THE OLD-FASHIONED WAY

Angela R. Sargenti

My wife thinks I’m working late. She’d be shocked to know where I really am, lying facedown, shackled to a table at my Dominatrix’s place.

Unfortunately, my Domme knows I’m here betraying my wife’s trust in me. The flogger snaps against my buttocks, causing me to gasp, then moan.

“You little shit. You don’t deserve a woman like her.”

It’s true. I probably don’t, because she’d be crushed to find out about Mistress Lorena and the kind of activities I involve myself in.

She hits me again, and I strangle a cry.

“You should be home, or working late like you told her you’d be, you lying dog.”

“Yes, Mistress.”

“You probably couldn’t wait to get here, you scum.”

I feel tears well up in my eyes, because she’s right, she’s right about all of it. I could be home making sweet love to my wife, but the problem is, she’s not very adventurous when it comes to sex, and her sex drive is low. She rarely lets me get inside her, and even when she does, she’s flat on her back with the lights either off, or down so low I can barely see her. As for her doing the work of Mistress Lorena, that wouldn’t happen in a million years.

My wife doesn’t have a kinky bone in her body, whereas my Domme is a deceptively petite lady, with flaming red hair and a temper to match. All of her commands must be promptly obeyed or she works me over extra-hard.

She wields the flogger again.

“Did you hear me?”

“No, Mistress. I’m sorry, Mistress.”

“I told you to pay attention. What are you thinking about in that stupid little head of yours?”

“My wife.”

“Oh ho, so you do think about her. You’re not just a thoughtless little fool?”

“No. It hurts me to treat her this way.”

She starts flogging me—once, twice, three lashes—and then she stops.

“It’s going to hurt you even more, because I’m giving you an assignment,” she tells me. “I want you to confess by our next session.”

“Confess?”

“Yes. I want you to tell your poor, long-suffering wife the truth about your late nights at the office.”

“You can’t be serious.”

This enrages her and she moves down the table and starts whipping me again. I start crying, but I don’t know why.

“But how?” I ask her.

“Just open your piehole and speak. Show her your welts. I don’t care how. Just do it. And I want proof that you’ve done it. A note, a phone call, a personal visit. I don’t care which. Just tell her, or else.”

“You ask too much.”

She beats me again.

“I’ll teach you not to disobey me,” she says through gritted teeth. “Talking back to your Mistress like that. And stop your sniveling, before I really give you a reason to cry.”

And I know what she means, but I can’t help it. I deserve to be tortured, so I make no effort to squelch my tears. She stands there patiently, and when I don’t stop, she sets the flogger down and unclips my shackles.

“Turn over, and make it snappy.”

I obey her, and flip over onto my back. She clips my shackles back into the rings in the table and picks up the riding crop lying beside the flogger. I’m already hard, and the sight of that crop makes my insides ache with need. When she realizes this, Mistress Lorena strolls over to my head and looms over me.

“Time for the blindfold.”

I open my mouth to beg her not to blindfold me, but she silences me with a smack to the knee. I shut my mouth and she retrieves the blindfold from the tray and goes to slip it over my head. I raise up for her, for it will be far, far worse if I disobey her now.

My cock throbs. It’s so hard now it hurts.

“What a naughty boy you are, Phillip.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“Such a bad, bad boy.”

She runs the crop up and down my cock. It twitches, and I fight back a moan. She grabs hold of it and smacks me on the balls quickly, before I can start pumping into her hand.

This does nothing to diminish my hard-on. I want her to touch me again. I might be able to come if she touches me again, but the devil made this woman to torment me. She slaps the crop against my cock. Not too hard, but still.

A groan escapes my lips and she whacks my cock a few more times. It hurts like hell, but the snap-back is incredible. I squirm on the table and she caresses me with the crop again.

“I don’t know why you’re being so stubborn tonight.”

“Oh, please don’t make me tell her.”

“You’ll do it, or else.”

But Mistress Lorena knows how to torture and tease. She continues punishing my cock, but none of her cajoling will make me break.

And then she does the unthinkable. She yanks off the blindfold and slaps my face.

Hard.

“I’ve had it with you tonight,” she tells me. “Just lie there and watch me pleasure myself.”

She’s never done this before. She grabs the vibe off the tray, and she’s so fucking sexy I think I’ll burst. She gets herself off pretty quickly, and I’m half out of my mind with lust. I pull at the restraints, but of course, it does no good. She slaps my nipples and tickles my dick, but not enough to be useful.

“Please, Mistress, please make me come,” I beg. “I’ll do anything you want, just please make me come.”

“You’ll tell her, then?”

“God, yes.”

“Swear.”

“I swear I’ll tell her. I swear on my mother’s grave, I’ll tell her.”

“Then, here,” she says, unhooking the shackles again. “Go pleasure yourself, then get dressed and go home.”

The talk with my wife is painful and tear filled. At first she doesn’t understand that Mistress and I haven’t slept together, have never slept together, but when I finally make her believe it, she stops me.

“Then what do you go for?”

“To be punished, absolved of all my transgressions. It’s kind of like confession for the Catholics.”

“This is your biggest transgression of all, if you ask me, sneaking around and lying.”

“I know. Lately I’ve been feeling worse and worse about it.”

“Feel better now? Because give me your belt. You want to be punished, let me do it.”

And the miracle is, she does. She punishes me atop all those welts on my ass. It takes her a few minutes to get into the swing of it, but she really comes through, and when it’s over, she calls Mistress Lorena herself and tells her she doesn’t think I’ll be needing her services any longer.

“We’re going to do it the old-fashioned way,” she tells her. “At home.”