Lump in the Throat

Continued from: Never a dull Moment

Cassandra Goth 

12.10.2024 - Sunnybrook Hospital, Toronto, Ontario

As I crept silently into the sterile hospital room, my heart heavy with concern, I was struck by the sight of my dearest friends, their faces etched with exhaustion and grief as they slept uncomfortably on whatever surface they could find. 

And there, in the center of it all, lay Russell - the only positive male role model I had ever known, the only man I had ever come to like. It pained me to see him hooked up to all that machinery, I felt a lump in my throat, threatening to choke off my breath. 

I reached out a trembling hand , gently stroking Russell's forehead, feeling the clamminess of his skin beneath my fingertips. 

The doctors had told the girls that he was in a medically induced coma, his body kept in a state of suspended animation while it worked to heal itself from the inside out. 

As I sat on his bed, holding his limp hand in mine, I couldn't shake the feeling that he was still with us, still fighting to hold on despite the darkness that threatened to consume him. 

"Russ, it's Cassie," I whispered, leaning in close as to not wake the others. "I know you can hear me. I know you're still in there somewhere, listening to everything I say."

My voice cracked, and hot tears began to roll down my cheeks as the weight of my emotions finally overwhelmed me. "I...I wanted to thank you, Russ, one last time...for everything you've done for me," I managed to choke out between sobs, my grip on his hand tightening. 

"It was you, all along, who gave me the courage to go to London and find Carley. You saw something in me that I didn't even see myself, and pushed me to embrace it, to become the woman I was always meant to be." 

I took a shuddering breath, trying to steady myself as the memories came flooding back - the night he consoled me like a father would, as I navigated the heartbreak of saying goodbye to Carley. 

"Hell, my own parents won't even speak to me anymore, Russell" I continued, my voice bitter with resentment. "I guess I'm too much of an embarrassment to their precious, aristocratic, country club circles, just because I have tattoos, because I married a woman. 

"But you...you never judged me. You accepted me for who I am, and you loved me anyway. You've been more of a father figure to me than my own flesh and blood ever was." 

At that, I broke down completely, my shoulders shaking with the force of my sobs as I buried my face into his hospital gown, letting the tears flow freely. 

I was praying with every fiber of my being that he could hear me. 

"Daddy! I don't want you to go...I need you!" 

Cassandra L. Goth  

Never a dull Moment

Continued from: Fire & Ice

In the dimly lit basement of Cassandra and Carley's Coventry townhouse, the air thick with the scent of leather and female arousal, a symphony of tortured moans and muffled screams filled the room. As a centerpiece, perched precariously atop a wicked wooden pony, was a naked young woman, her body trembling with agony as the weight of her petite frame pressed down upon the edged wood of the device. Her most sensitive areas - her delicate pussy and tender asshole - bore the brunt of her body weight. 

A bit gag had been forced between her teeth, rendering her cries for mercy into little more than pathetic, drooling whimpers, while electrodes attached to her stiffened nipples, delivered intermittent shocks. Tears streamed down her face, smearing her carefully applied makeup and leaving streaks of mascara trailing down her flushed cheeks. 

As the pitiful moans and choked cries of the woman on the pony faded into the background, becoming little more than white noise, Cassandra turned her attention to her next victim - a pale-skinned Irish lass with fiery red hair and a smattering of freckles across her nose. The girl was bound to a whipping frame, wearing only stockings, her porcelain skin glowing like moonlight in the dimly lit dungeon.

"Now then, my pretty little bitch," Cassandra purred, circling the spread and bound woman, a riding crop twirling ominously in her hands. "I understand that you've been sent here by your husband? Is that true?" 

The girl nodded miserably, her lower lip quivering as fresh tears welled up in her eyes. "Yes, Mistress," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the muffled cries of the woman on the pony. "I've been arguing with my husband, talking back to him when he tries to discipline me. I know I've been bad, and I want to be better. Please, Mistress, help me learn my place." 

Cassandra smiled indulgently, reaching out to strokes the girl's bum cheeks which already bore some fiery welts. "Of course, my dear," she said, her voice laced with false sympathy. "That's why you're here isn't it? To learn the true meaning of obedience and submission. And I promise you, by the time I'm done with you, you'll be the perfect, docile little wife your husband deserves."

The girl yelped in pain, her body jerking against her restraints as a vivid red welt bloomed across her pale bottom. 

"Count them," Cassandra commanded, her voice hardening as she prepared to deliver another stroke. "And thank me for each one." 

As Cassie attended to her whipping, close-by, another scene of debauchery was unfolding. There, bathed in the flickering glow of candlelight, stood Carley - a striking vision of tattoos and piercings, her lean, slender body clad in nothing but stiletto boots and a harness of black straps that accentuated her every curve and contour. 

Around her waist, protruding obscenely from between her legs, was a massive strap-on dildo, its thick shaft glistening with male saliva as it bobbed menacingly in the air. Kneeling before her, was a man dressed in the trashy attire of a streetwalker - fishnet stockings, a leopard-print skirt, and a halter top with falsies. His lips were stretched around the tip of the cock, his cheeks hollowing with each desperate suck as Carley gripped his head with both hands, using his throat like a cheap fuckhole. 

Beside them, standing rigidly at attention and possibly impaled anally on some bondage apparatus, was a second man. A ball gag filled his mouth, reducing his protests to only grunts. Over his eyes, a blindfold rendered him completely helpless, unable to see the degrading spectacle that certainly awaited him. But even without the use of his senses, he was acutely aware of his displayed state and the humiliation he was being subjected to - for encasing his limp, useless cock, was a bright purple chastity cage. 

I knew there was never a dull moment at the Facility U.K. I knew I would be interrupting something insidious, but as Summer and I sat huddled together in the cozy cabin, our minds still reeling from the events of the day, I picked up the phone to call Cassie. 

"Hello, darling," I said, forcing a smile that I hoped would translate through the phone. "How are things across the pond?" But before Cassandra could respond, I heard a chorus of sounds in the background - muffled whimpers, pleas for mercy, and the unmistakable crack of a whip against flesh, it was clear she had a few "guests" over. 

"Oh, you know me, Ma'am," Cassandra replied breezily, her voice dripping with amusement. "Always keeping busy, always finding new ways to torment my lovely pets. But enough about me - tell me about your romantic little retreat, is my favourite little biotch, Summer, looking after you? She better be, that little tart." 

I hesitated, unsure of how to even begin explaining the horrific turn our trip had taken. But before I could muster the words, Summer took the phone from my hand, her own voice shaking with emotion as she spoke. 

"Cass, something terrible has happened," she said, as tears spilled down her cheeks. "There was a fire - Russ and Sarah's house burned down, and Russell...he's in the hospital. They won't let him breathe on his own yet, Cass. It's really bad." 

There was a moment of stunned silence on the other end of the line, followed by a sharp intake of breath. "A fire?" Cassandra repeated, her hand reaching for the wall to steady her weakening knees. 

"Russell is in the hospital? Oh my god, I'm coming home. Right now. 

I'll be on the next flight out. 

Tell Andrea I'm coming home!" 

Mistress Andrea

xoxo

Continued in: Lump in the Throat

The Facility U.K.

Continued from: Diapered & Denied

Disclaimer: 

Below is an excerpt from an email that Cassie sent me. 

Be warned everyone, Cassandra can be a bit...umm, blunt, at times, in the way she describes things and the language she uses. 

Please remember it is the fantasy and wish of the clients to be degraded, called names and abused. Even someone saying "stop" or "let me go", is all a part of their fantasy. That's why we use safewords, to actually stop things if they need to. 

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

Cassandra Goth

12.03.2024 - Coventry, Warwickshire, England

My dearest Andrea, 

The Facility UK is full of slaves today. Multiple men, a few women. We're going to break them, slowly. The men, they'll never feel the release from their cages. Those pathetic little cocks will stay locked forever, denied and desperate...unless, well, you know... 

The women, they'll fare no better. Treated like the worthless fucktoys they are, tortured and punished until they beg for mercy that will never come. 

They always want to be caned, Mistress, these Brits. Must be a British thing, to feel the sharp bite of a school cane across their asses. Their tears are delicious, salty and sweet, the perfect seasoning for their suffering.

(Whoa, lol. I must say, that was one hell of a line from the A.I. Cassandra! Seasoning for their suffering...*slow clap)

When you phoned me, Ma'am, I was with some "alpha" male idiot. Cocky, arrogant, thought he could handle anything until I started the gender bending, until I put him in lingerie, heels and began calling him a cock whore.

I had to whip him into submission first. He kept telling me he wasn't gay, that he didn't want the other slave's dick in his mouth. 

Pathetic lies.

I lashed his back until he screamed, until he begged for the alternative to the whip. "Please Mistress," he whimpered to me. "Please let me suck his cock." 

Then this posh little priss showed up, all prim and proper in her hound's-tooth suit and sensible shoes. She was essentially greeted by this view: 

I knew exactly what she needed. I bent her over a school desk, hiked up her skirt, and gave her a dozen hard strokes with the cane. 

By the time I was done, her porcelain cheeks were expertly stripped red and she was sniffling pathetically. "Thank you, Mistress," she whimpered, her accent even more pronounced than usual.

"May I please have another?" I smirked and obliged her, laying six more strokes across her tender flesh. She howled in pain, but I could see the arousal dripping from between her legs. A true painslut, Mistress. 

Carley joined me as I was finishing up with posh spice and her drippy puss. Some timid, shy looking dude. Carley had taken him and dressed him up like a schoolgirl. He was crying softly, his body shaking with fear and arousal. He too, wished to be caned on the bare. These Brits, Mistress, I dunno...*shrug.

The other woman, she was a tough nut to crack. A real ballbuster, used to being charge, but suddenly faced with us. 

We broke her down piece by piece. We stripped her naked, shackled her to the wall, and took turns flogging her tits and cunt. She cursed and sputtered around her gag, but we just laughed and whipped her harder. 

By the time we tried some forced orgasm work, she was a sobbing, broken mess, begging us to stop. 

"Please, Mistresses," she garbled out through her gag. "I'll do anything you want. Just please, I don't wanna cum anymore!" 

Carley grinned wickedly and pressed the tip of her riding crop against the woman's clit. "Anything, you say?" she purred. "Well, then. Get on your knees and eat my pussy!" 

The woman hesitated for a moment, her pride battling with her duress, but she eventually sank to her knees, pleading with Carley that she's not a lesbian. 

As if we'd fall for such pathetic lies, as she begged us to let her go. Carley just laughed and grabbed her by the hair, forcing her face deeper into her crotch. 

"Shut up and keep liking, dyke," she growled. "We both know you love the taste of my pussy. Don't try to deny it." 

Of course, Mistress, everyone had a safeword. But none of these four seemed particularly interested in using it. They were too far gone, lost in the haze of pain and pleasure, of humiliation and degradation. So Carley and I just keep going, pushing them further and further into their own darkness. 

I promise I'll come home soon, Ma'am. If Carley ever releases her grip on me. She's my everything! 

Sissy Alice is doing ok, she just surpassed 100 days with her little clitty locked up and still, only a five minute, supervised release per week. We celebrated her centennial with a good pegging. 

*giggle

Safe sex always, Mistress, like you taught me. We used a condom...sort of.

She did however, fuck up the other day. Carley and I had to punish her. Remember that day in your kitchen, Ma'am, when you showed me what figging was? Right before you put the horrible thing up my ass and made me hold it there? Was that the night I was on shrooms and you caught me having a freak-out? 

Well, we tried it with poor Alice, after she was over my knee with her little girl panties at her ankles. I made her stand at the sink and prepare her own fig. 

Then it was 30 minutes in the corner, to think about her actions while the plug did it's work. Ohhh, it worked well! 

Give Summer my love. Tell Mom I'm ok...I'm safe, but I'm not ready to speak to her yet. 

I'm not ready to come home. 

Love always, 

Cassandra L. Goth

Continued in: "Come on, let's Colour"

Betrayed

Continued from: Why choose BDSM?

"Oh, Mandy," she cooed, her voice dripping with false sympathy. Mistress moved a straight-backed chair into the middle of the room, before taking a seat and patting her stocking tops. "You look absolutely adorable. Now come here and get over Mommy's knee. It's time for your spanking, little girl." 

My cheeks burned with shame, as I looked down at the attire I was in, a 45 year old woman, forced into such vulnerable clothing and about to be spanked. The outfit was a tactic, using humiliation as a form of adult discipline, a constant reminder of my utter powerlessness in this place. 

As I shuffled forward in my ridiculous Mary Jane heels, tears were already filling my eyes. With shaking hands, I reached beneath the hem of my absurdly short dress and grasped the waistband of my little girl panties. Slowly, deliberately, I slid them down my thighs until they pooled around my knees, leaving my bare bum exposed and vulnerable. 

As I approached Mistress Andrea, seated regally in the sturdy wooden chair, I couldn't bring myself to meet her gaze. Instead, I focused on the array of implements laid out and ready for me - hairbrushes, a wooden spoon, a female slipper, and a thick leather belt. Each promised a unique brand of pain and degradation, and I knew from experience that Mistress would not hesitate to use them all!

With a final, shuddering sob, I draped myself across her lap, my feet coming off the floor as she adjusted me. I could feel the heat radiating from her body, the subtle rise and fall of her breath, as she prepared to administer my spanking. 

Without warning, it came, a barrage of sharp, stinging smacks with her palm. Mistress settled into a steady rhythm, alternating cheeks as she peppered my bum and thighs. The spanking was not overly severe but it was quite lengthy. She layered me perfectly, hand, leathers, a female slipper, followed by the dreaded hairbrush and wooden paddle. By the time I was paddled, she had removed my dress fully. The repeated impact of my fleshy cheeks, always seemed to create a numbing sensation, the perfect opportunity for Mistress to layer me deeper with the wooden implements, ensuing I'd be feeling and seeing the effects for days to come. 

She finished up with a hand-spanking to even out my colour and allow for that intimate re-connection. As I lay draped across Mistress Andrea's lap, my ass throbbing and raw from the sound spanking, I felt her hand begin to move in slow, soothing circles. Her touch was gentle, almost maternal, as she stroked the inflamed skin of my bum. When her fingers grazed the swollen lips of my pussy, I couldn't help suppress a moan, my hips instinctively arching towards her hand.  

Shame flooded through me at the realization that, even after such a humiliating ordeal, my traitorous pussy still craved her touch. As if sensing my inner turmoil, Mistress lifted me up to sit on her lap and whispered in my ear, her hot breath tickling my neckline. "It's perfectly natural for a grown woman to need discipline sometimes. There's no shame in admitting that you need to be spanked, to be reminded of your place." 

Her words sent a shockwave right to my pussy, equal parts degrading and comforting. How could she make something so utterly humiliating and painful sound almost...normal. As she continued to stroke my fiery bum, her fingers occasionally dipping between my legs to tease my clit, I felt tears welling up in my eyes once more. But this time, they weren't tears of pain or humiliation - they were tears of relief, of gratitude for the release she had granted me. 

"Go ahead and cry if you need to." Mistress encouraged, her hand never ceasing its hypnotic caressing. "Let it all out, sweetheart. Mommy is here for you, Mandy." And with that, the floodgates opened. Sobs wracked my body as I surrendered to the overwhelming emotions coursing through me - shame, guilt, desire, and a strange, twisted sense of belonging. Through it all, Mistress held me close, her strong arms wrapped around my trembling frame as she rocked me gently back and forth.

The fact that I was wearing a ridiculous little girl outfit, my panties pulled down around my ankles and my ass glowing red from a thorough spanking, only added to the perverse sense of comfort I felt. Eventually my tears subsided, I leaned in and pressed my lips against hers, thanking her for spanking me and desperately seeking her approval. Mistress responded eagerly, her tongue slipping past my parted lips to explore the depths of my mouth. 

As we kissed, her hands began to wander, tracing patterns along my thighs that sent shivers of pleasure through my body. When her fingers finally reached the apex of my thighs, I gasped into her mouth, my hips bucking involuntarily as she entered my swollen folds. To my utter mortification, I realized just how wet I was, my arousal coating Mistress' probing digits as she began to finger me. 

"My, my," she purred, breaking the kiss to regard me in a scolding manner. "Look how wet you got during your embarrassing spanking, young lady!" Her words sent a fresh wave of humiliation crashing over me, and I felt my cheeks burn with shame. How could I possibly explain the twisted desires that lurked within me, the perverse thrill I derived from being punished and degraded like a naughty little girl? 

I could only whimper in response to her scolding, as she withdrew her hand from between my legs. To my horror, she brought her glistening fingers to my lips, pressing them insistently against my mouth. "Open up, young lady," she commanded, her tone becoming firm and strict. "Taste how wet you get from being punished." I obeyed, my tongue swirling around her invading fingers, lapping up every last drop of my shameful juices. 

Just when I thought I couldn't bear any more humiliation, Mistress abruptly withdrew her hand, only to bring it down sharply against my exposed pussy. I yelped in surprise, my hips jerking forward as she delivered another stinging slap to my sensitive folds. "Bad pussy! Bad pussy's don't get to cum," she scolded, punctuating each word with a swift spank to my crotch. 

Before I could even catch my breath, she stood hauled me to my feet, dragging me across the room by my earlobe to the far corner. "Stand here," she ordered, spinning me around to face the walls. "Keep those panties at your knees. I want your naughty bottom on display." 

A grown woman, humiliated and degraded, forced to endure the indignities of a misbehaving brat. I could feel her eyes boring into me from across the room. She lounged on the spanking chair, casually scrolling through her phone, as if my suffering was nothing more than a mild diversion from her daily routine. Every so often she would glance up, her gaze raking over my red bum with a mixture of amusement and disdain. 

"Remember, Mandy," she called out, her voice dripping with maternal sweetness. "No moving, no talking, or you'll find yourself back over my knee for another spanking." 

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

Should I change into something even more Mommy-ish, maybe like this one, remember this outfit? 

And perhaps in the next installment, we can get Mandy the soccer mom, into a nice comfy diaper, what do you think, everyone? 

Mistress Andrea 

xoxo

Continued in: Diapered & Denied

 

Why Choose BDSM?

Continued from: Old Fashioned

It has always been said of submissives, that they are truly the ones in control. Most whom I have known are powerful, professional, educated, alpha men and women in the vanilla world. Yet, with all the power and control they wield, they choose to kneel. Making that choice puts them in control, does it not? Look at me when I ask you a question!

I recently had Mandy over for a session. Or rather, she requested a session with me, putting the choice and control in her hands essentially. 

Remember Mandy, our cute little soccer mom and nurse? She is mini-van, mega fun, let me tell you! 

She was literally on her way home from work and figured she could squeeze in a quick session, then go home and try to hide the fact that she has a sore, welted bum while interacting with her family. *giggle. 

I asked the A.I. if it would please give me a shot of Mandy, at work, in her scrubs, to share with all of you as a beginning to her story. Hmm, okay...scrubs come in skirts now? And heels. I like it, but I'm not sure how practical this would be in an ER. 

No...no, A.I. - medical scrubs involve pants. Can you put her in proper scrubs for me, please? 

Hehe. Scrub shorts! Super cute and they look great on her! Totally a spankable look for Mandy

Third attempt? 

There we go! Third time's a charm. 

I asked Mandy at the end of her session, when she indeed was thoroughly spanked and humiliated for about an hour, why choose BDSM? What keeps her coming back to endure such shameful vulnerability and pain? 

For me, BDSM is more than just a kink or a fetish. It's a vital part of who I am, a fundamental aspect of my identity, albeit, hidden from the outside world. Through my submission, I've learned to embrace my vulnerabilities, to accept and even celebrate my flaws and weaknesses. I've discovered strength within myself that I never knew existed, a resilience born of enduring pain and humiliation for the sake of pleasure. 

In a world that often judges and condemns those who deviate from the norm, finding a safe space where I can explore my desires without fear or shame has been truly liberating. 

And of course, there's the sheer ecstasy of it all - the rush of adrenaline that comes with being tied up and helpless, the exquisite of a well-placed spank, the euphoria of finally achieving release after hours of teasing and denial. 

These sensations are unlike anything else I've ever experienced, and they keep me coming back again and again, eager for more. 

Well put, Mandy. Why don't you keep going and tell everyone about our session. 

Yes, Ma'am. Like start right from the beginning, with my check-in routine? 

Yes, please, sweetheart. Let the readers know how you are expected to arrive and wait for me.

***********

As I pulled down the long laneway and up to the mansion that housed Mistress Andrea's Facility, my heart began to race with a familiar mixture of excitement and dread. I glanced at my reflection in the rearview mirror, noting the faint circles under my eyes and the tension lines etched into my forehead - telltale signs of another long shift at the ER.

Yet, despite my exhaustion, I couldn't deny the growing ache between my thighs, a hunger that only Mistress Andrea could satisfy. 

Taking one last deep breath, I stepped out of my car and made my way to the intake entrance, secured by a heavy metal door. As soon as I entered the stark foyer of the Facility, I began my entry ritual. This routine had been drilled into me, whipped into me actually, by Mistress during my initial sessions and now it came as second nature. 

First, I removed my runners, placing them neatly in the cabinet. Then, with practiced efficiency, I stripped off my scrubs, folding them carefully and setting them aside. Next came my bra, panties and socks, the last barriers between my naked body and the coolness of the room. I shivered slightly as goosebumps rose on my skin, my nipples hardening in response to the sudden exposure. 

Once fully undressed, I gathered all my belongings - clothes, keys, phone and purse - and placed them into the cabinet below. The moment I shut the door of the cabinet, an automatic lock clattered into place. I felt a profound sense of detachment wash over me and the vulnerability of my situation began to rise. 

With trembling hands, I reached for the waiting gag, its shiny red ball reflecting the harsh fluorescent lights overhead. With a deep breath, I pushed the rubber ball past my lips and teeth, stretching my jaw wide as I buckled the strap behind my head. 

I reached for the shackle set and the connecting chains jingled to life in the quiet of the room. I bent down, my bare breasts swaying heavily with the motion, as I applied the cuffs to my ankles. The cool metal sent a shiver down my spine as I awkwardly ratcheted the next set of cuffs onto my wrists, all joined by a mutual chain to my ankles. While clicking these cuffs into place, a familiar sense of vulnerability washed over me, knowing that I was willingly surrendering my freedom during this entry ritual...which, is exactly the point of this entry ritual, to apply layer upon layer of lost control. 

Now, fully restrained and silenced, I turned to face the stand-up metal cage that awaited my final stage of admittance to the Facility. Stepping backwards into the cage, I felt the cold bars gently whisper against my shoulders. With my cuffed wrists, I grasped the door and pulled it shut, the loud click of the automatic lock sealing me inside my temporary prison. 

Up until this exact moment, Mandy was still in control, choosing to submit, choosing to follow my entry ritual and restrain and gag herself. Once that cage locked behind her, it represents the moment all of her control is gone! Well, 99% of it as she still has a safe word. 

From here, Mandy has no idea about the type of session that is coming or what I intend to do with her. Everything is on the table from dungeons to diapers, provided it falls within the boundaries of her hard and soft limits. 

This is the part for Mandy, or any submissive, where the adrenaline starts, the fear, the excitement and the roller-coaster of emotions that makes people choose BDSM. 

I love how this is referred to as her "Waiting Room". "Reflect on their situation", is also spot on!

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

Trapped and helpless, I could do nothing but wait for Mistress Andrea to arrive and occasionally glance at the red blinking light of the video camera, trained on my cage. (For my safety of course)

The minutes ticked by agonizingly slow, each second stretching into an eternity as I stood there, naked and exposed. My muscles began to ache from the forced upright position of attention, and drool trickled down my chin, dampening my chest. Yet, despite the physical discomfort, I found a perverse sense of peace in my confinement.

As much as it shamed me to admit, my pussy throbbed with slick anticipation when I finally heard the sharp click of high heels approaching, each step echoing through the sterile foyer like a gunshot. My heart raced as Mistress came into view, her stunning beauty taking my breath away. 

She was dressed in a vintage 1950s pinup style, her curves accentuated by the cinched waist and flared skirt of her dress. Her fiery red lips curved into a cruel smile as she appraised my naked, bound form, her eyes roaming over my body with a predatory gaze. 

Despite the gag filing my mouth, I let out a muffled whimper, equal parts fear and desire. Mistress Andrea sauntered closer, her hips swaying hypnotically with each step. She circled the cage slowly, her fingers trailing along the cold metal bars and she inspected me from every angle. 

Her voice was as smooth as honey when she finally spoke. "Well, well, well...look at you, young lady. All trussed up and ready for me." 

With that, she unlocked the cage door, the metallic clank reverberating through the room. Mistress extended her hand, beckoning me forward with a single crooked finger. Obediently, I shuffled from the cage in my shackles, my bare feet padding softly on the cold tile floor.

As she removed my gag and unlocked my cuff set, I stood before her, rubbing my wrists absently as I awaited her next move. She regarded me with a calculated gaze, her eyes narrowed in thought. "Tell me, Mandy," she began, her voice low and measured. "When was the last time I gave you a good, old-fashioned spanking?" 

I knelt and assumed a proper position of submission, as my stomach sank in unison. 

Memories of previous sessions flooded my mind - the humiliation of being draped over her lap like a naughty child, my feet kicking the air as her hairbrush connected with my bare bum, and the mortifying realization that despite my protests, my pussy grew wetter with each smack.

I swallowed hard, trying to find my voice. "It's...It's been awhile, Ma'am," I stammered, my eyes downcast in shame. "I believe the last time you gave me a spanking was several months ago, Ma'am."

Mistress nodded slowly, a wicked grin playing at the corners of her mouth. "Indeed," she murmured, more to herself than to me. "Far too long, I'd say. Mommy will have to rectify that, won't she?" 

This is now the moment in the session where I've shown my hand. Mandy now knows how to address me for this session and she has some basic idea of what is about to happen. Can you imagine what must be going through her mind? 

***********

At 45 years old, a mother myself, I was about to be spanked like a misbehaving child, and required to call a woman younger than me, "Mommy". And yet, beneath the churning humiliation, I couldn't ignore the telltale throbbing between my legs, a betrayal of my body's true desires. 

Without warning, she seized my arm, her grip firm and maternal. I yelped in surprise as she began to smack my bare bum to move me along and into one of the specialty rooms. She led me into a bedroom decorated in sickening sweet pastels and pinks, the air heavy with the scent of baby powder and lavender. 

Laid out on the bed was an outfit that made my tummy twist with humiliation - a soft pink Lolita dress, complete with puffy sleeves and a Peter Pan collar, alongside a pair of pristine white knee socks and glossy pink Mary Janes. The piece de resistance, however, were the "little girl" styled panties, emblazoned with Disney princesses, a far cry from the lacy thongs and boyshorts I usually favoured. 

"Get dressed for Mommy, young lady," she ordered, leaving no room for argument. "And don't forget to put your hair in pigtails. Mommy will be back up in a little while to give you a long overdue spanking."

Any spanko will tell you that they want to hear that word spoken aloud, as it relates to their upcoming fate. They don't want to hear, "I'll be back up to deal with you, are you ready for your correction, you're due for discipline." No...they want to hear, "it's time for your SPANKING!" 

I think I learned this one from Miss Julie, I think she wrote about it once. 

********** 

The words sent a chill through my body, my stomach twisting into knots of dread and anticipation, as I began to don the ridiculous outfit. My face burned with embarrassment as I took in my reflection, the frilly dress, the knee socks and childish accessories a stark contrast to my mature features. 

Sitting on the edge of the bed, clutching a soft stuffed bunny to my chest, I felt ridiculous, adrift in a sea of shame and humiliation while being betrayed by arousal. 

I hugged the bunny tighter, seeking comfort its soft fur, as the sound of heel clicks, coming up the stairs, jolted me from my reverie. 

Mandy

Continued in: Betrayed