Do You Promise by Fidelis Blue & Kitten
From Under My Thumb
She is no ordinary woman. She wants no ordinary relationship. When Matt learns exactly what the headstrong Elizabeth needs, its time for things to change.
 

Matt called Elizabeth, his slut, and invited her to dinner that evening.

“Sorry,” she said. “I’m dining with someone else.”

“Who?”

“Someone I used to know.”

“A man?”

“Yes.” Something in her voice made him suspicious.

“A lover?”

She hesitated. “Well, yes, but it was a long time ago.”

“So why do you still see him?” She was holding something back.

“Unfinished business.”

“Cancel it,” he said. “I want you to dine with me.”

“I can’t.” Her voice trembled slightly.

“Can’t or won’t?”

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’ll explain later.”

“Don’t bother,” he retorted and put the phone down.

Was she trying to provoke him, or was there some secret she was determined to hide? Either way he felt his anger rising. He realised now how much he wanted to control the woman. The thought that there was another man tormented him; he would have her all to himself or not at all.

She called him the next day. “Please, can we talk?” she pleaded.

At first he was cold, distant. He wasn’t sure if he’d have time that day, he said. She begged him not to freeze her out. At last he relented somewhat. She said she was leaving work early to go riding. She kept a horse at a stable on the outskirts of town.

“Meet me there at six,” she said. “I’ll be finished then. We can go somewhere quiet.”

When Matt got to Elizabeth’s stable, the stable-girl was closing up.

“I’ve come to meet Elizabeth Lawrence,” he said.

“That’s okay,” the girl replied. “She’s still out but you can wait inside. She’s got a key.”

The girl left. He strolled around the stables. Horses snuffled and snorted in their stalls. He peeped into the harness room. There was a powerful smell of old leather. On the walls bits and bridles hung together with reins and stirrups. He heard the sound of a horse’s hooves and turned to see Elizabeth ride into the yard. She dismounted, smiling.

“Have to unsaddle and rub him down,” she said.

“What’s his name?” Matt asked.

“Princeling. He’s a gelding.”

That would figure, Matt thought to himself. He followed her into the stall. Her face was flushed with the exercise. He’d never seen her look so handsome. She wore classical riding gear, a crisp white blouse under a tight-fitting black velvet jacket. Her hair was pinned up under a black riding helmet. As she bent to undo the horse’s girth he looked at her rounded bottom encased in skin-tight tan breeches. The outfit was completed by shiny black leather boots, knee-high.

“How was your dinner?” he said, trying to sound non-committal.

“Good. It was good.”

“And this guy is . . . exactly who?”

“Just a guy.” She gave him a look that was cocky, almost defiant.

“So you stood me up just for a nobody?”

“I didn’t stand you up,” she said spiritedly. “I had a date with him first, remember?”

“And I asked you to break it.”

“And I said no,” she retorted. She had stopped brushing the horse and stood with hand on hip, looking him in the eye.

His heart was hammering in his chest. Something was coming over him, something too powerful to be denied.

“And you think you can say no to me, just like that?”

“Can’t I?” Her eyes sparkled. She was breathing quickly.

“I won’t be trifled with,” he answered.

“Oh, won’t you?” She raised an eyebrow, as if to say, what was he prepared to do about it?

“No, I won’t.”

He picked up a long leather strap lying across a wooden rail. Grabbing her, he held her wrists while he bound them tight together. He pulled her to the side of the stall and looped the end of the strap through a ring set high on the wall, so that her arms were pinioned above her head. She struggled silently, determinedly, but to no avail. Seizing another strap, he knelt and bound her ankles together. Then he undid the belt around her waist, pulled down the zipper of her breeches and yanked them down to her knees. Underneath she wore a pair of white silk panties. These too he pulled down, with such violence that he tore the thin material. The horse turned its head to look, mildly curious.

Bound hand and foot, she’d ceased struggling, but she glanced behind her nervously to see what he intended. On a bench nearby she’d set down her riding crop. He picked it up and advanced on her.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m sorry. I was disrespectful, I know. Please don’t do it hard.”

“Be quiet,” he said.

He measured the distance carefully, tapping the crop lightly against her bare buttocks. Then he raised it above his shoulder and brought it down hard across the centre of her behind. She whimpered softly. He raised the crop and struck her again, aiming at exactly the same spot. Two livid red lines marked the white skin. Again he raised the crop. As he brought it sharply down, she tried to move out of the way and it struck her to one side, partly on the hip.

“Keep still,” he said curtly. “You’re going to get a dozen strokes, and if you move on any of them they will be repeated. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” she whispered, so low he could hardly hear her.

The crop rose and fell. Her body was trembling now but, resigned to her fate, she no longer tried to move away. The sweetly rounded buttocks were criss-crossed with welts. He knew if he stopped he would not have the nerve to go on; he steeled himself to deliver what he had promised, while he watched the tears falling from her eyes. A terrible excitement was upon him, as though his body were humming with electricity.

At last he was finished. He lowered his arm and stood panting. He could feel his cock throbbing. He opened his trousers and took it out. Standing behind her, he felt between her legs. Her slit oozed. He slid inside her, holding her scorched, bruised buttocks in his hands. Savouring the moment, he fucked her slowly, and she moaned softly as he came.

He put his arms around her and held her as his cock slowly slipped out of her. He untied her, pulled her knickers and breeches gently up over her behind, and then kissed her face, tasting the salt tears.

“I love you,” he said.

“Matt,” she breathed, holding him tight.

He helped her finish caring for the horse. They drove away from the stables to her house. He led her by the hand into the bedroom and undressed her, laying her on the bed face down. Tenderly he stroked the marks he had made, tracing the deep red lines, now changing to purple. He turned her and kissed between her legs, circling her clitoris with his tongue, not teasing her this time, only thinking of her pleasure, till she came with a cry of delight.

Afterwards, he cradled her in his arms. “So, tell me about this guy.”

She took a deep breath. “Five years ago I met a man. I didn’t like him at first, but he pursued me relentlessly and eventually I agreed to go out with him. I recognised that there was something strangely compelling about him, even as I resisted him. Our love-making was intense, even violent. He never struck me, but he often held me down. He buggered me frequently, the first man I had ever allowed to do so. Then one day he put me across his knee and spanked me. I was outraged, at least I acted outraged. But I could not disguise the excitement I felt. He had only to put his hand between my legs to feel it, after all. Things progressed rapidly. He began to beat me regularly, in more and more elaborate rituals. He told me that he was my master; that I was to subjugate myself to him in all things sexual, that my body belonged to him. I accepted this. In truth, I was in thrall to him.

“After a year he moved away. It became impossible to continue our relationship on the same basis, though we continued to communicate. I embarked on a frenzied search for sexual satisfaction with other men, sleeping with dozens in the next two years. But none of them could offer me the pleasure I received from Jonathan. However much I hinted, however much I provoked and teased, none would take me in hand.

“I discovered with Jonathan that I have a deep need to be submissive. In everyday life people find me confident, assertive, even bossy. But in the bedroom I need to be dominated. I want to feel that I am utterly in the control of a strong man who will bend me to his will; who will break me if I try to resist. I want to be free of my own will, to have no other desire than to serve. I don’t know why I am this way; I only know it is the deepest thing in me.

“Because I could no longer see Jonathan on a regular basis I asked to be released from my vow of obedience to him. He refused. He said that a submissive may never again become a sexually free woman. I could only be released from my obedience to him if I found someone else to take his place. I have been looking for that someone. I thought when I met you I might have found him. That is why I went to meet Jonathan, to tell him about you and get his approval to continue my quest to become your slave. But for a long time you refused to be cast in that role. Now, at last, I wish to humbly request to be your submissive. Tell me that you accept me.”

She got up and knelt at his feet. She lowered her head and kissed them.

“Do you accept my offer of complete and utter obedience, master?”

He opened his trousers and showed her his cock.

“Kiss it.”

She bent her head and kissed it reverently.

“Do you worship it?”

“I do,” she said.

“Do you promise to serve it, to prostrate yourself before it?”

“I do.”

“Suck me, then. And swallow.”

She did as he commanded. Afterwards he said that they must get in touch with Jonathan to formalise the arrangement. Elizabeth readily agreed. Then he took her into bed and they slept, their arms around one another.