He gave her a few minutes to feel that helplessness. Then he helped her off with her top, keeping the short skirt and stockings on. He liked the idea of lifting the skirt up to spank her - so humiliating to be a little girl again. He laid her on the bed, bottom high over piles of pillows. Her legs were spread so that her pussy was entirely vulnerable, and he tickled her with his fingers, maybe just to distract her a little. Her bottom looked delicious, open and creamy. Waiting for punishment. She heard him sliding his belt out of the loops even before she heard him tell her that we was going to punish her with it, and the whip whooshed down. He wanted her to know who was in command here, and an entirely red bottom would do the trick. He played the leather hard and soft, every inch of her bottom, tender inner thighs, and a few good swats against her wetness. She moaned, but didn’t try to get away. 25 solid spanks later, he kissed the heat of her bottom and let her roll over into his arms. He touched her tears with his finger, and reminded her to feel it, to fully experience her fear and pain.

He bade her lay close to him, and he let his hands roam, squeezing, pinching, slipping inside. She moaned, maybe begged a little softly. He told her that he was going to keep her aroused all night, but not let her come. He wanted her to recognize that submission deep within. Turning her over, he began to tease her anally, his tongue, lips, fingers causing her to cry again, but this time in humiliation. This was the one thing that made her crazy, submissive, filled her need to be controlled. He found a bottle of Embrace on the shelf [had she left it there for him?], and spread it over a “christmas tree” butt plug. He wanted to press himself into her, but knew he had to respect what he’d said. So, he took her this way, bottom high again, her whimpers barely lost in the pillow. His cock ached to be inside her instead.

Deciding to compromise, he pulled her head toward him. Her mouth closed over him, and he held her on him tight - her hair a twist in his hand. Her tongue, warm and frothy, a butterfly kissing him everywhere. He held her tight, forcing himself into her mouth as he came like a gust of north wind. She choked and cried, but took it. He knew what it represented for her, and he took her with this knowledge warm in his heart.

He rested, a little breeze from the window caressing his sweat. Sliding a cool arm around her, he let himself glide into sleep. He’d wake later and touch her again, wake her to a finger moving slowly on her clit - or deep in her tight ass. Her trembling came through the sheets to him, and he held her tight, but still did not give her satisfaction. He wanted her to sleep with his physical presence holding her down, and his dominance keeping her shaking and wet.

They slept.