Monday, June 18, 2012

Kink Fiction: "Exquisitely Harsh"

Alright, alright! I give! After many requests, here's some new kink fiction:


“Come here,” he said to her. She had been put into position wearing nothing more than knee-high black boots, restraints on her ankles and wrists and a thick black leather collar. She did have a stainless steel metal plug in her bottom that curved up toward her tailbone like a handle. It had been inserted some time ago. When it went in it had been so cold, but now her body temperature had warmed it and she had grown accustomed to it inside her.

He was sitting in a black leather chair, eyeing her stand in that position for some time. She moved to him, dropping to her knees and placing her forehead on his feet, as she had been taught to do so long before. She then held that position while he stroked her hair. “Are you ready for more?” he asked. There was no response. “You may speak.”
“Yes, sir.”

“I thought so.” He reached down and grabbed the handle of the plug and jiggled it. She made a small mewing sound at that. “Get up, my slut,” he said, yanking on the plug to pull her to her feet. She whined at this, but got upright and he followed, rising up. He slapped her face, hard. “Hurry!”

"I'm sorry!"

“Oh, you’ll be sorry,” he said. He grabbed the stainless steel handle and took her over to a spanking bench. He affixed her ankle and wrist cuffs to it so that she was bent over the padded bench, her bottom in the air, the handle point out and upward. He began slapping her all over—her neck, her back, her shoulders, arms, legs and mostly her bottom. Her skin stung everywhere. He was harsh, the slaps hard and unyielding. “You are a very bad girl!”

He yanked the plug from her and she could hear the muffled sound of it dropping onto a towel on the floor. Then she felt it’s terrible kiss—the dragon tongue. He struck her bottom again and again with it. “Now you'll get what you deserve,” he said, “because you’re going to bleed again!” He sounded so angry! The leather from the dragon’s tongue cracked against her skin, loud snapping sounds like a whip in the darkness. He hit her again and again and again without a break. 

She heard him move from her then, wondering if that was it—if the punishment was over for her. She heard him return. She couldn't turn to see him from her position across the bench and the restraints holding her in place. Then, without warning, there was an enormous thud on her bottom. It was the canemore—the terrible, thick bamboo cane easily an inch in diameter, so nicknamed because it was a cane…and more. He laid into her sweet spots again and again with the canemore. She felt like she was going to be one enormous purple bruise, but still he continued and she took it. She deserved this. She needed this.

He switched to her other side and struck her again, making sure the blows where even on both sides so the canemore wouldn’t just favor her left side more than the right. She felt him touch her skin with his fingertips, inspecting. A few places stung, obviously the spots that had bled. He was gone again, then returned once with something else that felt whippy and stung like a wasp. It cracked against her skin and he covered her butt cheeks with little snap, snap, snaps of the implement. He’d start a rhythm and she would think she could ride with them, then he’d slow down but go more intensely, then speed up again. She couldn’t even relax into it. He was being so cruel! 

Another cane, this was starting on the bottom of her feet! The cane tapped away on her soles, sending them aflame, then moved up the back of her legs, up to between her thighs, across her hips, up her back—careful to miss her ribcage and spine—and on to her arms. Then he returned to her bottom and, placing a hand on her tailbone to calibrate, sent the cane whipping through the air and striking her flesh again and again. It was too much to bear! She burst into tears, but still he didn’t stop. And he never used his hand—her favorite!—as a “reward”. Always implements and, it felt, mostly implements she dreaded or hated.

She cried and breathed into it, taking it all, absorbing it up into her. And then it was over. He dipped his finger into her. “Wet little slut,” he said. “You were enjoying that.” She presented to him, thrusting her hips up toward him.


He swatted her ass then, as hard as he could, just once. “Not tonight, whore. You don’t deserve it.” He released her restraints. She didn’t move. She knew not to. He went around to her head, knelt down in front of her and held her face in his hands.

“Do you want to be my good little girl?” he asked.

“Yes, yes of course.”

“Well, you are,” he said, kissing her on the forehead. “You did a very good job with your punishment.” He stroked her hair. “Now, I’ll go make you dinner while you bathe. If you’re good, you might get that fucking you want later. But first you’ll have to sit on the hard wood chair naked during the meal, understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“That’s my girl,” he said, removing the restraints in their customary ritual before heading to the bathroom to run water into the tub and then to the kitchen to begin prepping dinner. She glowed, touching her bottom and looking in the bathroom mirror at her rear. She smiled to herself. It had been a terribly harsh scene, but now she was a good girl again, the bath waited for her, and soon a lovely dinner would be made. She’d have to suffer the wood chair, but even that would be exquisite. 


  1. It's about time! ;)
    Well worth the wait, however.
    I love her smile, and her glow. :D

  2. Glad you liked it, A'marie, my biggest "where's-the-damn-fiction" complainer!

  3. Wow! Great story! Reading about caning on the feet makes my toes curl.

  4. Glad you liked it, Lea. Thanks.