by Rosenrot
And once that moment is over, I know I have passed some sort of test. I am still. There is no noise in the room. No noise at all. But I sense the presence behind me. Part of me wants to cower forwards, away from the presence. But I stay still. I want to be a good girl. More specifically, I don't want to incur more punishment.
The safe word is HELICOPTER.
I manage to breathe in. It's the first full breath I've managed since the front door opened. I breathe out slowly. My ears are straining. I am concentrating on the presence in the room. I THINK it's still behind me.
And then, loud on the wooden floor, slow, staccato footsteps. Circling me at a short distance. FUCK. A predator circling its prey. FUCK.
My mind is working fast. While trying to force myself to breathe and not to cower or flinch, I experience the blind panic of the cornered victim. And there are words in my head. Breathless, panicked words. "Is it him? It sounds like a man, but is it him? I can't smell anything -- I can't smell his usual smell. What the fuck am I going to do if it isn't him? This is too much. There's only so much fear and stress I can take".
The safe word is HELIPCOPTER.
The presence is behind me again. Silent. Waiting. Watching. I sit totally still. I'm not sure my senses have ever before been so acutely on the alert, on edge, straining.
And then, out of nowhere, and quickly…. a soft touch on the back of my head, moving my hair, and a face is roughly pushed into my scalp and it inhales deeply. I jump. Cringe, but manage not to move away from the touch. And it's over as quickly as it started.
It's lucky I'm sitting down. The act of sniffing me. It seems more animal than human. And it has a very powerful effect on me. In amongst the blind terror and the difficulty breathing, that animal act has given me something. It has given me just a hint, just a suggestion, of arousal.
The footsteps start again. Circle me again. End up in front of me. There is another still silence. And then sudden, overwhelming fright as I hear the LOUD, heavy, metallic, grinding noise coming from a couple of feet directly in front of my head WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT?? WHAT THE FUCK?? It sounds like a very, very, heavy chain. The noise stops and my breath freezes in my lungs. My heart is beating fast and almost deafeningly.
I try to steel myself for whatever is about to happen.
And I hear the sound of wine being poured into a glass. And I feel my body slump slightly in the chair with the sudden relief. That metallic sound… it was the ice and the bottle moving against the champagne bucket. I want to laugh. But, relief or no relief, I'm still WAY too scared even to smile, let alone laugh.
More footsteps. They stop close to me, by my side. A rough hand comes out of nowhere and twists my head to the side. Lifts my hair again, and again the animal inhalation at the back of my head. It strikes me -- deep in the gut -- just how vulnerable I am.
And then hot breath near my ear. And a voice.
It's HIS voice.
The relief is indescribable. It's him. It's not some stranger. It's him.
Even though it's his voice, it's different. I realise I haven't heard his voice since long before the first text message ever arrived. And it's different. There is none of the normal gentleness. None of the normal smile in the voice. This voice is his, but it's flat. It's authoritative. It's cold.
"Good. The room is set out as I instructed. The wine is chilled. Sweet-smelling hair. Good".
I tell myself that I can relax a little. And then I feel a hand on my shoulder and the way my body flinches away makes it clear to me that I'm very far from being relaxed.
I try to breathe regularly. Slowly. He moves again until his footsteps stop in front of me. I wait. My head is slightly bowed.
He moves behind me again. One by one, he pulls my hands behind me, behind the back of the chair. And I feel the rope on my skin as he ties my wrists together. The extent of my vulnerability becomes crystal-clear.
Again, footsteps. He stops in front of me and waits. No doubt enjoying the sight of me on the chair, cowed, bound, and at his mercy.
Suddenly I feel his hand under my chin, gently (GENTLY! I didn't expect THAT), gently lifting it so that may face is upturned. And he gently removes the blindfold. I keep my eyes shut. His gentle hand still under my chin, he softly tells me to open my eyes.
In the candle-light, his hand directing my gaze, I look into his face.
He is looking me in the eye, intensely. I can't read the look he is giving me and I want to look away. But I don't. I think I may be punished if I look away. There is a lot of power in his look. I don't look away but I unfocus my eyes. Again I am put in mind of animals. The way a dog will challenge another dog by staring it in the eye. The way that one of the two dogs is forced to take on a submissive role, and does so by being the first to look away…
I look away. I lower my eyes.
He moves, and I look up. He takes hold of the wine bottle again. This time I know what that loud noise is, but it still makes me flinch. He pours more wine into the glass. Just the one glass. The other glass sits there untouched.
He stands in front of me. Takes a long, slow draught of wine. Smiles. More to himself than at me. Looks me in the eye again. "Very nice wine, nicely chilled -- well done." Again that authority, that coldness, in his voice.
A word pops into my head. 'Menacing'.
It looks as though the wine is for him, not me. My mouth is so dry. I am so on edge. Why didn't I think to have a glass of booze before he arrived, to take the edge off the nerves? Too late now.
I feel his eyes travelling over my body. It makes me feel like an object. I bow my head.
Again, his gentle fingers under my chin. I look up and see that he is bringing the wine glass to my mouth. He holds the rim against my lips and pours a little into my mouth. Just a little. A small sip. But it feels good - cold and wet - in my bone-dry mouth. Seems a small sip is all I will get. Maybe a good thing. My bladder makes itself felt again. I am getting quite desperate for a piss.
He crouches in front of me, so that his eyes are level with mine. He fixes me in the eye. He talks to me gently.
"When did you last make yourself come?"
I tell the truth. "Last Sunday". And I watch his eyes.
He is not satisfied with my response. He stares me in the eye and waits. With the panic rising again, I search my mind… what have I said wrong? And then it hits me -- I last made myself come on Monday, a day later. It was my reward for having written well.
I blurt it out, now "Sorry," shaking my head. "Last Monday".
He waits a second and then looks deep into my eyes, very seriously. "I believe you".
Three words that are very good to hear, right at that moment.
He leaves me sitting there, tied up, on the chair. He moves over to the bed. I hear the metal clanking noise that I heard earlier when he was coming up the stairs. I turn my head slightly. I can see his back and part of the bed in the mirror. See him pick up two metal poles, one longer than the other.
What are they? Spreader bars? I peer harder into the mirror and he turns his head and catches me watching.
His voice is stern. "What are you looking at?"
Softly, meekly, I say "Nothing", and I turn my head away from the mirror and bow it.
He strides over to the chair. One-handedly pulls and turns it fast, leaving me still tied, still sitting on it, but facing the bed now.
He sits facing me on the bed. Once again, that intense look into my eyes. And he speaks softly but with condescension.
"How many punishments have you incurred in the lead-up to tonight?"
He waits. Stares.
Right at this moment I can barely remember my own address, let alone the litany of my misdemeanours and punishments. I know that if I attempt an answer it is bound to be wrong. So I tell the truth. In a whisper.
"I don't know. I'm sorry".
He reels off the list.
"Two for vetoing the webcam and the cold shower. The cold shower punishment was drinking a pint of water. The ot
her is yet to come. Two for not being attentive enough. One for questioning my methods with the webcam. One for your attitude when I told you you were not to pleasure yourself for a week".
My mind is racing. I have no idea how many punishments that is, even.
He sits calmly, brings my eyes back to his.
"That's six punishments incurred... so far".
Again, that word pops into my head. 'Menacing'.
He starts to tell me what the punishments will be. I hear as far as "you will be spanked six times with the belt for refusing the webcam", and then my mind cuts out and the rest is just noise. Maybe it's a self-defence mechanism -- my mind can't cope with the prospect of what's to come, so it stops me hearing it…
He steps behind the chair and unties my wrists. It strikes me that he's still fully dressed, which puts him in a rather more comfortable position than me. It also strikes me that something is about to happen.
A strange, almost fatalistic, calm comes over me. I am conscious that it is really just a façade, containing the fear and apprehension. The ropes are still attached to my wrists, dangling now.
Jesus, I need a piss.
He tells me to lie face down on the bed. I do as he says.
He picks up one of the ropes attached to my wrists. Pulls it firmly up and out so that my arm is extended as far as it will go, and ties my wrist to the bedpost. Walks round the bed and does the same on the other side. My legs are together.
I wait, my heart in my mouth.
Silence.
And then…
THWACK!
A sudden, stinging slap with his hand, right across my buttocks. I couldn't help the sharp intake of breath, but I know I must try not to react further. A second's pause. I hear him say, calmly, "One".
And then again, and harder. THWACK!!! Instantly followed by his imperious question. "How many?"
In the confusion and shock I don't know what he means. Is he asking me how many times I will feel that hand? I think he said six. Yes, I'm pretty sure he said six. So I say "Six".
I hear him tut.
"How many?". Panic. Confusion. Maybe he wants me to count the strokes. Okay. That was the second. I try again. "Two". His response is instant and his tone of voice is not pleasant.
"Two WHAT??".
I don't know. I don't know.
"I don't know".
He barks it at me. "Two, SIR!".
Meekly I repeat it. Two, Sir.
And again that hand comes down hard. Stinging as it hits the place that's already stinging from the last stroke. It forces the breath out of me and I manage to grunt "Three Sir".
No pauses now. THWACK -- "Four, Sir".
THWACK. Shit. That was much harder. There is a second or two before I am able to speak. I practically shout it. "FIVE, SIR".
And then the hardest stroke. Really hard, but I'm expecting it and the instant it hits I grunt out "Six, Sir".
A pause. Right across both buttocks, my flesh feels hot, and stinging. With something of a shock I realise that that was just the beginning. That was my gentle introduction, no doubt. He has spanked me before tonight. But never that hard.
Fucking hell. Real fear. And… what is that? A little throb in my clit?
I feel his hands on my knickers and he pulls them down.
I am totally naked now - and I feel totally naked. In more ways than one.
Gently, he runs his hands over my buttocks, as if to soothe them. When he speaks there is gentle approval in his voice. "Nice and pink".
He stands up at the side of the bed. A movement and then his belt is on the bed near my face, where I can see it. Then he picks it up.
And something completely unexpected happens. Something that feels totally incongruous… totally inappropriate…
A strong, overwhelming wave of sexual arousal builds in my stomach and spreads right through my body.
It's the sight of the belt. The knowledge that he is about to use it on my naked buttocks. I want it so much I practically have to stop myself from urging him to hurry up. In amongst the confusion, the apprehension, the fear, the arousal… I have half a second to raise an eyebrow and be surprised at my response to the belt.
He moves back out of my sight.
I hear… or sense… his arm going back, ready to bring the belt down on me. A moment's pause and then the belt makes contact with my buttocks.
FUCKING HELL.
I have never felt anything like it before. This HURTS. More than a sting. A sharp, shocking, PAINFUL blow. Maybe I was a little hasty in wanting to feel the belt.
I manage to get the words out, although my voice is hushed and breathless.
"One, Sir".
And again. A little harder. A little sharper. A little more painfully.
And two things happen at once, I hear myself say, loudly, "Two, Sir", and I feel my hips buck away from the bed as it to offer myself for more.
Yes, I want more. My clit is throbbing and my mind is very aroused, picturing what he's doing, waiting for the next stroke…
Four more strokes to come. They come rapidly as I count them out, and each one comes a little harder. After the fifth, I feel something approaching desperation and I realise it's because I don't want him to stop on six. My whole body is responding to the strokes, to the punishment. I want more.
I count out the sixth stroke, my hips lifted off the bed, silently inviting more.
But there are no more.
He unties the ropes. Goes and sits on the chair. Tells me I have to take my next punishment over his knee.
I don't like the idea… but what choice do I have?
Submissively, obediently, I put my body over his knee. His large, warm hand softly runs over the skin on my buttocks… and then he slaps me. HARD. My nerve endings are jangling now, and my buttocks already feel bruised from the belt.
But I know how this works, now.
"One, Sir".
Six hard thwacks on my sore, bruised buttocks. And the humiliation of being over his knee. What kind of weird, fucked-up universe have we wandered into here?
This is so far beyond any experience I've ever had before that it really does feel like another world. Who am I? Who is he? What the fuck are we doing here?
And I realise I don't care. I just want it to go on. Of course I'm scared. Of course I feel WAY out of my depth. Of course.
But I am as aroused as hell too. He hasn't touched me sexually yet. Maybe he won't touch me sexually. But he's now getting very strong sexual responses from me.
I need a piss. So very badly.
He tells me to stand up. He grabs the ropes attached to my wrists and he walks me over to the door. Pulls my wrists above my head and ties them to the big hook on the back of my door (a perfectly innocent hook for hanging my dressing gown on, until right this second). I stand there, face to the door, my arms stretched up so far that I am half on tiptoe… and I wait. My bladder is way too full and my buttocks are SORE and they feel INFLAMED.