What Became of Me

Even the longest phone call comes to an end eventually. But not the act of talking on the phone itself. This time, Petra’s cell phone rang just a few seconds after she had ended the previous call.

“Hi, sweetheart ... No, you’re not interrupting anything.”

The second sentence hurt. And – truly not for the first time – I cursed my stupid cunt, which started to twitch. Being hurt, whether psychologically or physically, turned me on. That’s just how it was. I wasn’t always happy about it.

But the way Petra addressed the other person piqued my curiosity. Was there a significant other in Petra’s life?

“How did the exam go? … Well, “not a complete disaster” is already better than what you said before the exam. … Really? … See? I told you you’d remember more than you thought once you sat down.”

“Someone in school or at university”, I thought to myself. “A son or daughter?”

I felt a sense of relief that confused me. Once again, I had expectations of Petra that I shouldn't have had. I noticed my elbows had drifted forward again. I silently cursed myself for focusing on the wrong things.

“Have you eaten today? … I’m serious. Coffee doesn’t count. … Neither does a granola bar on the way to campus. … Okay, that‘s acceptable.“

„Probably a daughter”, I was guessing now. I shouldn’t listen to that phone call either, but getting to know your potential future dominant was sensible too, wasn’t it?

“Oh, speaking of which – how’s your young man?”

“Okay, daughter. Most likely”, I thought. I still couldn’t stop listening.

“Still following your lead in everything? … I thought so. … Sweetheart, you’ve always known exactly what you wanted. … It doesn’t surprise me in the slightest that he naturally looks to you when decisions need to be made. … Look, I like him. He’s thoughtful, respectful, and he clearly adores you. … Being with someone as dominant as you can be a little intimidating at first. … Oh, don’t sound so pleased with yourself. … Yes, yes, I know: You inherited it from me. I’m not denying it.“

So, there was a dominant or at least bossy daughter? I tried not to let my imagination run wild based on a few snippets of conversation. I took a deep breath and stared intently at the charcoal drawing.

Unfortunately, the conversation turned to more mundane topics: trouble with the landlord, stories about fellow students. Eventually, I was only half-listening. My gaze began to wander around the room. To my right was a sort of podium with rings on the wall behind it and more rings screwed into the wooden floor of the platform. The purpose of the installation was obvious.

The metal cage between the armchairs was pretty small. I figured I’d have to squeeze myself into it. It certainly wouldn’t be comfortable in there.

“Tell me, are you fucking bored or something?”

Petra’s voice didn’t sound angry or disappointed, but it still sounded threatening. I shook my head sheepishly. Of course, I’d been caught – I'd forgotten yet again to focus on holding my position.

“Just hang in there for a moment, sweetheart. I need to clear something up. Yeah, with the new toy.”

“Damn, does her daughter know what’s going on here?” I thought, half repulsed, and half aroused. “Well, okay, she seems grown up. Not that big deal.”

Petra reached for the long, flexible rod again. She sighed as she stood in front of me once more and corrected my posture.

“Spread your feet wider and keep them parallel. Elbows back. Look straight ahead. Good, that’s better.”

She turned away. I felt ashamed of my carelessness and stared at the charcoal drawing again.

The only warning was a hiss in the air that I couldn’t quite place. Just as I saw out of the corner of my eye that Petra was turning around again, the blow already hit me. It wasn’t a light blow. Petra had put the full force of her quick spin into it. The rod struck my left breast, above the nipple, and my left shoulder.

“Fu… rrrrr!”

Damn, that burned! I swallowed my curse, and all that came out was a pained grunt.

I was just as unprepared for the second blow. Delivered from a standing position, it was “better” aimed and this time struck both breasts equally, but no less forcefully than the first.

Intuitively, I brought my hands from behind my head to my chest to protect myself.

“Standing inspection position!” Petra commanded impassively.

Tears welled up in my eyes as I tremblingly clasped my hands behind my head again, exposing my breasts to further attacks.

The third blow was no less hard than the previous ones. It struck both breasts a little lower than the one before. I let out a cry of agony, and my hands moved a few centimetres apart before I regained control and clasped them behind my head once more.

“Standing inspection position!” Petra simply repeated.

“Okay! Okay!” I cried to myself, trying to pull myself together. “You have to hold that position when the next blow lands. No matter what!”

I clenched my fingers tightly so they wouldn’t let go as the pain shot through my body and challenged my self-preservation instincts.

The next blow didn’t burn quite as badly. Or maybe I was just better prepared for it. But it still burned like hell. It, too, struck both breasts. My body writhed, but this time my hands remained clasped behind my head. I whimpered pitifully.

Finally, Petra turned away and sat back down on the sofa.

“Where were we? … You know I don’t like to repeat myself. She’ll learn that too, eventually. … No, no, not a punishment. Just a little reminder. … I know you like to listen to this kind of thing. … Let’s see. So far, it’s looking pretty promising. … Is your essay coming along?”

I kept crying and sniffling for a while longer. But I didn’t take my eyes off the charcoal drawing. My elbows, too, stayed in line, just as was expected from the toy. If Petra considered those four hard strokes on my sensitive breasts, taking the risk to hit the nipples, to be nothing more than a “little reminder”, I wasn’t in a hurry to find out what she considered a “punishment.”