As we drove home from the dungeon I contemplated her confession and rolled around various options in my head. For me there are levels to all things. Most times only corrections are required - verbal reminders of what should be done or what was done improperly. Too many verbal reminders and then there comes discipline. Although Nancy had not received any verbal reminders about this, it did warrant discipline in my eyes. As I contemplated my various ideas, I settled on the most obvious: touching. There was no touching of her. At all. Other than the normal kind such as cleaning one's self, and other maintenance not including pleasure. I also decided that she should not be touched by me either. Touch is important to her, affection, that connection, and my touch even more. As her owner, the energy that comes from me into her recharges her, calms her, gives her focus, or really whatever emotion I'm putting into my energy at the moment. So that was to stop for a week. A solid week. She was also forbidden from going on Tumblr or reading any erotica, etc. Anything sexually charged was a no-no. This was actually done as a kindness, as she wasn't going to get permission to touch herself regardless, why excite the poor girl?
The first day of no touching she and I spent together and it turned into the cruelest version of "I'm not touching you" ever. Normally when I pass by someone, I touch them in some small way to let them know I'm there, put them at ease, whatever. It's a thing. When I passed Nancy during this discipline, I went out of my way to not even rub up against her accidentally, though I'd make sure she could feel my breath on her neck, or hear my voice in her ear. I would also reach my hand as if I was going to touch her, but fall short. The look on her face as my hand approached her was heavenly and then as it didn't touch her was like I'd taken a toy from a child. It might have been heartbreaking if it wasn't so damn fun for me. She begged for me to touch her, so I slapped her. She said she was wet, so I forcefully rammed by hand in her pussy to see, and when I say forcefully, it was pretty fucking rough. And she was very, very wet.
She was miserable. It was perfect. Discipline is not intended to be enjoyable, it should be uncomfortable, even painful, else why would one not repeat the offense?
The next day as we were leaving the studio from doing The Love Bite she confessed that she started searching for dirty pictures on Pinterest. No, I did not outlaw Pinterest, just Tumblr and erotica; however, it was clear she was manipulating a loophole. To say that I was angry is an understatement. The drive back to my house was quiet and I contemplated much. To me, this was a failure. I had failed as a Mistress, as a Dominant. I had lost control and she was now comfortable lying to me repeatedly. I scanned my mind for where I went wrong, and the points aren't hard to find, they're there and easily seen. I knew why she had done it, both things, and I knew where and how I had failed. It shook me, rattled me, made me question myself, my role, and our relationship. The stench of failure wafted from me like a gym sock. Before I could respond with anything, even benign conversation was longer than I expected. I had failed and let down my submissive and myself. This is a difficult concept to grasp, much less accept and be able to move on from, or learn from.
I had to step up my game. Full stop. This clusterfuck would either break me or define me. The question was, how did I want to be defined? Am I a Dominant worthy of her submission? Of anyone's submission? Or am I merely being irresponsible, unable to manage one tiny submissive? Have I become so lazy that the road back to what I believed myself to be is too far gone? My anger grew. It become fury. I was unable to think, to process any of this, because all I could see was red hot wrath. I wasn't angry at Nancy, just me, though she did need to be punished for these rapid fire transgressions, I just wasn't able to do it until I was calm. I wasn't even able to actualize a punishment in this state. I had to rapidly force myself to go through my emotional turmoil so I could manage her. So I fast tracked it and put my mind to the job of deciding what is the most suitable punishment for her.
Nancy has a low tolerance for pain, she's never been a heavy masochist, but I knew that pain needed to be a component of this punishment. What I needed to do was remind her who she was, and more importantly who I am and who she is in relationship to me. This required a multifaceted approach. First, I needed to know the answers to those questions, second, I needed to establish how to drive to point home.
The mindfuck started early, actually it started the moment I decided what to do. I leaked out a few choice words so she would have some days to let them linger in her mind, fester, grow into a raging monster of fear that balled up in her stomach. She expressed her fear, I iterated that she wasn't scared enough. She's never seen me angry. When I'm angry I remove myself from situations. My anger is not pretty, it's terrifying, it's damaging, it causes long and permanent harm to people. I have a special set of skills, of which I'm not proud, that allow me to truly cut someone with words, deep. So I choose not to do that, besides it's immature. The point being, she didn't know what to expect.
Punishment night arrived. She sat on my couch as I readied the restraints on the bed. She was nervous like a virgin on prom night. I wrapped duct tape around her head to muffle her sounds, then asked her to remove her clothes. Once she was naked I pushed her over the bed and began strapping on the restraints. She's been restrained by me before, but this was different, I was cold, unfeeling, she didn't get tender brushes from my hand, or even scratches from my nails, she got nothing but me strapping the cuffs to her skin, insuring safety protocols were being followed. I didn't look at her, because I didn't need to. There was no fire dancing in my eyes, they were dark and callous. Once she was stretched out, bent over the bed, feet barely touching the ground because she's being pulled so tightly, I grabbed the paddle. I chose a square breadboard paddle that makes almost immediate welts on anyone with whom I've played. The welts were key. This punishment wasn't for just one night, it needed to linger with her for a long time. I had her count out the 10 unmerciful smacks I applied to her naked ass. There was no warm-up, there was no pacing, they were almost full-force smacks, and they hurt. She tried to escape, tried to cry so hard that maybe I'd stop. My coldness intensified with each sob. This was her punishment, tears were not going to stop me, neither were welts. Her ass was becoming bright red, with white spots where the welts were developing. I only gave her 10 good swats.
After the 10 swats, I grabbed some dildos and began fucking her pussy with them. Why? Ah... well that goes back to what she was doing that resulted in the punishment. She wanted sex, she wanted to feel that uninhibited pleasure rushing between her legs. What better time to introduce it to her than after a fierce paddling? There was no love, nor pleasure given in this pussy fucking, it was brutal, rape like and she was being used. Her tears never stopped, her body shuddered in resignation and defeat, not in an orgasm. I tossed the dildos aside and grabbed the crop and began rapidly smacking her wet and abused pussy. Her feet lifted off the ground to no avail, my crop kept finding her pussy and her clit, it kept creating this pleasure/pain combination.
When I was done, I unceremoniously unshackled her, threw a blanket on her without touching her and told her when she was done crying to come crawling to me, kiss my feet and beg my fucking forgiveness. After she took a few minutes to recover and she did her groveling, her stuttering tears continued as she struggled to understand why she did what she did. Truthfully it boiled down to jealousy, a desire for attention, and a desire to be sexually craved. How do I make sure she doesn't repeat her mistakes? I actually don't know. I have a plan, but plans fail, as I did in the beginning. What I need is to be more. Whatever more is, I need to be it. How does one be more? Maybe "more" is the wrong word, maybe there's a better word that's escaped me and my ego this evening.
My punishment isn't over and done with, I'll be constantly watching myself, criticizing, correcting so that I can do what is within my power to prevent another failure like this. It's a journey, and there is no destination, but there are potholes.
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