#602) Obedience

I was no good at the obedience thing. It made me question if I was truly a submissive. I knew from a young age that it turned me on to think about getting my bottom spanked, but I also know that I have a stubborn streak. My mother calls me “obdurate.” It means pig-headed, she says. She doesn’t laugh when she calls me that, she says it with bitterness. She nor my dad ever spanked me as a child. She said she didn’t think violence was a way to convince a child about what was right. So I dreamed about violently having my pants pulled down and violently getting my round bottom thrashed all on my own. Then, when I went away to college, I pestered and pleaded and bratted until I got my boyfriend to bare and beat my butt. It made me orgasm hard for the first time. I was eighteen and my whole world changed! It made us have the absolute fucking best sex when he spanked me as he did me from behind in the doggy position. But I never could obey what he told me to do. In the four years since then, I’ve had relationships with men and women both, but no Top has ever been able to make me obey. Until tonight.

I wasn’t happy being that way. They say that any trainable animal prefers knowing limits. Whether a dog or a horse, they prefer being under command of someone stronger or more knowledgeable. But not me, I told myself. I thought of myself as wild, feral, unmanageable. At least until tonight.

Bob and I butted heads about this constantly.

“Get your cut-off jeans down,” Bob breathed in my ear this afternoon. I didn’t know if he wanted to see me naked, or planned to paddle my butt, or desired to fuck me. It didn’t matter, my reaction was the same. I made a half-assed attempt to comply, unbuttoned and unzipped them so that they drooped around my hips, but then I gave him a look. Bob knows that look well. It says “Make me…” Then I looked down at the floor, as though this was as much obedience as I was capable of conjuring up.

Bob is a big guy. I like that about him. If he wanted, he could effortlessly pick me up, put me over his shoulder, carry me to bed, physically make me do whatever he wanted. But he doesn’t, he’s soft-spoken and as gentle as can be. At the same time, he’s had to deal with my defiance for a long time. I think I’d been obdurate one too many times for Bob to put up with any more.

He took me by the shoulders and turned me around. He bent me over the sink’s countertop. I looked back at him impassively. He raised his huge left hand. (Bob is ambidextrous, can punish equally well with either hand.) I arched my ass out, daring him to do it. Bob spanked my cut-off jeans seat until they fell to my ankles. He spanked my poor bare butt for all it was worth. I tried to take it stoically, but he just kept spanking until I had to cry out, until I couldn’t blink back the tears any longer, until I cried like a little girl, until I begged him to stop.

“You got what you wanted!” I spat at him through my sobs.

“No, I didn’t. I want your cooperation, I want your partnership, I want you to be my mate, not my adversary!”

I dissolved in tears, “I want that, too! Really I do! I just don’t know how…”

We looked at one another. Was this going to be just another impasse, just another draw between two warring camps, a temporary truce?

Finally he stated softly, “I know how. I can change this leopard’s spots. If that’s what you want…”

I nodded. I didn’t want to lose Bob. I didn’t want to be the unruly beast anymore.

“Let’s get something to eat for dinner. Then, before bed, I’ll change you…”

I kicked the pants that were around my ankles off. I liked that Bob could see my reddened fanny, could see my diamond-hard pointed nipples, could see the jism smeared on my thighs and smell its powerful scent. I liked affirming that his spankings really did turn me on like nothing else. I wished, not for the first time and not for the millionth, that I could be his true submissive, truly his as my Top. I hoped that we had something in the fridge, but it was nearly bare. (Did I mention that I’m not much of a housekeeper, either?) We decided to go out to eat. I pulled on some tight jeans that really smarted getting them over my well-spanked ass, and a sweater and sandals. I had to sit on one hip or the other in the booth in the restaurant; my butt stung too much to sit upon fully. I thought about what lay ahead. What could Bob devise that would change my heart?

He drove me home in near silence. I was too nervous to talk much. I took inventory of my feelings as I sat on my throbbing butt in the car. I felt scared, thrilled, hopeful, sexually excited, dread, desire, anticipation… I felt love. I realized that I loved Bob, unlike my feelings for any other past beau, male or female. I didn’t know how to tell him any of this, so just held his hand.

He walked me into our house hand-in-hand, then in the living room, he took my face in both his hands.

“I spanked you hard earlier. It didn’t phase you. I’m going to punish you like you’ve never before been punished now. It’s a several step process. If you give yourself over to it, and want to change, it’ll change you.” Then he released my jaw and began undoing my jeans. “I asked you to take down your pants earlier and you couldn’t comply. I’m done asking. You’ll get direct orders from now on…” He yanked my pants down to my knees and as he stood up, he bent me over the arm of the couch, then placed several cushions under my arms. I felt vulnerable and my heart was racing. “Stay there,” he commanded and went to get something, I assumed the implement(s) he intended to use on me.

He started by using the heavy leather paddle. As he punished, he lectured.

“There is no safe word to save your ass… You can yell and scream all you want, I’ll only stop when I’m sure that you’ve had enough… I love your adorable ass, it hurts me to have to beat it this hard… But you have it coming…”

True to his word, Bob beat my butt harder than I’ve ever experienced, harder than I could’ve dreamed in any nightmare. He paddled me until I was reduced to a sobbing, sorry mess. I could feel my wounded buttocks quivering as my body trembled with wracking sobs.

I wanted to apologize. I wasn’t given that opportunity. As soon as I opened my mouth, Bob barked out his orders. “Be still. Just lay there and absorb the pain and humiliation. You should be ashamed of yourself, little girl, needing to be beaten that hard! So just take it and take it silently.” Like a roasted turkey, I was left to sit, to reabsorb my juices after the basting/cooking I’d endured (juices that were flowing out of my sex copiously).

Bob next picked up a long, thin cane. We had a rule that no stripe with this dreaded implement should break the surface of the skin, but clearly that rule had been tossed out the window. Bob whipped me mercilessly, laying the vicious stripes on neat and parallel to one another from where my butt crack started down all the way to the backs of my tender thighs. My voice gave out during this whipping.

Then he hammered home his lesson by paddling me with a plimsole shoe. I’d only had a slippering once before in my life, administered by a lesbian lover long ago. I knew from that experience that this could be the most painful of any thrashing devised by mankind. Bob made sure I felt all his past punishments as he walloped my purple bottom hard and long.

He’d said it’d be a multi-step process. I’d been treated to the heavy paddle, the cane, and the slipper. I hoped he was done. I had no more tears to shed, no voice to raise in answer to the pain. The cushion under my face was a tear-sodden, snotty mess. If Bob wanted to humiliate me further, he need only say the word and I would have parted my thighs to pee a puddle on the floor like a common beast. If he wanted further proof that I was broken, I would’ve shat on the living room floor like it was a barn. I had no self-respect left. I was his to command. But Bob had other designs on my anus.

My buttocks were nearly numb, but nonetheless, I felt him part them wide to rub a gob of lubricating goo up my rectum, having pulled my g-string undies to the side. I heard him unzip his fly, I closed my eyes and cringed at what was in-store.

We’d tried anal occasionally. I didn’t love it like some girls, but it was bearable, and I liked to reward Bob with it on special occasions, his birthday, Christmas Eve, after parties when I was nicely wasted. It felt foreign, slightly uncomfortable, not quite painful, dirty, and delicious mainly because it was in the realm of the forbidden. This wasn’t like that. He’d always been gentle before, both entering me and fucking in and out. Not this time.

“You’re my whore,” he grunted as he pushed his length into me in one long, nerve-crumpling thrust all the way up to the hilt. “I’ll take you in any way I desire, any time I desire. Is that clear?”

I nodded and tried to endure the mind-capturing, ass-controlling invasion. He slapped my butt cheek smartly. “I didn’t hear that.”

“I said yes, sir, as you wish, sir.”

“I’m going to punish you hard, frequently from now on, not just when you’re bad or stubborn. Frequently, as in tomorrow morning at dawn, while your buttocks are still sore and bruised. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir!”

I felt his fingers part my labial lips, tickle my erect clitoris. I wished that it didn’t feel so divine, but it did, it was incredibly deliciously decadently divine. I felt the orgasm build inside me.

“And I’m going to fuck you in the ass, hard, frequently, from now on. All your orgasms will come from butt fucks for a while. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir! May I cum now, sir?”

“Aren’t you the lascivious whore, wanting to cum from an ass fucking after such a hard beating?”

“Yes, sir,” I answered. not sure if it was rhetorical or not.

Talk about being ambidextrous, he diddled my clit and spanked my ass and thrust into my rosebud in synchronization, in perfect harmony, in painful purity. As I came in rhapsodic waves, my rectal muscles must have massaged Bob’s cock, milked his stiff erection. I felt him shoot jets of spunk into me, coating my bowels.

I thought I was spent, exhausted and empty. But when he took me in his arms and kissed my forehead and smoothed my hair, I cried anew. I cried from the pain across my backside, deep within my backside, from an emptiness that was overpowering, from my remorse for all the past. He tucked me under the covers like I was his little girl. He didn’t ask me to say anything, indeed told me not to talk. But I could already see that a steady regimen of hard discipline and disciplinary butt fucks would transform me, I was already half way there and I knew dawn would bring more subjugation. I drew a deep breath in and it came out with a shudder. I closed my eyes, wishing sleep would carry me away. Before it did, I remember thinking that I was being remade, I was being brought to confront my true nature, that my old name of Virginia didn’t fit anymore.

“I want a new name,” I whispered to Bob.

“Oh, yeah? Do you know what you’d like it to be…?”

“Yes, sir. I want to be called Obedience.”

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