Driftwood Deeds by Laila Blake Page B

folds.
    “Wider, as wide you can... good puppy. Don’t move.”
    He got up from the bed and walked out. I watched him until he left my field of vision. It is hard to explain how sudden the sense of loss was that came over me. I found myself panting slightly, my cunt contracting against the cool air and I strained my ears to hear where he was. Nothing. I pulled at the bonds, but all I managed was to make the bed squeak slightly and then bump back against the wall with an all too audible sound. My cheeks flushed crimson and I vowed to keep still from now on. 
    Just don’t move.
    Eventually, I heard water running somewhere in the house. It couldn’t be long now. He was still there. But the seconds stretched even longer. I wriggled against the sheet, trying to calm myself, to stop thinking about his fingers in my ass and the stinging heat that still clung to its cheeks, about his beautiful mushroom-headed cock that had felt so soft against my lips and then so hard and relentless against my throat. Paul. Where was he? Why was it all taking so long?
    “Please, Sir...” I found myself whispering to no one in particular.
    After a while, the sound of running water was back—longer this time and just when I had tried to settle into accepting another long wait, he stood in the doorway. His jaw-length hair was wet and dripping and he had smoothed it messily over the top of his head. Still, there were drops of water on his naked chest and his face looked freshly scrubbed. 
    “You moved,” he said quietly and just like that he took any remaining molecule of air out of my lungs. I croaked but he shook his head. “You made the bed move, you wriggled so hard. What did I tell you, puppy?”
    “N... not to move, Sir.”
    “That’s right.”
    “I’m...”
    “You’re sorry?”
    I nodded but there was something in his voice that led me to believe this wasn’t the right answer. He confirmed it with a shake of his head and I can’t explain how powerful that single gesture affected my body. Just like that, I wanted to cry and beg for forgiveness—for a transgression any rational mind would snort at. It wasn’t the only impulse though. I could feel my clit pulse painfully, and a tiny groan escaped my lips. 
    “Please...” I whispered, far more driven by this newly acquired instinct than any real thought process.
    “Please what?” came the immediate and expected answer. And again my mouth opened, and no sound, certainly no real word came out. Possibilities flashed through my mind, but none of them felt right, none of them made any sense. I wanted him to forgive me, to punish me, to fuck me and to love me and tell me that he wasn’t actually angry or disappointed all at once. 
    “Please what, puppy?” he repeated, not louder but with a harsher sense of intensity.
    “Please punish me?” I exhaled and if I’d had any way to look away from his intense glare I would have. “I... I’m sorry I moved, I... please?”
    He stretched the silence before his response into agonizing proportions but finally, he gave me the hint of a nod and then turned to his wardrobe. I wasn’t sure what he was doing, until he produced a leather belt. My eyes bulged and I held my breath. I found myself tugging at the rope again, not in fear or in panic, just giving into a momentary bodily instinct. Paul smiled and clicked his tongue. 
    “There you go again, wriggly puppy. Want to earn your punishment proper, don’t you?”
    This time, I smiled even as he was folding the belt over and let it snap loudly. The smack of leather on leather, so much like skin, sent visions of pain and desire shooting down into my cunt—but I was trying to be good. I was trying so hard and kept my legs far apart despite the fact that every instinct I had told me to push them together, to try and find some kind of pressure against my mound. 
    He came closer, walking around the room naked as he was, a beautiful erection standing proud. He was by no means perfect