Retiring the Paddle

she grunted with each impact of the wide polished oak paddle. No longer did she sob, no longer did she scream, yet each grunt was loud despite the muffling of the pillow.

she was taking it quite well, extremely well. While her body continued to jump and twist involuntarily with each strike, while her limbs pulled instinctively against the chains which connected her ankle and wrist cuffs to the four posts of the sturdy bed, she was taking it all incredibly well.

her flesh was a solid crimson red, quite aglow with fiery heat and agonizing pain. The coloration was strangely beautiful, yet also a proud reminder of why she was being severely pummeled with the paddle. The virginal white of her favorite thong presented a stark contrast, both in color and in meaning, with the crimson red covering each of her soft lower cheeks. The black of the bed sheet beneath her further enhanced the aesthetics of her forced discoloration.

*****

I returned to an empty house. That was expected, as this was the night of her weekly review session for her biochemistry class, so she would return from the university about 9:30PM.

I returned to an empty house. ...or so I had thought.

Upon entering through the front door, something did not feel "right." The house was entirely dark. At first, I thought that I had neglected to turn on the lights before I had gone out for coffee, but even that did not provide enough of an explanation to satisfy My curious mind.

I turned on a small lamp near the front door, and that was when I saw it: a purse with a Bettie Page design on its side. Unless she had purchased it that day, My slave did not own such a purse. I naturally suspected, therefore, that she had invited someone over, which was fine in itself, although I would have preferred to have been apprised of such a visit beforehand.

However, to have a visitor yet leave the house completely dark meant one of two things: 1.) My slave and her visitor were in the back yard, perhaps in the pool; 2.) My slave and her visitor were doing naughty things... without My permission.

I sighed. If only the former, then that would not be a violation of the Rules; I would simply give My sweet slave a gentle scolding after her visitor had left the house.

If the latter, however, then she would be punished severely, especially since she had broken that particular Rule twice before.

Quietly, I slipped off My shoes, then slowly made My way toward the kitchen. Looking out through the window, hidden in the shadows, I gazed past the in-ground pool and upon My slave and her best friend since preschool, both kneeling in the bright silvery moonshine, clutching each other with one arm while furiously masturbating each other, kissing rapidly to muffle any sounds they might make. Such a brazen Sapphic display simultaneously aroused Me and saddened Me, and I retreated further into the house to notify the Mistress of My slave's best friend and to prepare for the punishment which must be administered.

*****

The chains rattled mercilessly, singing of her consensual captivity. The grunts continued incessantly, announcing her physical and psychological agony. The paddle befell her repeatedly, its crack unmistakable as it split the air, administering still more of the punishment she was to endure.

Yet through it all – through the act of punishing her, through the pain of forcing pain upon her – I was proud of her, for she had yet to use her safeword, even though I had never before punished her this severely.

*****

I was sitting at the kitchen table the following morning, drinking coffee and reading an editorial in the local newspaper, when My weary slave meekly entered the kitchen and knelt beside Me. Upon My thigh, she buried her face in her folded arms, and sobbed sincerely. All I could do was gently stroke her head, run My fingers through her lengthy reddish locks, and allow her to pour her grief upon Me. I knew that she had not slept overnight, that her banishment to the floor had hurt her much worse, much more deeply than the pain caused by the paddle.

This was the opportunity for her to truly let go of her guilt, of her grief, of her inner pain that she had inflicted upon herself throughout the night. No words were said. No words needed to be said.

And when My slave lifted her flushed, tear-stained face to me at last, I could see the relief in her eyes, as well as the unspoken promise to never break that Rule again.

And that was when I knew that I could retire the paddle and never need to use it upon her again.