Page 54 of Shameful Needs
I lay there gasping and trembling, waiting for the next blow, but it didn’t come. Instead, the pain began to build and intensify, the burn from all six strokes melding together into one overwhelming fire that consumed my entire backside. My breath came in ragged sobs as the agony peaked, becoming unbearable.
“Oh, God!” I cried out, my voice breaking as the pain crested beyond what I could endure silently. “Please, sir, it hurts so much!”
“Tell me, Heather,” Ryan said, his voice calm and measured while I writhed in agony beneath his restraining hand. “When you started touching your pussy in the shower, is this what you were hoping would happen? Did you want me to thrash you within an inch of your life?”
CHAPTER 25
Heather
The question slammedinto me like another blow from the paddle, even though he hadn’t touched me. I pressed my face harder into the comforter, my entire body trembling as I tried to process what he was asking. Had I wanted this? Had some twisted part of me deliberately disobeyed him, knowing exactly what would happen when I was caught?
“I… I don’t know,” I sobbed, my voice muffled against the fabric. “I couldn’t stop myself, sir. I tried, but I needed it so badly.”
“That’s not what I asked,” Ryan said, his voice so full of patient authority that to my horror my pussy clenched. “I asked if you wanted me to paddle you. If you touched yourself hoping I would catch you and punish you for it.”
The truth hit hard. I felt my face burn with shame even as my bottom throbbed with agony. Deep down, in the part of myself I was still learning to acknowledge, I had wanted this. Not consciously, sure, but some primal part of me had craved thestructure, the consequence, the proof of his dominance over my body.
“Yes,” I whispered, the admission torn from my throat. “Yes, sir. I think… I think I wanted you to catch me.”
“Good girl,” Ryan murmured, his free hand stroking my hair with surprising tenderness. “It’s so important that you’re honest with yourself about what you need.”
Before I could process the praise, the paddle cracked down again, this stroke even harder than the previous ones. I screamed into the comforter, my entire body convulsing as fresh fire bloomed across my already burning flesh. Then, just as he’d done at the beginning, Ryan paddled me again, and again, until another scream ripped itself from my throat. The pain was beyond anything I’d experienced, worse even than the punishment at the facility because of the quick repetition.
Up to that point, I suddenly realized, I had been sure, somewhere deep in my rational mind, that this new, dominant Ryan was only an act. That he couldn’t actually have kept this side of himself hidden from me—that my husband must truly be a weak man who had managed to pretend to be dominant when people like Mrs. Chen, Dr. Hamelin, and Master Paul made him feel lacking as a husband.
Something about the way he kept paddling me even as my throat began to feel sore from screaming changed that. I still knew that Ryan was a wonderful, kind, chivalrous man. I also knew, with absolute certainty, that he was a dominant man, a firm man, the kind of husband who from this point on would take me in hand the way I so desperately needed.
I sobbed against the comforter, my entire body shaking with the realization that had just crashed over me. This wasn’t pretend. This wasn’t Ryan trying to be something he wasn’t. This was my husband—all of him—and I needed every terrifying, overwhelming piece of what he was giving me.
The paddle stopped again, and I felt his hand lift from my back. The sudden absence of contact made me whimper, my bottom blazing with such intensity that I could barely think straight. I lay there gasping, waiting, my entire world narrowed to the fire consuming my flesh and the anticipation of what came next.
“I’m going to give you a few seconds to catch your breath,” Ryan said, his voice steady and controlled while I writhed in agony. “And then I’m going to finish your punishment with the hardest swats yet. These will be the ones you remember every time you think about touching what belongs to me without permission.”
“No,” I sobbed desperately, my voice raw from screaming. “Please, sir, I can’t take any more. I’ve learned my lesson, I promise. I’ll never touch myself without permission again.”
But even as the words left my mouth, I felt that twisted sense of satisfaction deep in my core. He wasn’t going to listen to my pleas. He wasn’t going to show mercy just because I begged. This was the Ryan I’d needed without even knowing it—the man who would give me exactly what I earned regardless of what I thought I wanted.
“You’ll take what I give you,” Ryan said firmly, and I felt both his huge hand settle more firmly on my back, pressing me down over the pillows with unmistakable authority. “Hold still, ass girl. Don’t make this worse for yourself.”
The first stroke of this final series landed like lightning, harder than anything that had come before. I screamed so loudly my throat felt torn, my entire body bucking against his restraining hands as agony exploded across my bottom. But Ryan held me firmly in place, his strength overwhelming as I tried instinctively to escape.
The second blow fell immediately after, catching the same tender spot with devastating precision. I thrashed against thepillows, my hands clawing at the comforter as I fought to process the intensity. My legs kicked helplessly, but Ryan’s grip never wavered.
“Stay still,” he commanded, his voice cutting through my desperate cries. “We’re not done yet.”
The third stroke landed lower, across the sensitive curve where my bottom met my thighs, and I felt something break inside me. Not physically, but mentally—some last wall of resistance crumbling as I submitted completely to his authority. My struggles became less frantic, more like the helpless writhing of someone who had finally accepted their fate.
The fourth, fifth, and sixth strokes rained down in relentless succession, each one perfectly placed to maximize the burning agony. I was sobbing so hard I could barely breathe, my entire world consumed by the fire across my flesh and Ryan’s masterful control.
When it finally stopped, I couldn’t move. I lay there sobbing against the comforter, my whole body shaking with the aftermath of such devastating punishment. The pain was beyond description—a blazing fire that consumed every nerve ending in my bottom and seemed to radiate through my entire being.
I felt Ryan’s weight settle on the bed beside me, his large hands gentle now as they stroked my back and shoulders. The contrast between his tender touch and the brutal discipline he’d just administered made me cry harder, overwhelmed by the complexity of what he was giving me.
“There,” he murmured, his voice soft with satisfaction. “That’s my good girl. You took your punishment so well.”
The praise hit me like a physical caress, and I felt something deep inside my chest crack open with gratitude. Even through the agony blazing across my bottom, I felt proud that I’d pleased him, that I’d submitted to his authority the way he needed me to.
“I’m sorry,” I sobbed against the comforter, my voice hoarse and broken. “I’m so sorry I touched myself without permission, sir. I won’t do it again.”
