DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN BLACKLIST!
Discipline III: Confusion
"You NEED Mr Reddington now. And not because of his Blacklist."
"I don't need anyone, Dembe. And I certainly don't need HIM!" She snapped, storming out of the house and away from Raymond Reddington.
She hadn't expected to feel good about what she had said to Reddington, but then again she hadn't gone into the house for that reason. What she had said – 'go to hell' – had needed to be said. He had tried to frame her husband for a murder he hadn't committed and claimed that he'd been having an affair. He was lucky she only told him to go to hell! If he'd been doing another crossword, he would have had another pen in his neck!
So why didn't she feel even slightly better after leaving his house? 'You NEED Mr Reddington now. And not because of his Blacklist'. Liz had climbed into her car and sped off with those words spinning around and around in her mind. She turned the radio onto a rock station, turning the volume as loud as she could stand as the tears flowed down her face. Biting her quivering lip to keep herself from sobbing, she hit the heel of her hand against the steering wheel. Dembe was right. And she hated that. Seventy-two hours. What a difference three days could make. Day one; Reddington spanks her. Same day; her husband is accused of murder. Day two; she seeks out Reddington for more 'attention' and orgasms at the end of it. Day three; her husband is declared innocent, the trail leads back to Reddington, and she cuts off all contact with him.
From inside her pocket she can feel her phone vibrating. She awkwardly pulls it out and looks at the screen. Dembe's calling her. She hadn't taken anything into the house with her so she couldn't have left something behind. He was calling because of him then. Screaming in frustration, she threw the phone into the passenger seat and kept driving home. To her husband. That thought sobered her up as she slowed to a stop for a red light. Tom was waiting for her. She couldn't cry in front of him. She wouldn't. Wiping her face on her sleeve, she started driving again as the driver behind her pipped their horn when the light turned green. She turned the radio off and drove in silence, occasionally sniffling.
When she pulled up to her house, she turned the engine off and took deep breaths. Examining her face in the rear-view mirror, she dabbed away traces all running mascara, forced a smile on her face, picked up her phone and climbed out the car. The house was silent as she entered. Their dog Hudson ran over to her and fussed for a stroke as she hung her coat up.
"Hey buddy." She said quietly, crouching down and giving him a long fuss. Once he had gotten all the attention he wanted, he went back into the kitchen. "Tom?" She called out. She received a quiet 'in here' from the dining room. He sat at the table, a bottle of beer in front of him. "You coming to bed?"
"When I've finished this." That was all she got out of him as he took a drink from the bottle.
With a silent nod, she headed upstairs. Taking her pyjamas into their en suite bathroom, she undressed. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught her reflection in the mirror. Christ…Her ass and the tops of her thighs were strewn with thick red lines and dark bruises. Tracing her fingers lightly over them, she gasped in sharp pain. In the distance she heard Tom coming upstairs. Quickly pulling the pyjama bottoms on, she hid the bruises. She wouldn't be able to explain them. She brushed her teeth and washed her face, then left the safety of the bathroom. Tom was changing into his pyjamas. Normally the sight of her husband's bare torso sent a thrill through her. But now…She quickly – but not too quickly – climbed into bed and lay down, making sure to face his direction (if he reached out and touched her butt, she wasn't sure if she'd be able to hold in any pained sounds she might make) She reached back around and turned her lamp off. Tom climbed into bed silently, taking his glasses off and turning out his lamp.
Their make-up sex was familiar, though Liz did feel the pleasure Tom always brought her. Liz lay on her back with Tom above her. He was a little rougher than usual. She didn't blame him. Actually…She liked it. Every hard drive of his hips into hers sent shockwaves through her body. At one point she was sure her toes curled. His breath was against her ear, tickling her neck as she moaned gutturally into the darkness around them. Reddington's face flashed through her mind. Tom climaxed with a harsh thrust. That thrust hit Liz's clit in such a way that she orgasmed straight after him. Reddington's face flashed through her mind. Tom hovered above her for a few minutes before pulling out and lying next to her. She curled into his arms, holding him tight. She didn't want to let him go.
!"!
Two weeks passed. Not a word from Reddington. Good. And bad. Liz had been able to carry on as normal for a few days. As the days had passed, Liz had watched the bruises on her butt and thighs heal and fade, until no sign of them remained. With that, it had come back. The need. Not the want, but the need for more 'attention'. She couldn't ask Tom, she daren't. Tom wasn't like that. The first time they had had sex, he had told her that he wasn't a particularly…Forceful man. At the time she hadn't minded, already in love with him and what he could offer her – a family, a house, a baby. A life.
But now she found herself trying to gently encourage him to be a little 'firmer' with her. She asked him to recreate the fervour he had taken her with on the night that he had been released from the FBI. He apologised, saying that he had been ungentlemanly and hadn't treated her with the respect that she deserved. She told him she had liked how he had taken her. He'd looked at her like she was another person. Sensing his shock, she dropped the subject and moved on.
Over a week had gone by and Liz had started to feel desperate. A rare occasion had occurred when she had been in the house when Tom hadn't been. She'd picked up her wooden paddle hairbrush and gone into the bathroom. Bracing one hand against the sink, she used her other and brought the hairbrush down against her bare right buttock. She barely felt anything at all. Trying again, firmer this time, she braced herself for pain. But again, almost nothing. The third time was a little harder, but nothing more than a gentle spank. It was impossible, she realised, to really spank yourself. It was like tickling yourself, it just couldn't be done. Her psychologically trained mind knew it was all about the brain knowing that pain was coming and automatically counteracting it. She had known all along that the spankings Reddington had given her had only hurt so much because she hadn't known when he was going to hit her, or how hard, or where on her body. She had been vulnerable to him. In his power. And she missed it. And she hated herself for that.
Desperate not to wallow over how pathetic she felt, she threw herself into a new project – remodelling the house. Work was quiet without a new Blacklister, so Liz suddenly had a lot of free time. She headed out to the largest hardware store she could find and started looking at paint samples, wood styles, wallpapers, carpets…Her profiler mind brought her back from her excitement. 'Changing your environment won't change your situation'. Just because she planned to repaint a few walls didn't mean that she could paint over her problems. She now had masochistic desires. She would have to address that at some point. She knew that.
!"!
Liz couldn't sleep. Again. Instead of bothering Tom and forcing him to wake up earlier than he had to, she had climbed out of bed and went downstairs into the dining room. She pushed the dining table over to one wall and stacked the chairs, except one. She gathered all the paint samples she had collected and hung them over the wall in front of her, sitting back in the chair to contemplate which ones she liked and which she didn't. Of course, her mind drifted to Reddington. She missed him. Not only his 'attention', but him. His sense of humour, the way he called her Lizzie, the smell of his cologne.
"Hey." Tom's voice called out behind her. "What's going on?"
Liz dragged her mind out of the gutter, turning around in the chair and holding with a paint sample with a wide grin. "Café au lait! Or do you like Dark Nutmeg?"
"What the hell?" Tom laughed.
"We're remodelling – it's decided." She smiled, hanging the two samples on the wall with the others.
"Uh, okay. Why are we doing it before 7am?" He asked as he wrapped his arms around her waist.
"The guy at the hardware store said to hang the samples in the morning. Then you can see what they look like throughout the day."
Resting his chin on top of her head, he said with a playful pout, "Why are we even remodelling? I like this room."
"It's just…Someone invaded our lives and hid a stupid box under the floor."
"We're past it, honey." He whispered, kissing her ear.
"I believed you were a monster." She confessed quietly. "I doubted you. I doubted us."
"It doesn't matter anymore, we'll be fine. We just need-"
An idea popped into Liz's head. "To move!" Her profiler-self scolded her. 'A change of location is not a change of life'.
Tom paused and then laughed. "Well I was going to say 'time' but it's good to know what you're thinking."
Her phone rang. She answered it and Ressler told her to come to work; there had been a terrorist attack on a subway station. Her morning had started so wonderfully…She dressed and headed out to the subway station/crime scene. Aram had shown them their suspect who had delivered a briefcase onto the train where more than thirty people had died. They all headed back to the Post Office and started to put together everything they had. They were an hour into their work when an office assistant told them that there was a witness on the phone who could help. Liz headed over to the phone.
"This is Special Agent Keen."
"Lizzie, darling, how are you? And by the way; you're a winter, not an autumn – olive is not your colour."
There was that voice that she loathed. Loathed and hated and had missed so much. "I don't have time for this."
"We'll you're not the one who had to listen to that awful 'hold' music for seven minutes."
"Reddington, as much as I've missed our little talks," She began with added hostility, "You're holding up the line for other people who might have actual information!"
"Am I on speakerphone?"
"What? No."
"Good." His tone of voice changed. "Because you're being very rude, Lizzie."
Lizzie closed her eyes, forcing down her body's reaction to that tone of voice. "What do you want?" She hissed quietly into the phone.
"I have information on your case, I can identify the man responsible."
"Great! Who is he?"
"Phones are so impersonal, Lizzie. Why don't we meet for show-and-tell in thirty minutes and I'll tell you what you want to know. Then if we have time after that, I'll correct your behaviour. How does that sound?" How can anyone make such a promising sentence sound so casual?!
Yes, God, yes! Lizzie wanted so desperately to shout that into the phones receiver, but she couldn't. She wouldn't give in. "I don't think we'll have time for that. Tell Dembe to text me the location." She hung up on him before he could make her any more aroused than she already was, and shouldn't be.
"What did he say?" Cooper asked from the other side of the room.
"He'll see us in thirty minutes." She said through a thick voice. She cleared her throat. "Be right back."
Almost running to the ladies' bathroom, she shut herself into one of the stalls, closed the lid to the toilet and sat on it, taking deep breaths. They had only spoken over the phone for less than a minute; how did he make her feel so hot for him?! She was a married woman and she was angry with Reddington! So why did she want him so much? Her phone vibrated in her pocket, bringing her out of her thoughts. It was Dembe with the address. Based on the zip code, it would take her and Ressler thirty minutes to get there in the traffic. Liz left the bathroom, briefly checking herself in the mirror, heading back to the War Room.
"Ressler? I've got the address, we should get going."
She and Ressler headed to the location that Dembe had sent them. GPS said that it was a tailor's shop. The zip code also told them it was an expensive one, of course. Their ride over was silent, only the chatter on the car's FBI radio could be heard. Ressler pulled around the back of the building, Liz quickly jumping out as there was nowhere to park. He said he'd park down the road and meet them a minute later. She promised she'd make Reddington wait for him. As she drew closer to the building, the back door opened and Dembe stepped out.
"Good day, Agent Keen."
"Hello Dembe." She greeted with a ducked head as he held the back door open for her. "Ressler's coming, he just has to park."
"Mr Reddington would like a minute with you in private."
She hesitated. "I'll just wait for Ressler."
"Agent Keen." He gave her a firm look. "You are not a coward." He nodded his head to the door, clearly telling her to go inside.
She sighed and headed inside. The door closed behind her. She headed down a narrow corridor, emerging in a large open room. There were sewing machines everywhere, large rolls of fabric stacked up against the walls. Reddington leant back against a large square workbench on the other side of the room, his ankles and arms crossed.
"Lizzie." He sounded pleased to see her, though his voice didn't contain any of the usual joy that it normally did when they met up.
"Reddington."
"Oh we're not at 'Reddington' are we? I hadn't expected 'Raymond' but I was at least hoping for 'Red'." He pouted.
"You're lucky I'm even here, Red."
"Did you come alone?" He sounded excited at the prospect.
She shook her head. "Ressler's parking the car, there was nowhere close by."
"A happy coincidence, don't you think?" He teased, standing up straight and approaching her slowly, like one would a scared animal.
"We're here to talk about the subway attack." She insisted, crossing her arms over her torso in a blatantly defensive gesture.
He smiled. "Really? Well we'll have to wait for Donald, won't we? What shall we talk about in the meantime?" He contemplated.
"How about we just don't talk?" She snapped, looking anywhere but at him.
"Lizzie." She ignored him, her eyes darting around the room nervously. "Lizzie look at me." He said softly but with a definite firmness. "Lizzie. Look at me when I'm talking to you." He ordered. She sighed through her nose and then looked at him. His eyes roamed over her face as he took in every detail. He gave a soft chuckle. "You really do need it, don't you?"
Nearly shaking with his proximity and presence, she spoke softly, "I don't know what you're talking about."
His face darkened. "What did I tell you, Lizzie? I don't like people lying to me. Later, when you come to see me for that…" He gave an exaggerated pained look. "It's going to be quite an experience for you."
"Everything okay in here?" Ressler's voice loudly cut through the tense air in the room. Reddington took a few steps back from Liz, walking back to the bench he'd been leaning against when she came in. Ressler walked up to Liz. "Alright, Keen?" She nodded wordlessly.
"Shall we get started?" Reddington asked as Dembe walked past Liz and Ressler and picked up a file from the bench next to Reddington. The man they were looking for was called Frederick Barnes. He used to work for the government and helped create several bio-chemical agents that could be lethal in the right hands. Reddington gave the two FBI agents everything they needed, but Liz could barely focus. Throughout the whole meeting, he gave her many long and intense stares, keeping eye contact with her all the time, only looking away from her when Ressler asked a question. When they had everything they needed, Ressler offered to get the car.
After obviously noticing the tension between the two of them when he'd entered the room, he walked up to her and asked quietly, "You going to be okay with him for a few minutes?"
She cursed Ressler for even asking that question, knowing that she was going to have to say yes. If she said no then Ressler would know something was wrong. People at the Post Office had to have known that she and Reddington had had some sort of set-back (after all, they all knew that Reddington had tried to frame her husband) but no-one knew about their other 'activities'. "Yeah I'll be fine, go on."
Ressler gave Reddington a glare and then headed out of the room. Dembe followed him. She and Reddington were alone. Neither of them said anything. She avoided eye contact. Nearly a minute went by before he spoke.
"Do you want to take this file with you?" She turned her head and saw him holding up Barnes' file. She nodded, approaching him with her hand out. He held it out of her reach.
"Red-"
"Turn around."
She blanched. "Why?"
"Because I told you to." She held his gaze for a few seconds before lowering her hand and turning around. She didn't know what to expect. His footsteps drew closer to her, until he stood at her side, the front of his waistcoat just brushing against her jacket. He held the file out in front of her. She reached up and put her hand on it. A hard slap landed in the middle of her right bum cheek. The sound of it was intense, the pain more so. It wasn't as hard as a belt hit, but definitely the hardest slap from his hand she'd felt so far. She grunted and gasped for breath. She turned her head and looked into his face. Blank. A second spank landed on the same spot. Her body moved forward just a little from the blow. Their eyes locked. His face never gave away any emotion. He spanked her again, on the other cheek. Again. "Unfortunately we don't have time for a full correction of your terrible behaviour, Lizzie, so this will have to do for now. After this case is over, we both know you'll be coming to see me."
"You can't know-"
He spanked her again. She gasped. "Yes I can know that, Lizzie. How, you wonder?" Another strike. "Because you're not tied up, or bent over, or restrained in any way…And you're letting me continue." Another strike. "Why? Because you need this. You may not know why." Another strike. "You may not like that you need it. But you do need it. And you need me to do it."
"I could ask Tom." She challenged.
He laughed. "I'd wager that you already have, and that he declined."
"How could you-"
Two more strikes. "Because I know you. I may not know how you like your eggs cooked, or what your first memory is, but I know what this does for you." Another blow. "It calms you. Clears your head. Helps you think." Another blow was delivered with each of the short sentences. "Am I wrong?"
She waited for a long time before answering. "No. You're not wrong."
"Good girl." That simple sentence spread a warmth through her. "And that is how I know you're going to seek me out the moment you're done with this case. And when you do, we'll meet here. And you can get the 'attention' that you've been craving for two weeks." Another strike. "Off you go. And behave yourself."
!"!
Liz took to the case with a new zeal, desperate to get it solved. But for different reasons than normal. They spoke to the doctor who was heading the team that was examining the bodies of the subway attack victims. The cause of death had been something called Kurhs disease, a very rare vascular disorder that hardens the veins in people's bodies, eventually starving the body of oxygen. It was fatal and there wasn't a single medical company who was researching the disease because it was too rare.
Their first lead had been something called Strontium-90, a radioactive isotope that was found in trace amounts on the delivery device during the subway attack. They called in Reddington who told them that he knew a supplier of the very dangerous substance and had already set a meeting in Cuba. Reddington had playfully asked Lizzie if she wanted to come. She refused, knowing that he was asking her solely because he wanted to 'correct her' as soon as he could. Not that she didn't want him to, but she wanted to stay focused on the case.
While Reddington flew to Cuba, she and Ressler tracked down Barnes' former research partner and found out some more about him. It turned out that her son had Kurhs disease, and Barnes' was his biological father. That was when they realised Barnes' motive – he was killing as many people as he could using Kurhs' so that it would be taken seriously as a fatal disease. That would gather financial aid for research, offering Barnes' son a chance at a cure.
On their way back to the Post Office, Reddington called her with Barnes' location – the courthouse in Arlington. Realising that they were only a few minutes away, they headed straight there. Unfortunately, they hadn't managed to stop Barnes' in time. He had released another dose of Kurhs into the courthouse, killing another twenty-something people, though one woman had survived. Liz and Barnes' had a show-down outside the building, but Liz had to give up her gun to stop Barnes' shooting people. In the end, he had gotten away and Cooper had told Liz that because she had knowingly disobeyed FBI protocols, her actions were going to be subject to a formal review. Ressler had ratted her out.
Stuck with the case and feeling sorry for herself, she called Reddington for help. At first he'd denied her any, saying seriously that she wasn't going to get his help anytime she wanted it. She knew he only meant about Blacklist work though. She called him back straight away, humbling herself by begging for his help. He had made her repeat herself before giving her another clue in the case. The survivor from the courthouse was 'unfinished business'.
She and Meera rushed to the hospital and found the survivor drugged, and someone had performed a bone-marrow biopsy on her. It didn't make any sense to them, until they got her lab results back. She had no sign of a Kurhs infection. She was immune to the disease. Then everything slotted into place – Barnes had taken a sample, believing that he could extrapolate a cure from her marrow. He was going to try and cure his son.
They drove at full speed to Barnes' research partner's house, but Barnes' was already there. They stormed into the house, Liz heading upstairs into the boy's room. Barnes was standing over the drugged boy, a needle in his hand. Liz ordered to him to back down, he refused. She had to shoot him to save the boy from his father's experimental treatment. It was the first time she had ever killed anyone. To her shock and horror, she hardly thought about it. The only thing she thought about was that the case was over – she could see Reddington soon.
The FBI arrived, taking care of the mother and son, and removing Barnes' body from the house. Liz left the house with a clouded head. Across the street, she saw Reddington leaning against his car. She headed over to him.
"I hope you like guava." He said, holding out a paper bag.
She took it and looked inside at the exotic fruit. "I've never tried it."
"You're in for a treat."
"Now or later?" She asked before thinking.
He smiled back at her. "Coquettish suits you, Lizzie. How long will it take you to finish everything with the case?" His eyes burned into hers.
"Uh…There's nothing more to do here, so I'll head to the Post Office and write up the reports. Should take me an hour or so."
"Then I'll see you at the tailor's in two."
With that, he climbed into the back of his car and drove away, leaving Liz counting the seconds until she saw him again.
!"!
Less than two hours later, Liz pulled up around the back of the tailor shop that she and Ressler had visited earlier that day. The neighbourhood was quiet. Locking her car, she approached the door leading into the shop. Turning the handle, it was open. She stepped inside and closed it after her. The passageway was dark and she shuffled forward nervously, trying not to trip over anything on the floor. As she rounded a corner, she emerged into the workspace that they had been in earlier. It was dimly lit, but she saw Reddington as clear as day. He was leaning against the same workbench from earlier, twirling something around in his right hand. He looked up when she drew closer, but said nothing. When she was a few feet away, she stopped in her tracks. She realised what Reddington was holding. She had a bad – yet delicious – feeling about this…
"Good evening Lizzie."
"Good evening Raymond."
He smiled. "Has this," He held up the very thick and wide foot-long wooden measuring stick, "Unnerved you?"
Knowing that Reddington hated liars, she nodded. "Yes."
He chuckled softly. "Good." He used the measuring stick to point to a chalkboard that was against the other side of the room. "Bring that over here, please." Putting her bag down, she crossed the room and wheeled the chalkboard over to the workbench Reddington continued to lean against. "Turn it around." She turned the board around and staggered back a step. "Read it aloud."
"Raymond-"
"Read it aloud." He repeated in a louder and firmer tone.
"Raymond, please!"
He stood up straight and stalked over to her. She didn't move. "Lizzie, I have quite an intense session planned for tonight. That," He pointed to the chalkboard, "Is what will happen. If you can't handle that, then leave now. But know this; if you leave now, there'll be no more corrections. No more discipline."
"Will you…Will you stop doing the Blacklist?"
"That is a different conversation. For now, we're having this one. You knew when you came here that tonight would be – to quote myself – 'quite an experience'. You knew that, and you came anyway. Now, if what is written on the board is too much for you, then you can leave."
"But you won't…You know…Again?"
"If you leave now then, no, I will never discipline you again, that's correct."
"But I want you to!"
He paused for a moment before continuing. "What about that," He pointed to the chalkboard again, "Disturbs you? Is it the quantities? Or the end?"
"The end."
"I must tell you, Lizzie; going from how your second disciplining ended, I didn't think that you would mind this ending. I certainly won't mind if this sessions ends how I have planned. But if you don't want that ending, that's fine – it's only on the board if you're an exceptionally good girl tonight, anyway. A treat, if you will." He let her think for a minute. "So, Lizzie, are you staying or going?"
"Staying!" She responded immediately.
With a smile, he touched the middle of her back and gave a praising rub. "Would you like that ending, or not?"
That answer took a little while longer. Should she allow that ending? Surely not! Did she want to have that ending? Definitely yes! Slowly, she nodded her head. "That ending, please Raymond."
"Very well. Take your coat off." She obeyed, letting him take it from her and hang it on a coat stand. "Your jacket as well." That went on the stand too. "Lizzie, before we begin, there are some rules."
"Of course." She said quietly. When she looked at his face, she was relieved to see him give a little smile.
"All the same rules as before apply. You count each stroke. If you lose count, we'll start again. If you say anything other than the correct number, we'll start again. Tonight, the falling over rule won't matter. But there are two more rules for tonight. Firstly, your hands will be restrained behind your back." He looked at her for her acceptance.
She nodded her head. "Okay."
"For the second condition, I'm going to give you a choice. You can either be gagged with a cloth, or blindfolded. Both at the same time will be for a later occasion." He added on casually. Liz gaped at him for a second. "Lizzie, which would you prefer? Gagged or blindfolded?" She didn't respond, too startled. "Lizzie!" His loud voice snapped her out of her thoughts. "Gagged or blindfolded? You have to choose."
"But if…If I'm gagged, how will I count?"
"Normally, of course, through the gag. It won't be as clear, but you must still count."
"What if I want you to stop?"
"This is a punishment, Lizzie, you don't decide when it's over." He answered simply. "One day – probably fairly soon – there will be a session between us that is not a punishment. When that happens, we will decide on a Safe Word for you to use which will let me know that you've had enough. But not for tonight. Now answer my question, Lizzie. Gagged or blindfolded?"
Liz had to think hard over that choice. If she was gagged, then she couldn't speak? That made her feel vulnerable. But if she was blindfolded, then she can't see. That's got to be worse…"Gagged, Raymond."
"Very well. Come here, I'll tie your hands." She walked over to him and waited while he picked up a piece of cloth from on top of the nearest work bench. "Turn around." She obeyed, holding her hands out behind her. His hands were rough but his grip was tender as he tied the cloth around her wrists, tugging at them as he secured her hands. "Good girl. Now read aloud from the chalkboard."
She swallowed thickly as she started from the top line of writing on the board. "I have been very rude to Raymond, so now I must be punished." As she spoke, his hands slid up and down her arms, sending shivers through her body. "Raymond has decided that the following will be a good lesson for me." With every word she spoke, her face burned a little more from the humiliation of what she was reading. But she also felt herself become hotter in a different part of her body…"For telling Raymond to 'go to hell', he will give me ten strokes with an implement of his choice. For ignoring his calls for the past two weeks, he will give me ten strokes. For being sarcastic to him, he will give me ten strokes. For being rude to him, he will give me ten strokes. If I can make it to the end of this disciplinary action without needing to start the count over, and without being rude to him, Raymond will let me have one orgasm. I thank him for being so generous." Her voice had trailed off near the end, feeling more aroused than she had been during her second spanking.
"Do you accept this lesson, Lizzie?"
She swallowed thickly, and nodded her head. "Yes Raymond."
"Good girl. Now I'm going to gag you." He held up a thick piece of cloth, holding it in front of her for her see. "Do you still want to be gagged, and not blindfolded?
She nodded. "Yes Raymond."
"Alright. Open your mouth." She obeyed him. The cloth came down, past her eyes and was pulled against her mouth. "Bite down." Digging her teeth into the cloth, she grunted slightly as she felt it being tied at the back of her head. "Bend over this workbench, Lizzie." He ordered, folding a piece of fabric over the edge of the bench so it didn't dig into her hips. Bending over the workbench, she shuffled to get comfortable. "Comfortable?" Pressing her cheek against the cool wood, she nodded.
"Because you've accepted the challenge of a 'special' end to this lesson, it would be best for your pants to be down. Should you earn the reward, pulling your pants down at the end of this lesson will be very painful for you. Are you comfortable with me lowering your pants? Your underwear will stay where it is. For now, anyway." Her eyes closed as she shivered with that promise. "Lizzie…Are you comfortable with me lowering your pants?" He repeated, cupping one of her buttocks with a hand. She nodded and gave a muffled 'Yes Raymond' through the gag. "Take a small step back." She did so, trying not to shudder when she felt his hands slide around her waist to the front of her pants. His fingers unfastened the button, lowered the zip and then started to slide them down her legs. She expected him to leave them at her knees, so tried not to twitch in surprise when her pants kept sliding down to her ankles. "Step out." He ordered. One by one, she lifted her legs out of her pants and regained her footing. She sensed that Red was crouching down behind her. What underwear was she wearing? She couldn't remember. Her legs twitched when his calloused hands gently cupped her ankles and slowly slid up her smooth legs. In that moment, she was grateful that she had undergone her usual spa treatments only a few days before. He suddenly gave a thoughtful hum. "I think we'll leave you in your heels, Lizzie. You have no idea how wonderful you look right now." He stood up. She blushed. He obviously noticed. "Don't tell me I've embarrassed you, Lizzie! We haven't even started yet." He threatened in a delicious tone, picking up the measuring stick in front of her face.
He stepped around her body, coming to stand at her left hip. His left hand held her bound wrists, one fingertip tickling her left palm with a feather touch. She gasped and clenched her hand around his finger. He chuckled. "Let go, Lizzie." He scolded lightly. She obeyed quickly. He tickled her right palm. With her scar, that palm was particularly sensitive. She squeaked and clenched again through instinct. "Lizzie." His voice held a slight warning tone to it. She released, having to concentrate on keeping her hand open when he tickled her again. After a few seconds of tickling both her palms, he spoke. "Good girl." He praised. And then the first blow came with an almighty crack. It took a second for the pain to register across her right cheek. When it did, the first tear was brought to her eye. Biting down on the gag, she counted 'one'. Two. Three. The fourth was a surprisingly delicate blow, though on the same spot as the first blow, making her twitch just the same. Red chuckled above her. "Are you twitching already, Lizzie? It must have been too long since your last session."
She nodded forcefully. Yes! It had been too long! He laughed at her nod, giving her harder blows. Her jaw clenched around the gag as she struggled not to cry out, and to count clearly. Liz's stomach clenched when Red warned her to 'brace herself'. The fifteenth blow was beyond agonising. She couldn't stop the cry that was ripped from her throat, or the tears that flowed down her flushed face.
"Count, Lizzie." Red instructed. She nodded jerkily, taking a deep breath through her nose, trying to clear her mind long enough to concentrate on a number. "Lizzie, I'm going to give you to the count of three to give me the number." Her mind panicked briefly. If she didn't give him the number, they'd have to start again. She didn't want to start again! "One." What was the number they were on? Was it…No it wasn't…Why couldn't she think! "Two." If they started again, she wouldn't get her reward at the end. That thought cleared her mind and pushed a number forward. "Thr-"
"Fif-ee!" She shouted through her gag, determined to let him know that she was still counting, that she wasn't going to start again, that she was going to earn that reward!
"Good girl. Keep going."
The blows kept coming, some hard, some harder, some excruciating. She kept weeping, but always counted clearly, stubborn to the end. She would get that reward! As she counted thirty, Red suddenly pulled the wet gag out of her mouth. He cupped her jaw firmly, pulling her head up and making her look straightforward. The position hurt her back, but she knew that was the point.
"What are you thinking, Lizzie? What's giving you the strength to be this strong?" He questioned, delivering the thirty-first strike.
She grunted and counted. "I want the reward you promised." She explained through gritted teeth.
The next strike. She counted. ""Do you think you deserve it?"
What! He couldn't go back on his word! "I've kept count, I haven't been rude and I haven't fallen over!"
He laughed. "There's still time." He dared.
"I can do it!" She insisted as the measuring stick struck again. "Thirty-three!"
He hummed thoughtfully. "Alright, Lizzie, I'll make you a deal." He put the measuring stick down in front of her, keeping hold of her jaw. With his other hand, he rubbed her red buttocks, squeezing from time to time. She whimpered. "Tell me what the terms of this reward were." He struck with his bare hand. Liz moaned loudly, surprising both of them. She definitely preferred the feel of a bare-handed spanking.
"Thirty-four! If I get to forty strikes and I don't break any of the rules, I can have an orgasm."
He hummed and struck again. She counted. "Only five to go…Unless…" Her heart skipped a beat as the tip of his thumb rubbing her butt came within an inch of her pussy. "Would you like to be able to have two orgasms?"
"Yes!" She shouted as he hit her again. She made sure to count.
"Then you can have two…If you get to fifty strikes." The next blow came when she was still shocked from his offer. She almost forgot to count. Almost. "Well Lizzie? An extra orgasm, for ten strikes? Is that something-"
"Deal!"
He chuckled. "Greedy little thing, aren't you?" He said it affectionately. "Alright, Lizzie. Our new target is fifty." He put the gag back in her mouth and picked up the measuring stick again.
The next fourteen blows seemed to take forever, and they were definitely the hardest blows. Not as hard as the belt from last time, but each one make her gasp with pain. She could do it…Forty-one. She would do it. She would prove that she could. Forty-five. Only five to go, then she'd get her reward! By this time, her underwear was completely soaked, and her fluids were sliding down her thighs. Every so often, one of Red's hands would run up the inside of one of her thighs, smearing the juices across her skin, exciting both of them. Forty-eight. Nearly there.
The gag was pulled from her mouth again. A hand fisted her hair, pulling her head back. She gasped from pain. "Count, Lizzie."
The penultimate blow was hard, so hard. She wept. "Forty-nine!"
"Good girl. Last one now. Are you ready?" He let her nod, and it came. Liz screamed. She felt like her throat had ripped from the force of her cry. She sobbed loudly and wetly as the physical pain nearly became too much. "Lizzie, what's the number?"
"F…"
"What's the number?" She hesitated again. "Come on, Lizzie, you've got two orgasms riding on this number." He threatened. "No number, no orgasms."
That threat pushed its way into her brain. "F…Fifty!"
The measuring stick was put down again, her hair was released and her scalp was massaged. "Well done, Lizzie, very well done." Her heart soared at the praise. She sniffled as her nose ran. "Are you ready for your reward, Lizzie?" She couldn't have nodded harder. He chuckled. His hooked his thumbs through her thong and ever-so-slowly peeled it away from her drenched pussy. He let them fall to the floor, nudging her legs apart. He could see her bright red clit clear as day. "You did well tonight, Lizzie, very well." Reaching a hand between her legs, he trailed a fingertip around her wet entrance and to her clit. With a single touch, Liz orgasmed with a scream. Red watched with fascination as her body shook and twitched, until she eventually settled down, flopping on top of the workbench as a trail of juices trickled out of her and down her thigh. He chuckled softly. "Shall I give you a minute to calm down, Lizzie?"
She nodded softly as she panted for breath. He took care of her for the next few minutes, gently untying her wrists, lifting her arms slowly to lay by her side. Crouching down at her side, he unfastened her heels and slipped them off her feet, eyeing her painted toenails. Walking over to the next bench, he picked up a bottle of water. Putting it next to her head, he effortlessly lifted her into a standing position and quickly scooped her up bridal-style when she flopped against him. He rearranged her on the workbench, resting her head on a large cushion, doing the same for her butt. He opened the bottle of water, pulling Liz into a half-sitting up position, encouraging her to drink. She did so, the cool water soothing her throat. When he was satisfied she had drunk enough, he laid her back down and put the water down.
Liz's eyes closed as she breathed deeply to calm herself back down from her sudden and explosive orgasm. Without doubt, that was the strongest orgasm she had ever had. Ever. The orgasm she had had with Reddington last time was nothing compared to that, and certainly nothing she had experienced with Tom. Shaking her head a little to clear her thoughts of her husband, her leg twitched and she whimpered when Reddington gripped her knee gently.
"Are you ready for your next reward, Lizzie?" He whispered as he leant over her. His breath fanned against her lips, making her shudder. She nodded, resting a hand against his upper arm. He held her hand and kissed the back of it gently, kissing down over her tummy, dipping his tongue into her belly-button. She squirmed, her tired legs barely moving. He stood at the side of the workbench and leant over her, placing long and hard kisses to the top of her waxed, smooth and dripping vagina. She squirmed again as he dipped his tongue out against her skin. He shushed her soothingly, spreading her thighs. "Roll onto your right side. Right knee up to your chin." He helped her into the position, lowering his head. Draping her left leg over his back and supporting her left thigh, Reddington dove into her.
Liz nearly screamed with the sensations. Good God! What that man could do with his tongue…And he'd only just started! Running his tongue up and down the seam between her lips, he skimmed over her clit and around her hole, never paying either of them too much attention. Gently pulling her outer lips apart with his fingertips, he pressed kisses along her pussy, dipping his tongue out. When his mouth hovered over her hole, he stiffened his tongue and gently probed her, sliding in just enough to make her squeal and dig her foot into his side.
"Lizzie, Lizzie, Lizzie, you don't set the pace here. I do." He said firmly, pulling away from her. She cried in protest, grasping at his waistcoat desperately. He gripped her wrists firmly. "On your front. Head down. Ass up, towards me." She scrambled into position, resting her head on the pillow. "Spread your knees. Wider. Good girl." From her new position, Liz couldn't see anything that Reddington was doing to her, much to her pleasure when he suddenly pushed a single finger into her pussy. But to her annoyance, did nothing with it, just held it in there. "Move your hips."
"Huh?" Liz mumbled, nearly too far gone with ecstasy to understand words.
"Fuck yourself on my finger."
Oh…Liz understood, beginning to move her hips back and forth on his finger, working herself up closer to an orgasm, yet knowing that only a single digit wouldn't be enough to make her orgasm after she'd already had one. Nevertheless she kept moving, wiggling her hips every so often to get a different angle. She was moving closer and closer, she could feel it. Just a little more…"Stop." Reddington interrupted firmly. Liz's movements stopped automatically, but she still moaned in frustration when he removed his finger. Then she was moaning in delight when he grabbed her hips and his mouth returned to her, darting all over her pussy furiously. Sucking her clit, licking her slit, circling her hole…It was enough to drive her mad.
"Please! Raymond!"
"Not yet, Lizzie." His voice was muffled against her flesh, but she heard him. His tongue became pointed and he slid it into her hole, fucking her with it quickly. The noises coming from her pussy were almost embarrassing, but so hot! And Reddington, he wasn't silent either. Going by his own moans and groans, he was enjoying this just as much as she was. "You've been a good girl tonight, Lizzie." He slid a finger back inside her as he moved his mouth away. She moaned as his hand started to move, fucking her with his finger. "You behaved yourself." He added a second finger. "You counted correctly and promptly." A third finger. "And you even took ten extra strokes." Liz was a mumbling mess, gripping the pillow under her head furiously with both hands, moaning loudly into it as she approached her second orgasm. "You know what, Lizzie?" She was able to mumble something that sounded like 'what'. "You have definitely earned this second orgasm."
With that, his mouth returned to her. But not where it had been. As he fingered her with three of his digits, his tongue swirled around her back hole, darting over it and pressing into it, driving Liz mad. She had always been curious about anal play, but Tom had always refused. And this…This was unbearably delightful. Long fingers reaching deep into her pussy, stretching her, as a tongue circled her virgin hole, dipping in occasionally.
"Now, Lizzie. You can cum now."
That was all it took for Liz to scream to the high heavens, her pussy clamping down on the fingers inside it as her ass clenched around Reddington's nimble tongue. Her whole body shook and trembled and quaked as she exploded into a second powerful orgasm, stars flashing before her eyes. And then she blacked out.
!"!
A few minutes, or hours, later, she awoke to someone calling her name and softly tapping her cheek. "Lizzie." That voice. "Lizzie." She knew that voice. "Come on, Lizzie." She had heard that voice in her orgasm. "Wake up, Lizzie. Come on, that's it." Her eyes fluttered open. She saw his face. He was smiling at her. It took her a second to realise that he was holding her. She was propped up against his hard body, leaning against his side as he held her gently but firmly. "How do you feel?"
Her mouth moved but no sound came out. He chuckled and gave her a drink of water. Clearing her throat, she spoke huskily. "Good."
"That's good, Lizzie. Whenever you feel you can stand, you should get ready to go."
That thought depressed her. She didn't want to go. But she had to. Tom! She had Tom. He was her husband. She was married. She was married and she had just had sexual contact with someone else. And she had done so in the past…Why didn't that bother her? It bothered her that it didn't bother her. Oh well. That was a thought for a different time. For now, she should focus on getting home.
"I removed your make up while you slept. You cried a little during your punishment."
"Oh, okay. That's fine, I have some more in my bag." She brushed her hair, reapplied her make-up and righted her clothing before turning back to Reddington. "Are you still…" She couldn't bring herself to ask. She didn't want to know what the answer might be.
"Tell me to go, Lizzie. One word from you and I can be gone before the hour's up."
Her mind boggled. "But you have a contract with the Bureau. There's a tracking chip in your neck!"
He smiled. "You don't think Raymond Reddington can disappear in sixty seconds? I offer that package to clients." Neither of them said anything. "This conversation has nothing to do with our sessions, Lizzie. This is about work. Do you understand that?" She nodded firmly. She did, she really did understand. "I will stay if you want me to."
"I want you to." She said resolutely.
He smiled again. "Then I'll see you tomorrow." They shared a smile.
This was going to be a gas!