Secret Love for Order

My public face is fun, wacky, creative, independent. My friends think I'm uninhibited, carefree, sexually liberated. But that's mostly a facade- underneath the bubbly Marilyn, is a dour nun. The voice in my head is a rigid, guilt-ridden, self-loathing person, and sometimes I need to bring it out, it's cathartic. I need to be treated the way I deserve, to indulge my secret love for order, to be punished severely. That's why I go to dungeons: I need someone to discipline me. Preferably someone attractive.

This time I wear a thin leather band that just covers my nipples and the bottom half of my breasts, tight enough for the top half to stick out, and look especially round, bursting out. My shoulders and neck are completely exposed. I wear a short leather skirt over a black thong, and high heels. The skirt is short enough for bystanders to see my bottom if I slip up at all whilst walking, and the heels are just too high. The whole outfit is tight and uncomfortable, and its bold enough to turn heads, even in the dungeon. I walk with confidence, but the many eyes on my body parts make me feel vulnerable and guilty, which makes me enjoy wearing it all the more.

Out of the many people looking at me, there is this beautiful girl. She's taller than me, even with heels, and with high cheekbones and long hair. She's wearing a corset and carrying a flogger. She's exciting. She walks over to me, cuddles up close, and puts her hands around my waist. She's warm and soft, and has a firm grip. I'm a little scared as I've never been flogged before, but I know I'm not going to say no.

"You're gorgeous," she says. "Are kisses okay too?"

She's friendly, and kind. She holds me close and kisses me on the mouth. I love not having to talk, to have to be interesting or charming, just being her passive object of affection. I lower my gaze and let her touch me wherever she wants, she gropes me everywhere and I love it. Standing in my tight outfit is uncomfortable, so I let her hold me upright, by firmly gripping my bottom with one hand and my waist with the other. I'm enjoying it. But I really want is for her to dominate me, hurt me, put me in my place.

"Can you flog me?" I ask. "Please"

Her eyes light up.

"I'm begging you" I say, perhaps a little bit too eager to submit. I'm in awe of her and want her to control me. I try to get down on my knees but she holds me upright, gripping my bottom slightly harder. With her other hand she reaches for a collar, tightening around my neck until I gasp for breath. She puts me on a leash and I squeal with excitement.

She pulls me by the leash towards the wall of the dungeon. As I follow her, she jerks so I stumble a few times, but every time I do she manhandles me back upright, making sure to grope my breasts and bottom in the process. I love it when she touches me, so I stumble on purpose so she'll help me back up. Truth is, I still feel somewhat guilty about being a lesbian, so the more I enjoy it, the more I hate myself, and the more I want her to punish me.

I can't wait for the flogging to happen. She positions me so I'm facing the dungeon wall, fastens my collar and ties my wrists and ankles to the wall so I can't move, and pulls down my miniskirt so my bottom is completely exposed. The wall is cold and I can't turn my head to see anything. I close my eyes.

"Ready?" she whispers into my ear. I'm a little scared.

The first thud of the flogger lands on my ass. It's not as harsh as I expect, but it still hurts and I squeal anyway. I tell her that I can take more pain; I enjoy asking out load for more pain. The second and third strikes are my thighs, the next my back. It hurts. I cry "please!", but without really meaning it, and she ignores me. She hits harder. The pain is dull and sensual, but strong. After the next few blows I feel the rush of endorphins to my head, and my tolerance for pain increases. She notices, and she hits me even harder. I cry out every time. The blows keep coming, on my thighs and especially my ass. It's being drummed into me, that I am nothing. There's a dull, steady rhythm, and my cries turn into whimpers. I lose all reservations. I know I am a wretch, and I lose the will to pretend otherwise.

For the last ten strokes, she makes me count with her aloud. Not only do I have to shout with what little breath I have, the number, but I have to say "thank you mistress, for giving me what I deserve". I would never admit to this outside, but I absolutely love following orders. The idea makes me wildly excited, I almost wish she had thought of something even more degrading for me to say. I try to obey, but the words come out slurred and gaspy, interspersed with squeals of pain.

I lose count at number 7, so she starts again from the beginning. I feel so helpless, tears start streaming down my face. I'm so far into subspace, I almost don't even feel the last few blows. I have no idea what number it is, just that she's beating me and I'm crying "thank you". By the time she's finished with me, I'm trembling all over, stripped down to my thong, my whole back stinging.

She unties my wrists and ankles, and turns me around to face her. She caresses me in all the right ways, avoiding the bruises somehow. She takes off all my thong so I am fully naked in front of her, still trembling.

"I'm nothing, thank you for punishing me, mistress," I say, in my garbled haze. "I deserved that, I fully deserved that, thank you, please, I've learned my lesson-"

She shuts me up by putting a ballgag in my mouth, which makes me start drooling. She puts her arms around me and holds me, and I stop trembling for a while. She runs her fingers through my hair with one hand, squeezes my ass with the other. She kisses me all over my neck and shoulders, bites my earlobe a little, sucks my nipples. She fingers me and I start to feel a little more relaxed, the adrenaline subsides.

"That's part one. I'm not done punishing you yet." she says.

Next she wants to tie me up with rope. I see the yarn, and I drool a little more in anticipation. I feel a rush of pleasure when she smirks at me, I love love love being controlled in this way. She ties my wrists first, tightly, and my arms, behind my back. I'm still trembling slightly. She then ties my breasts, so they're in a tight rope cage with only the nipples poking out. I move easily into whatever posture she wants from me, submission comes so much more naturally after the flogging. Finally, she ties my crotch and my upper thighs, making sure my ass cheeks are still accessible. I have to take deep breaths, I feel so constricted. I try to protest through the gag but only drool comes out. I feel so helpless, so utterly controlled, I blush out of embarrassment at myself.

"You really love being treated like this, don't you?" she says, smiling. Yesyesyesyesyes. I suddenly crave even more degradation, though I'm not sure how thats possible. I respond with more drool and pleading eyes. I know what's coming next.

She pulls me over her knee, my face to the ground and my ass on her lap. She spanks me a couple of times - hard, and it stings, before removing the gag, and spanking me again. I'm still sore from the flogging, but she has no mercy.

"Every time I hit you, you have to tell me one thing you did wrong this week," she says. "And then you have to say, 'I'm sorry, mistress'. If you can't think of anything, I spank you again, and the second time is harder."

I hate to admit it to myself but I'm excited by this. My chance to bring the guilt out into the open. I try to think of something fast, but she's already spanked me twice more. Every time she hits me I gasp or squeal, the pain makes it hard to concentrate.

"Please!" I cry. "Let me think."

She pauses, but I know its conditional as she continues to slowly caress my buttocks.

"You really love the idea of rules, don't you," she says, bemused. "You need structure, and order, and you're full of guilt." As I think of something to say, she runs her hands from my upper thighs to my lower back, and back down again. Then she smacks me hard, and the spanking continues.

"I'm just such a bad person, I'm sorry mistress. I lie to everyone about being a lesbian, I'm sorry mistress. I'm obsessed with my appearance, I'm sorry mistress, I'm vain, I'm selfish, I'm superficial, I'm sorry mistress ..."

Every time she hits me I felt a little closer to catharsis, and I feel grateful to her. It's a long list of confessions, but finally, I run out of things to say, and begin to passively enjoy the steady spanking, letting her do with me what she wills. Eventually she stops, unties my arms, and takes me off her lap. She puts me down on my hands and knees. I'm sore everywhere, and still partly bound with rope. My eyes are lowered and my head is bowed, I know I've been put fully and completely in my place.

"You're forgiven." she says, kissing me on the forehead. I wince.

She stands up tall, and I kiss her feet.

"Thank you mistress," I say. "Thank you so much."