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I swallowed, hating the response, needing to get it out as much because I needed the whole thing over with –
As I needed to say it.
"Please punish me, Sir. For as long as you feel necessary to correct my behavior. As hard as you deem necessary to correct my behavior. As painfully as you believe I need to be punished."
He didn't speak again. He almost always started with his hand, hard or soft, fast or slow, he'd warm up my ass. Somehow, it mattered.
I couldn't see what he was doing behind me. I wouldn't turn my head even if I thought I could crank my head around far enough to see.
I'd maintain some decorum.
He started with a wooden paddle, one made of some very hard wood, in an oval, thick and highly glossy, with letters cut into it that read, simply, PAIN. I knew the size and shape and feel of it. I knew how very bad it hurt.
I gasped with the first blow and screamed with the second. He landed them flat across my ass, taking in both cheeks, making me lunge forward against my restraints but there was nowhere to go, only an inch or two of play in the bonds. He hadn't told me to count. He hadn't told me how many.
Now he paused between the second blow and however many would follow. His hand almost felt cool my ass was already so fevered. At first he brushed the palm over my cheeks. Then he pinched, savagely hard, a handful of flesh in his hand.
My fingers tightened around the straps. My teeth gritted. I threw my head back, staring at the ceiling and he left off what he was doing and sent three more blows across my left cheek, three more across the right cheek, and then with the paddle, no less force, one each on the back of my thighs.
I howled, waiting for the pain to subside, choking back the sobs that wanted to escape, panting hard as the pain slowly, slowly eased down.
I heard him moving behind me, the slight clatter of the paddle being put down as he picked up something else.
Sir? May I know what's coming?
A pause, and then he'd say, What difference does it make? You can't do anything about it anyway.
So I didn't ask.
The next set were all across my upper back. Like wasp stings, the crop worked me over, stinging strike after strike until I lost track of the number and just repeated to myself one, one, one over and over, as if I thought I could make myself believe he'd only just started and of course it couldn't hurt so bad yet, or as if I could make myself believe there was only one more.
I'd lost count at two dozen. The crop stings like a motherfucker but it doesn't do ongoing damage. The sting burns away. A light pink design shows briefly. It's a great tool for the in between times when you're a sadist with a lot planned.
I tried to laugh at the thought and found myself fighting tears again.
"Annie." His voice was sharp. I'd tried to slip away. Before I could respond he grabbed the other nipple this time, twisting and squeezing so hard I'd have fallen from the pain if I wasn't tied up.
When it started, it hurt.
When it started, everything I'd fantasized, I hated.
The moment before it started, I dreaded.
But this moment? I bit my tongue. Because I wanted to beg him to hurt me. To see what I could take. To feel the intense pain and fight against it and wait for it to fade and all the while I was wet, so wet, so hungry for whatever he'd do.
The canvas firehose straps, doubled it felt like, landed across my ass. Cole didn't go sparingly. He rained down a dozen blows on me, leaving me writhing and fighting the bonds again, then came around to stand on the bed, facing me.
"No." It was out of my mouth before I could stop it. "No, please no, please Sir, please, I'll – "
I still wasn't looking at his face. That wasn't allowed.
"Annie."
I cut off mid plea.
"This is going to happen."
One tear escaped and I promised myself 50 extra pushups in my cell tonight. "Sir."
