B is for Begging

Dear diary,

We left this story with me, marching upstairs, crying my heart out, with my husband's leather belt in hand. But before I will describe what happened next, I need to explain a few things. It helps me to analyze what happened, to move on. I'm not the same person now, as I'm writing down these words. I'm much older, I've been with many men since Aldous. Each and every one of them treated me better. But none of them knew of my real needs the way Aldous did. But let's get back to that dreadful day.

There was another word that Aldous avoided at all costs, punishment. When we discussed the consequences of me breaking the rules, Aldous referred to it as a disciplinary action, without getting into too much detail, except that it will be severe enough for me to avoid breaking rules. The conversation we just had downstairs defined the action clearly enough. Whipping my ass with his belt. No matter how much I argued, Aldous would not budge. The belt that he handed over to me as I was leaving the room was a vivid reminder that it was really happening. My first disciplinary action. With his belt. That he never used on me before.

Aldous was not into the domestic side of kink. He was quite the opposite, obsessed with high aesthetics of black lace, leather toys, and other shiny accoutrements. We didn't try too many at that point, but I could see the logic, to separate play from discipline, pain for pleasure from pain for remorse and tears. The belt seemed like a universally accepted tool for it, an ideal weapon, scary but not excessively harsh. In theory.

From the videos I used to watch, the belt massacre would often start over the jeans, and then would peel layer by layer after each dozen, each stroke accompanied by a scream. Just the thought of a belt hitting my behind a dozen times, even protected by fabric, made me shudder.

I was wearing a knee length sundress for a walk. So I sat down on the bench at the bottom of the bed and bared my thighs. Smack! Ouch, it was way worse than anything else Aldous ever tried on me, which, again, was not that many things at the time. But his hand could be heavy enough, if he wanted it to be. 

Wearing jeans was not an option. That was not an outfit for a proper lady. Proper lady my ass, if hitting me with a belt is! One thing was a fantasy to get off too, and a completely different thing was actually waiting for it to happen. With Aldous possibly already on his way. He didn't specify when he would come or how long I would wait, but he clearly ordered me to be ready, which I was not.

I darted to the dressing room to change. Off with the dress, I put on a short blouse that barely covered my stomach. A blouse that was meant to be worn with some high waist elegant pants, but all I had on below the waist was a pair of panties, which I decidedly got rid off too. Mirror, mirror on the wall. A skinny twenty something, with big round Audrey Hepburn eyes and tiny neatly trimmed bush, terrified out of her mind, was staring back at me. That's what Aldous wanted, his own Audrey or Jackie Kennedy look-alike, perfectly groomed and dressed to perfection, hourglass shaped and well mannered. His own perfect toy. And now he was about to teach his toy a lesson.

I've never felt so vulnerable in my whole life. Yes, he saw me completely naked hundreds, if not thousands of times, and taught me how to do all these nasty things in bed and purposefully caused me pain. But today was different, this pain was not for fun or his pleasure, but for me to cry, to regret, to plead, to beg. Yes! That's what I will do when he gets here. I will beg. Because I cannot go through it, I cannot let it happen, I can't. No one is immune to my begging. I will ask for his forgiveness, and Aldous will look into my big sorrowful eyes and reconsider, right? Right?

No, I have to get ready before I could wallow in self pity. Back to the bedroom! I've seen it done so many times. Somehow almost all actions that involved belts happened with two pillows under the poor woman's stomach. To make it look more presentable? To get a better access to the tender sit spots? To be easier to hold her in place if she moves? I doubt that her comfort was of any concern. I quickly piled up two long pillows along the bottom edge of the bed, climbed and knelt on the bench, and bent over the pillows. Hoping that my bare ass looks presentable enough to my husband's high standards. I panicked and clenched my butt at the thought, which was another no no, I'm not allowed to clench. As I clenched, I felt that I was still tender from this morning session, so not ready for the belt. How can anyone be ever ready for the belt?

The belt! Where is the belt? In my hurry I forgot it on my side of the king sized bed, too far to grab from where I was. I could swear I could hear Aldous’s steps, which was impossible, as all the hallways were laid with long runners. Maybe it was my own heart thumping. To the belt and back into the same position, bent over but now with my hands crossed on the small of my back, holding the damn belt, chanting in my head. 

I will be your perfect little toy, your obedient wife, but please please please reconsider.