I literally….4 minutes ago….departed from our bedroom where I left a naked, thrashing, screaming slave naked on the bed.
Well, screaming as best one can do when you’re not allowed to make noise. His pillow, I am certain, holds the echos of a thousand guttural sobs that he was not allowed to emit. The mattress bares the imprints of his fists as he pounded its quilted folds, in his desperate attempts to transfer his writhing to some place that he could deem appropriate.
While I appreciate those transferred attempts of anguish so that they are not directed at his abuser, I am feeling disapproval that he did not seem to recognize that this was punishment. Indeed, it was meant to be exactly that. No warm up, no slow rising from slumber to Sunday. Nothing of the sort. I entered the room silently, put on an acoustic playlist to camouflage the noise, picked up the thickest cane I could find, pulled the covers to the floor, and started beating him. No warm up, no gentle touches bringing him softly out of sleep. This was punishment. Punishment for once again breaking the same exact rule he got in trouble for only yesterday.
It displeases me more than I can express to have to punish him like this. If there is going to be such a level of correction, I want free reign, no limits on sound, all the space we need to afford ourselves for such an experience, such an encounter. I want him to know that he takes away pleasure from me when I am forced to met out something like this for a reason such as this.
Interestingly, we are going away next weekend with another couple, Ms. J and her boy lucky. Ms. J had assigned my boy the task of writing her 5 stories in a six week period. He has shared what he has written with me, and I have read his tales. The recent one I read was about punishment. Harsh punishment, where he was the subject of that punishment. I know it appeals to him on some levels. I know that when fantasy has no limits, and when he is free to create, he really enjoys it. And in his story, he has created the lovely illusion of his captors enjoying the punishing too. And this is good. I get the appeal, I see the sexiness when good, caring people engage with one another on such levels. After all, each and every one of us is consenting to a structured power exchange. I get it. I get ‘us’.
But I also hope that my boy understands that I do not particularly enjoy mornings like such as this. I like how I am the early riser an he is the sleeping in kind. I much prefer to rouse him softly, slowly, sexily. I love watching him yawn, stretch, smile. I love the stiff cock he presents me with each morning. Watching him punch and scream is not what I enjoy.
I am not finished punishing him. Not in the least. His punishment will continue until I feel certain he understands that a rule is a rule, and it is not created to be broken.
Some of my Sunday morning joy was taken from me. I am being punished too, and I dislike.
What I do like is how he came out of the bedroom, full of remorse and softness. He knelt by my side, kissed the top of my foot, pawed at my thigh, looked up at me and apologized. I accepted. I am not displeased with him as much as I am with his behavior. I expect better, because HE Is better. He has proven this 10,000 times in 10+ years.