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Crawling to the bed, like the obedient little fuck boy I am, I do as she says when she tells me to lie on my stomach and hold still as she binds my wrists and legs to the bedposts so that I’m sprawled out and completely exposed for her.
I can’t see much, but I hear the click of her heels as she crosses the room, and I give her a politeyes, ma’amfor every bit of instruction she gives me: about how she’s going to warm me up first and start slow, what she’ll use on me, and how I have to count out loud with each hit.
It reminds me of that feeling you get when you’re about to get on a roller coaster. My stomach is tight with anticipation, fear laced with thrill. The unknown looming ahead with both the promise of fun and the threat of danger.
I’m not an idiot—I know this is going to hurt, but pain has always enticed me. I want to feel it in the same way most people fear it. Like a fuse about to reach the dynamite, I need the pain to give me the release I’m looking for. I crave the explosion.
“Ready?” she asks.
Pressing my forehead against the mattress, I nod. “Yes, ma’am.”
The first smack of the paddle is easy. It stings, but goes away quickly, leaving only a subtle throb behind.
“One,” I call. There’s a moment of nothing before the second blow, this one a little harder. It’s like the click-click-click of the coaster as it carries me up to the peak of the ride. Torturous anticipation.
“Two,” I announce.
The third smack is even harder, but I’m hyped up with confidence. I can handle this.
With each hit of the paddle, my cock stirs and my body tingles with excitement. It hurts, but it’s also erotic as fuck.
By the time the dozen paddle smacks are over, I’moverlyconfident. Maybe my pain tolerance is too high for this. But I’m in my sub role, which means I can’t ask her for anything, including to hit me harder.
“How are you feeling?” she asks as I hear her put the paddle down.
“Good, ma’am.”
“Can I get a color?”
“A color?”
“Green, yellow, or red, Beau? Or were you not paying attention when I was giving you the rules?” I was definitely not paying attention, so it’s a good thing I’ve read up on the traffic light safeword system.
“Oh, green. Sorry, Ma’am.”
She fists my hair and pulls it back, so my head is level with her face. “Good boy.”
I smile against the mattress after she releases me, a feeling of pride washing over me when I hear her pick something else up.
“This is what you wanted, wasn’t it? You wanted me to punish you.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Keep that in mind. We’ll do twelve this time,” she replies. Moments later, a widespread pain throbs at the back of my right thigh. It aches, causing my muscles to tense along my legs and back.
“Oh, fuck!” I howl as I fight against the restraints. That was unexpected.
“I think you should thank me as you count, since I’m giving you what you wanted.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” I growl against the mattress.
It strikes again at my left thigh, just under my ass, and I let out a long grunt again.
“Don’t forget to count.”
“Two. Thank you, ma’am.” I groan.
This pain is more exhausting than the sting of the paddle. I never know where it’s going to hit as she swings in a figure eight pattern, striking up and then down. The wide reach of the flogger means it hurtseverywhere. My forehead is starting to sweat, and the only thing my mind can focus on is counting, each accompanied by athank you, ma’am.
