Belt

I knelt on the floor with His belt around my neck. He took the length that he had been using to pull me to his cock and wrapped it around my neck again. He pulled it tight and put the end between my teeth. I gripped it there, afraid of what he was doing, afraid of how tightly he was pulling the belt around my neck. He wiped his cock on my face, mixing the saliva with the tears on my cheeks.

I trembled. Was this my punishment for last night? Was he still angry at me, and would his anger grow out of control until he pushed me harder than I was able to go? What was going to happen? This had all happened so suddenly.

I felt the red mark on my stomach where he had whipped me with the belt as I laid on the bed, before he dragged me onto the floor. I knew that I would have a mark that would last days. I knew that I deserved it, that I should take some of his anger as payment for what I had done.

But how much? Where would he take me this time?

Plans

He talked to me slowly, quietly at first. His voice was low, but I could hear the edge in his voice, the desire. He talked about what I need and what he'll give me, even if that isn't always the same thing. He talked about beating me and I murmured that I need that so badly.

His words became harsh and degrading, pulling me deeper into that submissive headspace. He told me that I am his cunt and a little whore. He made me repeat it so the words would sink in.

He told me about the training - or, actually, the retraining - that he was planning for me. He told me about the belt, and the palm of his hand, and the candle wax. He drew elaborate pictures of me hogtied on the bed and about fucking me until I scream. He told me about the torture of not being able to come and how I would soon face that. He told me how much he would enjoy that and he laughed.

I could feel the heavy calm descending as he spoke and I wecomed it. I wrapped myself in it and felt it all around me. I was reminded. I needed to be reminded.

Birthday

"You need a spanking, don't you?," He asked over the phone. I squirmed in the bed in my hotel room and sighed into the phone. I was so far away and I needed to feel that connection to Him.

"It's time for one, I think. You know that?" His voice was quiet.

"Yes, sir."

"When you get back. A birthday spanking. Twenty-nine spanks for you," he said and I could hear him smiling.

"And one to grow on," I quipped without thinking.

"Hmmm..."

"No, I didn't mean that...I don't need more than..."

"Yes, one to grow on, Kitten. I like that idea. Thank you for that," he teased. He knows how often I speak without thinking. He loves that I get myself in the good kind of trouble with him.

"You're welcome," I mumbled. Me and my big mouth.

"We'll go out to that party on Saturday night and you'll be there next to me, the perfect little girlfriend. You'll be the sweet girl that everyone thinks they know. But no one there will know that you're going to get spanked hard the next day, and that you'll love every minute of it."

I squirmed again. He kept spinning his fantasy of spanking me hard and marking me with his belt for my birthday. He told me that he planned to remind of my spanking during the party on Saturday, that he would put his hand on the back of my neck and let me know that he owns me. He reveled in my double life, in the difference between my real life identity and my submissive identity. He loved that only he could see both sides of me.

"You know that I own you, Kitten. But Sunday...Sunday you'll really feel it."

Discipline

I try so hard to be a good girl, I really do. I kneel when I'm told to kneel and I stop whimpering when he tells me to shut the fuck up. I cringe and flinch when he hits me, but I can always be brought back into place. He tells me that I'm such a good girl, that I take everything he gives me so well. This makes me glow. I want to be good for him so badly.

I want the absolution of perfection. I want to burn away all of my regrets, and there are so many regrets. I look back on my life and see all of my mistakes and I want to erase them. Can one act of devotion to Him really take away all of the things that I have ever done wrong? Each lover that I have betrayed or bullied? I don't know, but I try.

I imagine my submissive self as a figurine made of glass, able to warm to his touch. Clear, hollow. You can see right through me. Perfect. This is what I strive for.

But sometimes I fail spectacularly. The wonderful thing about this humble relationship that I have with Him, one that some have tried to define but which resists definition, is that his discipline erases everything in an instant. I fuck up, I know it, I repent, he beats me, all is well. It is forgiven and forgotten. I don't carry it with me past the moment he releases me. I am clear once again.

This is what happened last weekend, more or less. One day I wonder if He will make an appearance here and tell his version of things. For now, all you have is my story. It may be a bit warped at this point.

It started when he was talking about a girl that he used to know who had been in a porn film. I don't know why we were talking about this. It shouldn't have been a big deal, except he was being a bit casual about the whole thing. It took a bit to build, but suddenly I was extremely jealous and I just wanted the conversation to stop. I accused him of fucking her and then bringing her up to throw in my face, as if her being in a porn film had anything to do with me. I kept accusing him and he didn't deny it, which just made me insane with jealousy.

I had to get out of the conversation, but I was feeding it and it was building. I got up from the bed and stomped out of the bedroom, slamming the door in the process. I'd like to think that I didn't realize how loudly the door was going to slam, but I did. As an experienced teenage door-slammer, I knew exactly what I was doing.

I went into the bathroom, closing the door behind me, and sat down to pee. As soon as I sat down, he came barging through the bathroom door. I instinctively threw up my hands to block him and said: "Get the fuck out of here!"

Yes, that is exactly what I said. To my credit, I knew as the words were leaving my mouth that I was in trouble. Actually, I think my exact words were "Get the fuck out of here! Ohhh nooo..."

He grabbed my head by the hair and shook me a few times while he asked me, "What did you say?" in this creepy, calm voice. I just lowered my eyes and shook my head. There could be no forgiving how I let my mouth run away with me, for how I had disrespected him with my tone and my words. "How about I let you get yourself together for a few minutes?," he suggested in a voice that told me that I should steel myself for something. I nodded as I stared down at my hands.

When I walked back into the bedroom, he was sitting on the side of the bed, hands folded in his lap. He looked up when I walked in. "Get across my knee," he whispered. I went right to him. I knew that I should be spanked. I didn't argue.

He held my chin in one hand as he spanked me hard with the other. He doesn't usually spank me as hard as he did that day. He seemed perfectly calm, but I wonder whether the hard spanking was the result of anger. After a minute, he pushed me off of his lap and growled that it wasn't enough and ordered me to kneel next to the bed. If I was resigned before, I was suddenly terrified. I heard him pick up the belt.

I started apologizing like a madwoman, sobbing with my face buried in the mattress. "I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry, Daddy, I'm sorry," as if that would get me out of this.

He pulled my head up by the back of my hair. "Not that you deserve to know this, but I didn't fuck her. But you don't deserve to know that because I DON'T ANSWER TO YOU. YOU ANSWER TO ME, do you understand that?," he yelled. Something clicked into place. I did understand. I answer to Him. He doesn't answer to me. It was all so simple.

He still beat me with the belt. He still made me count each stroke out loud. I took each one through tears and counted against my fists. But when he was done and he lay next to me, gently running his fingers over the welts on my back, he was calm. All was forgiven and I was empty and clear again. He washed everything away.

Posessions

S&M has been hard on my belongings, y'all. During a particularly brutal beating recently, He broke the medium belt across my back. It was an expensive or well-made belt, to be certain - more of a fun novelty belt that I would wear out to the club with my cute jeans - but he broke it in two nonetheless. Now he is intent on breaking the heavy leather belt across my back, which I'm not sure is possible. I tried to punch an extra hole in that belt once to make it fit tighter around my hips and I had trouble getting the sharp tool through the thick leather. I don't think he can break the large belt; he may just break me first.

He also destroyed a pair of panties last weekend. He was undressing me in a hurry and started to pull them from my hips when he suddenly looked up and asked, "Were these expensive?" I said that I didn't know because I didn't want him to know how much I had spent on the beautiful deep purple lace panties and matching bra. In the end, he didn't care. He tore them from my body anyway. Only when I heard the lace tearing did I believe that he was destroying them, shredding the delicate fabric of one of my favorite pairs of underwear. I was already sniffling from the way he had been smacking my face, bu that made me cry even harder. The indignity of it - he ruined them out of cruelty and all I could do was cry as the pieces fell to the floor.

At the same time he has been ruining my possessions with abandon, he has been treating me as more of a possession every day. He dictated what I should wear to a family event and instructed me to cut my hair the way he wants. He gave me vitamins to take every day because he said, "I want my Kitten to be healthy."

He has taken more control, exerted more ownership, even if it is only a slight increase. But I can feel the ground shifting beneath my feet as he takes more control over my life and my body for his ownership and complete dominion.

Bound

He bound my wrists with the restraints and laid me across the bed with my hands hanging off the side. He readied the belt, turning it in his hands. Before he began, I called him over to me with my quiet plea: "Daddy?" He crouched on the bed next to me and brushed my hair out of my eyes.

"Yes Kitten?"

"Are you mad at me?," I cried, embarassed by the tears that feel from my eyes. We had had a minor disagreement hours earlier, but I was worried that he was still upset with me.

"Of course not," he murmured. "I'm not mad at you. It's just time for your spanking. You're overdue."

I nodded. I had been desperate for him to hurt me lately.

"Do you trust me?" His eyes were calm, steady.

"Yes," I said immediately and he gently pushed my forehead down toward the mattress. He stood behind me and paused.

Suddenly, he brought the belt down, harder than I had thought possible. He struck the bed inches from my body. I jumped and squealed in fear as he slammed the belt down onto the bed on my other side. I shook with the shock of it.

"Are you ready to count to ten for me Kitten?" I nodded reluctantly and gathered my courage. "Ten across your ass to start."

He began beating me hard, not as hard as he had hit the bed but the threat of the increased impact hung over me. He worked my ass and my back and the backs of my legs. He took a moment to marvel over how red he had made my ass and at the welts on my back, then he turned me over onto my back.

He bound my ankles together with the belt and got out the vibrator and the anal plug. He lifted my ankles and inserted the plug into me, deep into my ass in one quick movement. "Keep your legs up," he ordered as he propped the vibrator against my slit. "Don't move a muscle," he said and off he went in search of something.

I stayed very still, trying not to squirm from the sensations in my pussy and my ass. He returned a few minutes later with a scarf. As he moved toward my head, he picked up the panties he had discarded on the floor hours before. He stuffed the panties in my mouth before tying the scarf around my eyes and practically wrapping my entire head in fabric in the process.

The rest is a blur. Bound and ordered not to move, rendered mute from the panties in my mouth and with my head swaddled, my senses were a blur. I recall the feeling of the plug being slowly pulled out and reinserted, the feeling of the vibrator being pushed into my pussy, filling me up, his fingers twisting my nipples, moaning through the fabric, screaming.

And the release, oh god the release. What I had been craving for days, dreaming about, scheming about. He drew my orgasm out of me until every last ounce of agitation had drained from my body. Every part of me that cried out for pain was now silent, tamed for the moment.

When The Game Doesn't End

We had a fight at the grocery store. It was stupid, about something small, created by a stray look or a bruised feeling. Who even remembers what started it? (He probably does. He has a way of cataloging these types of things forever.) I rolled my eyes at him in the car, gave him a dismissive hand-wave in the parking lot, and walked away from him on the sidewalk when he tried to joke around with me in an attempt to get past it. We were having a plain-old spat, a boyfriend-girlfriend moment. There was nothing D/s to it. He wasn't my Owner. We were just like any other couple.

But maybe that was the problem?

Later we sat side-by-side on couch, my head on his shoulder, and gave our apologies. He was still a bit upset that I walked away from him and I was miffed that he thought about leaving me alone after that. On the whole, however, cooler heads prevailed.

I was wondering though: How far could power exchange creep into our lives? When he told me not to walk away from him and I did it anyway, I thought about how he could have ordered me not to do so if he was my Owner at that moment. If I knew that he was my Owner at that moment, I would not have walked away from him in the first place; my head would have been in an entirely different place. I thought about the reckless freedom I have over my actions and choices when I consider myself only his girlfriend and not his owned submissive. That freedom gets me in trouble because I don't know where the line is.

I have already recounted several instances when he caught me off guard with his springing dominance, times when he turned a innocent quip into an intense moment or took an unexpected opportunity to assert his ownership. Did I want D/s to bleed over into our vanilla lives more and more? Did I want there to be no surprises, to always know that he controlled me?

I took that quiet moment to ask him about it. "When we're in the bedroom and you tell me to look at you or something, I just do it because I'm trained to. But when we're in the car and I roll my eyes, I get confused when you tell me not to do that. I would never do that when we were in the bedroom because I know the rules there, but it seems like I don't know the rules outside the bedroom."

He nodded, encouraging me to continue to speak freely.

"It's like when you're playing football. When the ref blows the whistle to start the game, you know it's ok to tackle another player. When the ref blows the whistle again, you know the game is over and it would be inappropriate to tackle. But things aren't clear cut like that with us. I don't know whose rules we're playing under when we're not in the bedroom, and I think that causes some problems. We each think we have our own rules. We end up fighting about how we fight and it just gets worse."

He stared at me quietly for a moment. "What if the game doesn't end?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, what we do in the bedroom isn't just playing around, right?" I nodded. Everything was so intense, so real, that it couldn't just be a lark, something that we could leave behind. I still felt his dominance and his control long after we left the bedroom and I didn't consider it something we played at. "I think that your training could extend outside the bedroom. I think you need some more discipline and some more rules, so things like tonight don't happen."

I thought for a moment. What exactly was he proposing? I wasn't sure myself, but it seemed like a logical progression. The whiplash I was facing between D/s time and non-D/s time was too much. Would this solve that problem?

On the other hand, would it create a whole host of other problems? I didn't want to suffocate under the weight of his control and I certainly didn't want to invite a dictatorial authority into every area of my life. If his idea of extending our D/s dynamic meant micro-managing my life in a way that affected my job, I didn't think that we'd be long for this world. In the same vein, I didn't want him use his control to stifle all dissent from me in a way that would leave me dissatisfied and essentially disenfranchised within my own relationship.

"Is that something that you'd like?," he asked gently. I couldn't read his expression. I didn't know what he was thinking. I really didn't know what I was thinking. But at that moment, I wanted the heavy comfort of his control over me to eliminate all of the confusion.

"I think so. But I've never done anything like that before. I don't know what it would look like." I literally could not wrap my head around it. "Can we try and see what happens? Talk about it as things come up?"

"Of course we can. And you know how much I respect you. You know that I would never do anything that would hurt you or upset you," he said. "Now, take off your pants." I stood up and removed my jeans and socks. When I turned back to him, he patted his lap. He was going to punish me.

He laid me gently over his lap and started spanking me with his left hand. In his right hand, he held the front of my neck so that my back was arched and he could see my face. As he hit me, he asked me, "When I tell you to stop walking away from me, what do you do?"

"I stop."

"When I tell you to drop down to your knees, what do you do?"

"I do it."

"Do you walk away from me in anger?"

"No, Sir."

"Good girl," and he stood up, dragging me by the hair toward the bedroom. Halfway down the hallway, he stopped abruptly and sighed. "Oh, you are so lucky that I'm not wearing a belt today, you are so fucking lucky." We were standing near my closet and my eyes must have darted toward the door. His face lit up. "What belts do you have? Show them to me."

So I got out three belts. The first: a thin black Calvin Klein belt that I wear with pants for work. The second: a stiff, medium-width black belt with silver metal studs and rings on it. The third: a wide, heavy brown leather belt. He took them all from me and pushed me over the bed.

He started beating me with the thin belt, but he quickly threw it to the side. "Too light," he muttered. Then he went to work with the medium belt, but grew tired of the light smacks it made on my skin. "Too stiff," he grumbled. So, like we were acting out some perverted form of Goldilocks, he turned to the third belt. He had already warmed up, so there were no soft introductory hits. He started right in with the hard wallops. He moaned appreciatively at the hard thwack sound that the belt made and the way each blow made me jump in pain.

After the first few blows, he made me count to ten for him. He had warned me that he would start over if I didn't say the numbers loudly enough, so I made certain to shout them out clearly. I could make it to ten, but if he started over? I might just meltdown with the pain.

He was done with the ten and he rolled me over onto my back. I winced at the welts that I could already feel on my ass and my back, but he steadied me with his palm against my chest. "Stay," he whispered and I laid my head back, closed my eyes. I heard him pick up a different belt, then felt the sharp sting of the first thin belt whipping across my nipples. I opened my eyes in shock to see him grinning devilishly. He pinned my wrists with one hand and continued torturing my nipples with the belt in the other.

I squealed, louder, deeper with my head thrown back. Suddenly, he stopped and I could feel his mouth on my nipples. His tongue teased each in turn, gently, slowly. He laid the belt across my chest and reclined next to me.

"Kitten, I think we finally understand each other," he smiled. I nodded absently. I was afraid of what was ahead. Would my life change dramatically? Hadn't there been enough dramatic change already in the few short months I had known him?

But at the same time, he had already taken me so far and I had been safe and loved the entire time. Of course we could make this work if he was leading us. I would follow him, I would be his good girl and follow him.

Crawl

He came up behind me as I stood at the bathroom sink brushing my teeth. He rested his hands lightly on my hips and stared at me in the mirror. I finished brushing - reluctantly spitting in front of him - and straightened up to look at his reflection. He pulled down my panties and turned me toward him, getting on his knees in front of me. I stood on my toes and spread my legs, sitting back on the counter a bit to give him access to my pussy. He sucked hard on my clit and I gasped in response. I came hard, grinding my pelvis against his face.

Without providing me with much opportunity to recover, he pushed me down to my knees and pulled his cock out of his pants. He held it in front of my face. "Do you want this?," he asked with an innocent look on his face. Of course I wanted it, I always want him in my mouth. I nodded eagerly.

"Beg for it then," he ordered with a hardened expression on his face.

"Please?," I asked with wide eyes.

"It doesn't sound like you want it," he said regretfully and he started to tuck his cock back into his pants.

"No, please, I really do want it! Please!," I begged desperately, holding onto his hands so he wouldn't finish fastening his pants. "Please, can I have your cock in my mouth?" I bit my lip in anticipation.

He sighed as if he was bothered by the suggestion. "Fine, here," he said as he offered me his cock. I lapped at it with enthusiasm and his reluctance seemed to ebb away. He held my hair and guided me up and down his shaft for a few minutes before he pulled my face away.

"Go into the bedroom," he ordered. I stood up to walk out of the bathroom, but he held me down on my knees. "No, crawl there."

I looked up at him for a moment. I didn't know what to do. He held my gaze, challenging me to refuse him. "I'm not kidding. Crawl." I leaned forward onto all fours and slowly crawled into the hallway in front of him. He held my by the hair and led me into the bedroom. When we reached the bed he sat down, pulling me on my knees in front of him.

"Good girl," he spoke as if to a puppy. I felt like an animal, low and obedient. It was humiliating but it turned me on.

"Go get my belt," and he pointed across the room. I paused again, held my breath for a beat. I didn't think he was going to let me stand to get it.

"That's right," he said, reading my mind, "crawl to get it and bring it back to me in your mouth." Oh, it was worse that I thought. I had been so focused on worrying about him watching my ass as I crawled away from him that I overlooked the fact that I would have to carry the belt back to him. In my mouth, obviously.

I slowly crawled across the room to retrieve the belt. I stared at it for a moment, trying to figure out another way to bring it back. He snapped his fingers impatiently, so I just put in between my teeth and crawled back to him, eyes lowered.

"Good girl," he cooed as he took the belt from me. I knelt beside him as he looped the belt around my neck and pulled it tight. After it was fastened around my neck, he stood quickly and walked across the room. He pulled me along behind him. I scrambled along the floor, trying to keep up with him, trying to keep from being choked.

He doubled back, jerking on the belt to make me turn to follow him, and led me over to the door of the bedroom. I kept my eyes on the ground. I knew what was on the door: a full-length mirror. He pulled me up to a stop in front of it.

"Look at yourself."

I shook my head. I couldn't look up. I knew what I would see and I wasn't sure that I could handle it.

"Do it, look at yourself," he ordered, jerking my head up by my hair.

I stared at the girl in the mirror. The panic on her face - panic from the belt around her neck, panic from being choked and pulled around on the hardwood floor - was evident. Was it possible that the girl in the mirror was me? As long as I looked away, I could pretend that these things that were happening, these humiliating and degrading things, were happening to someone else, someone outside of myself. But once I looked in the mirror, it was as if a hidden part of myself came crashing into my reality.

Those horrible fantasies, those terrible things He did, they were all a part of me. The real me. I didn't have those things hidden apart from myself any more. He had brought it all together, brought it all out into the open to share. My secret life was over.

I collapsed at his feet, sobbing. He reached down to stroke my hair and then unbuckled the belt. He lifted me up off of the floor and carried me over to the bed in his arms. I was breathing erratically, almost having a panic attack. He sat with me, telling me to breathe until I fell into a trance. My eyes were unfocused, but I could feel him next to me. I kept breathing, we all kept breathing.

Whipped

He laid me across his lap for my spanking. "You need it hard, don't you?," he asked in a hushed voice before he began. I squirmed with anticipation on his lap, happy to be the focus of his attention and discipline. It felt like being bathed in a warm light.

He started spanking me hard, methodically working one cheek and then the other. As my ass cheeks grew hot with the blows, he started testing my weakness - finding the sensitive spots and hitting those spots over and over.

After a time, he rolled me off of his lap and told me to wait, face down on the bed, for him to come back. I heard him go into the other room and unhook the belt from his pants. I whimpered as I heard the jingle of the belt buckle above me. I heard him work the leather of the belt between his hands.

He whipped the belt across my ass, lightly at first, making full use of the flexible leather. He warmed up to the feel of each blow, landing harder strokes and allowing several strokes to fall on the backs of my thighs.

I was gasping at how much each stroke stung and burned, at how the pain from the hardest strokes lingered on my skin. He watched me writhe in the sheets, waiting for me to return to position before he continued. I thought I was maintaining quite well at that point, aside from a slight buzzing in my head and a fuzziness around the edges of my vision.

He leaned over me and pulled my head off of the bed by my hair. He put his mouth close to my ear. "You wanted this, remember? You begged for this," he growled.

"Yes Sir," I stated clearly, confident that I could withstand the belt on my ass. Pain concentrated in that area has always been so highly sexualized for me that it is almost completely divorced from my traditional understanding of pain.

But then he started beating me across my back with the belt. I shuddered as he worked his way up from the middle of my back to my shoulders. I tried to lay still on my stomach with my hands underneath me, but I couldn't help but move in response to the pain. I was crying and curled up on my side with my fists clenched in front of my face. I was fighting the pain, holding tight inside to keep it together.

He picked me up and deposited me on the floor next to the bed in my kneeling spot. I cringed with my face against the bed as he ran his fingers lightly over my back, over the - were those welts? Yes, I could feel them raised up and hot across my back.

"You are going to take five more across your back," he said gently into my ear. I heard him snap the leather in his hands and braced myself. Once he began, my mind was a swirl of chaos and noise; behind me, I heard him counting out each stroke as it fell.

"Now you're going to take three more."

"No," I wailed, still reeling from the sharp bite of the last five.

"Fine, five more then," and he started counting. When he was done, he made me stand up. I was woozy and I stumbled backwards for a moment. Once I was steady, I felt him loop the belt around my neck and pull it tight. I started to sputter as he buckled it around my neck, pinching the skin on the side of my neck as he did so.

"Hold still, slut," he growled as he pulled me to him by the long lead. I looked up at him with my mouth hanging open in astonishment. I couldn't believe what was happening. His lips twisted into a cruel smile before he turned me to the bed and pushed me down on all fours in front of him. He pulled back on the belt as he thrust in to me roughly. He taunted me as he fucked me and choked me by pulling on the belt, calling me his slutty little pet, his whore. I heard him spit and then felt him work a wet finger into my asshole.

"Come on my cock like a naughty girl, come right now," he demanded. As he fucked me in both my holes, I came and collapsed on my stomach on the bed. He knelt over me to unbuckle the belt from my neck and lay it across my back.

He laid next to me and brushed my hair out of my eyes. I lifted my head and looked into his eyes. I was calm and certain, steady.

"Look at you," he marveled, "look at that look. You're still so hungry, aren't you?"

I didn't break his gaze. I was right there with him.

"You can take more, can't you?," he asked with an excited look in his eyes. "Can you kneel and take more for me?"

"Whatever you want, Sir." I was already moving to kneel by the bed. Once I was in place, he paused over me with the belt in his hand.

"I love you, Kitten," he said with a cautionary note in his voice. Was he afraid to hurt me any more?

I smiled up at him. "I love you." Tonight, he would learn more about my capacity for pain; we both would.

He pushed my forehead down against the mattress. "Now, you will take ten. Count out loud."