The Confession of the Punishment He Begged for on His Knees

He said nothing when he entered my apartment, but he didn't need to. The guilt was written all over his face, and so was the desire. That combination aroused me more than I was willing to admit. He closed the door carefully, as if a sudden noise might break something delicate between us, and stood there looking at me, waiting for a signal.

I was sitting on the edge of the sofa, my legs crossed and an untouched glass on the table. I hadn't drunk because I wanted to enjoy everything with a clear head. His breathing was already ragged, his hands didn't know where to go, and the bulge beneath his trousers betrayed him better than any words could have.

—Close it properly and lock it —I ordered without raising my voice.

He obeyed immediately. That alone told me what state he was in. A grown man, proud in any other context, and there he was, swallowing hard and following every instruction as if he'd been needing them for days.

His name was Darío, though that hadn't been the name I knew him by months earlier, when all this had begun as a game of messages, silly challenges, and half-made promises. He had learned how to provoke me and how to let me down. He promised he would hold out, that he would follow through, that he wouldn't come before I told him to during a video call, that he wouldn't break the rules, that he would be obedient. And then he'd end up panting, apologizing to me, and confessing that he'd done exactly the opposite.

I didn't mind the mistake. The consequence turned me on.

—Come closer —I said.

He came until he was one step away from me. I looked him over slowly, from his tense jaw down to the hardened bulge in his crotch. He wore a dark shirt, sleeves rolled up, and the face of a tired man which, instead of making him less attractive, made him easier to imagine on his knees. I raised my hand and ran a finger along his neck, feeling his racing pulse. I moved down the center of his chest, over his abdomen, until I barely brushed the zipper of his trousers.

He held his breath.

—You know why you're here, don't you?

—Yes —he murmured.

—I can't hear you.

—Yes, I know.

I smiled. —And why?

He lowered his gaze. —Because I didn't follow through.

—Because you lied to me —I corrected him—. And because you came when I told you not to.

His cheeks tightened with a shame that suited him. In fact, it lit up his face even more, his eyes even more, along with that hungry silence clinging to his body. I rose slowly, letting him feel my closeness, the brush of my thigh against his, my perfume mingling with his breath.

—Turn around. Hands on the wall.

He did it without arguing. He planted his palms, spread his legs slightly, and straightened his back. The sight sent a hot current between my thighs. There was something obscene about watching a fully grown man position himself like that of his own free will, waiting for punishment with his cock half-hard and his head bowed.

I moved behind him and ran my palm over his back. Beneath the fabric I felt the heat, the tension in his muscles, the slight shudder that passed through him from head to toe. I slipped my fingers beneath his shirt, slowly pushing it up until his waist was bare.

—For every empty promise, one slap —I whispered near his ear.

The first smack was sharp and firm, not using all my strength, but with enough intent to make him gasp. He didn't move. He only pressed his hands harder against the wall. I caressed the reddened spot and delivered another, a little harder. Then another. The sound filled the room with a simple, brutal authority that made me grow wetter.

—Count.

—One —he said, his voice already breaking.

I gave him another smack. —Two.

The fifth made his knees bend slightly. The seventh tore a hoarse moan from him that he tried to swallow. By the tenth, his breathing was completely disordered. I alternated blows with caresses, letting my hand soothe what it had just provoked. I didn't want to hurt him. I wanted to mark him. I wanted the punishment to travel across his skin and sink into his cock until it drove him crazy.

—You're bad —I told him, lightly dragging my nails over the hot marks on his buttocks—. Very bad. And yet, look at you. You're about to drip with pleasure.

He let out a tiny, nervous laugh. —Yes.

—I haven't given you permission to enjoy it that much.

I pulled his trousers and underwear down to mid-thigh. His cock sprang free, hard and heavy, its tip glistening. Seeing it like that, stiff while I burned his ass with slaps, made me grit my teeth. I wrapped one hand around its base and squeezed just enough to make him moan.

—Don't even think about coming again without permission.

—I won't.

—You told me that before.

I gave him a short, precise tug of his hair at the nape of his neck. Then I brought two fingers to his mouth. —Suck.

He opened his lips and took them without hesitation, looking at me sidelong as best he could. He moistened them thoroughly, obediently, and I slowly withdrew my fingers, lowering them between his buttocks, first along the outside, testing, barely pressing against the closed hole that clenched when it felt me. The moan he released struck me directly in the pussy.

—That's better. Stay still and open for me.

I went back to rubbing that entrance with wet fingers, slowly and in circles, only brushing it. With my other hand I kept hold of his cock, not really masturbating him, but reminding him constantly where his arousal was and who controlled it. He pushed his hips back slightly, seeking more.

I slapped him again. —Don't move unless I tell you to.

—Sorry.

—I love hearing that when your cock is already trembling.

I thrust one finger inside. He gasped so hard he nearly hit his forehead against the wall. I left it there for a second, feeling him squeeze, feeling him try to adjust, feeling his entire body become one single sensitive place. I withdrew slowly and went back in deeper. The third time, I added a second finger.

—Fuck... —escaped him.

—Say the whole sentence.

—Fuck, please.

—Much better.

I began moving my fingers inside him with a slow, firm rhythm, opening him little by little, while my thumb massaged beneath his cock and my other hand continued punishing his ass with spaced-out smacks. Each blow made him clench around my fingers. Each caress afterward undid him further. I could feel the wetness soaking my underwear, and my desire to see his face was already overcoming me.

I grabbed him by the nape and turned him, pushing him back against the wall. His expression was exactly what I wanted: clouded eyes, parted lips, chest rising and falling as if he'd just run. I bent down, kissed his neck, and slowly bit his earlobe, leaving a small mark.

—Look at you —I told him—. You came to apologize, and already you're begging me to use you.

—Yes.

—You're so easy when you get hard.

I undid his belt completely, pulled his trousers down to his ankles, and knelt in front of him. His cock was level with my mouth, stiff and hot, throbbing in the air. I gave it a light tap with my fingertips, and he shuddered from head to toe.

—Don't come —I repeated.

I ran my tongue over the tip, gathering the clear fluid already beading there. It tasted salty, intimate, aroused. I watched him as I opened my mouth and took him in slowly, feeling his weight on my tongue. I moved up and down once, twice, three times, barely teasing him. I wanted him to suffer. I wanted him to think he was already receiving the best of it when I was only getting started.

His fingers tensed on either side of his body, but he didn't touch me. Good. He had learned. I took him deeper, leaving almost his entire cock inside my mouth, and heard him release a deep, animal moan that made me slip another hand between my legs over my clothes. I rubbed my clitoris while sucking him, enjoying his scent, the pull of his muscles, the absolute control of his silence.

I pulled his cock out with a wet sound and began licking and kissing his balls, sucking hard and alternating with little bites. His knees were weak. I could see it. And I loved being the cause.

—Tell me how much you owe me —I ordered before licking him again from base to tip.

—Everything.

—No. Say it properly.

I wrapped my hand around his cock and squeezed while he spoke. —I owe you everything. My come. My body. Whatever you ask of me.

That time I smiled for real. I stood, kissed him on the mouth, and let him taste his own flavor on my lips. He kissed well when he was submissive: hungrily, desperately, with that clumsy surrender that wasn't trying to show off, only to please. I tore open his shirt and began kissing his chest while guiding him stumbling toward the bedroom.

***

The bed was made, but not for long. I pushed him down to sit on the edge and stepped back so he could look at me. His face was red, his cock hard, his ass marked, and his eyes fixed on my hands. Slowly I unbuttoned my blouse, then lowered my skirt, and stood before him in stockings and underwear. I didn't need to get completely naked to bring him to the edge of delirium.

—Touch me only if I tell you to.

—Yes.

I moved between his legs and took his hand. I guided it to my thigh and moved it upward, then, just as his fingers brushed the damp fabric of my underwear, I pulled it away.

—Not yet. First you're going to prove to me that you understood.

I made him kneel beside the bed. His gaze rose to me with a mixture of reverence and need that soaked me even more. I spread my legs and slid my underwear to one side.

—Eat.

He didn't need me to repeat myself. He leaned in and ran his tongue from bottom to top, slowly at first, savoring me, opening his mouth wide to gather my wetness. I released my breath all at once and grabbed his hair. That's it. I wanted to see him like that: between my legs, using his tongue to pay for every lie.

I set the pace with my hand on the back of his neck. When he did well, I loosened my grip. When he faltered, I tightened it and rubbed his face against my pussy until he went back to licking hungrily. He pushed his tongue in more firmly, searched for my clitoris, sucked lightly, and my hips responded on their own, pressing against his mouth.

—Don't stop. Like that. Fuck, just like that.

He moaned against me while eating me out, and the vibration traveled up my belly like a jolt. I widened the angle with my fingers in his hair and used him shamelessly, rubbing myself against him whenever it suited me, forcing him to remain exactly where I wanted him. The combination of his submission and my pleasure pushed me so close to the edge that I came quickly, with a powerful spasm that made me sit on the edge of the bed for half a second so I wouldn't fall.

He kept licking until I pushed him away. His mouth was glistening and his breathing ragged. I gave him a soft slap on the cheek, barely a gesture, and then kissed him.

—Now you're beginning to pay.

I took off my underwear completely and searched the drawer for the box of condoms and some lubricant. When he saw them in my hand again, his cock gave such a visible twitch that I couldn't help a low laugh.

—You like it when I make it clear what I'm going to do to you, don't you?

—Yes.

—On all fours on the bed.

He obeyed quickly, with neither dignity nor regret, which was how I liked him best. I poured lubricant between his buttocks and spread it with my fingers, massaging around his ass, reddened by the slaps. I went in first with one finger, then two, then three, working him patiently but without empty tenderness. I wanted to open him properly, so he would feel the invasion, the stretching, the need to relax in order to receive me.

—Breathe and loosen up —I told him as the third finger slid all the way in—. If you clench, it'll be harder.

—Keep going... please.

I masturbated his cock at the same time, slowly, making pleasure and discomfort mingle until he could no longer separate them. His back arched. His head was buried in the sheet, and his ass offered itself to me, opened by my fingers. The sight finished turning me on.

I knelt behind him, opened the condom with my teeth, and put it on the cock of the strap-on I kept for nights like this. It wasn't the first time we'd used it, but it was the first time he'd truly come to ask for punishment. I placed the tip between his buttocks and heard him hold his entire breath.

—Last chance to change your mind —I murmured.

He shook his head. —No.

I pushed slowly. The first resistance gave way with a deep moan that came from somewhere inside him. I advanced little by little, feeling his body open, feeling him try to adjust to the thickness, feeling every inch take him from tension to the rawest pleasure. When I was completely inside, I stayed still for a few seconds, my hands firm on his hips.

—Tell me who's in charge.

—You.

—Tell me properly.

—You're in charge. Do whatever you want with me.

Then I began fucking him.

At first slowly, with deep thrusts that made him move forward over the bed and come back against me. The wet sound of the lubricant and his panting filled the room. Every time I withdrew almost completely, he tried to follow me backward, desperate not to lose the pressure. Every time I drove back in to the hilt, he released a hoarse growl that soaked me with power.

I grabbed the nape of his neck and sped up. The thrusts became harder, faster, more fucking obscene. His ass, still hot from the slaps, bounced against my thighs, and I alternated hip thrusts with smacks against the reddened skin. The contrast drove him wild. I could tell by the way he clenched, by the words escaping him.

—Fuck... yes... like that... don't stop...

—You get so filthy when they open your ass —I told him, giving him another smack—. You came to apologize, and now all you want is to be fucked.

—Yes. Yes. I want that.

—You want me to punish you like this?

—Yes, please. Harder.

That's what I did. I held his hips and fucked him harder, driving the rhythm into him until he trembled. The bed struck the wall with a rough beat. His moans grew louder and less controlled, and I had to grab his hair to lift his face and force him to swallow some of his own shame.

—Look at me.

He turned as best he could, mouth open, eyes half-lost. I kept fucking him without slowing down. —You like being used, marked, kept this wide open.

—Yes —he said almost voicelessly.

—And you'll come only when I decide.

I reached beneath his body and grabbed his cock. It was so hard it throbbed in my palm. I began masturbating him while penetrating him, coordinating the movement with every thrust. That was when he lost all control. His back arched, his legs weakened, and he began begging in broken phrases.

—Please... please... let me...

—Not yet.

I suddenly loosened my grip and continued with the thrusts alone. Frustration made him moan angrily. I smiled. That was part of the payment too. When he lifted himself slightly, I put two fingers in his mouth from behind.

—Suck.

He did it while I fucked his ass with a brutal rhythm, using his mouth to silence what his body couldn't. Then I pulled my fingers out and grabbed his jaw.

—Turn around.

I turned him over on the bed, and he ended up on his back, sweaty, chest rising in jerks, cock standing against his belly. I lifted his legs, pushing his knees toward his chest, and put it back inside him from the front. It slid in easily this time, wet and already open for me. He let out a muffled cry that became a long moan when I began thrusting in and out without mercy.

Seeing his face was something else. I could watch his expression come undone every time I filled him to the hilt. I could see his throat tense, his mouth searching for air, his cock bouncing on its own between us. I spat on the tip and began masturbating him again, faster, while continuing to penetrate him with deep thrusts.

—Now. Come when I tell you to.

—Tell me... fuck, tell me...

I gave him two especially hard thrusts, the kind that make the whole body convulse. —Come.

He came instantly, with a broken moan that was almost a bark, covering his abdomen and my hand in spurts. I didn't stop penetrating him while he came. On the contrary. I continued for several more thrusts, taking advantage of the way he clenched involuntarily, of the way the orgasm left him trembling, open, defenseless. Then I stopped deep inside him and kissed him, our breath mingling.

I was far too aroused to stop there. I withdrew slowly, removed the strap-on, and sat on his face before he could catch his breath. —I haven't finished yet —I told him.

He barely had time to nod before I covered his mouth with my pussy. I lowered my body and began rubbing myself against his tongue, taking advantage of his exhaustion as another form of obedience. His mouth was swollen, his chin wet, and even so he kept licking, stubborn, eager to serve, exactly where I wanted him.

I gripped the headboard and moved over his face shamelessly, using his tongue and mouth until another hot rush clenched my belly. This time the orgasm came longer and dirtier, my legs trembling on either side of his head. I pressed my thighs against his ears as I came and only released him when my body stopped throbbing.

***

I fell to one side of the bed, and we lay there breathing in silence for a few seconds. He was still on his back, his chest marked by my nails, his abdomen stained with come, his buttocks still red. I ran my hand slowly over his stomach, almost tenderly, and then cleaned him with an old T-shirt I'd deliberately left near the bed.

—Look at you —I told him.

I handed him the small mirror from the dresser. He studied his own wrecked face, the bite on his earlobe, the faint mark on his cheek, the satisfied exhaustion. Then he lowered his eyes to his body and gave an incredulous laugh.

—I look like a mess.

—You look like someone who finally understood the warning.

He looked at me as if he wanted to kiss me and kneel at the same time. That touched me a little, though not enough to make me soft. I caressed the nape of his neck and squeezed just enough to remind him who had set the pace all night.

—Next time I give you a rule, you follow it.

—I will.

—And if you don't...

His lips curved. —I'll come back and pay for it.

I gave him a short kiss, still dirty with sex and power. —That's what I thought.

He got up carefully, feeling the punishment in his ass and the exhaustion between his legs in the movement. I sent him to shower while I changed the most rumpled sheets. When he came out, hair damp and a towel around his waist, he looked like an ordinary man again. Almost. Because something of mine had remained in his eyes.

He moved toward the door to get dressed, and I picked up my bag. Before he left, I called him again. He came back, obedient, and I pulled the towel open with one tug to look at him one last time. Limp now, marked, spent. I ran my fingers over his chest and smiled.

—Get ready, old man. Next time I don't plan on letting you out of bed all night.

He swallowed and held my gaze. —Then I'll try to misbehave.

I laughed, low and malicious, just the way he liked. —I already know that. What you still don't know is how much worse I can make things for you.

I let him leave with that promise clinging to his body. As soon as the door closed, I brought my fingers to my mouth, remembering his taste and the way he'd trembled at the first blow. The debt wasn't entirely settled. We both knew it. That's why that night didn't end like a goodbye, but as the beginning of a habit.

His confession had been simple. He'd come to tell me he couldn't stop thinking about me, my orders, my punishments, how he came when I forbade him and how he wanted to pay for every offense with his whole body. Mine was quieter, but more honest: I didn't want mercy either.

I wanted to do it again.