Symon & Michelle: Relentless

Symon & Michelle: Relentless

I've written a bunch of stand alone stories that are all about the same couple. They are not in any particular order, and you don't need to know anything about the other stories to understand each one. Some stories are fairly tame, while others are more intense and explore fetishes, BDSM, and specifically S/m themes. I've carefully put each in the appropriate category so people know what they're reading.

This one is fully S/m.

I think of them as 'scenes from a kinky marriage.' I hope you enjoy them.

Thanks, Belle

*~~* *~~* *~~*

Symon was sitting in his office, thinking about lunch. Thinking about Michelle; thinking about them. Thinking about anything except work. Trying to avoid the paperwork he'd already been avoiding all week. Wishing for a distraction or an excuse to leave early. It was Friday, and they were supposed to have date night. They had talked about actually going out to a movie, actually going out to dinner. He didn't want to.

Symon knew he was just being grumpy, was just irritable because it was that kind of day. But the thought of having to be polite, of having to make conversation, of having to be around anyone else. It made his skin crawl. No, the prospect grated under his skin like nails on a chalkboard. Like the klaxon of the fucking fire alarm they'd been testing all morning.

Going out had been Michelle's idea, so he assumed she was looking forward to it. He told himself to get his act together. He had plenty of stuff to do, to take his mind off his mood, and he knew good and well that just leaving the building would make him feel better. But still.

His phone buzzed, and it was a text from her. It read: I can't do vanilla tonight

It took him a second to figure out what she meant. He replied: Good. Then: I'm feeling the opposite of vanilla. Double dark chocolate.

The wait for her response seemed longer than it should be. Then his phone buzzed: Thank fucking god

Symon decided to call her. He found an empty conference room, shut the door and left the lights off. When she answered she sounded a little surprised, which was fair, because they rarely talked during work.

"Hey," Michelle said. "Let me call you back in a second." She ended the call, and he imagined her searching around for her own private place to talk. He paced in front of the conference room door.

When she called back, he just asked, "That bad, huh?"

"Yeah." She wanted to say that, yeah, it was a shit day at the end of a shit week in the middle of an even shittier month. But all that came out was, "Yeah. You?"

"Naw. I just feel like I could slap someone."

He could hear the smile in her voice. "You always know just what to say."

She sighed heavily. He knew better than to ask for details; because she worked in healthcare, she couldn't have told him anything other than vague descriptions. Michelle loved her job most of the time, but he watched it wear on her too.

He decided to try a different tack. "So, what do you want?"

"What?" Michelle replied, surprised.

Symon never asked her what she wanted. That wasn't their thing; their thing was that she dealt with whatever he dished out. Usually quite happily. She didn't know what it might mean that he was asking her to be explicit. But she liked the tingle that sent down her spine.

"You heard. Tell me what you want." There was the commanding tone she was used to.

"I, uh." Michelle pivoted in place, in the darkened spare office she'd ducked into. Turning very short paces, trying to organize her thoughts. "Um. You. Just you. No, uh..." She waggled her hand, as though he could see, looking for a word.

"No toys?" Symon suggested.

"Implements." She exhaled; that was the meaning she wanted to convey. "No implements. No, y'know, clamps, belt, crop. Just you." Why was this so hard? She felt so nervous, shaky. But her mood had already improved some.

"Ok. Gotcha." Now she could hear the smile in his voice.

She almost wished for a telephone cord to twirl, leaning her head against the small glass face of her phone. "I'm probably gonna be late," she said after a few moments.

"Ok. I'll be ready."

"Ok." There was a long silence. Neither of them wanting to end the call, both of them knowing they should.

"And, honey," she breathed into the quiet.

"Yeah?"

"I. Um. I need." She exhaled hard again. "I need you to be relentless." Took another long breath. "Just. Fucking. Relentless."

His answer was a low chuckle that sent another shivering tingle down her spine. Then he ended the call. Michelle tried to hide in her office the rest of the day. She visualized the look on his face when she'd walk in the house. She rubbed her own cheeks, ready for the hard slaps that had become their ritual opening salvo on nights like this. Her mood improving with the knowledge of the release that was to come.

Symon sauntered back to his office, flying through the paperwork he'd been dreading. One of his colleagues remarking on the sudden spring in his step, joking about the hot date he'd obviously scored. He laughed uproariously, finding his hands itching, his heart beating faster, and his mind spinning with the possibilities. Her timing couldn't have been better. He needed the release as much as she did.

*~~* *~~*

She was late, at least later than usual for her. He had plenty of time to get ready. Not that there was much to do beside change clothes; he slipped into a favorite pair of jeans and that was that. He got a couple of accessories that he thought she'd appreciate when the time came. Then he waited for her, barefoot, shirtless, hyper.

Symon had been pacing in the living room when Michelle came in the front door. His first thought when he saw her was that she looked exhausted. He gave her just enough time to lock the door; he strode to her while she was still putting the keys away. He knew she'd understand what he was doing; it was part of their preparation. The little bit of theatrics that settled them both.

He stopped a foot or two away from her and growled, "Welcome home, finally."

As she was turning her head to make his eye contact he slapped her hard across the face. Her body twisted around and then she looked at him. He raised his eyebrows, and she smiled.

So he backhanded her, his hand whistling through the air, getting the other cheek, the impact twisting her the other way and causing an involuntary grunt which levelled out into a sigh.

When she straightened up again he said, "How was your day?"

Michelle smiled broadly, but made no verbal response. There was nothing worth saying. They'd been living this life together long enough that at times like this words were superfluous.

Symon stepped close to her and slid both hands down her front, mauling her breasts as he went and turning her so her back was to the wall. He pushed her against it, grabbing and pinching at her breasts and pressing his weight against her. He kissed her hard on the mouth and she responded by opening wide and letting him thrust his tongue into her. He slid his hands under her shirt and started pinching the skin on her sides, digging his fingers into her. She leaned back, pushing her hips out. He spun her around so that she faced the wall and he pressed her against it, mashing her forehead onto it and leaning into her himself.

He kept pinching her sides, then used one hand to lift up the hair at the nape of her neck. He bent his head and set his teeth where her neck muscles disappeared into her hair. He opened his mouth wide and pressed down, then slowly, deliberately, started closing his mouth.

Michelle felt his teeth digging in, dragging against her skin, and her skin pinching up in his mouth. As he clamped down, she pressed backwards into him, rolling her back, arching and curling as her eyes fluttered. She moaned again, a deep cry of need and desire. He kept trying to close his mouth, sucking on her skin to gather it into him, and stopping just short of breaking through.

She let out a long, low, shuddering groan, and Symon let go. He stroked her hair, licked at her earlobe, and pressed himself against her, making sure she knew that he was already semi-erect.

He stepped back and smacked her ass. She didn't look at him as she walked to the back of the house, where she undressed in their bedroom. She found him leaning against the living room wall, near a bracket that the previous owners had put up. It could have held a shelf, or maybe it was for a plant hanger. But it was the right height to string her up.

She walked over to him, completely naked, a little more relaxed than she'd been when she got home. They kissed lightly, and he stroked her lips with his thumb. Then he held up the ribbon in his hand. Ribbon wasn't really the word for it. It was a seamed and hemmed piece of silk, about six inches wide and almost six feet long. He doubled it over, and looped it around her wrists. He didn't tie a knot; he just wanted to hold her lightly while he was working.

He positioned her under the bracket and tossed the end of the ribbon over it. He pulled her arms up, just enough that her elbows were over her head; her arms not even straight, much less taut. Then he handed her the loose ends to hold on to. She wound the ends around her fingers, so that she'd be less likely to accidentally let go.

He stood in front of her, running his hands up and down her sides, over her breasts, staring at her. She met his gaze, smiling wanly, the need foremost in her eyes. He bent to kiss her throat, along her collar bone, lower to suckle each nipple gently. Teasing her, denying the harsh contact he knew she craved. His fingers dancing on her skin, his mouth gliding lightly over her flesh. Nipping with his lips, letting her feel the edges of his teeth, but applying no pressure. He leaned against her as his hands slid over her whole body.

Michelle responded by pressing herself into him. She spread her legs, rolled her hips forward. She pushed up onto her toes when Symon suckled at her breast, giving more of herself to him.

She blew air out of her cheeks. "Please, babe, I'm so ready for more."

"Patience, doll."

He stroked both breasts at the same time, starting his hands together at her shoulders, and then lightly running the length of her torso. She was standing, feet just about her shoulder width apart, leaning back against the wall, with her butt not quite touching. He stood, unmoving, waiting for her to relax, waiting for the moment when her need verged on exasperation.

When she tilted her head back and closed her eyes, he smacked both her tits, hard, at the same time. She grunted and smiled; opened her eyes and looked at him. Then he went to town. Slapping and smacking her tits rapidly, dropping his hands down and randomly slapping from the side. Occasionally he'd hit both breasts from the outside at the same time, and watch as they crashed toward each other. He stopped slapping long enough to pinch her nipples mercilessly, and then pinch up small knots of her skin all around her areolas, but especially along the underside.

Michelle gasped and grunted, yelped and laughed. Her head hanging back as she presented her breasts to him, begging wordlessly for more.

He pressed in and up against her breast, so that her nipple dragged against his palm, then pinched with his thumb and twisted. When she squeaked, he changed tactics again. He held one of her breasts up with his palm, then slapped down with his other hand, so that the tip and nipple were compressed between his two hands. Her sharp inhalation was reward enough for him to keep going. He did that a couple of times with each one, and he appreciated the way she jumped a little with each impact. He concentrated on one breast, doing the same thing on the same one multiple times. Then he switched to the other. Then he switched back to pinching and pulling at her nipples. She was moving her hips more now, swaying around in circles, and raising up on her toes. Symon kept the same contact with her, watching her reactions, enjoying the telltale sounds and smells of her arousal. He was relentless, just as she'd asked.

Through the years, he'd learned that she enjoyed a good breast beating for foreplay and he obliged her mercilessly. The skin of her breasts getting pink, then reddened, with whiter blotches when he pinched or dug in his nails. When she laid her head back and was tapping it against the wall, he changed strategies again.

He grabbed a breast in each hand, and pushed his palm up and into her chest. He leaned into his hands, as though he was doing a push up, stretching his legs behind him and putting as much of his weight onto her tits as he could. He bent his arms, moving his torso and head closer to her, then undulating the heel of his hand against her nipple, grinding into her flesh.

He could feel her breath on his face, and he leaned down more, tapping her lips with his tongue. Michelle's eyes flew open and she craned her neck to kiss him. He let her have his mouth, and she opened wide. Sucking his tongue as though it was giving her life. She grunted and yipped as he ground his hands into her. He curled his fingers to dig his nails into whatever skin he could reach and she gasped, pulling away from his mouth to groan and then whimper.

He straightened his arms very slowly, still leaning his weight on her, and then let her go.

She stared at him, her eyes watering and questioning; worked up, he knew that look. Silently imploring him that the encounter not be over yet. He reached up and she let go of the ribbon. He took it off the bracket, but left the loops around her wrists, and led her near the couch.

"Sit," he said, gesturing to the coffee table. "Lay back."

She did, and he knelt down at her head, positioning her so she hung off just a little. He used the ribbon around her wrists to pull her arms over her head, bent at the elbow. He secured the end of the ribbon around one table leg. She'd have plenty of give to move her arms, but not actually be able to cover herself.

He was close enough to her that she stuck her tongue out to lick at his penis, which he'd liberated from his jeans. He held still so she could lick his glans, debating whether he wanted to be in her mouth during the next part. He decided a little danger seemed appropriate.

Symon slid his erection into her mouth about halfway, and let her settle in to suckling him. She moaned again, her tongue dancing on his shaft and her eyes closed. She sucked him gently, moved her mouth up and down his shaft in short strokes. She used the rhythm to begin clearing her mind. She concentrated on the texture of his skin on her lips. She focused on his taste, the salt from his sweat, the hint of bitterness, the combination of flavors she knew and had grown to crave over the years.

Her breasts stung and throbbed, her nipples almost painfully erect. The back of her neck tingled with the imprints of Symon's teeth. She loved it when he marked her. She relaxed a little more, sinking onto the hard plane of the sturdy wooden coffee table. She let her knees fall open and her arms sank so that her hands rested on the floor, between Symon's knees.

She realized he was mostly still, but had shifted his weight. His cock moved back, sliding partly out of her mouth. She clamped her lips down, not wanting to lose her prize. As she started to open her eyes, she felt him shift again.

Symon assaulted her tits again; they were large, and with the new angle he had different access, and could target her nipples and the tender underside more easily. He beat her breasts like a drunk college kid on the bongos, and she writhed under him. She lifted her hips up and slammed down onto the table. She practically punched the floor with her bound hands. She'd lifted her feet up and was flexing and pointing them, curling her toes and then dropping them on to the floor again.

All the while, she sucked on his cock and mewled against him. The vibrations nearly drove him to distraction. As much as he wanted to ram himself down her throat while he battered her, he thought it was too soon to let go and fuck. He pulled out, then he leaned down to nibble on her tits. He sucked a nipple into his mouth and bit down. He took small, vicious, nips all along the underside, concentrating on the skin that transitioned from breast to ribcage. He couldn't have described the noises she was making. He concentrated on sucking her nipples, long hard pulls on already tender and abused skin.

Michelle moaned and inhaled sharply, and he looked at her abdomen in time to see the first orgasm roll through her. She panted harshly, and he kneeled down, bending to look more closely at her face as she shuddered. He took her head in both his hands and kissed her again, kissed her forehead, her nose, her lips, chin, down her neck and stopped at her sternum.

He stroked lightly over her breasts and stomach while he gazed at her.

"More. More," she whined. "Please."

She floated on that first orgasm, but felt the pleasure fading fast. Her body hungered for the contact, for the sensation. She needed the burn. She needed the ache. She needed the thrum of the vibration deep into her muscles to shake loose all the tension and stress that had been building. She needed pain, and she trusted him to deliver. She kept her eyes open, tilting her face up, cradled still in his hands.

"Please," she whispered.

He shrugged. She saw her favorite evil smile on his face, and felt more tension draining away. She needed this like she needed water. She needed this release, this way to shut down her brain, to shut off her mind, like she needed sleep. She knew he needed this, too. He needed the sensations and the power, and the sounds he drew out of her. He needed those the same way he needed warmth in the wintertime.

Symon worked his way down the side of the coffee table, and caught one of her feet. He looped another ribbon around it, and pushed the foot toward her butt, bending her knee. He loosely tied the foot to her thigh, then used the rest of the ribbon to tie down to the table, holding her leg open. He repeated the same on the other side, then knelt at the end of the coffee table, facing her spread open pussy.

Michelle's head hung down, arms loosely over her head. He stroked the inside of her thighs with both hands and she sighed deeply.

"Did I ever say thank you?" she breathed.

He laughed. "You haven't said many words at all."

She raised her head to look at him. "Thank—"

He slapped her pussy hard with both hands.

She shouted, laughed. "Oooh. Ah. Thanks." Her head dropped back again.

He started slapping quickly but methodically, at the inside of one knee, down the thigh, across her vulva, up the other thigh, and stopping at the other knee. A drummer warming up for an extended solo. Quick hits, one hand and then the other, back again across to the first knee. Back and forth, back and forth, until all the skin was evenly reddened and warm to his touch.

Then a little harder, and moving more slowly. Then he concentrated on her vulva, relishing the squishing noises that were evidence of the first orgasm and how ready she was for more. He might have looked like he was petting her mons, as his hands followed one after the other, striking her square and sliding down. But the sounds were harsh, and percussive; and she was moaning and making short guttural noises with the occasional sharp inhale.

Michelle drifted again. She barely noticed the throbbing on her chest as her husband heated the skin on her inner thighs and pussy with his hands. His strokes were quick, and rapidly gaining in intensity. With each strike, more of her tension broke off and disappeared. She felt warm all over, as though she were wrapped in a thick blanket. She savored the remnants of his taste in her mouth. She tried to listen for his movements, but her ears were full of her own moans and sighs. She'd managed to almost stop thinking.