My Lord disciplines me regularly. I have a smart mouth and a stubborn streak about the width of a five lane highway. I truly want to curb these tendencies, and so He is very strict with me. Last night, for instance, He asked me a question and I gave a flippant answer. I ignored His warning look. He asked what I did all day (He was just curious) and I answered with: What difference does it make? Yep. That did it. We have rules. He doesn’t wait to discipline me. He does it immediately, even if we are in public. Thankfully, we were at home this time – in our front room.
He will spank me with whatever he has available. His belt, a rolled up magazine, his hand, a wooden spoon. In anticipation of my poor behavior, My Lord has prepared and placed various implements in discrete locations in every room of our home. A variety of wooden spoons in a kitchen cabinet, a cane leaning against the fireplace. Tonight, though, He is satisfied with His hand. Oh, and did I mention I must be nude during all discipline sessions? Or as close to nude as possible if it is in public (Yes, He has pulled my skirt up, lowered my drawers and spanked me on a park bench before.) He shows no mercy aside from warming up my bottom before the real spanking begins. Twenty swats – ten on each cheek and I’m crying, weeping, begging forgiveness. Finally he stops, rubs my bottom but tells me He has a special corner time planned for me. I nod, but I’m not nervous. Standing in a corner? big deal. I’m not afraid of a corner. Corners don’t bother me a bit. Then, reality hits me and I realize He is well aware of this so He must, indeed, have something “special planned.
And He does. I’m still over His lap and I hear Him open the drawer to an end table. He fingers my bottom hole and I feel something cold enter it. I squirm and plead. He shushes me and places a hand on my lower back. I still, not wanting to annoy Him further, and feel a cold hardness enter. I tense, but He smacks my bottom again and I relax, allowing the anal hook enters my hole. He gathers my hair into a ponytail, secures it and then ties the other end to the top of the hook, ensuring that I cannot bow my head. Then, He stands me up. I have tears running down my face and when I reach up to wipe them away, He catches my wrist and loops a rope over it. He then walks me to the large picture window and I panic. Even though we live on the 17th floor, I absolutely HATE the idea that someone might possibly look up and see me exposed. I pull against Him, and He gives me a look which stops me cold. I try to look down, but my tied hair stops me. He attaches first one wrist then the other to the hooks hidden behind the curtains.
For fifteen minutes I must remain here – in my “special” corner. My bottom is throbbing, my anus is plugged, I cannot bow my head and my face, I’m sure, is redder than my ass. My Lord is a master disciplinarian.