Bound by Her Promise

by Jaye Peaches

  He halted before a display rack and her jaw plummeted. “You’ve got to be kidding,” she exclaimed. Lined up on the wall, hanging from pegs, an array of implements and their purpose obvious. Paddles—long, wide, thick and thin, canes—short ones, curvy or straight, and straps. Blood drained from Lysa’s face as Blake reached out to touch a paddle.

  “They sell… I don’t believe it…” She rounded on Blake, pulling his arm away from the display rack. “I’ve been good, haven’t I? Why the hell do you need any of this lot?”

  Blake whispered in her ear. “Stop making a fuss. Spanking isn’t all about punishments, you must have realised that? Don’t bury your head in the ground. You’re turned on by it all.”

  She stamped her foot on the floor. “No, I’m bloody well not!”

  “Shh,” he hissed, glancing over his shoulder. “You mustn’t disrespect me in a public place, remember?”

  Her lips sealed together, but in her mind she thought of words of displeasure, disbelief and other rude expressions not to be spoken aloud.

  “Look at these paddles, heh. Some of them have soft furry sides.” He unhooked one and flipped it over. “Go on, stroke it.”

  Lysa resisted the urge to grab it off him and whack him with it. She touched the surface with her fingertips and she felt a velvety softness, rather like fur. “But the other side.” She twisted his wrist around. “It’s got studs in it.”

  “Studs? I’d call it texture.” He hung it back up and picked another. A long thin paddle with a flap at the end. It reminded her of a snake’s tongue. “Imagine this flicking over your splendid arse. Almost a tickle, heating up a spot for me to lick.”

  She backed away. “Tickle. You’ve got a weird angle on what’s ticklish.”

  He moved on to the canes. “Some are thin, whippy and others thick and rigid. Are you more inclined to sting or thud?” His lips curved upwards and his eyes glinted. A wicked expression of intent and one that sent out warning signals.

  She stuck a hand on her hip. “Neither. Obviously. You implied you don’t like canes.”

  “I don’t like the way a certain man handles the cane. I, on the other hand, can be quite gentle with it. Tap, tap, tap.” He rapped it against his leg.

  “First tickle, now gentle. Let’s agree to disagree when it comes to your idea of appropriate adjectives.” She couldn’t stop looking at the tip of the cane, the way it bounced off his legs as if spring loaded.

  Blake flicked the cane with his wrist, changing direction. He pointed the end of it between her legs, eased forward and gathered her skirt. The top of the cane disappeared under her dress. She clamped her thighs together. “Blake!” she cried. The point nudged against her mound, pressing into her. No, no, no, this couldn’t be happening. “I haven’t got panties on, remember,” she mouthed.

  “Mmmm, I do remember.” He grinned, removing the cane and returning it to the hook, then he picked a thicker one. “Thud, I think. Now, a decent strap.” He fingered a two-prong strap.

  “No, Blake.” She shook her head. “That looks plain mean.”

  “Maybe.” He pursed his lips and studied the next one. “This one—single, nice and long—can be doubled up.” He tested it out on his palm with an audible thwack.

  Lysa peered down the aisle. She couldn’t see any other customers. “That is cruel. Nothing nice about it at all.” She wanted to snatch it out of his hand and toss it over her shoulder.

  “With a good warm-up it leaves lovely red marks. Something to remind you of me while I work.” He kept it in his hand, along with the cane.

  At the end of the rack was a glass cabinet. Lysa edged closer, not wishing to appear curious. Inside the case were three paddles made from wood. “Why are they locked away?”

  “Wood. A precious commodity out here. These can’t be recycled, but they’ve been used by others, resold, so on. They’re expensive, but I think you’re worth it.” He tapped the glass. “The one on the right?”

  A flush of hot blood hit Lysa’s face. Was it the compliment or the idea of him smacking her butt with the paddle that made her blush? Now, she wished she wore panties, because her body’s response to his shopping spree had tipped her over the brink of sensible thoughts. She sensed her wetness and prayed he didn’t think to stuff his hand up there to check her readiness. Why, why, why did she feel so aroused?

  “How do you know so much about all this? You’ve not been married before.”

  Blake ducked his head down, checking around for others. His ears went pink. She’d never witnessed him embarrassed before now. “Some of the guys have spanking parties.”

  “Spanking parties?” she cried, then lowered her voice. “What are they about? Come see me thrash my wife?”

  “No.” Blake’s head shot up. “They’re fun. Nothing harsh. The girls enjoy them as much as the men.”

  “Sex?” she asked, trying to catch his flitting eyes.

  “Not the ones I went to. I prefer to avoid… complications,” he added.

  “But you spanked other women?” She was right against his chest, staring up into his face. She wanted him to be truthful. Did he desire other women? It bothered her, knowing he might be thinking about them while he fucked her.

  “Yes,” he whispered. “With permission. It was… entertaining.” He ended lamely.

  “You wanted to fuck them?”

  “Sometimes. It made me realise how much I wanted my own wife, so I could share things with her. To spank her, love her. I will punish if necessary, Lysa, but this,” He cocked his head towards the rack, “is not about discipline. Not always.”

  Every inch of her body tingled with mixture of both foreboding and intense lust. If they weren’t in a shop… She blinked, dismissing her fantastical images of debauchery. One word stood out for her. “Love?” she murmured. They’d been together for just over a week and nothing had prepared her for him to use that word. She’d come to the colony expecting never to hear it.

  “Yes. It is possible to fall in love, don’t you think?” He settled his attention on her face.

  “It is always a possibility.” Her heart pounded and felt as though it was leaping into the back of her mouth. Below, his hardening cock bulged in his pants, pressing into her belly.

  Blake exhaled a long breath, as if he’d been holding it behind every word he’d spoken.

  Lysa backed away. She’d implied too much. What had they been talking about? Spanking, sex, marriage? The journey they’d signed up for had just begun and she wasn’t ready to speak of such things as love.

  “Ah, one more thing.” He inspected the contents of a shelf and picked up a bottle. “This.”

  “What is it?” She stood on tiptoes, looking over his shoulder.

  “Balm, for cooling you down.”

  “Finally something I agree on.” She giggled, but stopped when she watched him handle another small container. “What’s in that one?”

  “The opposite. This one heats your bottom up before the first strike of the cane.” His shoulder stiffened. “I won’t use it.” He put it back on the shelf.

  Blake carried the cane and strap to the cashier. Lysa wanted to vanish into a black hole, but he insisted he stood next to her at the counter. The man behind the desk rose from his seat where he’d been lounging, eyes half-open and hands resting on his potbelly.

  “Blake, man. Good to see you.” He slapped the palm of Blake’s outstretched hand, giving him a high five. “And this must be the lovely Lysa I’ve been hearing all about. A stunner Yuri said, well, he’s right.”

  The compliment was neither endearing nor insulting. Lysa detested the idea others discussed her behind her back, yet… she’d never thought of herself as attractive.

  “She is a beauty,” confirmed Blake, squeezing her hand.

  Lysa didn’t think her cheeks could get any warmer. She scuffed her feet on the floor, hiding her eyes from the men.

  “And I see you’ve bought the newlywed choice of implements. No paddle?” He eyed up the objects
on the counter.

  “I’d like a wooden one,” announced Blake.

  The shopkeeper whistled. “You are spoiling her, which one?”

  Blake showed him and the two men returned with the paddle. Close up, it appeared thicker than it did in the cabinet. She gulped.

  “You’ll be wanting these, too, I guess.” The cashier reached under the counter and brought out four cuffs with small chains attached.

  Lysa stifled a cry of alarm. Shackles!

  “Discounted for newlyweds,” offered the shopkeeper. He leaned on the counter, directing his comment to Blake. “All the beds have hooks in the corners. Ideal, you know…” He winked and stood up.

  She went mute, unable to force a single sound out of her mouth. Blake paid for the lot, including the shackles, and she trotted next to him in silence as they headed back to the pod. She’d gone from disbelieving indignation to simple shock.

  Once the door banged shut behind her, she expected him to bend her over and try them all out on her poor bottom. Instead, he dropped the shopping bag on the table then buried his face in her long hair, kissing and groping her with undeniable urgency.

  She collided with a wall, backed into it by his forceful molestation. He bunched her skirt up to her waist, knocked her feet apart, and cupped her sex with his hand, pressing the heel of his palm into her mound and then penetrating her with a finger.

  “You are super wet. I knew it!” He sniggered and she turned her face away, ashamed. “Spank you? I only have to show you those implements, speak of them and you’re dripping with desire.”

  She shook her head, trying to deny his discovery. He plied his fingers inside her slit, sliding them back and forth, and she hovered, determined not to come and hating her body for betraying her. It went against her ideals, her grandmother’s teachings, to submit to a man and relinquish her control. Yet, she desired him more and more, waiting for him to come home from work with his stiff cock and eager hands. What if he did spank her, did it matter? Her body liked it, even if her mind couldn’t reconcile why.

  “Stop fighting it, Lysa. We are so right for each other. I’ve given you everything you wanted and this is what I desire.”

  She’d held his hands and vowed to be the wife he wished her to be. Lysa blinked, nodded at his declaration, but unable to bear his eyes, the way they drilled into her soul and unleashed a darker side of her nature. She kept her face to one side, hiding, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of seeing her desperate expression. How she yearned for him.

  He spoke no more and released his manhood from its confines. Gripping her buttocks, he held her steady and she opened her legs wider, jutting her pelvis forward. He rose up, driving his cock passed her tight opening. It was necessary to grit her teeth, suppress a cry. Her head snapped backwards, hitting the wall. The next thrust, he speared her deep, powering his way in until his entire cock occupied her pussy. He paused, panting hot breaths against her bare neck.

  She bent her knees, coiling her legs around his wide hips, not quite making it all the way round. The shift in position allowed her to sit on the palms of his hands. The interlude of adjustment ended. With a deep inhale, he withdrew and thrust again. His remorseless pummelling continued and she ached about the groin, her breasts painfully squashed by his ramming body. She rose up the wall until he stood fully upright.

  Another grinding entry into her tender pussy and she came. An explosive burst of nerve endings cascaded about her body in contracting waves.

  “Sorry, sorry,” she uttered, remembering his rule that she should not come without his explicit command.

  Blake said nothing. His fingers crushed her buttocks, pinching her flesh and she yelped with the sharp pain. A small reminder of her transgression.

  He came with a juddering roar, pumping his cum deep inside with a series of rapid thrusts. His arms went limp and she grabbed hold of his neck, clinging to him as he lowered her legs.

  He panted from his exertions, a rare display of fatigue. “Do you understand, Lysa?”

  “Yes.” His semen slid down her inner thigh, coating her with an extra layer of liquid.

  “I want to spank you. I will spank you. I’m not going to hurt you, not like…” he halted. “When I punish you, you will know it’s a punishment; however, other times when it’s not punishment, if you find it’s too much, I will permit you to ask me to stop.” He eased back off her, releasing her. She took in his eyes—dark pools that shone brightly—and they eased her wary mind.

  “What of me, my wish?” she murmured.

  “Tomorrow, I will log you on to the system. Two hours a day. No more.” He wiped away a tear from her eye. “Don’t cry. It’s what you wanted, isn’t it?”

  She nodded, but in her heart confusion reigned. She’d no idea what she wanted any longer. Buried deep in her mind, she created a new objective, a recent addition to her list of life long ambitions. Unlike the others, she needed this one. She needed Blake to love her.

  Chapter Seven

  On the way back from the Green Dome, Lysa heard voices coming from the punishment block. She crept closer to the door, wondering who was in there.

  “Excuse me,” a man’s voice boomed by her shoulder.

  She jumped to one side. A miner. He pushed open the door and behind him trotted his wife, eyes downcast and a sombre expression on her face.

  Blake didn’t want her in here—why? He wouldn’t know if she peeked in, would he?

  She grasped the door handle in a shaking hand and shoved the door open. The room was occupied on all sides by men, who sat on the low benches and before them, their wives, who knelt on the floor between their legs. The men chatted in low voices while the women said nothing. The tension in the room was rife and a thick layer of humid heat seem to hover in the air.

  The central stage of the room—the so-called punishment block—remained bare, unoccupied. Lysa got the impression that wouldn’t last long. Blake would not want her to witness this on her own, she should leave, but she remained fixed to the spot. When a man sat nearby glared at her, pointing at the floor, she hunker down onto her knees.

  A door in the corner opened and in walked three men and a woman wearing a white knee length shift. Lysa recognised her—Sym!

  She’d hadn’t seen Sym all day. The previous day she seemed bubbly, chatty and in good spirits, now as she shuffled along behind the men, she seemed forlorn and broken with slumped shoulders.

  The lead man turned to face the audience and room fell silent. A large man, bigger than her own husband and just as broad about the shoulders. His head shaven clean, his nose flattened—he bore no redeeming features. He wore an unadorned black uniform. She deduced it was the constable. The nameless man about whom Blake refused to speak.

  The other two men, also in black, were his assistants. He barked an order at one.

  “Strip her.”

  The man grabbed the fabric of Sym’s shift by the shoulders and tore it asunder, splitting the cloth down the middle. She shook as he uncovered her bare flesh.

  Lysa hunted about the room, searching for Craig. Sym’s husband stood at the back, eyes fixed on his wife, his arms crossed about his chest. Why wasn’t he stepping forward, doing something to stop the punishment? Lysa didn’t understand how he could stand by and witness his wife’s humiliation.

  The rags of the shift were tossed to one side.

  The constable gave another curt order. “Spread her and bind her.”

  Lysa covered her mouth as the two men manhandled Sym onto the bench, stretching out her limbs. They moved about the bench, strapping down her ankles, wrists and waist. Under her hips, one man place a padded cushion, which raised her bottom up higher.

  A sob escaped Sym’s mouth. Lysa ground her fingernails into her palms, holding back the desire to rush forward and unbind her friend. About her, nobody moved. The women stared at the floor, the men nodded at each other, as if to incite a sense of justice into the proceedings.

  She should leave. The same little voi
ce in the back of her head repeated the command and she ignored it.

  The binding complete, the constable stepped forward and addressed the waiting crowd. “Thieving is not tolerated here on Colony 14. Rations are necessary and cheating, taking more than permitted, is stealing. This woman took eggs from the coop. They were found on her person and she has no explanation as to their presence.”

  “Not true,” wailed Sym from her prone position.

  “Silence!” barked the constable. “Another two strokes will be awarded for such an outburst.”

  Sym continued to sniffle, but gradually became quiet.

  “Doctor, if you would complete the formalities.” From behind the constable appeared Dr Lamont.

  The medic approached Sym with gloved hands and attached a sensor to her back between the shoulder blades. He then pinched the flesh of each of Sym’s buttocks and ran his hand over the skin. “I have no concerns. You may go ahead, Constable.”

  The doctor moved away, leaving the constable to continue. “Twelve strokes, plus the two you’ve just earned.” He nodded to one of his men and from somewhere concealed, the man picked up the implement and handed it to the constable.

  Lysa gasped aloud. Some turned to look at her, but ignored her indignant expression.

  It was more than a simple cane. A switch made up of several thin sticks bound together at one end. She remembered Blake asking if she’d prefer a sting or a thud, this instrument would deliver both simultaneously.

  “Due to the severity of your crime, you will be heated first.” The constable pointed at her bottom.

  Now Lysa wasn’t the only one to gasp and a murmur went up around the room. The first sign of discontent. Somebody whispered, “Shh.”

  She watched, stunned, as one of the aides applied a thick gunge to Sym’s bottom. The man rubbed it in, spreading it about until it disappeared into the skin. Immediately Sym began to whimper and strain against her bindings. The heat balm, which Blake mentioned, must have been applied. Poor, poor girl.

  Lysa wanted to cover her eyes, hide the impending beating, but she couldn’t turn away. She had to know how brutal the man could be. The constable lifted up the switch high above his head, sweeping back his arm and brought it crashing down with an audible swoop through the air.