I have a few of these. They’re far worse than anything I would normally ever do, since I have a conscience and have never been with any true “pain slut” masochist women. However, the beast likes to watch occasionally, even if he can’t ever be let off the chain completely. While my conscience is squeamish about them, this one particularly, the beast likes.
I am tightening the straps, letting her feel the finality of the bonds through the tension in her joints just as the woman in the video begins with first silent sobs and sad grimace, knowing the end is near. Then she releases with open cries and tears. My wife turns her head.
“Don’t look away.” My voice is sharp. Commanding.
“Why?”, she asks, as she turns her face back to the screen. The belt spanking has stopped, as have the audible cries, but the woman’s body continues to hitch in silent sobs as she attempts to bury her face in the padded vinyl. Tears continue to fall.
“Why is she still crying?,” I ask, making sure all of her limbs are held at just the proper tension. “The spanking has stopped. She could suck it up and be strong again. Why is she still crying?”
“She’s still in pain?”
“No, that’s not it. She believes she has failed. She is a natural submissive being filmed with her significant other, and she believes she has failed in his eyes.
“What she doesn’t understand is that he was specifically pushing her to see where her breaking point was -- to capture the moment on film.”
The video ends and the application window goes black.
“At this point he is explaining to her how astonished he was that she was able to endure what she did. He is explaining to her that he was not going to stop until he found her inevitable breaking point. And I’m not talking about pulling out fingernails to make you give up information that could lead to deaths of fellow soldiers, that kind of thing. Just the point where she couldn’t hold back the tears. A minor breaking point, to be sure, but it was important to her.
“However, when the cameras were turned off, he was holding her in his arms and the feeling of failure was melting away from her mind as she understood the nature of it all. Before the exercise, she may have had some academic notion of that particular, minor breaking point. Afterward, she was absolutely intimate with it – she knew her breaking point."
With her unable to see, I take a bit of the massage lotion in my right hand, and the ball of a ball gag in my left hand. I place the ball near her mouth and she recoils.
“Thomas …”
Without preamble, I sink my middle finger to the third knuckle into her anus. The irresistible urge to gasp – the ball pops in, and with her neck and full extension, it is easy enough to apply the necessary pressure to keep her from spitting it out until I can move my other hand to control her head and fasten the gear in place.
“We … are not playing for funzies tonight, Angel.” I have affected a Hugo Weaving accent doing “Agent Smith”.
“Tonight is therapy night, and I will be your therapist for the evening. I have structured a regime to fit your needs, and we will not be deviating from the aforementioned course of treatment.” It’s everything I can do to get my larynx conformed to produce the proper rumble for the voice.
Her brow is furrowed and her eyes hot and questioning as she stares me down. She doesn’t find me amusing at this moment. That’s fine. I’ve been doing everything in my power to shore up her faltering psyche this past month, and most of the time, I only see get to see the stress monster. That’s precisely who I want on the surface right now. Angry, fearful, even panicky – and always, always demanding more from herself.
“Oh, you suddenly believe you are not in need of therapy?” I continue with the Weaving voice, just because. I know somewhere in there, she knows that as long as I’m being a goofball, she’s safe, even if I’m not behaving properly and scaring her a bit.
“May I remind you, Angelica, that you – threw – up … after the client had another one of his dramatic – conniptions – during your presentation before the partners?”
Her glare opens with incredulity.
“And before you go blaming Big Mo …”
I enjoy the way Mo’s nickname comes off in the dramatic Weaving pause. I nailed that one.
“You should know that I have several spies in your office. And by spies, I mean people who care about you and are worried about you to the point that they have acquired my email address and made use of it. It could have been sweet little Malin Kim at the front desk. It could have been Gregarious Gay David in Mergers, who knows?
“The point is this: left without some redirection, we all fear you are on a path that is detrimental to your health and overall emotional wellbeing. Need I remind you that the client eventually accepted your proposal in toto?”
OK, now my voice box is getting sore. Enough talk. I take a heavy leather belt from the closet and return to the bed. Her eyes widen as I fold it in my fist and stare back into her eyes with grim determination.
I bring the belt down across her sweet ass and she struggles in the restraints, as much out of anger as pain. I begin laying in lashes at the same tempo as the video. The blows are not quite as hard, but definitely within shouting distance.
She begins crying out over the gag almost immediately, and within about 15 swats, she does a protracted, mournful cry that decrescendos into dramatic hitches. I stop and move my face closer to her head.
“Knock it off, Angelica! You are not worming your way out of this. Now suck it up and show some dignity!”
Holy fuck. If looks could maim, I’d be a splatter movie.
My stern gaze doesn’t waver. I’m at a paradox. I can’t let anyone hurt my wife, including herself. I admire the hell out of her dedication and drive, but … she’s so twisted up in her head lately … she can’t see the big picture. She’s just lost it.
“You know …”
*SWAT!*
“I tried to get you …”
*SWAT!*
“To read George Orwell’s”
*SWAT!*
“Animal Farm”
*SWAT!*
“It’s a quick read.”
*SWAT!*
“See, the animals take over the farm.”
*SWAT!*
“Then the pigs gain control of the farm’s government”
*SWAT!*
“And begin usurping their newfound power”
*SWAT!*
“There’s lots of other socio-dynamic allegory.
*SWAT!*
“But the character I wanted you to understand, is the horse.”
*SWAT!*
“See, as things continue to get worse and worse…”
*SWAT!*
“The horse vows to work harder and harder and harder to fix everything.”
*SWAT!*
“Every time the pigs make themselves richer…”
*SWAT!*
“And the other animals go hungry …”
*SWAT!*
“The horse vows to redouble his efforts.”
*SWAT!*
”Until he …”
*SWAT!*
“Fucking!”
*SWAT!*
“DIES!”
*SWAT!*
“IN!
*SWAT!*
“THE!”
*SWAT!*
“TRACES!”
*SWAT!*
Now, her outcry is real. Her face is flush and veins on her neck distended as she cries out against the gag. Her ass has turned bright red as I’ve walked the lashes up and down and back and forth along her flesh.
“Well, now everybody is fucked.”
*SWAT!*
“If you can’t plow, you can’t plant.”
*SWAT!*
“Everybody starves.”
*SWAT!*
“You are so robotically locked on making full partner …”
*SWAT!*
“You don’t even realize they’re just using you.”
*SWAT!*
“Everybody sees it but you.”
*SWAT!*
“With the insane number of hours you’re billing...”
*SWAT!*
“You’re as much as bribing them NOT to make you a partner.”
*SWAT!*
“You haven’t taken a vacation …”
*SWAT!*
In THREE!”
*SWAT!*
“FUCKING!”
*SWAT!*
“YEARS!”
*SWAT!*
Now her mournful cry is honest. Her fingers roll and clench repeatedly as she pulls against the unforgiving leather cuffs.
“You’re killing yourself for them.”
*SWAT!*
Her scream ends in hitches.
“And they’re just having your gravy.”
*SWAT!*
“That fuckhead, Jerry …”
*SWAT!*
“Will keep using you like a fucking …”
*SWAT!*
“Cash!”
*SWAT!*
“COW!”
Finally, the keystone shatters, and the walls crumble.
Tears begin streaming from her eyes and the strain in her face multiplies as full, wracking sobs take hold. I realize I still have the belt held up while I watched to be sure the dam had completely burst. I toss it into the closet.
When I release the tension on her legs, she produces another wail from the diaphragm. The finality of the end of the ordeal freeing her mind to face the flood mishandled emotions.
Once her ankles are free, I shift her body up in the bed to relieve the stress on her arms. Her sobs continue unabated. I place my pillow beneath her face and remove the gag. She immediately buries her face in my pillow to muffle herself. I hope my scent gives her some comfort.
I return with cold bottles of water from the fridge, placing one on her night table. I have a sip of mine before placing it down and removing my clothing. I free her arms and spoon her too me as she clutches my pillow to her face. Her sobbing has subsided, though her breathing is still labored and she sniffs liquidly. I pull her stinging bottom to me, letting the contact rub some of the sting out. Additionally, I want her to note the flaccid penis touching her crimson buttocks. This ordeal wasn’t exactly my idea of bedtime frolics either.
I stroke her hair and speak softly into her ear. “And I will bet you one of Jerry Rhodes’ expensive tee times with his golf mistress, that if you gave him a courtesy notice that you were meeting with Taylor & Rand, he would shit himself getting you an offer drawn up.”
Stroking her hair aside, I softly kiss the length of her graceful neck.
“By the way, your mother is going to call you in the morning and tell you all about her ‘procedure’ so you won’t have to worry about a cover story. She’s been that worried about you.”
More soft kisses. She snuggles her stinging bottom and body against me. I hope she derives multiple kinds of comfort from the contact.
“Your life is actually filled with people who love you, Angel. You might think about spending a bit of time with them sometime. But we can discuss the job thing this weekend. Let’s forget about it for now. Just promise me that you won’t go back into robot mode and keep me shut out, because I really, really don’t want to do this to you again.”
She wiggles slightly as she laughs into the pillow. This is followed with another wet sniff.
“You’re definitely going to want another pillow case,” she says, finally.
“Mi almohada es su almohada, mi esposa.”
“You realize my father never even spanked me,” she said, turning to face me with one glittering eye. She has recovered from her emotional overload enough to begin trying to analyze what just happened.
“Yeah, well,” I say with a mischievous smile, adopting a comic old man voice. “Back in my day, our fathers beat the living fuck out of us – and we were thankful, gaaaaaad-damnit.” I roll her gently to her back and settle on my side, cradling her to me.
She swipes at her face with the back of her hand when I try to find her eyes with mine.
“I look terrible.”
“No, Angel, baby.” I move her hand away and softly caress her reddened cheek. The flesh is puffy and moist around her eyes, but there is no deception in them. No more her usual “I’m fine, Thomas, stop asking me.” Those are my Angel’s eyes.
“You look beautiful.” I give her the softest kiss.
“This is the first time I think I have seen your forehead relaxed in probably six months. I’ve even seen it furrowed in your sleep.
“You look … younger. And … I dunno … innocent … maybe.”
She laughs, and the sight and sound of it lift me inside.
“Innocent?”,” she said, her eyes smiling for the first time since dinner. I can’t help but grin broadly back.
“Well, you certainly had the hell beaten out of you.”
“I noticed, asshole,” she exclaimed, fixing me with her eyes. Was all that absolutely necessary?”
“We’ll talk about it in a bit. But first, let me start trying to make it up to you. I know I have a lot of work to do on that score.”
(To be continued)
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