TWELVE

R.A. Buckley

One!” I squeal as the paddle lands on my ass, the burn already beginning even before He’s warmed up. I can’t believe that He’s punishing me for this; it’s so unfair! The last time I sassed Him in public He gave me ten paddles, not twelve. It was eleven at first, but when I mentioned this to Him He added another. Like I said, it’s so unfair. I wasn’t even sassing Him, but rather the stupid Dom who thought he was making me feel good on that Saint Andrew’s cross. I was bored, and I barely felt anything; that’s why I called him a pussy.

“Two!” The paddle lands across my ass again and I know that my cheeks are going to hurt tomorrow. When He’s really mad at me He doesn’t say anything during my punishments. That’s really the worst thing of all; silence is not my friend. And He knows that; I guess that’s why He does it. It makes me think about what I’ve done wrong, and also how to make it up to Him. Was that Dom as stupid as I thought? He was using a cane but it didn’t even hurt. But Master has said that I’m a pain slut who can take a lot more than most dish out, so maybe it wasn’t the stupid-head’s fault. I could have asked him for more.

“Three!” I yelp as I announce my count this time. This is as hard as He ever hits me. But looking back on the evening, I know I deserve it. I was bratty the whole night. I complained about the outfit He had me wear, and how cold it was in the dungeon as well. He shot me that look, the one that says “You’re skating on thin ice, little one,” and I should have realized what He meant. But no, I had to go mouthing off to the owner of the dungeon (although if he owns a dungeon he should know how to hit harder) and I embarrassed Master. When He was quiet on the drive home I knew I was in trouble.

“Four!” The tears start welling up in my eyes as I announce my count this time. The pain is pretty intense, but I’m more upset that I disappointed Master. How could I have disappointed Him like that? He loves me and he usually is so proud to show me off. I love to be the perfect little sub for Him, but tonight I was that brat everyone talks about when she leaves. Oh, shit, I can feel the tears really flowing now.

“Five!” The tears continue and I sob as I call out my punishment. Tonight was supposed to be a fun night, and all I did was ruin it by acting like a petulant child. Why do I do this? We can be in such a good place and then it seems like I will purposefully screw up, like I’m scared that this perfect thing will end, so I sabotage it. Master would probably use some psychoanalytic term to describe what I did since that’s His job, but I just feel like I can’t handle it when things go too well.

“Six!” I’m sobbing hard now. I fucked up and I know it. I know this is penance for not only what I did to the gentleman at the dungeon, but because I was acting like a brat all night. I should have had a great time. I love showing off my body, and wearing nothing but a body stocking in the club should have been the perfect thing for me. But I had to whine and complain and it wasn’t for any real reason other than that sometimes I just have to rebel.

“Seven!” The sting in my buttocks intensifies as I begin to hiccup from taking in too much air at one time from the sobs. Oh, I have that ugly crying face now on top of everything else. Master knows that I’m going to rebel; I’ll never be that perfect service-oriented sub that you read about in those books. I have to act out; it’s just part of who I am, and honestly part of my submission. I need to push Master’s limits so that I can feel safe knowing he’ll never let me fall or go to far.

“Eight!” My sobs are slowing down, the sting in my ass is lessening; oh yes, I’m starting to get there. When I need a good beating Master always delivers and sometimes I get to heaven. People call it all sorts of things—the most common term is subspace, I guess—but for me it’s heaven. All I can feel is the paddle reddening my bottom, and Master’s gaze upon my body as I react for Him. He loves me so much and He knows that I need this from time to time. If it were a normal thing it wouldn’t be so special, would it?

“Nine!” The pain is almost gone entirely now. I feel like I’m floating, even though I’m on my hands and knees on the living room rug. I can feel my pussy reacting to Master’s attentions, even though He hasn’t come anywhere near it. I’m a pain slut and I love to feel my body being used for His pleasure, for correction, for punishment, for whatever He desires. He makes my body sing and react in ways that I never thought would be possible. I’ve orgasmed from His bare-handed spankings many times in the past, and other ways as well. It’s part of our dynamic and why I love Him so.

“Ten!” It’s now like an out-of-body experience. I can almost see my body, taut and tense as it awaits the next lash from the paddle, craving the feeling of Master’s paddle, reminding me that I am His girl and I am expected to obey Him and make Him proud at all times. It feels like I could come at this moment, but I don’t want to; I want this moment to last and for my Master to tell me when I can release. I am His and want to make Him proud.

“Eleven!” I barely recognize my own voice as it echoes throughout the living room. I look over at the windows overlooking the backyard and see Master, the paddle in His hand as He prepares for His next strike, in the reflection. I see the smile on His face; He knows that I am repentant now.

“Come.”

“Twelve!” My body explodes as Master says one word and the paddle lands across my ass for the final time. I heave and convulse as my body and pussy spasm. I never grow tired of this—serving Him, pleasing Him by accepting punishment and pleasure at the same time. He is my Master, my Love, and my body sings for Him in exactly the key He wants.

It’s over. I collapse onto the floor and feel His strong arms envelop me. There is nowhere else I need to be. No more punishments tonight. Just love.