tagBDSMIn Loving Memory Pt. 08

In Loving Memory Pt. 08

byTara_Neale©

He chuckled and brought his hand down on her hip, being certain to wrap around and assail the hot, red, tender flesh of her bottom. "Fifteen more for that cheeky mouth. Don't top from the bottom, Claire. It is so beneath you."

She smiled up at him and he swore that he would give it his best shot. No matter what the future held, he would not be just another one of her assholes. He would not use her. He would give back. As much as he could. For as long as they had. He would be different. Beginning with the simple stuff.

He smiled down at her and she tried to turn over on his lap. But his hand stilled her. "Who said anything about your bum, sweetheart?"

The way her brow arched at his words was priceless. He fought to keep from breaking out in laughter. Instead he held a stony stare for a long moment as he watched her brilliant mind play over possibilities. "Open your legs, Claire."

Those expressive green eyes widened in shock. She shook her head from side to side. But her legs fell open automatically. He cupped his hand and brought it down hard over the tender flesh of her Mons Venus. She jumped, moaned and wiggled a bit as the bare flesh took on a pink glow. But she did not close her legs as his hand remained motionless, cupping her most sensitive parts.

"That does not count because it was not the belt." His finger caressed lower, slipped just inside the folds to find a fountain that wept and flowed. It was he that fought distraction this time. He could so easily slip his fingers deep inside of her. Give her the release that she had been denying herself for so long. He could force her body to surrender what it had fought for so long.

But she needed more from him than just sex. Than being used again. She needed boundaries. She needed to know that when he said something he meant it. She needed punishment, because as she had said...punishment meant he accepted the responsibilities of being her Dom. As well as the privileges. He picked up the belt with one hand as the other held her down.

"Twenty-five with the belt, Claire. Twenty-five more. On your bare, wet pussy. Do you understand me?"

She shook her head, "Please, James, I can't. I haven't...not in over five years. I won't be able to take it," she pleaded.

"You have always been stronger than you knew, sweetheart. And I will decide what you can and can't take. You don't have a safe word and I am not giving you one. But you have my word, if I feel it is too much then the punishment stops." He met her gaze full on, "I won't ever hurt what is mine. Not ever, Claire," he made the sacred promise that he had every intention of keeping. Not just physically either.

Then he brought the belt down between her open legs. She jumped when the leather made contact with the moist flesh. She moaned but James could not tell if it was pain or pleasure as the smell of her need assailed his senses once more. "One, Claire. Count for me."

She whimpered and those green pools looked up into his face. Her mouth hung open just a bit. He was tempted to taste her sweet kisses once more, but there would be plenty of time for that later. He would drown in her kisses if he could. But punishments came first. Responsibilities before privileges. Just as it should be.

He watched her face as he brought the leather down four more times in quick succession. "Two. Three. Four. Five," her voice trembled and her body shook, arching upwards to meet each stroke.

Now that he had begun the task, he would not delay. Five more this time. Her eyes closed and she moaned low as her flesh went from pink to red. But still she counted. "Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten." He knew that she was with him.

"Good girl," he praised with genuine awe for her strength. She faced her punishment with the same quiet strength that she faced life. It humbled him. It was the same strength that she shared with him. The same that she gave so freely to those others. The thought angered him. Why? How could she let them take so much? He steadied his nerve. Anger had no place now. Punishments should never be in anger.

Ten this time. He would not prolong it needlessly. She stumbled a bit on the words, "Eleven, twelve, thirteen." A tiny sob escaped her throat as the belt connected with her sensitive flesh, she moaned but continued on, "Thirteen."

He lightened the blows just a bit. But he was sure that as raw as her flesh was she would still feel them just as much. "Fourteen. Fifteen. Sixteen," she was breathless and her whole body trembled as she thrashed side to side over his knee. "Seventeen. Eighteen. Nineteen," she cried out, arching higher with each blow. "Twenty," she screamed out.

He lowered the belt to his side. He stroked her hair back from her face. "Open your eyes, baby girl," he demanded. Even through the foggy haze of pain she obeyed. Especially through the pain, when everything is clearest, she obeyed him instantly.

He looked into her eyes. They were hazy. A bit glazed over. He knew, just knew in his gut what that meant. "Fuck," he spat. She was in subspace. She should not be. Not this soon. Not this easily. But he knew that her body had always been responsive in more ways than one. What's more she had not played, really played in so long that it was not accustomed to the drug that it needed the most. Like someone who had not had alcohol in a very long time, she was drunk on a single glass of wine.

He debated. She was deeper, way deeper, than he had meant to take her. He had only read about this level. He was not sure how to handle it, handle her. Not really. He was in way over his head. He chuckled at the irony. He had been in over his head since he rashly followed his heart and got in the car twenty-four hours ago. He had been in over his head since he sent that first email eight impossibly long years ago.

But she needed him. Needed him to be what she needed. What she needed. Not what he wanted. Not what he was comfortable with. What she needed. As no other man ever had been. And he knew deep down that she needed him to finish this. She needed to know that when he said twenty-five, he meant twenty-five.

"Listen to me, Claire. Five more. You are such a good girl, but you have five more to go." His heart broke when she whimpered and shook her head from side to side. The single word, 'no,' ate at his heart and guts like acid. Slowly melting and burning away his resolve. How could he keep hurting her? The woman he loved.

He drew a deep breath, he had to. She needed this. Needed his strength. "Yes, baby girl. You can do this. Just five more. I will go slowly, but you know I have to. Have to do this. Have to finish your punishment."

She nodded her head at his words. She sniffled a bit and tried a weak smile, "I know," came out a mumbled jumble of a single word. But it was enough.

"You have to keep your eyes open, baby. I need to know you are okay. Do you understand me?" He waited what seemed hours for the slow nod of her head. "Good girl. I will count for you. I am going to count backwards, sweetheart."

A thought occurred to him. He knew that her body knew the trick. But it had been many years since she had been trained to that level of response. Another man that had been able to pull those strings. Make this woman dance like a puppet on his strings. The thought of another man holding that power ate deeper into James's gut. Dare he try it? What was he trying to prove? To whom? To her? To himself? But in the end, it was simply a temptation he could not resist.

He got close to her face. Made certain that her eyes held his gaze. Though they were still foggy, he could see that she heard him. "When I get to the final one, Claire, when I say 'one,' I want you to come for me. That orgasm you have been denying yourself for so long, I want you to let it out. No holding back anymore. Do you understand me?"

Tears collected in the corners of those green eyes and spilled over the edges as she nodded her head, "That's my good girl," he said as he picked up the belt again. He watched her face as he ran the rough leather over her soft flesh. The heat from it practically burned his skin. He stared into her eyes again, watched her face closely as he drew his arm back and brought it down slowly. The sound of leather meeting wet flesh echoed through the room and his soul. "Five."

She jumped on impact. Her eyes started to flutter, "Look at me, Claire. Just me. Do you hear me?"

She nodded as she shifted side to side. He pulled back his arm, "Four," as the belt whacked once more.

She clutched at his arm about her waist with both of hers. But her eyes never left his face this time. "Good girl," he praised her.

"Three," he pronounced as the next blow fell on the now flaming red flesh.

"Two," he hated himself. For a moment, he remembered his father telling him, 'this hurts me more than it hurts you,' as he spanked him for some infraction.

But he knew it did not. Though the belt felt like a vile weight that he wanted to toss aside, he could not. And he knew that his pain was nothing like hers.

He stroked her auburn locks back from her face. It glowed with perspiration. He kissed a drop of it away. Tasted the saltiness of her pain. Took it inside of him as he whispered, "Remember, sweetheart. When the belt meets with your skin this time, hold nothing back. I have you now."

He drew his arm back. He hesitated as he looked down at her. One part of his mind demanded that he stop. Stop the stupid game now. How could he hurt her? But another darker part, a seductive voice, whispered...'look, she is holding nothing back from you.' It was the stronger as he gave into its seduction.

"One," he said as he brought the belt down between her open legs. As hard as he ever had.

She arched. She screamed. It was a sound that would stay with James forever. Pure pain. Like a baby placed under scalding water. Like a man dipped into a vat of hydrochloric acid. Like the doors of hell itself had opened wide and swallowed them both alive.

Then the timbre changed. The scream stretched out for eternity, but it was different. Her body arched and stayed arched. Her abs were taut as they held her whole body suspended just inches from his bare upper thighs. His cock stood at full attention immediately. The wet material of his jeans that remained about his lower legs provided a strong contrast, a reality check as it were, to the demands of its heated steel.

Her keen was just as loud. But higher as it stretched out. Like tendrils of a sea monster it wrapped about him. Pulling him under with her. The red that was between her legs spread across the rest of her body. But still the orgasm stretched on.

"Fuck," he spat as hot liquid squirted from between her open legs. Squirted was the only word. His mind fractured as he remembered the super soaker water gun that he had gotten one summer. His hand slipped between her legs. There was no point in trying to stem the tide. Its current too strong. But he did not even want to.

He merely wanted to feel it, touch her. His fingers found their way between the folds of her inner lips as well. He felt the strong contractions of her release on his fingertips. Then like a vortex, a black hole in space, her muscles drew him deeper. He was not certain how it was possible. How his fingers could even fit inside her tightness, but they did as he began to move them back and forth. Imitating the very thing another part of his anatomy craved.

"Yes," she screamed as her body tightened even more, as if that were possible.

James was fascinated. It was like an out of body experience as he watched himself lay her back on the bed softly. She clutched at him. Did not want to let him go. One hand spread her legs open as far as they could. Even as the other disappeared deeper and faster inside her body.

The clear fluid gushed out now. Wetness spread across the white sheets, making them darker just as the white carpet was stained in several places from his wet jeans. And he did not give a damn. Just as she always had this woman turned his nice, neat, sterile universe on its head.

His own head lowered slowly. He had to. Had to taste her. The salty sweetness assailed him as his tongue found the hard nub that jutted out like a miniature cock just above his fingers. He had always known she would be sweet. How could she be anything else? But like a man set afloat on a life raft, surrounded by water for a lifetime, but never any fit to drink, he inhaled as much as he could.

First he simply licked it back and forth a couple of times. She thrashed mindlessly on his bed. Her fingers clutched at the duvet until her knuckles turned white. She screamed out as she lifted her hips off the bed, smashed them against his face.

Something deep and primal inside of him wanted to master her, needed to conquer her. His teeth found the morsel and captured it. He held it firmly as his tongue circled its throbbing flesh. His own flesh that jutted between his legs throbbed in time to its mate. He suckled upon it, just as she had tried to do to him. And she convulsed. Her whole body shook so violently that for a long moment he feared he would kill her.

Then she collapsed lifelessly back into the pillow like clouds of his bed. Her skin was almost as white as the bedding. But darkened in patches with pink and red blotches. Her eyes were closed. His heart stuttered for a moment. What had he done? Had he truly killed her? He should not have pushed her so far, so hard. He knew that she had not been seen to properly in a very long time. He knew that he lacked the experience to play at these games.

Then he saw the steady rise and fall, the rapid shutters of her chest. Her magnificent tits that he had fantasized about for so long and completely ignored bounced with each breath. "Fuck," he cursed as his cock throbbed against the wet heat of the bedding were he knelt on the floor between her still open thighs.

Her eyes opened then. If they had been cloudy before, they were fixed and wide now. She stared at him. Her breath was ragged as she clutched at his shoulders. Her short nails sank as deeply as they could into the muscles there. He was certain that there would be moon-shaped crescents on his skin for several days. "Yes, James. Yes," she pleaded as she looked at him, trying to draw him up, closer.

He pushed at her hands as he tried to climb onto the bed next to her. He tried to scope her into his arms. But her hands were fighting him. Reaching for him. Well, his cock to be specific. He was the one moaning as her fingers found the throbbing traitor. He gritted his teeth and cursed again, "Fuck. Stop. It." He tried commanding as firmly as he could, given the situation.

But she did not. Would not. Her soft hands moved up and down the steel length. He tried to still them. Tried to scoop them up. But he could not. How did she know? How could she possibly? It made no sense. But still her fingers about his cock were the perfect pressure. Her rhythm was exactly the one that he would have used. Had used thousands of times. While he thought of her. Thought what this moment would be like.

He moaned and arched up. His brain fought for supremacy over his body. But it was battling alone. His body...and hers...had different ideas. "Stop. It." He commanded again.

Still she did not obey. "Fuck me," he cursed more violently as he felt his mind losing the war.

"Yes, yes, James," she pleaded as she tugged strongly at his cock. This time it was almost painful. He rolled so that he half covered her; just to relieve the pressure, the pain.

His hand tried once more as it covered hers. "Stop it, Claire. You don't know what you are doing. You are too deep in subspace. I need to bring you down," he tried to reason with her.

Her green eyes caught his, "Yes, I do, James. I know exactly what I am doing. And maybe I did get a bit spacey. Maybe I still am. Maybe I will get even more spacier. But stop fucking teasing me. I have fantasized about you fucking me for eight years. Stop playing games and do it."

He shook his head. His hand over hers managed to still it at last. "You don't know what you're saying," he repeated.

She shifted beneath him. The tip of his cock felt the sucking wetness that had engulfed his fingers only moments before. "Claire," he choked out. "Please."

But he was not certain what he was pleading for. His mind said stop. His body begged for a green light. Tried one more time, "Please, Claire."

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