Punish Me, My Love by Rose Thornwell
Jim is a happily married man, except for his secret need for sexual domination and abuse. For a hefty fee, the voluptuous and cruel Darla gives him all he can handle. It's a perfect arrangement until photos of his indiscretions are secretly delivered to Jim's wife. The brokenhearted Shayna promptly leaves him and goes to Darla in hopes of understanding male submission. The next day, Jim's new coworker, the beautiful but cunning Ellen steps forward to tell him she's the one who had the photographs taken. She plans to break up Jim's marriage so she can have him for herself. A confirmed sadist, she whisks Jim away, coercing him to submit like a dog to her every vile whim. To his horror, Jim finds himself aroused as never before.
Shayna, meanwhile, receives some graphic lessons from Darla as the lusty Femme tortures some of her favorite clients, including a high priced lawyer who cringes beneath her whip under the pseudonym of worm boy. Darla dominates Shayna, too, awakening her even further to the world of masters and submissives. Will Jim be rescued from Ellen or will he become her permanent pet? Will Shayna accept him back or has she fallen in love with Darla? It's a race against time, a race against desire.
Contains male submissive training, bondage, corporal punishment, leather, whips, floggers, cuffs, clamps, chains, orgasm denial, humiliation and forced oral and anal, golden showers and some lesbian Femdom.
The evidence was right there on the dining room table. Plain as day for Jim to see as he came home from work. Photos, glossy 8 ½ by 11’s, depicting himself going in and out of a motel room with a pleasingly plump blonde in a trench coat. The guilty look on his face through the telephoto lens said it all.
Fuck. Shayna must have hired some kind of private investigator. He was in deep trouble for sure. It was an especially bad sign that she wasn’t even bothering to confront him in person. Her car was still in the driveway, though. What was she doing? Packing, most likely.
Jim Traynor rubbed his hand over his face, his palm wet with sweat. He was hoping maybe it was a dream. That somehow he was not about to lose the love of his life after ten years of marriage. And all because of his goddamn sex drive. What the fuck could he say? How could he begin to explain that what he’d gone behind his wife’s back to find was something in particular, a kind of loving that he did not dare ask her for? It wasn’t anything wrong with Shayna, and Lord knows he still desired his beautiful, red-haired wife; it was just that things had changed in his belly, in his crotch. The regular sexual things they were doing just didn’t cut it anymore.
She deserves to know, Jim thought. I can’t let it end like this.
But how? How do you begin to explain to your spouse that you’ve realized, after years of soul searching, that you need your sex mixed with pain and humiliation?
That’s what Darla, the blonde, did. For a hundred dollars an hour she made Jim moan, beg and whimper. She broke him, again and again, using him without respect, with no dignity whatsoever. There were marks, even, on his skin, which he had to hide for hours, sometimes for a day or more after he saw her.
Shayna wouldn’t understand that. When they’d met, junior year of college twelve years ago, he’d been just another horny frat boy and she’d been a pretty anthropology major. They’d fallen for each other at once, and sex between them was both inevitable and hot. Frequent, too. The pair did it everywhere, sometimes two, three times a day. But it was tame, vanilla. Aside from a little fun with handcuffs here and there, nobody surrendered and nobody took charge.
It worked fine for them both and eventually they married, two peas in a pod. Jim took a job with an insurance company after graduation as an adjustor, and Shayna did graduate work that would lead to a PhD. Neither wanted children, which allowed them to settle into comfortable routines. They were looking forward to the future. To Shayna’s sabbatical from the university she taught at, when they would be able to spend six months together in Greece. Jim was going to take a leave from his job for the occasion.
But now there was no way that could happen. A lump formed in his throat as he thought how suspicious she must have already been to hire a P.I. Why didn’t she just ask what was going on? Not that he could have told her the truth. He was too ashamed to do that. Shayna would have been mad, or worse, still disgusted at what a pervert he’d become.
Wanting a woman to make him crawl, to beat him and treat him with intolerable cruelty all so he could feel the sexual rush that no longer came in the regular ways.
What signs, he wondered, had tipped her off? Was it all the supposed late nights at work? The way he shied away from her in bed, especially during those times he still bore his punishment marks from Mistress Darla?
The first time he’d gone to see Darla, for what he’d thought would be just an interview, he’d fumbled and fussed. “I don’t really know why I’m here,” he’d told her as they sat together in the back corner of a small dark coffee house.
Darla had reached across the table and slapped him hard in response. He’d gasped in response, holding his cheek, though there was no denying the reaction in his pants.
“Touch your cock,” she demanded.
He did so, surreptitiously, terrified someone might see.
“Are you hard?” She demanded to know.
He shook his head yes.
“That’s why you’re here.” She took a key from her purse. “Go to room seven at this motel. Take off all your clothes and kneel, facing the door.”
“But…but I don’t even know you,” he’d protested.
She flashed him a hard, sensual look, blue eyes like sapphire. “You plan on talking anymore to me…boy?”
In that instant the tenor, the power balance of the relationship was set. It was Jim on the bottom, as terrified as he was aroused.
“No,” he lowered his eyes.
“No, Mistress,” she corrected. “From here on in, you call me mistress.”
“Yes, Mistress.” His dick throbbed in his pants. He’d never wanted sexual activity with a female so much in his life.
She rose to her feet in her slinky red dress, black stockings and high heels. “One more thing,” she ran her long, painted nails over his cheek. “If that cock of yours isn’t hard, you’ll be punished. Without mercy.”
“Yes, Mistress,” said Jim.
(c) Thomas Roche, www.skidroche.com