Little Poker

POKE!

She poked me. I was in the middle of reading a very important international news article about the election politics in Karmanistan, and the little vixen poked me. I turned my head toward her with the scariest dominastiest expression on my face, and the anger, or at least the irritation wasn’t even feigned. The smile on her face was both foxy and innocent, no idea how she pulled it off, both expressions at once. Normally I’d start chuckling, but this time I had enough anger in me to keep the scowl on.

We both knew what was going on. She was bored of her online chats and wanted attention. Well, the babygirl in her certainly did. I could read it in her eyes: “Daddy, Daddy, play with me!” I slowly shook my head, “No poking! Use your words!” and turned away. She needed to learn to express her needs in a respectful way.

POKE!

The hell! Now I was definitely angry. Without looking or turning, I reached and grabbed the skin on her arm, then squeezed. She squeaked. Then moaned. Pain, a certain kind of pain, inflicted by someone she trusts has a paradoxical effect on her. Especially when she is in the mood. And she is almost always in the mood. And boy, was she in the mood now. Lucky me. Or not. Which one of us is the dominant here?

We had had this discussion before, several times. She says she is a brat and cannot help being bratty. I told her that there are limits and that she needs to learn discipline or to be punished. Yet here we were, again.

I grabbed the muscle, not just skin, and squeezed harder. “USE YOUR WORDS WHEN YOU WANT SOMETHING!” Squeezing in this way can really hurt, and apparently it did, because she yelped “you are hurting me!”

“Why, yes, of course I am, you need to learn discipline and obedience! NO POKING!”

In response she poked me with her other hand and giggled.

POKE!

THAT’S IT! She definitely succeeded in getting a rise out of me, and there was no turning back now. I got off my chair, the contentious Karmanistan election completely forgotten, and towered over her. Having a foot in height over your sub helps look intimidating. And feel intimidating. Now that she has succeeded, she looked scared. This was not the first occurrence, and we both knew that this disobedience would not go unpunished.

Sometimes she reminds me of a kitten. An adorable mischievous kitten slowly pushing a glass off the coffee table while keeping the eye contact with her human… until… Bam! The floor is covered with shards and the kitty is on the top shelf somewhere, both spooked and satisfied. Only one does not hurt a kitten, while a sub is a completely different story.

After scowling menacingly for a long moment, I grabbed her hair and pulled. “Ow!”

“I. said. Use. Words!” By now I was holding her arms behind back above her head with my left hand, my right arm raised. It’s nice to be a sadist when your sub is a masochist, among other things. I slapped her boobs with open palm, quite hard, from top down. I never use full force, control in impact is important and it’s hard to make a controlled strike when using full force.

She instinctively inhaled to scream in pain, but before she had a chance to do it, I slapped her boob again, this time even harder. She wore one of her her black tees, but no bra, how convenient. Impact is dulled by thick garments, and I wanted her to feel the pain. The sting, actually, slapping leaves a lingering stinging sensation after the initial momentary pain.

NO-PO-KING-USE-YOUR-WORDS! NO-PO-KING-USE-YOUR-WORDS!

One syllable, one slap. Again and again. And again. The top of her boobs was red, and would probably hurt for some time, there might be even a bruise. Not likely though, she doesn’t bruise easily, even when we play hard. Another little convenience for both of us.

By now her eyes were closed and she was moaning. Not from discomfort, but from pleasure. Punishing a masochist is no easy feat. But I was too worked up, so I kept at it, her shirt now hiked up over her head, her boobs bouncing in all directions from my slaps. I don’t think my actions were having the intended effect. Irritated even more, I squeezed her nipple, pulled and twisted. She cried from pain, but I kept pulling and twisting. Suddenly the cries stopped and her body twitched, pelvis thrusting up and down. Grr! The little painslut came off from pain.

My frustration was gone. I laughed, realizing that I had been outsmarted yet again. She laughed, too, after catching her breath. Well, by now both of us were visibly horny, and there was no turning back. I grabbed her other nipple and dragged her to bed. Karmanistan will have to wait.

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