Ninety Minutes of F/m Corporal Punishment
I look at the clock.
You should have been here an hour ago.
Lord knows, I am not the patient sort.
Before you left this morning, you were given a sound spanking with my hand, a bit of a reminder of what to expect when you got home. You were just a bit too mouthy this morning.
Now, you’re late.
You know better.
I don’t care if it’s work, traffic, or an act of God, you know that when you’re in trouble, you’d better be home on time.
I look at the phone. It doesn’t ring.
I lay down on the couch, and take a nap.
When I get this upset, it’s better that I just sleep.
You knew not to be late tonight.
You open the door, and see me sleeping. You know that if I wasn’t
thoroughly ticked off, I wouldn’t be sleeping.
You almost hope that I will sleep all night, and forget that I promised you a *real* spanking.
Real, meaning tears, sobbing, apologies, and quiet time in the corner afterwards.
A spanking that’s going to leave you sore, sorry, and sitting uncomfortably tomorrow.
You aren’t looking forward to this, but you know that you deserve it.
Laying on the table beside the couch is only one implement.
You’d love to take that brush and hide it right now.
You know I’m not a sound sleeper, and you doubt whether I’m actually asleep.
You kneel down on the floor in front of me, and touch my forehead. You know that I will enjoy waking up, and seeing you on your knees.
I have no idea how long I’ve slept, so I turn and look at the clock.
Almost an hour and a half late.
I look at you, and you look down.
I’m sorry, Ma’am.
I take your chin, and lift your head, forcing you to look at me.
I am going to make you sorry.
You stand, and begin to disrobe.
I sit up.
You fold your clothes neatly, and lay them on the chair.
Your hands are at your side, but you feel like they should be protecting your bottom. Sometimes, you ache to be spanked by me. You do *like* being spanked. You know that you are not going to like this spanking.
You’re not aching right now.
When I punish you, its very real, and it hurts.
and I am going to punish you.
Oh how those words get to you.
You look at the brush laying on the table.
You hope that you’ll at least be able to feel my hand before I start with the brush.
I walk into the kitchen and come back with the timer.
You were what, about 90 minutes late?
We’re going to set the timer on 90 minutes, and when it rings, that will signal the end of your punishment.
You are not going to enjoy the next 90 minutes.
You look at the timer.
You look at the brush.
You look at me.
90 minutes seems like an eternity.
I set the timer.
I take your hand, pick up the brush and lead you to the back of the couch.
You really wish that you were over my lap.
I almost always take you over my lap first.
You know that you’re in trouble when you lay over the back of the couch.
I rest the brush on your bottom, and I wait.
Please spank me, Ma’am.
At least you answered quickly.
I swat you once, *hard* with the brush.
How many times should I spank you with the brush?
You have no idea how to answer this question.
You hesitate. I swat you harder.
As many times as you think I deserve, Ma’am.
Not a bad answer.
I’ll accept that.
In about two minutes, I give you 90 swats with the bathbrush. You’re having a horrible time staying in position, and it hurts.
Oh, does it hurt.
I don’t give you anything that resembles a warm-up.
I let you stand.
You want to rub your bottom.
You don’t dare.
Go to *your* room. Stand in the corner, and wait.
You look at me, but walk upstairs to the little boys room.
You know that I am upset, and that I’m not going to allow you into my< bedroom just yet.
I want you to wait, and worry.
I follow you upstairs, and I bring the timer with me.
You walk straight to the corner, and I go into the bathroom.
You wish you could hide.
90 minutes of spanking is more than you can take, and you worry about what else I could be planning.
I lay a wash cloth on the sink, and a unopened bar of soap.
I walk into my bedroom and set out a few implements.
I let you stand in the corner for a little while. The bathbrush was tough for you to take,and you have a lot more coming.
Your bottom needs a little bit of a break.
You know that I must be planning a severe spanking if I am allowing you to spend this much time in the corner.
I stick my head in your room, and tell you to come into the bathroom.
You walk out of the corner slowly.
Bathrooms terrify you.
You aren’t sure what to expect.
You’re almost relieved to just see soap.
You sit, and look down at the bathroom floor.
You aren’t a terrific fan of soap either, but figure that an enema might be worse.
I take your chin in my hand, and force you to look up at me.
Why are you in trouble right now?
Because I was late, Ma’am.
I slap you.
You weren’t expecting it.
No. Try again.
You wish you could look down, but I make you look right at me.
Because I was misbehaving this morning.
I was being smart, and mouthy.
I slap you again. Ma’am?
I’m sorry, Ma’am.
Tears are forming in your eyes.
Why were you so late tonight?
I couldn’t leave work, then I got stuck in traffic.
Ma’am? I slap you again.
And you didn’t call?
No, Ma’am. I didn’t.
Do I need to tell you that you should have called?
No, Ma’am. I’m sorry.
I slap you again.
I watch as tears start to stream down your cheeks.
You wonder how much time is left on that timer.
Too much, you’re certain.
90 minutes is a long time. Especially when I have not one, but two valid reasons to be punishing you.
I hand you the bar of soap.
You do so, slowly.
Your eyes are sad. You’re sorry already.
But I’m going to make sure you’re sorry, and that you’re feeling the effects of this spanking for a day or so.
You try to hand me the bar of soap when you are done.
I don’t take it.
Put it in your mouth.
You look at the soap. You think about resisting.
But you know how much trouble you would be in if you did.
I notice the hesitation. You’re going to be tied soon anyway.
You put the soap in your mouth.
I leave the bathroom.
The soap is going to stay there for a little while.
I open my closet, take out your wrist cuffs, and a lock.
I walk back into the bathroom, and take the soap out of your mouth.
I offer you a drink.
Are you going to behave?
You rinse your mouth out with water a few times, and I take your wrists. I
lock them behind your back.
You make a sound, almost like a whimper, as I lead you into my room.
I push you over the end of the bed.
You look up on the bed, and see a paddle, a crop, and a cane.
You close your eyes.
You don’t want caned.
and I know this.
I don’t really care what you want at this point.
I’m going to punish you until I’m satisfied that you are sorry, and until I know that you will be sore for awhile.
I walk back to my closet, and take out my blindfold, and a dildo.
I place the blindfold over your eyes, and the dildo in your mouth.
I position you so that I can paddle you, and give you a dozen *hard* swats.
You try hard to keep still, but it hurts. You feel like your bottom is on
fire. You start crying again, and wish that you could spit out that
I lay the paddle down. You hear the snap of the cap on the lubricant I like to use. You whimper. I love that sound.
I spread your legs *wide.*
I insert the plug, quickly.
You cry out.
It’s hard for you to keep your legs spread, and harder for you to keep the plug in. You want to push it out.
You know that’s the worst thing you could do right now.
I pick up the cane.
Of course, you can’t see what I pick up, and it’s not until that slicing
pain across the top of your thighs hits that you realize I am holding a
Tears flow freely.
One stripe is enough.
You breathe a sigh of relief, then remember that the only thing left on the bed is the crop.
I begin my assault on your inner thighs, and I start hard, with no pause between the swats.
You’re soon sobbing. Bawling. You want to force the dildo out of your mouth, so that crying is a bit easier. You know that you can’t.
You want this to end.
It hurts so much, you wish you were unconsicous, and would just wake up when its over.
I don’t let up right away.
I slow down and bit, and make my swats harder.
I drop the crop, and take you by the hand. I sit down at the head of the bed, and pull you over my lap.
I let you cry for a little while.
I am going to spank you till that timer goes off.
You can’t see, and you really have no idea how much time you have left.
I look at it…and it says just over 25 minutes.
I take the dildo out of your mouth. I want to hear your cries, unmuffled.
I want you to be sorry.
I want to hear those apologies.
I want you to feel as if you’ve been punished.
You just rest your head on the bed, and wait.
I start spanking you hard, with my hand.
Normally a feeling you love, my hand hurts too much.
You don’t stop crying.
I am sorry, Ma’am.
Ma’am, it hurts!
Please, Ma’am! I want it to stop!
I spank you until you’ve stopped apologizing. I’m no longer upset, or angry.
I spank you until your head rests quietly on the bed, tears flowing freely beneath the blindfold.
Your bottom is red, tender, blazing hot.
My hand’s a bit red, too.
Timer goes off.
You hardly hear it. You’re off in your own world.
I stop spanking you, and let you just lay across my lap and finish crying.
You don’t want to get up.
I am sorry.
I rub your back. I remove your plug, and your blindfold.
I leave your cuffs on. I want you to stay in my control for a while.
Your bottom is toasted. You’ll behave the rest of tonight, though you may be standing through dinner.
I’m not angry now.
But you’re sore.
And you suspect that you will be for a couple of days.