Discipline 5

I wrote this story about 5 years ago. At the time, I had never had a "real life" D/s relationship, and I considered this a harsh discipline story, but not abuse. Having gained more experience, I can say that to do this in real life would indeed be abuse, and harm both the submissive and the dynamic.

If you're here because you understand that this is fantasy and sadistic punishment is your thing, then enjoy! If you're looking for a semi-realistic interaction between Dominant and submissive, I recommend a different story. -Kyla

*****

Shit. I did it this time. I could have waited until he got home, but noooo. Why? I knew this would happen if I came without permission, especially at work. How was I stupid enough to cum FIVE TIMES? And LIE to Him? Why in fucking hell did I lie to Him about it? Shit. Shitshitshit.

He wasn't pleased. Not that I'd really expected Him to be. His jaw was tense and his neck was tight—that was never a good sign. He didn't speak, but merely snap-pointed to the floor. I dropped immediately, knees spread, each hand grasping the opposite arm, back straight, head down in shame.

"Look at Me. See the disappointment in my face."

He wasn't letting me out of this easy. I looked up, wishing I could cry when things like this happened. I felt like crying. My eyes were dry, my throat was dry, and I had the kind of headache that preludes waterworks. But I could never seem to cry when I was being punished. I didn't know why, but I hated it.

He sighed and crossed His arms, bringing my thoughts back to the present. "You do know how upset I am, don't you?"

I tried to speak, but my voice wouldn't work. I cleared my throat and tried again. "Yes Sir. Your slut knows." Damn, why can't I cry? Why can't I show Him how much I hate this, how much I want to be His good girl?

"Good. And you knew how upset I would be when you did this, didn't you?"

"I... guess I didn't really think about it, Owner."

I instinctively flinched from his glare. Shit. Wrong answer.

"Uh, I mean, I knew you'd be disappointed, or I guess I would've known, if I'd stopped to think, but I didn't stop to think. That is, it's not like my break is very long, You know, and I was really horny, and I didn't stop to think, 'How is this going to affect Sir?'. I just... did it, Master. But then after I knew you'd be mad, so I really didn't want to... tell... You. Um." I should really stop talking now. He looks even more pissed. I should definitely stop talking.

He took a deep breath and spoke, each word carrying as much sting as a whip. "Slave, what are you wearing?"

"I, um, nothing, Sir?" I glanced down to make sure I hadn't left my panties on by accident. "Um, nothing. Except my collar, I guess."

"You guess?"

Shit, that voice hurts. "Nothing except my collar, Owner." It was taking all my willpower to keep meeting those angry eyes, especially since I only seemed to be digging myself a deeper hole with every word that came out. I desperately wanted to go to bed and try this again tomorrow. That's the price of misbehaving, girl.

As if He could read my thoughts, He lifted an eyebrow and paused for a moment before continuing. "And what does that collar represent?"

"Um, that I'm your property, Owner? Your toy, your pet, your submissive,—" I swallowed, although my throat was bone dry, and whispered—"and your good girl, Owner."

"And what does that entail?" He asked, sticking His hands in His jeans pockets.

Fuck, why does he have to look so sexy? No, focus. You're in trouble, don't think about His sexiness. Not like He'd reward you with His body or—well, anything right now anyway. Think about the question.

He shifted His weight impatiently, prompting me to hurry up and answer, "It means obedience, Owner. And safety. And trust. And being completely honest with you, all the time. And—I guess getting used however you want me to be used. But it also means that you'll care for me, and protect me, and let me trust you and be vulnerable to you. Completely vulnerable. And you'll be the same to me. Sir."

He nodded. "And did your actions today uphold any of that?"

"No Sir," I whispered, dropping my gaze, then looking back up at Him. Fuck, why can't I cry?

"Do we cum without permission? Do we disobey orders?"

"No Sir. We ask for Master's permission and obey like a good girl."

"Do we lie? Ever?"

At this point, my eyes did start watering as I whispered, "No, Master. We tell the truth, even if that means we'll get in trouble."

He nodded and, without another word, wrapped his fingers in my hair and dragged me to the dungeon, ignoring my cries of pain as I struggled to keep up. Once in, he threw me to the floor and closed the door behind him.

I caught my breath and kneeled upright, trying not to flinch away from Him as He came towards me. He stopped in front of me, arms crossed. He assessed me for a moment, His jaw still tight, then turned away, taking his shirt off and tossing it into a corner. Without looking at me, He pointed to a nearby sturdy, wooden table that had some odds and ends on it.

"Clear that off, then sit on it." While I cleared the table, He went to the dresser full of toys, pulled out the ouchy-things drawer, and stood there for a moment, clearly thinking. The table clean, I sat on it facing the middle of the room, away from the area where we kept our toys and restraints. I heard His footsteps as he made his selection and walked back towards me.

He set something down on the table and stretched, turning this way and that, stretching his shoulders and arms. Shit. I'm in for it. I glanced down at the implement He'd chosen and felt my eyes widen in fear. Fuckin' hell. I'm definitely in for it. Holy fucking shit!

After stretching, He spread my thighs as wide as possible, then scooted me so my knees were flush with the end of the table. He pushed on my sternum, indicating that I should lay down, and told me to put my hands over my head as he used some rope to tie my ankles to the table legs. The position left my thighs, pussy, stomach, and breasts completely exposed, and partly exposed my ass.

He picked up the switch. When He'd first gotten it and tested it on me, after only one strike, I'd begged him with tears streaming from my eyes to never use it on me again. I thought He'd gotten rid of it or forgotten about it. I'd clearly been wrong. This, more than anything else, told me how serious my infraction had been.

Before He could swing, I blurted: "Can I safeword during punishments?"

He paused, then answered. "You may. But it won't get rid of the punishment. And if you're doing it just because you don't like how it feels, and not because something is actually wrong, we're going to have significant problems. Understood?"

"Yes, Master."

Without further ado, He swung the switch—and a thin line of liquid fire slashed across my left breast, just to the right of the nipple. He swung again. Another line appeared, this time to the left of the nipple.

It felt like part of my brain was removed from the situation, standing outside of my body and wondering who was screaming.

He swung again. And again. And again. The screams got louder and my back arched off the table, tears finally streaming down my face. Suddenly, the lashes stopped. Someone was speaking. Who? Who was speaking? And why was someone crying? I blinked through tears to look at Him.

"Did you hear me?" A note of worry crept into His voice. "Slut?"

Oh. He was speaking. I answered, my voice sounded wavery, pathetic, and far away. "Yes Sir? I didn't hear You, Sir, I'm sorry."

"I was telling you not to move."

"Oh. Sorry, Master."

"Don't let it happen again."

I forced my back to lie as flat as possible against the table, imagining that my spine was made of lead. The next slash was across the inside of my thigh. If He hadn't tied my ankles to the table, I don't think any amount of willpower could have kept me from kicking out at the pain. The switch was pure agony. You deserve this, though. Agony I deserved.

The beating might have kept going for hours. That's how it felt, anyway, as seemingly hundreds of strikes rained down on my tits, thighs, sides, and stomach. My throat went hoarse from screaming, but that didn't stop my body from trying. Every time I spaced out, He paused and waited for me to return to the present, to fully feel each strike. It was torture, and it dragged on and on.

Finally, He paused. He didn't say anything, just stood there with his arms crossed, one hand holding the switch, looking me over. For once, I didn't question the reason behind His actions. I was just grateful for the chance to catch my breath, to try to stop crying, even if for just a moment, so my eyes and runny nose could have some relief.

Without warning, He uncrossed His arms and lashed out, sending the switch arching in one hard, brutal strike to my clit. The world went fuzzy as I screamed and curled up in pain, completely forgetting His orders to stay still, forgetting to take my punishment well, forgetting everything except the searing pain that was lacing through my clit.

Ignoring my screams and sobs, He untied my ankles, grabbed me by the hair, and rolled me over. He bent me over the table, holding me down with one hand, while He delivered five fiery lances of pain that began at the top of my ass and marched their way down to just above my knees.

When He finished, He let go and allowed me to slide to the ground and curl into a sobbing ball on the cold, concrete floor. Everything was blurry. My brain didn't register much of anything except for the terrible, excruciating lines that crisscrossed my body. Through a haze, I vaguely remember Him inspecting the switch, then putting it back in the drawer and returning to stand over me, arms crossed.

I tried to uncurl and lick His feet, or at least the floor at His feet. I definitely tried. I don't remember how far I got, but I didn't succeed before He said in a flat, emotionless tone, "When you can crawl again, meet me in the living room." The words sounded distant and distorted to my overwhelmed brain. By the time I pieced together what He'd said, He was already closing the door behind Him.

Left alone with my guilt and my abused body and the terrible, wracking pain that stemmed from each, I lay there on the floor and sobbed.