tagMind ControlBeetlesmith's Ch. 17

Beetlesmith's Ch. 17


I would like to thank Bella Mariposa for her time in helping to edit this chapter.


I've never been into the discipline/bondage genre of sex games. I was always under the impression that to be a good disciplinarian was just a matter of unleashing your 'inner asshole.' I never liked being an asshole, so I wasn't into bondage/discipline—nothing much more to it than that. It's not that I looked down on coerced or forced sexual control; it's just that they never appealed to me.

Oh, I know there must be a bit more nuance to B and D than what I've just described, such as the psychological pressure one must exert over another in order to garner that willingness to be controlled. However, in the end, isn't that what control boils down to, being enough of a hard-ass—enough of an asshole—to willingly subjugate another and to keep them under your thumb?

Added to my innate indifference for the genre is the fact I never wanted a vassal, submissive or slave as a wife. I always viewed Karen as an equal partner in life; someone who, at times, I could lean on, as she could lean on me. Moreover, given Karen's headstrong nature, it was easy for us to achieve that balance in our marriage. She no more wanted to be a submissive, than I wanted to be a Dominant—sexually or otherwise. In this regard, we were well matched for each other.

All of that has changed. The elixir, and the events of the past few weeks, has converted me to a new way of thinking. I have become a newly born disciple in the art of control—if not out of want, at least out of necessity.

I had a real problem with Karen. If I couldn't teach her some restraint and control, and do it quickly, then things could get ugly with her newfound abilities. If I couldn't get her to rein in her darker nature, her interactions with others could very well get dangerous, if not deadly.

The only way I knew how to lessen the psychotic aftereffects of the elixir was obtaining and maintaining absolute control over her, over everything she did, over her whole life—just as I had done with myself during those weeks in hell. In this way, and with the help of my controlling influence, maybe she could learn how to control herself. So when the psychotic events do occur, bringing out her darker nature, she can better handle them and hopefully purge those dark thoughts before she actualized them with an innocent person.


That Friday at work—the day I left Karen naked and in the kitchen after giving her my ultimatums—was uneventful.

Candice called in sick, for obvious reasons given her behavior from the day before, and the post-quarterly meetings with Jack wouldn't happen until next week. It's just as well that I had little to do that day; the free time allowed me to consolidate my thoughts and construct a detailed plan on how to deal with Karen.

I implemented that plan the minute I got home that evening.

As expected, Karen greeted me at the door on her knees. She was naked, except for my chain, and dinner was already prepared and on the table.

I kissed her on the forehead for her obedience, while pushing calming and blissful feelings into her. Her face brightened and I felt her pulse jump to the warm glow of serenity that I caused in her.

When I sat down to dinner, I put her plate of food on the floor, and told her that she was not to sit at the table with me. I didn't go so far as to make her eat the food directly off the floor, as she had done to Barbara, but I did stress she was only to eat with her fingers.

We mostly ate in silence, except near the end of the meal when I asked about her day.

"Did you talk to Lisa?"

She nodded in answer.

"And did you apologize to her?"

She sniffed back a tear before answering, "Yes, Sir."

"And how did she react? What did she say?"

Between quiet sobs, she said, "She laughed at me. It was hateful."

"Well, you only have yourself to blame for her bad feelings," I said as gently but honestly as I could, "I'll talk with her in a few days. Let me see if I can mend the rift between you two. Would you like that?"

She smiled and nodded in answer.

"And what did she say when you gave her permission to keep seeing me?"

She hesitated in answering, tipping me off that something was wrong. Finally, she said matter-of-factly, "She didn't say anything about it."

"Nothing? Not a word? You tell another woman she can fuck your husband any time she wants, and she says nothing? Not even a 'thank you' or a 'no thank you?'"

She didn't respond, dropping her eyes to the floor in obvious shame.

"She didn't say anything because you didn't tell her. Isn't that right?"

Karen's lower lip began to quiver as tears streamed anew. A feeble, "Please, I couldn't...," was all she could squeak out under my scornful glare.

"Why couldn't you?"

"Because she laughed at me," she said, amid gut-wrenching sobs.

Standing above her, I slowly took off my belt, while saying disappointedly, "Only the first day and already you need to be punished. Get all the way down on your elbows and knees and grovel for mercy."

"No...please...don't," she wailed, "I promise, I'll call her and tell her..."

"Yes, I know you will. Now, get down and grovel at my feet and beg that I don't leave you."

She put her forehead all the way to the floor, while clutching hard at my feet with her outstretched hands. All she could do was wail.

"I said beg!" I roared.

She begged, wailed, and begged some more until her throat was hoarse and dry.

After I thought she groveled enough, I commanded, "Now raise your ass up...higher...plant your feet to the floor and lift that cheating ass straight into the air. No! Keep your fucking forehead on the floor and lift that ass!"

She labored mightily against the awkward position I put her into, with her head and feet flat on the floor, and ass in the air with her legs straight. The position caused the muscles all along her backside to tighten; so much so, I could see her legs wobble against the strain.

I kept her in that position until beads of sweat formed along her thighs from the strain in her legs, at which point I whipped her ass three times with my belt—three, forceful and deliberate strokes with the belt—just like mother would have done—and the three, long, red welts that erupted across her backside where a testament to the ferocity of my punishment.

Each time I brought the belt down, she screamed in terror and pain. The source of the pain was obvious, but the terror I inflicted was born from another place—fomented by the feelings of utter dread, despair and hopelessness I projected into her with my mind.

"Alright, I've punished you enough for now."

Karen collapsed to the floor, and weeping, she immediately curled into the fetal position.

Between sobs of pain and fear, she gingerly ran a finger along the welts, only to quickly pull it away as she winced at the lingering, searing pain.

"Now, call Lisa and beg her to keep fucking me."


That's how things were for the next couple of weeks. I rewarded her good behavior with a gentle kiss or caress, and supplemented these affections with overwhelming feelings of bliss, calm and warmth. Conversely, bad behavior was met with the belt. More importantly, the physical punishment was augmented with those overriding, deep-seated feelings of utter dread, hopelessness, despair, and above all else, fear.

Reward the good, punish the bad. 'Dog morality' is what my old philosophy teacher sneeringly called it. Herr Schilpp would have disapproved of my methods, but I knew no better way given the limited time afforded me. I didn't have decades to play with; I only had weeks to attain some measure of control over her. Well, I always thought Schilpp was a monkey dick, anyway.

Throughout the days of reward and punishment, I kept Karen on a separate plane from me: me above, her below. When we were together, she always stayed on the floor. She ate on the floor, slept on the floor, and during those quiet times just before bed, when I read in my easy chair, she sat on the floor beside me watching television.

I wasn't always the stern, robotic disciplinarian, doling out either tranquility or torment, and I didn't treat her as she treated Barbara, as a dog. Rather, I saw my role as a stable master in charge of a fine thoroughbred—a beautiful, high-spirited animal that needed to be taught discipline, so that she could be ridden effortlessly and securely. I needed to break her spirit, to be sure, but not eradicate it completely. Once I had broken her down enough to achieve a level of control over her, only then could I begin to rebuilt her confidence and make her an equal partner in my life again.

Along these lines, and every few days or so, I would dote on her with a hot bath. I'd ready the tub and let her soak in it for a good thirty minutes to an hour. As she soaked, I would scrub her with a soapy sponge or exfoliate her feet, knees and elbows with a fine-grade emery brush or loofah. She would never lay back and lounge, though—probably fearing I would think that arrogant and haughty—thus, requiring of more punishment. Instead, she would always sit upright, silently watching me with her big blue eyes as I pampered her. After drying her, I would rub her down with a light mineral oil, or soothe the chaffed skin of her knees and elbows with her favorite lotion.

It all became a ritual for us; mostly because our preening sessions were really the only time I allowed myself any degree of intimate contact with her. As such, Karen looked on the baths and massages with greater anticipation and enthusiasm as the days passed.

Naturally, I denied her sex of any kind, and she became increasingly frustrated with me. She took out her frustration by toying with me in a loving manner; mostly by the demure way she held herself in the bath, with head tipped down and her eyes staring up at me in a show of innocence, all done while pushing her breasts out, accentuating their lush fullness and sensuousness, or by the cute way she would lift her hips off the floor in an inviting manner whenever I rubbed oil into the small of her back or buttocks.

Much to her disappointment, I ignored all her enticements.

Moreover, I grew to love her more—if that's possible—because of her little enticements and disappointments. As such, I reached my own form of catharsis with her during these primping sessions; coming to the conclusion that I had made the right choice in staying with her, becoming a teacher, rather than abandoning her for good after her last betrayal.

Disappointed though she was my imposed celibacy, my strategy of 'dog morality,' coupled with my lavished, chaste attentions, was having a positive effect. For as the days passed, the punishments become fewer and farther between, and I was able to imbue her soul with greater and more deeply felt draughts of bliss, calm and serenity. Soon, she became happy in her role as submissive—almost joyful, really.

Unfortunately, all that I've just described, taught her but one type of control—command over her internal, selfish nature; however, it didn't go very far in teaching her the type of control she needed in order to combat those, more or less, external forces that were formed through our use of the elixir.

Lack of sex was having a deleterious effect on her, both physically and emotionally. She was experiencing the same agony I had suffered through. I used that hellish condition to great effect in teaching her the self-discipline she would need to fight those forces and ultimately, her inner darkness.


At first, she didn't take my edicts to remain chaste very well or very seriously, and continued to masturbate when the sexual urges became too difficult for her to control.

I knew about these misbehaviors, and always told her in nauseating detail when, where and how she pleasured herself before putting her in that same, awkward position and whipping her with my belt.

The belt came out—fast and furious—during those first few days, and her backside, from the top of her buttocks to down past her thighs, was covered with an ugly assortment of red welts.

Eventually, she came to realize that I couldn't be fooled, and stopped her masturbatory misbehavior.

However, even though she had stopped masturbating, the natural ramping of her sexual arousal never stopped, and would gradually increase with each passing day until it became unbearable.

Worse for me than seeing the welts across her backside, was seeing her in these advanced states of sexual frenzy, because I knew the agony she was going through.

It was usually when Karen was nearing the height of sexual agony that I would schedule our preening sessions with a follow-up massage, and it was during the massage portion of these sessions when I would really put the screws to her, testing her endurance and control.

I found it easier to have her lie on our coffee table in the living room when I massaged her. Each time, as I worked the oil into her welts—making sure the excess collagen wouldn't find a home beneath them and leave a scar—I would push her even higher into sexual frenzy.

I could never get over feeling her arousal welling up deep within her groin, like a breached aquifer producing a spring, and filling her to near overflowing with sexual desire. It was exhilarating, but also a little terrifying, to feel that intense, sexual power growing within her, trying to force her to act on those burgeoning, erotic urges.

The begging would start when the power of the erotic sensations grew too strong.

"Please Sir, fuck me."


"Please Master! I need you to fuck me. I want to feel your cock inside me. I need to come."

"I said no. You need to control these urges. What happens when I'm not here and the urges grab you? How long before you play with yourself against my wishes, or find someone else to fuck...Barbara again, or perhaps even Mark?"

"No! Please Master; I would never do that again. I love you!"

"Then prove it to me by controlling your cravings."

She whined, knowing I wasn't going to help her, and that's when the wriggling and writhing would start. They were a subtle shifting of her legs and body against the surface she laid on, done in order to garner enough stimulation to make herself come.

Each time she started her wriggling, I would spank her ass hard and roar, "Stop that! Now lie still and control yourself. If you can behave for just another hour, maybe I'll let you come."

With a great deal of effort, she did gain control as I felt her heightened state of arousal slacken. Unfortunately, the void left by her lessening arousal was quickly filled by that all too familiar, growing sense of nausea.

"I'm feeling sick, again," she said, with a hint of panic in her voice.

"I know. It's happened to me a lot."

"Please make it stop."

"I can't, but you can. You need to push those dark, salacious thoughts out of your head."

"I can't..."

"Yes you can. Try for me."

She held on for quite a while, but eventually the nausea became too much for her, causing her to vomit.

When I first pushed her to these extremes, Karen couldn't get to the bathroom quick enough and caused a terrible mess. Now, I had a large bowl with me for those moments when the nausea overcomes her.

When she was done throwing up, I would lead her to the bathroom to clean her. Wiping a dampened cloth around her mouth, I could tell that the nausea and arousal had temporarily receded.

Kissing her sweetly on the forehead while pushing blissful feelings into her, I said, "You did well this time, sweetheart. You lasted nearly an hour, and I know how difficult it was for you. You're learning how to hold it off, to keep it back. You're leaning control."

She looked up at me with those large, blue eyes, and asked the same question she always asked at about this time, "What's happening to me?"

I always answered her the same way, "I'll tell you when you're ready."

"When will that be?"

"Soon...Now let's go back into the living room, and I'll finish working the oil into your welts."

For the first time since we started her training she became disagreeable, albeit mildly, "No, please Sir, no more tonight. I don't want to get sick again."

"Just a bit longer so those welts don't become permanent. And if you try real hard at keeping those naughty thoughts out of your head, I bet you won't get sick."

Of course, once I got her back on the coffee table, I purposely took a deliciously long time working my oily hands around her buttocks and thighs, while pushing more sordid thoughts into her mind. She did as good a job as she's ever done holding back her ever mounting sexual excitement, but again I put her at peak arousal.

Usually, I would continue massaging her until she vomited again. However, when she put forth a monumental effort in stemming the growing tide of arousal and nausea, as she was doing tonight, I would reward her.

Sensing the upwelling of sickness within her, I squirted another liberal amount of oil in my hand and gently massaged her vulva.

Immediately, her nausea receded, and her breathing intensified, punctuated by an occasional soft moan. I hadn't even parted the soft folds of her pussy to attend to its more sensitive parts, but already I could feel her arousal screaming rapidly to climax.

Breathlessly, she squeaked, "Oh, thank you Master. It feels so...so good."

"You've been a good girl tonight. Now, I don't want you coming too quickly."

"Oh no, I'll try not to, but please don't stop."

Kissing the nape of her neck, I gently commanded, "Get up on your knees, but keep your head down on the table."

All she needed was a gentle, teasing finger tracing along her inner labia to set her off.

The metaphorical water balloon burst, sending a heavy spray of fluid rushing down her legs and across the table top. When my finger finally touched her button, there was another gush of fluid, accompanied by repeated, violent spasms of her body. And when I gently rubbed an oily finger around her asshole—that technique she so loves to do to herself—she screamed abruptly before collapsing back onto her stomach. A fine trickle of ejaculate still continued to flow out of her pussy well after I removed my fingers.

Now you know why we do most of this on the coffee table, it's easier to clean than the carpet.

"Didn't I tell you not to come too quickly?"

"Yes Sir, but you're too good for me and to me."

"Appealing to my ego won't make me go easier on you. In fact, I find it insulting. Get your ass back into the air."

With only a small amount of protest, she assumed the punishment position, and I gave her five hard spanks with my hand.

"Now, go to your spot in the bedroom. I want you to be sleeping by the time I go to bed."

And that's how things would be between us for at least another week. Sometimes she did much better, and I'd reward her by getting her off with a vibrator. Other times she didn't do as well, and as such, spend much of those evenings throwing up in the bowl. However, in the end she did attain a level of control over herself—at least over her darker tendencies—that went beyond my initial expectations.


Punishing and training Karen weren't the only things on my plate.

Although I made Karen a celibate—at least temporarily—I held myself to no such restriction. Thus, I always slotted a little time to play with some of the other women I've come to know. Usually I'd alternate between Jackie and Cecilia, or hook up with Lisa. I saw Barbara on occasion, but never with her mother. I didn't feel right about the incestuous interlude I put them through—in fact, I feel like a real asshole for initiating the affair, and one I made sure never to repeat. Thinking back on it, I still can't figure out why I did it except to chalk it up to a bout of temporary insanity, triggered by my rage at Karen.

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