Caesar Sunday

Continued from: Teacher's Pet

A Sarah Jane story 

One would think that after such an emasculating and helpless scene for poor Russell, watching Mandy and I in our schoolgirl outfits, completely having at one another, that I would just stow him away in his own shame and humiliation when we got home. 

Quite the opposite actually. We went for dinner. We giggled and laughed as we spoke of the scandalous scene from each other's perspectives. Apart from his caged penis and the subject matter of the dinner conversation, we would appear as just another normal couple on a date night. 

I think I will get a cage though, for the end of my bed, especially if Mandy comes to visit and she and I want to play uninterrupted. And for other scenes and sessions at home, it'll be good for Russell to be shackled and just idle for me, waiting to be used at my whim. Perhaps one of those collapsible crates I can store under my bed until needed? And a few sturdy padlocks...hmm.

Anyway, yes...that was Saturday afternoon with Mandy, then a Saturday night dinner with just Russell and I. It was also the eve of our first maintenance Sunday with ME in charge. He got the wooden spoon over my knee as a punishment, during this first week of our FLR. Then he got a soothing spanking and slippering over "Mommy's" knee at bedtime, a little later in the week. But this would be our first Sunday maintenance spanking. The first ritual to define all future Sunday's in our FLR, the pressure was on to deliver.

From my own experience on the receiving end, I knew I had to properly layer him, that the spanking should be long rather than hard, but enough of an impact that he would be feeling it for a few days. I knew implement selection was important, having been taught at the Facility to always try for hand, leathers, woods, hand, in that order, and to use a variety of positions and furniture to really draw this session out. I was more than ready.  

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Sundays were always special in our household when it was me who was receiving the spanking - it marked the end of one week and the beginning of another, a perfect time for reflection, reconnection and of course, weekly discipline. This particular Sunday was momentous, as it would be our first official maintenance spanking since formalizing our FLR contract. 

Throughout the day, I could sense Russell's growing anticipation and nervous energy, as he did not know when it was coming, this was by design. He was acutely aware he would be getting a spanking today, he just didn't know when and I intended to keep it that way.

We went about our usual Sunday routines - a leisurely brunch, some chores around the house, a walk in the park. But there was an undercurrent of tension, a delicious sense of inevitability hanging in the air.

As the day wore on, I deliberately avoided mentioning the impending spanking, watching with amusement as Russell grew increasingly fidgety and distracted. I knew his mind was consumed with thoughts of what was to come - the exposure, the vulnerability and a very lengthy trip over my knee.

After a satisfying dinner, I finally broke the silence. "It's time, Russell," I said softly, yet firmly, using his full name like a mother would call her misbehaved son. "Upstairs to the spanking room, please. Undress completely and wait for me in the corner, nose to the wall." Russell's breath caught slightly, but he obeyed without hesitation, squeaking out a "yes, Ma'am", before making his way upstairs. 

Caesar has spoken! 

I gave Russell ample time to prepare himself, both physically and mentally, allowing him to marinate in anticipation for a full twenty minutes in the corner. When I decided it was time to make my entrance, I slipped off my casual flats and stepped into a pair of shiny, nude patent heels, relishing the click of the stilettos against our hardwood floors as I ascended the stairs. The heels, paired with my form-fitting jeans and nude pantyhose underneath, created a striking union of modern maternal authority and feminine allure. 

My outfit could definitely be “Mommy” for this session, but I was going with the seriousness of “Ma’am” tonight. 

As I entered the upstairs office, the sight of Russell standing obediently in the corner, fully exposed and vulnerable, sent a thrill through me. I took a moment to neatly arrange some implements on the desk, before pulling the straight-backed chair into the center of the room. Maintenance is not the time nor place for crops, floggers or whips. My implement selection was domestically oriented, hairbrushes, rulers, spatulas and spoons, with a few leather paddles and straps from the impact play realm of kink. 

I made my way to the chair, sinking into its firm embrace with a satisfied sigh. I pressed my knees together to create a sturdy base, as my jeans rode up on my ankles, revealing a tantalizing glimpse of my delicate, hosed ankles.

"Come here, young man," I purred, patting my lap invitingly. Russell turned from the corner, his eyes downcast as he approached and whispered out an embarrassed, about to be spanked as an adult, “yes, Ma’am.” I guided him gently over my knees, positioning his body so that his caged cock rested snugly between my denim-clad thighs. 

"You know this is for your own good, huni, I know you need this." I cooed to him in maternal fashion as he settled over my lap. I began spanking him with a steady rhythm of firm swats, using only my palm. I took my time, allowing the warmth to build gradually across his bare bottom. I didn't say much during this warm-up phase, allowing each smack to echo through the room as he squirmed lightly. 

I would alternate cheeks, making sure to pay some attention to his upper thighs. My form was perfect, bringing my hand high above my head before delivering each smack. I’d do a volley of twelve hard ones, then back right off to twenty-five light ones, ensuring I was colouring the entire area.

As Russell's skin began to take on a delightful rosy hue, I reached for the first of several leather paddles I had laid out earlier. The supple hide smelled wonderful and it felt weighty in my grip, as I brought it down sharply against his already tender cheeks. Again, I cycled between short bursts of hard, followed by longer and lighter, rhythmic volleys of soft to moderate strokes. 

Towards the end of his warm-up phase, I asked him to surrender his arm to me, which I pinned behind his back. I did some gentle rubbing and cupping of his bum, like being wrapped in a warm blanket, then really let him have it with my palm, like being plunged into an ice bath. This rollercoaster technique seemed to add another layer, and underscore his helplessness and vulnerable state. 

After several sets like this, I decided it was time to move to the next phase of his discipline. Rising from the chair gracefully, I took Russell's hand in mine and led him from the office, into the bedroom.

In the center of the floor, I had positioned the ottoman bench, a plump, inviting pillow at the ready, to bolster his hips. 

I guided Russell to stand beside it, then pointed firmly at the cushioned surface. "Over you go, huni," I instructed, my voice a sultry mix of authority and affection. "Pillow under your hips, please." Russell complied without hesitation, draping his well-warmed bottom over the soft mound, presenting his bum beautifully for the continuation of his maintenance. 

With Russell positioned obediently over the ottoman, I took a moment to admire the view. His reddened bum, already bearing some deep colour, looked absolutely delectable, lifted and presented before me. For dramatic effect, I closed the bedroom door with a soft click, as if to shield curious ears downstairs or in another room, from what was about to occur.

Standing tall in my heels, I could feel the female dominance coursing through me, reminding my throbbing pussy that this was definitely the role for me. I reached for my belt, slowly drawing the leather through the loops of my jeans. The metallic jingle of the buckle filled the air, a precursor to the symphony of sensations I was about to conduct. 

Doubling the belt over in my hands, I savoured the weight and suppleness of the leather, smoothing it in my palm to prepare it - soon it shall be dancing across Russell's bare bum.

With the belt firmly in hand, I stepped closer to Russell, trailing my fingernails over his sit spots. "Twenty-six, young man," I murmured, my voice low and commanding. "You will count each one aloud and thank me." 

Without further warning, I drew my arm back and delivered the first searing stroke, the leather cracking against his skin with a resounding snap. Again, this wasn't a punishment strapping, the strokes were measured, not severe. 

"One, thank you, Ma'am!" Russell breathed out. I paused only briefly before delivering the second lash, and then the third, each stroke eliciting a gasp and a dutiful count from my devoted submissive. By thirteen, I switched sides of the ottoman, to ensure the strapping would be evenly distributed. I watched with satisfaction as Russell's bottom bloomed an angrier shade of crimson with each impact.

I deepened the whole experience with some wooden hairbrush, over my knee, and concluded with my palm, the most intimate and reconnecting form of OTK.  

By this point, as the spanking was starting to become challenging for Russell, I started using more dialog, telling him that it's okay to need this, it's alright if he needed to cry. The tears never came this time, but I wanted to make sure he knew it was alright, if he needed to. This is what Sunday maintenance was all about, to empty his cup that could be full or filling. 

I kept him over my knee and wrapped my arm possessively around his waist, a move that would certainly elicit feelings of helplessness within him. Holding him firmly, I applied some pink baby lotion to his throbbing bottom, in soothing, maternal fashion. "You did very well, Russell," I cooed to him, "your spanking is over now." 

He shifted onto his knees before me, crouching low to kiss each of my high heels, before I ushered him back up and nuzzled him into my breasts. 

"Thank you, Ma'am," he mewled out softly, his voice trembling with vulnerability. 

I helped Russell to his feet, steadying him as he found his balance. Pointing to the corner of the bedroom, I instructed, "nose to the corner, please. Some time to reflect on this Sunday and every Sunday that will follow. "We'll do," I hummed to myself in mock, internal debate. "Hmmm...twenty-five minutes today, young man."

Russell moved obediently to his designated spot, the vivid redness of his freshly spanked bottom on full, humbling display. 

As he settled into his corner, I couldn't help but admire the sight of him - naked, vulnerable, and beautifully marked by my female dominance. I set the timer on my phone for twenty-five minutes, the digital numbers glowing brightly as they began their countdown. 

I kicked off my high heels and climbed onto our king-sized bed, propping myself up against the headboard with and sighing in contentment. Reaching for my tablet, I settled into read more of Miss Julie's e-books, occasionally glancing up to monitor my submissive's posture and demeanor. I felt like an absolute Goddess, I was loving everything about this moment!

Sarah Jane 💟

(If you don't know who Miss Julie is or haven't read her e-books, I strongly recommend that you do)

Strict Julie Spanked  

A link to her blog is above. 

Links to her amazing e-books are in her menu on the blog.

Continued in: Ma'am to Mistress