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Description

Mitch resents the hold that Krissy has over him. He tells her that in order for them to remain together, she must learn to belong to him and to do whatever he wants without question. Krissy is frightened and confused, and wonders why her boyfriend has suddenly become so controlling. But fearing both his brutal punishments and losing him, she quickly acquiesces to his demands. Mitch struggles with his new role as Master and nearly abandons the game, but Krissy surprises him, and herself, by placing herself in his hands completely.

Categories 

Licorice Whips, Novella,

*Warning* Includes elements of FORCE FANTASY and EXPLICIT BRUTALITY. Not for sensitive readers.

Includes: spankings, beatings, punishment, humiliation, power plays, submission and domination, force fantasy, first-time anal sex, rough sex, love

Approx. 30,000 Words

Publisher: OC Press

Release Date: 1/12/2012
ISBN: 978-1-937898-10-6

Excerpt

Chapter 1 - Krissy

“You’ve been a bad, bad girl.”

Mitch grabbed me as soon as I walked in the front door, and the shock of it frightened me; for just a moment, I wasn’t sure it was him. Then I felt his arms tighten around me and his breath warm in my ear. I smiled as I leaned my head back against his chest.

“What are you talking about?” My voice was breathless.

One of his hands left my waist to go to my breast, and he gently pinched my nipple in a way that made my head swim.

“What did I tell you this morning, Krissy?” Mitch murmured in my ear as his hand slid down the front of my body and his fingers slipped into the top of my low-cut jeans. His other hand stayed on my breast. He didn’t need to restrain me anymore; I wouldn’t have moved even if I could have. I struggled to think past the haze of desire fogging my mind.

“I don’t remember …”

I could feel Mitch smile against my neck, and his fingers plucked at the elastic on the thong I was wearing underneath my jeans.

“I told you, no panties.” He took my skin between his teeth and bit me, just hard enough to hurt, and a surge of lust arrowed from my head to a certain spot directly between my legs. “Didn’t I?”

I remembered now, and a sliver of fear broke through the desire. I also remembered what he had said he would do to me if he caught me with panties on at the end of the day. “Come on, baby, you weren’t serious…” I said, trying to sound calm.

Mitch turned me around and stared into my eyes, his expression grim. He shook his head, and one corner of his sexy mouth turned up. He jerked me toward him and kissed me hard, and in spite of the fear, I responded. He could always make me respond.

“You ought to know by now, Krissy,” he said against my mouth, “that I’m never anything but serious where that gorgeous ass of yours is concerned.”

I tried to pull away from him, but he wouldn’t let me go. “You know what I have to do, don’t you?”

I looked at him in dismay. He smiled soothingly, and let go of me.

“Get into the bedroom. Take your clothes off and wait for me.”

I was beginning to feel real fear, and I tried a tentative smile. “Come on, Mitch, quit it. You’re scaring me.”

He seized me again; one strong arm went around my waist, and his other hand came down on my denim-covered ass, hard.

“Good.” His voice was as hard as the slap had been. “You should be scared. You’re going to find out what happens when you don’t listen to me.” He gave me a push. “Get going. You don’t want to make it worse than it is already, do you?”

I turned around and looked at him with wide eyes, my breath coming fast. The determined expression on his face caused another rush of lust to shoot through me, and for a moment, my knees went weak. Mitch put his hands on his hips and jerked his head in the direction of the bedroom.

“Get going, Krissy. Now. I don’t want to have to tell you again.”

I stared at him and he smiled, nodding. My feet began to move of their own accord, and before I knew it I was in the bedroom, closing the door and standing indecisively in the middle of the room, trying to decide whether or not he was really serious.

He’s just playing, any minute now he’ll stop this—

“Are you taking your clothes off?” I jumped at the sound of his voice, my heart beating double-time. “If you’re not naked by the time I get in there you’re going to be really sorry, Krissy.”

My fingers flew to the button on my jeans and I undid it and slid the zipper down, pushing the jeans to my knees and then my ankles. I almost had the t-shirt over my head when I heard the door begin to open, and I tore it off and flung it aside, undoing my bra as quickly as I could. When Mitch came into the room I was standing by the bed, trembling, my arms crossed over my breasts, and he sauntered over to me, a rueful smile on his face. He hooked one finger in the thong I was still wearing and looked at me.

“Krissy, Krissy,” he said, shaking his head in disappointment. I was too frightened to respond. His fingers tightened on the elastic and before I knew what was happening he had ripped the panties right off my body, leaving a red line on my hip where the elastic had dug into my skin. Mitch dangled the torn scrap of nylon in front of my eyes for a moment, then held it to his nose, inhaled deeply, and crushed it in his fist.

“God, I love the smell of your pussy,” he said, and another shock of desire surged through me. He dropped the ruined panties on the floor and yanked my hands away from my breasts.

“These are mine,” he said, his eyes growing heavy with desire as he dipped his head to take one hard nipple in his mouth and expertly caress it with his tongue. I swayed on my feet, my eyes closing and my breath ragged. Mitch raised his head and kissed me, a normal, gentle kiss, and for a moment relief filled me: he was joking.

A second later that notion was dispelled when he bent to the other nipple and sucked it greedily into his mouth, biting down just hard enough to alarm me. I tried to jerk away and his hands released my wrists to take hold of my hips.

“Don’t you fucking move.” The flat quality of his voice started my heart racing again, and tears filled my eyes.

“Mitch, please—”

He looked into my eyes, and the words died in my throat.

“Please?” he asked. “Please what, Krissy? Are you begging for mercy?”

I stared at him in astonishment. Was this really happening? Who was this person? Where was my loving, gentle protector?

“Begging for mercy?” I repeated in a trembling voice.

Mitch smiled—a cold, cruel smile that didn’t reach his eyes. He nodded. “Yeah. Do you want me to go easy on you? Is that what you’re saying?”

Tears spilled out of my eyes and he reached out and gently wiped one away with the tip of his index finger. I nodded, trying not to cry out loud, and he cupped the side of my face gently in his palm.

“I’ll think about it, babe,” he said, and kissed me. “Now go and get that chair over there.” He inclined his head toward the chair that stood in front of the low, wide dresser, where I sat in the morning to put on my makeup.

“Why?” My voice was a petrified whisper, and his voice was short when he answered.

“Just do it, Krissy. You’re starting to piss me off.”

He placed his hand against my bare back and pushed, and I stumbled to the dresser. I picked up the chair—a stool, really, with a curved wire back. I brought it over to where Mitch stood and placed it on the floor.

When he began to unbuckle his belt I couldn’t stop the words that spilled out: “What are you doing?”

He didn’t answer, but began to pull the belt out of the loops of his jeans, and before I could stop myself I clutched his arm.

“Mitch, what are you doing?”

He shook off my hand and captured my shoulder. “I’m doing what I told you I would if I came home and found you wearing panties. Now bend over the chair.”

My heartbeat cascaded into a runaway frenzy, and I felt, quite clearly, that I was in the middle of a bad dream.

“You’re not serious—” I began, and that was when he tangled one hand in my hair and jerked my head back.

“What will it take to convince you, Krissy?”

Mitch’s eyes were distant, as if they belonged to a stranger; there was no tenderness in them. “You better believe I’m fucking serious. Now do what I told you.”

He pulled unbearably hard on the roots of my hair, and then he let go, pushing me over to the chair. Breathless, my heart hammering against my ribs, I bent over the short back of the chair.

He’s not really going to hit me…

I felt the belt snap against the bare skin of my upraised buttocks and I let out a cry and began to straighten up. I was more startled than hurt, but now that I knew he intended to mete out the punishment he had promised, I didn’t intend to cooperate.

Mitch’s hand descended firmly on my shoulder and he bent over me. “If you get up, or if you try to get away, I’ll make it much worse for you, Krissy,” he breathed in my ear, “Worse than you can imagine. You understand me?”

I couldn’t respond. I couldn’t even think. The panic rushing through me made everything seem far away and dreamlike, and I just froze, feeling the weight of him pushing down on me.

His hand tightened on my skin and he shook me gently. “Understand?” he repeated, and at the impatient tone of his voice I nodded frantically.

“Yes, I understand,” I whispered, and he kissed my temple.

“Good girl. Now stay still.”

Mitch stepped away from me again and I began to shake, waiting for the pain. After a moment the belt descended on my backside again, and this time it hurt. A lot.

“Count.”

I wondered if I’d heard him correctly, and I repeated in a faint voice, “Count?”

“Yeah.” His voice was impatient again. “Count the strokes. Out loud. Which one was that?”

“Uh – two?” I said, and he corrected me.

“That was one. Here comes number two.” The belt snapped against my ass again, and I let out a gasp of pain.

“Two,” I said in a trembling voice, trying desperately not to cry. It seemed very important to remain in control, though I didn’t really understand why. I cried out involuntarily as the belt came down again; this time it really hurt.

“Three.”

Harder. “F-Four.”

Again, harder, “Five.”

Harder still. “Oh God, Mitch, stop, please–”

“Which one was that, Krissy? Or do we have to start all over again?”

“Six. Mitch–”

The belt descended again, harder than ever, and the pain grew worse.

“Seven! It hurts, oh God–”

He laughed without humor. “I know it does. It’s supposed to.”

The belt came down again, and I jerked in agony.

“Eight. Jesus, please–”

This time I could hear it snaking through the air—a thin, ominous sound, and when it came down on my red and tender skin, I screamed.

“Stop! Please!”

“Which one was that? Right now.”

“Nine! Stop, Mitch, oh God, please stop!”

The belt whickered through the air.

“Ten!”

My voice blurred with tears; I was crying uncontrollably, wondering how he could do this to me, wondering why he didn’t care, and when I heard the small clinking sound of the buckle dropping to the carpet I was filled with relief.

Thank God, oh thank Christ, oh my ass…

Then Mitch’s hands were on me, kneading and squeezing the raw skin, and I let out another weak scream and cried helplessly. When he finally spoke again I couldn’t believe what he said.

“Tell me thank you, Krissy.”

“What?”

“You heard me. Tell me thank you for punishing you.”

I squeezed my eyes shut and surrendered.

“Thank you for…for punishing me, Mitch.”

Mitch pulled me gently by the shoulders, bringing me to a standing position and turning me around. I was so ashamed I couldn’t look at him, and he slipped his fingers under my chin and tilted my head up. My eyes were swimming in tears.

“You’re welcome, Krissy,” he said softly, kissing me and then drawing me into his arms. I melted against him, breathing in shuddering gasps, and he held me tightly.

“I did go easy on you, you know,” he told me.

I was incredulous. “What do you mean?”

There was the slightest hint of resentment in my voice, and he squeezed me warningly, the flat of his hand slapping one sore buttock.

“I didn’t use the buckle,” he said gently, as if it was a gift I should be grateful for. “Unless you’re a good girl from now on, next time I will.” 

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