Chapter Eight

"Well, your inspection seems to have gotten you all riled up. Hopefully your spanking—and hair brushing—will calm that situation down." He gestured for her to stand next to him. "Come here, Honey Beth, and assume the position as you know you should."

Again, she was positioned over those thick, long thighs of his, hands on the floor, but this chair was low enough that she could put her feet on the floor, too. Of course, that wasn't challenging enough for her.

"Hands on the floor and keep them there; that's right. Feet on tiptoes, legs straight and spread, heels out," he proclaimed. It—like the one he'd had her in for the inspection—was not an easy position to maintain, and it displayed her privates to him quite obscenely.

When she was in the right position, he put his hand on her bottom. "Overall, your first inspection was very good, Honey. But there are—as expected—areas where there needs to be improvement. Do you remember what those were?"

She shook her head. She could barely remember her name, much less all of the things he'd found wrong as he'd spent all of that time touching her so intimately.

"No, Sir."

"Well, I'll give you a special dispensation this time, since it's your first inspection. But I want to know that you're paying attention to what I'm scolding you about, so you'd better remember what I say to you in the future, now that you know there's going to be a quiz."

He heard her give a soft chuckle, then she whispered, "Yes, Sir."

"Some of what you were naughty about was that, almost immediately after having been told that throwing your clothes on the floor was not going to be tolerated any longer, you threw your clothes on the floor."

What an idiot she was! "Sorry," she whispered.

"Then, you shied away from me when I tried to touch you."

"Sorry."

His hand rubbed up and down her back once. "I know you're sorry—and if you're not now, I'm shortly going to make you very sorry—Honey, so you don't need to keep saying it."

"Yes, Sir. Sorry."

He chuckled at that then continued. "You didn't always maintain position, and your panties were a sopping wet disgrace with a suspicious hole in them, right above your clit."

She still felt that she needed to defend herself about that one. "No, but—"

He shh'd her from her compulsion to try to defend herself, too. "Even if that isn't the reason there's a hole there, you are still not to be gallivanting around in ratty underwear. What would the EMTs think, if you, Heaven forbid, had an accident, and they saw your undies? They'd think I wasn't taking care of you properly, and I can't have that."

Despite her precarious position, she had to smile at him bringing up what all mothers used to use as a reason to always wear good underwear.

"All of that naughtiness has earned you a good, hard hand spanking, followed by a good hard hair brushing."

Honey tried to protest at that pronouncement and work her way off his lap, but he held her still with depressing ease. "Sir! No! I'll do better, I promise!"

She sounded so wonderfully earnest when she said things like that, especially when she was facing an imminent punishment.

Sabin didn't say anything. His hand was already on her bottom, the other restraining her across her back.

Sometimes he warmed her up first, sometimes he didn't. This was one of the times he didn't. As a result, she was arching and kicking, twisting, and pleading within just a few minutes of the spanking having begun.

"I suggest you settle down, my dear. I've just barely started."

He could hear her weeping from early on, breath catching loudly between the whimpers she emitted every time his palm connected sharply with her dusky pink flesh. His hand marched up one side of her and down the other, such that that color quickly became an angry red everywhere he'd touched.

Then he reached for the hairbrush, putting it across her bottom as the hand that had been scourging her flesh began to explore more of what she was being forced to display to him.

The second time, she heard him exclaim, "Honey!" in that chiding, disappointed tone while his hand was between her legs and she let loose a wail.

"You're even wetter than you were before if that's even possible! You're enjoying this, you naughty minx! Obviously, I'm not punishing you nearly hard enough!"

"No, no, Sir! You're doing it hard enough; you're doing it hard enough!" she cried out in alarm.

But it was to no avail. He wielded that hairbrush just as thoroughly as he had his palm, and it was much less forgiving. She broke position several times and had to be threatened back into it, at which point he continued with her chastisement, meting out a level of discipline that left her sobbing loudly over his lap when he was done.

"Come here," he whispered, manhandling her into his arms as he carried her to the big, comfy couch, still holding her tightly for a long time after he got them there, arms never relaxing from around her. Honey was kept so firmly against him that she might have felt crushed, but she didn't. Instead, she felt safe and secure as she continued to sob softly for quite some time, soaking the front of his shirt, which he never seemed to mind.

Knowing she had just endured quite a severe punishment, Sabin could not have been more touched when he felt her arms creep up around his neck to cling to him even further. "There's my Honey B," he breathed, pressing her even more tightly to him and rubbing her back slowly.

He couldn't keep his hand from wandering over her otherwise creamy white skin, until he bade her to move just enough so that he had access to what he wanted.

Her head was buried against his neck, so he heard and felt her fully startled sound as he opened her up for him by burying two fingers inside her insistently.

"No, Sir, please!" she whispered, objecting almost automatically to his invasion even as her arms tightened around him and her body's needs caused her to gush down those twin invaders to pool in his still hot palm.

"Yes, young lady."

He wasn't sure whether it was his words, his tone, or his use of that particular slightly scolding endearment, but he felt her clench him very tightly down there. And Lord knew his whole hand was already literally drowning in her honey, despite the harsh discipline she had just endured.

He moved those same fingers, from inside her, to that not so little bundle of nerves, stroking surely over it as her breath caught in her throat and she moaned loudly, wiggling a little.

"No, stay still," he cautioned, and she quieted immediately. His "good girl" rumbled from deep in his chest, and he felt the entirety of that very intimate area contract strongly beneath his hand again.

With an arm pinning her to him, severely reducing her ability to move, he began to touch her insistently, drinking in her every response as she made him throb and ache within the confines of his own pants.

But he wanted to see to her first, before himself, and he took his time doing so, his movements languid and unhurried, mouth dipping down occasionally to catch a ripe nipple between his teeth and bite slightly, but mostly he watched her and listened to her as he pleasured her, paying extremely close attention to everything that she responded to best and talking to her occasionally, which seemed to make her moan and her privates weep even more uncontrollably.

When he did speak, Sabin deliberately kept his tone deep and calm and level, sometimes with just the slightest sternness to it—but just barely enough to goose her along a bit. "That's it, Honey. You don't have to think or worry about anything anymore, just feel what I want you to feel. You are mine to punish and mine to pleasure. Mine to fuck and inspect and paddle and spank, whenever you need it or whenever I merely want to." He set his fingers, which were side by side as they claimed her most sensitive spot, to moving double time as he whispered low and rough, "I love teasing you. I love making you come, but I do like the idea of keeping you on edge, too, making you earn an orgasm with good behavior or perhaps only after the worst punishments. Who will make that decision for you, Honey, hmm?"

She was panting so hard that she could barely answer him. "You. You will, Sir."

He backed the motions of his fingers down to regular time, grinning when she moaned deeply in protest at the loss of stimulation. "Exactly. You have no control over this part of your body any longer. It's mine, front and the back. Naughty girls don't get to decide such things. They need a stern Sir who will see to it that they're kept strictly in line, that they obey all of their rules, or face the consequences when they don't."

Sabin could hear her breath quickening, feel her muscles tensing for the culmination of what he was doing to her.

"That's it, my Honey B. Your life is going to be full of moments just like this, sitting in my lap with a very sore, swollen bottom from a richly deserved punishment, perhaps being pleasured if you've taken your discipline well. Allowed to come at my behest and never at any other time, no matter how frustrated I might make you."

"No, Sir. I-I can't," she breathed.

He had learned to expect this from her. She liked to be just slightly forced into her pleasure, always trying to deny it at the end, as if she didn't really want to. At first, he'd worried sometimes that she really wasn't into it, but her body told him something that was completely the opposite, and he learned quickly to listen to what it was saying, not to what her mouth was saying. As soon as he caught on to that, Sabin played along only too readily.

"I'm sorry, but you no longer have a choice. You gave up the ability to choose most things for yourself, especially intimate things, when you voluntarily told me that you want me to be your Dom. Like you can't control the condition of your bottom, you can't move when I don't want you to, and if I want you to climax," he enunciated his next few words very distinctly and spoke them directly into her ear in a solidly strict voice, "then that is what you will do."

And it had exactly the effect he wanted it to have on her.

She absolutely exploded with it—screaming and arching and grabbing him and burying her head against his chest as she groaned, which inevitably descended into a full-throated growl.

But she also clung to him as if he was the only solid thing in her world, and he loved that. No matter that she was shivering and shaking and spasming violently. That just meant that he'd succeeded in bringing her to an incredible orgasm, and it was the most honest, heady compliment he'd ever been paid in his life.

That was just the first one. He never let her get away from him without bringing her to at least five unbelievably frenzied climaxes, one right after the other, sometimes more if he thought that she wasn't quite sated yet. They were mind-blowing to him and even made him a little jealous, but he was positively addicted to seeing a woman he had thought of as pretty tightly wound brought to a point that was so absolutely and completely out of control by his own hands.

It was a good thing his house was isolated on quite a few acres outside of town, or the police would definitely have been on their doorstep. She was loud, his woman. Not that he objected in the least; he loved it. She was fully committed to every bit of the pleasure—or the pain—that he gave her, and he gloried in any of the sounds that resulted from that.

The crying afterwards had largely stopped, and he admitted to himself that he was glad about that. He put it down to such things being very new between them and Honey feeling insecure and tentative about them. He had done—and would continue to do—whatever he thought was necessary to make sure that she always felt safe and secure with him.

He was glad that those feelings had largely been resolved for her, but it was mostly a selfish thing, he acknowledged. Sabin liked to be in control of things, and she was one of them. But when she had reacted like that to their lovemaking, he'd been largely at a loss about what to do about it, and he did not like feeling that way.

It was okay with him if she cried occasionally when she came. He understood the concept of big feelings, and as much as she rarely allowed herself to be seen that way, Honey had a huge heart and cried easily about anything.

That was fine with him. He would hug her and hold her and soothe her and was totally okay with doing whatever helped her feel better during those times—as long as he knew that that was what it was and he hadn't done something unintended that was a negative for her. Sabin felt that he knew her pretty well, but he couldn't read minds. He could even have signed onto her having alone time afterwards if that was what she needed. It wouldn't have been easy for him, because his instinct was always to want to cuddle her afterwards, to hold her as they both came down from that incredible high.

What got him was her impulse to book it out of there. That he could not—and would not—allow any longer. He hadn't wanted to allow it then, but he didn't have that kind of authority over her at that time, so he did what he could to ameliorate the situation.

She had tried to get away from him once or twice, right after they'd gotten together when he'd returned, and he had instituted a rule that she could move away from him, but she was not allowed to get off the bed, which was the first time she'd ever growled at him that was not in conjunction with an orgasm. And she—being Honey—had even tested the limits, to the point that he would sit in front of her, facing her, while she dangled her leg and foot down over the edge of the bed.

If that was him, because of his height, his foot would have been on the floor. But she was much too short for that.

Still, he watched her carefully while she did it, because he was going to make sure that she paid the price if she was cheeky—and sneaky—enough to disobey him like that.

Sabin firmly believed in aftercare for punishments, so he began to do that after they'd made love, too, and it was much the same—lots of snuggling and cuddling and being held and fawned over. She was clingier at either time than she ever was, and that enchanted him, too, since she really hadn't ever been like that with him, except when she was sick, or hurt, or grieving.

And he took his time with her, never rushing her through it or making her feel as if he was impatient to get it over with, tapping his foot or secretly resentful of it.

That time, it wasn't until he could hear that her breathing had returned to normal and she wasn't stuck to him like a limpet, that he caught her chin in the very same fingers that still bore her scent, bringing her eyes to his.

"How should you thank me for your inspection and your orgasms, do you think?"

Without the slightest of hesitation, she wiggled herself between his knees, which naturally resided in two different counties, as most men's did when they sat down.

Her eyes always seemed to widen in the most flattering way when she saw his bulge, and her hands immediately went for it. Then she looked up at him. "I can?"

Sabin nodded, eyes at half-mast but never able to move them away from her. "Yes, you may."

His pants and underwear were made short work of, until there was nothing between her small hands and his, frankly, all ego aside, rather large cock.

Honey stared at it as if she was praying to a fertility god's likeness, then her hands found him, tracing up and down that long, thick, veiny column as if rubbing it would produce a genie.

Her hands were extremely soft, gliding quickly over him, but he had been sporting this erection since…since the last time he'd taken her, which was last night. He didn't think that he could remember a time since they'd gotten together when he wasn't painfully erect around her.

Hell, he'd even gotten a few erections at work—which was something that hadn't happened to him since he was a teenager—merely by allowing a vision of her to float through his mind. Not a good idea.

She liked him to decide when he wanted her to take him in her mouth, and he reached out to bury his fingers in her hair, palm cupping her cheek, and bringing her lips to the weeping head of his cock.

***

Honey could be flighty and artistic, as a mystery writer—when it suited her to be that way—but at heart, she was a type A about some things, and this was one of them. She liked giving blow jobs, because, although she was a submissive, it was, inherently, a helluva lot of control over a man. And the man who was sitting on the couch in front of her had coaxed her into giving him quite a bit of control over her.

It was nice to balance the scales a bit, and there was no more powerful feeling than to have a man's cock in your mouth, especially if he liked to relax back and let her do all the work, which she was only too happy to do.

He was very aesthetically pleasing, too, which helped, and he paid a lot of attention to his own personal grooming, which was also always appreciated.

But more so, she adored the sounds he made when she took him all the way down to where her nose touched his belly. She couldn't do it for long—although she wanted to learn how to—because she did have a gag reflex that would start protesting quickly if she didn't move up. But Honey did her best to do everything she could think of to make it as good for him as he made her climaxes. And he could only ever have one at a time, so she was really motivated to make sure that it was amazing for him.

She kept her tongue active on him the entire time, licking the underside of him, swirling it around that big, bulbous head, and using the tip to flick just beneath the head, all the while keeping her hand moving up and down in concert with her mouth. And not forgetting to cup and roll his balls, which she knew a lot of women just ignored.

Honestly, she knew when he reached out to put both hands on her head and move it himself that he was close to shooting, and she just did her best to relax and keep doing what she had been as much as possible.

Sabin groaned—close to a scream, even—and spurted wildly down the back of her throat as he breathed raggedly through his clenched teeth, jerking his hips and grabbing her hair, hurting her just a little, but nothing she couldn't handle.

He always lamented to her that he came much too soon—as he did this time, also. But she considered it a great compliment. He was such a control freak that she was only too glad to have been able to push him past it so quickly. It gave her a sense of power that she didn't think he realized it did, and she hoped he always reacted to her that way.

She tried to give him the same aftercare he gave her, although he didn't need anywhere near as much as she did. But still, she hugged him and kissed him and tried to just be there for him. He was a man, though, and he recovered quite quickly from their amorous adventures.

They spent the rest of that evening—and most of their other evenings together—much as they did when they weren't having sex, sometimes playing board games, which he surprisingly loved. Sometimes they played cards—he usually whipped her ass at poker—or watched something good on TV, or a new movie they were both interested in. The only differences between their nights now and their nights a year ago, was the fact that he kissed her, often and deeply and sometimes had her sit in his lap, and she snuggled up to him much more closely, while wearing a lot less than she would have. And she always ended up in his bed, rather than having to drive back to her place.

Since this was what they had each secretly wanted from the other, they were both excruciatingly happy with how things had worked out.