“No! No!” I cried pathetically. Chest heaving, I caved. “Please… beat me.”
“Not very convincing.” His disappointment was soul crushing.
I gritted my teeth and steeled myself. “Beat my ass! Take it all out on me — I’ll bear it for you!”
Michael smiled, which briefly warmed my heart. Then it turned evil, and with a sneer he raised the belt and delivered a tremendous blow. It was terrible to see it coming, and the pain was so intense it made me dizzy. But he hadn’t told me to look away, so I kept eye contact with him as he rained hell on my proffered ass. It was just like the movie. He was enjoying putting me to torture.
It went on for I don’t know how long. Probably just minutes, but to me it was endless. Michael was actually exerting himself, while I was covered in sweat (and angry red stripes). Delivering a final belt strike, he put his hands on his knees and rested. I felt like I had run a marathon, and endured a Roman scourging. But no rest for me. Michael hauled me up by my hair again. “Bring me a towel and a warm washcloth.” When I hesitated, he snapped, “Now!” and I jumped to it.
Scurrying back, I found Michael sitting on the bed. He mopped his brow, toweled off and ordered me to rub down his arm and shoulders. I gingerly joined him on the bed, kneeling because there was no way I could sit after the belt, and began tending to him.
Ever have a moment where you see yourself from the outside? I realized incredulously I was comforting a man who was tired out from beating me, massaging the arm that was sore from swinging the belt. And I fucking loved it. My love and admiration for Michael filled my heart at this moment. He was an artist, and his medium was evil.
I desperately wanted to kiss him and receive tenderness in return, but I didn’t dare. Instead I concentrated on kneading his muscles, hoping it would make things easier on me going forward. Having caught his breath, Michael stood and took me by the elbow. Brooking no nonsense, he propelled me toward the kitchen. “Make me breakfast. Good little sluts make eggs in the morning.”
“Yes, Michael.” I hurried to get to work. Naked in the kitchen, making eggs. Eager to please the man who had just taken a belt to my ass. I would have laughed if it weren’t for the painful, angry welts.
Michael watched as I gathered ingredients. “You’ll only need about half of that. You’re not eating.” I quickly returned some food to the fridge. When I started on the bacon Michael tossed me an apron. My appreciation quickly turned to self-consciousness because Michael began taking photos. It was a tiny apron, and it made me feel more exposed than simply being naked.
While the bacon sizzled he had me look into the camera for a brief video. After panning up and down my body, he asked what I was doing. The kind of answer he wanted was obvious. I stared soulfully into the lens and said, “Michael just beat me with a belt, and now I’m making him breakfast.”
“How come?”
I swallowed my pride and answered, “Because I’m a good little slut.” He made a point of showing me that he was sending it to some of our friends.
The bacon smelled wonderful, but none for me. I served Michael at the table and he pointed to a spot next to him. I knelt on the hard floor while he ate. You may be thinking at this point in the story that this doesn’t sound like much fun for me. I suppose there’s some truth to that, insofar as it’s not exactly “fun” in the moment. But it was deeply satisfying, and I loved it. Michael understands there is a difference between being dominant and simply being a jerk. It was all calculated. He was working hard to make me feel debased and make me believe (except for that tiny part of my mind that knew I was safe) that I wasn’t pleasing him and was in danger of being tossed away. The reward would come much, much later, when he told me that I really was a good girl. That was what I yearned for more than anything — being Michael’s Good Girl.
That said, I was really hungry. I didn’t think I had much room to cajole Michael, but my hunger and the smell of bacon was making a good argument to try. I put a hand on his thigh and looked up at him with big, hopeful eyes. Michael regarded me incredulously. “What are you, a cocker spaniel?”
I decided to push my luck. “Can I please have a little piece of bacon? Just a mouthful? I’ve been good, haven’t I?”
Michael slowly turned his head to look at me, and I realized I had made a mistake. He put down his fork, pushed back his chair slightly… and slapped me across the face.
I crumpled in shock. My cheek was on fire, my ass hurt from the belt and I thought I might have an orgasm right there. Though we had discussed it, Michael had been reluctant to introduce this sort of play. I tried to convince him that it wasn’t much different than spanking because I was really curious how I would react. Now I knew. Cowering on the floor, wondering if he would strike me again, I felt so in love I would have agreed to have babies.
Now he stared down at me and growled, “You’ll eat something soon enough. Give me that apron.”
I divested myself and was once again naked, not daring to move from my knees. Michael seized my hair and put my face next to his plate. “Stay still.” He proceeded to finish his breakfast with my nose an inch from his food. At this point I wouldn’t have tried to take a morsel on a bet.
Michael pushed back from the table. “Put it in the sink, you can clean up later.” I hurried to comply. As I turned back from the sink he was already there and took hold of my hair again. Forced to my knees, I was made to take out his cock and it was immediately thrust to the back of my throat. Maybe it was better that I hadn’t eaten.
Most of the time Michael lets me worship his cock at my leisure, which I adore. Long, slow blowjobs with lots of eye contact. When I feel like highlighting my submissiveness I’ll take his hand and put it on the back of my head, or rub his cock lovingly on my face. Today was different. He was going to take his pleasure how he wanted, at his pace.
Still holding me tightly, Michael put me in my place both physically and verbally. He told me I was getting not just what I had asked for, but what I deserved. If I wanted to be the lowest form of slut for a day, no problem. I would be used at his whim, and perhaps by others, and I had best shut up and take it. He demanded a response and I nodded pitifully, my mouth full of his cock.
“Oh, and you were hungry. We can fix that.” Michael hauled me to my feet and dragged me toward the bedroom. Strange to think of it at that moment, but I actually mused that my day had only just begun.
Michael sent me sprawling onto the bed. He was tossing his pants aside and I began to beg him to be gentler, but he showed me the back of his raised hand. That threat made me cower again and I resolved to just quietly endure whatever was coming. He climbed onto the bed and gave me a dismissive push on my shoulder, putting me on my back.
Looming over me, Michael stared into my eyes with menace. Slowly, he snarled, “Cross your wrists over your head, spread your legs… and SHUT UP.” I assumed the position, knowing I was about to be used very roughly. But I had been totally wet and ready from the moment he had slapped me, so I welcomed it.