It’s worse because I know what’s coming, can anticipate the pain, can feel my muscles tensing in preparation, and still—I arch into it like some twisted masochist starving for moresensation, any sensation. Not because I want the pain itself, not because I’m seeking punishment. But because I want anything that takes away the ache still burning between my legs, anything that distracts from the unsatisfied need coiled in my core like a serpent.
I want distraction through destruction.
A reason for the way I’m falling apart inside that has nothing to do with how desperately I need to cum.
“One,” he says, voice low and measured.
Then the belt cracks across my skin with controlled force.
It isn’t cruel, not yet, not the full weight of his strength behind it. Not unforgiving or deep enough to truly hurt. Just enough to sting, enough to make my nerve endings light up, enough to start carving the lesson he wants me to learn into my flesh like a brand. I gasp—sharp and shocked, the sound punched from my lungs—but I don’t cry out, refuse to give him that satisfaction.
“Two,” he counts with ominous patience.
Another strike lands, lower this time, meaner in its placement, finding sensitive skin.
My back arches involuntarily and my breath punches from my lungs in a strangled exhale and I bite the inside of my cheek hard enough to taste copper flooding my mouth. The silk sheets beneath me muffle the sound that escapes despite my best efforts, but it’s there—tiny, involuntary, damning. A whimper I didn’t mean to give him, didn’t want to surrender.
He hears it anyway, of course he does—he’s listening for every small betrayal.
“That’s better,” he murmurs with dark satisfaction. “That’s the sound of surrender starting to bloom in your throat, the first cracks appearing in that stubborn façade.”
I shake my head against the mattress, hair sticking to my damp cheeks. “I’m not?—”
“You are,” he interrupts with absolute certainty.
The next hit lands harder, more deliberately cruel.
Three.
This one burns properly, searing across my skin like a brand, like fire, like punishment made tangible.
Not as much as the silence that follows, heavy and expectant and somehow worse than the pain itself because he doesn’t keep going as I’d expected, doesn’t maintain the rhythm or build the intensity.
Instead, he drops the belt entirely. I hear it fall to the floor with a soft thud against expensive carpet. Then his hand and hook is on my thighs, rough palms against sensitive skin, spreading me wider with inexorable force, forcing me open even though I’m already trembling and exposed and vulnerable.
And then—nothing follows.
He steps away, breaks contact completely.
Lets the cold air of the room hit my heated, slick core.
Leaves me tied up and used and aching and alone.
“This is what you get,” he says, his voice turning cruel again, that lazy, mocking edge sharpening like the gleam of his hook in low light. “You wanted release, wanted to cum so badly you’d do anything. I gave you punishment instead. You pressed the button knowing what it meant. Now I get to decide when—if—you earn what comes next.”
I sob into the sheets, the sound muffled but audible, humiliated and furious and so wet it’s shameful, like my body doesn’t know how to be loyal to my mind, doesn’t understand that it’s supposed to hate this.
He circles the bed slowly, the ancient floorboards creaking with each measured step as if he’s dragging this out purely for his own pleasure and entertainment. Maybe he is—probably he is.
“You’re going to stay like this,” he tells me with casual cruelty. “For as long as I want, for as long as it takes. Not because it hurts—pain is easy, pain is simple. But because you need to remember what power actually tastes like, what it means to have none.”
I don’t answer, can’t answer.
I can’t speak past the tightness in my throat, can’t think past the desperate need still pulsing between my thighs.
I’m choking on the truth that’s been building all evening, the realisation that’s been creeping up on me like dawn breaking over a landscape I don’t want to see.
He’s winning this game we’re playing and it’s not just my body anymore that he’s claiming, not just my flesh that he’s marking as his territory.
