Free Fifty Days of Sin by Serena Dahl

little.
Then I feel him take hold of my calves, just below the knees, and
roughly, he pulls them apart a lot further.
    “Very nice,” he says
appreciatively. I feel a little thrill of pleasure at the thought
of him enjoying the sight of my near-naked body.
    “Now I’m going to punish you,”
he says, and my tummy turns over in nervous anticipation. “Every
time, I want you to count – one to twelve. And when I’m finished, I
want you to say ‘thank you, sir’.”
    I look down at the floor,
wondering what he’s going to spank me with. Anxiously, I remember
the safeword. Dalmation. Dalmation. Don’t forget. “Yes, sir.”
    Then he stands up and goes to
the sofa, picking up one of my Sunday magazines.
    “This will have to do for
today,” he says, rolling it up in his fist; and then with no
further warning he brings it down onto my bare bottom with a
resounding whack.
    “Ow! One.” It’s more of a shock
than a terrible pain – it’s uncomfortable but not unbearable. Then
he does it again. “Two!” I cry out as he hits me harder. He pauses
in between blows, and I can feel the warmth of the contact with the
rolled up magazine spreading over my bottom cheeks. “Three!” I
moan, and then, “Four!” as he continues. Then he carries on,
getting into the swing of it, and I would definitely describe the
experience as painful – but it’s a mixture of pleasure and pain and
I don’t want to say the safeword and get him to stop. At last he
delivers the final stinging blow to my behind. “Twelve! Thank you,”
I remember.
    He reaches round to twist my
nipple. “Thank you, what?”
    I shut my eyes and silently
admonish myself for forgetting how to address him. “Thank you,
sir.” He kneels down next to me.
    I’m not looking at him, but when
he speaks I can hear the smile in his voice. “You know, you’re very
wet,” he says, and I feel him run a finger around the entrance to
my body. He bends forward to put his mouth close to my ear and
whispers. “You seem to like being punished, Justine.”
    “Yes, sir.”
    He gently nips my earlobe with
his teeth, and then kneels up again, putting out his hand again to
feel my wetness. He circles round and round, and then his fingers,
lubricated by my own juices, touch my sensitive clitoris, making me
gasp with enjoyment.
    “I expect you’d like to come
again, wouldn’t you, Justine?”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “I think it’s my turn first,
though, don’t you?”
    “Yes, sir.” I’m getting used to
this now. Just agree with him, and my nipples will thank me for
it.
    “You’re going to suck my cock
now. Are you going to enjoy that?”
    “Yes, please, sir,” I answer,
assuming this is what he wants to hear. He stands up and goes over
to the sofa, sitting down.
    “I thought you would, you little
slut.” I suppress a scowl of annoyance at his insult. I guess
putting up with verbal abuse is all part of the submission thing.
“Come over here, then, and make me come in your mouth,” he
instructs.
    I move over to the sofa and
kneel between his legs. I glance up at his face and see a look of
amusement and the enjoyment of his power. Suddenly I feel
resentful, angry that he feels he can call me derogatory names and
command me in this way. I consider refusing to grant his wish; but
then I remember the intensity of the sex we’ve just had, with my
hands tied to the armchair. And I remember that despite the pain, I
enjoyed my punishment. So again, I decide to do what he wants.
    He makes no move to unfasten his
jeans, so first I reach out and undo his belt again, unzipping the
fly and putting my hand into his underwear to free his rock-hard
erection. I take it in my hand and start to move, and to my
satisfaction I hear him groan with pleasure.
    Then I lick my lips and watch
his face, seeing a flicker of desire in his eyes, and I take the
full length of him in my mouth.
    At last I feel I have some
power, as it’s up to me to dictate the pace and bring him to
ecstasy in my