by Trent Evans
“That’s better,” he said, laying a proprietary palm upon the back of her thigh. “Whenever you’re given an order — no matter what it is — delay will cost you. Understand me? And you’d better answer properly.”
“Yes, sir.” The words stung like acid on her tongue even as her sex tightened at the rumbling tone of the cop’s voice.
Damn it.
“You’ve got nice legs, Ms. Moore. Excellent muscle tone. Are you a runner? Bicyclist?”
That he hadn’t commented on the very naked — and increasingly warm and sticky — pussy practically staring him in the face was even more shocking to her than his compliment.
“Um, both, sometimes — at least I was. Until… this. Sir.”
“Good catch. Don’t you worry about that though.” He gave her a pat on the leg, then rose up behind her. “You’ll be getting plenty of exercise here, I assure you.”
Her belly fluttered at the implied threat in the words. This was not going how she’d hoped it would. Did he… know?
There was no way he could know what dirty thoughts and taboo fantasies she might harbor, but there was one thing that was increasingly clear: there was a good chance the man was going to find out about them eventually.
How long would it take before her pussy started to drip, no matter how mortifying and wrong this all was?
Or maybe it will drip precisely because it’s — supposedly — mortifying and wrong.
Ford was a cop — deductive reasoning was his game. It wouldn’t take a huge leap of logic to put two and two together, as time went on. Even if her mind stayed true, her body might not. What was the old axiom? The mind is strong, but the flesh is weak?
Exactly when did you become this person, Fal?
His big hand patted her hip. “Up now.”
He came around to face her once more, her fingers tightening at the base of her skull, her hair increasingly scratching against her forearms, the room seeming to get warmer by the minute.
Ford’s palm pressed against the valley between her breasts, and he pushed her gently back, matching her step with his. Her bottom made contact with the frigid concrete of the wall, the surface unforgiving against her soft skin. He eased her back still farther, until her back was flat to the cold surface, the chill traveling through her body. “You stay here until I call you. Do you understand?”
She watched him retreat back to the wardrobe, her gaze dropping guiltily to take in the pleasing roll of the man’s compact buttocks in those tight tan trousers. His thighs were… huge. It was a part of a man’s body — among many parts — that she had a decided weakness for, and the way his pants clung to him suggested a set of legs powerful enough to squat a car.
Stop acting like a love-struck teenager.
He opened that wardrobe then, and though it was across the room against the far wall, what she could see make her heart drop into her belly.
The door both swung wide, revealing enough implements to stock an entire BDSM dungeon. Every instrument of corporal punishment known to man hung from one side, while on the opposite, neat coils of rope in varying colors and thicknesses were neatly coiled, waiting for their victims like patient, calculating serpents.
He stood to one side, glancing back at her, then gazing back inside the wardrobe as if trying to decide what to choose. She was quick enough to realize it was for another, perhaps more important reason: he wanted her to see what awaited her if she persisted in her defiance, in her disobedience.
White Valley’s good Sheriff appeared to be even kinkier than the twisted townspeople he was sworn to serve and protect.
Her womb clenched once, twice, her tiny involuntary moan swallowed down at the delicious — if unwelcome — pleasure.
You’re in deep trouble here, Fal.
* * *
Falon’s blue eyes were as big as saucers as he brought the padded cuffs over to her, the coil of heavy white nylon rope slung over his shoulder.
She looked so adorable, huddled against that wall, her hands still up as he’d ordered her. A small surge of pride swelled within him at that. She’d obeyed.
That was a huge step.
“No,” her lips said, silently, but she was smart enough not to actually speak the word.
“Give me your hands.”
Her fingers trembled as he wrapped the heavy cuffs around the wrists, the stiff leather reaching halfway down her slender forearms, providing her extra protection for her delicate bones and joints — a support feature he knew she’d soon be grateful for.
“Please, sir,” she whispered, even as color bloomed in her cheeks. Her eyes were big and bright and he wanted nothing more at that moment than to press his lips to them.
The woman was devastatingly attractive, something that ironically made this all the more difficult. His cock was already rock hard, his police issue trousers doing an absolutely dreadful job in hiding that fact.
Though it wasn’t quite time for that yet, he supposed it was a good thing for her to be mindful of it, to see his arousal, to get her thinking about — and fretting over — what they both knew was coming very soon. That next level of intimacy, that surrender he looked forward to with an eagerness that threatened to call into question his own judgment, his self-control.
He had to guard against going easy on her — that would never do — and her loveliness sparked a contradictory protective urge in him that, at times, confused him.
Very shortly, he was going to make her one very sorry girl indeed, but that didn’t mean he didn’t look forward to holding her in his arms afterward, soothing her tears away — or tasting them upon his tongue.
Focus, you asshole.
The cuffs were constructed in such a way to keep the wrists bound closely together, increasing the wearer’s sense of helplessness, something he very much wanted to experiment with on young Falon Moore while he had her under his thumb.
Fishing one end of the rope through the thick ring at the base of Falon’s cuffs, he tied it off there, reaching up, standing on tip toe and easing it through one of the heavy steel rings bolted to the ceiling joists.
She looked up at him as he did it, her lovely mouth hanging open, fright — and something else entirely — in her pretty eyes.
There’s something else Ms. Moore’s not telling you.
He’d need to investigate that further, later. Now, it was time to get her attention — and make sure she understood just how deep in it she already was.
And she had so much deeper to go.
Ford hauled on the rope, hoisting Falon’s arms up over her head, making the girl yelp.
“What are you…?”
He grasped her by the chin, still holding onto the rope. “Normally, I’d be gagging you for that little outburst, but I need to be able to hear you for this. Time enough to get you acquainted with your gag later. For now, keep that mouth shut.”
Her face paled at that, her lips clamping shut.
Pulling down on the rope once more, he hoisted Falon up onto her toes, a frightened sound slipping from her lips. Satisfied she’d been stretched as he wanted, ensuring she could still find purchase on the floor, if only with the very tips of her toes, he tied off the rope to one of the hooks he’d installed for this very purpose, hanging the remains of the coil from a second hook mounted further along the joist.
Ford stood back, admiring his prize. Her full, round breasts heaved, her lips stuck in an almost perpetual moue of surprise or fright.
He rather liked the thought of both.
The extension of her arms so high over her head caused her flat, smooth belly to draw in dramatically beneath the slender rib cage, her navel a pleasing, inky well he longed to explore with a finger or tongue. Her pleasingly slender waist drew his eye repeatedly, the effect made more impressive by pleasingly wide, rounded hips and smooth, firm thighs perhaps a trifle more lush than picky fashionistas might consider ideal.
For a spanko perv like him though, they were something straight from the Gods.
&n
bsp; Between those pale legs, the smooth, shaven sex winked. He wondered why she kept it smooth, and mentally reminded himself to question her about that later. Regardless, the effect was arousing, despite his normal penchant for pussies with at least some pubic hair.
He expected her to say something, perhaps attempt to call off the whole thing, even though they both knew that wasn’t an option anymore. Instead, her bright eyes watched him intently, her perfect teeth worrying her lip.
“Stay right here,” he said, touching her cheek. She grit her teeth for a moment, but stayed quiet.
Smart girl.
Back at the wardrobe, he ran his fingers through the waiting instruments of discipline. Plucking the heavy black flogger from its hook, he turned back for his waiting ward.
Such moments were the sweetest of all, that anticipation, the air crackling with the girl’s confusing mixture of anxiousness and arousal. For it was quite clear to him now that something about this was arousing to the feisty Ms. Moore. Her nipples had swollen, the color deepening, the nipples hard and prominent at the centers of the pleasingly broad areolas. Her nostrils were dilated, that smooth little belly drawing in and out rapidly. As she took in what he held tight in one fist, her pupils seemed to dilate, the blue of her eyes growing darker, even as they threatened to overflow.
He had no doubt Falon’s tears would prove to be as sweet and beautiful as every other part of her was.
Stop that, Ford. Not the time, not the place.
Falon’s flushed lips began to form the question, so he took mercy on her and answered it.
“You know why I’m doing this, Ms. Moore. You remember your serial failure to address me properly? Nod your head, if you remember.”
She did, a thick lock of her fair hair coming loose and hanging down before one eye. He reached up and tucked it away, her cheeks coloring deeply at the gesture.
He knew she thought him only capable of cruelty at this point — and what he was about to do to her would do nothing to contradict that belief — but he hoped that soon she’d see there was so much more to be gained by behaving, by her obedience to his wishes, and maybe, just maybe, her devotion.
“You remember your cursing? Your defiance?”
She nodded quickly, then dropped her eyes, her cheeks coloring anew.
He smiled at that. She felt that pleasingly clear, concrete emotion, a feeling that was so useful — and so enjoyable for a man like him: shame.
Falon knew better. Somewhere inside, even if, in every other sense, she was more than justified in her behavior, deep down a part of her, perhaps one she didn’t even consciously perceive, felt bad about her behavior. In time, she might even feel that same regret in letting him down, for disappointing him?
Don’t get ahead of yourself.
Holding up the flogger, the black falls swinging slowly, Ford smiled. “This is what happens when you decide to use that sharp tongue of yours, when you disobey me. Remember this the next time you think you want to run your smart mouth.”
He began to swing the flogger then, twirling the heavy weight of the falls before him in a horizontal figure eight motion, the air cool upon his skin as he got the mass of leather strands moving faster and faster. She watched it intently, her eyes seemingly fit to pop from her head.
Then he moved behind her, fixing his gaze upon that pleasingly plump little bottom, he let the falls strike her left cheek, a gentle caress really, and she craned her head around as much as her position allowed, her brow creased, her mouth hanging open.
It was always like this, the first few strikes almost pleasing, like a soft rain of leather upon the skin. But he knew better.
Soon he had the falls moving just the way he wanted, letting the ends splat against her full bottom now, each strike just a little bit harder than the last. When she reared up on the last one, a surprised sound forced from her lips, he alternated locations, slowing the swing of the leather, letting it caress her thighs, then her belly as he walked around her. He alternated the arc of his swing, making the falls arc up from below, the path of the leather inching closer and closer between her thighs. She clenched them tight with a tiny yelp, her eyes wider than ever.
“Please!”
He simply smiled at her, letting the tips of the falls strike her gently, those lush thighs shielding her sex. For now.
Moving back around, he alternated the course of the swing once more, the falls this time swinging down. He let them smack her bottom once, twice, a third time, a flick of his wrist making each strike louder and harder than the last, her grunts sounding more and more frantic with each impact.
Then he stilled the swinging leather, clasping it in his hand, looking upon those pretty buttocks, the ghostly hints of faint pink just beginning to appear.
“Ten for now, Ms. Moore.”
He took aim, sending the leather cracking against her bottom, her plump flesh flattening and rebounding under the heavy force of the blow, the sound a loud crack made more intense by the close confines of the basement.
“Please, sir!” she cried out at the third one, medium pink lines now crisscrossing in countless trails over her lush buttocks.
“Remember the pain of these next time,” he said in a calm voice, not even sure she could hear him over the deafening splat-splat of the impacts of the flogger.
The fifth and sixth blows were uppercut strokes, the supple weight of the leather lifting each round cheek, sending it bounding and jiggling, Falon dropping her head, a strangled groan audible even over the din of the strokes. The next stroke was the hardest yet, and Falon cried out, her blonde locks flying as she threw her head back, her toes scrambling for purchase as she lost her balance, her body swinging out in a long arc, the girl desperate to avoid the maddening sting of the flogger.
The next strike was lower, falling against the pale tender flesh of the backs of her upper thighs and her yelps turned into a surprised shriek, both her legs coming up, the rope above her groaning softly as it took her full weight for a moment.
“Feet on the ground, Ms. Moore. We’re not done yet.”
He waited patiently, untangling the falls with his fingers as she slowly complied.
“God, that hurts,” she gasped, her toes finally stretching back down to the floor.
“It’s not going to do any good if it doesn’t,” he said, sending the ninth blow, the hardest yet, against the lower hemisphere of her flushing, swollen bottom.
The stroke drove her hips forward and her head dropped back, her cries bitten off quickly, her teeth gritting. Her buttocks colored a solid red now, with numerous darker lines left by the leather strands.
“Last one,” Ford said, letting the leather falls fly. It caught her at the lowest curve of her bottom, where the flesh was its most vulnerable, the swollen congested skin already blushing red.
Her shriek was high, full-throated, and she jumped from the floor like a cat discovering the top of the hot woodstove wasn’t for walking.
She grunted twice, swinging freely by her arms, the sound of her voice watery now, desperate.
“Please!”
“All over now,” he said, taking hold of her hips, his cock aching as she brushed against him. “That’s it, stand up. Take it easy on those wrists.”
“God… oh, it hurts!”
“I know, I know,” he murmured, stroking the pleasing expanse of her back, loving the tight, smooth muscles playing beneath his fingertips. “Just breathe, now.”
Though part of him wanted to take her down, hold her in his arms while she processed the pain of the flogging, he knew it wasn’t the right time yet.
He needed to investigate something first.
Dragging over the wooden chair, he placed it a mere foot in front of her, but didn’t sit down.
Instead, he leaned one hand on the back, peering at her breasts, inspecting the deep pink of her erect nipples, tapping one with the leather of the flogger
“What do you think caused that, hmm?”
She blushed fierce
ly when she realized what he meant, lifting her chin, her eyes flashing a determination he was relieved hadn’t been extinguished. A single drying tear had tracked down her cheek. She didn’t speak though.
“You can respond,” he said, grinning with pride that he was already getting through to her. There was nothing like a good, hard flogging and a sore, burning bottom to help a girl see the truth of things. “You can always reply when asked a question — just be sure it’s respectful, and you address me like we talked about.”
“You… you can’t think that means anything.” She flicked a glance down at her chest, then meeting his gaze, defiance bright in her blue eyes.
“What does it mean then?” Ford looked around him dramatically. “It’s not cold in here — not by a long shot. So why are your nipples standing up for me so nicely?”
She flushed, but her lips were a thin line. “It’s a biological reaction. Nothing more.”
“I wonder,” Ford murmured, giving her a wink before taking a seat on the chair. His cock swelled still further at the spicy scent of her that filled his nostrils already. He loved the scent of an aroused woman. There was nothing quite like it — nor quite as erotic — on this Earth.
He stared at her sex for a while, almost feeling the tension in the air increase as Falon watched him do it. Her pussy was plump and close-seamed, like a ripe fruit, with just a hint of the vibrant pink of the inner lips. It was the kind of delicious pussy that just called out for touch, for a man to explore it. Still, he resisted, difficult though it was to do so.
Instead, he placed a palm high on her inner thigh near where it met her sweet sex. Using a thumb, he eased those swollen labia open, revealing what he suspected — dripping heat.
He ran the cool leather of the flogger up between her legs, sliding the falls through the soft wetness at her core. She jerked, drawing in a sharp breath, peering down at him, that cute little crease spreading upon her brow once more.
Christ, she’s so beautiful.
Holding up the flogger, her eyes went wide as she saw the damning wetness gleaming upon the black leather, two of the falls actually held together by the stickiness of her essence.