Her Anal Punishment

He was a man who liked routine, so his punishment scenarios rarely changed. She'd kneel at the bottom edge of the bed, face down in a pillow, ass in the air, legs spread wide. It was humbling, this holes-exposed-for-punishment position, and just being in it could cause her tears to flow. He didn't mind tears, or crying, or begging -- expected them, in fact --as long as she understood that they had no effect on the severity or duration of her ordeal.

It always started with a beating of her asshole with a narrow but heavy strap he'd had made specifically for this task, by a leather crafter at a street fair. His aim was precise and no amount of dodging on her part prevented the wicked end of the heavy leather from snapping directly onto her exposed hole. She knew that as long as her buttocks were moving (and it was only her buttocks because she knew better than to move out of position), her strapping wouldn't officially begin. But she couldn't help it. Her ass would desperately weave up and down, side to side until, exhausted by the futile effort, she was finally still. Then came the official start of her punishment, the rapid and steady strokes of the strap directly on her asshole. Ten, twenty, thirty, forty, fifty. After every twenty strokes or so, he would stop to prove the hole, causing her to squeal and buck under his hand. The strapping stopped only when he felt her asshole swell to a tight plumpness, and he could tell by the way she flinched at the lightest touch, that it was time for Step Two.

He used what she thought of as the building block technique of punishment, with each step contributing to the pain factor of subsequent steps. The purpose of the asshole strapping was not only for punishment in and of itself, but to set the groundwork for a more painful ass-fucking to come.

The size of the putt plug used in Step Two depended on the severity of her crime, but even the smallest of his collection was too much for her tightly closed rectum. There had been no training of her asshole to widen it to accommodate whatever she would be required to take, as she had often read about in stories. Her asshole was never used except for punishment. He wanted her as tightly closed as possible, so that the maximum pain was caused by each invasion she was required to endure. This was his sacrifice, that he didn't use her asshole regularly, as he would have liked. She was, generally, an obedient girl and this, one of the harshest of the punishment scenarios came into play only once or twice each year. But those months of sacrifice was worth those few moments when, howling and shaking uncontrollably beneath him, her asshole sucked his cock into a vice so tight that he though his entire body would explode from its orgasmic power.

But we digress....

The most painful insertion decreed a dry plug, but experience had taught him that a dry plug was almost impossible to insert. And while the aggressive pushing elicited more than the requisite cries of pain, he really didn't have all day to seat one butt plug. So before the plug went in, he would take a small amount of pepper oil on a gloved finer. She would cry out as the finger worked lightly over her bruised anus, then again as the finger pushes open her sphincter to coat the area just inside her hole. Her relief at the finger's exit lasts only as long as it takes for the oil to begin its burn. The pepper oil is a satisfying compromise -- the small amount of oil easing the plug past the sphincter while creating a burn on asshole. And if the plug carries with it the residue of the oil down the deep, dark path of her rectum, all the better.

He pushes the putt plug against her bruised and burning hole as she screams her distress into her pillow. Its a credit to his training that she would never think of moving away but remains, ass offered upward, to allow for the torture of her already tortured hole. Her swollen sphincter doesn't part easily, even coated with oil, and a long few minutes of pushing and twisting is necessary before her asshole opens. This is her begging time, as the plug makes it's slow decent into the depths of her bowels. Please, I'll be good. Please. Oh god it hurts...hurts so much. Please. Please. I'm sorry. I'll be good, I promise. I'll be good.

As the widest part of the plug reaches her sphincter, he stops to allow her to feel the full impact of the stretching of her hole. He waits until her crying has stopped, then waits another minute for her to quietly accept this modification of her body. Then, recognizing the slight body shift that signals her acquiescence, he pushes the plug all the way.

When the butt plug is finally fully lodged, Phase Three begins. A heavy wooden paddle is applied to her lower bum, directly onto the butt plug. These are swift, hard hits that punish her buttocks while slapping the plug deep inside her. She never knows how many she will get. But she knows that he will stop only when he twists the butt plug and her scream tells him that she is as bruised on the inside of her ass as she is on the outside. Next would come an overall beating, from the crest of her buttocks down to mid-thigh. Sometimes he would use a cane, if he wanted blood, but generally he used an old-fashioned razor strop that he had found amongst his late grandfather's effects. As with his other beatings, the strapping would be methodical, hard and precise, stopping only when her pale buttocks went from white to crimson to black and blue.

The removal of the plug was a hellish nightmare. With the same, slow movement he used to push it in, he would pull it out. By now, however, like her asshole, her entire ass was a bruised mass and the slightest movement caused excruciating pain. The inside of her too, was a mess, the plastic butt plug having rubbed her rectum raw, and the jarring hits of the paddling having taken the plug deeper than it should have gone, tearing whatever had laid in its path.

He'd take a picture at this point, of her black and blue buttocks surrounding her gapping asshole and her open, oozing cunt beneath it. Despite her pain, or because of it, her cunt would spread open, her cunt lips engorge, and a creamy white substance cover her crotch and run down her thighs, mingling with the blood out of her ass. This picture was kept in her punishment book, as a reference in the unlikely case that she would forget the consequences of her disobedience.

If she had been particularly bad during her punishment -- making too much noise or moving too far -- this was when retribution would be paid. Her anus would once again pay the price by suffering through another beating with the leather strap. This time, however, it wasn't only the outer rim of the hole but the soft flesh inside that would lie open and vulnerable. This extra punishment had happened only twice, very early in their relationship. The pain had been so intense that, for the only times in her life, she had fainted. The punishment would always continue upon her revival. She since learned exactly how long and how loud she could scream, and how much she could move.

Generally, however, after the picture was clean up time. He would clean her anus and cane cuts with alcohol, then leave her for one hour, to reflect on her pain and his displeasure at whatever conduct had resulted in this punishment.

With the hour up, she would be sent to the bathroom to clean herself. This included giving herself an enema with two quarts of warm water. Forcing herself to insert the enema hose, no matter how thin it was, into her abused bottom was a trial. But she knew that she only had 30 minutes with which to take the enema, release its contents, and wash her body. One second more and he would come into the bathroom and do it himself, using a larger enema bag filled with a gut churning concoction, and worse, watching while she squatted over the toilet to empty the content of her bowels. Back in the shower, he would use soap and a rough wash cloth to scrub down her body, working over her buttocks with no regard for its condition, and scouring her asshole and cunt, inside and out.

To avoid this, she would quickly stab the enema hose into her rectum, grimacing at the pain but gamely opening the clip to let the liquid flow into her. It's only mildly uncomfortable and she doesn't really mind as, at his instruction, she leaves it in as she gingerly washes the rest of her body. The worse part of the enema is its release, and she hisses as it rushes out of her, stinging its way from her colon to her rectum. Her last task is to clean her asshole. It would have been hours since the pepper oil had been applied and the alcohol swab and enema should have cleaned it off. But woe to her if a stray drop remained to burn his cock as he ravaged her ass. Using soap and a hand-help sprayer, she carefully washes herself, forcing a finger inside to scrub deep, then aiming hot water directly onto the hole to wash it out.

Within the allotted thirty minutes, she is back on the bed, back in position. She will stay this way until he returns, in minutes or in hours. Generally, he would wait long enough so that her asshole regained much of its tightness, but not so long that the full pain of the beatings and butt plug would be dissipated.

She feels him dip the tip of his cock into her cunt juices before positioning himself at her asshole. He pushes and she gives one, tortured cry, her resolve to stay still and silent broken by the intense pain. He grabs her hips and pulls him toward her as she tries to crawl away. Screaming and moving are allowed during this phase; he wants to hear and feel the full extent of her pain and pleasure. Given permission to scream, however, she does not. As his penis begins it's slow decent into her bowels, she produces a low, gutteral moan, like a dying animal. It is the sound of her final surrender. His penis cuts through her, like a dull knife that must fight for every centimeter it takes. Fully lodged, he takes a moment to savor his mastery over the woman who kneels under him. He can feel the beat of her heart from the steady squeeze of her asshole on his cock. He gathers her hair in his hands and pulls her face back, so that he can watch the tears run down her face as he begins his steady ride toward his heaven, and her hell.