Pound of Flesh
Pound of Flesh
Lolita Lopez
Published by Lolita Lopez
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2011 Lolita Lopez
Lolita Lopez.com
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
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Chapter One
Contrary to popular belief, rules were not made to be broken. At least not in Max’s opinion. Rules for home. Rules for work. Rules for play. Max thrived on the order and certainty of his rules.
Violet, on the other hand, seemed to delight in breaking the rules. His rules, specifically. Outside their home, Violet was a model citizen without as much as a speeding ticket on her record. Within these shared walls, it was a different story. The mischievous little tart left wet towels on the bathroom floor and refused to use a coaster. Her laundry rarely made it into the proper hamper. She never rinsed the oatmeal out of her bowl before tossing it carelessly into the dishwasher.
A gentle reminder never worked. No, a girl like Violet required a firm yet loving hand.
For every wet ring on the coffee table or dried bit of crusty oatmeal left in a bowl, Max doled out ten or fifteen whacks, usually with his hand but sometimes with his belt or a paddle. If he felt particularly generous, Max let her choose the implement. She never shied away from a bit of pain and often surprised him in her choice of makeshift paddle. Her creativity knew no bounds.
A wide wooden spoon she’d plucked from the countertop one lazy Saturday afternoon had lent a particularly beautiful shade of pink to her bottom. Breath hitched with excitement, she’d draped herself across his lap, fingertips touching the tile, and presented her wiggling ass for punishment. Her squeals of pain and moans of pleasure had sent him over the edge. He’d gotten so hot he’d tossed aside the spoon and taken her right there on the kitchen floor, one hand braced on the cabinet, the other pressing her cheek to the cold tile as he drove deeper and deeper into her juicy cunt.
That was the problem with a dirty girl like Violet. She threatened his control, sent his lust into overdrive. She knew exactly how to push his buttons and delighted in doing so with playful smirks or rolled eyes. The perfect snotty remark seemed always just there on the tip of her pink tongue, just waiting for a chance to sting.
Of course, that rebellious streak, those moments of outright defiance, were the things that made her so perfect for him. There was never any doubt she enjoyed their kinky games. With Violet, he felt safe indulging his darker tastes. She encouraged his naughtier penchants with such enthusiasm. Violet gave him exactly what he needed and received what she so desperately wanted in return.
Dominance. Submission. Bondage. Pain. Pleasure. And all of it tied up in the pretty little package that was his Violet. She was so startlingly good at being such a very bad girl.
And this time she’d truly outdone herself.
Before leaving on a three week training exercise with the private military company he co-owned, Max had left specific instructions for Violet. What she would wear. What she would eat. When and how she would exercise. When and how she could (or couldn’t) touch herself, pleasure herself. He’d even provided laminated checklists for laundry, dishes and other housekeeping routines.
To those outside their curious lifestyle choice, such planning and structure probably seemed controlling, perhaps even bordering on abusive. For Violet and Max, it was something else entirely. He rarely went so far in their power exchange. In all honesty, he found that kind of intense and continuous control incredibly exhausting. He was perfectly content to play the role of the Dom in the bedroom or playroom and leave the mundane choices of everyday life to Violet.
But, when his job required a lengthy absence, Violet craved his rules and regulations. She seemed to find the checklists and schedules as comforting as a security blanket. As her lover, her dominant, her husband, Max strove to provide Violet with whatever she needed. If that meant picking out the perfect top to go with that sexy as hell pinstripe pencil skirt and telling her to eat grilled chicken with saffron rice for lunch, so be it.
While he’d been away, Max had kept in touch via quick emails and a short phone call whenever possible. He’d purposely not asked about Violet’s adherence to the rules. There were Doms who would, of course, but Max wasn’t one of them. He’d suspected—hoped, really—she’d broken some of the rules but didn’t want confirmation. It was so much more fun to come home to the unknown. Anticipation and uncertainty increased the excitement of their games.
When he’d walked in the door, Max had been met not by Violet’s smiling face as he’d expected, but the sight of her keys, phone and purse haphazardly discarded on the entryway console table. Upon further inspection of the house, he discovered dirty dishes piled in the sink, chip and cookie crumbs littering the couches and carpet, and half-full glasses of her favorite soda, now flat, perched on end tables and bookcases. He found one of the thrillers he’d ordered but not yet read open on the couch, the spine cracked, pages dog-eared and smears of chocolate decorating the margins. Those stacks of shiny discs on the DVD player, their cases strewn carelessly about, were the last straw.
He marched upstairs in search of Violet and found her in their master bedroom enjoying a cup of hot tea while she waited for her newly painted toenails to dry. He was knocked breathless at the sight of her nubile body adorned in a sheer salmon pink g-string and matching babydoll trimmed with white lace.
For a moment, his frustration vanished. Lust took hold. All those lonely, long nights spent wanting her, needing her, were suddenly just a memory. There she was, the very vixen who’d haunted his dreams, just waiting to be taken. In a minute or less, Max could have had her on her back, his stiff cock sunk deep into her hot, wet sheath.
The lusty vision quickly disappeared as his gaze fell on a pile of unfolded and wrinkled laundry. The bleached spots on his favorite jeans had him gritting his teeth. Violet offered him a smug little smile, her bright eyes daring him to lose his cool. Another one of her games, it seemed. She wanted a rise out of him, a rise he was more than willing to provide.
Oh, yes. She was going to get what she wanted. Whether she would like what she was about to get remained to be seen.
With a single snap of his fingers and a quiet command, Violet was on the floor in the submissive position he liked best. Knees wide, palms up, her chin at just the right angle. With her eyes downcast, she embodied the role of supplicant so perfectly. Her full breasts heaved with every excited breath. A blush of arousal colored her skin.
He walked a slow circle around her, studying, scrutinizing. He ached to touch her, to sweep his rough palm over her supple skin. She would melt into him and beg him for a kiss, a spanking, a stern word, anything.
But he couldn’t relent. Not so quickly. Violet had deliberately broken his rules. She had to be punished. She wanted to be punished.
He wouldn’t disappoint.
Max took a fistful of hair and yanked her head back hard but not enough to injure. That was the delicate line a dominant walked. There had to be pain, a little bruising perhaps, but never real injury. At least not in their relationship. For others, the boundaries weren’t so black and white. For Max and Violet, the hard lines were never crossed.
Violet’s eyes flashed with excitement. She’d always had a rather perverse fondness for his rough treatment. A quiver of heat penetrated his belly. Lascivious thoughts filled his head. The options were limitless.
“I want you downstairs, naked and kneeling next to the spanking horse.” He delivered the order decisively.
Her breathless reply followed swiftly. “Yes, sir.”
There was the slightest tremble in her voice, her body vibrating with the thrill of the unknown. She rose quickly and dashed out of the room. At the doorway, she dared one fleeting glance over her shoulder. There was no mistaking the mischievous smile curving her lips. Just as quickly, the smirk vanished and she disappeared around the corner.
Max could only shake his head in amusement. Sometimes he wondered just what, exactly, made Violet the way she was. What made her crave domination and pain? What spurred her toward such sweet submission? For that matter, what made him want to take control, to dominate his lover? Where had the undeniable urge to bind and beat and torture (albeit sensually) come from?
He doubted they’d ever find the answers to those questions. His childhood, like Violet’s, had been rather idyllic. There had been no violence or shame or any other oddness that might have predisposed him to darker sexual penchants. Not that he put much stock in pop psychology’s view of BDSM and its possible childhood triggers. Max, like many others in the lifestyle, reasoned he was born this way. He was simply wired to find pleasure differently than most.
Max took his time upstairs, changing out of his wrinkled clothes and into more comfortable jeans and a t-shirt, rather than following close on Violet’s heels. He wanted her to wait, to let her imagination run wild as she envisioned all kinds of punishments. The spanking horse had been placed strategically in their playroom. She would have a perfect view of their wall of pain, as they laughingly called it. Straps, floggers, crops, slappers, paddles, canes and switches all hung in their pr
oper places.
Knowing Violet, she was probably dripping wet with anticipation by now. Nothing made her hotter than the thought of the painful kiss of leather against her bare ass.
He made his way downstairs and through the living room, his bare feet silent against the carpet. He paused in the doorway of the kitchen and shook his head at the mess. In the morning, Max would set Violet to work cleaning the house from top to bottom. She’d be naked of course. Maybe he’d add another layer of punishment and wedge a butt plug between her cheeks.
Scrubbing the floor, naked on all fours with a silicone phallus stretching her ass wide open, would teach her a good lesson about cleanliness and rules.
Max opened the fridge in search of something cold to drink and smiled. There, on the top shelf, sat a pitcher of freshly brewed tea. He had no doubt it was mixed as precisely as he liked it, with a little bit of sweetened lemonade to flavor the orange pekoe tea. Just another simple reminder of Violet’s love for him.
She’d engineered a slovenly scene sure to earn her the ass whooping of a lifetime but had still taken the time to mix up his favorite concoction. It was a small thing, really, but it spoke volumes about Violet.
He grabbed the pitcher and filled a glass with ice before sloshing the cold tea over the frozen cubes. The pitcher went back in the fridge. Glass in hand, Max crossed the kitchen to the basement door. The hinges squeaked as he drew the door open. He winced at the grating noise and made a mental note to give the hinges a shot of lubricant. His footsteps were silent as he descended the carpeted stairs to the fully finished basement.
Unlike a lot of playrooms, this one had been decorated in muted earth tones. There were no red velvet drapes or wrought iron sconces or exposed stone walls. Max had never been fond of the dungeon look. He had friends who enjoyed that kind of ambience but he’d always found it rather distracting. Luckily Violet shared his appreciation for the calm décor. She’d happily selected the brown leather sofa and wide, low chair along with complementing lamps, end tables and framed erotic art in sepia and black and white.
Reinforced suspension hooks hung from the ceiling. An assortment of ropes, D-rings, spreader bars, scissors and other necessities for Shibari-style rope bondage were hidden away in an armoire. The lower drawers held an assortment of gags, blindfolds, cuffs, dildos, vibrators, condoms, gloves, lubricants, wet wipes and hand towels. He and Violet were past the condom stage in their relationship but it never hurt to be prepared for get-togethers with like-minded friends.
The rest of the room was dotted with erotic furniture custom designed and built by one of Max’s friends, an active member of their local BDSM scene and well-known high-end furniture maker. Each piece of hand-crafted wood and metal was unique, functional and beautiful. A saw horse. Houdini’s box. Bondage chair. Stocks. St. Andrew’s Cross. An exam table. The spanking horse.
Max’s gaze settled on Violet’s kneeling form. Like a well-trained submissive, she kept her eyes down, her chin lifted just so. She hadn’t looked around when he entered the room or allowed her gaze even the briefest of flicks toward him. In her moments of complete obedience, Max found her so alluring. There was just something enthralling in the way his usually feisty wife submitted so perfectly, so freely. She fueled his hunger for domination.
He slowly crossed the room, deliberately keeping his eyes off of her. She wanted his attention, needed his attention, and denying what she craved was an easy way to show his displeasure. He stopped at the end table by the sofa and placed his glass on one of the ceramic coasters before heading to the armoire. He took a plush hand towel from one of the drawers and dried the condensation clinging to his hand.
Tossing aside the towel, he rummaged through the odds and ends in the same drawer until he found the small collection of elastic hair ties. He stretched the black band between his fingers and walked toward Violet. Eyes still downcast, she breathed a bit faster, a bit shallower. Her excitement was palpable. A flush of redness colored her olive skin. Her pebbled nipples stood erect. There were goose bumps on her skin, whether from the slight chill in the air or her anticipation of what was to come, he couldn’t tell.
He stretched his fingers wider, causing the elastic hair band to slide down to his wrist. Standing behind her, Max sifted his callused fingers through Violet’s silky strands of coffee-colored hair, gathering them together at the back of her head. He loved the long strands of hair but they often got into the way if left loose. There was a time and place for her wild curls and waves but definitely not around swinging paddles and canes and ropes and rings.
With the high ponytail in place, Max allowed his hands to drift down the sides of her face and neck to rest on her shoulders. He gently massaged the soft skin along the curve of her neck. “Violet?”
“Yes, sir?” She held perfectly still as she answered and kept her gaze focused on the floor.
“Didn’t I leave you instructions for keeping house? Didn’t I leave you a list of duties and a schedule of routines?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Why didn’t you follow them?” He caressed her bare skin with gentleness, kept his touch feather light and teasing.
“I don’t know, sir.”
“You don’t know?” He repeated her words just a few decibels above a whisper. “I think you’re playing a game. I think you were deliberately trying to provoke me. Do you think I enjoy disobedience?”
“No, sir.”
“Do you think I wanted to come home to find my bratty little sub had turned my home into a filthy pigsty?”
“No, sir.”
“Do you think I wanted to come home after weeks of backbreaking hard work and grueling training exercises to clean up your messes?”
“No, sir.”
“Would you like to know what I wanted?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I wanted to come home, take a long, hot bath with you and make love all night.” He paused, letting her imagine what that evening could have been like. “Would you have liked that?”
“Oh, yes, sir! Very much, sir.”
“So would I,” he replied. “I would have liked that very much. Instead I’m forced to deal with your outrageous misbehavior.”
“I’m sorry, sir.” Her voice was barely above a whisper. He sensed she felt rather guilty for her little stunt after he laid out his plans for their first night together in weeks. Whatever her motives for getting what she wanted, she hadn’t considered his needs.
“I don’t think you are, Violet.” He took his hands away from her shoulders and stepped back. He moved to stand in front of her. Taking her chin in hand, Max tilted Violet’s face up toward his. The sight of tear shimmering in her eyes made his stomach clench. Starting off a session with his sub already in tears? This was going to be an interesting scene.
Max held her teary gaze. “You’ve been a very bad girl, Violet.”
“Yes, sir,” she agreed wholeheartedly.
“How can I make sure you’re really sorry about what you’ve done, Violet?”
She swallowed hard. A tear dripped down her cheek. “Punish me, sir. Punish me hard, sir.”
Max caressed her cheek. A smile played upon his lips. “I think I will, Violet. I think I’ll have my pound of flesh.”
He bent down and brushed his lips across hers. She gave a kittenish mewl of pleasure and pressed closer. He denied Violet the deep kiss she craved and straightened. “Get on the horse, Violet.”
She rose quickly but gracefully and took a few steps to the spanking horse. It was a simple contraption, built much like a tall sawhorse, with a center rail padded in leather. Usually, Max preferred for Violet to mount the horse with her legs on either side of the padded rail, her back straight and face pressed to the polished wood. Tonight, he had different plans.
“No,” he said, stopping her before she could swing a leg over the center rail. “I want you to bend over the rail until your fingers touch the floor.”
Judging by the fleeting look of distaste on her face, Violet didn’t like that instruction one bit. He couldn’t blame her. In that position, with her head down and ass in the air, she’d be stretched tight and rather uncomfortable. That was the point, of course. This wasn’t a sensual warm-up spanking. This was a full-on ass whooping for behaving like a childish brat.