Enough

Glancing at his reflection in her mirror, she followed the movements of his hands. He was standing in front of the vanity in the en suite, twisting the knot of his tie into place. He was 6'5" with a muscular physique which he honed daily, for reasons of fitness rather than vanity. His disarmingly blue eyes contrasted heavily with the rest of his form. His body was a paragon of strength and dominance but his eyes were so beguilingly bright that he could look almost childlike at times. However, the twin azure pools were typically clouded by a deviant glint which burned, now, as he turned to regard her.

A small smile danced over his lips. She was nearly a foot smaller than him and slim without being too skinny. Her hips bones jutted out gently and her clavicle crowned her chest. When she arched her stomach skywards and stretched her arms to their full potential, cat-like, as she lay with her head on his lap watching television or first thing in the morning as she stirred from sleep, her ribcage emerged underneath her breasts. These glimpses of her skeleton were a reminder of the fragility he loved. Even when he was his roughest with her, even during his severest punishments, he was acutely aware of her vulnerability. She trusted him to bridle his strength, he could easily cause her serious injury if he did not.

She applied the feline flick which completed the black line circling her eye. Her long blonde lashes were coated in mascara and her cheeks were rouged. A look which could seem overdone on other girls highlighted her natural features excellently. She always looked elegant. It was her hair, he thought to himself, that gave her that air of majesty. Strawberry blonde: a colour that hovered between auburn and gold.

Her breasts were not large but bigger than her frame suggested. The floor length chiffon dress showcased them beautifully. Her hair had been teased into loose curls and fell to the bottom of her exposed shoulder blades, grazing the midnight blue material. Turning away from the mirror, she rose from the chair at her dressing table and looked at him, seeking approval.

'You look perfect, princess.'

She approached him, pride lighting up her face. The natural sway of her hips, so often mistaken by others for arrogance, had a mesmerising effect on him. Wrapping her arms around his waist, she tipped her chin upwards slightly to meet his lips. Her round-toe patent pumps afforded her extra height and they both adjusted, unused to the small distance between them. He reluctantly broke away from the kiss and urged her towards the door.

The charity ball was at a prestigious hotel in central London. She peered upwards, appreciating the architecture of the building as he reached for her hand. She curled and laced her fingers through his.

In the lobby, he soon acquired a glass of champagne for each of them and they were promptly accosted by various acquaintances. As they conversed, she recognised the traits that had initially attracted her to him. His voice commanded respect and his words held the attention of anybody within earshot. He was in his early thirties but possessed an astuteness that belied his age.

He held her in similar esteem. Younger than him, a recently-qualified lawyer with two degrees from illustrious universities, she masked a natural shyness and presented herself to the world as independent and ambitious. Comparing this poised, engaging woman with the submissive whore that offered herself to him each night caused his cock to stir. The thought of having her suck him off and struggle to swallow all of his seed - so as not to smudge her make up - before emerging immaculate was making his cock harden. Nobody knew of their secret dynamic and they both wanted it to remain that way. Even so, the risk of being discovered only added to his desire. It was too much to bear.

He leant into her ear and whispered, 'I'm going to take you into one of the bathrooms and facefuck you, you dirty cocksucking slut.'

A strange, unfamiliar feeling of resistance washed over her. She didn't feel like submitting to him and the champagne had emboldened her. She wanted to test him.

'Can you fuck my cunt instead?' She replied and pulled away. He saw a look of defiance cross her face. '...Alex.' She added pointedly.

He cocked his head and narrowed his eyes. He could take her question as a request, if he chose, rather than insubordination. It was the final word that cemented her meaning. In their day to day life, she regularly used his given name. He liked the way her tongue curled around the syllables. Yet, she always called him Master or Sir or even Daddy when he was asserting his dominance over her. It wasn't something he insisted on, she'd starting doing it of her own accord, but choosing deliberately to use his familiar name was a certain attempt at disobedience. He laughed.

He would fuck her, he decided, but he was going to shoot his load into her mouth, regardless of what she wanted. Making their excuses, he led her to a bathroom on the second floor, to minimise the chance of disturbance. Like the rest of the hotel, they were ornate and contained several chairs and a chaise longue. Wedging a chair under the door handle, he ordered her to lie on the chaise. She did as she was told. Just as he went to straddle her, she slipped from underneath him and laughed, playfully. He raised his left eyebrow. It was a habit that made his face unreadable: he did it when he was amused; when he was surprised; when he was angry. Unsure of his reaction, she met his gaze and asked:

'May I go on top tonight, Sir?'

Unwilling to let her bratty behaviour prevent his release, he granted her request. He would correct her later with a quick hand spanking. She eased her legs over his hips and glanced up to his face, checking she had permission to unzip him. He nodded, once, barely noticeably. Unfastening his trousers and shifting his boxers down slightly, she watched his cock spring free with an audible sigh. Pushing her knickers to the side, she rocked her hips forward until her thighs were astride his cock but her pussy was just out of reach. Underneath her bravado, she knew that she was only being allowed to exercise this superficial control because he was letting her. As if to remind her, he gripped her hips and forced her downwards, spearing her with his cock. They groaned almost in unison.

Remaining fully-clothed was a thrill to which they were unaccustomed. Watching her chest heave under the confines of her dress, he clenched his fists to restrain himself from tearing the material away and biting her nipple. She was never hidden from him as he fucked her; a rush of exhilaration ran through him as he pictured the leaking cunt that enclosed his cock, knowing her whole body would be unveiled to him later. His hips surged upwards to invade her deeper, their moans echoed around the high ceilings. The rub of his suit on her inner thighs generated a hypersensitivity that transcended her pussy. Occasionally, a slip of chiffon would catch under her and stroke along her lips. She slowly increased the pace and twisted to gawk at their reflected bodies in the gold-edged mirror.

Feeling her muscles convulse around his cock, he knew she getting close and it pulled him towards his own orgasm.

'Ask.' he ordered, huskily.

She tipped her head forward and appealed to him.

'Beg.' he replied, cruelly demanding more from her, knowing she would stave off her climax until he permitted it to her.

She begged in seductive pants, almost incoherently, but he denied her.

'Get off my cock and kneel between my legs, slut.' She was going to lick up his seed greedily. His refusal to allow her to cum was retribution for her naughtiness.

Seconds later, she was still impaling herself repeatedly on him. A vexed hand reached up to dislodge her by force but stopped, mid-air, when he noted the glazed sheen on her eyes. Her head was thrown back, her spine arching, forcing that ribcage to peek through her skin. Her breath came in ragged bursts, interspersed with gratified moans. Her cunt was tightening like beating heart around his cock.

He lay back, assessing her coolly. Anger had quelled his orgasm.

As she recovered, a feeling of cold realisation engulfed her. She felt nauseous. Lowering her head, painfully slowly, she took in his face. His teeth were gritted. His eyes were hard little diamonds boring into her.

His left arm struck her left side with such impact that she landed, gracelessly, in a heap on the floor. Before she was even aware of his movement, he was stalking towards the sinks on the far wall. Snatching something in his hand, she fixed her stare on his activity. Discerning what he grasped within white knuckles, she staggered to her feet, wide-eyed and panic-stricken. He turned to look at her and the decorative hairbrush, designed to complement the boudoir-style bathroom, was no longer obscured.

'No, Daddy, please...no!' she implored.

Her legs were buckling under her as he began to advance. No, she couldn't take it, she would be unable to sit for the imminent meal and everyone would know her shame. She span around and jolted from the room, sending the chair toppling to the floor. She hurtled away as quickly as the restrictive dress and precarious heels would allow. Her underwear was still rearranged.

He did not follow her, he would not be drawn into her absurd games. He simply returned to the party.

Moving through the large ballroom, he made polite conversation with the other guests but his eyes continually scanned the crowd. He was a lion, ruthlessly hunting his prey. When they inquired as to her whereabouts, he replied brusquely that she was talking to some friends across the room. He had not seen her since she fled the bathroom but knew she remained in the hotel. He had driven and the keys were still in his pocket; finding no bag matched her outfit, she had nowhere to keep any money so he stored the cash from their joint account in his wallet. She had no way of escaping.

She revealed herself nearly an hour later. As the gong reverberated around the room, signalling dinner, he felt her presence by his right shoulder. He did not turn to look at her, he merely clasped a large hand around her elfin wrist and dragged her from the room. They brushed past the streams of people pressing, in the opposite direction, towards the double doors to the great hall. She craved the presence of his protective arm as the jostling shoulders barged her but he marched in front, his fingers marking her skin with an ugly, red imprint. Leading her through the foyer and into the bitingly cold night air, the concierge barely acknowledged them - just another drunken, warring couple leaving prematurely.

He didn't open the passenger door for her as he normally did. She had to struggle into the low sports car unassisted, her dress catching on her heels. By the time she had settled into her seat, he'd already turned the ignition. The second she had shut the door, he pulled away.

He always drove fast but she never doubted that he was in control. Tonight, he seemed erratic. She could see the veins in his neck straining against his skin. His jaw was visibly tense.

He could sense her fear as she cast anxious, sideways glances at him.

'Daddy...' She tried, in a tiny voice.

He snapped his head towards her, assaulting her with a look of pure rage.

'If you say another word, I will pull over and punish you on the side of the road. Everyone will see what a dirty, disobedient little cunt you are.'

The journey continued in silence.

He pulled into the driveway and shot out of the car, slamming the door shut. She scurried to keep up with his long strides. He swung the front door open and headed for the living room, pouring himself a whiskey and discarding his suit jacket on the sofa. She stood just back from the threshold of the room, remaining in the dark of the hallway.

Without turning towards her, he calmly ordered her to unzip her dress. Her hands slowly drifted to the her side, her left one holding the material taut whilst her right pulled the zip down, shakily. She stared at the back of his head, trying to gauge just how furious he was.

'I want that dress on the floor when I turn around.' He growled, already rounding on her, slamming his glass onto the coffee table. She pulled it quickly down over her hips and let it fall unceremoniously around her ankles. He was bearing down on her now. She involuntarily stepped backwards and he grabbed her by the throat.

'Do not try to run from me again, you little bitch.' He spat at her and squeezed her alabaster neck. He looked down at her form, clad only in lacy black underwear and heels. He could see goosebumps bristle over her skin; her throat pulsed beneath his fingers. He released her.

'Get upstairs. Now.'

She complied immediately and he followed, two steps behind her. As she neared the top of the staircase, he took aim and delivered a stinging blow to her rear. Gasping, she tripped over the final step. He dragged her across the landing by her hair, unaffected by her clawing hands and breathless pleas. Once inside the bedroom, he relinquished his grip and ordered her to stand. Tottering to her feet like a newborn deer, he considered how endearing he would find this under normal circumstances. Despite himself, his cock twinged in his trousers. He studied her panting chest and parted lips.

'Take off your heels.' he ordered.

She obeyed and lost five inches of height. She was back to her proper place, the top of her head in line with his clavicle.

Grabbing a fistful of hair at the nape of her neck, he forced back her to her knees.

'Get your collar.' He hissed down at her.

Eyes fixed firmly on the ground, she crawled towards the drawer in which he kept the toys. Sitting atop the row of paddles, whips, crops, canes and all manner of dildos was the box containing her collar. To the untrained eye, the velvet box looked as though it held a diamond necklace. She snapped it open and the collar nearly fell to the floor but she sunk her teeth into the leather before pushing the box back the drawer. She crawled back to his feet, rocked back onto her heels and lifted her chin slightly, all the while keeping her gaze on his pointed brogues. He snatched the collar from her mouth and waited for her to lift her hair. When she did not immediately comply with his silent command, he crouched in front of her and leaned forward until their noses were millimetres apart. Her eyes flitted upwards to see that the cool blue water of his irises was stormy.

'Lift up that fucking hair.' He snarled, punctuating the sentence with a firm slap to her cheek. He rarely raised his voice to her; the cold, controlled tone he used when he was angry unnerved her far more than shouting.

She twisted the hair into a knot atop her head whilst he returned to his full height and buckled the collar around her neck. A nudge of her hands sent them dropping back onto her upper thighs. Her locks tumbled down her back.

He seized the leash from its hook and attached it to the D-ring. Walking towards the bed with a pace that was very unforgiving for a girl scampering on her hands and knees, she prayed he wouldn't turn around and witness her ridiculous scurrying. He stopped just short and span around to look at her undulating body, tugging hard on the leash. Sitting on the bed, he loosened his tie and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. She felt like a petulant child as he prepared to spank her. The humiliation of being made to feel like a silly little girl about to be hauled over his knee made her blush. It also, she suspected, was making her wet.

He demanded that she remove her bra. As she unclipped the clasp, she knew he would have her leave her knickers on. He liked to remove them slowly, after the first few slaps; initially, pulling them to just below the curve of her bottom, then to her knees before finally slipping them over her ankles.

'Bend over me, slut.'

She heeded his instruction instantly. Lying prone over his lap, his cock jutting into her stomach, she knew that any remnant of the self-assurance she had felt earlier had evaporated completely.

The grinding of her hipbones on his thighs as she adjusted into position, coupled with the lightness of her frame over his lap, made her consider her frailty again. It was turning him on. He wanted to punish this little, defiant bitch. He was going to have her crying and pleading for mercy. He filled with morbid delight at the thought of her thrashing arms and unintelligible wailing.

His hand descended upon her barely-covered behind with a resounding crack. She bucked forward and drew in a sharp breath. His opening strikes were normally lighter and he increased the force with each blow. Tonight, he was beginning as he meant to go on. He was not going to warm her up first.

Curling the leash around his left fist to prevent her head from jerking away, he rained down a series of pitiless strikes. She could feel her will not to cry breaking already. After what seemed to be an endless assault on her rear, his hand came to rest on the back of her thigh.

'Pull them down.' he snapped.

Normally, he drew them down himself. He knew she would be mortified at the prospect of exposing herself to him with her own hands. She hooked her thumbs into the lace and slipped them to just underneath the curve of her bottom. A globule of wetness extended from her cunt lips to her knickers and formed, for the briefest of seconds, a single strand of spider web before splitting. A guttural breath escaped him. He growled like this when he was incensed and when he was aroused. Tonight, the noise embodied both.

'Ask me to continue your punishment.' he whispered, forcefully.

She felt utterly defeated. He knew exactly how to strip her of her dignity. She would have to beg him to carry on beating her when every cell in her body was already desperate for him to stop.

'Please continue punishing me, Sir.' she murmured.

'Speak louder, I can't hear what you're saying.' He compelled, knowing exactly what she had just said.

She repeated the phrase with a little more volume.

He returned immediately to spanking her remorselessly. She writhed in pain, her eyes threatening to spill. He had never used his hand with such force before.

'Please, Daddy, stop...please...I'm sorry! It hurts so much, Daddy! Please!'

He answered her by wrenching at her leash, the jolt causing her tears to trickle down her face.

He was beginning to feel irritated by the thin slip of material blocking his view of her exposed pussy. He ripped them with one hand and flung the material to the floor. His arm was starting to tire and he knew they both needed a break before he continued with her punishment. Just as he landed the final few blows, her hands shot behind her, protecting her fiery, red cheeks.

"Move those hands away! I'll decide when to stop spanking you and I'll have no input from you, you unruly little cunt.'

Her hands moved slowly back to their previous position, her back rose and fell as she tried to stifle her sobs.

He would spank her 10 more times, at an alarmingly fast rate. As he delivered the seventh strike, her hands clutched her cheeks once more.

'Enough.' he said. His voice gave nothing away.

She wondered if she had persuaded him to stop. Her cries had never swayed him before when he punished her. She felt extremely uneasy.

He nudged her off his lap with a jerk of his knee.

'Your continued defiance has only caused you further punishment.' He announced gravely. The position of the central light, the only one illuminated, meant that his bright eyes were obscured by shadow. His face looked unimaginably menacing.

'Bend over the foot of the bed.'

She crawled and positioned herself between the posts of the bed, facing the headboard. The leash dangled between her tits. She could hear him opening the drawer and removing items from it.