Caesar Sunday

Continued from: Teacher's Pet

A Sarah Jane story 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Caesar has spoken! 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sarah Jane 💟

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

Strict Julie Spanked  

A link to her blog is above. 

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

Continued in: Ma'am to Mistress

   

 

 

 

The Night We Met

Continued from: So I may be forgiven

A Sarah Jane story

Robotically, I sank to my knees on the dirt floor of the shed. My hands went to his belt that so recently was used to strap my bare bum. I unzipped his fly and reached inside, freeing his hardening cock. Leaning forward, I ran my tongue along the underside of his shaft, eliciting a groan from deep in his throat. 

I took him deep into my mouth, humming softly and licking, using every trick I knew to bring him pleasure. Before long, hot, salty cum flooded my mouth and I swallowed obediently, not wanting to lose a single drop. 

"Thank you for your cum, Daddy." I whispered reverently. Leaning forward, I placed a soft, worshipful kiss on the tip of his penis, completing my post-spanking ritual. 

Raising from my knelt position, I heard a car door slam shut. "Oh my god, the girls are home!" I squealed to Daddy. 

Mistress Andrea: 

(Sporting a cute little tam that I picked up in London)

I pulled up to the house in our car, Summer sitting quietly beside me. As we parked and got out, I spotted Russell and Sarah Jane emerging from the woodshed. One look at Sarah's tear-streaked face and slightly stiff gait told me exactly what they'd been up to. I smirked to myself, knowing that she must have been a naughty girl, to earn a trip out there. 

Before I could say anything, Sarah caught sight of us and let out and ear-piercing squeal of delight. She broke away from Russell's hand and came running towards us. Summer braced herself as Sarah launched herself into her arms, giggling and covering her face in kisses. 

We all made it inside where the girls' joyful reunion continued. 

Their playful affection was a stark contrast to the heavy emotions weighing on my heart. As Sarah continued to shower Summer with kissed and affectionate babble, I turned my gaze to Russell. 

Our eyes met and I felt a lump in my throat. Seeing his handsome, familiar face brought all the emotions of the past few days rushing to the surface. Without a word, he opened his arms to me and I stumbled forward into his embrace, burying my face against his chest. 

"Where's Cassie?" Russell asked, his voice rumbling through his chest. At the mere mention of her name, I felt fresh tears spring to my eyes. I shook my head against him, momentarily unable to speak past the sob rising in my throat. 

"She's gone, Russ," I managed to choke out. "Cassandra chose to stay behind in London, with her new wife."

"They got married in the woods, surrounded by nature. It was so pure and full of love." I pulled back to look at him, seeing my own sadness reflecting in his eyes, as a lone tear rolled down his cheek.  

"She's gone..." I whispered again. 

I wiped away my tears, taking a deep breath to compose myself. Suddenly, Summer's playful voice cut through the heavy atmosphere. "So, Sarah, what were you doing out in the woodshed with Daddy? Did you get yourself into trouble?" She poked at Sarah's ribs, making the pair of them squirm and giggle. Leave it to Summer to lighten the mood in the room. 

"I might have been a bad girl earlier," she admitted sheepishly. "But Daddy took care of it." She rubbed at her bottom, causing Summer to laugh outright. 

As Summer went up to shower, I settled onto the plush couch in the living room, tucking my hosed feet beneath me as Sarah plopped down on her knees in front of me. I thanked her for house-sitting and blushed a little in saying, "and thank you for...you know, the Mandy thing." Sarah knelt and kissed both of my feet to welcome me home, before her eyes widened. 

"Oh my god, Mistress, you won't believe what Daddy made us do," she gushed. "He forced me to lick Mandy's asshole, then we had to fuck each other while he whipped us!" 

I raised an eyebrow. "Is that so? And how did that make you feel, sweetheart?" 

"Ashamed, Ma'am...ashamed that I loved every minute of it! Thank you for allowing us to use your space, Mistress." 

I smiled and stroked her hair, but before I had a chance to respond, she leaned in to speak again.

"There's something else, Mistress," Sarah said, her voice dropping to a whisper. "It's Daddy. He's been acting a bit aloof lately. Going through the motions but not really into it, you know? Even the spanking I earned today...it wasn't as intense as usual and I totally deserved intense. It was like his head wasn't in it." 

I listened intently as Sarah poured out her concerns, remembering Russell's struggles with the more extreme aspects of BDSM. "You know Russ has a hard time with the heavier stuff," I reminded Sarah gently. "He's got such a soft spot for women, it's difficult for him to fully embrace that 'Master' role sometimes." 

I leaned back against the couch cushions, considering Sarah's words. "You know, I wonder if part of the problem is that he misses submission," I mused. "When he was my submissive, there was never any question about his passion or enthusiasm." I smiled, remembering those heady days of having Russell completely under my stiletto. 

Sarah's gaze hardened with jealousy, but she quickly snapped out of it at my next comment. "Have you ever thought about asking him to switch roles with you? To let you take charge for awhile?"

"Oh, I don't know, Ma'am," she stammered. "I couldn't possibly bring that up, I'd be punished." 

"I suppose you're right," I remarked, while ushering her head into my lap and stroking her hair. I quickly changed the subject. "Tell me more about your time with Mandy, sweetheart." 

While Sarah regaled me with the raunchy details of her weekend in the sex dungeon, I strained my ears, trying to catch the faint lyrics drifting from Russell's phone as he just slow sipped a whiskey at the bar. 

♫ I have been searching...for...a trail to follow...again...

   Take me back....to...the night we met...

♫ I had all and then most of you, some and now none of you...take me back...to...the night we met

♫ I don't know what I'm suppose to do, haunted by the ghost of you

    Oh, take me back...to...the night...we met...

It was a sad tambour, underscored by the twang of an acoustic guitar. Was he reminiscing about our early days together? Is that how Russell felt? Like he had lost a piece of himself...a dominant, struggling with submissive desires?

I snuck out my phone and tapped the Shazam button...it was, in fact, a really sweet and haunting song that was catching me right in the feels too. I wasn't sure what advice to give Sarah. Eventually we just joined him at the bar and we were welcomed with a smile. 

"Tell me all about the wedding, Ma'am," he cheerfully tried to hide his inner turmoil, "it sounded lovely."  

The track in question here is by Lord Huron: The Night we Met

Mistress Andrea 

xoxo

Continued in: What do you say?

 

So I may be Forgiven

Continued from: My Little Ponies

A Sarah Jane story

Even though I knew I was in deep shit and would be feeling Daddy's belt across my ass tomorrow, he didn't dwell on my transgression. That's just the way things worked between us. I'd face the consequences for my actions, but then all would be forgiven. 

For the rest of the evening, things went on as usual. After Mandy left, Daddy and I settled in on the couch to watch some movies together, still essentially house-sitting at Mistress Andrea's Facility. 

I cuddled up against him, trying to soak up his warmth and affection while I still could. Even though he wasn't brining up my impending punishment, I couldn't stop thinking about it. My stomach was in knots imagining the thrashing I was going to get. 

Partway through the second movie, Daddy shifted and I felt his hand come to rest on the top of my head. Without a word, he applied gentle pressure, guiding my face down towards his lap. Obediently, I slid off the couch and positioned myself between his knees. 

I focused all my energy on pleasuring Daddy, trying to take my mind off the punishment looming over me. I sucked and bobbed with enthusiasm, taking him deep into my throat. 

Before long, I felt Daddy's cock swelling and pulsing between my lips. With a grunt, he gripped my pigtails and held my head down, forcing his length into my throat as he came hard. I swallowed every drop obediently, continuing to gently suckle him clean as he softened in my mouth. 

"Good girl", he praised, patting my head. "Now come back up here and finish watching this movie with me." I crawled back up on the couch and snuggled against his lap, but my mind was still racing, unable to forget the painful reckoning I'd be facing tomorrow. 

The next morning I woke up early and got ready to face my spanking. In the shower, I scrubbed myself thoroughly, wanting to be fresh and clean for Daddy. After drying off, I pulled my hair up into a high, tight ponytail to keep it out of the way. 

Next, I selected my outfit carefully. I stepped into a pair of big, plain white cotton panties - the kind that covered everything and made me feel anything but sexy. Over those, I pulled on a sweater dress that would allow Daddy easy access to my bum. I finished the look with high heels, before taking a deep breath and headed downstairs to face my fate. 

"Daddy, I'm ready for my punishment." I said softly, my voice wavering slightly. "I was rude and disrespectful to our guest yesterday and I spoke out of turn to you in front of her. I'm truly sorry for my behaviour. Please spank me severely, Daddy, so I may be forgiven."

A few tears slipped down my cheeks as I awaited his response, my body slightly trembling in anticipation. 

Daddy regarded me silently for a long moment, his expression stern. Finally, he stood up and took me firmly by the upper arm and began leading me out of the house. My stomach dropped as I realized where we were headed - the woodshed. The woodshed, no matter who's home it happens to be at, was where Daddy will take me for only the most serious infractions, the ones that required only the harshest of punishments.  

As we approached the small outbuilding, I started shaking harder, my breath coming faster. Daddy opened the door and guided me inside the unfinished space, appearing as though it was under construction. 

"Stand there," Daddy commanded, pointing to a spot on the unfinished wall. 

"Face the wall and think about what you did and why you're here. You've got 15 minutes." He released my arm and I hurried to obey. 

The seconds ticked by agonizingly slow as I contemplated the severe whipping I knew was coming. My bum clenched involuntarily beneath my short dress, already anticipating the fiery sting of Daddy's belt.

When the 15 minutes were finally up, I heard Daddy's heavy footsteps approaching behind me. "Strip," he ordered. "Leave the heels on." With fumbling, shaking fingers, I peeled off my dress and frumpy underwear, letting them pool on the dirty floor. Goosebumps rose on my naked flesh in the cool air. 

Once I was fully naked, save for my heels, Daddy gripped my arm again and marched me out the door of the shed. I gasped as I realized he was taking me outside, where anyone might see my shameful punishment. He dragged me over to an old wooden ladder leaning against the back wall of the shed. 

Roughly, he bound my wrists and ankles to the rungs with coarse ropes, stretching me out tightly. Satisfied that I was secured well enough, he walked over to the large weeping willow tree a few yards away. He selected a long, slender branch and stripped it of its leaves, fashioning a wicked-looking switch. He swished it through the air as he approached my vulnerable form. 

I braced myself as Daddy took his position behind me, switch it hand. Closing my eyes, I tried to steel myself for the searing agony I knew was coming. But to my shock, after only a dozen sharp, stinging lashes across my bare bum, he tossed the switch aside. 

I barely had time to process this before I heard the ominous sound of his belt being removed from his pants. The thick leather cracked against my already smarting cheeks, painting lines of fire across my skin. But again, he stopped after just a dozen strokes. 

As Daddy untied me from the ladder, I was confused and almost...disappointed? Is that possible, what's wrong with me? I had been mentally preparing myself for an absolutely brutal thrashing, the kind that would leave me sore and sorry for days afterwards. But this punishment felt almost anticlimactic in comparison. My bum was certainly red and stinging, but it was nothing compared to what I had been anticipating. 

I rubbed my wrists as Daddy led me back inside the shed, handing me my dress to put back on. Perhaps this was just the first part of my punishment, with more to follow later? I didn't dare ask, simply followed him meekly back to the timeout spot, my head bowed in continued submission. 

Another 15 minutes of corner time? That was nothing. 

I should be standing here for at least an hour, my bare bottom on display, reflecting on my transgression until my legs ached and my back cramped. 

And the spanking itself...a few measly lashes with a switch and Daddy's belt? I'd gotten far worse for much lesser offences. My bottom should be crisscrossed with angry welts, bruised and tender to the touch for days afterwards. Instead, the sting was already fading, leaving only a mild warmth behind. It was if Daddy went easy on me, and I couldn't understand why. 

As my 15 minutes must have been drawing to a close, I heard Daddy's footsteps returning. He came up behind me and wrapped his strong arms around me, pulling me back against his chest. I melted into his embrace, feeling the solid warmth of his body through his shirt. 

"It's ok, babygirl," Daddy murmured. "You took your punishment well. I know it wasn't what you were expecting, but sometimes mercy can be just as powerful as severity." He turned me gently in his arms so that I was facing him, looking up into his kind, understanding eyes. "Do you accept my forgiveness, little one?"

I nodded, blinking back tears. "Yes, Daddy. Thank you for punishing me and forgiving me. I don't deserve your mercy, but I'm grateful for it." I buried my face against his chest, breathing in his comforting scent. 

As Daddy held me close, I tilted my head up to look at him, batting my eyelashes like a cutie-pie. "Daddy, may I thank you properly for my punishment?" I purred, dipping down to my knees onto the floor of the woodshed, never breaking eye contact with Daddy. 

Sarah Jane 💟

Continued in: The Night We Met

Country Roads, Take me Home

Continued from: Tara Gregory: Revelations

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

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

*****

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mistress Andrea

xoxo

Continued in: Tara Gregory: Anal Virginity