Humiliation
“Slut! I’m home!” He called to her as she hurried from upstairs to meet him at the front door. She had heard him opening it and cursed herself for not being in time. She ran down the stairs and around the corner to stand in front of him.
She spread her legs and clasped her hands behind her neck, elbows out, for his inspection. She was wearing 6 inch black stiletto heels, thigh high black fishnet stockings, crotchless leather panties and an open-cup black bra. Around her neck, she wore a padlocked leather collar, to which he held the only key. He also held the only key to her closet, where he locked up her clothing when he left in the morning, to ensure she wouldn’t leave the apartment without permission.
“Where the hell were you, slut? Sitting upstairs, doing nothing but playing on my computer?” He scolded her, even as he looked approvingly at her body, not moving from inside the door. Even in her heels, he towered over her. He motioned ever-so-slightly with a nod of his head for her to begin her duties.
She stepped toward him and took his briefcase and papers, putting them on the stand near her. “No, sir, not on your computer. I’m sorry for being lazy, sir,” she whimpered, taking his coat and hanging it on the coat rack. She knelt down on the hardwood floor in front of him and unzipped his pants, reached inside his briefs and extracted his already semi-hardened penis. Immediately, she engulfed him in her mouth and began sucking, lapping and kissing. She licked up and down, kissing and tonguing his balls tenderly, her hand finding and holding the base of his cock. She swallowed the whole thing, sucking and circling her tongue around the head.
He stiffened only slightly, leaning back against the door and moaning quietly. She continued to perform, with great enthusiasm and tenderness, until after just a few minutes, he exploded into the back of her throat. She swallowed graciously and licked and sucked gently until he was completely clean. She kept kissing it until he gently pushed her away. “That’s all you get, slut,” he whispered. She sat down on her knees, head down, hands behind her back, and whispered, “Thank you for the honor, sir.”
He reached down and reassembled himself inside his pants and moved past her, patting her head as he did. She remained in position. “Get up and get me a glass of vodka and coke. With ice. I have to watch a show in about 15 minutes about the military action in the east,” he told her as he seated himself on the couch with the remotes in hand. She scurried up and into the kitchen to get his drink. As she did, she was careful not to rattle anything or make noise. He continued to talk, “While I’m watching it, you are not to talk to me or make any noise – I don’t want to be disturbed.” Her heart sank as she carefully placed each ice cube in the glass. She carefully placed a napkin on her serving tray and the glass on top of it. Placing the tray on top of her palm and her other hand on her hip, as instructed, she sauntered into the living room.
“Your drink, sir,” she said, standing provocatively next to him in the cocktail waitress position he had taught her. He reached for the drink and put it on the table next to him. She waited as he pulled a dollar bill out of his pocket and held it out to her. “What are you going to do for this, whore?” He asked, smiling. She didn’t know. “Um, what would you like me to do, sir?” She stuttered, unsure of how to play this new game. “Forget it. Nothing, here take it.” He smirked and threw the bill on the floor. She carefully balanced the tray on her hand and squatted to pick up the bill. “Thank you, sir, for your generosity.”
“Spread your legs, slut,” he commanded. She stood and spread her legs. He reached gently between them and dragged several fingers across the crotchless area of the panties. She looked at her feet as he found the wetness and rubbed his fingers in it. She felt her legs quiver, but she dare not move. “You are a wet little slut tonight, aren’t you? My cock always makes you wet. You can’t get enough, can you?” He moved his hand away.
“No, sir, can’t get enough of you.” She said honestly, not moving.
“Well, you little bitch, you are going to get your bottom paddled, is what you’re going to get. I give you everything you could possibly want and need, and you have just one job to do – greet me properly at the door every day at the same time, and you can’t even do that right, you stupid little bitch,” he whispered. “Do I ask much? Is it so hard to make me feel welcome when I come home from working all day to make money for you? Do you ever wantefor anything? But you don’t even respect me enough to do as your told? And what were you doing upstairs? Touching yourself?”
A big round tear formed in her eye and fell down her cheek. “No, sir. I was fixing my makeup, and I was late. I have no excuse, it was stupid, lazy. You give me everything I want. I do appreciate it. I’m sorry,” she muttered with conviction. Her legs trembled in anticipation.
“You know how I feel when you blatantly disobey me. Is that how I should feel after all I’ve given you?”
“No. Please, punish me as you see fit. I am sorry, but I have no excuse.” His anger frightened her more than his punishments. She loved him dearly and tried very hard to please him, always seeming to fall short. She knew he loved her and tried hard to make her happy in every way, and she still screwed up.
He turned the television and speakers on and ignored her, leaving her to stand there while he found the channel he needed. He often had to keep up with breaking news for his job. “Go put the tray away and go upstairs. Get the plug and put on the special panties, you dripping little slut, and bring the hairbrush. You’re going over my knees for the entire show and you will learn to hate commercial breaks!”
Immediately, she scurried off, as quickly as possible while teetering on the heels and trying to maintain the grace of a ballet dancer. Upstairs, she gathered the required items, pulled on the leather backless panties, took the lubrication for the plug and grabbed the oversized wooden hairbrush he kept hung by the bedside. She paused only a second to check her hair and makeup before hurrying back to his side.
He took the dildo and the lubrication and the hairbrush. He laid the brush down next to him on the couch and held up the lubrication, laughing. “Do you think you need this, fox? I don’t think so,” he laughed and tossed it over the back of the couch. “You will wear this plug,” he said holding it up, “in your wet little cunt to avoid dripping on my suit, slut. Now, lay down so I can insert it.”
She laid down on the floor near his feet and lifted her hips up, offering herself to him. He drew his fingers along the edges of the slit in the panties at her genital area. She knew she was still very wet. He inserted his finger into her, and an involuntary groan escaped her lips as her hips jutted upward ever-so-slightly to meet his finger. “You really are a horny, insatiable whore, little girl. You want it, don’t you? You want to feel my fingers further inside you, don’t you?” He teased, removing his fingers and leaving her wanting so much more. “No. You will be punished tonight and that’s it. You were bad and you will feel the consequences of my disappointment.” With that, she felt the rubber being pushed into her. It was a short and not-very-wide plug that only made her want more. It did not satisfy any of her desire, but rather fueled it with it’s teasing and constant probing.
“There,” he proclaimed, sitting back, “now you won’t be able to soil my suit with your slutty juices when you’re over my lap. All plugged up. Get up, slut.” He ordered. She carefully and slowly stood, feeling the fullness of the toy inside her. She couldn’t look at him in this condition. He picked up the hairbrush and patted his knees. “Get over my knees, and get ready for a sore bottom. I have had it with your games and tonight, your ass is going to hurt. You won’t sit for a few days, you lazy little ungrateful whore.”
She knelt next to him on the couch and before placing herself over his lap, she kissed the back of his hand – the one holding the brush. She then laid herself across his lap, arms extended in front of her, legs straight behind her and crossed at the ankles.
“If that plug comes out, what happens to you?” He asked her, rubbing and stroking her bottom and thighs with his fingers. “Ten strokes of the cane, sir.” She answered quietly. “That’s right, and you had best keep those legs closed and ankles crossed, slut. This is not about your pussy and I don’t want to see it, understand?” He swatted her bottom with the back of the hairbrush as he commanded her.
“Yes, sir, I understand.”
“Have you been doing your exercises, young lady? Tightening and relaxing your pussy as I told you?” He picked up the remote and turned the volume up. She could hear that his show was starting. “Yes, sir, I have, as you ordered.” She replied quickly, not wanting to interfere with his viewing.
“We’ll see when that plug stays put,” he said offhandedly, obviously watching his program and not concentrating on her anymore. There was never really a question of whether it would stay put or not – it always did. He just liked humiliating her that way. He said nothing to her then for what seemed like forever. He didn’t touch her or even seem to know that she was there.
She laid still across his lap, trying not to disturb him in any way. She felt the warmth of his thighs against her hips and groin but refused to think about it, afraid she would move in some small way and distract him. The first few minutes were not too hard, but as time went by, she began to want his attention more and more. She felt so teasingly almost-full and so humiliated, the inattention began to drive her crazy. She knew this was unacceptable and that she was being a selfish brat for needing so much from him, but her natural need for his attention was more than she could control, despite the consequences. Inevitably, she moved – she twitched her still white, unmarked bottom as her hips ground into his thighs. It was a small movement, but she regretted it immediately.
He did not react at all. It was as if she wasn’t there. Nothing from him.
She heard the commentator announce they were cutting away for a commercial break. She bit her bottom lip and took a deep breath. She felt his hand lift above her backside and then she felt the first incredible crack of the brush. Before she had time to process the pain, a plethora of blows descended. He didn’t pause between the blows at all, only the time it took to draw back and deliver a burning, stinging spank. He was angry, and this was punishment. She remained perfectly still as long as she possibly could, feeling the plug inside her with each blow and trying hard to hold it still so she wouldn’t cum from its movements. But the pain was unbearable and she began to try to avoid it, bouncing up and down on his hips, twisting her hips back and forth.
She was crying loudly now, begging and pleading for mercy but he was silent and unfailingly brought the hard wood down in exactly the spot he chose each time, without slowing. It seemed that each stroke was harder than the last. He didn’t say a word. He eventually reached down with his free hand and clasped her around the waist to keep her in position. The paddling continued without letup and it felt as if her skin on her ass was wet, hot, swollen.
Finally, he stopped. She could hear that the show had resumed. “One sound out of you before the next commercial, and you will be a sorry little bitch!” was all he said as he once again turned his complete attention to the program.
“Will be?” she thought. She laid there in agony, wanting very much to rub the pain away, but afraid to move. She sobbed silently into the couch and regretted disobeying him again. She loved him, and she knew that he hated to punish her. He really didn’t like it much and it angered him to have to do it, to be disobeyed at all. That’s why every punishment had been so traumatic and so memorable. There was no mercy, no condolence, no tenderness. She was to suffer, as he suffered at her disobedience, and to feel his anger, he told her. She wondered how many mistakes he would tolerate before he tired of her and wouldn’t put up with the disappointments anymore. She vowed, yet again, to be better, to try harder.
The next commercial break was the same thing, unending beating with the back of the brush, no words, no comfort. Just pain. She felt she would go crazy, that surely her skin had broken, that the welts were bleeding. She, again, could not keep still and bounced, up and down on his lap, her bottom writhing to and fro, her clamped legs thrashing side to side. She tried not to forget the plug inside her, to hold tightly and to keep her ankles crossed, to keep her wet, aching pussy hidden from view.
But, as the beating continued and the pain became flashes of white hot light in her mind, she did forget these things, and quite without intent, she spread her legs to better leverage her escape attempt. When she did, she didn’t even realize it, so absorbed in the fire of her beating was she. He did not pause, still unfailingly finding his target even as she wriggled and squirmed. Finally, the program resumed and he turned his attention elsewhere.
“Not one sound from you,” he warned.
She realized then that she had broken position and quickly closed her legs and crossed her ankles. She had never had a beating so intense before and her mind was reeling from the pain. She closed her eyes. The tears and silent sobs were exhausting her, and she also thought that the welts and bruises on her bottom would last forever this time. Surely she was purple and swollen already and there was still another fifteen minutes of the program left. That meant probably two more breaks.
She wondered if he had noticed that she had spread her legs. He hadn’t mentioned it, or even paused while he was beating her. Maybe he hadn’t noticed, she thought, she prayed. She wouldn’t let it happen again, no matter how bad the pain. She wanted so desperately to be a good slut, to endure her beating with grace and appreciation for his trouble. She wanted to be perfect for him, to be everything he thought she should be. She would try harder.
The next break came quicker and he resumed beating her relentlessly. As before, she steeled herself as long as she could, but the pain overcame her and she started to struggle against him again. He once again held her down around the waist and never paused or missed his mark. For a split second, she marveled at his strength and endurance. How could he beat her with such rigor without tiring? She managed to keep her legs together through the entire ordeal that time, and again, his stern warning, “Do not disturb me with your pathetic cries, little slut.”
To her surprise and joy, there was no last break. That was it. The program ended with no more commercials, although she had to lay there, beaten and broken, across his lap for another five minutes before it ended. When, finally, he turned the television off, he turned his attention to her. He put his arm around her waist again, and held her firmly. She cried out loud now, sobbing with her whole body, sagging into him and into the couch.
“Well, it looks as if you got what you deserved,” he said, lightly touching her bottom. The fire of his touch sent her struggling again, and he held her more tightly. “You won’t be sitting comfortably for quite some time, slut! I see you kept the plug in place like a good little slut.” She shivered. “But, my dear little whore, your pussy somehow made it’s way out from between those legs of yours, didn’t it?” He drew a line with his finger up the crack where her legs came together.
“Yes, sir, but please … I tried so hard, I didn’t mean …” She gasped, her heart pounding with anticipation of more punishment.
“I don’t care what you meant to do, little one. I gave you an order, and you refused to obey it. You have to take the consequences. I am sorry for you, truly, because I imagine it will be very painful for you. Your poor little ass is quite a mess as it is,” he said, pinching her flesh and making her cry out. “I’m sorry, dear one, but you will have to have five strokes with the cane for flaunting that hungry little cunt of yours while I punished you.”
Her entire body drooped and every bit of energy she had had left drained away at his pronouncement. There was no use begging or pleading with him – once he made a decision, there was no changing it. She simply lay there wondering what was next and when.
He then seemed to take pity on her, as he lightly caressed her legs and ass and back with his fingers, such tender loving caresses that it made her cry more. If only she had been on time, tonight could have been different. Maybe he would have bathed her, or massaged her, or made love to her over and over, giving her such tremendous pleasure. Or maybe they would have talked all night, of their dreams, their plans, their lives together. She cried now, regretting what might have been, what she had ruined. She longed for his kiss, his tender touch on her face, her neck.
His voice was softer now, and she thought perhaps he felt sorry for her, sorry that she was so bad she had more punishment to endure.
She straightened her legs and moved to the floor, vowing to be strong. She raised her hips up so he could remove the dildo. She felt his fingers as he removed it and she almost had an orgasm – she had to fight to stop it. She was not allowed that pleasure unless he specifically told her she may. He noticed her quivering and shook his head in disbelief. “Such a slut,” he muttered, slowly, teasingly pulling out the wet plug from her vagina. It was saturated with her fluids and she was embarrassed as he wiped it across her pubic hair. The emptiness she now felt made her crave the relative fullness she had hated moments ago. Tears, again, from her desire for him to fill her, to take her, knowing he would not.
“Stay just like that, slut. I’ll be back momentarily with the cane to get it over with.” He stood and walked up the stairs. Minutes later, he was back with his rattan cane. Without warning, he grabbed her ankles, raising her hips from the floor even more and exposing her punished backside. He raised the cane and laid the first stroke across her flesh. It took a second for the pain to register, but when it did, she screamed out loud and began begging for mercy, promising her obedience and love. The next stroke came quickly and was harder than the first. He still held her ankles.
“Are you going to behave, slut? Are we going to have to do this again?” He asked her, looking into her eyes for the first time that evening. The tenderness, even pity, in his eyes melted her and she quieted, sniffling and gasping for breath. But she relaxed some and knew she could withstand the next three strokes, no matter how harsh. “I will behave from now on. I only want to please you, sir, always in every way. I want to be all that you want. I am so sorry for tonight. Sorry I ruined your evening, sorry I was so much trouble, sir,” she said emphatically, looking into his eyes and sensing it rather than seeing it as he raised the cane for the third stroke. This one was harder than the last and although it took her breath, she did not take her eyes from his. The fourth and fifth stroke were harder each than the previous and left her bleeding from the welts, but she did not cry and she didn’t struggle. She lost herself in his eyes, so different from the excruciating pain he was delivering to her. His eyes always revealed his soul, which was tender and loving and demanding and expecting and vulnerable.
When he was finished, he let go of her legs and put the cane down. “Bring your legs down and turn over on your stomach, slut,” he ordered. She obeyed quickly, feeling the burning of her backside even more acutely as she stretched her body to full length and rolled over. He bent to examine her unrecognizable bottom and told her, “You are bleeding. Stay there while I go get the salve. And when I apply it, hold still.” He left and came back.
The cold, silkiness of the ointment attacked her as he applied the gel to her cuts. The slightest touch made the fire burn hotter on her flesh, but she was too tired and relaxed to struggle. She just laid there while he tended to her wounds. When he finished, he sat on the couch and sighed. Finally, he stood and told her to stand too. She drug herself up to standing and he swooped her up in his arms. “You are going to take a nap, slut and then, you will dress yourself in the clothing I will put out for you and we’re going out to dinner tonight.” He kissed her forehead as he carried her upstairs.
The warmth and wetness of his kiss on her skin sent a wave directly to the area between her legs and her torment began again. She wanted him now more than ever. She whispered, as he laid her in the bed, “I love you, I want you. Please?”
He shook his head and pulled the covers up to her chin, sitting next to her as she winced and cried out from the sheets touching her backside. She rolled over on her side, facing him. “You are incredible, my little slut. Absolutely incredible. You’re going to be empty tonight, dear, as is your hungry little mouth, of me. You are still being punished. You will learn one way or the other, or maybe both. Besides, my dear, I don’t want you now. Punishing you turns me off, you know that. Go to sleep, rest, you have twenty minutes and then I will wake you to prepare for dinner.” He stood, walked to the door and switched off the light. “I love you too.”
