“That’s going to take forever,” I argued.
“You better get started then,” he said as he turned on The Great British Baking Show, one of our favorite shows and it was the finale. I was knelt in a position that I could sort of watch it, but the burning sensation in my anus had my entire focus. And now, regrettably, the rice.
I picked up a single grain and transferred it to the new container. And then another. And another. Two grains stuck to my finger and I accidentally dropped them both. I glanced up to see if he noticed. His eyes were on the TV.
“I heard that,” he said. “Take one out and do it again.”
I sighed and did as I was told. So much for loopholes. I painstakingly continued to transfer the rice. One. Fucking. Grain. At. A. Time.
By the end of the episode, I’d barely covered the bottom of the new container. The ginger reached its peak burn but it hadn’t decreased intensity at all. I couldn’t find a comfortable position and I wanted to take it out so badly.
“You can transfer two at a time.” He laid back on the couch so he was facing me and played on his phone, occasionally glancing over.
I continued the tedious task, making what felt like no progress. At this rate I’d be moving rice until Christmas. I felt helpless and desperate. I needed the plug out.
“I’m sorry, Daddy,” I said as sweetly as I could, looking as submissive and contrite as possible.
He set his phone down on his chest and looked at me. Smugly. “I know you are. And I’m going to make sure you never do what you did ever again. This isn’t fun, is it?”
“No, Sir.”
“You don’t want to do this again, do you?”
“No, Sir.”
“I want you to think about what you did and how sorry you are. You can transfer four at a time.”
I continued. It took longer to count out four than it was worth, so I adopted a pinching method that typically grabbed between 2 to 4 grains at a time. I didn’t count each time, but he didn’t object to my technique. It still took me hours. He sat contently on the couch, playing chess on his phone and talking with friends.
When I was finally done, I presented the empty jar to him. He checked it, pointing out a few stray grains on the coffee table before letting me stand up.
“Put the jar in the dishwasher then you may remove the plug.”
A wave of relief washed over me as I pushed the plug out. The burning still lingered but it wasn’t nearly as intense, and no longer accompanied by the feeling of acute fullness.
I walked back into the living room.
“Kneel.”
I did. I waited for probably another 15 minutes before he turned his attention back to me.
“Your punishment isn’t over.” He pulled out the bullwhip from behind him.
“Please,” I begged. “Can I have the cane instead?”
His eyes widened, face hardening. I knew better than to suggest my own punishment. I shouldn’t have said anything.
“Basement. Now.”
I stood up and sulked to the basement. He had me bend over the ottoman, my face buried in a blanket.
“Your hands stay there.”
I braced myself for the first lash.
CRACK
My pain instincts took over and I retreated into a ball on the floor.
“Back in position. Now. Or do you not want that one to count?”
I scrambled back at the threat, bracing for the next hit.
CRACK
Again, I recoiled. I couldn’t help it. The pain was so new, and the exact opposite of what my masochism enjoyed. He understood what was happening and he changed his approach. Instead of chastising me for breaking position, he knelt beside me and rubbed my back while I cried. Then, gently guided me back into position. He did this after every lash, allowing me to feel and react to the pain exactly how I needed to. I’m not sure how many lashes I took, but he gave me two more past the point of drawing blood.
When it was over, I was sobbing. He scooped me into his arms and let me cry against his chest while he stroked my hair.
“Your punishment is over,” he whispered.
“I’m so sorry,” I said between ragged breaths. “I promise I won’t ever do it again.”
“I know, babygirl. You’ve been punished for it. We can move on now.”
We spent the rest of the night cuddling on the couch, hydrating, and watching TV. I couldn’t have my phone, but all I needed was his presence to be comforted.