anarchistic_masochist
11-07-2010, 02:15 AM
Here is the 2nd part. I'm very pleased how it's turned out. I hope that whoever reads this will be equally chuffed!
Part Two
“Turn around and come and stand over here.”
I turned to find him indicating a sterile mat on the floor. He clearly wasn’t taking any chances. In the past, he had been known to frighten his subs so much, that they would actually wet themselves out of fear. The mat served to protect his carpet. To date, such an appalling and humiliating event had never happened to me. Please God don’t let it happen now.
I walked slowly to where he had asked me to stand. I stood before him, feeling so small and helpless. Total submission came so easily to me. I clutched my arms around my stomach and bowed my head; my body language indicating that I was trying to make myself as small as possible, as if I wanted to disappear completely. My uniform completed the picture of humility with my hair in pigtails and my being shod only in the white knee-high socks. My shoes were removed for two reasons: one, it reduced my height thus it facilitated easy domination (Mark was not particularly tall.) The second reason was for safety. There’s nothing worse for a Top when having a particularly recalcitrant and squirming charge wriggling in your lap, for her to thrash around wildly and boot him in the head. Mild concussion is not conducive to a good spanking session! I had always remained relatively still, despite Mark’s best efforts with his spanking hand. Stubborn, Taurean determination made me keep my legs down; I had seen far too much porn, with the spankee kicking her legs up and down and refusing to stay still. It annoyed the hell out of me. Stop making a fuss you big baby! Take it like a….woman! Half the time, the sub is not even being spanked that hard anyway.
“Put your hands on your head!” I obeyed instantly. My previous defensive stance was now of course, an impossibility. This posture straightens one’s bearing and leaves one open and vulnerable, in every sense of the word.I trembled like a leaf.
“You know why you’re here, don’t you?” he began.
“Yes, Sir…” came the immediate reply.
“Well…?” he paused to allow me to explain what he knew already. Prompting his subs to divulge why they are about to receive the hiding of their life was a tactic he liked to make use of; to make particularly wayward subs squirm and he was employing this to great effect. I was terrified! The words wouldn’t come out. My throat was dry and I couldn’t breath. Come on, Cherry! Answer him! Too late! Whap! Whap! Whap! came the slipper slamming into my still clothed behind. My knees buckled and I staggered on the spot. I just about managed to stay in position.
“I asked you a question!” he hissed as muffled cries escaped me. Great start, Cherry, My mind screamed. Well done. Have a fucking medal. I was furious with myself.
“Keep still!” I jumped to his command, my feet automatically placing themselves three feet apart, lest they buckled and swayed the next time he swatted me. “Well? I’m still waiting for an answer!”
“For fighting Sir.” I said at last.
“Not for getting arrested? Not for me driving five miles to Coventry to drag you out of that stinking cell? Me paying your fine? So you’re just here for fighting are you?”
“Yes Sir…I mean, no Sir…. Oh God!” I had lost both the power of rational thought and the ability to string a sentence together.
“God can’t help you now!” Three more swats from that demonic slipper rained down on my bottom again. I visualised roots growing out my feet so that I would not depart from the prescribed position. I stayed put this time.
“I will ask you again. Why are you here, Cherry?”
“To be punished, Sir.” I replied, simply.
“And why are you being punished?”
“For fighting; for getting arrested…”
“And…?” He waved his hand, further coaxing me to hang myself with my own rope.
“I let you down Sir. You drove all that way and put yourself out and it was all down to my blatant stupidity.” I bit my lip in anguish, scrunched my eyes shut and threw back my head, totally overcome with grief. Rivulets of tears dripped off my chin.
“Now we’re getting somewhere. Just let me make myself perfectly clear; I will not tolerate this sort of behaviour! DO YOU UNDERSTAND?!”
He was shouting at me! He never shouts at me. What had I done to him? I flinched as the increased volume of his voice made my shoulders shake with sobs. I stared at the floor, vocal chords paralysed once again.
Whap! Whap! Whap! “Well? DO YOU?!?!”
“Yes! Yes, Sir!” My voice was pleading and desperate. I was a babbling, incoherent bag of nerves. “Please, Sir! Don’t shout; you’re scaring me!”
Mark was standing behind me, but I sensed him take half a step back in a bid to regain a degree of self-control. This was no role-play; this was very real and as such, was in serious danger of spilling over into something ugly and violent. Mark was not like that; he was a gentleman who respected limits and could expertly tread the fine line between fantasy and reality. Right now he was in danger of crossing that line and he knew it. From the corner of my eye, I saw him turn his face away from me, his shoulders heaving up and down, lallowing oxygen to flood his lungs and brain in a bid retrieve a sense of logic, reason and proprtion. I stood resolutely still as an unbearable tension and a palpable fear gripped my whole being. I scarcely dared to breath. Composing himself, he turned to face the object of his rage. He walked over to the enormous padded footstool in the middle of the front room. I remained where I was, as he hadn’t given me permission to move. He sat down on the “poof,” malevolently glared in my direction and beckoned me over. I obeyed, still with hands planted firmly on top of my head as he motioned for me to lie across his lap. Again, I complied. I raised my eyes in the direction of my hands, silently asking his permission for me to remove them; he nodded curtly and with well-practiced ease, I draped myself across his lap. Usually, there was a degree of tenderness in the form of stroking, caressing and fondling before the spanking began. On this occasion, I did not deserve such a courtesy and he was not going to start off gently either. Mark did not stand on ceremony; he just launched into venomous, full-bloodied slaps. This was going to be a long, slow, painful and deliberate hand spanking that was already causing me to yelp and squirm. Where was the build up? Of course, there was none; it was pain and humiliation from the word go.
Upon reflection, I was actually grateful that he granted me an initial hand spanking; he could have cold-caned me if he really wanted to be vindictive; made me really suffer. Even in his heightened emotional state, he still had enough compassion and mercy to begin my punishment like this, while simultaneously signalling to me, as indicated by the lack of tenderness, that this punishment was real, and that it was going to hurt.
“Ahh! Ouch! Ow!” I cried, as his punishing palm pancaked my rapidly reddening cheeks. “You think this hurts? This is only the beginning! You are here to be punished, my girl, and punished you will be!” “Yes Sir! Sorry Sir!” came my automatic anguished reply, in between his sharp, staccato smacks. Slap! Smack! Slap! Smack! The blows alternated between cheek and crease, left then right, then both together. Then he turned his attentions to tops of my thighs! Christ! How I jumped! My legs automatically jerked upwards as I writhed and squirmed in his lap like a recalcitrant octopus.
“Will you keep still!” Mark exclaimed, as he struggled to hold me in place. In happier times, I once suggested the Scissor to him and he chuckled at the suggestion, confessing that is was a difficult manoeuvre to pull off effectively. Even in the state of distress that I was in, I remembered this conversation, and I employed my last vestiges of self-control by staying still as best I could; but my cries became wails and the wails dissolved into great heaving sobs. I had lost all sense of control and composition. I was helpless, physically and emotionally, now completely at his mercy.
“Right,” he said with a note of finality. “Up you get.” I staggered to my feet and he told me to stand facing the usual corner with my hands on my head. The corner time was as much for his benefit as it was for mine. We were both physically and mentally drained.
“Now you just stand there with your hands on your head and think about what you’ve done, young lady!” he instructed me, before leaving the room.
We return, dear reader, to where this story began; standing in that corner with hands placed firmly on top of my head. It is a position that I frequently find myself in, for reasons ranging from cheekiness and carelessness, to bad spelling and grammar. I had never been punished for something as serious as this, and I did indeed reflect on what I had done, resolving never to commit such a heinous act ever again. The consequences hurt far too much; and I’m not talking about my aching and reddened backside. Soreness and bruises fade; this sort of pain will never disappear quite so easily. It felt like my heart was being squeezed very tightly, and that I was going to die. I feared it would break, and Mark’s obvious emotional pain threatened to tear my soul asunder. I hoped and prayed that after all this was over, that he would forgive me and that all would be as before. A deep, profound masochistic urge also wanted me to suffer. I craved severe punishment; I deserved it, and it was something that I needed to endure in order to right this terrible wrong.
I was to get my wish…
To be continued....
Part Two
“Turn around and come and stand over here.”
I turned to find him indicating a sterile mat on the floor. He clearly wasn’t taking any chances. In the past, he had been known to frighten his subs so much, that they would actually wet themselves out of fear. The mat served to protect his carpet. To date, such an appalling and humiliating event had never happened to me. Please God don’t let it happen now.
I walked slowly to where he had asked me to stand. I stood before him, feeling so small and helpless. Total submission came so easily to me. I clutched my arms around my stomach and bowed my head; my body language indicating that I was trying to make myself as small as possible, as if I wanted to disappear completely. My uniform completed the picture of humility with my hair in pigtails and my being shod only in the white knee-high socks. My shoes were removed for two reasons: one, it reduced my height thus it facilitated easy domination (Mark was not particularly tall.) The second reason was for safety. There’s nothing worse for a Top when having a particularly recalcitrant and squirming charge wriggling in your lap, for her to thrash around wildly and boot him in the head. Mild concussion is not conducive to a good spanking session! I had always remained relatively still, despite Mark’s best efforts with his spanking hand. Stubborn, Taurean determination made me keep my legs down; I had seen far too much porn, with the spankee kicking her legs up and down and refusing to stay still. It annoyed the hell out of me. Stop making a fuss you big baby! Take it like a….woman! Half the time, the sub is not even being spanked that hard anyway.
“Put your hands on your head!” I obeyed instantly. My previous defensive stance was now of course, an impossibility. This posture straightens one’s bearing and leaves one open and vulnerable, in every sense of the word.I trembled like a leaf.
“You know why you’re here, don’t you?” he began.
“Yes, Sir…” came the immediate reply.
“Well…?” he paused to allow me to explain what he knew already. Prompting his subs to divulge why they are about to receive the hiding of their life was a tactic he liked to make use of; to make particularly wayward subs squirm and he was employing this to great effect. I was terrified! The words wouldn’t come out. My throat was dry and I couldn’t breath. Come on, Cherry! Answer him! Too late! Whap! Whap! Whap! came the slipper slamming into my still clothed behind. My knees buckled and I staggered on the spot. I just about managed to stay in position.
“I asked you a question!” he hissed as muffled cries escaped me. Great start, Cherry, My mind screamed. Well done. Have a fucking medal. I was furious with myself.
“Keep still!” I jumped to his command, my feet automatically placing themselves three feet apart, lest they buckled and swayed the next time he swatted me. “Well? I’m still waiting for an answer!”
“For fighting Sir.” I said at last.
“Not for getting arrested? Not for me driving five miles to Coventry to drag you out of that stinking cell? Me paying your fine? So you’re just here for fighting are you?”
“Yes Sir…I mean, no Sir…. Oh God!” I had lost both the power of rational thought and the ability to string a sentence together.
“God can’t help you now!” Three more swats from that demonic slipper rained down on my bottom again. I visualised roots growing out my feet so that I would not depart from the prescribed position. I stayed put this time.
“I will ask you again. Why are you here, Cherry?”
“To be punished, Sir.” I replied, simply.
“And why are you being punished?”
“For fighting; for getting arrested…”
“And…?” He waved his hand, further coaxing me to hang myself with my own rope.
“I let you down Sir. You drove all that way and put yourself out and it was all down to my blatant stupidity.” I bit my lip in anguish, scrunched my eyes shut and threw back my head, totally overcome with grief. Rivulets of tears dripped off my chin.
“Now we’re getting somewhere. Just let me make myself perfectly clear; I will not tolerate this sort of behaviour! DO YOU UNDERSTAND?!”
He was shouting at me! He never shouts at me. What had I done to him? I flinched as the increased volume of his voice made my shoulders shake with sobs. I stared at the floor, vocal chords paralysed once again.
Whap! Whap! Whap! “Well? DO YOU?!?!”
“Yes! Yes, Sir!” My voice was pleading and desperate. I was a babbling, incoherent bag of nerves. “Please, Sir! Don’t shout; you’re scaring me!”
Mark was standing behind me, but I sensed him take half a step back in a bid to regain a degree of self-control. This was no role-play; this was very real and as such, was in serious danger of spilling over into something ugly and violent. Mark was not like that; he was a gentleman who respected limits and could expertly tread the fine line between fantasy and reality. Right now he was in danger of crossing that line and he knew it. From the corner of my eye, I saw him turn his face away from me, his shoulders heaving up and down, lallowing oxygen to flood his lungs and brain in a bid retrieve a sense of logic, reason and proprtion. I stood resolutely still as an unbearable tension and a palpable fear gripped my whole being. I scarcely dared to breath. Composing himself, he turned to face the object of his rage. He walked over to the enormous padded footstool in the middle of the front room. I remained where I was, as he hadn’t given me permission to move. He sat down on the “poof,” malevolently glared in my direction and beckoned me over. I obeyed, still with hands planted firmly on top of my head as he motioned for me to lie across his lap. Again, I complied. I raised my eyes in the direction of my hands, silently asking his permission for me to remove them; he nodded curtly and with well-practiced ease, I draped myself across his lap. Usually, there was a degree of tenderness in the form of stroking, caressing and fondling before the spanking began. On this occasion, I did not deserve such a courtesy and he was not going to start off gently either. Mark did not stand on ceremony; he just launched into venomous, full-bloodied slaps. This was going to be a long, slow, painful and deliberate hand spanking that was already causing me to yelp and squirm. Where was the build up? Of course, there was none; it was pain and humiliation from the word go.
Upon reflection, I was actually grateful that he granted me an initial hand spanking; he could have cold-caned me if he really wanted to be vindictive; made me really suffer. Even in his heightened emotional state, he still had enough compassion and mercy to begin my punishment like this, while simultaneously signalling to me, as indicated by the lack of tenderness, that this punishment was real, and that it was going to hurt.
“Ahh! Ouch! Ow!” I cried, as his punishing palm pancaked my rapidly reddening cheeks. “You think this hurts? This is only the beginning! You are here to be punished, my girl, and punished you will be!” “Yes Sir! Sorry Sir!” came my automatic anguished reply, in between his sharp, staccato smacks. Slap! Smack! Slap! Smack! The blows alternated between cheek and crease, left then right, then both together. Then he turned his attentions to tops of my thighs! Christ! How I jumped! My legs automatically jerked upwards as I writhed and squirmed in his lap like a recalcitrant octopus.
“Will you keep still!” Mark exclaimed, as he struggled to hold me in place. In happier times, I once suggested the Scissor to him and he chuckled at the suggestion, confessing that is was a difficult manoeuvre to pull off effectively. Even in the state of distress that I was in, I remembered this conversation, and I employed my last vestiges of self-control by staying still as best I could; but my cries became wails and the wails dissolved into great heaving sobs. I had lost all sense of control and composition. I was helpless, physically and emotionally, now completely at his mercy.
“Right,” he said with a note of finality. “Up you get.” I staggered to my feet and he told me to stand facing the usual corner with my hands on my head. The corner time was as much for his benefit as it was for mine. We were both physically and mentally drained.
“Now you just stand there with your hands on your head and think about what you’ve done, young lady!” he instructed me, before leaving the room.
We return, dear reader, to where this story began; standing in that corner with hands placed firmly on top of my head. It is a position that I frequently find myself in, for reasons ranging from cheekiness and carelessness, to bad spelling and grammar. I had never been punished for something as serious as this, and I did indeed reflect on what I had done, resolving never to commit such a heinous act ever again. The consequences hurt far too much; and I’m not talking about my aching and reddened backside. Soreness and bruises fade; this sort of pain will never disappear quite so easily. It felt like my heart was being squeezed very tightly, and that I was going to die. I feared it would break, and Mark’s obvious emotional pain threatened to tear my soul asunder. I hoped and prayed that after all this was over, that he would forgive me and that all would be as before. A deep, profound masochistic urge also wanted me to suffer. I craved severe punishment; I deserved it, and it was something that I needed to endure in order to right this terrible wrong.
I was to get my wish…
To be continued....