The BDSM Punishment I Asked Him for Without Saying a Word

I didn’t ask him with words. There was never any need.

He was standing by the window, his dark shirt sleeves rolled up, wearing that dry calm that always undid me more than a shout ever could. I remained kneeling a few steps away, my back straight, my hands on my thighs and my breathing measured, pretending to have a serenity I no longer possessed. I knew he was watching me, reading every tiny movement in my face, every erratic pulse in my neck.

I raised my eyes slowly. I didn’t smile. I didn’t lower my head. I looked up at him with that precise mixture of defiance and surrender he liked to break.

“Is that what you want?” he asked at last.

I didn’t answer. I only lifted my chin a little higher.

His mouth curved slightly—not like a tender smile, but like that of a man who had already decided what he was going to do with what belonged to him. He took one step toward me. Then another. The air changed with each movement, as though the whole room were narrowing until there was nothing left but his authority and my need.

The waiting came first. It always did.

He stopped in front of me and made me hold his gaze. He didn’t touch me right away. He didn’t caress me, reward me, or give me relief. He simply left me there on my knees, feeling my body tense on its own, my thighs pressing together, my cunt beginning to grow wet before the first blow.

“Look at me properly,” he said quietly. “If I do this, you’ll take it.”

I swallowed and nodded.

“I want to hear you say it.”

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, Master.”

Then he slapped me.

It wasn’t a clumsy or uncontrolled blow. It was precise. Dry. Enough to turn my face and leave my cheek burning instantly. The sound bounced off the walls, and my moan escaped before I could contain it. Heat surged from my skin to my belly in a swift wave that made me press my lips together and grow even wetter.

I turned my face back toward him. I did it deliberately. I offered it to him.

The second slap came from the other side. This time it made me close my eyes for a moment. I felt the raw sting, the throbbing in my skin, the automatic tears, and even so a gasp escaped me that held more pleasure than pain. He heard it. Of course he heard it.

“That’s what I thought,” he murmured.

He grabbed my hair with his left hand and pulled my head back. He didn’t tug just enough; he tugged hard enough to make me open my mouth and expose my throat. My breathing changed at once. It always changed when his fingers closed around my hair like that, when I lost the illusion that I could move of my own accord.

“Open.”

I obeyed.

With his other hand, he unfastened his trousers without taking his eyes off me. The sound of the buckle, the rustle of fabric, the slowness with which he drew out his cock tightened my belly until I trembled. He was already hard. Thick. Heavy. He brought it to my lips and rubbed it over my mouth, smearing me with saliva, letting me feel its heat and weight before putting it inside me.

“No playing delicate tonight.”

He pushed the tip between my lips and I went to take it, but the pull on my hair kept me from setting the pace. He decided for me. Holding me still, he began fucking my mouth with short thrusts at first, slow, forcing me to savor all of him. My tongue brushed his palate as I tried to accommodate him, and a thread of saliva ran down my chin.

“Wider.”

I tried, and he pushed farther in. I felt his cock sliding over my tongue, striking the back of my mouth until it touched my throat. My eyes filled with tears at once. I gagged. He didn’t pull away.

Instead, he pressed my head harder against his pelvis.

He shoved himself all the way in and left me there for several long seconds, my nose pressed against his pubis, my neck forced back and my throat contracting around him. Gags shook my body. Tears spilled over. The mixture of choking, pain and arousal made me moan with my mouth full, a broken sound vibrating around his cock.

“That’s it,” he said hoarsely. “I want to see you swallow it without pulling away.”

He pulled it out only to thrust it back in harder. And again. Each thrust forced saliva from my mouth. My makeup ran with my tears. I couldn’t speak, could barely breathe through my nose between one tug and the next, but I stayed there, letting him use me, feeling each gag make me wetter between the legs.

When he released me, air rushed into my lungs and I coughed. Saliva hung from my lips down to my chest. He didn’t even give me time to wipe it away.

He spat in my face.

Saliva landed on my hot cheek, mixing with my tears. I opened my eyes and looked at him, humiliated and burning with desire at the same time. He slapped me again, right where he had spat, spreading the wetness across my skin.

“Mouth open.”

I opened it.

“Stick out your tongue.”

I stuck it out. I stayed like that, motionless, while he watched me as though appraising a possession. Saliva began dripping over my tongue, falling into my cleavage and sliding down my chest. I felt the shame burning me as fiercely as the arousal. I didn’t look away.

He leaned down and ran his tongue over mine, an obscene, brief, almost cruel caress. Then he spat directly into my mouth again. I swallowed reflexively and heard him release a satisfied breath.

“Good little slut.”

Those two words made me squeeze my thighs together desperately.

His hand closed around my neck. Not tenderly, not like a caress. Like a warning. He squeezed hard enough for me to feel my pulse beating against his palm, and forced me upright only to push me down again immediately. My hands touched the floor. He guided me until I was bent over, my face almost touching the carpet.

Then he set his foot beside my head and pressed my cheek against the floor.

The gesture drew a humiliated moan from me. The position was degrading, uncomfortable, humiliating. That was exactly why it turned me on so much. He left me trapped like that for a moment, feeling the weight of his control and my own breath crushed against the floor.

“Look at you,” he said. “All wet, and I haven’t even fucked you yet.”

I let out a gasp. He was right. I could feel it running between my lips, sticking my underwear to my cunt.

He removed his foot and grabbed the back of my neck to lift me slightly.

“On all fours.”

I got into position as ordered. Knees spread, palms on the floor, back arched. I heard him unfasten his belt, and the sound ran through me like an electric shock. I glanced over, but he slapped the back of my neck.

“Stay still.”

The leather slid through the loops with a slow hiss. I was already trembling. I knew what was coming, and that certainty was part of the punishment. The waiting, the anticipation, my body begging for the blow and fearing it at the same time.

The first lash knocked the breath from me.

The belt struck my buttocks with a dry crack, and the pain set my skin on fire. I screamed against the floor. The sting was immediate, concentrated and brutal, a burning line that took a second to spread through all the flesh. My cunt clenched violently.

The second blow landed a little lower. This time it shook my hips. The third crossed the same spot as the first and made me cry out louder. I wanted to take it better, wanted to remain perfectly still to please him, but my body betrayed me with every strike.

“Count.”

“One,” I gasped belatedly, still processing the pain.

The belt whistled through the air again.

“Two.”

Another blow.

“Three.”

He gave me no respite. He struck and waited only long enough to hear me count between gasps. By the fifth, my legs were weak. By the sixth, I was truly crying. I wasn’t crying to make him stop. I was crying because it hurt and because it aroused me so much that I was ashamed. He knew it. He always knew.

When he reached eight, I had to bite my lip to keep from begging him to continue and stop at the same time.

Then he set the belt aside.

His palm fell over the punished area with false gentleness, rubbing exactly where it burned most. The touch was almost worse than the blows. My whole skin throbbed, sensitive, alive, hot. He caressed my marked buttocks slowly, and I shuddered all over.

“Poor thing,” he said with such feigned compassion that it made me moan.

The same hand descended between my legs. He spread my lips abruptly and found me soaked. He gave a low laugh.

“Look at you. I hit you and you gush.”

He slapped my cunt with his open palm. The wet smack made me jerk. Then again. And again. Each slap tore a different whimper from me, an indecent mixture of pain and need. Then he pushed two fingers inside me without warning, rough and deep, and moved them violently inside me.

I arched my back until I nearly lost my balance. I was so sensitive that the invasion threw my whole body into disarray. He fucked me with his fingers quickly, thrusting them in and out with a wet, obscene sound. With his other hand he gave my clitoris small slaps, just enough to make me writhe.

“This is how I wanted you,” he murmured. “Open, wet and begging even when you don’t speak.”

He withdrew his fingers and put them in my mouth.

“Clean them.”

I sucked them without looking away from the carpet at first, but he seized my chin.

“Look at me while you do it.”

I obeyed. I held his gaze as I swallowed my own taste from his fingers, licking them all the way to the base while he watched with that hard, almost animal desire that always shattered me inside. When he decided I was finished, he pushed his fingers farther back, brushing my throat and forcing another gag from me.

He pulled his hand from my mouth and slapped me again. My hair fell across my face. He moved it aside by roughly tugging my chin. Then he spat at me again.

I didn’t turn my face away. I closed my eyes for a second and let the saliva run down to my lips. I opened them slightly, gasping.

“Turn over.”

I obeyed as best I could, my legs trembling. I ended up on my back on the carpet, breathing quickly, my cheeks burning, my cunt open and wet, my buttocks marked by the belt. He positioned himself over me and seized my neck again, this time forcing my head back as he settled between my legs.

“If I tell you not to breathe, you don’t breathe.”

I felt the tip of his cock brushing my entrance. I let out a desperate moan.

“Please...”

“Please what?”

“Fuck me, Master.”

He squeezed my neck and penetrated me in a single thrust.

He entered all the way, hard, with no preparation beyond my own arousal and the fingers before. The pain of that first thrust opened my mouth in a silent scream because barely any air could pass. He stayed buried inside me, filling me completely, while my cunt clung to his cock in involuntary spasms.

Then he began to move.

The first thrusts were slow and heavy, dragging deep. Each one made me feel his thickness opening me again, striking me inside, blending the burn of penetration with the lack of air and the frantic pulse beneath his hand at my throat. I couldn’t scream. I could only gasp against his wrist, eyes wet and legs spread for him.

He loosened his grip a little, and air entered me in ragged gulps. I took the opportunity to moan, but he cut off the sound with another thrust of his hips that made me bounce against the floor. He began fucking me harder, driving in with dry, regular thrusts, each one deeper than the last. My chest rose and fell uncontrollably. My tits shook with the impact.

He leaned down and bit one nipple through the fabric, then the other, pulling the clothing down until my breast was exposed. He bit me again directly on the skin. The sharp pain tore a squeal from me. He soothed it briefly with his tongue, then immediately plunged into me again with another series of brutal thrusts.

“Tell me who you belong to.”

“You,” I gasped.

He slapped me across the face.

“Good.”

He kept fucking me without letting up. The sound of his pelvis striking mine filled the room. I felt everything: the sting in my cheeks, the saliva drying on my face, my bitten nipples, my burning buttocks, my tender throat, and in the midst of it all his cock thrusting in and out of my cunt with a violence that reduced me to pieces.

When he was sure he had brought me to the edge, he pulled away abruptly.

The emptiness made me moan in frustration. He lowered his head between my legs without warning. He spread me wider with his hands and ran his tongue over my entire cunt, slowly at first, savoring my wetness, before licking me with direct pressure on my clitoris. The contrast made me arch immediately. His mouth was rough, determined. He wasn’t being tender; he was using me there too.

He sucked my clitoris while holding my hips so I couldn’t escape. Then he bit me gently, and then harder, right up to the point where I could bear it without wanting to close my legs around his head. I moaned his name like a complaint. He answered by pushing two fingers inside me and moving them quickly, curling them upward while his tongue continued punishing me.

“Get wetter,” he ordered against my cunt.

As though I could stop it. I was dripping. I felt it on his fingers, his chin, my thighs. The orgasm began forming low in my body, tense and trembling. I tried to warn him with my body, with my gasps, but he withdrew before I could fall over the edge.

“Not yet.”

I hated him and wanted him more for it.

He turned me over without gentleness, bending me over my stomach. He brought my arms behind my back and immobilized them with one hand. The position left me completely exposed. With the other hand he spat into his palm and rubbed me between the buttocks before pushing himself into my cunt again in a single thrust.

I screamed into the carpet.

From behind, it felt even deeper. More invasive. More his. He began slowly for only a couple of thrusts, just to make me feel him opening me, then immediately sped up until he found a brutal rhythm. Each thrust sent me forward. My breasts rubbed against the floor. With my arms trapped behind my back, I was helpless, reduced to receiving him and enduring.

“You fuck so well when I break you a little,” he said, slapping one buttock with his palm.

The punished skin burned again. Then the other cheek. After that he released my arms only to seize my waist with both hands and thrust even harder, until the sounds he drew from me no longer seemed like mine but those of an animal trapped between pain and pleasure.

I couldn’t think. I could only feel. His cock entering all the way. The collision of his hips. The slaps landing between each series. His breathing growing rougher. My cunt squeezing him tighter and tighter as the orgasm he had denied and accumulated returned with almost unbearable force.

“Don’t come until I tell you.”

I nodded as best I could, though I was already at the limit. He noticed, because he grabbed my hair again, pulled my head back and forced me to arch farther, exposing my throat while he continued drilling into me from behind.

“Hold it.”

He inserted two fingers in front and rubbed my clitoris quickly, hard, without mercy. I screamed. My legs gave way. The orgasm rose like a violent shock, but I tried to stop it only because he had ordered me to. My whole body shook, begging through clenched teeth, wet enough to soak everything.

He kept the rhythm, deep and exact, knowing perfectly which spot to touch and how far to push me before breaking me.

“Now. Come.”

My whole body gave way.

I came with a brutal spasm, squeezing his cock with disorderly contractions as I screamed uncontrollably. My legs trembled, my belly, even my fingertips. He didn’t stop. He kept fucking me through the orgasm, exploiting my sensitivity until it became almost pain, and precisely because of that I moaned louder again, unable to pull away or close my legs.

After a few more thrusts, his rhythm unraveled. He drove in one final short, savage series and released a deep groan against the nape of my neck. I felt him come inside me, hot and in thick pulses that filled me while he remained buried to the hilt.

He stayed that way for several seconds, breathing hard, still holding my hair.

Then he pulled out slowly.

The emptiness made me tremble again. I felt some of his come run down the inside of my thigh. He released me without ceremony. He straightened, adjusted his clothes and fastened his belt again with the same calmness with which he had removed it. I remained on the floor, marked, open, exhausted and absurdly satisfied.

I turned slightly to look at him. My face was a mess, my chest rising with short gasps, my cheeks red and my cunt still throbbing around the emptiness he had left behind. I ran two fingers between my legs, gathered the semen leaking from me and brought it to my mouth without taking my eyes off him.

His expression changed only slightly, that mixture of approval and hunger I loved seeing after I had obeyed well.

He crouched, seized my jaw and opened my mouth with his fingers still inside.

“Swallow.”

I swallowed.

Then he bit my lip hard, not like a sweet kiss but like a final mark, a signature. He moved away slowly, released me and left me breathing on the floor, still tasting him and feeling the punishment tremble through my entire body.

Before reaching the door, he turned around one last time.

“Next time, you’ll ask faster.”

I looked up at him from below, my cheek still burning and my body spent, and I knew he was right. Because even then, broken, wet and with pain throbbing beneath my skin, all I wanted was to lift my chin again so he could begin once more.