Sinful (8 page)

This time, though, there was nothing.

Brandt, on the other hand, would have disagreed with her thinking on a couple of accounts. There were things to be learned by this paddling – that he was a man of his word, and that if he said she was going to be punished, then she was. And secondly, that, if she truly submitted to him, and she had assured him on repeated occasions that she did, then she was there for him to spank any time the urge came over him, whether there was a misbehavior prompting it or not.

This spanking would serve to prove several points to her, not the least of which was the most important – that, as his submissive, he could spank – or fuck – her any time he wanted to. He didn’t have to have a reason.

He wondered how she was going to reconcile that idea with her background, or if she was even going to try.

He didn’t warm her up with his hand at all, either. In general, that was his favorite implement – it was cheap, it was always available and, best of all, it was amazingly effective. He did occasionally improvise, but he’d always believed that simpler – and more – was better. He also preferred to have her over his lap when possible. It was such an intimate position, their privates meeting in a different way from usual, hers exposed, of course, and his, as usual around her, trying to figure out a way out from behind his zipper.

But as he began to use the paddle, and he saw how efficient and potent it was – probably delivering the power of two or three of his smacks in one – he began to wonder if he needed to reevaluate how he felt about using disciplinary tools on her.

It delivered a resounding *splat* each time it connected with her rapidly reddening flesh and elicited a howl from her with the very first contact that only deepened and became louder the more enthusiastically he spanked. She did her best to crawl off his lap from the very beginning, and he considered that a considerable endorsement, especially since she knew that she had a rule about doing just that, and each separate attempt to dislodge herself from over his lap resulted in a flurry of swats that were designed to make her regret her actions, and that he didn’t consider to be a part of her overall spanking.

Lita was beside herself. She didn’t know what to do, and was desperate to avoid the fiery sting that covered nearly half her butt with each crack, so she tried to rescue herself, which only dug her deeper.

Finally, he put his leg over hers, effectively halting any further escape attempts, and continued to march the merciless paddle up and down her backside, reddening the flesh it excoriated, from the top of her bottom to the tops of her thighs, to exactly the shade he’d had in mind when he’d threatened to do this very thing – a deep, carmine red.

When he stopped finally, Lita was nearly inconsolable, still trapped at legs and wrists, his heavy arm draped over her waist to hold her even more tightly against the possibility that she would roll away from him.

And then he did something she was entirely unprepared for. He lifted some of the weight of his leg off hers, forced her to spread them, then put his leg back down over the back of her nearest knee, placing his foot in front of the side of the other one, so that she had no choice but to keep them open. Then, with her still in almost exactly the same position in which he had whipped her into a froth of relentless agony, he reached down to cup her womanhood, that bold middle finger of his finding just what he wanted and stroking it.

And to his amazement – and deep gratitude – she was more than slick enough to let him diddle her with ease; teasing, touching and invading her with impunity, pressing several fingers deep within her, requiring her to yield more fully than she ever had before, stretching her to the point of discomfort, then laying the callused bottom of his thumb to her clit and driving her to even greater peaks than she had reached before as she lay helpless over his lap, enduring his manipulation of her body as he brought her to a terrible ecstasy, all while rudely rubbing his free hand over the derrière he had just chastised, patting or pinching it occasionally, with both actions only contributing to the unbearable ache between her legs.

“One more time,” he said, when she would have collapsed, beginning to spank her, hard as his fingers drove relentlessly into her.

Struggling to get away only made things worse, dragging his thumb more intently over her or cramming his fingers further up inside her, so she surrendered, which was what he had been looking for all along and let him steer her into another violent, soul rending explosion.

He held her for a long while afterwards, still bound but stretched out on her side next to him, their bodies pressed together.

“Are you going to let me go?” Lita asked, when she’d regained a bit of her strength.

Brandt opened one eye and looked at her, then closed it again. “Eventually.”

He’d kept her bound and in their real bedroom – for much of the rest of the weekend, only really allowing her her freedom when she needed to use the necessary, and even then he sometimes insisted on being in the same room with her, ordering her occasionally to stop peeing mid-stream, which practically killed her.

When she was done and had washed her hands, he reapplied softer bonds than the handcuffs, which he was appalled to see had bruised her wrists. He kissed the top of her head and said, “You don’t have to worry that I’ll make you do that much. I know it’s not good for a woman and infections can result. I just wanted to see whether or not you’d obey me, and it’s a good thing you did or you’d be having another session with the paddle.”

Frowning, she stuck her tongue out at him, and he quipped, “Don’t stick that thing out unless you intend to use it.”

It was of great interest to Brandt that, the longer they were together, and the more demands he made of her, the more submissive to him she became, and yet the more she seemed to blossom as a person, as if she had just the right foundation from which to grow. He had assumed much more control over her than he had even really intended – making and adapting and tweaking rules for nearly every area of her life, while also doing his best not to make her feel belittled or disenfranchised by what she so obviously needed, and trying to make sure she was informed about any decision he made for them, always soliciting her opinions, which were quite sound and taking her advice whenever he agreed.

It was a delicate, awkward balance to maintain, and he spent a good deal of time thinking about it. He often deliberately checked in with her, just to make sure that she was still on board with what he was doing, that she hadn’t changed her mind, especially after a particularly harsh punishment. The last thing he wanted was for her to feel abused in any way, but it seemed to him that she felt exactly the opposite, and that was what he was striving for in everything he did for and to her.

Although they each preferred to spend as much time as possible together, he insisted that they maintain the friendships with which they had come into the relationship, and add friends as they made them. He encouraged her to go out to study groups, or just to hang out with friends, although there were rules about when and how long she could stay out, of course.

He tried not to make too many rules, overall, knowing that that could lead to her feeling that she was constantly being spanked, or that he was picking on her or looking for reasons to discipline her, and he didn’t want her to feel as if she could never do anything right. She knew the hard and fast rules that were the basis for the way she lived. Things like she was not able to schedule a date herself, but always said she needed to talk to him, and would get back to her friends about it. They all knew just how much in love Brandt and Lita were, and no one seemed to find it anything but touching that she wanted to connect with him about whether or not he had something planned for them himself. They didn’t see him as sinister and controlling; instead, they found it genuinely wonderful that the two of them loved each other so much.

The only person who knew the nitty-gritty details of their relationship was his sister, and at first she was none too happy about it. She was disappointed in Lita, who was heartbroken at her friend’s attitude, and royally pissed at her brother for maneuvering her friend into what was exactly the type of relationship she’d escaped, as far as Marielle could see.

For the sake of Lita’s friendship with his sister, Brandt had – mostly – kept his mouth shut. One night she was supposed to be having a girls’ night at Marielle’s where she was supposed to be sleeping overnight so that they could go out to breakfast early before Marielle went to work. Instead Lita arrived home unexpectedly bawling her eyes out at the things his sister had said to her about how Brandt was treating her, and he knew he was going to have to put his foot down. But he was so angry at his sister that he knew that he was going to have to give it some time before he met with her, to let himself cool down a bit.

He invited Marielle over to their place for dinner, and after some surprisingly pleasant small talk while they’d eaten their fill of Lita’s melt in your mouth brisket, he filled everyone’s wine glass – including Lita’s, even though she’d barely had more than a sip of hers – and took the bull by the horns. “I’m glad you came over tonight, Marielle. I wasn’t sure you would, considering the things you said to Lita last weekend when she came home crying.” He kept his voice level. There was no trace of sarcasm or of the anger he felt in his tone.

Marielle had the grace to look embarrassed, but held her ground. “Well, I don’t want to lose my connection with you or Lita, Brandt, but, frankly, I can’t believe what you’re doing to her, and, more than that, that she’s
letting
you do it!”

“And what is it that you think I’m doing?” Again, calm and quiet.

His sister looked at him as if he was a dolt. “How can you not see it? Oh, that’s right, you’re just like every other man and you’re not thinking with your big head. Lita did a very, very brave thing and escaped a cult.” She turned to her friend and said, “I’m sorry. I know you don’t like me to refer to it that way, but that’s how I feel about it. Those people practiced mind control just as surely as any other cult leaders throughout history.” She turned back to her brother. “They convinced her that her only worth in this world was as a brood mare, cook, and housekeeper for her husband, in that order. She was expected to go along with anything any man said, as if having a penis somehow gave men superpowers, and now she’s doing the exact same thing with you.”

Instead of addressing his sister, Brandt turned to Lita. “How do you feel about it, Lita? How would you compare being with me – being submissive to me, as you are – to being submissive to your former husband?”

Lita took a moment to think about her response before saying, “Well, one thing I can say is that, in my previous life, we would never have been having this conversation, because Marielle would have been home taking care of her man and her babies, and so would I, if I’d had any. Beyond the fact that I’m submissive – which is something I think I just am, whether I was born that way or molded by my environment, it doesn’t really matter. I’d be submissive to any man, even if he wasn’t wired up, as Brandt is, to enjoy being dominant.” Marielle looked somewhat pained to hear that about her brother, and Lita didn’t know if it was because of the sexual aspect or because she didn’t like to think of her brother as dominant, although it was a pretty hard trait to miss.

“And here, unlike there, I
am
independent, although I don’t think that you see that, Marielle. Brandt wants me to work. He wants me to get educated. He wants me to have friends and go stay with you and go out to dinner and travel. My name is on the lease for this condo, with his, unlike the house I supposedly owned with my ex. My name alone is on my car. I have my own bank account that his name is
not
on, as well as our joint accounts. He doesn’t belittle my dreams and says he’ll support me if I want to try my hand at writing, or whatever makes me happy, regardless of whether or not I bring any money in, and most of all, he has never once talked to me about the need for me to have children and, in fact, he’s pretty rabid about making sure I take my pill every day.”

She took a breath, and then said, “I know you don’t understand what’s between your brother and me, but I’m not sure you need to, either. All you need to know is that I’m happier than I’ve ever been in my life. You’ve commented on it yourself before – how happy I looked – until you realized the structure of our relationship and decided that you disagree with it
for
me.” She reached out and took a swallow of wine, then did her best not to choke on it. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned from my escape – and from you – it’s to make my own decisions and not worry what everyone else thinks about them. Yes, he is my authority in this relationship. Yes, he spanks me when he feels I need it. But have I reverted to looking like I did when you first met me, all cowering and afraid of my own shadow?”

“No,” Marielle admitted reluctantly.

Lita reached out and put her hand over Marielle’s. “I’ve decided that your brother makes me deliriously happy—”

“As you do me,” Brandt inserted softly.

“And there’s no one on this Earth I’d rather be with. Don’t you think I realize the irony of doing what seems like jumping from the frying pan into the fire? That I haven’t worked through this in my own mind and come to my own conclusions? Don’t be indignant for me. Just be happy that I’m happy.”

It was more than either of them had ever heard her say, and Brandt had never been prouder of her. He took her hand and squeezed it, smiling tenderly at her. “I couldn’t have said it better myself, honey. Brava.”

Marielle sat back in her chair, defeated. She’d come here with all sorts of arguments as to why they shouldn’t live this way, why it was bad for Lita. But she’d been put in her place. “All right. I’ll back off.” She shook her finger in front of her brother’s face. “But you better not hurt her, or I’ll go berserk on your ass.”

Brandt put his hand on his heart solemnly and said, “I would never, ever, do anything to hurt her. As I said to her when we first got together, in this type of relationship, I’m the one with the least amount of power.”

Marielle did a double take. “Huh?”

“Well, this is something she can call off any time she wants. One word from her and I’d never discipline her again, ever. I’d still love and want her with me always, of course. That’ll never change, but she is always – ultimately – in charge. I’m just around to take care of the pesky details for her.”

“And he does, too. I hate paying bills and doing errands and all that crap. He loves it. I never have to think about whether the insurance on my car is paid, or whether or not it’s inspected, or have to worry about whether there’s enough money in the bank to make it to the end of the month. That’s
his
problem, not mine. I know about it all, because he always tells me everything – like when we’re having a tight month – but I don’t have to be concerned about it. It’s very freeing.” She looked at Marielle and smiled. “You should try it some time.”

That was worth another fifteen minutes of protestations about how she would never, could never, give up that much control to her husband, and how she actually liked writing out bills and balancing her checkbook. It was on the tip of Brandt’s tongue to suggest that, perhaps, in their relationship, she would be the dominant, but he quickly decided against it. He had just about as much interest in knowing about his sister’s sex life as she did about his.

***

It didn’t take long after she’d moved in with him, for Brandt to feel that they should go the next step and get married. He felt a very primitive need to bind her to him in any way he could, especially since she was going out rather regularly with Marielle and a group of their friends. Friday nights – especially if he was working – they could all be found at their favorite watering hole after having taken in a movie, or going out to dinner, or both, and he knew first hand that her fresh faced innocence was a powerful attractant.

He’d never really been jealous with any other woman, but he found himself fighting the urge to tell her she wasn’t allowed to go out with the girls, and he knew that wasn’t a good thing. She needed her freedom to socialize – probably more than most women – and the last thing he wanted was for her to feel stifled and feel the need to leave him as she had her husband. The rules he’d made for her were there to help, not hinder, her.

So he decided the best thing was to give her several rings to wear that would shout to the world that she was taken.

As could be expected, his – first – proposal was quite different from the norm, and predictably, it wasn’t so much a question as a command. It came at probably what was the absolutely worst possible time for him to introduce the subject, too, especially for what was the first time he’d introduced the subject.

She had been feeling her oats a bit, knowing that he expected her to express and deal with her emotions, and not stuff them down, so she had gotten a lot mouthier than she ever had been. Brandt had been very careful to explain to her on numerous occasions, though, that it did not mean she should be disrespectful. But she had developed a bit of a tendency towards sarcasm – the blame for which he placed right at his sister’s doorstep – and there came a point when he decided he needed to draw the line – and it was going to be a bright red one straight across her bum.

He never really gave her a guideline about how she should handle her feelings, on purpose. He wanted her to learn to rein herself in, and learn to recognize when he might think that what she’d said might have gone beyond self-expression and ventured into being disrespectful.

It was a long and arduous process. Having been given the freedom, she was like a twenty-one year old who could legally drink for the first time and was indulging to well over her limits. For a good couple of months, there was barely a day when she wasn’t sporting a very sore behind, often called to account multiple times in one day, especially depending on what time of the month it was. She was always truly sorry for what she had done; never meaning to hurt him or make him feel that he was less than he should be in her eyes. But it was a habit she was having a hard time breaking – or even curbing, despite his attentive assistance.

This time he decided to up the ante a bit, and snicked his belt out of its loops right there in the kitchen, bending her over one of the straight-backed chairs he’d co-opted from the dining room.

She was already nude and still hadn’t gotten to the point where she could be casual about it, despite the fact that it was the way he kept her whenever they were at home alone. He loved the fact that she was always accessible to him, and often fondled her lazily whenever she was within reach.

They were too new together for her to realize that the height of the backs of the chairs she had chosen when they’d bought the dining room set were something she needed to consider, in conjunction with the fact that she was going to be spending a disproportionate amount of time draped over them, as opposed to the average American woman who simply sat on the seats, and she had chosen extraordinarily badly. They were very high, which required her to be on tippy toes every time, barely able to complete the required position by stretching down to grasp the seat – and heaven forbid she should let go – with the barest of fingertips while she was being punished.