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“Hands on your head. Don’t move them. I’m going to make you cry again, Gemma,” he said unpleasantly.
Turning to his desk, he picked up a thick wooden ruler. An old-fashioned implement - the traditional foot long ruler with faded grooves marked along it. Standing between my legs, Jason leant towards me, his left hand pressed against the wall above mine, his right hand clutching the rule. I turned my face to one side and squeezed my eyes shut.
“Owww,” was the only sound I could make as he smacked the ruler between my legs, hitting my right inner thigh hard.
“Say it,” his voice soft and icy cold.
“One, sir” I gasped. Oh fuck, it was going to hurt like crazy. He was not going to skimp on pain when it came to punishments. He knew I was not a fan of using my inner thighs as a target area. We had discussed it as something that I did not find erotically pleasing and he immediately suggested it as suitable for using for punishments. I agreed, gave my consent to his thoughts and filed the conversation away. I could not expect to enter into a D/s relationship without discipline and Jason wanted to explore my tolerances, not shy away from them.
Slap!
I tried to lift my body up and away as he hit me, but his left hand pressed down on my shoulder preventing me.
“Two, sir,” I screeched at him.
He stepped to one side to enable a good swing of his hand. I so desperately wanted to draw my legs together.
“No apart!” he spotted my creeping knees moving.
I sucked air into my lungs as I counted out the next blows, three, four, five and then six. He looked like he was stopping. I gritted my teeth and he continued his onslaught of my delicate area. He did not have to hit particularly hard, only a moderate slap would make me cry out in anguish as the throbbing pain grew. For some reason I could not process the pain. I was out of practice and in unknown territory. I was trying to block unwanted images, fearful emotions not pain and the battle in my mind was making me dizzy with confusion.
He stopped to push a finger inside me. I winced. I had to acknowledge that once again my perverted sexual habits had kicked in. I was becoming wet, though insufficient for penetration. The arousal had crept up on me unannounced like all my submissive tendencies; it came from deep within, unexplained and inherent. It did not mean consent for intercourse, the idea was far from my mind. It was my body betraying me, giving off false messages about my mental state. What would Jason make of it? My supposed arousal?
“Ten, sir” I was banging the back of my head against the wall in frustrated pain. I opened my moist eyes and Jason’s blue ones were there, observing me closely.
Slap!
I jumped again and all of a sudden the emotions were overwhelming. I wanted to cry now but the tears would take too much effort and I refused to let tears betray my emotions. I wanted to be strong, not weak and lost to fear.
Would he stop if I asked him to?
Was Jason like the other one, my bad master?
Would Jason push my limits and pain threshold for his own wicked designs with no regard for my safety? Or would he punish me in a controlled environment, allowing me to trust him?
There for a moment was an unwanted memory, flashed before my eyes and I was afraid. My head began to swim, spin about and a torrent of fear hit me as if it was a tsunami. I was drowning... a blanket of nothingness was descending on me.
“Red, Red!” The words stumbled out of my mouth.
Jason’s face changed to concern. He dropped the ruler behind him on to the desk and took my hands from my head where they gripped my hair in tension. For a few minutes, he spoke to me, words I could not comprehend and I absorbed his tone, which was tender and repetitious. I nodded to him, that I was back in the room, back
there with him.
“OK, babe. You’re very strong, I know that, and stubborn. I’m satisfied. Punishment over.”
Now the tears came uncontrollably, heaving sobs on to his shoulder. He wrapped his arms around me and pulled me towards him.
We were lying on the bed. He had covered me with a robe, having carried me upstairs from his study, and between my legs was an ice pack, cooling my painful beaten thigh. Jason was stroking my hair back off my face while resting on one elbow. His aftercare was faultless I had to admit.
“Second time you’ve safe-worded me,” he looked sullen.
“I wanted to cry I think, but you’re right I can be pretty stubborn. I want to submit to you fully, but on the other hand I have personal pride issues I suppose.” I did not mention the memory, the fear. I could not articulate those thoughts. They only ever appeared as images in my mind.
“Well, you did the right thing.” He lifted the ice pack off for an inspection. “If things get too much you have to stop me, even if you don’t complete the punishment. I won’t suspend safe-words for disciplining you.” He was nothing but reasonable in his negotiations.
“Thank you, sir.”
“The punishment is over. I’m not inclined to continue. The matter is closed.” Jason did not appear to be too disappointed. He had been assessing me, taking measure of my responses to pain. I began to suspect he regretted his stance - the need to control my trips to the gym. However, he did not rescind the stipulation and I reflected on the events in his study.
