A short story by Alex Jordaine.  Alex Jordaine is the UK’s leading Femdom writer and author of the highly acclaimed ‘Mistress’ series of novels. He is regarded as one of the foremost writers of the genre (Romance Reviews Today says Alex Jordaine’s work “gets a Multiple O’s rating. A real BDSM lover’s dream”). Alex was a regular contributor to Europe’s leading fetish magazine, Secret, and his work has also been anthologised in several collections of gay, lesbian, spanking and general themed erotica.  He will now be a regular contributor for the Filth blog.

 

 

THE DISCIPLINARIAN

Outside the sky was heavy with black clouds and it was raining hard. The wind was blowing branches around and gulls shrieked, almost inaudible in the storm. Isabella, a sculptured beauty with lustrous shoulder-length black hair and a shapely figure, ushered her windswept friend John – or Master John as he was known on the Brighton fetish scene – into her big, high-ceilinged living room. The room was luxuriously appointed: all dark leather and mahogany furniture, pristine antiques, rare china, and fine oil paintings. Isabella fixed her guest a drink and gestured with an elegant hand for him to come and sit with her on the couch.

“Thanks for seeing me,” John said, a worried frown creasing his handsome features. “I didn’t know who to turn to for advice about the problem I’ve got with my new slave Dee but you seemed the best person.”

“No thanks are necessary,” the dominatrix replied. She waited for John to elaborate, gazing at him with dark shining eyes. Those eyes had a strikingly Asiatic cast and, just as strikingly, were as black as coal. Isabella had luminescent white skin, by contrast; high cheekbones and a wide, sensuous mouth.

“You haven’t met Dee yet, have you,” John said.

“No I haven’t,” Isabella agreed.

“She’s lovely, stunning,” John enthused. “I’m absolutely crazy about her.”

“So far so good,” Isabella said. “Where’s the problem?”

John took a sip from his drink and glanced out of the window. It really was wild out there. The weather had been like this for the last week – and it was supposed to be the beginning of summer in sunny Brighton. So far the weather had been atrocious, a south-westerly twisting off the English Channel day after stormy day. The seaside city was definitely not at its best. Nor was John. He looked back at Isabella, cleared his throat and said, “In a nutshell, I’m finding Dee increasingly difficult to control.”

“Feisty at times is she?” Isabella asked.

“Yes, and obstinate, argumentative, truculent, opinionated, disobedient ….”

“I get the picture,” Isabella interjected with a smile. “But don’t you perhaps think that by behaving like that she’s just trying to goad you into disciplining her more strictly.”

“You think?”

“It seems a distinct possibility,” Isabella said. She liked John but to her mind he was less than convincing as a strict dominator. Not exactly the type. He was an amiable sort, never exactly pushy. “In fact, if you want my honest opinion, John,” she went on, “I think you’re probably too damn nice to keep such an obviously willful character under control. I hope you don’t mind me saying that.” Isabella valued John’s friendship and didn’t want to offend him. On the other hand there was no point in beating about the bush.

“I’ve had a lot worse insults,” John replied with a wry smile. “But I must admit being too nice, as you put it, isn’t exactly an ideal trait in a Master – particularly with a handful like Dee to try and keep in order.”

“The way I see it, you’ve got some of the best characteristics of a great Dom,” Isabella went on, sugaring the pill a little for her friend. “You’re brilliant at Japanese rope bondage and wax play too, and you can certainly administer a good whipping. But you don’t have that fundamentally sadistic streak that’s needed to be a truly effective dominator, especially when you have a wayward slave on your hands.”

“You’re right, although I hate to admit it,” John said. “The trouble is I can’t make myself into something I’m not, I know that. Yet I’m genuinely worried that the whole situation could lead to Dee and I splitting up and I really don’t want that to happen – I’m madly in love with the girl.  What on earth am I going to do, Isabella?”

The dominatrix frowned. “There must be a solution to this,” she said, pausing to think for a few moments, “and …yes … I think I know what it is.”

“Go on.”

“What if Dee could be handed over to someone who’s not only extremely sadistic but is also someone you personally feel you can trust,” Isabella said. “This would only be for a brief session so she can be given a short sharp shock, so to speak. That might well do the trick with your Dee, don’t you think?”

“What, bring her to heal?”

“Yes,” Isabella replied. “And make her realise just how well off she is with you as her Master.”

“I think you might well be onto something,” John said, brightening. “What you’re suggesting has got quite a ring about it.”

“Also,” Isabella continued, “there’d be an added bonus for you if you went ahead with my suggestion.”

“What’s that?”

“You could threaten Dee with further sessions with the person concerned if she gets out of line in the future. That would be a good way of keeping her under control longer term, don’t you agree?”

“I do, Isabella,” John said. “In fact the whole idea sounds increasingly good to me the more you explain it. Did you have somebody specifically in mind to discipline Dee in this cruel and ingenious way?”

“Yes,” Isabella replied simply. “Me.”

 

* * *

 

Isabella and Dee were in Isabella’s luxurious living room. Its tall windows were curtained in heavy linen and net. Outside the sky was leaden with dark clouds and rain was coming down in fierce grey sheets. Leaves clogged the gullies and lay in swathes across the pavement. The summer weather remained dreadful. It was definitely better to be indoors – for some people at any rate.

Isabella was seated in a black leather armchair. Wearing only a chain mail bra that barely contained her beautiful breasts, a tiny side-split miniskirt also of chain mail, and high-heeled shoes, she looked magnificent. Immediately adjacent to the chair in which she was seated was a side table that had a selection of whips, paddles, canes and other disciplinary implements neatly lined up on its surface.

Dee, the expression on her face as blank a mask as she could make it, was standing before the formidable dominatrix so that she could inspect her. Isabella noted the stubborn set of her jaw and the glint of disobedience in her big lustrous brown eyes. She was also struck by the almost perfect symmetry of her features and how lovely-looking she was.

Dee had dark hair, which was shiny and straight and hung to her shoulders. Small earrings glittered at her ears. She had full breasts and tight tan legs. Her glorious figure was enhanced by the flesh-toned minidress she wore, which left nothing to the imagination. Her nipples were plainly visible beneath the dress and she was obviously nude underneath it. As well as being low cut, showing a large expanse of her ample bosom, the dress was miniscule and diaphanous. If anything it seemed to make her more naked.

“That’s a nice dress you’re nearly wearing,” Isabella said with a throaty chuckle. “Mind you, I’m one to talk!”

Dee kept her expression impassive, thinking: What’s she trying to do here? Just be friendly? Break the ice? Lull me into a false sense of security?

“Dee, I know what you’re thinking,” Isabella said suddenly, unnerving the slave. “Just stop it, all right.” She got out of her chair to stand in front of Dee and her dark eyes bored into her with piercing severity.

“Undo the top of your dress,” she ordered brusquely. “Take your breasts out and be quick about it.”

“Yes, Mistress,” Dee replied and immediately did as she’d been told.

“They’re nice and full, it’s true.” Isabella stroked and lifted Dee’s breasts approvingly. “But I see no sign of any recent discipline. That concerns me.” She shook her head in apparent dismay.

“These are lovely too,” she continued, pinching Dee’s pinkish-brown nipples, which protruded urgently in response. “Tell me, do you have sensitive nipples?”

Dee did not at first reply and kept her expression impassive. But Isabella saw the defiance that flickered in her eyes.

“Well?” Isabella asked again, an edge to her voice. “Do you have sensitive nipples?”

“Yes, Mistress,” Dee replied apprehensively, “I do – very.”

“Good,” Isabella said, viciously squeezing the slave’s engorged buds, “Then you won’t like me doing this.”

Dee gasped with pain and hunched forward, her head bowed, her dark hair falling across her face.

“Don’t slouch like that, Dee. Stand up straight,” Isabella told her as she herself returned to her seat.  “Now lift up your dress at the front. I want to examine your pussy.”

“Yes, Mistress.”

“Mmmm, very nice,” Isabella commented. “No pubic hair at all … labia distended – lovely, like two petals …clitoris pronounced. Tell me, I’ve been reliably informed you keep your sex clean-shaven at all times. Is that so?”

“Yes, Mistress.”

“Well, at least you’re doing one of the things expected of a good slave, but precious little else, I’m given to understand.”

“But …”

“No buts, slave. The only butt I’m interested in is this one.” Isabella gestured with an impatient twirl of her hand that she wished Dee to turn her back to her. “Lift your dress again.”

“Yes, Mistress.”

“You have a lovely round behind,” she told her. “It’s eminently spankable.”

“Thank you, Mistress,” Dee replied, looking over her shoulder at Isabella and smiling for the first time. It was an engaging smile, very sexy. Her brown eyes glittered seductively.

“That doesn’t mean I’m happy with it,” Isabella said, refusing to connect with that sexy smile, that seductive gaze, and fixing Dee with another sharp stare instead. She then returned to looking at the young woman’s backside. “Where’s the evidence of recent punishment to this lovely rear of yours? The bruises, the weals, and the welts? I’ll have to put that right tout de suite. Come across my knee, slave, now.”

Dee bent over Isabella’s lap, placing her hands on the floor in front of her. The cheeks of her backside tensed as the dominatrix flicked the bottom of her insubstantial dress out of the way to fully reveal her comely rear again. Isabella stroked its beautiful soft globes with one hand and moved her other hand to Dee’s sex.

Her fingers slipped inside her slippery wet vagina and as she moved to touch the pink thorn of her clitoris Dee let out a moan of pleasure.

“You’re extremely wet down here,” Isabella said. “I hope that doesn’t mean you’re expecting to enjoy this.” Isabella suddenly squeezed Dee’s clit hood, causing the slave to cringe in startled pain.

“You must understand something, Dee,” the dominatrix explained, moving the hand that had been stroking the slave’s rear to her breasts and squeezing hard on both her nipples for a second time, making her squeal. “We’re here so you can be severely disciplined, not for you to derive pleasure. Understood?”

“Understood, Mistress,” Dee replied, shivering with pain.

“On the other hand,” Isabella went on, plunging her fingers into Dee’s dripping pussy and starting to masturbate her, “if at any time you find yourself on the verge of climaxing, you must get my permission to come. Clear?”

“Clear, Mistress,” the slave replied, gasping. She became increasingly frantic as Isabella’s fingers worked more vigorously between the lips of her sex.

“I … ah … oh … permission to come, Mistress,” Dee cried out suddenly.

“Say ‘please’,” Isabella taunted, increasing even more the rough finger-fucking she was giving the slave.

“Permission to come, please, Mistress, oh please …” Dee begged.

“Permission granted,” Isabella replied and the young slave climaxed in great shuddering spasms.

“See how good I am to you,” Isabella said next. “Here, lick.” She put her fingers, sticky with Dee’s love juices, across her lips and the slave kissed and licked them. “Now suck them.” She slowly pushed two fingers into Dee’s mouth and she sucked them greedily as Isabella slid them back and forth between her lips.

“Look Dee, fair’s fair,” Isabella said, withdrawing her fingers from the young woman’s mouth. “You’ve just enjoyed some real pleasure. Now you must endure some real pain. Agreed?”

“Yes, Mistress,” she replied uncertainly.

Isabella paused for a moment to admire Dee’s backside again, all round and bare and vulnerable, before beginning her spanking. Smack! The crisp sound announced that the spanking had begun and the red palm print on Dee’s backside bore witness to the cruel accuracy of that first stroke. Smack! Isabella’s hand cracked down again on the curved cheeks with another harsh spank.

After many more robust smacks, when that luxurious living room rang with the sound of hand on naked flesh, Isabella told Dee that her backside was reddening impressively. She then increased the frequency and harshness of her blows. She continued unremittingly, cracking her hand down onto Dee’s backside with relentless vigor, following one smack after another in swift succession. The cheeks of the young slave’s rear smarted with a fire that made her tense and squirm in pain, and with each slap her tensing and squirming increased.

“I can see a nice red glow now,” Isabella said, pausing briefly to admire her handiwork before returning to her task with a will. When she increased the momentum of the spanking still further Dee reached back with a hand to try and protect herself.

“Stop that this instant, bitch,” Isabella snapped, brushing the hand away. She did actually stop beating Dee for a short time and gently stroked her backside… but only to quickly resume spanking her, this time with even greater ferocity. She now also included her upper thighs in the thrashing and did not stop until that whole area of her body was colored an even red. Dee let out an involuntary wail of pain as the full effect of the spanking spread through her body.

“Ooh, poor baby,” Isabella cooed in mock-solicitude. “Does that hurt?”

“Yes, Mistress,” came the halting reply.

“Tough shit,” her tormentor retorted, adding ominously, “For goodness sake, girl, I’ve barely even started.”

Isabella then suddenly pulled Dee off her lap by the hair. “Stand up and take off your dress and shoes,” she demanded.

Isabella got to her feet herself once Dee was naked. She instructed her to turn round so she could examine her punished rear. When she’d done this Isabella told her to turn back and face her. She looked the young slave in the eye.

Dee looked back at Isabella, again trying to keep any emotion from showing on her face. But inside she remained defiant, repeating to herself over and over her own determined chant, I won’t let her win, I won’t let her win, I won’t let her win, I won’t …

Isabella interrupted this inner mantra: “You know, Dee,” she said, shooting her an incendiary look, “I can tell you – having myself just carried out an inspection – that you now have two lovely red cheeks.” Isabella had again noted the gleam of rebellion in the young woman’s eyes that her expressionless face was unable to disguise. “No, sorry, three red cheeks” she added, suddenly slapping her round the face hard.

“Look, I’ve told you before,” Isabella said in a patient tone as she watched the red rose of a bruise begin to bloom on the young slave’s cheek, “I know what you’re thinking. So, please don’t kid yourself you can beat me. Oh, and talking of beating …” Isabella took hold of a red leather paddle from the selection of disciplinary implements on the side table, and weighed it in her hands. “See my paddle, slave?”

“Yes, Mistress,” Dee replied, visibly shaken by the unexpected slap to the face that she’d received.

“I’m now going to use it to beat your backside an even redder shade of red – until it’s as red as this paddle. No, thinking about it, redder still – as red as the reddest rose in a bunch of red, red roses. What color would you say I am aiming for, slave?”

“Red, Mistress,” Dee muttered.

“Well spotted,” Isabella mocked. “Now I want you to go over to that table.” Isabella gestured with the paddle. “Lean over it with your arms in front of you, your back arched, legs parted and backside in the air. That’s right …Prepare to be punished further. But Dee,” she added, “Before we re-commence, please note that I’ve thoughtfully left a nice soft leather cushion on the table for you to rest your head on. You see, I’m not entirely cruel, now am I?”

“Yes, Mistress … I mean, no,” responded the flustered slave, who found that she couldn’t stop trembling.

When Dee bent forward, the cheeks of her quivering backside were stretched open. They presented Isabella with an exposed view of her puckered anus and the open lips of her sex. Her rear bore all too clear evidence of her punishment so far, and her anus and pussy just as clear evidence of its effect on her. Both were pulsating uncontrollably and her labia were swollen and wet. Trickles of love juice were running down her thighs.

“I’ll start by beating your backside twenty times with the paddle,” Isabella said.  “I want you to count off each strike and thank me for it in the proper respectful manner. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Mistress,” Dee replied, her voice unsteady.

Isabella raised her arm up to shoulder height and brought it down vigorously.

Thwack! That first blow nearly knocked all the breath out of the slave.

“One, thank you, Mistress,” Dee managed to pant.

Thwack!

“Two, thank you, Mistress.”

Thwack!

“Three, thank you, Mistress.”

Thwack! …. And on and relentlessly on.

“All right, Dee, you can keep quiet now,” Isabella said once the young slave had gasped her way through the full twenty strikes. The scorched cheeks of her backside were now flushed an even deeper and angrier shade of red. Isabella continued: “Yes, you can keep quiet and you can stay quiet too. I don’t want to hear another word out of you. From this point on you are to be obscene but not heard, comprende?”

Dee nodded her understanding.

Isabella carried on using the red paddle on her backside and upper thighs, beating her ever harder until she raised her back as an involuntary reflex action. “Down, slave, down,” Isabella commanded, placing a hand in the small of her back and pushing her firmly down.

Isabella continued paddling Dee until she felt as if her backside and thighs were on fire. And then the dominatrix stopped, putting the paddle to one side.

“That makes a lovely picture, slave. You can take my word for it,” Isabella commented. “But we don’t want just a uniform red. Let’s introduce some variety into the picture. I’ve just the thing – my braided leather flogger.”

Isabella picked up the vicious black and red whip from the top of the side table, positioned herself behind Dee again, and raised it. The whip hissed sharply when she swung it through the air and when it landed with a crack on its target the sudden pain that seared across Dee’s backside nearly overwhelmed her. She was still trying to draw breath when Isabella brought the whip down again. It was even more agonizing. As the savage whipping continued, the furious pain Dee was suffering became almost unbearable. She raised her head and was about to register a protest.

“Stay put, you tiresome bitch,” Isabella demanded sharply, pushing Dee’s head down before she had a chance to speak. “I thought I’d already made it clear that you’re to suffer in silence. You’ve got nothing to say that I want to hear unless it’s to beg for mercy or ask for permission to come. Otherwise, just shut the fuck up and take your punishment.”

Isabella continued to thrash Dee’s backside mercilessly, causing numerous welts to spring there like fresh cut stems. Finally she put the braided flogger back on the side table.

“Now I’m going to use my most vicious cane on you,” Isabella announced, her dark eyes glinting as she picked up the thin length of smooth rattan and showed it to her victim. She gave the cane a couple of experimental strokes through the air. “Listen to the sinister swishing noise it makes as it slices through the air,” she said, “and feel its painful sting.”

And Dee did indeed hear the low swish as the cane was drawn back and the louder one as it descended and, oh, how she suffered the sharp sting of its first searing stroke as Isabella brought it down hard across the punished cheeks of her backside.

“Ow!” she squealed.

“Silence,” Isabella snapped. “Be warned, I shan’t tell you again.”

For a long time the room resounded once more with the sound of punishment, this time the swish and crack of cane against flesh. Isabella caned Dee’s backside with unrelentingly hard rhythmic strokes until it was criss-crossed with clear stripes and the young slave’s eyes were welling with tears of pain.

Isabella stopped and stroked the cane gently over Dee’s rear, admiring the well-striped cheeks. She carried on rolling the implement tantalizingly over her backside and legs before recommencing the beating. This time the swipes of the cane she inflicted on her rear were less frequent but also much harsher as she brought her arm right back before striking. Three final vicious swipes in swift succession left Dee whimpering in agony. Isabella examined with cruel satisfaction the intensely painful red stripes that now covered her backside and thighs.

“Onto your knees,” demanded the pitiless dominatrix, “That’s right, slave … like that … kiss the cane … good … keep your backside in the air…”

Dee’s rear was burning ferociously and her breath was coming in little gasps as she put her lips to the thin hard rod.

“You’ve been exceptionally willful and stubborn, Dee,” Isabella went on. “But I trust you’ve learned your lesson now.”

“Yes, Mistress,” she responded meekly, looking up at her ruthless tormentor.

“I hope you’re truly sorry for the disobedience and lack of respect you’ve shown to Master John,” Isabella continued, leaning down and gripping Dee by the hair so that she could look her directly in the eye.

“Yes, Mistress. I’m truly sorry.”

“And I really hope I don’t have to see you here again,” Isabella added, staring at her with a gleam of pure menace in her black eyes.

“Yes, Mistress,” Dee replied softly as she grovelled at Isabella’s feet, her severely punished rear in the air. But what she was actually thinking as she looked up adoringly at Isabella was that she couldn’t wait to see her cruel new Mistress again.

“I keep telling you, Dee,” Isabella rasped, harshly interrupting the slave’s reverie, her eyes now black pools of anger, “I know what you’re thinking and, frankly, it simply won’t fucking do.” With that she lifted the cane high above her head and rained blow after ferocious blow on Dee’s backside until…

“Mercy, Mistress, mercy,” the distraught slave screamed, weeping uncontrollably. “Permission to come … please Mistress… oh permission to come,” she begged in desperation.

Isabella gave consent and Dee was utterly overwhelmed by an orgasm that was long and violent, the most savage climax she had ever experienced in her entire life.

Isabella paused for a while before speaking again, waiting for Dee’s earth shattering orgasm to subside. “I don’t think you quite understood me,” she said calmly, looking down at the thoroughly chastened slave. Dee’s face was stained with tears and she whimpered and shook pitifully at her feet. “I really – and I do mean really – don’t ever want to see you here again. Do you understand me now?”

“Yes, Mistress.” Dee looked up at her with her large brown eyes. They were tear-filled and thoroughly remorseful and, at long last, contained not even the smallest, not even the tiniest glimmer of disobedience.

Isabella glanced out of the window and saw that it had finally stopped raining and the stormy dark clouds had cleared. Inside the storm was over too.

-END-

 

 

Thanks for reading filthsters…we don’t know about you but we can’t wait for the next one. Find more from Alex Jordaine HERE or buy his latest novel HERE

Image lovingly borrowed from https://www.flickr.com/photos/mindonfire/

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