Submissive Desires (15 page)

“You could at least try to say it like you mean it, Maura,” he teased gently. “I will not allow you to go locking yourself away from me – physically or emotionally – when you get uncomfortable. I expect you to come to me. Is that understood?”

Maura nodded dutifully. “Yes, Sir.” But she was mentally crossing her fingers at the same time.

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She fell asleep not long after that, with Simon holding her in place against his side, where he was rapidly deciding she belonged on a more permanent basis. When she awoke, it was to a replay of his mouth on her clit, so that she came to almost fully aroused and practically mid-orgasm. In fact, it was his fingers slipping in to her tight, slick channel that woke her on a groan that was torn from her throat on her first conscious breath. Upon her wakening, he bent her legs back and began to feed on her voraciously, giving absolutely no quarter, not really wanting her to wake fully before she gave herself over to him and the pleasure he was pressing on her.

“S-Simon!” The high-pitched wail, almost fearful in nature, set the hair on the back of his neck on end.

But he didn’t relent, didn’t let up one bit, forcing her there, dragging her to ecstasy then hurling her into the maelstrom, making sure he was there in the aftermath, holding her tight, soothing her in the shivers that beset her afterwards, brushing her hair back from her face.

Simon had made love to a not inconsiderable amount of women in his life, in various ways and means and in assorted countries. Some had been explosively sexual – much as Maura was – some had been in it for the kicks or to notch their lipstick cases.

None had prepared him for her.

No woman he’d met had had such a starkly emotional connection to her pleasure. After startling him with a bare-bones scream, then groans that followed and made him serious wonder if he’d killed her, she lay quietly quivering until the storm began, and tears practically burst from her eyes. She tried to run away from him again, but he’d been prepared – forewarned was forearmed – and caught her just as she turned to roll out of the bed, pulling her tightly to him, holding her loosely, but not allowing her to escape, either.

She’d cried fit to wrench his long-dead heart from his chest, although he’d never acknowledge it.

Not having a lot of experience in comforting or soothing - he was much more adept at causing physical and emotional pain, consciously and unconsciously – Simon felt the discomfort of being out of his element, which was rare. Generally, he was as in control of everyone and everything around him as he could be. He disliked surprises intensely, as they smacked of being unprepared.

But this was different. This was a woman who was important to him. That he wanted to get to know much better, well beyond this one weekend. He was determined that this would not be a one night stand, and if he had to get over his awkwardness and learn how to calm her during times like this – which he hoped would abate with time, frankly – then he would exhaust every resource he had available to him to do so.

As always, he found himself over-thinking things, and finally just let his instincts take over, caressing her hair and “shhhh”ing her softly, holding her tight when she struggled until she relaxed against him again.

When he’d held her through it and she had almost fallen asleep on him again, he lifted her leg high over his hip, his big hand on her bottom, fingering the welts and blisters he had raised with the paddle as he pushed into her, not allowing her to deny him access to her body.

Maura arched back and whimpered at his entrance, but a second hand stilled her merely by its firm presence at the small of her back, just below her ribcage. She was well and truly trapped in the gentlest but most implacable of cages, unable to move away even an inch, having to lie there and be invaded by him repeatedly, and . . . worse than that, pleasurably. Her body was already so attuned to him that it was impossible for her to ignore the way his thick organ rasped in and out, stretching her almost 63

unbearably then backing off, then stretching and backing off. He was making her want to writhe, but she was held so fast that she couldn’t, and that was a sweet torture, too.

After an embarrassingly few strokes, Simon began to hammer into her, hands less gentle on her hips as he buried himself deep within her and exploded on a deep, low growl. He came so hard he thought he was going to come again within seconds, although the feeling faded, and he ended up sounding a lot like Maura after an orgasm – blowing breath out in great puffs and finding it amazing that his teeth were tingling from the hyperventilation.

That had never happened to him in this lifetime, but he had a feeling he had a lot more episodes of it to look forward to.

He hoped.

They never left the suite the whole three days. Simon would not allow it. He saw no reason to –

they lived off the twenty-four-hour room service, swam in the pool, and at one point – after a particularly strenuous bout of lovemaking, he surprised her by having in room masseuses massage them into a stupor.

Maura had balked a little, considering the fresh and older bruises on her bottom and the backs of her thighs, but Simon didn’t let her protests faze him in the least.

He had joined her on the bed, where he kept her most of the time. Like a sultan who’d found a new favorite concubine, he wanted her where he could get at her comfortably whenever the mood struck.

It went without saying that he never allowed her to put on any clothes after ordering her to strip just after they’d arrived, so when his hand delved under the light sheet she’d pulled up to her waist, it encountered only the smooth, soft flesh of her. As it traveled up the backs of her legs, he found the ridges he’d placed there recently with the cane, ears pricked to hear her slightest whimper, and rewarded with several, but she’d learned not to move away from him.

The hard way.

It had begun innocently enough. She was teasing him, fighting him, although she must’ve had some inkling that whatever advances she was making he was letting her have. Simon was an extremely dangerous man, and was so highly trained that he could kill almost anyone without thinking about it much. But either she realize that, or she didn’t much care, because she was fighting him so amateurishly that he was almost afraid he’d accidentally hurt her.

Finally, wanting and end to it, and – after that naked struggle wanting nothing more than to force himself up into her pussy and ride her hard – he grabbed her hair and wrapped it around his hand, using it as a single rein to tug her head back, not hurting – yet – but not letting her move her head much, either.

But she continued to try to get away from him – half playfully, half seriously - until he got that awful gleam in his eye. “Stay,” he commanded, rolling off the bed to cross over to his suitcase.

Maura watched in horror as he returned with a straight length of bamboo. It looked as unforgiving as he was. Quickly, she rolled over onto her side, already trying to scrunch across the bed, away from him.

His eyebrow rose. “Didn’t I tell you to stay?”

Her whimper – and the look in her eyes - brought him to full arousal in one swift upswing. He loved that just starting to be fearful look in her delightfully feminine eyes.

But he did not like the idea that she was always running way from him, and intended to impress on her how displeased he was by that tendency, and hopefully teach her not to do so any longer.

Maura couldn’t believe that he was going to actually apply that wicked looking thing to her tender bottom – especially not to a bottom that had been quite thoroughly worked over by his awful paddle! But he didn’t seem to have any sort of concern about the fact that she’d been punished very recently. When Simon got to the side of the bed, he reached across it with amazing speed, fingers wrapping around her wrist and tugging firmly until she literally had no choice but to fall over onto her tummy, and before she could even think of recovering, before the thought had even entered her mind, he had her trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey – wrists bound above her head in those same soft straps, 64

ankles secured together to a rung of the frame at the bottom of the bed, nude, of course, and now totally vulnerable to him.

As she should be.

He’d even managed to slide a pillow under her hips, lifting the area so that it presented a wonderful blatant target for the rod he held in his hand.

As much as she struggled and tugged against all of the restraints, none of them gave at any time during the session. And it was a long, quite purposely arduous one. Simon didn’t believe in hurrying a punishment, especially not one with the cane.

“Simon – no!” Maura was crying prior to ever feeling stroke number one, rolling as far as possible to one side or the other – which wasn’t much, granted – but enough so that he took an extra pillow and used it as a bolster against each of her hips, essentially rendering her completely immobile.

“Yes, Maura. I’m going to give you one of your first serious lessons – not to run away from me.

And I can promise you that by the time I’m finished, you’ll think more than twice the next time.”

There was no other preamble, no other scolding or lecture, only the sharp searing crack of that unyielding length over both of the mounds of her still-bruised bottom at the same time. Maura had read and heard about how atrocious the pain of a caning was because it was comprised of two layers of incredible intensity . . . and she was finding out first hand that the collective “they” were most unpleasantly right!

Just as she was only barely beginning to deal with the dual aftermath of the first stroke, the second fell, and she knew that this was going to be a trying, testing experience as burning sensation built upon burning sensation. Simon only allowed a few seconds between each stroke, long enough – he knew from his own experiences – for the first, more superficial sting to have given way to the second, deeper, much worse burning sensation.

Each stroke was very carefully placed so as never to allow any wrap at all; every burgeoning red line distinct and crisp on the fair white flesh, at first only decorating her rounded pillows, but once there were eight tracks laid there, he moved downwards to the backs of her thighs and christened them as severely. Maura reacted exactly as he expected and wanted her to – somehow, although bottom caning was bad enough, feeling that hard rod biting into the tender flesh at the backs of one’s thighs was that much worse, and her outcry at its first visit there was more than reward to his ears.

Simon was almost – but not quite – having a hard time concentrating on what he was doing. His genitals had a mind of their own around her, it seemed. She inspired a tremendous response in him merely by existing within a hundred mile radius, and up close the extent of his perpetual arousal was almost unbearable – much as she must’ve felt about the punishment she was getting, he thought with a grim smile.

Soon there were matching strips of swollen, welted flesh on her legs, achieved by unrelentingly severe snaps of his strong arm. Maura was beside herself. Her mind literally couldn’t process the amount of pain she was in. She was reacting entirely without thought, without an intelligent cell in her body – they were all involved in the total rebellion of agony; he’d reduced her to her lowest common denominator in a frighteningly short time – probably by the fifth stroke.

But it wasn’t quite over yet, she found out. The last two strokes were the most vicious of all – one landed diagonally across the backs of her legs – re-igniting the horrible throbbing of each of the previous strokes, and the other diagonally across her bottom flesh. Each was delivered with as much force as he dared.

Simon threw the cane to the floor to the sound of her unholy screams, and for a long moment he just stood there, indulging himself, watching the agonizing process as she tried to come to grips with what had been done to her. What he had done to her – purposely.

And what he would never hesitate to do to her no matter how long their relationship lasted.

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She was a sight – most of her backside aglow from his attentions, writhing and twisting to get away even though he was no longer delivering any strokes. The sheets and comforter beneath her face were darkened by her tears, and she was still moaning deep in her throat.

Simon reached down and ran a stiffened finger over her, from just above the back of her left knee to just below the small of her back, tracing a painful line over each one of the welts he was responsible for, watching as her skin purple with bruises as she tried unsuccessfully to flinch away from his touch. In a rare, unplanned moment, he released her feet, then bound each to a separate corner of the bed, spreading her to a certain extent, then he compromised her even further and pulled her knees apart with slender lengths of leather that essentially allowed him to stand at the end of the bed and see every one of her charms without even trying to. She lay there completely exposed, unable to make even the smallest effort to protect her modesty, those luscious charms hanging down in front of him, amazingly swollen and ripe for the picking.

Or rather, flicking, he though wryly, climbing onto the bed between her legs. Simon was curious to see if she was as wet as usual, or if the torment he’d subjected her to had been enough to curb her rampant libido. He fit his whole hand – big though it was – over her privates, and before he’d even let his middle finger work its way in between her plump lips, his fingers were being moistened by her glistening cream. She positively gushed onto him when that finger penetrated her, trailing dampness down his knuckles.

Maura was just barely beginning to recover when she felt him invade her – her breath was starting to settle down, although the fire in her bottom and legs was nowhere near abated. Then he pressed his way up inside her – first that big, thick, middle finger, then his index finger joining it, forcing her to stretch and accommodate him.

To her deep mortification, she also knew that – despite the depths of her torment, or maybe because of it - her body was drenching him in her own sexual fluids. Worse than that, she was finding the combination of what he was doing to her now and the remnants of those atrocious slices with the cane were making her even wetter – she had absolutely no control over him or herself. None. He raped her from behind more and more vigorously, making her want to arch back against him, but she couldn’t. All she could do was lie there and take whatever it was that he decided he wanted her to endure.