Discipline and Punish Pt. 02 – BDSM – Erotic Story

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I submit to Benjamin. My greatest desire is to please him. I have no secrets from him.

Mary Jane traced her hands over the words she had written the night before. The more she read the words, repeated them to herself, and let her mind wander into the implications of those few sentences–the truer they seemed. It was a game, this dance with the intoxicating feeling of powerlessness. But that did not make it any less real.

She was sitting up in bed, notebook in hand, eager herself to start writing in it. Write down her desires, he had told her. Interrogate her arousal, peel back the layers, then bare it all for him. It was a daunting task.

She brought the pencil to the paper. “Last night,” she began to write, “I thought about what it would be like if Benjamin had me at his apartment and had his way with me.” Her hand trembled slightly with the thrill of admitting it. Would her desires be the right ones for him, she thought? Did she want what she was supposed to want?

“He laid me out on top his dining room table and tied my hands and feet to the legs of the table,” she continued. “He blindfolded me and stuffed a piece of cloth in my mouth so I couldn’t talk.” She began to be aroused just by writing the words. Focus, she told herself. “He took a pair of scissors and cut my clothes away so I was naked. Then he touched me–” She began to write this last sentence, then crossed it out and began again. For she had neglected something that, on greater analysis, seemed crucial. “Then he left the room,” she corrected herself. “He left me there helpless to wait for him. Then he came back and touched me. He stroked me and squeezed me, and I loved that he was enjoying me.” She looked down at the words. She supposed that the scene would have gone on longer in real life, but that was as far as her mind had gotten last night before she had brought herself to Orgasm. She wondered she ought to distribute this with Benjamin as well. “Then I had an Orgasm,” she wrote.

What else was there, she thought? What else might she have written if she had wondered about it further? She wrote a heading, “Other things I might like,” on the next line. She wondered she might start by writing things that she’d already enjoyed, that she knew she liked from her previous relationships. She wrote, “I like it when a man buys me nice things to wear. I like looking nice for him.” This much was true, she knew. “I like it when he holds my chin when he kisses me,” she wrote on the next line.

But there were deeper desires than that, she knew, fantasies that dipped into the realm of the grotesque, the bizarre. “I’ve thought before about being Rapunzel locked in a tower,” she wrote “except it’s a man, and he comes and has his way with me whenever he wants to.” She probed her memory, picking out other fantasies. There was a strange thrill in revealing what had been so long repressed, like confessing her sins to a priest. “I’ve had another fantasy about being a mermaid in a tank, and scientists are coming to study me.” Anything else, she thought? “I had a professor when I was at Barnard, a French professor. I used to fantasize about him drilling me in my French conjugations, and punishing me if I got an answer wrong.”

On the last few lines of the page, she wrote one more sentence, remembering that Benjamin had also told her to tell him anything that was off limits. “Off limits: don’t let anyone else know.” After further consideration, she added another sentence. “Don’t get me pregnant.”

She tore the paper out of her notebook, folded it in half, and stuck it inside her purse, along with the note she had written to herself last night. She began prepping herself for work. She took the curlers out of her hair, did her makeup, clipped herself into her fitted undergarments, and took twenty minutes deciding what to wear (she finally settled on a lime green polyester dress with a matching cardigan). Her lipstick that day was a deep pink, and she dabbed perfume on her wrists as she departed.

“Seeing anyone special today?” Sally asked as she caught a whiff of her perfume on her way to the kitchen.

“Yes, as a matter of fact,” said Mary Jane, but she swept out the door before Sally could ask any more questions.

***

At 12:15, Mary Jane knocked on the door of Benjamin’s office. He greeted her with a broad smile, beckoned her inside, and locked the door behind them. It was a small room, but it was bright, with a big skylight window that illuminated the bookshelves that filled each wall from the ceiling to the floor. There were books in so many languages that Mary Jane lost track–French, German, Russian, Arabic, and even some languages she did not recognize. “How are you?” He asked.

“Good,” Mary Jane responded automatically, setting her purse down on the chair across from his desk.

He approached her and put a hand on her waist. She felt its warmth anchor her. “No,” he said, “it was an actual question. How do you feel? I want to know.”

She considered this. “I’m very excited. I enjoyed last night a lot. But I’m a little embarrassed for you to see what I’ve written. I’ve never showed these fantasies to anyone before.”

He smiled. “I thought you might be. That’s part of the point, of course. I want to see you a little uncomfortable. Thank you for sharing your thoughts with me.”

Mary Jane gave an awkward smile. She was not sure what she was supposed to do next, so she looked down at the floor and waited for Benjamin’s next instructions. He went over to the window and closed the blinds, then returned to her.

“Ready?” His hand hooked around the back of her neck.

“Yes,” she breathed.

“Yes what?” The hand tightened.

“Yes, Benjamin,” Mary Jane remembered.

Benjamin smiled. “Good. Stand over in front of that bookshelf, in the center of the room, facing me.” She did so. He leaned against his desk, looking at her up and down. “Take off your clothes.”

“Yes, Benjamin.” With trembling fingers, Mary Jane unzipped the side of her dress and slipped it over her shoulders. She took off her shoes, inched her pantyhose down her legs, and began undoing the clasps of her bodice.

As she undressed for him, he watched her with casual attentiveness. She felt his eyes peruse the curves and folds of her body. He twirled a pen in his hands absentmindedly, and began a conversation while she was mid-way into taking off her dress. “Tell me more about what you were telling me last night. How you discipline yourself.”

She finished taking off the brassiere. “Well, how I dress, for starters. How I make my body look like it’s supposed to look.” As she said the words, she felt her flesh realign, betraying all those persistent, fleshy imperfections that the undergarment had smoothed over so cleverly–the fat around her stomach, the sagging in her breasts. She held the brassiere in her hands. “It makes me sit up straighter, reminds me to keep my legs crossed.”

Benjamin’s eyes traveled over the hills and valleys of Mary Jane’s bare chest, and for a moment he seemed lost in wondered. “Who was it that taught you,” he thought aloud, “that that’s how your body was supposed to look?” He walked up to her and ran a finger over each breast in turn as she considered the question. He seemed to be taking it all in, every patch of skin he touched.

“I…well, no one taught me, really,” she stumbled, keenly aware of each movement of his finger over the contours of her breast. “It’s everywhere, isn’t it? Every magazine I look at, every time I turn on the TV.” Benjamin had moved his finger upwards and was tracing lines around her neck. “Everything that tells us what normal is,” she continued, with effort. “What’s common sense.”

“Yes,” he took in her answer. “Yes!” He took a small notebook and pencil out of his pocket and began scribbling something. “I’m writing it down,” he explained, “what you just said. So I remember it later.” Mary Jane blushed, flattered. He picked up the brassiere and examined it. He let out a small laugh. “This looks like it’s from 1956!” He fixed his gaze on her. “You know, a lot of women don’t wear these kinds of things anymore. Why do you?”

Mary Jane did not have a good answer. “I…” she faltered, “I don’t know.”

He ran his finger down the middle of her chest, between her breasts, down the length of her stomach. He grasped the flesh of her stomach, on the front and the sides. Embarrassed that there was enough flesh there to fill his hands, Mary Jane drew away reflexively. “I’m sorry,” she said on impulse.

Benjamin’s brow furrowed. “I never asked you to apologize,” he said. An unmistakable harshness crept into his tone. “Why did you apologize?”

For the imperfections of her body, Mary Jane thought–that was why. Because her body did not look like the bodies of women from magazines or on the television. Because it had the audacity, the impertinence, to swell in places it was not supposed to, around her stomach and her thighs. “I…” she hesitated. “I should go to the gym more often, I know,” she finished despairingly.

At this, he took hold of her hair and, with a firm, steady grip, forced her head back so that she was looking up at him. “That’s for me to decide,” he told her. “Or do you not trust me to know a beautiful woman when I see one?”

Mary Jane inhaled sharply. Benjamin’s grip on her hair focused her mind entirely on his face, as if there were nothing else in the world. “I do trust you,” she said.

His grip tightened, pulling painfully on her scalp. “When you submit to me, your body is mine. And I don’t want you insulting my possessions. Do you understand?”

She gasped, “Yes, Benjamin!”

He let go of her hair. He turned away from her, paced the room as if considering something, and turned back. “All those things,” he said slowly, as if coming up with each new idea as he spoke it. “All those things you said told you how your body is supposed to look. The TV set, the magazines. I want you to take a deep breath and let go of them. Go ahead, take a deep breath.” Mary Jane obeyed. She tried to do as he said: to let go of all those outside influences and focus only on Benjamin, right here and now. She was not sure she had succeeded. He approached her and ran a hand through her hair. “From this moment on,” he continued, “the only discipline you submit to is mine. I tell you how your body is supposed to look, how it’s supposed to act, how it’s supposed to feel. And I say that it is perfect the way it is. Everything about it is pleasing to me.”

Mary Jane gave a surprised smile. “Thank you, Benjamin.”

As if reading her thoughts, he said, “You don’t have to believe me. But that is what I would like you to practice thinking.”

She nodded. “Yes, Benjamin.”

He returned to his desk and sat behind it. He took out a yellow folder, a blank sheet of paper, and a ballpoint pen. “Finish taking your clothes off for me,” he said offhand. She obeyed, slipping her underwear down her legs and revealing the neatly trimmed hair underneath. “Now, I’m going to jot down some basic information for my files, alright?” The edges of his lips curled into a smile.

“Yes, Benjamin.”

“You’ll stay right where you are and keep your posture straight. Hands at your sides. Feet shoulder width apart. Shoulders relaxed.”

“Yes, Benjamin.” Mary Jane adjusted her posture as he had instructed. She felt her skin prickle as he watched her do it. She was keenly aware that every small adjustment in her body was on display for him.

He twirled the pen around in his hand. “Age?”

“Twenty Five.”

He wrote this down. “Height?”

“Five foot five.”

“Weight?”

“I…” she hesitated. “Around 150, I think.”

He recorded each figure with careful, precise strokes of his pen. “Bra size?”

“D”

“Favorite book?”

Mary Jane laughed at the unexpected question. “‘Au Bonheur des Dames’ by Emile Zola.”

“Excellent choice!” He grinned. “How about your favorite food?”

She wondered about this, then answered, “Fresh baked bread.”

“Stand up straighter.” In the course of the interrogation, Mary Jane had forgotten to keep her posture. She lifted her chest and relaxed her shoulders again. “I’m not done looking at you like this,” Benjamin informed her. “It is an excellent view, I’ll tell you that. Now, what’s your full name?”

“Mary Jane O’Connel.”

“Irish?”

“Yes.”

“Catholic?”

“Yes. Although I don’t practice anymore. Just when I’m home visiting my parents.”

“Me too. But it leaves its mark on you, doesn’t it? When was the last time you went to confession?”

“Oh, it’s been such a long time.” She wondered back. “Not since I was a teenager, I don’t think.”

He chuckled. “So really,” he said, looking mischievous, “you are due for another confession soon.”

She raised her eyebrows.

“Let’s see what you wrote for me, why don’t we?” He held out his hand, and she hastened to pull the piece of paper out of her purse. She handed it to him. “Come around here,” he ordered. “Kneel in front of me.” She walked to the other side of the desk and knelt in front of his chair. He gave her a wink. “Say, ‘Bless me, Father, for I have sinned.'”

In answer, she laughed. “Well if I haven’t already, I have a feeling I’m about to!”

He smiled down at her renewed his grip on her hair–not tightly or painfully this time, but steadily, holding her where she was. “Are you ready?”

She met his gaze. Her heart beat fast in her chest. “Yes, Benjamin,” she said, trying to tame the tremor in her voice. “I…I hope it’s okay, what I’ve written.”

“I promise, nothing you’ve written here will make me think any less of you.” He unfolded the piece of paper and began to read the first sentence out loud. “‘Last night, I thought about what it would be like if Benjamin had me at his apartment and had his way with me.'” He smiled. “I like where this is going,” he commented approvingly, then read on. “‘He laid me out on top his dining room table and tied my hands and feet to the legs of the table.’ Interesting!” He glanced down at her, and she offered him a bashful smile. “Why a table, I wonder? Why not a bed?” His eyes took on a faraway look as he sat, momentarily lost in wondered. “A bed would be the obvious choice, wouldn’t it? To tie you to a bed and make Love to you. But a table…What do you think it means?”

“I…I don’t know,” she faltered. “I…should I have said bed?”

He shook his head. “There’s no should here. But if you must know, I happen find the idea of you tied up on a table to be a bit more intriguing than the idea of you tied to a bed. It’s as if you were the centerpiece at a dinner party.” His eyes lit up. “Or a biological specimen on an examining table!”

Mary Jane’s mouth twitched around the corners. Benjamin noticed the movement and commented, “You like that idea, don’t you?”

“Yes,” she admitted. “Yes, Benjamin,” she corrected herself.

“Well then…” His grip around her hair tightened. “I want you on top of my desk.” He guided her by the hair to stand up. “On your back.” She obeyed, lifting herself up onto the desk and lying down on it among the neat piles of paper and office supplies. “Now spread your legs. I want to see all of you.” Shaking a little (with fear or excitement, she thought?) she did so. She looked up at him and watched his eyes wander down her frame, from her breasts to her stomach, down toward her exposed genitals. He drew in a deep breath through his nose. He took his finger and thumb and spread aside her labia, observing the well of moisture that had gathered there. “No secrets from me,” he murmured. “I can see everything.”

With one hand, he picked up the assignment she had written for him and continued to read it. With the other–almost as if in afterthought–he gripped Mary Jane’s neck, pinning her down against the desk and limiting but not cutting off her breath. She stared up at him, wide eyed. Her open legs would reveal, she knew, the arousal he had caused her.

Benjamin’s eyes darted over the page. “Blindfold–good. Gag–good. Taking off clothes…Ah, but what’s this here?” He glanced up at her, then read aloud. “‘Then he left me there. He left me there helpless to wait for him.’ Interesting!” He pondered this while maintaining a firm grip on her neck and searching her face. “You like the idea of waiting for me?”

“I suppose so. At least, it came into my mind last night.”

“I can do a lot with that,” he mused.

“Like what?”

He grinned down at her. “Well that’s the privilege of my position, isn’t it? You have to tell me everything I ask, but I’m not obliged to tell you anything at all. But if you’re patient, maybe you’ll find out for yourself.” He continued reading down the page, nodding and smiling as he did so. Mary Jane lay obediently on the desk, her attention razor focused on Benjamin. She breathed in and out through his steady grip on her neck. She noticed the moisture that swelled between her legs. She paid attention to the contours of her body as she lay on the desk, each fold and curve on display for him.

“I like this one about Rapunzel,” he commented. “And the one about the French professor.” He looked up at her once he’d finished. “Thank you for sharing all these fantasies with me. You’ve done a very good job.”

His words sent a rush of inexplicable happiness through Mary Jane. “I did my best.”

His eyes meandered from her willing, supplicant face down her body and finally toward the glistening moisture of her genitals. “I’d like to reward you,” he informed her. “Show you how it feels when you’re good for me.”

“Thank you!” She wondered she had an idea of what the reward might be, and she was willing to see if she was right. “Thank you, Benjamin,” she corrected herself.

“Say, ‘Please, Benjamin, may I have my reward?'”

“Please, Benjamin, may I have my reward?” Mary Jane echoed.

“Good.” His left hand, which had been holding her neck, clasped tightly around her mouth, holding it shut. “Can you breathe?”

“Mm hmm,” she gave a muffled assent.

“Tap my arm if you need me to let go.” He ran his other hand over her genitals, coming away with a thin layer of moisture, which he rubbed between his fingers appreciatively. “You’re so wet,” we observed. He brought his hand down again and began rubbing his fingers lightly over her genitals, exploring their topography. She felt the fingers slip around her labia, then draw inward toward her clitoris. She gasped through his hold on her mouth as his fingers perused a tender spot just above her clitoris. She looked up at him. His eyes were razor focused on the task at hand, and he was gazing at her most intimate regions with something like reverence. He tweaked the spot again that he had just touched, and it elicited the same reaction from Mary Jane–a warm pulse of pleasure. She sighed more audibly this time, as if to communicate wordlessly that he had found just the spot where she liked to be touched. “Right here?” He asked. He rubbed it again, this time with more intention than the last. She moaned in response. He lingered there, prolonging her moan. “Good,” he mused. “Very good.” He rubbed his finger up and around the sides of her clitoris, pressing down firmly but not painfully. Under his touch, the pulse of energy he had drawn out of her turned to a current. It played up and down her body, warming her core and tingling through her fingertips. She closed her eyes and gave herself to feeling every sensation each motion of his fingers elicited.

The pleasure stopped. Mary Jane opened her eyes. Benjamin had brought his fingers up so that they were hovering an inch above her clitoris, tantalizingly close. She groaned in protest. “Rub yourself on me,” he ordered softly. “Go on, lift up your hips. Show me how much you want it.”

She obeyed, hooking her feet on the desk and lifting her hips so that her clitoris made contact with his fingers. She moved them up and down, stimulating herself against his two fingers. He brought them up another two inches. Obligingly, she arched her back further and brough her pelvis up to meet him. He was smiling, she saw, and he was looking down not at her genitals anymore but at her face. He observed the widening of her eyes and the quickening of her breath as the seed of an Orgasm began to grow within her. She continued to move up and down over his fingers with increased fervor. A deep well of power was building up in her core. It emanated from the place his fingers touched her and spread throughout her whole body. She sighed and moaned, but he stopped the sound safely before it could leave her mouth and echo through the halls of the office building. Yes, she wondered, yes! It was coming. It was inevitable. It was happening to her.

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