Chapter Text
Lucifer stood in front of me, chastised and nervous, with his legs shoulder width apart and his hands behind his back. His head bowed and his teeth gnawing his bottom lips.
“What did I say about biting your lips, Lucifer?” He started, and started to tremble. And I couldn’t help it but to make my panties wet. The power I have over him, the things he let me do to him, and he’s the Devil! I mean… he’s The Devil! How is this my life now?
Lucifer is nothing but obedient, though. He immediately released his lips, and quietly trembled in fear of what’s to come next. I put down everything I took from the chest, and his face became paler and paler with every instrument he saw.
I am so thrilled to be in charge of the devil, to be honest. According to him, I make him mortal and vulnerable, which means he will hurt as much as us little humans, but he is a lot more resilient than us, so I can damage his ass as much as I feel like, and all I need to do, is give him a day or two away from me, and his injuries will be back to normal parameters. Now that is a great way to vent.
“What did I say about my questions, Lucifer?” I purred, making my voice the deep, throated sound that affects him so much. He shook harder, failing terribly at containing his trembles.
“To always answer, Detective.” His downcast eyes fluttered as he continued in a soft voice, “I’m sorry, Detective, I didn’t mean to forget you said I’m not allowed to bite my lips.”
“No matter, it just means extra for not remembering, and more extra for not answering me.” I said flippantly. I know my attitude makes him oh so very terrified, but I love it when he cowers and doesn’t dare ask for mercy.
I picked up the thick bamboo cane, and glanced at the other eleven instruments I picked and the piece of ginger beside them. This punishment is going to take a while. This is not the first punishment I’ve given him, but it’s the first one I’ve given since I’ve learnt the truth, and oh is he going to get it.
“Take off your clothes and bend over the couch, legs wide apart, you know the drill.” He immediately started to fumble with his clothes as he answered in the affirmative. In a few minutes, he was bent over the couch, the only thing he’s wearing is the cage I put on him a couple months ago. He’s legs are wide apart and his hands are on the seats, all forbidden to move from their spot unless I offered verbal permission.
I tapped his ass lightly with the cane, grabbed the ginger piece and slowly worked it into his asshole. He groaned and whined, but he wouldn’t dare resist, of course.
When the piece of ginger is as deeply inside him as possible, I stepped back to admire my handiwork, before stepping slightly to the side, and swinging the cane harshly onto his waiting backside.
“Arghh…” his legs trembled at the impact, but he wouldn’t dare move from his spot. My rules forbid him from even relieving pain by tapping his legs like how others do. He would not even be able to vent his pain by punching the couch like what I’ve seen others on the websites I’ve seen videos on do.
It is exhilarating, the how absolute my power over him is. How he is using all his strength to obey my rules.
I swung the cane down twice in quick succession, each garnering a groan from Lucifer. Then I paused to look at the three red strokes on his cheeks, as he tried to catch his breath.
I’m getting excited, and I want to make him suffer. I want to hear him beg and cry and still stay obediently in position until I release him from it. I raised the cane, and brought it down quickly and without pause, again and again, not allowing him to rest from the pain that must be blossoming at his rear.
“Ahhh! Arghh! Detective! Ahhh! Please! I’m sorry! Please, please, please! I’m sorry!” And there it is! The begging comes so quickly. The crying though, always comes later. And I’ve always stopped at the sight of his tears, but today, today, is going to be special. Today I’m going to keep punishing him, even after he starts sobbing, even after he starts choking on his tears. Because that’s what I want to do, and that’s what he is here for.
Claim me Detective, Chloe, claim me and make me yours. Make me so terrified of your ire, I wouldn’t dare breathe without permission. I want you to tame me, and make sure I never step out of my bounds again. I want you to imprint onto me your control and your joy. I want you to give in to your desires. You’ve always liked to make me suffer, now I want you to make me suffer. Without any reason, without any warning. Call me when you want to vent, call me when you are frustrated, then make me tremble and cry under your hands. So claim me, and never let me go.
His words from the week before came to the forefront of my consciousness, and it only made me wetter. I poured more strength into the cane, basking in his cries and gasps and incessant begging.
Then I heard the telltale sign of a sob, a hitch in his breath as a particular strong stroke struck. Not too long now…I swung another twenty or so hard strokes, pouring even more strength into them, and then he gasped, and sobbed.
And I stopped. I walked around the couch to his front and faced him, looking at his tears rolling down his cheeks without control. His arms are trembling something fierce, and it looked like it was all he could do to remain in position. But what I’m going to tell him, what I am going to inflict on him, is going to fill him with so much fear and dread.
“Are you in pain? Hmmm?” I purred, stroking my knuckles on his left cheek.
“Yes Detective.” He answered, his voice trembling, like he knows what torture I’m going to inflict on him next. He would know though, because tearing his ass apart has always been my greatest source of turn on and easiest orgasms. When I want to up the torture, there’s only one way to go, and that’s make his spanking more unbearable.
“Now, that was your warm up.” He started, and stared at me unbelievingly, tears welling up in his eyes quickly and surely.
“And your punishment will be a hundred strokes of each instrument I’ve brought out on your ass cheeks, and another hundred strokes on your thighs. Of course, the extra strokes you earned just now, would be twenty-five more strokes of each instrument at your sit spot. Ten more for not answering my questions, and fifteen for disobeying me. Now wouldn’t that be exciting?” And I smiled as his trembling worsens, and because he wouldn’t want another set of extra strokes, he forced himself to answer me.
“Yes…Detective…”
I grinned at his answer and once again walked right behind him. His breaths started to come in short small gasps and heart-wrenching sobs. Well, only heart-wrenching if I feel any pity for him. Too bad I don’t.
I tapped lightly at the top of his ass cheeks, aiming before I raise the cane, then getting ready to count in my mind, I brought down the cane in a frequency much higher then the previous set, giving him the worst hundred strokes of the bamboo cane in his life.
He’s begging and crying, sobs wrecked from him as he pleaded for mercy again and again. “Please!” He cried. “Ahhhh…I won’t do it again! Please! Arghhh…Detective, please! Please, no more, no more, please, arghhh!” And he is not doing himself any favors repeating that again and again. His cries only made me more violent, more invested in hearing more.
Before long, the hundred strokes on his ass cheeks are done, and his shoulders are quivering. He tried to calm himself down, taking quick short breaths. But his effort crumbles when I placed the cane lightly on the tender part of his thighs. His tears spilled over once more, and the barely contained trembles rippled through his whole body all over again. He begged before I even started.
“Please Detective! Please no more! I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” He’s totally panicking, he’s so afraid that his words slowly got more and more incoherent. I ignored his pleas and raised the bamboo cane high in the air, then without warning, started the next bout of caning.
It was a couple hours when we finished, and his butt cheeks were so littered with bruises and marks that it turned me on just looking at it. I gave his right cheek a little tap and he jumped and yelped with fright at the contact. He is still silently sobbing, but his hands and legs are still firmly in their spots. I am so proud of him, for he not only did not move his limbs, he did not even try angling his ass to avoid his strokes. That takes enormous self-disciplined, something that I hope I have instilled in him for good.
“Get up, face me.” He got up and faced me, back to his position with his hands behind him and his head bowed. I gave him some more instructions, before leaving for the day.
“You will stand facing the wall in that corner,” I pointed to the corner near the threshold between his bedroom and the living room, “and reflect upon your actions until your alarm rings.” I’ve set the alarm on his phone to ring after four hours, but he wouldn’t know how long I’ve set it for, he’ll just have to wait.
“Then you’re allowed to shower and remove the ginger before retiring. Tomorrow, you will sit down at your study and write a six pages essay on how you can improve on the mindset you have while receiving a punishment. I will check it when I come over after work tomorrow.” His chair in the study is hard wood, and sitting on it will be agony to him. Besides! I never said anything about clothes, so he wouldn’t dare wear any without permission. He will sit naked, with his very bare and painful as on the hard chair, and will have to endure the pain until he finishes the essay. Of course, he will take a long time with the essay because he knows his handwriting, and the content, will have to satisfy me and my sadistic desires, and he wouldn’t be able to concentrate with his ass on fire constantly. The torture only starts after the spanking.
He gave tiniest nod, accompanied with a soft sob that sounded remotely like “Yes Detective”, and I left without looking back.