Margaret's Painful Path To Joy

Margaret was domineering. Margaret was bossy. Margaret was overbearing.

She was also, at 36, very attractive. Slim. Good figure. Long black hair.

She was also really sweet – when just chatting to friends, or wanting to give a present, or wanting to help when you were in trouble.

Too often, though, she ruined it all by switching to overbearing mode. And if there was something to be done, or something to be organised, or something to be said, she was, for most people, unbearable. She had to be in charge. So much so that she had driven her husband Steve mad, and he had left: they had been divorced three years ago. The trouble was – it made her worse. With Steve no longer around, all the bossing she gave to Steve she now passed on to her friends, her neighbours – to anyone who would come within her circle of influence. And influence was what she did best. What was worst was that she just assumed she was right and everyone would do and should do what she said and be organised as she wanted them organised.

It was the “influencing” Margaret which turned up on our door step a couple of weeks ago. She wanted to make the area “safer”. We should run a campaign to slow traffic, to get traffic calming introduced. And worst – she wanted me to run the campaign.

“Margaret, stop telling me what to do!” I said it with a humorous tone to the voice, hoping she would get the message. “I don’t want to run your campaign.”

“Of course you do, Bill. All you have to do is go around the neighbours and get them to……………”

“Margaret,” my tone was sterner this time. “I do not want to lead your campaign.”

She obviously hadn’t heard. “Then you get a petition organised and take it to the town hall………..”

This time I answered more forcefully. “Margaret. Stop telling me what to do!”

“I’m not telling you what to do. I’m just helping you get started with the campaign you want to run.” She was not to be stopped.

“Margaret.” This time I snapped. “I do not want to run any campaign. I do not want to be told what to do. I do not want you controlling my life. You’ve already driven your husband away by trying to control him. You will not do the same to me.”

The reference to her husband caught Margaret’s attention. “What do you mean about Steve?” She spoke with a harshness in her voice.

My voice softened a touch. “That’s why Steve left you. All the time you wanted to control his life. You made him do what you wanted him to do. You made him take on the things you wanted to take on. You made him give up the things he liked because you didn’t like them. And you never asked him.” As soon as I said it, I regretted my outburst.

There was a long silent pause as Margaret stared hard at me. I expected her to walk out – I wasn’t ready as her arm looped around and slapped me hard across the face. It bloody well hurt.

It was Margaret who spoke first. “Don’t you ever say that to me again. I loved him and I still do.” Surprisingly there were tears in her eyes.

It was Margaret who wasn’t ready for my next move. I paused, then grabbed her arms and wrestled her to the floor, sat on her and held her wrists tightly above her head. She struggled, shouting all sorts of abuse and names, but I held firm. It was when she subsided I spoke. “Don’t you ever do that to me again.”

“You Bastard”, she snarled, and spat in my face. “Get off me you fucking Bastard………….” She struggled again.

I held firm, waiting for her struggles to subside. When she calmed down I spoke to her again in a soft voice. “Margaret, before this morning is out you will call me Lord and Master. Willingly. And you will ask to serve me, in whatever way I want you to.”

“You’re going to rape me, you Bastard,” and again the struggling, this time with less force because of her tiredness from the earlier struggles.

“No. I am not. I am going to help you submit, and then you will ask me for sex. It will be part of your service.”

This time she had thought a bit more about what was happening, and wanted to ask something. I spoke to her. “Go on, Margaret, ask your questions.”

She spoke immediately, with considerable fear in her voice. “What are you going to do to me?”

Again I continued softly, affectionately. “It is simple. I am going to take you upstairs, I am going to punish you – quite severely – until you call me Lord and Master, and mean it, and say you are willing to submit. You will then be punished for the slap. And the spitting. Then I will let you go. And you will ask me for sex.”

Again Margaret struggled, harder this time because I had to release one of her hands to get the cuffs we had ready for these sorts of events. However, within a couple of minutes I had her hands cuffed behind her back and was carrying her kicking and screaming over my shoulder to the bedroom. In the bedroom I threw her onto the bed on her back. Again I sat on her as I released the cuffs and tied her wrists with silk bands to the corners of the bed . Margaret lay on her back squirming, but there was no escape for her.

When her struggling had again subsided I reminded her of what I had said. “Remember, Margaret, you will call me Lord and Master and you will offer to serve me in any way you can. Then there will be a little more punishment for the slap and the spitting, and then I release you. And then you ask me for sex. It is as simple as that.” I could see now that fear was overtaking her, but remarkably she did not struggle as I removed her jeans and panties. She tried to kick when I put the ankle cuffs on her but she was by now pretty subdued. The ankle cuffs were joined by a bar with a hook half way along which kept her feet about nine inches apart. I attached the ankle cuffs by the hook to a rope we had installed a few weeks earlier, which went over a pulley in the ceiling and could then be tied to the bottom of the bed. When I pulled on the rope it would raise her back up off the bed, although at normal length she could lie comfortably on her back on the bed.

I stood back and admired Margaret – it was the first time I had had time to look her over properly, and she really was very attractive indeed. Very attractive – I stood behind her upturned legs and very gently kissed her on the pussy – surprisingly there was a hint of moisture on the lips that I tasted as I ran my tongue gently around. When I gently eased my tongue inside she began to squirm against her bonds, throwing her body around as much as she could – suddenly the defiance had returned, so I stepped back, walked over to the wardrobe and picked up the equipment I wanted, then waited until her thrashing around subsided.

Her energy quickly ran out, and when it did I went over and showed her the two inch wide thick leather strap I had chosen. Her eyes opened wide in fear, and again she struggled momentarily, but to no avail.

I went behind Margaret, pulled on the string lifting her ass well clear of the bed, and tied the rope so her ass was easy for me to reach. I lifted the leather strap and with full force swung it at her. Her scream of pain echoed in my ears as the strap viciously wrapped around her ass, leaving a red mark clearly showing. She fought the pain, squirming, crying out, her body writhing in her bonds.

At last her squirming faded away after a couple of minutes. I reminded her softly of what she had to do, but she clenched her mouth. So this time I took the strap and whipped it harshly across the top of her legs. Again she screamed in pain, again her body squirmed as she fought the pain, again the red mark showed clearly. Again I waited until she was still again. Still she refused to say anything, despite tears on her face.

The third crack caught her across her buttocks again, the fourth mid thigh, the fifth I placed accurately where the first had caught her. Each time I waited for her squirming to subside, each time she screamed aloud in the pain. After the fifth she looked as if she may have given in, but managed to maintain her defiance, but it was clearly getting very difficult to.

The sixth I covered the red stripe at the top of her leg, and again she almost gave in when her struggles had died down, her domineering nature almost broken.

The seventh, I hit her hardest of all, again straight across her ass where the two earlier cracks had caught her. Again she screamed, but screamed again and again with the pain, she struggled, she cried, until at last she calmed.

“You are my Lord and Master”. Her voice was the barest whisper. But she had said it. She had said it when she had got her pain under control. For several seconds the room was silent, but then her voice again. “Please, you are my Lord and Master.”

There was a long pause before I sat down on the bed beside her. I spoke gently to her. “Margaret, you have chosen well. You will never regret it. But there is now the punishment for your behaviour. You have four more stripes to wear.”

“Please, no, let me go.” Her voice was feint and carried no real conviction. I again paused, and again it was Margaret who spoke. “Please do what you want.”

This time I undid one of her ankles from the bar and tied it to the corner of the bed, so that one of her legs was flat on the bed, the other raised high in the air. I ran my fingers along the soft flesh of the inside of the leg that was flat on the bed, then stood back and with the leather strap cracked twice quickly on the inside of the leg, on the soft flesh, the two stripes side by side.

Margaret screamed out in pain as the red weals quickly rose. This time the pain had been even more severe and he screaming continued for a couple of minutes, her body squirming fighting the pain. At last she calmed, and into the silence I heard her whisper again. “You are my Lord and master.”

I rejoined the ankle to the bar attached to the rope, then released the other ankle and tied that leg flat on the bed. Again I ran my fingers along the soft flesh. Again with the leather strap I cracked twice, hard across the soft flesh, again Margaret screaming in agony and writhing to fight the pain. As she struggled I released her legs, I released her arms and let her squirm and rub herself as she felt best to relieve the pain.