Splashing the Water

Continued from: The Deep End

**Caution: this story involves taboo, family dynamics**

As the doors swung shut behind them, the bright expanse of the living room seemed to close in, amplifying the sense of trepidation that gripped the brothers. Before them, Bella and Cassandra orchestrated a deliberate, choreographed sequence, positioning two straight-backed chairs in the center of the room with eerie silence. 

The atmosphere was brimming with female authority as the women seated themselves knee-to knee, their laps forming a sturdy, unyielding base. The command came from Aunt Bella, low and unmistakable: "Remove your trunks." 

Connor and Marcus hesitated, their minds recoiling from the implications, but ultimately succumbing to the strict disciplinarians who now governed this space. With faltering hands, they shed their last vestiges of modesty, exposing themselves to the pitiless scrutiny of their aunt and cousin.  

Naked, vulnerable, and utterly at the mercy of these two, as their genitals hung limp and helpless. Cassandra and Bella both gave a pat to their laps, and as if drawn by unseen forces, the brothers gravitated towards the dominant sides of the waiting women and draped themselves over their knees. 

As the women's palms descended in synchronized rhythm, a flurry of crisp smacks peppered the brothers' naked bottoms, each strike a precise calibration of force and timing. But this was merely just the prologue, a warm-up spanking to ready the area for the main event. 

With calculated deliberation, Bella and Cassandra rubbed the sting away from their palms and reached for the wooden hairbrushes that had been lying in wait. The brushes were dense, heavy and would soon be transformed into a heavy paddle, dispensing a severity that would leave the boys sobbing. 

As the brush strokes began to rain down, a shared sob burst forth from Connor and Marcus, their masculine pride crumbling beneath the shame of crying like little girls. The tears flowed freely now, unrestrained by any pretense of bravado. 

When the spankings ended, Connor was dispatched to the corner of the room, head bowed and hands clasps behind his head. Meanwhile, Marcus was sent outside to retrieve the object of his earlier transgression - Cassandra's tantalizing panties. He traversed the distance to the pool house completely nude, sporting a very red bottom. Once he secured Cassandra's underwear, he scurried back to the privacy of the main home and into a powder room where he was previously instructed to report. 

With deliberate slowness, Bella's hand extended, beckoning Marcus closer. The panties, still clutched in his trembling fingers, were gently coaxed by toward his nose. "Sniff deeply, dear boy." Bella murmured, her tone husky and sexual. 

His nostrils were awoken with the musky scent of Cassandra's arousal, his erect penis now twitching in Pavlovian response. Bella grabbed his wrist, directing his hand toward his cock. "Stroke yourself, Marcus. Show me how much you crave your cousin." Her grip tightened around his wrist, forcing his fingers to close around his shaft. 

After several deep inhales to the gusset of Cassandra's panties, the humiliating prop was set aside as Marcus began to vigorously masturbate under Bella's strict guidance. 

The toilet bowl yawned open before him, the water a cruel mirror reflecting his debasement. With each downward stroke, she coached him, her language filthy and graphic. "Feel your spunk building for Auntie, boy. Imagine Cassandra's juicy pussy, soaking through her little panties." 

Marcus' hips bucked erratically as he obeyed, lost in the vortex of depraved fantasy. Just as he teetered on the precipice of orgasm, Bella leaned in to grab his cock and aim it at the water . "Now, Marcus. Cum for Auntie. Fill that toilet with your shameful load." 

The evidence of his humiliation splashed into the water in thick ropes. Bella's hand instinctively reached for the toilet handle, flushing the mess into porcelain void. The swift motion was almost merciful, sparing him the agony of beholding his own ejaculate. 

No sooner had the echoes of the flush faded than Cassandra materialized in the doorway. Dangling from her elegant fingers, like an ornament of humiliation, was a sleek male chastity device - a cold, unforgiving testament to Marcus' current predicament. 

Once he was locked away, he was escorted by Cassandra back to the living room. As the game of musical chairs unfolded, Connor's crimson posterior was ushered out of the timeout corner, his naked form replaced by Marcus, who adopted a similar stance of abject submission. 

Cassandra escorted Connor into the bathroom where Aunt Bella awaited. The coveted panties, dangled once more in Bella's grasp. 

"Imagine the way her sweet pussy would feel, squeezing that cock of yours." Bella's coaching echoed through the small space as Connor buried his nose into the crotch of Cassandra's panties. His strokes gained urgency as he finally succumbed to the intoxicating blend of shame and arousal. 

After Connor experienced the indignity of cumming into the toilet like a common animal, Cassandra, right on queue, appeared with a second chastity cage. 

As the last vestiges of daylight surrendered to the evening's gentle hush, the two boys stood in silence, facing the corner for the next hour. Reddened skin glowed like embers on their bare bottoms, a poignant reminder of their behaviour. 

Cassandra and Bella were quite pleased with each other. 

Chastity cages, metal and inescapable, imprisoned their desires, rendering them impotent against the sensual presence of the two Goth women. One hour would pass in slow, agonizing increments, leaving Marcus and Connor plenty of time to think what fresh indignities and punishments await them. After all, they were staying at Auntie's for a week!

Mistress Andrea

xoxo 

Continued in: A Rose by any other Name

 

The Deep End

Continued from: Trophy Wife

Preface

I recently joined Reddit, as it seems to be a welcoming platform where there are not only BDSM and spanking groups, but also Sims and NSFW Sims groups. I have more blog fans coming forward than ever before. Tons and tons of sissies in chastity, omg. The sissies are well represented on Reddit, good for them, and be sure to stay locked while you read my blog, gurls! 

I wanted to take this opportunity to explain to some of my new readers, how this blog came to be in the first place. 

I was inspired by a fellow blogger, Miss Julie. It's really that simple. If you're new to blogs and are recently here as a result of Reddit, I highly recommend you go check her out: 

Strict Miss Julie Spanks / Miss Julie Spanked  

The content is predominately spanking, domestic discipline, vulnerability and humiliation of adult males and females. Diaper play, pee, pegging, chastity and so much more. Oh, and many of these stories are REAL, as she chronicles in explicit detail, the spanking escapades of her and her hubby's "unique" relationship. Some of mine are based on real people and real events from my life, but hers...well, go see for yourself. 

She's been at it for over a decade now, with north of 16 million page views. She has published a series of e-books, these were great to read with such spanko embarrassment and shame it'll make your skin crawl and dick hard. For all the ladies, wayyyy better masturbation fuel than fifty shades, trust me! 

Collections of Spanking Stories

Miss Julie and I are in no way affiliated, apart from the fact we're both Canadian. We just seem to be the last of a potentially fleeting group of bloggers, still trying to provide an escape and a thrill to our loyal readers. I've always been a fan of hers and I urge you to go have a look, let me know what you think.  

I should have noticed this sooner, but Miss Julie always seems to mix in a pool scene. Whether it's an overly flirty wife, needing to be spanked in the pool house, or it's some middle-aged uncle, creeping his tight little niece in her bikini. Either scenario usually ends with a very red bum and even redder face. I thought to myself, I've never done a pool scene; despite the fact the Sims platform allows for a pool. 

It's been a hot summer so far, maybe it's time to install a pool!?  ; ) 

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

The Deep End 

**Caution: this story involves taboo, family dynamics**

It was a languid afternoon in late September, the sky was a brilliant shade of blue, with only wispy strands of cloud scattered across its expanse. In the midst of this serene backdrop, Marcus and Connor, two-rambunctious teens, found themselves arguing with their parents that they no longer needed a babysitter. 

Their parents, embarking on a well-deserved evening out, had arranged for the boy's cousin, Cassandra, to babysit. The boy's moods were tempered by the looming prospect of being cooped-up indoors with an icky girl, while they'd rather play guns or trucks, or do boy things outside.

As they idled away the minutes, their restlessness was palpable until suddenly, the doorbell rang, signaling the arrival of their unwanted caregiver. Her ensemble was boring and drab to the boys, with a palate of tones reflecting her Catholic-school uniformity, finished off with nerdy glasses that screamed book-worm.  

As the evening unfolded, Marcus and Connor became engrossed in the virtual battlefields of their video games. Meanwhile, Cassandra settled onto the floor with textbooks and notebooks arrayed around her. Her pleated schoolgirl skirt, seemingly innocent, rode up incrementally as she kicked-up her legs at the back and got down to studying. The merest hint of snowy-white panties poked from beneath her pleats, the fabric was so fine they appeared almost sheer, inviting the boys' imaginations to fill in the blanks.

An unspoken understanding hung in the air, as the boys exchanged glances. A silent conspiracy of adolescent longing, each secretly nurturing a forbidden fascination with their 18-year-old cousin.

This was the last time the boys saw Cassandra. As the years passed, they knew she went away to some swanky dance academy, at a school for the performing arts, but she seemed to fall off the map after that. 

Until however, the summer of 2024, when temperatures rose above forty degrees Celsius in southern Canada.

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

"Connor, Marcus," their mother sang out to them. "Your Auntie Bella has a pool...she asked if you'd like to spend the week at her place. I think your cousin is home too..." 

As the Thompson brothers sheepishly stepped out of the sweltering summer air and into the shaded grandeur of Aunt Bella's estate, their gazes collided with a vision that left their jaws agape. Before them, stood their cousin Cassandra - a ravishing metamorphosis of the emo youngster they remembered. Her transformation was nothing short of breathtaking, as if she'd been reborn from the embers of adolescent awkwardness into the sultry goddess before them. 

The smallest of jean shorts cupped her rounded bottom, while a white bikini tops strained to contain her perfect breasts. A dazzling array of tattoos danced across her skin, swirling in intricate patters that shimmered in the dappled sunlight, filtering through the trees. Piercings glinted along her ears, nose and belly button, imbuing her with an edgy, rebellious allure that had Connor and Marcus salivating. 

The air was heavy with tension as they struggled to reconcile this audacious beauty with the gangly, introverted girl of their memories. Cassandra surveyed them coldly, her expression unreadable beneath the blackness of her sunglasses. The scrawny teen boys tried to puff up and look muscular, but Cassie had already rolled her eyes at Marcus' feeble attempt to grow a beard, and pursed her lips at Connor's unmanly blondeness.   

As the brothers rough-housed in the turquoise waters, their laughter echoing off the estate's manicured lawns, Bella and Cassandra reclined on sun-kissed loungers, observing the commotion. To nineteen-year-old Marcus and eighteen year-old Connor, Auntie Bella and their cousin Cassandra represented dual incarnations of feminine allure, each exerting a distinct yet equally potent pull on their adolescent libidos.  

While Cassandra's pierced, tattooed beauty embodied the reckless abandon of youth, Aunt Bella's sultry, mature glamour seemed to hint at secrets and experiences gleaned from a world beyond their wildest imaginings. 

Suddenly, Cassandra carelessly tossed aside her miniature jean shorts. The brothers' gazes converged upon the tantalizing spectacle unfolding before them. 

Her toned body, honed from years of professional dance, was now splayed across the lounger, the tender flesh of her bum bisected by a thread of white bikini fabric. The delicate thong, stretched taut within the crevice of her ass, became an object of fixation for Marcus and Connor, which did not go unnoticed by Aunt Bella. 

As they lingered in the cool waters, Marcus and Connor discreetly waited for their inflamed desires to subside, willing their stubborn erections to recede beneath the surface. Finally, with their bodies returned to a state of semi-calm, they scrambled out of the pool, exchanging awkward glances as they both declared they needed to pee, while making their way toward the pool house. 

They slipped into the relative seclusion of the pool house to discover a treasure trove of forbidden delights. This must be where Cassandra changed! A set of women's clothing lay strewn about, amidst the scattered garments, one item captured their undivided attention. 

Without a word, Marcus and Connor simultaneously converged upon the enticing prize, their fingers closing around the delicate and sexy panties, recently shed by their cousin. Giggles bubbled forth as they handled the intimate relic, their imaginations conjuring visions of Cassandra's dripping arousal, sheathed within those very silken folds.

As they stood transfixed, their fingers fondling the silky panties, the sound of Aunt Bella's voice shattered the spell, her words laced with a maternal reprimand. "What do you two think you're doing? Don't you know better than to rifle through someone's private things?" Her tone conveyed a stern authority, yet beneath its surface lurked a hint of subtle amusement. 

Marcus and Connor froze, their faces flushing with guilt as their minds raced with the implications of being caught. As Bella's words still hung in the air, Cassandra sauntered into the pool house and was struck with the realization of what just happened. 

"You perverts!" She hissed, her black-eyes glaring, searing through the brothers. "Sniffing my panties like a couple of animals! What kind of sickos are you?" 

"No, we didn't do that, we just picked th-them..." Connor tried to plead their innocence but to no avail. 

Bella's countenance darkened, her features compressing into a mask of displeasure. "You've crossed a line, boys," she declared, her voice laced with a quiet fury. "Despite your adult ages, I'm afraid a lesson in privacy and respect is due. You're both going to receive a well-deserved spanking, on the bare!"

As the boys exchanged panicked glances, Cassandra's hand snapped out, clutching Connor's earlobe, while Bella seized Marcus' with an unyielding grip. Together, they frog-marched the struggling brother's towards the main house, Bella's heels clicking out a staccato rhythm on the stone pathway. 

The afternoon air was heavy with tension as they vanished into the privacy of the home, leaving behind a trail of humiliation and fear in their wake... 

*Gulp* 

Uh-oh boys, you're in for it now. Although, I'm sure some of my readers would volunteer to take your place...about to be spanked by a mother/daughter duo!

It must be so horrible! *wink*

Mistress Andrea

xoxo

Continued in: Splashing the Water

 

 

Trophy Wife

Continued from: Sinister Intent

After a delicious few posts with some secretary fantasies, followed by some not so gentle ball kicking a fan requested, I thought we'd catch back up with Vanessa and Derek. They have such a unique FLR (female-led-relationship) that the traditional gender roles in their household are essentially reversed.

I've usually narrate the steamy details of what these two get up to behind closed doors. This time I thought it would be cute and probably humiliating for him, to hear things from Derek's perspective. 

Vanessa threatened him with an additional three months added to his lock-up time if he didn't write, so without further adieu, take it away Derek. 

*******

As I sat poised, anally plugged, with a metal device encasing my penis, I hesitated to commit the humiliating truth to "paper". The words trembled on the precipice of my subconscious, threatening to release a torrent of tears and shame. Yet, I dared to bare my soul, exposing the intricacies of my transformed existence. 

"In a world where conventions are turned upside down," I typed, "I, Derek, once a proud husband, now found myself embodied in the unlikely role of a trophy wife."

The rigid confines of my chastity device seemed to constrict further, a poignant reminder of my emasculation. 

My thoughts dripped with humiliation as I reflected on the curious path that led me to this point - a path strewn with satin and lace, my masculine identity diminished with each dainty step in my heels.

Vanessa, my wife and Mistress, held sway over our twisted game of intimacy, dictating the terms of my servitude while indulging in the pleasure of "real men". Cuckolded, feminized, and confined - such was the fate that had befallen me, a trophy wife forced to put a smile on my face, lest I be strictly consequenced. 

Vanessa seemed to have effortlessly transitioned into the patriarchal figure, while I became her pampered plaything - a vessel for her desires, even making me call her "Sir" when she's in her strap-on. 

My life had devolved into a series of humiliating rituals, each designed to reinforce my submission and Vanessa's dominance. Morning always began the same way. I stir awake in my sissy bedroom, the pink-hued décor and frilly bedding a constant reminder of my beta status. At the sound of Vanessa starting her shower, I hurry into place, still dressed in my nightie or lingerie and struggle to get into my high heels that seem to mock my every step. 

I mince toward her bathroom, avoiding any mirrors that might reflect the shame written across my face. In the designated area, I find the veiny, realistic penis waiting for me, securely fastened to the wall.

Kneeling before its impressive size, I part my lips and take the length into my mouth, as the steam from my wife's shower caresses my hairless body. 

As Vanessa emerged from the steamy shower, her radiant form glided toward the vanity, her hair a wild tumble of dark locks. 

Once dry, she effortlessly slid into her stockings, the smooth fabric clinging to her toned legs, before slipping on the stiletto heels that elevated her stature to a commanding height. Without a word, I knew my place, my heart sinking with the familiar weight of expectation.

I crawled behind her on all fours and with a hesitant glance upward, I pressed my face into the soft warmth of her bare bum. 

My tongue extended from my lips to find the buttery wrinkles of her anus and with a little pressure, it plopped comfortably inside.

The scent of soap and shampoo enveloped me, mingling with the faint tang of her asshole as I worked diligently on my degrading task. This particular ritual, was designed and performed each morning to remind me that I am now pussy-free, and that access to her most intimate petals is reserved for her other lovers. 

I am required to keep my tongue inside her asshole while she does her hair and makeup, often times she will use my face as her vanity stool. 

When she is finished, the butterflies of dread remind me that it's now my turn, to doll myself up, but not before she leaves me with a shameful reminder. As I settled in to apply the finishing touches to my makeup, a certain...fullness persisted, a gentle pressure that served as a potent reminder of Vanessa's authority. The butt plug, slick with my own saliva, had been expertly inserted prior to her leaving the room for me to prepare. 

My fingers moved with practiced ease, applying blush to my cheekbones and highlighting eyelids, as my mind wandered to the possibilities the day might bring. Would it be Anthony again, with his powerful physique and dominating presence? Or perhaps someone new, some fresh new bull for Vanessa to parade before me while forcing me to watch their intimate encounter.

Whatever the case, I was ready - sissified, locked, and plugged - prepared to endure whatever humiliation that lay ahead, all for the sake of my beloved wife's amusement and pleasure. 

Derek 💋

Continued in: The Deep End

 

 

 

Sinister Intent

Continued from: Difficult Choices

After the devastating kick to the scrotum of poor, Paul, he was helped into a bondage chair as previously described. The chair was designed for maximum access for follow-up kicks, only this time, Miss Cassandra was swapping out her little runners for heavy Doc Martins. Here's the rest of the story, leading up to the Doc Martin's being worn by Cassie.  

As Miss Cassandra settled into her throne of a chair, her gaze remained fixed on Paul's helpless form, her dominance radiating like an aura. With unhurried movements, she began to unlace and remove her hot running shoes. 

The pads of Cassie's socked-feet came to rest on the floor, leaving behind a humid little outline of their shape - a temporary impression created by the perspiration in her socks. The moisture-kissed imprints glimmered against the floor, creating ten little toe-prints beneath her feet. 

Tantalizingly slow, she began to roll the sweaty socks off her feet, Miss Cassandra's toes, adorned with two silver rings, emerged like polished jewels. Paul gasped in his bound state, witnessing her bare feet for the first time. 

Miss Cassandra lifted one of her discarded socks to his nose, the damp fabric wafting its beautiful aroma into his nostrils. "Breathe deeply, Paul," she commanded, her voice low and husky. The scent of her perspiration and the faint tang of vanilla lotion enveloped him, temporarily erasing the memory of his devastating ball-kick. 

Paul's senses reeled, his face flushing as he inhaled the heady fragrance of Cassie's sock. His imagination began to run wild, with fantasies of worshipping those magnificent feet, and despite the earlier kick to his scrotum, his erection began to grow more turgid by the second.

Miss Cassandra's gaze flickered downward, her expression twisting in disgust as she beheld the evidence of his arousal. "How dare you," she spat, her voice cold with disdain. "Your erection is offensive to me and how dare you respond so crudely, to something as simple as my sock!" She mashed the cotton sock into his mouth, to muffle his screams of what was coming next. 

Without hesitation, her bare foot swept upward, striking his dangling balls with the top of her toes. The blow landed with precision, Paul's bound form jerked in response, his face contorting in pain and humiliation. 

Amidst the agony of Paul's helplessness, Cassandra did not let up on her psychological torment, by offering the silly male yet another deal. 

"If we can get that thing limp again, limp enough to return it to its rightful confinement within the chastity cage - I'll let you worship my bare feet with your mouth, Paul." 

Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes as he gazed up at Miss Cassandra, his face a picture of pitiful supplication. "P-please, Ma'am...kick me again. Harder, if need be, to help me get limp for the cage." 

With deliberate purpose, she raised her foot once more, the toes flexing in preparation for the coming blow. Paul braced himself, clenching every muscle and hoping his penis goes flaccid quickly. With a series of measured blows, Miss Cassandra had finally succeeded in deflating his offensive erection, restoring the chastity cage to its rightful place. He was unshackled from the bondage chair, and collapsed to his knees before Cassie's bare feet.

Miss Cassandra crossed a leg and extended one bare foot, presenting it to Paul like an offering. The sight alone was enough to send his heart racing. At last, he could indulge in the sublime saltiness and wrinkles of Cassie's tender soles. 

With an anguished moan, Paul fastened his lips around her big toe, suckling gently as his tongue explored every crevice and contour. The sensation was overwhelming, a symphony of textures and tastes that left him breathless. 

With the lingering flavour of her bare toes in his mouth, his sight blackened by a blindfold, Miss Cassandra began to lay her final offer on the table. 

"Paul, darling," she purred, her voice laced with sinister intent, "the time has come for you to make a final decision. 

She removed his blindfold so he could watch her retrieve the discarded socks and slip them onto her feet, before beginning the painfully slow process of lacing her Doc Martin's onto her feet.

"A final kick with my new boots, full-power, to your locked-up cock and balls? Or you may get down on all fours and take a nice, thorough ass-fucking..." 

With a fiery blush branding his face, Paul arched his back and accepted a ball gag into his mouth. He presented his puckered asshole to Miss Cassandra like a supine sacrifice. We think he made the right choice, this time. 

I think Cassandra is our resident ball-buster now. Take a bow Cassie, you did well on this one, a special fan request. Fan mail and comments praising Cassandra may be left in the comments. 

Mistress Andrea 

xoxo

Continued in: Trophy Wife