I wrote another Lizzie story, this one about six years later. She and the main character are still together, and he’s still her good boy. The inciting thought for this one was Lizzie leading the MC around by a leash and collar — the collar buckled tight around his balls, not his neck or wrist. I was surprised how happy the MC was about all of this, but that’s how the story came out. Here’s a little bit of it. Be warned: it contains CBT, so if that’s not your thing, you might not want to read it. It takes place in a dungeon, and the MC has never been to one before, so he doesn’t know that the “horse” thing is a type of spanking bench.
We found an open horse and I bent over it. Lizzie undid my leash and I guess she put it away; I had my eyes closed, trying not to think of how many people were going to watch her hurt me. I heard murmuring, just barely, over the loud music.
Her hand was cool on my shoulder as she leaned in. “Are you sure you’re okay with this?”
“I’m sure.” My heart was pounding and my head was full of fuzz, but I wasn’t lying. “I want it.”
Maybe fifteen seconds later, the first crack! of the belt landed right across the middle of my ass. We might be in public for the first time, but she wasn’t holding back, just like usual. Crack! after crack! after crack! drew burning lines of fire on my backside as Lizzie whipped me, lashing my ass with the belt over and over. I might have been used to how it felt, but it still hurt a hell of a lot, and it took all of my concentration to hold onto the bench and not move.
The belting didn’t last as long as it normally did, though, and for a moment I wondered why. Then I felt Lizzie lift up my balls with one hand, and I knew before it happened what she was going to do.
Her fist crashed into my balls and I grunted. I heard at least one man make a disgusted noise, but it didn’t stop her. She punched me again, hard, and I felt my throat tighten. There were impressed sounds, and at least one “wow”, but I wasn’t really focusing on that. I was in too much pain — between the throbbing heat of my ass and the pounding agony in my balls, the latter compounded by another thick thwack! of fist against flesh, all I could do was try to hang on, try to be my wife’s good boy.
She caressed me then, easing her fingertips over my balls, and I felt myself starting to get hard. She usually didn’t do this without some sort of relief afterward, but would that happen here? In public?
Another slam of her fist and I jolted, the horse shifting an inch or two. Then she slapped my balls, a clean crisp whack!, and it stung.
It stung more when she started to spank them. Not slowly — she didn’t give me time to recover like she did when she punched me — but quick, hard slaps that burned my skin almost more than they hurt what was under it. I started to ease into the pain, to accept it, to succumb to it, and that was when her fist landed again and I couldn’t hold back a cry of agony.
That seemed to be what Lizzie was waiting for; she let go of my balls and came around the horse to kneel in front of me. “You okay?”
I was gasping for breath, but I managed a nod.
“Good boy,” she said, cupping my face. She kissed me, and it was hard to kiss her back because I was still out of breath, but I did it. “Good boy.”
“Thank… thank y-you.” I remembered suddenly that I was on display, that my welted ass and spanked balls were visible to whomever wanted to see them, and I felt my face flush red. “Can you… can you take care of me?”
She was quiet long enough that I opened my eyes. She was unsure, and I immediately shook my head. “We don’t have to,” I said. “I’m… I’m okay.”
“Later,” she whispered. “I promise.”
I nodded again. She’d never broken a promise to me, and I could wait. I’d be all right.