Lion

by Carolyn Faulkner

  And what it was startled him.

  They were under the covers, both of them naked as they weren't usually. He had found that she enjoyed the submissive aspects of being nude, and she was kept that way as much as was possible – everywhere he wanted her to be, not just in the house they had quickly – too quickly, her friends had said – come to share.

  Hotel rooms, the car while they were travelling long distances, and sometimes his office were places he required her to be nude, too. He liked to challenge her submission to him frequently, and she – eventually – almost always passed them with flying colors.

  Red, blushing colors, but colors, nonetheless.

  He preferred to be clothed. He thoroughly enjoyed the dominant aspects of being that way most of the time, and he didn't allow her to touch him, anyway – not necessarily through any kind of edict, but that was just how things ended up – while his hands were constantly all over her. He had severely limited her ability to use the word "no", as well her ability to avoid his touch – of any kind.

  But this time, they were in their favorite position, with his big body wrapped around hers – almost twice. He was inside her, but not particularly hard. He just liked…occupying her as much as possible. She had been very thoroughly punished moments ago, and her raw, ravaged behind – which seemed to continue roasting itself even after he'd left off – was tucked firmly up against him, heating his entire front in angry red waves.

  "It's the first of the month," Nick mentioned, feeling her stiffen in his arms, knowing she was scouring her mind for something she was supposed to know about that.

  She continued to impress him by nearly always confessing to him whenever she thought she'd done something wrong – even something she knew was going to result in her screaming and begging and crying as he punished her for it.

  "I'm sorry, Sir. I don't remember what's special about that."

  Nick chuckled. "Nothing yet, my dear. I do, however, want to start a tradition of talking to you monthly about how things are going for you in this relationship, during which you are required to speak freely. You may say anything to me – as you already know – as long as it is said respectfully, but it is even more important that you are completely honest with me about our interactions, because I need to know everything I can about you, in order to decide what's best for you."

  "Yes, Sir."

  "So. Is there anything about what we've been doing that you would change or alter in any way?" He was doing his best to put his ego aside. He wanted to make sure that he fulfilled her by what he was doing, and he thought he was probably on the right track, but he was no mind reader. He just wanted to touch bases with her.

  "I-I…"she squirmed, and he tightened his hold around her until he had her completely subdued. Like a swaddled baby, it seemed to calm her.

  "I can tell you one thing that's going to change."

  "What's that, Sir?" CeCe asked, not at all sure she wanted to know the answer to that question.

  "Well, in addition to this little chat we're having, you're going to receive a thorough whipping once a month."

  "Like I'm not getting them often enough as it is, Sir?" she asked impertinently.

  "Celia," he warned, but she knew he was smiling as he did so. He liked her sense of humor, as with everything else, as long as she was respectful about it.

  "Yes, Sir?" she asked in her best innocent voice.

  His hands found the cheeks of hers that were the reddest now. "Little girls whose bottoms have already been seared ought not to try to be smart?"

  "Yes, Sir."

  As hard as it was, he resisted prompting her for several long moments, but eventually he was unable to resist. "Nothing, my dear? I'm doing everything perfectly for you? I've not put a foot wrong so far at all?"

  "Well…"

  "Out with it. Enquiring minds and all that schlock…"

  He held her so fast that she couldn't even look down, as she would have if they were a more usual couple.

  Silence.

  "Shall I flay it out of you, little one? You won't enjoy it; you know I'll make sure you won't."

  "No, please, Sir." She tried to fidget, but literally couldn't. "I'll tell you." CeCe swallowed hard. "I want…" She decided to rephrase it. "I would like to request that I become…more…yours."

  She couldn't see it, but his eyebrows rose to his hairline in surprise. "More mine? And how do you mean that, exactly?" Thoughts flew through his mind, and he wondered, finally, if what she wanted was to get married.

  That plan was already in the works for the future, not that she knew about it. He strived to make her life as stress free as possible, and when he discovered the true extent to which she wished to submit to him, he had made it a very staunch rule that she was not to argue with him. She could request to have a conversation with him about something, and could then state her case about whatever the issue was, but she had to be very careful not to sound whiney or argumentative during it.

  And all final decisions were his, and all of his decisions – once they had discussed it per her request – were final.

  She had failed – quite spectacularly – at being non-argumentative one time in particular, not long after he had moved her in with him, when he had decided that she should quit her second job and be a full time writer. He already had an account set up for her in an entirely separate bank from his, into which he had already deposited an extremely large sum of money, as far as she was concerned.

  He had informed her on evening that he expected her to hand in her two week notice at her next shift, and that he also intended to deposit that large sum every two weeks for her to use as an allowance, of sorts.

  CeCe had taken serious offense to that, although she couldn't quite put her finger on why, but it struck her as if he was trying to treat her like a prostitute, paying her for her services, even though she knew he didn't feel like that about her in the least. Or, almost worse than that, like a child who needed to be given an allowance for doing chores. She'd said as much – without bothering to be concerned about just how strident she was being, or the filthy language she was using, which she knew from great personal experience that he frowned upon, at least in her case.

  She had ended up over his lap, with him waling the tar out of her, which he did every night for a week, lecturing her not on how wrong she was to feel that way, but rather on how naughty she was to put it so disrespectfully. He'd also prohibited her from pleasure for the rest of that month, although he made sure to get a long, languorous taste of her every evening before she went to bed.

  But this time her struggle was to tell him what it was that meant to her that she would be – as she put it – more his.

  "You – we – we've talked about doing it, but we haven't yet, and it's something that I think will help me feel even more submissive to you."

  He chuckled softly, rubbing his hand over her lower belly. "You're quite a bit more submissive to me already than I'd ever imagined you'd want to be, my darling."

  "That's okay, right?" she asked, sometimes endearingly insecure about the dramatic deepening of her role.

  "Oh, sweetheart, every time and in every way you find it within yourself to bend your will to mine as you so gracefully do, I am touched beyond measure."

  And he meant every single word.

  "I'm concerned I demand too much from you sometimes –"

  "I'm concerned you don't demand enough," she interrupted, immediately adding, "Sorry, Sir."

  "Don't be sorry for your feelings, my dear. I want to know all about them. Am I not challenging you enough?"

  She paused, not wanting to seem ungrateful for everything he had already done for her. "I would love to be challenged even more."

  "Hmm. That can definitely be arranged. Did you have any particular way in mind?"

  "Uh…you had asked me – before we became intimate – if I was a virgin…"

  Finally, he understood what she had been driving at, finding it endearing how she blushed and foun
d it hard to talk about such things, despite all of the lovely, horrible things he did to her already on a daily basis. "Ah, yes. Your little bottom flower." The hand at her belly held her immobile while the other roamed to her backside, playing almost threateningly with her gluteal folds while she whimpered, and he could feel her trying to wiggle her little bottom away from his seeking fingers, but he held her too fast. "I agree with you, little one. It's about time I introduced you to that particular flavor of your submission, whether you want me to or not."

  He knew she did – or at least she thought she did. It had been his experience in such matters that some people thought they craved something until confronted with the reality of it. Nick had to admit to himself that he was very interested to see into which category she fell, although she had yet to balk at anything he had done to her, really.

  And it never hurt to remind her that, in the end, as long as he wasn't causing any permanent modifications, he could to do to her whatever he pleased, as she had long since agreed.

  For her part, as he kept her perpetually horny, CeCe had hoped that he might decide to explore that avenue immediately, but that was not the case.

  It was, indeed, a week or more before he flipped her from her back onto her tummy one afternoon when he had come home from work – ostensibly for lunch, but it never ended up being that.

  She rose to greet him as soon as he came in the door – which was her custom, not something he expected of her at all, but something he enjoyed enormously, too. It was almost a wifely, domestic thing to do, and it warmed his heart, especially if he had warmed her bottom before he had left. It was that much more piquant for her to come to him so lovingly when he knew she had spent the morning on a very sore behind.

  He kissed her deeply, pulling her to him, making free with his hands as if they were going steady and he never got to touch her rather than her being at his beck and call at all times.

  Nick didn't have to say a word; he simply reached for his tie and began to walk towards the bedroom. She followed him, as she was required to be in the same room with him unless he gave her permission not to be.

  It was a silly rule, because she had always done that automatically, but he knew she liked having rules, and it was an easy enough thing to do to please her.

  She helped him off with his clothes – again, something she had instigated but he adored. He was quite particular about them – he was always very fashionably dressed – so much so, that he had told her that if she was going to act as his valet, then he was going to hold her to his own standards about the care and feeding of his clothing.

  She had shivered at the idea, and he had smiled knowingly. "Very well then, you are responsible for undressing me when I come home from work or travel, and I will take it out of your pretty hide if any of my clothes are wrinkled or in any sort of otherwise unacceptable condition."

  'Yes, Sir," she had agreed demurely.

  She was very good, and he had only caught her out once, but he had made damned sure that she regretted and wouldn't repeat the mistake of not checking the shirts he brought home from the cleaners, as he would have himself.

  When he was naked, she held out his robe and he slipped into it, tying the belt loosely at his waist.

  "Present yourself to me, little girl. Bottom up."

  Her nerves jangled – on alert – but she tamped them down. There was no telling what he was going to do to her. He liked to surprise her, and thus kept her constantly wondering, unable to prepare herself for anything.

  He took his time coming to stand at the end of the bed where she was, gazing down at her, rock hard and peeking out from beneath his robe as always with her, as if that part of him was reaching for her, seeking its home in the moist warmth of her tight glove.

  She was on her knees, her legs widely spread, hands reaching down to grip her calves as best she could, the soft pink leather cuffs he'd given her recently showing at wrists and ankles, the coordinating collar – a heavier, stiffer, less forgiving version, adorned her slender neck. It was a posture collar, which did not allow her to put her chin down.

  He caught her staring at the ground one too many times in his presence recently, and he didn't like it. She was submissive to him – he didn't cow her in the least, and he didn't like her looking as if she was.

  It was locked on, by a key, which he kept on his key chain, not that he thought she would ever dare to tamper with it, but because he knew that she would enjoy knowing that it was there.

  And, if anyone ever asked, not that they would, he would enjoy explaining exactly what it was for.

  He quickly and efficiently had her wrists bound to her knees, tight leather leashes hooked to the rings on either side of the collar, so they pulled on the collar itself and not her neck, her knees and ankles held in place in much the same manner.

  Bound. Restricted. Restrained. Just as he preferred her to be. It was an amazing, mind bogglingly happy coincidence that he never thought he'd get over that she enjoyed exactly the same thing.

  The few things he had gathered while she'd been positioning herself were placed on the bed where he could easily get to them, one of which he picked up and, once he'd fit his hand into it, he let the sound of the rubber glove snapping sharply into place around his wrist explode into the room like a gunshot.

  She should know that sound, but she couldn't quite place it.

  CeCe heard him sit in the chair he most usually bent her over and disciplined her in, and she knew he was at eye level with her behind. She always thought that the most recent time she got embarrassed with him was the worst, but somehow he kept topping himself.

  Or rather, her.

  Suddenly, as something dabbed a cool gel onto her bottom hole, she realized what that sound was – a rubber glove.

  And she gulped.

  She didn't know exactly what it was that she had expected from this experience, but she certainly hadn't considered that there was going to be a rubber glove involved.

  And it immediately made her much hornier than she already was.

  Did she have a medical fetish?

  Perhaps.

  She hadn't really considered it, but she knew it was something she should tell him afterwards. She was required to tell him things like that, even – or rather, especially – the humiliating, embarrassing things. He would always then try to incorporate them into what he did to her.

  He thoroughly enjoyed putting her through her paces – and the harder, the better.

  "I think you can probably guess what's going to happen here. I'm being extra nice to you. Not only am I using lube with you, although sparingly, but I'm also going to stretch you a bit before I fuck you. Remember to relax your muscles as much as you can, girl, or it's going to hurt." He never used lube on her pussy, not that he needed to.

  He didn't usually warn her about what he was going to do, but Nick felt that, in this case, since he intended that this be an overall pleasant experience for her, she should have some idea of what to expect.

  "You're deliciously tight back here, and I'm going to start with my pinky finger, but you're going to feel every one of my digits up inside you, including my thumb, and then probably some combinations of them. Breathe deeply, and relax, and if you make too much noise…" which was, of course, a completely subjective judgment, and the only opinion that mattered about it was his. "I'm going to gag you."

  She hated being gagged. It wasn't scary for her, it wasn't painful, but she hated it, nonetheless. The one he found on the internet consisted of a material that somehow managed to fill her mouth and her cheeks – making her feel gagged – but did not occlude her airway. CeCe couldn't put her finger on why she reacted so violently to it, but she did.

  Perhaps it was the fact that it did manage to stifle every sound she tried to make.

  His hands were big, and even his pinky had her mewling before he got to the first knuckle. "You are incredibly tight," he commented again with undisguised glee as he pushed his rubber covered finger into her in
one smooth stroke, not stopping at all until he ran out of finger, then he began to withdraw it just a bit, and CeCe sighed in relief much too quickly, since he then proceeded to press it back in.

  Nick commenced to fucking her – albeit very gently – for a long few minutes, during which she was entirely too vocal.

  Seconds later, she found herself unable to emit a sound, after which he decorated her nicely raised behind with the head of his solid oak hairbrush – and still no sounds but that of heavy wood hitting soft, sore skin. He knew she was screaming – there were tears rolling down her face, but the room was quiet as a church.

  Another loud snap and he had donned a fresh glove. This time he coated his index finger lightly, but didn't refresh what he had dabbed onto her bottom hole. He repeated the same procedure, gently forcing her to accept every inch of him, up to the hilt, then retreating a bit to fuck her, slowly at first, but then more quickly.

  And low and behold, as much as she had protested at first, he could feel the difference in her response, although she probably would prefer he had missed it. He could hear her panting heavily as he plunged that finger into her – sometimes taking it all the way out, giving her a false hope that he had finished, just to ram it back in. And through it all, as humiliated as he could see she was, she was that hot, too.

  To prove it to himself – and to her – he brought his ungloved left hand to her pussy. Both her inner and her outer lips were held well apart by her position, and as soon as he touched his fingertip to her entrance, it became drenched.

  "Someone likes this a lot, hmm?"

  She tried to shake her head no, but the collar and the restraints prevented that.

  So, for the rest of the introduction, he kept her pussy occupied by two stiff fingers that were, eventually, joined by the same fingers only in that tiny, reluctant little behind of hers. He was careful not to hurt her with them, but he was determined that she would accept them, and accept them she did – just as she had the others, if more slowly, up to the hilt.

  He could feel his own fingers in her little cunny as he moved them, feeling her body stiffen in protest as he began to move the ones in her bottom, until he was double fucking her, slowly, inexorably, as she gradually relaxed and submitted, allowing herself to open to him, and accepting what he gave her.