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Read Her perspective, Beau’s First Punishment

What do you think of when you hear the word “submissive”? If you’re anything like me, and there’s a good chance you are, you might picture a young girl, kneeling with her knees apart and looking up at you with her head cocked slightly to one side, perhaps with her hands bound behind her back. Perhaps she’s avoiding eye contact altogether, and perhaps she’s wearing a ball gag. Her breasts might be bound with chunky, abrasive rope and the floor on which she’s kneeling is most likely made of varnished hardwood. So pervasive is BDSM photography on social networks like Tumblr, you might even imagine the image in black and white. I know I do.

This is the cliché of submission, the archetype of submissive posturing: the photographer looking down on the submissive model. (I can’t help noting there’s very little photography looking up from the submissive’s point of view, at her dom towering over her.)

The point is this: submission has its own language, its own morphology. Submission has a series of stereotypes, and Beau fits none of them.

Outwardly, she’s brimming with flirty, energetic confidence. She’s intelligent, rational, articulate and strong-minded. She’s assertive and forthright, often defiant. I derive indescribable satisfaction from her defiance.

You might have read her account of her first punishment. I’d like to recount my perspective, if you’ll indulge me.

Beau had arrived on the Friday night for a weekend of depravity. She certainly got one. I had treated her like a slut all weekend, pulling her around, insulting her, restraining her, beating her, fucking her, so when Sunday rolled around, I imagine she was probably relieved to have a few hours to herself while I went into the office to put in some extra hours at work.

While I was there, Beau sent me some pictures of herself masturbating in my bed, and by the time I was due to leave for home, I was climbing the walls with sadistic anticipation. I emailed her to tell her I’d be home in half an hour. I told her to tie herself to something and to be creative. I got no reply but I knew she’d read it, because she always – ALWAYS – reads her emails straight away.

Secretly though, I was praying she would disobey me. She had behaved so well all weekend that I needed a reason to punish her. I walked home planning counter-arguments to her protests to ensure she would be punished, whatever happened. I was determined to make her lose, to find something to punish her for, because she deserved it. I imagined walking through the door and finding her on the sofa, unrestrained in disobedience of my demand, and having an exchange along these lines:

Me: Why aren’t you restrained, Fucktoy?

Beau: *lying innocently* What? What do you mean?

Me: I emailed you. I told you to tie yourself to something.

Beau: Oh really? I’m sorry, I haven’t checked my emails.

Me: Oh dear. Then I think someone needs to be punished.

Beau: You can’t punish me for that! Please, I didn’t read the email!

Me: And whose fucking fault is it that you didn’t read the email? Is it my fault? No. No, it’s your fault, and that’s why you’re going to be punished…

And so on, and with a hundred other variations of this exchange, including phone batteries dying and loss of signal and everything else with which I thought Beau might try to excuse herself.

I arrived at the flat well-armed with arguments and counter-arguments, and I glanced to my right, into the lounge, as I walked through the front door. There was Beau, fully clothed and curled up on the sofa, watching Futurama. I said nothing, and walked into the kitchen where to myself I smiled a huge, broad, sadistic smile.

Eventually I went and sat with Beau, and she was avoiding eye contact conspicuously – which told me she knew both that she had read the email and disobeyed me, and more importantly, she knew I knew she had deliberately disobeyed me. More importantly still, I already had her punishment planned.

I sat quietly with her for an hour so, until her tension had started to wane. When the opportunity arose, I removed my belt and quickly tightened it around her neck and forced my erection into her throat as deep as I could. I could feel the tightness of the belt around my cock and I tightened it until she gasped and spluttered. I fucked her mouth brutally, becoming more and more aroused as she coughed and choked on me.

I dragged her to the bedroom and threw her face down on the bed, blindfolded her and pulled her trousers and underwear down just enough to be able to penetrate her. I raped her viciously, spitting insults at her while I pushed her head forward with my left hand and pulled the belt backwards with my right. She struggled in discomfort. She tried to prop herself up with her right hand; I took it and pinned it to her back with a wristlock.

The irony occurred to me at the time that, even with all the bondage equipment and restraints in my possession, this was the most vulnerable and restrained she’d ever been and it took only an old belt, a blindfold, a little bit of jiu jitsu and my bodyweight.

I ignored her whimpers and fucked her harder, the orgasm quickly beginning to boil within me. I remember telling her I was going to cum in her, and telling her she was a filthy little cunt, and then with a few deep strokes I flooded her pussy with cum until I could feel the pressure of it pushing me out of her.

But that wasn’t her punishment.

I told her not to move while I cleaned myself up. When I returned, she was hugging the belt around her neck like a security blanket. I asked her about the email.

“I sent you an email, telling you to tie yourself to something. Why didn’t you do that?” I demanded.

“Oh, I haven’t checked my emails in ages” she lied meekly, still recovering from her fucking and suddenly rocked by the unexpected question.

I smiled the same sadistic smile I had smiled while planning her arguments.

“And whose fault is that? You’re going to be punished. Come with me.”

I dragged her to the front room with my cum beginning to roll down her thighs. I told her to sit on the floor and she did so. I took one of the wrought iron chairs from the table in my lounge and placed it in front of her, upside down. I took Beau’s hand and guided it to the chair leg, now in front of her face.

“Do you know what this is?” I asked as her hand wrapped around it.

Beau shook her head.

“It’s a chair leg” I said, and waited for a response.

“So?” came the eventual response.

“I want you to suck it. Suck it like it was my cock. Make it cum.”

I regarded her confusion at the demand, all the time her abdomen was tight as she tried to contain my cum, to prevent spilling humiliatingly onto the carpet beneath her.

“NO!” came her vehement response, eventually. “I’m not going to suck a fucking chair leg!”

“This is your punishment for your disobedience, Beau. You have a choice. Suck the chair leg like a slut, or you’ll get this.”

I rubbed a broom handle between her legs. She pawed at it.

“You have a choice of punishments. Suck the chair leg, or be beaten with the broom handle. You’ve brought this on yourself.” I was cold, and sadistic, and in my element.

“You can’t do this! I… I didn’t…” she spluttered and stammered with anger. I could see the hate written across her face, and I loved it. Her cunt glistened.

I continued, talking over her.

Well, I’ll just leave you to decide. The leg, or the broom. Just call me when you’re ready, Fucktoy.”

I wandered happily in the kitchen and did the mountain of washing up that had accrued over the weekend. Two minutes past. Then three. And then I knew that she was going to humiliate herself for me.

She could have slipped the blindfold off, got up and walked away and sulked at any time. I know the cum leaking from her alone most have been uncomfortable.

10 minutes past, and then 15. I walked back into the living room and spoke.

“The longer you leave this, the harder it will be. I feel I’ve been very generous.”

I went back to the washing up.

Half an hour had elapsed, and I suddenly found myself looking for pointless odd-jobs, to prove that my patience was stronger than hers. I had run out of things to do. I even contemplated ironing.

And then, I tiny noise hit my ear. A noise so pathetic and tiny I could barely discern it over my noisy and obvious crashing around in the kitchen.


That same smile returned to my face as I walked into the front room and found Beau, with an odd look of contentment on her face.

“Ok what?”


Beau wrapped her left hand around the narrow metal of the chair leg and leaned her mouth towards it. I stood over her with my hands on my hips like Caligula as she degraded herself. And with that, Beau lost herself a little deeper down the rabbit hole. Beau was tamed.

“See,” I muttered cruelly, “that wasn’t so hard.”