Trust Me (Rough Love 3)

“All right,” he said, taking my arm. “Come on.”

He led me through his closet to the dungeon room, an echoing, concrete-walled chamber of racks, benches, and polished furniture. Once inside, he nudged me toward the tall chests where he kept all his hurtiest equipment. I had to wait there while he moved about the dungeon turning on lamps and recessed spotlights to illuminate my shame.

When the frightening disciplinary space was awash in light, he returned and opened a drawer to take out a ball gag. He turned to me. No words necessary. I took my last few breaths of unimpeded air and opened my mouth. The ball was hard and black, and large enough to depress my tongue. He buckled it behind my head and turned back to the drawers. He pulled out a butt plug next, a glass one with a painfully wide base. I gave a little moan that wasn’t audible through the gag, not that any moan or groan would make him soften his plans.

“Go bend over the bench,” he ordered.

I obeyed, crawling onto the lower step and then folding myself over the raised center platform. My ass felt very vulnerable, as he meant it to. I knew that butt plug would hurt. Too soon, he was behind me, forcing me to spread my legs wider with a series of punishing slaps to my inner thighs. Once I was positioned to his liking, he parted my cheeks and shoved cold, slippery lube into my asshole. He wasn’t gentle, but I was grateful that he was being generous with the lube, considering the size of the plug.

After he finished preparing my ass, he spread my cheeks wide and held them open. I closed my eyes as I felt the hard tip of the toy against my hole. He worked it in and out, causing a little more pain each time. Even though he trained my ass with plugs and dildos, and even though he frequently fucked me there, it was still a struggle every time. I whined and pushed out as he nudged the widest part of the base against my ass. He had to stop and add more lube. I wanted to move, to squirm away, but I didn’t dare.

Surrender. It’s supposed to feel bad. This is a punishment.

I cried behind the gag as he started moving the plug in and out again, all the way to the widest part. The long, rough fingers of his other hand pressed into my skin as he held my cheeks open. Finally, with an aching stab of pain, he shoved the anal toy home. I clenched around the base, relieved that the acute pain was over, but there was still the discomfort of having a large, heavy bulb seated in my ass, and surely more anal torment to come.

He walked around the bench and I raised my eyes to look at him. If he wasn’t behind me, or on top of me, I was supposed to meet his gaze. I tried to swallow. The first bits of drool gathered at the corners of my lips but I wasn’t allowed to wipe it away.

“Does that hurt, bad girl?” he asked.

God, yes, it hurt to be bad. I nodded, trying to communicate how sad and sorry I was. He stood over me, my figure of authority, my owner.

“Fifty with the paddle to begin.”

My whole body cringed. He put a finger in my collar’s O-ring and dragged my torso down to rest right on the upper platform. He unhooked the manacles from their connecting chain and fixed one wrist to either side of the spanking bench so my arms were spread wide. Spread wide in every way, I thought ruefully, as I clenched on the plug inside me.

“Keep your fucking ass in the air,” he said, walking to stand behind me. He gave me some warm up spanks, pausing now and again to force me to arch my back. “And keep those legs spread, so I can paddle your thighs too.”

I dropped my head, wishing this was over rather than just beginning. The warm up spanks stopped, and I sensed rather than heard him pick up the paddle. This wasn’t playtime. It was punishment, and he went to town. He spanked one cheek at a time, avoiding the plug’s base. It wasn’t a big paddle, but the small, thick ones could be brutal. Each blow was hot, stinging fire, and I squealed behind the gag. I was supposed to stay still and I did my best, but I couldn’t control the trembling in my legs or the frantic movement of my feet.

“Ass out,” he scolded whenever I tried to cower in a self-protective way.

I lost count of the paddle strokes after the first dozen or so. I couldn’t keep up; I was just trying to hold it together. When my cheeks burned beyond bearing, he moved to the backs of my upper thighs, and it absolutely killed like hellfire. Ow, ow, ow, ow… I yanked at the manacles I’d so carefully crafted, and wiggled my ass back and forth to try to lessen the ratcheting pain.