Sometimes, he sends her to the corner to think about what she’s done.
But, she isn’t the sharpest little girl.
So sometimes that takes a while.
punishment
I’ve unfortunately never been dominated or punished by someone while they were wearing the sort of shirt with sleeves that they would need to roll up. This is regrettable.
I like the immediacy of just being thrown over someone’s lap and spanked. The idea of not having to tend to too many articles of clothing besides some of my own appeals to me in the sense of instant gratification.
However, there’s something so perfectly condescending about having to wait for someone to roll up the sleeves of their shirt. It kind of makes me tremble and feel terribly small.
In a good way.
After all those years of tormenting poor Charlie Brown and the rest of the neighborhood kids, Lucy’s finally getting her just deserts.
“Honk honk hum honk honk.”
“But I promise I won’t be mean anymore.”
“Honk honk honk honk.”
(I hope someone catches the references so you all don’t think I’m nuts.)
She may have to take the punishment lying down, but she won’t take it sitting down. She’ll moan around that bit deliciously. She’ll squirm and pout in such an enticing mockery of remorse. She’ll tilt herself in such a way that her dress proceeds to ride up just an inch more each time he walks by. She’ll make him forget which one of them is being punished.
Ruka
Yes, darling, it’s going to get so much worse before it gets any better. Provided you have some patience and the sensibility to refrain from dripping onto the furniture.
Oh babe.
The Infamous Car Story, Part 5
StandardContinued from here.
I had barely processed what my boyfriend had said when he landed a rather harsh smack on my ass. He has these hands. I can’t really explain it. They were maybe about average sized, but for some reason the force of blows he delivered distributed itself within them horribly. For this reason, he usually used his non-dominant hand and reserved her dominant one for appropriate occasions. And, even so, he could only get one or two hits in with that hand before it simply became unbearable.
This was one of those occasions.
I cried out, bucking against the armrest as the blow landed. My entire ass stung, the pain practically radiating after where he hit in violent heat. Elle’s fingers on my clit pushed together and pinched it, eliciting a series of squirms that melted into exhausted groaning.
“Did it feel good, sweetie?” Elle asked. I could barely muster words, but I had certainly been tugged out of any sort of post-orgasmic bliss and back into the real world. “I bet you’re mighty thirsty right now from all the screaming, hm?”
Apparently, I’d screamed. I nodded feebly and received a smack from what was thankfully my boyfriend’s non-dominant hand, “answer her correctly.”
“Yes, Miss,” I choked out. Now using words, I realized that my throat did feel raw. I hoped no one had heard me. But, from the absence of any sirens or bright lights, I assumed we would be fine.
My boyfriend patted my ass with a smile, “maybe we should go get her something to eat. Seeing as it’s all about little fucking Ivy’s needs tonight.” I hated that taunting. They knew I hated it. If they would have let me, I would have gone down on them. I would have pleasured them. But, they were intentionally denying themselves and then blaming me for it. The effect was immensely frustrating.
Elle’s hand slipped from my clit and up to my ass, “you hungry, dear?” I shook my head and practically buried my face in the cup-holder when my boyfriend offered, “I think my little brat wants ice cream.”
At the time, little girl play was something he had started to bring up and it was something I was reluctant to try. Respecting my wishes against a foray into it, he simply resorted to taunting me with it whenever he could. I groaned felt a blush rising in my cheeks.
Elle’s hand left my ass for a second before colliding with it once more, “is that it, honey? Do you want ice cream on your special little night where you get whatever you want?”
“I guess,” I shrugged.
My boyfriend smacked my ass again. Hard. “You guess?”
“Someone’s mighty ungrateful,” Elle chimed in.
I shook my head, “I…I mean, if you guys want to.”
“You guys?” My boyfriend landed a few more spanks, “I don’t know who the fuck you think you are.”
“I’m…I’m sorry,” I choked out, “Sir, um, MIss, do you want to?”
Elle laughed, “Ivy, we asked you. And since tonight is all about you…”
“I’ll make you cum. Both of you. Really.”
“Don’t fucking interrupt, Ivy,” she smacked up near the top of my ass again, causing me to cry out, “I don’t think so, dear. We wouldn’t want to be selfish on your special little night. And it isn’t even all about you, is it? It’s about this.” She flicked her thumb over my clit before continuing, “but I’d like to know if the little whore attached to this cunt would like to get ice cream.” I went to open my mouth and she slipped her other hand over it, “and before you answer, Ivy, I want you to remember some things. I’m helping you out here. I’m being your best fucking friend. So don’t you forget manners. And if you don’t give me a definitive answer, I swear to God.”
She removed her hand and I answered, “yes, Miss, I would like to get ice cream. Thank you.”
“Good girl,” my boyfriend sneered behind me, “and where are we going?”
“I don’t…” I began and before I could even finish they had started to spank me again. by now, my ass was raw, tender. I could practically feel how red it was and how badly it had begun to sting. My eyes were watering up with tears when I finally picked a nearby place.
“And what are you going to get?” Elle asked.
I bit my lower lip, “I forget what it’s called.”
The barrage of spanks that followed from both of them was dizzying. “How did you forget that?” Smack. Smack. “I don’t know, really.” Smack. “I think she just wants this.” Smack. “She’s holding out clearly.” Smack. Smack. “You’re only making this worse for yourself, slut.” It continued. I could barely think.
“I don’t know,” I finally blurted out, “but it has nuts in it.” I practically yelled it. The spanking stopped. There was a long silence and I assumed they were looking at each other before they both burst out laughing.
They only untied me once we reached the place and allowed me the opportunity to straighten out my hair before we walked into the shop. It was basically empty and, as I walked, I felt the sting in my ass. They both smirked at me when I asked the guy behind the counter what the name of the one with the nuts in it was.
Overcome by curiosity, I excused myself to the bathroom. Once inside, I turned, lifted up my skirt, and looked over my shoulder into the mirror.
To be continued.
He won’t tell her why she’s being punished, just that she is. She knows she hasn’t done anything particularly wrong. He knows it, too.
But he’ll still tie her down and call her all sorts of vile names as he shoves her panties into her mouth. She’ll groan as the fabric scrapes her tongue before becoming engorged with her own saliva. She’ll squeal as she feels the tails of the flogger trace over her exposed rear. She’ll tell herself she did nothing wrong at all. She’ll insist that she doesn’t deserve this.
Smack. She reminds herself how good she’s been. How sweet she is, how selfless. How she serves so willingly. She could not have possibly done anything wrong. She’s his good girl. His perfect little pet.
Smack. The hit lands square on her crack again. Tears warm the corners of her eyes and blur the sight of her bound wrist. She heaves a breath behind the panties. The familiar taste of herself is being dissolved by her saliva and the material’s new thickness nearly makes her gag.
Smack. She grunts behind the panties. Tears hit her cheeks, the bedspread. She’s a good girl. This is just proof of it. She’s enduring this for him.
Smack. She cries out around the cotton wedged into her mouth. Her body bucks forward violently. She’s done something, she knows it. Somewhere. She’ll make something up. She’ll identify something she’s already been punished for. She is willing to fill in the gaps for him.
Smack. She deserves this. She’s been very bad. This is her punishment. She needs it. She deserves it. She doesn’t need a reason, an explanation, an example. She just needs.
The Infamous Car Story, Part 3
StandardContinued from here.
My boyfriend pulled me back up so I was sitting between them. He wrapped an arm around me before sinking a few fingers in my mouth. As I sucked on them, trying to shoot the sweetest little expression over to Elle to avoid anything too harsh, she set to pulling down my top so the straps rested below my shoulders and the neckline sat below my breasts.
She leaned forward and started to kiss at and suck on my neck. Her hands rested on my breasts and she squeezed gently before pulling them out of the cups of my bra. She rubbed them around, chuckling against my neck each time I moaned around his fingers. Her nails scraped over my nipples and her teeth slid over the side of my neck.
He withdrew his fingers from my mouth and let his hand wander down to my breast. His hand passed under Elle’s and he gripped my right nipple before starting to twist it. I cried out loudly and Elle raised her hand up to my mouth, pushing my head against my boyfriend’s chest while she muffled my cry.
Her other hand set to work on the other nipple. She pinched, causing me to writhe against my boyfriend’s form as I tried to wriggle my wrists out of my stockings. They continued like this for a while. Pinching, pulling, twisting. All the time I whined and pouted and wriggled about, hoping they would bring me to orgasm sometime soon.
Elle smiled up at my boyfriend as she gave a particularly hard tug before saying, “I love those breasts of hers.” She leaned forward and sucked my nipple into her mouth.
My boyfriend chuckled as I moaned against Elle’s hand and gently removed her hand from my mouth. He then reached back, grabbing my head by the hair and tilting my head back, “you love this, don’t you?” He smirked and continued, “you love all these eyes on you. These hands. You don’t even care how badly it hurts.”
He was right.
To be continued.
(Note: This should be a general note for all posts of this nature. The acts described herein are consensual. I was comfortable with the direction that the encounter went in and I was equipped with a safe word if I felt any of my limits being pushed or anything of that nature.)
I had been horribly bad. He had tried to spank me and I had kicked him away. I winced. I braced myself for something horrible.
But I should’ve known he wasn’t the type to go crazy on me right there. I’m sure some would have just resorted to hitting so hard my teeth rattled in my mouth. But, he knew that sort of punishment would achieve nothing in the long-run. He knew the way I learned and he knew exactly what would get to me.
And for this reason, he decided to ignore me. He simply turned away, walked over to my desk, sat down, and checked his email. It was literally the worst punishment he could inflict, the most harmful, the most cutting, the most effective. And he knew it. And I knew it. And he knew that I knew it.
I crawled over beside him and knelt by his left leg. I hoped he would find the act endearing enough to stop punishing me. But it wasn’t nearly that easy. I sat there in silence for a good ten minutes before he started petting my head, a good fifteen before he unzipped his jeans and told me to crawl under the desk.
He fucked my face so hard I cried. Partially from the strain on my jaw. Partially from knowing how bad I had been. It was an almost wonderful release, punctuated by his snarl that little brats like me didn’t even deserve to have his cock in their mouths.
He finished on my face and chest. He had me sit there with it on me, its initial heat cooling against my skin. Tears mixed with cum. I drank in the moment and realized just how much I belonged to him then.
Soon, he pulled me up into his lap and cleaned me off. He held me, calmed me down, kissed my forehead. I choked out a thank you. He just pulled me closer and let me bury my face in the crook between his neck and shoulder. To average society, I’m sure, the entire ordeal makes no sense.
We had an understanding. There was security in our risks. There was freedom in limitation. There was trust. There was emotion. There was pure, brutal honesty in the strangeness of our needs and our suffering. And from that there was a beauty in just being, in some odd way, completely and totally understood.