there some weeks ago. They weren't the only things of mine that had made themselves at home in Harry's house; I also had a few t-shirts, underwear and a toothbrush in his bathroom. They were necessities that made travelling between mine and Harry's so much easier.

He watched me as I walked naked over to his wardrobe and slipped the heels on. They were a good five inches high and clopped and echoed along the wooden floorboards as I took my time to walk over to his desk, making sure that I held myself tall and walked as best I could. His eyes were on me the whole time, raking over my body and I suddenly felt very naked and very exposed. Being in heels is one thing, but being naked in heels is another. I stood in front of his desk, desperate to glance over my shoulder to work out the noise coming from his wardrobe. But part of me was enjoying the suspense of the unknown. Harry knew something that I didn't and that was a thrill in itself.  Instead, I deliberately glanced at the mirror to my left, back arched smoothly, taller, legs looking like they might just go on forever. I felt attractive in heels and I could understand why Harry loved to see me in them, especially like this. Bent over. Exposed.  Ready. Wet.