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He returned late Wednesday night and early the next day he fulfilled his promise to check on me. I proudly showed him how much I had accomplished. Not just to get out of another spanking for neglecting my duties but because of how enthusiastic I was about it. The punishment he gave me was what I needed and, with a little blush, I told him so and even thanked him for it. He smiled and said, "You are most welcome. I hope it lasts. I'm sure neither one of us wants you to have one like that again."
You may notice (as I did) that he just referred to a punishment session only. The question about the other sort of spankings he admittedly enjoyed remained open. Then he pointed out that my attire (sweat pants and oversized pullover) was somewhat slovenly. He said it with a chuckle so I wasn't afraid. However, I assured him that I only dressed this way in my room. Otherwise I would be more suitably dressed. Then I told him about a recent shopping expedition and showed him my new dresses. However, he was a typical male; polite comments but he didn't really care about them that much. He left and I was hanging them back in the closet when I realized that none of them were tight fitting. Tailored to enhance the top of my figure but loose flowing below the waist. The sort of dress that would have no problem being raised to expose a bottom about to be spanked. Was I thinking of that when I picked them out? No, that couldn't be. It had to be just a coincidence that I liked that sort of style.
After dinner we had our evening chat and I admit I was a bit nervous. It was Thursday and in my mind, that was his chosen night for taking me to The Room. Actually it wasn't until the next Tuesday night and it caught me completely off guard when he said, "Wait for me in the room. I'll be along in a little while."
My mouth went dry and I couldn't speak so I just nodded and did his bidding. His idea of a little while and mine did not agree. It seemed like an hour that I stood with my shoes by the door and my dress raised in back. The table held the paddle and this time I didn't have to imagine how it was going to feel. And like every other time a spanking was imminent I fretted and worried about it.
When he finally arrived he looked at me for a few minutes before taking his place on the chair. There was no silliness of him asking me if I wanted to be spanked or making me admit that whether I deserved it or not I was going to get one. Just silence as he positioned me to his best advantage. As was his custom my bottom was caressed but no verbal compliment came with it. Then it began; softly at first and then slowly increasing. I can't judge time while getting spanked but I can tell you it was not over quickly enough. But as always, that was only the beginning. In the past he brought my panties to my knees but this time he took them off entirely. Then the object on the table and I became reacquainted many times over.
It would be redundant to describe the pain. All my spankings hurt. After all, that was the main objective in my parent's house and it was no different here. However, in the familial setting the sting was not to be relieved. I would reflect on my behavior while facing a wall or something under strict orders to keep my hands away from the soreness. This man provided his own form of comfort while I was still on his lap but as you already know, he did not stop there.
I have my standards regarding sexual relations and spoke out against the expansion of the area to be rubbed. However, my body was telling me to shut up and enjoy the sensation while certain parts of my brain were rebelling at the location and nature of the activities. I'm speaking of being on his lap and physically acknowledging the arousing effect the spanking had on me. As to the location of his fingers, I had no objection. Only that he not stop doing it. And he didn't.
In time, I gave up complaining and my arguments turned to moans and expressing the desire for more than his digital manipulations. He stopped and put me on my feet. I was beyond caring about my shame and begged him to continue as he stood up. Rather than the disappointment I anticipated he pushed me down so my hands were on the chair. In a moment my dress went up and his fingers went back to work. I never heard him pull down his zipper but the thing he freed from its confines replaced his hand and I was delightfully filled.
One of my previous partners had taken me in this manner. At first I was uncomfortable since it seemed to separate him from me and I could not look at his face. Sort of like he was only interested in that part of me and not making love. In spite of those feelings I started to enjoy it. But, that young man was not slamming his body against a freshly paddled rear end. This night was a little different. Every time my host lunged forward I would thrust back to meet him and was vividly reminded of his method of foreplay. Incredibly, that extra sensation enhanced the experience. I'm not sure which was more profound; the wonderful pleasure of sexual intercourse (which I had gone without for quite some time) or the fact that I was being used by a man who had complete control of me.
The disappointment I feared earlier was gone but was replaced when he finished. I slowly straightened up and was going to give him a hug and a few kisses but that was not to be. Without a word he left me satisfied on the sexual level but emotionally bereft.
In my room I checked for bruises and although still red in splotches my bottom was otherwise unscathed. As I lay in bed I thought about this innovation in our relationship. I'm sure he enjoyed himself. I already knew he liked spanking me but I'm speaking of taking his pleasure in me. What were missing were the normal sounds of lovemaking. I did my share although most of my comments were words of encouragement in somewhat unladylike terms. He, on the other hand, remained silent. The only indication I had of his satisfaction was the increasing speed and depth of his plunging. His aloof departure was his way of weaning me from my middle class ideas of sexual mores. I had no romantic feelings towards him but sex had certain rules. Truth be told, I never felt particularly close to any of my previous partners but a girl shouldn't go to bed with just anyone. The kissing and sweet words were part of the game so I could feel like I was seduced and justify my participation. This man was accomplishing that in a different manner. I did not have to rationalize anything. In fact, the when, how and why of sex was now no more my choice than the decisions regarding spankings. He had taken control of that aspect before and now this. Whereas I might find some enjoyment in the act, my desires were secondary to his. I was not a person but . . .
Even then I had a hard time putting it into words. I knew what it was but I didn't want to admit it. He had treated me like a slave and I was not comfortable with that thought. Nevertheless, I remained at the house and he always treated me with respect and consideration. Well, not always but most of the time.
Over the next few months we made more trips to the room. No one day was set aside for that purpose and I could never accurately predict when he would want me there. He alternated between the strap and the paddle and the only other deviations from our routine were in regards to the post-spanking festivities. Sometimes he would just pull my panties down and that usually meant no sexual touching and I would be on the floor waiting for him to leave so I could satisfy myself. However, if the panties came off I could count on some relief. Usually his fingers but occasionally the sort of intercourse I just described. Either way I would be left with the shame of my body's reaction to his spankings and his unemotional use of it. Speaking of getting aroused, it no longer took the whole session to bring it out. I could feel myself responding in that inappropriate manner almost as soon as he started. As you can imagine, that would move to the background as the spanking increased but was never completely out of the picture.
Most of the special meetings flow together in my memory but there were a few that stand out. I guess I'll tell you about them since, in one way or another, they expanded my horizons. And, in a way, you could say they contributed to my growth (?) as a woman in his house. However, the one I'm going to tell you about temporarily sent me in exactly the opposite direction.
Remember when he had told me the staff was aware of our special activities? I'm sure they were but you would never know it from their actions towards me. I was still the special guest and treated accordingly. None of them ever mentioned anything about the spankings and for a while I could make believe it was still a secret. This incident was the first chip in my fantasy armor.
Usually he would tell me to wait in the room and whatever he planned on using would be on the table. One evening we did things a little differently. Instead of just sending me directly to my fate he added that special touch of humiliation. He said, "I want to try using something new. It may even bring back old memories for you. I remember hearing how your mother spanked you with a wooden spoon before graduating you to the strap so that's what we'll do tonight. Go to the cook and ask her for one. Then meet me in the room."
He went back to reading his book and ignored my look of shock. Did he really expect me to announce that I was going to get spanked to one of the staff? Well, it looked like he did so I muttered the standard, "Yes Sir." and walked to the door. Just as I was about to leave he added, "Lets make it a bit more realistic. Don't wait by the chair. Be standing in a corner."
Luckily, only the cook was in the kitchen as I made my request. She smiled and said, "So, his Lordship is taking up cooking is he?"
I couldn't speak but my blush gave her the answer. She seemed almost but not quite sympathetic. "No, I didn't think so. He'll be wanting one of the sturdier types then. Here you go Dear. I'm sure this will do the trick. Our maid is still young and inexperienced and needs to be reminded of her duties from time to time. Yes, a wooden spoon firmly applied to a young woman's bare bottom does wonders to improve her behavior."
All of a sudden I really looked at her for the first time. I guessed her to be in her mid-thirties which was about the same age my mother was when she used a similar object on me. It was an uncomfortable memory and I couldn't get away fast enough but not before her parting comment. "Don't forget to mind your manners when he spanks you. Tell him he doesn't have to rush. I won't be wanting it tonight but bring it back when he's done. I'll need it for tomorrow morning. Off you go."
With those cheerful words ringing in my ears I slunk out of there.
When I got to The Room I put the spoon on the table and picked out the farthest corner from the door. Normally my reaction to his summons was resignation mixed with a little fear. This time I was plain angry. How dare he do this? I was not a little girl to be told to get the spoon so he could spank me with it. I continued my silent tirade as I put my face against the wall and lifted my dress. Then I had a mental picture of the cook taking me over her knee just like Mom did and now the wall had become the corner in my old kitchen. Then as now, I had to wait uncomfortably for the spanking. I could almost hear the sounds of my mother bustling about the room preparing dinner. My regression had begun. I even started sniffling a bit and that's when he came in.
He asked, "Is something wrong?"
I stomped my foot and whined, "Yes. I'm going to get spanked and I don't want a spanking."
He picked up on my childish action and tone of voice. Very sternly he said, "I don't care what you do or do not want young lady. You have been naughty. You only have yourself to blame and complaining won't do you any good. Pull your underpants down and get over here."
Excuse the interruption but this was the first time we had done any sort of role-playing. I suppose you could count that Saturday when he punished me for poor work habits. In a way he was acting like Dad but didn't actually present himself as such. Now he was portraying one of my parents in a most convincing manner. His use of the word 'naughty' and juvenile reference to my panties completed my trip back in time.
Most young girls don't have to deal with garter snaps when they bare their bottom but that aspect was overlooked and I slid my panties, oops, I mean my underpants down to my ankles and shuffled to his side.
He may have been acting out his part but for me it was real. The semi-independent young woman who shamelessly submitted to this man's peccadillos was gone. I truly was a little girl about to be punished for misbehaving and continued my pleas for leniency as I was put on his lap. Would you be surprised if I told you he actually went a little easy on me? Don't worry, he didn't.
There was no caressing my adorable bottom or slow starting. This was not that kind. He spanked hard from the very first. I cried and begged and promised to behave but as he said, it didn't do me any good. Then I did the cardinal sin. I put a hand back to protect myself.
He quickly pulled it away and pinned it to my back. As his hand continued unabated he angrily said, "That's it young lady. You will never do that again. I was close to finishing but you've earned an extra spanking with the wooden spoon."
In retrospect I wonder how he was going to introduce that thing. I know he didn't have me obtain it so it could stay on the table. Anyway, the little girl on his lap responded appropriately to his announcement. My cries and pleadings went up a notch but he was unmoved. His hand delivered more swats and then there was a short respite.
Before I could take advantage of it to catch my breath the spoon came into play.
Don't ask me to compare it to his other implements. They were used on someone else. This girl only knew about the thing snapping against her backside. And all she knew was that it was something she had reason to dread in the future.
Because of my pseudo-age the traditional finale was skipped. In keeping with our roles he sent me back to the corner where I kept the dress up and cried with my head against the wall. Rather than leaving immediately he stayed to watch me. When my crying had died down to pitiful sniffles he walked over to me. I turned around and he opened his arms. I fell into the embrace and cried a bit more onto his shoulder. He patted my back and said, "There, there little girl. It's over now. Pull your underpants back up and take the spoon back to the kitchen."
He kissed the top of my head and left. I followed a minute or two later and only then did I realize I wasn't turned on. Maybe I wasn't perverted after all. Spankings given for a valid reason (even if the reason was imaginary) were not the same as those given to my other self; the semi-independent submissive woman. It wasn't the spanking per se; it was giving my body to him that was the real impetus to sexual arousal. I wasn't sure what I was going to do with that knowledge but it did explain some things.
Oh, you're probably wondering about the cook. I was still feeling sore and ashamed as I returned the spoon. She took it and said, "From the look of your face I'd say he really gave it to you. I know you didn't do anything to deserve it but even so, an occasional taste of the spoon never did a girl any harm. Let's see the damage."
Part of me still saw my mother in her and I was still in the very obedient little girl mode so I turned, lifted my dress and pulled my panties/underpants down. She clucked her tongue and said, "Yes, he did a good job. I couldn't have done better myself. You've got a few bruises but that's to be expected. I figure you'll be sleeping on your tummy tonight and might even be a little extra sensitive tomorrow also. We'll see what we can do about that. Here. Take some of this lotion Dear. I keep it around for when I burn my hand but it will work on other areas. It will take out some of the sting. Put it on when you get to your room but don't tell him I gave it to you. Scoot."
Well, that answered one question. I found at least one person who felt a little sympathy for me and by the way, that lotion felt quite soothing.
The next incident also had a relationship to that Saturday in the garden. Aside from that one, all my spankings had been in The Room. That changed one afternoon when he came to see me in my bedroom.
In itself, there was nothing strange about his visit. He often stopped in to talk about something or other. I think he was also checking to see how the book was progressing and if I needed another motivational session. I had no worries on that score since I was still excited about my work and relished the chance to dig deeper.
As usual, he commented on my attire and said, "You really look like a slob but at least your hair is presentable. Do you use a brush?"
It seemed to be an innocuous question and I had no reason to keep my grooming habits a secret so I said, "Yes. The one on the dresser. Why?"
He didn't answer but picked it up to get a better look at it. I should tell you it wasn't one of those cheap plastic things but solid wood with a wide back. I bought it a few years ago and even then wondered why I was attracted to it. As soon as he slapped it against his hand I knew what he intended to do. He asked if I was at a point in my work where I could take a short break from it.
I swallowed a few times as I put bookmarks in the reference volumes and closed them. I turned to him again and said, "Yes Sir."
He smiled but it was not the face of shared joy; more of a man who was about to get his way. I pulled my chair out from the desk but he shook his head. "No need for that. I want you kneeling on the bed."
I repeated my "Yes Sir" and he added one word that stopped me in my tracks. "Nude."
All I had on my feet were sandals so they came off easily. The rest of my outfit consisted of loose fitting garments that should have been just as effortless to remove; physically uncomplicated but a challenge nonetheless. Although he had felt them through clothes he had never seen my breasts uncovered before. I wasn't wearing a bra so they became visible with one smooth motion of pulling the top over my head. I let it drop on the floor and looked to see if he liked what I had just exposed. I don't know what I was really expecting but it wasn't to see him frown. "Don't throw that on the floor. Fold it and put in on the chair."
As long as I had to cross the room for that I decided to stay there while the rest came off. That idea was squelched when he said, "Go back to the bed to take the next thing off."
There had been many times when I wanted to strip for him but not in this way. The trip back to the bed to take my sweatpants off and then to the chair and back to the bed again was terribly embarrassing.
I gave him a questioning look and he understood. He answered just as wordlessly with a simple nod. I stepped out of my panties and made the short trip to the chair and back to the bed once more. On the way I wondered why he had me do that. Did it mean he wasn't going to give me his standard warm-up?
He maneuvered me on the bed so my knees were at the edge and my head and chest flat against the covers. My last question was answered as the hairbrush crashed against my bottom. Not only was he eschewing the panty portion but he wasn't starting slowly. From the very first swat he was telling me this was a different sort of spanking and one I didn't like. Of course, I didn't like any of his spankings but at least there was some small comfort in ritual.
I don't think it was one of his longer punishments but that solid wood packed a serious wallop. It was totally unlike the strap or the little paddle. They stung like Hell whereas this thing seemed to want to drive itself into my muscles. And it was all I could do to keep it from driving me off the other side of the bed.
When it was over he left me in that ignominious position while he put the brush back on my dresser. Then he came back to me and stroked me between the legs with one finger. As usual, neither one of us was surprised at what he found. He said, "Good. Get up."
My legs were a little unsteady but that didn't present a problem. He sent me to my knees beside the bed as he sat down on it. He pointed down and I knew what to do. I opened his fly and took him out. He put a hand on my head but that was not necessary. This was another thing I had done in the past. And like the time I had intercourse facing away from my lover this was equally degrading. My lower regions wanted attention but they were ignored in favor of his pleasure. Even then I wondered why it didn't bother me as much as it should've. In retrospect, those were two strong signals of my real nature and here I was performing that same thing for a man who had just given me a hard spanking with my own hairbrush. Another thing was where we were. I had thought of my bedroom as a sanctuary. A place where I was safe and could do what I wanted and now he had violated it. It was at that point that I knew without a doubt that he owned me completely. With that thought in mind I did my utmost to please him. He was no longer just my host; he was my Master.
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