Submissive Desires (3 page)

She also knew, from painful experience, that she had better reiterate exactly what she’d said, as close to verbatim as possible, and not try to edit it in any way to make it sound better so that he’d be more lenient with her. That experiment had only happened once, and had gotten her five days of incredibly hard bedtime spankings and a moratorium on sexual pleasure – not that that stopped him from taking his own within her body. “I said that Marcie had a body that any man would die for, unlike lumpy, ugly old me.”

His facial expression didn’t soften one bit, not that she’d expected it to. “And what have I told you about not putting yourself down?”

Maura couldn’t help but look down at her feet. Everything about him – his posture, his words, his voice . . . and not least of which memories of being in almost exactly this spot for one reason or another over the past years – made her assume a submissive stance. Simon was so dominant that he could easily overwhelm most men. Maura never felt beaten down by him at all, and she had never been afraid to voice her opinion about anything. Simon had always listened to her and taken her opinion into consideration when making whatever decision needed to be made.

But their relationship had evolved, over time, to be what an outsider might well see as extremely restrictive to her, and of her . . . with her complete consent.

Physical discipline – more specifically corporal punishment – wasn’t the only method Simon used to convey his displeasure to his woman, but it was by far the most prevalent. And Maura’s butt knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt by now, exactly what was coming. So much so that her bottom had already started to clench rhythmically, as if her paddle – the one with her name emblazoned on it that she was required to keep hanging near her side of the bed at all times – was already landing time after time on those poor, rounded cheeks.

Sneaking a peek up at him, then down again, she answered in a soft voice, “Not to.”

15

Simon almost – but not quite – cracked a smile, not that she would have seen. She was busy studying his boots and her bare toes. Stubborn wench. Naked, stubborn wench, he revised, unable to keep himself from reaching up to touch what he owned in totality, hefting a beautiful breast and tweaking the nipple gently.

He crossed the few steps that separated them, pulling her into his arms, his big hands sliding around her waist to settle at the small of her back possessively as her soft body rested comfortably against him. They fit together as if they’d been created that way; Simon never failed to marvel at how well they meshed – in all sorts of facets of their lives. In all this time, he had never once been bored with her, or so much as looked at another woman. The men he traveled with regularly during the course of his missions had started to tease him about Maura almost immediately, but he sloughed it off. He knew a damned good thing when he had it in his hands – beneath him at night, and crying out as his belt connected with her bottom or breasts for the hundredth time in a session.

He would not give that up without a fight. Although he had never admitted it to himself, much less to her, she was the most precious thing in his world. He would gladly give up all of the trappings of wealth he had accumulated by routinely risking his life for his country, but if it came down to a choice between Maura and money or houses or anything else, he would chuck it all in a second to be with her.

As a matter of fact, Simon had been seriously considering that he might want to retire. He’d not mentioned anything of it to Maura, of course. She had never said anything about his fairly frequent overseas trips, but he knew she worried. Usually when he came back, she looked haggard and worn and thinner, and would often confess in his arms in the afterglow of a rough, hard loving that she hadn’t slept much since he’d gone, and, he guessed, had eaten even less out of concern for him.

It worried him when she didn’t eat, and he hated that she looked so bedraggled when he came home, knowing he was the cause. She wasn’t truly thin by any means, though, his Maura, Simon thought as he brushed his hand down the flowing curtain of her hair, but he’d always preferred women with some flesh on their bones, and he absolutely hated it when she insulted herself by intimating - even in an offhand manner - that she wasn’t attractive. Hell, he walked around with a perpetual hard-on. How could she possibly question her attractiveness?

His lips nuzzled the corner of hers gently as his hands reached between them to cup her beautiful breasts. “You know how I feel about you making derogatory remarks about yourself, Maura.”

Maura shuddered. How she reacted to this man should be a crime. He always held both her heart and her privates in his hands whenever he touched any part of her at all, even in the most casual of caresses while they were waiting the line at the grocery store – his hand tucked into the patch pocket over the curve of her butt, or his finger looped over the edge of her waistband in the back . . . just there, subtly reinforcing their intimate connection. “Yes, Sir.”

“So when you say something like that, you know you’re gonna get a spanking. You must want it.”

Alarmed, she answered quickly, “No! I don’t want a spanking!” It didn’t make any difference how she said it, she ended up sounding like a five year old trying to whine her way out of her punishment. But it was true – no one in her right mind would consciously volunteer to take one of Simon’s discipline sessions – they were atrociously painful from beginning to end, even for the smallest of infractions.

Maura tried to pull away, but Simon wasn’t having any of it. He kept her tight against him without much effort. Simon was so strong it was scary most of the time. She knew, though, that he would only ever use that strength to protect her – spankings not withstanding.

He turned them so that he could lean back against the counter in front of the sink, his arms still around her waist, his nose nuzzling hers. “Hmmm. I think you protest much too much, my girl. You know you need to be kept in line as much as I need to keep you in line, and that’s why you have such a wonderful rounded bottom that fits my hand so perfectly as I spank it.”

Maura’s lips twisted beneath his at his words as she reached behind her to rub the part in question, remembering some of her more memorable experiences over his lap, or the couch, or the arm of his recliner . . or . . . or . . . or. “Yeah, but – “

16

“Yeah, your butt. Draped over my knee. Right now,” he said, moving to prop his booted foot on the railing that surrounded the snack bar. He patted his muscular thigh and gave her that horrible, expectant look from under his brow.

Her teeth automatically began to worry her lower lip as she gazed at the denim-covered place of her demise. He wouldn’t wait long before coming to get her, she knew, and she could never tell whether she’d get another command or if he’d just get up and collect her, which inherently meant that whatever punishment she was going to have gotten had just been doubled, at least.

Deciding not to take her chances, she meandered slowly – very slowly – over to him. Simon struggled to hide a grin. A naughty Maura – one who knew she’d done wrong – was almost irresistible in her transparent innocence. He knew she was still hoping against hope that he’d relent – and, secretly, deeply, where she probably couldn’t even admit it to herself - hoping even harder that he wouldn’t. He knew she didn’t really want him to let her get away with anything, and that’s why he didn’t. Punishments were almost always swift and sure, and always left her wishing she’d thought better of disobeying him in the first place. Simon adored marking her bottom with pretty much anything he could get his hands on –

including his own palm. She was so fair skinned that nine times out of ten when he was finished with her butt it was an atrocious sight to behold – so sore it hurt just to look at. If he used an implement – like the paddle, she bruised and blazed. The cane, however, was his first and favorite toy – it formed wonderful, palpable ridges that he always fondled later. She often wore his marks for days at a time, but he never hesitated to create new sets, regardless of what her bottom looked like already. If she needed a correction, she got it – often on the spot. No questions asked.

With an obvious reluctance that he never failed to find endearing, she put herself over his knee, and Simon adjusted her into the position she was quite familiar with – both her hands and her feet well off the floor, balanced over his leg - completely and utterly helpless, her bottom hiked well up into the air to present a better target for him, and quite deliberately increasing her already prominent feelings of vulnerability.

Frankly, there was rarely a time when she didn’t feel extremely, deliciously vulnerable to him. It was part of her attraction to him – that he could, would, and had, on occasion, used his superior strength to completely overwhelm her and take her to places she would have sworn she would never have been able to go. He just seemed to naturally know when totally overwhelming her objections – which was nine times out of ten, anyway – was just the right thing for her, just what she needed, even if she couldn’t quite arrive at that conclusion herself at the time.

His hand rested on her bottom cheeks, where it had been so many times before, but it never failed to make her tingle with that awful dreaded anticipation. Honestly, she wasn’t sure which was worse –

being grabbed and spanked in an impromptu manner, which had happened with alarming regularity especially when she was just settling in to living with him and learning exactly what he expected of her in regards to her behavior, or being told on a Monday that she was going to have an “appointment” with him that Wednesday night, and having to spend two days with her stomach in knots while visions of past such dates and the screams they’d elicited danced in her mind.

The spanking began with no preliminary. Simon didn’t much believe in warm-ups – he believed in making each swat count to the fullest. As a result, she was already horribly uncomfortable by only the forth or fifth smack, and Maura knew that this was only the beginning. The very beginning.

He almost always lectured as he punished – except when she’d made him so mad that he literally couldn’t . . . like when she’d gone over to a friend’s house and hadn’t told him she was going or left him a note of some sort, and he’d had no idea if she was dead or alive when he got back from running errands.

The tone of his voice when she’d taken the phone from her friend had sent shivers up her spine. Or when she’d let an upper respiratory infection become walking pneumonia. Simon’d been completely solicitous of her throughout her entire recovery, and had been scrupulously sure that she was completely healthy before he’d taken his unhappiness out on her helpless butt in an eerie, unsettling silence that just made her groans 17

and moans sound that much more mournful over the sharp crack of his palm – and then the paddle and then the cane - against her rapidly overheated flesh.

“I am going to break you of this habit of running yourself down if I have to spank you every night for the next year, do you understand me?”

“Yeeeeessss!” she answered on a yell, knowing his questions were not always rhetorical even in the middle of a punishment and not wanting to earn extra for not answering him.

His hand decorating her white skin with rapidly reddening palm prints, Simon asked in a calm, controlled voice that served as a humiliating counterpoint to her frantic cries and yelps, “And is that what you need me to do for you so that you’ll remember your rule about that?”

“N- nooooooooosiiiiiiiiirrrrrrr!” Oh, God, just the thought of that – and knowing full well that, if he said he would spank her every night for a year, then that was exactly what he would do, completely without regard to any other disciplinary actions she’d endured during the day.

Once, and only once, he had decreed that she would be put to bed early – seven o’clock, which nearly killed her – for two weeks – with a profoundly sore bottom. It was the hardest two weeks she’d ever experienced in her life, and her bottom had been so swollen and tender she wasn’t sure she was going to be able to live through it, but he had never flinched from doing exactly what he’d told her he would do, nor had he balked at putting another layer of bruises down when she misbehaved during the week.

Come to think of it, she’d even gotten her regular, once-weekly session during those weeks. She was almost never allowed to accept a Sunday night invitation to go out anywhere with anyone. Simon could be very understanding about some things, but extremely rigid about others – this was one of the things that he was very staunch about. She was in bed by eight every Sunday night, always on her tummy because her butt had been blistered so thoroughly. Maura thought that in the past five years, he might have made an exception to that rule only about twice – barring sickness or injury, of course – and both of those times were only because the person she wanted to see was from out of town and Maura rarely got to see them. Even then, he’d really not cancelled it. She’d gotten her regular weekly paddling, but on Saturday night instead, so that when she did go out to dinner with her friend, she was sitting, dressed to the nines in a very fancy restaurant, on an extremely tender, black and blue butt.

Maura was wiggling for all she was worth, but Simon could hold her fast without even thinking about it, so her struggles were completely futile and mostly for her own benefit – it was darned near impossible to take one of his spankings without desperately trying to avoid the stinging slaps he delivered with clockwork precision.

“Well, it’s not like you haven’t been disciplined for this before, is it, now, Maura Elizabeth Boardman?”

Her bottom was going to explode . . . or fall right off, she was sure. At least then the ordeal would be over. But no. It stayed right where it was and just got sorer and sorer with each painful descent of his hand. “I’mmmmmm sooooorrrrryyyyyy!” she wailed, knowing she’d said exactly that before in just that manner over just this misbehavior. And Simon never forgot that kind of thing. If she had to be corrected more than once for breaking the same rule, then he usually upped the punishment quite considerably as a deterrent to breaking it again . . . and that method had worked quite well.