Tis The Season to Gibbs

Her eyes flew open in shock, "I thought," she began.

"Thought what? Thought you could distract me? Make me forget that you had punishments coming?" He crossed his arms over his chest and waited. She shifted from foot to foot nervously, like the little girl he had accused her of being. She shook her head.

"Seems to me you warned me that bare-handed would tire my arm out before your ass even got warmed up. Thanks for the tip, sweetheart. Since I thought you were a novice, I hadn't planned on using my toy bag. It's on a shelf in the hall closet, but trust me, it's coming down first thing tomorrow morning. So tonight, I'll just have to improvise. Beginning with my belt. Get it for me."

She trembled at the coldness of his words. Their eyes drank in one another for a long moment. He thought perhaps she would even safe word, but instead she nodded and turned back to the pile of clothes that lay on the floor. She picked up the belt and with her eyes still down she brought it back to him. "Good girl," he purred softly. "Now kneel again and offer it to me properly."

She drew in a deep breath and dropped to the floor at his feet once more. "How do you properly offer something to your Master, baby girl?" he reminded her.

This time she held the belt outstretched between both hands. She bent slowly forward until her upper body was almost parallel to the floor, prostrate before him. Her movements were a bit rusty, but he could tell with a bit of training she would as elegant as the best of submissives. "Not bad," he offered. "Now rise to your knees slowly."

She obeyed, her eyes still down. He stepped forward and took the belt from her hands. "One more thing. While you down there, take off my boxers. I want you to feel my hard cock pressed against you while you writhe on my lap."

Her eyes came up suddenly. He considered adding another ten lashes to her punishments, but that would not be fair since he wanted to reward the look of pure lust in them. "Yes, baby girl, just like that. If you are a very good girl and take your punishments without me needing to stuff something in that cute little mouth of yours then when we're done, I'll let you suck it. You'd like that wouldn't you? Like to be my little come slut?"

He watched her carefully at the use of the stronger language. They had not fully negotiated limits the way they should have. Her hard limits were clearly not realistic, but they would discuss that later...when they had clothes on. So as with the breath play he wanted to make certain that she was comfortable with the way the scene was going. The broad smile on her face clearly said she was.

His fingers entwined in the mass of red curls, pulled her face up to look at him. "I gave you a task, subbie. Want to add another ten?" She shook her head as she raised trembling fingers to the waistband. He sucked in his breath as she pushed the material over his hips. Her face was so close that he could feel her hot breath caress the tip of his swollen cock. If that was not enough to test his iron will, the wide eyed gaze taking in every inch of him came damned close. His hand fisted tighter in her hair, drawing her head away from his cock.

"I see your game. Trying to distract me from your punishments again, are we? Not working." He released his hold on her hair and walked to the bed, sitting on the edge of it. "Crawl to me, slut," he ordered. Debbie stared into his eyes as she bent forward, her breasts hanging from her chest. She put one hand in front of the other, one knee in front of the other. He swore he would have come if it had been just a couple more feet to the bed.

"Over my knees," he said when she reached the edge of the bed. He growled and added a solid bare-handed slap to her up-turned bottom as she slowly rubbed her tits over his hard cock under the pretense of getting into position.

"Remember how this goes, baby? Count each blow and thank me for it. You lose count and we start over, understand?"

"Yes, sir," her voice was breathless. This was so much more fun than training some newbie, he thought.

The first blow was light, just enough to warm the skin, bring blood to the surface. "One. Thank you, sir," she responded obediently. The next was just as light but on the other cheek, "Two. Thank you, sir." The next eight followed a similar pattern until both of the round globes were a pale pink and slightly warmer to the touch.

The next blow was enough to make her jump. The movement caused her stomach to rub against his throbbing erection. They both cried out in shock. "Do that again and I'll be forced to use your panties to gag you and my shirt to tie up your hands."

"Yes, sir."

"Are you forgetting something, whore?" he asked. She drew back just a bit at the rougher word and his hand caressed her burning flesh. "You all right, baby?" he asked. "That word too much?"

She shook her head. "No, just I wasn't expecting it."

"You sure?"

She nodded, "Yeah, I'm fine now. I guess a bit rustier at these games than I thought."

"Hell, baby, if this is rusty, I hate to see you once we get going," he caressed her back softly, drawing a heart in the small of it. "What's your safe word?"

"Semper fi. Now are we playing or chatting?"

"Oh, that brat is going to get you in real trouble, girl," he could not help but smiling at the possibilities. "And I'm still waiting. Or are we starting over at one?"

She moved uncomfortably on his lap as she realized her mistake, "No, sir. Eleven. Thank you, sir."

"Good girl," he said as he drew back for the next one. This one was just as solid and while she jumped a bit as the leather met her soft skin, enflaming it, she did not cry out. Her response was immediate, "Twelve, sir. Thank you, sir."

The next ten fell in rapid succession. At times, she had trouble keeping count, making up for lost ones by adding them to the next number. Her bottom was a bright pink by the time she whimpered, "Twenty-four. Twenty-five. Twenty-six. Thank you, sir."

He paused. He knew that she said she had not played in some time. And he knew too that her marriage had not been normal for some years. He supposed that some, even most, people would seek their release elsewhere. But he doubted that she would. So by his calculations that meant her cute butt had not taken this degree of abuse in at least six years. And thirty lashes with a belt was not that light, except for the most committed of masochists.

There were still four blows to go. And those four had to be delivered. But not necessarily with the belt. He dropped it on the bed next to him as he tenderly caressed her bottom. "God, Debbie, you should see your ass. It's so beautiful, baby." He bent and kissed first one and then the other cheek. The next two blows were delivered quickly. Light, bare-handed love taps against the hot skin of her ass. She moaned at the erotic feel.

"What was that, baby girl? Don't make me start all over."

She hesitated for a moment, "Twenty-five. Twenty-six. Thank you, sir," she muttered.

Her miscount was an immediate cue. His fingers laced through her hair, pulling her head up so that he could look into her eyes. They were cloudy, glazed over. Her lips slightly parted as her breathing came in short, shallow grasps.

"Debbie, are you all right, sweetheart? You in a good place, baby?" he asked urgently.

She nodded and her smile widened, "Oh, so fucking good, sir." She moaned.

He shook his head as he added the last two, doing the count himself. "Twenty-nine. Thirty." He turned her over in his arms and brushed her hair back from her face. He placed a gentle kiss on her open mouth. Her eyes drifted closed slowly. "God, you're perfect, baby girl," he whispered as he laid back and drew her up against him.

He caressed her slowly for several minutes, murmuring soft endearments into her hair. He told her how beautiful she looked when she knelt before him. How her ass was made for spanking. How wonderful it felt when she came into his arms, trusting him to breath for them both.

Suddenly, he felt her stiffen in his arms. He recognized it immediately. Sub-drop. He pulled her up on the bed, rolled her so that he could pull the quilt back, slipped her beneath it before climbing in next to her. He grabbed the bottle of water on the night stand and pressed it to her lips. "Drink it now, Debs."

She took a couple of long sips before pushing it back. "No more," she argued. "This was a mistake. I should have known I couldn't play like this. Not with you," tears began to spill from the corners of her huge green eyes.

Her words were sharper than the shrapnel that had caught him in the chest. He tried to breath but nothing would come. His throat was frozen. She tried to pull away. Started to fight like she had when they were playing. Something primal overtook him. He could not let her go. Not now. Not after all they had shared.

His mouth took hers. This time truly took. The harder she fought the more he demanded. The kiss was brutal. Lips and teeth mashed together, tongues battling for supremacy.

Then it happened. His hand clamped about her neck, harder even than before. She struggled, her hands coming up, clawing at his. Her nails scratching and biting into his hand. He drew the last of her air, deep into him. Took the very life from her body. He held it. Cherished it inside him for a moment. Two, then his hand released its hold, wrapping in her hair. He blew life back into her. Their breaths mingled together.

She arched off of the bed. Her breasts pressed against his chest. Her nipples hardened as they rubbed against the hair on his chest. She tensed and cried out. For a second he worried that he had hurt her. Then he heard it, the clear cry of passion as she came apart in his arms. His leg slipped between hers.

"Yes. Oh god, yes. Please Jethro. Please," she whimpered as her body twitched beneath his.

"Please what, baby?" he begged. He knew what he wanted, but not without her permission. He had taken far more than he should have already this night.

"I need you inside of me. Fuck me. Fuck me hard. Please," her hands clutched as his shoulders as her legs fell open.

His mouth covered hers as he slipped inside of her body. The heat and wetness were overpowering. Her body was still pulsating with her orgasm. Clenching and milking his hard cock. He wanted to hold back, wanted to take this slow. Show her all she meant to him. But he had denied himself too long. She had sent him up in flames. Consumed all logic, all reason. Nothing existed anymore except this woman, the feel of her sweet body wrapped around his.

He pounded into her. She cried out into his mouth as he felt her clench even tighter. Dear god, was this heaven or hell, he thought as he gave into the ancient, primal dance. Bodies in heat, need riding them both. Her fingers clutched at his shoulders. Her body called to his. Her head drew back, breaking the kiss. Her eyes flew open, held his as she whimpered and pleaded incoherently. She pulled him closer as she arched up into his thrust.

He felt the come rush from the head of his cock, buried in her welcoming warmth. He trembled in her arms and collapsed on top of her. His lips drank tenderly from hers for a moment as he felt her relax beneath him. "I love you, Debbie," he whispered so quietly that he hoped she could not hear, especially as her slow, even breathing told him that she had fallen asleep.

He gathered her into his arms as he reached over and turned off the lamp. He reluctantly slipped from her tight cunt. He turned on his side and watched her sleep peacefully for several long minutes. His mind tried to figure out the next step but it was too satisfied to focus. He bent and kissed her once more, wrapping his arm about her waist, just below her breasts as he laid his head on her shoulders and gave into the same dreamless sleep that held her.

***

Debbie stood outside the double doors. How long had it been since she was here? Two years? No, almost four. Kelsey had just turned five, Jason was home from another tour and as usual they were expected for Sunday promptly at eleven. Except that morning nothing went right.

Kelsey did not want to wear the dress that her father insisted was appropriate attire and by the time they finally compromised on another one they were half an hour late. Then it was her socks. Even now getting the child to wear socks was almost impossible, but the black patent leather Mary Janes required them. Kelsey wanted to go barefoot, of course. In the end, their daughter had been passably attired in a sun dress and sandals. But then she had been forced to listen to another of Jason's long lectures about allowing the child to control their lives.

One thing she still did not understand was her husband's refusal to even learn more about their child's condition. Besides their physical prowess, one key characteristic of a good SEAL was the ability to almost assimilate information. Jason had learned half a dozen new languages, customs, scientific and technical information, but he refused to open even one of the dozens of books on autism and sensory processing disorder that she had collected since Kelsey was diagnosed.

The door opened and the familiar face of their butler, Oscar, smiled down at her, "Miss Debra, it is a pleasure to see you again."

The man's perfect English accent belied the dark almost blue-black color of his skin. She remembered the first time that they had met. Jason had taken her home to meet his parents. She was a junior in college and he was just weeks from graduating from the academy. Debbie had known the young man came from a wealthy family, but the moment they arrived at this fully restored ante-bellum plantation she had realized just how rich they were. She had felt terribly under-dressed and inadequate in her best skirt and blouse. When Oscar had opened the door for them and bent at the waist, saying 'Welcome home, Master Jason,' she had feared they had been transported through time to those turbulent times.

She nodded and handed him her coat. "Thank you, Oscar. How is your daughter and her family?"

The man smiled showing straight starkly white teeth, "Elise is well. Her youngest is a senior in high school now, you know. Wants to be one of those super models on the television." The man paused as he ushered her into the study. He held open the door. "And how is the little princess?" his eyes studied the silk rug from India.

She smiled, "Kelsey is doing fine, Oscar. She makes good grades in school and has even managed to make a couple of friends there. Will the others be long? I need to pick her up soon."

He shook his head, "They are just finishing up their lunch, Miss Debra. I will show them in when they are done. May I bring you something to drink?"

She smiled, a glass of Jethro's bourbon would go down smoothly right now, but instead she shook her head and said, "Thank you. I'm fine." The man closed the door behind himself.

She sighed and looked around the room, little had changed in the years since she had been here. but then again the Radcliffes were not nouveau riche looking to spend money changing their décor with the seasons. That had been part of the problem. White couches in the solarium do not mix with five year old special needs children. When her daughter had come bouncing in from the garden covered in dirt and anxious to show her father and grandparents the worm that he had found while digging, things had escalated. Irreparably so. She and Kelsey had left the Sunday dinners with his parents to Jason after that day. And she had not spoken to even Clarisse since.

But one thing was new. The rich mosaic of water colors that hung over the fireplace. She recognized it instantly. It was one of her earliest works. She studied it now, more than a bit shocked to find it hanging in their home. Modern art did not seem the Radcliffe's style. She would have thought them more likely to invest their money in classics, if De Vinci was still a bit pricey for them, certainly a Monet would fit within their budget. But a De-Borah? She wondered for a moment if they knew her secret. If perhaps, they had purchased the painting and displayed it today as some cruel joke.

She turned as the door opened. But the man with Oscar was not who she was expecting. "Jethro?" He smiled at her as he crossed the room. Oscar looked back and forth between them and then closed the door once more. "What are you doing here?" she asked.

He stopped in front of her. His hand ran up and down her arm, taking away the chill that she had not been aware of. "Thought you could use a cheering section."

She started to deny it, but his stare pinned her. The past week had been unforgettable. Everything that she had ever wanted or dreamt of as a real family. Breakfasts together laughing in the kitchen. Then one of them would drive Kelsey to school. Jethro had not been cleared to return to duty yet, but he had therapy almost every day now. He was most definitely learning to manage with just one hand, her hand caressed the high collar of her sweater and smiled.

Last night had been just as unforgettable as all the others and the rope burns on her neck proved it. Jethro had tied her thighs back, using her neck as the anchor. Lowering her legs would tighten the rope, cutting off her airway. He had then carried through on his promise from that first night, crawling between her legs and eating her pussy.

She had never imagined that cunninglingus could be used as a torture technique, but he had shown her it could. His tongue, teeth and fingers had kept her on the very edge forever, pushing her higher and higher but never letting her go over. Her thighs had ached from the strain of holding their position, occasionally slipping and thus the slight rope burns on her neck.

His smile widened as he saw where her hands were. "Ziva and Tony are picking Kelsey up from school." She raised her brows and he chuckled, "Don't worry. Tony is driving. You have my word on it."

She sighed as the doors opened once more. Three people entered. She recognized the younger man as her husband's attorney, the man who had negotiated the post-nuptial agreement six years ago. He was laughing at something said by the distinguished, silver haired man that bore a remarkable resemblance to Jason. But it was the perfect coiffed petite woman in her designer suit that caused her stomach to do a flip. The woman that she had once thought of as the mother she never had. Clarisse came to stand next to her, pressing kisses on each of her cheeks.

"Debbie, it has been too long, dear," she smiled.

Deb would have drawn back except for the warm and reassuring hand at the small of her back. Instead she closed her eyes for a moment, gathering her strength. Opening them she looked up at her painting that hung over the fireplace, it did not belong her any more than she did. She would speak with her agent about arranging to purchase it back.

The woman turned, following her gaze, she replied, "Do you like it? It is not quite our taste, of course, but the woman is a talented new artist. Very mysterious too. No one has seen her, she does not even attend her own shows. Our financial advisor says that it may triple in value in just a couple of years." She put her manicured hand on Debbie's arm, "We had all hoped that perhaps you would eventually return to your studies. You had shown such promise. Perhaps if," silence filled the room. "Well, if things had been different."

Debbie squared her shoulders and leaned into his touch, "If you don't mind, can we get on this? I need to pick Kelsey up."

"Yes, of course," said the attorney as he went to the large mahogany desk, Steven Radcliffe took the large chair nearest the desk, while Clarisse perched on the end of the leather couch across from him. Jethro smiled at her and nodded, his hand guiding her to the other end of the couch. He seated her and moved towards the arm of the couch next to her.