He hasn't ever punished me before, only once, playfully soon after we first met I had some corner time, but this was different. He said he would hit me inside my thighs, where he knows it's difficult for me to take pain, that area is so sensitive. He said I would cry. He said I would suck his cock until I stopped crying. I made the mistake of not believing him.
This man has pressed his cock so far down my throat I thought I might truly choke on it. He has held my throat, cut off my air. He's held a knife against my skin. He's penetrated my ass with his overly sized cock, stretching and filling me as I worried I would tear, that in his passion he wouldn't care if so. I trust him with my life.
Yet, lying there bound, his determined and still face giving no hint of desire or anything other than to be on task, I became frightened. I have no safeword, I'm completely at his mercy. I told him there was no need for the tying, I wouldn't try to escape. That was before the first strike.
Normally I have a warm up. This was two weeks ago, and I still have the marks from his lashes. It wasn't that there were so many. It wasn't that they were so hard. It was his intention, his decision to punish, to ask me why I was being punished to make me say it and repeat the violation of his rule. Even as I said it, part of me wondered, was it so bad, what did I do so bad? And I began to be angry. Not at him, but at the situation, at myself, at the circumstance of being forced to endure this exercise which was not sexy, not fun, not reasonable. I disobeyed him. So what? So what this, is the answer, one I don't like.
Is it worse, I wondered to be held down in this way and forced to take the punishment, or to be told to hold still for it? To be allowed to be silent, or to repeat the violations? I began to turn my head away from him as he changed sides on the bed, striking the leg closest to him as he moved. He would come back around, and I would turn my head away, I didn't want to look at him. Couldn't look at him. I felt ... petulant? Even as he strikes right by my pussy, hitting the underside of my ass lying there on the bed, ridiculously spread like some kind of staked out victim. I'm mad and annoyed. And crying. He covers my mouth with his hand and strikes me harder, I cry harder, silently, just mad and upset and humiliated and of course it hurts but I don't even care.
This isn't sexy, it's not fun, it's horrible and I don't like it. Deep down I thought I would. I imagined him striking me, imagined the lashing, the way pain usually goes right to my cunt, but it just wasn't like that. I'm very ambivalent about being bound.
Suddenly he's undoing my hands and I think he's done. Fine. Good. I can lie there and cry and he'll be sorry - soon he'll be there, apologizing and comforting me. No. I'm ordered to suck his dick until I stop crying.
There is nothing I less want to do in that moment than anything remotely sexual or remotely submissive. I hesitate and he repeats himself. I find myself obeying automatically even as my own mind is telling me not to - or rather just not telling me anything, I'm just doing what he says, regardless. But oh, I don't want it in my mouth, and he can tell and he asks do I want to do that or do I want to be punished more. I begin to suck like I mean it, like I care... surprised he's hard, then wondering, then within a shorter time than you would think, I've forgotten all about my earlier feelings, my previous misgiving and I'm suddenly very much interested in sucking his cock.
I try to show him how sorry I am, suddenly I am nothing but obedience, nothing but his, nothing but a slave, trying to atone to her Master for her disobedience. Life becomes much more simple with that objective.
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