“But i don’t want to, Sir,” i say, and even i can hear the whine in my voice.

He nods, his eyes moving across me, taking in every aspect of my naked body, kneeling in front of him.  “Are you safe-wording?” he asks.  “Cause I’m pretty sure that “i don’t want to, Sir” is not your safe word.”

“Noooooo.  No, Sir, I’m not.  I will do it, you know i will, if you insist.  I just – i don’t waaannnt to.”

He nods, “That’s ok, silly girl, you don’t have to want to.  You’re welcome to tell me how you feel, but you don’t get to decide what you do or don’t do.”

I hate that those words go directly to my pussy, which heats and throbs as if he’d just touched me.  i don’t get to decide.  That feels like such a gift, and yet it can be so hard to obey.

“I can help motivate you,” he says, “I don’t mind.”

“Oh – oh, Sir, um, no, Sir, that’s ok, i don’t need help getting motivated, i promise,” but i can tell it’s too late.  He’s opening the drawer of the little end table next to him.  i close my eyes, but when i open them he’s holding the nipple clamps.  The ones i hate, of course.

“Pinch your nipples, please,” he says.  “Go ahead, get them good and hard.”  My belly clenches, pussy throbs, and still i look at him with what i hope are sad eyes pleading for mercy.

He laughs.  “That’s five with the riding crop,” he says, “Come on, girl, pinch those nipples, get them ready for these.”

I obey him then, of course, five with the riding crop is a lot, and as i pinch and tug my nipples, my pussy responds more.  I think i’m so wet i’m going to leave a puddle on the floor.

He puts them on quickly, the frigging clover clamps, and attaches a weight to the chain that dangles between my breasts.   I whimper – it hurts most when they first go on – and when they come off.

“There you go,” he says.  “I know this might feel like I”m punishing you, but that’s not the point.  The point is to help you feel your submission.  I want you to move into that space of awareness of who you belong to and how willing you are – even eager – to do what I ask of you.  Am I asking you to do anything that will harm you?”

“No, Sir,” i say.  My nipples are beginning to hurt a bit less, still throbbing but becoming numb.  He knows this too well, leaning forward, he tugs gently on the chain, causing fresh pain to radiate through both nipples. i cry out.

“Thank me,” he says.

“Thank you, Sir,” i gasp, and discover that i mean it.  He nods.

“Are you ready for those clamps to come off, girl?”

I am and i’m not, because that’s going to hurt all over again, and i’m feeling just submissive enough to say, “Whatever you want, Sir.”

“Good girl,” he grins and things fall into place for me.  Why am i even making a big deal out of this?  I do love pleasing my Sir, and it’s not that much to ask, what he wants me to do.

He stands, moves to the back of the room, and takes something off the table.  I know it’s the riding crop, so i’m not surprised when he comes back to his place on the couch with it, tapping the palm of one hand.   His voice is even more gentle now.

“I’m going to take the clamps off,” he says, “and then we’ll wait about a minute for the pain to ease up.  When I tell you ‘down,’ I want you to bend over, arms in front of you, face to the ground, so your ass is raised high for me.  Clear?”

“Yes, Sir,” i say.  My whole body is alert and ready to obey him.

Clamps off – OH!  Oh, oh, oh, oh!!  As the blood flow rushes back into the nipples, the pain is almost overwhelming.  I want to grab my nipples, hold them, rub them, but i know better.

“Put your hands behind your back,” he says.  Quickly, i do as he says, although this not only thrusts my breasts forward, it seems to increase the pain.  “Good girl,” he says, “I love the way you’ll take the pain for me.   I love that you use the pain to submit and be my good girl.  Now, down.”

Glowing with the praise, i move my arms in front of me, lower my forehead to the ground, raise my ass.  I feel myself relax, open to the pain that’s coming.

The first slash, in the middle across both cheeks, is a shock.  i had decided not to scream or cry, but i knew right away that this was a lost cause.  The second one lands across my sit spot and my right knee raises off the ground, as if that would help me escape.

“Hold still,” he says.

The third one lands across the back of my thighs and i cry out, i can’t help it.  But i hold still.  He is waiting between blows to allow time for the pain to sink in and be absorbed.  I wish he would just get it over with.

The fourth lands across my cheeks again, crossing the welt left by the first one so that a point of extra pain blossoms in the intersection.  i am crying,

His voice is soothing, “I know it hurts, just one more, you can do it, and then we’ll be done.”  He moves to the other side of me, the crop falls a fifth time, managing to cross at least 3 of the welts already rising on my butt.  I rock on my knees, a sob escapes me.

“There you go,” he says, “all done, come here now, come here to me.” He sits on the couch, i raise up and move toward him, still on my knees.  He pulls my head into his lap, strokes my hair, wipes the tears off my face.  He rubs my nipples, which are still tender, and traces the welts on my ass with his finger.

He slides his thumb in my mouth and i suck gently.  I move my head as if i would put my mouth on his cock, but he stops me, taking my hair in one hand to hold me still.  “Not now,” he says,  “now it’s time to do what i asked you to do in the first place.”

“Yes, Sir,” i say, and i’m glad that i sound eager.  “Naked yoga, coming up.”