Chapter 18

After the Field Trip, Liz suffers a meltdown, but my hose puts out the fire.

She was begging and ordering at the same time. I could see she was wet but not because of anything I did; visiting the Bondage store got her off this time.

She started this shit, so if she wanted to be my sub today, game on, slave girl.

I entered my home, slammed the door, and snarled, “Silence bitch, or I’ll turn your butt red with my belt. Do not move, slut.”

She stopped talking but turned her head to look at me, so I smacked her butt cheek hard.

“Are you deaf or stupid, girlie? I said, do not move!”

She turned away, looking forward, and I slapped the other cheek. “You must be stupid because you’re supposed to freeze when I say don’t move.”

She froze, and I could hear her panting like a bitch dog waiting to get bred. I slowly stripped, tossing my clothes in front of her, and listened to her sharply inhale as each item hit the floor.

I held my belt in my hands, folded it in half, and snapped it, creating the cracking noise belts make, and she jerked, unsure about what she’d started. I strolled to the loveseat and sat down, my cock at attention. I stared at her, and she stared back, then I looked around the room for her clothes. Liz had worn a dress and heels to the coffee shop; one shoe was next to me, and the other was in the kitchen. Her dress was draped over a lampshade, her bra was in the middle of the floor, and her panty hung from the chandelier.

“Drop on your belly, slut, squirm over here like a snake, and kiss my feet.”

Squeals, grunts, and whining escaped from her lips as she struggled to move four feet until her lips were over my toes, and she looked into my eyes, expecting mercy, but seeing none in my eyes glaring at her.

“What are you waiting for? Are you so stupid that I must write my commands in crayon on construction paper? Get on with it!”

With tears forming in her eyes, she brushed her lips over my toes, unsure of what I expected from her.

“Since when do you kiss me without using your tongue?”

She froze, didn’t raise her head, but sobbed softly.

“Elizabeth, you bought the fucking book and wanted me to read it. You drove to Wicked Grounds, raced back to my house with your cunt dripping all over my floor, and submitted your body to me. Are these statements true?”

Her answer was drawn out in a high-pitched wail, “YESSSSSSSSS,” ending with a cough in her throat.

“When you answer me, you will address me as Sir or Master, like it says to do in the damn book.”

Crying, Liz answered, “Yes, sir.”

“Well, your book was pretty specific; the three pillars of BDSM are Trust, Honesty, and Respect, and I believe the most important one is trust. Do you trust me, Liz?”

“Yes, um, Sir.”

“Do you wish to continue today?”

“Yessir.”

“Then quit fucking around and obey your Master’s commands.”

“Yes, master,” and she kissed my toes with lips and tongue, just a touch on each digit, and I praised her afterward before giving her another command.

“Stand up, kneel on the loveseat next to me, facing the wall and leaning over the back, with tits hanging down. Now move!”

I stood up, and she scrambled to go where I ordered her to be. As soon as she was situated, I stood behind her and slammed my cock deep inside her soaked snatch. Then, I began to stroke, pressing down on her clit with the bottom of my slippery cock and brushing up against her G spot with the head. Liz slammed her pussy back against my rod, moaning in ecstasy. I wasn’t trying to give her pleasure, but I wasn’t close to coming when she came, screaming like a banshee. I wasn’t ready to empty my balls yet, so I kept pounding and remembered reading something about the dom trash-talking to humiliate the sub.

“Um, you’re just a greedy whore; you like my cock, don’t you bitch.” I guess my words didn’t inspire her at all, or maybe it was my delivery, and after listening to more of the same coming from me, she started laughing, not loud, but she stopped screaming and made sneering noises between her teeth like precious the pup. I was getting pissed at her, so I spanked her right butt cheek hard.

She froze, stunned that I slapped her ass cheek.

“So you think I’m funny, slut?”

No answer, I think she was in shock, so I slapped the left cheek harder. She sucked in a lot of air and groaned but didn’t speak or scream.

I picked up my belt, folded it in half, and snapped it, making a loud cracking sound. “Does the cat have your tongue, whore?”

An eerie silence descended upon my living room, only disturbed by the ticking of my grandfather clock.

“You’re trying to provoke me, and you’re succeeding. But, my pride won’t let me lose this challenge from you, Liz. You wanted this, and I’m going to give it to you, you slag. Starting now, you have ten seconds to be on your hands and knees on my bed.”

She didn’t move and was still hanging over the back of the couch. This bitch was defying me, and I didn’t expect that, but I couldn’t back down.

“Insubordinate slut, I don’t know whether I should beat you until the blood runs down your back and forms puddles on the floor, or tie you to a chair, gag you, and then go pick up a couple of freshman girls at the Keep and audition both of them to be your replacement?”

“No, you wouldn’t; please don’t do that; I’m sorry.”

“Cunt, why do I have to train you to address me as Sir or Master. Apologize properly, bitch.”

“Please forgive me, Master. I’m sorry, Master. I will obey your commands, Master. Please punish this useless slave, Master.”

“Bedroom, now.”

She jumped off the sofa and disappeared down the hallway as I smiled, knowing I was in control again. Liz faced the headboard on her hands and knees when I walked into our bedroom.

A different chapter in the book Liz gave me addressed how to inflict pain onto the sub. The book cautioned against hitting so hard that the skin was bruised or even cut open, for an injured slave was no use to the Master. Instead, the author wrote how continuous mild contact on various erogenous zones, such as the bottom of the feet, the back of the thighs, the areola and nipples, and the mons venus, can give the submissive partner sensory overload. After a few moments of light contact, the nerves in that area become so inflamed that pain and pleasure intertwine, and the sub must endure some pain before receiving pleasure.

I remembered some of the simple household items listed in the book and where and how to use them. So I left Liz alone on the bed and quickly rounded up a few things to try out. While in the kitchen, I had an evil inspiration, so I took out my phone and made a call.

“Wicked Grounds, Madame Giselle speaking.”

“Is Jerry available?”

“One moment, please.”

A minute later, “Jerry speaking.”

“Jerry, this is Marty; my wife Liz and I came by earlier today. I have a question about your group get- togethers, and I believe you have one tonight?”

After he answered my questions, I hung up and took my finds in the kitchen to the bedroom.

The first implement of torture found in the home was a wooden spoon with a round handle, and I held it by wrapping my hand around the spoon part. Then, holding it an inch away, I began tapping the soles of her feet. I wondered if the book was telling the truth because Liz still did not react after a few minutes. Then I heard a whimper and her toes started curling, so I continued striking her feet for a few more minutes, enjoying the squeals coming from her lips. When they increased in volume and intensity, I stopped because I didn’t want her to climax too quickly.

With the same spoon, I repeated the light tapping stroke using my other hand against the back of her thighs, moving the handle up and down both thighs. It took five minutes before her first reaction came, a cry from her lips, and I wasn’t sure whether it was from pain or pleasure. I continued until her head dropped down onto the mattress.

The next household torture instrument was a dish towel which I swung in a circular motion with just the very end of the towel striking her butt cheeks. Since I had already warmed them up, it wasn’t very long before her ass was wiggling, and she was making squeaking noises. I continued for another minute before stopping, and I ordered Liz to sit on the end of the bed, hands-on head and fingers interlocked.

My third inexpensive torture device was one of my costly silk ties. I folded it and began whipping the nipples and areola softly while staring at her tearful eyes. Her nipples went from firm to swollen and rigid, and a constant whine was coming from her diaphragm.

“Are we in agreement now that I am the master and you are my slave?”

In a whining, high-pitched voice, Liz answered, “Yes, master, I’m yours, whatever you want, wherever you want, use this worthless skanky slut for your pleasure.”

While swinging my tie upward against her tits, switching back and forth between my arms, her cries and moans became more pronounced, and I think she was ready to climax. I had to stop because my arms were burning.

“Lay on your back, spread your legs slightly, and slide your hands under you, cupping your butt cheeks. Do not move your hands until I tell you to.” I waited until she was in position, and I picked up my last torture device, four bristles from our kitchen broom, held together at one end by a rubber band.

Held between my thumb and index finger, I spread the bristles apart by a quarter of an inch and lightly scratched an inch above her clit before slowly dragging the strands across an area a diaper would cover. Liz was making faces and moaning, biting her lower lip while shaking her head side to side, and her legs were twitching.

Finally, she begged, “Please let me come, master, please, sir.”

I stayed silent, watching the agony in her facial expressions as the love of my life was twitching and shaking, lying on her back.

Crying, she pleaded, “Please, master, let me come; I’ll be good, I promise.”

“Very well, my little pain slut, COME!”

I slid two fingers of my left hand over her engorged clitoris and buried it between her flooded pussy’s lips.

Her heels dug into the bed, raising her ass off the mattress, and she let loose a blood-curdling scream as she came, her body trembling and covered with sweat. Slowly, she slumped back flat on the bed, and while struggling to catch her breath, she mouthed, “Thank you, sir,” toward me.