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

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.

What Katie Did

Continued from: Roses are Red, Summer is too

I am in no way, shape or form affiliated to the vintage lingerie brand titled, "What Katie Did". It just so happens to be the name of this post, based on a client of mine named Kate. 

The lingerie however, is one of my favourtite brands. It's 1930's 40's and 50's pinup style, dresses too. The stockings, the seamed ones, the fully fashioned ones, are simply divine. Anytime a client of mine needs to be spanked by "Mommy", the collection from What Katie Did are my go-to styles.

Kate, on the other hand, is a new-ish client of mine. I find her to be quite a fascinating individual, based on the type of service she wants from me. I thought she was worthy of a post, my darling Katie, as I refer to her when she's with me. 

Picture like a Diane Lane...Aged beautifully, elegant, sharp and seriously feminine! Her experience shines brightly, in the odd strand of platinum-silver, that now runs through her hair. She doesn't dye it. She wants her level of maturity on display. This is essentially how I would describe Kate. 

I'm not 100% sure what she does for a living but my instincts tell me that she is some manner of corporate powerhouse. A CEO, a CAO, maybe the Director of a finance or legal department. She absolutely oozes corporate power, but comes to me to be spanked. 

I get it...I understand why she wants and needs this type of escape, given her vanilla role. I'm not sure if it was topping from the bottom originally but she basically told me exactly how she wanted her appointments to go. I obliged her, she tips well!

She only ever books with me over her lunch-hour on a weekday. Like visiting a therapist or dentist, like booking a massage. It's in her calendar, it's once a month and she is always on time. 

Kate graciously brings me an overpriced coffee, which she sets on my desk like an apple for the teacher. She mutes her phone and sets it on my desk also, along with her purse.

She of course greets me with a smile and a "Hello, Ma'am", but beyond that she doesn't say anything else. Kate just walks to the corner and parks herself in timeout. Sometimes I lower her dress-pants to her ankles, sometimes I just let her be. 

30 full minutes. This is what Kate asked of me, to strictly enforce 30 full minutes in timeout. I hear her breathing change around the ten minute mark. Deep inhales and deep exhales, as she stands motionless in her stilettos. 

Her panties always stay on for her spanking. If she's not in a tiny little thong which she usually wears, I will wedgie her panties up her bum crack so my target area is predominately bare. Her pussy and bottom hole have always been covered, upon her request. 

She wears a wedding band...maybe that's why? Maybe her hubby allows these sessions for her provided her modestly is maintained? I think she wears the pants at home though. Her hubby is probably a sissy maid to her. She reeks of female dominance...just not in these particular moments, and that's exactly why she needs these particular moments.  

The level of spanking on a severity scale of 1-10, Kate wants an 11. Bathbrush, the strap, hardwood paddles, canes, hairbrushes. She wants me to take her to "yellow" every time, but will never say "red". She believes it shouldn't be her decision when her spanking ends. 

Remember faint-of-heart people, this is what she has asked for:

Once per month, on her lunch break, without fail, she leaves my office with a bum that looks like the above and sometimes a tear-stained face. 

She is quite the trooper. Sometimes she doesn't even cry, she just silently takes it. 

When I declare "that's enough till next month", she drops to the floor and kisses my footwear while thanking me. Sometimes she's bawling...sometimes she's fully composed. Kate wanted this as part of her ritual for some reason, to lower herself to the floor and kiss my high heels. 

Then, just like her arrival, she walks herself to the corner and parks her nose against the walls. I start the timer again...for another 30 minutes if you can believe it! Her request. 

30 minutes in the corner, 30 minutes of spanking typically and 30 minutes in the corner, once a month! This is how she spends her lunch break. A truly intriguing woman! 

When the timer finishes she dresses. She holds me tightly and says, "thank you", and off she goes. It's somewhat mysterious. Like I want to know what happens after she leaves me or see her back at work, squirming in her seat. Her spankings are so severe that she'd be feeling the effects for a week, and seeing the marking and bruising for two weeks. 

Does her hubby see her bum and become horrified? Aroused? Does Kate get sexually aroused from this? Probably...but likely not in the moment. So mysterious! 

After our embrace she un-mutes her phone, grabs her purse and coffee...and boom, back to corporate power-fem. 

I end with a "see you next month, Katie". But not spoken as a statement. I frame it as a question, always open to her consent to continue or not. 

"See you next month, Katie?"

"Yes Ma'am, I'll be here, thank you Ma'am". 

And I kiss her forehead...

I'm not sure what Katie did, to feel she deserves such treatment each month. 

Maybe it's just the greatest possible escape a corporate adult could ever hope for. 

I admire her nevertheless!

Mistress Andrea

xoxo

 

Quality Control

Continued from: Minute Man

A Sarah Jane story

Hello everyone, it's sarah jane.

Just look at these socks! Ohhhh my word. I'd be in so much trouble with Daddy! I'm not sure who this young lady is but she probably has a very red bum! I know I would. (And by "young lady", of course I mean a full-grown adult woman, over the age of consent, which she clearly is, even though her attire does not suggest this). 

As many of you know, after Daddy and I shared a glorious moment of loving devotion followed by some filthy-hot sex, I moved in with him as his 24/7 submissive. His home is not a full-blown fetish and BDSM studio like Mistress Andrea has, but he does have some specialty rooms, designed specifically for my discipline and correction. 

If you remember from last time, there is a long hallway with multiple doors and a stark, lifeless stool facing a full-length mirror. These last few weeks, now under Daddy's roof and Daddy's rules, I have spent some time on the unforgiving rigidness of that stool, nursing a freshly spanked bottom. 

Why, you might ask? 

Two words...that I am getting to know painfully well...QUALITY CONTROL. 

I learned about quality control while under the care of Mistress Andrea at her Facility. Standing with my ankles together, walking on tiptoe when not in heels, or having to perform a curtsy when entering or leaving a room that my dominant was in. 

These were essentially my service standards while at The Facility. I was in-service always, as a submissive sex slave. Now, happily in the service of my Daddy, usually dressed like the above I might add, things are a little more...detailed, I guess I could call it. Daddy takes my service standards to the next level! I think he has a little bit of OCD.

Hehe. (Sorry Daddy, but you DO and it's true! *sticks tongue out*). Fuck, I'm gonna be sorry for that one! 

It was Daddy's attention to fine details that ultimately landed me in the hallway with these dreadful rooms. 

Such as:

If I present myself to Daddy with uneven socks, uneven knee socks or stockings, like the young lady above, I am given a spanking on the spot! 

"C'mon Sarah Jane, you're better than that!" Daddy will scold. 

"You know better than that!" And so on...

Then, regardless of where we are or who else is around, my bottom will be bare and I will be immediately over his knee. His heavy hand will take things well beyond the scope of a warm-up. You know that point when a man's strong hand starts to feel like a wooden paddle?

Daddy will then reach for an implement of opportunity. Wooden spoon or spatula if we're near or in the kitchen, a hairbrush from a bathroom, but he usually just takes off his belt, hauls me back across his knee and thrashes me good and hard. 

Between me kicking and flailing-off articles of clothing during these spankings and Daddy stripping pieces off me, I always end up fully nude. Then I get the dreaded, "go wait on the stool."

My hands cover my flaming bum cheeks and I find myself doing this little scamper/scurry run, usually while sobbing, as I make my way upstairs and onto the rigid stool to wait for my actual punishment. The one that fits the crime and the reason for these rooms. 

A run in my hosiery? Ohhh you better believe I'd be in for it!

Uneven knee socks, caught wearing flats, not walking on my toes when not in heels...White sock bottoms that are not looking so white anymore, dirty or dingy? The list goes on. 

You probably don't have to guess what will happen to me, after my spanking and now nervously waiting in the hallway for the corresponding specialty room. 

This particular room, for quality control violations relating to my feet, has only one bondage apparatus for the purpose of securing and displaying my soles for correction. 

This room really sucks. But, will my knee socks ever be uneven again? Would I present myself before Daddy with a run in my hose? Certainly not. His quality control is at least effective. I only have to touch the hot stove once. 

There is a small array of implements displayed in this room. Light riding crops, small flicker-whips and leather slappers. There are even tens-unit pads for my bare soles. Those REALLY fuckin' suck! 

What do you think of this next one? 

Visible tags left in place and not clipped from panties. Do you see it? 

I told you Daddy has OCD! 

He's not entirely wrong though. I am usually made to wear full sheer panties with my school uniforms and a lot of my pretty, pink sleepwear and lingerie is sheer or lace. I can see how an unsightly tag just screws up the whole aesthetic here.

See the tag in my panties? Daddy brought this to my attention and I ended up in this pose, so I could be shamed and humiliated by having to show all of you!

Then I was thrashed on-the-spot, right over Daddy's knee. His belt came next, always on the bare!

Once again I found myself on the "sobbing stool" as I like to call it now, up in the hallway, humiliated and naked with only my reflection and my thoughts to keep me occupied. But which room would I be headed to? This one could have gone either way. There is a room just for the correction of my pussy where I am secured and presented like this: 

And there is an entirely separate room for the whipping and correction of my little pucker. 

Both rooms are just like the feet-whipping room, with a single bondage apparatus to secure and present me for punishment. It's so embarrassing, to be bound and displayed this way!

Tags in panties, not having my princess parts shaved bald for Daddy...caught wearing improper panties or failing to give myself a good, soapy enema before Daddy fucks my bum, could all land me in either of these two rooms, or BOTH!! 

Again, each room has a collection of whips, straps and floggers of a size and weight suitable for my pussy and bum hole. Each room comes with the electro-pads as well, to shock my pussy lips, clit and anus as part of my correction. 

Lastly, there is a room dedicated to my breasts and nipples. I call this the "tit room". For the life of me I could not think of any manner of quality control relating to my tits. Maybe you readers can help? Like not being in a bra or something, when I'm suppose to be or not getting erect nipples when I should? I dunno...

Leave it to my loving Daddy though...he found something! Of course he did. 

These are a beautiful pair of nipple clamps with bells that Daddy got for me. As you can see they are the alligator style with the little tension wheel on the side, to reduce or increase the pinch. He likes to have me wear these when he fucks me doggystyle. My boobs dangle helplessly and the motion of Daddy pounding me in the ass or cunt, causes my tits to bounce and flop about; thus, causing me to jingle!

*hands over eyes* It's so dreadfully humiliating!

Every nipple is different. Some people clamp just the nipple while others want them to bite the areola and the nipple together. For that reason, Daddy lets me adjust the clamps myself and set the level of pinch. He tells me that he wants a decent grip but nothing excruciating. Just enough that they stay in place, like an ornamental decoration.

Well...

The other day, Daddy was fucking me from behind. I had my bells on and I was gagged. Everything was going fine until one of my nipple bells flew off and hit the floor, because I didn't have it clamped tightly enough. 

I thought nothing of it at the time. Daddy finished and came into my hot cunt, but then I got a very firm spanking, still gagged with jizz oozing out of me! 

I was shocked when I heard, "go wait on the stool." Then it dawned on me, my clamps! So, I was introduced to the final room I had not seen yet. My "tit room".

The setup was simple as usual, just one singular apparatus of bondage to present the area for correction. I was blindfolded and shock-pads were applied first. I think they were set to about a 7, then I was left alone to endure the correction. 

When Daddy finally returned, the pads were removed but my blindfold stayed on. He didn't want me seeing and flinching or anticipating the whipping that came next, all across my boobs and nipples. I was a very sorry young lady after about 25 per nipple with a riding crop. I now understood the importance of quality control at Daddy's house.

But if I know all these rules now and adhere to them...these rooms will be obsolete no? 

I wouldn't purposely do something just to end up back in the hallway...would I? 

Hmmm. Those stocking seams can be tricky...and it would drive Daddy bananas! Should I push my luck?

sarah jane xoxo

Continued in: Pinch Hitter

 

 

 

 

   

A Score to Settle

Continued from: Hall Passes

After my night of being absolutely owned and completely subby to Goddess Vanessa, I woke up tangled into her gorgeous, naked body. We had since dropped our roles when we drifted off to sleep last night but I pulled us right back into the lovely D/s dynamic, as I offered to wake her up "properly". 

I addressed her by formal title once again and indulged in some deep oral worship of her pussy and bottom hole. It was my unique way of thanking her for a lovely evening. A Hallmark card would have been pleasant too, but Vanessa cumming onto my tongue seemed fitting. Ha!

I verbally thanked her too, before realizing I didn't bring any clothes with me.

Since I arrived last night in rope bondage and a tiny overcoat only, Vanessa had to give me some clothing to go home in. I think she deliberately picked the skimpiest little top and bottoms she had. 

Vanessa and I grabbed a light breakfast as Summer arrived to pick me up. I felt like a bit of hooker. Dropped off by my "pimp", Summer, only to be picked up by her in the morning! Haha. She's a cute pimp though. 

During the drive home Summer described in explicit detail, how her evening with Russell and Sarah Jane went. I could feel my nails involuntarily clawing into my bare thigh as she spoke. My eyebrow raised on it's own, with a slight pang of jealously. 

We agreed on this hall pass night, everything was consensual, but still! My dominant mercury was rising, as protector of my wife, Dominatrix and den-mother of the Facility. I felt order needed to be restored. 

That afternoon, I was definitely back into my groove. Back into my hosiery and heels, reading glasses but no book. I don't want to call it bitch-face because I'm not bitchy. Let's just call this look, "ebony hairbrush face." 

And who was I glaring at? 

You guessed it. The person who just had their dirty dick in my wife! 

Another professional disciplinarian named Georgia Payne said it best. I love this excerpt from her website. 

Something I relish about domestic discipline play is the "take down". Domestic players at their core are all about the need for correction. They enter the room with many different attitudes but they all deep down want the same thing. They want to be put in their place. They know that until they find themselves being forced to look me in the eye, with their chin held firmly in my hand, they won't be truly satisfied and neither will I. 

It's that moment, after they've been over my knee for an extended blistering on their bare bottom, the moment when I stand them up and that cocky swagger, that they entered the room with, has melted away and I am staring at the bashful little boy or girl where once stood a man or woman. That, for me, is the moment that both players strive for. Because as you stand in the corner, eyes down, ass red, you'll feel complete in ways few other moments could ever offer you. That's what makes domestic players so much fun for me and so rewarding. 

Well put Miss Payne. By the looks of her she knows how to blister a naughty male arse, something I will be seeing to very shortly.  

"The cocky swagger that they entered the room with..."

Kinda like Russell, when I summoned him to my office quite firmly for a "chat" today. A swagger fueled by the machismo of fucking my beautiful wife all night?

"Bu...but Ma'am...I thought this was all pre-arranged, with the hall pass thing? I had Summer's permission, she had yours?" He stammered in panic.

"Well you didn't have MY permission!" I snapped back. 

"Russell, you and I used to be playmates, and Summer is my wife. The least you could have done is check in on me before last night, to ask me if I'm sure it's ok. Is that fair?" I continued my scolding. I was starting to see the bashful little boy in him, rolling his shoulders forward into a hunch and lowering his eyes to the floor. 

"It's starting to turn into a bunny ranch around here, with all my submissives fucking one another. Order must be restored, with a woman's touch." I continued my rant. 

"Yes Ma'am. You're right." His gaze downcast as his words trembled. 

"You are familiar with the popular blog written by Strict Miss Julie, young man?"

Julie's Spanking Blog

"Yes Ma'am. I follow her diligently." Russ replied. 

"Then you should be aware she has a new e-book out?" I asked. 

"Actually, I wasn't aware of that Ma'am." Russell replied. 

"Pick up that tablet in front of you. Go to Amazon and purchase the Kindle version. You'll see that it is a collection of stories based on F/m spanking only...as things should be." I hissed. 

Get your copy here

I watched as Russell obeyed me immediately. Accessing the tablet and making his purchase. 

"Get that little sex doll of yours, Sarah Jane, to buy a copy also. Before she ends up over my knee as well, young man!" I barked at Russell. 

"BDSM is a community. We support each other, especially a local gal!" I continued. 

"Yes Ma'am." He peeped out, acknowledging my firmness with him. 

"Now young man. You are to read each of Julie's stories and select one that best represents the manner you wish to be punished. Is that clear?" I said. 

He looked a bit puzzled, as he stood sheepishly in front of my desk. I carried on before he had a chance to respond. 

"When you have read them all and picked one. You will return to my office and read the chapter to me, with your pants and underwear at your ankles. Do I make myself clear?" 

I thought I'd add this additional shaming. Since he fucked my wife he can stand there and read to me with his penis on display and bottom bare. I giggled at the thought of it...

Basically my plan is to have him read all the stories, then based on his preference for positions, the role of the female in the story or a particular implement used, I will carry out for real, the spanking story he selects.

It should be a humiliating and humbling predicament for him.   

******

"What'cha reading Daddy?" The cute and Secretarial Sarah Jane, asked of Russell. 

"Ummm, do you have Kindle on your phone babygirl? There's an e-book you need to buy. Mistress' orders, ok?"

“Oh…ummm. Yes Daddy.” Sarah replied curiously.

To be continued…

Mistress Andrea

xoxo 

Continued in: Good Cop, Bad Cop