It was Saturday morning, a nice sunny day in June, and Bob and I were seeing off our two housemates on their trip. Ellen and Dave were going to be driving around the country for a whole month, with a long itinerary of visits to cities and scenic areas. They planned to do a lot of camping to save expenses on the trip, and Dave's Volvo was filled with outdoor gear like sleeping bags and Coleman lanterns. Dave had just brought out the last item to be packed, a large tent, and he was trying to cram it into the car trunk with Bob's help.
Dave got the trunk slammed down on the second try, and Ellen came around the car to give me one of her characteristic hugs, strong and friendly and a little emotional. Ellen is one of my best friends, so I hugged her back hard.
"Oh, Kim," Ellen said. "I'm going to miss you. I wish you were coming."
Part of me wished the same thing, but I'd made my decision several weeks before when I'd decided to take courses during the summer.
"If you tried to carry another thing in that car, you wouldn't make it out the driveway! I don't think I'd enjoy running along behind."
Ellen smiled. "We'll be in New York City by tonight. I always find it so strange when I'm going on a trip to think I'll be so far away in a few hours. It's like magic! And we take it so much for granted, you know?"
I nodded. "I want you to promise you'll have a wonderful time, so when you come back you can tell me about it and I can enjoy it vicariously. Promise!"
Ellen hugged me one last time and then Dave came over to say good-bye while Ellen went and hugged Bob. Usually I'm careful not to get physical with a male housemate, but it just wasn't in Ellen's nature to restrain herself that way with Bob, and it was catching, so I gave Dave a big hug too. He was such a sweet big bear of a guy, always friendly and helpful and kind of shy. We'd been housemates a year and a half and I liked him a lot. I thought I'd noticed some signs lately that he and Ellen were starting a relationship. If I was right, the trip would be a great opportunity for them to work out how serious they wanted to get. I wished them well. They were two of my favorite people and I thought they deserved each other.
Dave and Ellen finally got into the Volvo, and Dave backed it out to the street and started toward Mass Ave while Bob and I stood at the curb and waved. I wasted a few moments looking pensively at the empty corner where they'd turned, until Bob suggested we go back inside and have another cup of coffee.
The four of us have a nice deal on a four-bedroom house just off Mass Ave, near the Harvard women's dorms. It's a short walk to Harvard Square and convenient to just about everything, but still has plenty of trees and shade. A lot of faculty lives in the area and, of course, a lot of students. I'm back to being a student myself, working on a degree at Harvard Law School, a program I'd never thought I'd be able to get into, right up to the time the acceptance letter appeared in our mailbox. It's very expensive, of course, and a lot of hard work, just like they said in "The Paper Chase", although that was just about the only thing that was realistic in that film. Success at the Law School requires hard work, not genius, and after two years being bored to death as a government employee at the Cambridge Department of Transportation, I'm willing to put in a lot of work if that's what it takes to get an interesting job.
Ellen Simmich was the one who got me the job at DOT, and she still works there, while Bob Kincaid and Dave Freeman both work as programmers in Cambridge, but at different companies. Bob was our new housemate. He'd known Ellen from undergraduate days at Berkeley, and she spoke very highly of him when he said he wanted to take the vacancy we had after our former Heidi got married and moved out. That was two months ago, and I'd already met Bob at a party, so I was happy to have him around myself. He was good looking and super smart, and I enjoyed his conversation. After he moved in, we stayed up late at night together several times, me because I had to study and Bob, I thought, because he liked me. He has a phenomenal memory, and he could read my case books and learn forty pages of case law in twenty minutes, then tutor me on them while we took a walk down to the river. He could also make me laugh until my stomach hurt with comedy routines he knew, or just funny comments he made about things we saw together.
The upshot of all this is that I had a pretty serious attraction for Bob. I'd been without a real boy friend for over a year -- I get asked out a lot, but I've been getting started back at school and I know I can't have much social life with the schedule I have now. Also, to be honest, I've been disappointed in most of my relationships since my junior year of college, and I wanted to get some distance before I started another one. But having Bob as a roommate was more than I could shrug off. He's exactly my type physically, tall and very strong looking, with dark hair and a sensual appearance, large brown eyes and chiseled lips that pouted when they were relaxed. He'd started figuring rather prominently in my bedroom fantasies over the last few months, and I was almost sure Bob was attracted to me as well, but he hadn't made a real pass so far. I was hoping I might get something more serious going while Ellen and Dave were driving around the country for the next month.
My efforts in this direction had been quite basic up to now. I spent time with Bob when I could, and maybe paid more attention to what I wore . . . and maybe wore somewhat less. Today, for example, I was wearing white shorts and a cutoff shirt and I was pretty sure he noticed and approved. I know I look attractive, if you go for tall, athletic blondes. I have a reasonably good figure except for being too full in the rear -- and some subliminal cue had made me think recently that Bob kind of liked that too. But how should I go about getting things a little more active now that we were alone in the house? The only sexually active steps I'd taken so far were a few secretive acts to enrich my private fantasy life, nothing I expected Bob to ever learn about.
When we got back inside Bob started one of his old remastered CD collections that I like, New Orleans jazz, very low, while I warmed up the coffee. I was just putting cream in my coffee when he came back to the table and sat down. He was carrying a book, which he put on the table while he poured a cup of coffee and sipped it. Then he slid the book across the table to me.
"Have you ever read much about hypnosis?" Bob asked. "What you can actually do with it?"
I felt a sudden thrill in my chest and the back of my neck. The book he'd passed me was something called "Hypnosis and it's Therapeutic Applications" by a professor at UCLA.
"Not an awful lot," I answered slowly. "You remember I went with some friends to be in a study in college on hypnotic susceptibility, and I turned out to be the best subject they had."
Bob nodded. "And you still have a trigger phrase that will put you into deep trance," he said. "And you use autohypnosis with your tape recorder to help you study."
I was embarrassed by this bald account of what I did. It was a perfectly legitimate thing to do -- hypnotic learning really did accomplish what it was supposed to -- but I'd had an ulterior motive in telling Bob about it.
"It only works for rote memory though," I said. "I'm too literal minded or something to study law cases that way. I could learn them, but I wouldn't understand them."
Bob nodded. "That's typical. People in a trance are very literal about things. I found that reference book on hypnosis in the library a few days ago. I used to be interested in it when I was an adolescent, but I think at some point I decided that all the people who acted hypnotized were faking or something."
"Oh, no!" I said. "It's very real for me. I never remember being in a trance, but I can accomplish a lot while I'm under."
"Yes," Bob said. "I'm convinced of that now. You know the reason I was interested in hypnosis when I was a teen-ager was that it seemed like such a neat way to get a girl's clothes off. I was shy with girls then and it seemed so much simpler if I had one under my spell and I could work my will with her." He gave a sinister laugh and quoted in a ghoulish voice, "The power to cloud men's minds . . ." a line I recognized from the Shadow movie. Then, more normally, "Or women's minds, in this case. But you see what I mean."
I was embarrassed by this topic of conversation for my own reasons, but this was sexy stuff Bob was bringing up, and I didn't want to discourage him. I could almost imagine he was hinting he'd like to hypnotize me for real! That was kind of a scary thought, but it was a tremendous turn-on too, so I tried to keep up the innuendo when I replied.
"I think the reason my friends and I joined up for that hypnotic susceptibility experiment was that we hoped some good looking man would hypnotize us and take away our free will to keep our clothes on. I think that's why I did it!"
Bob looked steadily at me for a moment with a sensual expression. "Take away your free will," he said in a Monty Python accent. "What a concept! Good job I'm around."
I giggled, still embarrassed, but beginning to feel excited by the direction of the conversation. "Are you volunteering to take me under your power and undress me?" I blurted out. "You realize of course with the wide experience you've had since you were a teen-ager that women sometimes sit still for that without first being rendered catatonic." Or whatever the right word was. Well, I certainly wouldn't discourage him with lines like that. Good going, Kim! But maybe just a little bit more subtle.
Bob paused a moment and looked at me carefully before he spoke again.
"I noticed when you left your tape downstairs last Tuesday, Kim. I played it and learned the trigger phrase that puts you in a trance."
I understood what Bob was saying immediately, but at the same time I was so shocked by his words that I was wordless for several seconds. I needed time to take it in that this was really happening, just what I'd envisioned a hundred times. What I'd done to enrich my fantasy life -- to make my fantasies seem more real -- was to tell Bob about my trance learning tape and then leave it where he might notice and play it. I'd fantasized he'd learn the phrase to hypnotize me, and from that lots of other sexy things would follow. But I'd never really expected it to happen! I'd done things like that, leaving a tape around, with a few other boys, and nothing ever even came close to happening. People just didn't think in those terms, it seemed. Well, Bob must be an exception, just as I'd fantasized.
But I'd never pictured things happening exactly this way. Why didn't he just put me under if he was going to? After a long pause I managed to find my voice, still feeling dazed.
"But why are you telling me this?" I asked. "What are you going to do with it, use it on me?"
Bob nodded. "I already did, last Tuesday, right after I heard your tape." I couldn't read his expression as he said this.
"I don't remember it!" I said. "Did it work?" A rather foolish question, but I hadn't really known if the phrase would work if I didn't hear it spoken in my own voice. I got the hypnotist in the original program to set it up so I could hypnotize myself.
"Sure," Bob said. "It worked fine."
"Well, what happened?" I asked, beginning to recover a bit from my daze. "What did you do?"
"Mainly, I just asked you some questions," Bob said, flushing. His face suddenly took on a slightly guilty expression, as if he really had made me take my clothes off, or something comparable.
"Like what? What do you mean, 'Mainly'? What sort of questions?" There were a lot of questions Bob could ask that would be more embarrassing than making me take off my clothes.
Bob sat forward and picked up his coffee, but didn't sip it before he answered, still flushing.
"Well," he said slowly, "the first thing I wanted to know was whether you'd set it up this way, telling me about the tape and leaving it downstairs so I could find out how to hypnotize you."
My God -- the worst possible question!
"And then I found out that you did do it on purpose, so I had you tell me why."
My God. My God.
I spoke in a very small voice, "What did I tell you?"
The worst was over for Bob. Now that he'd told me this much he seemed less embarrassed and was starting to enjoy himself.
"You told me about your domination fantasy!" Bob said. "How you think being sexually enslaved by a man is exciting." He noticed he was still holding his coffee cup and put it back on the table. His voice sounded intense and kind of scary as he continued speaking, although maybe it was the topic I found frightening.
"It's exciting for me too. I've had a lot of thoughts about dominating you since you described your fantasies, even a few before I learned it turned you on. I think you're very attractive, and the fantasies you have are a real turn-on for me. So I'm going to do it. Dominate you, punish you when you deserve it, just as you've imagined it."
I was suddenly conscious of my body, how my bottom rested on the seat of the chair and was covered only by some thin cotton panties and what I now felt to be entirely inadequate shorts. I had a mild need to pee. A tingling feeling started to spread from between my legs, a sexy, exciting feeling I get when I start my fantasy, and I noticed my legs were spread slightly apart on the chair. My breasts felt heavy and I had an itchy feeling in my nipples. The sensations spread and became more intense with shocking speed. The problem was that I was very horny anyway! I'd been feeling that way for the last few days, and what Bob was saying now had set me off. I was extremely aware of Bob's body, and how close he was sitting. He was wearing a white tennis shirt and shorts. A little of his chest hair poked out over the button of his shirt placket, and I felt how tall he was, seated next to me, and noticed the large curving muscles of his arms. He was so much stronger than I was, and I thought how helpless I must seem to Bob when he used my secret phrase to hypnotize me. I felt even more excitement between my legs as I thought about this, and I could feel myself flushing.
Then I brought my legs together and sat up straight against the back of the chair. All these sensations were inappropriate! This wasn't some fantasy. This was real! I couldn't just roll over and let Bob start punishing me like a naughty girl who deserves a paddling. My housemate! It was crazy!
I looked at Bob carefully. I didn't really believe that he'd hurt me -- lose control or anything. I always thought Bob was a nice guy and he was obviously waiting now for me to take all this in before he went on. He was waiting for me to get used to the idea that he was going to control me and tantalize me sexually . . . and punish me when I was a disobedient slave. I felt my face flushing again as I imagined what I might have told him when he was asking about my fantasies under hypnosis. What details had he heard? I felt like I could die of shame. And the tingling sensation between my legs hadn't gone away either. I took a deep breath to steady myself before I spoke again.
"Look, Bob," I said, "I like you." I paused in a way that would be a clue to anyone who heard it. . . Now get ready for the bad part! I tried to remember what I'd learned about courtroom presentation. That's what I needed now, to be forceful with Bob, to rock him back!
The right words suddenly came to me, and I went on. "But surely you see that you can't just start doing things like what you're describing against my will. I mean, what you're talking about, it's like rape or something!" And there are laws against rape, I thought. That should bring him down to earth!
I tried to choose my next words carefully. "It's true I might have some fantasies like what you're talking about," I said. Here I almost choked up for a second with embarrassment. "But even the way you found out about that -- what you did was a terrible violation of my privacy!" I started actually feeling a bit angry with Bob now. "And I want you to promise me you'll never do anything like it again. I think I can change my trigger phrase and fix it so the old one doesn't work, but I don't want to have to depend on that. I want your word that you'll never use that phrase to try to hypnotize me again. You've got to promise me that!"
Bob looked somewhat deflated by what I was saying, but not as much as I'd hoped he would. He seemed to grope around for the right words, but when he answered he said exactly what I'd hoped.
"I'm sorry, Kim. You know I'd never do anything to you that was really against your will. You can depend on that."
I had an immediate strong reaction to this that surprised me. I was disappointed that he'd given in so quickly! Great! I thought. Here's the tireless campaigner for women's rights who wants her housemate to override her stated wishes and give her a good paddling. I felt a slight wave of disorientation, which I attributed to general excitement and then I was looking at Bob's face as if from a great distance and I heard him speaking in a voice that sounded strangely fascinating to me, so that I gave it all my attention.
"I've ordered you to answer my questions truthfully and completely, Kim," he said. "You'll be compulsively truthful. Now tell me if you really want me to drop this. Not hypnotize you any more, not dominate you or punish you."
He'd done it again! He'd used hypnosis to put me under some kind of compulsion. It wasn't like a normal trance. At least I didn't think it was. I was remembering everything from minute to minute, and I felt wide awake, like I was going to remember everything later, but I could still feel that I was under some kind of control. I decided that the only thing for me to do was to make a scene, be very forceful with Bob, shout at him and maybe threaten going to the police if he ever did anything like this again!
And I found that I couldn't!
Instead, I started considering his question very carefully. What was it I really did want? It seemed like a complicated question, because if Bob did the things that were in my fantasy, they'd be painful, and I'd feel humiliated and want him to stop. But of course in my fantasy I wouldn't want him to stop at all, I'd want him to be in control and punish me when I deserved it. I felt a wave of unreality wash over me as I noticed that my state of mind as I thought about this was almost mathematically analytical. The only thing that mattered was what I really wanted to have happen.
The question may have been complicated, but it didn't take me long to come up with an answer. After a few seconds I heard myself answering.
"I'm kind of scared about actually having my fantasy come true," I said, "but I really do want you to go through with it. I want you to dominate me."
As soon as I said that, I lost my mathematical abstraction and felt pretty much normal again. Normal except for a feeling that was halfway between fear and intense sexual excitement at what I'd just said. It was true! I realized I really did want Bob to do this! And now that I'd told Bob I felt that way, there wasn't anything I could do to take it back. He had me in some kind of compulsive state so I couldn't resist answering his questions. I was helpless!
"When do you think you should be punished, Kim," Bob asked. "I mean should it just be that I feel like punishing you or should it be only when you're bad, or what? What happens in your fantasies?"
I got that feeling of abstraction again, but I answered almost immediately.
"I usually imagine having a schedule of punishments for things I do that I feel guilty about. Like I'm always about eight pounds overweight and I never have enough will power to lose it. In fantasies I've had, you put me on a diet so I have to lose a pound a week and we have a weighing every Saturday. I have to get on the scales in front of you in my underwear, and if I'm overweight I get a paddling. You know how Dave and Ellen are always out on Saturday morning. I think of getting fifteen smacks on my . . . my heinie for every quarter pound I'm over."
I used the word "heinie" when I was a little girl, and it's still one of my most private words. I'd never say it normally, but I hadn't been able to stop myself from saying it or use a different word. Bob himself seemed to be blushing again at hearing me talk about this, but he nodded and started to speak. I wasn't through, though.
"Another thing I feel guilty about is . . . ah, playing with my . . . button." There was the humiliating childish vocabulary again. "I . . . play with myself about twice a day, and I'm ashamed that I do it at all -- I still think of it as a terribly, uh, naughty thing to do. In my fantasies you sometimes . . . catch me at it and punish me. I . . . really get it when you catch me, because I'm supposed to be your sex-slave and stay horny unless you give me permission to reach climax!"
There was no question that Bob was blushing now. But he seemed to be enjoying the situation at the same time. As I lost my feeling of abstraction I started feeling the way I'd expect to feel after a recitation like this. I'd thought I was embarrassed before, but that was NOTHING! I felt like I could crawl under the chair and hide for the next month. As I thought this, the tingling sensation between my legs began to intensify and localize in my clitoris, and I imagined I could feel myself starting to lubricate. My nipples had definitely risen under my bra, and I was having trouble getting enough air into my lungs. I was still scared as well as horny, since I realized that I was probably going to start getting a good paddling in a few minutes. Thinking this, I felt a premonitory twinge in my bottom.
"What kind of thing do you fantasize getting paddled with?" Bob asked.
"I just went and bought some things for my fantasy . . . two paddles . . . on Thursday," I answered. "One is a wide wooden paddle for a game called Jokari, and the other is a long thin paddle, really it's a long shoehorn for putting on boots -- It has a handle and it's made of plastic like tortoise shell, and it bends -- it's whippy. I have them in my room." I was stunned about how I provided so much detail, probably in obedience to some instruction to give complete answers. I felt new waves of shame as I finished saying all this. I'd actually gone out and bought these paddles myself, to make my fantasies about being paddled seem more realistic, and now I'd gone and told Bob about them.
"Have you ever actually been paddled?" Bob asked. He didn't sound as shocked as I would have expected after what I'd just told him, and I remembered how he'd said this all seemed sexy to him as well. At least he didn't think it was disgusting that I had these thoughts. I'd never told anyone about my fantasies, except for a few oblique references recently with a girlfriend I thought might have the same kind of leanings I did. I worried that most guys would just think I was sick, but Bob actually seemed to be enjoying my degradation. I suddenly had the feeling that he already knew a lot of details of my fantasies and was just asking all these questions to make me squirm and turn me on. That didn't make me feel any less ashamed of what I was saying, but it was starting to be the kind of shame that I felt in my fantasies, a feeling of being exposed and helpless that led to intense sexual excitement.
"My Dad paddled me until I turned sixteen," I answered. "Not since then. But I remember how it hurt a lot, how my . . . heinie would sting for hours afterward. And then I'd be sent to bed and I'd feel a sexy tingling between my legs, and I'd start to rub myself there."
God! It was awful, blurting all this out, having no control! Bob seemed to be looking at my breasts, and it felt like they were swollen to about twice normal size.
"Are you undressed when you get your paddling," Bob asked.
"Oh, yes," I said, "I'm very shy about being nude, and the embarrassment I feel when I daydream about that is very erotic. Sometimes I imagine that you take me out somewhere, in the woods or something, and make me take off my clothes and paddle me there, not really in front of anyone but where people might come along and see."
Bob didn't have anything to say to that immediately. I was feeling more and more aroused from talking about this, but I took the pause as an opportunity to pull myself together. I decided to see if I still had the power of self-originated speech.
"Bob," I said. "Should I assume that you're going to take advantage of my hypnotic conditioning to subjugate my will and hurt me?"
Bob looked surprised, and answered rather slowly, "But you just said yourself that it was what you really wanted. You don't doubt that do you?"
"What do you know about what I really want?" I could feel tears starting in my eyes. "How do you think I feel sitting here hearing myself tell you all these things? Goddammit, I've never been so humiliated." I reached up and brushed away a tear. Bob reached out across the table to put his hand to my face, but I pushed him away. "I suppose you think that I want everything in my fantasy translated directly into reality. Why not take her right down to Harvard Square and have her pull her clothes off, right? Dammit, just because I fantasized about those things when I was playing with my . . . my button in bed with the door shut and the lights off, doesn't mean I can stand to have them happen to me in real life!"
Bob looked thoughtfully at me for a few seconds while I tried to keep myself from starting to bawl. I was angry, but I also felt scared and very vulnerable. He reached out to touch my face again, and I tried to brush him away, but this time he stood up and walked over to me and took me by the shoulders while he knelt next to my chair with his face close to mine. He brushed one of my cheeks with his fingertips, and I could feel a tear stick to them.
"Try to trust me a little," Bob said. "I've already thought about how to handle things like this. I've ordered you to tell me things that are important to how you feel, anything I should know, without realizing you're speaking. You'll tell me if you think some punishment is too mild or too hard to take, and I'll be able to act on what you tell me. Of course you won't remember saying these things, so you won't consciously think of yourself as having any control. But you see you don't have to worry that I'll make you do something you can't stand."
I understood what Bob was saying. It was meant to be soothing and I did feel somewhat comforted. At least he'd thought about my feelings! But I found myself fixating on one phrase he'd used. God! I'd tell him when I thought a punishment was too mild! Presumably when he learned that he could make the punishment harder! I suddenly had the thought that since Bob could make me tell him things unconsciously, he might make me volunteer new ideas for humiliating punishments when they occurred to me too. That seemed almost like mind reading! And it was an extremely erotic kind of control -- a real turn-on!
"And, of course," Bob said, "you'll volunteer sexy ideas for new punishments when they occur to you, all without realizing you're doing it." He smiled as my realization of what had just happened appeared on my face. He'd read my thoughts! I could feel the heat in my face as I understood this, and realized I must be flushing as red as a beet.
He hesitated for a few seconds before he spoke again, "OK, now I've already learned a lot about you by asking you questions under hypnosis since Tuesday. I was mainly asking you these things for the last few minutes to get you used to the idea, but you don't have to answer any more questions right now. Is that better?"
I bowed my head, and he touched my cheek. "Yes," I answered.
"This is pretty embarrassing, huh?"
"Yes."
"Is it sexy, too?"
I blushed again as I felt another twinge in my clitoris and wondered if Bob knew the sensations I was feeling. "Yes, but . . ." I couldn't think of anything else to say, except asking him to stop, and I could see he wasn't going to do that.
Bob seemed to suddenly jerk into a new position back in his chair, as if I'd seen a glitch in a videotape, and I realized I felt some change, a lack of constraint. "OK," Bob said, "I've released you from the compulsive truth state, but I'll know if you try to lie to me and you'll be punished if you do it, so don't try. You're going to be operating with a whole set of hypnotic suggestions from now on. You remember what you just told me about your diet fantasy?"
He paused, and I nodded hesitantly.
"Well that's in force now. You already used the scales before breakfast and you told me how much you weighed, so you have to lose a pound by next Saturday morning or you'll get a paddling. OK?"
I flushed again. "It's not 'OK', of course," I said. "But . . . I guess I have to get used to the idea." I don't know what made me add that last part, to let him know how completely I'd given in, except that maybe I wanted him to know. He could probably tell what I was thinking anyway!
During the few minutes I'd been feeling sorry for myself and started crying, I'd lost my feeling of arousal, but it was coming back quickly as I pictured what was going to happen now. I was beginning to accept the idea of being punished by Bob since there didn't seem to be anything I could do to stop it. I certainly wasn't going to go to the police. Bob didn't have any real reason to think what he was doing was against my will -- I had left the tape for him to find -- and I couldn't lie, deny what I'd just said under hypnosis, that I wanted him to dominate me. Anyway, I preferred being under Bob's control to the idea of having to explain all this to outsiders! Of course the most important reason I was beginning to accept the idea was that I was wondering what it would be like to be Bob's sex slave. What he'd do to me. After all, this was something I'd been fantasizing about for years, with scores of boys in Bob's role, and I was beginning to feel very excited by the idea of having it actually happen. If I could have seen any way to resist I would have felt I had to take it, but there didn't seem to be anything at all I could do to interrupt what Bob was doing.
"Now as for masturbating, if you ever want to do it, you have to ask my permission."
"Ask your permission!" I heard my voice squeak. "I can't do that!"
"Sure you can. I'm not going to let you do it anytime you feel like it, you know. I intend to keep you horny most of the time, so I expect you'll be feeling pretty frantic occasionally. You'll be willing to ask my permission then," he said, grinning, "even if you have to call me at the office."
I felt shame at the thought of calling Bob at his office, probably going through a receptionist to reach him at his desk, maybe while he was talking with his coworkers, to ask his permission to play with myself!
"Of course I don't have to give you permission when you ask, certainly not if you've been bad recently." Bob looked thoughtful for a moment, and then sat back in his chair. "Also I might take the opportunity when you ask permission to make some suggestion of my own, since I figure you'll be very receptive to counter-offers. Even embarrassing ones." Bob was grinning widely at the idea. "As a mild example, I might give you permission and then watch while you do it."
I knew Bob was trying to embarrass me, and I was determined not to make it easy for him, but he had such an advantage I couldn't help it. He was making me actually writhe with humiliation, squirming around on my chair as if I needed to go to the bathroom, which I actually did to a certain extent, and flushing continually. I could feel the heat in my cheeks, and I knew how red my face must look. I hated being so transparent and vulnerable, squirming and blushing like a high-school freshman, so I tried to keep up a brave front, continuing to talk with Bob while I tried to make the best of my situation.
"I've never . . . played with my button in front of a boy, and I think I'm too shy. I mean I don't think I could reach orgasm, I'd be too embarrassed." But immediately after I said this, I knew it was a lie. Embarrassment was actually such a turn-on for me!
"Well we'll just have to see." Bob said, "Or maybe you wouldn't know I was around. I can condition you so you won't be able to notice me; it would be as if I were invisible." He smiled at me as he emphasized this last point, and I squirmed some more and dropped my eyes.
"That'll be important if you try to stroke off without permission. I might be watching every move you make. You know the punishment you'd have in your fantasy for getting caught masturbating?"
He paused, and I nodded hesitantly. I'd get the maximum paddling for a single offense, a hundred smacks.
"Well, you can assume your ideas are accurate in these things," Bob went on. "I'm going to use all your own fantasy schedules to determine what punishment you get. In fact, you'll be the one keeping track."
I felt a surge of shame at the thought of having my punishment determined by my own sex fantasy. Then a tremendous thrill at the idea that I might actually try to masturbate furtively, even knowing I could get caught at it. I knew I'd really get it If Bob caught me doing it without permission, but I could get so horny sometimes! And if Bob refused to give me permission for a long period, I was sure I'd try to do it sooner or later. I suddenly had a picture of Bob standing by invisibly while he watched me masturbate, waiting for me to get very close before he finally caught me at it and punished me. The picture made me so excited that I thought I could reach orgasm in about five seconds if I could just touch myself.
"There's one other thing you should know," Bob said, interrupting my fevered thoughts. "You can hide thoughts about masturbating from me. You won't automatically tell me what you're thinking, as you would with any other important thoughts you have." Bob paused for a second as I took this in, then said, "Even if I walk in on you while you're doing it, you'll be able to hide it from me if you have a moment to pull on some clothes and act innocent. I can still find out, but I have to check for a tell-tale sign, or you'll be able to get away with it."
I could tell from his voice that Bob thought there was something cute about this "tell-tale sign", probably some extra humiliation for me, but I felt so humiliated at this point I couldn't bring myself to ask what he meant.
"And if you actually succeed in masturbating, then you're home free. I won't punish you after the fact even if I find out, since I want to leave you a little freedom to get away with things like this."
Bob looked a little thoughtful for a moment, watching me fidget in my chair. When he spoke again, he sounded like he was winding up.
"There are a lot of other rules you'll find you have to follow in various situations, Kim. But you don't need to hear them all now. They'll occur to you when they come up, things you have to do, ways to avoid being punished. All the rules are a lot like your fantasies, so you shouldn't have any trouble understanding what you're supposed to do"
Bob sat back and grinned at me, obviously finished, looking like a very naughty boy who has a real live girl to play with. I tried to steel myself for what I expected next -- a paddling of course. But then Bob suddenly stood up and looked away from me at the sunny scene outside our kitchen window.
"That's it," he said. "Until you're bad, I guess I don't have any reason to punish you." The CD ended (Was it the same one I remembered from when our conversation started?) and Bob stood up to change it. "So you're off the hook until next Saturday." He walked to the sound system in the living room and called back over his shoulder. "Unless I catch you doing something naughty before then, of course."
The new CD started and Bob walked back to the table. The tape, I thought. It was very naughty of me to leave the tape where you could find it and learn my trigger phrase. I would expect to be punished for that.
"So that's it," he said with finality. "Even if you pick up some minor punishments during the week, I might just put everything off until next Saturday. Better to have it all in a bunch."
The tape, I thought. I certainly wasn't going to mention it myself, but why hadn't he picked that up from reading my thoughts? Why hadn't I unconsciously told him how I expected to be punished for leaving the tape for him to find? I realized with something like horror that I was looking at him expectantly, as if I wanted him to ask me one more question. Nothing to punish you for now, right Kim? And of course he'd said I couldn't lie to him successfully, so I'd have to answer that I deserved to get a paddling for leaving the tape downstairs where he could find it.
I got up abruptly from the table and brought the empty coffee cups to the sink, then realized I was thirsty and drank a glass of water. Better to get on with doing the dishes so Bob wouldn't think I was waiting for him to ask me one last question. I didn't remember whose turn it was to do dishes, but there weren't many, so I could do them. This new relationship was going to work hell with our chore rotation schedule. I know it's not your turn to do dishes, Kim, but maybe you ought to do them anyway if you want to stay on my good side. If you don't want me to paddle you. Except it didn't seem like he was going to overdo very much in that department. No punishment until next Saturday, a full week! Maybe nothing then if I was good. I tried to believe that the emotion I was feeling wasn't disappointment. Of course I was going to have to masturbate sometime between now and next Saturday, but if I could just last through the weekend I didn't see how Bob could possibly catch me on a weekday when he had to be at work. So it really did look like I wasn't going to get punished for quite awhile. I drank another glass of water, and quickly washed the few dishes and set them in the rack. I still needed to wipe down the counter.
"Of course, there's the tape," Bob said.
I looked over my shoulder at him, still at the table. I said, "What?"
"The tape. It was very naughty of you to leave the tape so I'd find it last Tuesday. You have to be punished for that, don't you?"
I felt a scary thrill pass through me. "You bastard!" I said. "You were teasing me! You're going to punish me."
"It seems like you deserve it," he said, smiling. "You were very naughty leaving that tape around, weren't you." Bob paused, and after a moment I flushed very red and nodded hesitantly. I actually did feel I'd been naughty. Then his voice suddenly became firm and authoritative: "Come over here now."
I didn't consider resisting, although I don't think I was under hypnotic compulsion. Bob's voice compelled me, like one of the scary male authority figures I'd obeyed when I was a girl. I immediately walked over and stood by his chair, staring at the top of his head and his strongly muscled arms. He faced me to his left and put one hand on the front of my waist and the other on my back and pressed gently against my back as if to bend me over. I felt a wave of lightheadedness as I obeyed, bending over. He raised his right hand and gently patted my bottom, and in spite of the gentleness I felt waves of sensation when his hand made brushing contact with the skin just behind my vagina. I notice my breathing was much deeper than it had been. My legs were slightly apart, and he took his left hand and brought the palm against the inside of my left leg, then drew it up towards my groin, touching the inside of both my thighs. I gave a low moan but remained bent over, feeling like a slave must feel, extremely aroused and breathing heavily.
"I want you to remember answering this question," Bob said, "You have to tell me what fits your fantasy. How many paddle smacks should you get for the trick you pulled with the tape?" He gave me another gentle pat on the bottom and I answered without volition.
"Eighty smacks," I said. My voice sounded a little choked. "With the boothorn paddle."
"I want you to go up to your room and bring the paddle right back down," Bob said, "Bring it here to me." He gave me a last small pat on the bottom as though to start me off.
I walked upstairs to my room, quickly losing the edge of my arousal, but not all of it. My entire body felt sensitive, and I had a dreamlike feeling that this couldn't be happening. I was going to get long boothorn I'd bought in an upscale shoe store to bring down to Bob so he could punish me. When I walked into my room, the dreamlike feeling went away and everything suddenly seemed achingly real. It was actually going to happen . . . I was going to get paddled in my kitchen! I found the boothorn by my bedside table. It was about 18 inches long and an inch and a half across, tapering down near the handle, a good deal heavier than a normal ruler but still flexible. I thought it would hurt a lot, coming across my bottom, and it struck me that I didn't really know why I'd bought it on Thursday. I'd gone looking for something that would fit my fantasy, but then when I came home I hadn't fantasized until bedtime, and even then I'd fallen asleep before I finished. In fact I hadn't succeeded in masturbating for days, which was why I was so horny. I'd tantalized myself every night, fantasizing about Bob using a punishment machine to frustrate me prior to making me put on a chastity belt so I wouldn't be able to bring myself to climax. I'd had this sort of fantasy in the past, but I'd never left myself frustrated for more than a day or two before.
I suddenly realized I was staring at the boothorn paddle in fascination, and Bob had told me to come right back down to the kitchen. I didn't want to get in any more trouble, so I hurried to the stairs. As I passed the bathroom, I yearned to go in because I felt a strong urge to pee, and I had a sudden fear of what might happen if I was paddled feeling this way. But taking a detour like that was definitely against Bob's orders, so I was going to have to hold it in. Coming down the stairs, I realized how much I was accepting all this: the axioms I'd made up in my fantasies or remembered from when I was paddled as an adolescent. I had to be "good", to do what Bob said, or I'd be in more trouble, and then I'd "really get it"! I was already going to "get it" -- an eighty-smack paddling -- but I "deserved it" for what I'd done with the tape. It was a very strange way to think in waking life, that I deserved to get paddled, but it seemed natural somehow and I didn't want to get in more trouble for being disobedient.
The thought suddenly crossed my mind that I wouldn't have been able to pee even if I'd made that detour into the bathroom. It was because of one of the rules Bob said I'd understand when they came up, that I needed to ask his permission to use the bathroom when I was being punished. This wasn't a sexy idea at the moment, needing to ask permission, although in my fantasy it was something that embarrassed me a lot and made me feel controlled in a sexy way. Right now I just wanted to get the rules right: to be "good".
I found Bob in the living room. He'd closed the windows and blinds and turned on the lights. I handed him the paddle and waited nervously to see what I should do next.
Bob took the paddle and examined it carefully, then he looked at me and I flushed.
"Now I could make you do everything I say by hypnotic compulsion," Bob said. "Or at least I believe I could do that, since you're such a good subject. But I want you to learn to do what I tell you even when you're not being compelled to do it. I want you to practice being obedient. You have to get undressed when I tell you, get into a position to be paddled when I tell you, do everything I say without hesitation. Do you understand?"
"Yes," I whispered.
"If you don't do what you're told, or if you hesitate, I'll give you extra smacks, over and above what you already have coming. After you get some of your paddling I'll give you opportunities to get out of the rest by taking other punishments. I think the paddling will hurt a lot, so you'll really want to get out of it. Right?"
"Yes, sir," I said. I'd lost all will to resist and I was going to try to do exactly what I was told. This was just like the punishments I had in my fantasies, so I knew the rules. I understood Bob would force me if I didn't do what he said willingly, and I wanted to be good. But right at the moment I was fascinated by sight of the paddle in his hand. He was gripping it by the handle and moving it back and forth like a squash racket to test the balance. I could see it flexing and hear it whipping through the air as he moved it.
"Are you really following what I'm saying?" Bob asked.
I jerked my attention back. "I think so. I have to do what I'm told right away, or I get extra smacks. Later I get a chance to get out of some smacks with other punishments."
"That's right," he said, "Now I've given you some suggestions that will make you even more shy about your body than usual. It doesn't matter how embarrassing it is, you still have to do what you're told. Understand?"
"Yes, sir," I said. I suddenly felt like I needed to pee very badly.
"All right," Bob said, "Your punishment starts now. Take off all your clothes."
I understood exactly what Bob wanted and I intended to do everything he said without hesitation, but as soon as I had my blouse off I felt intense embarrassment. It was silly! I'd been seen nude by several boyfriends -- I wasn't as shy as all that! But suddenly just to have Bob see me in my bra seemed excruciating. It was as if I was fourteen again, just learning about sex and possessed of all the bodily modesty I had at that age. It was even worse because I knew I had a paddling coming, and it felt like I was exposed in another way as well. As if Bob had a video camera he was using to record everything he saw, and I'd have to trust him not to show the recording to other people. I had a picture in my mind of the videotape being shown to all the boys in my high school freshman class, which fit perfectly my feeling of being fourteen. Bob had just told me he'd given me suggestions to make me feel more modest than usual, but I couldn't believe how effective they were.
I gritted my teeth and pulled down my shorts so I was in my underwear. I had the reaction you'd expect from a fourteen year-old doing a strip in front of a boy with a video camera. With a great deal of concentration, I got my bra off. And that was it! I couldn't bring myself to take off my panties. I was standing with my arms folded across my chest and the toes of my feet turned in, with my knees together and the ball of one foot resting on the toes of another. I wanted to sink down to the floor, but I didn't want any more punishment than I could avoid, so I compromised by hugging myself and trying to cross my legs standing up.
"Are you going to continue?" Bob asked.
"I can't, sir," I whimpered. "I'm sorry. Please. I can't help it." I was afraid I was going to wet myself with embarrassment.
"All right," Bob said, "but that means extra punishment. Now, I constrain you in this!""
Bob's voice suddenly seemed to grow more resonant as he spoke this last phrase. His words grabbed all my attention and seemed to hang in the air after the sound died away, vibrant and powerful, like a magician's incantation in a fantasy story. Then Bob's voice continued, sounding as if he was commanding a vast army from a great distance.
"Finish undressing, and while you're doing it don't hold yourself so you hide any part of your body. Stand naturally, as if you're fully dressed."
I immediately felt a sensation like knotted ropes around my wrists and elbows and other joints, and the knots seemed to pull my arms and legs through the motions that Bob specified. I bent over and pulled my panties down and stepped out of them, then the knots forced me to straighten up again and stand waiting for my next order with my arms at my side and my legs slightly spread. The amazing thing about all this was that it was just as embarrassing as I'd expected to appear nude in front of Bob, but there was nothing I could do about it! The knots kept me from moving to cover myself and it was excruciating because of the way I was standing. I thought my vagina was completely exposed, but I was tied in place and I didn't even have the control to take a quick look.
"That's fine," Bob said, speaking in a normal voice again. "That's very nice." I realized his voice was actually a little husky, and he seemed to be looking directly at the place I'd been thinking of. Through an embarrassment so intense it was almost profound, I was surprised to feel a small twinge of satisfaction that Bob sounded aroused by seeing my body.
"All right," Bob said, "Now get into the kind of position you fantasize about when you imagine yourself being paddled."
I felt that the knots around my joints disappeared so I could control my arms and legs again, and I practically dove down to the floor to a position where my breasts and vagina were less exposed. Right away though, I realized that my bottom was the new focus of attention, and I became fixated on the embarrassment of getting my paddling in front of Bob and his imaginary camera, another nightmare for my fourteen-year-old sensibilities. Also, I wasn't yet in the right position. I looked around and crawled over to a large footrest that seemed to offer the right kind of support for what I needed, then I kind of crawled on top and draped myself over it, leaning down on the other side, until my bottom was at the most prominent point. I felt an unbelievable emotion of shame as I reached this position, one I'd imagined countless times in feverish sessions of self-abuse, but never actually experienced with anyone watching. I realized I wasn't in the proper position yet, because in my fantasy I'd have my legs spread so my vagina was visible from behind and I'd be fingering myself with my right hand. I tried a couple of time to separate my legs, but once again I found something I couldn't bring myself to do because of the embarrassment. I wondered if Bob would notice if I cheated and kept my legs together, and then I determined to do it, to try to fool him. But a few seconds later Bob spoke sharply to me, sounding angry for the first time that morning.
"Now you're really going to get it for trying to cheat, Kim! I thought you were going to be good!"
Through a new wave of shame at getting caught cheating, I heard Bob's voice resonating again, giving me some sort of order. Suddenly knots were around my wrists and ankles and just above my knees and elbows again, and the knots forced my legs to spread and pulled my knees forward under the footrest, so that the muscles in my buttocks were taut. I knew this was exactly the position I pictured in my fantasies, and I was thankful that Bob wasn't making me finger my button at the same time, since that was also part of the picture. God what a view he must have of my body right now! I suddenly realized I hadn't had a shower yet today, and I started worrying whether I was clean back there. I prayed that Bob wouldn't see anything that would make him disgusted with me.
Now that I'd reached my fantasy position, I felt completely constrained. My muscles felt like they could flex normally, but when I tried to move my arms or legs the ropes held me with no give at all! I strained for a moment against my bonds, intimidated by the lack of slack, then gave up, realizing I was totally helpless. I'd imagined being tied down numerous times, but I'd never actually had the experience, so my fantasies weren't very convincing. What I was feeling now seemed too real to be imaginary. I hadn't seen any ropes, but I wondered if they were actually there and I just couldn't notice them. Then I stopped thinking about the constraints as I became aware of my position again, and thought about what was coming next: I was going to get it! I just hoped I wouldn't humiliate myself somehow while I was getting paddled.
Bob stepped over to my left side a few feet away, knelt down, and sat back on his heels. Then he brought the long thin paddle in his right hand gently across my rump. It didn't hurt, but it gave me the idea of what was coming. In this position he could swing the paddle around in a long arc, like a squash racket, right into my backside. Actually, since the paddle was so flexible, he could get an extra whip out of it at the end of its arc. I whimpered audibly at the thought.
"All right, Kim, I'm going to start off easy so this isn't too much of a shock for you all at once. I'll make it harder until you're ready for the real thing. All the warm-up does is make you lose a little bit of sensation, just as you would after you've had ten or fifteen smacks anyway, and you can ask for the real paddling anytime. Are you ready?"
"Yes, sir!" I said through gritted teeth. And then Bob brought the paddle across my bottom in my first warm-up smack.
It really wasn't very hard. I'd given myself a harder slap once with a Ping-Pong paddle when I was fantasizing about how it felt. But about two seconds later, I got another one. Also not very hard, but starting a pattern.
They continued like that, one every few seconds, regular as a metronome, and while none of them were very hard, they added up to something that began to hurt a bit. It was like an ache in a muscle that was turning into a cramp and I found myself trying to rock forward on the footstool to get away from it. But it felt as if the footstool weighed a ton and was cemented to the floor. Then I tried to pull my knees back a little so the muscles of my buttocks wouldn't be so tight where the paddle came across them, which added a lot to the sting. But I couldn't pull back an inch against the restraining ropes. I was utterly at Bob's mercy. It occurred to me then that the most humiliating thing about this was that it would go on until Bob was finished, and there was nothing I could do to get it to end sooner.
Unless I asked for the real paddling right away, of course. Bob said I could do that. How hard could that be? Maybe I should just ask for it now. My bottom was beginning to feel a bit numb.
As if in answer to my question, the slaps became noticeably harder. They hurt again, and the numbness wasn't enough to mask the stinging on my bottom. Then, just as I felt I'd achieved a new level of insensitivity, I noticed the slaps felt harder yet. I suddenly realized that Bob was making every single slap slightly harder than the one before. I could hear the smack, smack sound of the paddle against the flesh of my buttocks, and I noticed I was sweating. The smacks kept getting harder and I suddenly realized I was pushing forward again and fighting uselessly to rock the footstool over.
I gave this up as hopeless and tried to relax my muscles. I have a trick for letting pain slip by me in a dentist's chair or something. I simply relax all my muscles, especially the big muscles between the neck and shoulders, and no matter what was happening I wouldn't feel very much pain. I'm very good at this, probably for the same reason I'm such a good hypnotic subject.
But it didn't work here for very long. I localized the pain so that the rest of my body was relaxed and only my bottom stung, and then I started making the feeling there go away. But after a short period, I lost the ability I had to interpret what was happening in my own terms and I felt the stinging immediacy of the smacks again. I suddenly realized I was in the middle of getting a sound spanking that stung a good deal, and my paddling hadn't even officially started yet!
I cried out, "Please, Bob, stop for a second. Please, just for a second . . . Please!"
The paddling stopped and the sudden silence made it clear how loud the smacks had sounded in the room.
"Yes, Kim," Bob said. "What?"
"I just need to know," I started, and I realized I was panting as if I'd been running, "uh, how much harder it's going to get. I mean the real smacks when I get them can't be much harder than this, can they?" There was a quality of pleading in my tone, and I tried to rephrase my question, "Do you think I should take my paddling now, or should I wait?"
"Well . . . I think you've had most of the benefit of a warm-up now," Bob answered slowly, "It wouldn't get any harder during the warm up. You can ask for the real thing if you're ready"
"All right," I said. "Please can I have my real paddling now."
"Remember you can't stop it once I start," Bob cautioned.
"Ohhh. Yes sir," I said. I had my chin down in my chest and my teeth clenched and I was trying to program myself not to cry out no matter what happened. I felt rather than saw Bob bring back the paddle behind me and saw him set himself our of the corner of my eye, and then roll a bit as he brought the paddle forward.
And I felt the paddle explode on my behind!
The pain was awful! It really hurt! Not like in my fantasies! I gave a short wailing cry. I hadn't made a sound up to now, and I was proud of myself, but this cry was wrenched from me and I couldn't hold it in.
And then I got my second smack from the paddle. While I was dealing with the pain of the first smack, I didn't have any other thoughts. The second one made me realize that a third one was coming! Abstractly I realized there would be another one after that, but I couldn't focus on it. I was a creature of the moment and the next smack was all I could think of.
Another smack, and another, and I realized I couldn't count them! They hurt so much I couldn't set them off as separate events to be counted! I held fast to the idea that at some point they would end, although it seemed like there was always another one that came across my poor backside. I realized that I was pulling as hard as I could against my restraints, and I wondered again if the ropes were real or if I was imagining them. If it was hypnotic illusion, I was amazed that I could be so well conditioned, so obedient to hold still and accept such a painful paddling. This wasn't a coherent thought, just an impression. I couldn't have coherent thoughts that lasted past the next smack!
With every smack from the paddle, I would cry out loudly, just short of bawling like a child. After the second one, when I realized there would be more coming, my cries were words, pleading with Bob to reduce the number of smacks I had to get, although I didn't really expect it to do any good. I cried out things like, "Please! . . . Please! . . . No More! . . . Please! . . . I'll be good! . . . Please!" Not words to be proud of, but I couldn't hold them in.
Finally, when it seemed I'd gotten an infinite number of smacks, when it seemed it had been going on forever, it stopped. There was a moment of silence while I had a feeling of release, and then Bob spoke.
"Pretty good," he said, "You've gotten twenty-five smacks out of the way. Do you think you're more motivated now to do what you're told?"
"Yes, sir," I said. "Please. I'll do anything you say." I was ready to cringe if that would spare me more smacks.
"Without any hesitation? Even if it's embarrassing?"
"Yes, sir," I said, "Anything. Please."
"But first you need to get the extra ones for being disobedient about not following my directions just now."
I suddenly realized he was moving around to my right side, and then I noticed that the right cheek of my butt stung more than the left, and I guessed he was switching sides to even out the sting. But this scared me that I was going to get a lot more smacks if the soreness was going to be even on both cheeks when he finished, and I shouted out. "Nooo! Please!" And I kept pleading as he sat down behind me on my right and leaned down on his left elbow. He was going to continue to use his right hand to paddle me from that side.
Bob spoke again, "First, you're going to get it for not taking your underpants off when I told you to undress!"
I wailed as the slaps started once more and started crying out again, pleading and saying I'd be good. After several smacks Bob said, "And now you're going to get it for trying to cheat when I told you to get into paddling position!" And he sounded a little mad again, which really scared me. The smacks started and went on for a long time, interminably, while I cried out that I was sorry, and how I'd be good, and wouldn't ever cheat again.
When they stopped, there was a pause and then I suddenly felt Bob run his fingers across the flesh of my bottom. It felt so hot and stingy, and I whimpered a little and murmured that I'd be good.
"You won't try to cheat again?" Bob asked.
"No sir, please! I promise! You'll see how I'll be good. I'll do anything you say!"
"All right, then. Stand up and come over here."
I felt the restraints around my arms and legs disappear and I stood up slowly, feeling a bit dizzy, and walked over to where Bob indicated. Standing up, I felt like I'd been in one position too long. I was a little achy all over, but of course very stingy on my bottom.
"Stand naturally, without trying to cover yourself."
I felt just as embarrassed to appear nude in front of Bob and the imaginary camera as I had before, but this time I didn't hesitate. I'd earned myself extra smacks before when I paid attention to this feeling, and I realized now that if I'd known how the paddling would feel, no embarrassment would have kept me from obeying Bob's orders. I took up the position I remembered Bob putting me in after I was forced to drop my panties, hands at my side and legs slightly spread.
"Spread your legs a little more."
I winced, because Bob was standing directly in front of me with an excellent view between my legs, but I didn't hesitate. He looked at me for a moment, then walked over to the kitchen counter and brought back three small beanbags I'd seen around the house for learning juggling. The beanbags were very easy for beginners to catch since they wouldn't bounce out of your hand like a rubber ball. Bob dropped the three of them on the carpet in front of me, about a foot apart, then moved an empty plastic wastebasket from the corner of the living room and placed it nearby.
Bob stood back and grinned at me. "Are you ready for a different punishment to get you out of some of your paddling?" I nodded quickly and Bob went on, "I want you to pick up these three juggling balls and place them in the wastebasket."
I must have looked kind of unclear about what I was being asked to do, but after a moment I went and bent over to pick up one of the beanbags, very conscious of my nakedness as I felt my breasts bobbing. Then Bob added the really humiliating part.
"But you can't use your arms to pick them up, or your mouth, or any part of your legs below your upper thighs."
It took me a moment to figure out what that meant, but then I realized I had to use the crack in my butt. I got even redder in the face than I was before and started to try to think of a way to do this without embarrassing myself any more than necessary. But I didn't have the luxury of a lot of time, because Bob suddenly spoke again.
"And you have a time limit of ninety seconds, Kim, or you'll get more paddling."
I saw Bob look at his watch and immediately started trying to do what he'd told me within the time limit. I crouched down slightly forward of one of the beanbags, then put my arms behind me on the floor, and let myself down until I could feel the beanbag nestling in the crack of my butt. I tightened my cheeks to grasp it, then pushed myself up and waddled over to the wastebasket where I crouched again and let the beanbag fall. Bob was watching the whole thing, and my symbolic act of defecation in front of the imaginary video camera almost made me want to defy him -- to refuse to degrade myself like this any more
But then I remembered how the paddling felt, and went on to fetch the second and then the third beanbag. I had to spread my legs to pick them up, and again to drop them into the wastebasket, so I was completely exposed in front, and when I picked up the beanbags it hurt a little when my cheeks rubbed against the rough carpet. I accidentally dropped the third beanbag before I reached the wastebasket and had to crouch to pick it up again, which made me worry that I was going over the time limit. I felt intense shame as I did all this, because this was exactly the kind of humiliation I imagined in my fantasies, and Bob must know all about that. I'd never pictured this exact scene, but it reminded me of something I'd read in "Beauty's Punishment," the submissive novel by Ann Rice, and I knew this scene would be a real turn-on for me if I was daydreaming about it alone in my bed. Actually doing it in front of Bob with his imaginary video camera made it too intense to be sexual. Still, I guessed it would all be terribly arousing in retrospect. When I finished, I stood up again in the exposed position Bob wanted, and waited for him to tell me if I'd gone over the time limit.
"All right, Kim, you passed that obedience test." Then after a pause: "Good girl." I knew I should have resented Bob encouraging me so condescendingly, but instead I actually felt a tiny spark of gratitude that Bob could see I'd been good.
After a short pause, Bob told me to walk to the wide table in front of the sound system and bend over it, resting my elbows on the surface with my legs spread behind. I moved immediately to obey, though I was concerned about the position I'd be in. It made me worry that I was going to get another paddling, although I couldn't think why since Bob had just said I'd been good for passing an obedience test. The table was lower than a normal one -- It was a stand really -- so when I leaned over to rest on my elbows, my bottom was a good deal higher than my shoulders. I suddenly thought Bob might pick up the paddle and come test me, to see if I could hold still while I was being paddled. I didn't think I'd be able to do that, I'd cringe away from the paddle and then I'd get more smacks for being disobedient.
I'd almost convinced myself this was what I was in for, when Bob suddenly came into view on my left with a jar of moisturizing cream and walked around behind me, and I realized he had something else in mind. I saw Bob put the jar down on the table to my left, and a few seconds later I felt his lubricated finger come forward between my splayed legs to touch my exposed vagina, search for the right spot, and then nestle against my clitoris. I gasped, shocked to feel an immediate access of excitement. I'd thought that the paddling a few minutes ago hurt so much that I wouldn't be interested in sex for a while. But now I realized that my current situation and the warm burning feeling in my bottom were terribly stimulating, and I was lubricating freely in just a few seconds. Bob hadn't really needed the moisturizing cream!
"I want you to rock back and forth and rub against this," Bob said, tweaking his finger slightly for emphasis so that I shuddered in response.
So in full view of the hidden camera, I thrust my hips back and forth while his finger held still and my clitoris got the benefit of the friction. After I'd been doing it for a few seconds, I felt Bob's arm reach under me to where my breasts were swinging pendulously over the stand as I supported myself on my elbows. His fingers began to brush against my nipples and I felt a galvanizing thrill from my nipples to my groin and heard myself cry quietly in a crooning voice, "Ohhh! Please!" I was lubricating copiously, and as I got closer and closer to climax, I had the hardest time yet following Bob's directions. I was uncoordinated because of my excitement, and was having a lot of trouble rocking my hips against Bob's finger in this unfamiliar position.
Besides, this was so unbelievably humiliating, humping bent over in the living room in front of Bob and his camera, picturing the boys in my high school class watching me do it on videotape, that I actually thought I was at my limit. I couldn't take more embarrassment than this even to get out of another paddling. And the humiliation I felt as I thought this added to my arousal, which made my shame even more intense. But I continued rocking against Bob's finger, with the feeling of embarrassment a constantly palpable presence, until I realized that my back was arched with excitement making my vagina even more prominently exposed to Bob standing slightly behind me. I started to make louder crooning noises as I came within a few thrusts of climax, and prepared myself to reach orgasm in this position, my sexual flush mixed with my embarrassment so that my face and breasts felt sunburned red, my bottom hot and burning from my paddling. I got ready for the last few thrusts of my hips that would send me over the edge.
And I stopped moving.
Through a haze of desire, I became almost panicky with the thought that I'd get another paddling for this, and I put my hands on my hips to force myself to rock, while I begged Bob to give me a chance to continue.
"Please, Bob," I cried in a tearful voice. "I'm sorry. Just let me have a second. I'll start moving again. I don't know why I stopped. I didn't mean to stop. I. . ."
Bob interrupted. "It's all right." He took his hand from between my legs and patted my shoulder. "You stopped because I didn't want you to climax yet. You were under orders to stop." He guided me to stand up and gave me a kiss on the cheek. "You've done well. You can take a break now."
I gradually focused on the idea that my ordeal was over for a few minutes. I felt an aching desire to finish what Bob had started, but I obviously wasn't going to be allowed that, and there was one other thing I wanted to do so much I could taste it.
"Can I put my clothes back on, Bob? Please!"
The amazing thing about the embarrassment I felt being naked was that it didn't seem to get weaker as I got used to the situation. It was always the same -- intense as hell!
"You can put on your underwear, anyway," Bob answered. "Not the rest." I started to do this immediately while Bob continued to talk. I noticed his voice was husky again. I sneaked a glance and thought he had an erection, and yes, there was that feeling of happiness again that I got him aroused. As I finished putting on my bra and panties, I lost the almost profound feeling of shame I'd been feeling, but I realized even so that I was still extremely embarrassed. I continued to feel like a fourteen-year-old on display in her underwear, right after a paddling, and now I was afraid I was starting to show a visible stain between my legs that would draw Bob's attention to how wet I was. Not that he hadn't had plenty of opportunity to notice that for himself a moment ago.
Bob continued speaking, "I'm going to want you to go upstairs in a minute. What I want you to do . . . let's see, I want you to clip the hair on your vagina short so you're even more exposed down there. Then I want you to get in bed and think up some other punishments that I can use, so you can get out of paddling. Write them down. You'll have to think of some good ones if you want to get out of the smacks you still have coming."
I was pretty sure I knew what Bob meant by these "other punishments", but I needed to be sure. "What sort of punishments do you want me to write down?" I asked, in a kind of squeaky voice.
"Whatever you have in your fantasies," Bob said. "Anything that makes you squirm, anything humiliating and sexy. You already got out of some of your paddling for the embarrassing things I just made you do. You're the one keeping track, so you'll know what credit you got if you think about it."
I realized I did know. Bob had said I'd gotten twenty-five smacks of my paddling -- the later ones didn't count because they were for being disobedient during the paddling session. Then I'd gotten credit for five smacks for picking up the juggling balls and ten more for humping myself against Bob's finger. I flushed as I remembered. But I was down to forty smacks out of the original eighty.
I made myself ask the next question, "When you say I should think up humiliating punishments that make me squirm, do you mean like needing to . . . go pee-pee? Is that the right kind of thing?"
Bob hesitated a second, then looked enlightened. "Oh, right," he said, "You're concerned I'll find that disgusting: bathroom things, making you hold it in. I don't, though. I think every part of your body and everything you do with it is sexy as long as it's a turn-on for you in a squirmy kind of way. Some things are just more private than others because of early conditioning. So those things are embarrassing, but I know they turn you on, right?" I nodded at that, and dropped my eyes as he looked at me.
"You shouldn't be too surprised I think it's sexy to watch you squirm over things like that," Bob continued. "You fantasize about having me make you do it, right?"
"I guess so," I said. "And making me feel like I'm going to . . . piddle in my pants is a good punishment. Believe me I want to find as many ways as possible to get out of more paddling." Although I was trying to sound sophisticated, I thought the baby talk I was forced to use undermined my attempt. I was already dreading the revelation of some of my more private fantasies.
"Fine. And I leave it to you to make any preparations you can think of that will help me in punishing you later. You'll get credit for that too."
Like drinking a lot of water, I thought, to make the need to pee more urgent later.
"I already have to go . . . pee-pee pretty badly," I said. I didn't know myself if I was asking permission to go or trying to get punishment credit for the squirmy feeling I had. I couldn't resist trying hard to win Bob's approval. He was my master, just as I'd fantasized, with so much power over me!
"Oh, I see," Bob said. "You can go when you get upstairs. I'm going to leave you alone for awhile, and I want you able to concentrate on other things than needing to pee. We can always make it so you need to go again later if that's what I decide on. Just make sure you focus on what I've told you when you get upstairs and not waste any time if you want to get out of more paddling."
"Yes, sir!" I said, immediately. There wasn't any kind of embarrassment I wouldn't take to get out of more smacks on my sore bottom.
"OK, upstairs then. I'll be up in about an hour."
And with the heated thoughts that were still with me from my earlier excitement, I climbed the stairs to my room in my underwear, feeling Bob's eyes following me.