My submissive came back for more punishment that night

She came back, and that was the first thing that surprised me.

I waited for her without really waiting, if that makes any sense. I had given her my address certain that fear would weigh more than desire, as happens almost always. Most of them don’t come back. They lean over the edge of what they truly want just once, feel the vertigo, and turn back to their orderly lives. Marina, on the other hand, was standing in the middle of the room when I came downstairs, her coat still on and her keys clenched in her fist.

I looked at her for what she was: an adult woman standing before a territory whose name she barely knew, and yet one that drew her in more than she dared confess out loud.

She was slight, but her body was full, the kind formal clothes disguise and then betray. Her hair was long, brown with coppery highlights under the only lamp left on. She couldn’t hold my gaze for more than two seconds.

—Take everything off —I said, and lifted her chin with two fingers to force her to look at me.

She had a face with soft, almost timid lines, in contrast to the firmness of her body, and that contrast was precisely what made her irresistible. She had come wearing office clothes: blouse, straight skirt, stockings. But once she was naked all that stopped mattering, as wrapping paper stops mattering once you have the gift in your hands. I paused to look at her bare feet on the cold floor, small, with neat nails.

—I didn’t think you’d come back —I admitted at last.

She didn’t answer. There was no need. The slight tremor in her shoulders spoke for her, that exact mixture of panic and anticipation I had learned to read over the years. I parted her thighs with my hand, just as I had the first time, and slid one finger inside her. She shuddered from head to toe. I withdrew it at once and brought it up to my face.

She was soaked. Wet to a degree no shyness could hide. Her body gave her away long before her mouth did.

—Looks like you did your homework —I said, and slowly licked my finger before sinking it back inside her.

She trembled again, and this time I lingered a little longer, moving my hand with deliberate calm, until I pulled it out without warning and pressed it against her lips.

—Open. I want you to get to know yourself.

She hesitated just an instant. Then she opened her mouth and sucked my finger, licking it with a devotion that didn’t match her averted gaze. She closed her eyes as if that could put her somewhere else.

—Look at me while you do it —I ordered.

She opened them. It took effort, but she opened them, and held my gaze with a struggle that almost touched me. Almost.

—This isn’t about fucking —I told her, and my voice came out calm, instructive, as if I were giving a lesson instead of a session. And in a way, I was—. Anybody can fuck. What happens between us is something else. It has rules. It has patience. And it has a price you’re going to pay gladly.

I took my finger from her mouth and led her by the arm to the wooden structure dominating the back of the room, two beams crossed in an X and anchored to the wall. The first time I had bound her facing the wood. That night I turned her toward me.

—Arms up.

***

I tied her carefully, adjusting the leather straps to her wrists and ankles until she was left open and exposed, with no room to hide. When I finished, I stepped back to look at her whole. She immediately looked away.

I took her chin again and forced her to face me. We stayed like that for long seconds. I noticed how her gaze tried to escape mine, my calm, that serene, dominant way of watching her that made her nervous and wet in equal measure.

—How well do you handle pain? —I asked.

She answered with a blank look, not fully understanding the question.

I went to the table and came back with a pair of metal clips joined by a thin chain. I moistened my fingers, pinched one nipple until I felt it harden, and when it was firm, I attached the first clip. The chain hung there, gleaming, to her other breast. I repeated the operation on the opposite nipple. I watched her close her eyes and hold her breath.

—Does it turn you on to be mine? —I asked, while I reached for the riding crop resting on the table.

—Yes, Master —she said, her voice trembling.

—Had you ever fantasized about this? Before me?

She didn’t answer right away. I walked back to her with measured steps and stopped right in front of her. Again, she closed her eyes.

—Look at me —I said, letting a trace of anger into my voice—. I don’t want you looking away. Ever. That’s the first rule, and the only one that really matters tonight.

She opened them, timid, glassy. In that same instant I raised the crop and let it fall grazing one of her breasts. The blow was sharp, calculated, just enough for her to feel the edge of the leather without causing real harm. She jerked all over and pulled at the straps, which gave her not a centimeter. The clips held firm. I smiled.

—This is what I like most —I murmured—. The moment you understand that you’re not the one deciding.

I struck her again, this time on the other breast, just above the clip. The leather snapped against her skin and she smothered a cry by biting her lip. The chain swayed between her breasts, taut, but the clips held.

—Does it hurt? —I asked softly, almost tenderly.

She nodded, her teeth still dug into her lower lip, unable to speak.

—That’s how it should be —I said—. Pain is only the path. What’s at the end of it you’ll remember long after the marks fade.

I gave her another strike. And another. And another, alternating from one breast to the other with a slow rhythm she couldn’t anticipate. Each blow made her tense and loosen, tense and loosen, like a string someone tunes and untunes at will. When one of the strikes hit a clip squarely, it slid until it was hanging on only by the tip of the nipple. Marina let out a long whimper. She swallowed. Closed her eyes, opened them again, and this time a tear ran down her cheek without her making any effort to stop it.

I watched the clip slide slowly, watched the metal pull at the sensitive flesh before giving way. It was a minimal, exquisite torture, clinging to a nipple that could no longer bear the weight.

—I’m going to be merciful —I said at last.

And I brought down a firm, precise strike that knocked the clip off in one go. She screamed and immediately let out a deep gasp, almost one of relief, as blood flowed again and the sting turned into something else.

I watched her breathing. It rose and fell, fast, uncontrolled, right on the edge of her limit. And I felt something like pride when I saw that she still hadn’t said the safeword we had agreed on, the one that would stop everything in an instant. She was taking it. She wanted to take it.

—Thank you, Master —she whispered, exhausted, in a thread of a voice that barely came out of her chest.

It surprised me. That someone so new to this should thank me for mercy, that she should already understand the intimate language of exchange, told me more about her than any confession could. A crooked smile appeared on my face.

***

I moved closer and took the chain still hanging from the other clip, the one still biting into the opposite nipple. I tightened it slightly, not pulling yet, only enough for her to feel the weight of my hand at the other end.

—Do you like it? —I asked.

—Mmmff —she muffled, unable to say anything coherent.

—Use words. Words are mine here too.

She drew a deep breath, searching for the air pain had stolen from her.

—Yes, Master —she managed to say—. I like it.

Then I pulled on the chain, slowly, just enough to wrench from her a moan that no longer held any fear. Her body arched toward me as far as the straps allowed, offering itself, seeking me, and I understood that the vertigo so many fled had become pure desire for her.

—Last time you left without knowing whether you’d come back —I said into her ear, letting go of the chain to slide my hand over her trembling belly—. And here you are. Do you know what that means?

She shook her head, her eyes now locked on mine without my having to ask.

—It means you’re mine already —I said—. And this has only just begun.

I released the first strap and she let herself fall against my chest, exhausted and surrendered, her breathing ragged and her skin burning. I held her for a moment, because that too is part of the lesson: that after harshness comes the hand that gathers you in. I brushed the hair from her damp face and noticed she was smiling, the dried tear still glinting on her cheek.

—Will you come back? —I asked, though I already knew the answer.

—Yes, Master —she said, and this time she held my gaze to the very end, without trembling.