Punishment

PRELUDE

I hear the sound of the door closing behind you and my heart skips. I’ve never felt this particular frisson of fear before, but this time is different. I provoked you to this; to this point of anger and frustration, to this point that has culminated in that most ambiguous and challenging of words in an M/s relationship.

Punishment.

The word calls to mind times in our early lives When we were naughty, when those that controlled our lives and cared for us felt that the time had come to remind us of the balance of power and the way of things in our lives. You waited for this time, waited for the anger to grow cold, for the frustration to receive behind the delicate web of our love, but the need to utter the words here endeth the lesson remains.

I am bound. My hands are tied at the wrist with the silver rope that has Always been used in play for us, the feel of it has always been seductive to me before; the harbinger of delicious torques and lavish releasese. Now it chafes; I struggle against it usefully. The end of the rope runs to a ceiling hook over my head; the latch on the hook angled in just such a way that I cannot maneuver it loose. I am blindfolded but not gagged; you told me that you want to be able to hear my sounds in all of their fullness today. I am on the balls of my feet; the tautness in the rope holding me there in a position just slightly to the left of comfortable. The angle of my legs is maintained by the spreader, I feel too open, too exposed and too cold; the air conditioner is up too high — you know that I hate the cold. My nipples strain against the clamps; they are much tighter than usual, the end of the chain running to the third clamp on my clip that is not as tight, but tight enough to remind me that it is there.

I want to see you; you know that I like to look into your eyes for reassurance, but the blindfold is there. I feel you circulation me. I want to speak but I do not; the only word that is allowedtoday is my safe word ~velvet~. I want to say it, I’m frightened; I want to take it all back in a way but it is far too late for that now.

I provoked this. I wanted this.

It began.

PUNISHMENT

The cool air from the air conditioner is swirling around me, stirred by the twin ceiling fans over my head. I feel goose bumps rising all over my body; even the roots of my hair seems chilled. My shoulders are bare, my hair is bound up in a ponytail to keep it out of your way as you directed; now I feel you typing the tail of the rope to the tail of my hair, restricting even the movement of my head now. The door on the armoire opens; I hear you moving things on the shelf where all of the implements are stored. I hear something whip softly in the air…The crop? It’s not a flogger, the sound is too discrete, and I don’t hear the sounds of multiple tails…The cane? I can’t tell; the soft sound in the air is closer now and I brace just before you strike.

The blow is hardand followed rapidly by another; merciless and unrelenting. It’s the crop, a tool that I normally enjoy, but the technique this time is sharp and harsh, aimed at tender points on my flesh that you are usually more delicious with, at least at first. There is no warm up this time. Just as I began to form these thoughts I feel another blow with a different tool; you must be using both hands, a thing you never do, and this time it’s the flogger. Everywhere. Front and back, high and low, no teasing blows, just pain. I struggle, but the bonds are too tight, I hear soft whimpers and sharp intakes of breath; those are my sounds right now; I hear soft growls and hard breathing, those are your sounds. The whimpers are not enough for you; the beating becomes more intense, and the whimpers turn to groans and outcries. I hear something drop to the floor; you move back to the armoire, I hear you moving things. You come close to me…I feel your warm breath in my ear…”Be careful what you ask for, for you will surely get it” you say in a harsh voice, completely unlike the voice that I know so well in moments of passion. This voice is cruel and devoid of emotion or goal. I feel something forced roughly into my ass without luxury or tenderness, it’s a plug, but a much larger one than the one that I am accustomed to, one made for moments such as this. I cry out from it, you reach for the chain that runs between the clamps on my clips and nipples, this time my outcry is accompanied by a spillover of tears that soaks my blindfold and runs down my face. I feel you lick off a tear just before your hand closes on my throat…tightening just enough to make me panic and struggle…you loosen your grip and laugh. “Scared yet?”

Before I can answer the beating begins again and this time it’s the cane, blow after blow until I am sobbing incoherently, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” But you do not stop. It goes on and on, far past the point that I think I can bear, the pain approachingSome crescendo that I am afraid to reach because if I reach it – what will become of me? I cry your name in my pain and as it echoes around the room, the blows stop.

The swirling cold stills, the soft whirring of the fans has stopped. You pull me towards you, your hand between my legs, feeling my wetness as you slip the clamps off one by one. My screams bounce around the still room as the feeling returns to my clip and nipples. I become aware of the sweat pouring from me along with my tears. You whisper in my ear, in a voice that I recognize.

“Enough.”

POSTLUDE

You slowly untie the ropes that bind my hair and my wrists. I am weak now, all of my strength drained out of me, along with all of the tears and sweat that flowed from me during my punishment. I fall against you and You take my weight effortlessly; holding me with one hand while removing the spreader from between my simply bent knees. You slip the blindfold off, and the sudden brightness blinds me for a moment. You sweep me up over one shoulder and drop me onto the bed on my stomach; sliding the plug that you assaulted my ass with during the punishment out of me and setting it aside.

Your hands slide over me; I flinch as you trace the welts that crisscross my body but I make no sound. You flip me over onto my back and slide into me with a smooth, harsh thrust. My legs are up over your shoulders; Your eyes are locked on mine. You ride me hard; never looking away and I look up at you, the tears begin again inexplicably. I clutch your forearms tightly, almost afraid to let go. I began the ascent to orgasm and my rhythm quickens. Your eyebrow raises at the change in my breathing and my motion and you utter a word —

“No.”

I swallow and tremble…the moment passes, the rising pleasure ebbing away into nothing more than a soft tremor, no more ecstatic than the minor pleasure that I might feel from the cares of your hands in my hair during a tender moment. You rarely deny mepleasure, your form of Mastery has always been lush and generous, but today was about punishment, not pleasure. “Good Girl”, you say, and the pleasure of hearing those words is an ecstasy all of its own. Your pace quickens and I feel you as you cum; your concentration on my eyes never wavering.

After, you slide me into the tub and massage soothing cream into my wounded flesh, wrap me in my warm robe and carry me to bed, setting me beside you. You run your hands over me deliciously now, careful not to hurt my tender spots…murmuring words of love into my hair, my hair that you brushed yourself until it was dry as though I were some delicate doll. I know there will be other orgasms, full and overwhelming on other nights, pleasures that we experience together without withholding.

Tonight, though, it was necessary to withhold.

Necessary to bring me to this place. Primal. Female.

Tamed.

As we drift off to sleep I hear you whisper in my ear…

“Here endeth the lesson.”