My name is John, though I go by rgjohn, and I’ve written a few erotic books and some content for Literotica. When Emma read my work, she suggested I write about loving, female-led relationships—a genre she’s passionate about. It’s been a while since I’ve written, but a fan recently reignited my interest by asking me to turn his detailed journal into a story. Initially skeptical, I found myself captivated by his account of a Female-Led Relationship (FLR), a concept I hadn’t explored before. With a mix of curiosity and research, I’ve decided to craft a multi-part story spanning over 20 chapters. If you are just starting, you should begin your journey back at chapter 1.
Chapter 9: First Tease And Denial, Telling Anna I Lost My Job
Finally Anna turned and looked at me. Her eyes narrowed slightly, and she seemed to reflect on the moment. “You know, I didn’t think I could do that. It surprised even me.”
“You mean what you did with the brush?” I asked stupidly.
“Yes,” she replied.
I looked at her with a serious expression. “Well, you have done it now, and I’m betting that you can and will do it again. And as crazy as it sounds—despite how much my ass is throbbing right now—you have to continue. Discipline is only going to work if you stay consistent. I am definitely sorry for all the time I have wasted, and the hurt I have caused you.” I was sincere.
Anna raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “I’m surprised the hairbrush was so effective. I didn’t even use all my strength.”
A shiver ran down my spine. “I’m glad you didn’t,” I said quickly.
It sounded insane, even to me, but deep down, I wanted her to continue disciplining me as needed. It would show she cared enough to correct my bad behavior.
Without it, I might not recognize when I was screwing up, and start my bad habits all over again. I didn’t want to go there.
“Wouldn’t some of these implements be worse than a hairbrush?” she asked thoughtfully.
“I would think so,” I replied. “But some tools might mean you wouldn’t have to hit as much or as hard to get the same result. Something like a paddle… or a cane.”
Anna’s eyes widened. “Oh my gosh, a cane? That would really hurt.”
“It would,” I said surmised. “I bet the paddle would burn like the brush, but a cane would certainly leave welts—from what I’ve read and seen.”
She tilted her head slightly. “Either way, you might not be able to sit down comfortably for days.”
“That might already be the case,” I said, offering a tiny, remorseful smile. “But generations of kids went through punishments like that, and honestly, I think they were better for it. Painful consequences can be a necessary part of learning a lesson.”
“Maybe I’ll have to tie you up next time,” she mused, a mischievous glint in her eye
.
I swallowed hard. “Maybe. But that would be your decision. It’d definitely make it harder for me to resist or squirm away.”
“I see,” she said, her tone suddenly more serious—but still curious. I had piqued her interest.
Quickly, I reached over her and navigated to a webpage showcasing various punishment implements—whips, canes, paddles, and other paraphernalia.
“Wow,” Anna murmured, scrolling through the options. “There are a lot of these. Why don’t you decide which ones we should get?”
I hesitated, suddenly feeling a pang of concern. She had taken to this far more quickly than I expected. Am I creating a monster? I wondered. But deep down, I knew I had to be all in. If I wasn’t fully committed, none of this would work.
I stood there with my ass still burning, hoping Anna was feeling a little guilty. I had already been punished so I decided it was time to reveal my little secret that I had been fired from my job. I was betting that she wouldn’t spank me again, at least I hoped that she wouldn’t. I knew it was a big risk but I had to do it sometime.
I swallowed hard, my voice tentative. “Anna… there’s something I need to tell you.”
Her expression grew serious. “What is it now?”
“I lost my job,” I admitted.
Her face fell but she didn’t overreact. “Why?”
“Because of… the same reason we’re having this conversation. My habit got in the way. They found out I’d been spending too much time on porn at work.”
She didn’t say anything at first, her silence heavy and lingering. Then she surprised me.
“That’s serious, Jason,” she finally said. “If I hadn’t already blistered your ass, I might do it again. You will pay for this later, I assure you.”
“And I would deserve it,” I admitted quietly, relieved that my strategy had worked.
After telling Anna I’d lost my job, I searched her eyes and face, desperately trying to gauge her reaction. But I couldn’t read her. The silence felt heavy, suffocating, and my voice trembled with uncertainty as I finally asked, “Are you mad at me?”
Anna’s eyes flickered with restrained emotion. “Of course I am. You lost your fucking job,” she snapped, her voice sharp but measured. Then she closed her eyes briefly, inhaling deeply before releasing a slow breath, visibly regaining her composure.
What surprised me most was how calm she remained. I had expected her to yell, to release her frustration in an explosion of anger. But instead, she just sat there, controlled and thoughtful. Losing my job was a big deal—something that would infuriate most wives. Yet Anna’s restraint felt both comforting and deeply unsettling. I couldn’t figure out why.
I probably should have kept my mouth shut, but guilt clawed at me, and a strange sense of needing to atone pushed me forward. The words caught in my throat as I said, “When are you going to punish me for losing my job?”
Anna tilted her head slightly, her eyes narrowing as she studied me. She didn’t answer immediately. Instead, her gaze shifted to the screen in front of her, where she had been browsing pages on FLR dynamics and discipline tools. After what felt like an eternity, she finally spoke.
“Since I already blistered your ass,” she said evenly, her lips curving into a faint smirk, “I have something else in mind for now.”
Her words sent a chill down my spine—a mixture of fear, anticipation, and a strange thrill I couldn’t quite understand.
“All the literature I’ve been reading,” she continued, her voice soft but firm, “emphasizes that discipline isn’t always about pain. Sometimes, it’s about control—mental and physical. And one of the most effective forms of control in an FLR is teaching patience and restraint.”
“What do you mean?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
Anna’s lips curved into a knowing smile, her eyes glancing back at the screen. “I’m going to try something they recommend. It’s less about punishment and more about reinforcement. Obviously, one of your biggest problems is self-control… you apparently have little of it. There is a way to teach men who can’t control their impulses… which I am about to do, and while you might think it is fun, I don’t think it will be for you. But I’ll enjoy every moment of it.”
Her calm, deliberate tone only heightened my sense of anticipation. Whatever she had planned, I knew it was going to be an unforgettable lesson.
“Sit on the desk,” she said, patting the spot beside my computer.
I hesitated for only a moment before obeying, wincing as the my blistered backside made contact with the hard surface. Anna noticed and giggled softly.
“I’m pretty sure one way to deal with your premature ejaculation problem is to practice retention,” she explained as she reached for my flaccid penis and began to slowly stroke me. It grew hard immediately, in spite of the pain.
“I’m going to stroke you slowly, and when you get close, you’ll tell me. I’ll stop, let you calm down, and then start again. You need to last at least fifteen minutes without going off—or you’ll face the hairbrush again. And I promise you, I’ll follow through. For every thirty seconds you fall short, you’ll get one stroke.”
My heart pounded in my chest. “Okay,” I said weakly.
In my head, I did the math. If I only lasted five minutes, that was ten minutes short—twenty strokes with the brush. My stomach tightened at the thought.
As Anna navigated different websites showcasing an array of paddles, whips, and canes, she continued to stroke me. The sensation made me shiver with excitement. This wasn’t bad at all.
“Wait,” she said suddenly. “Get me some lube from the bathroom.”
I let out an audible groan, knowing this was going to make the task infinitely harder, but also more exciting. I obeyed, hopping off the desk and rushing to her bathroom. I found the bottle, grabbed it, and practically sprinted back, my erection bouncing embarrassingly with every step.
As I climbed back onto the desk, I winced again at the pain in my backside. Anna smirked, clearly enjoying my discomfort.
“Now put some on your little penis for me,” she instructed.
Blushing, I did as she asked, applying the cool lube to myself and shivering at the sensation.
Anna took hold of me again, her hand warm and slick now. She began to stroke me slowly, deliberately, her gaze flicking between my face and the timer she had started on her phone.
At first, I thought it might not be too difficult… fifteen minutes didn’t sound that long. But as her soft hand worked me skillfully, the seconds felt like hours. I clenched my jaw, trying to distract myself, but the sight of her—a beautiful woman, fully in control—only made things harder.
“Tell me when you’re close,” she reminded me softly, her voice smooth and commanding.
“Okay,” I said, my breath already ragged.
Anna’s hand moved with practiced precision… she had stroked me plenty of times before… maintaining a steady rhythm that was maddeningly perfect. I glanced at the clock—only three minutes had passed.
“Breathe,” she instructed.
I inhaled deeply, trying to hold off the building pressure.
When I was teetering on the edge, I gasped, “Stop… stop… please…”
Anna immediately removed her hand, smirking as she leaned back casually in her chair. She glanced at the timer and said, “Good boy. You made it almost four minutes. I guess that’s progress. When you are in me it only takes about thirty seconds.”
I blushed at the obvious dig.
She let me calm down for about thirty seconds before starting again.
The cycle repeated—teasing, denial, brief reprieves—all while Anna maintained her dominant presence.
By the time the fifteen-minute mark approached, I was shaking, my entire body tense with need. Then mercifully, the alarm went off.
“Look at you,” she said softly, her voice dripping with amusement. “You’re a mess. But you did it. Fifteen minutes.”
Anna leaned forward, kissed my forehead, and said, “Good boy. Now clean yourself up.
I was breathless and had broken out in a sweat.
I said, “That was maybe the hardest thing that I have ever done.”
“Really? Well, get used to it because we are going to do that at least once every day. And my guess is that at some point you won’t make it and then the real punishment begins. By that time, I should have something besides a brush,” she said.
I hadn’t paid attention to what she was looking at but I realized that she had ordered something. I shivered with fear and excitement.
Continue to Chapter 10