BDSM Erotic Lit
Painful Passion, an erotic short story by Peter Rosier
“Justine, you wicked girl, what have you been doing?”
Her mistress's voice stung Justine like a slap and made her drop her gaze to the ground.
“Fighting, Ma'am, with one of the stable girls. But only because she called me a bad name.”
“She is common and knows no better, but you should. See here, your dress is torn and dirty. This is not how I expect my personal maid to behave. You know the punishment!”
Her mistress seized Justine by the arm and pulled her roughly down the cellar stairs of the old mansion. Underneath a large hook fastened over a stone doorway, she paused and ordered her maid to strip. Shivering because she knew what lay ahead, Justine removed her bodice and skirt and stood, bare footed and entirely naked, on the stone flagstones whilst her mistress manacled each hand and passed the chain between them over the hook. Its height meant that Justine could barely reach the ground even with her arms fully extended and was on tiptoe awaiting her punishment.
“Prepare yourself,” said her mistress, and Justine heard the whistle of the old leather harness strap as it whipped through the air followed by a loud crack as it met the soft pink and white flesh of her pert bottom. Again and again, the strap, expertly wielded by her mistress, made a sudden and ferocious contact with her pretty rear, leaving a telltale tattoo of red marks. But to Justine, the strap, however bad it sounded, felt more like the lick of a rough but welcome tongue as it caressed her tender parts over and over. A sense of deep and forbidden stimulation stole over her as she hung and twisted under the hook, her body writhing from her mistress's merciless punishment but her sex inflamed by the discipline her mistress was prepared to give her.
She felt the dampness between her legs grow and, as her thighs grew slick and wetter still, it was clear her mistress had noticed. The angle of the strap altered and its wicked tip, as venomous in its bite as a snake, curled between her parted thighs and stung her engorged slit.
Paula sighed, and put the tattered paperback historical romance back in her handbag as the bus drew near to her stop. If only life could be like these overblown fictions, a whipping when well deserved by a stern but loving mistress followed by tears and much making up. But Paula was not a maid in a big house and the chance of any such thing happening was remote to say the least.
"Could this day get any worse?" Paula asked herself rhetorically as the loose heel on her shoe caused her ankle to twist painfully as she got off the bus and stumbled into a puddle. It was just another work day in a winter city where the buses ran late; it rained like it would never stop and her bosses and the customers seemed to compete as to who could be the rudest and most obnoxious. Her umbrella blown inside out and her hair in rats' tails, finally she was on her way home and her apartment was in sight.
"Home, sweet home," she muttered, "lonely, on my own but at least dry."
Later, with a stiff drink (well earned, she thought) and dinner cooking, changed into dry clothes and central heating fired up, Paula began to feel a little better and keen to browse the internet dating site she had recently joined to find that ideal partner. Not that she had any high hopes. Many possible partners turned out to be uninterested in her or just deeply strange. If they were at least superficially reasonable, they lived too far away. Paula looked again at the personal details she had provided, tempted by the special offer for new women joiners on the gay and lesbian dating site.
"Single business girl, early twenties, very feminine femme, hopes to meet slightly older and more dominant partner for evenings in and trips out; maybe a longer, loving relationship. Interests include..." and Paula had listed a fair number of her pursuits that would appeal (she hoped) to the type of person she wanted to attract.
But one interest in particular was very special to Paula and it was this, above all else, that was proving to be a stumbling block in the way of any relationship. Paula knew very well that she was a submissive by nature and a femme by appearance, upbringing and interests. She sought a dominant partner, one who would take the more masculine role and with it the responsibility for their relationship in a way that Paula sorely missed. And there was a deeper aspect, too. Paula craved a disciplinary lifestyle; one where she would behave, of course, as much as she could but where, if she let herself or her partner down by misbehavior for any reason, her partner would supply firm but fair punishment. A spanking or more, then floods of remorse and the delicious pleasure of making up with the offence whatever it was out of the way and forgotten.
Just as it was in the historical pulps that Paula would never have admitted to reading, let alone enjoying.
Paula sighed and wiped away a surreptitious tear.
Coming back to reality, she broke away from her laptop just long enough to turn down the heat on the stew simmering on her stove, and then returning to her dating site was surprised (and pleased) to find a private message waiting for her from another member.
Clicking on the link, she found a pleasant smiling brunette whose photograph was certainly flattering and whose message she found intriguing.
Dear Paula, My name is Helen and I think I meet the requirements you mention. I'm in my mid thirties, in business like you, and it seems I live reasonably near. I'm not in a relationship at present. Most of mine have not lasted too long because I'm often thought a bit too dominant. But maybe that's what you need? Get back to me and we can chat.
That was some days ago now. Paula and her new friend, Helen, exchanged brief emails and then, feeling that maybe something good was going to come from this after all, spoke for increasingly longer periods on the phone. It seemed Helen's interests matched Paula's generally but Paula still hesitated as to how to raise her deeper disciplinary needs. In the end, it was Helen who broke the ice.
"You know, Paula," she said in one of their phone conversations, "you have a need to be a sub in a relationship and I'm often accused of being too dominant but I like to be in charge so maybe we will fit together there. But one thing I should make clear. I favor a disciplinary relationship. Have you heard of that?"
Paula's stomach had turned a somersault at that and she stuttered out a reply, then felt ashamed of being so inarticulate at the mention of the very thing she wanted most. But Helen didn't mind.
"Sounds like you're not too put off. Shall we meet at my place and discuss it further?"
And now here Paula was, standing on Helen's doorstep and ringing the bell. She had given a lot of thought on what to wear to make the right first impression. She wanted to appear femme but not a bubblehead, attractive but not cheap. In the end, she settled for a neutral blouse; a grey mid-thigh length skirt which was business-like but short enough to show her legs to advantage and cut to emphasize her neat little rear; a cream jacket and low heel shoes. She decided against pantyhose or stockings; her legs were naturally quite tan even in winter and she had something in mind that stockings or hose would only hinder.
Even after all this trouble, Paula felt insecure standing on Helen's step and wondering, would she like Helen after all in person and would Helen like her? At this point, the door opened and a smiling Helen invited Paula in.
Once seated with a coffee and chatting neutrally about Paula's journey, Paula just could not stop staring at Helen. She was just as she had hoped: attractive, tall, with an air of command but kind, too. And pretty? No, beautiful in a heart-wrenching way.
"Well, Paula," said the awe inspiring Helen, "now you've met me at last, what do you think? Would you want to be my partner, maybe?"
Paula could only nod, dumbly.
Helen smiled. "Perhaps I ought to make some things clear. My ideal partner will move in and live with me here but I do feel she should keep her own place on as well, at first at least, in case it doesn't work out. She will have her own bedroom, I'll show you shortly, but I will expect her to join me in my bed whenever I wish. She will be my submissive and do as I say but I promise I'm not unreasonable. Is this what you're looking for?"
Paula nodded again.
"In case you are wondering,” said Helen, “you are just as I had hoped. I think we could become lovers. I do feel attracted to you and you seek a submissive lifestyle, don't you? I can promise you that."
"Yes, Helen, I do. And I find you really.....just what I have been looking for. Sorry, I've put that badly."
"My reasons for expecting my lover to be a sub are really because I feel too many relationships break-up due to unexpressed and repressed anger. One partner annoys the other, they argue but eventually bury it and think they've moved on but the resentment is still there, just covered over. Multiply that by many times in any relationship and you have a deep well of dissatisfaction that both parties can draw on at any time, to express their frustration with one another. Finally, it creates a distance between them that can't be overcome and their love dies.
"With a disciplinary relationship, that doesn't happen. I expect you to be the very best you can because I love you and want you to achieve your full potential as a person, as a friend, as a....lover. You understand?"
Paula nodded.
"So, if you fall short, I will punish you, physically. It will be painful but for your own good and, when it's over, that is the end of it. The offense, whatever it was, will never be mentioned again. No lingering resentment, just swift and fair punishment and we move on. Of course, this supposes that you trust me enough to accept my judgement. Do you?"
Paula nodded again.
"Physical punishment is painful, true, but never as painful as the emotional anguish of a relationship slowly disintegrating. As regards to my punishments, there would be just two types. The first for minor offenses is a spanking, by hand, on your bottom and backs of your thighs. The second, for serious misdemeanors, is a caning on the same parts of your pretty anatomy. In both cases, always on your bare skin; fewer strokes on bare flesh are preferable to more on skin cushioned by clothes. If a caning is required, it will never be just half a dozen strokes; a serious fault will require more correction but I will usually tell you how many to expect beforehand. In fact, come with me."
Helen took Paula by the hand and led her to what was clearly a small study where a PC hummed on a desk. Clicking the mouse, Helen brought up on the screen a site Paula noted was called "discipline domestique". Although the text was in French, the subject matter was quite clear and Helen homed in on several photographs of pretty female bottoms with cane and strap marks clearly etched on their flesh. Some were a flaming crimson and others a more black and blue color.
Helen expanded several of the pictures in turn to full screen size and Paula stared in fascination.
"Although these look like severe beatings, any bad infraction of my rules would mean a punishment probably more harsh than these but they do serve to give you some idea. I want you to be clear from the outset. Do you feel you are prepared to accept this?"
Paula swallowed, her eyes still fixed on the screen but a warm feeling was spreading across her belly and a wet glow stimulated between her tightly pressed together thighs as she heard her beautiful Helen offering just what she had always wanted.
"Yes, Helen, I think so. Just one thing, though. I've never been caned, ever. I want to be sure I can take it. Would you cane me now, just as a demonstration, so I know that I could stand a real punishment session. Please?"
Helen looked surprised and gratified, too.
"No one else has ever asked that and it seems that you must be serious to do so. I'm so glad. I really do think you and I could be happy together. Go to that cupboard at the end and bring me what you find there."
Paula went to the tall cupboard and found, as she had rather expected, a long thin cane. She brought it back to Helen who laid it down on the seat of a chair she had pulled into the centre of the room.
"Very well, Miss," she said to Paula. "Skirt and panties off and bend over the back of the chair. Hold the seat tightly and keep your legs spread apart. Do not move until I say so and do not put your hand in the way of the cane or you will get extra strokes. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Helen."
Paula quickly stripped and was pleased that her decision not to wear stockings or pantyhose had been the right one. She had wondered if the possibility of a trial punishment might arise and guessed that hose would only get in the way.
Helen was talking again.
"One more thing. If you decide to stay, you will always in future address me as 'Ma'am'. This is to ensure you are aware of your sub and my dom status and will apply at all times, even during lovemaking, in public or with friends, and especially when being punished. Or, if you forget too often, you will receive a spanking. Do I make myself clear?"
"Yes, Ma'am," said Paula.
"Very well," and Helen raised the cane. To Paula, waiting for it to descend, seemed like many minutes but was probably only seconds. She felt Helen gently bring the cane to her rear cheeks and tap them to confirm her aim. She felt Helen's hand on the bare skin of the small of her back to steady her and heard her instruction to relax her buttocks, which she had clenched tight against the pain to come. She sensed Helen bring the cane back and heard it swish through the air only for it to again just lightly tap the taut flesh of her rear, so obviously exposed to her disciplinarian lover.
Mistress' Whip by Mick Payton available at Obsession Art
This happened twice more but the third time, as Paula relaxed her clenched rear cheeks which Helen knew she would have to do eventually, the sound of the cane descending was far louder and it seemed to Paula that again it lasted for several seconds but time was distorted in such a situation. The first stroke caught her squarely across both cheeks and felt more like a substantial blow than the cut of a cane - for a second or two anyway. Then a pain such as she had not previously known, erupted from her swiftly swelling derriere into her belly causing it to knot briefly before racing on to her breasts inside their lacy bra making her nipples harden with passion.
Moments later, just as the pain was dying away, a second stroke fell overlapping the first. Now not only was there this second equally forceful stroke but the re-ignited agony of the first stroke which was throbbing as the numbing of the nerves caused by the blow itself wore off and the full force of the caning registered.
Finally, a third stroke caught Paula entirely unawares on the back of her thighs was incredibly sensitive and the pain of this third blow would have been even worse if Paula had not been overloaded already with the first two strokes.
She saw the cane laid down on the chair seat where she was bent over and felt Helen's arms helping lift her into a standing position. The thin skin on her cheeks were pulled painfully taut, but she was also aware of Helen cuddling her so Paula could bury her face in Helen's soft chest and sob. Helen held her tenderly and rocked her gently from side to side.
"It's just what I have always wanted, thank you," Paula managed to say between sobs. "Thank you, thank you." And she clung fast to Helen.
"Well, you wanted to feel what it was like. I know it is hard but it's over now and so would be any real punishment session with everything forgiven. Will you stay with me?"
Paula took a tissue from Helen's hand and wiped her eyes.
"Yes, please, if you'll still have me...Ma'am."
She was so pleased she had remembered the "Ma'am".
Originally Published April 2010