He has a bad day, and she pays the price.
My phone dinged. A text from Mister.
I want you waiting for me when I get home. Have the paddle next to you.
My heart began to race, and my cunt gave a little pulse.
Yes, Sir, I replied.
Those last hours at the office seemed to drag.
When I finally got home, I knew I’d have about 15 minutes until he walked through the door. My body already felt flushed and ready; I slipped my bracelets from my wrists and unbuttoned my blouse, letting it slip from my shoulders. I unzipped my conservative black skirt and stepped out of it, as I continued down the hallway toward the bedroom. My dark hair fell in waves down my back when I pulled the pin that had been holding it all day.
My heels clicked on the wooden floor, and I debated on the panties and the stockings. In the end, I decided to leave them on.
Something for him to take off, himself.
I opened the closet door and looked at the array of crops, whips, and paddles that we kept. I ran my fingers over each implement, imagining how it would feel against my skin. Some were more sting-y, like the crop or the thin, bamboo cane. Some were more thud-y, like the flogger and the razor strop. And then some, like the big wooden paddle with the holes cut into it, were just made for pain.
I shivered, thinking about it. I knew I’d be a crying, begging mess before he was done with me.
A smile began to crawl across my face.
I loved it when he took his frustrations out on me.
I took the big paddle off of the hook and laid it onto the bed, handle facing out, just like he liked. We had situated the bed so that my ass would be the first thing he saw when he walked in — ready and willing for him.
Again, time seemed to slow down as I waited. I reached between my legs to rub my slippery sex, teasing my fingers over the black satin of my panties. My need blossomed through my body, as I pushed myself closer and closer to the edge. Soon, I was panting and wiggling desperately — so lost in my own desire that I didn’t hear the door open.
“Did I give you permission to touch?” came his deep voice from behind me.
Startled, I brought my hand out flat against the bedspread, feeling like a guilty little girl. “No, Sir.” I blushed, I couldn’t help it.
“Hmm, naughty little thing.” I could feel his presence behind me, but it still surprised me when I felt his hand on my ass.
He touched me like he owned me, and I moaned. I loved that; with just one touch, he could make me feel like his personal little fuck toy. I arched my back and pushed myself against him.
He chuckled. “Needy, too.”
I heard him pick up the paddle and felt the cool wood rub against my skin. He took a deep, shuddering breath.
“I’ve had a miserable day, my desperate little slut. And I’m going to take it out on you. Tell me what you think about that,” he said.
The paddle slammed into my ass, without warning or prelude.
I screamed as pain radiated through my body, and I clutched at the blanket underneath me. Already, tears were prickling in the corners of my eyes, as I tried to catch my breath.
Another brutal stroke crashed into me, ripping another scream from my throat.
“I am out of patience, today, whore. You wouldn’t believe the outrageous shit I’ve had to put up with today.” He rubbed the paddle against my ass cheeks. “Now answer the question, and don’t make me tell you again.”
He gave me another stroke, and the fiery pain blanked my mind.
I heard him growl, and three more devastating strokes landed in quick succession. It was so much, too much in so little a space of time. I screamed and began to cry.
His hand was on the small of my back, an anchor in my ocean of torment. “Arch,” he commanded.
I arched my back, offering myself for more. “Please…” I said, my voice unsteady.
He cracked the paddle against the unmarked skin of my upper thighs, and I felt myself fall into that warm, fuzzy place in my mind where pain and pleasure mix. Another vicious stroke landed, and in between my sobs, I heard myself moan.
“… I want it,” I said, crying and arching my back again.
“Do you?” he asked.
“Yes, please, yes,” I whispered. “Please… take out your frustrations on me.”
I could hear his heavy breath behind me, and then he slammed the paddle into my ass again and again, until I was shaking and weeping, begging words coming tumbling out of my mouth.
My muscles shivered with strain.
When no more strokes came, gradually, I began to relax. My tears flowed freely, and my skin felt raw and abraded.
He set the paddle down next to me again, and I felt his fingers trace over my hot, swollen skin.
“I’m lucky to have you, you know.” His voice was soft, without a trace of the irritation from earlier. I heard the sound of his zipper, and then his fingers were in the waistband of my panties, pulling them down.
The delicate fabric scratched against my battered skin, and I smiled. “I love the things you do to me, Sir,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “I love that I can do this for you. It makes me so…”
His cock plunged into my dripping sex, and I moaned in pain and pleasure as his hips pushed against my punished ass.
“…Hot,” I finished, matching his eager rhythm. “Fuck, yes, I love that you beat me when you’ve had a bad day. Fuck…”
“Dirty little pain whore,” he said, a breath against my ear.
From the strain in his voice, I knew he was close. I clenched down on his cock, and he groaned.
“Fuck…” he said, through gritted teeth. “Fuck, you are so wet. My dripping little pain slut.” He growled and gave me once last thrust, and I felt his orgasm fill me with his hot seed. His shoulders grew slack, and he collapsed on top of me, rolling us onto our sides. “My sweet little submissive pain slut.”
I turned my head to kiss him. “I like you.”
He smiled “I like you, too.” He brushed a piece of my hair behind my ear. “Now, what are we going to do about you touching without permission?”