Discipline Me

Discipline Me by Mich Masoch - A Quick and Dirty Collection Spanking StoryDiscipline Me: A Quick and Dirty Collection Spanking Story

For most of their marriage, Lina has begged her husband, Nate, to discipline her for a litany of bad habits, but he’s always resisted. Today Lina will learn a painful lesson in being careful what you wish for, because she’s about to get exactly what she’s desired. With belt in hand, whether she’s ready or not, Nate is going to give Lina a spanking ten years in the making.

“Discipline Me” is the first installment of Mich Masoch’s Quick and Dirty Collection, an ongoing series of spanking and BDSM short stories written for maximum erotic and emotional impact in a compact, easy-to-read length.

Read the review on Dark Gracie’s Playground

 

Request review copies of Quick and Dirty BDSM stories

 

Where to buy Discipline Me:

Amazon

Barnes & Noble

Sony

Smashwords

Kobo

Diesel

 

excerpt:

“I’m not going to tell you again, Lina.” Nate is completely calm, like this is the most normal thing in the world to ask of me.

I swallow hard, hoping to eject my heart from the place it’s lodged itself in my throat. He could not have just said what I think he did. I’m sure I simply misheard. That has to be it.

“You’re kidding, right?” He frowns, not a good sign.

“Try me.”

He pulls his belt out of the loops and folds it over, pulling outward until the middle meets with a snap. That distinctive sound means only one thing and, coupled with Nate’s no-nonsense tone, makes me gasp. I press my lips together, hoping he didn’t hear.

“Jacqueline, you will stand up right now, pull down your jeans and panties, and bend over the desk.” Nope, that’s what I thought I heard, no mistaking it. “Would you like to add to what you already have coming? Because I have all night.”

Oh shit. He’s serious. Yet, I can’t seem to make myself do as he asks. I just stare at him, my mouth gaping. This can’t be happening.

“Uhhh,” is all the answer I can manage at the moment. Nate now knows how to render me speechless.

“I’m only doing what you asked, pet. Remember?”

Damnit, he’s right. That’s the most ridiculous part of this ridiculous situation. I asked him, actually begged him, to hold me accountable and suggested this very thing as a consequence. Yet, now that he’s standing there, ready to hold me to it, I’m the one hesitating. I’m not ready for this. He’ll understand, I’m sure.

“One … two … three …”

Oh fuck! I better get my shit together fast. This is getting out of hand.

“B-but,” I stammer.

“… four … five … six …”

What’s the worst that can happen if I say no? I can change my mind. But have I, really? How long have I pestered him? If I back down now, that’s it. A second chance is not likely. Am I okay with that?

“… seven … “

“I’m sorry, Sir.” I use the honorific. It can’t hurt.

Why am I shaking so much? It’s not like I haven’t taken a lot worse than a belt and loved every second of it. But I can’t equate this with kinky play. Nate’s attitude promises anything but sexy fun. Besides, how long has it been? Can years without hard sensation play return me to square one like a fresh-cheeked novice? I guess I’m about to find out.

I can barely manage to get to my feet without stumbling over the chair. I fumble with my waistband. Thank goodness these old jeans are big enough to pull down without undoing the fly. My fidgety hands don’t stand a chance of navigating buttons.

For a second, I think the neighbors are playing their music too loud and am glad. Blasting bass might at least spare me an awkward moment in the hall. But, no such luck, it’s just my pulse thudding like a rave going down in my ears, which suddenly feel awfully hot. A whole lot of me feels over-heated, come to think of it. I must be a mass of freckles and flush right about now.

The breeze from the open window blows its chilled breath across my ass. Goosebumps tickle through my hot skin as I ease myself over the desk. I never realized how perfectly low my desk is, how my bottom would stick up just right when I lay across it and grab the other side. Apparently, Nate did.

He’s taking his time, watching me struggle with obeying him and enjoying it immensely, I’m sure. I can’t even see him anymore, just the damned brick wall. Footsteps on our old wood floor alternate with silence, giving away his movements. I can’t bear the wait, agonizing over every second of still anticipation. The rave pulse amps up to a speedy punk rhythm and my breaths, when I remember to breath, come in erratic bursts.

What the hell is he doing? Can’t he just get this over already? I’m submitting, so there’s no need to make it worse than it has to be.

Of course, that’s the whole point of the exercise, to make the experience as dreadful as possible. I know this, but knowing doesn’t stop the rationalizations from coming. They’re embedded pretty deep and aren’t giving up without a fight.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published.

14 − six =