Strictly Obedient

My slave is ready and bound. The red light from the candles flickers off the surface of her latex suit. Her arms are tied firmly behind her back. The ropes at her feet bind her stilettos firmly onto her soles and then chain her ankles together, with less than ten centimeters give between them. The suit splits at the crotch, her butt-plug tail reaching down to the backs of her knees. Her hair is tied oriental style with two black chopsticks holding the bun in place. She has made herself up in dark purples and greens -- a cyber-punk wench. She stands waiting at the door, anticipating my command.

"The chair," I tell her, indicating one of only two pieces of furniture in the darkened room.

"Righty-o," Hannah, my slave replies and starts shuffling her way towards the seat. Her progress is tortuously slow as she struggles to stay upright in the exaggerated heels.

The other piece of furniture is the table with my whip, paddle, and other toys. I have already laid each out with great precision, but I make a play of inspecting each one as she hobbles her way across the room. Her eyes flick to the flogger as I hold it up and then flick back forward as I glare at her.

She reaches the center of the room, and slowly rotates herself around then carefully lowers herself onto the chair, her hands still fastened behind her. She tries to cross her legs before remembering that she can't.

"I didn't say sit," I say levelly.

"Oh, right, gotcha," she replies. She starts to get up with equal care.

"I didn't say stand," I say.

"Well, in fairness, you really only said 'the chair'. I mean, you want to get pedantic, you haven't even uttered an imperative verb yet, so maybe technically I should still be by the door. Still, my bad. When I assume I make an ass of you and me, well, speaking of which..."

She shakes her plugged derrière at me, the equine tail swishing back and forth.

"Stop, impertinent wench," I cry, bringing the flogger down onto my hand. The sound of leather on flesh immediately brings her to a stop.

"Oh, yeah, right, sorry," she says. "I guess that's not the vibe we're going for. So, can I sit now or what?"

"No," I say. "You will get down on your knees and bend over the chair."

"Righty..." she begins and then changes her mind when she sees my face. "Right away, Master."

"That's better," I say.

She gets into position, raising her behind high up and balancing her torso on the chair.

"Now, listen carefully, and follow all my instructions to the letter," I intone. "First, you will..."

"Ow, ow, ow," she says. "Any chance of a cushion?"

"No! You have entered a dungeon of pain..."

"Gallifray! Gallifray!" she cries.

"You're using the safeword? Already?" I say.

"Yeah, well as I was saying. This is really uncomfortable. I know it's supposed to be painful, but it's just going to be an annoying painful rather than a fun painful. This wood is really digging into the underside of my boobs and..."

"Fine, fine," I say. "I'll get you a cushion."

"Actually," she replies. "Why don't you get one of the kitchen chairs? They're that little bit lower, and..."

"Alright," I grumble.

A minute later and she's properly positioned over an apparently more appropriate chair.

I raise the paddle above my head. "Now, you wretched harlot, you will enter a domain of pain such as thou hasn't never known...wait, are you giggling?"

"Sorry, sorry," Hannah says trying to get her laughter under control. "It was the word 'harlot'."

"Well, I know you've got strong feelings about the words like 'slut' and 'bitch'."

"Yeah, but 'harlot'?"

"Honestly, I'm running out of gendered insults you haven't specifically reclaimed."

"And then once you'd used 'harlot' you naturally slipped into 'thou' speak. Force of habit, but we're not in a Dungeons and Dragons game now. Well, okay, the dungeon I grant you. Anyway, knock it off with the Gandalf-speak."

"Fine, I'll tone it down. Ahem, let's see. Ahead of you lies a voyage of discovery into the unknown recesses of the human mind that will unlock the full potential of your inner strength. Only by experiencing the full range of sensations that our fragile bodies are capable of will you be able to transcend...no, not any better?"

"Sorry, sorry. You were coming over all Captain Picard."

"That's what I was going for. You've always said how sexy you think Patrick Stewart is."

"Yeaaah," she says slowly. "There's a time and a place though."

"Right, how about this? I'm going to hit you and you're going to like it. And when you scream, I'm going to like that. Clear?"

There's a pause. "Charlton Heston?" Hannah says eventually.

"I was thinking more Kirk Douglas," I reply.

"I'm not sure I know what Kirk Douglas sounds like," says Hannah. "I don't think I've seen any of his movies."

"You've seen Spartacus surely?" I reply.

"I've seen the famous bit," she replies.

"Well, there you go," I say. "You know what Kirk Douglas sounds like."

"Yeah, but they were all Spartacus, weren't they? I don't really remember what any one individual 'I'm Spartacus' sounded like over the hundreds of other people saying it in that scene."

"Okay, okay, it doesn't matter what exactly I sound like. A proper slave should tremble at the sound of her master's voice."

"Her master's voice? What am I? A dog listening to a gramophone record?"

"I'm going to spank you now," I tell her.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

That did the trick.

We settle into a routine. I tease her on the behind rubbing her thighs and derriere and at unpredictable intervals give her a slap on a more or less random area. Her arse is reddening nicely and her gasps indicate I'm getting the firmness right in the Goldilocks zone.

I switch to the paddle. I make sure she gets a good look at it as I get it from the table and then use a combination of surface and edge, one after the other, to build anticipation.

I draw it back and hit her once on her gorgeous backside. She lets out a little scream. A good scream, definitely a level up from what my hand on its own was able to elicit.

I bring the paddle down on her again.

"Wait! Gallifray! Gallifray!" she cries.

"What?" I ask. "Was that too hard?"

"No," she replies. "It was actually really lush. I just remembered that Strictly is on tonight."

"Strictly Come Dancing?" I say. "You're fucking with me, right? You hate Strictly in real life almost as much as you hate the word lush."

"Yeah," she says. "But you know how much my nan likes it and they've got Danny John-Jules on this year, so I thought maybe it would be okay to watch it so we've got something to talk about when we go up there tomorrow. It's the start of a new season and tomorrow will be a long day if we don't have a ready topic of conversation. It'll come down to who was the best contestant on Strictly or when are we two youngsters getting married. Up to you."

"And Danny John-Jules is on it? As a contestant?"

"Yeah, sure, why not?"

"Because that's got to be cheating. He was a professional dancer before he was on Red Dwarf. He was in Starlight Express on the West End and everything. That can't be fair on all the newsreaders and former EastEnders stars. I mean, what even is the point of that show? They might as well get Michael Flatley in and call him an amateur at ballroom."

"I don't see how it's any different from having them compete against Olympic athletes. Most of those pop stars should know how to dance as well."

"Well, it seems fishy to me and since I'm the master, I don't want to hear any more dissenting opinions from you. I'll set the box to record," I tell her.

"Oh, could we not watch it now? We'll be tired afterwards and these things are always more exciting live."

"Now?" I say.

"Look, you don't need to undo all the restraints. I'll watch it as is. With the right cushion and chair this position is actually fairly comfy."

"Right, well in that case, if you're making me watch Strictly, I'm going to make you wear those nipple-clamps all the way through."

"Deal!" says Hannah.

"No, it is not a 'deal'," I tell her. "It's an instruction from your dom!"

"Yes, Sir. Understood, Sir. Please put the tele on, Sir, if it pleases you. It's already started, Sir."

We watch Strictly Come Dancing. It's awful. I make notes.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

We're back in the session. I started from scratch, using my hand and then the paddle. Her arse is now a nice shade of red and she's giving me a wiggle between blows that suggests that she's at least as horny as she is sore.

We're ready for something new. I fetch the whip and give it a couple of practice strokes.

Just as I raise it high above my head, the phone goes.

Bring-bring.

Ignoring it, I bring the whip down on her behind.

"One," I count.

Bring-bring.

Again, I strike. She lets out a soft moan.

"Two."

Bring-bring

"Are you just going to leave that?" Hannah says. "Oh, Gallifray, by the way."

I let the whip crack at her rear for a third time.

"Three."

Bring-bring

"Oh, ignoring a safeword as well as the phone, are we? That's serious red-flag behaviour. Honestly though, get it, it's probably my nan about tomorrow and she'll get in touch with my mum if she can't get through to us after a couple of tries."

With a sigh, I go over the hall and pick up the cordless. It is indeed Hannah's nan.

"Hi, Glenda," I say. "How's tricks?"

"Oh! Hi Ben. Can't grumble. Well, I can but no-one ever listens. Is Hannah there?"

"She's a bit tied up at the moment," I find myself saying.

"It's fine," says Hannah. "Just put it to my ear."

I stand there as Hannah talks. "Yeah, we've just finished watching it as well...yes, I thought he was good...she was also very good...only vaguely, she was in Steps, I think...Steps, they were a pop group...no, well at his age...I know they like to have an older contestant, but it's not really fair, is it?...yes, we'll aim to arrive just before twelve...no, we'll just go straight up the A46...nah, don't fuss yourself, we'll just go to chippy...no, our treat...we can bring it in, or if you want we can drive out to the sea-front...yeah, probably best to see what the weather's like before we decide...sure, looking forward to it, we'll give you a bell when we're about twenty minutes away...Righty-o, see you tomorrow...bye."

I hang up the phone and put it back.

"Okay," says Hannah. "How many were we up to?"

"One," I say.

"Oh, seriously?" says Hannah. "Just because you're a sadist, it doesn't mean you also have to be an arsehole."

"One," I say as I bring the whip down.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

It's about half an hour later. I'm engaged in what the books on kinky role-playing call aftercare. They all say it's a vital part of maintaining a loving-caring relationship.

I can definitely see their point. At the moment, I'm applying an ice-pack to Hannah's behind.

"Ow, ow, ow," she's saying. I move the pack to a bright red area on the other cheek. "I can't believe you hit me that hard."

"Sorry," I say. "I didn't mean to. I guess I just got a bit cross and I'm still a novice with that whip."

"We've got a four-hour round journey tomorrow," she complains. "Sitting all the way."

"Yeah, sorry, sorry," I say. "Er, I'll drive, of course. I just wanted to give you a short sharp shock to focus your attention a bit. I guess I don't know my own strength. Look, tonight was a bit of a disaster. Perhaps the whole dom-sub thing was a bad idea."

"Oh, no," says Hannah. "Oh, no, no, no. I've just spent two hundred pounds on that cat-suit. Once my arse has healed, we are going to go straight back in and you are going to dominate me properly or there'll be trouble."

"Yeah, about that," I say. "Do you think maybe next time instead of me doing all the whole 'quake at the feet of your evil master' stuff, we could just talk to each other like we normally do? Like, if I hit you with the paddle, maybe you could honestly say if it feels good or bad or bad in a good way. I don't think I'm cut out to be a villain and that whole way of speaking seems to make you stroppy and contrarian anyway."

"Okay, fine," says Hannah. "We can focus on nailing the physical aspects next session. But I think we'd be missing out on the whole psychological angle of BDSM. A true dom has complete control of their sub. They know what they are thinking, they know what they are expecting and they know what they want. And they're able to play with those expectations until not hitting their sub is even more painful to them than hitting them as hard as possible. They twist the poor sub around their little finger until the sub never knows what is coming next, and that's worse torture than anything you can physically inflict on them."

"Yeah, I know," I say. "You've been doing that to me all evening."

"Attaboy," she smiles and kisses my forehead. "Now you're getting it."