Our Anchor

Continued from: Lump in the Throat

As I blinked away the remnants of sleep, my body stiff and sore from the uncomfortable position I had been forced to nap in, I found myself greeted by a sight that simultaneously broke my heart and filled it with a warmth that brought tears to my eyes. 

There, nestled in the hospital bed beside Russell, was none other than Cassandra - her petite frame curled up against his larger one, her head resting on his chest as if seeking comfort from the steady beat of his heart, which, despite the circumstances, was still beating. 

But it was the way she held onto him that truly had me sobbing fresh tears - for she had taken his lifeless arm and draped it protectively around herself, as if seeking to shield her from the harsh realities of that sterile room. 

The gesture was so simple, so innocent, and yet it spoke volumes about how much Russell actually meant to Cassandra, how deeply she cared for him as a father figure in her life. I felt a surge of love and gratitude wash over me, knowing that even in his weakened state, Russ was still able to provide solace and support to those who needed it most. 

Sarah Jane had awoken and crept up beside me, her hand squeezing mine for support, followed by Summer, who broke down completely at the sight of her bff, Cassie, finally home but under such brutal circumstances. It was a tearful reunion for all of us, especially when Cassandra finally awoke to see us all standing there, sobbing into our hands. In that moment, I made a silent vow to do everything in my power to ensure Russell pulled through, that he recovers fully and returns to us whole and unbroken. 

He is the rock, the anchor in all of our lives, the steadfast presence that has always held us together through thick and thin. 

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

A few days passed in a blur of hospital visits, hushed conversations, and anxious waiting. Cassandra stayed with Summer and I at the Facility, keeping a rather low profile. Despite my urging and maternal counselling, she refused to even let her mother know that she was back in Canada.

Then finally, mercifully, the news we had all been praying for arrived: Russell was brought out of his induced coma, his body having stabilized enough to breathe on his own once more. Through it all, Sarah Jane remained by his side, her hand never leaving his, her gaze never wavering from his face. She reported that he was his usual cheerful and comical self, despite being a little groggy and disoriented. 

The moment the doors swung open, revealing the stark white hospital room where Russell lay recovering, Cassandra burst through like a whirlwind - her eyes flashing with a mixture of anger and relief, her fists clenched at her sides.  

"You big asshole!" she hissed, her voice trembling with barely contained emotion. "Don't scare me like that!" Despite the gravity of the situation, I couldn't help but smile at her feisty demeanour. 

Russell, for his part, merely smirked and glanced over at the doctor standing in the corner of the room - a silent acknowledgment of Cassie's characteristic outburst. 

"Good to see you too, Cassandra," he chuckled, his voice still hoarse from the ventilator tube that had recently been removed. The sound of his laughter, as weak as it was, sent a wave of warmth right to my heart. 

"This must be your daughter?" 

An awkward silence descended upon the room as the doctor's question hung in the air, unanswered. We all exchanged glances, unsure of how to respond without revealing the complex web of relationships that existed between us. 

But before any of us could formulate a suitable reply, Cassie took matters into her own hands - as she so often does. With a boldness that bordered on recklessness, she marched straight up to Russell's bedside and climbed onto his lap like a little girl, wrapping her arms around his neck in a tight embrace. 

"Yep, this is my dad," she declared, as tears spilled down her cheeks. 

I watched with pride as she nuzzled her face into the crook of Russell's neck, her body molding perfectly against his despite the IV lines and monitoring wires that snaked across his torso. 

"I thought I was gonna lose you, Daddy," Cassie gasped out between heaves of her chest. 

Then she leaned in close, her lips brushing against his ear. I strained to catch her whispered words. "If you weren't in a hospital bed," she hissed, her voice laced with playful irritation, "I'd tan your bare arse for scaring me like this!" 

I suppressed a small smile at her threat. It was classic Cassandra - fierce, protective, and utterly unafraid to assert her dominance no matter the setting. 

Russell smirked as well, but his expression shifted from amusement to concern. His gaze sought out Sarah Jane. 

"What's the state of the house?" he asked, his voice rough and raspy. "Is insurance taking care of things?"

Sarah hesitated for a moment, her eyes dropping to the floor as she shook her head in defeat. When she finally met Russell's gaze again, her voice was heavy with resignation. "It'll be months before they even start on the interior, huni," she said softly. "They've got us in some rental condo downtown..." Sarah's voice trailed off as I prepared to put a stop to this. 

"Nonsense!" I interrupted firmly, stepping forward to take charge of the situation. "You two will move in with Summer and I until the house is repaired. Yes, it's primarily a BDSM studio but you know we have vanilla living quarters too. Besides, the place is practically a mansion." 

"We couldn't possibly impose like that, Ma'am," Sarah protested weakly, her eyes darting nervously between Russell and I. But I was having none of it. With a swift, decisive motion, I reached into my purse and withdrew the menacing wooden hairbrush that I always kept on hand for just such occasions.

"My decision is final, Sarah Jane," I declared, while tapping the brush against my palm. "You're moving in with us, or shall we go into the bathroom over there and discuss this further?" 

"Russ, you're her 'Daddy' again, tell her." I looked in his direction with daggers in my eyes. 

"Thank you, Andrea, from the bottom of my heart, we accept your gracious offer." Russell smiled at Sarah Jane and nodded warmly in approval.

Summer immediately squealed and rushed to Sarah's side, tickling her tummy and bouncing up and down in front of her!

"Ma cherie!"

"We'll be just like sisters again!" 

Mistress Andrea 

xoxo

Continued in: The Goth Girls

 

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 

Continued in: Our Anchor

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

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

  

 

Doctor Patel

Continued from: Roommates

Written by Skylar St. Germaine

"Please, Skylar, punish me." 

Her words sent a shiver down my spine, igniting a fire within me that I had never felt before. My hand, poised above her bare bum, clenched into a fist before relaxing again. 

With a swift, decisive motion, I brought my palm down hard against Eesha's upturned ass. The sound of flesh meeting flesh echoed through the room, mingling with Eesha's sharp cry of pain. A red handprint bloomed instantly on her bronze complexion, and I watched, transfixed, as she squirmed against me. 

Again and again, I spanked her, each smack harder than the last, my hand stinging with the force of the impacts. 

With each punishing blow, Eesha's cries morphed into desperate apologies and promises. "I'm sorry," she sobbed, her voice breaking. "I'll do better, I promise. Please, Skylar, I'll be a good girl!" 

Her words fueled my fervor, spurring me to spank harder, faster, until her ass was a canvass of crimson and purple. 

"I won't disappoint you again," she vowed, her tears flowing freely now. "I'll study harder, I swear!" 

When I felt Eesha go limp across my lap, I slowed my assault, my hand gentling to soothing strokes across her bare bum. "Shhh," I whispered. "You've been punished enough for now." 

Eesha collapsed against my legs, her body heaving with exhausted sobs. Slowly, she slipped her arms around my waist in a tight embrace. "Thank you for punishing me, Skylar." I ran my fingers through her disheveled hair and told her everything would be okay. 

Eesha clung to me for a moment longer, before reluctantly releasing her hold. With a soft sniffle, she rose unsteadily to her feet, wincing as she gingerly rubbed her sore bottom. I watched as she shuffled towards her bed, her steps hindered by the panties still pooled around her ankles. She crawled atop the covers, curling into a small ball around a pillow and quietly sobbed herself to sleep. 

For Eesha, this was no game, no sexual fantasy. It was a deep-seated need, a compulsion born of years of strict upbringing and the weight of expectations. And I, her friend and confidante, understood the gravity of my new role. 

In the months that followed, an unspoken ritual emerged between us. Every few weeks, I would return to our dorm room to find Eesha standing in the corner, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs, her bottoms and panties pulled down. 

Wordlessly, I knew this was my queue to help her with whatever she was struggling with. I would guide her by the bicep to her bed, to my bed, or to a nearby chair, and position her directly over my lap. 

As our ritual evolved, so too did my autonomy to punish her more creatively and effectively. On some occasions I would reach for my belt, other times it was Eesha's own hairbrush, the unforgiving wooden surface leaving ashy-white splotches on her bare bum. 

I began to incorporate enforced corner time into our sessions, before and after her spankings. I even insisted that she start stripping fully nude for me, before being sent to the corner or going over my knee. 

"Socks too, Eesha. I want you fully nude," I would command and she covered her face with her hands and cried into her palms. 

These moments of vulnerability, of enforced introspection, seemed to bring Eesha a sense of peace. They allowed her to confront the demons that drove her need for strict punishment, to accept the consequences of her actions. 

Years have passed since I last saw Eesha. Our paths diverged after graduation, she pursuing her dreams in medicine, while I took an internship with NASA. But now...now I'm here, at Mistress Andrea's Facility, providing the exact same service to men and women, that Eesha once needed. 

I often find myself wondering what Eesha would think if she saw me now. Would she recognize the echoes of our shared past, in the way I wield a paddle now? Or would she see me as some sort of deviant, a perversion of the friend she once knew? 

I like to believe that Eesha would approve. After all, it was our time together that first awakened this side of me, that showed me the transformative power of adult spankings and discipline. 

I stared at my phone, my thumb hovering over the screen. It had been years since Eesha and I had spoken, yet the memories of her vulnerability lingered within me. I wondered if she still felt the same need for structure, for discipline, that had once landed her over my knee with her bum bare. Or did she still crave the cathartic release that only a thorough spanking could provide? 

I was between discipline sessions at the Facility, and before I could second-guess myself, I typed out a simple message to Eesha: a single heart emoji, followed by the words 'miss me?' 

I hit send, my pulse quickening as I waited for a response from Eesha, who was listed in my phone as Doctor Patel. Finally. three dots appeared, signaling that Eesha was typing. My breath caught in my throat as I watched the screen, anticipation coiling in my gut. 

And then her reply: 

"More than you know."

My heart leapt at the sight of those four words, a surge of warmth flooding through me. Whatever doubts I may have had about reaching out, vanished in an instant. Eesha still needed me, still craved the unique brand of discipline that only I could provide for her. 

And I was more than ready to deliver!

Goddess Sky

Continued in: Adorable A.I.

Little Spoon

Continued from: Tucked in by "Mommy"

A Sarah Jane story

After finishing up the text convo with Mistress, I gave Russell about an hour, while I read some Miss Julie content, before heading upstairs to alleviate the pressure in his poor bum. An hour plugged, without a re-lubrication, is more than enough time to provide suitable humiliation, frustration and to train his little bottom hole for future use. 

He was permitted to attend the bathroom in private and remove the penis-plug, returning to me so I could unlock the baby pink, leather cuff set from his wrists and ankles. When he reached for his satin pink nightie, to pull it off over his head I stopped him dead in his tracks. "Not so fast, young lady," I snapped. "These are the jammies you will be sleeping in tonight." 

His bottom lip began to pout in protest, as he mewled out a desperate, "but, Mommy...please!" 

With a quick motion of my hand, I accessed the dreaded ebony hairbrush that laid in wait on my dresser, specifically poised and at the ready for moments such as these. I ran my palm across it's smooth, unforgiving backside, tapping it firmly against my open hand. 

"So you were saying...you'd be happy to sleep in your pretty pink jammies, young lady?" I asked, my voice dripping in unspoken threat. He lowered his eyes, sensing impending danger and with a defeated sigh of submission, "yes, Mommy," escaped his lips. 

I set the hairbrush back in its place, and we both crawled into bed, maneuvering myself to ensure that I would be the big spoon tonight. 

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

The morning light filtered through the curtains, casting a soft glow across the bedroom as I stirred from my slumber. My arm was draped possessively around Russell's waist, holding him close to me as I spooned him from behind. I reveled in the feeling of his soft babydoll and panties, the delicate fabric doing little to conceal the firmness of his chastity cage beneath. 

With a contented sigh, I began to explore his body with my hands, tracing lazy patterns across his chest and stomach. Russell squirmed in my grasp, a soft moan escaping his lips as I found his sensitive nipples through the thin satin of his nightie. I pinched and rolled them between my fingers, delighting in the way his body responded to my ownership, his breathing growing heavier with each passing moment. 

My other hand drifted lower, cupping the bulge of his caged cock through the satin thong. "Good morning, my little one," I whispered, my lips grazing the shell of his ear as I spoke. "Did you sleep well, all safe and secure in Mommy's arms?" 

"We have quite the day ahead of us. Mistress Andrea has invited us over for a visit." I felt Russell tense slightly in my arms, no doubt processing the implications of being in Andrea's presence for the first time, as MY submissive plaything. 

"But first, let's get you out of these adorable jam-jams, Mommy wants to start her day properly." With a final lingering caress, I released my hold on Russell, allowing him to sit up and begin the process of removing his feminine attire. The sight of his chastity cage, snugly locked around his cock, never failed to send a thrill of ownership through me.

"Go start the shower, young man," I instructed, my voice laced with authority. "I want you waiting for me in there, on your knees." 

As Russell scurried off to obey my command, I reached for the nightstand drawer, my fingers closing around the familiar shape of the strap-on dildo. For a moment, I hesitated, considering the possibility of claiming him fully, right there in the steamy confines of our shower. The thought of watching him surrender to me completely, of feeling his body yield to my thrusts, was almost too tempting to resist. 

Yet, even as desire coursed through my veins, I knew that such a monumental step deserved more consideration. Reluctantly, I placed the harness back in the drawer, deciding instead, to seek counsel from Mistress Andrea. Our upcoming visit presented the perfect opportunity to discuss this significant milestone in our dynamic. He doesn't even realize how close he came to being pegged this morning.

*Sigh...

Entering the bathroom, I was greeted by the sight of Russell kneeling in the shower, the hot water cascading over his submissive form. Steam billowed around him, creating an ethereal atmosphere that only served to heighten my arousal. I stepped into the shower, positioning myself directly in front of him, my legs spread in silent command. 

I tangled my fingers into his wet hair, gripping tightly as I guided his mouth to my waiting pussy. "Lick my pussy, young man," I ordered, my voice cutting through the sound of the falling water. "Worship my cunt with that talented tongue of yours. Don't stop until I'm cumming onto your lips." 

Each flick and swirl sent waves of pleasure right to my toes, building steadily towards an inevitable climax. I held his head firmly in place, using him for my own gratification. As the last ripples of my orgasm subsided, I gently guided Russell to his feet, as my hands reached for the loofah, lathering it thoroughly before turning my attention to his cock cage. 

I took great pleasure in meticulously cleaning every inch of his locked-up penis, ensuring that the cage itself was cleaned as well. I couldn't help but smirk as I felt Russell's brief attempt at arousal, his cock straining futilely against the confines of the chastity cage. 

Emerging from the steamy shower, I allowed Russell the privilege of drying my naked body, his touch gentle and careful as he patted my skin with the soft towel. 

As he completed his task, I sauntered over to the bed, selecting a pair of pristine white stockings from my drawer. With deliberate slowness, I rolled them up my legs, relishing the silky caress against my skin. I reclined on the bed and spread my legs like a huge slut, revealing my glistening pussy. 

I crooked a finger at Russell, beckoning him closer. "Come, young man," I purred the sensual command. "Your Mistress requires another orgasm before we depart."

Sarah Jane 💟

Continued in: Bi-polar BDSM