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  Seconds later it was plucked from her hand, and the remaining ads and coupons that had been on her lap were confiscated and put who knew where, so that he could make his way over to her, giving a firm tug on her ankles so that she was unceremoniously hauled down to lying flat on her back before him, naked, as she always was with him.

  Miranda was already anticipating getting spanked, and couldn't keep herself from mewling, "No, Mace, I don't want to!"

  But he didn't turn her over onto her tummy as she had thought he would. Instead he crawled up between her legs, so that his mouth was directly over her mons. "You don't want to what, woman?" he growled, leaning his chin down to rasp the delicate flesh he found there with his stubble.

  Randa wailed at the horrible prickly sensations. "Stop, stop, stop!"

  "Not until you tell me what it is that you don't want to do, that's going to probably get you a sore behind before this afternoon is out?" His deep voice rumbled against her delicate parts as he continued to abrade her cringing flesh.

  "No! I won't tell you!" she screamed defiantly. All that got her was a look that told her that he was accepting that challenge – and that she was going to regret having been so insolent. And he was right.

  Her legs were pried as far apart as they would go without hurting her and, so that he didn't have to worry about them, secured with straps that lived on all of the legs of his big bed, so that he could bind her wherever she ended up on it, if he wanted to. Despite how much of a Dom he was, he didn't much like restraints because he preferred that she should have to actively submit herself to him – not to be able to rely on the crutch of restraints, on having the choice taken away from her, whether it was to the ecstasy of him between her legs or the agony of his belt lashing across her bottom.

  But in certain cases, it was like having another pair of hands and he thought he could use that right now, even going so far as to tie her wrists to the corners of the bed, so that she was entirely helpless. Using his middle and index fingers like a V, he spread her lips forcibly open, then slowly but surely threatened that tiny nub with the stubble on his chin, catching her eye as he did so, very slowly lowering it towards the defenseless bundle of highly sensitive nerves.

  But Miranda couldn't bring herself to give in – she just couldn't, and as a result, his short, prickly growth was dragged ruthlessly over that vulnerable bit, and she couldn't contain her scream. It hurt and almost itched unbearably. But it also made her want to do nothing more than to reach down and soothe it with her fingers – not sexually, just to rub away the raging discomfort as he dragged his chin up and down mercilessly over her, not just at her clit, but everywhere in that tender area until she was begging him to stop and promising she'd do anything.

  She'd never surrendered to him so quickly. He wondered if he'd hit on something. "So tomorrow you're going to order whatever you need, aren't you, Randa?"

  He heard her whimper of protest, saw her head rolling back and forth wildly between the frame of her arms, before she finally said more docilely than he'd ever heard her, "Yes, Sir."

  "And from now on, whenever you need something you're going to order it right then – no matter what the cost, aren't you? Because if I wanted you to have a limit at that store, I would have told you what it was and I would have been monitoring the account to make sure you didn't need to be punished for going over your limit. But you have the opposite problem, don't you? You don't like to spend my money, so you took it upon yourself to limit yourself, which is just as naughty a behavior as if you overspent because I am the only person who can set limits for you, Miranda. That is not something you are allowed to do for yourself."

  "Yes, Sir!" she said quickly, hoping against hope that it would save her some of the serious trouble she knew she was in.

  But things didn't happen like that between herself and Mace. "I think a punishment is in order, don't you?"

  It was a rhetorical question, but he often wanted to hear her answer those. "No."

  That got him chuckling as he reached into his nightstand drawer, and Miranda held her breath. Not very many good things – as far as she was concerned – came out of that drawer, and she was doubtful she was going to change her opinion about that this time, either.

  And she was horribly, awfully right.

  What he'd retrieved from there was a very small flogger that had surprisingly soft leather tendrils. He'd never used one before, so this was going to be an interesting experiment for the both of them. He didn't let her see it, not wanting her to anticipate anything. The first time he brought it down – in what was a very gentle manner for him, considering how powerful his swats usually were – he watched avidly as she surged up against the bonds he'd put in place then hurriedly backed down, as if she was trying to create more contact and trying to get away from it at the same time.

  He liked that dichotomy.

  When she'd settled back down, Mace pressed a finger up inside her, curling it against her g-spot but not staying there, simply wetting his finger to bring it back up to the clit that he had just punished, languorously rubbing that slickened digit up over that tiny bundle, amazed to hear her nearly scream and again rise up to pull against her constraints from just that relatively casual contact.

  He had been going to pleasure her more, but he wondered if that might be too much too soon. He did so much enjoy dragging out her pleasure. So instead he leaned back a bit and brought the small flogger down again, this time a bit harder.

  Her scream was much more one of discomfort this time. He again waited for her to settle down, before inserting two fingers into her, to thoroughly wet them and then bring them up to rub her clit, twice this time, all the way up, and all the way back down.

  Miranda reacted the way she did when he had had his mouth on her for a while, as if she wasn't very far from orgasming at all, he was delighted to realize.

  He had a hunch and came up to lie by her ear, breathing into it, "If you can cum at any time, baby, I want you to. You are not to hold back from me in any way, do you understand me?"

  She nodded, whispering, "Yes, Sir."

  He had a thought and added, "Even if it's the flogger that makes you cum, you have to do it. I must know."

  "Y-yes, Sir."

  He knew he was supposed to be punishing her, and he intended that the kiss of the flogger was going to be exactly that to her. Although, he found himself uncontrollably intrigued by the fact that it seemed to make her just that much more sensitive to stimulation, too, so he allowed that she should orgasm if she felt the urge. In the name of scientific exploration, he thought with a grin.

  Mace positioned himself carefully again, this time with his mouth at the ready. His hand sliced the flogger down quite firmly against her helpless clit and she screamed so loudly that he could hear that her voice had broken because of it.

  After a few long minutes, during which tears were streaming down her face and she was crying inconsolably, he leaned forward onto his elbows and did two things at the exact same time – he pressed two thick fingers up inside her rather roughly, and his mouth covered her clit, the broad, firm tip of his tongue stroking up one side of her and down the other, then swirling itself around on the very tip of her as those active fingers began to fuck her with all the power of his strong right arm.

  Seconds later, he heard what he knew was supposed to be an ecstatic cry as she convulsed against the restraints, throwing herself against them, trying to raise her hips up to meet his tongue and fingers as the ultimate pleasure washed every bit of sense away from her and left her shaking and convulsing in its aftermath.

  Parts of him wanted him to remove the ties that bound her, that spread beneath him, but the rest of him wanted him to take her, to fuck her hard and fast and to bring her to another screaming – or rather trying to scream – orgasm. Which he did, riding her relentlessly, scraping his stubble across those tight tipped nipples and adoring the sounds of distress she was making because of it as he slammed himself into her, not even beginning t
o think of stopping until after he felt her contracting helplessly around him, and then giving himself permission to use her, to take her as powerfully as he wanted to, to dedicate himself to nothing more than finding his own bellowing release within her.

  ***

  The longer they were together, the stricter he got with her, and she seemed to blossom under the very short rein he kept on her, which seemed counter intuitive, but it worked for them. She still fought him regularly, and he didn't hesitate to put that impulse down ruthlessly every time it reared its head, which lessened as she began to feel more and more secure with him.

  In her own mind, she'd – finally – come to the conclusion that he was not Zach, and never would be, that he was a much better man than Zach could ever hope to be. The care with which he treated her – most importantly when he was punishing her – was humbling to think about.

  One night, close to his birthday, they were lying in each other's arms, him spooning her as he always did, her freshly roasted bottom pressed up against his perpetual hard on, talking about everything and nothing in particular. She took hold of his hand and spoke about something she knew that he'd wondered about but had never asked, figuring it was really none of his business, although he'd known that, at times – when she'd reacted to him out of fear – that there was a third person in the bed with them that he'd never been introduced to. "I had a relationship like this – sort of – before, you know."

  He went stiff and his ears pricked up at her quiet confession, but other than that he tried to play it casually. "You did?"

  "Yes. And when I say it was like this, I'm using the terms very, very loosely."

  "Oh." A zillion questions flashed through his mind, but he held them in check, not wanting to bowl her over with questions, amazed and proud that she had gotten to the point where she felt safe enough with him to talk to him about this.

  "Yeah. He fancied himself a Dom, and I was... you know, craving to be submissive to someone."

  It was horrible to hear her say that, to know that the desires he celebrated in her had made her vulnerable enough that she'd gotten involved with a man who hadn't treated her the way she deserved to be treated.

  "He, he wasn't like you at all," she murmured, eyes down.

  "How do you mean?" They didn't talk much about their relationship. She wasn't the type to like to indulge in that, unlike most women he'd encountered. And she never, ever spoke to him about him, unless he was trying to prod an answer out of her about some new technique he'd used on her or something like that.

  Randa shrugged. "I mean, well, he wasn't... respectful of me, like you are. You discipline me and make me cry – a lot – but I've always known that you respect me. You don't treat me like I'm an easy lay because of what I want—"

  He smiled and teased, "Because you're not!"

  She smiled, too, and he was glad she was able to let go of the pain that idiot had caused her enough to do so. He knew that – even just a few months ago, she wouldn't have been able to do that.

  And finally she said the loaded words out loud to him. "You don't mistreat me. Ever."

  He wanted to scream. He wanted to cry. He wanted to strangle the idiot that hurt her with his bare hands. Instead, he bit his lip and cuddled her closer to him, consciously choosing to ignore his anger and comfort her. "I'm so sorry you had to go through that, Miranda."

  She shrugged, as if it was nothing, when he knew it had been everything to her for a very long time. It had colored her world, casting a pall over everyone and everything. He found it quite amazing that she had ever come to trust him enough to let him love her the way he did.

  "What me to kill him?" he asked, only half kidding, really.

  She reached a hand back and cupped his face lovingly. "Nah. Don't waste your time or energy on him. He's not worth it in any way."

  He let her feel him nod in agreement, although big parts of him really wanted to tear the man limb from limb. "Whatever you say. But I want you to know that if you wanted something to happen to him, I could arrange that, and frankly, I'd do it myself to avenge your honor."

  She was having to blink back tears at his loving, kind, sociopathic words. "Please may I turn around? I want to hug you."

  He loosened his arms just enough for her to do that, squeezing them in around her as soon as she found her usual comfortable spot, head tucked under his chin and arms as far around him as they would go.

  Her top leg was over his thigh, well up, near his hip, and he couldn't resist the urge to connect them very slowly and gently as he bent down and tipped her face up to his for a kiss, unmistakably tasting the tears that she'd shed while talking about that still uncomfortable subject.

  "I'm sorry, darlin'. I'm sorry he ever made you cry. But know without a doubt that, if you but said the word, I'd take him apart piece by piece for you, in the most painful way possible."

  She smiled, teasing, "You'd better stop saying things like that, Mace Kennedy, or I'm going to think you're a menace to society."

  "Not society at large, but one particular member of it."

  Miranda drew a deep breath. "Well, it wasn't a pleasant experience, but I can't complain, because what happened in my past brought me to you."

  He kissed her then, with every bit of love there was for her in his heart shining through.

  "I'm only sorry that he-he made me afraid of you at first. He was a very big guy, like you are, but you make me feel protected by your strength, as if you were my knight or something and I was your lady fair. Zach—" She hadn't meant to mention him by name but it slipped out. "Zach was uber jealous and he kept other men away from me – and me away from other men – but his motivation was possessiveness. You're very possessive of me, but it doesn't make me feel bad – it makes me feel like I'm something precious to you."

  "As you are. The most precious." He kissed her forehead in a chaste manner he didn't feel. He'd stopped moving, but they were still connected by his rampant hard on, even though she was talking to him about another man.

  He was truly a sick individual. He shouldn't have any desire for anything other than revenge against the man who hurt her along with the urge to comfort her – both of which he definitely was experiencing – yet he couldn't turn his rampant attraction to her off. He never could with her.

  She was still talking, and he concentrated on her words. This was more than she'd said to him about her life and her feelings since he'd known her, and he didn’t want to miss a word.

  "You're not jealous of or resentful of my friends at all, but you're very stern with me, and I'm more restricted with you than I ever have been in my life. And yet, I feel freer and happier with you than I ever have, too."

  He sighed, glad – and very relieved – to hear that she was happy with him and their unusual lifestyle, because he was too, excruciatingly so.

  All of a sudden, she seemed to vibrate with excitement. "May I show you your birthday present now?"

  He hugged her. "Now? In the middle of the night? It's not even my birthday!"

  "I know, but I can't wait to give you your present," Miranda pouted prettily. "Please, Sir?"

  She so rarely asked him for anything that he found it impossible to deny her. "All right, baby."

  He didn't expect it would involve getting out of bed, but it did. She escaped from his arms and stood next to the bed, tugging at him enthusiastically but futilely until he joined her. She led him to the living room, then made him close his eyes.

  "NO PEEKING!"

  "Yes, ma'am," he said, docilely allowing her to lead him into his study, which had been off limits to him for a couple of days now while she did whatever it was that she needed to do towards his birthday present.

  She brought him to about the middle of the room, then turned him to his right and left him for a moment. He heard a switch flip on, then she returned to say, "Okay, open your eyes."

  As he did so, he saw the greatest present he'd ever received staring back at him – it was the Reclining Randa, in all her gl
ory, with soft lights trained on her and in a beautiful gilt frame that made her skin glow. "Happy birthday, Mace," she said softly, popping up on tiptoes to press a kiss to his cheek, not sure from his reaction just how he felt about his gift.

  Then he turned and pulled her into his arms, knocking her feet out from under her in a practiced movement and laying her gently on the floor to cover her and press his impressive self inside her. "Thank you," he said reverently. 'She's beautiful, but I'll take the real thing every time."

  The End.

  Carolyn Faulkner

  The words "spanking" and "discipline" have always sent a shiver up Carolyn Faulkner's spine.

  She knows she's not alone.

  Writing started as a way to explore her feelings. Soon short stories flowed from her pen featuring reluctant heroes taking the leading lady in hand, but always for her own good.

  Today Carolyn is the author of dozens of books. She writes from her home in Maine, where she lives with her husband and leading man.

  You can read an interview with Carolyn here:

  http://www.blushingbooks.com/blog/?p=175

  You may check out her website while it’s under construction here:

  http://www.carolynfaulkner.com

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