Part 5: Painful Lessons (No Broken Rulers This Time)
You find yourself being strapped to the foot stool that had, earlier that evening, been used to prop up your aching feet when you had gotten home from work. Back when your ignorance of what was going to happen was just blissful excitement.
After being firmly secured, making it hard for you to even budge, you find that your naked backside is exposed and defenseless. In fact, your whole body, inside and out feels open and vulnerable to attack. You can’t help but shiver, partially from the coolness of autumn outside creeping in and gathering against your skin, and partially from the growing anxiety behind what might be about to happen. Next he brings out something you would never would have guessed was even in your home, a red ball gag.
Lastly, after patiently securing the gag around your mouth, you hear him behind you as he goes into the closet and gets something. “Since your sweet ass broke the last object I used to spank you, I figure for next time I’d upgrade a little.” You hear him say as he moves around you and shows you what he means. In his hands is a simple, sturdy, black leather bound paddle, designed specifically for one thing.
“Now I know with the gag it’s going to be hard for you to use the safe word,” he rolled the paddle around in his hand, looking it over, “So I’ll try to keep my ears open as much as I can. But we’ve seen how much trust means to you right now haven’t we.” You watch him move behind you as your legs begin to involuntarily shake. His emphasis again on the word trust causing a tightness in your chest.
The first thing you feel is the leather being slowly slid across your skin, making sure that every inch of your ass gets a taste of it’s smooth coolness. The feeling would actually be kind of nice if it wasn’t for the harsh promise behind it. “I need you to understand why I’m doing this, baby.”
The first slap, flat across both cheeks, is hard enough to move you and the foot stool forward at least two inches. The pain makes you scream into the ball gag as your whole body begins to convulse. He continues talking but you only half hear him through the ringing in your ears as your flushed face scrunches up with the ugly look of a sobbing baby. “You can’t seem to control yourself, even when you tell me you will.” He places the cool leather against the stinging mark it must have pressed into your skin, the coolness of it is almost soothing against the heat of your burning cheeks.
“I don’t like hurting you,” his voice suddenly becomes soft, like what he’s saying is more to himself than to you. “That’s not what this is about.” Tears stream down your face, the ball gag holding in your sobbing groans of pain. “But how else are you going to learn to control yourself unless it’s through punishment. Isn’t that what you’ve been telling yourself?”
The new path that his words take makes you think that maybe you’ve finally snapped. The pain and stress has thrown you into some sort of out of body state and you’re now in some weird dream. In reality you must be passed out and now your brain is taking on his form and talking to you like some schlock psychological horror movie where the stalker turns out to be entirely in the main characters head the whole time.
He moves down next to you so that you can turn your head and face him directly, seeing the concern in his beautiful eyes. “You used to hurt yourself when you were younger, didn’t you? To keep your body from feeling the things that you didn’t want it to.”
You stare into his eyes like he’s actually stabbing you in the side. Is he so angry with you that he’s reverting to psychological torture? Drops freely fall from your pleading eyes as if shedding enough of them can bribe him into stopping. His hand begins stroking your head, caressing your hair softly. His voice goes back to what he normally sounds like in every day conversations, only with a lingering touch of sadness. “I actually want to know the truth, and you promised to be truthful with me.”
You nod in resignation. It’s true. Since you were a teenage, every time you felt the deep shame of giving in to someone else’s desires even though you didn’t want to, or occasionally when enjoying something that you felt you would be judged for, you used pain to try to make those feelings go away. Hiding the marks from your mother’s disproving stare was sometimes tricky. The few times she noticed them you had to quickly come up with an excuse like blaming the dog or the metal desk in your room. It wasn’t until a few years after you moved out of her house that you were finally able to get yourself to stop with a lot of effort, research, and a little direction from one of your friends that was going in to psychology at school.*
“Thank you… for telling me…” His eyes look down like he’s embarrassed with himself. “I was kind of able to put it together from what you’ve already told me along with those faint scars on your arm. They’re hard to see but we’ve been exploring each other for a bit now and I always thought your arms were sexy.” He leans in and kisses your forehead. “It’s okay that you didn’t tell me. It really really is. It was so hard enough for me to ask because I was worried you didn’t trust me enough and I didn’t want to risk forcing you in to a situation where you felt you had to lie to me about it.”
He takes one of the unused towels (he really did bring a lot this time) and gently drys your face. Your breathing is starting to slowly return to normal as the revelation of your confession sets in. You don’t know why you had never talked to him about it, you’ve told him worse. You were… afraid of him thinking less of you… thinking that you were weak…
“I want to reward you for being open with me,” he moves a little further down towards your lower half. “Until I say otherwise, you don’t need permission to cum.” You don’t know what to make of this but the sudden hum traveling up your thighs to your pussy doesn’t really give you much to ponder. Despite the pain (or because of it?) you immediately start moaning in ecstasy as he tenderly massages your clit with your vibrator. He also begins to massage legs with his hand, starting with your calves and moving up, careful not to irritate your inflamed cheeks.
The freedom his words give you is better than if he removed all the straps currently holding you down as you allow your mind to flee back into the safety of the sensations between your legs, using it to drown out the negative thoughts from earlier. It doesn’t take long for the first orgasm to glide over you.
“There you go, good girl.” He coos next to your head. “Do you like your reward?”
Groaning, you nod slowly as the pleasure continues. By the time the second orgasm arrives his fingers are inside you again, making that sweet wet sound you’ve used in the past to turn him on. Your wandering mind begins to ponder how long he can keep this up when the buzzing stops and you whimper softly.
“I know, I know. I would keep doing it all night, but unfortunately I can’t let you get away with just one paddle for what you did earlier.” You tense up as the now familiar feeling of leather presses against your skin. Knowing what’s in store makes the anticipation almost as bad as the lingering pain from the first smack.
After what feels like forever (without being able to check your phone you still have no sense of what time it is) the leather paddle moves away. Just when you aren’t sure what’s going on a second impact sends your head reeling. You’re stunned to the point that the pain doesn’t even register for a few seconds. Then, like a hot iron, the burning causes the tears to come back in force.
“Shhh shh shh shh. It’s okay baby,” He’s by your side again, stroking your back.
You sob uncontrollably. It takes you a moment to notice his fingers between your shaking legs. You didn’t think you were capable of feeling any pleasure with the amount of pain you were going through, but you do. You *definitely* do.
His hand has assumed a position you are all to familiar with. Thumb on your clit, two middle fingers inside you, pushing against your g-spot, the outer fingers slightly squeezing your engorged lips together. In the past you’ve often commented that it’s like his hand was shaped just to fit like this on your cunt as he mastered the ability to reliably get you off with this technique.
Now he was using it while your ass felt like you’ve been sitting on a hot stove. The orgasm he pulled from you with those long, thick digits almost doesn’t seem possible. Your muscles begin to clench around him wildly. Your thighs slick with your own juices.
“That didn’t take very long,” he says, maybe a little too impressed with himself. You begin to worry somethings wrong with you as your opening continues to spasm. “I guess the pain isn’t able to keep these feelings away.”
A strand of drool coming from the ball gag swings around as his movements cause your head to bob up and down with the rhythm. Your beginning to wonder if you’re having multiple orgasms, or it’s all just one *long* one when another finger enters you. The ease with which it goes in tells you that you’re arousal must be causing you to opening to be super dilated. You let out a grunt from deep inside your belly as he works you like he’s making a sculpture. The fact that your completely tied down keeps your body from releasing the tension that’s building up. Your brain is swimming in so much dopamine, oxytocin, and lingering adrenaline that you barely even notice when he stops.
The third smack causes you to lose control of your bladder. Even though you went before this all started, the shock to your loosened body releases what was in your now full piss sac down your legs on to the towels underneath you in hot streams that contrast with the cool air around you. On any other day, this would be the most degrading thing you could imagine, pissing yourself in front of your boyfriend. Even the thought of him hearing you relieve yourself from the next room in the middle of the night makes your cheeks flush in embarrassment. Now he has a full on view of you peeing all over yourself like a baby and it’s not even the top thought on your mind as you full on bawl your eyes red from the pain and humiliation.
“Oh baby,” he kneels down next to you, tenderly caressing your shoulders and neck, “It’s okay, it’s okay.” He buries his face in your wet hair, kissing the top of your head. “It’s no big deal sweetheart, I’ll clean it up, okay? Don’t worry about it. Here.” He gently removes the ball gag and your head falls forward from the relief.
He does what he promised, getting some baby wipes, a warm wet washcloth, and more towels he gently cleans your back side with care while you sob wildly, almost like it’s something he does every day. The soothing wipes feel good against your hot skin. By the time he’s done replacing the towels and drying your entire body off, including your hair, the blood that was rushing through your head seems to have subsided and scorching pain has reduced itself to a dull ache again.
You are kind of astonished when he comes back in from removing the cleaning supplies and dirty laundry with ice packs that he tenderly places on your throbbing ass. “I hope this helps keep the swelling down. You’ll probably still have trouble sitting this weekend but at least you don’t have to go anywhere.”
The weeping begins to subside with the cool numbing relief and his tenderness as you’re finally able to catch your breath. He dries your face again with a warm wash towel he left apparently for this very purpose and for the first time in you don’t know how long he kisses you full on the mouth, deep and tenderly.
Slowly he unstraps you from the foot stool and carefully brings you over to the bed, helping you lay down and then joins you. Your body is still bound but he pulls a blanket over the both of you and snuggles up against you like a living hot water bottle.
After a few minutes caresses and nuzzling he looks you in the eyes and asks, “When I took you in to the bathroom to clean you off, you seemed really… out of it. What was going on inside?”
You have trouble meeting his eyes, but the insistence of his question kind of has you cornered. You confess that you were scared. With a look of concern he ask what you were afraid of. The emotionally vulnerable state you’re in lets it all spill out, the fear of losing him, the fear of being alone again, even the fear of failure makes it’s way out of your mouth as your get a hitch in your throat. You’d probably start crying again but that reservoir seems to have been dried up for now.
He cups your face in his hand and moves it so you’re both eye to eye. “Baby, I’m not leaving you. All those things you were afraid of didn’t happen, did they? When you let me know that you used to hurt yourself…” You notice that his own voice seems to catch a little. “When you had your… little accident, how did I respond to that?” You realize what he’s been getting at. He didn’t pull away, or judge, or mock like you’ve grown to assume everyone did. He was there to accept you as you were, to clean you and comfort you.
You bury your face in his shoulder, shuddering inside from the emotions welling up. He pulls you in tight, holding you while kissing your neck and shoulders passionately.
“I love you,” he says, intensity coming through his voice. “I really do.”
Before you can say it back he continues, “But we’re not done yet.”
Continued in Part 6: Heating Up (Pour One Out for the Past)
Or [Alt] Part 6: Down the Hatch (Swallowing More than Your Words)
*This is not advice and should not be used as such. Please seek professional assistance if you are struggling with self harm and wish to break the cycle. Also please don’t try to do therapy while doing BD/SM with your partner. I can end very badly.
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/zuo30u/play_night_part_5_of_6_mf_20ish40ish_mdomfsub_bfe
Ooooooh you did it again 🫠