Rock and Water Ch. 07

I give her petite frame a big hug and whisper back to her. "I do, Vanessa... big time. I've got it pretty bad for him."

Conspiratorially, she adds, "Just don't let him railroad you. He can be pretty controlling sometimes; Drives Gil crazy."

My half gasp-half laugh comes out louder than I'd hoped and all three men turn their attention to us.

"I was just telling Corrine what a control freak you are Patrick. Go easy on her..."

He turns to me, his sexy eyes and easy smile make my knees week. "Do you want me to go easy on you Corrine?"

Using a playful tone that could be taken in any way, I answer, "No, Sir.

With the same casual tone, he softly replies, "Good girl."

Anyone listening to the conversation may have heard playful flirting, but to us the air spanning the distance between us begins to crackle with the heat of our words and I can't believe that everyone in the restaurant can't feel it.

In two strides he's next to me, his arm slung low around my waist pulling me close to his side. "I think it's time for us to head out. Gil, I'll see you Tuesday night for the game. We can plan a ride then." Letting go of me, he gives Gil a quick hug and leans in to say goodnight to Vanessa and gives her a peck on the cheek.

In a move that could only be called 'caveman', Patrick pulls me close once again before shaking Marc's hand goodnight. Marc gives a little laugh and just shakes his head at the obvious message being passed on to him. I'm a little surprised by Patrick's possessiveness, but I can't deny that it makes me love him even more.

The last 'goodnights' are shared while Vanessa and I exchange phone numbers. We're finally out the door and walking back to the car when Patrick guides me into the recessed doorway of a closed storefront and backs me against the brick wall with his body. His hands grasp my upper arms, effectively trapping me; adrenaline and lust shoot through my body as his lips collide with mine and the events of the evening crash down on me.

One of his hands reaches behind my head as his fingers tangle into my hair; my scalp tingles as his grip tightens. My head is swimming from endorphins as they cascade through my body, then just before my lungs rebel against the pressure of his body against mine and his lips stealing my breath, he steps back and I start to suck in air while attempting to lean forward to capture his lips again. His hand still tight in my hair, I find myself unable to move from the wall.

"Sir...please."

"Please what, my little slut?" His head leans down and begins to lightly suck and bite at my exposed neck. Coherent thought is lost on me as a deep ache begins to spread from my core through every nerve of my body.

"Please take me home," I say between gasps. "I need you."

His hand slips between my legs, firmly cupping my pussy as the tips of his fingers push firmly against the plug. I begin to grind my clit against his palm with abandon. He doesn't move his hand at all; allowing me to masturbate myself against him as my orgasm rapidly builds inside of me.

"Oh look at you...so full of need, so sweet. It's almost as if you think I'm going to allow you to cum." There's no condescension in his voice, no mockery at all. He says it evenly, as if it's just a matter of fact.

"You're...you're not?" I slow down, then stop my movements altogether. I attempt to step backwards to lessen the pressure of his hand on my swollen and now very wet pussy and clit, but the doorway keeps me from retreating, while his hand pushes against me, holds me against the wall.

"Who gets to cum Corrine...good girls or bad girls?"

His question resonates inside of me. I'm a professional, respected woman in this city, but in this moment I'm Patrick's bad girl.

In a choking whisper, I look down and answer, "Good girls get to cum."

He gives my hair a quick tug. "Look at me."

My eyes shoot up to his. There's fire in them tonight.

"...and are you a good girl or a bad girl?" His other hand remains firmly against my hot and wet pussy.

I lick my now dry lips. "I'm a bad girl Sir."

"Tell me.'

"I... I denied you access to my p... to my cunt."

"What else?"

Oh shit. "I didn't tell you that I'd kissed Marc, before we left for the restaurant tonight."

"No, you didn't..." He takes a step back, releasing my pussy and my hair at the same time. Raising his palm that is wet from my juices, he holds it to his face, inhaling the scent deeply. "...but I'm not sure I can entirely fault you for that."

I can't help my surprise. I didn't expect him to understand my hesitance.

He goes on. "One, you didn't know he and I were friends. Two, it happened months before we met and it never amounted to more that some adolescent fun in a car." He stops to cup my face in his hand. "Lastly, I imagine it caught you off guard tonight that we were going to the restaurant, not to mention that I was friends with Gil and Vanessa. It wasn't quite fair of me to throw that at you when I did; when you were just coming out of a pretty deep subspace. You didn't really have any time to wrap your head around it. In the end you handled it all beautifully though. Thank you."

I'm so grateful for his understanding that I attempt to embrace him, only to have his hand drop from my face to grip my breast, HARD. I gasp at the shock of pain that radiates through my chest before transforming to acute pleasure in my core.

"That doesn't change that you've been a bad girl who denied me her cunt. I know you very well, my love. I know you were close to orgasm, and I know how to pull you back, which had been my intention. You doubted me and my ability to protect you; you challenged my authority. My question to you is, do you feel that my actions at the table warranted a safeword, had you been able to convey one?"

I think long and hard before answering, and voice the only honest conclusion I can come to. "No."

Patrick pauses briefly, and the air is silent except for our breaths. "You do realize there's only one way to make this right, don't you?"

"Punishment."

"Yes."

***

The drive home is a blur. We're greeted at the door by Griffin and Guinness, the latter of which already has a leash clutched in his mouth. Patrick instructs me to take them for a ten minute walk while he sets things up for what's to come. His deliberate ambiguity sets me on edge, anticipation building within me.

Although I should be used to it, walking with the butt plug only serves to excite me beyond reason. As I become more hyperaware of the plug, I realize it's been inside of me for a little over three hours. His cum is still surrounding it, making it unbearably slippery and constantly on the verge of slipping out unless I'm vigilant. The night so far has been a constant stream of sensations and emotions; my earth-crashing orgasm as he fucked my ass, going deep inside my head during the shower that followed, my anxiety about seeing Gil, Vanessa, and Marc again, my defiance...and now, facing my punishment.

In truth, I'm feeling a little fragile and more than a little tired, but I know if we were to lighten or skip the punishment tonight, that it would set a precedent for our days to come. I agreed to submit to him for the weekend, and while he stayed within the boundaries of my limits, and I still defied him. I know, once my punishment is over, the slate will be clean between us and we can move on.

I also know that I've fantasized about being punished for years now, not by my own hands through orders on a telephone, but to truly be at the mercy of another; someone whom I trust to keep me safe, but will also push me to take the pain and humiliation punishment may bring. I look at the time on my phone and see he expects me in two minutes. With renewed excitement, I drag the dogs home, prematurely ending their pissing war.

Walking into the house, I unhook the dogs and hang their leashes on a hook by the door. Patrick calls to me from the kitchen, and after removing my sandals, I walk through the living room, now lit only by a few pillar candles. As I pass through the archway of the sliding French door that divides the living and dining room, I shiver as I notice soft, brown leather straps with attached O-rings hanging from each corner. On the table are coils of hemp rope....and the flogger.

Inside the kitchen, Patrick is pouring hot water into a teapot, then sets it aside to steep. I stand in the doorway and watch his easy and calm movements. His height and presence fill the kitchen and I suddenly feel very small. My breath intakes sharply as a shudder courses through my body. In three strides he's enveloping me into a snug embrace.

"Are you ok, sweetheart?"

"Yes. I'm fine. Really. It's just that so much has happened tonight already..."

He pulls his head back a little and looks down on me, studying my face. "I'm going to give you a choice Corrine...punishment tonight or tomorrow? The punishment will be the same regardless, no penalties for waiting until the morning."

"No. Not tomorrow. Please punish me tonight, Sir."

He studies me for a moment, then gives a little nod. "Ok, I agree... but there's a few things we need to discuss first, not just for tonight but your future, punishments as well."

That wakes me up a little bit...that punishment will be a regular part of our relationship dictated by my compliance and obedience, or lack thereof.

"You need to assure me that you'll use your safeword if it gets to be too much. The punishments I chose will generally match the infraction. They will not push any of your hard limits or cause you any lasting pain or visible marks. With that in mind, you should know that if you do safeword, it only postpones your punishment. This means that if I plan on flogging you for ten minutes, which is my intention for tonight, and we only get through two....we will have eight more minutes to go at a later time. Whether it's completed all at once or it takes eight days we WILL complete your punishments as planned. Until we do finish a punishment, there will be no orgasms for you. Do you understand?"

As excited as I'm getting, I eagerly nod and assure him with a "Yes, Sir!"

He chuckles briefly at my enthusiasm before leading me into the dining room. In one swift motion my dress is pulled up and off my body and tossed to the other side of the table, leaving me standing in my bikini panties. Scanning my body, he almost appears surprised to see them, before they too are removed and tossed next to my dress.

Soon, he's all business. Rope is weaved around my right arm, from just above my elbow down to my wrist. The pattern is intricate and beautiful. The pressure is evenly distributed with no actual tension on any one area. It's mesmerizing to watch, his actions so precise and assured. He repeats the same pattern on my left arm. I notice a small loop of rope, nestled against the tops of each wrist, just as he attaches a carabiner to each.

He walks me over to the French doorway, and quickly attaches each carabiner to a corresponding O-ring so that my arms are outstretched and spread above my head. I look up, trying to see how the leather straps are attached.

"There are hooks that the leather slips into, just above the moulding, not visible from the ground. No worries though, they're very secure. You won't do any damage when you pull on them." I notice he says "when", and not "if".

Two leather cuffs that I had not noticed, also attached to brown leather straps are hooked into the base of the doorway on either side. Again, I can't quite see the hardware that the leather is attached to, but I can feel their strength as my ankles are buckled into the cuffs, and the adjustable leather straps are tightened until my legs are spread wide but my feet still remain flat on the ground. I can feel my wet pussy lips open from the stretch, and cool air kiss my sensitive hole.

Secured as I am, I'm surprised by my own body's reaction. No panic, no rebellion; just pure and stark desire crash through me. My hips begin to rock as my ass clenches on the plug. My nipples are instantly hard; rosy peaks aching for his touch.

Facing the living room, the light of the candles soothes my frayed nerves. My breathing has become slow and even by the time Patrick approaches me from behind. His warm body briefly comes into contact with mine, and I can feel he's removed his shirt. The soft hairs on his chest tickle my back as his breath caresses my neck. Just as soon as I begin to revel in our contact, he pulls away and I feel the flogger's heavy tendrils come to rest on my right shoulder. I look over at them; the strands are at least one-quarter inch thick, with each one capped by a single knot. Inhaling deeply, I take in the smell of new leather.

The straps of leather slowly are pulled up and over my shoulder, leaving a trail of sensitized skin in their wake. He repeats the same motion over my left shoulder, letting the heavy weight of them slip slowly behind me and down my upper back. I hear him take another step or two back, then feel a very light sting cross my upper back, just below my shoulders. My first kiss with the flogger surprises me but I lean back just a little, seeking to feel it again. It's then that he begins to alternate back and forth, left to right along my upper back and underarms until the skin is so hot and sensitive that each stroke begins to feel like hot oil being sprayed on me.

I can't help myself; I start to bounce a little on my toes, rising up with each stinging slap.

"Stay down, slut." His abrupt command causes my heels to crash solidly to the floor even before my mind takes in what he's said.

A crisscross pattern begins to evolve, both in range and strength. The tendrils are now slapping across and down my back from one shoulder to the opposite hip, then back up to the other shoulder and down again to the other hip. Over and over again they come down; my mouth is open in a permanent "Oh" but no sound comes out. All I can feel is pain, yet as the pain is absorbed deep into my skin, I feel a ball of pressure building inside of me, expanding and pushing back at the pain until they are one and the same.

My mind is at war as the words 'stop' and 'harder' battle each other to escape my mouth. I will myself to stay quiet. At no time do I consider saying "yellow" or "red".

Lower even still; the sting of the flogger is now centered on my ass in rapid succession. On this sensitive skin, I can feel each knot as it lands with a thud against the soft and pliant flesh. Occasionally, the ends land perfectly against the base of the plug and the sound of the contact varies just slightly as leather hits rubber.

It takes all of my strength to keep my feet flat on the floor. I'm still bouncing just slightly with each strike. My ass is on fire and my cunt is swollen and coated in juices that are now sliding down my inner thighs. Tears form in the corners of my eyes, but not from the pain. I feel an incredible cathartic release building inside of me and the tears are just the beginning.

I cry out when the flogging stops and Patrick's hot breath against my burning ass cheeks. His lips makes contact with one cheek, and I let out an agonized moan as he uses his wet tongue on the burning flesh over and over again until both cheeks are damp with his saliva. I hold my breath as I next feel him gently blowing cool air against my tortured ass. With a quick lick around the base of the plug, he ducks under my outstretched arm and is now in front of me.

The expression on his face is almost indescribable; lust, power, need, love. It's all there. His chest is heaving with his own exertion and excitement; his cock straining against the confines of his jeans.

"Three minutes to go, love. Can you do this?"

I nod rapidly, to consumed by pain and lust to speak.

"Words!! I need words, Corrine."

"Y-yes Sir!! Please don't stop." I arch my body towards him, relying on my restraints to hold me up. "God I love you woman..."

My eyes stay trained on the flogger; his wrist begins a pattern of upwards and downwards motions as the flogger begins a beautiful dance resembling the sign for infinity just in front of me. He steps closer and the first contact of heavy fronds and knots smack against the pale outer flesh of my left breast before quickly coming down on the right. Reflexively, I suck in my breath in an attempt to pull my breasts away from their torment, but before he can reprimand me I grit my teeth and push myself outwards once more.

The pressure inside of me begins to build once more. It's not quite the same pressure as the approach of an orgasm; it's almost more powerful than that. Flashes of sting and burn erupt on my breasts and nipples, and with each strike I'm crying out an anguished "ah". Tears are now steadily streaking down the sides of my face, the salt water kissing my dry lips.

The flogger continues its pattern lower and lower, until the skin of my soft belly becomes streaked in red. It's not quite as painful as when he was flogging my breasts, but my breathing becomes more and more irregular as I anticipate where he will be striking next. If he continues the same crashing rhythm and intensity on my pussy and thighs, I fear I may pass out.

Instead, I feel him pull the flogger away as he steps back and takes me in. We're both breathing erratically, but I can see he is still in full control of himself. He steps forward and uses his feet to nudge mine even wider, then leans down and adjusts the straps to remove the slack. My inner thighs are stretched uncomfortably, but not unreasonably, and a burn quickly begins to build in my muscles. More of my weight is now being carried by my arms, but I find that the even distribution of the rope along my arms has prevented any loss of circulation.

Patrick cups my pussy and groans at the wetness he finds. The walls are swollen and my pussy lips and clit are engorged. My juices are coating the entirety of my cunt, with rivulets dripping down my inner thighs. A few drops are scattered on the floor below me. Reaching farther back, he grips the base of the butt plug and for a moment I fear he's going to remove it right here and now, but instead he begins to twist and pull on it in an agonizingly slow rhythm until every nerve in my body begins to scream for release. This makes him smile.

He pulls back once more, but still standing close, begins to flick his wrist upwards gently, causing the fronds of the flogger to hit my pussy with a dull thud, but nothing that conjures any pain. I arch outwards, inviting increased contact, and I see a slight smile play across his face before the strength and intensity of his assault begins to increase. Again a pattern of upward strikes begins to develop.

Heat begins to radiate from my exposed and tender flesh, but there is no true sting or pain and I surprise us both when I scream out, "MAKE IT HURT! PLEASE SIR!!"

Without missing a beat, he stands back, raises his arm above his head and strikes down with the flogger so that the knotted ends make sharp contact directly on my pink and swollen tissue. I scream out again in pain and pleasure and feel three more strikes in rapid succession rain down on me until I feel my knees buckle and hear the flogger crash to the floor.

Patrick drops to his knees in front of me and uses his strong hands to support my hips until my feet find purchase with the ground again. As soon as they do his mouth is upon my battered pussy, his fingers pulling the lips apart giving his tongue access to my swollen folds and clit.

All I can do is mutter "oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck" over and over again as he takes my clit between his lips and teeth, clamps down, and begins sucking as two fingers from one hand penetrate my wet lips and begin to fuck me hard and fast. Wet, smacking sounds fill the room, mingling with my incoherent gasps until lights flash in my brain and my body explodes in a series of climaxes that have me jerking in my bonds. My tears transform into pure elation as my mind and body dance together in cathartic release.