“I thought I made myself clear about that man,” I bark at her over lunch with Hope and Derek looking on.
She’s embarrassed, unaware that I saw them together, and disconcerted to be reprimanded in front of our companions.
“We’re just friends,” she says, trying hard to stand up in the face of my rising irritation.
“Friends? You can’t call it friendship when he’ll be off to Angola or Bosnia, or wherever he goes tomorrow to shoot his little movies.” She’s noticeably bewildered. “You’d be wise to take my orders seriously, don’t dismiss my opinions with ones of your own.
“But I didn’t know you had an opinion about Tony Flynn.” She tries for the offensive, but she’s going to lose. We both know that.
“That’s a bold-faced lie,” I raise my voice enough so the people dining next to us hear my chiding. She has no idea how humbling this can get. “I was generous with you because I don’t want to punish you. But if you insist on being dense about these things, then I have no choice but to take it out of your ass.”
“Billy, please,” she shrinks back trying to disappear from the interested stares around us.
“If we have to talk about this privately, that’s exactly what’s going to happen,” I warn her, with my eyes brutally drilling hers.
“I’m sorry.”
“Your friendship with this Flynn fellow is over. Are you clear?”
“Yes, but I don’t understand.” She pouts.
Derek gives me a meaningful glance, like he wants in on the scene that’s unfolding to its predestined end.
“Well then,” I clear my throat as I lean back in my chair, “you can go to your stateroom and wait for me. I’m sure your bottom will understand the message even if your addled brain can’t.”
“Billy, no,” she pleads.
“Would you like me punish you right here? I will.”
“But I haven’t eaten lunch.” She’s whimpering.
“I don’t care. I’ll give you a biscuit when I’m finished paddling your ass.”
Her face is extraordinarily soft as she pleads, worry lines around her limpid eyes, lips trembling, cheeks hot with her self-conscious blush. I note my arousal by the throb I feel between my legs. I expect Kirsten’s even hotter between hers.
She flees.
After I leisurely finish my meal, I find her where I ordered her. She’s been crying. She snuffs as I enter which makes it hard not to take her in my arms and forget punishing her. But I’m sure she’d be disappointed if I don’t.
Kicking an armless chair into the one clear spot in her small stateroom, I take my seat and motion her to my side.
“Billy, this seems so silly,” she tries to be cute, smiling.
“I don’t like it any more than you do. But you’re not going to make a fuss over my orders in public—for that matter, I don’t expect you to counter my decisions for you in private or in public. I’d suggest you get used to that right now. Now, get over here.”
She hesitates. This could be a long drawn out process if she continues to delay, but then something in her switches. She’s on her feet, and goes over my lap docilely, like she’s suddenly made up her mind to get the spanking over with.
Unfortunately, she’s wearing a pair of shorts that fit so tightly, it will be difficult to take them down with her draped over my knees.
“Get up.”
“Get up?”
“Yes. Get up. I want your ass naked.”
Kirsten wiggles off my lap, focusing her eyes on the carpet as she undoes the zipper and the button on her shorts.
“Look at me,” my voice is intentionally cutting.
“What if I don’t want to,” she snaps.
Reaching up, I wrap my hand around her arm and jerk hard. It’s the perfect occasion to slap her face, but that I use sparingly—good only for the most extreme insubordination, usually raging mutinies that can’t be stopped without the sudden shock of an offensive strike.
My hand being enough to get her attention, she greets me with a glare. I didn’t count on this, expecting her to be more compliant—even aroused. I can’t let this insurrection get out of control.
Meeting her defiance with my command, I have her bared from the waist down in seconds, then poised over my lap moments later. I start with my hand, spanking her small well-rounded mounds with a cupped palm that cracks sharply against her flesh. Leaving the imprint of my fingers on her skin, that imprint soon disappears, replaced by a nice rosy bottom, all hot and smarting. My hand’s smarting too. Time for something else to deliver my message, I spot a hairbrush conveniently resting on top of her dressing table—just as if it’s waiting for me. I suspect Kirsten subconsciously chose the kind of sleek-back, long handled variety that’s perfect to tame the sassiest of brats. She knew I’d be pleased with it even if she’s not going to enjoy the results of it on her ass. The feel of it in my hand is a satisfaction all its own. She’ll be struggling with this soon, and I’ll be a happy man.
Exchanging strikes of my hand for ones with the brush adds a new dimension of pain that I’m sure my fiancée hasn’t felt since she was child, if at all. With the intensity of the spanking increasing ten-fold, she howls loudly.
“Billy, nooooo!”
“Better keep your voice down, Kirsten, these walls are awfully thin,” I warn her.
She’s temporarily silenced, although she squirms erotically against my thighs, thinking that will have some effect on the outcome. She’s just learning. As feisty as I find her today, I have a feeling this might be repeated more than I anticipated.
I watch the color of her hot buns deepen. This blush is one that penetrates her skin, her bottom the look of bright pink rose petals with the color of heat soaking into the pores of her tender flesh. It’s a palette of pain, the molten orbs jiggling uselessly before my eyes. Her attempts to assuage the feel of it seem so silly. But then, maybe it’s impossible to withstand the hurt without these wasted gyrations.
Still, the action of her belly against the muscle of my thighs arouses my dick. I even feel her tits, tucked into a tiny tee shirt, graze against my legs as she thrashes about. That wondrous swell of dominant zeal precludes any quick end to my pleasure.
“Billy stop! Ouch! Oh, stop,” she howls more madly than ever as the beat of the brush against her ass continues. I pick up the pace for a while, then slow to a rhythmic tempo. Tattooing her ass less forcefully, I make the smacks brisk. These, as all the others, she resists.
Her heart pours out more grief, and I’m almost moved to stop. But there’s venomous chatter coming from her lips. “Stop!” she barks at me meanly, jerking hard as she can against the hand that hold her. I stop, but only for a second.
“I end this, Kirsten, when you accept it with some grace.”
“Grace, you ass!” she blares, so I begin again. She’s being foolish continuing the fight. But I can go on for a long time with this hairbrush feeling so comfortable in my hand.
“All right, all right,” she finally moans, once realizing her protests only lengthen the spanking. “Ouch, good gawd, I hate this.” She grits her teeth as though she’s really trying.
Noting that her skin is beginning to display a nasty rash, I hasten the end.
“You think you’ve learned your lesson?”
Of course she says, “yes.”
I give her several more smacks, and make my final pronouncement, “next time, maybe you’ll understand how serious I am about your obedience.”
“Yes, sir,” she hastily agrees.
As I finally lay the hairbrush on the dressing table, I hear her snuffing away her tears. Pulling her up on my lap, she winces when I purposely squeeze one naked cheek. Such warmth envelopes her, the rosy hot glow of her ass seems to take over her state of mind. She’s yielding, withdrawn and humbled.
“I wish I understood,” she sounds so sad.
“I don’t expect you to understand,” I tell her as I gently stroke the tangles from her hair with my hand. “In most cases i
t would be useless to try making sense of it. The only thing you need to understand is that you belong to me. You’re obliged to obey me whether you like my decisions or not. You submerge some desires to please me, and accept what I tell you. I’ll meet every need you have, but you will have to compromise your whims to have that. Do you understand?”
“I think it’s coming clear,” she replies.
I know she’s horny. Her body responds to my caressing hand as it adroitly skirts her ass and thighs.
“You’re living in world of minor mysteries,” I add. “Most will simply have no explanation.”
She’s warm pressing into me, enlivening my entire body. “Oh, Billy, can we make love?” She turns in my lap with her arms embracing my neck, her lips are so velvety wet—so much more than normal. Getting spanked, her spit and fire and petulance just drifts away as she becomes this sumptuous creature of lust. I am tempted.
“No,” I reply tersely, though I’m not unkind. I push her back enough to take her face in my hand. “You’re being punished. The two don’t go together. At least not this time.”
“Oh, you’re being unfair.”
“And you’re resisting me again,” I point out.
“But…”
She’s so damned open. She can probably feel my erection against her leg. I know her pussy’s wet against my pants. “No, you’re going to see this to the very end.” I can’t stand anymore, and push her to her feet. “You’ll spend the rest of the day in here, getting used to the feel of your smarting behind.” As I rise to my feet, I smack her ass one last time.
“Here? All afternoon? But it’s the last day…”
I’m not giving in, and this time, I’m not kind either. She may be mad as hell, but her response to the grim news only adds kindling to the sexual blaze between us.
“Take a nap, think, write, read, but stay in your room. You leave, I’ll start all over again. Be warned, I have my spies.”
“Oh, you are frustrating,” she groans unhappily. “I guess I’ll just…” she pauses, thinking… “masturbate.”
“Oh, I don’t think so, unless you want to sleep alone tonight, and I don’t think you want to miss what I have planned.”
“Really?”
“Really. Now, I’m going to take a stroll on deck.”
I see her whole body wilt like I’ve sentenced her to life in prison. In an hour or two I’ll send room service with a tray of food and a bouquet of flowers. She’ll be looking like a pampered princess by the time I come to put her in chains tonight. She’ll get what she needs, but not everything she wants.
Taking the key to her room, I lock the deadbolt from the outside. The gesture is merely symbolic—she can always sneak out through my room. But the intent behind the move is clear and I’m certain she gets the message.
***
It’s nearly ten o’clock by the time I put Kirsten’s stateroom key in the lock again. The room is dimly lit as I enter, and I find my fiancée propped up in bed with half a dozen pillows behind her and one under her ass. She does make a good submissive princess.
I see from the empty tray beside her, that she’s eaten most of the food I sent—probably hours ago. I expect her to be starving, but it’s hardly food that will fill her belly.
“You know, I chose this room especially because it has several features that lend themselves to putting a woman in bondage.”
Her eyes, once so sweetly droopy because she’s expecting sex, now pop wide open with alarm. “Bondage,” she repeats breathlessly.
“Bondage in chains,” I clarify. Drawing a satchel from her closet—the locked one she’s been forbidden to open since the trip began—I undo the catch and pull from it the metal collar, cuffs and chains I plan to use.
She grows more wary and excited.
“You really are…”
“Hush. Don’t say a word. You need to feel your body more than ever now, it’s going to tell me exactly what to do tonight. If we both listen, it should be a wondrous experience. First times are usually earthshaking because they are first times. She shivers ecstatically as I reach for her wrists, and clamp them together in thick metal cuffs.
Pulling her to her feet, my lips are at her ear, whispering so quietly you’d think someone else was in the room, and I didn’t want them to hear, “This is your prison.”
She trembles. Her thighs twitch nervously as I untie the shoulders of her sundress and leave her naked when it falls to the floor. Clamping the collar around her neck, I see a joyful tear in her eye, as she gazes at me. But when I move back to the satchel, she’s too petrified to move a muscle, or turn her head. Looking at me from her peripheral vision, she sees what I draw from my bag, then flinches, eyeing a long metal dildo I’ll use to impale her ass. Greased, it will slide up her channel, the bulbous shaft widening the sphincter so she’ll almost scream before it slips beyond the entrance and finally nestles in the tight space beyond.
I watch her cringe as I grease the rod. This is virgin territory for her that will be violated tonight as rudely as I can manage without hurting her. She needs this vigorously done, her fantasies wouldn’t allow her satisfaction any other way.
“Hands on the bed, Kirsten. If you relax this will go in easier.”
She can’t relax, she’s so nervous, though that doesn’t stop me.
“Spread your legs,” I tap the inside of her thighs and she parts them even as they nervously tremble.
Running my hand along her anal crack, she trembles more. “Relax, love,” I whisper as my fingers glide deeper until I find the tight, little object of my desire. A little more slippery grease and I can ease two fingers inside. Her belly clutches.
“Tell me what you feel,” I need to draw her from her fear.
“Oh, I can’t describe this…” She sighs, trying to soothe herself just as my fingers soothe this untried passageway.
“Tell me more,” I kindly insist.
She’s breathing heavily hardly able to speak. “Strange,” she whispers, “jarring… ouch!” she jerks.
“Relax.” One hand massages her back, the other probes until I can fit two fingers deep in her ass. She begins to let go. “There, you see. It’s not meant to hurt but pleasure you.” Removing my hand from her ass, I take the dildo from the table, and begin its slow slide up the channel. It oozes inside an inch at a time, with Kirsten softly panting, any minute about to seize up. “See, how easy this is,” I encourage her. “You’re doing beautifully.” Almost to the hilt, she relaxes even more, and the rest slithers its way to its final destination. Pressing one hand against her belly, the other on her ass, I move her groin about as it gets used to the unaccustomed sensations. Finally bringing her to standing again, I attach a chain to her collar, and thread it through the exposed end of the dildo, though her cunt and up her torso where it attaches to the other side of the collar.
She’s almost crying, but it’s not fear I see in her eyes. The gentle joy that moves through her expression inspires me to kiss her.
“Let’s see your hands,” I say as I back away.
There’s a bolt in the ceiling where once a light fixture hung. Now, it serves as a place to tether my fiancée for her first encounter with my whip. Raising her arms above her head, they become fixed to the rope that hangs there. The more I draw down on the rope, the more her body stretches taut, the more the supple lines of her figure become defined. Her breasts seem to titter anxiously as if they know what’s about to happen, and her thighs continue their perpetual nervous shaking. I think of tethering her to the extremes—her legs fixed to a spreader bar, Kirsten suspended by her arms, writhing in agony. But, this first time must be more basic. My aim is not to frighten her, but to bring us both the pleasure it’s taken weeks to provoke.
Pinching her clit, there’s both joy and fear in her response.
Backing off, she sees the dark-hearted glimmer in my eyes, and looks pitifully at me, as if begging me to dispense with the tease and begin with the whip. Yet, when she sees me draw the cat-l
ike implement from the satchel, she looks more scared than ever, “Oh, my,” her breathless whisper. Watching the many leather thongs dangle about my leg, her body bucks in utter joy, as though she can sense its feel long before it strikes.
As I run the teasing leather along her legs, she jumps and starts, and closes her eyes. The sensation in her builds as I rain a series of soft strikes along her thighs. Walking behind her, I begin with her back—at first gently striking the whip, with the talons spreading over her shivering shoulder muscles like long fingers that caress the skin. She twitches, groaning pleasurably. Moving down her back to her ass and thighs, I repeat this gentleness, seeing how she seems to gain arousal with each stroke. Back in front, she momentarily glances at me, a look of fear replacing her joy. But as I strike her there with the same caressing strokes, she spirals down into pleasure.
At her side, I press my hand to her cunt, to feel its heat, and the way she moves against it as though she expects I’ll let her cum.
Her moves are dazzling. Ass flesh quivering, breasts gently swaying, nipples seeming to darken from their soft pink as they draw up tightly into hardened buds. Still, her thighs quake. I run my palms along that skin, and believe I feel the first shudder of climax move through them.
Backing away again, I return to her backside. Again at her shoulders, I increase my tempo and the intensity of the strikes. Staying one strike above soothing, she’s challenged to meet the mounting sensations with more desire. And so she does. Steadily escalating the force, I hear her first pained sighs, but not yet a protest.
Moving rapidly to her ass, I lay the whip on fast and meanly. At first, she’s shocked, and defies the pain with her first objection. “Billy, no!”
I don’t back off right away, but slowly diminish the fury, and softening, let her catch up to the point of pleasure again. She “oos” and “aahs”, then, like she’s going to cum. Her bottom lunges forward, pushing her cunt toward the heated air. As I vary the force of this whipping, from gently tender to vigorous, she writhes in misery one moment and with joyous abandon the next. When I finally slacken, the duress of her plight vanishes. I press my hand to her pubic mound. With just a finger pressing at her clit, a couple slipping into the hole, she climaxes. This pleasure runs so deeply through her I feel it in my own pulsing crotch. Once the first thrill falls away, I let her down and take her to bed.
In Chains Page 5