Sinful (9 page)

Of course, he always made things worse by turning the cushions that hung against the front railings around, so that she was not only further stretched, but also forced to display her bottom in stark relief, making it a much easier target.

She’d never had the belt while she was in this position before; she’d always been laid out on the bed. Lita wasn’t even sure if she could keep a hold of the seat while dancing to the tune of that thick, unyielding length, but the idea of letting go didn’t bear thinking of, she knew.

He didn’t lecture this time, which was unusual. Perhaps he was too angry to do so, but it made it just that much harder to stand the punishment to which he was subjecting her. Every time the leather lashed over her haunches, she rose even further on her toes although that seemed an utterly impossible feat, arching her neck and squealing unbecomingly, a pitiful sound that died away until the next strip was seared across the underside of her bottom, at the sweet spot where she would feel it more acutely every time she sat down, probably for the next week or so.

He was relentless as well as merciless, decorating her from stem to stern with all manner of shades of red, mottled some places and frightfully livid others, not caring when or whether or how many times they overlapped, wearing out his right arm and switching sides - because there was ample room on the other side and he was, unluckily for her, ambidextrous – to use his other arm, which only served to hurl her into a new, fresher hell as her already well roasted nates were subjected to more of the same as if her flesh were as lily white as it had been when he’d begun.

Although that was wrong, because, due to her inability to control the comments that fell out of her mouth, her backside hadn’t been lily white in weeks. She had been sitting gingerly every day for at least the past month, and he’d had enough of it.

It seemed like he would never stop. There were no encouraging words, not even any scolding ones for her to cling to, and somehow the silence – except for the hearty thwack of the leather against delicate flesh and her answering, anguished moans – made it even more unbearable.

When he stopped, he was still not speaking, not bothering to replace the length around his waist but, instead, wrapping it around his fingers and deliberately placing the coil of it in the puddle of tears that had formed on the seat of the chair, right beneath her nose.

Then he moved behind her and she heard him unzipping his fly while he used his foot to shove her feet much further apart, saying almost too quietly, “You keep holding onto that seat, Lita, and don’t you let go of it.”

With that pronouncement, he thrust himself inside her to the hilt in one violent, startling motion that both appalled and attracted her. He didn’t give her a single moment’s rest to think about whether she was insulted or turned on. This was purely for him, one of the times when she knew he didn’t give one whit about how she felt about him fucking her. He wanted to, so he was going to do it.

Punishing her always turned him on, and the stricter he was, the more turned on he got, although he didn’t always act on it as he had this time, and, to her deep shame, it did the same thing to her, which was one of the reasons he never worried much about her feelings on the matter. He knew them, as soon as he presented the head of his cock to her entrance and it was immediately baptized – every, single time.

But he did nothing to augment her pleasure, since that wasn’t his goal, deliberately not establishing a rhythm she could latch onto, pumping hard and fast and occasionally not shy of painfully, either. He rammed himself up into her with each and every thrust as her breasts bobbed with the power of his hips banging against her, even just the fine hair on his lower belly chafed uncomfortably against her already abraded skin as she did her best to maintain a death grip on the seat while he took her, sometimes slowly, sometimes almost frenetically, but always forcefully.

Eventually, he reached down to grab the back of her ponytail, jerking her head up and arching her neck, giving her nowhere to go in response to each heavy, heady twitch of his hips.

Seconds before he came, he leaned over her, covering her body with his, keeping her head up and back so that he could say into her ear, “You’re going to marry me, Lita, and soon, so that you’re wear my rings and my last name while I take you like this any time I want to.”

She wanted to shake her head no, wanted to deny him that which he sought just to spite him, in retaliation for the way he was treating her right now, despite the fact that she was mortified to realize that she wasn’t far from cumming herself. But she couldn’t. Her mind wasn’t functioning; it was a massive conglomeration of searing pain and roiling ecstasy and her mouth couldn’t form anything but the basest of responses – wails, groans and grunts of the purest satisfaction.

He continued to thrust hard and deep through his tremendous orgasm, keeping her in that humble position throughout it all and only releasing his hold on her hair very reluctantly, just before he took a step away from her. As he retrieved his belt and returned it to its rightful place, he put a hand on the small of her back, saying, “You may get up.”

Brandt ended up helping her to straighten after having been bent so acutely for so long. Eventually he just lifted her into his arms and brought her to their room, tucking her into bed for a nap she didn’t want to take, but that her exhausted body wouldn’t allow her to refuse. As he stroked the hair away from her forehead, holding her as she fell asleep, she heard him say, “I am completely serious, Lita. I hope you realize that. We
are
getting married.”

As proposals went, she thought it lacked quite a bit of what she had hoped for, but she was too tired – and too well chastised – to let any smart quips leave her mouth before sleep claimed her at least as thoroughly as he had.

***

Although he’d had a few misgivings about punishing her so sternly, it had the desired effect. She was meeker overall afterwards, which wasn’t necessarily what he was going for, but she also seemed to think more about what she was saying and how she said it to him, her tone much more respectful when she spoke to him.

Nearly a month later, he hadn’t said a word about his proposal, and she hadn’t brought it up either, preferring to ignore it as if it hadn’t happened. The whole incident was something she’d rather not remember, especially the fact that she’d liked being treated that way in particular.

But she should have known better than to think that he would just let it go. When he wanted something, he got it, especially from her.

It was the second anniversary of them knowing each other, and he took her out to her favorite restaurant, telling her that she could have anything she liked, and she took him at his word. She practically ordered one of everything on the menu, because this was one of those rare places where everything was exceptionally good, and even if they didn’t eat all of it, it would make great lunches.

He even let her order two desserts on top of the one he’d ordered, just because he felt like indulging her a little. Normally, unless it was a celebration of some sort, she wasn’t allowed dessert. Not because he thought she was too plump at all, but rather because he was trying to help the two of them eat more healthily in general, and he didn’t like her having a lot of refined sugar.

But tonight, many of her rules had been thrown to the wind.

When she sat back with her hand on her stomach, proclaiming that he was going to have to rent a forklift to get her out of there, he excused himself to the bathroom. Then he came back bearing a huge bouquet of candy cane roses – her favorite – along with an even bigger bouquet of balloons in complimentary colors, and dropped to his knee beside her chair, holding out a blue velvet ring box that was open to reveal an enormous diamond.

Even this time, though, he couldn’t bring himself to actually ask her to marry him, for fear that she’d say no, especially considering that, even now, she was sitting on a very sore rear end. Indeed, he had been on the brink of cancelling this dinner and putting her to bed early, but he’d reconsidered, not wanting to delay getting his ring on her finger any longer, and also not wanting to miss the chance to celebrate a milestone with her.

So, instead of presenting her with the expected question, he said, “Marry me, Lita Johnson. You’re mine.”

She knew that his phrasing wasn’t accidental; that he didn’t want to give her the chance to turn him down. But what he apparently didn’t realize was that there was no way she would do that, warm bottom or not. So she slid off her chair and onto his knee and kissed him deeply, wrapping her arms around his neck and saying enthusiastically, “Yes, please. I am yours.”

He’d never heaved such a sigh of relief in his life as he slipped the engagement ring onto her finger, then kissed it, then kissed her again, all to the applause of the other patrons in the restaurant. He couldn’t believe how lucky he’d gotten in life to have found her, his perfect mate, the only woman he could ever imagine spending the rest of his life with.

And she was all his, by her own words.

Their wedding wasn’t a big affair. Lita found them much too ostentatious – not that she wasn’t hooked on TV shows like
Four Weddings
or
Say Yes to the Dress
, she most definitely was. And because of those, when they discussed wedding plans later, Brandt had been all prepared for a disagreement about how much money they were going to have to spend on it.

He was very pleasantly surprised to hear that she wasn’t into the lavish extravaganzas she watched, but much preferred to have a small ceremony and to even forego the exotic honeymoon in favor of putting away the money they might have spent on it towards the down payment on a house with some land. The longer they stayed in the condo, the less she enjoyed the knowledge that she was probably entertaining everyone that lived around them.

Brandt agreed completely, so they just had a small civil ceremony. He insisted that she should have whatever nice dress she wanted, though, and she found a pretty, white, mid-calf dress all in lace that fit her like a dream at Goodwill that she only spent fifteen dollars on.

The flowers were roses, which he knew she loved, and he wore his best suit. Marielle and her husband stood up for them, and as a wedding present, paid for the reception, which was at a posh country club. Neither of them were social butterflies, however, so the party was well within reason, only about fifteen people in total.

After which the two of them dedicated themselves to the realization of their dream. They found a lot they liked that was well out of town, but surprisingly well connected – Internet wise – anyway that would allow them the privacy they wanted. They noodled around on designs for the house, but he didn’t give her a choice about the placement of it – there was a natural clearing smack dab in the middle, and that was where the house was going to go.

Because they were doing this on a shoestring budget, they had to cut back on a lot of expenditures that had never really been luxuries. But they did have to stop things like dinners out and travelling with her friends, which were things they had fallen into doing with more regularity than they had really realized.

Brandt put them both of them on a strict budget with very limited pocket money doled out every two weeks when they both got paid. There was emergency money in the glove box of their cars, and each of them carried a hundred dollars with them at all times that was only to be touched as a last resort, but other than that, he expected them to subsist on about ten dollars a week. Gas and everything else was accounted for, but that was it for frivolous spending, and he was adamant that they didn’t need much more than that, anyway, or at least they oughtn’t.

Lita bought ingredients and made most of their dinners, and lunches were either brown bagged or Tupperware containers full of leftovers. Breakfast was cheap white bread toast with peanut butter, and the expensive flavored coffees she was in the habit of treating herself with on the way to work were verboten once she’d spent her allotment. Besides, they had a Keurig, and he’d bought her a thermal travel mug, he’d pointed out, that she never used.

It was just so much easier to go through the drive-thru at Starbucks. She’d never have said that before, but she’d gotten very spoiled, and she liked the convenience. So much so that Lita, who was, generally, a rabid rule follower, got herself into major trouble when Brandt borrowed her car and saw that there was a designer coffee cup in the cup holder that he knew for a fact that she couldn’t afford – she’d lamented to him several nights ago that she didn’t have enough money for her usual caramel macchiato, and yet there were the dregs of one, staring him right in the face.

When he got home early the next morning, it was a Saturday, her day off. He brought the cup into the house and set it down on her nightstand while she slept. He didn’t feel the need to wake her up. He would deal with this when she rose for the day.

The cup was the first thing Lita saw when she opened her eyes several hours later. “Shit, shit, shit,” she muttered under her breath. She had been in such a hurry to get the frozen groceries into the house last night she’d forgotten to destroy the evidence of her misbehavior.

And, with her luck, he had heard her muttering, too, and he’d pile on another spanking because of the swearing. Her language had also deteriorated quite considerably from the pristine state it had been in when he’d met her, and that was another thing for which she was often disciplined, and another thing that Brandt blamed Marielle for. He didn’t swear, himself, but she sure did. He was of a mind that her husband should take her in hand about that, but he severely doubted that would ever happen, unfortunately.

When she came out of the bathroom, he called from the living room, “Bring the coffee cup with you when you come, baby girl.”

She loved it when he used that particular endearment, but wished he wouldn’t when he was going to launch into a lecture about her behavior. The two were not associated in her head, and she didn’t want them to be.

“Put it on the table,” he instructed then held his hand out to her. She sank down onto his lap in the big recliner and he began to rock them slowly back and forth.

“How was your night?”

“Good, but quiet for a Friday night. Fewer bar fights when it’s snowing ‘cause no one’s out in this.”

Lita nodded her head against his shoulder, wanting to be sleepy but too tense because she knew what was going to happen.

“How was your night?”

“Quiet, too. I got my assignments done for next week, though, and Marielle and I texted for a while, and I saved the first episode of the second part of
Walking Dead
for us to watch together.”

That was one of his favorite television shows. He nodded, asking, “Anything going on with her?”

“Nope, just the usual.”

Brand reached up and brought her arm up around his neck, holding onto the hand that was draped down. “Well, we have other things to discuss, like your language when you woke up and saw this,” he held up the evidence against her, “on your nightstand. And you know why I had to bring it in, don’t you?”

Lita sighed softly. “Yes.”

“And is this the only time you’ve sinned?” he asked softly.

Lita began to squirm, but he’d known the answer to the question before he’d asked it, because the presence of that evidence had him checking their account at the bank and he could see the rare small charge that she must’ve assumed would go unnoticed, and it had. But no more. He’d be more vigilant about keeping track of such things in the future.

She took so long to answer that she ended up over his lap getting a thorough spanking for a bad habit that he would have sworn he’d broken her of. It had been a while since she hadn’t answered him quickly and truthfully.

But the feeling of his palm cracking painfully across her ass always helped her realize the error of her ways. “Yes! I mean no! Noooo!” she wailed.

“Which one is it, Lita?” came the question, his big hand still lying across her butt.

“No. I’ve had uh, one or two others.”

That hand crashed down onto her bottom and didn’t stop as he lectured. “You’ve had six of them in the past two months, young lady. And you knew, with each one, that you were disobeying me, didn’t you?”

Wow, had it really been that many? She wondered, and then realized that she didn’t have to wonder, because he’d been so kind as to look it up and enumerate her indiscretions himself.

Damn and blast!

Not for the first time, she wished that he would allow her to wear pajamas to bed, not that he wouldn’t have disposed of them in a second or two, but still. It would have given her some form of comfort to have any kind of barrier between them, even for a split second.

But, no. Her pajamas resided in a box downstairs somewhere, well out of her reach. She had one pair of winter ones he allowed her on very cold nights, but she had to beg for them even then. He would rather pay the extra money in heating oil than have anything between his hand and her skin.

She was nude, draped over his lap, staring at a spot on the carpet that had already been dampened by a sea of her tears, and was about to experience a flood again, partly because she didn’t like admitting it when she’d done something that was against the rules he’d set out for her.

All of a sudden, she found herself hauled up into his arms, held so tightly to him that she could barely breathe. “You know that I love you beyond distraction, don’t you?” he asked, murmuring the question against her lips, teasing her with it and with them, not really kissing her, but not really avoiding it, either.

Wondering where this had come from, she answered immediately and without the slightest hesitation. “Yes, I know. I love you the same way.”

“You’re sure?”

Again, as soon as he finished the question, she responded, “Of course I am, silly.”

“Good.”

She found herself back over his lap again, as if the respite had never happened. “Wait, what was that?” she asked, trying to crane around to see his face.

“Just checking in. And it appears you have the ability to answer me in a timely fashion; you just refuse to when it’s a question you’d rather avoid, hmm? But do you really have that choice, Lita?”

It was amazing how quickly he could reduce her to being willing to say pretty much anything – admit to anything – to get him to stop spanking her, not that it had ever worked for her.

He leaned over to the magazine rack next to his chair and opened a bag he kept there, bringing out the hairbrush that was reserved for nothing that had anything to do with her hair. Its only purpose in life, its only reason for existing in this household, was to redden her fanny, and it was evilly good at it. Everywhere he aimed it, there arose a brightly burning spot because it was made of solid wood. And it took him no time to redesign her backside in a shade of livid, lurid crimson because of the size of its head. Every stroke overlapped somewhere, most of them overlapped eighty percent of the overall territory once he’d gone beyond five or six swats, and her spankings were never, ever that quick.

Kicking her legs and rearing up were dealt with with ruthless efficiency when he reached down to wrap a strap around her ankles that was attached to a leg of their very heavy sleeper sofa. Once caught like that, she couldn’t get her ankles free until he released her himself. It was a short leash, and kept her feet anchored close to the floor.

A heavy arm across her back kept her in place and also prevented her from rearing up. She was trapped, like she always was, unable to defend herself against anything he might do to her.

And lately, what he liked to do to her was more humiliating than painful... well, it ran a very close second, anyway. He had begun to play with her bottom hole, and she really didn’t like it. She’d told him so, but he had been very specific in his questioning of her, asking her if it hurt her terribly, tipping her face up to require her to meet his eyes, which always encouraged her to tell him the truth.

“No,” she’d muttered softly until he reached out and twisted a nipple, then she responded, as he preferred, speaking clearly and concisely, without mangling her words. “But it does hurt!” she countered, and he knew it was a bit uncomfortable, but he also knew that the discomfort was ninety percent from the embarrassment of it rather than from actual physical distress.

“On a scale of one to ten?”

She had frowned mightily. “It’s a three,” she said, and she was going to stick by it.

“As compared to your punishments?”

“That’s not a fair question – it’s not one of my punishments!”

He raised his eyebrow at her tone. “Not yet...”

Lita had sighed, knowing she wasn’t going to get her way and get out of what he was determined to do. “A one, I guess.”

“Good girl.”

Since then, he had begun to play around back there more often – much more often. And she didn’t think she’d ever like it or even get used to it, and she’d told him so.

His reply had been to ask her what she knew he expected of her, and it was a five-word answer she knew well by now. “To submit myself to you.”

“Just when you want to? Just when it feels good to you?

“At all times and in all things.”

She could hear him preparing the horrid object he used on her – it was something he referred to as a butt plug. She even hated its name. And he had reassured her that it was a tiny baby plug, that eventually, through consistent training, she would learn to take much bigger, and that he slathered it each time with lots of lubricant, to make accepting it up inside her easier. Physically, anyway. Mentally and emotionally, she was still a wreck when he decided to go there, not that he let that deter him in the least.

Much too soon, she felt the tip of it pressing against a place she never thought she’d have to think about with him. It just never occurred to her that this would be something he was interested in. And yet now, here she was, caught and held for an invasion that just seemed wrong to her. “It’s just wrong,” she squealed, wishing desperately that she could kick her feet.

He smiled at her vehemence, and was glad she couldn’t see it. “May I remind you, Miss Lita, that you thought oral sex performed on a woman was wrong, too, but you’ve certainly changed your mind about that.”