"Nilla only, Verrie. Don't try to make me into something I'm not anymore."
She didn't say anything, just stared at him unsubmissively with those clear eyes that saw entirely too much. He sat on his bed, still feeling the alienness of the bed with no posts. For lack of anything to do, he fiddled with his shoes, pulling them off. She dropped to her knees and took over. He thought about fighting her over it, but it was just easier to let her have her way. He was tired of fighting. Nilla people did this kind of thing all the time anyway. It didn't mean anything.
He stood up in his bare feet, automatically waiting for her to finish. She lifted her hands and removed his belt, then his pants. Rising smoothly, she pulled his shirt off until he was as naked as she. With her head bowed, she waited. He felt a flash of arousal followed just as quickly by a flash of irritation. She had to understand, he just couldn't be a Dom anymore. "Verrie, I can't--"
"I believe in you, Master." There was no hesitation, no dip in her tone, just firm conviction. "I trust you, Master."
She took the thin leather belt he'd been wearing and pressed it to his palm. Her delicate fingers closed his around it, then squeezed him. The leather felt good in his hands, almost as good as her touch. She met his eyes again, unsubmissive in her unflinching stare. "I trust you, Master. Do you trust me?"
Verrie held his eyes with hers, unwavering in her intent. Of course he trusted her, he wanted to say, but the words didn't come. She could hurt him. Drag his name through the media's muck, have him thrown in jail for aggravated assault. This time it would stick. He'd already lost everything to a sub once. His family had disowned him, he'd lost his job, and he could use his name if he wanted to conduct such simple business as buying gas or picking up dry cleaning. His landlord was evicting him and his shrink was convinced that he was full of misogynistic rage.
But this was Verrie. The only thing she wanted from him was himself. She'd even offered to pay for the drafting of a prenuptial agreement rather than run screaming to the police when he required it. Verrie, the gentle sub so terrified of her own sexuality that she apologized for her frigidity every time he'd touched her in the beginning. This was the woman who'd left him because he wouldn't let himself love her as much as she loved him.
"I'm afraid." He didn't know where that came from. He wouldn't admit terror to himself let alone anyone else. Ever. He wanted to snatch the words back. Verrie just nodded, understanding and saying nothing. There was no judgement in her eyes, just a quiet waiting. "I want to trust you." He fingered the leather belt. "Will you let me try?"
She smiled, transforming her from a serious mouse into a ray of sunshine. "Yes, Master! Yes!"
He didn't have anything ready to tie her up with or tie her to, now that the headboard was gone. His ties, he wasn't using them anyway, his job was gone. "In the closet, get all of my ties and belts that you can find and bring them here."
Her eyes immediately dropped to their feet, but he knew that she was pleased with him. He looked under the bed while she fetched the makeshift rope. It was crude and almost disgusted him to tie her up with such things, but the elegant leather and cuffs he'd used on her before were gone. It was possible to tie her to the legs that supported the bed frame, if there were enough ties. If not, he could just tie her hands.
"Take the blankets off." He took the ties and started knotting them. Once the bed was stripped, he tied her to it. He tied her legs so they couldn't move, spread eagled and secured to the bed. He tied her wrists together and instructed her to keep them over her head. He could probably have used the feet at the head of the bed, but that was too much trouble.
Max took a moment to savor the sight of a beautiful woman tied to his bed. There was nothing quite like it, particularly since it was Verrie. She was absolutely stunning when she was bound, even as tamely as a few ties. He wished he had the clips, clamps, gags, and various whips to bring her all the sensation she should have. Instead, he used his fingers to caress her smooth skin, then to pinch her nipples. She moaned and he couldn't resist it. He sprawled over her, taking her mouth with all of the longing of a five year separation. His fingers delved in between her legs and found her drenched. No other woman had ever been so ready for him and whatever he wanted to do. He played with her, bringing her close to orgasm a few times, then denying her the pleasure. He loved listening to her beg so sweetly for her orgasm and then pout when it was taken from her.
He spread the juices from her pussy onto her nipples, watching in satisfaction as they suddenly pinched and stood at attention. He rewarded their good behavior with a pinch that made her gasp. He wanted to fuck her, but not until they were both ready for it. The thin leather belt he'd been wearing sat waiting on his night table. He reached for it, then paused. Aggravated sexual assault was a charge that ruined a man's life.
"Please, Master, I need it just as much as you do." Her voice wound around his heart, but his hand shook. The judge would react violently, the jury even worse. "I trust you. Please, Max, try to trust me."
He slid out of bed and looked at her. She was perfect; her hair tousled on the sheets around her, her nipples wet and standing proudly, her pussy still leaking. He took the belt from the table and shook it out, getting used to the feel of it. "Call me Master, Verrie. You know that."
"Yes, Master."
He slapped one of her nipples with the tongue of the belt. She jerked, swallowing a whimper. Her breast reddened, begging for another. He slapped the other nipple. She whined in her throat, but her legs jerked trying to close. He gave each nipple five rapid smacks. She was panting by the end, her hips lifting to meet some unseen lover. "You have such beautiful breasts, Verrie."
"Thank you, Master."
Her thighs took his attention next. She jerked and danced against her bindings, doing her best to keep her cries muted. Her thighs turned a bright red from the stinging slaps of the leather belt. Even better, her pussy was gleaming with wetness. He could smell it as plainly as he could see it. "Can you smell your pussy, Verrie?"
"No, Master." Her voice was unsteady.
He rubbed the leather against her drenched lips, then dipped it inside. He fingered her clit and slowly fucked the tip of the belt into her cunt. She couldn't hold back the sexy little sounds she made, or stop herself from thrusting up against him. He brought her closer to orgasm, fascinated with the flush on her thighs and the temporary welts on her breasts. Her cries deepened, her hips lifting and staying up for long periods. She was close, very close. He pulled the belt out and slapped her pussy with his hand. It sucked at him wetly. He wanted to stick his cock in there and fuck himself into a stupor. He slapped her pussy again. She jerked, almost cumming, but not quite reaching it. He slapped her with the belt. It thwacked against her belly and curled around to excite her clit and her lips. She arched as if electrified, almost screaming. One more smack over her pussy with the belt and she was cumming, dripping along the leather and howling with it.
He loved seeing her that way, taut and straining with the force of her orgasm. She came so beautifully, so easily. He jerked the belt out of the way and pressed his tongue in its place. He knew he could prolong her orgasm indefinitely that way. The intense sensation of the leather stinging her pussy always left the flesh, particularly her clit, hypersensitive. It was so alive that she could barely stand for him to touch it, even with his tongue. He found that a tiny circle with the very tip of his tongue would send her into another howling orgasm. A few moments later his fingers would slide inside of her and she would explode again. He could make her cum for as long as he wanted to.
She'd told him once that she could cum without the sting of leather, but it was so much work that it almost wasn't worth it. Once he'd introduced her to submission, she'd discovered her multi-orgasmic ability. The pain heightened it so much that she couldn't stop cumming until he let her.
Now it was his turn. He stood up and dropped the wet end of the belt onto her lips. "Can you smell your cunt now?"
"Oh yes, Master." Her tongue slid out and licked the soaked leather. He took it from her.
"I trust you, Verrie."
She smiled. "Thank you, Master."
Thoughts of jail and the unforgiving stares of the jury were shoved completely out of the way. Instead he took a few practice swings with the belt. He knew the cat well enough that he could slap a fly without hurting it or break skin with it. He didn't know the belt. He didn't want to damage her. "Keep silent, Verrie."
"Yes, Master." She took a deep breath in anticipation, her eyes shining.
The belt sang through the air and slapped over the top of both thighs. Her entire body jerked and a grunt worked past her throat. He forgave such sounds, it was the screaming that he wouldn't tolerate. He whipped her again, laying it right next to the previous lash. He placed five lashes precisely on her thighs, three on her belly, and two on her breasts. The welts that rose on her thighs were temporary ones, they would be gone by morning. There were no welts on her torso. He was a little disappointed and he knew she would be when she admired them in the mirror, but he didn't want to break her skin.
"How bad have you been, Verrie?"
"Very bad, Master."
She peeked up through her eyelashes at him, a half smile bursting through the tears. He knew exactly what she wanted. He untied her legs and left hands. "On your hands and knees, Verrie."
She rolled over, spreading her legs to give him easy access to her pussy. "Yes, Master."
"I'm not going to bind you, Verrie. I trust you to stay still and not make a sound while you get your punishment. Can you do that?"
She swallowed hard enough for him to hear it. "Yes, Master."
He smiled and walked around the bed. The nice thing about the lack of posts was the ease of flogging her ass. He waited until her back had relaxed just a bit then sent the first stinging slap to bite deep into the upper curve of her ass, just the way she liked it. She jumped, but swallowed the surprised cry. He took a few more rapid-fire lashes to the same area. She was dancing on the end of the belt, but she didn't make a sound.
So far he'd only gotten her ass and a little of one hip where the belt had curled around. He took a few quick whacks to the back of her thighs, concentrating on the area just below her pussy. He paused to stick a finger in it. She was drenched and tight. He sucked the juice off of his finger and slapped at her thighs again. Then at the top of her ass. Then the tops of her thighs. The very next one took her solidly across her pussy. She nearly leaped forward, grunting with the sting over her vulnerable and wet lips. He stopped and looked at it. The red welt was already rising on either side of her pussy. The labia was bloated and red. Her cunt dripped, a long trail of cum sliding from the top of her slit to his bed. He smiled again. Verrie was perfect for him.
He slapped her pussy with the belt three times in rapid succession. He used very light strokes, more of an irritating sting than a good solid lash. She wiggled, but her cunt dripped more. He took aim and put some power into it, lashing her pussy with a little bit more than he thought she could take. She jerked, her face pressed into the mattress to muffle whatever noise she would make. The entire region was bright red and swollen. Lisa would have turned around and killed him by now, Verrie would beg for more.
Max dropped the belt onto the bed beside him and sank his dick as deep into her as it would go. He didn't need to fondle her clit to bring her with him, he knew the sheer sensitivity the flogging had given her would do it for him. She started cumming the moment his balls slapped against her and he wasn't far behind. He grabbed her hips and slammed himself inside until he felt like he was a part of her. He exploded, not just his dick, but his mind, body, and his heart.
Afterward, he spooned against her. She slept, her warm ass against his belly. He almost couldn't bear to move, but he pulled away and padded across the room. He'd gotten rid of every piece of Dom paraphernalia that he could imagine he possessed except for one. He pulled the sock out of the back of his underwear drawer and tugged the hanky from its toe. His heart throbbed almost painfully in his chest. What if she didn't want it?
"Master?" She sat up in the bed, her eyes still half-lidded in languor. Her voice rubbed over him like a sleek cat begging to be caressed. "Are you okay?"
He left the drawer open. It gave him something to worry about while he arranged himself carefully on the bed and kept the handkerchief balled in his fist. "I'm fine, Verrie."
She looked at the white linen in his hand, but didn't press. The day he'd shoved this little square of cloth into the sock and threw it into back of his underwear drawer he had also wrecked his car and put his fist threw a wall. It was the day he'd admitted to himself that she was never coming back. He opened the hanky slowly, pulling each corner back with a sober sense of what he had lost. A stainless steel chain with delicate links gleamed in the muted lamplight. Verrie scooted closer and picked up her old collar.
