Page 32 of Innocence Tamed
I delivered another sharp stroke with the martinet, making her cry out. “I think you do know,” I insisted. “Your body certainly knows. Say it.”
Her entire body shook with sobs now, but I could sense the nature of her distress. It wasn’t the pain that truly tormented her—it was the pleasure, the undeniable arousal that accompanied her punishment. The conflict between her rational mind and her body’s needs was the very essence of what I sought to resolve through this discipline.
I decided to test her need for what so many women secretly crave, though so many of them fight against admitting it—especially inexperienced ones like Audrey. I placed my thumbagainst her cringing anus and began to wank her urgently with my other fingers, rubbing her clit with determined pressure. Her hips bucked against my hand, her body responding instinctively to the dual stimulation.
“This is to awaken your need for ass-fucking,” I informed her in a low voice, feeling her tighten reflexively around my probing thumb. “Women who practice the New Modesty learn to offer this pleasure to their men.”
She whimpered, a sound caught between distress and desire. I could feel her resistance—not physical, but mental—as she struggled with the taboo nature of what I had suggested.
I withdrew my hand abruptly and picked up the martinet, delivering three sharp lashes in quick succession across her already crimson bottom. She cried out with each stroke, her body jerking forward against the arm of the couch.
“You’ll learn to offer me your bottom as you should,” I promised, returning my hand between her legs. This time, I pushed my thumb deliberately inside her anus, breaching the tight ring of muscle with firm pressure. Her virgin ass gripped my thumb tightly, the sensation making my cock throb with anticipation of eventually claiming this hole as well.
“Do not come,” I warned her, feeling the telltale tremors beginning in her thighs. “If you climax without permission, the consequences will be severe.”
Audrey
But it was too late. Almost instantly, as if in direct response to my new sponsor’s forbidding it, my body betrayed my mind’s control. My back arched, my thighs tensed, and a strangled cry escaped my lips as the orgasm seized me. I could feel the rhythmic contractions of my muscles around Pierre’s invading thumb, the pulsing of my virgin pussy against his fingers.
He pulled his hand away immediately and grabbed the martinet off my back. To my dismay I could see myself through his eyes, suddenly—read his mind, even.
This little whore needs to learn that disobedience brings consequences, even when that disobedience is involuntary.
He began to whip me steadily, making sure to cover my bottom and upper thighs with precise, methodical strokes. The leather tails struck my flesh with sharp precision, some finding their way between my thighs, clearly in order to punish my needy pussy as well.
Instead of diminishing my climax, the whipping seemed to intensify it. The orgasm continued, wave after wave of pleasure making my body writhe against the couch, drawing helpless, humiliating sounds from my throat. The pain of the martinet merged with my pleasure, evoking sensations that my inexperienced body couldn’t process except through prolonged release.
“And this… this is how those who practice the New Modesty experience pleasure,” he told me sternly, continuing the steady rhythm of the martinet against my flesh. “Complete surrender, complete acceptance of both pleasure and pain as gifts from the one who guides you.”
I sobbed into the couch cushions, utterly overwhelmed by the whirling mixture of thoughts, emotions, sensations inside me—the sting of the martinet, the lingering pleasure of my climax, the shame of my disobedience, and the terrible, unwanted arousal that continued to pulse between my legs, without any apparent regard to the punishment and the release.
“I’m sorry,” I gasped, the words tumbling out between sobs. “I’m sorry,Monsieur. I couldn’t help it.”
He stopped the whipping abruptly, and I heard him place the martinet on the coffee table. His hand returned to my bottom, caressing the heated flesh with surprising gentleness.
“First lessons are always difficult,” he said, his voice softening slightly. “Your body is learning a new language—the language of submission. It will take time for you to master control.”
His words, though stern, contained a hint of understanding that made fresh tears spring to my eyes. I hadn’t expected compassion from him, hadn’t thought this elegant, commanding man would show any patience with my failure. Much worse, I couldn’t believe, or understand, that reaction… he had justwhippedme for feeling the pleasurehehad forced on my body: how could I feelgrateful?
But then I found myself whispering, “I want to be good,” surprised by how much I meant it despite the rational part of my mind wanting to reject the idea completely. “I want to learn,Monsieur.”
“I know you do,” he replied, his hand moving in soothing circles over my punished flesh. “That’s why you’re going to put on the nightgown I asked you to wear. Then you’re going to show mehow grateful you are for this lesson by sucking my cock for the first time.”
My stomach fluttered at his words, a mixture of helpless need and quivering fear washing through me. I had never performed oral sex before—I had only the vaguest idea of what it entailed.
“Yes,Monsieur,” I managed, my voice barely audible.
Pierre helped me to stand, steadying me as my legs wobbled beneath me. My bottom burned fiercely, the pain intensifying as I straightened. I reached down to pull up my thong, but Pierre caught my wrist.
“Leave it around your knees,” he commanded. “I want to see your pussy while you change.”
Blushing furiously, I stood up, the panties tangled around my knees, feeling even more naked in front of him than I would have if I’d been allowed to take off the thong completely. His eyes traveled over my body, taking in every detail—my small breasts with their hardened nipples, my flat stomach, the smooth, hairless cleft between my legs. I fought the urge to cover myself, sensing that such modesty would only earn me further punishment.
“Go get the nightgown,” Pierre instructed, gesturing toward the bedroom where I’d left the white babydoll laid out on the bed.
I walked slowly and awkwardly with the thong confining my steps, acutely aware of his gaze on my naked body, particularly on my reddened bottom. Each footfall sent a jolt of pain through my punished flesh. The cool air of the apartment brushed against my exposed sex, making me uncomfortably aware of how wet I remained even in light of all the things my brain told me shouldn’t arouse me.
In the bedroom, I found the white babydoll nightgown exactly where I’d left it, spread across the bed like a whisper of fabric against the dark blue comforter. I picked it up with trembling fingers, the delicate material sliding like cool water over my skin. For a moment, I stood frozen, clutching the garment to my chest, my mind racing with the enormity of what was happening.
