by Aaron Diaz Hoal
(04/08/09)

"That's one," he said in a nonchalant tone. He might've been mentioning the first raindrop or a highway mile marker.

Sofie felt her stomach drop, a catch in her throat. "For what?"

Teddy reached for his wine glass and finished chewing his salad before sipping and replying, "For not smiling at the waiter."

It felt this way every single time. Exciting, terrifying, racking up points, keeping score...counting spanks. She could complain, of course, that he hadn't told her she had to smile at the waiter, but she knew what that would get her.

They discussed the blinds for his living room again. They couldn't agree. He could force her to agree. She thought about that. What if he took her home, put her on her knees, hurt her, loved her and wouldn't let her climax until she surrendered? But that was out of bounds for their play.

He made a few bad jokes. She topped them. They broke into long laughing moments, felt the melancholy of post-laughter, and settled into their seats. It felt good, this moment, these long gazes. Ridiculously good. Happiness was rare; she would take it into her and savor it like a piece of chocolate melting on her tongue, afraid to move, afraid to disturb the moment.

He reached for the check. "It's my turn, right?"

She nodded. When the waiter took his credit card, she made certain she smiled at him. She caught Teddy grinning, with a sharp glint in his eyes.

They poked around at Home Depot. He was pricing blinds.

"The dark ones are too dark," she offered.

"I like them."

"Are you going to get them?"

He made a grumbling sound. She was just developing a talent for reading his guttural, caveman noises. Men. A billion years of evolution and they still grunted. This particular grunt meant he wasn't ready to spend the money yet.

"Is that a no?" She suppressed a grin. The last thing she needed was him catching her, deciding to interrogate her and punish her for some perceived secret. Well, maybe not the last thing.

He twisted his face, stroked his chin. "I don't have the measurements on me anyway, and I'd probably have to order them."

He was lost in thought, so she decided to browse the aisle. After a moment, she placed her hand on his back. It was a nice back, broad but not too broad. She'd bought him this shirt and he'd worn it. It was a strange kind of thing. Like marking your territory. "I'm going to go look at shelving," she said.

He grunted, nodded.

She meandered through the store, lost in thought. She found herself waking as if from trance, staring at rope, pondering, her fingers enjoying the buffet of sensation laid out before her. This one was soft, but too thick. This one was the right size, would probably make killer knots, but it was too coarse and itchy. She blushed and looked up and down the aisle to see if anyone could possibly know what was running through her horny brain. This one was too big. This one was too soft. This one was just right.

A hand slipped under her hair and wrapped tight around her neck. He jerked her slightly toward him. Her heart lurched, her lips were suddenly dry. She looked up into his eyes, a little startled but a whole lot of turned on.

"That's two," he said.

She swallowed. "What for?" It sounded much less like a question and much more like a complaint. Why did she do this to herself? Whine, complain, act like a pouting "brat" (his words), just so she'd get it when she got home?

"It took me too long to find you." His eyes fell on the rope, then shifted to her with a knowing grin.

"Is that a rule? That I can't be more than ten feet from you?"

His smiled at her with curious affection. "No, of course not. You're free to travel when and where you like."

She blinked repeatedly. "Well, then..."

"And I'm free to punish you as I like."

A gust of hot breath rushed out of her. "Even when I haven't done anything wrong."

He nodded, wrapped his hand around her upper arm, pulling her close, looking down on her, trying to make her feel small. "Especially when you haven't done anything wrong."

She swallowed again and let her eyes fall, curiously aware of the heat fanning her cheeks, curiously aware that she was licking her lips. If she was trying to give him any signal but "fuck me," she was failing.

"How many is that?" he asked, letting go of her, leading her away from the ropes, toward the exit.

He knew, of course. He always kept careful count.

They had a rule. If she thought his count was wrong, she could challenge it, but she had to be able to identify every single earned spank and the conditions surrounding it. It was crazy existing that way. This should be boring: lunch, a trip to the hardware store, clothes shopping. But instead she found herself needing a change of panties every hour on the hour. It didn't help that she only got true satisfaction every now and then. She did get orgasms, but rarely the kind she needed.

"That's another one," he said, jerking her from her thoughts.

"What?"

"Too slow to respond."

She blushed furiously. Walking around horny all day was no easy task. She caught herself eyeing men's asses, their hands, measuring the widths of their shoulders. "Can we go home now?"

It seemed like an innocent question, but it wasn't.

He insisted they put the groceries away. He took his time. She didn't dare ask. She was no fool, and somehow it seemed wrong. She couldn't seem to bring herself to ask for her punishment. It had to be him. He had to offer. It was like stuttering at the punch line of a joke; it ruined it.

He disappeared into the bathroom for much longer than necessary. She tiptoed to the door and thought she heard a newspaper rustling. He was doing it on purpose, drawing it out, making her wait, making her wait, making her wait, wait, wait, until she was ready to scream. She hated that he did that, and couldn't get enough of it.

When he returned, he startled her. He was staring at her. It was one of "those" stares, hungry, predatory, a wolf eyeing a deer. And like a deer in the headlights, she stopped and said, "What?"

His eyes drifted down her body, slipping down her curves. "You've got nice hips."

She smiled, tried hard not to giggle. He had a tendency to gag her when she giggled too much. "Really?"

He nodded, eyes glazed, fixed on her waist. "Turn around." It wasn't exactly an order, but it wasn't a request either.

She turned and showed him her ass, swaying it a little more than necessary.

He settled back into the couch, his legs relaxing, parting. "Do that again."

She peered at him over her shoulder. "What?"

"You know what. Do it again."

She giggled. She couldn't help herself. She swayed her ass to and fro, to and fro, felt a little silly and turned to face him.

"Slip them down."

She'd left her shoes at the door, despite worrying about the cats chewing the laces, but she still had her socks on. She pressed a heel on her the toe of her sock and started to pull it off.

"Stop." His tone was almost angry sounding. "Did I say to take off your socks?"

She had just assumed. Was it really a problem? Did he really want her standing here in just her socks? He probably did, knowing him. "No." A silence stretched out, until she was tempted to turn and look at him again.

"No...what?"

She closed her eyes, the heat in her face almost too much. He was doing it again, making her feel this way, small, naughty, wonderful. "No," she repeated, and added, "Sir."

Patient, almost patronizing, he repeated his instructions. "Put your sock back the way it was, then slip your jeans down. Is that clear?"

"Yes, Sir."

She put her sock back on then unbuttoned her jeans and started to pull them off.

"I said slowly."

He hadn't said slowly, but there was no correcting him. She slipped her jeans down her legs, slowly.

He sighed. "Pull them back up, zip them, button them and do it again, the right way."

She pulled her jeans down slowly. He corrected her. Slower. She pulled them back up, zipped them, buttoned them, then started over. No, bend over more, and a little slower. She started over, bending forward, exposing her ass to him, pulling her jeans down her legs as slowly as she could manage. She made it to her knees. She made it to her ankles. She was waiting for him to stop her again, make her do it over from the beginning, but he didn't. She froze, her jeans around her ankles, uncertain what the next step was, waiting on him, eager to please, listening for her next instruction.

He breathed heavily; she could hear the arousal in him. "Good. Take them off, fold them neatly and place them in the chair."

She did so, finding herself stuck in a weird kind of slow motion. Did he still want it slow? He hadn't said. She felt silly suddenly and tried not to giggle.

He laughed, which gave her permission. They looked at each other with smiles and eye rolls. Sex was so ridiculous, but here it was, here they were. "Okay, okay. Not so slow anymore," he chuckled.

She nodded. "I was wondering."

"Okay," he smiled and licked his lips, his eyes drifting down to her thighs. "Turn around and let me see my target."

She spun and lifted her shirt, sporting panties that made her feel sexy and made him swoon with delight. She couldn't help sticking her ass out a little.

"Good."

She heard the creak and spring of the couch and felt relieved. Finally!

"Into the corner."

Not the corner. She hated the corner. It was boring. "Yes, Sir."

It couldn't have been more than five minutes, but it felt like forever. She felt him behind her, lifting her hair, kissing the back of her neck. She moaned and melted back into him. He bit her on the ear and whispered, "Shirt off, folded neatly and put away, then back in your corner. Understand?"

She sighed, whined a little. "More corner time?"

"Yes."

"Was I really that bad today?"

The breath of his laughter tickled the side of her neck and raised pimples up and down her arms. "No, you weren't. Are you going to be now?"

She closed her eyes and shook her head. He gave her a quick swat on the rear, though not nearly hard enough.

There was always a time in their play when things seemed to start in earnest. They could flirt with power a little, laugh at it, the silly feeling of borrowing a book of matches to go play with fire, but when the first match was struck, the power flared to life for real. This moment came into being as she stood in the corner, topless, hands at her side, hearing him fish around in the other room. By the time he'd returned, she felt it.

"Turn and kneel."

There was no hesitation.

He motioned her forward and she leaned into him. He swept her hair from her shoulders, touched her cheek softly, kissed the top of her head, then caught her right nipple between his finger and thumb. He pulled it, pinched it, and she felt her face tighten. He placed a clothespin carefully on it, heard the tight noise her throat made, not quite a gasp, not quite a moan, and patted her on the head.

"Back in the corner."

She stood and turned, her right nipple burning, though not for long. The pain slipped deeper, fading into a dull throb. She knew what he was doing; they'd discussed it before. He was distracting the thinking center of her brain.

"Turn and kneel."

She did so, and he pinched her left nipple and placed a clothespin on it. Her tense expression was hard to miss.

"Does it hurt?" he asked, knowing the answer.

She nodded.

"But you'll take it?" he asked.

She nodded, licking her lips, her throat suddenly parched. "Yes, Sir."

"You'll take it for me."

She nodded again, feeling that tiny spark of hopelessness she was certain would someday overwhelm her, devour her. Like a mantra, she heard them dancing in her mind, two words: hopelessness, helplessness, hopelessness, helplessness.

"Good girl."

That brought tears to her eyes. Crazy. Here she was hurting and she takes it with nary a grimace, but just two words from him and she's hurtling into space.

"Back in the corner."

Things began to get dreamy.

"Come here."

She turned and saw him in the center of the room. He pointed to a large coffee table. She blinked, felt a hand sweep her hair from her eyes, then tried to catch herself, but it was too late.

"That's one more," he told her.

They had rules, didn't they? She was not to touch her hair or wipe her tears away. She thought he'd made them because it was a way of using her habits against her. He'd once forbidden her from crossing her legs for a day, and her spank count had gone through the roof. But it was a game and she couldn't say she didn't enjoy it, the frustration, the creativity, the deep endless fucking.

Surprisingly, from her lips came the words, "Thank you, Sir." That's when she knew she was in deep.

He positioned her on the coffee table on all fours, swept her hair to her side, and showed her a broad wooden paddle. She eyed it with a whirring mind, nipples pinched, knees on hard wood, her most tender parts exposed.

"You'd rather be over my knee, I suppose," he half-asked.

"Yes, very much."

"But I don't get to see as much of you like that, so I want you here today."

"Yes, Sir."

"I like watching the blows reverberate through every part of you. It's like a pebble causing ripples in a pond, only more so."

She closed her eyes. Don't get poetic on me now. There's a time for poetry, and this isn't it. She felt an empty yearning fire that not even a spanking could quench.

He repositioned her carefully, attentive to detail. Knees apart, just so. Back arched, just so. Chin up, just so. Inviting ass, just so.

He began to hit her with the paddle. It started as stinging, graduated to burning, ended up as a hot mass of fire. She didn't like this. It hurt, but it didn't, but it did. He dipped a hand occasionally between her legs, gauging her reaction, his fingers like children on a Slip-n-Slide, slick and fun and infinitely pleasurable. Her clit was poking out of its hood, enjoying the slip of his fingers across it, spraying warm jets of euphoria into her thirsty brain. She was barely even aware of the clothespins anymore.

She realized suddenly that she was counting. "Fourteen, Sir. Fifteen, Sir." She no longer had to be told to keep score; they'd played enough that she did so automatically.

He rubbed her blazing hot cheek, considered where the moisturizer was in the bathroom, and kissed her hard on the mouth. Her face was wet with tears; her lips wet. It bothered him to no small end that he enjoyed the tears. He shouldn't, but he did, because she'd shed them for him, because of him.

"Halfway there. Ready?" he whispered.

She nodded, her lips parting in a gentle frown. He shook her head lightly by the hair until her eyes opened. He gazed into them.

"Good girl."

Oh, God, she thought, why did you have to call me that?

After it was all done, he soothed her, had her sit on the couch with him, her legs draped over his. He hugged her tight and kissed her and told her how impressed he was, how proud, how well she'd done. So bright. So beautiful. It helped part of her, but the other part wanted him like never before.

Her need made itself evident when she began to squeeze his erection through his pants. He nodded and his expression amused her; he looked as lost as she felt. He needed her as much as she needed him.

He ordered her into the bedroom, onto the bed, placed her on all fours, and she whimpered a little because all she wanted at that moment was to be on her back with his cock inside her. Couldn't he see that? Didn't he feel that? Why did he have to make it so complicated? Not everything was a game! Sometimes people just needed to fuck. But she was stuck, and she knew it.

He'd removed the clothespins after her spanking and her nipples had gratefully recovered, but he brought new ones to her now, ones she hadn't seen before. She eyed them curiously. He placed them on her, one after the other. Her nipples were already sore, tender; the familiar bite was back, worse than before. Only this time, there were small strings dangling from them. He gathered them up and tied them to the bedpost. She studied them, feeling a sense of dread and renewed excitement. What was he up to?

He pulled her back on the bed by the hips, until the strings pulled taut, until she gasped.

"Easy. You've been very good today, and I wanted to reward you. I know you need a nice hard fucking, and I'm going to let you have it. In fact, my cock is here for you, and you get to use it however you like."

But with strings attached, she thought.

"Isn't that wonderful?" he quipped.

"Yes, Sir."

He poked his cock between her thighs, pressed it up into her and they both let out a resounding sigh of relief.

If I'm smart, she thought, I can use this.

He caught his breath and moaned. "Okay, it's all yours. Go to town, Sweetheart."

And that was exactly what she did. She thrust herself onto his cock, moaned loudly, then thrust again, giving herself a deep impaling that made her eyes roll and her brain wobble with pleasure. He was right; it did feel good, almost too good. She began to fuck him, too wet at first, but slowly gaining friction, slowly driving them both wild. Once or twice, he grabbed her by the hips and forcefully pumped himself into her, which sent her reeling, but then he caught his breath and made her do all the work again.

I almost had you, she thought. For a second there, you were mine.

Now it was almost a matter of pride. She would make sure he couldn't resist her. She would drive him past the point of no return and have him fucking her like she wanted. She drove him deep inside herself and wriggled a little, hoping he was watching her ass, hoping it would be enough.

His hands fell on her hips and she held her breath. Was he about to break?

He retreated.

She tried to follow him, to drive him deep into her again, force him over the edge into a manic, frantic need, but the strings pulled her nipples painfully and she let out a tiny squeal. She froze, waiting for the pain to wash through her and fade so she could get back to business, but his cock was enticing rather than fulfilling, just a hair too far away. She reached for it with everything that felt good in her, but the strings held her back.

She was trapped and she knew it. She was free to fuck him as deep and as long as she wanted, but the strings pulling on her nipples would keep her from achieving any real satisfaction. It didn't take long before she heard her voice, begging. She was surprised by how desperate she sounded.

He chuckled, moaned, gave her a little more cock and watched her squirm feverishly for him.

The more she fucked him, the more she needed it, the more he pulled away. All the while the clothespins pulled painfully on her nipples, restricting her and keeping her firmly in control.

"That's one," he said, "for trying to make me lose control."

She would add it to tomorrow's total.

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