Punishment by proxy: belted and fucked

Image by the brilliant Stuart F Taylor

This story contains elements of consensual non-consent: i.e. when someone feigns reluctance in order to heighten the atmosphere of a sexual play scene. I think I’ve done pretty well at writing her enthusiastic consent into the story, but I’m adding this warning on the off-chance that I’ve been clumsy with it. If CNC isn’t your sort of thing, or if you struggle to distinguish between fantasy and instruction manual, please don’t read on. On the other hand, if this sounds like your cup of tea and you like the idea of punishment by proxy – being given a beating by someone who isn’t your usual top/dispenser of BDSM discipline – then this might appeal to you. Especially if you, like me, enjoy the ‘thwack’ of the belt… 

Punishment by proxy

I have been bad. Not ‘naughty’, like I usually am – when he takes me over his knee and yanks my knickers down for a playful reprimand: Bad. Capital B. Bad enough that he shakes his head and looks disappointed. Bad enough that this kind of punishment simply won’t work to show me how utterly I’ve fucked up. Something harsher is called for.

I’m excited.

I’m not saying that’s the reason I fucked up, but it’s not not the reason either. Somewhere in the back of my mind, while I was doing it, there lurked a nebulous but unspecified want. An urge. As I committed the sin, I looked forward to the reckoning. Why, after all, would I confess?

He has to punish me: he cannot let this slide. So when I knock on the door to his room the thrill of anticipation is a neat balance of fear and excitement. My limbs tingle with fight-or-flight adrenaline even as my skin thrills in delighted anticipation. My throat is as dry as my knickers are damp, and I have to stifle a disobedient grin.

As he calls me inside and I open the door, I glance quickly to the ceiling above me and whisper – wish – “make it cruel.”

He is not alone. That’s the first thing that strikes me. I expected him to be alone. Affronted, disappointed, I ask him: “who’s this?” but he doesn’t answer. His eyes lack the sparkle that they’d have if we were playing, and instead he looks cold and blank. He points towards the armchair in the corner, and orders me to bend over the arm of it, refusing to acknowledge the man who stands nearby staring greedily at me with dark, dark eyes.

For the first time since I confessed, I fear justice. But fear is my fetish: I comply.

The man in the corner steps forward, and lifts up the hem of my skirt. He bunches it up above my waist and places both hands on the small of my back – pushing me down so my face is crushed against the scratchy fabric of the cushions. Forcing me to arch so my bottom is presented for him. His erection brushes against my naked thigh, and I realise that on any other day this man would make my skin crawl.

Making himself comfortable on the sofa in the corner, my lover watches as the stranger touches me. Though I long to see him smile, he doesn’t oblige, but he does eventually speak.

“I can’t punish you,” he tells me, “because this punishment by necessity must be harsher than the others. It needs to be brutal and quick and cruel.”

My heart thuds.

“I can’t hurt you the way you need to be hurt. That’s why I’ve enlisted some help.” He pauses, looks me dead in the eye, and then pointedly turns to the stranger: the man who’ll deliver my punishment by proxy.

That explanation is the final thing he says to me in that room. From that point on, I am alone.

The stranger steps back, and I hear the click of his buckle, then a soft swish as he pulls his belt out through the loops.

My lover’s voice – cold and distant – carries across the room towards him.

“Beat her.”

My clit thuds this time.

The stranger doubles the belt over, then places one hand in the small of my back to hold me still. He stands behind me and to the side, caressing my skin with the thick leather. Lining up. Taking aim, before my lover adds:


Thwack. The first stroke brands me like fire, and I cry out. Scraping fingernails against the rough fabric, and trembling at the force of it. I have just enough time to gulp down another breath before the second stroke lands – smack – across the back of my thighs.

“Again,” says my lover, in a voice that wavers with either sadness or lust – more likely both. And as the third, and fourth, and fifth strokes fall I whimper and begin to cry.

“Do you think she needs more?” The stranger asks, before delivering a flurry of even crueller blows. I can’t see him – my eyes are tight shut to prevent them from watering at the sting and hiss of the leather on my skin – but I imagine his arm raised above his head, belt hanging down from his clenched fist. I picture the cruel smile on his face, and the way his cock twitches every time the belt bites into me.

“More,” my lover replies. Then “harder” and “more” and “harder” again until I have long since lost count of the strokes. I have lost all sense of time, all perspective. I feel two things, and two things only: the stranger’s firm hand pressing into the small of my back, forcing me to stay still and arch for him. And, of course, the brutal sting of the belt.

I think of my lover, and how it must hurt him to see me like this. I pity him that I have made him go this far, and I ache to console him with soft words and gentle touches and my tongue on the tip of his cock.

Yet still he urges more – and harder. Tells the stranger to make me feel pain. Beat me like I am nothing. Strap me until he sees tears flowing down my cheeks. Teach me a lesson so cruel it makes him pity me.

It’s the only way I’ll learn.

From the corner of my eye I sneak a glimpse at my lover where he sits. Each stroke of the belt makes him twitch – I see his body shudder as the leather smacks against me. I feel my own body twitch and throb with the shock of each impact.

And my cunt throbs with need for him to fuck me, when I see that his dick twitches too.

Each stroke of the belt: twitch. Each loud ‘thwack’ that reverberates throughout the room: twitch. Each cry I fail to stifle at the next flurry of whipping pain: twitch.

My body is on fire, and I have never felt such cruelty.

Through tears of pain I stare him down. My lover. My friend. He’s the man I trust with everything, so I hold his gaze through everything. From the twitches of his cock through every single step of the rest of my ordeal.

The final brutal lashes with the belt, which make me whimper and tremble.

The murmured conversation between my love and the stranger, as they decide whether I need to be ‘corrected’ even further.

The sound of the stranger unzipping his fly, and the rustle of a condom in his hands.

I hold my lover’s gaze through all of this, as the tears stream down my face. If I wanted him to stop, he’d stop, but even dizzy from the beating I can’t bring myself to call ‘cut’. I asked for cruelty – I longed for cruelty – and he delivered, so I’m trapped inside it now, as imprisoned by my own desire as I am by his order to endure.

The first and last words the stranger ever says to me are uttered as he slathers lube up and down the length of his cock:

“Stay still.”

I stay. Rigid and compliant and terrified and excited. A ball of fight-or-flight adrenaline and skin that sings with fire.

He presses his dick against the entrance to my ass, holding it there for a second. So eager to deliver what comes next – what I deserve.

Punishment. Justice. Cruelty.

With blank eyes and through gritted teeth, my lover gives the sentence:

“Fuck her.”



If you enjoyed this story about punishment by proxy, there are two other posts that might take your fancy: punishment fucking and fuck me like I’m in trouble (the latter of which is also available as audio porn). And don’t forget, it’s fiction: while the narrator in the story wasn’t sure what was going to happen when she opened the door, in real life you’re going to need a hell of a lot more planning and express consent from everyone involved. 


  • silverdom says:

    We both love this story!

    A thought from me…

    I worked in Silicon Valley for 10 years, and as involved in the kinky scene. I knew a d/s couple – she was the sub – who had a third. They referred to her as their “sister sub”. The primary partner femsub was unable to take physical pain in anything but the most minor of ways. Part of the agreement they had with their third was that she would receive ‘bad’ punishments on the primary’s behalf.

    The primary femsub often said tat watching her sister sub proxy punishments was emotionally very hard for her (the primary). This make perfect sense.

    I’m rambling. I’ll stop now. :-)

    • Girl on the net says:

      So so hot! <3 thank you for sharing!

    • SpaceCaptainSmith says:

      Supposedly, this was an actual historical practice in medieval times – a prince would have a ‘whipping boy’ who would take punishments in his place. Or so historical fiction would have you believe, anyway. Obviously that would be a pretty awful thing to do in real life, but that doesn’t stop it being the basis for consensual fantasy roleplay…

  • asrai devin says:

    OHhhh dang. This was super hot.

  • ValeryNorth says:

    Such a hot story – one of the cruel fantasies I have sometimes thought about, in all three roles!

  • MorSuljyn says:

    Wow! As a vanilla new to to BDSM, and someone who is not really comfortable with a lot of the punishment and humiliation aspects of it, I can only say this leaves me with some really mixed feelings. The physical aspects of the beating I found extremely arousing, but simultaneously, my mind raged at the unmitigated gall of any adult disciplining another autonomous being. I could only think of the revenge I would exact upon the people who perpetrated such a heinous act. Granted, I had no emotional connection to either of the Doms, but I was on fire to avenge our heroine, despite her avowed “consent” in the matter.

    • MorSuljyn says:

      Let me make a correction…

      I had no ~previous~ emotional connection to either of the Doms…

    • Girl on the net says:

      “I was on fire to avenge our heroine, despite her avowed “consent” in the matter.” Hmmm interesting. So firstly this is fiction, which means that there is no heroine to avenge. But secondly, I took quite a lot of care to write her consent into the story – this is a scenario that I would find very hot if I enacted it with two guys I liked (and trusted, and with whom I’d had conversations about boundaries/pain thresholds/safewords etc). Hence the consent in the story. It’s kind of odd to want to ‘rescue’ a woman from a scenario to which she clearly and enthusiastically consents – it implies that women do not have the capacity to make our own choices.

  • Purple Rain says:

    Oh, god, this is hot. Disagree with the tweet that said you cut off at the best bit – you absolutely nailed the best bits IMO

    • Girl on the net says:

      Thank you! I was super intrigued by that tweet as I do sometimes get others like that – people saying ‘where was the orgasm???’ or what have you, but for me I think it’s the tone/setup that’s the main bit of a fantasy, especially with one like this, so I thought if I continued it’d just be ‘and then they shagged’ which would tail off a bit from the intensity of the build up. I reckon it’s very dependent on what different people need/want from porn tho, for sure.

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