It Will Heal

Continued from: The Goth Girls

I sat upon the edge of the wooden chair, creating a steady base by bringing my knees together, as I surveyed the scene before me. To my left, Cassandra sat primly in the other chair, her hands folded neatly in her lap, her gaze fixed steadfastly on the corner of the room. She was the picture of obedience, of submission, her ridiculous schoolgirl uniform a stark reminder of her childish behaviour. 

In front of me, stood Bella, her mother, a woman of fifty-odd years, dressed in an equally absurd outfit, her face a mask of humiliation and embarrassment. 

"Isabella," I said, my voice low and dangerous, "I'd like you to pull down your panties and lay over my knees. Now!" For a moment, she hesitated, her hands trembling at her sides, her bottom lip trembling. But with a resigned sigh, she reached beneath her skirt, hooking her thumbs into the waistband on her panties and slide them down to her ankles with a whisper of satin against skin. 

With one last despairing glance at her daughter, she turned to face me, her eyes downcast, her hands clasped tightly in front of her. "Please, Ma'am," she whispered, her voice barely audible above the sound of Cassandra's sobs. "Not like this. Not in front of her." 

But her pleas fell on deaf ears. With a single, imperious gesture, I beckoned her forward, patting my lap in invitation. I took her hand in mine, guiding her gently but firmly over my knees, arranging her body so that her bum is raised high in the air, her skirt riding up to expose her vulnerable bum and pussy. 

Her hand flew back after the first volley of smacks, instinctively trying to cover her exposed bottom. I reacted quickly, seizing her wrist and pinning it to the small of her back. 

With each transition of position and each escalation of implement used, I relived her of another article of clothing. 

My initial thought was to spank her bare naked, in front of her daughter, for the added psychological effect. But, I decided to keep her in just her knee socks and Mary Janes to amplify her innocent vulnerability and humiliation. 

As I continued to punish Bella, I was acutely aware that Cassie could hear every cry, every promise to be a good girl, every desperate plea that escaped her mother's lips, and I could only imagine the conflicting emotions that must have been coursing through her. 

On one hand, there must have been a sense of vengeful satisfaction, as she heard my hairbrush cracking down against her mother's bare bum. But also, a fear and trepidation as she realized it will soon be her turn. 

As she laid sobbing across my lap, her bum a deep, angry shade of red, she clutched my hosed ankle and begged for the spanking to conclude. "Please, Ma'am," she whispered, her voice hoarse and ragged from crying. "Please, I'll be good. I'll make things right with Cassie." 

I helped her to her feet and arranged her in the corner to swap places with her daughter, moving the time-out chair to a very public presentation below the window. 

Cassandra received the exact treatment in the same fury of punishing severity. A hand spanking, a strapping on the bed with pillows under her hips, and back over my knee for the hairbrush, all the while, relieving her of the protection of clothing. 

The odd time, I would scold Bella who stood quietly in the corner with her nose to the wall. "Hands on your head, don't even think about trying to rub that sore little bottom of yours, Isabella." 

I delivered the final strokes of the hairbrush to Cassandra's upturned bum, each impact landing with a resounding crack. I allow her a moment to collect herself and steady her breathing, before helping her to her feet. 

"Go and join your mom in the corner, hands on your head," I instructed her, my tone firm and maternal. 

"I want you two to think long and hard about why you're standing in the corner with spanked bottoms and the choices you two have made to bring you to this moment. You may speak to one another during your time-out, but under no circumstances are you to move from that corner. I'll be back in thirty minutes." 

Cassandra nodded mutely, her lower lip trembling as she turned to obey my command, and took up a position beside her mother. 

Satisfied that they understand, I turn and exit the room, closing the door softly behind me and setting a timer on my phone. Thirty minutes. That should give them amble opportunity talk and reflect upon their behaviour, upon the events that led them to this humiliating and painful predicament. 

Exactly thirty minutes later, I reenter the room, my heels clicking in a commanding cadence against the hardwood. "You may turn and face me," I instruct, my voice calm and measured. 

(I asked the A.I. for knee socks, glossy Mary Janes, hands on heads and otherwise, bare naked. This is the best you're getting I'm afraid)

"And you have my permission to rub those sore bottoms if you feel the need." 

Their hands protectively drop from their heads to cup and massages their tender, inflamed bums as they both squeaked out a, "I'm sorry, Ma'am." 

I look at the two Goth women before me, their faces streaked with tears, their bodies trembling with a mixture of pain, humiliation and emotional exhaustion. 

"It will heal, girls," I tell them, my voice gentle but firm. "The soreness will fade, the welts and bruises will disappear. But what of the welts and bruises you've inflicted on each other? The apology you owe is not to me, it's to each other, as your relationship will heal, just like your bums will." 

I waited patiently, expectantly for one of these previously stubborn Goth women to break the silence, towards reconciliation, to towards healing. 

I watched as Bella reached out to her daughter, pulling her into a tight embrace, their naked bodies pressing together, their breasts and nipples meeting in a strangely intimate and taboo manner. Tears streamed down Bella's face freely as she held Cassandra close as she whispered the only words Cassie needed to hear. 

"I love you, Cassandra." 

Cassandra stood rigid in her mother's arms, her body tense, uncertain, as if unsure how to respond. But then, slowly, I saw her shoulders relax, her arms lifting to encircle her mother's naked back, returning the embrace with equal fervor. 

"I love you too, Mom," she murmurs, her own voice thick with tears. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry for everything."

They clung to each other, their bodies shaking with sobs, their tears mingling, washing away the pain and anger and resentment that had built up between them over the years. It was a beautiful moment that filled my heart with warmth and hope. 

I picked up my hairbrush and ran my hand over the smooth expanse of the backside, smiling at its simplicity. I opened my dresser drawer and tossed it in with the others. 

Feeling a sense of pride and accomplishment, I left the room without saying another word. 

Mistress Andrea

xoxo

Continued in: There Must be Order

  

 

Tara Gregory: Early Days

Continued from: Tara Gregory: Beginnings

**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** 

I remember the early days of moving back home with Mom and her new husband, Richard. I was 20 years old at the time and still carrying some of the essence of my former self, the turbulent memories I had, and the weight of a significant chip on my shoulder. I think I was struggling with conflicting emotions. Was I disappointed in myself, for letting ME down, or was I angry at the world around me, for failing me so miserably?

I didn't quite conform to my new surroundings very eagerly. I was still that rebellious teen, ass hanging out of my shorts, bitchy High Dunks on and my tits and tummy spilling out of whatever I had up top.

Don't I look sweet and innocent? Don't be fooled, it was all a masquerade. I so desperately wanted to be someone's perfect little angel as I once was, loved and cared for, but my horns were still holding up my halo.   

Mom seemed to have found her utopia somehow, her harmonious balance, as she minced around the house like a Stepford Wife in pearls and pantyhose. This isn't the mother I remember, back when she was with my real Dad. I resented this version of her and how content she seemed, I even started calling her Deborah instead of Mom, just to be a bitch. 

I desperately wanted to know what her secret was. What I discovered however, was more than I ever could have imagined. 

After a few weeks in the new house, I could already tell something was different...about her relationship with my stepdad. The day of this revelation eventually came, when Mom tried to explain what a head-of-household (HoH) relationship meant. 

She sat me down on my bed and told me that Richard would be making all the decisions for our family, including disciplinary actions if necessary. 

I was confused and a bit defensive, not understanding why my mom wouldn't have any say in matters pertaining to me. But as I had already witnessed since coming here, she was quite happy with this arrangement. She seemed to thrive under Richard's guidance and protection.

When I asked her why she doesn't stand up for herself, she just looked at me with a soft smile. She explained that she trusted Richard implicitly. He always had her best interests at heart, and she knew that he would never do anything to harm her. Plus, she admitted there was something deeply satisfying about surrendering control to someone else, about letting go of the burdens of decision-making. 

During this same conversation, Mom carefully tiptoed around a term that I had not heard before, domestic discipline. She explained that part of being in a HoH relationship meant submitting to punishments when warranted. These punishments could range from mild lectures to more severe correction, like spanking...

The butterflies in my tummy grabbed-hold of that word and held it, as they fluttered within me. "Spanking"...I mouthed the word quietly back to her, but not framed as a question, I just wanted to hear the word spanking said aloud again. 

I was shocked by this realization. It seemed so unfair that Mom would allow herself to be treated this way. But as she continued to talk, I began to understand that these punishments weren't about abuse or domination. Instead, they were a way for Richard to help my Mother correct her behaviour and grow as a person. On one hand, the idea of surrendering control to someone like this sounded liberating. But on the other hand, the thought of my Mother being disciplined like a child was terrifying...I couldn't believe this world existed, among adults... 

It was a weekend morning, and I had just woken up to the smell of fresh coffee brewing downstairs. I dressed and made my way to the kitchen, expecting to find my mom bustling around, but instead, I heard voices coming from the living room. 

Curiosity getting the better of me, I peeked around the corner and saw my mother standing in the corner of the room, completely naked! 

She had her hands on her head, causing her back to arch and her bare bum to protrude. My heart raced as I wondered what could possibly be going on. 

Then, I heard Stepdad's deep voice behind me. "Ah, Tara, you're awake. Come join us, young lady."

Confused and slightly mortified, I hesitantly walked into the living room. That's when I saw him - Richard was sitting on the couch holding a doubled-over belt in his hand, looking at my mother with a stern expression. 

"Mom?" I managed to croak out, my eyes darting between her and Richard. 

"Tara, honey," Mom turned her head slightly to whisper from the corner, her cheeks flushed red. "I messed up, and now I have to be punished." 

I stared in disbelief. Punished? Like a child? Was this some twisted game they were playing or was this for real? 

Before I could ask any questions, Stepdad spoke up. "Tara, since you're already here, why don't you stay and observe how things are handled in my home? Maybe you'll learn something from it."

Feeling both intrigued and uncomfortable, I sat down on the loveseat across from them. Richard instructed my mother out of the corner to stand in front of him, her hands never leaving her head. 

Mom looked so vulnerable and small in this moment. Her nipples had hardened from the goosebumps on her body, and I could tell she was fighting back tears. 

Richard then instructed her to lay over his lap, exposing her bare bottom and her most intimate areas to my view. Then, without warning, he raised his hand high above his head and brought it down hard onto her fleshy bum. 

Mom let out a sharp cry, her body jolting forward for the impact. I winced in sympathy, watching as my Stepdad delivered several more strokes to her already reddening skin. Each smack echoed through the room, filling the air with the sound of his strong palm meeting her tender bottom.

She was then instructed to drape her naked body over the arm of the sofa, as Richard retrieved and doubled over his leather belt. Tears streamed down Mom's face, and I could see the shame written all over her features. Yet, despite the impending belt thrashing, she didn't try to escape or cover her bottom or protest. She took her punishment like a good, kept wife, just as Richard expected her to.

When he finally finished the strapping, Mom slowly stood up, her legs wobbling beneath her. Stepdad handed her a tissue to wipe away her tears and then pulled her into a tight embrace. 

"I love you, Deborah," he whispered softly. "But you know that doesn't excuse poor behaviour."

Mom nodded, sniffling into his shoulder. "I know, Sir, I'm sorry." 

As they held each other close, I sat there in silence, trying to process everything I had just witnessed. Domestic discipline was clearly a normal part of their relationship, but seeing it play out right in front of me was something else entirely. It was equal parts shocking, fascinating and strangely arousing.

I was suddenly stricken with a flush to my cheeks and unexpected and involuntary arousal, I didn't know what to do but stand and ask to be excused. 

"Mm----may I be excused to my room now?" 

Richard answered me, while still caressing and comforted my naked mother. "Yes, Tara, and please, from now on in this household, call me "Daddy".

That night as I lay in bed, I couldn't stop thinking about what I had witnessed. The sound of my mother's cries and the sight of her naked body so helplessly draped over Richard's lap, played over and over again in my mind. It was a strange mix of fear and excitement that coursed through my veins. 

I slipped my hand beneath the sheets, touching myself gently. 

My fingers traced over my sensitive clit, causing a shiver to run down my spine. I imagined what it would feel like to be in my mother's place, bent over this very bed with my bottom exposed to Richard's wrath. The thought sent a wave through my body.

I continued to masturbate, pushing myself deeper into my folds as I fantasized about the firm hand of Richard, landing on my bare skin. 

Each stroke of my fingers sent a jolt of electricity through me, building up until I finally reached my climax. I'm embarrassed to admit I may have moaned out, "Ohhhh, Daddy",  as I came. As I lay there, panting and satisfied, I knew that this was just the beginning of a new chapter in my life. Things were about to change forever. 

Tara Gregory 💋

  

 Continued in: Daddy's Girl

 

 

Pet Play

Continued from: The Three Bears

A Sarah Jane story

Way back, when Daddy first began my slave training, I was kept in a diaper if you remember? I had to earn my progression of submissive growth, through good behaviour and obedience. When the diapers and corresponding ABDL outfits were introduced, I was mortified, as an adult woman, to be forced to wear such things. Even worse, Daddy encouraged me to pee into my diaper at this stage. Fuck! 

I remember a specific moment. It was one of the first times I was encouraged to pee into the diaper I was wearing. I pouted and cried out and threw a huge tantrum which ultimately landed me over Daddy's knee for a spanking. I remember him then saying to me: 

"If you don't use your diaper like a good baby girl, I'll walk you outside on leash and you can cock your leg and pee on the grass." 

As soon as those words left Daddy's lips I felt the surge of arousal grab-hold of my cunt. Butterflies flurried in my tummy and I squeezed my thighs together. Why was the thought of this so horrific but arousing. 

Why do I do this to myself? Why do I ask for these things to be done to me? 

It was brought to my attention by "Madame Trainer", that my stage of dreadful pony training was nearing its completion. The humiliation was colossal. Having to high-knee prance beside Bella, accessorized, whipped and listening to the constant jingle of bells from our nipples and sometimes our pussy lips. 

This was Bella and I, just last week. Gawd it was dreadful, but even now, it's making me wet. 

Fom a naked, dungeon sex slave, having all three of my holes used 'round-the-clock, to the plush and pastel comforts of my ABDL time, my journey was reaching its summit. After the diapers, came "little girl" clothing and ruffled socks, followed by two stages of being a schoolgirl, then a slutty Secretary and now I'm working on my grace, posture and core throughout this pony business. 

It was difficult to pick a favourite. Each stage of this brilliantly conceived plan came with its own unique pleasures, discomforts and humiliations. Although the pony slave training was utterly degrading, it wasn't dehumanizing enough for me and I don't know why. 

Why do I want this? Why does my filthy cunt want to make me do this? 

In a vulnerable moment in the stables with Mistress, when she was about to tell me that I would finally be promoted to the Upper Floor, to the highest rank at her Facility on the submissive side, I stopped her.   

All I could picture was crawling outside on the cool grass, fully naked wearing only a collar and leash. Being led to a specific area and told to lift my leg and pee. I felt sick to my stomach imagining this, all while my clit ached and throbbed at the possibility of this actually happening. 

I asked Mistress Andrea if she could do a pet-play scene with me, before I make it to the Upper Floor. Maybe I didn't believe my naughty cunt, or I was resentful toward her. Maybe I was asking to be dehumanized like this, so I could prove to my pussy: "See...See, I told you I wouldn't like this!"

Daddy joined Mistress on the day of my session, which I was overjoyed about. But it was made clear to me that I was Mistress' pet! I wasn't gagged for this session and outside of moans and yelps, I was to be non-verbal. I would be clapped at and whistled at to get my attention, but I was not to respond verbally. 

Mistress put me in a head-harness with little ears and I was fitted with a wide collar. Apart from that, my only clothing was black, satin wrist-gloves and a pair of nylon knee-highs in black. It was a very vulnerable outfit. My tits dangled helplessly and cunt remained bare and exposed. 

Finally, a silicone plug with a cute pet-tail was placed into my asshole. I was directed to the corner to face the walls and wait. 

I was trembling from the corner, with anticipation, nervousness and arousal. Each footstep behind me made me tense-up and clench the invading object that was deep in my ass. I could hear a lot of things being set up behind me, before I was permitted to turn around and take it all in. 

There was a lovely plush dog's bed, a pet-bowl with my name on it (that was extra humiliating) and a metal cage. I crawled on my hands and knees over to the soft bed. I wanted to crawl right under the floor due to the embarrassment, but I curled up in my bed instead. I was happy to see my Daddy present, despite the state he was seeing me in. 

Mistress commented on how cute I was, while Daddy invited me onto his lap for a snuggle and a kiss.

Mmmm. Now I was purring for real! 

This brief moment of comfort was interrupted by Mistress striking me on the boob with a rolled up newspaper. 

"Off the furniture!" She snipped at me. 

I crawled back onto the floor as she struck me twice more, on the ass and hip with her newspaper. 

We played fetch once I was on the floor. I wanted to die from the humiliation. Mistress tossed a giant dildo toward me and I had to pick this up with my mouth, crawl it over to her and drop it at her feet. 

As usual, my naughty cunt was loving every minute of this, slickening my inner thighs, and I hated her for it! 

After a few repetitions of fetch, I was told I could have a treat. My little dog bowl that had my name on it was filled with Fruit Loops. I suppose this part could have been worse…

The session was long and emotionally challenging for me, but my pussy never lost interest. My role gradually and slowly became more sexualized as time went on. Mistress had me remove her heels so I could sniff and lick her feet. 

Then it was Mistress' ass. The quintessential "dog greeting" as it was described to me. I have no problem going down on a woman now and even licking her asshole, but when it was explained to me as a "dog greeting", it made things dreadfully degrading. 

I sniffed her bum from my knees, then sniffs to her asshole, before finally licking it furiously. 

I'm not sure why Daddy didn't get sexually involved in any of this. He was enjoying watching me, but his pants never came off during any of this. 

Then came the moment I had fantasized and masturbated about, time and time again. It was actually happening for real and I didn't know how I was going to react. A leash was clicked onto my collar and I was led out the patio door on my hands and knees, out into "public", to cock my leg with my ass in the air and pee onto the lawn. 

Emotionally, I wanted to curl up in a ball and cry, as I felt my hot piss sprinkle my inner thighs.  Physically, my stomach felt like it was first punched, then plummeted 15 floors in an elevator shaft. All of this however, was outperformed by the sensations I felt in my cunt. She won, yet again because she's a greedy whore. She let me be subjected to this dehumanizing behaviour, just so she could get off on it. 

My pussy is a sadistic, inhumane, slut!

She won in the end. She got what she wanted from me. Mistress let me cum while she and Daddy watched me ride the Sybian.

I was outward facing in the corner. Mistress set up her phone to film me and captured my second cummy, which was probably the hardest and heaviest orgasm I've ever had in my entire life. Shamefully powerful!

My entire body was limp. I was nothing more than a collapsed puddle on the floor. Daddy remained vastly uninvolved, but Mistress treated me to a nice fucking, by lifting my tail out of the way and entering my sopping wet cunt. 

I didn't even have the strength to participate. I just laid there limp, on my tummy, allowing myself to be fucked by Mistress Andrea as Daddy watched. 

When Mistress was done with me, I got a much-needed break in my crate. She told me to scratch at the padlock on the crate door, if I needed to go out to pee again, and we would start this whole ordeal all over. Fuck!

I was led outside for three more pees on the lawn that day! 

I guess I must really hate this pet-play stuff, huh? 

There’s nothing left that could ever shock or surprise me now. I’m ready for the Upper Floor. I’m ready to be a sex slave!

sarah pet 

xoxo 

Continued in: Cum Junkies