“Rog, put me down right now,” demanded Yul, her tiny fists protesting without merit upon his back, her waist wrapped over his shoulder like a sack of grain.

“Oh, I’m going to put you down alright. Don’t you worry your pretty little head over that one.”

“Rog, don’t you dare. Rog? Rog! What the frack do you think you’re doing?

Rog swung Yul off his shoulders and onto his knees. “Only what I should have done a long time ago.” His left hand grabbed the back of her hair as his right hand came down hard on the rounded cheeks of her upturned arse. Yul yelped, somewhat shocked he actually spanked her. “That was for tonight.” A second “pop” echoed in the air. “And that one is for tomorrow since I know you are bound to do something to piss me off.”

Raising his hand a third time, he snapped his fingers and music (Sweet Child O’ Mine—or the Rog equivalent) begin to play with a beat that set his legs in motion. Bobbin his head he smacked her firm bottom a third time with just a little something extra.

“You bastard,” yelled Yul. A few smacks was one thing and perhaps she deserved them but he was enjoying himself just a little too much now. Taking a deep breath, she chomped down on his calf and he let out a yelp of his own, relaxing his grip just enough for Yul to break free.

Their apartment was small with few places to run. Her breathing rapid with sweat streaking down her face, she backed into a corner. Rog closed in, equally as out of breath and wet with effort. Yul bent her knees like a cat preparing to pounce. “You think you’re Hynerian enough to take me Mr. Sneak up from behind baggy pants?”

Rog tried to keep a straight face but the out of the blue baggy pants comment was too much. “Hynerian enough? Hynerian enough,” he responded nodding his head with a grin like one in control. “You’re bout to find out Ms I’m the emotional center of the universe.”

“Oh you bastard, you know that is a cheap . . . .” Yul stopped mid-sentence and her eyes got big as Rog, with his signature grin, pulled a coil of rope from behind his back. “Don’t you even think it,” Yul responded, lowering her voice and enunciating each word slowly and distinctly in part to indicate her seriousness and in part to buy a little time.

“Oh, ain’t no thinking bout it. I’m gonna rope you like a dirty cowhand ropes a calf at the end of a long day.” Rog twirled the rope in his leathery right hand, a display to indicate this wouldn’t be his first time. “Now baby, you can resist all you want or accept what you got coming. Makes no difference to me, but if I might make a suggestion, I think you might enjoy this just a tad bit more if you just go along.”

Yul relaxed her shoulders like one resigned to their fate. “Suppose you got me there.” And then Rog made the mistake she was looking for—he relaxed in accord. Later he would say he never saw the roundhouse kick to his temple that knocked him out cold but Yul knew otherwise. He saw it. He just couldn’t do anything to stop it, but that would be their little secret. A Hynerian’s ego needed massaging after all.

Twenty minutes later:

Rog was buck-naked and spread eagle on the bed, his wrists and ankles securely tied to the four corners of the bed. Blinking his eyes as if to gain focus he sheepishly managed to say, “Baby, you know I didn’t mean it,” as he tried to deliver his best boyish grin, which was about the only defense he had at his disposal.

Yul, wearing only her devilishly wicked smile, crawled on top of Rog, tucking her knees firmly on either side of his broad chest. Slowly bending over from the waist, she let her nipples graze his chest, glowing hard and blue with the evidence of her intent. “Just relax and enjoy it baby,” purred Yul as she licked his left lobe, delighting in throwing his own words back at him. “That is the advice you had for me, isn’t darlin’?”

Before Rog could respond, she slid her lips from his ear to his mouth without losing contact, making sure he felt the deliberateness of her warm breath on his cheek. As her lips found his, Rog closed his eyes and relaxed. Gently, Yul suckled his lower lip between hers, letting her tongue dance back and forth from side to side before sucking his pink flesh between hers, pulling him inside her warmness, past the gates of mastication (ed note: I’ve just been dying to get that word into the story somehow :-D).

Rog’s whole body sank into the bed as if dead weight, such the power Yul could exert with the skill of a kiss. Then she bit down, hard, drawing blood while simultaneously grabbing his male Hynerian-ness with the warm agent of manipulation, otherwise known as her right hand. To have Rog tied down was one thing. To have him roped like the calf he thought her to be, literally tied down with teeth to lip and hand to vulnerable-ness, well, that was just too delicious a proposition for Yul to pass up. Her boy was going to find out what it was like to be taken, with or without his consent, but to be taken without recourse, to be taken in every way, however she wanted, at the pace that communicated complete and utter control.

Without releasing her right hand grip from behind, Yul sat upright on his chest. She playfully licked her blue spear-like tongue over the wet redness of Rog’s essence, an essence she wanted it to be clear, she had taken, not that he had given. Watching his eyes, Yul moved her left hand to her left erect nipple, and with index finger and thumb, begin to pinch and twist and pull as if to say, the pleasure tonight my sweet, is going to be all mine and you are going to witness every single slow purposeful delight.

With a dreamy lost in pleasure smile, Yul rolled her tongue over her red wet lips again. “My, oh, my, my sweet baby. You taste so warm tonight.”

Rog tried to pull free, but the ropes only cut deeper into his flesh and he wondered where she had learned to rope like this. Seeing his effort, and for good measure, Yul allowed her agent of manipulation to slide down his hardening instrument to the twin provocateurs of potential future Roggies. “Relax baby. I promise this is not going to hurt, unless,” and she tightened her grip, “that’s the way you want it?”

“Well,” choked Rog, still smarting from his bleeding lip, “I suppose discretion is the better part of valor.”

“Oh shut the frail up,” shot back Yul as she pulled out a shinny chrome knife, hesitating just an instant before cutting the ropes with a lust in her eye Rog hadn’t seen in sometime. “And frail me into next week. Give me that future you think we have.”

As Rog rubbed his wrist, Yul pulled back and popped his tight and taut arse with a crack like lightning. “Now!”

Categories: Story, Rog, Yul