Bound, Spanked and Loved: Fourteen Kinky Valentine's Day Stories

by Sierra Cartwright

  He undid the ankle ties, slipped the gym pants he wore to his ankles, and wrapped his arms around her thighs, tilting her ass higher. Without announcing what he aimed to do next, he shoved his cock into her in one smooth, steady, motion. It took several seconds for him to get from the tip only inside her to where his balls nudged at her ass.

  She’d grunted at the shock of his entry, then held her breath until his cock seemed all the way in. It pulsed. Such a perfect fit. She groaned quietly, feeling her inner muscles squeeze in on him, wondering if she would burst if he were a fraction bigger.

  He began to slide out.

  “Wait. Wait. Ummm,” she began, floundering for speech, only to be silenced by his mouth possessing hers.

  When the kissing stopped, there was little she could do except pant, open her legs even wider, and be the place for his cock to fuck.

  “You’re not going anywhere, are you?” He thrust in, rougher, harder, creating a wet sound as he slapped against her.

  Her eyelids fluttered shut. How good he felt inside her. How easily he’d invaded her.

  No words had been exchanged. No new permissions. He’d simply taken what was his.

  That was hot.

  “All the –” She swallowed and gulped a few breaths before she could continue. “You didn’t ask, if you could.”

  He ignored her. Her pussy stretched exquisitely as he plowed her. Her ass shifted backward on the counter and she tried to grab something with her bound hands but there was nothing, no anchor point.

  “Ask to fuck you? No. I fuck you when I want to.”

  “Oh.”

  He clawed her hip, stinging her with fresh bruises, while his other hand held her wrists, and his mouth was at her ear grunting dirty words about where he’d fuck her in future. Such a litany of depravity.

  You’re mine. Next time my cock’s going in your ass and your mouth, after I strap you to the window.

  Wherever, however else he meant to take her, she lost the words as he pummeled her body.

  An oncoming orgasm left her teetering at the edge. She arched and his cock shoved in at a new and better angle. Each slam jarred her.

  The last thrust had him plastered to her body, grunting as he came. When he withdrew, she slumped into his arms.

  Her soaked panties were stuck to the side of her leg and cum was dripping onto the countertop.

  Chapter Five

  Over the next week and a half their relationship matured, as some might say. He’d say he fucked her in every room of the house, in every way, and used every implement on her that he could rustle up from his collection of kink. She loved it all, and so did he.

  Caning, flogging, clothes pins on her nipples, her labia, her tongue, as well as ripped off in a line as she orgasmed. He’d never had a submissive so addicted to pain. If it made her real, made her come, who was he to argue with her?

  She’d definitely decided sex was not a sin.

  Every night, when she undressed for bed, he found an excuse to feel her back, to examine her. The red stripes remained but nothing changed. The relief he felt each time was immense.

  Was there some reason for his unease? Perhaps. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he was in a fairytale and one day, he’d turn around and she would be gone, or worse, she’d once more be an avenging angel, and curse him and cast him into Hell. No matter that he knew she gave him permission for all he did to her, no matter that she loved it, that they laughed and shared so many good times outside of the kink...no matter that he was sure he’d fallen in love with her, he dreaded finding out that he was wrong. Perhaps it was he who had cursed her?

  They did far more than laugh together, though. He took her shopping, amused at her innocence among clothes shops, of all things. They visited parks and museums, art galleries, markets, went swimming at the beach with her wearing a breathtaking micro bikini that probably gave all the men at the beach heart attacks, and still his soul was torn. He couldn’t bear to think he’d truly harmed her, in any way.

  She continued finding little things to do to help others. He’d come home and hear squeals of delight from the riverbank and each day it seemed she recruited more kids to explore the river, or the inside park area, along with several parents. What the hell she told them to get that result, he had no idea. None of the kids fell in the water, despite the lack of fences.

  The junkie population dwindled too. When questioned about that, she shrugged and he didn’t push for more. The results were enough.

  The only people unaffected, as far as he could tell, were the McDonalds, upstairs. At night, he’d find her hiding, with a pillow over her head, growling to herself, as if going up there and accosting Mr. McDonald himself was her dearest priority. He stopped her.

  You couldn’t do that without legal ramifications. The police were called but no complaints were upheld. Disgusting but true.

  The boy, Jacob, at least seemed untouched; it was only his mother who suffered. The ups and downs of the stock market were making money a worry for her vicious husband, and she was the one closest to his fists.

  “I will talk to Mrs. Jacob tomorrow, again,” Ahnyil told him, folding her arms over her pillow and scowling. Mrs. Jacob had somehow become the woman’s name though she remembered all other names. “This man, he is bad.”

  “He is.” He gathered her into his arms. “Sleep.”

  He had no work anymore and was in between jobs. The harbor diving work was done. Maybe he could help sort something out for her? He’d tried before, but persistence was a virtue.

  In the morning, the first email he read was from Benj, an ex-SAS mate. He wanted Adam to join him in Africa on a week-and-a-half long contract. They’d have to organize protection for a merchant ship. Pirates were still a problem. The pay was great. The time was short. He thought a moment, figured that Ahnyil was able to keep herself healthy and happy for that amount of time, and sent a reply of Yes.

  The shops were near enough to walk to and she’d made a ton of friends.

  A second email was from Jacques telling him Abu still remembered him and was asking if he would consider a job helping at the orphanage.

  The offer was stunning, heart-breaking, and incomprehensible. His mouth turned down.

  Doing what? They couldn’t pay him. He knew nothing about looking after kids.

  The pirate job won out.

  He was away a week and a half, plus two days extra travelling time, and he returned to find her prancing around on the riverbank. Just her and Gandalf, the dog from upstairs. He’d texted, she hadn’t answered, but then phones were one of the few things she had trouble mastering. Microwave, yes. Internet, yes. Phones, no.

  The job had been the same fuck-up as he’d encountered once before. Weapons provided had been random, assorted stuff from possibly the last Viking invasion, and the pirates had never turned up but some of the crewmen helping had nearly, accidentally, blown his head off. Stupid things like that ruined it. Risking his life was more acceptable when he had experienced people around him. Even Benj had decided to stop doing these.

  Coming home to Ahnyil was the best antidote to overseas fuck-ups possible. He drew up one of the chairs on his balcony and sat to watch her throw the ball for the dog. The heart locket he’d bought her at the airport lay across his hand and he wondered what he could place in there. Something of significance? A piece of her hair entwined with his? Maybe he had more romance in his bones that he thought?

  Maybe.

  When the ball fell in the water, he almost laughed.

  The dog sat on its ass and barked until she ventured to the edge and rescued it from floating away.

  He stood and checked the distance to the ground. Going out via the door was preferably maybe but instead he steadied himself on the railing, climbed over, and dropped to the lawn.

  Ahnyil waved to him, then threw the ball again. “Hellooo! Welcome home, Adam!” She ran to him.

  His stomach tightened – why he didn’t know.

  He was strolling
downslope to meet her, when he saw the problem. Every now and then, her feet seemed to leave the ground by a few inches, as if she were floating.

  Certain angles of light bestowed a silver nimbus about her figure. A halo, of sorts.

  He wanted to throw up. No.

  The solution came to him, though he regretted how quickly it had occurred to him, he embraced it. Pain made her feel real? Maybe that was the answer.

  She couldn’t leave him. He wouldn’t let her.

  He kissed her then towed her back to the house. She babbled news to him.

  “I’ve been so busy while you were gone! You know Julia and Aaron?”

  “Uh huh.”

  “I helped them open this special sort of house.”

  “Oh?” He opened the back door, ushered her in. Unlocked. Huh. Normal with Ahnyil about. “And.”

  “It’s for addicts, to help them get clean.”

  “Addicts looking after addicts? Isn’t that unsafe?” Where? The dining table called to him. “Get undressed.”

  “Oh.” That made her pause. “You are in a hurry.”

  “I am.” He smiled, knew it was a poor excuse for a smile.

  “That’s okay.” She began to undress, slipping off shorts and shirt quickly. “And no, Julian and Aaron are no longer addicts.”

  Her own smile was so bright he paused to stroke her face. “You managed that, hey?”

  “Yes.” She went to her knees, dressed only in her white underwear. “Do you know Adam, how good it makes me feel when I can do this? Help people.”

  “I can see, my beautiful creature. I can.” Sad perhaps that he almost wanted her to stop. It was clear to him that this was why she was changing. He drew her to him, wrapping his arms over her, kissing her head. “You’re too good for me.”

  “I’m not,” she whispered. “We are right for each other.”

  But under his hands, he was sure he felt something new stirring where her wings should be.

  “Come.” He helped her up and led her to the dining table, where he laid her on it and placed her, just so, telling her not to move while he fetched ropes.

  Chapter Six

  There was a certain anxiety while she waited. She wanted to see, to feel, to be the center of his attention again, but his actions seemed unusual. His last words before he left her were simply to stay where she was, curled on her side.

  She waited, dreaded, and when he reappeared with loops of rope in one hand, she squeezed her thighs together and that reawakened the delicious inner throb.

  “Be my little rope bunny,” he murmured. Then he shifted her onto her back and roped each hand above her head so they formed a V, pushed her legs upward until each was bent at the knee then tied them so the rope trapped her legs in that position but splayed apart. He passed the rope under her and wrapped her breasts in a crisscross of rope, cursing that he hadn’t thought to do that first, and he kept on tying her down to the table knotting and looping, smiling thinly as he worked. That he stopped, now and then, to kiss parts of her, her mouth, her thighs, her feet, or her breasts, made her smile too.

  “Are you happy?” he asked quietly, as he threaded another loop of rope.

  His question drew her from the fog that had crept upon her. This made her think, if at snail speed, but he waited patiently.

  “I am. I like being your bunny. I missed you.”

  “I missed you too.” His gaze was searching and somehow, distantly, terrible.

  “Are you angry with me, Adam?”

  “No.”

  But he was lying.

  When at last he was done tying her down, he stripped off his clothes then walked around the table, studying her and the ropes. “You’re my work of art for the day. Maybe for the century.”

  Then he fetched a phone and showed her the device and asked permission. She nodded. What did it matter to her if he preserved the sight?

  Knowing he enjoyed seeing her like this always made her want to squirm, though she could barely move at all. A gleam came into his eyes when she tried, so she did it again.

  She was trapped, and snug in his ropes, and absolutely helpless. This was more like Adam – the deviant sadist who loved her. She grinned.

  He took pictures from many angles before he came back and fucked her hard, harder than ever before, but he broke off from fucking her to whip her and cane her, to flog her ass, thighs, and her breasts. He was an expert with these and never missed or wrapped the falls of the flogger where they shouldn’t be, but she began to fear, just not enough to say her never-used safeword.

  She cried out at the pain, and loved it, because it was his pain. She orgasmed crazier and harder than ever also, writhing and bruising herself on the rope, ending up sweaty and still caught in his tangled web.

  There would be marks from the rope, those twining ones that showed the turns.

  He threw aside his implements and claimed her again with his cock – in her mouth, in her pussy, and finally, in her ass. By the end of it, she had cum inside her as well as all over her breasts.

  Exhausted, she waited to be freed. Arm propped on the table and shaking, he stared down at her. Through it all she’d feared as she never had before. Something was wrong.

  He’d claimed her, she saw this.

  Lust, there was lust here. Desire. Same as before, except now, she read bad intentions in his every move and word and sound.

  Why was this so? What had she done?

  After she was untied, he brought her to the sofa and cuddled her so tightly there was no space between them but she didn’t care if breathing was difficult.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

  “Don’t be.”

  “Did I hurt you more than you could bear?”

  “No. I don’t think you could. You complete me, sir. You always do. You know that. Please don’t be sorry.” She beamed up at him from the circle of his arms.

  But his answer was only a small kiss on her nose then he rocked her in his arms, silently.

  She should have asked him why he feared but she couldn’t. For once, she was afraid, and unshed tears lined her eyes.

  Chapter Seven

  That night, he lay on the bed with her listening to more cries from upstairs. They almost went on long enough to make him pick up the phone. Ahnyil lay next to him, cursing into her pillow.

  “He should be stopped,” she said softly.

  “Yes.” He put his hand out and held her hand. If he went upstairs he knew it would result in talking to McDonald through the inched-open door at most. He’d tried. Smacking the shit out of him was an option in fantasy worlds where cops never arrested the wrong person.

  “If she doesn’t uphold complaints. If he doesn’t hurt her badly, nothing will be done.”

  “I know.”

  He could hear her chewing on the pillow so he sighed, rolled over and hugged her. Slowly the tension drained from her body and she fell asleep.

  It was dark when he awoke and the bed beside him was empty. When he sat up on his elbow, he found the sheets only faintly warm. How long had she been gone? For an elite soldier he was lacking in alertness. She might have gone to get a drink or something else innocuous but he knew she had not.

  Knowing stuff seemed a hazard while around Ahnyil. She was infectious in that way. He suspected she’d thawed his heart too, in many ways.

  The bedroom door, half closed as it was, let in a wedge of diluted moon or streetlight, and it was slowly being eclipsed then brightened.

  Ahnyil returned. The silhouette of light from her described the shape of great wings, flitting over wall and ceiling, then dwindling as she truly entered.

  The wings that had heralded her return had vanished. A trick of light? He knew it was not so for the silver nimbus he’d seen in daylight surrounded her once more. In her hand was something so white it was impossible to see in detail. None of this white object reflected into the room. It existed but perhaps was not of this world for it seemed to ignore the laws of physics.

 
She came to the bed and lay down beside him again, on her back, with the whiteness clasped in her hands and aligned so it ran down to her toes.

  When he closed his eyes and opened them again, quickly, he caught an impression of what it must be. A sword.

  An angel’s sword.

  At least the bed moved with her weight. She was still here. Still real.

  Not for much longer.

  “He is gone,” she said.

  Adam blinked. “Who?”

  “Mr. McDonald had an attack of the heart.”

  An ambulance siren wailed in the distance, growing louder.

  Terror flattened him. “What have you done, Ahnyil?”

  At last, she turned to him. “He was going to kill her, tonight, with his hands. I saw this. It was quick. No one saw me.” Her eyes were shining with wetness. “This needed doing.”

  He shook his head, appalled. “And the boy?”

  “It will be hard on him without a father, but he will prevail. He will live.”

  “You’re sure he was... Is this right?” Of course she was. Still. Killing on the battlefield was one thing. Killing here, in suburbia, his neighbors? Did angels do this sort of thing?

  “It is justice.” She moved onto her back and shut her eyes, cradling the hilt of her sword. “Justice may not always seem right. What seems right is not always Justice.”

  He could hear the capitals in her words. Justice.

  Sleep never quite returned after that.

  In the morning he stayed away from her. She was almost an angel again. What was stopping her? When he was away, she progressed toward this...state she was in. She changed. He was holding her back. No matter what she said, he was. The sex? His general badness? The guilt he’d felt before returned a hundredfold.

  What the fuck was he doing?

  When he sat down to his laptop and opened his emails, he found the answer. This was his penance. His punishment. He ran his hand over his hair and bowed his head, holding back the ache in his eyes.

  Abu has been hurt. Some gunmen came in yesterday and asked for money. He was hit in the head by a stray bullet. I’m sorry. The hospital does not expect him to live.