I was in a relationship with Erika for about a year before she left me. I don't really blame her for leaving me. She said I was emotionally distant and generally cold; both traits that I cannot deny that I possess. When she told me that we were done I was mostly okay with it – I knew the relationship wasn't working out just as well as she did. Still, she was the first woman to ever leave me and it hurt a bit.

It didn't help when I found out later that she had left me for another man. I'm fairly certain that she never cheated on me and I'm not the jealous type, but it never feels good to find out that someone you once cared about has a crush on someone that isn't you. A mutual friend told me that she viewed him as more stable and friendly than me. It was still mildly painful but it made it a little easier for me to accept. She probably needed someone who was a little less insane than me, and again, I knew things wouldn't have worked out between us anyway.

I got over her fairly quickly, probably proving that she was right about how cold I was in the process. After a week or so I no longer thought about her at all. I had virtually forgotten that she even existed when she called me up about four months after we had broken up.

I let the first call go to voice mail. I didn't think about her, but I still remembered her phone number and didn't really have anything to say. We were done, she had all of her stuff back and I had all of mine, and I just wasn't interested in talking to her. My phone played the tone to indicate that she had left a message, I ignored it. I figured I might listen to it later if I felt like it.

A few seconds later, my phone began ringing again. I considered answering, but didn't really feel like it. Pressing the red button I sent it straight to voice mail. She didn't leave a message that time.

A couple seconds later it rang yet again. At that point, I was a little concerned – the behavior wasn't like her and I suspected that something might have been wrong. I didn't love her, but I didn't feel right just turning my back on her if she was having some kind of emergency. Concerned yet mildly irritated, I answered the phone.

Sounding slightly drunk, she started with small talk. She asked me how I was doing, what I was up to, et cetera. I wasn't in the mood for it, so I asked her point blank what the fuck she wanted. She sounded a little hurt that I had cut her off so rudely, but that really wasn't my problem.

She apologized for leaving me and told me that she really hadn't ever cheated on me. I told her I believed her, but I didn't care. I wasn't mad about her leaving me, and honestly I thought she probably made the right decision. She sounded a little hurt to hear that, but it was the truth.

She told me that she regretted her decision to leave me even if I didn't. Apparently the sex with the other man had been excruciatingly bad – the same super-respectful and gentle attitude that he exhibited in real life carried over into the bedroom. Erika liked rough and competitive, he was giving her slow and romantic. She realized when he asked her if it felt good that he was just trying to please her, but she saw it as a lack of confidence.

I was torn. The fact that she said she regretted leaving me made me a little uneasy – I really didn't want her back, and wasn't looking forward to having that awkward conversation. At the same time, I'm embarrassingly vulnerable to flattery. When she told me that she was worried she'd never find a man who could satisfy her as well as I did, it made it hard for me to want to just hang up the phone.

I didn't want to lead her on. I explained to her that while I was flattered that she felt that way, she was still right to have left me. I am cold and distant; that hadn't changed. I let her know that a part of me did still care about her, but I didn't want to get back together.

She said that she was okay with that, but she still wanted to see me again. I knew it was a mistake, but I have a bad habit of constantly doing shit that I know is a bad idea. Besides, I liked her aggression – I realized that it probably wasn't easy for her to call me and tell me the things that she was telling me, and I found it attractive. Knowing I'd probably regret it, I told her to come over the next day. Hanging up the phone, I went to sleep.

I woke up the next day expecting her to have changed her mind. I figured she'd wake up sober, feel embarrassed, and I could go back to pretending she didn't exist. When she knocked on my door around noon I was honestly surprised. Strangely, I felt a little happy, too – though I wanted to be irritated that she was coming back into my life, I was glad that she had come over.

She looked good – in fact, she looked much hotter than I had remembered her. I don't know if I was just horny or if being away from me had been good for her health. It was probably a combination of the two things.

Seeing her again brought back a lot of feelings, most of which were confusing. I realized that I missed her more than I had been willing to admit to myself. I also realized that I was angrier than I thought I was about her leaving me. I began to realize that I wasn't nearly as over her as I thought that I was. I let her in and locked the door behind us.

Erika tried to make more small talk – she was obviously pretty nervous. It felt almost inappropriate to me. I hadn't seen her in months, I was rapidly being forced to remember everything that I had felt for her and how much it hurt when she left me, and she was asking me how my day was. I told her to shut the fuck up.

She looked hurt. I didn't care. I had to either address the fact that I missed her or the fact that I was angry with her for having hurt me. Unfortunately, addressing the first would involve some degree of vulnerability, and I didn't feel like being vulnerable. Being angry just felt safer.

I let loose on her verbally. I told her that she was a stupid whore, and that she should have fucking known that the other man would let her down. I explained that I didn't give a fuck if she thought she'd spend the rest of her life sexually frustrated; I knew I could find someone at least as good as her with ease. I didn't really mean most of the things that I said, and a part of me felt bad about saying them, but I felt the need to strike back.

To Erika's credit, she let me finish. She calmly stood still, holding her tongue and waiting for me to run out of steam. It worked – with nothing to respond to, I eventually ran out of shit to say to her. With an almost bored look on her face, she balled up her fist and punched me in the face as hard as she could.

My reaction was complicated. It had hurt, but I'm a pretty big fucking guy and the pain was well within what I can handle. I was a little angry at her for reacting in such an inappropriate way, but I realized that I had pretty much brought it on myself. I was very surprised – Erika had never struck me as the violent type. Most confusing though, was that I was extremely turned on. I'm in no way a masochist or even submissive, but the courage and energy that she had expressed in attacking me was fucking hot.

She looked like she immediately regretted it. I can't really blame her – I'm 6'1" and about 210 pounds. When people describe me physically the word "intimidating" gets thrown around a lot. People my size are typically reluctant to fuck with me, and Erika was almost an entire foot shorter and a hundred pounds lighter. Her facial expression resembled that of a small child who had just provoked a vicious dog through a fence and realized that there was a large hole in that very same fence.

Her fear was unnecessary, of course. I may look like the type of person who resolves arguments by viciously beating my opponents into submission but I typically prefer more verbal solutions. I almost never lose my temper and though I was angry I was still in full control of my actions. Unfortunately for Erika, her fear was also turning me on. I wanted more – though I wasn't about to beat it out of her, I didn't feel that she needed to realize that just yet.

Maintaining eye contact, I slowly stepped towards her. I didn't clutch my hand to where she had hit me or give her any reason to believe that I was in pain, I simply stared her down. She shrunk back a bit, but she didn't outright run.

Reaching forward, I grabbed her hair tightly and pulled her face close to mine. I could feel the fear in her eyes – I knew she was terrified about what I might be about to do. I could see some resistance, too – she knew that I deserved it; she understandably didn't want to apologize for something she didn't really regret.

In a low, calm voice I explained to her that it wasn't okay to hit. I was intentionally condescending – I spoke to her as if she were nothing more than a disobedient child. I wanted to be insulting; I wanted to provoke her into doing something.

She choked out that I had deserved it, her voice dripping with fear and obstinance. I respected that – if she had backed down instead I think I might have been disappointed with her. Still, I felt compelled to strike back in some way – even though I knew I deserved the punch to the face, it didn't feel right to just let her get away with it. I tightened my grip on her hair and pulled her even closer, maintaining eye contact the entire time. With our noses almost touching, I repeated my earlier statement about it being inappropriate to hit.

Terrified, she mumbled out an apology. Her tone implied that she was apologizing exclusively out of fear, not remorse. I was okay with that – remorse did nothing for me. Fear, on the other hand, was highly desirable. Wanting more, I asked her what I should do with a disobedient little bitch that doesn't know how to behave. Lowering her eyes, she told me that she didn't know.

I chuckled a little, just to put her off guard. Relaxing my grip on her hair but still holding on so that she couldn't get away, I allowed her to move her head back away from mine. I then reached back and slapped her playfully across the face – not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough that she'd know better than to tell me she didn't know again. Pulling her back in close, I repeated my question.

"She should be punished, I guess?" Erika offered. She still sounded afraid, but her voice betrayed a hint of arousal as well.

It was the precise answer I was looking for. Not only was it what I planned to do to her, but the way that she gave it indicated that she knew what I was up to and approved. Maintaining my grip on her hair I pulled led her to the couch and took a seat, pulling her over my lap.

Erika struggled a little but I felt like it was just for show. I knew that she could fight better, and I was a little offended by how little effort she was putting into resisting. I figured that the lack of a strong resistance was due to the fact that she wanted to be punished, but that didn't seem like an acceptable excuse.

I pulled her skirt up to reveal her panties. Erika was wearing a red thong, which felt more than coincidental. I knew she owned conservative underwear, I knew she remembered that I like red; it was difficult not to suspect that she had anticipated that I'd be seeing them. I was okay with that, but I still had some rage that I wanted to work through.

Holding her steady I began to spank her ass hard. Erika typically loved getting spanked – I think that was a big part of her lack of fighting back in any meaningful way – so I challenged myself to hit harder than normal. It wasn't exactly the easiest thing to do (she had built up quite a tolerance for spanking in the year that we were together), but I managed. Before long she was trying desperately to shield her ass with her arms.

Unfortunately for Erika, her angle didn't exactly work for defending herself. Laughing at her futile attempts, I effortlessly twisted both of her arms behind her back and pinned them down with my right hand before continuing to spank her mercilessly with my left. She pleaded with me to stop, but she didn't use her safe word.

I told her that I couldn't stop until she had learned her lesson, just to see how she would react. Without missing a beat she told me that she was a disobedient little girl and it was wrong of her to hit me. I was surprised – Erika was a very proud person, I didn't expect her to speak of herself in such dismissive terms so easily.

Unfortunately for her, I didn't feel like stopping yet. It was great that she had given in and all, but her ass was just starting to turn bright pink and I was eager to change the color further. Continuing my assault, I decided to talk about her choice in underwear and what that meant.

I forced her to admit that she wore them because she had come over to get fucked. I forced her to admit to me that she still thought about me when she fucked herself, spanking her exceptionally hard when she tried to use the word "masturbate" instead. She resisted a little – I think she thought I was pushing too hard. Still, I wasn't satisfied yet. She was embarrassed, but I wanted her humiliated.

I told her that her behavior proved that she was a worthless slut and forced her to agree with me. I made her repeat it back to me, then pretended I couldn't hear her until she shouted it out. My neighbors were at work anyway, so I figured I could be loud. She resisted of course, but eventually she gave in. She shouted every disgusting, self-abusive thing that I had told her while I laughed at her shame.

I was getting bored with spanking her by then, but I was enjoying punishing her far too much to just let her go. Feeling sadistic, I forced her to admit to me that spanking wasn't really a punishment, as sluts like her enjoy it far too much – and as such, she still needed to be punished for her behavior. She begged me not to make her say that, but quickly relented as I made it clear that the spanking wouldn't stop until she did.

Once she finally choked out the words that I wanted to hear, I released her and artlessly dumped her on the floor. She landed painfully, looking up at me with an expression of mixed hurt, fear, and lust. She knew that I'd still want to punish her, but had no idea what to expect from me.

I ordered her to strip. Her reaction was far too positive – I think she assumed that she'd enjoy any punishment that required her to be nude. I didn't even know exactly how I was going to punish her yet, but her eager face convinced me that I should make sure it wasn't something that she would enjoy too much.

She stripped out of her clothes quickly – I had hoped that she'd be more embarrassed, but I suppose that was irrational. I had seen her in far more compromising positions than simply naked countless times throughout the year we were together, after all. She even managed to lose the underwear without having to be told. I think she hoped that by obeying me so quickly and completely that I would decide not to punish her further, but that wasn't about to happen. I still had some anger to work through.

Fully naked, she looked at me with a penitent expression. Keeping my voice calm and cold I ordered her to kneel in the corner, facing the wall. She obeyed quickly – though I doubt it was the punishment she was hoping for, at least it wouldn't involve further pain to her ass.

The timeout wasn't going to be the punishment, though. I didn't feel like using physical pain again, but I wanted something more creative and intense than simply forcing her to kneel in the corner for an arbitrary amount of time. Heading to my computer, I grabbed a bunch of paper out of the printer and a ballpoint pen, as well as some lube and a condom for later. I returned to the living room and dropped the supplies at her side.

Erika looked confused but too frightened to question me. Not wanting to keep her wondering, I informed her that I was going to dictate a phrase which she would write down. Speaking slowly and clearly, I gave her the phrase: "I am a disgusting, worthless slut. My greatest aspiration in life is to accept as many cocks in my slimy fuck-holes as possible."

Erika visibly hated copying it (again, she was a very proud person), but she wrote it down just the same. Once she finished writing I leaned down to check her work. Her handwriting was sloppy, but it was legible enough. Laughing at her obvious shame, I told her to start copying.

Erika asked me how many times she had to copy it. Her tone was submissive and respectful, but I didn't care for the question – I didn't think she needed that information, and it felt inappropriate for her to be speaking when she was in timeout. Still bent over to check her work, I reached back and slapped her ass hard. She yelped in pain and started copying.

With Erika hard at work libeling herself I returned to the couch and took a seat. Leaning back, I took in the sight of her naked, whimpering body kneeling in my corner, furiously scribbling away. It was a beautiful thing – both her fear and arousal were clearly visible in the way that her body gently quivered.

The longer I watched, the more turned on I was getting. I was torn between my desire to further punish her and my desire to tear the paper out of her hand, throw her down on her back, and fuck her brains out. The fact that her sobbing had only grown more audible wasn't helping things, either. Before long, I was really struggling internally to remain seated.

I considered fucking her and then forcing her to go back to copying when I finished, but chose not to. I didn't want to give her proof that she could weasel out of her punishment by getting me turned on, even if it was only temporary. Besides, I didn't want the sex to be just some bullshit simplistic fucking on the floor; I wanted something more memorable. I wasn't sure I'd have the energy or even remember to make her go back to copying by the time I finished.

I held out for about fifteen minutes. By that point I felt like I was suffering more than her from the punishment, and it seemed like she had copied enough. My cock was rock hard and I was eager to do something with it. I told her to stop copying and had her crawl back to the couch on her hands and knees.

I unzipped my pants and pulled out my dick as she crawled to me. I wasn't sure how I felt about her reaction – she looked eager to get fucked, but she somehow also looked like she thought the balance of power had changed. That was concerning – I didn't want her to start thinking that she was off the hook just because I was turned on. I wanted to fuck, but that didn't mean she had obtained some kind of power over me.

When she got close enough I reached forward and grabbed her by her hair. Pulling her in, I forced her head into my crotch. Erika looked a little surprised by my actions – I don't generally enjoy oral sex – but she began to lick my cock just the same.

Erika was obviously trying her hardest to please me, but I was getting bored. I didn't feel like just sitting back and letting her service me; I wanted to penetrate, devastate, and conquer. Grabbing her by the hair, I held her stead and forced the tip of my cock into her open mouth. Applying pressure to the back of her head, I forced her down slowly.

I didn't go in all the way. I'm not abnormally long by any stretch of the imagination, but halfway was enough to gag her. As she started to choke on my dick, I simply held her steady and refused to let her pull her head back. Tears streamed down her face, but she eventually accepted her fate.

I held her still for a few seconds just to show her that I could before I let her come up for air. Laughing, I playfully slapped her face a couple of times. She whimpered a little, but she still didn't use her safe word – like I said, Erika liked it rough.

Grabbing her hair, I again forced her down on my cock. This time I pumped her up and down roughly instead of just holding her in place. I wanted to make it very clear to her that she wasn't giving me a blowjob – I was fucking her mouth. With each stroke I went a little bit faster and a little bit deeper, enjoying the look of suffering on her face.

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