The kids were in bed, the dishes done, and I was ten minutes into my favourite show when he came and sat right in my line of sight. “What are you doing? I’m watching that!” I protested, just as he confiscated the remote and turned off the television.
“No you aren’t.” He set the remote out of reach and stroked my hair out of my face. “Baby, you’ve been very cranky today. That generally means that either you aren’t feeling well, or you need a spanking. Either way, I don’t think you should be watching TV.” I bit my lip, knowing he was absolutely right – and that I wasn’t sick. Reaching into the drawer of the end table, he pulled out a thermometer and some Vaseline. “Roll over, baby.” He ordered, rolling the bulb in the thick goo. Under the blanket I’d pulled over myself, I wore only one of his t-shirts and a pair of cotton panties. As I turned, disturbing the cat who glared at me, he lifted the edge of the blanket out of his way. Rucking up the back of the t-shirt, he pulled the panties down to just below the curve of my bottom. Already, my belly crawled at what was to come. His free hand came to rest with painful gentleness on my upper cheek, his thumb brushing my anus as he pulled my cheeks apart carefully. “Take a deep breath, baby.” He ordered quietly, forcing me, however unwillingly, to acknowledge what was being done. As I inhaled, I felt the glass bulb slip past my sphincter. “Easy baby, you know I can only get an accurate reading if the thermometer is fully inserted.” I felt my eyes water in shame as he slid the thermometer deeper; until barely a centimetre remained outside of my body. His finger remained to keep it in place. I knew that he’d make me remain like that, silent and motionless for a full ten minutes. It was as complete a restraint as any rope or cuff would have been. I could hardly protest such a minor invasion – and yet I desperately did not want this to happen. It was a precursor to much more. I knew Theo well. This was merely a calm, deliberate transition he enforced. Before it, I had been my usual self. In those few minutes of silence, I would be somehow transformed into my alter ego; a submissive completely under his control. I would not be permitted to transition back until I’d paid for my misdeeds with my pride and my pain.
As the minutes ticked by, Theo would allow the thermometer to slip out slightly, an inch or so, and then press it back into place. For ten long minutes, we remained in this frozen tableau – the cat purring at my feet, me turned to face the back of the couch, Theo sitting on the low table behind me, his finger and the thermometer completely controlling the scene. I blinked hard and tried to breathe deeply, but try as I might, I felt myself respond as I always did to this particular mood of my master. It was not a mood to be fought – if I protested I would surely be punished for it, but the worst would be Theo’s disappointment. I could not bear to be asked in that sad tone, “Why did you fight me?” So instead, I lay with butterflies in my belly, feeling tears of shame trickle down my cheeks, and waited.
At long last, Theo let the thermometer slide from my body, wiping it clean with a Kleenex, he took the reading. “No fever.” He declared. “Don’t move, baby.”
I was still exactly as he’d left me, but cuddling the cat when he returned. “I don’t think you are sick, but just to be on the safe side, I think we should clean you out, baby.” I sniffed and rubbed my face against the now purring cat. Parting my bottom cheeks again, Theo briskly inserted a suppository as deeply as he could before pulling my panties back into place. “That should help you get ready for your enema.” He told me. I said nothing. I knew that in a matter of minutes, the suppository would make me desperate to empty my bowel. It was, Theo insisted, a necessary precursor to an effective enema. Once I was emptied, I could easily accommodate a much larger volume of water. “Since you’re not sick, you’ll be getting a spanking after your enema. Go get everything ready while I make up the enema.” Grimacing at the feel of the melting intruder in my bottom, I got off the couch and went to our bedroom. It was a matter of moments to collect my antique hairbrush. I lay it, perfectly centered, on my own pillow before scurrying to sit in the corner where I was to wait until I was called.
For ten minutes, I waited for him to call me. The pressure in my bottom was quite uncomfortable, but as eager as I was for release, I knew that the relief would be very short lived. “It’s time, baby.” He called, and I miserably took the mincing steps that were possible with a tightly clenched bottom. When I arrived, the enema bag was already in place, bulging with the volume of liquid Theo had decided I would receive. He was sitting on the edge of the bathtub and patted the toilet seat with a smile. I presented myself to him to have my panties taken down, exactly as if I was a small child who could not manage such a simple task. As I took my place and gratefully released the pressure, Theo attached a sizable nozzle to the end of the enema tube and rolled it in the Vaseline. I was not even permitted to stand once I was done. Instead, I was guided directly over his lap. “Open yourself up, baby.” Slowly, I reached back and pulled my bottom cheeks apart, canting up my hips as he expected. “You’ll get three quarts today.” He told me as he sank the nozzle fully into place. The nozzle was big enough to take up most of the space in my bowel – I knew that meant the liquid would almost immediately shoot into my colon. Theo gave me a few moments to adjust to the feel of the nozzle. My face flamed as I heard him flush the toilet, as if that was somehow worse than having been made to void before him – or even my current position. Before starting the flow, Theo reached between my legs and pinched my clit very hard, like a human clamp. I knew that he would maintain that hold until the flow was done. He only ever counted holding time from when he released me to check the time on his watch. With his free hand, he flicked the flow on. Then, because under no circumstances would he alter the flow, he began rubbing my back with that hand and speaking to me. “Do you want to explain why you’ve been so difficult for the last few days?” He asked.
“No.” The rubbing was suspended as he delivered a stinging smack to my bottom. “No sir.” I corrected softly.
“This would be a very good time to tell me if there is any reason for your behaviour, young lady. We have a half hour while I determine just how red your bottom should get before we’re done.”
“I’m sorry, sir.” I whispered, then grunted slightly as my belly clenched in protest against the rapid flow of liquid. I knew better than to object – Theo would only distract me with a spanking. It wouldn’t be the first time that he demonstrated why we kept the bath brush on a peg between the tub and toilet.
“That’s not what I asked, young lady.” He answered, unmoved by my slight squirming. His hold on the sensitive button between my legs never faltered. “However, as long as you are sorry, why don’t you tell me for what?”
“Displeasing you, sir.” I whispered. I was finding it difficult to focus with the dual distractions he was maintaining.
“And how was it you displeased me?” This line of questioning was precisely the kind that I hated. Inevitably, I would say the wrong thing. Theo’s philosophy had been made clear early on in our relationship. If I said something that he would not consider an offense, but that I did, then I’d be corrected for it. His thinking was that I had done something I didn’t think I should, and would suffer guilt if it wasn’t addressed. “A more basic question, then. What are the four benefits you get from being punished baby?”
“For misbehaviour I recognize, it alleviates my guilt for wrong doing.” I answered.
“Yes.”
“For misbehaviour I cannot identify, it helps you clarify for me so that next time, I’ll know better.”
“Yes.”
“It helps me avoid future guilt by encouraging me not to misbehave.”
“And?”
“It shows me that you care about my behaviour enough to help me improve.”
“Good girl. So, let us start with what you feel guilty about.”
“I spoke back to you at breakfast.” I whispered.
“Yes. That’s one.”
“And I hung up on you yesterday.”
“That’s two.”
“I did not complete the writing assignment you gave me.”
“And why do I give you writing assignments?”
“You do that so that I can write out the things I can’t tell you in person. Without them, you don’t always know what is going through my mind, or what I need.”
“That’s right. That’s three offenses, are there any more?”
“No sir.” I whispered.
“I see. You’ve forgotten a few: two days this week, you were up past your curfew. In both cases, that is because you were on IRC chatting with friends. You also ate too much salt and tried to hide it. That’s two for curfew, two for excessive internet time, one for the salt. That’s five, which gets doubled because you didn’t confess, and the three you did identify. Thirteen offenses in a single week, baby.” I whimpered as he released my clit so he could check the time and blood flowed painfully back to the nubbin of flesh. “Stand up, hands behind your head.” I moved slowly, miserably aware of the sloshing in my belly and the intimately lodged nozzle. As I lifted my arms, Theo placed the empty enema bag in my hands. “To the mantle, baby.” I couldn’t hold back the sob of protest at this announcement. The mantle in our bedroom was a much more unpleasant prospect than the corner. A mere four and a half feet off the ground, it provided a ledge where I was expected to rest my head. My elbows were to press to the joint between ledge and wall. Because of its low height, it meant that my legs had to be farther back and I would need to bend at the waist. Theo had explained before that this was a more comfortable position than standing upright for someone with a belly full of water – but rather than out-of-the-way corner, I felt dreadfully exposed at the mantle. A stool placed between my legs ensured that I maintained an acceptable distance between my ankles.
“Baby, what does it mean if you have thirteen offenses to atone for?” I closed my eyes but answered.
“It means that you’ll need another implement, sir. I will get five sets from your hand, five from the hairbrush, and the final three from the implement of your choice.”
“That’s right. Earning thirteen sets is quite serious, young lady. So you’ll be sure to fetch the strap as soon as your holding time is done – before you are permitted to go to the bathroom.” I sobbed miserably. Theo loved that strap exactly as much as I hated it. He loved the sound it made as it cut through the air and the thuddy, loud clap as it landed on my bottom. He adored the way it left a clear imprint on my skin, and the way he could control the exact force and spot of landing. I suspected he was not averse to the way it terrified me either. Deep down, I knew it upset me so much because I only ever felt it when I’d been particularly difficult. If I was strapped, it’s because I had behaved in a way that was quite destructive.
As the minutes wore on, I was acutely aware of Theo watching me. He never tired of this sight – and it was one he enjoyed regularly. “You’re so pretty like that, baby. Pink ass so vulnerable, belly rounded from all that water inside you... I can see the nozzle poking out from your tight little hole, the hose curling below your ass slightly before it rises up along your spine to the bag that you’re holding. I can even see your bare little pussy from here.” I closed my eyes as I pictured everything as he described it and my body responded with a warm wetness. I knew that Theo would see it. He couldn’t fail to notice the pearly sheen that would make its way down my thighs. At the moment, though, he was focused on other thoughts. “You’ve been very bad this past week, baby, and you still have to pay for that. In a very short while, you’ll be getting your first five sets from my hand. We both know you’ll be crying and sorry before those are done. But then I’ll use your hairbrush for the next five sets. I love when I see you brushing your hair, knowing that when that same implement is in my hand, it’s to correct you, to take away your guilt for bad behaviour. And then it’ll be time for the last three sets. You can’t be over my knee for those. You know that I can only lay your strokes on if you’re laying over the pillows with your bum offered so prettily.” I did know that. “You’re a good girl though, and you’ll already be quite sorry by then. I won’t tie you down, baby. You’ll take your punishment like a good girl, with your legs apart and your bottom presented to me. I love to see you like that... vulnerable but accepting. I won’t demean your grace by being less strict. You’ll get the full dose, sweetheart.” I turned my head slightly to wipe tears away against my forearms and Theo sank into silence.
Once the time was up, after I’d fetched the strap and released the enema, I returned to the bedroom where Theo was seated on my side of the bed. He smiled at me as I presented myself to him. As always, he reminded me, “From now until tomorrow, you will only speak to answer a direct question, baby.” I nodded and he took my hand and guided me into position. He was slightly angled, so that my head came to rest on the pillow. For the first five sets, I’d have nothing to look at but the brush that I’d feel for the second set. The view of the strap beyond would be revealed after he picked up the brush.
There was no warm up. Because the number of strokes had been specified, he made every one count. I was crying long before the twenty five strokes from his hand were done. “Do you want a break?” He asked as he reached for the brush. I shook my head, knowing that a five minute intermission meant an extra set with the hairbrush. “Brave girl.” He said before beginning the hand brush set. A stroke landed every five seconds, with a thirty second pause between sets. I was only expected to count the sets, thanking him for each.
I’d complained about this when he’d first required it, but he’d calmly explained that it gave him important information about my ability to take more. Once or twice, he’d called a stop to a punishment because he’d heard a particular hint in my voice. I didn’t know what that was, but those had been times when I’d been especially tender or emotional and discipline had been infinitely more difficult to handle. For that reason, I counted and thanked without any bitterness at all.
I couldn’t help the small squeaks of pain as each hard strike of the brush landed. But it was almost the time between sets that was the worst. During those few seconds, Theo ran the bristles firmly over the hot flesh. Normally, it would have merely tickled. Instead, it seemed to break the sensation of pain up. Instead of one big sore area, I was suddenly aware of the individual nerves. It was a maddening effect – as if every synapse received the full dose of pain that had been applied. Worse, the effect persisted through the four first strokes of the subsequent set. It was not something Theo had ever done before and I hoped that I was not revealing how effective the move was.
Finally, I was guided to my feet. Theo held on to my hips for a moment, steadying me, his gaze searching mine for something. Once he was certain of my ability to stand, he stood and began arranging a mound of pillows for me to rest on.
While he continued his preparations, my eyes were drawn inexorably to the strap he’d left on the bedside table. It was a proper medium-weight Lochgelly tawse. It was the three-prong model, twenty inches long. I knew that it was a family heirloom – both Theo and his father had felt its sharp bite as they’d grown up. I also knew that Theo prided himself on his ability to deliver the strokes with such precision that the mark of the individual prongs would be visible when he was done. Each stroke would be delivered one prong-width lower than the previous one. Theo never strapped in anger – such discipline was a matter of deliberation and precision.
He paid me no attention and made no comment, though I stood motionless, sobbing and gasping, while he prepared the bed. When he was satisfied, he guided me carefully onto the mound of pillows and adjusted my position. I felt his hands as he moved my legs wide open; my ankles resting at the very edge of the bed. I knew that this too was deliberate.
Theo loved teasing me that I possessed very expressive feet. I tended to shuffle them when I was uncomfortable, curl my toes during orgasm, and wiggle them when I was playful. He’d even remarked that they became very cold when I was sad. By positioning me so that my feet were unsupported, I knew that Theo would be privy to information I didn’t even know I was revealing. Perhaps I pointed my toes or something – whatever it was would no doubt be a clue that only he could interpret. As if to confirm my thoughts, he clasped my toes in his hand. I was surprised to notice that they were not cold despite my dread of what was coming.
The fifteen strokes of the strap fell as regularly and strongly as had his hand at the beginning. I had expected nothing less, and would have been very surprised if the previous fifty hits to my bottom had even begun to tire him. Theo wielded the strap with the skill and confidence of long experience. As I’d expected, this was enough to ensure that my bottom was covered from crown to just three strap-widths below my sit spot.
Try as I did, each stroke made me scream into the mattress, the pain rippling out from my ass to my brain and my toes before the next stroke was delivered. It always amazed me that as terrible as such a punishment could be, my brain completely over ruled the fight-or-flight response, keeping me passively presented for Theo’s discipline. This was not always the case during play spankings – but for punishment spankings, I could never obey the compulsion to move out of the path of pain. Finally, the strokes were done and Theo tossed the strap down beside me.
I slowly pulled my knees up, offering myself to Theo’s pleasure in a different way. In the early days, Theo had merely tucked me into bed after a punishment spanking. It had taken me a long time to convince him that it was kinder to let me surrender my body to his pleasure. I did not like knowing that he was denying himself because I’d required correction.
Kneeling between my legs, Theo slid gently into my pussy instead of my ass. I was so surprised that I glanced at him over my shoulder. Smiling, he kissed me softly as he thrust carefully into my body. “You did very well, baby. You took your punishment with grace, just as I said you would. I want you to come, baby. You’ve earned a reward for keeping your position even during a strapping. I know that is always very hard for you.” I moaned as he began short strokes that landed on my g-spot at the perfect rhythm. His hands drifted down to rub the soles of my feet; a move that propelled me into an instant orgasm. As the delightful combination of touches continued, I throbbed endlessly around Theo’s cock. Whether it was the position, the endorphins, or the adrenaline – I couldn’t tell – but I felt that only Theo’s weight over me kept me from floating to the ceiling like a helium balloon.
I arched back when he pulled my hips against his while he shot cum high into my pussy, struggling to take him as deeply as I possibly could. He rested against me for a few moments, and though I couldn’t speak the words, I told him I loved him by bringing his knuckles to my lips for a kiss. Smiling, he kissed my forehead then withdrew. He helped me kneel up and collected a pillow from the pile that had supported me during the strapping and love-making. Rather than make me stand and wait as he prepared my side of the bed, he led me on my knees across to his side of the bed and removed my t-shirt. As I lay down, he tucked the covers in around me. It was the work of a moment to return the other side of the bed to order. The strap was put out of sight (but never out of reach) in his bedside table and the hairbrush returned to my dressing table. A moment later, his naked body slid in behind mine. “I love you, baby. Sleep now.” Closing my eyes, I breathed his scent in deeply and fell asleep, secure and happy.