Posted in Sizzlin' Saturdays

Sizzlin’ Saturdays writing prompt #NSFW, 18+

Hello all!  Welcome back to Sizzlin’ Saturdays!  It has been quite a while since I have created one of these writing prompts. Hope you will participate and reveal some of your sexy secrets!  If you’d like to play along, feel free to address the prompt in my comments section, or steal away and use this on your own blog (though I do hope you’ll use the Sizzlin’ Saturdays clip art and leave me a comment letting me know to check out your blog) 😊

Here’s to keeping it hot! Sizzle sizzle!

Love, nora

Sizzlin’ Saturdays Writing Prompt

  1. What is the sexiest thing your partner can say to you?
  2. What is one of your soft limits…something you might like to explore, but haven’t found the courage to yet?
  3. What are your thoughts on anal sex?
  4. Describe an erotic moment that sticks out in your mind…

Out of the darkness!

This title is intended quite literally…we have been cast out of the darkness at last!  For those unaware of the craziness happening in the state of California, Daddy and I have been without power off and on over the last four weeks.  In total, we lost power for 12 days.  Living in the mountains, that means no power AND no water.  I am grateful that by the time the third power outage hit, we were able to buy a generator to power our well, much of our kitchen, and some lights and outlets to keep electronics charged.  I know that life has been much bleaker for many of those near us, and for the poor souls dealing with evacuations from wildfires all over the state.

If you have no idea to what I am referencing (as many of you are on other continents!), a quick Google will bring you up to date on the dire state of our electrical company, PG&E.  Last year, PG&E was found responsible for faulty equipment starting a fire which killed many and burned down an entire town near us.  Now, facing bankruptcy, the company is coping with high fire danger weather (north wind events) by shutting down power all together, leaving 2 million Californians in the dark.  I do not find much joy in discussing politics, but that is the situation in a nutshell.  There is much more to the story if you should care to research this nuttiness.

In any case, I am blogging this morning to provide myself a way to organize my thoughts about Daddy and I’s D/s lifestyle…or lack there of.  We have failed miserably during this time of high stress to maintain any resemblance to the lifestyle which usually brings us much joy and peace.  You may have noted that I bolded the word “We” as this is very much a failing on both of our parts.  While I recognize that the burden of maintaining D/s lies on both of our shoulders, I feel that the failing in more mine than his, however.

In times of high stress, I become a bit like a commander.  At the time, I feel like my leadership skills are helping.  I work quickly, and efficiently, and I have little tolerance for anything that I perceive to be hindering the process.  This is not helpful to my husband.  His personality is very different and he does not respond well to this Napoleon-like leadership style (really can’t blame the guy!).  Combine the high stress situation, with his wife going all Mussolini, and he begins to deteriorate a bit.  His confidence drops, he starts making mistakes, and meanwhile…I am right there telling him everything he is doing wrong.

It pains me to write this.  I look back on my own behavior and I cringe.  I hate this part of myself.  I want to be the loving, supportive spouse that builds my husband up…instead, I am the one who tears him down during stressful times.  And obviously, this does not work well for him or our dynamic.

So…where to go from here?  I do not feel that I can ask anything of him at this moment.  I feel that the burden is on my shoulders to prove to him that I can change.  I tell him that I want him to be more dominant, but I do nothing to feed that dominance…instead, I challenge him at every turn.

To Daddy…. I am truly sorry.  Your baby girl is trying to get back on track.  I long to learn to submit to you better, to build you up, and to follow where you will lead.  I don’t know why it is so hard for me, but it is a gift that I desire to give to you.

To my readers…thank you for sticking with me!  This road to submissiveness is long and winding, at least for this girl.  I hope to be able share some naughty adventures or at least a good spanking story soon!

Happy blogging 😊

XOXO,

nora

 

Posted in Fiction

A Spanking Story- The Mentor pt 3 #NSFW, 18+

Hello my WordPress friends!  I present to you the final segment of The Mentor, written by my dear friend, Implacable.  And to you, Selina, I hope you enjoy reading! 🙂

The Mentor

Part 3

Written by: Implacable

I quailed somewhat at the thought of a caning.  Silly girl!  What did I think he told me to buy a cane for?  So he could look at it?  No, I’d known this was coming all along, but somehow I had managed to hide the fact conveniently from myself.  Another early lesson – there will be hidings a-plenty, but no hiding of the truth from myself, and I’d better learn that lesson well.

Almost as if he could read my mind, Sir continued, “You will come to understand that once you have learned to accept the reality of your own life, you will be far better able to see through the delusions and deceptions of others.

“The cane like all of the other devices I shall use on you hurts.  It hurts a great deal.  But, aside from the, often considerable, sexual pleasure that is afforded to the recipient, pain will force you to recognise your true self, your strengths and weaknesses as a person.  If for no other reason than this, your journey with me (well as your body) will be marked by frequent spankings.

“Now come; please bend over the desk and learn the feel of the cane against your buttocks.  You will take two dozen strokes.  That may seem a lot to you, and I dare say for the first few times, it will seem impossible to take.  But take them you will.  I have a rule that two dozen is the minimum for a grown woman.  Any less would be an insult.  I regard the traditional six of the best as suitable only for a young adult up to 21.  A woman up to 25 should have at least a dozen.”

He motioned to his wife, “Chloe, please untie Natalie’s hands.  I think it best that you hold her from the other side of the desk.  The first caning can be difficult to bear.”

I forbore to speak.  The thought of two dozen strokes from that mean looking rod thrilled me with fear.  Why wasn’t I running away from this?  Why had I made up my mind to meekly bend over the desk?  I cannot say.  Chloe untied my wrists and I rubbed them ruefully for a while before taking up my position across Sir’s desk.  Chloe grasped my wrists and I held on tightly to hers.  Panic stricken, I looked into the eyes of this naked woman, at her stripes, at the semen that had dried on her thighs.  I was about to be thrashed, but I couldn’t help thinking how erotic and beautiful she looked – the stains on her thighs were an unambiguous declaration that here was a woman who had been wantonly fucked.  The criss-cross welts added to her beauty, for she was not only well fucked, but well owned and spanked, a woman who consented to all and received all.

“Courage, honey” she murmured with compassion.  “It hurts like crazy, but it is wonderful to submit.  You’ll find out in time.”  She bent and kissed me with a long lingering kiss.  I’ve had the odd fling with girl-friends of mine so kissing a girl isn’t exactly new to me, but that kiss was so full of meaning, of passion, of promise of things to come that I nearly swooned.  Chloe was obviously going to be a very, very close friend!

And then Sir struck.  That first stroke was like nothing I had ever felt before.  It stung like hell.  I cannot describe adequately in words what it felt like.  After the immediate impact, I had an extraordinary urge to rise and grab my wounded behind.  It was only Chloe’s hands holding mine that prevented me.  And then a second or two afterwards, the pain seemed to just explode.  I felt physically sick.  I panicked again.  My legs went berserk kicking out and I was screaming and yelling.  Not a dignified acceptance I have to admit.

I was already sobbing.  If I’d had the presence of mind, I would have called the whole thing off there and then.  I was very sure I did not want another 23 of those thank you very much!

Sir waited until I’d calmed myself.  “Brace yourself Natalie.  You will find that after the first few strokes you will be able to gain a sort of rhythm and absorb the pain better.”

Just as the sting started to subside, the second one came whooshing in.  I had visions of hell.  I bucked and kicked and screamed again.  Thank God for Chloe is all I can say.  She looked at me calmly – I could see through my tears, just.

“Hold on and ride the pain.  You’ll find that you CAN bear it, even though it feels like you’ve sat on a bee’s nest.”

She was right about the bee’s nest.  And they were bloody angry about it too.

I won’t bore you with the details of all 24 strokes.  I recall strange thoughts after about half a dozen strokes of bombers lining up overhead to land napalm on my arse.  The fire just went on and on.  Sir ignored my screams and cries for mercy.  He thrashed me, the way he has always spanked me since that day, very, very hard.  If I love the cane now, it is a love acquired over time.  I did not love it that day, though I’m sure I already loved the man who wielded it.  I withstood the onslaught only through the aid of Chloe and her iron grip on my wrists.  For I had totally lost all control after only a few of my stripes had been delivered.  I swear, through the mayhem and turmoil of my twisting and turning and screaming, I felt each welt rise on my behind.

It did end.  Fortunately, for me, Sir made allowances for my disgraceful behaviour under punishment.  However, before the next act, I was given a rather stern warning that future ill-discipline would result in additional strokes.  It was a lesson that I learned over the next few months through much pain that I could have avoided, but it was a lesson well learned.

This time, instead of sending me to the corner, Sir had me kneel on the floor and pay homage to his manhood.  He opened his dressing gown sufficiently wide to free his penis for my attention.  He had obviously enjoyed caning me because his cock was standing as proudly erect as any I’ve ever seen.

Weeping and snivelling, you’d think that the last thing I’d want to do would be to suck the bastard’s cock.  But we women are strange creatures;  at least I am, and it seemed so natural to pleasure my Lord after he had demonstrated his mastery over me in such a fashion.  And so from one rod to another, I took his glorious, impudent cock between my lips and tried my best to please him.

I believe I did a reasonable job;  though one of the many sexual skills I have learned since being with Sir is how to properly fellate a man.  We live and learn.  Sir knows these things and he also knows that practice makes perfect;  believe me, I’ve had to do a lot of practicing!  Not least of my problems was that I couldn’t breath through my nose what with all the histamines kicking in with the spanking and so I had to breath ‘round his thick cock.  Sir has a right tonsil tickler so it wasn’t easy.  Sir says that being sucked off by a girl immediately after a thrashing is the best time because she is so soft and submissive and accepting, and having your cock bathed in tears is rather erotic – well I’m sure it is for him, I was just supplying the tears so I wouldn’t know.

I rubbed my bottom as I worked on Sir’s cock with my mouth.  The sting was searing, but just beginning to subside into that beautiful throbbing feeling that a girl soon learns to love.  In many ways, it’s the best part of a thrashing, the afterglow.  Depending on how severe the spanking and your experience, it will last days, if you’re lucky.  But back to the business of cock-sucking;  before I could decide whether I was going to swallow or not, Sir nullified the question – as if was ever my decision anyway!  He withdrew from my mouth (shame! I was just beginning to really enjoy the task, and I’m sure I would have swallowed everything after all!).

“Over my desk with you please Natalie.  It is time for me to take my pleasure in your bottom.”

So there it was at last.  I was to be buggered and now was the time to make up my mind whether I was going to stay or not.  Get real!!  I’d just had the thrashing of my life (at least up to that point) what girl was going to quit after that?  And anyway the idea of taking my mentor up my naughty hole was beginning to grow on me.

As further lubrication was not necessary, Sir dispensed with any preliminaries and thrust slowly but surely into my tight little hole.  I was about as aroused as I have ever been, I must admit.  I had expected my arousal to have forsaken me during my caning but no, I was wetter than ever and as Sir pumped into me, thrusting his thighs against my fresh welts, I realised the truth that all through the horrible experience, I’d not only stayed wet, but had become more so;  so that by the time I’d started gobbing my mentor’s manhood, I was up for anything whatsoever.

The feel of him thrusting into my bottom filled me with pleasure.  Each time his thighs rubbed against my sore bottom, fresh fires erupted in my weals.  But these were fires of pleasure;  already I was starting to understand why a woman would give herself over to a man like this.  To be spanked and buggered – once I thought that was the epitome of sexual abuse and an abomination to womanhood;  now I understood that it was a most intimate pleasure to be shared between two loving adults.  How quickly our sacred cows can be turned into a delicious steak dinner!

I have to give it to Sir, orgasm number four hove into view and assailed me as he pumped my behind full of his precious seed.  I may not have valued it in those terms then, but now it is the highest accolade my master (for he is clearly now both master and mentor) can give me and for that, I will do anything – and I mean anything.

A period in the corner while Sir gently instructed me on how I would become a woman of power, how the more I submitted myself to him I would come to know my true self.  All the while his semen trickled stickily out of my anus and down my legs to catch at my stocking tops.  I worried that I would leave stains on the floor, but it seemed to congeal quickly on my thighs and stay there (in the same way it had on Chloe’s).  And if the meaning of his message sometimes drifted out of my grasp as my mind wondered through the new gardens of fulfilment that I had discovered that evening, the sound of his voice, deep and masculine, was pure delight to listen to.  It seemed to perfectly compliment the throbbing of my bottom, the drying tears and semen that adorned my body, the new horizons that had been opened for me this night.  Had I been alone with all of this it would have been overwhelming, but having that steady, commanding voice caressing my senses, that firm strong will guiding me, I was safe, I could not fall over the yawning precipice;  and so I could enjoy the pleasures of new experience.

 

[My cunt, perineum and anus have all gone numb.  That horrible sort of numb that stills hurts but it’s sort of bearable, except you can’t bear it;  except of course you can, and somehow it is a pain that does rather strange yummy things inside your body and your mind!  I just know I won’t be able to walk tomorrow!]

 

Pleasant thoughts in the corner were banished.

“I think she’s gone to sleep!” came Sir’s incredulous voice.

“Young lady!”  Slap.  A sharp pain in my bottom brought me back to the land of the living.

Slap, slap, slap.  “I don’t think you’ve listened to a word I’ve said!”  Slap, smack, smack.

I owwwed and ahhhed sufficiently to convince Sir that he now had my attention.

“I think it’s time you understood what your hairbrush is for.  Bend over Chloe’s lap and she will administer the brush until I think you’ve had sufficient.”

Chloe went to sit down in the chair the I had previously wet.  It was still wet – how embarrassing!  Worse, she bent down to sniff at the stain.  She licked the wet material, rose and smiled at me.  “Delicious.” she said, smiling at me.  “I hope Sir will let me drink at the source soon.”  And with a twinkle in her eye, she sat on the chair and patted her stockinged knees.

An assenting growl from Sir, “All in good time my lady.  Let’s just attend to our novice’s sit-upon for the moment.”

I did as I was told and bent over Chloe’s thighs.  The thought of her lapping at my sex was rather exciting, but for now I was about to get another spanking.  Strange how I wasn’t frightened or worried.  Looking back it is amazing how quickly I assimilated my new situation and adapted my thinking to accept pain as not just a necessary part of my status as mentee, but as something to be taken for granted.

I love the hairbrush these days.  It is a very intimate instrument to be spanked with.  It is small and easy to hold and can be accurately applied.  In contrast the cane takes a lot more practice to wield successfully and it takes a real artist to apply it to the more sensitive parts of a woman without the real risk of causing injury.  Believe me.  I speak from experience both as a receiver and deliverer!

The hairbrush is particularly effective on cane stripes, as I found out as Chloe brought it down on mine.  Having been caned only a short while before, my fresh weals stood proudly on my back-side.  They were still throbbing, so the stimulus of the application of the hairbrush caused the most exquisite stinging pain.  I’m sorry to have to report that I howled from the first smack and squirmed on Chloe’s thighs like a hooked fish.

For the benefit of the purists, who just have to have the details, I don’t think anybody counted strokes – I certainly didn’t!  I can report that after about four strokes I put my hands back to protect my bottom.  Apparently that wasn’t well received.  Sir came around to Chloe’s side and pinned my arms to my back.  Chloe gave me a very hard half dozen on the backs of my thighs.  And she threatened to smack the insides next time I tried.  Suffice to say I struggled hard to discipline myself to keep my hands on the floor to avoid that fate.

… I failed.

I was made to lie with my back on the desk.  Sir straddled my chest and held my legs back over my head and well spread.  At his command, I grasped his thighs with both hands.  In that position my inner thighs and sex were totally at Chloe’s disposal.

The bitch walloped me.  And by God she enjoyed it.  Please excuse my language, but it fucking hurts to be spanked on the insides of your thighs, especially close to the pussy.  It is excruciating; and in a horrible way, it’s also wonderful.  Sorry, I can’t explain it.  These days, I love to be forced to open my legs voluntarily (I’m sure you know what I mean) for a whipping on my inner thighs and sex.  But there is no way I could have held my legs open by myself for Chloe that night.  Oh, and by the way, she frigged my pussy and bum-hole.  That was nice.  Sorry I called you a bitch Chloe, it was very nice.  And then the bitch thrashed me again!  I can still recall the flames in my thighs as she worked me up and down, and particularly down.  Our Chloe knows how to hurt a girl (I guess she’s been on the receiving end often enough, she should know), and she surely hurt me.  But then the fingers again.  Lovely fingers has Chloe.  And when it was over, Sir gave her permission, and she licked it all better, my thighs, oh my hot, hot thighs and then my pussy.  Another orgasm.  A very bright, burning, brittle one.  And then my bottom (the bitch licked all Sir’s cream away didn’t she).  I love Chloe’s tongue in my bottom – it is the ultimate in sexy I promise you – you should try it (bet you wish you could).

To say I wept the whole way through is not quite the full story (not forgetting the snot again – God it’s like someone had installed a bloody tap on my nose and as soon as I get hit, it gets turned on.  And of course, there is the lake at the other end, between those very thighs that are copping the mother of all wallopings!)  The full story is that I’d been crying as soon as I went over Chloe’s lap for the dance of the whirling hairbrush.  So it was more of a continuation of that strange but wonderful combination of agony and ecstasy that is the lot of the submissive.  And if you’ve never had an orgasm while balling your eyes out, you’ve missed something extraordinary I promise you.

Intermission over, Chloe resumed her seat and I was restored to Chloe’s lap.  Oh, no surely not more?  Yes my girlie, more.  Hard, hard smacks with the hairbrush over those sore welts again.  More screams and tears and pleas for mercy, begging for it to stop.  It doesn’t.  My cries ignored by people much more experienced than I.  People who love and care for me, more than I’ve been loved and cared for by anyone before in my life – but I didn’t know that then.  I do now.

I managed to keep my hands away from my bottom though I was sorely tempted.  But my inner thighs were more than sore enough to remind me of the consequences so I bucked and struggled but kept my hands away from my bottom – just.  Instead, I fell off Chloe’s lap three times and that earned me a dose of the tawse.  They were kind to me, I only got three strokes for each time I fell off … on each hand.  And another dozen of the cane on my thighs for pulling my hand away and being silly and crying and refusing to put my hands out and stuff.  Well it was getting late into the evening and I’d had rather a tough introduction, and … and … the tawse really hurts across your fingers and I’d had enough, so I didn’t want that last caning.  I really didn’t.  But fuck it, I wasn’t giving up after all I’d been through that night so I bent over and took it, cursing under my breath all the way.  Chloe held me down and whispered sweet words in my ear as I took those last dozen.

Sweet words like, “I can’t wait to cane you Natalie.”

Swish.  Thwack.  Scream.

“I’ve got just the right whip for your pussy, dear Natalie.”

Swish.  Thwack.  Scream.

“Don’t worry, I know just how to make it feel like you’ll never walk again.”  Such a comforting soul she is.

Swish.  Thwack.  Scream.

“Oh, that one really hurt didn’t it love.  I love to hit a girl there, right in the sulcus.  Gets her right up on her toes doesn’t it!”  And then turning to Sir, “She really enjoyed that one Sir, and requests that you put all the rest there.”  The bitch.  The rotten bitch!

I won’t bore you with the details, but I received my full complement of  Swish.  Thwack.  Scream.  But I must report that I received lots of cuddles and kisses afterwards.  I distinctly remember that the wet spot on the chair was rather larger than before and when Chloe saw me looking at it she caught my eye and winked at me.  Well, at least I wasn’t alone in disgracing myself!

I went home that evening a very, very sore woman.  As promised, Sir lent me a copy of the “Story Of O” by Pauline Réage.  It was my homework for the week to read and absorb the book.  I would be questioned on it on my visit next Friday evening.  Sir expected me to be able to discuss the concepts and premise of the book in detail, with intelligence.  I felt very much the school girl as I left that evening;  albeit a well thrashed one!  I have to confess that, if I was still weeping and snivelling as I was kissed goodnight, I was feeling rather happy and fulfilled inside.  After all, it wasn’t such an unpleasant thing to be a schoolgirl again.

I can’t remember driving home, though I must have because when I woke up the next morning, I was at home and my car was there, but it was all a blur.  I do vaguely remember that holding the steering wheel with my tortured hands was a torture in itself.  And sitting wasn’t comfortable.  Definitely not comfortable.

I didn’t do much for that weekend.  I remember Chloe came to see me on Saturday morning.  I hobbled to the door, barely able to stand, let alone walk.  The pain in my thighs and bottom was extraordinary.  Since then, of course, my muscles have all attuned themselves to the requirements of a spanked woman, but on that first “morning after”, I hurt like hell.  Chloe knew exactly what the score was and put me straight back to bed and massaged my aching muscles and put some sort of magic cream of her own recipe on my welts and bruises that did wonders to easy the soreness.  I now have several large jars of the stuff on hand at home (and at the office).

And when she had finished that, she used her own body to nurse me better.  As she stripped off her clothes I was sure there were more marks than I’d seen last night.  She laughed at me and said “Silly, Sir had our maid Beatrice whip me this morning just before I left home.  It’s part of her training as well as mine.”

I gasped.  Whipped by her own maid!  How on earth could she consent to that?  I was to learn that a woman will consent to literally anything given the right circumstances, but I was still a novice then.

Chloe gave me note.  It was from my mentor.

“Natalie,

I am very pleased with your progress.  Your behaviour and level of obedience last night were encouraging, given that it was your first night.

As a reward, I have asked Chloe to put herself at your disposal.  She has consented.  There is nothing that you may not ask of her except that you may not permanently harm her.

Consider this as a further part of your training.

Please return her to me on Sunday morning.

Yours in love and discipline,

Rupert”

There was much loving that Saturday.  And I learnt some of the ways of cruelty and the infliction of pain.  Chloe, in her own way was just as apt a teacher as my mentor.

But that is all for another day.

 

[Finally!  I’m not sure I can actually get off this fucking thing.  It feels like it’s welded to my cunt and arse.  Oh shit, I’m really going to be for it when Sir reads this!!!  Well here goes.  Oh God, I don’t think my legs work anymore.]

THE END

And to Implacable….thank you for sharing your works with us, Sir.  I am grateful for your friendship 🙂

XOXO,

nora

 

Posted in Fiction

A Spanking Story- The Mentor, pt.2 #NSFW, 18+

Hello my WordPress friends!  If you missed it, part 1 to this tantalizing D/s tale can be found here.

Enjoy! 🙂

Love, nora

P.S. In case you missed it, The Mentor, was written by my friend, Implacable

The Mentor

Part Two

Written by Implacable

I haven’t mentioned the woman standing in the far corner.  There she was, naked down to her stockings, sobbing and sniffing.  Her hands were by her sides and her nose was pressed into the corner.  She tottered on high heels – certainly higher than the ones I was wearing.  Her bottom and the backs of her thighs were a brilliant red, on which canvas, was painted numerous welts.  I was gasping and stammering.  Semen seeped from the woman’s behind and trickled down her thighs to pool at her stocking tops before spilling over and tracking a little way down the nylon.  I remember the scene clearly to this day along with the curious thought that I hoped the semen wouldn’t spill onto the carpet and ruin it.  It was one of the most erotic sights that I have ever seen, and one of the most disturbing at the time.  Had I been wearing knickers, I think they would have become instantly soaked;  I know that my thighs became instantly silky slick, a familiar sign that I was well aroused.

“May I introduce my wife, Chloe.  Chloe, please turn around and meet Natalie Lindall.”

Chloe turned around and my senses were again greeted with a new assault.  The front of Chloe’s belly and thighs had also been whipped;  surely that wasn’t semen seeping from her sex as well?

It was clear that she felt ashamed to greet me in such a fashion.  How could any woman feel otherwise?  Here I was, a stranger in her home, and she was stripped of all pretence, with clear evidence of both having been disciplined and sex.  That sort of honesty takes rather a lot of getting used to.

“Chloe, please return to the corner.”  The stern command was issued once a brief greeting had been forth-coming from Chloe.  “Natalie, would you please take a seat.”

Rupert seated himself on the other side of the desk.  He radiated an intense aura of power that I had never before experienced.  It is something I feel still today, but it is never as intense as when he is in his study – as though that room is his true home.

“I’m sure you were shocked by the instructions I gave you today, even more so by what you have just witnessed.  It is not an accident that I asked you to come at this time.”  He stopped his monologue – obviously part of a prepared oration.  “By the way, would you please raise your skirt at the back.  Whenever you are seated in this room, I require your naked buttocks to touch the chair.  I am a very great admirer of “The Story Of O”, and I like to effect some of the rituals from that book.  Are you familiar with it?”

“No.”  I responded as I raised my skirt at the back and let my naked bottom sit on the deep blue damask upholstery that matched the rest of the room.  It was a deliciously sensual feeling.  How naughty, how nice!  I fervently hoped that my sopping sex wouldn’t leave a wet patch on the chair.

“I will give you a copy to read when you leave this evening.  I would value your critique of it on your next visit.”

“Thank you, er … Rupert?”  Suddenly I realised that I didn’t know how to address this man.  A week or two ago, I would have been on the phone to the social workers to report him for spousal-abuse.  Now, confronted by a seemingly open and shut case, I realised life was much more complex than I had imagined in my black and white, easy solution thinking.  And how would I explain that I myself had just bought, of my own free will, implements for my own spanking?  It was starting to dawn on me that this man did indeed have a lot to teach me.

He sensed my confusion.  “I think you should call me Sir from now on.  It will serve to delineate our relationship as master and pupil.  I have agreed to be your teacher, but a mentor is much more.  I am now your life guide.  You have made an astute decision to put yourself into my hands.  I will broaden your mind, increase your mental and physical capacities, and free you from the many restrictions with which society has ensnared you.  At the very least, you will come to understand your real self and that is a most valuable gift that I shall give to you.”  He said all this with a gentle, almost loving voice that caressed my senses.  I realised that I adored to hear this man speak.

“As your mentor, I will earn your respect.”  I made to interrupt him with protestations that I already respected him.  “I don’t mean the professional respect that we undoubtedly hold for each other already.  No, I mean the respect that will arise between us as we get to understand each other’s deepest strengths and weaknesses, as people, not as colleagues.

“As I was saying, I asked you to arrival at this time so that you could see the results of Chloe’s lesson.  Chloe has been spanked, but she has not been punished.  Every Friday evening, Chloe comes to my study to further her learning and mine.  She gives herself to me freely – is that not so my love?”  He turned to his wife who still had her pretty nose stuck in the corner.

“Yes, master.”  was the muffled reply.  No more, no less.

“Chloe has given herself to me totally.  She is my wife, but she is much more than a wife.  When I say given, I mean it in the absolute sense.  There is no aspect of her life that is not ordered by me.  I ordain her every action, the way she dresses, what she eats, to whom she talks, where she goes, when she bathes, even when she performs her bodily functions.  I mould her very thoughts.  Her gift of her life is precious to me.  Probably more precious than my own life.  She may withdraw her gift at any time.  I am blessed that she chooses to continually renew her gift each morning.”

Gob-smacked, I remain silent and enthralled.

“If I have sex with you, I will not ask Chloe’s permission.  If I require her to have sex with you, or to discipline you, I will express my requirements and they shall be carried out.  At least from Chloe’s end.”  He chuckled as my mouth gaped open at his assumption that I would consent to having sex with anyone.  But he soon put my thinking right on that score.  “In a very short time, I will not need to seek your consent either.” he said, his amusement at my confusion and shock most evident.  “As my pupil, I will expect complete and utter obedience.”

I continued my fish impersonations.  I couldn’t seem to find any coherent words.  I guess it must have been my day for it.

“Come, it is time to show me your purchases.”

I lifted the hold-all onto the desk and extracted each of the implements I had acquired that afternoon.  Sir examined each one and laid them neatly on the desk.

“These will do nicely.”  he noted.  “Your choice of cane is appropriate for a novice.  Over the next few months, you acquire a number of canes of varying dimensions, plus of course, a range of other implements.  While I favour the cane, I do rather like to mix things up.”  He turned to his wife.  How could she keep so still and composed while her husband entertained another woman like this?  I was to learn, in time, precisely the sort of self-discipline required.

“Chloe.  Would you please take these implements and mark them with Natalie’s name.”  Chloe, immediately left her position and came to the table and collected the implements I was soon to become so intimate with.  I caught her eye.  I don’t think I had ever seen a woman so alive, so sexual, so full of ‘joie de vivre’ than Chloe.  Her make-up had run with her tears, but this merely served to increase the eroticism of her whole demeanour.  The intuition flashed through my mind that if being thrashed could make this woman so obviously happy then perhaps it might do the same thing for me.

As Chloe left the room, Sir continued.  “As this is your first lesson, I am going to be very, very lenient with you.  You may not think so at the time, but you will look back on this evening and wonder why you ever made such a fuss.  And make a fuss you will, I promise you.”

“But …?”  My voice trailed off.  Why should I be spanked at all?  What had I done to deserve it?

Again sensing my confusion, Sir continued, “You have not done anything to deserve punishment.  I do not intend to punish you.  Believe me, you will know it when I do.  No, tonight, I intend merely to start your training.  As I told you when you agreed to my methods, your training includes, among other things, the physical application of pain.  Believe me, it is a very effective technique for instilling the attributes that I seek to build in you.  Attributes such as self-discipline, self-confidence and inner strength.

“Did you not sense those attributes in Chloe?  If I may be allowed the conceit, it is due to my methods that I have been able to instil those in my wife and I shall surely do so for you.

“Your early lessons will focus on obedience and trust.  Until you have learned to trust me, you will always struggle with obedience.  You have started along the path already, for you have trusted me enough to present yourself here tonight, knowing that I have demanded certain demonstrations of your obedience already.

“I am now going to bind your hands behind your back.  There is no real need to secure you, your spanking will not be that hard to bear, but the act of submitting to being bound will require trust and learning to trust me and those to whom I give you is one of your first lessons.

“But come, first, take off your pretty dress.  I trust that you have complied with the remainder of my instructions.”

“Ah, yes.  I was rather meaning to discuss those with you Sir.  I … I’m not sure I want to have anal sex, especially unprotected.”  There.  I’d said it.  Said it with quite a quaver in my voice that betrayed my inner turmoil, but I had said it;  this nonsense had gone far enough!  It was time to put my foot down and set some decent boundaries.

“You are dismissed.”

No discussion or persuasion.  Just dismissed!  Not fair;  how is a girl supposed to deal with that.  So of course I immediately threw all my principles to the wind and started begging.  “No!  Please Sir, I’m sorry, it’s just so much to ask without easing me into.  Please have pity on me.  Please, just one more chance Sir! I beg you.”

“My dear Natalie … I will give you this one chance.  Understand this well.  You may always refuse my requests, orders if you like, but if you do so, you are choosing to end our arrangement.  You may scream and howl, beg for mercy or whatever, but you may never refuse that which I choose to do to you, or require you to do yourself.  Is that perfectly clear?  I will not relent a second time.”

Oh the sternness of his tone.  The perfect commanding voice.  I melted completelyto his will.  I cannot understand to this day why I felt such panic at the thought of being cast aside, but it was a feeling of pure terror, terror and intense gratitude that he was willing to make an exception for me.  He wouldn’t ever need to again.  I resolved that in my mind straight away.

I must have fallen to my knees in front of his desk, so abject was my terror.  I was in a flood of tears.  He stood up and came around the desk to gently pick me up.  He cradled me in his arms until I regained control of myself.

“I know it’s a shock.  But this is for real;  it is no game.  You must be sure that you understand what it is that you are committing yourself to.  Do you understand what I have just said to you?”

I couldn’t speak.  I nodded.

“No.  You must acknowledge me directly.  I am requiring you to submit yourself totally to me, now.  There is no limit to pain I will inflict on you, nor the degradation and depravity that I will require of you.  But in return, I promise that I will reveal the true Natalie Lindall.  Now tell me, do you accept?”

A small mouse voice piped up “Yes Sir, I understand, and I accept.”  Now where it came from I couldn’t tell you.  But I meant it all the same.  I can honestly say it was the best decision of my life.

“Now remove your dress and bend over the desk.  I wish to examine your conformance with my instructions.”

With a rather ruddy face I meekly complied.  I pulled off my dress folded it and put it on the chair.  Christ!  There was a dark patch on the seat – oh the shame of it.  I looked Sir in the eye and saw that he too had noticed it.

It is a jolly hard thing for a girl to strip off and expose herself to a relative stranger in such circumstances.  Even more so when it is obvious he wants to look at your anus!  Still, what did I expect, given the instructions I’d been given earlier?  I tried hard not to cover my breasts or my sex, though the exposure was a trial.  He made no pretence of averting his gaze.  Instead he devoured me.  I quickly bent over the desk – the lesser of two evils?  Funny how nowadays, I cannot get enough of his admiration for my body;  I would pose in the most lewd of positions just for his pleasure and adore the attention.

Sir stroked my back and thighs before tying my hands.  The tie was not overly tight and the rope was a soft silky material, but it felt so intimidating to have the freedom of my hands suddenly taken from me.  Intimidating and strangely, after my initial panic, soothing.  My bondage, no matter that it was of the lightest variety, absolved me from responsibility for all that was subsequently to happen.  It was the beginning of another love affair, my infatuation with restraint.  Since then, I have come to understand how much more powerful is the conscious self-discipline of offering oneself up without restraint, but that was a lesson for the future.  This lesson was about trust.  And boy was I ever trusting this man that night!

Once my hands were tied it was inevitable that the next item on the agenda would be the parting of my buttocks.  I struggled with myself not to tense my muscles;  a smart slap on the bum and a growled admonition served to let me know that I wasn’t succeeding very well.  A pair of strong hands overcame my resistance and parted my cheeks.  A finger intruded where it shouldn’t.  It slipped in insultingly easily!  “I’m glad you have seen fit to obey me in your preparations.  I will now demonstrate to you why it is important for you that you did.”

Sir leant over me and his index finger was thrust towards my mouth.  “Suck my finger please.”

I did so.  It tasted a little savoury.  Not particularly unpleasant, just savoury.  And then I realised it tasted of my behind and the olive oil that I had used as a lubricant.  Extra virgin of course (who am I kidding?).  I now understood why cleanliness was important.

Sir reinforced the lesson.  “I take pleasure with women in many ways.  I will certainly indulge myself in all three of your major orifices, and often.  However, my first pleasure is sodomy and I will require that your behind is ALWAYS available to me.  I will forego your sex during your menstrual period, but I will not forego your behind at any time.  It is therefore in your interest to always be well lubricated and clean.  I enforce cleanliness through a simple technique.  Anything that is introduced into your anus, whether it be a finger, a tongue, a penis or an artificial implement like a vibrator, will afterwards visit your mouth to be cleaned.  I suspect you will find my method is salutary to ensure your bottom is always clean for me.”

“Yes Sir.”  I mumbled.  Oh God, how bad was this going to be.  I can’t believe I didn’t do a runner there and then.  But then I’ve always been a sucker for trying things before rejecting them – this time literally!  He was right about one thing though, his method sure was effective.  My arse was going to be the cleanest in Christendom if I had anything to do with it.

At his command, I spread my legs wide.  A rather pleasant investigation of my pussy ensued.  Clearly Sir was pleased with me because he frigged me until I came.  I was just making those ridiculous cooing and aahing noises that a girl does when she no longer cares who is listening, when Chloe returned.  I orgasmed just as she put the cane down in front of my nose.  Talk about timing!

It has taken me a long time to understand that Chloe is genuinely not jealous of her husband’s activities with other women.  I have to admit that orgasming in front of her that first time sent some decidedly mixed feelings running through my veins – not that I really cared at the time.  That’s the nice thing about an orgasm – you really don’t give a fuck about anything else at that moment.  [I really am going to catch it aren’t I!]

[… Another coffee break.  I’m sure my pussy is bleeding, it has to be it hurts so much.  No, no blood.  Oh well back to painland.  It sure is helping my concentration though, I have to admit that.  Thank you Sir … so bloody much, you bastard.]

As I recovered my senses, I found Sir speaking to me again, “I am now going to put you over my knee and spank you.  You will find that I always start a session this way.  It warms your bottom and allows a much more rigorous thrashing later without the concern that I will draw blood too early.  If I want to draw blood I will, believe me, but that is reserved for special occasions such as genuine punishments, not simple lessons.”

As a lamb to the slaughter, I flopped somewhat ungracefully across Sir’s lap.  With my arms tied behind my back, there was just no way I was going to do it any other way.  I don’t think I‘d ever done this before as an adult (so many firsts tonight, my head was just in a whirl).

And so I was spanked.  A hard heavy hand smacked at my cheeks.  I learned a few more things rather quickly:

  • Even if it looks like it can’t really hurt much it does;
  • It hurts a lot less if you are spanked on alternate cheeks as the sting dissipates quite quickly. On the other hand, a dozen smacks on the same cheek in a row will have most girls smarting very nicely thank you;
  • With your hands tied behind your back, excessive wriggling trying to avoid the smacks will soon have you hitting the floor pretty hard. I did it a few times and that led to further discoveries;
  • Falling off Sir’s lap (the bastard wouldn’t hold me on very tightly, though he could have) means having to go across his lap again and receiving lots of smacks on my thighs. And then opening my legs wide so he can smack my inner thighs;
  • Smacks on your thighs hurt a lot;
  • Smacks on your inner thighs hurt lots more;
  • I really hope he doesn’t decide to smack my pussy. I’m convinced that it would hurt most of all.  (I’ve subsequently had the chance to gather empirical evidence supporting my hypothesis and I’m right.)  Anyway he’d get a wet hand because;
  • Being spanked is a hell of a turn on at the same that it really hurts!

I couldn’t tell you how long I was spanked for.  It seemed like a bloody long time, but I suspect it was probably for five or ten minutes at the most.  I cried.  I think I started crying fairly early in the proceedings and I howled and sniffled and sobbed and wept from there on in.  And I had the most wonderful orgasm too.  I probably ought to mention that, to be fair.  In fact I had two.  The second one was a lazy, long building one and sort of peaked just as Sir was finishing me off.  I hung limply across his lap after that and just absorbed the few remaining smacks.  I was sort of in heaven.  I can’t remember ever having three orgasms in one night, certainly not so quickly together – perhaps this bottom smacking thing wasn’t so bad after all!

Oh, and I learned that your nose dribbles like anything when you’re howling away and you are swallowing tears and snot and who knows what and you don’t really care because that is rather unimportant at the time.  I’ve probably swallowed rather a lot of snot since then.  Not something a girl really likes to admit.  I promise you, all dignity goes straight out the door when you are being spanked.  Not pretty, but the truth will out.  At least not pretty for the girl swallowing it, but having since had the pleasure of watching a number of other women being spanked it is a very, very erotic sight for the on-lookers to watch a pretty girl in such dire straights that her eyes are pouring out tears and her nose is running.

It was my turn to stand in the corner this time.  It felt like I was standing there for hours, but it was probably only ten minutes.  I was tutored by Chloe, hands would have been at my sides, except that they were still bound behind my back, nose (still running) right up against the corner.  Chloe informed me that the more traditional hands on head wouldn’t really work as it made it almost impossible to get the nose into the corner.  I didn’t laugh, but I’m sure I smiled just a little bit into my corner.

It’s an amazing thing standing there staring at the wall.  Actually, I usually shut my eyes otherwise I’d go cross-eyed.  It’s like being in your own little world.  You can hear what’s going on behind you, and you are usually, at least initially, trying to cope with an atrociously stinging something or other.  If you’ve just had your tits whipped then the cool of the wall can help a bit.  I’m an easy crier – it has taken a very long career of thrashings for me to remain dry eyed for long.  And I still cry far more often than other girls I’ve since met in similar situations.  In contrast, Chloe cries relatively little.  Anyway, once you’ve had a few minutes to stop wailing and weeping and the initial sting has gone out of whatever body parts were in the firing line, you get to just stand there in quiet contemplation.  I find it amazing, but your mind soon drifts to things other than the violence just visited upon your body, or the violence still to come as is so often the case.  It can bring the most amazing peace at a time when you would expect your mind to be in utter turmoil.

[Speaking of corners, I’ve just about had all I can take of this fucking piece of wood.  Whoever invented this idea must have had a strong chance at getting the chief torturer’s job in hell is all I can say.]

I was spared the martinet that night.  Sir said it was quite useful for reddening my bottom, but that he more often preferred to use it on other parts of a woman’s body, particularly the more sensitive portions such as her breasts or sex.  As this was my first session, he was restricting my tribulations to my bottom.  I remember thanking all the gods that might possibly exist for that little (little?) favour.

“However,” he continued, “I will cane you, and just before you leave here tonight, I will acquaint you with the pleasures of the hairbrush.

To be continued….

Posted in Fiction, Uncategorized

A Spanking Story- The Mentor #NSFW, 18+

Hello, my WordPress friends!

I would like to introduce you to a good friend that I made here on WordPress.  While he isn’t a blogger (as of yet), he reads many of our blogs and goes by the screen name, Implacable.  Implacable is not only dominant to his sweet wife of many years, he is an incredible author of my favorite genre (duh, spanking)!  He has graciously allowed me to share one of his stories with my audience, so without further ado, I present to you… The Mentor…..happy reading! 🙂

The Mentor

A Short Story By Implacable

Well this story might start off a little slow, but bear with me.  I think it might be worth your patience.  But be warned, there isn’t a smacked bottom for a page or two!  It might take me a while to write this story as it comes at a cost.  The chair in front of my computer has a triangular wooden bar on the seat.  It’s positioned front-to-back so that my legs fall either side of it and it bisects my sex and buttocks.  The point of the triangle is quite sharp and my buttocks barely touch the seat of the chair so that I am virtually suspended on the damn thing.  Thus when seated to write my story, I am effectively “riding the horse”.  As any woman will tell you who has experienced this little invention of the devil, it is excruciating.

Why do I sit on this horrid contraption?  I am required to do so by my mentor.  He has decided it would be useful in training my concentration.  Being so painful, it is much more difficult to concentrate, and therefore by achieving that state (of concentration), I am able to focus my mind so much better … so far for a few minutes at a time.  Then I squirm a bit, and fresh shards of pain course through me.  I have to admit, I have noticed at work that I can block out distractions far more easily than I used to, but the learning is hard won.  It is worse than usual this morning because Sir whipped my pussy and anus last night and I can hardly walk as it is!  It really, really hurts when Sir hits hard … and he always hits hard.  I look like a bloody duck waddling around, no dignity at all in that I assure you!  Still, enough moaning, on with my story.

People talk about the glass ceiling, and I’m sure its true in some cases that some women find themselves missing out on senior roles just because they are women.  Competing against the male clique can be hard sometimes.  I’ve never found it that way, but then, I’ve always had my mentor.  Let me tell you about this wonderful man, the “other man” in my life.

We first met when he hired me to a middle management job.  He was a senior executive at the time.  Almost from the moment we met at the interview there was something different, some special chemistry, between us.  I can remember so clearly … there were three people on the interview panel, but it was as though the other two didn’t exist.  My eyes had only been for him.  And I couldn’t tell you what it was that attracted me … not then at least, though I have a thousand reasons now.

Our relationship developed in ways both natural and somewhat unconventional.  We soon established a close working relationship.  I’m good at my job and so is he.  We naturally became easy in our working relationship, though it was always clear that he was the boss, the leader, the decision maker and I, the valued but supporting colleague.

[squirm.  Fuck this thing hurts! – Oh God, I hope he doesn’t read this because I’ll catch a real hiding and worse for swearing but it really fucking hurts!!]

I think it must have been 3 months after I’d joined the company that we had our first formal performance review.  At first it had started out as the normal difficult balancing act where he sought to praise my strengths, but to lay my short-comings before me without destroying my self-confidence.  He seemed to manage the situation with his usual aplomb, pointing out some fairly basic flaws, while leaving me feeling comfortable that I was doing very well in most departments.

After about half an hour’s discussion, the subject changed to where my career was heading.  In that discussion he suggested that I needed a mentor, someone who was senior in the company who could guide and direct me;  someone who could look out for opportunities and point out some of the pitfalls;  ideally someone who could help me correct my faults.  It must have taken me all of half a second to blurt out:

“Would you be my mentor, please Rupert?”

“If I agreed, I would need to be very hard on you.” He replied in a strangely steely voice.  A voice that threw a shiver through me.  “As I’ve just discussed with you, your main shortfall is that you need to learn to cultivate an inner strength.”

“I know you well enough to know that you will always be fair with me.  If I need to learn to be strong, then I would rather learn that from you, if you will take the trouble to teach me.”

I think I had already fallen in love with this man.  A sort of quiet unrequited love perhaps.  After all he was a married man, and happily for all I could tell.  I had no intentions of breaking that bond, you know, the women’s code and all that.

He agreed to take me on, but only on condition that I agreed to his methods.  It was then that I discovered a side of Rupert of which I hadn’t previously been aware, though perhaps I had always known that there was a stern inner core to him.  He hesitated momentarily as if weighing me up and then he told me how he believed in corporal punishment;  that if he became my mentor, I would have to learn many of my lessons through physical pain and that I would be punished severely for failure.

  1. Reality check here. I’m a well adjusted young career woman in my late 20s.  Sure still single, after all I’m bit choosy and certainly wanted more than the first unsophisticated grappling male that tried to race me to the altar as the best way to get an unpaid maid and live-in hooker.  Not that I keep my legs too tightly closed.  But as I say, I’m choosy, like any sensible girl would be these days.  I like my independence, up to a point.  So a guy that is offering to smack my bottom!  Well, I do rather like the guy, and after all, if it helps get me to the top, would it be all that bad?  Funny how I never thought to use his inclinations against him.  I was always on his side if you know what I mean.  It was only later that it occurred to me how much he must have trusted me to reveal that side of him.  I could so easily have ruined his career there and then, but after all, he was always a good judge of character, that’s one of his many strengths.

I found myself saying yes and the deal was done.

Our first session was to be after work, Friday week – he wanted me to have 10 full days to back out.  If I still wanted the gig, I was to tell him so on the Friday morning, and he would give me instructions.

Instructions?  Well what was I to know.  I’d asked the guy to be my mentor, and if that meant getting some instructions and the occasional smacked bottom so what.

I didn’t count the number of times during those 10 days that I’d decided that I really shouldn’t get involved in this.  After all there was a distinct undercurrent of sex in all of this, and I was an absolute stickler for the “no sex with the boss” rule.  But every time I thought about being under Rupert’s direct tuition, sex or no sex, I seemed to end up with damp knickers.  And the sex I had with my vibrator in bed over that 10 days was never better.

So of course I said yes on the Friday morning.  Yes, with a strange mixture of fear and excitement.  There was no doubt that he too took a jolt of pleasure from my decision.  He leaned over and kissed my brow.  I was delighted and yet dismayed.  After all, as he’d leant over the desk I’d puckered up hadn’t I – and what woman wants to have her kissing mouth all in position and then ignored.  But he had kissed me.  That was some sort of coup!

He opened his desk drawer and pulled out an envelope which he handed to me.  He told me not to open it until I got home, but that I could go home at lunch-time.  The instructions were inside and were complete.  He would see me at his place tonight.

My curiosity when I got back to my desk was insatiable.  But my resolve held.  I couldn’t work at all, I just kept thinking about that damned envelope.  At last lunch-time came and I bolted.  The drive home was mental cruelty in my opinion, but finally I got there.  I ripped the bloody envelope open in the garage … I sat in my car for 15 minutes after reading the contents.  I was in shock.

The instructions were detailed, and very explicit.  In short I was required:

  • to turn up at his home, at 8pm on the dot (address and directions clearly given)
  • wear a knee length dress … and no underwear!
  • high-heels and stockings (men! They obviously have never had to wear the bloody things.)

I had to buy a cane!  And a wooden backed hairbrush (if I didn’t have one – I didn’t, I had one of those plastic spidery things), a tawse, and a martinet.  I didn’t even know what the last two were.  I do now.  He kindly gave instructions on where to go to buy these.

If all of these weren’t enough the last thing on the list blew my mind.  I was required to have an enema and to lubricate my behind!!  Instructions to bathe and put on make up went without saying.  But preparations for anal sex were rather more than I had bargained for.  And what else could these instructions be for?  I’d signed on for a smacked bottom, not buggery!

I didn’t give up there and then, I’m rather glad to say.  But it was an awfully close run thing.  I’m a liberated woman and have tried most things, but while I’ll occasionally offer my behind to a special lover, it was a rare and special occasion and up to that point, it was never my first choice for sex.  Things change, but I wasn’t to know that then.

[… Sorry, had to go and make myself a coffee.  I didn’t need the drink so much as the excuse to get off this damn wedge!  You can’t have any idea how uncomfortable it is.  It splits my pussy lips and bores into my vulva and just ACHES, that awful bruising ache.  And its not just my pussy either, Sir whipped my inner thighs as well and the rough wooden surface rubs against them horribly.  Not to mention the fact that my anus is rather inflamed from those delicious repeated buggerings I got last night.  I can’t tell you how much this wedge hurts back there as well.  Anyway, on with the story.]

Buying the implements for my correction was a challenge in itself.  I wasn’t used to walking up to a shop assistant and asking for things with which to be spanked.  It never occurred to me that it might be construed that I could be thought of as the aggressor, but even if it had, I don’t think it would have changed my embarrassment.  I’d hardly ever been into a sex shop (well, occasionally, but it certainly wasn’t a regular thing), let alone an establishment that looked more like a wholesaler for torture equipment!

Thank God it was a young woman who served me.  I was blushing scarlet and stammering.  In the end I just showed her the instructions and pointed to the implements I needed.  She was kind.

“First time with a master?” she asked solicitously.

I was almost incapable of speech and merely nodded.

“You won’t be in a position to make judgements about the implements then I guess?”

Again I sort of bubbled.

“I’ll get some fairly standard items then.  I see that he – I presume it’s a he?”  I nodded.  “Well he hasn’t specified the type of cane, so we’ll make it a thinner one.  Nice and springy, it’ll sting like hell, but it won’t bruise so much.  If you need a heavier one, I’m sure he’ll send you back, and in my experience, doms always like to have a bit of a selection to suit the mood.”

Just what the doctor ordered, a nice chatty girl.  We girls can chat about almost anything – you blokes would fall off your chairs if you knew what we talk about when there are no guys present!  So at last, my face regained its normal hue, and I could start talking.

“You seem to know a lot about your products, have you … do you?”

“Oh yes.  I have a master and a mistress and they thrash the living daylights out of me.  I took a tawsing from Madam and a caning from Sir at lunchtime – I’ve still got some lovely marks.”  With an impish grin she turned around and twitched up her skirt to reveal a bare bottom and thighs heavily marked with a criss-cross of weals.

“Oh wow!”  Intelligent comment from me.  “Christ that must hurt, and yet you seem so matter of fact about it, even happy!”

“Of course.  I love getting walloped, it really turns me on.  You will too, once you get into.  Sure it’s painful, but it gives you one hell of a high.”  She dropped her skirt and went to fetch the items for my future chastisement.

I completed my purchases as quickly as I could and hurried out of the shop.  What on earth had I let myself in for?

Buying the hairbrush was much easier and I admit to indulging in a sensual delight feeling their smooth backs as I made my choice in the local department store.

My last call was to the chemist.  Enemas and lubricant.  Again the red face and stammering;  I couldn’t help it, I just felt like I was naked and that everyone could see my thoughts and knew just exactly what I was going to do that night.  I practically ran from the shop once I’d finished.  Heaven only knew what I was going to be like when I actually had to face Rupert again.

Face him I did.  At 8pm on the dot, I drove up to his house and knocked on the front door.  I’d been sitting in my car for fifteen minutes around the corner just to make sure I wasn’t going to be late.  Not on my first mentoring session anyway.

[I can’t stop bloody squirming and each time I do it seems to hurt more.  And now I’ve got splinters in my pussy and thighs for God sake!  Hang on while I get some tweezers.  Fucking hell I don’t know why a girl bothers with all this obedience stuff!]

A rather nice house, quite large and on a decent block of land so that there was a reasonable separation from neighbours.  Rupert is obviously doing all right and I suspected his income is rather more than he gets from his day job.  [I found out later that this was indeed the case.]

As I neared the front door, in the quiet of the night there was a strange percussive sound followed by what I could have sworn was a muffled cry.  It was followed shortly afterwards by another and then quickly again another.  Anyone would have thought someone was getting a hiding.  And it suddenly dawned on me that perhaps I wasn’t the only one that Rupert was mentoring.

The door was opened by a girl in her early twenties.  With the door open, the next WHUP was much louder as was the following cry.  Unperturbed, the girl motioned me in.

“You must be Ms Lindall.  My father told me to expect you.  Please come in.  I’ll show you to his study.”

“My name’s Felicity by the way.” She said, matter of factly.  Several further strokes delivered and the accompanying yells attested to their efficacy.

“Please wait here.  Father will call you in when he has finished dealing with mummy.”  I couldn’t believe my ears.  Here was a young woman calmly indicating that her mother was being spanked in the next room as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

Felicity left me to my fate, intimating, “I’m so glad you are going to be Daddy’s new mentee.  He canes really hard, I can tell you.  But I know you’ll be better for it.”  Her parting shot as she looked at the hold-all that I was carrying, “What sort of cane did you bring?”  At my expression of astonishment she continued, “Oh Daddy always makes his mentees bring the implements for their training with them.”  My stammered reply was more or less back to the babbling stage.

What planet had I landed on for God’s sake?  Whatever one it was, it was clearly a different place to the one I was used to.  My world was clearly in need of reorganisation if I was going to take in that day’s events and make any sense of them.

Another WHUP, scream, WHUP, scream, WHUP, scream.  I counted at least another dozen.  The poor woman was clearly taking one hell of a shellacking.  And then it went quiet.  For all the sounds that I had heard, the room was reasonably well insulated and I could only hear the faintest mumbles indicating that normal speech was in progress.  Or so I thought.  There were some higher pitched noises and the occasional noise that could have been a loud sob, but I couldn’t really make them out.

After some minutes, the study door opened and I looked on probably the most important room in my life for the first time.  Large for a study, it accommodated a desk with chairs on either side, several bookcases and a display cabinet.  At the other end, a sofa and two easy chairs framed a coffee table.  At the time, I didn’t notice the hooks in the ceiling.  The carpet was a beautiful deep blue and this was echoed in the wallpaper half-way up the walls to the picture rail, with cream coloured paint to the ceilings.  Royal blue curtains with gold trimmings finished off the décor.  A man’s room, and a magnificent one at that.

[Oh God!  See how well I’ve learnt to concentrate! and hardly a squirm for ages.  Damn it to hell this thing hurts.  But on with the story.  See how I’m learning all the time.  Talk about no pain, no gain!]

Rupert stood at the door and ushered me in.  He was in a beautiful long silk dressing gown.  As far as I could see he had nothing underneath.  I felt definitely overdressed!

“Welcome Natalie.  Please come in.  I’m glad you were on time.  I apologise for making you wait, but I was completing a training session with my wife.”

TO BE CONTINUED….

Hope you enjoyed reading!

XOXO,

nora

Posted in D/s

Encouraging dominance

Hi all,

How to encourage dominance in one’s significant other is something that I have been researching for quite awhile.  Tonight, I opened WordPress to find the most articulate and well-written article that I have seen on the subject, written by one of my favorite bloggers, submissy.   This is an easy read, succinct, and intuitive.

Please visit her website to read 5 things that encourage Dominance

Happy reading, ya’all!

XOXO,

nora

Posted in spanking

Sunday spank day! #NSFW, 18+

Daddy has developed a new spanking regimen for his naughty girl (me!), which has been taking place on Sundays.  You see, Sunday is the day that I spend with my school work, attempting to get this dissertation written.  However, like many, I am prone to distraction…playing with the puppies, playing on-line, playing with myself… 😊

To help me stay focused, Daddy has so graciously offered to paddle my bottom every hour, on the hour, while I am sitting at the computer.  He believes that a sore, hot seat will provide the focus that my mind needs to get my work done and keep me from distraction.  How I wish he wasn’t right!  I have been getting more done on Sunday afternoons than I have in a long time.

When I am ready to head into my home office, Daddy requires that I fetch the wooden paddle.  He then requests that I bend over my own desk (the indignity!), he lowers my yoga pants (my preferred mode of dress on the weekends), and gives me ten hard swats to my bare behind.  He then hugs me and tells me to get to work, allowing me to pull my pants back into place.

The first round of swats…not so bad.  The second round, however, I was feeling pretty sore by the tenth swat.  And, by the third round, I was in tears just a few swats in.

All in all, I took 50 swats with the wooden paddle yesterday.  But, I am happy to report that I submitted 5 new dissertation pages, as well as completed some other school related tasks.  I am quite sore this morning, but very happy with the progress that was made.

Thank you, Daddy!  Your baby girl loves you so.

XOXO,

nora