Just A Spanking: Tales of Dominance and Submission

by Lisabet Sarai

  “You broke your promise, my Lord.” The king looked up, startled and alarmed. How had Devarasai gotten past his soldiers? She stood in front of his couch in a costume of green satin, like some spirit of the woods. She neither bowed nor averted her eyes, which smoldered menacingly.

  Superstitious fear gripped Jayarajchandran’s heart. Perhaps she really was some she-demon, sent by the gods to punish him for neglecting his duty to his wife and the dynasty. She seemed to be invisible when she wanted to be. And what human woman would have had the strength to thrash him the way she had done the previous day?

  The memory made him flush. In her presence, the blood flowed eagerly to his penis, bringing him to full erection in a matter of seconds. Her eyes flicked down to the swelling between his thighs, and then back to his face.

  “You cannot plead incapacity, Your Majesty. The evidence is before me. Clearly, I must punish you again, to make you keep your promise.”

  “Turn over onto your stomach,” she commanded. The king tried to object, but it was as though she had stolen his voice. Magic, he thought to himself, as he complied. Enchantment.

  He lay there, his head to the side, watching her. What would the witch do now?

  Devarasai leaned over him and grasped the waistband of his loose trousers. In one movement, she pulled them down to his knees. The light afternoon breeze wandered over the bare flesh of his buttocks. She ran a finger along one of his stripes, which stretched from the base of his spine to his outer thigh. He shivered at her touch. His aching penis jerked underneath him.

  “Your Majesty, I know that it is forbidden for a subject to touch the august body of the Gods’ Chosen. If later you order my death, so be it. Now, though, I must fulfill my mistress the Queen’s instructions, and teach you your duty.”

  She brought her open palm down on his butt cheek. The loud smack of flesh on flesh rang through the garden, but none of his guards appeared in response. Before he could catch his breath, the woman landed another slap on his behind, and then another.

  It would not, perhaps, have hurt very much, if his hindquarters were not already sore and lacerated from yesterday’s punishment. As it was, each blow of her hand woke echoes of the agony he had previously endured. On top of this was the sting of the spanking itself, remarkably different from the bite of the bamboo cane. The pain of her spanks was richer and more diffuse. It was like the difference between eating a raw chili and tasting a slowly simmered curry.

  There was an intimacy in the contact of skin on skin, in the transfer of heat from her body to his, that had not been present in her earlier beating. As she continued to chastise him, the warmth spread in waves of pleasure that amplified but did not erase the pain. Finally, his engorged penis became the focus of all sensation, both the hurt and the comfort distilled into the pure essence of unsatisfied desire.

  He turned and grabbed her wrist, pulling her to him. She allowed him to enfold her in a passionate embrace, to thrust his tongue into her cinnamon-flavored mouth, to flick her lust-tightened nipples through sheer fabric of her blouse.

  “You want me, don’t you?” he murmured, nuzzling her ear and grinding his hardness against her thigh. “Tell me you want me, Devarasai.”

  “Of course I want you, Majesty. What woman does not dream of being the consort of the Lord of Life?” Gently she extricated herself from his arms. “But I am not your fate, and you are not mine.”

  “Now go to the Queen. She is waiting for you.”

  Ranasiree lay stark naked on her silken coverlet, her long jet hair loose and tousled around her shoulders. The late afternoon sun slanted in and painted the alabaster swells and curves of her body a pale gold. “My Lord,” she murmured as Jayarajchandran joined her on the bed, “I am deeply happy to see you.”

  She rolled over and onto her knees, raising her lusciously rounded buttocks toward him. Her thighs parted and her scent rose around them, quickening the pulse in his rigid member. She was more than ready for him. He could see trails of her nectar dripping down the backs of her legs and the ruddy lips of her sex, swollen and welcoming.

  “Take me, my Lord. Please.” She arched her back in invitation. The king slipped into her slick heat, marveling at the pleasure. Why had he stayed away so long?

  His wife moaned and bucked against him as he thrust into her depths again and again. She gripped him frantically with her inner muscles. She seemed as tight as a virgin. Eyes closed, he allowed his body to take command, ravaging her as though he would tear her apart.

  He felt her first shuddering climax, but managed to control his own release. He wanted to prolong the delight. He opened his eyes again, regulating his breathing and slowing his strokes.

  All at once, he noticed a collection of strange articles on her bedside pedestal. There was a plank of carved rosewood with an ivory handle, a bunch of twigs roped into a bundle at one end, a bamboo rod, a length of leather thongs braided together.

  He recognized these items for what they were: the many and varied instruments of corporal punishment. Images of Devarasai flooded his mind. He saw her paddling him, scourging him, whipping him into a frenzy of lust. He slammed his hardness into his wife’s succulent flesh, again and again, spurred by the imagined force of Devarasai’s blows.

  His mind whirled with confusion, even as his body shook with rising desire. How did Ranasiree come to possess such implements? Had Devarasai disobeyed him, forsworn her oath, in order to share his secrets with her mistress? But then, hadn’t she told him that the Queen herself had ordered his punishment?

  Had the Queen known of his weakness? Jayarajchandran burned with shame at the thought of the two women sharing the lewd details of his pitiful arousal, planning new indignities to inflict on him. The shame only amplified his lust.

  The Lord of Life, Ruler of the Heavens, shuddered in fearful delight. His imagination foretold a new future: Ranasiree standing over him, majestic and proud, a true queen, smiling as she tanned his bare backside to a fierce red.

  The image swept him into a climax so intense that it was painful. His penis pulsed and spasmed, propelling his seed deep into his wife’s body. She quickened in response, shaking in the throes of another orgasm.

  For a long while, then, they simply lay together, each breathing the other’s scent, listening to the other’s heartbeat. The afternoon faded to a soft dusk. Night-blooming roses perfumed the air. In the distance, the temple gongs began to sound, calling the people to evening prayers.

  Jayarajchandran smiled to himself. Sometimes it was good to be king.

  Silver Bells

  “Tinkle, tinkle.”

  I nearly dropped my cup into the punch bowl. Under my loose black velvet tunic, my clamped nipples throbbed with fresh heat. Blood rushed to my cheeks as well as to my steel-pinched clit. Embarrassment and lust mingled until I didn’t really know what I was feeling. It was simultaneously awful and delicious.

  I didn’t dare whirl around to discover who had whispered the taunt in my ear. The tiny silver bells Greg had affixed to the thumbscrews above and below might ring more loudly. Swallowing my moan and gathering the shreds of my dignity, I turned at a stately pace to find Greg’s old friend James standing behind me, sporting a naughty grin.

  “Did you say something, James?” I managed to hold his gaze with some degree of poise, though I knew my face must be flushed. Wearing my party heels, I was only a few inches shorter than my guest. Behind his wire-framed spectacles, his brown eyes gleamed with mischief. For the hundredth time I wondered how much he knew about the nature of Greg’s and my relationship.

  “Just that it’s a lovely party, Isabella,” he replied. Was he laughing at her? “Simultaneously elegant and festive. You’re a very talented hostess.”

  “We’re glad you could make it.” I was astounded at how cool and in control I sounded. The ache from my tortured nipples and clit was nothing compared to the fear that my perversity might be revealed to the outside world.

  “Well, when I found out about the confere
nce here in Manhattan, it seemed like the perfect opportunity. Especially since it was close to the holidays. I’ve been wanting to visit you two for quite a while. Seems like ages since the wedding.”

  “Just a year and half.” James had been Greg’s best man. Apparently they’d known each other since college, and kept in touch through grad school. Greg had implied more than once that James had kinky interests that paralleled his own, but I thought it was unlikely he would have shared the thrilling and sordid details of our sex life, even with his closest friend.

  My husband was a very private person. We didn’t go to clubs or play parties. He enjoyed threatening me with exposure, and we’d occasionally engaged in some semi-public scenes (the sudden recollection of one spanking in Central Park set my pussy flowing), but most of the time he preferred to test and torment me at home. To be honest, I was the one with the exhibitionist fantasies. Greg understood my warped mind only too well. Hence the bells.

  “California’s quite a ways from New York. And of course, I’ve been really busy with work.” James looked exactly like the Silicon Valley super-nerd he was: unruly black hair too long to be fashionable, geek glasses, a sensitive mouth, penetrating eyes, a complexion without the slightest trace of a California tan. He was well built, though, neither flabby nor too skinny. The company he’d founded must have had a gym. “I’ve thought about you quite a bit, though.”

  About me? About us? I didn’t have the nerve to ask. Fortunately, my friend Neena sailed up to us, waving a glass of eggnog in one hand and a smoked salmon-wasabi canapé in the other.

  “Bella! What a fabulous party!” She gave me an enthusiastic hug. I worried that she’d feel the clamps or the bells digging into her well-padded chest. She gave no hint of having noticed when she released me, still clutching her drink and hors d’oeuvres. “The food is to die for! And you’ve invited so many interesting people!” She stared pointedly at James, who looked amused by her ebullience.

  I took her hint, grateful that she’d provided an escape from the unsettling conversation. “Neena, this is James, one of Greg’s oldest friends. He’s visiting from San Francisco. James, Neena, my director of sales.”

  “And your closest friend! Delighted to meet you, James! I love San Francisco. I went to school at U.C. Davis. What do you do?”

  “What does anyone do in northern California? I work in high tech. Software tools for ubiquitous computing.”

  “Sounds fascinating.” Neena gobbled the tidbit in her left hand, drained the eggnog in her right, and set her empty cup down next to the punch. She seized James’ arm and pulled him toward one of the sofas. “Tell me more about it. I try hard to keep up with the latest technology, but things move so fast these days, it’s really tough…”

  I chuckled. A faint tinkling music reached my ears, replacing my momentary amusement with a mix of arousal and terror.

  I felt Greg’s gaze like a spotlight trained on me, a beam of pure heat. He stood by the sound system, across the living room, a goblet of ruby wine clasped between his finger and thumb. He’d dressed up for the party. In his black raw silk jacket and silver-grey turtleneck, he was totally gorgeous. Familiar gratitude tightened my chest.

  Greg was taller than I was by nearly a foot, taller in fact than anyone else in the room, with the powerful build of a wrestler. His square chin and prominent nose made him look rough and a bit dangerous. Finely etched brows and a plump, mobile mouth tempered that impression with a hint of elegance and sensitivity. Handsome, brilliant, well-educated and well-to-do, Greg could have had any woman he wanted. And he’d chosen me.

  Love and lust together nearly overwhelmed me. My initial impulse was to rush across the room to kneel at his feet. I suspected, however, that he wouldn’t approve. He favored me with an indulgent smile, as though he sensed my inner turmoil. Then he arched one eyebrow and pursed his lips as though to whistle. I was at his side in two seconds.

  He draped his arm around my shoulder and nuzzled my hair, threatening to dislodge my carefully arranged French twist. I snuggled against him, not caring at all. He tilted my chin to raise my eyes to his and brushed his lips across mine. I swear, my over-stimulated body nearly toppled into climax from that brief touch.

  “I want you to do something for me, Bella.” He pitched his voice low, so that only I would hear.

  “Of course. Sir.” The sudden steel in his gaze made me add the honorific.

  “Go into the bedroom. Remove the clip and the bells from your clit.”

  Vaguely disappointed, I had the temerity to object. “It’s all right, Sir. I can bear it.”

  “No, I don’t want to cause any damage. A clitoris is more delicate than a nipple. Leave the clamps on your tits.”

  “Yes, Sir,” I replied, noting and appalled by my own relief that he was not about to strip away all my hidden signs of submission.

  “Next, get the red butt plug from the toy box, lubricate it, and insert it. Come back out to take care of our guests when you’re ready.”

  A shock of arousal sizzled through me. “But, Sir…” I could already imagine the horrible sensation of walking around in my high heels, the fat bulk of the plug secretly stretching my rear hole and shifting with every step, the bells tugging at my aching nipples. I dreaded it. I wanted it.

  “Would you refuse one of my requests, Bella?” Greg shook his head in reproach. “I thought you wanted to please me.”

  “I do, I do, Sir. It’s just…”

  “Excuses are just a form of disobedience.” He sighed and released me from his grasp. I felt abandoned. “And here I thought I’d trained you so well– that you were mine to command.”

  “I am, Sir… I’m sorry. Whatever you say. I’ll wear the plug, if that’s what you want.”

  Greg’s face brightened. “That’s my girl. Go on, now. I want you horny and well stretched, for later.”

  For later? His threat–or was it a promise?–only turned up the volume on my excitement. I scurried off to execute his instructions, bells ringing in my wake.

  I don’t know how I survived the rest of the party. I couldn’t sit. I could barely walk. Every movement made me more aware of the lewd instrument stuffed into my rectum. My newly liberated clit pulsed and shuddered as the plug shifted inside me. I was glad Greg had let me wear my long, paisley-print silk skirt. The pattern hid the growing damp spot between my thighs.

  Finally, all the guests had left, aside from James, who appeared ready to bid us goodnight. I couldn’t wait to be alone with Greg, to see what he had planned. I suspected I’d come the first time he touched me.

  James excused himself to go to the toilet. I puttered around the table, gathering up empty glasses. The butt plug felt bigger than ever. Greg leaned against the wall, over by the twinkling Christmas tree, his eyes following my every move.

  “Never mind that, Isabella. Come over here.”

  “But…” His glare silenced me. I abandoned the party debris and went to stand before him. He towered over me, making me feel hot and embarrassed and deliciously vulnerable.

  “Strip.”

  “What? But James will be out at any moment…?”

  “Didn’t you hear me? I told you to strip.” He crossed his arms across his chest and waited.

  His devious plans were suddenly crystal clear. No wonder James had teased me.

  I wanted to obey, I truly did, but I couldn’t move. Behind me, I heard the toilet flush and the bathroom door open.

  “This is your last chance, Bella. Take off your clothes this instant, or James and I will have to rip them off of you.”

  A vivid picture rose in my mind– my fancy outfit in shreds, my body skewered front and rear by twin cocks. My pussy gushed and my rear hole clenched around the hard plastic plug. Would they really…? I forced myself to grasp the hem of my tunic and draw it up over my head. The fabric caught on the clamps; the bells rang out, loud in the quiet apartment. I was glad my face was hidden by my garment.

  “Silver bells, silver bells–it’s Ch
ristmas time in the city…” James had a fine tenor voice. He managed to hold the tune even as he laughed.

  My head emerged from the tunic. Greg took it from me, throwing it onto a nearby chair. He caught my eye and gave me little smile of encouragement. I melted into a hot puddle of liquid desire. “Turn around now. Let my friend see your pretty, swollen nipples.”

  I heard James breathing behind me, fast and shallow. My heart did somersaults in my chest. My juices trickled down my thighs. Slowly, I pivoted to face the man with whom my husband planned to share me.

  It was like one of those dreams where you’re moving through jello. One hundred eighty degrees seemed to take forever.

  At last I stood face to face with James. I couldn’t bring myself to look at his face. I stared instead at the lump that tented his trousers, my cheeks on fire, my silver-clasped nipples throbbing like crimson beacons.

  “You told the truth,” James spoke over my head to my husband. “She’s exquisite. Though her nipples are red as Rudolph’s nose.”

  Greg laughed, a rich, rumbling sound that sent a chill up my spine. “She’s been wearing the clamps for a while. Why don’t you take them off?”

  James took a step closer. I must have flinched. No one but Greg had touched me for so very long. I belonged to my husband. Yet here he was, offering me to this near-stranger.

  “Trust me, Bella. I won’t hurt you,” he murmured as he removed the dangling bells and tossed them aside.

  “Much,” added Greg with a chuckle.

  James’ fingers worked the screw that forced the clamp to compress my right nipple. They were long and slender. I imagined them sliding into my soaked channel. A mini-climax shuddered through my pussy. Then the clamp released its hold on my flesh. I screamed in agony as the blood rushed back into the battered nub. I stumbled and would have collapsed if Greg had not caught me in his arms and pulled me against him.