tagBDSMKeeping His Word

Keeping His Word


"If you knock the light fixture out, I will kill you," she informed him as he leaned dangerously forward, sprite in hand. Finding the right branch, he placed the hook and leaned back, admiring his work.

"I'm glad you appreciate my effort. Really, this isn't hazardous at all."

"The one in danger is me, sir, if you hurt the tree. My mother will kill me, hence, I must kill you before she returns and kills me."

"Blood vengeance?"

"A mercy killing, my dad would do worse to you." He pondered this, and decided she was right. They continued the work, meeting each other's ripostes as best they could. As he turned to hang another iridescent orb of glass from the shedding body of the tree, she jabbed a finger into his side, near the kidney. He bent double, nearly tripped, and had to take several steps back to steady himself. "Have you lost your mind, my dear!?" he exclaimed.

"Awww," she cooed, "you're ticklish."

"I am not," he countered, "you just surprised me."

"Oh, riiight, surprised you, thinking about your girlfriend?" He winced a little at the title. He had found a mate down south, something that kept him warm and satisfied his taste for the exotic.

"No, I, um, I'm making tea." She followed him into the kitchen, spewing all sorts of woman-junk that threatened to castrate his self-image. "I am not ticklish, I am, um, jumpy, like a frog, a sexy frog, I am a dark, mysterious, sexy frog. Now stop your babbling or I shan't give you tea."

"But its my tea," she pouted.

"I mean it, I'll drink it all."

"You'll drink all my tea?" she asked skeptically.

"Yes, I will, then I'll pee on your bed. What kind do you want?" This went on as the water molecules began to shake and scream and shiver into the freedom of open air, mixing with the words and laughter of the couple. They mixed their tea and sat in the family room, watching the lights sparkle. Their talk turned from comfortable, surface colors to the purples and grays of their souls. Her colors were very organic, rose and umber, and her scent was that of birches and snow banks. And forest fires. He tried to speak in sunsets. Sometimes it worked.

The cold, a master thief, had gained entry into the house, and Liam bent to build a fire. The oak was fresh-cut, and he stacked the logs carefully, allowing the oxygen to flit its way through the wood. When he breathed fire into its sculpture, it roared up and cast shadow-games on the wall behind them. Their tea was gone. Above them, angels rode the aether and lulled them temporarily to silence. Glancing out the window, as if he could see the deity, his back was turned when she poked him again, same spot. He convulsed. This time he did fall over. Damn, she thought, this is fun. He stood up, and looked at her. That look. She had not seen that look in a long time. A very long time. Her heart began to dance, just a little. "Do that again, child, even once, and I will spank you." She was dumbfounded for a moment. Then she laughed. So many men had threatened that. Including, she recalled, Liam himself, years ago when they were temporarily bound to each other. He had never tried it.

"Oh, will you? I'll rip your balls off. Honestly, I'll scream." He was still. His look had not changed. "You wouldn't dare. I should get to bed anyway. Early morning with the grandmother. Never an easy chore, you know, lots of sleep needed." He was a stone. Her heart began to two-step. "Yes, yes indeedy, sleepy sleepy...for th-the grandmother, you know...must...sleep..." She started to walk past him. As she did so, he relaxed, smiled that annoyingly effective smile, the smile that seemed as formidable a weapon as her tattooed lug of a boyfriend's entire collection of firearms. She laughed, forgot what he had said. She wrapped her arms around him, trying to drink enough strength from him to get through tomorrow. It was a goodbye ritual that vitalized both of them, and such rites were jealously guarded.

Then, she poked him again. In the spot. He caught her hand before she could make contact. The stone had returned. Her heart began to, well, breakdance. The grip was not tight enough to hurt her. Like an iron shackle that fit just right. He pulled her over to the couch, and sat down. She didn't realize what was happening until he began to pull her over his knee. Perhaps it was the strange position with its advantage of dumping the blood back into her brain. Maybe her heart had paused in its festivities. Whatever it was, she suddenly understood what he about to do, and she was pissed. "I have a boyfriend! I'll rip your balls off, I'll...ow!" He had her pinned over his knee, not uncomfortably. Most of her weight was on the couch, and the side of her face was planted in the plush down of the couch. He had pinned her arm behind her back, and her kicking legs were anchored by a strong thigh that locked them into place. She was effectively helpless. Liam had smacked her once, to shut her up. He mentally noted that this, unlike anything else, had worked. Now, he placed his hand on her shapely, jean-clad bottom and began to lecture her.

"I told you not to poke me. No poking, that was the rule. We were operating on a no-poke relationship. Poke-free, you and me. Got it? Well, you broke the contract. I told you I would spank you, and now I'm going to. I remember you complaining about that boy of yours being unwilling. Well, I'm not. You're going to get a spanking, Mary, and threats or struggle will not make me stop. In fact, in the bathroom I noticed a hairbrush, and all your resistance will get you is a dose of the hairbrush as well." Mary of course knew exactly what he referred to. She had thought of that use herself. Though never seriously. So she thought.

"I...I'm sorry. Liam, please, I didn't mean to push your limits. You're a man and you have boundaries and I will never test you like that again. Now, in the name of the Goddess, please let me up." She struggled feebly, uselessly. He laughed softly.

"Nice speech, hon, save it for Goofus. I'm sure he'd fall for it. Not that he'd get this far anyway."

With that, he began her punishment. She braced herself for pain, but instead he began softly. The first spanks were more like pats on her backside, one cheek then the other, affectionate, playful. He had an even rhythm and she began to settle into the quick alternating of his strokes. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad, she thought. He can have his fun, and afterwards she could act mad and the next day it would be forgotten.

Smack! He had spanked her hard, and the pain flared up immediately after the sound. But otherwise, he continued his pattern, neither varying the rhythm nor the strength of his strokes. A warmth began to spread over her bottom. Smack! Smack! Two sharps cracks, in the middle of her ass, that sent a brief needle of pain through her body. She tensed, and his hand surprised her again as it began to massage the area. Then three more spanks that made her jump and squirm on his lap. Again, the firm caressing kneaded her flesh and rubbed most of the sting away. Suddenly, he began to strike her bottom hard and fast. The heat spread with the sting. Fire seemed to spread from her ass to the rest of her body. A haze of pain washed over her, but it was a hot pain, a molten cloud of sensation that passed into her and filled her. Just as suddenly, it stopped. The cloud, however, did not part immediately. It took her a few moments to realize he had stopped spanking her. Her breath came sharp and fast. "Stand up," he commanded. She immediately got to her feet, but needed to steady herself on his shoulder. His body was pliable, but strong, and he held her easily. One hand held the small of her back. The other deftly undid the front of her jeans.

"No, please." Her voice seemed to come from very far away. "I don't think I can take it." He said nothing, just slid her jeans down to her ankles, and her panties followed them. She had a vague shard of thought about modesty. About a man who perhaps would be angry with her. However, she could not connect these thoughts to her present situation. Will guided her back over his lap. She settled her face back into the couch, surprised at the heat of it. Will traced the pinkness of her bottom with his fingertips.

"Almost over. You are doing well."

There was no warm up this time. He started as he'd left off, flesh meeting flesh hard and fast. She wiggled and twisted, trying to get free. But he held her as before, and she could not escape his punishing hand. The time stretched and the shades returned, digging themselves into her and finding release in her darkness. She could not take anymore. She was crying openly. He must stop. He must not stop. Will watched her begin to slide away from him, into a place he would not take her. Not tonight. Not ever, he thought sadly, as he continued to spank her poor bottom, now a bright red. He must bring her back. The smacks slowed, and he began to caress her in between them. She drifted in and out of her own space, the head-place he could not lead her into. Come back to me, kid. He ceased his strokes altogether, kneading and caressing her bottom and spreading the pain out, making it bearable. Her breathing evolved slowly from staccato to adagio, until it became deep, redwood sighs and the sensuousness that had consumed her faded into mere feeling.

She lay over his lap. He could smell her, and detected her need. He watched as she realized it herself. The moistness between her legs called to him. Like a man who realizes he has not eaten for days, the craving rose in both of them. She dared not move. He understood, and lifted her to her feet. She buckled once, and he planted her again. This time, she held. She could not look at his eyes. He slipped her panties on and lifted and buckled her jeans into place. She still had not moved. He stood, not looking at her, took a couple steps away, and leaned casually against the dark wood of the room. He pulled a lighter from his back pocket and flicked the lever. Sparking flame appeared. He held the fire, and spoke to it. "Find your hand, girl. I can do nothing for you. Remember this when he holds you. I can let myself out." She hesitated, then ran past him, down the hall, and disappeared into her room. The door slammed. He smiled, and let the fire go out. A small burn began to rise on the tip of his finger. He thought about making more tea. Instead, he reached for the wine.

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