by Adira August
"You [WHAP!] will [WHAP!] submit [WHAP!] and [WHAP!] obey!" [WHAP!]
"No, no, no-oh-oh," she sobbed, tears running.
"Yes." WHAP! "You." WHAP! "Will." WHAP!
With no way to avoid the paddle, she screamed a frustrated protest into his thigh, her feet beating on the floor under the couch.
He paused for a moment and used two fingers on each side to spread her labia apart. He could feel the engorged clitoral wings along each side, pulsing.
"How long do bad girls get spanked?" No answer. WHAP!
He targeted the unspanked area over the plug and upped the intensity half a point. He was now at a 5.
"How long?" WHAP! WHAP!
She did not answer, but wailed and strained against her bonds and his arm around her waist. He controlled her easily.
WHAP! WHAP! … WHAP! WHAP!
He put the paddle down, again using his hand to smooth and circle, massage her lightly, allowing his fingers to slide down, lightly touching her cunt, stroking her wet pussy.
He had to avoid pushing her over the edge of her tolerance for pain. Increased sexual arousal dampened pain, and it was her deeply sexual nature he had to exploit.
He had to spank her to the point that only a consuming orgasm would manage the level of pain, while teasing her clit and her cunt so he could make her come right at that point.
His fingers on her pussy slid in a little toward her clit.
"Oh, please," she moaned, panting, trying to push herself harder against his fingers.
"Bad girls don't get orgasms," he told her. "Right now, you're bottom is all pink and warm. But I'm going to spank it bright red and fiery hot. And keep spanking it, until you answer the question. You will obey me, Avia. Get used to the idea."
Tonight, before he left, he had to master her. It could be critical to her safety. And he was running out of time.
Oh, fuck!
She'd thought he would spank her like he did yesterday, all warm and sensual and stingy. But this was something different. Every stroke of the paddle was sharp pain and heat her body struggled to avoid. Yet, somehow, the muscles that tightened inside her were the same ones as when he stroked her between the legs.
When he stopped and caressed her burning rear end with his palm it was … she didn't have a word. It was pain and pleasure, itching pinpoints of heat and satisfaction. Biting down on a hundred thousand bad teeth.
She was helpless to stop him or change the pace and power of the strokes. And at every one, the plug - oh that plug - rocked and pushed and filled her. Her sphincter and her clit pulsed in unison each time the leather face of the paddle smacked against her already stinging bottom. And her blistering vulva blazed hotter than her reddening cheeks.
All of these thoughts made her clench and squirm. But his arm was a steel band, her hands bound, her knees clamped against the spreader bar, needing to close ... if I could just come.
She could answer him. Say sorry. Do as she was told. She could stop it.
At that moment, he moved the fingers holding her open. Her core clenched as his fingertips curling into her, halfway between her clit and her aching vaginal ring. His fingers sank into her swollen lips, not quite touching her clit.
The "Oh, please," escaped her involuntarily as her center pitched, seeking more contact.
"Bad girls don't get orgasms," he told her. "Right now, you're bottom is all pink and warm. But I'm going to spank it bright red and fiery hot. And keep spanking it, until you answer the question. I will make you submit, Avia. You will learn to obey me. Get used to the idea."
Learn to obey? Get used to the idea?
She wrenched away from him, harder than she ever had, kicking, twisting, roaring a deep, guttural outrage. Bastard! He would never make her submit to him; it was her choice!
Avia felt his right leg, the one she wasn't bent over, move and bear down across the backs of her legs below the spreader bar so hard she could barely wiggle her toes much less kick.
His left knee lifted her thrashing pelvis and his arm clamped her so tightly to his side she could count the ribs she pressed against.
She felt his hand on her ass.
Benedict Hart was a big, solid, and very strong man. His palm made gentle circles across her well-spanked cheeks, hesitating over the plug, moving it around and around until she moaned loudly and he saw her vulva spasm. He knew she loved the feeling and hated that he could do this to her. Control her. Make her feel.
He'd baited her purposely, choosing words he knew would trigger the most rebellious part of her nature. He could not cajole or manipulate her into obedience. He could not allow her to choose. That was not submission.
She must accept that in this part of their relationship, he was in charge.
He would decide if and when and how long to touch her, in what way and where. He decided when she came and how many times. Even her submission was not a choice, it was something he commanded from her.
When she began to squirm instead of struggle, it was time to continue. But he didn't pick up the paddle. It was time she felt his hand.
SMACK! … SMACK!
She strangled on whatever she'd tried to shout.
"How long do bad girls get spanked?" He asked, his tone conversational. He spanked her again, alternating sides.
SMACK! … SMACK! … SMACK!SMACK!
He reached up quickly and released her restraints. Her arms fell to her sides and she flailed around trying to cover her ass. One arm only managed to beat ineffectually against his back. The other couldn't reach over the his arm around her waist, holding her up and still.
"How long do bad girls get spanked?"
SMACK!SMACK! … SMACK!SMACK! … SMACK!SMACK! … SMACK!SMACK!
Her fingers scrabbled and clawed at the blanket as she sobbed and cried out garbled, choking curses. The insides of her thighs were slick from the juices pouring from her.
His hand was larger than the paddle, and her ass quickly achieved the bright red color he'd promised her. He'd actually backed off the intensity of strokes. It was her third layer. On top of already reddened buttocks, a 4 felt quite like a 5.5. Pain, but not injury. Right at her threshold.
"It's all bright red now, you're ass must blazing," He observed. He picked up the bamboo stinger. "But you haven't answered me. So I'll start over at the beginning."
Her weeping red eyes widened at the sight of the stinger in his hand. "Nuh - nuh - nuh -" Her scarlet buttocks quivered as she tried to clench, but the plug kept her open and vulnerable.
"How long do bad girls get spanked?" He asked.
whoomCRACK!
She wailed and her pelvis flexed in and up with the stoke he'd laid carefully across the bottom of her ass. Her slick, hot pussy slid almost far enough for his fingertips to reach her vagina.
If she wanted him to touch her clit, she'd have to pull back, which pushed her bottom up, ready for another -
whoomCRACK!
She tilted again, this time with purpose, jacking herself against his fingers strongly enough that he did reach her entrance. He stroked her there before she pulled back and -
whoomCRACK!
Avia uttered a short scream, but she'd stopped crying.
They entered into a rhythm, as if they had planned it. She wailed with each stroke, but she moved in rhythm, forward and back, chasing her orgasm. Always taking another stroke. She tried to speed up, but he kept a maddeningly steady pace.
whoomCRACK! … whoomCRACK! … whoomCRACK! ...
She tried to hold still and not present her ass again, but he finger fucked her aching cunt and massaged her right behind her clit until she was desperate for release.
"How long do bad girls get spanked?"
whoomCRACK! … whoomCRACK! … whoomCRACK!
She was sobbing again in frustration and need, hovering between ecstasy and agony. He shifted enough to slip two fingers inside her and went to a 6.
whoomCRACK! whoomCRACK! whoomCRACK!
"They get spanked until they sa
y they’re sorry and promise to do what they’re told," she screamed. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I was a bad girl." She sobbed.
"Why am I punishing you?"
"I didn't answer you."
He paused. Waiting. The words finally came, hoarse and strained and forced out.
"I'll be - " She clenched her fists. "I'll be a good girl. I'll obey, I'll obey."
whoomCRACK!
"Who decides when to stop spanking you?" He demanded.
"You do," she cried out.
whoomCRACK!
"Do you submit?"
Her fists opened and her body went slack. "I submit. I submit." She sobbed helplessly.
whoomCRACK!
He let go of her waist and wrapped his arm under her shoulders, lifting her back, his head lowered close to her ear.
"You said this before, but you still won't obey. Why should I believe you?" He asked, delaying the next stroke. "Why did you give me your obedience and submission?"
She choked out the words between sobs. "Because … you - you made me."
Her whole vulva and core convulsed at her admission.
whoomCRACK!
"You'll do as I say, whatever I say, whenever I say it?"
"Yes, anything," she said.
He put the stinger next to him and plunged three fingers into her vagina, turning and spreading them, feeling the pressure of the plug on one side through the soft, slick wall. He saw the handle move slightly in her crack.
"Anything?"
"Anything, anything." She keened but did not move.
He curled his fingers into the front wall of her vagina, his thumb sliding up under her clit.
"You will obey me, you will submit to me, now, tonight, tomorrow, any hour, any day. Do you understand?"
"Yes," she whispered.
His thumb began to jack the stem of her clit. She was screaming into the blanket, in her need to come and keep still. "Say it. Say the whole thing," he ordered, still hard, unrelenting.
Her face went pink and her vagina rippled. "I'll obey you and …ah .. ah .. submit to you ... ah ... uh … always, any time, anything … because … you made me, you'll always make me, I have to."
She was panting and her cunt squeezed around him, pouring heat and moisture. She sobbed again, but she also pushed against his fingers.
"Yes," he said. "I make you obey; I make you submit. Any time, anywhere, in everything I wish. I'll touch you when I want the way I want as long as I want and you will submit. When I tell you to lift your skirt because it pleases me right then to pull down your panties and pink your ass, you will obey. If I tell you to sit or stand or kneel or crawl, you will do as I bid with no argument. Because you have no choice. What does that make me, Avia?"
Her face and neck went a shockingly bright crimson. He grabbed her hair and forced her head around, leaning over so he could glare into her eyes.
"What am I to you?" He held his breath waiting to see which of the two answers she chose.
"My master." The words were ripped from her throat. And when she spoke them, she came.
He felt the powerful pulses of her orgasm around his fingers in her core, the wings of her clitoris spasming in unison against his hand, her clit throbbing and disappearing inside her, from under his thumb.
He leaned on her sacrum and took the handle of the plug in his left hand, steadily twisting, he eased it from her throbbing anus wresting a sound from deep inside her that was more the throat-shredding ullulation of a mountain cat, than any human cry.
He released the spreader bar and ripped off her garter belt as he dragged her, still in the throes of her climax, close to him, freeing her legs. He rolled on top of her, plunged his raging, weeping cock into her as far as possible, and held.
The globes of her ass pressed into him, writhing against him with every new wave of energy that rippled through her. The feel and thought of her searing hot buttocks rubbing against him, pushed him over. His thrust hard into her, so tight and so slick, so ready for him.
Cum gushed from him and this time it was Ben who roared.
Avia lost count of her orgasms. He was everywhere: hands and lips, cock, torso. She felt him touching her, stroking her, her hair and face, her thighs and stomach and always her nipples and everything below, every bit of her secret flesh. Not secret now to his mouth and fingers, to his huge hard cock that never seemed to tire.
Sometime while he was punishing her, she'd entered what seemed like an altered state of consciousness. She was only dimly aware of this, yet, but she seemed to float through the oragsms, her body burning, needing as strongly as ever, but the feelings seemed diffuse. Somehow if he touched her arm, her thighs quivered and ached. If he sucked her palm, her anus throbbed.
At some point, he'd picked her up and carried her to his bedroom. He laid her on incredibly soft sheets and she thought how good they smelled. He held her head with his fingers in her hair, holding her gaze as he filled her and fucked her slowly. He kept one finger snugged in her ass, the others spread out on her buttocks, to keep her from chafing against the sheets.
"Move your hand down between us," he told her. "Spread your pussy with your fingers. Don't touch your clit."
Her mind went blank, looking up into his face, suffused with passion. She didn't move. His eyes narrowed, he stopped moving.
"Will you defy me now, Sub?"
Sub. Her thighs tightened around him, hearing the word from his lips for the first time.
"No, Benedict," she said, moving her hand to do his bidding.
But he also reacted on hearing her use his full name, eyes darkening and a brief growling moan rumbled from deep in his chest. As if he couldn't help himself, he thrust hard into her, trapping her fingers against her clit, grinding his hips until they both came hard and fast.
He touched her and soothed her, excited her and gentled her, all the while whispering to her after every orgasm what a good, obedient girl she was. Every time she heard these things, it started her climbing the spiral to orgasm again. And when he spoke to her, he called her Sub. "Do you like this, Sub? Should I make you come again, Sub?" "Please, Benedict. Please make me come."
She floated in her new universe, helpless against his expert mouth and tongue, his strong hands and elegant, nimble fingers, his incessant demands. His cock, thick and hard and always able to reach the end of her, drove her to climax over and over.
"You will obey me tomorrow, Sub, even from the other side of the world." "Yes, Benedict." "And the next day." "Yes, please, Benedict." "Such a good girl, my good obedient girl."
They came together, one last time, their bodies melded, rippling, kissing through the waves of energy.
She was so tired. So safe. So satisfied. She was aware he was cleaning her, smoothing something cooling on her bottom and on her sore nipples. He slipped a silky, slithery garment over her head, dressing her like a favorite doll. Then he covered her with a soft sheet and a warm, light comforter.
He lay behind her, spooning her, his arm over her waist, his hand cupping her breast. He kissed her neck and shoulder, softly.
"Thank you," he murmured into her hair. Her thoughts fractured as sleep closed in and she wasn't sure she hadn't heard him actually say, "Thank you ... for existing."
She drifted off to a sleep so sound even the noise of a helicopter landing and taking off, didn't wake her.
MYSTERY
SUNDAY
On the Plane
"I left the most beautiful girl on the face of the planet to keep you company, Dude. Least thing you can do is talk to me."
Nick wadded up a wet paper napkin with the Hart Development logo and launched it at Ben's face. Ben snatched it out of the air and it splatted dead center against his little brother's chest before Nick could draw a breath.
"Baseball scholarship," Ben said.
"Because you couldn't add two and two on your fingers," Nick returned. He tossed the soggy missile away and flipped through the images on his cell.
Nicholas Justice Hart
looked very much like his older brother. His hair was lighter brown, straight instead of wavy, his eyes clear blue instead of indigo, but he had the same clean forehead, arched brows, strong straight nose and sculpted mouth. He was an inch shorter and more lightly built, his face a little fuller, after their mother's.
Ben's looks were striking, compelling. Nick was a matinee idol.
He'd had been with Ben since the beginning of Hart Development. Delaying M.I.T. for a semester, Nick rendered Ben's idea for a positioning system into a design a manufacturer could actually produce. Ben paid him in shares of the company. It ended up being an engineering miracle. Nick's multi-directional gear and lever system comprised Hart Development's first patent. And attracted the attention of the military for the first time.
Little Nicky Hart became a millionaire at sixteen and an outraged freshman at M.I.T. when his father put his money into a trust fund and shipped him off to school. Nicky didn't get one extra penny in spending money. He did get an admonition to maintain his grades, to maintain his scholarship.
The young math genius might have gone the rebellious drug-user drop-out route except for two things. Ben gave him design challenges and a room at his place on breaks. And Nicky fell in love with his Mechanics of Deformable Solids T.A.
It was a hopeless schoolboy crush, but Mathison Allen was a kind and insightful young man who recognized a natural materials engineer in the boy and wasn't about to lose him to the pure math drones who were also sniffing around. The teaching assistant mentored Nicky until he grew up into Nick and they became true friends.
The first Christmas after Ben hired Mathison to head up the military applications division and Nick took over Product Development full-time, Mathison brought two of his cousins from Vermont to Denver to ski on "real" mountains." They brought their friend Giacomo Ferri, all huge dark eyes with long silky lashes and whippy body who'd learned to handle giant moguls in the Italian Alps. He was sweet and fierce and Nick fell hard, not on a ski slope.
Nick and "Jag" as Giacomo was called for no reason that had to do with cars, were married the following Christmas. Three years later, Nick sat captivated on a private jet hurtling through space over the Pacific, by the image of the black-haired beauty that was Riham, their first child. Ben held his hand out for the cell.
