A Promise Kept

Mariah would like to pretend that she forgot to pull her pants down on purpose, but the truth was that she just forgot in all the hurry. A bit of a silly oversight. Darya was certainly a virtuoso with that crop, she would never doubt that, but she couldn’t get much impact with those jeans blocking her way.

Rarely in her life had she been so glad to forget something.

She gasped - a sharp, shocked, genuine gasp - as Darya tugged her tight pants down, forcing them off with a commanding hand. She could feel a tear in them, and when she looked over her shoulder, sure enough, some of the seam on the right side had been ripped, along with one of the belt loops. The sort of thing that would’ve chaffed most people.

Mariah didn’t mind, not at all. If anything, she was going to cherish these pants even more now, since they came with a sultry memory.

Ready - more than ready - she took a deep breath and bit her lip. Her eyes shut tight and her heart beat faster with anticipation, as a moment of pure silence passed. Then another. Then another.

And then she struck.

The blow was quick, precise, exacting - Darya in a nutshell, basically. Mariah yelped, and she didn’t have to embellish it, either, as the pain drew out a real response from her. Through it all, though, she didn’t forget her command, and followed it through like a good little slut.

”One!”

Darya treated those daisy dukes as an obstacle, holding no value and hardly worth the thought it took to recognize their existence. Truth be told, she didn't mind Mariah forgetting they were there, either—they had hardly covered anything, anyway, and allowing the temporarily-submissive American to remove them herself would not have had the same aggressively primal feel. She pulled on them hard, feeling some of the fabric give, the structure loosen to allow those wonderfully wide hips to slip free. After that initial tear, they slid down much more easily, exposing a whole rump of lightly-tanned unblemished skin that Darya would savor the opportunity to abuse.

She let the pause between the removal of the daisy dukes and the first lash draw on and on, hearing Mariah suck in a breath, then letting her wait until it was almost time to breathe again before bringing the crop down. The leather tongue snapped across both cheeks, though it favored the right cheek, chewing a bright red line all the way across that expanse of flesh, then crossing the dividing line of Mariah's butt crack to continue on halfway across the left cheek, curving and tapering off just before reaching the curve of her hip. Darya watched Mariah's body spasm and heave with barely-contained glee. That genuine yelp of pain would have satisfied Darya for the whole afternoon.

But she was not going to stop there. She was going to get nine more yelps just like it, and then more, and more, and more, until their wives were done with their just-beginning battle on the television screen, and likely well beyond.

She smirked as she lifted the crop again, this time waiting nearly as long as the first, before swinging it down upon Mariah's bottom. But the third lash came much quicker, as did the fourth and fifth. After that, she hesitated for a few extra seconds, to let Mariah feel the burn of the first half of her punishment persisting. But she could not delay for too long. She needed to hear those cries of wonderful pain!

Ten, yes. Mariah almost melted on the floor when she heard Darya up the ante. She was tempted to see how high she could make that number raise, but decided against experimenting. She would need to drive home at some point after this, and sitting down would be crucial for the task.

And god, with that accent. Mariah was tempted to ask her to start domming in her native language, if it wouldn’t have made this whole affair so much more confusing.

”Three! Four! Five!”

The next volley of blows came out so fast, so furious, that she barely had the time to get the words out between each one. They made her eyes water and her skin sizzle, left her with trembling knees and a quivering lip. It was a rush of adrenaline, this instant high that had her wanting for more, so much so that she almost blurted out the next number without thinking.

”Si-”

She snapped her mouth shut when no blow came, so fast she nearly bit her teeth. She was on a roller coaster and the breaks slammed. It left her panting, gasping, her back undulating and her cheeks clenching. She wanted more of that. Needed it. ”Harder, mistress. Please.” She let out a long, shivering sigh and dared to drop the act for a moment. ”God, you are so fucking evil.”

Mariah might have been keeping her poor posterior's ability to handle sitting in mind, but so was Darya, and she was of a mind to ruin that ass for the evening, in this and in other ways. If Mariah couldn't sit down long enough to drive home, then so be it—she could always stay the night, whether that be in a bed or chained up on a post or a cross. Femke and Bubbles were far off, several kilometers out into open water, and even if they made it back to dry land this evening—by no means a certainty—the two doppelgangers would need time to work through their beastly yearning for each other's bodies. Darya didn't expect Femke home tonight. That meant that Darya and Mariah both had an open schedule.

Unless Mariah had another dominatrix to visit before the evening was up.

The American trembled and quivered, and watching that rump vibrate with anticipation, with agony and elation, nearly made Darya forget herself, just go on autopilot, drop into her character fully and indulge the sadistic side that still lived deep within her. Mariah was right—Darya was fucking evil, on some level. It came to her with practiced ease. It was a side she hesitated to show Femke in full, owing to the history they had before they got together. But Mariah, a trusted friend and obviously a very kinky woman...

She could handle it. Darya smiled as she stomped onto high-heeled boot down right next to Mariah's head, so close that it ruffled her hair, giving the impression that the next time the boot fell, it might be on Mariah's cute sandy-haired head. The crop came down, not with full force, but enough to make Mariah flinched, she imagined, on the woman's upper back, between her shoulder blades.

"Did I say you have ze permission to talk freely, slut?" she asked. Then, lightening the act for a moment, just to make sure she was responsive to Mariah's needs: "You need somezing, you beg and grovel, yes?" And before she got a reply, she swung the crop down on Mariah's bottom again for the seventh time, trying to make this one quite unexpected.

Unlike before, Mariah hadn’t been trying to be defiant with those last words. They merely slipped out, her genuine feels springing out of her mouth without permission. She was just too into the moment, too intoxicated by the drug that was Darya to think properly at the moment. A little lapse. It happened.

All the same, she would be punished for it. She knew that, accepted it, and craved it.

Mariah jumped when the heel came crashing down near her head, sending a panicked rush through her entire body. She knew, without question or doubt, that Darya would never seriously hurt her like that, that the stomp was all a show, that no injury she took from this sensual hellbeast would leave any long term pain. But that was the power of her illusion, making it so easy to forget in the heat of the moment. An illusion that her counterpart had so thoroughly mastered.

She jolted at the sting on her back - not because it hurt, but because she hadn’t seen it coming on that area, taken off guard. Darya was good about that, keeping her guessing, making every moment a surprise. ”God, yes.” Mariah breathed her response and nodded. ”I’m sorry, mistress, I understand, please-”

Her overtures were cut off with another strike on the ass, and a sharp reminder that they were in the middle of an actual game. She shrieked, bucked, then straight up and assumed the proper position. ”Seven! Oh, fuck, seven!”

Darya wanted to show Mariah a good time, in all of those most evil and despicable ways that only a dominatrix could show a sweet little girl like Mariah. Her rules might be arbitrary, or they might shift. She might punish something one moment, and then reward it the next. Punishments and rewards might turn out to be reversed, or identical.

As long as Mariah was happy with it. Darya knew she could sell it. As the domme, she was in control, so Mariah would hardly be in a position to point out any logical flaws.

Darya put the illusion of true danger into Mariah's mind, with the heel slamming down next to her face, and the crop actually whapping lightly between her shoulder blades. She could hurt her severely. She could hurt her terribly. They both knew that Darya had all the power right now. And that was what made it so important for her to be ever-vigilant and responsive to every little twitch or jiggle of her pain slut's body. Mariah got pure, mindless joy, if that was what she desired. Darya got pleasure out of it, too—but she also had to work hard!

Darya made the seventh stroke quick and brutal, and Mariah squealed as it landed, body convulsing in excitement. Darya lifted the crop again and smiled as she gazed down at Mariah. "Good girl. Good slut," she purred, before bringing the crop down again, for the eighth time, making sure the tip struck across both cheeks, to leave a nice, raw line across the width of that ample ass.

"I vill make it harder. Just for you. Because you deserve ze punishment." She lifted the crop, let it hang in the air, then brought it down hard for the ninth time, putting her whole arm into it. Then she lifted it again. Again she let it hang at the peak of the backswing. And then, when she brought it down for the final stroke, she let her whole body go into the swat, making sure it was one Mariah never could forget!

It was a good sign that, when Darya praised her sluttiness and spoke down to her like a subhuman pet, a wave of accomplishment came over Mariah, a genuine satisfaction. She hadn't done anything, really, beyond just staying there and getting spanked, but that alone was an accomplishment with this woman and her blazing strikes. She was sure she hadn’t done any permanent damage to her body, nothing that would show beyond today, but the impressions under the skin would last for weeks. Every time she sat down, every time she bathed, every time a cold draft made its way up her skirt, she would think back to Darya and this hellish moment.

”Nine!” Her back arched into a perfect curve as the penultimate strike hit home, making her skin sizzle on impact. It was enough to make her knees buckle, and that meant that the final blow would finish the job - a prospect that made her tingle

She closed her eyes, clenched her teeth, and waited. And waited. And waited.

It wasn’t as long as it seemed, she would put money on that, but Darya had a supernatural talent for stretching out the seconds, and Mariah was caught in her time warp.

Breathe deep. Breathe deep. Breath-

Darya’s final blow struck like lightning, filling the room with the resounding crack, a noise that was only drowned out by the shrill cry she made right after it. ”Ten!” Mariah’s word was more of a scream than anything, a hoarse yelp as the pain tore through her. She shuddered and collapsed, falling flat on the floor as beads of sweat ran down her back and thighs, body rising and falling in a slow motion.

”Thank you…” She moaned the words out. ”Thank you.”

Darya nearly threw herself off-balance with that last swing. That would have been something—all this big domme talk, and she would have been face-down, ass peaking out from beneath leather, completely undercutting every element of this encounter that she had been so careful in crafting. She managed to catch herself just in time, letting the crop dig in a little harder, press a little deeper into Mariah's yielding butt cheeks, letting Mariah's shrill cry of delighted agony cover up her own gasp of near-embarrassment.

In an instant, she was the picture of the composed, brutal dominatrix once again—just in time to enjoy watching Mariah sag down onto the floor, her whole body seeming to have lost its internal structure. Darya let a smile grace her lips as she took slow steps around the other woman, admiring her work, from the very visible red stripes across Mariah's rear end to the sweat that beaded in the small of her back, then occasionally dribbled down her flanks. The woman's butt was still in plain view, and was a tempting target for some additional lashes—but Darya held off. There was a balance to be struck, after all, between play and recovery. What Mariah loved one moment could leave her in genuine distress the next if Darya overplayed her hand.

So Darya continued to step slowly around Mariah, her high-heeled boots click-clacking along the cool floor. She stepped in front of Mariah now, wanting Mariah to see those boots come down on either side of her head and feel a chill up her spine. Then, however, Darya would kneel down, cup one hand underneath Mariah's chin, and tug upward until she could see that face and look directly into Mariah's blue eyes.

"Good girl," Darya hissed, smiling a predator's smile, before pushing her face in and giving Mariah an aggressive kiss, Darya's lips enclosing those of the American, as if she were trying to eat her up.

Darya’s misstep hadn’t gone without notice. While Mariah was swept away in the moment, she wasn’t so wrapped up in things that she lost all sense of the environment. She was focused on her mistress’ footfalls in particular, attuned to her sounds, enough to register when something was off. The shift of weight, the creaking of the floor, her shadow moving just a bit further than it was supposed to after such a swing…

She had nearly tripped.

Mariah bit her lip and managed to keep in the giggle, helped by the searing pain on her backside, but the slimmest of smirks graced her lips. She managed to erase it a moment later with a long gasp, sucking back in all the air she had sacrificed over the past few minutes. Sweating, breathing heavy, she looked on as Darya walked around her with slow. Deliberate. Step. She swore, her heart only beat with each tap. The woman had mastered the room, could control the very air that she was breathing, and she was frozen in anticipation, as if any movement could bring about pleasure or punishment, no matter how small of insignificant.

But she learned which soon enough. She had been a good girl, and good girls received gifts - in this case, one of the hungriest kisses she had ever experienced outside of her wife’s mouth...and, if she were being honest, Darya was good enough to outdo Bubbles at least half the time.

The lips, slapping against her own. The mouth, sucking the air clean out of her throat. The teeth, scraping against her skin. Mariah squealed into Darya’s mouth, a mewling, kittenish noise filled with pleasure, and closed her eyes in total submission. It was a struggle to simply stay on all fours, her arms growing weak and wobbled, but she focused and straightened up before they could part ways. There was no way she was giving this touch up.