Here's an example of erotica I wrote, and would like to turn into a short film:

In the early morning hours Her garden was being worked, while the shade protected the hot red welts on his back.
Her power over him was kept in his mind while he dug and preened the vegitables. Winter was coming on, and a sense of urgency filled her. The winter food supply had to be maintained, and She felt even a stupid animal such as he could keep to the simple task.
At first, he would sit on the sofa watching tv, while she prepared meals and cleaned up after him. He considered this part of the relationship, but of course, she grew tired of it.
Their sex consisted of him being on top, she on the bottom, and it rarely made her cum. He didn't care.
One day, she found a thick leather strap, and decided he was either going to endure a whipping or she would leave him.
She walked to him, strap coiled behind her back, wanting smile on her face as if she was ready to be mounted. He often succumed to these advances, but sometimes returned to watching his program.
"Come to bed." She urged.
He stood, smiled and began unbuttoning his shirt. Obviously the pig was ready to rut, was all she could think. She didn't know if she could beat him but her heart rose inside of her, and pounded.
She'd thought a long time before, about whipping him, but the thought was in anger.
Now her pussy wetted as she gripped the leather tighter.
His shoulders now bare as he stripped the shirt off, the stupid grin still on his face.
"Turn around and remove your pants," She cooed.
He bent, his ass now in position and the strap threw back with an instant hot lash across his bare bottom. He lurched back and screamed, turned and lunged for her. His face red gritted teeth he gripped her. "What the hell are you doing?" he hissed.
With a trembling smile she said: "Get your hands off of me."
He withdrew and stood, his ass throbbing.
"New rules." She said. "I'm not doing the housework anymore. You are!"
"That fucking garden you planted in Spring is full of weeds. You're going to fix that. I don't give a good shit how you do it, but you're going to do it."
"You'll get sex when I decide and only when I decide. If you go without for a few months, that's just fine by me."
His trousers now down to his ankles, he stood dumbfounded. Eyes gazing straight at her.
"Now get your clothes off pig. Another thing. You'll wear clothes when I say so. You're going to find out real fast what being a stupid ox feels like. GET THEM OFF!"
He winced and cringed when she screamed. This was a side of her he'd never seen. Stripping off his clothes, he stood, cock hard and dangling between his legs.
"Kneel down." she said, and instinctively he obeyed. He didn't know it, and with every fiber of his being he fought it inside, but he was a submissive to her. The thought never occurred to him, but he had to be ready to imbrace the power struggle - and lose it. In the early days, the beatings were hard for him.
She'd chained his neck with heavy links and led him like a dog to a tree that was used daily for his punishment.
His body eventually toughened and he began to accept, even want to feel Her leather on his bare back. He was forced to place his open palms against the bark. She'd order him to assume certain positions that might please her when his body squirmed.
He tried to be good and obey her in all things, but each day his back and ass were beaten raw.
At first, he flinched and is body lurched with each draw of the whip across his body. After her training, his head simply flew back and little animal grunts would come from his mouth with each stroke of the leather.
Her beating ended, the chain locked to his neck again, and he was led to the garden for his work.
Every move and position was strictly controlled. In the early days of his training, she'd stand over him and tell him how to kneel.
"Legs spread."
"Now stand."
"Crawl dog and lick Me."
"Get on all fours and kiss My feet."
"Squat while the little pig works."
She felt he was too stupid to learn anything beyond simple barked commands.
After she thought he'd learned enough, she chained him and left him in the garden alone.
Her control over him was intense, and he missed her presence in it. At times he'd forget his chained neck and the leash would pull on it like a dog in chase. The air would leave him and exhileration would rise. His cock would harden, but he'd long since learned that he came only when She allowed, and that was painfully seldom.
Sometimes his cock was so hard, he had to reach down and massage it. He'd look to the house, to see if she was coming, but her training and control was so strong, he let go of his aching dick with a whimper.
She'd come to him out there some days, stand and he'd learned to crawl, lift his head and let his tongue enter her. Her head would rise, exstacy filling her face. Gripping his hair and pulling it. The slick tongue moving in and out of her. She'd hiss and her hot wet juice would linger on his tongue. She threw him down - Get back to work! she'd command. Turn and walk away, leaving him to crawl back to tend the garden. Her wet hot in his mouth.
Before, she would come out and check on him. He hoped she would see his hard shaft, and relieve the ache, but she ignored his need.
Her early morning lashings were daily now, and on days that she had no use for his work in the garden, he was tied, wrists behind his back, and led to the shed where a leather muzzle was attached to the wall at a level very convenient for her. She'd strap his cock and balls into the muzzle wrists still firmly tied,  and forced him to stand, sometimes for hours facing the shed wall, while she took pleasure in raping him with a strapon. Standing behind him, she gripped his hair, pulled his head back and fucked his asshole mercilessly, at times showing him tenderness by kissing his bare neck and cooing to him softly as the hard rubber dick dug into his ass. His grunts and lurches only increased her pleasure.
He kneeled now, legs spread, cock and balls brushing lightly against the wet grass unencumbered - naked.
The cold dirt felt good against his bare knees.
The burn of hot leather lingered on his red bottom.
Now, on the days he worked the garden, he wanted her to come out, praise him for his work.
The lash could stay in her hand. He didn't mind. She could beat him there if it was her pleasure. She often did.
Anything to make her happy - It was all he could think now.