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-style 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 40, 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 punishment, 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

Cousins Punished Together - A Farmhouse Story

Continued from: Don't make me come up there!

"Don't make me come up there!!" Usually means the purveyor of this threat is coming anyway! 

This was dreadfully evident for Julie and her naughty cousin Patrick, as the creak of the farmhouse staircase, echoed its eerie tune through the second floor. 

Julie and Patrick shared a knowing glance, no heel clicks, they thought to themselves. It must be Uncle Ed, or in Patrick's case...his "Daddy". 

They were in for it now!

Julie's tummy fluttered with butterflies and her heart beat in her chest with the pace of each firm smack from Ed's muscular hand. She thought to herself how humiliating and emasculating it must be for Patrick, a heterosexual adult male, to be spanked over the knee of an older, larger and stronger man. 

She wished she had been forced to watch, rather than sent to the corner. She was curious to see Patrick's little penis and berries, mushed against Ed's dress pants, likely caked with the remnants of dried cum. Patrick's cries for mercy and his pleads of "Daddy NOOO", made it clear to Julie that manually masturbating Patrick, right before his spanking, was probably inhumane on her part. 

Typically, she would find this amusing and likely curl her villainous lips into a smile, but she was frozen with the nervous anticipation that she would be next. 

When the deep smacking sounds finally stopped, the room was filled with the defeated sobs of Patrick, who was quickly ordered to take Julie's place in the corner. They passed one another during the exchange, both with lowered heads of vulnerability and embarrassment. 

Julie draped herself over her "Uncle's" knee and could feel her delicate, pastel dress swoosh upwards to expose her tender thighs. 

Her spanking was firm and thorough, the sound deadened by the absorption and protection that her panties provided. A style selected by Lorraine, to accompany Julie's "little girl" aesthetic. 

It wasn't long however, before these adorable little knickers were at her ankles and her Uncle's firm hand was connecting with her blushing, bare cheeks. 

Julie's emotions were conflicted with a dichotomy of embarrassment and pain, yet the comfort of knowing she was cared for and protected, even though it stung a little. 

When Julie was sufficiently warmed up, the two miscreants, both bowing their tear-streaked faces, were provided their underpants to put back on but nothing more. 

Under the duress of Ed's firm hand and over his knee, the two cousins had spilt the beans about everything that had transpired. Between sobs and pleas of mercy, the confessions flowed freely. 

"Daddy please no more! Julie made me put my tongue in her bum!" 

"Unckie Ed, I'm sorry! I caught Patrick playing with himself, then he called me a Dummy!" 

Two grown adults, reduced to squabbling children when it came time to be soundly spanked. The atmosphere was laced with shame and embarrassment. 

Ed firmly spoke, "follow me you two." Which signified their punishment was far from over. They were marched through the house in their skivvies, past the delicate womenfolk and the remaining "child", Claire, who had since recovered from her punishment and was seated in the living room. 

Next came the walk of shame out to the dreaded woodshed. Their heads on a swivel, scanning the horizon for nosey neighbours. 

The numbness of their undie-clad bottoms was just beginning to fade as a latent sting washed in. This meant that whatever was coming next, would hurt even more. 

Julie was up first this time, while Patrick was forced to nervously sit outside in his underpants, forced to listen to what awaited him in the woodshed. 

Julie was bent at the waist and fastened into the apparatus of discipline. Her bra was deliberately removed by her uncle so her "adolescent" little bobbies could dangle in the most humiliating of manner. 

Her panties were fully removed and hung on a hook inside the shed. The shamefully soaked gusset of the delicate cotton, swayed in the breeze that snuck through the partially open door. 

Ed provided her with a few firm smacks, softly explaining the reason she was being punished. Her gentle weeping was interrupted by the jingle of a belt buckle, followed by the snapping of supple leather through pant-loops. 

Patrick trembled from outside, listening to each of the strokes echo from within the woodshed, each snap was immediately followed by a yelp from poor Julie. 

He tried to keep count, but was too haunted by the commotion from within the shed. He knew it would soon be his turn and had lost count around the sixteen mark.  

The same as Julie experienced, Patrick's top and underpants were fully removed, creating a deeper sense of vulnerability as he was padlocked into the wooden stocks. 

Julie was directed to an opposing wall, to smush not only her erect nipples and little boobies against the wall, but also her nose. 

These two will definitely be sleeping on their tummies tonight!

They were both kept exposed and predominately naked, for the slow and gingerly walk back into the quiet sanctity of the home. 

Apart from Ed pointing to the corner and saying, "thirty minutes", nothing more was said. Lorraine was about to begin knitting on the couch, satisfied with what was presented before her. Claire played on the floor, her eyes occasionally leering toward the corner of the room. Ed returned to the "Dad" chair and resumed his newspaper, as an episode of Little House on the Prairie flickered from the TV. 

Order had been restored within the household. A strapped and naughty bare bottom in the corner was commonplace in this era, regardless of who was present to witness the dreadful humiliation. Julie and Patrick's shameful postures were a form of décor, complimenting the retro wallpaper. 

As the thirty minutes ticked to an end, the cousins were dismissed to the second floor with a stern warning from Lorraine. 

"Grounded to your rooms means grounded to your OWN rooms!" 

"Yes Ma'am," they replied in unison, before scurrying up the stairs. 

Julie's pussy was throbbing as intensely as her bare bottom was. She wasted no time in addressing this, as she surveyed the colour of her bum in the mirror. 

She wondered if Patrick was sobbing into his pillow, having been spanked and strapped by another man. 

It seems dear readers, that when you're a spanko...it is a gender-neutral affliction. 

Mistress Andrea

xoxo

The Farmhouse Series has paused for now. You can continue with a new series about a cuckold husband and his beautiful wife:

Vanessa is a Goddess!

 

  

 

Don't make me come up there - A Farmhouse Story

Continued from: Sears Wish Book

"Please don't tell on me Julie, I'm begging you! I won't be able to sit for a week after Dad takes his belt to me!!" Patrick fell to his knees in front of his older cousin Julie, who was now, clearly amused by his vulnerable state. 

As previously detailed, Julie snuck out of the confines of her grounding and crept across the hallway to her young cousin's room, only to find him in the naughty act of self-pleasure. He was wanking his little penis to underwear models in a Sears Wish Book. 

Now, as his erection began to fade, he fell to his knees to beg Julie not to tattle on him. He was begging to do anything she asked of him. 

"You can start by answering some questions for me," Julie snipped. "Have you ever been a client here before? How long are we grounded and what happens after that?" 

Julie was still in a state of fearful panic, fear of the unknown, after witnessing the treatment of her "cousin" Claire at the hands of her role-play parents. She was given quite the belt whipping, then transported upstairs to have her bowels filled with a soapy enema. 

Julie needed some intel from the groveling Patrick! She needed to know if this would also be her fate, as she replayed the image of poor Claire, jackknifed over her Daddy's knee with her legs dangling. 

Julie felt a familiar tingle between her legs, as her tummy flooded with butterflies. 

“We'll be grounded for an hour or two, usually," Patrick stammered out, having been grounded to this bedroom before. 

"That's why I thought I had enough time for...you know...wh...what I was doing." 

"I'm sorry I interrupted you Patrick. Watching Claire get punished made you all hot and bothered too huh?" Julie spoke, with a maternal tone of caring in her voice. 

Patrick lowered his eyes and blushed, nodding his head in the affirmative. 

"So after our grounding, then what happens?" Julie continued her inquisition. 

"Then we get punished," Patrick shrugged as he spoke, sounding rather aloof. 

Julie's mind and heart raced at the thought, immersing herself fully in her environment and her attire. She imagined her youthful teen body with budding tits, being ogled by her male cousin as she is stripped and disciplined by her Auntie or Uncle.

She imagined the opposite, of how her male cousin would feel to have his little penis and testicles on full display to her, amidst a backdrop of tears, begging and the cracks of a hairbrush bouncing off bare buttocks. 

Julie tried to quell her butterflies, and squished her legs together to mitigate the ache in her panties. She turned her attention back to the kneeling Patrick who's penis was now limp and flaccid. 

"What's gonna happen if I tell your 'Mommy' what I caught you doing?" Julie purred, as the corners of her lips began to curl into an evil smile. 

"Please don't! I'll do anything you want! I'd get taken out to the woodshed for sure!" Patrick pleaded, trying his best to avoid a trip to the dreaded woodshed with "Daddy's" belt. 

"Anything huh?" Julie seductively hissed...

"No! Not there. My asshole I said." Julie barked at him, trying to keep her voice to a whisper to avoid detection.

She had convinced poor Patrick to lay on his back while she removed her dress and panties, all while straddling his face. As she went in for a squat and hover, Patrick's tongue instinctively darted out to greet her soaked pussy. Julie, however, had other plans for his tongue. 

"That's it, yes! As deep as you can go!" Julie encouraged, as she felt Patrick's tongue first lick, then penetrate her little pucker. 

In no time flat, with Patrick's tongue up her ass, Julie had fingered herself to a shuddering orgasm.

She offered to return the favour and bullied Patrick onto the bed. 

Free of a chastity cage since his arrival, witnessing and hearing spanking all around him and now this pretty stranger Julie, who just made him eat her ass out while she came, was stroking his cock. 

Patrick started to panic and whispered out as urgently as he could, "stop before I have a chance to finish ok?" 

"Nooo, no! Don't do it that fa...!"

Patrick clawed at the bed and clenched his teeth, trying to remain as quiet as he could, as rope after rope of hot cum splashed off Julie's chin and neck.

"What's wrong? You didn't want to cum?" Julie innocently asked. 

"Not right before a spanking!! Geez!" Patrick panted. 

"Oh gosh...how silly of me. Does that make the spanking feel worse?" Julie flipped her ponytail in a ditzy motion as she spoke, playing into the naïve and inexperienced teenager.

"Yes you dummy!" 

Julie's mischievous and playful expression completely melted from her face. She stood and didn't say a word. She returned her delicate and puffed dress over her little frame and with deliberate movements, headed straight for the door to the room. 

"No, don't do it!" Patrick cried out. "Don't do it!" 

She flung the door open and hung her head out into the hallway. 

"AUNNTIEEEEEEE....!"

"PATRICK JUST CALLED ME A DUMMYYYYYYY....!"

"AND GUESS WHAT ELSE HE WAS DOING?!"

Meanwhile, downstairs, Lorraine heard the commotion and tilted her iron on edge. It steamed and sputtered in the once quiet sanctity of the living room. She gave but a mere glance to Ed, without saying a word, it was an unspoken queue to engage. 

He looked up from his newspaper and bellowed through the ceiling and into the floorboards of the rooms above. 

"DON'T MAKE ME COME UP THERE!!"

To be continued. 

Mistress Andrea

xoxo

Continued in: Cousins Punished Together

  

 

 

 

 

A Return to the Woodshed Pt.2

Continued from: Return to the Woodshed Pt.1

Before we get back to Nancy I wanted to take a moment to speak about therapeutic, adult spanking. This is why Nancy is with me today, this is the type of session she wanted and has asked for in the past. I don't need to know why she needs this form of therapy, her head is already in the right place and she has summoned the strength and courage to follow through with something she feels she needs. 

Obviously her emotional "cup" is full, overflowing even, and I have the means and the expertise to empty her "cup". 

Nancy, who is in her late forties, favours the more "little" and vulnerable headspace when she is spanked. For this reason, I always have her dressed like a little girl before her session begins. The humiliation of this attire alone, gets her emotions right to the surface for me. 

Nancy also wants her disciplinarian to emulate a caring but strict "Daddy" role. When I saw her for the first time, ages ago, she was content with me playing a masculine role for her. I did not have an actual male at the Facility in that period of time. 

I suppose I have Russell now, who could spank her when needed. I'll have to ask her at the end of her session if she wants to explore this option. 

Next comes the context of her spanking. For reasons unknown to me and unknown to Cassandra who books Nancy and does her consultations, Nancy wants to hear: "go see Daddy young lady, he is very disappointed with you!" 

Once that a-bomb of a line is dropped, Nancy is usually bawling! Shuffling through the Facility to find me, her "Daddy", fully accepting that a spanking is coming and it's for her own good. 

If her ultimate goal of seeing me is just to have a good cry, I'm the little push that she needs to get her there. If she is harbouring pent-up guilt or shame about something, I provide her the outlet to process and answer for her past if that's what her therapy entails. 

The fact that she's bawling before she even goes over my lap, means 70% of my work is already done for me. The spanking itself, is just icing on the cake. 

During this particular session we started in the den. I was wearing jeans with a big wide belt, plaid shirt and boots. When I took her over my lap she was bubbling out snotty tears and saying, "I'm sorry Daddy!" 

Again...don't need to know why she's sorry or why she's saying that.

She's in her own headspace where she wants to be. When I lifted her dress and began to hand-spank her over her panties, this is what she wanted to communicate. It's what made sense to her in the moment. 

Marching her out to the woodshed came next, I think she processes this as an old-fashioned, Daddy move, something from a different time. The burly and hard-working farm-Dad, dragging his daughter by the bicep, out to the woodshed for a good switching or strapping. She forgot to seed the south field or something, and spent the afternoon under a shade-tree, daydreaming about the Thompson boy from her church. 

The "woodshed" itself and the threat of being taken to the woodshed must have had some more intense connotation back in the day. Like the discipline has to be administered out here, as it will be too severe to do in the house around Mother and your siblings? 

"Noooo Daddy, not in there!"  Nancy began to plea when I got her outside. Outside where others may see or hear?! 

I made her remove her dress while standing out in the open, before we entered the shed. I wanted her to have a few humiliating moments in just her bra and panties, standing in the spring breeze. 

I have been meaning to get a nice old sawhorse for the shed. Maybe a soft sheep-hide on the horizontal portion, for naughty adults like Nancy to drape their mid-section across. Then use some old tack leather to bind the wrists and ankles to the legs of the sawhorse. One day maybe...

I still utilize the wooden pillory in the shed, which is just as vulnerable as the sawhorse idea. The neck and wrists get secured in place before a padlock is added to the frame. The bottom is presented nicely and the feet and legs are embarrassingly free to kick and dance about, an especially common performance during a switching or caning. 

I deliberately left the shed door ajar and started with some nice hand-spanks on her upper thighs and her bottom. Nancy needed a little more warming up over her panties before I reached for the leather strap hanging from the wall. 

After developing some lovely layers of colour, I hiked her panties right down and off and reached for the strap. 

I left her bra on, but in hindsight I may rethink this in future. Based on some of the content I recently saw between Russ and Miss Julie and the position the pillory forces the body into, I could get a more humiliating gravity assist here. 

If I had removed Nancy's bra or at least pulled it up so her bare boobs dangle, when she is feet-dancing under the strap and struggling in the pillory, her breasts would bounce and flop about. A move like this could expand the embarrassment of her experience.

I gave her 26 lashes with the strap, making her count each out loud and say, "I'm sorry Daddy." 

Most of that was incoherent. There was a lot of tears and sniffling.

I positioned her in timeout and still left the door ajar. I told her I'd be back in thirty minutes and that she was not to move. 

When her time was up I went back outside and made the decision to march her into the house without her dress and panties. One final walk of shame with a bright red bum to show off to the neighbours. 

Aftercare with Nancy is always a great experience. She remains in her "little" headspace and doesn't want to change yet. She curls up on my lap and cries some more. She thanks me verbally, over and over again, while burying her face in my shoulder and squeezing me tightly.

This is a woman who knows a lot about herself, what she needs and when. I really enjoy having a client like her, who is so in-touch with her emotions. 

Her therapy sessions are 100% non-sexual in the moment. What she does when she gets home however, who knows. I've never asked...

Mistress Andrea

xoxo

Continued in: Summer's Birthday