“Continue to defy me,” he said quietly, “and I will take off my belt.”
His words were not even threatening in tone. They were a simple explanation of the consequences she could expect if she didn’t obey him, right this moment. If “A,”….then “B.”
It didn’t even matter what it was he wanted her to do, or desist from doing. What mattered was that she bend to his will, without questioning his right to impose it on her.
Ah…there was the rub. It simply was not in her nature to obey unquestioningly. She was a sensible, intelligent woman, and her good sense should have told her that eventually, she would obey him anyway! Why, then, did she persist in challenging him thus? Pushing him to the point where he had to enforce his authority with some inevitably painful, physical manifestation of his control over her? Why, even after all this time, were his words simply not enough?
Of course the obvious answer would be to say that she enjoyed the pain. And of course, on some level, that was true, but to imply that this was the complete explanation would be an oversimplification. In fact, when her punishment escalated from the naughty-girl spankings she found teasingly erotic, to the severe strapping she was faced with now, she detested the pain, at least while it was being inflicted.
But right now, she wasn’t thinking of the pain. The white-hot pain of the belt cracking across her bare ass and thighs was so intensely contained in the moment of her punishment, that she had difficulty recalling it afterwards. The fact that he could do it…the fact that he WOULD do it…was what she found most memorable. The actual physical sensations were something that came back with a rush only when she was experiencing them again. If she had been able to recall the excruciating torture of the strap as it criss-crossed her soft flanks and the sensitive backs of her legs, perhaps she would not now continue in her foolhardy defiance of his will.
Memory is a funny thing, though, and it chooses to retain the most pleasant part of even the most unpleasant of experiences. And in the case of this particular experience, the most persistent memory was of the thrill she felt at his power over her. The way he could bend her will, always stopping just short of breaking it, not because he couldn’t, but because he knew that, for both of them, the preservation of her spirit was essential to the delicate balance of their relationship. Subdued but unbroken, she would endure her punishment, knowing that when it was over, she would be forgiven, his stiff cock offered to her parted lips in a gesture of reconciliation. “I love you,” she would murmur before she gave herself over to the pleasure of sucking him. And he believed her, basking in her adoration as his cock slid in and out of her soft, wonderful mouth.
All this swirled in her mind as she set the wheels of her punishment in motion.
“No,” she said. “No.”
He stood.
“Bend over the arm of the couch.”
“Lift your skirt.”
“Lower your panties.”
“Spread your legs.”
“Up on tiptoes…get that ass up high.”
She did it. All of it.
She closed her eyes so she could better hear it and feel it…the hiss of the belt as he pulled it from its loops, the jangling of the buckle as he doubled it in his hand, the intake of breath as he lifted it over his shoulder, the humming swish as it danced in the air before it cut into her soft, vulnerable flesh. Relentlessly cracking across her ass, painfully flicking her pussy, so open and accessible And only now, body trembling in pain and humiliation, tears trickling down her cheeks, did she finally know again what it was she would have to endure.
Too late, she remembered.
