Just A Spanking: Tales of Dominance and Submission (2 page)

I stopped yelling a while ago. Now I'm whimpering
,
my eyes squeezed shut, tears leaking out the corners. I'm drifting in a haze of pain. The snap of his flesh meeting mine, the reek of my soaking cunt,
the
constant bolts of raw sensation sizzling through my body: these have become my world.

I can't take any more. I'm sure that I can't. I worry that he'll do real damage. What about the rest of the weekend? I'll be destroyed. Our precious time together will be wasted. Doesn't he see? Doesn't he know?

In all the years, we've never had safe words. They weren't necessary. He always seemed to intuit exactly how much I could take.

I wonder now whether I've deluded myself. He seems far away, lost in his own dream of domination. But I can't bear the thought of trying to stop him.
Of disappointing him.

Something changes. He lays into me as hard and fast as before, but I feel his attention turn to me. “Trust me, Becca,” he says in that velvet-dark voice, even as his palm blisters the back of my thighs. “Relax. Let go. Give yourself to me.”

Do I really hear his voice?
 
Is it my imagination? Is it telepathy? My fear shrivels. The tension coiled in my chest unfurls. The pain floods through my limbs, washing my doubts away. I open my mind and hope that he can sense the change, my new willingness to endure anything he wants to inflict upon me.

His palm is a thunderbolt. Pain rips me apart. The simmering tightness in my pussy comes to a sudden boil, welling up and spilling over into the emptiness. I convulse in his lap, shaken by exquisite pleasure. He's still spanking me but now each blow just takes me higher. I come again, writhing against him, hoping that he'll forgive me for moving.

I
lie
there, my limp body draped across his thighs, for a long time. He strokes my hair and plants kisses on my ravaged ass.

“Well, now we know,” he says. I twist around to look at him. He's got that manic grin that means he's especially pleased. I feel warm all over. “You
can
come from just a spanking.”

“I told you,” I laugh, knowing that for the moment I have permission to be a tease. “You should have believed me.”

“I believe in the scientific method. Never trust a claim until you've tested it.”

“I'm sure that your objectives were purely scientific.”

“Of course.”
 
Gently, he helps me up to my knees and then to standing. It hurts to move. He kisses me and the pain melts away.

 
“Anyway, I'm hungry. Go take a shower and I'll take you out for sushi. I figure that it will be easier for you to sit on one of those cushions than on a chair.”

“Yes, sir.”
I'd rather stretch out with him on his bed and cuddle, but I know better than to argue. Halfway to the bathroom, I turn to look at him. He's watching me, no doubt appreciating the fiery red hue of my buttocks.

The satisfaction I see on his face makes me want to do it all over again.

Then I notice that his trousers are wet at the crotch. I turn away before he can see my triumphant smile.

Clearly he can get off on just a spanking, too.

Wired

Pay dirt!

I stared at the images arrayed in Krishna's browser, my heartbeat accelerating each time I clicked on a new tab. Here was a tanned surfer type, lashed to a cross of wood. His cock strained against the tight leather thongs that pulled it against his belly. A masked woman clad in latex posed behind the cross with a wicked-looking paddle. I swallowed the lump that had appeared in my throat.

In the next tab,
a
 
muscular
black man knelt before a pair of shiny high-heeled boots, his wrists cuffed to his ankles, a red ball gag strapped into his mouth. His penis jutted up between his bulging thighs, the bulb shiny with pre-come. My eyes caressed the gleaming ebony skin, sweaty from his effort at keeping his balance. The man's eyes were wide with fear.
A
 
riding
crop dangled from the unseen mistress's hand, just at the edge of the picture. My pussy grew damper.

Tab after tab, image after image, men in every sort of bondage: chains looped across hairy torsos, silver duct tape wrapping contorted limbs, strands of leather slicing into tender flesh. Intricate rope patterns whose beauty only heightened their perversity. Men cocooned in plastic wrap or latex. I squeezed my thighs together. My clit throbbed, hungry, angry with me for my neglect. Soon, I promised myself, I'd attend to my needy cunt. I wanted to understand the full extent of Krishna's depravity.

Most pictures focused on the immobilized victims. They merely hinted at the presence of the dominant. The image on the last tab was an exception. A naked man bent over the foot board of a double bed. His legs sprawled wide, ankles encircled a dozen times with rough-looking rope and then fastened to a spreader bar. His arms stretched out parallel to the edge of the bed, lashed to the rail at the wrist and above the elbow. His chest, looped with more rope, lay on a pillow. He had turned his head away from the camera, but the tension in his body was obvious.

A blonde wearing heels and little else stood in the triangle formed by his legs. Black straps circled her upper thighs, contrasting with the creamy skin of her full ass. She gripped his hips. Her back was to the camera, so her face was hidden. Her strap-on dildo was invisible, too, but there was no doubt at all that it was buried deep in her bound companion's butt.

I nearly came just from looking.

It wasn't just the pose, the power of the woman and the helplessness of her victim. My rear hole twitched as I imagined the bulk of her cock stretching my rectum, but that wasn't what really got to me
,
 
either
. What turned me on the most was the indisputable fact that the man was a willing collaborator. His
elaborate
 
binding
could never have been accomplished without his cooperation. Being bound, being fucked: that's what he wanted.

That's what Krishna wanted. My mouth watered at the realization. When I'd broken into Krishna's system, I had been looking for some key, some way of getting past his reserve. I hadn't quite been expecting—this.

I glanced at my watch. Seven fifteen. No one else on the team ever arrived before eight, and except on Mondays when we had staff meeting, Krishna rarely got to work before eleven. I had time for a quick jill, if I dared.

I could have gone off to the ladies', of course. But I wanted to gaze at the picture as I came.

I crumpled my skirt up around my waist and pushed my right hand under the elastic of my panties. The cotton was soaked. I stroked one finger across my swollen clit. Pleasure shuddered through me. This wouldn't take long at all.

I rocked back and forth on Krishna's ergonomic chair, two fingers probing my wet folds and my thumb wriggling my clit. With my other hand, I plucked at my nipples. Vibration shimmered down internal strings to my core. My pussy clenched around my fingers. Everything tightened as I frigged myself hard, staring at the monitor.

What would it feel like, to be that woman? I'd never worn a strap-on, but sometimes I browsed the on-line toy stores, just out of curiosity. Some dildos offered bases designed to stimulate the clit. I'd even seen double-ended dildos, to penetrate both the fucker and the fucked. My hands busy, I imagined being filled by the fat base of my strap-on while I plunged into the ass of my helpless victim. I pictured Krishna splayed underneath me, his lean body straining against the bonds, the sand-colored ropes biting into his smooth, nut-brown skin. His black curls were plastered against his slender neck. His round butt tensed each time I entered him. I could hear him moan, cry, call my name, begging to be released, begging my pardon for making me wait so very long. I just fucked him harder. I knew that despite his protestations, that was what he wanted.

A sharp climax ripped through me, fierce and unexpected. Pleasure exploded between my legs, sending fragments spinning to my extremities. My eyes screwed
shut,
I rocked with the force of my come.

The orgasm left me trembling and weak, slumped against the chair back. When I had recovered enough to look around, I discovered that Krishna's screen saver had kicked in, hiding the outrageous photos. I pulled down my skirt, wiped my sticky hands on his seat―it served him right for frustrating me―and typed in the password again so I could close his browser. I didn't want him to know that I'd discovered his secret. Not yet.

I glanced around his cubicle one more time, making sure that I hadn't left any tell-tale clues other than a faint odor of pussy. The doe-eyed, jet-haired beauty framed on his desk gave me a reproachful look. “Come on,” I said to her. “Lighten up. You're just his sister. I'm not stealing him from you.” I refused to feel guilty for hacking Krishna's machine. It was, after all, for
his own
good.

I'd been in lust with Krishna ever since he'd joined the company six months earlier. He looked like the hero from some Bollywood extravaganza: lush black hair that curled around his ears, eyes like molten chocolate, unblemished skin the color of varnished wood. His arched nose
gave
 
him
a regal air. His ripe lips screamed to be kissed.

The other engineers wore polos and jeans. Krishna came to work everyday in pressed slacks and a white dress shirt. As the day warmed, he might unbutton the collar and roll up the sleeves. I'd think of excuses to walk by his cubicle, just to admire the contrast of the snowy fabric against the smooth, dark-furred skin of his forearms.

I'm the only woman in our twenty person development group. I've fended off advances from several of my team mates as well as from a manager or two over the years. I know better than to get involved with a co-worker. I've seen where that can lead.

But in Krishna's case, I couldn't help myself. Every night when I went home, I'd lecture myself about being professional, not letting my feelings undermine my future. Then I'd dig out my vibrator and pretend it was Krishna, telling myself that a little fantasy couldn't hurt.

The next day I'd be back, trying to get Krishna's attention.

Not that it did any good. He acted shy with everyone, but to me he barely said a word, though I put myself in his path as often as I could. I'd drop by, pretending to need his advice about some algorithm or asking about the status of his code. I'd gossip about the latest upper management pronouncements. I'd drop hints, telling him I was going away for the weekend, sighing about the fact that I had to do it alone. I invited him for coffee, for lunch―he was always too busy, or so he told me.

“Are you married?” I asked him finally, determined to be rude if I had to. “Do you have a girlfriend?”

“Oh, no,” he replied, looking flustered. “Not yet. I don't have enough money to marry. That's why I'm here in the States.”
 

“Who's that, then?” I pointed to the photo on his neat desk, a voluptuous woman wearing a sari and a sweet expression.

“That's Sita, my younger sister. Actually, I'm trying to earn enough for her dowry as well.” He glanced down at his long-fingered hands, spread across his keyboard, then back at me, seeming confused. “Excuse me, but I've got to get back to work, Liz. Sorry.”

What the hell was wrong? I'm no movie star, but I'm attractive enough, if you like the slender, athletic type rather than busty cheesecake. I'm the smartest person on the team―I'm not bragging, ask anyone―and I've got a decent personality. I'm creative, helpful, sociable,
occasionally
even funny. I've also got a wicked imagination, though most of my mates don't know about that. Why was Krishna completely insensible to my charm?
 

Now I knew. My Krishna's desires were just a bit―unusual. I was confident, though, that I could give him what he wanted.
Especially considering my own reaction to his dirty pictures.

I should put together a plan
, I thought, staring at the code on my own screen around lunch time. The low-level hum between my legs made it difficult to concentrate.
I should do some research. Buy some equipment.
I'm usually the careful, methodical type. Self-discipline is my middle name. I'd waited six months; I could stand waiting a few days longer.

Something in me rebelled at the notion. My body screamed with impatience. Deep down, too, I was a bit worried that if I waited, I'd lose my nerve.

“Hey, Liz.”
 
I started and blushed, surprised in my reverie by the object of my machinations.

“Oh!
Krishna!”
I moved a pile of books off my extra chair. “Come on in. Sit down.” Had he sensed my concentrated lust beaming in his direction?
 
I brushed my hair out of my eyes. Lately I'd been trying to let it grow. I wanted to look more feminine.

“Ah―no, that's okay. I just wanted to make sure that you check in all your work tonight before you leave. I'm doing a major backup of the repository.” In addition to his development duties, Krishna also served as system administrator for our group.

“Um―of course.
Definitely.”
I smoothed my skirt over my thighs, glad that I hadn't worn jeans.

“Good. I'll start the scripts around ten PM. You'll be finished by then, right?”