I was chatting on the phone to him in the kitchen. I was making a drink, dropping ice cubes into a glass one by one. He heard the sound of the ice through the phone and asked what I was doing. When he heard that I had a tray of ice out, he made a thoughtful "hmmm..." sound. I could hear the wheels turning in his head.

"What are you wearing?," he asked suddenly. I told him that I was wearing shortie pajamas, and he made me strip down to nothing while I stood there in the kitchen. "Take a piece of ice and put it in your mouth. Let me hear you suck on it, " he instructed. I lapped at the ice. "Smooth down one end of the cube in your mouth."

I looked around me, wondering what the neighbors could see through the window, if anything. Would a naked girl sucking on ice strike them as strange?

He continued: "Spread your pussy open with one hand and touch the ice to your clit with the other...don't take it off until I say so."

I took a deep breath and paused.

"I'm waiting," he growled.

I touched the ice to my clit and immediately cried out. The cold, hard pain was much more intense than I thought it would be. It burned my sensitive, exposed skin and I wanted to pull the ice away immediately.

"Keep the ice there until I say, Kitten," he urged over my cries. I held the ice, held it, longer than I thought I could, before he let me take my hand away.

"Did that hurt, Kitten," he cooed, as if he didn't make it hurt in the first place. He was sympathizing with me over pain that he had caused. But I was so relieved that he had let me take the ice off of my clit and that the feeling was returning to my pussy that I didn't notice.

As soon as my whimpers of pain subsided, he spoke again with that hard tone in his voice. "Put it back on your clit, now Kitten." I whined, but complied, crying as the pain burned icy-hot on my pussy.

He made me do it over and over again, until my legs were shaking as I tried to remain standing in the kitchen. He even made me touch the ice to my asshole, making me shudder and sob from the sensation. But I did it. I didn't even think about disobeying, although I could have. I could have said no, I won't hurt myself for your sick amusement, I won't get you hard with my cries of pain.

An hour later, after he let me come hard, kneeling in the puddle of water on the kitchen floor, I thought about why I did exactly what he wanted me to do. I thought about the feeling of his hand over mine as I moved the ice toward me, and his hand on my neck as he stood behind me while I writhed in pain. I was struck by how he seemed to be there with me throughout the entire experience, whispering in my ear and requiring my compliance with his very presence.

But he wasn't there, and he couldn't have hurt me if I didn't comply. And he wouldn't even have known if I didn't comply but pretended that I did. But none of those options crossed my mind. In the moment, I did something that hurt me very badly and made me extremely uncomfortable just because I thought I had to.

He reprogrammed me. He rewired me. He's inside my mind now. What else could he make me do, now that I'm like this?


I don't want to write about this, I really don't. I want to keep this as honest a place for my experiences as possible and I want to chart all of my discoveries, but not this. Please, not this.

I don't think that I can type about crouching in the shower without squinting and balling my fists. I can't make out the words to describe the warmth and the wetness all over my body without some sharp intake of breath. I still cannot grasp the shear amount of Him all over me, how it kept coming and I kept turning my head to avoid it and now I cannot talk about it.

I can't find the words for this particular type of humiliation, one that wasn't humiliating, exactly. It felt reverent to let him do that to me. I knelt before him and opened myself up to him completely. I felt small and like such a good girl for him. I didn't hate it, even though the thought of it makes my skin crawl in a way.

It made me wet and I don't know what to do about that. So please, don't make me talk about that unspeakable thing that He did because he loves me.

Funny Girl

I kissed down His neck as I touched his cock, lightly grazing his shoulder with my teeth. "No, no, no little Kitten," he cautioned. I kissed down his chest and, after looking up at him with a coy look in my eye, softly bit his nipple. "No Kitten, no biting. I'll tell you when it's okay to bite."

I pouted for a moment, then joked, "You're no fun." Before I could think, he grabbed a fist full of my hair and yanked my head back.

"You think you're such a funny girl. I'll show you how much fun I can be," he sneered. I held myself rigid, hoping not to anger him any more. My joking had already gotten me in trouble.

"I'll show you exactly how much fun I am when I come on your face. Do you want to see that?," he asked. I shook my head no. "What?," he demanded. "Speak up when you're addressing me."

"No, thank you," I said clearly. I had just taken a shower and washed my hair. I didn't want him to come on my face right then. He knew that.

"Good, now get down and take care of my cock," he demanded as he pushed my head down. "And we'll see how much fun I am when I come in your mouth."


All I wanted was to be left alone. I didn't want to tell him my darkest fantasies. I didn't want him to reach into my mind and scramble everything inside. I just wanted to curl into myself and keep everything private. I wanted to be closed, hostile, myself.

He fought me as I struggled, he held me close to him. He whispered in my ear that I wasn't getting away from him, that I couldn't hide from my Owner. He shook me until I looked him in the eye and he laughed at the defiant look that he saw once I did. "Are you being a difficult Kitten tonight?," he asked, a gentle mocking lilt to his voice.

I pouted. I didn't want to banter with him. But he wouldn't let me go, not until I told him why I wanted to withdraw. There wasn't a reason, really. I was just feeling feisty and like I wanted to control what I did and what I said and where I looked. He slapped me hard - just once - and I finally dropped my resistance. I was still feeling surly, but he had knocked the fight out of me. Sometimes I think I need that.

He held my body tighter to his strong chest. I thought that I could stay immune to the seductive lull of his voice in my ear or the feel of his touch on my skin, but I couldn't. In minutes he had me squirming next to him. I was dying to have him touch my pussy and to feel him inside of me. He continued to hold me, challenging me to resist, but all of that had ebbed away. I just wanted to be the best girl for him, the dirtiest girl. I wanted to be the wild, slutty girl he always wants me to be. I decided to take matters into my own hands instead.

I slid down his body, making sure that he could feel my breasts soft against every inch of his skin. I look up at him when I reached his cock and shot him a small smile. He looked shocked as I took his cock deep into my mouth in one movement and started sucking on it hungrily. I kept my eyes on him as I worked my mouth up and down on his cock.

He tried to touch my shoulder, lightly, to caress it, but I moved too quickly for him. Before he could say a word, I was on top of him, sinking my pussy onto his cock. He gasped as I fucked him deep that first time. As I started riding him hard, he whispered up at me, "Where did X go?" He used my real name.

I laughed and leaned down to whisper in his ear: "She isn't here anymore."


I lay next to Him. His hands and eyes roam over my body. I'm shaking with something that resembles fear - trepidation, maybe? It's not fear, exactly. It is more the sense of being overwhelmed, consumed by his eyes and vulnerable to his teeth.

I never know where we are going from one moment to the next. I often have the feeling of running with my eyes closed. I might fall or run headlong into something, but I must keep running, faster and faster as I can hear his footfalls behind me.

The moments get scarier, each moment carrying its own special sense of terror and challenge. I keep moving forward. Every once in a while I have a moment when I am not hurtling forward in the darkness. I can shade my eyes with my hand and look behind me. I can see where I have come from, that unfamiliar wilderness that was once my home.

The path I have traveled is littered with my limits. I don't recall passing them, surmounting them, exactly. I can't remember a time when those limits were in place. I can't imagine when there were things that I wouldn't do for him. I don't know what those things once were, or why I let go of them, or when. When I turn back to the path, I can't see any limits up ahead.

I lay there next to Him. I have a tremendous sense of foreboding, like I have used up my last excuse and tonight will be the night when that final limit is breached. I shake as he holds me tight to his body. I have forgotten what that final limit was even supposed to be. It has melted away. I have nothing left to hold between us.

Fidelity, Part II

We were talking about fidelity again recently. He started grilling me on my admittedly bad track record with fidelity within monogamous relationships to make a point about how I used that power to control my previous partners. He was drawing a distinction between my previous relationships, in which I did all sorts of things to manipulate and maintain an aura of control, and our relationship, in which I have relinquished all control to Him.

What I thought was a slightly-uncomfortable, if lighthearted conversation, turned serious very suddenly when He slid closer to me and told me that he would release me if I cheated on him. I think I laughed it off for a moment, so he repeated himself. "Kitten, I am not joking. I will release you."

I tried to process what he meant. Obviously, he wouldn't release me if it was one little mistake? I wasn't thinking of a protracted affair with lots of lying, but the typical drunken indiscretion that was my hallmark at one time. If we talked about it, if I was honest with him, he would forgive me, right? If we had been together for years and years, had built a life around each other, certainly one mistake wouldn't mean the end of everything? I thought that I would forgive him a similar small mistake. Something that insignificant wouldn't be worth throwing everything away over.

But he saw it differently. By being unfaithful to him, especially after we had been together for a long time, wouldn't just be dishonest. Seen through the prism of my submission, it would be the equivalent to spitting on his ownership of me. It would mean that after all that we have been through, after all that we have built together, that I disrespect him so much that I would throw him away for a fleeting moment. It would mean an extra layer of betrayal for him and for what it means to be owned by him.

He wanted me to know the consequences - really know them - so that I understood. There would be no forgiveness and no talking my way out of it, as I have done so often before. I could not do my usual fast-talking routine and get off scott-free. I could not retain that control.

He made me decide. I could accept his terms, knowing what the consequences would be. Or I could walk away. I cried and protested for a while, fearful that I wouldn't be able to meet his expectations. I was...I am afraid that I will not be able to control myself in the heat of the moment. After years of just doing what I wanted because it felt good, with no concern for the consequences, how could I change my whole pattern of behavior?

He told me that the essence of the issue comes down to the question: "Do you want to be owned?" Making this commitment, knowing that he will take care of all of my sexual needs but that they are out of my control, is the essence of accepting his ownership. Denying myself that illusory power to do what feels good in the moment is what it means to be a good girl for him. Admitting that I have no agency in this situation, that I cannot do whatever my impulses tell me and must think of something bigger than myself, is what it means to be owned.

I accepted. I have to change. I cannot go on like I was before. I want to be owned.

Kitchen Table

He called me Saturday afternoon to see when I was going to come over. I had been dithering all morning, doing laundry and straightening up, and I wasn't sure when I would get to his house. "If you want to get fucked today," he said and then paused as I sharply inhaled, "then you had better get your ass over here soon."

"Ok, but I have to finish my laundry and..."

"No excuses. Get over here so I can fuck you. If you take too long, I'll make you wait until Sunday to get fucked."


"No buts. Get your little ass here now."

I hurriedly got ready and, a mere hour later, I arrived at his house. He was sitting at the kitchen table and he pushed his chair back to look at me when I walked in.

"Take off your dress," he ordered without offering me a greeting first. "Take those off too," he said as he gestured dismissively at my panties. (Why did I bother wearing the cute pink lacy panties if he was going to make me take them off before he looked at them?) "Come here," he said a little more gently as he patted his lap.

I moved toward him and he pulled me into his arms. He took hold of my hair and pulled my face toward his, kissing me roughly, thrusting his tongue into my mouth. "Hi," he moaned as he pulled away and I smiled.

He turned me away from him on his lap and bent me forward at the waist. He started caressing my ass cheeks, then grabbing harder. "Oh god, I missed your ass," he groaned, "it is so beautiful." I moved on his lap, gently grinding my ass into his crotch and bending over further. "That's right," he said approvingly, "show Daddy your ass."

Finally, after I was so wet I was dripping on his jeans, he turned me back around to face him. I leaned down to undo his pants, pulling his cock out and pulling his jeans down to his knees. I straddled him on the chair and looped my feet on the side rungs for support. Then I slowly lowered myself onto his cock and started fucking him. I had missed the full feeling of having him inside me. I needed this so badly.

My head was thrown back and I was fucking him furiously. His hands were on my hips and he bounced me up and down on his cock while he encouraged me to come for him. I gripped the back of the chair as I screamed and came all over him. I was nearly oblivious to anything but my own orgasm. It was so powerful and I was fucking him with such abandon that I was outside of my head for one brief moment.

When I came back down, he pushed me onto the floor at his feet. I moved to take his cock into my mouth, but he held me back. "Worship, now," he said quietly. I knew what this was about. This was about our recent disconnection and my need to feel his ownership strong around me now that we had reconciled. He was making me worship and kneel at his feet at every opportunity.

I kissed his feet and curled up quietly on the floor beside him until he tapped me on the head and offered me his cock. "Beg for it," he sneered.

"Can I please have your cock, Daddy? Please?"

"You'll have to beg harder than that. Beg like a little slut."

"Please, please, can I have your cock in my mouth, please." On and on it went until he deemed that I was sufficiently worked up, that I wanted it badly enough.

I took him in my mouth and, before I could breathe, he started fucking my mouth roughly. His hips were up off the kitchen chair as he thrust into my mouth. I gagged slightly but he kept going, moaning as my spit dripped down onto his balls. He worked faster and my jaw started to ache, but I knew that he would never let up now, not as he was just about to come. He might choke me, I might not be able to breathe, but he would come in my mouth and come hard, exploding, pulsing his come down my throat. He would do that no matter what I wanted or how badly my knees hurt on the tile floor. He is my owner and he would use me however he liked, however hard he wanted, at any time.

Training Day

He thinks I give an amazing blow job. While I don't really know how to evaluate my skills, I've never had any complaints. My usual technique (if you can call it that) is all about variety - a mixture of licking, sucking, deep throating, etc. - so he never gets bored of the sensation.

So you can imagine my surprise when he told me that I was going to have to do some training. He wanted me to learn to take his cock all the way down my throat, so deep that my lips would rest at the base of his cock, and stay there. I can usually work my way pretty far down, but leaning how to go down that far and stay there was a real challenge.

Luckily my therapist has been teaching me some breathing techniques and I've used them to take his training and to really process it. In no time, I was calmly holding his cock in the back of my throat and looking up at him with my lips wrapped around the very base of his cock. I even managed to stay so calm that I sneaked my tongue out to caress his balls a bit.

There are two drawbacks that I am still working through. First, there is no way to control my saliva when he holds me in this position. It all just drips right down onto his crotch. Luckily, he loves a sopping wet blow job and it gives me quite a bit of lubrication if I am going to give him a hand job. Second, if I gag in this position, I really gag. It is the kind of gagging that comes all the way from deep in my esophagus and makes me afraid that I will throw up. He knows that I am afraid and he uses this against me, holding my head in position as I gag on his cock. He has told me that he will continue to subject me to training sessions until I can learn how to control my occasional gagging, even if it means that I have to learn how to gag and stay in position.

I love how I feel when he has set me to a specific task like this. I love how it feels to be put on my knees and told that we will be doing training and that there will be concrete guidelines. Casting what we are doing as "training" and requiring me to practice in a methodical way, all while doing my breathing exercises, has me feeling very focused lately. I feel like I can do anything, accomplish anything that he thinks I can do. All I need is for him to guide me and hold me in place and I can learn to do anything.


We were discussing the things that others do - comparing a bit, wondering what motivated others in their particular kink. It was an idle conversation. I mentioned quietly that some girls have bedtimes and that, come to think of it, I would like a bedtime since I struggle with regulating my own sleep schedule. He picked up on it right away, and a passing comment turned into so much more.

Later that night, he tucked me into bed with a whole new set of bedtime rules. He explained that I would have to be in bed by 11:30 pm on weekdays. I will have no set bedtime on weekends unless I have an early morning obligation, in which case He will determine my bedtime. On nights when we are apart, I can talk to him on the phone past 11:30 pm, but I must be in bed. He will try not to keep me up on the phone past that time and I should be making an effort from 11:30 pm on to get to sleep.

As he laid out the rules for me, I snuggled deeper under the blankets. I happily squirmed a bit, feeling loved and controlled. He would take care of me. He would make sure that I got enough sleep. He would look out for his little girl.

When he was finished, he picked up my book of short stories and started to read. His voice was calm and deep; he read slowly and with great inflection. The light in my bedroom was dim and I soon found my eyelids to be very heavy. I would just close my eyes and listen to the story, I thought. But before I knew it, I had drifted off to sleep completely, lulled by his voice and the wonderful warm feeling of being owned.

I awoke briefly as he put the book down and tucked the blankets around me before shutting off the bedside lamp. I heard the door click shut before I slipped deep into sleep.


I love breath play. We've explored it from the beginning, but only recently has he really begun to choke me hard enough to make me pass out. I love that sensation, the tingling and the rush in my ears, and the floaty feeling that comes over me when he finally lets go. But He's concerned that he'll injure me, so he decided that, while a little light choking was still okay, any serious breath play would have to take place with his hand over my mouth. I reluctantly agreed. I'm self-destructive, but I suppose I'm not that self-destructive.

The other night, we were fooling around and he told me how badly he wanted to clasp his hands around my neck as I came. I smiled at him and said coyly, "I thought we didn't do that anymore." I was joking. I thought it was safe.

I heard him laugh for a moment, and then I recognized that he wasn't actually laughing. He was doing his fake laugh - the mocking one that he reserves for moments when I think I'm being funny but he is decidedly not amused. He continued his fake chuckle and then sharply hissed, "Shut the fuck up."

He put his hand on my neck, just lightly placed it there, and put his face close to mine. "We do whatever I say we do. If I want to choke the life out of you, I will. Understand, little girl?"

I nodded with a frightened look in my eyes. His expression softened and then he laughed for real. "You should see the look on your face right now." And he let me go.


Did I know, 18 months ago, where I would be today? As I looked around at my home, at the life I shared with my boyfriend, at our beautiful things? Did I know then that the empty feeling inside me would be filled with so much pain and so much love?

Did I even know that something was wrong 18 months ago? Did I know that not having sex with someone you saw every day was unusual? Did I know that we were strangers living within 20 feet of each other? Did I even know what intimacy or true emotional connection was at that time?

Did I know that I would survive when I left, when I walked out the door and left everything behind? Yes, I did know that. I knew that nothing kept me there and I carried everything I needed with me.

Did I know that I would meet Him when I was on my own, at my most independent? Did I know that I would meet him when I thought I needed someone the least?

Did I know, the moment I saw Him, that my whole life would change? As he walked toward me, smiling, did I know what he would become? What I would become?

He knew. He knew all of it. "I knew the moment I saw you that I would own you. I just knew it. You were the one I was waiting for. I had been waiting for you for so long."

Your Darkest Fantasy Realized

I shared a fantasy with him - one of my most common, go-to masturbatory fantasies. I hadn't told him about it because it seemed like it was too much of a whole host of things. Too much humiliation, too much degradation, too much objectification, too much slutty, reprehensible behavior. It also had too many people in it...too many male people who used me while he held me down. I was immediately ashamed that I had told him.

I was even more taken aback when the fantasy failed to elicit any sort of shocked response from him. He didn't seem surprised or anything. He just rolled with it and started talking about finding a way to fulfill that fantasy for me. He wanted to see it, he wanted to be there to hold me down while it happened.

Even worse, he wanted to keep talking about it, using it as fodder for his own fantasies and contemplating what we'd do in the future. I just wanted to hide away. I didn't want to talk about it. I didn't even want to think about it. I basically shut down in response.

I stopped masturbating because I couldn't think about this fantasy, and if I couldn't think about this fantasy, I couldn't come. And when he tried to touch me last week, I pulled away. I could barely look him in the eye. Because how could he look me in the eye after I acted out that fantasy? Wouldn't I be just a piece of ruined trash, worse than the slut that I already am for him?

He noticed that I was unusually unresponsive, so he pressed me a bit. I finally admitted that I was ashamed at what I had told him about my fantasy. He reassured me that the reason he wanted to see that, the reason he was so enthusiastic about it for both of us, was that he wanted me to feel free enough to explore that darkest fantasy with him. Obviously, the alluring part of the fantasy was the acknowledgment of how wrong it all felt, that no good girl would do that willingly, that only the most depraved, dirty girl would even consider that. He wanted me to probe those feelings and embrace that dirty girl inside of me. He wanted me to be completely free.

There was this adorable twinkle in his eye as he told me that he'd have no problem looking at me after. He was leaning closer and I could see how aroused he was. When he pulled me to him, I didn't resist. I leaned into him and touched my tongue to his.

As I rode him, he called me his dirty little whore. It was making me wetter and wetter. He could feel it - his head was thrown back and he told me not to stop fucking him, that it felt so good.

"Don't stop?," I asked coyly. "You don't want me to stop?" I pulled off of him for a moment, just long enough to see this wild look in his eyes, and then lowered myself back onto his cock. He moaned loudly in appreciation.

Then - I don't know what got into me - I leaned down to his ear and whispered, "Beg me not to stop...beg."

He moaned again and begged with desperation in his voice. I pinned his wrists to the bed above his head and he begged harder. I fucked him harder, staring down at him and the surprised look in his eyes.

"Oh, fuck, Kitten," he moaned, "you are so hot, oh my god." I couldn't believe what I was doing. All I knew was that this energy between us, this spark, was too strong to ignore. I was his whore at that moment, doing exactly what he wanted to please him.

I reached back to caress his balls as I continued to ride him, and my hand trailed up against my own ass. My fingers found my asshole and an idea came to me. "Can I?," I asked him.

"Oh Kitten, yes, please, yes," he moaned and I slid my finger into my ass. I felt myself coming immediately and I was gushing all over his cock. I rubbed my clit with my other hand and sent myself over the edge. I could feel his cock throbbing in my pussy as my asshole clenched around my finger and my clit pulsed under my other hand. I screamed out with him and we came together.

After, I laid next to him, wondering where all that had come from. "Kitten, how did feel?," he asked.

I thought a moment and then took a deep breath. "Free," I said, realizing the lesson that I had learned.

"Yes, exactly. That's the feeling that I want to see on your face when we explore your fantasy. I want you to feel free to do anything for me." He touched my face and I turned to nuzzle his hand. "Good girl."

Doms Are Human Too

Thank you all for your concern and comments on my last post. Thankfully, this rough patch seems to be drawing to a close. He and I are in contact again and are on our way back. I would have liked to think that I didn't care what happened to him because I was being neglected to an extent, but that's not true. I care about him so much, all the time, and I want to know how to serve him no matter what the circumstances.

I don't think a D/s relationship is different than any other relationship when there is real world stress to deal with. We have to stick together and continue to communicate during the tough times. We have to lean on each other, which may be more difficult for a Dom to do, but it is the only way. I hope that he knows now that I will always love, respect and worship him, even if he shows his more vulnerable side.

As for what this has meant for my submission...well, it has been a bit surprising. There have been times in the past when I thought that I was completely independent and that to be without him would be a possibility for me. Realistically, I thought that I could go on and still be myself. I think about how, a year and a half ago, I left my previous (vanilla) relationship with my head held high. I was myself and I could walk away. I packed up my things and started a new life for myself, by myself.

I no longer think that way. I know that to be released from Him would be disastrous for me in so many ways. I realized that as I laid in bed the other night, unable to sleep because I had not heard his voice all day. I cried those frustrated tears of a child who is without her parent and is scared of being alone. I remember that feeling from my childhood. The memory of that feeling is so strong inside of me, even now. Maybe that is my first memory, alone in the hospital without my parents, without anyone.

When I finally talked to him yesterday, I wasn't mad. I didn't hold one ounce of anger inside of me. I just broke down and admitted a very scary thing to him - that I need him completely and that I cannot go on without him. I told him how small being alone made me feel, and that I needed him to take care of me to some extent even when he was having trouble. In times of crisis, I will still submit to him as I am able and he still must take care of me as he is able.
I hope that all of this means increased connectedness for us, but only time will tell. I want nothing more than to be by his side and to be his little girl again. I want to hear him call me Kitten and to kneel at his feet. I'm his, for as long as he'll have me.


He received some bad news a few days ago, news that would provoke anxiety in anyone. But with him...it set off this tidal wave of anxiety.

I think he'll find his way back in a few days, but the last few days on my end have been so terrible that I've started wondering if I even care what happens to him.

He says that he'll e-mail, but he never does. He'll respond to my e-mails, but his (few and far between) messages are only five words long. He will not call me and he will not answer his phone. He has ignored plans that we had with my family and left me to make excuses for him, even as I know that I shouldn't have to make excuses for him.

I know that this is not about me, but I am still so upset that he has pushed me so far away. He has completely abandoned me and left me with no resources to take care of myself. I feel very vulnerable and very little and very sad without him. I miss him. No girl, let alone a submissive girl, should have to go through this.

No Mercy

I sat at the kitchen table, humming quietly to myself and sipping my coffee. I had the Sunday Times spread out in front of me and a fresh bagel for breakfast. I swung my legs under the table, basking in the joy of not having any commitments that day.

He came up behind me and slid his hands down the front of my shirt. I could hear him growling in my ear and I looked back at him expectantly. "You can finish your breakfast," he murmured as he withdrew. I turned back to the paper, but he was suddenly behind me again. "Get up," he ordered.

He led me over to the couch. He sat down and told me to take off my clothes before getting over his knee. Once I was in place, he started spanking me hard. I was counting along in my head and, as the number grew to 15, I started to panic.

"Is this it? Is this my birthday spanking?," I sputtered.

"Yes, stay still now Kitten," he said as he continued to hit me.

"All at once? Are you doing them all at once?," I panicked. I had broken out into a hot sweat with the pain. Each spank hurt more than the one before. My ass felt hot and He kept finding the vulnerable places to hit me to make me cry out.

"Kitten, breathe," he said as he paused at 20. "Take ten more for me and then you're done. Twenty-nine and 1 to grow on, remember?," he teased.

"Yes, sir, yes, yes," I mumbled, trying to ready myself. After he reached 30, he paused again to show me his palms. They were red from the impact.

"Now, that doesn't seem fair, does it? You're supposed to be the one in pain, not me, right?," he sassed. Suddenly serious, he said, "Count for me, Kitten."

"More? I thought I was done at 30?," I whined momentarily until he pushed my face down into the couch cushion to silence me. I counted out ten more spanks before he let up.

I slid to the floor by his feet in relief. He pulled my head up by the hair and whispered in my ear, "I'm not done with you yet, Kitten." He let me sit there, panting, for a moment before leading me into the bedroom.

"Kneel next to the bed," he said. I put my forehead against the mattress and heard him fussing around behind me. He picked up something and swung it in the air, producing a swishing sound. Before I could wonder what that was, he was hitting me with it. I could feel the impact, small and flat, cold, sharp.

The tears started to fall and I was clawing at the bedsheets. I turned to look at Him and saw him standing there, a few feet back from me, giving me the most frighteningly cold look. He had his head tilted to the side as if he was surveying something particularly uninteresting. In his hand, he was holding a metal shoehorn on a long metal pole.

I must have been staring at it for too long, because he swatted at the sides of my thighs until I turned back to face the bed. I pleaded with him as he continued to work me over, murmuring "Daddy, Daddy," over and over into the sheets between sobs. He hit me all up and down my back, across my ass and down the backs of my thighs. When I couldn't take any more, I collapsed to the ground in a little heap, only to have him pull me up to face him.

"Now, across your nipples." I whimpered and he snapped his fingers to silence me. "Put your hands behind your head and wait." I clasped my hands behind my head and closed my eyes, hoping that I wasn't visibly shaking. When he swatted at the front of my thighs, my eyes flew open. In my vulnerable state, my face gave away that I was relieved that he wasn't hitting my breasts. But that just made him laugh and he worked over my nipples next.

When he was done, he laid next to me on the bed, lightly running his fingers over the welts. He still had the shoehorn in his hand and he was trailing it up and down the backs of my thighs. He teased between my legs with it for a moment before getting an idea. I could practically see the light bulb go off in his head.

"Turn over," he whispered and my eyes widened with fear. I shook my head and buried my face in the mattress. I couldn't take being hit on my pussy. I couldn't take any more. He rolled me over anyway, prying my legs apart with this hands. He traced the folds with the metal, tapping lightly at first and then harder. Each time I cried out, he pulled away only to return to torment my cunt once more.

"This is the end, Kitten, just count to three for me and then it's over," he cooed. I shook my head and tried to pull my knees together. I must have looked like a very silly little girl as I cried, "no Daddy, I don't want to count to three, I don't want to count to three," and tried to squirm away from him. He counted down anyway, and on the count of three, he brought he arm down with great force.

...stopping just before the metal touched my skin.

I exhaled, shaking. He chuckled softly and pulled me back to him. "You said no mercy, Kitten." I looked up at him, confused.

"You said that you want me to let go, to stop holding back when I'm with you. You told me that you wanted to experience everything at full capacity. No pulling punches, no mercy." I nodded. I did say that.

"Well, Kitten, that is no mercy. When you're at your capacity and can't take anymore and I'm not stopping...that is no mercy. Are you sure that you still want that? Truly want that, Kitten?"

"Yes," I breathed.

"Because next time, I will hit you. I won't stop at the last second. I will hit your cunt. Understand?"

"Yes, Daddy," I smiled, suddenly calm, suddenly composed. I couldn't tell if I had failed him or made him happy. I wasn't sure if I should be proud of all I took or guilty that I had been spared. I only knew that the next time, I would not get off so easily. Next time, he would not stop. I asked for no mercy and I would have to face up to that, sooner or later.