punishment

I woke up on Sunday morning in Craftsmate’s bed to the feeling of him tightening the ropes around my wrists. Somehow, the night before, I had agreed to sleeping tied up. Except instead of sleeping with my arms tied behind my back or in front, I wound up with my arms tied at my sides, attached to a crotchrope with a knot that pressed into my clit, preventing me from forgetting its presence.

We had established, sometime during the evening, that I was a selfish brat. Or, rather, I was told that I was a selfish brat who couldn’t control herself. Hence, the crotchrope, the hands tied to inhibit touching, the nagging push of the knot as a cruel little joke.

When he had finished tightening the rope around my wrists and ensuring that I would not be able to let myself out, Craftsmate climbed off of the bed and went to sit down at his desk. As he slid off the mattress, I became attune to the throb of my clit and realized the effect of the crotchrope on my sleeping body had left me inconsolably needy.

“I think it would be a nice idea if you came here and touched me,” I said playfully, wriggling a bit in the rope and feeling the knot rub over my clit.

Craftsmate shook his head. “You said nothing until you finished your thesis chapter.”

“I changed my mind,” I huffed. “Come here. Please?"

He didn’t budge.

I kept pressing, but I couldn’t get him to come over. My hips had started to pick up a slight thrust and I was trying to keep myself from grinding the crotchrope right in front of him, but I could only hold out so long. Eventually, my pleas for him to come touch me turned into begging him to use me and finally dissolved into me saying all I wanted was his attention, I didn’t care how it looked.

Amused, Craftsmate came over and teased the tip of his finger over the crotchrope. "I don’t think so. Maybe your Daddy lets you be a little princess and get away with this kind of stuff, but you’re entirely too spoiled and you’re not getting what you want this time.” I blushed at the mockery in his voice.

“Please,” I gasped out, “please I’ll do whatever you want.”

He shook his head. “No, I don’t think you get to cum until you’re a good girl for me and not some selfish brat.”

After a round with Craftsmate’s riding crop and a rather humiliating inspection of my cunt, which had become so wet that it had soaked straight through my panties and drenched the knot of my crotchrope, I was sent off with assurance that my poor conduct would no longer be tolerated.

And, much to my chagrin, an order to keep my hands off of my dully throbbing cunt until my behavior improved.

I can’t tell if this is the solution to her whining problem or just another source of it.

dominantteacher:

I’d love a version of that device that has a tiny bit more give, e.g. hardened leather with thin metal strips reinforcing.

I’d like my girl to be able to be in it for a while with chafing or getting too achey….except for where I like making them ache.

Cats Don’t Do the Dishes, Part Six

Craftsmate tied me facedown on his bed and proceeded to get his flogger out. He beat me until I was crying out so much that he had to gag me and put music on to drown out all the noise.

Then, he sat down on me and started to tickle my ribs. I am absurdly ticklish and I absolutely hate being tickled. A few minutes in, I was panting for breath and drooling around the gag. He stopped, moved his duvet cover so I could see the small puddle of my salvia that had soaked into it, and proceeded to scold me for drooling all over his bed.

“Look at the mess you made,” he chided, pulling on my hair before pushing my face into it. I blushed six shades of red.

He rolled me over and tied me back down, picking the flogger back up and starting to beat my breasts.

That look in her eyes says she’s sorry.

But you can never really be too sure.

Continued from here.

When I heard Penthouse starting to come in, I adjusted myself somewhat, lowering the sheets here and there and raising my ass a bit. It was partially to just be a brat and partially to get out of actually having to take a nap.

“Sweetheart?” I heard him say from the doorway. “Are you trying to tease me?”

I kept my face down in the pillow to hide my smirk. “Maybe.”

After a few footsteps, I felt him climb into bed and thread his fingers through my hair, tugging my head back.

It’s kind of funny how winning sometimes looks.

The problem, sometimes, is that I want to enjoy all of it. Even the punishment. And so it’s not really punishment at all. It’s more like a reward for being bad. So, when the moment arises that I actually get punished, I try my hardest to get out of it. I guess I’m just a brat.

Humbled, Part 9

In the morning, Switch untied my hands and moved them up to the headboard, retying them there as I groggily tried to process what was going on as I woke. He rolled me fully onto my stomach and gave my rear a rough spank. “Ass up, now.” I groaned and shifted, sticking my ass into the air.

He untied my legs and shifted my knees apart until I was spread out. He tied my legs to the sides of the bed frame to ensure I wouldn’t move from this position. I could feel the cool air teasing over my cunt, it was still a little wet. He didn’t remove the blindfold.

“When do you have to go to work?” he asked.

I groaned, “noon. What time is it?”

“Seven thirty,” he replied and traced a finger over my slit.

I moaned and shivered at his touch, “why so early?”

“Because I want to be sure I’ve made you suffer before you have to go,” he said and pinched my clit. I gasped and squirmed around as he continued. “I figure you’ll need to shower, so three hours should be sufficient."

My eyes widened behind the blindfold, "come on, no…just…you don’t want to. Why don’t we just…” He had shoved something into my mouth, pushing it past my teeth. What I deduced was the masking tape he had used to hold my fingers into my hands went over it, sealing my lips shut.

“If you would’ve just been better last night, I wouldn’t have to do all this to you, baby,” Switch replied. He held my ass apart, spat obscenely a few times into my hole before pushing his thumb in. I bucked against him and he laughed. “You could’ve just cum this morning, but I told you, you’re just a fucktoy now. And I’m going to take my time having fun with you.”

Humbled, Part 5

Switch took me to the bathroom, pulled my lingerie off, turned on the shower, and set me inside to wash the avalanche of cum off of my body. He pushed me up against the wall of the shower and kissed me deeply. I smiled and went to grab the soap, but he grabbed my hands and slid them up on the wall.

“No, no,” he scolded, “I’m not done with you.”

He washed me slowly, making me turn around and put my hands back up on the wall to wash my back when he had finished with the front. He shampooed my hair, but when I tried to get him to mess around in the shower, he shook his head.

“I told you, I’m not done,” he insisted, “I just don’t want you complaining about having my cum all over you while I finish punishing you, you little brat."

I couldn’t contain my grin.

“I think Pretty wants her pussy eaten now.”

The difficult part about punishing Switch is that he’s usually really into whatever the punishment is. The boy is crazy about eating pussy, so it’s not really that much of a disciplinary tactic. It’s the same problem I have. Punishments are easily just mean rewards.

He tugged my shorts down and went for my panties next. When his fingers looped under the waist, I had a thought and slapped his hands away. “No, I don’t think you’ve earned that.” I spread my legs over his shoulders, “over the panties. Bad boys don’t get Pretty’s pussy.”

Resigned, he licked through the lace with this terribly earnest expression on his face. He wanted to be good for me. And, usually being a submissive myself, I could understand completely what he was going through and appreciate it.

“Okay, fine, you win,” I muttered after a few minutes and pulled my panties aside.

I guess I’m just a little bit of a pushover.

She’d been horrible. Incorrigible, careless, bratty.

The easy thing to do would just be to punish her, to smack that stockinged ass until she wailed and apologized. But the effects of that sort of correction were fast becoming short-lived. ‘Sorry’ didn’t seem to extend beyond the moment of forgiveness. She made the same comments, the same coy quips, the same little acts of insubordination intentionally designed to provoke.

And so the best thing to do is to leave her that way. To make her wait, to forbid her from easing the angles of her back and knees, to let her cry and learn to become patient when suddenly things are no longer about her. A surefire way to reform a brat is to deny her attention to the point that contact becomes so rare and cherished that she will not do anything to provoke further action. Waiting has a profound and sobering effect on perspective.

Ivy

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