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“Looks like soap…”
With those fateful words, she opens her mouth wide enough for me to slip the bar inside.
Her reaction is one of immediate disgust and of course to attempt to escape the unpleasant but harmless taste. As much as she wriggles, I keep the pressure on, ensuring that the foaming soap covers her tongue and fills her mouth with a taste that will not soon be forgotten.
When it comes to biting, the habit must be stopped abruptly and immediately the moment it happens. There can be no mercy, no quiet talks, and no gentle handling.
I hold the soap in her mouth, and I lecture her sternly. “You do not bite. Not anybody. Not ever. Not me. Not anyone else. Do you understand?”
There are bubbles emerging from her mouth as she swiftly nods, giving up all pretense of fight as she chooses obedience over soap. It is good to know that she is capable of giving to pressure. I was starting to think she might be one of the rare breeds of human with no capacity for regard for consequences. Some people can be punished past the point of all sense and still have absolutely no tendency to change their behavior.
This is not my pet’s problem. She is simply stubborn and spoiled and has never met a consequence until this moment.
The expression in her big brown eyes is exquisite. Truly beautiful. Tears are gathering in a misty haze, making her eyes bright. She is holding back those tears, but only just. I can see other emotions too, confusion, and perhaps even gratitude. There must be some small part of her that is relieved to have finally met someone who will not allow her to act as she pleases all the time.
Finally, I pull the soap from her mouth and point to a corner of my office where the desk meets the bare wall before guiding her to the spot where I want her to be. She takes the few steps I want and then stands quite still. The seat of her bodysuit is still lowered, revealing her bright red cheeks. I take a moment to place her hands on her head, palms down, one over the other.
“Stand there and stay,” I order.
To her credit, or perhaps to the credit of shock and awe, she does stay there for a good minute or two, completely still, her shoulders shaking just a little with the sobs she refuses to let out.
I sit back on my chair and watch her, this brief moment of almost serene obedience. I know what she is like. I know she is chaotic and rebellious, and I know that this punishment will wear off and she will return to that state. But something will have been learned in between. The next time her jaws begin to part with the intention of biting, she will still them for at least a moment. Hesitation will become part of her experience of disobedience rather than unconsidered impulsive action.
After a short time, she begins to squirm. It is inevitable. She is uncomfortable and emotional. Her body is awash with chemical impulses and old thought patterns vying for control in this new situation. I hear slight vocalizations emerging from her. She wants to speak disrespectfully. She wants to yell and curse and throw her relatively diminutive weight around.
She does none of it, and once another few short seconds pass, I retrieve her from the corner. I do not want to push her past the point of her limited capacity for obedience. I want to keep her right there and give her relief at the moment she was most submissive.
“You are going to wash that soap out of your mouth now,” I tell her. “And you are going to keep your teeth for eating and nothing else. Understand?”
I get a brief, evasive nod. She does not want to look at me. She is ashamed, not of her bad behavior, but of her submission. It is a humiliation to a creature like this to bend her will in any way to that of another. I will have to ensure there are abundant awards for obedience if I am to truly make her mine.
There is a water supply in all the human cages. I let her go and make use of the one she was just in, trying not to appear too amused as she splashes and splutters in the effort to remove all traces of soap from the inside of her mouth. It is an effort doomed to fail. She will be tasting that punishment for quite some time.
When she has as much of the soap out of her mouth as possible, she looks at me with an ever-so-slightly chastened expression.
“Are we done?”
“Far from it, little one. Come here.”
Her face falls, and I see temptation to disobedience written clearly on her features. She wants to defy me, but even as her eyes dart about the room she can see that there is no escape. She can obey me, or she can disobey me, and either way she will suffer the consequences.
Her feet take slow steps as she delivers herself to me. The outfit her erstwhile owners chose for her does not suit her, but in this particular moment it does lend a certain vulnerability.
She’s very cute. But she’s much naughtier than she is cute.
I take her by the hand once she is in range and draw her back over my lap. She lets me take her over my thighs with a soft sob and lies almost like a tamed pet in place. I spread my palm over her cheeks, feel the deserved heat, and swat her lightly.
Jen
My mouth tastes like soap, my ass feels like it's made of lava, and I don’t know what’s happened to me. I am lying over Arkan’s thighs, letting him spank my already whipped ass and not even trying to destroy him.
He’s done something to me that I didn’t think was possible. He’s made me compliant. I don’t even feel like biting him, or scratching him, or calling him the worst thing I can possibly concoct in my mind. It’s such a strange feeling, I’d almost wonder if I’d been drugged if I hadn’t experienced every painful stroke and foam of his punishment firsthand.
At least he is being more gentle now. The slaps are not as punitive, and his tone when he speaks is softer.
“I think you’re already starting to feel what is on the other side of obedience, pet,” he purrs gently, stroking and rubbing my very sore rear with careful motions. “This doesn’t have to hurt. None of it does. If you can behave, you will be happy. I promise you that.”
My eyelids are heavy. Maybe this is okay. Maybe…
