Consequences

I was naked, on my knees, with my bottom raised high in the air.  He had one hand on the small of my back, making sure I stayed in position.  In his other hand he held the wooden oven rack puller.


It was a recent acquisition.  He'd only used it once before, with me bent over the back of the sofa. That time he'd just been playing around with it, trying it out.  But this time he intended to put it through it's paces more thoroughly.

Ouch!  Why did it have to sting so much?   The next swat came quickly afterward, followed by another and another and another.  He wasn't fooling around.  He wanted to make sure he got the message across that disobedience will not be tolerated, even if I did look cute while doing it.  It seems there's a fine line between being playful and getting punished and I had definitely crossed it.

The swats kept coming and it was difficult to hold still.  Then he started aiming lower, no longer targeting the round orbs of my ass, but my thighs and, to my dismay, that especially sensitive area where my ass and thighs meet.  The sit spot he calls it.  The sting was intense and I tried to straighten my arms and push myself up, but he pressed down even more firmly on my back.  He expected me to maintain my position no matter what he doled out.

After a few more swats he paused and I dared to hope that the spanking was over, but I knew better than to relax just yet.  It was then that I felt the bite of something more sturdy, something with a bit more weight to it, something with more thud than sting...the wooden bath brush.

       
The warm up was over.  He was ramping things up and my bottom was already tender.  I didn't know how much I could take.  But, I had put myself in this position.  I'd been testing him.  He'd been talking a good game, but I wasn't so sure about his follow through.  And now I was finding out and I had no one to blame but myself.

He continued to whack my ass with the bath brush, hitting one cheek and then the other, back and forth, swat after swat after swat.  Sometimes he'd hit the same spot twice or aim for that terribly tender sit spot.  I cried out and even tried to squirm away, but nothing dissuaded him.  It was as if he had a job to do and he wasn't going to let anything get in the way of him completing the task at hand.  That task being blistering my bottom apparently.

By the time he was through my ass felt like it was on fire.  It would be a couple of days before the marks and soreness faded.  And when I pouted in an attempt to garner some sympathy he just smiled, clearly pleased with the job he'd done.

Comments

Popular Posts