TITLE    : Nothing At All
STORYID  : nothing-at-all
SUMMARY  : Spankings are fun - for the spanker.
AUTHOR   : Cal Y. Pygia@lit
DATE     : 2004-05-04
CATEGORY : non-consent-stories
FLAGS    : 
TAGS     : |none|


"But I didn't do anything!" Penny protested.



"Assume the position!" Matthew ordered her. "I won't tell you again."



Penny's lower lip, jutting out in a petulant pout, trembled, and tears flooded her wide blue eyes. She shivered, both because the air of the room, on her naked flesh, was cold and because she was afraid. Nevertheless, she knew better than to resist. Any defiance of Matthew's orders would cause her to suffer much worse than she would if she simply accepted her punishment, and, she knew from previous experience, she'd be punished severely enough as it was. Matthew believed firmly in the proverb that to spare the rod was to spoil was to spoil the child - or, in her case, the wife. She and Matthew had been married for five years now. However, she'd endured his abuse, both verbal and physical, far longer than that, for he'd broken her in - or, more accurately, broken her - years before, when they'd been dating and she'd been foolish and naïve enough to believe that she'd loved him - and that he'd loved her.



She wanted to know why she was going to be caned. What offense had she committed? Or was it a sin of omission for which she was to be punished? Had she forgotten to perform one of the countless duties he assigned her each day? She tried to recall whether she'd left any task undone, but there were so many chores that she couldn't be sure; besides, she was too anxious to think straight. Maybe it hadn't even been a chore she'd forgotten. Maybe it was something sexual. Often, her offense fit that category. Was she supposed to have sucked Matthew's cock this morning? Was she supposed to have parted her buttocks so he could slide his prick through her anus and fuck her deep and hard in the ass? Matthew never had regular, penis-vagina intercourse with her anymore. He'd stopped doing that as soon as they were wed. Instead, he preferred to use her orally or anally, because, he'd found, she had been hesitant to participate in such acts. She'd seen them as degrading and humiliating. Once he learned how she felt about these activities, he insisted that she engage in only them, never having ordinary sex with her again. Soon after, he'd added the insults, swearing, and corporal punishment. The latter had begun with spankings he'd administered with his hand, progressing to his use of the paddle, the belt, and, now, the cane. Not only had he changed to instruments that were capable of delivering greater and greater degrees of pain, but he'd also increased both the number of strokes he administered to her and their severity. 



Once, he'd been content to impart a rosy pink hue to her buttocks. Then, he required that they be red. Next, they must be purple. After that, he would not set aside his instrument of torture until her ass cheeks were black and blue and "decorated" - that was the word he used - with welts and bruises. Always, before now, however, he'd made it clear to her why he was punishing her. He'd wanted to impress her with the need to do this or not to do that or to perform her tasks and chores more thoroughly and responsibly or to be more enthusiastic about sucking his cock, swallowing his semen, or enjoying the privilege and honor of receiving his prick up her ass. After being upbraided for whatever she had or hadn't done or hadn't done to his satisfaction, she'd be spanked, paddled, whipped, or caned so that her negligence or incompetence or laziness would be impressed upon her. God help her if, after such a lesson, she forgot his teaching. Now, he'd introduced something new - he'd refused to identify her offense. How could she avoid a repetition of her transgression if he wouldn't tell her what she'd done wrong?



As she assumed the required position over the punishment bench that Matthew had designed himself and had constructed with his own hands, she realized that he would tell her; he meant only to wait until after the punishment had ended to inform her of her misconduct, rather than telling her beforehand, as was his usual custom. Perhaps, he'd supposed that her not knowing what she was being punished for would make her more anxious than she might be otherwise. If so, he was right, for she had no way to gauge his displeasure at her, since she did not know why he was annoyed, and, therefore, she would not be able to guess how many strokes he might give her or how hard the strokes might be delivered - not that she would know, for certain, even if she were aware of why she was being punished, but even the notion that she might reckon the number of the lashes she was to receive had always seemed, somehow, to help her to endure them.



The punishment bench resembled a low, padded sawhorse. Kneeling before it, as before an altar, she folded her stomach over the crossbar, with her knees spread wide. Then, Matthew advanced, securing her thighs in leather-padded manacles attached to chains, to keep her legs well spread, the better to tighten the flesh upon her elevated buttocks. He also secured her wrists in similar cuffs, so that she was bound securely and her ability to move was severely restricted. Displayed in such a manner, she felt both helpless and humiliated, as was Matthew's intent, and, of course, she could not avoid the impact of the cane; she must receive its cutting stroke fully upon her ass cheeks. Matthew had thought of gagging her, but he'd decided not to do so, because he found her screams and shrieks, like her moans and groans - and the pleas for him to stop - a sound more pleasant than a symphony. He also enjoyed the sight of her distress, and had situated the punishment bench before a huge mirror so that both he and Penny could observe her as she winced and flinched, could enjoy the gathering and overflow of her tears, and see the breaking of the sweat upon her brow, the gnashing of her teeth, and the distortion of her lovely features by the misery, pain, and suffering she felt upon her tormented buttocks.



After he'd secured her in place, Matthew pulled up the low stool he kept near the bench. Seating himself upon it, he placed a spread hand upon either of Penny's ass cheeks, kneading them as if they were dough. His fingers made deep indentations in her buttocks as he treasured the smooth, firm-soft globes. He smiled as he imagined the sleek, creamy flesh upon her bottom striped with marks from the slender bamboo cane he'd come to prefer over his hand, a paddle, or a belt. He continued to caress and admire the smooth mounds that concealed the anus that, invariably, he used for sexual intercourse with her, in lieu of her cunt, as much to deny her femininity as to mortify her. A prude, Penny still quailed whenever he took her anally or orally, believing, deep in her heart, that his use of her in such a fashion was somehow sinful and shameful, despite the numerous times that he had used in one or the other - or, frequently, in both - of these manners.



Perhaps emboldened by his touch, Penny pleaded again, her voice quivering, to be informed of his complaint against her. Why, she asked, was she to be caned? Her query brought an immediate response from Matthew. He smacked her ass hard.



"Ouch!" she cried.



"How dare you question me, bitch!" he thundered.



"I'm sorry," she whimpered.



Matthew smiled at the surrender in her words and at the broken spirit behind the tone of voice in which she'd uttered them. He gave her another sharp smack, and she lunged as far forward as she was able to do in the restraints that bound her.



"I just thought that, if I knew - "



He gave her a third smack. Her ass bore the pink print of his hand in its sleek, otherwise white flesh. "Silence, slut!" Matthew commanded her. "You will speak only when you are spoken to."



"Yes, sir."



"I am under no compulsion to defend my actions to you or to explain my behavior, whatever it may be."



"Yes, sir."



Satisfied by her response, he resumed his fondling of her buttocks, enjoying their smooth feel and the buoyancy of the spongy muscles beneath the sleek skin, which, soon enough, would bear the marks of his superiority and his domination and the corresponding signs of her inferiority and her compliance. Thinking about the welts and bruises and lacerations with which he'd adorn her ass gave him a thick, long, hard erection that his caning of her bottom would maintain and intensify. Giving Penny's left buttock a firm pinch that made her squirm, Matthew rose, set the stool aside, and took the flexible bamboo cane in hand.



Penny was aware that the moment was at hand, and she closed her eyes tightly, even as her tears began to flow down her cheeks. She gritted her teeth, and waited for the first stinging lash to light upon her buttocks. Her heart beat fast, her pulse racing, and she breathed in quick, short pants. Her hands were balled into fists, and her body was tense. She kept her buttocks relaxed, though, by force of will, having learned, long ago, that to tighten them in anticipation of the blow to come was to invite greater and longer-lasting pain.



She continued to wonder what she had done or not done or had done unsatisfactorily. She wanted to know, desperately, what sin she had committed or what duty she'd failed to accomplish or to complete satisfactorily so that she could make sure she never failed Matthew in the same manner in the future. Only by avoiding misconduct could she avoid the cane, and she would do almost anything to avoid the cruel instrument. Matthew's leaving her ignorant of her offense confused her and made her more anxious than her anticipation and fear of the cane itself always made her. By refusing to inform her of the nature of her wrongdoing, he'd intensified her suffering even before the actual beating commenced. She wanted to know why she was to be caned, but she knew better than to ask again. She must endure her punishment and wait until Matthew was ready to enlighten her as to the reason for the caning he'd given to her.



As she thought these miserable thoughts, she heard the dreaded, telltale whooshing sound of the cane as it cut through the air; a moment later, the bamboo's impact furrowed the flesh of her buttocks and sent an intense agony through her loins. She shrieked, straining against the cuffs that bound her wrists and thighs, and Matthew was rewarded by the sight of the naked anguish on her lovely face in the mirror that stood before the punishment bench. Her eyes were wide. Her mouth gaped. Tears rolled down her face. Pain was evident in her every feature.



Matthew smiled as he raised the cane again, thinking that Penny's ordeal had only just begun. He delivered six more lashes, hard and fast, and a series of parallel lines appeared on her ass cheeks, one below the next. Penny lurched in her restraints upon the receipt of each of these vicious blows, screeching and wailing as her face again and again contorted from the fiery agony that burned within her lacerated and bleeding buttocks. Her tears ran steadily, as she sobbed. However, she gave no voice to her suffering, and she didn't ask for mercy from Matthew, because she knew that he was merciless and that to beg for compassion or kindness from him would only arouse his ire further and result in a more severe and prolonged punishment. He could excuse her shrieks and sobs and moans; he would not excuse any verbal pleas for leniency.



Penny waited for the next lash - or series of lashes - to fall upon her upturned buttocks. None came. Still, she waited, tense and expectant, certain that the caning was not complete and sure that Matthew would strike her at least another dozen times. However, not further rain of blows fell. She could not see him in the mirror, but that didn't mean he'd left the room. He may have merely stepped away from the area of the chamber that was reflected in the oversize looking-glass. Could it be, she wondered, that Matthew had spent his anger in so brief a flogging? It seemed doubtful, but was it unthinkable? She continued to wait. The room was quiet. Had Matthew left her here, draped over the punishment bench, to endure the aftermath of her caning? Already, the stinging of her lacerated buttocks was becoming a more generalized sensation of soreness that would soon blossom into a feeling that was part heat and part pain, each sensation aggravating the other and making both more unpleasant than either would be by itself. Maybe Matthew wanted her to experience this torment for a longer time than usual - or maybe he meant to resume her caning after she'd had time to appreciate fully the effects of the preliminary beating!



A quarter of an hour later, Penny had just begun to hope that Matthew had vented his rage sooner than she'd expected and had left her shackled to the punishment bench in the awkward and uncomfortable position of having her knees spread wide apart, with her buttocks elevated and her waist bent over the bench's crossbar, her wrists and thighs manacled, to consider her latest punishment as she felt the stinging wounds he'd inflicted upon her bottom, and to commiserate with herself about her plight, when Matthew announced either his continued presence or his return to the chamber by showering her defenseless, bare buttocks with a hard rain of a dozen more fast and furious strokes of the cane. Penny's reactions were instantaneous: she screamed, howled, and bawled; she lurched and strained in her restraints; her face twisted into a grimace expressive of the distress she felt in her fiery, stinging buttocks; tears washed her face; and she was reduced, at last, to a whimpering, sobbing, mewling wretch, pleading for her punishment to end.



Matthew grinned as he lashed her bleeding, red and purple ass with the bamboo cane, cutting new marks in the sore and sensitive flesh and crossing previous lines with fresh stripes. The cane whined as it cut the air - and the flesh of Penny's sleek ass cheeks. She shrieked in anguish, muttering pleas for a cessation of her punishment. More slashing strokes of the cane crashed into her bottom, furrowing her buttocks and streaking them with blood from new lacerations. He beat her with the cane until her ass was a bloody mess, covered in blood and bruises and adorned with welts and swollen ridges of red and purple flesh, and his arm was exhausted. Penny screeched and wept and begged for mercy.



Finally, Matthew set aside the cane. He wiped the blood from Penny's ass with a soft, fuzzy towel. Then, he applied an antiseptic that burned, enflaming the pain that his strokes of the cane had caused her, and gently patted her bottom, announcing, "Your ass is purple, black, and blue, and crisscrossed with welts and lacerations. I suppose you've learned your lesson."



Now, Penny thought, at last, he would tell her what she'd done or hadn't done or hadn't done well enough to please him, and she would be able to adjust her behavior accordingly, to make sure she was never caned savagely again for the same infraction. Her ability to amend her behavior was the only way she had of avoiding the cane; it was her only defense against a beating; it was her only means of controlling her spankings in any way. Now that she'd been caned, Matthew, she knew, would allow her to ask, and she did so, quickly. "What did I do to deserve such a punishment?" she begged to know.



Matthew laughed. "Nothing," he answered. "Nothing at all."

