TW: Rough degradation and sadomasochism. Consent and aftercare is shown.

Note: This story, including all names and people, is entirely fictional and not based on any real life experiences or events.

I’m about to do something supremely stupid.

Matt, my husband, has been idly petting my head for an hour. My head is in his lap, pressed against his crotch, where we’re laying on the couch, while he completely ignores me and reads a book above me. I’ve been staring into his stomach or at the book in his hands for the past ten minutes, slowly becoming more and more sure that I’m going to need to provoke him.

He’s already reprimanded me for not staying still twice. I asked if I could go do something else, but he said no, that I belong in his lap. I even asked if I could blow him, but he declined.

Who declines a free blowjob?

Not that he needs to ask, anyway. He can have me whenever he likes, which made my offer a little redundant, but I’m going crazy here.

Especially since he had me strip earlier, so I’m only wearing his collar around my neck. He’s still dressed, wearing a white button-down and black slacks. He likes doing this, wearing a nice suit or something similar while I’m only wearing his collar. It’s his way of emphasizing our power dynamic, and my love for him grows a little every time he does it.

But that doesn’t matter at all, not now that I’m going to piss him off. I know what I’m about to do will result in a paddling at best, but I don’t care. I’d rather have that than boredom. Haven’t there been studies on that, showing how people prefer pain to boredom? Well, I certainly do.

Matt turns another page, then goes back to rubbing my head. It feels nice, I can’t lie, but a punishment would feel nicer. I stir a bit, not-so-accidentally rubbing my cheek against his hardening length.

“Be still,” Matt orders, but I don’t listen. I keep wriggling, eventually closing my mouth around his erection through his slacks. “Angel.” Matt’s voice is stern, his warning dangerous, but I barely hear him through the pounding in my ears. My adrenaline is so high I can barely exercise self-preservation.

A firm slap lands on my butt, and I let out a yelp, but more keep coming. He gives me five hard slaps on each cheek, but I manage to stay still for each of them, knowing I’ll just make it worse if I try to stop him.

“Keep moving and see what happens,” he warns, and I whimper beneath him.

Another five minutes pass, his warning playing on repeat in my head. Despite the sting on my rear, I desperately want to know what will happen. I’m already drenched, probably making a wet spot on the couch.

I’m not allowed to touch myself, which is exactly why I do just that. Carefully, pretending like I’m trying to hide it, I snake my hand beneath me and graze my clit. I stir a little at the contact but keep going.

A minute goes by while I keep rubbing at myself. My breaths turn ragged as I disobey my Master’s rules, the dirtiness of the act spurring me on. I don’t know how Matt hasn’t noticed what I’m doing yet, but that’s far from my mind when I’m quickly reaching the peak.

My aching nipples keep brushing against Matt’s leg, and I use it to get further along. Only, just then, I notice that Matt has been staring at the same page for the past few minutes.

No, I realize, when I turn my head to glance up at him. He’s looking at me, with a frankly deadly expression on his face.

I stop moving. I wanted to get caught, to provoke him, but now that I have, a sense of dread and regret floods my body. “By all means, keep going,” Matt says in a sarcastic voice. “I’m thoroughly enjoying myself.”

I think I know why. I can almost hear the gears turning in his head, running through all the terrifying punishments he can subject me to. I know I’m fucked, but I’m not about to make this easy for him.

Slowly, I push up onto my elbows, and then sit all the way up. His eyes briefly snag on my breasts, hanging between my arms, but then they narrow on me. “Did I tell you to get up?” he asks. “Get back down here.” He pats his thigh expectantly, and when I eye it for too long, his head drops, like he’s preparing himself.

I don’t hesitate. I bolt.

I push up from the couch and start running through the house, looking for somewhere to hide. Giggles escape me at the thrill of it, but truth is, I’m fucking terrified. I have no idea what will happen if–no, when–he finds me.

As I rush up the stairs, I pause briefly, listening. I can’t hear him. He’s not running after me, I realize, which terrifies me even more. He wants me to get away, to think I have some way of escaping my fate. I don’t dare think about why as I continue running.

I make it to our bedroom and shut the door behind me. I lock it, then crawl under the bed and lay my stomach flush to the floor.

My heart is pounding, my ears pressed to the floor to listen for Matt downstairs, but I hear nothing. The rush of disobeying, of poking the bear, sends a thrill through my entire body. The knowledge that I’ll be punished harshly for this, and the anticipation of not knowing what that punishment will be, makes me ache between my legs, moisture gathering.

Being a brat, especially to a sadistic Master, is addicting. Even though I’m fucking terrified, laying on the floor and awaiting my fate, I’m also so turned on.

Minutes pass, and I’m tempted to go downstairs and drag Matt up here to beat my ass, but the door suddenly opens. In my rush to hide, I completely forgot he had a key, and didn’t think to block the door with something. I’d be kicking myself over it if it wasn’t for Matt’s slow, methodical footsteps creeping closer to the bed.

“You think you can run away from me, baby girl?” he purrs, and I nearly whimper from fear and arousal. “You just made your punishment far, far worse.” His feet stop right in front of my face, just by the edge of the bed. “Come out here. Now.”

I want to obey, to fling myself to his feet and beg for forgiveness, but the urge to be a brat spurs me into action. I slowly creep backwards, edging my legs out from underneath the bed.

“Oh, no you fucking don’t,” Matt says, and I realize he’s seen my legs when his feet quickly round the bed. I shriek, pushing forward just as his hands clamp down on my ankles. I kick away at him, wringing myself free from his grip and crawling hard out from underneath the bed. I make it out, shooting to my feet and beginning to run out the room, only to be yanked back by my hair.

I scream as I’m twisted and pulled down to the floor. I land on my knees, and my hands brace themselves on Matt’s feet, where he stands still as a statue.

His grip in my hair remains firm as he pulls my head back, forcing me to look up at him. My hands land on his thighs for stability. “You little fucking brat,” he spits. I shrink a little at his harsh words, even as the degradation turns me on even more. “You’re just a desperate little whore for your Master’s cock, aren’t you?”

“Yes, Master,” I grit out, the tugging at my scalp making it difficult to speak properly.

“Hands behind your back, little girl.” I obey. “If you move them, I’ll tie them to your ankles.”

Oh god, how badly I want to punch his crotch just to see what happens. Even so, I manage to keep my hands behind my back. I have some common sense, at least.

He quickly unzips and unbuttons his slacks, then pulls them and his briefs down in one motion. His thick length springs free, smacking me in the cheek, and he lets out a laugh. Then, he forces all of his length down my throat.

I gag immediately at the intrusion, and my hands twitch on instinct, but I keep them behind me. I expect him to start fucking my mouth, but he stays still, forcing me to choke on him. Drool quickly builds at the edge of my mouth and starts running down my chin. My nose is stuffed into his crotch, almost painfully squeezed against him. I can’t breathe, and soon, I’m panicking, trying to wriggle out of his grip.

Despite it all, my hands remain behind my back.

When I think I’m about to pass out, Matt finally pulls all the way out, still gripping my hair. I gasp, sucking in as much air as I can. His free hand comes down to my cheek, slapping it just hard enough to hurt, and I yelp. “I though this was what you wanted?” he mocks.

I nod eagerly. “Yes. Please.” I have to force it out in between my eager pants for breath.

He laughs, then tilts my head up so I face him. He then bends down to my face and spits on me, hitting me right between my eyes. I gasp at the rude gesture, but before I can say anything, I’m forced down onto his cock again.

I’m subjected to the same treatment again, choking and gagging around him. He lets out a moan every time I gag, the sadistic part of him getting off on this. His rough treatment of me makes me wet both in my eyes and between my legs, and my writhing beneath him isn’t entirely just because I need air.

He pulls out again, giving me air for just a few seconds before starting over, forcing me down again. This continues two more times before my hands fly up involuntarily. I push at his legs on instinct, even as I try not to.

When he pulls out again, he lets go of my hair, instead walking over to the drawer with all our restraints. “God, I’m sorry, Master,” I try. “I didn’t mean to.” I’m panting heavily, but he just ignores me, looking through the drawer.

He returns shortly with restraints for both my ankles and wrists, which cross together in the middle in an X-shape. Tears run down my face from all the choking, and he notices them just as he finishes hogtying me on my knees. He remains crouched next to me.

“Give me a colour, angel,” he says gently, a sharp contrast to his earlier treatment of me. His fingers brush my tears away in a gentle, soothing touch.

“Green, Sir.” Despite how much my throat burns and how wet my face is, all I want is to please him, to take my punishment for him. I gently tug at the restraints, finding them firm, and I feel Matt place a heavy, metal cylinder in one of my hands.

“Let that drop to the floor if you need to stop. Got it?”

I nod. “Yes, Master.” I open my mouth eagerly again, but instead of standing and thrusting into my mouth again, he pulls my mouth to his, giving me a deep, loving kiss.

He shoves his tongue into my mouth, twirling with mine. I moan, letting him take my mouth in his gentle, yet pillaging kiss. Finally, he pulls away and goes to stand. “Such a good girl,” he praises, petting my head. “Taking your punishment so well.”

I nod, smiling at him, and as I open my mouth again, he starts thrusting in and out of my me. He fucks my throat like he’d fuck my pussy, hard and without restraint. It’s overwhelming, yet I do my best to lick and suck at him whenever I get the chance to. He moans, his thrusts quickening, but he then shoves his cock down my throat again.

I choke again, my throat closing around him. “That’s my good little whore,” he praises again. “Fucking take it.” I’d moan at his degrading words if my throat wasn’t occupied.

He keeps me there for what feels like minutes. I’m squeezing the cylinder in my hand hard, determined to not let it drop unless I absolutely have to.

Finally, he lets me go, and I breathe in ragged, desperate breaths as drool runs down my chin. My hair is sticking to my face thanks to all the moisture there. I lean my head against his leg, exhausted, as he gently pets my hair. “You’re doing so well, my good girl.”

He comes around behind me, gently prying the cylinder from my grip before he unfastens my restraints. “Get on the bed,” he orders, and gives me a slap on my ass when I stand up on shaky legs. “Ass up, arms stretched in front of you.” I obey, then spread my legs for him.

The groan that escapes him at the sight of me sends flutters through my stomach. I love his reactions to me, showing he’s as weak for me as I am for him.

He swiftly ties my hands together in front of me, then ties them to the headboard tightly. He repeats the process with each of my ankles, but ties each of them to the bedposts at the bottom corners of the bed, forcing my legs apart. My feet hang off the edge, which incidentally lines up my entrance perfectly for him.

“Don’t move.” He gently brushes my ass with his hand. “I’m going to whip you,” he says darkly. Shivers run down my spine. We don’t have an actual whip. Instead, we use a flogger, but it still hurts like hell. “I want you to count for me, got it?”

I nod, then speak up. “How many, Sir?”

He chuckles, giving my ass a hard slap on each cheek. “Until I decide you’re done, slut.” A pause. “Remember to use your safeword if you have to, baby. Are you ready?”

I nod. “Ready, Sir.”

One thing I learned early on in our relationship is that Matt doesn’t fucking hold back. His first strike hits both cheeks, and my pussy, so hard that it sends vibrations through my whole body. I shriek at the strike, yelling out, “One!”

His hand soothes the sting a little before he moves back and gives me another one. I whimper at the strike. “Two!”

He gives me another three, and I count them all until the fifth.

He pauses and leans down next to my face, brushing my hair away from it. I’m crying into the mattress at the harsh strikes, yet I smile proudly at my husband. “I’m okay,” I breathe, honestly. Because even if the pain is intense, I live for that pain.

“Good.” He gives me a kiss to the forehead. “You’re halfway. Can you handle five more?”

“Yes, Master.” I’m already bracing myself.

“Good girl.” He moves back behind me, immediately striking me again.

I cry out, wringing my restrained hands together. I stuff my face into the mattress to muffle my cries, but Matt’s large hand grips my hair, pulling me up roughly. “Count,” he orders me sternly.

“Six,” I breathe out, exhausted.

He releases me, then hits me again. “Seven!” I scream into the mattress. Another hits, and I yell out, “Eight!”

The pain is so intense, my entire lower half is on fire. My body is screaming for me to safeword and get out, but I remain, wanting to take his strikes more than anything.

“Fuck,” he groans. “Your ass looks so pretty when it’s all red.” He cups my pussy from behind with his free hand, quickly plunging two fingers in. I moan at the sudden contact, but he suddenly pulls away, leaving me whimpering.

He strikes me again, this time aimed at my upper thighs and pussy. I let out a loud scream, the pain so fucking good. “Nine!”

One more, I remind myself. I go to take a breath, but halfway through, he hits me again without warning, striking the same exact spot as his first strike. “Ten,” I pant, relived.

“Good fucking girl,” Matt praises from behind me, suddenly lining himself up with my entrance from where he stands at the end of the bed. I don’t even have time to brace myself before he sheathes himself fully inside me. One hand grips the crease where my thigh meets my hip, and his other grabs my hair, pulling it back hard. He doesn’t catch all of it in his rough grip, so a lot of it bounces in my face in messy waves.

With the way I’m spread for him, my arms stretched ahead of me, all I can do is lay there as he takes me with abandon. His hips slap against my burning ass with every thrust, stinging like hell as his cock stretches me. I pant and moan loudly into the air.

Despite the pain, maybe because of it, I feel my orgasm building, but I can’t come like this. Not without his skilled fingers on my clit. “Fuck!” I cry out. “Sir, please, can I come?” All my words come out chopped as he fucks me like he wants to hurt me.

“No.” His tone is firm, and I realize he won’t even let me beg for it.

That doesn’t stop me from trying, though. “Please, oh my god. I can’t take it, I need to!” He doesn’t say anything, so I keep going. “Master, I need it, I need it, I need it. Please!” I chant ‘Please’ over and over again until he pulls out fully, then stuffs himself all the way inside me in one hard thrust, pushing a yelp out of my throat.

He pauses there. “Fuck, I love it when you beg like that. You pathetic little girl.” I nod as hard as I can, my scalp stinging from his firm grip on my hair. “But you think I care about your little orgasm?” I deflate, dread crashing over me. “Fuck no. You’re just my little fucktoy. I’m going to use you as I please, and you can come when you earn that privilege again.”

“I’m so sorry, please!” I yell out desperately. I haven’t needed to come this badly before, and his denial is just making me need it even more. I can’t take it.

“Shut up,” he barks out. “Say you don’t deserve to come.”

“I need to,” I whimper, and he tugs at my hair in warning. Despite how badly I don’t want to, I still grit out, “I don’t deserve to come, Sir.” Even with his denial, I’m still desperate to be good for him, to make him proud.

He then releases my hip and covers my mouth, his other hand still pulling my hair back. Even with my mouth covered, I know his eyes are glued to my hands, looking to make sure if I give my safe signal. “Fuck, you’re so tight.” When he says that, I know he’s close, and I close my eyes in defeat.

He moans as he releases inside me. His fingers plunge into my mouth and hook into my jaw as he pushes all the way in, making sure not a drop escapes.

He slumps behind me, and after he releases my face and hair and pulls out, I feel his release slowly dripping down my thighs. His fingers start pushing it back in, and I moan. “Master…Please,” I beg again. I’m spent, but I need my release more than I need air.

“You can come, baby,” he tells me, picking up the pace, and my heart warms. “You did so fucking good. I wanted to hear you admit you don’t deserve to come, and you probably don’t, but I want you to come.” He licks at my clit then, not even caring about his come dripping out of me. “Come for me, baby.”

After another minute of his licks and fingering, release finally finds me. I buck and moan at the sensation, pushing myself back into his face with eagerness. He doesn’t falter through my climax, letting me take all of the pleasure I can get. When my orgasm subsides, I slump into the bed, as well as I can with all the restraints around my limbs.

With a quick kiss to my lower back, he swiftly unties all the ropes. My wrists are red from how hard I must’ve been pulling at the ropes, and I rub them gingerly.

“Should get you a bath. It’ll help,” Matt says, pointing to my aching wrists. He gives me his hand, and I take it as he leads me to the bathroom where he runs a hot bath for us.

We both get in, my back to his front, and he starts cleaning me off and cleaning my hair. I close my eyes and fully relax in his big arms. Despite all the degradation and humiliation, all the whipping and the way he fucked me, I never doubt his love for me. Especially not when he takes care of me like this after a scene.

A few happy, exhausted tears roll down my cheeks.

He gives me a kiss between the shoulder blades while he cleans my back. It gives me the best kinds of shivers. And when he’s satisfied, he pulls me back against his chest again, where I slump against him completely spent, and completely content.

Thank you for reading!💜 I really enjoyed this one, since Matt is rougher than most of the men from my other stories, which was fun to write. If you have any thoughts on the story, I'd love to hear it!💜💜💜