Bound To Her Past Ch. 03

"FUCK!" I cried at the top of my lungs, which was immediately followed by the contrite whimper, "you didn't have to do that." To be honest, I don't know why I said it. It was true; he didn't have to that. Certainly, though, he was already aware of this fact, and had chosen to do it anyways. But then, he didn't have to do any of this, yet here we were. He didn't need me to remind him of that inconvenient, or let's be honest, more likely exciting truth. In fact, my girlish mewling was probably exactly what he had hoped to hear when he had done the thing in the first place - spanking me like I had misbehaved, like I was someone who needed to be disciplined. He had consciously been punishing me for not doing something he had wanted, while at the same time teaching me an important yet simple lesson: what I could expect to happen to me if I didn't listen to him in the future. And my shriek of pain and outrage had only been audible proof that he had succeeded in this. Lesson learned, indeed.

In spite of myself, I felt hot tears begin to sharply prickle at my eyes, and I quickly blinked them away, determined that at the very least, he would not get that level of satisfaction. By this point, though, I was beyond trying to measure my vocal reactions against how they might be received by him: good, bad, or just plain perverted. Well past that point, in fact. It was just too difficult. That spanking had hurt like hell...ugh, it was debasing to even think about it way. Spanking. He had actually spanked me! Here I was, a grown adult, and that of all things had just happened to me for the first time. I can safely say with experience, that it was much, much worse than having your hands tied behind your back. Not even close. I have to say, I never really imagined this was something I needed to be worried about happening to me. And still, it had. I had been fucking spanked. Great.

While it did feel uncomfortable admitting to myself that, yeah, I had just been disciplined like someone who couldn't fucking do what they were told, I conversely didn't mind quietly owning up to the fact that it had really fucking hurt. Or at least, I didn't mind owning up to that in the moment. No doubt later, I would be pretty embarrassed by the whole thing, and want to feel like I had somehow been defiant. There was some good news, though. The unexpected smack had produced the exact opposite reaction of somehow keeping me quiet, so I now felt more at liberty to let loose as I saw fit. I mean, he had actually encouraged me to scream, strange as that was, so why shouldn't I take advantage?

I had to admit, spanking or not, it was a far improvement over having his hand clamped over my mouth, trying to shut me up while I squealed for help in a ridiculously exaggerated and demeaned way. Like getting fucking spanked, I never thought I would have an awareness that your begging being smothered back inside of you was never a good look, but now, unfortunately, I could say that I did. And it wasn't something I was looking to repeat anytime soon. It truly was a night of firsts, but hey, sure enough I was learning. Not learning everything, however. I honestly had no idea what he was thinking pulling a stunt on me like that. Telling me, no forcing me to scream as loudly as I could. Probably just trying to fuck with me some more. I was starting to believe that that's all this had ever been about. Still, with my inhibitions freed, I shook off such thoughts and returned to the issue at hand.

Unfettered from his grip, I sprang to my feet, and he made no apparent attempt to stop me. And why should he - the damage was done. It's not like I could run away while tied up like this, and even if I could, where would I go? I desperately tried to plunge my hands down to my butt, so I could try and rub some of the horrible, lingering sting away, but of course, they were completely useless bound together as they were. Lord, what couldn't he do to me while I was stuck like this? And worse, what couldn't I do for myself? I couldn't even reach my own damn ass; how the hell was I supposed to protect myself if he decided to get handsy again? God fucking damn it. At the very least, I hoped to hell there wasn't another one of those in the offing. I didn't think I could take it. Not again. Especially, tied up like this, where I would just have to lie there and take it.

Since my hands were worthlessly bound behind me, unable to help at all with any of the pain, I did the next best thing I could think of: I began hopping up and down, in an admittedly comical way, bounding from foot to foot, as if that would somehow help get rid of the hurt. I was glad I still had my back turned to him; each time I jumped, I felt my boobs comically bounce up and down, as if I were running a race without wearing a sports bra. Or really, just looking like what I was actually doing, jumping up and down while wearing a regular fucking bra. Worthless bra to go with worthless hands. It looked all the more ridiculous in the tight, low-cut sweater, and I regretted more than ever having chosen to wear it this morning. So, at a bare minimum, while dealing with the pain, I was immensely glad he couldn't see my tits popping up and down like this, ludicrously as they were, as I had no doubt he would find some sick pleasure in watching my sweater failing to contain them. And sure enough, by the time I stopped jumping, my already suggestive cleavage was decidedly more pronounced. I shook my head to no one, disgusted. Disgusted with my own damn tits. Fucking sweater...when this was all over, it was going straight into the garbage.

But none of this, legs hopping, boobs bouncing, had done absolutely anything to help with the lingering sting on my rear. "Ow! Ow! Ow!" In spite of myself, even while making the silly noises, I still had to roll my eyes in annoyed self-awareness. Appropriate. My behavior was matching the way I had been treated. With this realization, I once again felt my eyes begin to well up with tears - although now more from embarrassment than hurt. That had really fucking hurt, but more importantly, I still didn't understand why he had done it. I felt aggrieved. On top of that, I didn't know which was actually worse: the warm thrumming on my ass, or the notion that he might see me cry. On second thought, definitely the latter. No question. No, I wouldn't give him that achievement - for I was sure that's how he would see it - not by a long shot. So I swiftly blinked back the tears before he had the opportunity to spot them. Then, I scurried around the couch, like I was playing some kind of weird game, and plopped down atop the cushion in an undignified heap.

I don't know why I thought this might make me feel better, but of course, it only made things hurt worse. I also desperately wanted to lean back, as I was now able to breathe deeper without an armrest jutting carelessly into my stomach, but my fucking wrists, all of my arms really, were preventing me from doing so. For some odd reason, when seated, they were much more awkwardly placed than they had been when I was slung indifferently over the edge of the couch. I guess there were some positives to being thrown around like a sack of garbage after all. Sure, it didn't feel great at the time, but apparently there were positions that could feel even worse. It was a weird conclusion to make, and ultimately an erroneous one - but I knew that. While tied behind you, having your arms pointed upwards had its upsides, but it wasn't convenient enough to want to be breezily bent over like that again. Nope. No thank you, end of story. Hands tied, ass up, did not a good combination make. Too tempting for some who apparently couldn't be trusted to keep their hands to themselves.

To make matters worse, the way my wrists were cinched together, with their insides touching rather than crossed, didn't just prevent me from leaning back. Even more unhelpfully, while sitting, my hands being bound in such an unnatural way pulled my shoulders back even further, giving the unwanted appearance that I was deliberately thrusting my chest outward, like there was some kind of prize here for biggest bust. Not hard to be a winner when you're a competitor of one, I thought ruefully to myself. So, unable to lean back, and feeling thoroughly dejected on account of my predicament - both because of my...spanking...and because of the way I was being forced to flaunt myself, I was unsure of what else to do. As such, I did the only mature thing, and just stared directly at him, as if plainly asking, 'okay what next?' Well, that's what I intended it to be, anyways. I'm sure it more came off as glaring with complete, unadulterated loathing that said 'this is so fucked up.' Served him right, though. This was pretty fucked up. Finally, after a long, pregnant pause of this, where I carefully considered, what I was going to say, I broke the silence. Unfortunately, in all that time, I hadn't been able to come up with anything clever, cutting, or helpful. I was still at a loss at having been treated in such a manner, and really, who could blame me?

"What did you do that for?" I asked delicately, my voice quivering and pathetic. I was trying to sound strong, but apparently that wasn't in the cards at the moment. Now that a few seconds had passed, with some time to process things just a bit, get over that initial shock, I was more hurt that he had done the thing in first place, rather than still smarting from the actual blow.

"You know why I did it," he said simply, as if this were the most obvious thing in the world.

"No, I really don't," I answered wistfully, and I really meant it.

"You weren't doing what you were told. I warned you."

Fuck him, I thought. Just who the hell did he think he was, anyways? This was entering a whole new realm of strange, and I really didn't want any part of it, or like where it was going. Being tied up like this, like some fucked up comic book shit, wasn't enough for him; now I was supposed to just do whatever, go along with whatever. That's what he had said. Why I hadn't believed him when he had warned me - I didn't know. That much was on me. I couldn't rationalize how I hadn't envisioned things getting to a place like this. Now that we were here, though, I figured I'd be best off to give in at least somewhat. Play his game, a little. Or pretend to, anyways. I really did not want to get swatted again.

"Fine. But don't do that again. That really fucking hurt," I said churlishly.

"Do what I tell you, and it won't be a problem. Like I said the first time."

"Okay." I shook my head. "Whatever." I suppose I should have looked more humbled, but really, shaking my head like that just felt like exasperation. Like, 'just look what I have to fucking put up with.' His game, though, right? I had to keep telling myself that. Make him think that's how things were. "All right. No screaming, I promise. But can I at least fucking talk to you? Is that too much to ask?"

"Oh, you can talk all you want. Hell, you can shout all you want, for that matter. I don't care about that." He was smiling at me, as if he knew this would inevitably elicit an extreme reaction from me. And he was right. I was apoplectic.

"WHAT!?" I bellowed. I was completely incredulous, and almost shouting all over again, even after I had just said that I wouldn't. I managed to restrain myself from being even louder, as despite what he had said, I didn't want to chance it and risk getting my ass smacked all over again. "What do you mean I can shout all I want?" I continued tersely. "That was the whole reason for hitting me like that, wasn't it? Wasn't it?" I was certain my eyes were alive with fire. "Why else would you do that?" If it would have been possible to contort my face into an even greater look of rage, I would have done so gladly.

"Oh, babe." He shook his head, as if I were stupid, which just served to increase my rage all the more. I was almost shaking, and was near positive that I actually would have been, had I not had these fucking ropes wrapped around me. He blithely went on, "I wanted to show you that I don't care if you scream. Do it all you want, if that's what makes you feel better, no skin off my back."

"Well, why didn't you fucking tell me that then?" I demanded through gritted teeth. "You didn't have to fucking hit me. A little heads up would have sufficed." I shook my head, still astounded that this was how he had chosen to approach things. What a fucking sleaze.

"I didn't think the message would resonate so much." His eyes were twinkling, and his smile was even broader now. He was really enjoying this, the bastard. "And boy, was I right. You howled like a champion. Put on quite the show. But funny..." he stopped, playacting as if something were confusing him. "I don't hear the doorbell ringing, do you? Sirens blaring, anything like that? That's so weird, isn't it? He looked at me still in character, as if he actually expected me to answer his farce seriously.

My eyes narrowed, however, as if he had just won a small battle in whatever this was, and I was only now becoming aware of that fact. As idiotic as he was being, the fucker was right. Even I had to reluctantly admit that much, pain me as it might. But still, even though I was starting to panic more than a little inside, not wanting to actually admit to myself that I knew where he was going with this, I didn't care to show that. Not yet, anyways. There might be a time for panicking, at some point, but that time wasn't now. As such, I did the best I could, under the circumstances.

"So what?" I answered, projecting nonchalance, and even giggling just a little to punctuate my indifference. Unconvincingly...even I could tell that. I was making a fool of myself, and yet, I still pressed on. What else was I supposed to do? "I'll bet someone heard it. My neighbors are really fucking nosy, and people walk their dogs in this neighborhood all the time. Someone must've heard me. It was nice and loud, just like you said. Didn't think about that one, did you asshole?" I fairly spit out this last word with all the contempt I could gather, even though, deep down, I knew I was just making this all up as I went along. Equally, I knew that he knew I was doing so. So what? "Maybe they called the cops. Better yet, maybe they're on their way now. They can take your piece of shit ass straight to jail. Let's see if you're such a tough guy in there." I cocked my head to the side, and shot him a look that was intended to convey 'boy, you're really screwed now.'

"Babe, babe, babe..." He shook his head while tutting, as if I still hadn't learned some important lesson. "First of all, not nice to talk like that. It hurts my feelings. Do you see me calling you names?"

I rolled my eyes, and responded flatly "you called me a bitch." I was still pretty annoyed that he had used that word against me. Sure, I had been called worse in my day, but not by him. I didn't care for it in the slightest, which, given all that he had just done to me, was admittedly a pretty odd thing to fixate on.

"Hm...true enough." He nodded and screwed his face up in a mock look of offense. "But in fairness, you did kick me in the face. That wasn't nice at all."

"I almost kicked you in the face...wish I had better aim. Or that I'd have been closer to your balls. Could've done the world a favor there." I was looking straight at him once again, and gave him a look that hopefully conveyed the magnitude of my derision. How much I'd love to crack him in the dick with my boots even now.

"Wow, the mouth on you. Sassy. I like it. But we're going to have to do something about that." I involuntarily stiffened at the mention of the subject again. Whether he was planning another spanking, or something else entirely, I couldn't tell, but I didn't like the sound of it either way. "And here I always thought you were such a lady. Turns out you're just another whore. Filthy mouth to go with that look of yours. When did you start dressing like that, anyways? Looks like you were holding back on me."

"Eat shit." I was far beyond letting such petty insults get to me. There's not much words can do to you when the guy saying them has literally just been getting his rocks off by groping you without your permission. And regardless of that, I was on to him now; it was all a part of his game, to get a rise out of me, just another way of manipulating me. If I was blinded with anger or embarrassment, I couldn't think things through. Well played - so far, it had worked for the most part. Well, I wasn't going to allow myself to be so easily controlled anymore. Two could play at that game.

"You know, the cops will probably be here any minute. If you leave now, I doubt they'd catch you. You don't even have to untie me; I can wait. I'll tell them it was a burglar who got spooked and ran off. Fair enough? No jail, no nothing. We just go our separate ways, pretend like this never happened." At this point, I didn't believe for a second he would actually consider this option. He was having far too much fun with whatever this was - that disgusting boner was proof enough of that. But still, it was worth a try. As long as we were talking, he wasn't focused on the tying. And that meant I was buying time. Hopefully, someone actually had heard my scream and would soon be coming to my rescue.

He laughed heartily at this suggestion, however, and this vexed me all the more, although I couldn't say why. Probably because I was sick and tired of being treated like some sort of bimbo. "Babe, if that was true, they'd be here by now...but you know that." He said it almost sympathetically, as if he was holding onto to some piece of knowledge that I didn't yet have. "You already shouted a couple of times, remember? When you were trying to run away with so much...spirit. Begged for help. Screamed for it. If anyone had heard you, they'd have done something about it by now." He now looked at me like someone who had just been made to explain something to an extraordinarily stupid person. Even though I shouldn't have cared what he thought, I felt my cheeks begin to burn in spite of myself. Ugh, even though I had just sworn I wouldn't, I was getting annoyed all over again. So I just fought back.

"Stop calling me babe. I'm not your fucking babe." I sneered through each of the words individually.

"You're my whatever the fuck I want you to be...babe."

The way he said it deflated me in an instant. My bravado had belied what I was actually feeling, and all the increasingly manic thoughts which were racing through my head. Fuck. He was right. I had forgotten about those times I had yelled when we had tussled earlier. And he was also right that enough time had passed. Surely, if anyone had heard anything, heard anything that maybe they should be alarmed about, they would have at least knocked on the door by now. Checked in to make sure that everything was okay. Or at a bare minimum, they would have called the police.

I was on my own, and that brutal realization crashed over me like a wave. It was just me and him, seeing this thing through to the end. I immediately tested the strength of the rope circling my wrists once again, hoping against hope that it had somehow become loosened, and trying my best not to make it obvious what I was doing. If anything, the whole thing felt even tauter. How was that even possible? Was it in my head, or was the rope somehow working itself into even tighter knots? That seemed entirely possible. After all, what happened if you pulled at a knot in your shoelaces too much - it just got tighter! Shit! Had I just been making my situation worse this whole time? Each instance when I had thought to test the bindings, see if they might have weakened, had I only trapped myself in them that much more? The idea of it was completely dispiriting. How else was one supposed to get free when tied up like this? You had to pull at the rope to get out of it, right? Right!?