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.  

************************

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

   

 

 

 

Country Roads, Take me Home

Continued from: Tara Gregory: Revelations

It would seem that naughty little tart, Tara Gregory, has been completely stealing my thunder with her step-Daddy stories and using A.I. to eclipse my original works. 

Well, let me get my eclipse glasses on here, sweetheart. Two can play at this game! 

*****

The phone on my desk buzzes, interrupting my morning yoga. I take a deep exhale before answering, my voice cool and collected, ready to address whatever request the day brings.

"Good morning, this is Mistress Andrea speaking." On the line, I hear the familiar voice of Cassandra, my ever-efficient receptionist. "Nancy called, Ma'am. She has requested an appointment for the woodshed, the usual story with her, right, a good whuppin from "Daddy"...shall I confirm?"

With a satisfied smile, I nod, already envisioning the scene. "Yes, Cassie, please schedule her in for tomorrow afternoon. And remind her to bring the necessary outfit. 

As I hang up the phone, I rise from my pose and walk over to the window, gazing down at the ominous woodshed in the back garden. The sunlight filters through the trees, casting dappled patterns across the mossy ground. Tomorrow, my beloved client, Nancy, will be marched out to the shed in shame, dressed in her demure, county-girl attire. A simple gingham dress and socks with sandals, to truly tap into her age regression desires. As usual, I'll be playing the role of her farm-hardened "Daddy". 

The next day, the appointment hour arrives. Dressed in her usual Sims outfit, Nancy strides sheepishly towards the steps of my home. 

I hadn't changed into my role yet. I usually do a more therapeutic and professional consultation with her before we begin, to establish her needs and the reasons she is harbouring for wanting a trip to the strict and unforgiving woodshed. 

It had been a few months since I'd seen Nancy, so after greeting her warmly, we had some tea together and I took a little extra time to make her feel at ease, despite her inevitable fate.

When it was time, I pointed to the corner of the room. Nancy's face was stricken with embarrassment and was about to lift her skirt and lower her panties but I stopped her. Nancy is on the wrong side of 50, she has a successful career and adult children. Although naked cornertime and bare-bottomed cornertime has its time and place, sometimes it can be equally humiliating for an adult woman, to stand and face the walls fully dressed, in her adult attire.

I loosely kept an eye on her for the next 25 minutes, while I changed and got into character. Rather than "marching her" out to the shed as I usually do, this time I kindly asked her to change, do her hair properly and meet "Daddy" outside. 

This should be deliciously frightening for her, when she sees me waiting like this. And yes, I am wearing that belt for a reason! 

Pretty soon, I hear the sound of her little patent dress-sandals, crushing the pebble walk-way. Nancy walks nervously toward the woodshed, her sundress fluttering in the soft breeze, a vision of innocence and submission. 

I can't help but admire her determination to explore this side of herself. As she approaches, she lowers her eyes in respect, hands clasped tightly in front of her. 

"I'm here for my whuppin', Daddy." She sobs out, as tears pool into her eyes. 

"Nancy," I greet her sternly, taking her trembling hands in mine. "Please remove your dress right here, and place it on the straw bale, then in you go." 

Her palms instinctively clutched her bottom cheeks, clad in little cotton panties adorned with tiny pink flowers, the style a little girl would wear.

Stepping into the dimply lit woodshed, I took a moment to appreciate the ambiance. The air smelled faintly of damp earth and aged timber, lending an organic quality to the space. Cobwebs lace the corners of the ceiling, and shafts of golden light pierce the darkness through the gaps in the weathered planks. My heeled boots echo on the uneven floorboards as I lead Nancy inside. 

As I close the door behind us, the soft thud resonates in the silence, amplifying Nancy's apprehension. She looks around at the various implements hanging on the walls - straps, paddles, canes and whips - each with its unique purpose and effect. My gaze sweeps over her petite frame, noting how her braided pigtails contrast sharply with the harsh reality of her impending punishment. Her hands are clenched tightly, knuckles white, as she tried to suppress her anxiety. 

Her breath comes in short gasps as I guide her towards the sturdy oak pillory positioned in the centre of the shed. She hesitates for a fraction of a second, but then lowers her neck and wrists into the crescents, bending over and presenting her pristine bottom for correction. 

I close and secure the top portion of the pillory, applying a brass padlock to the hinged clasp. I move behind her, eyeing her exposed bottom appreciatively. Her round cheeks are milky white and unblemished, save for the goosebumps that have risen in anticipation. I run a hand along the arched expanse of her back, feeling her muscles tense beneath my touch. "You know why you're here, don't you, young lady?" My warm breath and frim touch sends shivers down her spine. 

Nodding and weeping, Nancy confirms her awareness of the awaiting punishment. I pat her gently, reassuringly. "Good girl. You know this is for your own good, honey." 

Reaching for my heavy leather belt, I jingle the buckle free and slide it slowly through the loops of my jeans, the sound seemingly amplified in the quiet woodshed. I double it over, testing its weight in my hand before resting it against her vulnerable backside, allowing her to feel its presence. 

With one final look at my target, I raise the belt high above my shoulder. Time seems to slow as it arcs through the air, landing with a resounding crack against the seat of her panties. Nancy's entire body jolts, a strangled cry escaping her lips - the symphony of discipline and surrender. I watch intently as the first welt rises, a stark line marring her perfect complexion, partially obstructed by the cotton veil of her panties which were offering modesty but little protection. 

I instructed Nancy to count each stroke of the belt aloud, teaching her the value of humility and obedience. With every impact, her cries grow louder, her apologies more fervent. 

Twenty lashes with her panties up and twenty lashes with her panties down. It was a thorough and exhaustive strapping for her. Her bottom is a sight to behold, a beautiful canvass of welts, red stripes and some bruising. 

Like an artist adding the final touches, I used my hand to try and blend out her colour and spread the welting more evenly. 

Once Nancy was released from the pillory, I took her outside the shed as-IS! I took her by the bicep as she used her free arm to wipe her tears and snot, before I led her silently down the pebble path and into the main house. 

I lead her to the designated corner of my living room - nose pressed to the wall and hands on her head. Her reddened bottom points toward the centre of the room, a visual testament to her submission and vulnerability. 

"One hour, young lady!" I declare sternly, listening to her whimper in response to my harsh sentence. 

I sat down and played on my phone after setting her timer, keeping a close watch on this adult woman in my living room corner. She remained motionless, save for the occasional hitching of her chest when she resumed her sobbing. I can't help but feel a sense of satisfaction at her absolute submission, knowing that I am providing her with the escape that she needs. 

Mistress Andrea

xoxo

Continued in: Tara Gregory: Anal Virginity

Tara Gregory: Daddy's Girl

Continued from: Early Days

**Warning - This story contains taboo, family-dynamic, BDSM content** 

**Everyone depicted in this story and A.I. generated are adults, over the age of 18** 

The following day, I woke up feeling anxious and confused. Seeing my mother get a spanking like a naughty child had shaken me to my core, and I couldn't stop thinking about it. As I made my way downstairs for breakfast, I found myself dreading the thought of interacting with my stepdad after what I had witnessed. Just the awkwardness about it was enough to make my skin crawl. 

When I entered the kitchen, Richard was already there, cooking up a storm on the stove. He greeted me warmly, as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened the previous day. 

"Good morning, sweetheart," he said with a smile, before turning to give me a hug. "Did you sleep well?"

"Yes, thank you," I replied, returning his embrace and inhaling the comforting scent of his aftershave.

I took a seat at the table after pouring some coffee. We sat in companionable silence for a few moments, both lost in our own thoughts. Eventually, Richard spoke. 

"Tara, I want to talk to you about last night," he said, fixing me with a steady gaze. "I realize what you saw may have been disturbing for you, but I assure you that everything between your mother and I couldn't be better."

I nodded, feeling a warm blush creeping up my neck as I remembered furiously masturbating in my bed last night, fantasizing about the spanking I had witnessed. I had several back-arching orgasms, imagining it was me who was getting spanked. Did I really want this? Why did I feel so strangely aroused by the commanding presence of my Stepdad?

I hesitated for a moment before speaking up, terrified if I really wanted to bring up what I was about to bring up.

"Daddy..." I began tentatively, "can I ask you something?" 

I used the term "Daddy" for the first time as he instructed me to do. It felt strange on my tongue, but oddly comforting. 

"Of course, sweetheart. What's on your mind?"

I took a deep breath, steeling myself for the words that were about to come out of my mouth. "Last night, when you were spanking my Mom...it made me think about my own behaviour in college. How out of control I was, and how much trouble I got myself into."

Daddy's eyebrows raised slightly in surprise, but he remained silent, waiting for me to continue. 

"I just...I wish someone had been there to punish me back then," I admitted, my voice wavering slightly. "Someone who could have helped me learn from my mistakes and become a better person."

A flicker of understanding passed across Daddy's face, and he gave me a sympathetic smile. "I can see why that would be difficult for you, Tara. College is time of exploration and self-discovery, but it can also lead to poor choices, guilt and regrets." 

I nodded, feeling a weight begin to lift off my shoulders. Then...with my stomach in knots, I went for it.

"Do you think...could you maybe help me with that now, Daddy?" I asked, my heart pounding in my chest as I waited for his response. 

"Help me learn from my past mistakes and become a better person?" 

Daddy's expression softened, he got up and walked over to me, putting his hands on my shoulders and looking me straight in the eye. 

"Of course, Tara," he said firmly. "On a hook on the back of my bedroom door you'll find my heavy leather belt, go retrieve it and meet me in the family room."

Relief flooded through me at his words, along with a sickening fear in my stomach and a pulsing in my clit. The range of sensations and emotions I was experiencing was so confusing to me. I nuzzled my body back into his warm embrace. I began to cry and sniffled out a, "yes, Daddy," while he held me in his strong arms. 

As I made my way down the hallway to Daddy's bedroom, my hands were trembling with anticipation. I couldn't believe I was about to receive my first spanking as an adult - and from my own Stepfather no less! 

Just as I was about to reach for the doorknob, I heard footsteps approaching from behind. Turning around, I saw Mom walking toward me with a concerned look on her face.

"Sweetie, are you okay?" she asked softly, reaching out to place a comforting hand on my cheek. "You've been crying..."

I took a deep breath and mustered up the courage to speak. "I'm fine, Mom. Daddy just asked me to go get his belt."

A hint of understanding flashed across her features, and she gave me a small smile. "Ah, I see. He's been wanting to 'speak' with you about your time away at college"

"I know Mommy. I...I need this." I squeaked out. 

"Be strong, Tara. Remember that Daddy only wants what's best for you, okay?" 

Nodding in agreement, I burst back into tears, as feelings of being a disappointment washed over me. I opened the door and stepped inside Daddy's room. I could feel my pulse racing as I exposed the back of the door, where he told me his heavy belt would be hung. 

Reaching up with my little hands, I took down the belt and held it tightly in my grasp. It felt cool and smooth against my skin, and I couldn't help but shiver at he thought of what was to come. 

With one final glance around the room, I made my way back out into the hallway and headed towards the family room where Daddy was waiting. My heart was pounding so hard that I could feel it thumping in my ears. 

Soon enough, I found myself standing before Daddy, my hands shaking as I held out the belt to him. He took it from me and set it down on the couch. Daddy's voice broke through my thoughts, startling me out of my reverie. "Tara, I need you to take off your pajamas." 

I swallowed hard, my throat suddenly dry as I realized what was about to happen. Slowly, hesitantly, I lifted my hands to the buttons of my top, fumbling slightly as my fingers trembled with nerves. Next I slipped my bottoms off, letting them fall to the floor, leaving me clad only in my panties and bra. 

Seeing me standing there half-naked, Daddy's gaze softened. My hands instinctively went to my head, as I saw my mother do last night before she was spanked. 

My mind was racing with a million different thoughts and emotions, but one thing was certain - I needed this, no matter how painful and humiliating it would prove to be. 

Daddy's voice broke through my inner turmoil, his words gentle yet firm. "Tara, your bra and panties too, sweetheart. I want them off." 

I hesitated for a moment, my cheeks flushing with embarrassment as tears streamed down my face. I unclasped my bra and let it fall, my nipples hardening instantly. Nodding my continued assent, I slowly slid my panties down my legs and stepped out of them, leaving me completely naked before my Stepfather. 

His eyes roamed over my body appreciatively, taking in every curve and dimple. Then, with a pat to his lap, he invited me to get over his knee. The contact of my bare skin against his strict lap was electrifying, yet I was too mortified to become aroused in the moment.

Daddy placed his meaty palm on the small of my back, to pin me in place as he raised his other hand high above my upturned bottom. 

"We're going to have a little chat about your time away at college, young lady," he spoke. "Just remember to breathe through it and try to stay still..." 

Tara Gregory 🍑

Continued in: Daddy's New Rules

   

 

Minute Man

Continued from: Like Crazy

A Sarah Jane story

My heart was so full! I was still riding the feels of such a passionate moment that Daddy and I just shared together. I was all his now, and he loved me! 

I don't think I killed the buzz when I asked him to re-shackle me to the bed and take me. If anything, I think I added to and complimented the whole situation. We dipped a toe into the vanilla world of love and intimacy, now it was time to get back to heavenly hash. 

I didn't waste any time...   

"Can you put the gag back in my mouth too, Daddy?" 

As soon as his clothes were off he was ragingly erect and more than ready to fuck me, in my vulnerable state. If his cock had brushed across my stockings I think he would have cum on the spot.

I wasn't suppose to know about this month-long, Locktober thing...but I did! I don't think Daddy believed that I knew about his little secret and knew that his dick was locked into a cage all month. 

Had I not known, I certainly would be suspicious now, after what just went down. He entered me and after what felt like thirty seconds and some rough thrusting, Daddy exploded into my cunt with a huge load of jizz.  

*giggle...oopsie! 

I guess you could say he was pent-up? But I wasn't suppose to know why.

He winked at me, indicating that some sort of new scene was about to begin, then he started his roleplay and began to get angry with me. 

"This was YOUR fault! I never cum that quickly." He said. 

"It's your fault for being too sexy and slutty!" He continued with a small smirk on his face. 

I played along and mewled out a, "I'm sorry Daddy!" 

He removed me from my binds and my gag and told me to present myself for punishment. Having heard him rustling and stripping his belt out of his pants that were on the floor, I quickly bolstered my hips and got into a strapping position, with my ass raised for Daddy. 

Daddy then began to spank me with his belt. They were hard, solid blows, all over my bare bum. The whole time he was whipping me, he would say things like, "I wouldn't have cum so fast if you weren't such a slut." CRACK!

"Say sorry!" CRACK!

"Apologize to Daddy for being a slut!" CRACK!

I fuckin' loved this! And boy did I ever get a good whuppin'.

The whole time I was being strapped, Daddy had masturbated himself erect once again. A full rebound and in record time too! I did what any good belt-whipped wife or girlfriend should do in this situation. I got down on my knees and "thanked him" for my spanking. 

Mmmmm. I could still taste my "slutty cunt" on Daddy's cock.

He was definitely ready to fuck me again. This time, having recently cum, I knew I'd get some longevity out of him. Did I ever! My cunt is still sore as I sit here typing this. 

Toward the end, Daddy told me to lay beside him and jerk him off onto his stomach. He loves the feel of my satin opera gloves on his dick. 

I made sure to milk-out the rest of Locktober's build-up, all over Daddy's tummy, which I diligently lapped-up and swallowed. We were both so emotionally exhausted and now physically exhausted, that we passed out together in Mistress Andrea's bed!

I half-expected her to crawl in beside us at some point during the night but she never did. 

We found her in the kitchen the next morning, chipper as ever and bit disheveled, sporting some sex hair. She told us she went to her friend Vanessa's house last night. Then I caught her blushing a bit too deeply. I guess it was a good night. 

Mistress invited us to breakfast, where I finally had a chance to thank her. To thank her for ALL of this. To thank her for setting me on a course that ultimately landed me in the arms of Daddy! I was so grateful to her and oh so happy. 

Daddy and I had decided last night, that I would be moving in with him, full-time, as his 24/7, live-in submissive. It was a bit humiliating, to sit there over breakfast and listen to Daddy and Mistress talk about what's best for me and what I need. What equipment Daddy has for my discipline and domination and what Mistress can lend him or offer him. 

They both know me well enough at this point that they were not wrong, they DO know what I need. 

In any event, Mistress very graciously offered Daddy the use of her Facility, whenever he wanted. Like having me come back to her stables as a pony slave or be spanked in the classroom in front of a group of other "students". She had the specialty rooms and equipment to accommodate this.

Then she teased me even further by suggesting my "lezzie tongue" will need some pussy from time to time. My face went beet-red. She wasn't wrong anymore. I've orgasmed so many times with my face buried in Bella's snatch, I think I associate my own pleasure with licking pussy now.   

We both thanked Mistress, before Daddy boasted that he had some specialty rooms of his own. Apparently he has a specific hallway on his second floor, lined with several rooms that have been custom-made for my discipline and punishments.

I will soon come to learn what are in these rooms and what discipline and punishment means, while under Daddy's roof. What I do know, spoiler alert, is that I am expected to sit on the stool in this hallway, facing a mirror and apart from my collar, I am to be bare naked as I wait.

Daddy will be in one of these rooms. Each room relates to a specific form of punishment. I just have to sit in nervous anticipation, never knowing which door will open...

***********

Mistress would like Daddy and I to continue to blog on her site about my journey as a live-in submissive. I am apparently getting a very interactive tour of his place, once I settle in. I'll provide a tour to the readers as well, once I can sit comfortably again. 

slave sarah

xoxo