Out of control

I'm not a good submissive: I don't speak when spoken to; I speak out of turn; I don't hold position; I don't stand up straight; I don't look at him when requested; I don't follow orders.

The list went on and on. I promised Mr Flame that I wouldn't disappoint him anymore. Promised I would be good, that I'd make amends, pleaded for another chance.

But I failed again, immediately; I didn't follow orders.

I was stood before him as he circled me, explaining my misdemeanours, wondering aloud should he punish me. I trembled with fear and anticipation. When he touched me, his finger running over my face, I flinched; when he trailed his hands over my body I recoiled.

"Don't flinch away from me."

His voice low, harsh and dangerously calm. I tried to hold still, head up, shoulders back, straining with tension. It amused him, but still he taunted me.  Flexed his hands in front of my face, placed his open palm on my cheek and then drew it back, poised to strike. Faked a slap once, then twice and at the third I flinched, already in tears.

A cruel smile my reward: "You do need to be punished."

I watched miserably as he assembled his arsenal: 8 different implements laid out on the bed: two floggers, two canes, several straps and paddles.

He explained the rules with menace. I was to fetch each implement with my mouth and crawl to him on my hands and knees to deliver it. Then, to crawl back to the bed, kneeling on the floor to take 6 strokes of each. No moving, no flinching, no disappointing him.

Delivering each implement was an utter humiliation. Struggling with some to even get them in my mouth, praying I wouldn't drop any. I was relieved to scurry back to the bed after dropping each one in front of him, happy to hide in the pain that soon came. And pain it was. No warm up, no easing off when I started to beg for mercy. Each implement rained down in 6 quick blows as I struggled to breathe and desperately tried not to move.

Some were worse than others; a few were unbearable and made me scream for mercy. I made it to 7 implements before I broke position and earned an extra 6 with the final one - 54 in total.

I was finally permitted to stand, dazed from the pain. He surveyed his handiwork, running his fingers over the welts rising on my skin. I steeled myself to hold still. 

Were we done?

No, sent to fetch nipple clamps, the thing I really struggle to bear. These were a particularly fear-inducing set, clover clamps - I'd never managed to wear them for more than a few seconds. I begged to be let off, asked for 50 more strokes instead. All to no avail.

"You'll wear them for me, you don't want to disappoint me, do you?" That dangerously calm voice again.

Each nipple for 10 seconds, pure agony for me, pure enjoyment for him as I squealed throughout.

His praise was little comfort. "That was so good we can try 20 seconds this time, you are learning, I'm very pleased."

20 seconds, an eternity of awful intense pain. By the time the scene ended I hated Mr Flame with a vengeance, and I could not hide that fact.

He was right, I'm not a good, submissive girl. I rejected his kindness and his hugs. I was wound up and angry. I wanted to hit him, I wanted to make him pay for how he had treated me. But mostly I wanted not to have these feelings, if I couldn't be a good submissive then I wanted to be a broken one.

 

 I poked him, tried to pin his wrists, as he watched in bemusement. 

"You want to hit me?"

"No, I want you to hit me!"

He understood. And as soon as it began, I wanted it to end. In trying to take control I lost it completely. I unleashed the version of Mr Flame that is almost out of control, one that I can't influence, one that properly terrifies me.

Pushed flat on my back, he was on top of me, his hands around my throat.

The first slap across the face produced immediate tears. The second, third, fourth delivered so quickly I didn't have time to shield myself.

That wicked snarl, eyes intense, veins bulging. Mr Flame had disappeared, it was HIM. He dropped his head down, sniffed me with satisfaction:

"I can smell your fear, it's pouring out of you."

Another slap, back hand followed by reverse back hand on the other cheek. 

My arms pinned with one hand as he punched me methodically: my hips, my ribs, my legs, straddling my body with his own, rendering me unable to move. I began to beg, almost hysterical with pain and terror.

The seventh slap across the face made me reel, time slowed down. I didn't register the eight, couldn't even flinch as his fists moved down by body again.

Sobbed uncontrollably, so terrified, yet so free. It would end when he was done, I couldn't do anything about it.

Looked him in the eye as his hand flexed above me again. The final slaps taken watching his cruel, taunting smile.

Completely succumbed, no fight, limp in his harsh embrace, too out of it to care what came next.

Until I realised that finally the beast had gone, melted into a soft hug, Mr Flame holding me as I cried in liberty and relief. And this time I submitted, without question.

The fear of the beast stayed with me, continues to stay with me. When Mr Flame fucked me later, purely for his pleasure, he made me beg for it, to admit to him how much I wanted it. I struggled to say it, but the merest hint the beast was reappearing overcame any hesitation.

That fear comes not just from knowing I can't control HIM, but from the nagging suspicion that Mr Flame can't either. It's a powerful, powerful thing.


 

Not a morning girl

Mr Shine has been beating me almost nightly, as well as fucking me very regularly lately. It's been a mostly mutually pleasing experience. But not always...

I'm not a morning girl. 6AM: I'm awake and he has persuaded me to use my latest gift, a powerful and delicious lelo vibrator. I submit to applying it under his watchful eye, deciding the inevitable pleasure it brings will overcome the early hour.

He strokes my neck, my nipples, between my legs - softly, carefully. Then as I warm up: the strokes turn to slaps and he twists and bites my nipples, enjoying my cries of intermingled pain and pleasure.

Tells me to hurry up, that he's going to fuck me soon. Between his insistent hands, the promise of what's to come, and my new lelo friend I'm almost at the point of coming.

"Enough, I want you now."

Takes my toy away and thrusts into me quickly, silencing my bubbling outrage by pulling my hair sharply until I'm reduced to whimpers.

He is uncompromising in his objective, hard and fast, his pleasure is what matters, not mine. And when he's satisfied he withdraws and leaves me to my frustration.

No, I'm not a morning girl.

Nowhere left to hide

He promised he'd beat me, fuck me, make me cry and break me. And he did all these things, but not in the way I anticipated. I expected a menacing sadist forcing me to do his bidding: I got a man who was firm but compassionate. Instead of a wall of forced submission and pain to shield myself behind, I was left completely exposed, more vulnerable than ever before; I was confronted with my own deep desires and persuaded to admit what I really wanted. There was nowhere left to hide.

~~~

I waited, sick with nerves, for him to arrive. As instructed I'd gingerly inserted the anal plug and carefully selected clothes that were disposable. My hair was precisely arranged to hang over my eyes; it wasn't much of a defence but all I had. If I couldn't see him, if he couldn't look me in the eye, I'd be safe. It meant that for the first hour of his visit I saw only his hands and shoes. He teased me for hiding, but didn't force me to look at him - he knew I'd look eventually and it would be all the more powerful when I did.

His gentle manner was so in contrast to the last time, when he'd aggressively stripped and raped me; it threw me. Given I couldn't look at him, only his unmistakable voice assured me it was indeed Mr Flame in the room with me. 

My clothes were reverently removed; he complimented what he found underneath and made me shiver with caresses across my skin. My hands were comfortably secured behind my back. I was praised for complying with the butt plug.

In this initial stage I was too nervous and hidden within myself to be capable of much speech. He coaxed me to talk aloud and only when I persistently failed to speak clearly, did he reprimand me.

The first blows were a spanking, sensual from his leather gloves, making the plug throb inside me. It was not uncomfortable. The brief introduction to the nipple clamps made me whimper, but once removed, his hands were cold and soothing. 

When he placed me kneeling facedown on the bed, with my legs apart, hands still secured behind me, the fear returned. He used a variety of implements on my back, arse and thighs. There were many painful blows but none that let me escape from him completely. Just as the intensity would build he'd pull back. It was disconcerting and pulled me out of hiding within, confused with what was going on, resenting the lack of pain to bury myself in.

I became less compliant, moved out of position to goad him, challenged him verbally. But there was no reaction. A few painful strokes of something - the knotted rope flogger, the sharp square ended leather one, the thin whippy cane, but no release. All the time, he encouraged me to let go, to give in.

"To what," I screamed in my head, "I've nowhere to go."

When he released my hands, he laid me on the bed and climbed on top of me, several fingers deep inside me, firm but not rough, demonstrating how wet and inviting I was. Gently stroked my body, encouraging me to please him.

I felt every last bit of submissiveness had left me and pushed him away. We struggled briefly until I escaped to a corner of the room. He followed, dragging me back and pinning me on the bed. I fought again, until I wrestled away again to the opposite corner.

And sat there hugging my knees in bewilderment whilst he sat on the edge of the bed, silently watching me. I berated myself inside: "What the hell are you doing? What kind of submissive are you? Did you break him already?" And then silently turned on him. "Why didn't he do anything? Why didn't he take charge?"

The tears that came then were borne of frustration and disappointment. Eventually I told him I didn't want to fight with him.

"You're not fighting with me: you're fighting with yourself. Give in. Let go."

And there he had me; the painful realisation broke me. He could have forced me to stay on the bed, could have forced me to do anything, but it wasn't about him: it was about me.  He beckoned me to him and I crawled across the floor burying myself in his lap, crying as he stroked my hair and whispered encouragement. It was a cathartic release for a very confused mind. A very strange and unexpectedly place to find myself mid scene. 

Finally, I asked him to continue. Admitted to him, to myself, that I wanted him to do these things to me, such things I'd ever only let myself be forced to do. Pleaded for him to take my submission, now I offered it willingly.

I don't know if he sensed my need for punishment; whether he wanted to continue the catharsis; or, whether he wanted me to feel the full force of my submission, but his next act was as brutal as everything else previously had been compassionate.

He pinned me face down on the bed, his hand painfully tight on my neck. With his other hand he opened his trousers and retrieved his cock, pulled me up by my hair and impaled me on it, burying the length of it in my throat. I couldn't breathe, could only gag, but he would not release me for many long seconds. Then, a brief respite for air and back to fucking me violently. 

He continued for some time, continuously bringing me to wild despair at not being able to breathe. I tried to beg, but the sounds were intelligible and merely amused him. When he finally released me, he pushed me face down into the mess of tears and drool that had soaked the bed; there was no hiding from what I had just done.

Strong arms then pulled me up and laid me on my back. "I'm going to fuck you now." I braced for the onslaught, but the beast had disappeared again; he was gentle, it felt good. I didn't know how to process this. Resorted to my usual responses: "NO, please stop."

"You don't want me to stop, do you? I know you don't. Be honest."

No, I didn't; it killed me to admit it, but I shook my head confirming his suspicions.

"Tell me you want it then, good girl, tell me you want me to fuck you, beg me to fuck you."

For the first time that afternoon I faced my fear and looked him in the eye. And for the first time in my submissive life I wanted a man to fuck me, not for his pleasure, not for my defeat, but because I wanted him to.

 "Please fuck me Mr Flame, please fuck me Mr Flame, please..."

Saying the words made me cry. His approval made me cry even more. And then the final breaking point: I asked me to fuck my arse. Positioned myself on the bed waiting for him, was completely complicit in the act, and thanked him for it afterwards.

My first consensual submissive experience. The greatest mind fuck ever. A gift.
 

Anything?

Mr Shine placed me on the bed facing away from the door and we waited. It wasn't long before Mr Flame arrived. I don't turn around, he'd have my attention soon enough.

"Anything?", he checks with Mr Shine. "Yes, anything."

Listening to your partner hand you over to a near-stranger is a thrilling, if scary prospect. Knowing that he's sitting watching what was about to happen just about sent me over the edge.

Mr Flame got straight to work, pushing me back on the bed, squeezing my neck as he carefully explained what he was going to do: "beat you, make you cry, make you beg, fuck you, HARD". His dark eyes glowed with intensity; I was immediately scared.

It didn't take him long to remove my clothes, laughing at my attempts to fight him off. I cowered on the bed naked, shivering slightly with nerves as he looked me over. Then his hands were on me, pinching, squeezing, probing, holding me down with his body weight, making me feel what he had in store for me.

Twisted my nipples until I pleaded for mercy, followed up with a leather paddle across my beasts until I screamed. 

It was a short lived relief to be ordered to lie face down; he began beating me on my arse and thighs, first with his paddle, then his cane. No warm-up, every stroke as vicious and intense as his attitude. When it became too much I squirmed away from him, only to be retrieved by my hair.

His voice cold and menacing: "If I wanted you to move, I'd tell you to."

In fear I clutched the edge of the bed screaming out my pain as he pushed me to my limits physicaly, the thuddy cane falling over and over in the same spot. When he finally stopped, I was crying, as much with the effort of staying still as the pain. 

I didn't have much of a respite before he appeared before me, opening his trousers. I had no chance to resist, his cock straight down my throat as he warned me to make an effort, to satisfy him. Then made it clear how much pleasure he was taking in fucking my mouth, whilst I struggled not to gag.

By the time he fucked me I was already broken. Beginning with me on my back first so he could watch my face as he forced himself into me; enjoying my gasps of pain as he pounded harder and harder. Then flipped me over taking me from behind, his guttural enjoyment contrasting with my whimpers. 

When he had finally taken everything he wanted I was discarded, crying and dazed.

Mr Shine came to comfort me, gently taking his own pleasure, reclaiming me, as Mr Fame watched in approval.

Not just anything; everything. 


 

Pollyanna loves fire

I love playing with new people. Especially those you meet in circumstances where credibility and trust are already implicit.

I was delivered to his door, blindfolded, not knowing who to expect. Would it be one of the several men known to me already, or the one uknown quantity?

I was excited and apprehensive in equal measure when he finally spoke, confirming he was the latter.

He was in no hurry to start, seeming to be quietly observing me; I could see nothing through my blindfold, and I heard no sound but his breathing as he moved around me.

Then, we traded back and forth for some time, trying to figure the other out. He telling me what he intended to do, whilst also carefully checking in with my limits. I, reassuring and goading him in equal measure.

I didn't have anything new to offer from the short written version of my limits that he had seen in advance.

My theory on limits and safe words is quite simple: I'll tell you the basics and we can agree a traffic light system in principle, but if I'm not comfortable I'll stand up and walk away. If you put me in a very deep, submissive state I'll be powerless to stop you doing anything you want anyway, so a safe word is useless. And frankly, if you've managed to get me that far you're entitled to take everything you want.

Still blindfolded, I was bent over the desk, my dress raised and my knickers to my knees, as he began beating with his various weapons. A flogger first.Then a paddle, of sorts. Something else, quite strange: a book!

I quietly received the initial blows appraising his ability, his judgment. I barely noticed how it felt, focused on deciding whether I could trust him enough to let go.

He encouraged me to be more vocal, which I did as he warmed into it, getting harder. His cane, thick and thuddy (very unfamiliar to me) drew a few gasps. Especially as he placed it in the same spot, over and over.

All the while we easily bantered back and forth, amusing ourselves with our cleverness.

When he drew me back to standing and removed the blindfold I wondered were we done. His fingers suddenly thrusting into me made me squirm. The wetness, the eagerness, all too apparent and he tried to shame me about it, but I looked back at him evenly, hiding any disquiet I felt.

"First your mind, then your body, then your soul"

Binding my arms behind my back I was made to kneel down, legs slightly apart, then to lay my forehead on the floor. It was a vulnerable and revealing position.

Despite having been fucked by, and played with a lot of men, and not being remotely shy about being naked, I still blushed inwardly as I thought of him taking his first view of me, open and exposed.

The cane strokes were much more difficult in this position, his probing fingers more humiliating: I couldn't help but cry out. And his words were starting to get to me too, until the point where I couldn't answer back anymore; he laughed that my wits had finally deserted me. 

It didn't take long for the tears to start falling; soon I was crying softly.

When I was permitted to stand I couldn't look him in the eye anymore.

He was amused:

"I can, and will make you do that, but that's enough, for now."

A flame had been ignited: Mr Flame.