I Am Not a Masochist [Spanking, Pet, Foot, Tease & Denial]
Those small toes were relentless to a frightening degree. Trapped against the zipper, they found the cramped ache with vicious precision, and even the slightest shift felt like it might drive me out of my mind.
"Ha—ngh...!"
My hips twitched again, and from behind me came a sigh. What do I do?
—Smack!
"Ghk—?!"
"Count."
"W-woof! One!"
Smack!
"Two!"
"Feel good?"
"Woof!"
"Pants and underwear. Down."
"W-woof!"
I fumbled the buckle loose and shoved my pants and underwear down to my knees. She hadn't told me to stand, so this had to be right—didn't it? What had been crushed under the cloth sprang free, and my ass was left bare with it. The head of my cock felt strangely cool. Only then did I realize how wet it was with precum.
Would her palm come next? Or an order? She said nothing, and the silence only made me more afraid. Every fine hair on my body stood on end.
Tap.
A toe touched my cock. Her big toe and the one beside it slowly parted, slid up in a slick little glide, and caught the head.
Ticklish...
As if she were massaging me, as if she were working gel into skin, she smeared the precum around with her toes. That alone had me trembling, barely holding on—and then the edge of a toenail grazed the side of the head and scraped.
"Ah, hhh...!"
My lower belly clenched. My hips jerked.
—Smack!
"Three! Woof!"
It hurt, and my body flinched on reflex. That fact stung my pride in a way I couldn't quite name. I was the taller one. I had the advantage in build and in strength. And yet three slaps from her palm were enough to redden my ass and leave me scared. It was laughable. Laughable was the only word I had for it. A man, hit by a woman—and not just any woman, his girlfriend.
This was supposed to be an age of equality between the sexes, but a man's body and a woman's were still vastly different. That was a fact I couldn't deny. When something called for strength, it was only natural for the man to step forward. I had lived that way without a shred of doubt—helping my mother haul things, putting my back into the work at festivals in place of the girls in my year, giving up my seat. It wasn't that I held some grand conviction. I had simply lived like that. Because I was a man, I had taken it in the way one takes in a collective norm or an order of things, not a personal belief. The way you match the air of a school or a company once you step inside, I had only been faithful to the role of being a man. Like everyone else.
It was worse in the army. Live packed in with other men all day and the talk of women never stopped—who was pretty, where someone had gone on leave, whom he'd met, what he'd done. Once night fell, the barracks often filled with petty boasts and filthy stories.
I kept quiet, but I was never the one on the receiving end of the jokes. Tall, and built the way I was, seniors and juniors and peers alike always had a line for me.
"You get out of here, you're gonna make some girls cry."
"A bastard like you walks into a club and runs through a whole pack of them."
Share a shower and it got worse.
"Whoa, fuck. This bastard's a goddamn woman-wrecker. Insane."
At first I laughed it off, awkward and embarrassed. But people are strange animals. Hear the same thing over and over, and at some point I started to believe that was what I was like—that I would never be cowed by a woman, that I was the one who held rather than the one held, the one who pressed down rather than the one pinned beneath.
—Smack!
"Four! Woof!"
All at once it seemed absurd. Everything I had taken for granted as a man felt like illusion, like empty bluster. What would those men think if they could see me now?
"Built like a bear, and listen to you bark like a damn dog."
"Woof woof! Arf arf!"
My face was burning. Would it have been less shameful if I'd been small? Having so many of the things people called manly only made the humiliation worse. Maybe this body didn't suit me at all. It didn't seem to suit someone who got talked down to, who bared his ass, who took the blows and got hard underneath them.
"Taking it and getting even harder? Filthy as fuck."
I jammed my face against the floor and bit my lip. I wanted to die of shame.
—Smack!
"F-five! Woof!"
The right side. It came without warning, and my ass clenched tight.
"Relax."
"Woof...!"
Hoo, hoo— I was letting the breath out slowly, easing the places that had gone rigid, when a cold palm tapped the stinging skin of my ass.
"Eep...!"
A small laugh sounded behind me.
"Startled?"
"Woof..."
I was ashamed. I knew it was coming every time, and I still couldn't get used to it.
"Want me to stop hitting you?"
The sudden question jammed the words in my throat. If I was honest, I didn't want to be hit anymore. I wasn't a masochist. No matter how much I took, I couldn't enjoy the pain. Given the chance, I didn't want to be hit at all.
"...Woof."
I answered in a careful voice. That much should have gotten my meaning across—
—Smack!
"Aagh! Six!"
"If you want it to stop, you piece of shit, why do you keep your ass hiked up and shoved out? Hm?"
"Woof, woof...!"
Because you never said I could break position...
"Because I didn't tell you to drop it?"
My heart seemed to drop straight through me. H-how?
"W-woof."
"Then keep it up."
"Woof."
Only after I answered did it strike me as strange. It hurt. Not past what I could bear, but I still hated being hit. And yet when she had asked a moment ago whether I wanted to stop, I had hesitated. This time the answer came at once.
...Why?
There was no time to think. I felt the hand go up.
—Smack!
"S-seven! Woof!"
"I told you to relax."
"Woof...!"
—Smack!
"Eight!"
"Again."
"Eight! Woof!"
"Start over from one."
"W-woof!"
Smack—!
"One! Woof!"
Smack. Smack...
"Thirteen! Woof!"
"Voice is crawling now?"
—Smack!
"Fourteen! Woof!"
I shouted louder than before.
"Louder."
Smack—!
"Fifteen! Woof!"
I yelled until my throat felt ready to split. I was desperate, and I didn't know why. Because Soyoung would like it if I didn't get it wrong? Because I'd look less pathetic?
—Smack!
"Sixteen! Woof!"
"Yeah. Like that."
That one line seemed to pull my focus tight.
Smack—!
"Seventeen! Woof!"
Eighteen, eighteen. Eighteen.
Smack—!
"Eighteen!"
"...Again."
"Woof!"
"I said again. From the start."
—Smack!
"One! Woof!"
After that we started over again and again. Seven times, maybe eight. Past that I didn't have the strength left to count. Partway through, stubbornness took hold of me. Every time I clenched my teeth and swore I would see it through no matter what, an especially painful blow came flying in.
"Aagh...!"
"Again."
Every time, I slipped, and we went back to the beginning. After enough of that, even stubbornness was useless. At some point the room for any other thought had vanished. All that remained was the single awareness that I must not get the number wrong.
—Smack!
"Nineteen! Woof!"
This time, I was sure, it had been perfect. At least it felt that way to me. From the first to the last, not a single mistake.
Hoo, hoo... I panted and waited.
Twenty, woof. Next is twenty, woof. Don't forget. Twenty, woof. Twenty, woof, twenty, woof!
I kept repeating it in my head.
......
......
......
...Why.
Why...
Why isn't it coming...?
Fear jolted through me. Had I gotten it wrong? No. I had definitely said nineteen. She hadn't said again. I had put the woof on properly. I had held the posture without letting it break. ...Then why? ...No. No way?
Haa, haa—! My breathing grew shorter and shorter. Had I simply decided on my own that I'd done well? What if I'd messed up, and she had only chosen not to point it out...? Had my reaction looked that pitiful?
"Mm. You did well."
The soothing tone flooded me with relief. The painful hammering in my chest turned into a flutter. But that lasted only a moment.
"You did well, so we'll stop here today."
...What?
Had I misheard? Stop here? I had made it to nineteen.
"You worked hard today, and we reset a lot. Your ass is bruised all over. Let's wrap it up. You did well, so I'll give you a reward."
Any other time I would have been glad at once. No—my body was already reacting. It liked it. Even so, something caught in my throat, and the feeling sat wrong. It was good, and I wasn't happy. One more and it would have been twenty. I had repeated it so many times. This time I had been perfect. She had even praised me for doing well. And now, of all moments, she was ending it?
"Choco."
"W-woof."
"What's wrong."
"......"
"I said I'd give you a reward. You don't want it?"
It isn't that I don't want it. It isn't that. I just—I just...
"Enough. Break position."
An order. Even so, my body didn't move. What is it I want?
"Choco."
"......Woof."
"I said it's over."
Over...?
Really?
Like this—this—left just like this—how...?
"Ah, my hand hurts."
The sound of her shaking out her palm. The sound of her dropping onto the sofa.
—Flutter.
Even the sound of a page turning.
"I hit you pretty hard today, so I'm sore too."
I was scared. It already felt as if she had taken her attention off me. I was scared. Why? Why? A moment ago I had been sure I wanted her to stop. I hated it. I didn't know why, but I hated the number nineteen. I had to say something. Anything.
"Get comfortable."
"......"
"What are you doing?"
"M..."
I started to open my mouth and froze. Am I allowed to speak like a person? If I didn't get it out now, it felt as if it would truly be over.
"Master..."
I squeezed my eyes shut before any answer could come.
"What?"
"I..."
The reply was nothing I had expected, and it eased me a little—but only for a moment. My mouth wouldn't come unstuck. I hadn't really expected I would be able to say it, and faced with actually speaking, it was hard. What do I say? Please hit me until twenty? Say that with my own mouth? The same guy who didn't want to be hit after five?
"What is it."
But...
"Um..."
If I stop now. That would be...
......
Disrespectful to Master... wouldn't it? Something. Words.
"...One more."
"What?"
"There's... one left..."