Rule #3

She woke groggily, blinking sleep from her eyes as she felt the arm wrap around her, and the warm body press against hers. She blinked a few times at the darkness. It was dark in the room. When had that happened? A quick glance at the glowing red numbers on the alarm clock told her that it was 2:13 AM. She blinked, and clawed her cell phone off the table, without pulling away from the warm embrace that held her. The time on the phone was the same as the time on the bedside clock. She had just come home from yoga class, eaten dinner, and laid down to take a short nap. She had counted on the phone, the door, or the pounding beat of his heavy combat boots on the stairs to wake her. She mentally cursed her phone, the clock, and the uncanny ability of her lover, a former security consultant and professional bodyguard, who created a dominating presence in any room he walked into, who you almost always HEARD a good fifteen seconds before you saw him, to become silent and invisible as a ninja when he chose to be.

She turned to face him, and watched his eyes snap open. "Good." She thought. "He's still awake. There's at least a few moments to talk."

"Missed you today." She began, as she rolled back to her original position, pressing her body up against his, pressing her ass into his naked crotch to show just how much she had missed him. She mentally cursed herself for falling asleep fully clothed, as she loved the touch of his skin against hers, and though she could feel his arousal beginning to grow, she longed to feel the press of his awakening cock on her bare skin, not through layers of clothing. They both loved this game, her as the teasing little submissive, courting his arousal, and pulling away over and over again, courting his dominant instincts with just enough teasing that he would tear her clothes off in a fit of lust, pin her down by her arms, legs, throat, or whatever he could reach, and take her in a fit of roaring, growling, biting, raging animal lust.

"Life happens." He said, his voice at a low, somewhat tired sounding growl. "You needed sleep."

"I laid down for a quick nap, and just woke up. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry." She whispered, her voice soft, quiet and breathy, as if the apology itself was an act of the utmost submission. As she spoke the last six words, she felt his entire body go rigid, every muscle tensing like a bowstring. She quickly became silent, and began listening for movement in the house around them. She waited for his hands to pull away from her body, and to go to the sword next to the bed post, or the gun hidden in the bedside table. But she couldn't hear anything in the house. She blinked, confused. He only reacted like that when he was threatened or upset. And she couldn't hear the threat. She blinked, trying to gather her thoughts, trying frantically to figure out what triggered that reaction in him. She froze, waiting for some cue from him, either verbal or physical. For a moment, she became as still and rigid as he, waiting for the odd cadence and hard tones of Greek that signaled a prayer or chant to his Goddess before going into battle, a hissed warning to call for cops or backup, the primal, lustful growl and softening of the tension which invited her to continue teasing, or the angry growl that told her that he was angry with her. For one tense moment, then another, there was no reaction at all. The silence and tension in the room were almost physical presences in the room, watching them and waiting for somebody to make the first move.

The tension in his body relaxed for a moment, and then he struck. Moving like quicksilver, striking like a snake, she felt his arms close over her body, the left one locking over her throat, the right around her torso, never losing any of their tension, as he pulled himself out of bed, and brought her with him, never losing his grip on her body. She stood, and he turned her to face him, with one hand on her throat, and her knees pushing against the bed, almost, but not quite bending her back into a seated position.

"What" he growled "did you say?"

"I'm sorry?" she whispered again, still confused. With his free hand, he pulled a long knife off the bedside table, and ran the sharp blade across her throat, slicing through the thin fabric of her shirt, through her bra, and on down until he reached the elastic waistband of her pants. He took what remained of her shirt and bra and tore them away, tossing them to the floor. He returned the knife to its place on the table, turned her around to face the bed, and in one quick, smooth, well-practiced motion, he gripped the waistband of her pants and panties, pulled them down, gave her a push that made her knees buckle, forcing her back onto the bed, and he removed her pants, panties, and socks with one fluid motion, leaving her naked before she could process what was happening, or why.

Grabbing her around her waist, he forced her to her knees with the top half of her body lying on the bed. She cried out as the first stinging slap of pain shot through her body, as his rough, calloused hand slapped her bare ass.

"I see that somebody has been a naughty little girl." She heard him say as he continued to spank her bare ass again and again, each slap getting harder and faster. "Somebody has forgotten the rules, and needs to be punished. Naughty, disobedient little girls who forget the rules deserve a good, hard spanking." Now the flesh was turning red beneath his hands, and she started to whimper a little with each strike. In the back of her mind, even now, she remembered (as the mind often does when confused, or undergoing stress) that some subs were forced to remain silent when being punished, or face further discipline. But he always encouraged her to whimper, to moan, to beg, or to scream as she was being punished. She remembered, once, asking him why this was. And she remembered the grin and the twinkle in his eyes as he told her that the music of her whimpers, begging, moans and screams was not only beautiful, but a sign that he was doing a proper job disciplining her. "We have rules for a reason, and you must follow them, or you will be punished." As he delivered the lecture, he continued spanking her, smacking his hand into her bare flesh, stopping long enough so that she could feel the sting, and then striking again, in a hard solid rythym.

Then he changed tactics. The spanking stopped, and she heard rather than saw him move across the room to get something. He approached her again, and she heard something whistle through the air. She let out a yelp of surprise and pain, wincing, as the leather of a belt stung her bare, red, raw flesh, that was already taxed, he began to ask her questions.

"What are you?" He asked, spanking her with the belt with each word, then stopping and waiting for her answer.

"I'm a naughty, disobedient, little girl." She answered. He followed this answer with another strike of the belt.

"What do you deserve?" He asked, again, spanking her with the belt with each word.

"To be punished." And another strike of leather against flesh, as the belt came down again.

"Why?" He asked as the belt came down again.

"Because I didn't follow the rules." Again the leather whistled through the air, and came down painfully on flesh marred by the spankings of both hands and belt.

"Which rule did you break?" He growled, bringing the belt down hard again.

"I don't know." She said, desperately trying to remember which rule she didn't follow.

"Rule #3." He said, with three quick, hard spankings with the belt for emphasis. "and what is Rule #3?"

"I don't remember..." she said, desperately trying to remember what Rule #3 was. Already, the red, bruised flesh was going to make it painful to sit for days, and if this kept up, she might have to work standing up for a week. At that answer, the belt came down one last time and stopped.

"Then clearly, spankings aren't enough for you. We shall have to try something else. Stand." She stood up, her knees pressing into the bed. "Turn." He ordered. She turned around, only to see him rummaging in the bedside cabinet. He came out bearing a steel collar, which he clamped around her neck, and secured with a lock. "Hands." He demanded, and she held out her hands. He slid steel bracelets onto her wrists, and locked them in place as well. He grinned. Those pieces were works of art. The hinged steel collar was cast perfectly to her neck, a little too tight, so she had to labor just a little to draw every breath. All the enjoyment, exhilaration, torment and punishment of choking his little submissive for her transgression, without the effort of needing to keep a hand or arm on her throat all the time, leaving his hands free to administer further punishments. And the bracelets kept her from bending her wrists or hands, denying her the manual dexterity to pleasure herself, which was perfect for what he was about to do. He guided her arms together over her head, adding another lock, which kept her wrists together, and finished by locking the bracelets to the headboard of the bed.

Then he crawled down her body, hanging over her, avoiding any physical contact with her flesh, taking in the sight of her, chained to the bed, laying there, naked and eager. Without another word, he slipped between her thighs, burying his tongue into her wet and waiting pussy. He was pleased that the spanking had already aroused her, and had her delicious juices flowing from between her thighs to greet his eager tongue. He licked like a man possessed, alternating deep probing licks, soft, gentle, teasing licks, and nibbling on her clit, to increase and prolong her arousal. When her moans, screams, and gasps became deeper and louder, and her legs began to quiver, and it was clear to his trained eye that she was struggling to breathe because of something more than the slave-collar locked around her neck, he pulled away, withdrawing his tongue, leaving her on the edge of the mountaintop, needing the release of an orgasm, but unable to have it.

"Please...don't stop...don't stop now..." she begged.

He grinned up at her. "Only good girls get to enjoy pleasure. Naughty girls who can't follow the rules only get what they deserve. And which have you been?"

"I've been a naughty girl. But I'll be good. Please. Make me cum, and I'll be your good little slut. I'll obey all the rules, and be a good little girl, and you can have your good little slut however you want her. Please..." she begged softly.

He grinned again. "Your punishment is not over. If you take all your punishments like a good girl, then we will see about a reward." With that, he crawled up her body, and began biting the underside of her breast, right where it connected with the rest of her body, ripping and tearing at her skin with each bite. As she moaned and screamed in a mixture of pain and pleasure, he repeated the same treatment on the other breast, overlapping the bites in a measured pattern, biting hard enough with each attack that she knew that she would have marks on the underside of her breasts for a week. He bit roughly at her breasts for what seemed like hours, as she moaned, winced, and writhed in a mix of pleasure and pain. When he finally stopped, he crawled off the bed, and went to retrieve something off the floor. When it was pressed against her flesh, she recognized a cup of her destroyed bra, which he held up to her breast as if measuring something. She suppressed a whimper as the underwire of the bra lined up perfectly with the line of painful bite marks on her breasts. She would remember tonight, and her punishment, for days, every time she wore a bra, or moved her upper body in certain ways. In spite of herself, she grinned at the thought that he was a clever, clever, bastard, who knew exactly how to punish her.

With this completed, he buried his tongue inside her again, this time focusing the oral assault on her eager clit, sucking, licking and biting until he again heard and felt the telltale changes in her moans, breathing, and the telltale quiver of her thigh muscles that signified that she was close to the edge again. And as before, he withdrew his tongue, his face, from between her thighs, leaving her moaning and begging for the release that she so desperately wanted and needed.

He sat between her legs, rubbing her thighs lightly with his hands, his fingers dancing across every inch of her legs, bringing them close to the promised land between her thighs, but refusing to touch it. He danced his fingers over her body, as if determined to run his fingers across every inch of her exposed flesh, save for where she most wanted those fingers to go. Then he rose, and walked away. He walked around the bed a few times, grinning at her, taking the image of her body, naked, spread out, and chained to the bed, from every possible angle.

He returned to the bed, and once more, his head went between her thighs, but instead of licking, this time he bit, hard, right where her legs met her torso. Like the assault on her breasts, he bit hard, in a carefully measured line, right where leg met torso, first on one thigh, then the other, framing her vagina with a carefully measured V of bite marks. Once again, in spite of the pain of the biting, she grinned at his cleverness. As the bite marks on her breasts lined up perfectly with the underwire in her bras, the bites on her thighs were perfectly placed to match the edges of her panties, providing a constant reminder of this night, and her punishments whenever she moved against the marks he was leaving.

After leaving the final bite, he again renewed the pleasurable licking of her wet, dripping, eager, hungry pussy, which he had started twice now, but never finished. And, as before as soon as the first involuntary quivers of her thigh muscles began, as soon as her breathing, and the sound of her moans and screams began to change in tone and pitch, he stopped once again. Crawling up her body, he untied and unlocked her wrists. Placing his hands on the steel collar at her throat, he guided her off the bed, so she stood before him. With a quick movement, one of his hands came off her throat, grabbed her hair, and forced her to the ground, then with one hand on her hair, and the other on her chin, he tilted her head up to face him.

She looked up at him from her knees, taking in the sight of his hard cock, twitching with anticipation and arousal before her, daring to hope that the iron control and discipline that he was famous for had deserted him, finally worn down by wave after wave of lust washing over his body as he disciplined her, and that he was about to take her head, force his length between her lips, and fuck her waiting mouth until she couldn't take any more. It had been almost a full day since he had last fucked her face, and with all the teasing and punishment, she was craving it now. She opened her mouth slightly, forming an eager little "O" with her lips, waiting for him to thrust forward and take what was his, and suppressed a moan of disappointment, as his hand wrapped around the flesh that she longed to wrap her lips around, and he started speaking again, as he towered over her, pleasuring himself as she watched.

"You could have had all of this. All you had to do was obey the rules, like a good girl, and I would be in that willing little mouth of yours, riding your face like I know you crave. What you want and need could have been yours to enjoy. All you had to do was just be a good little girl, and follow the rules. But you've been a bad, naughty, little slut, who can't follow the rules, so now I have to waste all this hot, delicious cum, to teach you a lesson. I know you hate to see it wasted, but you had to be a naughty girl, and you leave me no choice." With a moan, he released shot after shot of cum on to her naked body. She opened her mouth to try to catch some, eager for the taste, but he aimed downward, spraying it across her exposed neck, shoulders, and breasts. With that done, he walked over to the cabinet, fetched a cloth, and cleaned off the collar and her flesh. Then he unlocked the collar and bracelets, returned them to their proper places, took her into his arms, kissed her lightly on the lips, and took her to bed.

"Maybe tomorrow," he whispered, as he held her in his arms, "if you're a good little girl, we can have more fun. That is, if you don't insist on apologizing for stupid shit that doesn't require an apology, as per Rule #3. Don't forget it again."

Hearing the rule, she smiled, knowing that she would be thinking of nothing else for days, every time the pain from tonight's punishment came back to remind her. And as she drifted off to sleep, she kept smiling, knowing that if he woke in a good mood tomorrow, and she didn't break any more rules, she would be able to enjoy all the pleasure that was denied to her tonight, and perhaps a little more.