I stand before him, head bowed, fidgeting nervously, as Sir reads of a list of my transgressions. I’m ashamed at how i have failed this week. Failed him, failed myself. I can hear the disappointment in his voice and I’m guilt ridden. I stare at my bare feet as I await the lecture I know is coming.
It’s been 3 months now that I’ve been reporting to Sir weekly. I met him online on a bdsm forum and we chatted for a few months before meeting in person. As we got to know each other, I’d confessed to him my desire to be disciplined and explained how I craved structure and accountability. Together we came up with a set of rules and standards that I would strive to adhere to. We agreed that each week on Friday evening I’d send him a report detailing my successes and confessing any failures. Based on that, he would dole out punishments (and occasional rewards) the following day as he saw fit. In addition, we also agreed that I would thank him for the discipline by worshiping his cock afterwards and allowing him to use my body however he wished.
Our first session was at a local hotel and we have met at the same hotel weekly since then. I’d had a relatively good week and was only punished with a short, over the knee, hand spanking. Afterwards, I’d worshipped his cock with my mouth and he’d brought me to orgasm with his hands before roughly fucking me from behind. Since then, our sessions have varied from mild to intense and I’ve yet to make it through a week without at least some discipline.
While the punishments vary, the rules and protocols are always the same. I’m to arrive on time, get the key he left for me at the front desk and let myself into the hotel room. I dress the same each week. In a T-shirt and jeans, with a plain white bra and full cut white panties. (According to Sir, I have yet to earn the right to wear anything more sexy. That privilege is for women with self control and discipline, not little girls who still need to be spanked.) Immediately I am to remove my shirt and shoes and stand before him in my bra and jeans. He is always sitting in the wing backed chair in the corner of the room, dressed semi formally in a button down shirt and slacks, sipping bourbon. He’s never at a loss for words and always thoroughly lectures me before explaining how I will be punished. I am to address him as Sir and only speak with permission. I must count all strikes when spanked. Forgetting to count means it doesn’t count, and the punishment will start over. Moving out of position or trying to shield the blows with my hands will add additional punishment.
This week had not gone well, to say the least. In addition to numerous failings I had been late to send the report. Standing before him now, I can barely hold my composure. I’ve never screwed up this much before and know I will be severely punished. The anticipation has my stomach in knots.
He addresses me sternly, “do you have anything to say for yourself, young lady?”
Dozens of excuses flash through my mind, but I know he will find none of them acceptable. I’ve already learned that poor excuses lead to harsher punishment, so I shake my head, “no Sir.”
“Well since you made me wait for this report, you can wait while I decide how this will be handled. Apparently I haven’t been harsh enough with you.”
So instead of my usual lecture I am sent to the corner, told to lower my jeans and panties to just above my knees and kneel with my hands folded behind my back.
I’m not sure how long I am there, but it is long enough for my knees to ache even on the carpeted floor. As I wait, I recall the week in my head. Late to work twice, three skipped workouts, way more time spent playing with myself than the agreed upon fifteen minutes per day, plus the late report.
Behind me I hear him moving about. I can’t discern what they are, but I hear several items placed on the dresser. Then the clink of ice as he sips his drink. There is a long period of silence and I want so badly to turn my head and look, but I know better. I don’t want to get myself into anymore trouble than I already am. I think about how I must look to him right now with my bare ass exposed. My pussy moistens, and I’m ashamed. No matter how contrite or scared I am it never fails to get wet when I meet Sir. I remind myself that the chances I’ll get to cum today are slim to none and try to turn my focus elsewhere. Instead I concentrate on remaining absolutely still even though my knees are killing me. Finally, I am relieved to hear his voice. “Come here.”
I stand and turn to find him standing next to the bed. With my pants down my knees I’m forced to take small awkward steps. He watches me struggle for a moment unamused, then barks, “pull up your fucking pants, you look ridiculous.”
Embarrassed, I quickly pull them up and scurry to stand in front of him. I bow my head but he grabs my chin and forces me to look at him. His face is stern and his dark eyes look angry. I try to stammer out an apology but his hand across my face stops me. “Did I tell you to speak?”
“No Sir,” I say, stunned.
“Then shut your fucking mouth.”
I do as I’m told and try to fight back the tears. I’m not crying from the pain, the slap wasn’t that hard. It’s that he’s never slapped my face before and now I realize just how upset he is with me. A tear rolls down my cheek.
“You better save those tears, you’re going to need them later,” he warns.
I nod, and wipe the tears from my cheeks.
“Do you remember your safe word?” he asks, as he rolls up his sleeves.
I nod again, staring at his strong forearms and nervously biting my lip.
“Good.”
He sits on the bed. Normally he would tell me to lower my jeans and panties and position myself over his lap, but instead he just grabs me and throws me over it. The position isn’t real comfortable but I don’t have time to adjust as the assault on my ass starts immediately. The blows from his hand are hard and fast, not at all his usual pace. I’m shocked at how much it hurts, even through my jeans. Clenching my fists, I grit my teeth to try and keep from crying out. This is so out of character for him and it scares me. Then I suddenly remember, I didn’t count. Oh God, I fucked it up! He’s going to do it all over again! I’m already in so much trouble and now I’ve screwed up this too. The thought causes me to panic and I begin to cry heavily. As soon as my sobbing starts, he stops. He grabs my waist and stands me on my feet. “Didn’t I tell you to save those tears? Why are you crying?”
“I forgot to count,” I cry out between sobs.
His face softens into almost a smile. He shakes his head. “Calm down little girl. You’re only required to count durning your punishment. This isn’t your punishment, this was just me taking out some frustration on your ass. That’s why I left your jeans on and only used my hand. I never want to punish you when I’m angry, so I needed to make sure I got that out first. Understand?”
Relieved, I nod and wipe away my tears. He kisses my forehead and pulls me onto his lap. I feel his arms wrap around me and I’m instantly comforted. He lets me rest my head on his shoulder for a few minutes then pulls me forward and forces me to look at him. “Get yourself together. You’ve earned this punishment and I will deliver it, but not until I’m sure you are ready to except it,” he explains calmly.
“Yes Sir,” I say, taking a few deep breaths. His relaxed demeanor is comforting, and after a minute or two I feel prepared to accept my fate.
“I’m ready Sir”
“Good. Kneel in front of me,” he commands.
I do as I’m told and kneel at his feet.
“I’m not going to bother to lecture you on how badly you’ve screwed up this week, you already know that. So instead we will move onto the consequences. Firstly, you will adjust your schedule for next week. You will wake up a half hour earlier than usual and use the time to workout. Secondly, I am going to give you ten strikes with each of the three implements laid on the dresser. I will let you choose the order,” he explains.
I turn my head to the dresser and see his belt laid next to a wooden hairbrush and a long thin cane. I’ve felt his belt before on several occasions and the hairbrush twice. I’ve yet to experience the cane and it’s presence is menacing.
“Which would you like first?”
I choose the belt, thinking it will be the least painful of the choices.
“Good enough. I want you to bring it to me, then remove your pants and panties and bend over the bed.”
I stand and retrieve the belt, hand it to him and slowly bare my ass, allowing my jeans and panties to fall to the floor and stepping out of them. He tosses a pillow on the bed and I place it near the edge and bend over it making sure my ass is fully presented to him. I know he will not be satisfied unless my ass is sticking up and my legs are spread wide. My hands instinctively grab onto the comforter and I squeeze it as I brace myself.
Sir reaches down and picks up my panties from the floor. I watch as he examines them. Finding the wet spot, he holds it up for me to see. I cringe as I see the evidence of my arousal glistening. Rather than berate me for being such a wanton slut, he simply places them down on the bed directly in front of my face. They are close enough for me to smell them and the scent is a humiliating reminder that I can’t ignore. I’m staring at them as the first strike lands hard on my lower ass causing me to flinch.
“One Sir,” I count.
He runs his fingers over the newly formed welt and his gentle touch makes my pussy grow wetter. The belt lands again on my upper thighs this time.
“Two Sir.”
The next strike lands directly on top of the last and the pain compounds. A whimper escapes my lips before I add “three Sir.”
The next three land higher on my ass and I quickly count them out.
By strike seven it is hard to maintain my position. Strike eight has me gasping as my eyes begin to tear up again. When strike nine comes I need to be reminded to count. I’m thankful for the reminder and I call it out. One final time it lands, “ten Sir,” I cry.
He tosses the belt onto the bed and runs his hand over my ass and then down to my pussy. I know he will find it soaking wet and I wince as I wait for him to comment.
He leans in close and whispers in my ear. “It must be humiliating for you to know you get this wet from being punished.”
I cringe and blush at the comment. He’s right, it’s disgraceful.
“Alright, what’s next? Brush or cane?”
“The brush Sir.”
“Bring it to me,” he instructs.
He sits on the bed as I solemnly retrieve the brush. Handing it to him with my head bowed. “Over my lap little girl.”
I position myself over his right knee, with my top half on the bed and my feet barely touching the ground. I can feel his hard cock through his pants and the think to myself ‘at least I’m not the only one aroused.’
He grabs my panties, balls them up and roughly shoves them into my pussy. “Perhaps that will stop your disgusting cunt from ruining my pants.”
The brush rubs gently over my ass for a moment before he draws it back and strikes it hard against my left cheek. The sting is harsh but bearable. “One Sir.”
He draws back again then lands one on my right cheek. “Two Sir”
I want so badly to reach back and rub my ass, but I know that is not allowed. He continues to rotate back and forth between sides and each one feels more painful than the last. By six I’m really struggling to stay still. He pauses and allows me to collect myself before continuing. The last strike is the hardest and rather than counting i scream “fuck”.
Without pause, an additional strike lands harshly, directly on top of the the last, causing me to jump. “Swear at me again and I will wash your mouth out with soap,” he scolds.
The idea of such a childish punishment makes me feel ashamed to have lost my cool. “I’m sorry Sir, it won’t happen again,” I promise.
“I certainly hope not. Now bring me the cane so we can get this over with.” He punctuates the order with a slap to my ass.
I stand and quickly fetch the cane. I want to examine it so I can imagine what it will feel like but decide it’s better to not overthink it. So i quickly hand it off. He tosses a pillow in the middle of the bed and instructs me to lie over it. I lower myself over it and take a deep breath.
“When you’re ready,” he tells me.
A few more deep breathes, then I grasp the comforter and close my eyes. “I’m ready Sir.”
He gently taps the cane against my ass a few times before whipping it hard against me. It feels like a line of fire has been lit across my ass and I gasp loudly before remembering to count, “one Sir.” It lands again and I can barely get out, “two Sir.” Another, “three Sir.” Again, this one to my thighs. I cry out loudly and kick my legs almost moving out of position. “Oh God…four Sir.” Tears run down my face when I realize I’m not even halfway done.
He senses my difficulty and stops to gently rub my back and assures me, “you can do this.”
His confidence in me renews my resolve and I nod for him to continue. Again a line of fire. “Five Sir.”
Another. “Six Sir,” i stutter, pounding my fists on the bed.
Seven, eight and nine follow and I can’t help but cry out loudly with each one, but I maintain my position and count. Finally, the last one, “ten Sir.”
A wave of relief washes over me as he drops the cane on the bed. He scoops me up and sits me on his lap. “I’m proud of you, you took that well.”
I stop my crying long enough to look up at him and smile. He grabs my chin gently and kisses me softly. I feel his cock stir beneath me. He reaches back and unhooks my bra, letting it fall before reaching down to my pussy. “Should we see how wet those panties are now?”
He pulls them out slowly and holds them up for me to see. They are drenched and I’m embarrassed. “Open,” he orders, shoving them into my mouth. “I want you to suck on those and think about what naughty slut you were this week, while I fuck you.”
Unable to speak I nod in understanding. “Bend over the bed,” he directs. I do as I’m told and once again drape myself over the end of the bed. Behind me I can hear him undress. He steps near me and runs his hands gently over the angry red welts. “I image it will hurt when I thrust against your tender ass cheeks, but that’s part of the punishment. So I’m going to go hard and fast without regard for your comfort or pleasure. However, since you took your punishment like a good girl, you are free to cum as you wish.”
I mumble a “thank you Sir” through the panties and immediately feel his cock press against my slit. In one hard thrust he buries himself into me. He’s right, the pleasure of being filled is marred by the pain of his thighs slamming against my ass. As he continues to thrust into me over and over the pleasure builds. His cock is hitting my g-spot perfectly and soon I’m barely noticing the pain from my ass. A few more thrusts and I cum hard, crying out into my panty gag.
He leans forward and weaves his fingers through my hair gripping tightly. Pulling my head back he growls in my ear, “so soon, slut?”
With his grip still in my hair he pulls me up and then pushes me down to my knees on the floor. The panties are pulled from my mouth and quickly replaced with his cock. He holds my head steady as he roughly fucks my face. I gag a little but manage not to try and pull away. I can tell he’s getting close and I want it so badly. I want to feel his cock pulsate between my lips and taste his cum as it coats my tongue and throat. It doesn’t take long before he pushes my head down one final time and holds it there while he erupts. He grunts and jerks as he fills my mouth and I swallow hungrily. I feel the tension drain out of him and he releases his grasp on my head, steps back and smiles down at me. “Good girl.”