The Dominant Male

things you don’t like sometimes. Now I know it may seem like a chore…’ and on the word ‘chore’ Paul brought his opened palm, finger-ends splayed back slightly, upward in a swing that connected with the globe of Manda’s left ass-cheek, fetching her a hearty slap, his fingertips stinging the cute, dimpled line at the top of her thighs ‘…but you could do your bit, you know, to keep us in the style to which we’re accustomed.’ Did he mean to sound like a pimp about all this? ‘Why the resistance, I wonder.’ And with that he paused, more serious and prosaic-sounding now: ‘Are you unsure you’ll finish it? That’s natural, but I know you can do it. You think just the right way. What with being an incorrigible…little…slut.’ And with each of the last three words, he landed a further spank on the reddening flesh of her ass cheek.
    ‘Ooh, yes, thank you Sir,’ mewed Manda.
    ‘Seriously, you’ve just the right turn of mind to do it – ie. a bloody filthy one. So what is it?’ He was rubbing his fingertips over her ass cheek, teasing out her reply. ‘Why the resistance to having a go?’
    ‘It’ll take me so bloody long!’ She said this quietly, under her breath, reluctant to make so weak-sounding an admission. Paul began to pinch her ass gently, slapping it almost absent-mindedly as he discoursed on all the reasons why he thought she’d be great at the task he was goading her towards. Manda wriggled in her bonds, conscious of her aching arms, since he was doing little to take her mind off them it seemed. Except seek to commit her, inexorably, to a task she wasn’t sure she could finish – and, more crucially, she was beginning to realise, the results of which he would have to bloody well assess.
    ‘You can’t make me think serious thoughts!’ she giggled.
    ‘Can’t I.’ It was more a statement than a question. Delivered assertively, she had to admit it gave her a frisson to hear him talk like this despite his insistence she do something useful complicating her mind. Manda heard the thwapp ing sound of Paul whipping his belt from the belt-loops of his jeans. He looped it around her upper arms, still held horizontally in mid-air by the wrist cuffs, threading the end through the clasp and tightening it around the delicate curves of her biceps. The belt was a US police-issue belt which, thanks to its webbed design, could be fastened anywhere along its travel, and Paul drew her arms about a centimetre closer together and released them, several times, making Manda yelp and wriggle, before fastening the belt so that it held her arms a little closer together, bunching the skin of her back a little more, forcing her breasts to stand a little more proudly thanks to this dastardly extemporization.
    ‘But I want to make sure you do this, this time.’ At these last two words, he grabbed a handful of her died-jet hair, as if for emphasis. Exerting a steady pull on that patch of her scalp, he pushed her head down and forward, like she had something to be ashamed of.
    ‘Ow, ow, ow! Ow, wow!’ cried Manda, taken by surprise, and her resolve to resist his wishes grew more steely. He’d been gauche, overstepped a mark, moved her on a little too quickly from self-respect to being treated like a sluttish object. She bit her bottom lip. Restrained and vulnerable after all, she wondered if there’d been any real anger or frustration with her there. If so, they should save this topic for that face-to-face chat instead.
    Paul loosened his grip and withdrew his hand slowly. He slid his arm beneath her arms and across her back, to run his palm softly up and down her ribcage on her right-hand side. With him reaching round her like this, she felt held by him. In between stroking her he gripped her, too, raising her body slightly and allowing her to reposition herself, slackening the pressure on her cunt-lips and alleviating the growing but still far-from-unbearable ache in her upper arms.
    Helpless to impede his touch, she felt her flesh wake up beneath his palm and fingers. Paul brought his right hand round to cup her taughtened breast, rolling and pinching her nipple between his thumb and forefinger, and she found herself wanting to thrust her chest still forward to meet it. Meanwhile, she felt his body run the length of her left-hand side, his hip-bone pressing into her arse-cheek, as his left hand slid softly round to tease the topmost hairs of her downy triangle and his middle finger explored