I was in trouble. Not just any trouble, but BIG trouble. I had fucked up big-time. I took a car I wasn't supposed to drive, lost it, then lied about it.
Miss hadn't spoken to me since last night.
Miss is my Mistress, my lover and my soulmate. We had only been together for a couple of months, when this happened. I had been playfully spanked before her, but Miss was the first to tie me up, use an implement on me, make me cry while being spanked, and the first to provide me with any real discipline. However, she had never actually punished me. The spankings were part of our love-making.
Today, I am a Painslut. When this happened, I was a naive vanilla young girl.
I was nineteen at the time, petite, with medium size breasts, long bottle-blonde hair and large brown eyes. Miss is seven years older, full-figured and classically beautiful.
She was also the first to show me unconditional love.
At this point, we were just lovers. The Dom/Sub relationship hadn't even been considered. At least not by me.
I was a spoiled brat growing up, and Miss was determined to whip some, but not all, of the brattiness out of me. Taking her car was me showing out, something I wouldn't do today. Well, probably not today.
I certainly wasn't addicted to pain then, pain was... Well, pain.
It did turn me on, especially thinking about it, but I didn't like the actual spanking itself. Well, maybe I liked it a little. Back then, she would stop if I simply said 'Stop.' Even a really hard hand spanking would've brought me to tears. What got me off was the anticipation and the feelings afterwards. And especially the sex that followed.
I wished she would talk to me. Scream, yell, scold me, even whip me, but silence is her real weapon.
To be fair, I deserved this, and she did give me hugs and kisses throughout the day, but that seemed to make it even worse.
So here is what happened…
My battery was dead, but I had an appointment, so I took her baby: her recently restored, vintage Mercedes convertible. I was forbidden to touch it, but I wanted my hair and nails done, so I took a chance. That was a really bad idea.
I parked it, had my appointment, paid my bill, then looked for my keys. No keys to be found.
"They are in the car, they are in the car," I chanted under my breath as I ran to the car.
The car was gone!
Fuck fuck fuck!
I was in full panic mode.
Was it stolen?
Had I left the keys in the ignition?
What was Miss going to say?
Say, hell, what was she gonna do?
This was bad, really really bad.
Okay, taking and losing the car was bad enough, but where I 'really' fucked up, was making the conscious decision to lie about it.
Lying is at the top of the list of things Miss hates. I didn't have rules then, but she had expectations of how I should act. I have always been submissive in bed, and she liked being in charge. It was great for both of us. She did playfully punish me with denial of orgasms, spanking me when I got out of line and similar things. We both enjoyed it.
Losing the car would have cost me a physical punishment, and orgasm denial for a solid week at most.
What was gonna cost me?
The details of me getting caught in my lie are boring, I'm sure, so the short end of that, long tale is: I played dumb, I got caught, I tried to downplay the situation, I had parked in a tow-away zone, the car was towed, the keys were in the salon, we got the car back and Miss was not happy with me.
The next day: Miss was finally talking to me again. I was miserable, but she wasn't giving me any sympathy. She was not acting mad anymore, but l knew she was still upset.
She asked if I was willing to accept a real punishment to settle the matter.
Real punishment? Really?
I tentatively agreed.
She was disappointed in me. That's the worst part. I felt like a child, and she punished me like one too. She brought me a notepad and made me write the same line over and over.
'I am sorry for lying and I will never lie again.'
I had to write that line non-stop until the pad was full.
Brand-new fucking yellow legal pad.
The rules: I was allowed a ten-minute break each hour, to get a drink, stretch my legs or use the bathroom, no lunch for me, and the lines had to be exact, neat and legible. Every mistake will cost me a single leather strap-stroke on my palms.
WTF? I thought to myself. Why would she strap my hands, and not my bottom? And why was I writing the same fucking sentence over and over?
I was seething, but I knew my place, and now was not the time to argue or act out.
I didn't want her to leave me; this house is lonely, without someone special to share it with. She wouldn't have left me over that, but we all have our insecurities.
I started writing. By the third page, my hand had started to cramp, so I had put the pen down to rub my hand, when Miss walked over.
"Did I tell you that It was okay to take an extra break?" she asked. I try to explain but she doesn't care.
"I'll give you something to rub!" she said and walked away.
I was nervous as she returned, holding a leather strap. Where did she get that? Miss must have secrets.
Looking back, it was a rather lightweight strap, but it hurt like hell at the time. It would probably make me giggle today. It was about twelve inches long, an inch and a half wide, and thinner than a man's belt.
"Hand out, chest high, support it with your other hand," she barked. I did as she instructed. "Six strokes. Count each out loud. Move your hand and we start over. Miscount and we start over."
Wow! Where did that come from? The way she acted made me feel funny inside.
She tapped the strap on my hand, raised it, and brought it down sharply on my palm. CRACK. Nothing for about half a second, then the pain washed over me.
"Awwww," I yelled, as I danced around, shaking my hand.
"Back in position!" she barked. I had a tear in my eye as she stated, "NOW!"
I had never seen her like this. It was both scary and yet, somehow thrilling.
"Seven strokes. Do you want to go for 8? Position, NOW!" she said quite forcefully. "Seven to go, starting at one."
I held my palm up, she tapped it with the strap, raised it, hesitated, then slapped it into my palm. I cried out but held my position. She tapped the strap again, raised it, and delivered another stroke.
I started hopping from foot to foot when I remembered I was supposed to count.
"TWO?" I cried, hopefully. Miss smiled a weird little smile.
"Wrong. Starting over. Seven strokes. Next stroke is one," she said.
Fuckety, fuck! That was three strokes that didn't count, plus one extra for arguing.
Four fucking extra strokes. This wasn't Funishment. This was serious stuff. I would've been almost finished if I had just followed her directions, but there we were, and we hadn't even started yet, on the original punishment. Still seven to go.
My palm burned, and I needed to pee.
"Position!"
I got in position. CRACK. "One," I yelled as I danced about. CRACK. "Twooo."
"Other hand," she ordered.
I switched hands. CRACK. "Three."
The strapping hurt, but not enough to make me really cry.
She finally finished my punishment. This time I made it to the end, without a mistake.
I had leaked only a couple of tears. Miss held me and comforted me. She kissed my tears and told me how proud she was of me. I felt a warmth in my pussy, and brought her hand down, hoping she would touch me.
"No no no," she said, "Take a break, clean up, then go back to your lines. And don't touch yourself."
I was back writing. God, this sucked. I was nineteen fucking years old. I was not a child. I started getting very angry. My hands were both cramping and on fire. My eyes were blurry; my head throbbing. I had done the math. At this rate, I wouldn't even be finished at bedtime tomorrow. Miss wasn't here, so I quickly removed a few blank pages. Miss would never notice, and I would finish early. I smiled inside.
I was finished for the day, and we had a lovely dinner. In bed, I was as horny as could be. I started kissing Miss, and she warmed up to me. Miss doesn't like me describing what I do to her in our intimate moments, so all I can say is I made her happy and content, and I was hoping for my turn. She started playing with me, then stopped, just as I was at the brink of orgasm. Edging, she called it, a new trick she had taught me.
My 'problem', if you want to call It that, is that I arouse easily, and I can cum quickly and often. Miss timed me once. She made me masturbate from a state of zero arousal. I orgasmed in four minutes. She made me try again, ten minutes later, and I came in less than three minutes, that time, and a little over seven minutes on the third try. She introduced me to edging shortly after that.
Best. Day. Ever.
That changed several firecracker orgasms into a TNT explosion. Nuclear fireworks came much later, when I discovered Subspace.
She edged me several times, then said, "Goodnight," as I whimpered and whined, but she told me in a firm tone, "No. You are still being punished. Now go to sleep, and no touching yourself. I mean it."
I complied. Edging is only fun if you get to cum. True punishment sucked. Sleep was fitful and restless. I was horny, with no relief in sight.
The next day: I finished writing my lines, and handed the pad to Miss, just before dinner. No lunch again, so I was starving. She looked over the pad, as I was cooking.
"WHAT THE HELL?" Miss roared.
Fucking Fuck! She must have noticed the pages I had removed. She must have counted them. What to do? Play dumb? Lie? No! That got me writing the lines to begin with.
Miss was pissed. She started in on me, "I just don't know what to do with you. This is the same as lying. You WILL learn. You WILL regret this. Your punishment would have been almost over if you had done as I asked."
I mumbled, "You didn't ask."
"WHAT was that?"
"Nothing," I whispered.
She threw the pad in the trash, and stormed off, then I heard her making a call that lasted quite a long while.
She returned…
"I'm taking you to a professional disciplinarian, Mrs. Kelley, tomorrow for a full day of training."
I blanched.
"Wha… what? What do you mean?" I asked.
"Someone to teach you some respect," she told me. "God knows you don't respect ME."
Miss told me she wouldn't deprive me of food, but I would have to eat alone in the bedroom.
I didn't eat. I deprived myself, and went to bed hungry. I was so ashamed of myself. Why did I do that? I was also very scared.
The next morning, as we were getting ready, I begged and pleaded not to go. Miss sat me down and gazed into my eyes. She gave me one free chance. She asked if I had disobeyed her. Had I lied and cheated? Did I deserve to be punished? Was I ashamed of myself?
"Yes, to all of it," I replied.
She said it was up to me. She wouldn't force me to go. We could stay home, and it would be done, if that's what I really wanted. My only punishment would be my conscience, and her disappointment in me, or, we would visit Mrs Kelley today, and start truly fresh tonite. All debts paid. She promised I wouldn't be really hurt.
Who was this Mrs Kelley, and how did Miss know her? What is a professional disciplinarian? What's going to happen to me there?
Damn, she is good…
I couldn't even look at her.
She knew my answer, without me saying it.
We arrived at a very old Victorian-style house, and were met by a very pretty, very young maid, and were invited inside. I saw an older woman, maybe forty, coming down the stairs. Her hair was tied in a bun, and she was wearing a high-buttoned, long-sleeved white blouse and long black skirt. She looked very severe and 100 years out of time. She was carrying a riding crop.
"Is this the young lady?" she asked.
Miss nudged me and I said, "Yes ma'am."
"Good girl," she replied. "I'll take It from here."
Miss left, leaving me alone here with the scary lady.
"Why are you here?" she asked in a stern tone.
"To be punished," I replied.
"Why were you sent here?"
"I have been a Brat. I took something that didn't belong to me, then lied over and over. I cheated, and tried to avoid punishment."
"Follow me," she said, as she turned and walked downstairs, and led me into a large room. Her dungeon.
That room was scary. There were several different whipping frames, a couple of different padded spanking benches, a St. Andrews Cross on one wall, and a pillory in the center of the room. I didn't know what some of these things were, but I could guess what they were used for. I was very frightened. And a little turned on.
I have been reading erotica, and watching porn since Jr. High, but back then, my tastes ran to sensual lesbian encounters, with lots of foreplay; the ones where the girls aren't even naked until the halfway point in the film, and domestic and school-type FF discipline. My favorite was OTK spankings, with a hairbrush or wooden spoon, or the girl lying over pillows in her bed, getting the strap. Mouth soaping after the spanking added a special thrill. Maybe Miss will do that to me someday.
Early on, It was the idea of someone else getting a spanking that turned me on. I was paddled only once in school, then got a double dose of the strap when I got home. It certainly wasn't erotic at the time, and I definitely didn't masturbate in the bathroom afterwards. I just cried both times. I was in the seventh grade, so I would have been about sixteen at the time. I had also witnessed one spanking of two of my cousins, F/FM, and didn't find that erotic at the time, but I do now.
I knew what bondage was, of course, but it wasn't something I fantasized about much back then. These devices were all new to me. I had read a few BDSM stories on Lush, and had seen some pictures, but live and in person was a shock. And yet again, thrilling, somehow.
Mrs Kelley gave me a tour, showing me every single item in her dungeon.
She had things that inflicted pain on tender girl flesh that I had never even imagined.
There were whips, paddles, straps, canes, floggers, gags, clips and clamps, as well as dozens of restraints and rope of all types.
She had me hold every implement, and described, in exquisite detail, how it would feel.
She described the difference in leather straps: How a long, supple, heavy, thick strap applies a deep dark burning pain, that lasts and lasts, and would leave you with terrible bruises, that lasted for days or weeks, but a lightweight, short, wide one just stings for a while and left few marks the next day.
She described the difference in canes: How a thin, light, whippy cane would sting and make you dance, and how a heavy dragonwood cane will take your breath away, and make a grown man cry. How a dense synthetic cane hurts terribly. How the looped canes guarantee tears.
Then paddles: How a heavy paddle would always bruise, and how a lightweight thin paddle stings like a wasp.
She explained everything! And I do mean everything: The restraints, the spanking bench, the whipping frames, the antique caning bench, the implements. Then she described the enhancements, like Icy Hot being applied to your punished skin and private parts. How it felt having stinging nettles brushed over your most sensitive parts, and what having a peeled ginger root inserted into your anus felt like.
She described how not only your butt could be punished, but most of your whole body as well. What really shocked me, was when she described punishing breasts, and even your most private parts.
I was terrified and on the verge of tears. At this point, I had been mostly hand spanked. I had experienced a few mild hairbrush spankings and a couple of strap and paddle punishments. Oh yeah, and yesterday's hand-strapping.
As we walked to the restraints, we passed a cart loaded with gleaming medical-looking instruments. I shuddered. "Don't worry about those," she told me. "They aren't for you."
The tour took what felt like hours, then It was time for lunch. I was famished. We had an awesome variety of food. Lyla was a wonderful cook, but It was hard to eat. I was still nervous, so Mrs Kelley calmed me, and made me feel a little better. Lunch was truly delicious.
After lunch, she led me back to her dungeon. She told me her business was dungeon rental, and paid punishments. Sexual contact was forbidden, but my punishment was personal, so different rules applied.
So… what did that mean?
At the wall of restraints, she asked if I would be good or if she needed help, to put the cuffs on me. I told her, "I'm going to be a good girl."
She orders me to strip naked. I am comfortable being nude around other people, so it was not an embarrassment issue, but It still made me uneasy.
I knew better than to disobey, so I stripped and dropped my clothes on the floor. She slapped me across the face and told me to pick up my clothes and fold them neatly. I did so with a tear in my eye.
Where is Miss?
I want to go home.
She buckled padded leather cuffs to my wrists and ankles.
Now think of what I was feeling. I was nineteen, technically a virgin, and trapped in a stranger's dungeon. I'd never truly been punished, and the person I trusted the most, was nowhere to be seen, and on top of that, I was here to be punished by a total stranger that knew how to punish.
Now, but not then, I understand that most of my punishment was psychological. Fear play, if you will. And it was working.
"We will start with an OTK spanking," she said.
She led me to a wooden, straight-back chair, removed her skirt, then put me over one knee and wrapped her other leg across both of mine, and held my right hand behind my back. It did excite me, but I was still scared. I liked the feel of my bare skin against hers.
She started spanking my bare bottom in a slow rhythm, about one spank per second. Not really hard, just enough to sting. She spanked me for about three minutes with her bare hand.
She reached to a table, and picked up a hairbrush. I looked at the table and saw a round bristle brush, and a bottle of hand sanitizer.
