by Linnea May
And that’s when I learn about punishments for the first time.
“Stop!” he yells at me. “Right there.”
I freeze on the spot, resisting the urge to flee from him when he darts at me with such sudden force that I almost fall over when he grabs me by the arm.
“Did you just roll your eyes at me?” he barks, his face so close to mine that I can feel the warm air of his breath hitting my face.
“I-I-I-” I stutter, unable to phrase a coherent sentence.
He yanks at my arm, causing me to yelp in pain. “Answer me!”
“Yes,” I hurry to reply. “Yes, master, I did. I’m sorry, I-”
“You will be sorry,” he says, dragging me over to the bed.
He pushes me down roughly onto the mattress, my face forward and my legs dangling over the edge of the bed. Instinct tells me to push myself back up, but he holds me in place with one strong arm, forcing my upper body into the silk sheets, as his other hand reaches down to the hem of my dress, which ends shortly above my knees. He pushes my dress up with such brutality that I worry about him ripping the expensive fabric, but he doesn’t seem to care.
I complied with his wish for me to wear stockings. They are as new as everything else and my first purchase from Victoria’s Secret, a store I’ve never gone into before but always wanted to. I was hoping to be praised for my choice, a set of black stockings with pretty lace and a matching garter belt. The thong I’m wearing matches the set, as well, consisting only of a tiny piece of fabric with a small jewel decor at the back. Wearing these things had me more excited than I’d be willing to admit, but he pays very little attention to it right now.
All that matters to him in this moment is to expose my ass. The first blow comes unexpectedly and hits me so hard that I let out a surprisingly high shriek of pain. I never knew that having your ass spanked could hurt this much. There’s barely enough time for me to process the thought when the next strike follows straight away, but hitting the other side this time. Then another one. And another. He lands a painful sequence of spankings on my ass, each one hurting more than the one before it. I endure all but the very first one in complete silence, my hands crawling into the sheets beneath me as my entire body tenses up to prepare for the next blow. Tears of pain are threatening to run down my face, but I hold them back with stubborn determination.
I’m shaking by the time he stops, sweat running down my temples, and my ass is throbbing in ferocious pain. He’s standing behind me, watching as I lay in front of him in this humiliating pose.
And then something weird happens. Something...changes.
Violent agony turns into a warm throbbing of sensual after-pain. It’s still burning, but the feeling is more pleasant than painful.
“Get up,” he commands from behind me.
I take a deep breath before I push myself up from the mattress, refraining from fixing my pulled-up skirt as I straighten my posture in front of him.
As my eyes travel up to meet his, I detect a noticeable bulge in his crotch. He’s hard. This is turning him on!
“Now, doll,” he says. “Why did that just happen?”
I gulp.
“Because I rolled my eyes at you,” I say in a low voice, adding the word “master” just in time, before he gets angry at me again.
He smiles and comes closer, reaching his arms out and placing his hands on my shoulders. Even in my heels, I’m still a tad shorter than him and have to lift my eyes to meet his gaze. I like that a lot. Not many men can make me feel small, and I crave the experience more than most women probably would.
“Good girl,” he says, his voice soft again.
He gives me a quick kiss, only teasing my lips with his before he withdraws again. I find myself leaning in, left disappointed and hoping for more. The kiss we shared before was so sensual that I’ve been yearning for another one ever since. But he’s the one in charge. I can crave and wish all I want, but he’s the one who decides what will and what won’t happen between us.
“Now,” he whispers as his hands travel to my shoulders. “Let’s try this again. I know you can do better.”
I tense when he hooks his fingers below the straps of my dress and slowly pulls it down off my shoulders, pausing for a moment before exposing my breasts. The open back of the dress didn’t allow for a bra, and this is probably the first time I left the house without wearing one since my early teens. My breasts grew to an ample size quite early, and I’ve always felt more comfortable when they were supported, even though they are still firm and perky.
He hums with approval when he pulls my dress down further, completely exposing my breasts. His way of going about this is so sensual that I’m not surprised to see my nipples hard and erect, an obvious telltale of my arousal.
He casts me a knowing look, but refrains from touching them, even though I want him to. My back is straightened, urging my breasts up towards his face, a nonverbal invitation to play with them.
But he declines. Instead, he continues to pull the dress down my frame, deliberately caressing along the side of my arms when he moves down to my hips. I can’t suppress a moan when he pulls the dress down over my tortured ass, brushing across the still burning skin.
The dress drops down to my feet, and I‘m standing before him wearing nothing but stockings, a garter belt, the smallest thong I ever owned, and a new pair of heels that I can’t walk in.
He takes a step back, his eyes scanning every inch of my body as he takes me in.
“Perfect,” he assesses. “Now let’s try this again. Walk for me, doll.”
Chapter 16
Ryan
The perplexed look on her face when I walk over to the dresser to fetch the black delrin cane from the top drawer is priceless. She’s already experiencing a lot of discomfort because of my hand, and I can only imagine how fearful she is right now, wondering what I’m going to do to her with the cane.
The pink blush on her ass cheeks is proof of my punishing touch, but it’s not angry enough-looking to leave a scarring mark.
I’m sure this will change soon enough.
Even in her fearful state, she’s smart enough to keep moving.
I watch in silence while she tries her best to please me, striding up and down the length of the room in her unfamiliar stilettos. Her face is tense with concentration as she tries to balance in the awkward shoes and obey my order to never avert her beautiful eyes from mine.
I can forgive her for not being able to walk in these shoes. It comes as no surprise that someone so tall refrains from wearing heels, no matter how pretty they may look in them.
But I can’t ignore her slouching posture, the pained expression on her face, and her awkwardness and insecurity.
“Walk tall,” I command her. “Head high, shoulders back.”
She inhales audibly, but reacts by straightening her back and gaining height, all the while keeping her gaze focused on me. Her back is arced slightly, pushing her tits out.
“Beautiful,” I praise her. “That looks so much better on you, doll.”
The hint of a smile flickers across her face.
But as soon as she turns to walk back on the imaginary runway, she starts slouching again, her shoulders slump and her whole body seems to relax, giving in to the instinct to make herself become as small as possible.
That’s when she earns the first blow with the cane. I strike it across her already flushed ass cheeks, just before she turns around again. The cane hurts a lot more than my bare hand, and her reaction doesn’t surprise me the least bit. She shrieks out in pain, her hands flying back to protect her aching ass. She stumbles and almost falls.
“I can still see you even when you’re walking the other way,” I remind her. “Don’t let your posture go just because your face is turned away from me.”
“Fuck,” she breathes out through the pain, and because her hands are still covering her rear end, the next blow hits her lower, on the back of her thighs.
Another agon
izing shriek escapes her lips, but this time, I have to jump forward to catch her, so she doesn’t fall and hurt herself.
I catch her in both of my arms, wrapping one of them around her upper body to pull her into my arms. She casts me a confused look, her anguished eyes tear-streaked from the sharp pain I‘ve inflicted upon her. The blows were hard enough to leave a mark, but probably not vicious enough to break her skin.
When our eyes meet, I see the pleading expression she shoots me.
“Please, master,” she whimpers. “Not that.”
“I told you, doll, disobey me and you’ll be punished. You brought this on yourself.”
She bites her lower lip.
“It’s so hard,” she whines. “I’ve never walked in high heels before and –”
“It’s not about the shoes,” I interrupt. “I told you before that you’re beautiful, my doll, but you don’t want the world to see it.”
She scrunches her eyebrows as she tries to interpret my words.
“You’ll learn,” I assure her, squeezing her barely clothed body against mine as I claim another kiss from her lush lips. She’s too close, feels too soft, and smells too good for me to resist.
Her lips part willingly for me, inviting my tongue to dance with hers in a sensual embrace. I can tell that she’s trying to lure me in for more, greedily begging for me to touch her, to fuck her. Anything but make her parade in front of me like a circus animal.
So impatient.
Her lips follow mine when I end our kiss, and her eyes are laced with yearning. The feeling is mutual. My cock is aching for her, pushing against its fabric cage with a painful craving, especially now that I’m holding her in my arms, naked, vulnerable, and so hungry for me. I pull her against my crotch to feel my hardness, letting her know how much I want her.
She moans deeply and casts a seductive smile at me. That little minx.
“Now, let’s try this one more time,” I tell her, relishing the sight of her face falling when she realizes that the runway training is not over yet.
I release her, backing away from her with deliberately slow steps. It allows her to stare at my erection visibly bulding out against the front of my trousers. Yearning and desire is written all over her pretty face, as she gapes mesmerized at the sight of it. She winces when I clear my throat in an attempt to remind her of the first and most important rule – to keep her eyes locked on mine – and she finally redirects her eyes to meet my gaze like she’s supposed to.
There are questions filling her eyes, questions she doesn’t dare ask.
Why are you doing this to me?
Why can’t we just fuck?
“This is what I want you to do,” I say, answering her unspoken questions. “Remember, you’re here to please me.”
I know she wants to roll her eyes at me, but she doesn‘t, making a conscious effort to impress me.
I know I won’t be able to break her habit of hiding her beauty overnight – it’s something she’s been doing for years of slouching – but I want her to understand what it is I’m trying to teach her. I want her to grow under my guidance, as short-term as it may be.
I want her self-confidence and poise to blossom under my supervision. She deserves to feel as beautiful inside as she is on the outside, and I want her to portray that beauty to the world and everyone in it.
And, truth be told, it’s just so much sexier to play with a girl who knows how beautiful and vibrant she is. I will earn her submission, and she will earn the pleasure that comes with submitting to me, and not only through the money I pay her. It will be earned by teaching her how she should be treated – how she deserves and needs to be treated.
She just doesn’t realize it yet.
Chapter 17
Laura
I expected a lot of things when I signed up for this. I expected him to spank me, be rough with me, pull my hair, and even choke me while he was having his way with me.
But I didn’t expect this.
I didn’t expect to be asked to parade in front of him like a model on a runway. I didn’t expect him to bark at me like a fitness trainer snarling at his client, or snipping like Tyra Banks did when she was trying to coach those naive aspiring models on her reality TV show.
I don’t like this one bit. I’ve never felt comfortable in my skin, and his demands force me to confront everything I don’t like about myself. My limbs are too long, I never know what to do with my arms when I’m walking or standing, and I’ve grown accustomed to slouching to make myself smaller because most of my friends are a lot shorter than me. I hate to stick out, and if there is one thing I could change about myself, it would definitely be my height. I would gladly give a few inches away to someone who wants them.
But he’s forcing me to do exactly the opposite, and I don’t know what to make of it. The way he looks at me is so unsettling, but yet it’s charming and sexy at the same time. It’s as if he’s eating me with his eyes, ravaging every inch of my long body with relish, as I strut up and down in front of him. Sometimes, I even catch him licking his lips, as if he’s about to eat a delicious meal.
He uses the cane on me again, several times. Each time hurts more than the one before, leaving a stinging pain on my thighs, on the back of my legs, and on my sore ass. I try to do better, but it’s so hard to break the habit that has become second nature to me over the years.
Why is he enjoying this?
It’s obvious that he‘s enjoying it. The massive bulge in his crotch hasn’t shrunk one bit since I first noticed it. He’s hard for me; he wants me.
And I want him.
The distance between us is another thing that annoys the hell out of me. When I almost fell and he caught me in his strong arms, I felt my heart start racing in my chest. I was wild with anticipation, thinking that this would be it, that I would finally feel his hands on me, everywhere, and that I would finally feel him buried deep inside me.
I’ve yet to tell him that he’s going to be my first. If I ever do, that is. Maybe I don’t have to tell him? Maybe I shouldn’t tell him? I’m sure there’s a chance that he won’t even notice that I’m a virgin. It doesn’t have to hurt, there doesn’t have to be blood…right?
“Stay with me!” he warns, and I feel another blow as it stings the flesh on my ass.
I yelp, trying to hold back the burning tears. This one hurt so much that I wouldn’t be surprised if it drew blood.
Just like the other smacks, it causes mild throbbing of after-pain that does the weirdest things to me. I can feel the thong sticking to my slit, drenched in my juices. The thought both embarrasses and arouses me at the same time.
I hate this. Why does it make me feel this way? Why is it that all I can think of is the desire to fall down on my knees in front of him and begging him to please, finally, fuck me.
You’ll scream. You’ll cry. You’ll beg me to fuck you.
He knew it would be like this. He knew it as if this was his body, his mind.
“Doll!”
I shriek when another smack brutally pulls me out of my thoughts.
“Where the hell are you?” he bellows. “You’re daydreaming instead of following my commands.”
I cast him an apologetic look, and then continue walking, slow and unsteady, but with my head held high and my naked breasts pushed out in front of me.
“I’m sorry, master,” I whisper in a soft voice laced with yearning, hoping that it might seduce him to stop this show.
I don’t know if it was my voice that wins him over, but he finally gives in and motions for me to stop.
“Stand still,” he says.
At first, I’m afraid he’s only making me stop to unleash a new round of punishments on me. But he doesn’t. Instead, he approaches me and places his big, rough hands at the side of my body with careful tenderness, as if he was afraid I’d crumble into dust.
“You did good,” he praises earnestly, leaning in for a kiss.
I welcome his soft lips on mine, immediately ful
l of relief and excitement for what’s to come. Even though I’ve been craving his touch, I still flinch when I feel his fingers between my legs. His fingers move deftly and with purpose, shoving my soaked thong to the side of my slit in one abrupt motion, greedily sliding between my pulsating wet folds.
Heat rushes to my cheeks. I feel his moan vibrating through our kiss, as soon as his fingers meet my slick arousal.
“Look at that,” he whispers, breaking our kiss. “Does this make my doll excited? Modeling for her master?”
I don’t know how to reply to this, so just answer with a blank stare, the embarrassment apparent on my flushed face.
“You did so well, I think you deserve a little treat, don’t you?” he asks, fleetingly kissing the corner of my mouth.
“Mmhmm,” I utter, unable to come up with something more eloquent.
He chuckles, and before I know it, he scoops me up into his strong muscled arms and carries me over to the bed. No one has carried me like this since I was a child, and I’m surprised how it makes me feel.
Small. Light like a feather. Desired.
I gasp in surprise when he tosses me on top of the bed, my arms awkwardly flinging up in the air as I try to cushion my fall on to the dark silk sheet. He’s consumed with wild passion and lust now, no longer interested in keeping distance between us.
He’s hovering over me and caging me in with his arms at my sides, his full weight borne on his palms. He presses his lips onto mine once again, claiming a passionate kiss while his hands travel down to my center. I have no time to protest before he rips the thong away from my body in one strong, swift motion.
I have no time to commiserate the loss of the lacy item, because he’s lodged between my legs within moments, parting my thighs wide before forcing his lips to leave mine to travel farther south. He forces my legs as far apart as they’ll go, exposing my entrance to his dark, hungry eyes, and I shut mine in shame. I can feel his hot breath making contact with the slick wetness in my center, wanting him to come closer and move away at the same time.
