What a start to the day, half dressed when the doorbell rings, I throw on my pj shorts & run downstairs, assuming it’s another online shopping parcel.
I open the door a crack, foot braced against it, my usual stance, expecting to see a parcel on the mat. Instead a tall, lean guy stands there, probing at the gap with his eyes. “Ms Shute? Yeah, you called me about your handyman needs”
Fuck! I’d forgotten you were coming, I was sure it was tomorrow! Nevermind, I’d a list of minor DIY jobs that needed doing that I just didn’t have time or inclination to do myself. I open the door fully & welcomed you in. “I wasn’t expecting you today”
“Today’s what we arranged.” you assert. I usher you in & point out the bits & pieces I need you to take care of. The whole time my eyes are drawn to your hands: strong, a little calloused, large, capable-looking.
I find myself getting flustered as I talk. Your gaze always focussed on me over the top of the mask you wear, so direct, over-familiar, forward even. You nod along as I speak but your eyes devour me, making me very self-conscious of my attire, or lack of it.
I leave you to it & go back upstairs to finish dressing. The monologue in my head telling me I was imagining things, you were just being attentive to your customer’s needs. Your drilling lets me place you in the house. I relax & get myself organised.
I pop my head into the room where you’re working to let you know I’m nipping out for half an hour & confirm you have my number if you need it. You barely acknowledge me, engrossed in your task. I relax further, just my over-active imagination & probably just feeling touch starved in this ongoing isolation.
…
The house is silent when I return a short time later. I get nervous as I can’t locate you downstairs. Your vehicle is still outside, your tools are in the room where I last saw you. The house was locked up.
I call your name, no response so I climb the stairs. You’ve no reason to be upstairs but where else could you be?
I’m shocked to find you in my bedroom, I feel my face redden as I see you staring at the hooks on the wall. Well, not so much the hooks, but the floggers & paddles hanging from them. My face goes scarlet as I notice the bright pink vibrator on the bed in stark contrast to the white duvet.
My mind’s racing: embarrassment fighting with anger and also confusion as I try to remember if I had put the vibrator away earlier or not. Pretty confident I had. Anger wins out.
“What the fuck are you doing in here?”
“I’m just checking for a…”
“Checking for what? The curtain rail that needs fixing is downstairs.”
“Well actually I was looking for the bathroom, sorry I must have got lost.” Even with the mask on I can tell you are smirking as you say this, eyes alternating between my red face & the implements on the wall. You follow my eyes to the bed & I hear you chuckle low in your throat.
I’m furious now. I get shrill as I rant at you. You glare at me & tell me, calmly, to moderate my tone.
Your intonation shocks me into silence. I sputter, “You shouldn’t be here” quietly.
You reach for the crop hanging on my rack, holding eye contact with me, “I think I’m in exactly the right place, you need to learn yours”
“How dare you! You’re in my house & invading my privacy” You close the gap between us & now we’re toe to toe as my voice rises again with frustration.
“So what are you going to do about, there’s only you and me here” You are so close you almost whisper this in my ear.
There’s a thrill of fear underneath the anger, a thrill of something else as well as I feel the heat from your body.
“I shouldn’t need to do anything about it! You should be respectful enough just to leave!”
“Oh yeah? I know what you get up to here you dirty bitch!”
“It’s none of your business! Get out.” I’m yelling right in your face, but my eyes are on the crop clutched in your hand & I’m flushed.
“I’m not leaving until I show you how this is meant to be used on a sex deprived fucker like you!”
My eyes flash suddenly. “Really, you think I’m deprived? You’re the one being a creepy pervert” I push a hand against your chest. Your large hand clamps over it, capturing me
“Don’t you push me!” Smack! The crop strikes on my thigh. The unexpected blow stuns me momentarily and the next thing I know I’m struggling face down on the bed.
“So you like to be beaten, ehh?”
I’m kicking but not connecting to anything. My hands are trapped underneath me. You lean over me
“Now, about that lesson. Let’s get you ready to feel some pain.”
“Pity you got dressed to go out, I liked your look when you answered the door”
You reach underneath me to unbutton & unzip my jeans, sliding a hand beneath the denim & probing.
You whisper in my ear; “I’m going to enjoy this.”, you taunt me as you pull my jeans over my ass & down my thighs, stopping at my knees, hobbling me. I’m still squirming & trying to push myself off the bed, out from under your control.
“If you struggle it’s better”
“I love resistance”
“I’m going to best some manners into you, then you are mine”
Your words drip into my ear as you pin me down. My adrenalin won’t let me stop fighting, despite my logical brain telling me that it’s hopeless.
“That’s it, keep fighting. You’ve no idea what it’s doing for me”
“It’s even better that you’re soaking wet.”
I freeze suddenly, no movement, not even breathing. That can’t be. That’s ridiculous.
Like you’re reading my mind you whisper, “Don’t believe me?” Your reach between my legs & force your fingers into me, pushing the thin fabric of my panties in with you. Your fingers are withdrawn as quickly as they went in. Then they are in my mouth and I can taste my juices.
I tense, and just as I’m about to clamp my teeth closed on your offending fingers your other hand pinches the pressure point behind my ear. “Don’t do that now. A little fight is one thing, but don’t go thinking you can actually hurt me”
I let out a startled shriek at the sharp pain as you pull your hand from my mouth.
I’m starting to cry with my fear, anger & frustration. I redouble my efforts to get myself out from under you. I get an arm free, but I can’t get any weight behind it as my weak blows just glance off you.
You easily manoeuvre me, using my own momentum, and I soon find myself across your thigh, your other leg pressing down on my calves. One of your hands rests heavily on my upper back. The other is stroking my buttocks. Mostly bare thanks to the bunching of my underwear following your intrusion & my struggles.
Your touch is almost gentle & I lay still, breathing heavily, sobbing a little, but becoming calmer & starting to accept that I’m actually eager for what might come next.
Again, like you have psychic powers, you tell me exactly what I’m thinking. “Yep, dirty, desperate, needy little bitch. You’re going to enjoy this too. Not as much as I am, but you want this too.”
I nod into the duvet, shoulders hitching with another sob as I admit it. You twist my head so you can see my tears. You remove your mask, smirking as you examine my reddened face & glistening eyes.
You press on my cheek to hold me in place, watching intently as your other hand claps onto my asscheek.
The blow rocks me forward, no soft warm up spank, but a forceful slap. I hiss air in between my teeth, close my eyes slowly as I breathe out & when I open them I’m smiling up at you, a look of challenge on my face.
“That’s just another form of fight slut! I’ll have more tears from you before we’re done”
For the next few minutes you assail my ass & thighs with your bare hand. A mix of sharp stinging spanks and thuddy hard blows that cup me, random pauses so I can’t adjust to your rhythm.
Sometimes the blows work with my breath, each time it happens I find myself drifting a little further into the dreamy state that pain and control induce in me. The sharp stings pull me back from this place, you want me aware & hurting. You want my tears. You want the squeals that come with some of the blows.
“Nicely reddened, almost as red as your face was when you found me here. You were late by the way, you said you’d be half an hour. You kept me waiting almost 15 minutes.”
I start to struggle once more as I realise you had actually planned this, it wasn’t that I just caught you snooping. The awfulness of it kicks back in, I can’t just lie here & enjoy this. Except I can barely move, I’m trapped, and starting to get exhausted as the adrenalin depletes. My head is foggy with endorphins & I can taste copper at the back of my mouth.
All I can do is blink up at you, eyes shining as tears start to form again.
You reach for the flimsy material bunched between my legs. I wail as you pull on it, the pressure against my clit shocking & sustained. You keep the pressure on & finally the seams give way & I feel relief as you pluck the shredded fabric from me.
“Now, a lesson in punctuality”
“15 strikes with this crop of yours, one for each minute you made me wait. And don’t be thinking that 15 is no problem”, again with the fucking mind reading, “they’ll be nothing like you’ve experienced before. I bet the guys you have had in here are scared to use it properly.”
“You’ll count each one & apologise to me with each one. Lose count & we’ll be starting again. Do you understand?”
I nod as best I can. Your hand strokes my hair off my face, and your thumb feels the wetness below my eyes. “Let the tears come, give them to me”
The first blow lands at the base of my butt cheeks, catching my protruding swollen labia, a scorching stinging sensation that makes me howl. “Well?” you snarl.
“Wh, Wh, Wh, One. I’m sorry” I manage to pant out.
The next strike is across my thighs, my feet kicking & I press my body down as if to escape. I manage to squeak out the number and the apology.
You don’t give me any opportunity to recover as the crop whistles once more, landing across the fleshiest part of my ass.
“3. I’m sorry, thankyou, sorry” I’m already almost delirious as my body produces more chemicals to counter this assault. I start to panic that I’ll lose count. I’m squirming, trying to shy away from the blows to come.
“Fuck, you are everything I hoped you would be” Another blow, and another as I sputter out the count between my cries.
Two more & I’m mumbling & slurring, but somehow managing to keep count. My attempts to move out of the way of the crop means my upper body is scrunched in close to you. A part of my brain registers the firmness in your crotch pressing against me.
“8. I’M SORRY” This is a high pitched squeal. My back arching as you catch me in almost the exact same place as the first stroke. My skin feels like it’s on fire.
My brain fog clears with the shock of it and my body relaxes. I look up at you as the tears break free, rolling down my face.
“That’s it, nearly there.” You are smiling at me now, and I smile back despite the tears.
“nearly. We’re only past halfway” I half laugh. “Get on with it!”
I’m fully immersed now, no sense of this being wrong, revelling in the sensations, nothing else exists outside of this moment.
“9. I’m sorry” My voice is almost calm now. You haven’t eased up, I’ve just drifted into a different state where the pain is transmuted to something else.
You grin as you ready yourself to put even more force behind the remaining strikes. The 10th reinforces the welt across my thighs, 11 is back across my ass, 12 takes me by surprise, almost vertical along one thigh, catching several welts & untouched skin.
I squeal again as I voice the count.
Another blow across my buttocks, “14, sorry” I’m giggling now, my body starting to shiver, tears still streaming.
At some point you’ve stopped restraining me with your leg, I hadn’t even noticed. You push me away from you & stand behind me as I lay where you placed me. I’m confused as you pull my jeans off the rest of the way. “one left, one left one left” I’m murmuring, repeating the 2 words like a mantra.
With the jeans out of the way you quickly get rid of my panties and you spread my thighs. The crop is tapping against my clit, tormenting me as I keep mumbling “one left”
“Ass up bitch. That’s it face down, ass up. Hurry up now” I’m shaking as I pull my knees in, dipping my back, exposed to you.
The final stroke finds the welt left by the first with impossible precision. It also catches my exposed pussy, the wetness there turning what would have been painful into excruciating. The scream I give feels like it is being ripped from my throat. Somehow I turn it into words. “sooooooorry. 15.sorry.sorry sorry sorry sorrysorrysorrysorry15sorrysorry151515” It’s just a stream of noise.
I’m stuck in this loop as I feel your hands on my hip and you bury yourself in my wetness.
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/j61o2g/a_tradesman_makes_an_entrance_noncon_spanking_sm