Four Tamings: A Novel of Erotic Domination

Chapter Three-1

Chapter Three

Rafe didn't buy for a moment that any of this was really true, however deeply the obviously frantic young beauty before him might have meant what she was claiming. But her agreement was good enough, since he found her just as sizzling hot as she did him. He suspected that eros and discipline could be melded here in all manner of intriguing ways. So he merely extended his hand and shook the sweaty, trembling palm of his new submissive, saying: ‘Then I guess we have us a deal. Let's call the Deputy in and see about getting you released so we can get on with our little mutual project.’

The Foreman had accumulated several months of unspent leave time over his years of service to the Hidalgos, and this was a good time to take a chunk of it. He and Estela had discussed the possibility of his taking Nicole under his wing, and she had agreed (though secretly feeling a surprising stab of jealousy at the thought of another woman getting so much attention from the young man whom she had steadily found more attractive in the decade they had worked together). But she was not a woman to allow herself to be ruled by such childish emotions, and in truth the time Rafe asked to take off coincided with a trip she had planned to the Far East and Europe to review business interests and close a couple of property deals. So when the very nervous young woman was handed into the Ranch's panel truck by the Foreman, he knew that for the next month he had no other obligations than to focus on her rehabilitation.

Rafe had another set of experiences that bore strongly on his decision to take up the rather daunting challenge of taming Nicole. While he was stationed in Iraq, his buddy Jack from the interrogation side of the Intelligence services (who had originally introduced him to the b**m circles back in the states) called him in on a case. While the interrogation itself was a practiced art known only to the experts such as Rafe's friend, agents with IT and Arabic skills were sometimes needed in real time to check information being revealed by the prisoners. The case involved a beautiful Shia woman suspected of Iranian ties, perhaps even a deep cover agent of the Mullahs. She had been captured while placing an IED in a crowded Sunni marketplace, and brought to their clandestine Intelligence base outside Bagram. Her name was Leyla.

A large dossier on her was completed by Rafe, arming his buddy with the information he needed to be most effective in breaking her. And then our hero watched over the video feed with an uncomfortable combination of fascination, discomfort, and s****l arousal as his b**m friend lived out a sadist's dream. She was hooded and cuffed to a sturdy metal chair bolted to the floor of the soundproof interrogation room. And there she was subjected to an intricate dance of various kinds of humiliation and discomfort, alternating with periods when his friend would 'rescue' her with acts of kindness. Gradually, she was stripped of her clothes and her dignity, always punished when she lied or dissimulated, and always rewarded when she revealed new information (as confirmed by Rafe over the intercom from the next room). By the end, she had revealed a treasure trove of confirmed data about the inner workings of the insurgency, and her tormentor had never even broken her skin.

This experience formed one of the bases from which the Foreman planned to construct his rehabilitation of Nicole. He insisted on receiving copies of all legal and medical and family records pertaining to his unsuspecting new project, who expected him to be just as clueless and easily manipulated as all of her previous rehab counselors. But Iraq had taught Rafe that good intelligence was the key to any successful operation, and there was no reason to believe that principle didn't include his current project. So he was intimately familiar with her entire file by the time he took custody of her. The pretty young woman fidgeting in the passenger seat of the panel truck openly studied her breathtakingly handsome captor, with whom she was already a little in love just from their discussions before he agreed to take on her case. She wished she was attired in something more appealing than the thrift store hand-me-downs the jail provided on her release. Her own clothes had been discarded on her arrest, being soaked in vomit past the redemption of the hoosegow's basic laundry capabilities. The dowdy house dress and utilitarian cotton underwear and sandals she wore were hardly designed to forward her plans to seduce him as soon as possible.

As they started on the long drive from the county seat to the Ranch, Rafe conducted a low-key interrogation of his nervous companion. He asked for her drug abuse history, and within about ten minutes she had already departed from the truth as confirmed in several of her records. He calmly pulled the van over to the shoulder of the lightly traveled country road, and turned to look penetratingly at his confused passenger. ‘Why are we stopping?’ she asked. He replied: ‘One of the vital features of your recovery program is that you will be immediately punished for every lie (either of commission or omission), as well as any other infraction. Unbuckle your seat belt and climb in the back for your spanking.’

Nicole flushed brilliantly, as redheads were wont to do when embarrassed or upset, realizing that the first test of her promise to cooperate with Rafe's discipline without complaint was at hand. She had, as was her usual pattern, promptly put out of her mind the agreement she had made. Also as usual, she was as inclined towards cooperation as a newly captured feral cat, though she struggled in vain not to show this. Rafe remarked dryly: ‘Seems like our penitent girl who was so anxious to pledge her undying obedience in order to get out of jail is having second thoughts. Your spanking will be doubled for not cooperating immediately, and I will be happy to double it again if your naughty little ass is not in the back of this van in the next ten seconds. If we keep going at this rate, you may never sit comfortably again, young lady!’

His totally flustered charge fumbled with her seat belt and barely squeezed her slender body between the seats before the allotted time had expired, as her implacable captor coolly kept an eye on his wristwatch. The back of the van had a few wooden crates on its carpeted floor, but was otherwise empty, though the walls were carpeted as well to cushion its contents against jostling during transport. The space was five feet in height, not nearly tall enough for the rangy redhead to stand comfortably, so she crouched uneasily to sit on one of the crates. Rafe squeezed his own much larger body through the opening between the seats with the practiced ease that characterized his movements under most circumstances, and sat on another crate facing Nicole.

The Foreman calmly rolled up the sleeves of his blue work shirt, revealing powerfully muscled forearms that on another occasion Nicole would have found quite erotically intriguing. Now, as she realized that these same muscles were going to be powering her impending spanking, she glanced at them fearfully. This emotion increased when he reached back to a leather pocket clipped to his belt and took out the handcuffs that were his right to carry as a deputized member of the Mounted Patrol. He instructed: ‘Stick out your hands so I can clip these onto your wrists. In my experience, naughty girls like yourself who have not yet learned self-control are not able to refrain from reaching back to try to interfere with what's happening to their rear ends when they're getting their medicine. So we'll just head that possibility off at the pass, and that way you can concentrate on learning your lesson instead of trying not to reach back and stop it.’

Nicole had been cuffed more than a few times in the course of her career as a bad girl, as Rafe well knew from reading her arrest records. But in those cases, her hands had always been held behind her back in order to receive their bracelets. As she meekly complied with his order, she realized that if her hands were behind her, her long arms might well have enabled her to arch back and protect her bottom. Clearly, she was in the hands of someone who knew his business, which was a far from comforting thought at the moment. The cool steel closed around her wrists with a definitive click, which she quite accurately suspected to signal the end of life as she had known it up until this very moment.

Rafe then drew her towards himself and smoothly over his lap in one powerful motion which stunned his captive with the disparity of their strengths and the ease with which he could handle her lean, long body. At nearly six feet in height, she was used to holding her own with men (or, more recently during her lesbian experimentation phase, women) on a physical level. This was a new level of opponent, one who could dominate her physically as though she were a tiny child. And then he proceeded to treat her as exactly that--a naughty little girl who was about to have her skirt raised and panties pulled down so her bare buttocks could pay the price for her wicked ways just as countless millions of other miscreant rear ends had done for time out of mind.

Her captor then eased up the hem of her skirt, exposing her girlish nether moons encased in the cheap dingy white cotton bikini-style panties the jail provided. She wanted him to find her ass desirable, perhaps in hope that he would go easier on her if he wanted to f**k her later, which she was rather hoping. But she knew that her recent adventures with amphetamines had taken the rather perfectly voluptuous figure that she had used to her advantage since teen age and converted it to a pared down version of its former womanliness. Her t**s were barely B-cup now, though still thankfully firm and perky, and the glorious womanly ass that had seduced who could remember how many men and women was now smaller than when she had left home for a brief abortive stint at college a half-decade ago. What she could not know was that Rafe was a totally equal opportunity fancier of women's derrieres, happy to spank and otherwise pillage bottoms from the most fulsome to the tiniest. He cheerfully enjoyed the entire spectrum of female buttocks as they reacted each in its charmingly unique way to his challenging attentions.

Our hero was an old fashioned spanker, and enjoyed the ritual of delivering a first spanking to a submissive rear end. That meant taking up her skirt (which he preferred, though lowering tight Levis also had its advantages) quite slowly for the revelation of the territory he was about to master so intimately. He was happy with Nicole's slender rear end, appreciating that even in the course of her meth-induced weight loss, her habit of riding her Uncle's horses for hours whenever she could had kept her gluteal muscles as toned and well-developed as those of an athletic young boy. He allowed his hand to roam over the redhead's nether moons, gently stroking them through their scant cotton covering, getting a feel for them as their owner moaned in a combination of arousal and mortification. And aroused she clearly was, as they both knew was witnessed silently but unequivocally by the dark stain of moisture creeping outward from the crotch of her panties, no matter how tightly she squeezed her legs to try to hide this embarrassing fact. Rafe liked the scent of her excitement, finding it to be fresh and clean like the smell of a foaling mare's amniotic fluids. It augured well for how she might taste down there, an experience he looked forward to sampling when the time was right.

But first things first, there was a naughty rear end to spank, and our hero was confident that he was the right man for the job. He explained what was going to happen to his increasingly terrified subject, who was craning her neck hard to look back at her captor in the dim light of the van. She was grateful its air conditioning had been left running since it otherwise would have grown unpleasantly stuffy and she hoped not to sweat during her ordeal. Rafe said: ‘So we'll start with a friendly little warm up hand spanking through your panties, for say, fifty swats per cheek. This won't count toward your allocated dose of medicine, since I intend to punish you, and not your clothing. But it lets me get a feel for the target, as well as bringing the blood to the surface so you'll be less likely to be bruised when we get more serious later on. Then these panties must come down, but we'll leave them around your knees to keep you from kicking too much. Later on, as you'll find out at great length, I suspect, I prefer to restrain my naughty girls' legs as well as arms, since that system enables me to be more precise in delivering just the dose I intend to the target I have in mind. You'll get another fifty on the bare with my hand to each buttock, after which we would have stopped if you hadn't been uncooperative. But since you were bad even after confronted, I will be using a leather paddle that I brought along for just this purpose to administer your second dose. You will be welcome to cry out during your spanking, though if you do too much begging or pleading, or find yourself being disrespectful, we'll just increase the dose until the message is drilled home. Any questions?’