Wesley holds his glass up to the light, admiring the way the candles burnish the malt whiskey to liquid gold.  It's only his third tonight and he'd be feeling agreeably mellow if it wasn't for the fizz of anticipation making his palms itch.

He should be tired. It's been a long day. Faith woke him up at some ungodly hour under the pretence that it was the first birthday that she'd got to share with him, though he knows full well that she just wanted to open the small pile of presents that he'd hidden at the back of his wardrobe.

Maybe the charming way she'd blushed as she confessed that she'd been snooping was her way of giving him a birthday present.

"I was just hanging up your shirts, Wes," she'd insisted with just the right amount of martyred grievance to her voice. "And they were there and I couldn't help but notice them. For real!" Of course, he might have been convinced if she didn't usually fling his shirts over the back of the nearest chair. No, she'd been making sure he was properly motivated because he'd promised her a birthday spanking after weeks of making her wait.  

Weeks of self-imposed restraint. It might even be a personal best because as much as he loves to spank her, see her beautiful arse redden before giving way to bruises the exact shape of his hand, Wes loves to make her wait even more.

But even if it wasn't her birthday, having the pleasure of Darla's charming company for a whole week deserves some reward. Oh, she's polite enough but she still looks at him like he's a depraved Humbert Humbert who's corrupted her innocent daughter. Really, the woman doesn't know the half of it.

"What you smirking about, Wes?" Faith's framed in the doorway and as he looks up, he still has to catch his breath because she's so very beautiful and she's his. Sometimes the last 18 months of his life feels like a fever dream and one day he'll wake up cold and alone again.

"Did you manage to find a cab without too much trouble?" he asks Faith, as she brings the chill November air into the room with her, hair slightly damp from the faint drizzle. She curls up on his lap, cheek icy cold against his. "You should have put a coat on."

"Hey, don't fuss." Faith steals his glass and takes a sip, wincing at the taste. "I put her in a cab. Jeez, I'd have flagged down the next guy to come down the street on a goddamn bike. Aren't you glad that she's staying in a hotel?"

"More than you will ever know," he says fervently, then realises that it's no way to speak of his mother-in-law. "And Francis did throw up on the rug the last time he stayed in the guest room."

Faith strokes the side of his face with chilled fingers.  "I think she's warming to you, Wes. Like, she even managed to call you by your name a couple of times." She shrugs; an ophidian wiggle of her shoulders, dull grey satin rippling over her curves. "Still thinks it's majorly weird that we got married a year to the day that you left me. And she's always going to be pissed that she didn't get an invite."

Wesley smiles as he sees a perfect picture of the sand spilling over Faith's polished toes, her little white lace dress fluttering in the breeze coming off the sea, the giddy-around-the-gills-smile on her face as they were married by a Justice Of The Peace on the beach by the cottage. "It had nothing to do with her," he says brusquely. "It was about us. And we let Darla throw us a party. Which brings back an alarming sense memory of her green bean casserole. God, Faith, there were bits of fish in it."

Faith giggles. "I think she felt exactly the same way when you tried to force the olive tapenade on her." Her lashes swoop down and when she opens her eyes, there's a challenging glint. "Have I made you mad, Wes? Gonna exact retribution?" She gives a heartfelt sigh that he can't help but echo. "Man, it's been fucking weeks. It's going to hurt so much more." She sounds almost wistful.

If he was ever in doubt of why he loves her, not that he ever is, it's moments like this when Faith needs what he needs to give her, that remind him.

"It's been a while since I got to mark virgin territory," he remarks conversationally. "A blank canvas, so to speak."

"Hasn't been virgin territory since that first time that you fucked me in the ass, Wes," Faith purrs, wriggling gloriously. He's been half hard since she plonked herself down on his lap, now the delightful memories she's stirring do the rest.

"I was talking relatively," he assures her loftily and it would be so easy to just slide his hand up the soft, yielding flesh of her thigh, feel her quick and wet beneath his fingers as he shifts their clothes out of the way, guides her onto his cock. But it's his greatest weakness that he can never do things the easy way. "I know exactly what you're trying to achieve, Faith, and all it's doing is adding another infraction to the list I've been compiling."

She pats his breast pocket where a neatly folded piece of paper nestles. "Well, maybe you should get on with it. It's 10.15 already and we have to be up early tomorrow."

Wes is pretty sure that Faith will be calling in sick. He has rather elaborate plans, which finish with her not being able to sit down for a day or so, but he just captures her wrists in his hands and holds them in an unrelenting grip, feels her pulse thudding under her fingers. "I don't believe I care for the peremptory tone of your voice," he scolds, not having to fake the flicker of irritation. "Patience, Faith, I'd have thought you'd have acquired just a little of it by now."

She never will. Instead she tugs free of his grasp so she can fling her arms around his neck and give him one of her clumsy enthusiastic kisses, which never fails to move him for their unstudied sincerity. "Let me have a look at the list, Wes," she whines, when he steels himself to remain unmoved by the clash of her lips, the promise of her tongue. "It's my birthday, which gives me certain rights. Like, you should do what I want for once."

Faith's hubris, or should that be recklessness, makes his jaw fall open. "Keep clinging to that illusion, Faith. It's amusing, if nothing else."

They fall seamlessly into this pattern of cut and parry, thrust and counter thrust. He slaps her fingers as they make a daring foray toward his pocket and it's his cue to slide her off his lap.

She tumbles to the floor, then stares up at him, eyes all pupil, teeth worrying at her bottom lip. "You're such a bastard," she says slowly and succinctly. "You owe me a birthday spanking, like, at the very least."

Wes stands up and places his glass carefully on the coaster. "Just a birthday spanking?" he echoes incredulously. "After the way you've been continually pushing me?"

"But…"

All he has to do is arch an eyebrow in warning and she lapses into a furious silence, tries to struggle to her feet but he presses his hand to the top of her head. "The library, I think," he says and feels her tense. The womb-like red interior of the library and the games he plays with her, the things he does to her in there, just there, are a threat and promise. "On your hands and knees, Faith."

Faith falls effortlessly into position. And she waits, because he's trained her so well. Back flat, arms straight, the jut of her arse curving out. "Good girl. And as you're so concerned about my list maybe you'd be kind enough to carry it for me."

She doesn't like that. Wes waits to hear some muttered invective, but Faith opens her mouth even as her eyes stab into him. He pushes the folded paper between her teeth and taps her arse with his toe. "Off you go, then," he tells her cheerfully, following behind because the view really is quite inspiring. He wishes that he'd stripped her dress off first so he could see the globes of her bottom shift beautifully under the purple silk panties he bought as one of her birthday gifts. They have little ribbons at the side and he's going to spend minutes slowly untying them. Could spend even longer tracing his tongue against the provocatively low cups of the matching bra until her nipples are aching, ready to pop free. Oh yes, hours with nothing to do but make Faith scream and shudder and moan and cry out his name. It is her birthday, after all.

Wes opens the library door and ushers his wife inside, eyes fixed firmly on her undulating haunches. Faith comes to a halt by his leather, wing-backed chair, turns herself around and glares at him, before dropping the list on the floor.

"I do hope you haven't smeared the ink," he tells her mildly, sitting down and crossing his legs. He's so hard that it hurts, wants nothing more than to feel Faith's lips softly close around him, but instead he gestures to the piece of paper. "You can read it now."

The expressions on Faith's face as she scans the list tell him everything. The ones that she finds funny (3. Wilfully interfering with my perfectly logical system for arranging items in the fridge.) The ones that she did deliberately, like snooping for presents and sending him provocative emails. And the one that she never lets him get away with, though that will never stop him from trying.

"No way, Wes," Faith spits inevitably. "No fucking way! You pull this crap every month." She shuffles over to him quickly so she can get in his face, so close that he can see the tiny clump of mascara clinging to one of her lashes. "We had a deal. You pay the bigass mortgage and the utilities and shit, I pay for the cleaning service and the groceries. And you are not fucking spanking me for it."

She's properly angry because she thinks that it's not about the $500 she hands over out of her salary every month, but because she has a salary in the first place. And really, it's not. Wes still thinks she should go to University rather than working for the law department at NYU, but working suits her. If… if… if…  he should ever have to leave her again, well, she could look after herself. Could get by. Wouldn't be helpless. He likes to know she has that safety net. But still, it's his job to take care of her, provide for her, the wedding ceremony was quite specific about that and nowhere did it mention anything about Faith having "to pay my fucking way. End of, Wes. And I'm sick of arguing about it every month. You agreed!" Faith finishes her tirade with an aggrieved wail and sits back on her heels, a flush on her cheeks.

"I agreed, but that doesn't mean I have to like it," Wes tells her testily and her chin lifts ready for battle, which isn't what tonight is about. "I could take it off the list…"

"You are taking it off the list," Faith corrects him. "Otherwise I'm going to stop shopping at Whole Foods and go to D'Agostinos and their stinky cheeses suck."

Sometimes he doesn't know whether to beat her or kiss her.

"I could take it off the list," he repeats, separating out each word. "But I'm not prepared to overlook the exceedingly shrill and uncouth manner in which you brought it up."

"That's fair," Faith decides even though it really isn't, but her eyes are scanning the list. "So, that's only 19." Her lips thin. "You're only going to hit me 19 times?"

"Plus one for each year and one for luck to bring it to a nice round 40," Wes announces with some satisfaction. "Now stand up and take off your dress. And slowly, please, Faith."

She glides gracefully to her feet, balancing on the delicate spikes of her shoes as she unzips and begins to peel off the satin that's been hiding her body from him. The startling white of her shoulders, then her breasts showcased in deep purple, almost spilling out so he can see the merest pink pout of her nipples above the frivolously frilled cups. Faith pushes the material over the voluptuous slope of her belly and then she pauses. She stops. And she turns.

Sometimes Wes thinks he could compose sonnets dedicated to the flare of her hips, the curve of her arse. Certainly he's moved to bite back a gasp of awe as she pushes down the dress, wriggling slightly, before the plump promise of her backside is revealed. The first time Lindsay ever met Faith, he drooled all the way to the bar rot like "who says white girls don't have ass?" until Wes had threatened to exile him to only deposition hearings. But he had a point.

Wes contents himself with resting a heavy hand on the bureau and staring, unblinking, as the long, lean line of her legs rise up from the pool of satin. Faith turns, rests one hand on her hip, her face grave as she waits for his next order. Wes will take off the rest, though on reflection, he'll leave the black waspie suspender belt and the stockings on. Is he getting predictable in his old age? Possibly.

"You're very beautiful, Faith," he sighs because how can he not? "And as you keep reminding me, it's your birthday and much as I want to punish you, there are still a few presents left for you to open."

She flicks her hair over her shoulder. It's longer now. Not as long as it used to be but long enough that he can get a good handful and tug her head back so he can watch her cry. When they first met, he thought it was brown, dark brown. But now he's memorised all the colours that make up each shiny strand; from bitter chocolate right through to a fiery russet red.

"Already got presents from you, Wes," she says throatily. "Couldn't the others wait until after?"

"It's not like you to turn down a present, Faith. Is this the new maturity that you were talking about at dinner? No more tears now you've left your teens behind you?"

"You spank me as hard as I know you want to, then I can guarantee there's going to be some sobs," she promises, her fists clenching. "I'm just standing her waiting for you, Wes and you haven't even touched me."

She's wet. He can see the damp heat soaking through her panties. They'll cling to her cunt when he takes them off. But instead he pulls three packages wrapped in chiffon and ribbon from the bureau drawer. "You'll be begging me not to touch you soon. To not stroke my fingers across your arse because it smarts and stings so much that even just that light touch will have you grinding your teeth and asking me to stop."

He's sidetracked her from her snit. Taken her right back to where he wants her. She smiles maybe a little sadly. "But you won't."

"I won't," he agrees. "Not unless you say your word."

Faith nods and when he crooks his finger, she gets down on her knees and crawls over to him. Fluttering her lashes wildly, she stares up at him. "So can I open my presents now, Wes?"

"Actually, they're my presents," he corrects. "But I'm going to share them with you."

There's a dark light in Faith's eyes that only he ever gets to see as she glances at the packages with curiosity. Then a slow smile creeps over her face. "I know what two of them are," she says smugly. "Cuffs." She holds up one hand, rotates it slowly as if she can already see the think band of leather around it.

Wes unwraps the gifts quickly as his clever girl has already guessed and he doesn't mind hastening through this part. Faith has taught him to "be bendy" as she calls it and he likes the way his face lights up as he crouches down, encloses her ankles in leather, shows her the rings so he can bind her legs together, though that can wait for later.

He buckles the wrist cuffs, yanking her arms behind her so he can fasten them together and her breasts arch upward as she tugs once, just to test how much give she's got.

"Next time, I'm going to have you lie down on your front so I can link your wrists and ankles together," Wes says. "But I want you over my lap tonight for such an auspicious occasion." In the velvet stillness of the room, he hears her breath quicken. "How do they feel, Faith?"

"Different to the scarves," she murmurs, twisting her wrists again. "Doesn't chafe so much. And, like, more unyielding or whatever, you know?"

Her wrists and ankles look impossibly fragile encased in the thick leather bands, so fine-boned and delicate that they could snap. But his girl is tougher than that and still woefully under-dressed.

"I'm going to put your collar on now, Faith."

Her skin's so warm, softer at the back of her neck, hidden by the fall of hair. And as ever, when his hands cup her nape, Faith goes instantly still, wonderfully compliant, as Wes buckles the collar in place and stands back to admire his work.

She's the living embodiment of all his fantasies, but more real than that. The way she looks at him, so solemn, despite the cat-got-the-cream curve of her smile. He's ready to fall on his knees in front of Faith, vow to serve her but he walks over to the chair, sits down and pats his legs.

"Come here, please, Faith."

He knows that 'please', drawn out, measured, gets to her every time.

Just as she knows that the solid weight of her draped over his lap is both comfort and torment. Her breasts brush over his rigid cock as he helps her into place. Normally he wouldn't be so obliging, but she's unused to having her wrists tied together before she's got into position.

"I thought about taking minutes just to untie one of these," Wes remarks, playing with one of the bows, as he watches the line of muscle along the backs of her thighs tauten. "But I want to spank you so much."

"Please, Wes…" Her hands grasp air. "Don't make me wait. Not any longer."

His hand dips below the low waist, rubs his knuckles over the soft skin, before tugging the ties holding her knickers together free, so she's displayed to him. Pale, unmarked apart from those four, raised white lines. He traces each one with his fingers, another ritual, another way to make her wait.

And she is waiting so patiently for the next part where his hand moves down to where she's wet and expectant for the quick tweak he gives her clit.

Faith's trying so hard to keep still. Not easy when usually her hands are tight around the rungs of the chair or clutching his thigh. She's balanced precariously and he knows that she won't keep still once he begins to hit her. She can't keep still, because she becomes this creature of nothing but sensation.

"Wes… Now. Do it now." She already sounds frantic, out of control.

"One more present, Faith, and I want you to keep still while I open it." She's like a statue as he rips off the wrapping, opens the velvet-lined box and gently removes the heavy weight of it. "Look," he orders, holding it in front of her. "It's solid platinum, nothing but the best for you, sweetness."

He sees her eyes widen dramatically as she catches sight of the bulbous shape of the vibrator, ergonomically designed to pleasure flesh that's always so responsive anyway.

"You put that in me, I'll come, Wes. I will."

"No you won't, because I don't want you to. I wouldn't expect anything from you that I knew was beyond your capabilities, Faith."

She's tied and prone on his lap but still confident enough to spit out a jaunty, "Whatever!"

"I'm going to put this delightful device, which cost almost as much as your wedding ring, in your equally delightful cunt, Faith, and you will not come. You will hold it in place and if you dare to let it drop…" Wes can come up with a thousand new ways to punish her but he tails off, because Faith's darkly imaginative mind will do the rest.

"I'll let you fuck me with it after, Wes, promise. But…" Her eyes are flickering wildly as she tries to come up with excuses, find ways to tell him that as soon as she gets something in her cunt, his wilful, eager girl has to come.

"You're making me wait, Faith, and you know how I feel about that." Wes forestalls her next line of reasoning by easing the tip of the vibrator inside her hole, gives her a few scant seconds to get used to the curious shape of it and himself the pleasure of watching her dilate around it, before he slides it home.

Faith lets out a breath and her eyes screw shut. "Don't turn it on," she pleads, the first tear of the evening leaking out. "Why are you such a bastard to me?"

Wes strokes the dimples above her buttocks. "Because I love you."

"Fucking funny way of showing it." There's a delicate line drawn in what they do, in the game that they're always playing and she hasn't said her word, which is absolute. But even so that hurts a little, makes Wes want to blurt out a furious denial, but he just gives the vibrator a quick in and out to remind her that they should both be on the same page. "Fuck! Just fucking get it over with!"

"As a concession to your birthday, I won't turn it on, but if you keep this up, I can tie your legs together or make you count off, Faith, because you seem to be losing focus." The tweak he gave her clit becomes a pinch to bring her back, to get her to concentrate. Faith's told him that the longer she waits, the more hazy the world becomes, everything narrowed down to that moment when he first lifts his hand. But Wes likes her to wait and he likes her to be in control, so God help her, she needs to try harder than this.

"I can't count." Deep, shuddering breaths and a wriggle that makes Wes bite his lip. "I'm OK now."

Wes clamps one hand around her thigh to keep her safe then forces himself to look at the clock hanging on the far wall, watch the second hand do two slow revolutions before he lifts his other hand. Nothing fancy tonight. Not the whip, nor the paddle or hairbrush. Just the simple beauty of his hand on her arse.

"One."

It happens in slow motion for him; this explosion of sound and fury as his hand descends. It takes a second for Faith to feel the contact, the pain and then she jerks. She always jerks. The first whimper leaks out of her mouth and just as she tries to bite the next one back, Wes lifts his hand and it starts all over again.

"Five."

By the fifth stroke, his hand is starting to smart. Not that he imagines Faith will have much sympathy for him. She's flailing, trying to kick her legs out and really he should have tied them together. She can't hold back the moans anymore; his name mixed in with pleas for him to stop and heart-rending cries because "you're hurting me, Wes, fuck, fuck, fuck!"

"Ten and I can see it slipping, Faith. You're not trying hard enough."

Faith is pinking up, a rosy patch sprinkled with spots of deep red. Not enough to leave bruises yet. Wes concentrates his efforts on one place, a flurry of five slaps as hard as he can make them, trying not to lose the tension in his hand.

"Fifteen."

Normally, he'd treat Faith to a little pleasure with her pain. Let her grind against the heel of his spare hand but with her arms bound, it's all he can do to keep her on his lap. Besides, her little platinum friend should be affording her some kind of benefit. The next slap is brutal enough to bounce off her arse and shock a scream from her.

"Twenty and keep still, please."

She doesn't keep still. Wes isn’t even sure if she can still hear him, distinguish anything over the whip-crack sound of his slaps and her own fevered keening. She's trembling hard, her whole body flinching but she still arches up in that split second before he hits her again.

"Twenty five."  

Wes can see the darker marks of his fingers now that will blossom into bruises in the next couple of days. Marks that she'll feel against the silk he buys for her and all he has to do is come up behind Faith, drag his hand across her buttocks and she'll gasp.

"Thirty."

He's painfully rigid now, sucking in tiny sips of air between numbers to try and relieve that cramping feeling, the tenderness in his balls. Faith sounds as lost as him now

"Thirty five."

Faith has gone to that place where all she can do is chant his name like an invocation. Her legs are scissoring and he hits her there, right between her legs, not just to keep the vibrator in place. The angle's awkward enough that he can't get a good purchase and she's so wet that the impact is less than it could be. Less than Wes would like it to be. At the first touch though, she groans and pushes against his hand, which he's already taken away. It's an ingenious way to get her back in the game, to remind her of what's coming next.

"Thirty six."

He slows right down.

"Thirty seven."

Lets his hand linger.

"Thirty eight."

His fingers graze against her swollen clit.

"Thirty nine."

He reaches down and turns the vibrator on, on its lowest setting and over her howl…

"Forty, shall I let you come now, my darling girl?"

"Yes! Fuck, yes!"

Wes flips Faith over, cradles her against his arm as his hand spreads her limp thighs apart and pushes the humming length in her again and again, his thumb worrying at her as she flings her head back, her body so tense that he's sure she'll shatter.

She always breaks so beautifully.



Afterwards, he loves to run his fingers over her, feel the little aftershocks travelling through her, the army of goosepimples marching across her skin. Faith lolls her head against his shoulder, teeth clinging to her bottom lip as Wes pulls the vibrator free.

It's coated with her juices and Faith looks at it curiously. "So how much did you spend on this, huh?"

For the first time that night, Wes is genuinely outraged. "You can't ask me that! Not about a birthday present. It's just not done, Faith."

"Oh, and tying up and beating your poor, defenceless wife is AOK birthday behaviour?" Faith asks with a smirk and he's all set to tip her over his knee again when she leans forward and delicately scrapes her tongue across the sticky glaze.  "Don't give me that look, Wes," she says. "It was the best birthday ever."

And then she sucks the tip of it into her mouth, like it was his cock. Oh, how he wishes it were his cock. Part of him want to close his eyes, the other part of him can't look away. "Your birthday's not over. Technically, you still have 47 minutes left," he manages to say around the lump in his throat.

"Then I think we should go upstairs," Faith decides, shifting against Wes' legs and grimacing in pain. "So you can cuff me to the bed and fuck me."

Faith's panties fall away, a damp scrap of silk fluttering to the floor, as Wes stands up with her in his arms.

She presses kisses to his cheek all the way up the stairs.  "Thank you," she whispers in his ear, repeating it in time with his tread on the steps. "Thank you."

The lamps are already lit, the covers turned down as he drops Faith unceremoniously on the bed because he likes to see the way her eyes darken as her raw arse scrapes against the quilt. But then she always smiles and rolls her hips like she's riding the pain.

Faith, still cuffed, wiggles up the bed, moaning faintly as the cotton abrades the marks he's left. Then she rests against the pillows, legs lolling so Wes can see the sticky mess between her legs as he strips. His hard-on is wet-tipped and almost parallel to his stomach but he ignores it and Faith's appreciative hum, as he decides how he wants her. The waspie can go now, possibly the bra, but the silk stockings can stay because he doesn't want to uncuff her.

"41 minutes now," he remarks and she looks at him suspiciously. "41 minutes until I fuck you. Whatever shall we do to pass the time?"

Wes is pretty sure that she can suck him off and he'll still have time within the limits he's set to make good on his promise. "But it won't be my birthday in 41 minutes time," Faith informs him plaintively. "You don't want to fuck me on my birthday?"

"I fuck you every day," Wes announces stoutly and she's far too busy huffing to see the twinkle in his eyes. "And I want your birthday to be special."

"Wes, you've been hard for fucking hours!" Faith bursts out, the flush on her cheeks competing with the flush on her arse. "Jesus, why can't you just put out for once?"

Ah, she always stumbles into the traps he's set. He prowls toward the bed and crouches down so he can pull off her shoes, run a finger along her instep. "It's very considerate of you to be so concerned with my well-being," he all but coos, reaching round to unfasten her suspender belt and remove the clips. He's perfectly placed to rest his head on her thigh and inhale the intoxicating scent of her cunt. "I'm going to cuff you to the bed and then I'd like you to suck my cock, Faith."

She nods sullenly and thins her lips on all the words she's dying to say, all the names she's desperate to call him. Over the last few months, she's become… fairly obedient. Or else her endorphin rush has worn off and she hasn't got the energy for an argument.

Wes straddles Faith who has enough fight left to arch an eyebrow challengingly (which he knows full well she learnt from him), but she's hardly in a position to…

Faith moves so quickly that she's practically a blur as she rises up and flips them over, sandwiching his cock between them as she gives an experimental shimmy. "Didn't think I was going to be able to pull that off," she grins and shimmies all over again; hard enough that he's biting his lip. "I told you that I do yoga three times a week during lunch but you never listen to me."

"I listen attentively to everything you say."

"Oh, whatever, Wesley." Faiths providing the most wonderful friction to his cock so he doesn't slap her quite as sharply as he planned. "Two things you don't seem to realise: when I pull in my abdominal muscles I can do all sorts of fancy shit, which you'd know if you ever got round to fucking me…"

If she didn't keep bitching at him to fuck her, Wes might possibly have felt inclined to take pity on her. As it is, he pretends to stifle a yawn, which never fails to get a rise out of Faith and drawl, "Fascinating though this is, what's the other thing that you claim I'm ignorant about?"

Wes is expecting one of her more high volume snits, not the exceedingly smug little smile she gives him. "You're about to infringe section 7, part b, clause 1.a of the contract."

Faith's bouncing slightly now, which is distracting and also a little painful so it takes a while for Wes to cast his mind back. "I don't believe I remember that particular clause."

"You remembered it plenty when you were fucking me in the ass during your lunch-time," Faith snorts, breasts threatening to break free from the bra with her constant up-and-down. "The party of the second part has the absolute authority to assist the party of the first part in achieving orgasm anyway she sees fit if he's tied a knot in it for over an hour."  

He's already got his hands on her hips lifting her up slightly so she can sink back down on his cock, both of them sighing a little. It feels as hot and wet as summer-warmed honey as Faith takes him all the way in. "You're paraphrasing, Faith. And you know that's not allowed."

Smugness is still emanating from her every pore, but the evening's events have painted a sheen over Faith's skin, put colour in her cheeks and a sparkle in her dark eyes. Wes thinks that she might never have looked quite so bewitching as she tosses back her hair and raises herself up, thigh muscles quivering with the effort and holds just the tip of his cock inside her. "Wes? Bite me."

He does. Lowering his head to snatch at one rosy nipple peeking out from the ruffled cup.

Faith is riding him without finesse, faster, faster, faster until he's forced to show her that birthday or not, he makes the rules. The next time, she lifts up, he rolls out from under her and watches in amusement as she crashes face-first onto the bed with a muffled shriek.

From her cursing, Wes is sure that the only thing hurt is her pride and her arse, obviously. Her legs are splayed out, rump stuck in the air and covered in the most beautiful blotches. He can't resist one, no two, resounding slaps before she's struggling up, hindered by the cuffs. So much for her legendary abdominal muscles, he thinks to himself wryly.

"I'm going to uncuff you now," he tells her, giving his quivering cock a quick stroke as her attention is elsewhere.

A growl this time as he presses against her sweat-damp back and releases her wrists. "Just fucking fuck me now!" She's got that bitch goddess intonation just right.

"All in good time," he promises, dotting her shoulders with a smattering of kisses, even as he circles her wrists with his fingers and pulls her arms towards the posts of the bed. "On your knees, darling."

Wes will never understand the conflict in her. How Faith can scream and swear and protest even as she does what he tells her. He'll also never understand just how unobservant she can be. He'd screwed little hooks to the bed-frame days ago and she never even noticed.

She notices now as he clips the cuffs to the headboard and pauses to admire the way the muscles in her shoulder shift to take the strain.

"You're comfortable?"

Faith yanks at the cuffs, then subsides. "Be more comfortable with your cock in me."

"Shall I cuff your legs together and fuck you like that? You'll be so tight, Faith, I'll have to force my way in."

His hand is already resting against her pussy to feel the wetness pooling in his palm because she likes his suggestion. Likes it enough that she bucks her hips and gives a low moan.

"Or shall I fuck you in the arse because it's been a long time since we did that? Or I could bring you off with the vibrator again? Fuck you with my hand? Make you come again and again?"

"Yes! Yes! Anything… don't care." Faith's crying again because when she's this close, too many choices hurt worse than his blows.

"But I want you to care. Besides, it's your birthday and I'm feeling remarkably indulgent, all things considered, so pick one."

"Want you just to fuck me." She pauses and fights for breath. "Hard. Want you to fuck me hard."

And he can't resist her or the siren call of her cunt as she parts her legs a little wider and arches her back so he can see the gleaming swollen folds aching for him.

Faith isn’t going to have to wait much longer; neither can Wes because he's reached the end of even his endurance.

His eyes close as he shoves inside her. She's so very wet but she immediately tightens around him with a happy little gasp. He tries to slow it down after that first, frantic thrust but Faith cants her hips back and she's squeezing him with every yoga-honed muscle she has, which actually is saying something.

"Harder, harder," she chants in a rising keen. "Fuck me harder."

One hand gripping her hip, (he hopes he'll leave more bruises) one hand groping down, feeling where they're joined before he rests his thumb on her clit and presses down.

Faith is rippling around his throbbing cock, crying every time he pulls out. Her sobs mix with his grunts because he's beyond speech now, though mere words aren't enough to describe how she feels and how she looks with her head hanging down in supplication, the long taut line of her spine, the delicate cleft of her arse. All his.

Her cunt clenches down suddenly and she's coming, spasming around Wes' cock as he fights to pull out and plunge back in. He can keep her right up there now by rubbing her clit in quick circles, pressing deeper.

"Do it, hurt me, now, Wes. Now."

Wes' bites her shoulder, tastes the rusty tang of blood and it's that tiny crimson smear on her perfect skin that sends him over. Both hands tight on Faith's waist as he drives into her in a series of mindless thrusts, all rhythm lost. White-hot noise in his head, while he spurts inside her too many times to count.

He comes to a gentle halt, cock still half-hard as Faith gives one last emphatic whimper. Wes soothes the oozing bite with his tongue and she turns her head and smiles at him.

"I love you," she says so simply that it makes his heart jolt.

"My darling birthday girl," he murmurs and he's flopping onto his back for one moment and before Faith can even voice the complaint he knows she's about to make, he's sitting up so he can unlock her restraints.

Her wrists are slightly chafed under the cuffs and she looks at them as adoringly as she did the Marc Jacobs necklace he'd given her this morning. "Don't freak out about them, Wes."

Maybe he is, just a little. A reminder of unhappier times but then Faith wraps herself around him, licking the salt-sweat off his neck. Wes smoothes the sticky strands of hair back from her face so he can see the satiated glow…

"You made that clause up," he suddenly says, too tired to really work on a top note of indignation. "Or you stretched it so far from its original meaning that you might just as well have fabricated it."

Faith looks unremarkably bothered, just hugs him tighter. "Wes, you were so jonesing to come, you'd have bought anything."

"But the contract…"

"You can punish me for it tomorrow, after you're done punishing me for asking Giles to give you the day off." She giggles like the obnoxious minx that she truly is. "Man, he gets boring when he starts talking about the work/life balance."

"It's Friday tomorrow and it's almost Thanksgiving," Wes sighs. He'd love nothing better than to spend a three day weekend with Faith. They could go to the cinema, try out the new Italian down the block and maybe pencil in a little light whipping. But then he pictures the mountain of paperwork on his desk and Anya's querulous face peering over the top of it. "Really, you must check these things with me first."

Faith elbows him in the ribs as she tries to get comfy. Or else she's determined to be absolutely impossible. "Done deal, Wes. Giles was really understanding about it. He can be so sweet." Wes mentally changes the impossible to maddening. "I've already got the day off anyway and you've gone three weeks discipline-free, Wes. Three weeks."

It's been the longest three weeks of his life. Faith's skin is starting to feel clammy so, with a good deal of tugging, he coaxes her under the quilt. "I have been thinking about whipping you," he confesses, feeling her heart begin to thud as he curves his hand around her breast and kisses her nape. "You've been appallingly behaved tonight."

"Tomorrow," Faith promises, her voice getting heavier as she curls into a little ball. "You can punish me after…" She yawns delicately and Wes knows a pound to a penny that she's faking.

"After?" he echoes. "After what? I know you're not asleep."

Her eyelids are drooping, but that little furrow she gets on her forehead when she's being evasive, or just outright lying, has appeared. "I promised my Mom you'd drive her to La Guardia tomorrow," she says in a rush so the words all stick together. "You know she thinks that the cab drivers are all out to personally screw her over."

"God, if I wasn't so tired, I'd take the whip to your arse right now," Wes says peevishly. "Have you any idea what the traffic will be like at that time? And stuck in a car in the rush-hour with Darla… you're coming too. In fact, I'm tempted to stick you on the first flight back to Florida."

Faith sits up and pushes the hair out of her eyes. She's still wearing the collar but the hurt expression is new. Wes had forgotten how much he hated it. "Don't say shit like that just 'cause you're mad."

Sorry springs so readily from his lips these days. And when he's finished saying sorry, and even teased a smile from Faith by calling her all his favourite pet names from angel to zabaglione, Wes realises that he's barely kissed her all evening.

So they lie in the darkness, eyes wide open, and he kisses her funny, precious face until she falls asleep.


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