Cat is Taken in Hand

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.

I wait.

The first stroke from the belt comes without warning and it FUCKING HURTS. Knocks the wind out of me.

I want more.

"One, Sir".

The punishment is more severe with each stroke. I start to feel weird. Strung out… as if in a dream… it's a good weird.

I am utterly his.

The fifth stroke jolts me back to reality rather viciously. Before I know it, the shout is out of my mouth.

"FUCK!"

He stops. Pauses. Says "What was that?".

Scared again. "I'm sorry. Five, Sir".

"You will be punished with an extra stroke for that impudence". And stroke six comes down so hard that it almost makes my ears ring. I manage to get the words out… "Six, Sir".

There is one more stroke to come and it's going to be a hard one. I start giggling. I have no idea why. Mental confusion, being taken to the limit physically… I don't know.

He is not pleased. "I'm sorry- it's nerves". The belt hits me hard in my bruised, sore buttocks. I want to say "Seven, Sir" but I can't because I'm still giggling. God knows why. The pain is intense.

Again the belt comes down on me. The most punishing stroke so far. It's as though it hits the words out of me. "Eight, Sir". And I'm not giggling.

There is at least one more stroke to come. I want it very much.

The ninth stroke makes my knees buckle. I don't fall because my wrists are secured to the hook.

He stands close behind me. I can't wait any more. I can't hold off any more. "Please… please… I need a piss…"

He tells me I have two choices -- I can piss as I stand there, tied, or I can go to the bathroom -- and piss as he watches.

Picking the lesser of two evils, I allow him to lead me to the bathroom. With the ropes still dangling from my wrists, I sit on the toilet. He crouches in front of me, facing me, and looks me in the eye. Of course I can't let go. In my head I'm shouting "Go away, go away, leave me alone, just for one minute".

Still he holds my gaze. I'm not happy. I stare back. And then that gentle but menacing voice again.

"Such pretty eyes…. and such defiance in them".

Yes, he's read my eyes correctly. I am angry. Can't piss with him watching me, however hard I try… can't go any longer without a piss. Nevertheless I lower my gaze.

An eternity - or ten seconds - later, he tells me to look at him. He looks, quite kindly, into my eyes, and gently asks "How close are you to saying the word?".

For some reason that makes me angrier. I try not to show it. I hold his stare. Quietly, pointedly, defiantly, I say "Not close". And his eyes soften. He asks me what I want. I tell him I want to be left alone for one minute. To my astonishment he says "I will allow that" and he leaves the room.

As I piss, feeling a lot of the tension leaving my body, I wonder if I can walk back into the bedroom and announce that the night I over. That I've had enough.

But I don't want to. I don't want it to stop.

As soon as I walk back into the bedroom he tells me to lie on my back on the bed. I obey and again he stretches out my arms and ties my writs securely to the bedposts. Then I hear clanking and he's got a long metal pole in his hands. He forces my legs apart roughly, until my ankles are near the corners of the bed.

It is a spreader. He secures my ankles to it. There's nothing I can do now. I can't move my arms or lift my body off the bed. I can't close my legs. I am utterly exposed and at his mercy.

Slowly, standing at the foot of the bed, admiring the sight he has created on the bed, he undresses.

There is a cold, dirty, contemptuous look in his eye. A look that tells me he's going to use my body as a THING. It makes me feel very uncomfortable and it makes my mind spin, trying to imagine what's coming next and whether I'll be able to cope with it.

His cock is erect and looks even bigger than its seven-and-a-half inches. Fat and hard and scary and……. Oh fuck, I just want it buried deep inside my cunt. I want it really badly.

But he doesn't put it anywhere near my cunt. He straddles my shoulders and, roughly, he forces it into my mouth. Fucks my mouth, hard and fast, with his full length. Normally I love to deep-throat him. But that's when I can control the speed and the angle and when I can pull back when I need to. Lying on my back, unable to move, with his cock being shoved hard into my throat… I can't breathe. I start to panic. Try and snatch bits of air each time he pulls out an inch or so… but he slams back into me too fast. I can't breathe.

The safe word is HELICOPTER.

But with his cock in my throat, and with my body and arms and legs immobilised, I can't speak and I can't stop him.

He carries on fucking my mouth, forcing his cock repeatedly deep into my throat. He pulls out for a split second and I wrench my head to one side, inhale quickly… and I shout it.

HELICOPTER!

He freezes. Moves his hands to the ropes as if to untie them. Breathlessly, urgently, I say "I'm okay. I'm okay…. But I couldn't breathe… it's okay…".

He goes and takes a slug of the iced wine. Comes back to the bed, moves on top of me, and puts his mouth on mine. An icy little dribble of wine escapes his lips and I lick at it… and then I lift my head a fraction and suck the wine through his lips right out of his mouth.

It feels like the most intimate thing I have ever done with this man, and it makes me want to cry. It also makes my clit throb.

He picks up a candle. Holds it over my body for a second, watching my face as I stare at it and try not to flinch and cringe. And then he tips it and the pain as the wax hits my breast, near the nipple, and the intensifying of that pain… I let out a grunt of panic and alarm. He doesn't stop. He punishes my other breast in the same way.

FUCK that hurts. And not in a good way. Not at all in a good way. He can read my reactions but he doesn't stop. He dribbles a trail of wax down my stomach. This is NOT GOOD. It hurts. It's beyond what I can take. Way beyond what I would ever want…. And then a splash of hot wax on my pubic mound, on the bare, soft, sensitive skin there. I daren't protest for fear of more wax. My teeth are gritted so tight, grinding with the pain, that they are creaking inside my head. Then a huge spilling of wax onto the very top of my inner thigh and I scream out, wordlessly, in pain. I can't take this. I can't take any more. I don't have it in me.

He seems to sense I can't go any further. He puts the candle back down and I experience the biggest flood of relief I have felt all night.

His body moves down the bed. I think he's going to let me have a break. So it comes as a surprise when I feel his fingers on my clit, pulling and rubbing its length as if it were a miniature cock. My response is instant. I can't stop myself from groaning rhythmically as he pulls on my clit. I had got to the point where I was convinced he wasn't going to touch me sexually at all tonight - and the surprise and the intensity of the sensation are overwhelming. Before I can really take in what's happening, his fingers are shoved inside my cunt. Three fingers? Four? He has big hands. I am stretched tight around his fingers and, just as he puts his mouth on my clit and sucks on it rhythmically, he starts fucking my cunt with his hand. He punishes my cunt, stretching it as far as it will stretch and then a little more. Finger-fucks me roughly, urgently… and after what can only be a few seconds, my orgasm builds fast and deep and it hits me like a ton of bricks. Every cell, every part of my body, comes and comes HARD and doesn't stop coming for what feels like forever. He finger-fucks and sucks until I scream at him to stop. I can't take any more. The intensity, the sensitivity, becomes unbearable.

I am still reeling from the orgasm when I realise his body is next to mine… his head is next to mine. And he puts his arms right round me and he hugs me to him and squeezes me tight... and, softly, warmly, into my ear, he mutters…"It's all over. It's over. The nasty man's gone. It's me. It's Paul. It's Paul. You can cry or laugh or talk -- you can do whatever you need to do".

He unties my wrists.

I cling to him. I do want to cry and I do want to laugh. I don't want to talk. Not yet. Mostly I just want him -- Paul -- to hold me tight. And he does hold me tight. And I'm so glad to be with my friend, to be being held by my friend, to feel safe and warm… I am a little tearful, but I feel safe and cared for and I know that everything is okay and that everything will be okay too. Mostly I feel grateful.

Epilogue

The bruises on my buttocks, two of which were very obviously shaped like the end of a belt, don't fade at all for several days, and are still visible over a week later.

As I write this, two weeks to the day after that night, all I can really think about is how much I want some new belt-shaped bruises there.

You might say I'm a convert.