Graham Strapping – Part 3

Ms Smeet’s three tailed XH leather strap has left Graham with tears on his cheeks and bright red hot throbbing palms. Damn. Ms Smeet straps so much harder than Mr Hughes and her strap hurts so much more. He’s had a few six’ers from Mr Hughes and while they hurt, they were nothing like his hands now felt.

But now Ms Smeet has a few more tricks up her formidable sleeve as Graham is about to find out.

So That Was Your Six, the strap parade

Graham was rubbing his palms in vain when Ms Smeet said, scaring him said, “Both hands out now Graham, let me see them. Quickly now.”

Collecting himself as best he could he stood up then put both his hands out, both at chest height. Both were deep red now and both shook from the strapping they’d had.

He was hoping that six of the best was all he was going to get. Ms Smeet had said he might get two more and that was an unbearable thought. Would it be two to each or two in total was another thought that came to him. He couldn’t imagine getting the strap again after that six.

“Oh, they are nice and red.” Ms Smeet put a finger forward and ran it over his palms, pressing down. Ms Smeet ran her finger over the fingers, over the palm and on each hand. At least it wasn’t her strap he was thinking.

She looked up into his tear filled eyes, “They do look painful. I think Graham we should make this more instructional. We should help the class understand how well Mr Crisp works.” With that Ms Smeet laid her strap across his open palms, laying it there carefully across them both. It felt hugely embarrassing holding it like that knowing every eye was on him.

He started to close his hands on the strap because he didn’t want to drop it then be even more embarrassed picking it up and probably get told off by Ms Smeet.

But Ms Smeet had other ideas, “No Graham, keep your hands open. I want you to walk around the class and show your palms to everyone else here. They can also see Mr Crisp up nice and close, and how he makes them lovely and red. I want you to show everyone so they know the cost of day dreaming, not paying attention, and the very best way that can be cured. Off you go. Then come back to me while I think about how many more you need.”

He didn’t like the sound of getting more. That sounded very bad indeed.

Walking around the class, walking in front of all his peers, all the boys he played with in the school ground and all the girls and some of whom he fancied, was a complete nightmare.

He tried to move as quickly as he could and if he could have run, he would but he knew that wasn’t an option. Holding his hands out with Ms Smeet’s strap balancing on them and seeing everyone look at his palms, at Ms Smeet’s deadly strap, then most of them smirk and look up into his face was awful.

The girls were the worst. He liked girls and it felt so awfully demeaning to have to do this in front of them. He hadn’t had a chance to wipe the tears off his face and his eyes were still brimming and that just made it so much worse.

He walked quickly, or as quickly as he thought he could but one of the girls, Erin Gallagher, a girl he hated and the feeling had been mutual all their school years said, “Please Ms Smeet, I didn’t get a proper look he was too fast. Can Graham come back and take more time please Ms Smeet?”

Graham was almost back with Ms Smeet by this time when he heard that and his hatred for Erin just deepened. Damn. Didn’t she understand how embarrassing this was? Then he realized, she must. That’s why she said it.

When his eyes met Ms Smeet she nodded, “I think Graham that Erin has made a very valid point. I thought you walked too quickly also. Walk slower. Show everyone in the class properly again. Class. If you want you can touch my strap, or even pick it up, maybe that will help. Erin, what a good idea.”

Then when he turned Ms Smeet added loudly, “And Graham, if you go too fast I think I will give you two more to each hand. Noice and hard. Now show all the class your well strapped hands and Mr Crisp. Show them properly.”

Just when he thought it couldn’t get any worse, it did. This was his living hell.

He turned then started to walk around the class again, stopping at each of his class mates so they could look and in come cases touch the dreaded three tailed strap of Ms Smeet’s. At Stuart a friend and the first of his classmates he held the strap between his red hands and waited a moment. Stuart looked down at his hands then he reached out and picked up the strap for a moment. Stuart looked up at his face then put the strap back. Then he moved on to the next person and this repeated time and again. Most didn’t want to touch the strap, but some did.

It seemed there was not going to be any escape for him. His nemesis Erin Gallagher though did was to touch the strap and more. She picked the strap up then turned it over in her hands slowly. “Thank you Ms Smeet, I’ve never held one before. It is very firm and it looks like it really hurts.”

Any Volunteers?

Ms Smeet smiled at Erin, “Surely. These are specially made for hands and the XH stamped on the end means extra heavy so they hurt more than others without that stamp. Would you like to try a stroke on your hands Erin? Just the one on each so you can say you got the strap from me?”

Erin put the strap down on his hands quickly then looked up, clearly both surprised and afraid, “Please no Ms Smeet. It looks far too painful for me.”

Ms Smeet shrugged. “Well, that is disappointing. It does take a lot of courage Erin. Anyone else in the grade want to try? It would mean you are brave and you get bragging rights in the playground. Also in the years to come when you leave here you can remember how brave you were. Never mind. If you’re all afraid then,” and she left it at that. There was a challenge in that and the way she said it Graham could hear. It was obvious, but it was also out there and the class was thinking about it.

Erin was looking at the strap on his hands. She put a finger pressed down on it, then she moved the finger over his hands, over the reddest part, then her finger moved along the strap again. “Well I suppose,” she said quietly.

Graham struggled to take in what Erin had said, and also he was wishing this was all over and he was sitting in his seat without everyone looking at him. But he had a few more in the class to show the strap and his red hot palms to. Again. Each one of his friends and even the girls now also picked up the strap and felt it. He could see it in their eyes, in their faces. They were wondering how it really felt.

After what felt like an eternity moving around the class with Ms Smeet’s strap held across his hands and most of the class picking the strap up, feeling it and more than a few putting a finger on his bright red palms he was finally back at Ms Smeet hoping for an end to the whole thing. It was bad enough to get a six of the best strapping from her painful strap, but it added a whole new dimension of embarrassment to parade round the room like that.

“Very good Graham. Much better and I see that my strap has some admirers.” She smiled, “As it should. It really is special.”

Ms Smeet looked around the room, “Anyone want to try a stroke? One to each hand so you can show how brave you are? One quick stroke that will give you a taster and get an idea of what Graham had with his six of the best?”

There was dead silence, then Ms Smeet called out, “Erin? Are you brave enough?”

Graham didn’t want to turn and stare but he could swivel his eyes. Erin Gallagher his nemesis was sitting looking embarrassed but she also looked uncertain. “Will it really hurt Ms Smeet?”

Ms Smeet smiled, “Of course it will. That is what the XH strap is meant to do, it means extra heavy, but I think most people who feel it properly will say ‘eXtra Hurt’,” as she smiled. And I’ll strap you extra hard because anything less and you would not get the full effect. You might cry. You might scream. But you will be seen as amazingly brave by everyone as they all know I only strap extra hard.”

Erin was looking uncertain still, “Just one Ms Smeet?” she asked. Graham could see others in the room were looking surprised and a few were also looking unsure.

“One to each hand Erin. Now. Come up here and stand beside Graham or we’ll go back to class work. OH. Anyone else?” Ms Smeet looked around the room. “Well, it seems like a girl is more brave than any of you boys,” she said as Erin stood up slowly looking totally unsure.

Ms Smeet's Strap Tryout

Graham watched Erin walk forward then stand beside him. Like him she looked slightly shocked and certainly embarrassed and like he had, her hands were pressed to the outside of her thighs. But hers weren’t bright red and stinging yet. That would soon change.

Ms Smeet looked around the class then another girl stood up, “Vicky,” said Ms Smeet, “well done. It is an experience you’ll never forget. I remember all the times I got the strap in class all those years ago and the first time was a lot more than just one to each hand I can promise you. It was the same as Graham got. Now anyone else?”

Two boys stood, Jamie and Phillip. Both of those boys were the class toughies and it was no secret that they fancied Vickie and both of them were trying to take her out but Vicky was a bit of an ice queen. They also looked sheepish and Graham had no doubt that the only reason they were doing this was to impress Vicky. After all, if she could take it then so could they and it would give them some street creds. Plus they could talk to her about it afterward and not be the ones who didn’t come out the front.

Ms Smeet took her strap off his hands then ran it through hers. “Excellent. Four. We’ll do it the same as how Graham got his six. You will put your left out, supported by your right. I’ll use my strap, then you stand up again and put your right out supported by your left and that will get its stroke. Any questions?”

There were none.

Ms Smeet moved in front of Erin, “Girls first. Erin. Hands up. Left hand first please,” said Ms Smeet as the strap was held between both her hands.

Erin was looking positively terrified but she lifted her left hand up high and flat then seconds later her right hand was underneath and supporting it. Ms Smeet flicked her strap up and onto Erin’s palm letting it flop down lazily. “Feel the strap Erin. You know what’s going to happen next.”

Erin nodded, “Yes Ms Smeet.”

Ms Smeet waited a few moments then the strap was pulled back then was up and over her shoulder.

The same as for when he got it, Graham found the vision of the strap raised and poised to be absolutely mesmerizing. Ms Smeet was also a study in concentration, looking at Erin, her hand, then then the strap disappeared along with a “shhwiiccckkk” and just a moment later with a shriek Erin doubled over and furiously rubbed her hand. “Ms Smeet that is too much,” she gasped, the pain more than she expected.

“Nonsense, If I called you out for not paying attention like Graham you’d get the full six,” said Ms Smeet. “And Graham got his six. Three of those to each hand. You get only one. Other hand up, quickly now.”

Erin was moaning and gasping, but in a few seconds her unblemished right hand was presented then the ballet of the strap was repeated. For Erin it took a supreme effort to knowingly lift her hand up for the dreadful pain to come, but she had pride, she was not going to back down now.

The strap was lifted up onto the waiting palm. All eyes were on it. Then it moved over the teachers shoulder to delay a moment. Again all eyes were on it, following the movement and unable to resist. Then the strap came down with that self same “ssshhhwwwwiiiiccckkk” then Erin shrieked and doubled over rubbing her hand like crazy, the sting deep inside and more than she’d ever experienced before.

“What do you think Graham?” asked Ms Smeet, looking at him as she held her strap across her body.

“I think Erin is really brave. I know how much that hurts. Really, Erin you are so brave. I don’t know if I’d be brave enough to do that.”

“Show your hands Erin,” said Ms Smeet.

Erin lifted up after a few more seconds of hand rubbing and gasping then showed her palms. They both had an angry red line down the middle, the same width as Ms Smeet’s strap. They were also quivering slightly from the force of the strapping.

“Very good Erin. Graham was right. You were brave. Now Vicky, your turn,” said Ms Smeet as she moved to stand in front of the class tease and also supposedly the toughest girl in the class who thought of herself as the most attractive girl in the school. No one teased Vicky, but Graham had a reasonable relationship with her though they weren’t close. Not so for the other two boys lined up, they fancied Vicky so much. Graham and Vicky were civil but he’d never fancied her. For some reason he looked at Erin with her red and hot palms and suddenly felt a bond he’d never felt before.

Vicky knew what to do and did it without being asked. Her left hand was up and supported by her right even before Ms Smeet was in front of her. The strap was flicked up, lay on the feminine palm, was put over the shoulder then after a few moments it swept down in the same shrill way.

Vicky gasped, shook her hand but didn’t buckle over like Erin had and didn’t make a sound, the only sound was the leather on girl-palm. Almost impossible to believe, Vicky presented her right hand, supported by her left, quickly for the next stroke without even being asked.

“We have an expert here class. Vicky is showing a resilience I didn’t expect. Well done Vicky.”

The strap cracked down on the waiting palm seconds later bringing a feminine gasp from Vicky and some hand waving but that didn’t last long, the hands were wrung for a moment then Vicky said, “Thank you Ms Smeet, that really is painful.”

Ms Smeet was smiling, running her strap through her hands, “Would you like to try for six Vicky, that will test you out. You took those very well indeed for a first time.”

“Thank you Ms Smeet,” said Vicky. “Two is enough thank you,” as she was shaking her hands and now blowing on them.

“My pleasure Vicky and maybe next time you can go for six of the best. Feel free to ask for more if you need it.” Not a person in the class thought anyone would be insane enough to ask for more or again, let alone for six after that.

The boys were next and they were looking slightly sick in the tummy at what was to come. Clearly Ms Smeet strapped hard. All of a sudden volunteering for the strap was not looking so clever.

“Right Philip, your turn. Hands up thank you,” said Ms Smeet as she flicked her strap back and forward, clearly enjoying moving it through the air.

Philip was taller and stronger than he was, and Graham knew Philip was a bit of a bully also. But right now he looked smaller and less threatening. Slowly Philip lifted is left hand, supported it with his right then Ms Smeet flicked her strap up onto his palm.

Same as for all the other strokes Ms Smeet flicked her strap up and over her shoulder then held it there for a moment. With a look of concentration the strap flashed down with a ‘craaaccckk’ that was loud and terminated with a shout from Philip.

“Vicky took hers much better than you Phillip. Other hand up.”

Not looking too happy about this now Phillip waved his hand for a moment then put the other up and supported it. Again the performance was repeated on the right with the same crack at the end as Phillip gasped loudly, shook his hand and looked totally defeated.

“There,” said Ms Smeet. “Just two this time. Perhaps you might like to try six like Graham?”

Phillip was shaking he head form side to side, “No, no thanks Ms Smeet. Same as Erin, and Vicky, two is plenty.”

Ms Smeet smiled, “I thought so. Jaimie, left hand up, you know how by now.”

Jaimie was another toughie in the class vying for Vicky’s affections Graham knew. Graham and Jaimie had a fight a few weeks ago over Vicky but she’d favored neither of them which just added to Jaimie’s frustration. Not that he cared much, it being more of a misunderstanding that a fight.

Jaimie’s hand was up high with Ms Smeet’s strap laying on it seconds later. Then the strap was over Ms Smeet’s shoulder then after the delay it swished then cracked down making Jaimie shout out, “AHH,” as it clearly got through to him.

Ms Smeet was waiting, and waited some more, “Other hand Jaimie, quickly now,” she said.

Jaimie was shaken by the pain in his hand, but he did it. The right hand was up and flat with Ms Smeet’s strap laying on it just seconds later. The same as the previous stroke the strap was flicked up and over Ms Smeet’s shoulder then it flew down and cracked across Jaimie’s palm and fingers. Again he shouted out and again he was rubbing his hand madly.

“There,” said Ms Smeet. Two each. Anyone want any more? Vicky? You took yours well. Want to try four or even six of the best?”

Vicky shook her head slowly, “Tempting Ms Smeet. Maybe next time thank you,” she said with a smile as she looked at Phillip and Jaimie.

Graham thought she was teasing Jaimie and Phillip. She was almost asking if they cold take a strapping as well as she could.

After Class Surprise

When the bell rang for the end of day, Graham was happy to pick up his books, pens and pencils then make for the door. He wanted out and he wanted this day to be over as soon as possible. As per usual in the busy classroom he wasn’t the last to leave and not the first either.

He was filing out with the others then when he got to the front Ms Smeet said to him, “How are the hands Graham?”

He put them out, “Still red Ms Smeet and very sore.”

Ms Smeet smiled, “Good. Are you going to day dream again Graham?”

He shook his head, “I hope not Ms Smeet. That really was painful. Sorry Ms Smeet.”

Ms Smeet looked at him and nodded, “I’m glad I could help you. Now. If you feel yourself slipping, let me know, I can give you just a single, a wake up stroke quick and easy to each hand to help you keep focused. It will be a lot less painful than the full six and might prevent the day dreaming six’er. Maybe you can day dream about that? Hmmm?” she asked.

“Thank you Ms Smeet,” was all he could say. No way was he going to ask for the strap from Ms Smeet, she swung hers so blisteringly hard and the strap itself was much worse than Mr Hughes.

Ms Smeet wasn’t finished either. She turned slightly, “Same for you Erin. I saw you were looking a little lost at times today. If you feel the need, just put up your hand, I can redden it nicely and it will help with your concentration. I’ve noticed it slipping lately. It will be a lot easier than the full six.”

“Thank you Ms Smeet,” said Erin, “mine still stings also, maybe later,” she said which surprised the hell out of Graham. She sure was brave.

Graham tried to put everything out of his mind as he walked out of the class and into the corridor. He wanted to ignore everyone, didn’t want to look at any faces so he had his head down almost in shame and actually feeling a bit of that from the whole getting the strap in class in front of everyone thing.

He was brought out of his blue funk by a presence right beside him touching him slightly that made him look across. There was Erin Gallagher again. Damn. And she was looking at him. Was she going to say something about him getting the strap? Was she going to tease him? He just wanted a hole to open up and swallow him.

“Graham,” she said making him worry, “why haven’t we been friends? Do you really hate me?”

He didn’t expect that. He looked some more into her face. “I thought you hated me and I tried to keep away. You just always look sort of cross at me for some reason so I thought you hated me.”

Erin put her hand down then Graham felt it against his hand, then in seconds they were holding hands. It felt massively strange and also strangely nice. He’d never held a girls hand before.

“No. I thought you hated me. I’d like to be, ah, your friend,” she said. “I got the strap because I wanted to know how you felt. I saw how holding the strap affected you and I wanted to feel it also. It was so painful I couldn’t believe it.” Then she gripped his hand for a moment, “and it still stings. I’ve never got the strap before. Ms Smeet sure does it hard, I can still feel it and I can feel how hot your hand is.” She moved her hands against his some more. “It feels kind of strange, not bad really,” and she gripped his hand some more. Suddenly he felt something special for Erin.

That was not to be the last time that Graham encountered Ms Smeet’s strap, and things with Erin went from nothing to more than he ever thought possible in just a few short weeks.

Also, Erin surprised him on more than one occasion especially after he got a strapping from Ms Smeet when she put her hand up also. She was absolutely the most brave person he’d ever met.

Grahams Strapping – Part 2

Tawse Over Shulder

Caught day dreaming in Ms Smeets class again, and so soon after he’d been sent to Mr Hughes for the strap, Graham now finds out the hard way just how Ms Smeet deals with with repeat offenders.

It really wasn’t fair, he thought. She was impossible not to day dream about.

Fetching The strap

As he held the strap in his hands Ms Smeet said, “Very good Graham. Now bring the strap to me,” she said firmly, each word firm and clear with plenty of emphasis on the word strap making it sound sharp and strong. Not that anyone in the classes needed that to understand.

Again the walking, again feeling every eye on him he carried the strap to Ms Smeet with his heart beating faster and acutely sensing his breathing coming in gasps from his nervous tension. Not only that, carrying the strap, feeling it in his hands was the most exciting thing he’d ever done, and also the most embarrassing, and the most frightening, and all at the same time.

How hard was Ms Smeet going to strap him? He couldn’t get that out of his mind. But the logic of it was that since it was her strap, she knew how to use it and had used it before.

Would it be as hard as Mr Hughes? He strapped pretty hard and it sure did sting. But his strap was nothing like this one.

He doubted it. But it was plain, Mr Hughes strap wasn’t split like this one and he’d heard from his friends that this kind which was often called a tawse and it hurt alot more. Also Mr Hughes strap was floppy, supple, and no way as thick as this one. Just holding Ms Smeet’s strap he could feel how hard and thick and un bending the leather was.

Holding it with between his hands, he presented the strap to Ms Smeet who smiled slightly as she reached forward and took it.

His eyes were riveted to Ms Smeet. She moved the strap between her hands, caressing the leather almost. Ms Smeet flicked the three tails up in the air then caught them as they descended, every eye in the class staring at the leather of the strap moving.

As she did that, the leather moving, it was clear that the leather was quite stiff, hardly bending. When Ms Smeet used it as a pointer it stood straight out even though she held it with just one hand. Ms Smeet stared at him, “Stand there,” she said pointing the strap beside her.

Moving hesitantly he was now side on to the class, his hands pressed to his sides, his body almost trembling in expectation. This was nothing like how he got the strap from Mr Hughes the headmaster, nothing like it at all. The strap from him had just been painful. At least then he’d been in his office and none of his class was there, no one watching as Mr Hughes got his strap out of the draw then came round his desk. At least getting the strap in his office had been private even though so very painful.

“Good,” said Ms Smeet as she stared at him, “Mr Crisp does focus the eyes of naughty boys and girls.” She smiled slightly, “And Mr Crisp does a whole lot more than that as you’ll find out.”

Ms Smeet ran the strap through her hands again, then flicked her strap up and swished it through the air, reacquainting herself.

“Class,” said Ms Smeet, “do you see how stiff Mr Crisp is?” she said as she held it by one hand. The strap extended out and while it drooped at the end, it was far from floppy. “I keep Mr Crisp laying flat in my drawer, never ever rolled up like other straps and this all helps Mr Crisp make an impression on naughty boys and girls palms. Watch,” she said as she ran the strap though her hands one more time like a magician showing the audience a new trick.

The Warm up - Then the Main Event - Hands UP

Ms Smeet then rolled her shoulders for a moment, limbering up, then she lifted the strap up high, over and above her right shoulder, the tails stiff and pointing down behind her back now. There it poised for moment till with a lazy motion she brought her arm with the strap at the end down through the air making a gentle swish as it flew through the air.

Taking her time she repeated it, the strap raised, poised for a moment, just long enough for the eyes of the class to focus on it, then with a firm downward motion the leather went flying through the air. This time the sound of the strap through the air was a little louder, the leather flying a little faster thought the whole class. Particularly Graham.

Everyone in the class knew what was going to happen.

Ms Smeet was just getting started though. With her shoulders now feeling ready for action, for the third practice stroke Ms Smeet was now warmed up nicely. With a visible effort she made the leather positively swish through the air in the hardest air-stroke yet leaving no doubt in everyone in the class that she knew how to use a strap for maximum effect.

And now she’d warmed up.

Graham was getting the strap from an expert.

Getting The Cuts From Ms Smeet

“Hands UP, Graham,” said Ms Smeet firmly, the strap now held across her body and she was clearly ready to use it.

Feeling mesmerized, like he was in a dream, feeling the weight of being out the front of class and looking at Ms Smeet with the strap, Graham lifted his left hand up to chest height. Because they were facing each other, his fingers were pointing toward her, his hand open and flat.

Ms Smeet tut-tutted, “Now Graham, where I come from naughty boys and girls put their other hand under, to support and to keep it up. Do so now QUICKLY,” she snapped.

In a daze Graham lifted his right hand, then put it under his left, the hand now supported. Now he felt even worse. He felt even more embarrassed, and even more like the naughty boy getting the strap. And Ms Smeet looked positively terrifying holding her strap and being right in front of him after she’d swished it through the air time and again.

Taking her time Ms Smeet flicked the strap up onto his waiting palm showing how well she could control it. It was done quickly, simply, and showed her experience with that strap of leather.

Moving back slightly so her arm was not quite at full reach she left the strap laying on his palm. “Graham,” she asked, “you have had the strap before haven’t you, from Mr Hughes he tells me?”

“Yes Ms Smeet,” he said, his throat closed over slightly so his voice came out thinly, almost quietly.

“Have you had it from a strap like this one before,” she asked, “because this one is special. It’s called a tawse and it is made specially for naughty boys and girls palms.”

He looked down at the strap then up at Ms Smeet’s face, “No Ms Smeet, Mr Hughes strap isn’t split like yours.”

Ms Smeet did nothing. She said nothing. It was time for the leather to do the talking. With a gentle hand motion, the strap was pulled back, it fell off his palm a little then it was raised over Ms Smeet’s shoulder where it poised. It poised drawing his eyes to the leather, then to Ms Smeet’s face then back to the leather.

There was dead silence in the class. He’d never got the strap in class before. Now it was happening, and from Ms Smeet the woman he’d been daydreaming about.

Graham looked at Ms Smeet, right in the eyes as hers bored into him.

She mesmerized him.

He stared into her eyes and now with the strap raised his open and flat palm felt massively vulnerable he stood dreading what was coming and powerless to resist. He couldn’t look away.

Almost like a magic trick the strap disappeared, something seemed to blur in front of him then his palm and fingers exploded in fire at the same time a loud sharp ‘sshhwiicckk’ sounded echoing round the silent classroom for all to hear.

– 1 –

The strap drew out a deep long moan of despair and pain, “HmmmmAHHHH,” from him, the pain in his hand the worst of his life as he bent over his hand. He rubbed it, he gasped and tried to get on top of the pain. It felt like his hand had been dipped in boiling water, then seconds later it went deeper into the hand seeming to hurt all the way through. When he got the cuts from Mr Hughes the strap landed loud like a gunshot almost but it felt nothing like this. This really go into his hand far deeper.

The sound from Ms Smeet’s strap was also higher pitched but it hurt so much more. This was far worse.

“Other hand Graham,” Ms Smeet said quietly, firmly, “Quickly now. We’ve wasted enough time on this, educational for the whole class though it has been.”

This was different. Mr Hughes strapped each hand three times then gave the other hand its three strokes. From the way he felt from one stroke from Ms Smeet he doubted he could take three in a row from Ms Smeet and her strap on the one hand. Maybe this was not going to be so bad.

From being bent over he looked at Ms Smeet’s leather skirt and beside that he saw her strap swishing back and forward looking impatient, like a cats tail. He stood up gradually then put his right hand up and out, then remembering after a second, he supported it with his left. He looked down, the right hand now looked so vulnerable and white compared to his blazing left.

It came as a shock when the strap landed on his palm, sitting there laying along his fingers and onto the palm. Then after barely a few breaths the strap was pulled back then was raised over Ms Smeet’s shoulder. He felt terrified, the first stroke had been so painful he had to look away. But Ms Smeet didn’t like that.

“GRAHAM,” she said, “I expect you to have the courage to look at me as I strap you. Look at me now else I’ll give you extra. Look at my strap. I might even send you to Mr Hughes after I’ve finished with you so you can get the strap from him also and find out how his strap compares to mine.”

Graham looked up slowly, looked up at Ms Smeet as she stood with her strap poised above her shoulder and the stern look on her face. Then he looked at the strap. It was positively terrifying.

– 2 –

He stood looking into her eyes for a moment that stretched then again the ‘sshhwiicckk’ sounded and his right hand blazed into incandescent fury. Instantly his hands went under his armpits, both of them burning and throbbing from the deep pain. “Hmmmmaggghhhh,” was all that came out of his mouth as the enormity of the pain engulfed him. This was nothing like Mr Hughes strap, nothing like that at all.

“Left hand again Graham, quickly now, get it up,” Ms Smeet said. Again as he was bent over all he saw was Ms Smeet’s leather skirt and the deadly strap of hers swinging back and forward impatiently.

His hands hurt like hell but he knew he didn’t have any choice.

He stood upright again then raised his already red and throbbing left hand. When he put his newly red hot and burning right hand under it to support it he suddenly knew why this was done. The waiting reddened palm was shaking from just one stroke and holding it up voluntarily for the next was difficult. With his left hand supported by the right hand it helped keep it still for the next stroke.

Quickly this time the strap was flicked up to sit on the red palm, sit and make him acutely aware of what was coming. It saw there as Ms Smeet looked into his eyes. “Prepare,” she said quietly.

Then with a gentle flick the strap as pulled back then raised over a shoulder, the hand holding the strap high in the air the same as the last two times. It was formidable sight as he looked into Ms Smeet’’s eyes and saw her determination.

– 3 –

Ms Smeet swept her arm down with her upper body flexing hard, showing the effort she put in, the strap swished then cracked down even louder. This was the hardest stroke yet, the immensity of the pain making him yell out loud as he buckled over and rubbed his hand frantically, the heat and sting in it not abating.

“Quickly now, right hand,” said Ms Smeet as she flicked her strap back and forward beside her, impatiently waiting for the palm to be raised again.

Reluctantly repeating, Graham straightened up and brought his right hand up and supported it with his throbbing left. This was the fourth stroke, the second for this hand and he hoped like hell it was the last. Mr Hughes had strapped him a few times and it had been nothing like this. Those strappings had left his hands sore for an hour or two but hadn’t devastated him like this strapping had. Nothing had ever been like this.

“That’s three,” Ms Smeet said then delivered the awful news, “half way there for your six of the very best.”

He felt like complaining but decided against it. Ms Smeet was looking remorseless and driven, no way was she going to give him less and if he complained she’d probably give him more or send him to Mr Hughes for a dose of his strap as well.

Ms Smeet flicked the strap up onto his palm, let it lay there for a few seconds then it was quickly over Ms Smeet’s shoulder where it delayed as the strict school teacher showed her student what was coming. Then her upper body flexed, her arm flew down in a blur and his right hand exploded just the same as his left had done.

– 4 –

Again he buckled over and again he rubbed his palms together trying to get on top of the pain from the hardest strapping he’d ever had. But Ms Smeet was implacable. “Left hand up Graham, quickly now.”

Rising after looking at Ms Smeet’s waist, her leather skirt and the strap moving beside her in impatient, he lofted his left hand and supported it with his right. This time he saw the hand was now red, very red, and it was shaking so much that it really did need the right hand under it to steady it. And her realized, to make it a better target for Ms Smeet’s strap.

The process repeated. The strap was flicked up and onto his palm where it lay. He looked at it, he looked at Ms Smeet, he looked back at the strap then it was off his palm and over Ms Smeet’s shoulder. He looked at his strict form teacher for a moment seeing her eyes boring into him and her look of concentration then it happened.

– 5 –

After two of the hardest strokes of the strap he’d ever had, he thought that maybe the third wouldn’t hurt as much. He was wrong. Weather it was Ms Smeet putting in extra effort, or was it that that her strap was always painful he didn’t know as all other thoughts were wrenched, strapped, out of his mind.

Without any thought he was again bent over rubbing his hand and of course the command, “Right hand up. Quickly now else it’s two more,” said Ms Smeet. “I am thinking you’ll need two more, two of my very best, so hurry up.”

Quickly with the thought of the extra strokes of that punishing strap in his mind, as quickly as he humanly could as he was shaking from the pain and his eyes were now moist, his right hand was held up then supported with his burning and severely strapped left hand.

He was struggling to concentrate now, his breathing was ragged and he could feel the tears in his eyes. He could only take so much of this before he burst into tears and he suspected that limit had been well and truly reached.

“Good,” said Ms Smeet as she looked into his now filling eyes, “I can see this lesson is having the correct effect. You won’t be day dreaming in my class again unless it’s about my strap.”

– 6 –

Ms Smeet was like a machine now. Her muscle memory from years of using her strap was coming back to her after the short hiatus she’d had from moving schools and the start of a new term.

The strap flicked up onto his waiting red hot and now shaking palm. It lay there, catching his attention, then his eyes moved to Ms Smeet with her stern face as she looked into his eyes locking him in her stare. Then after just a few seconds the strap was up and over her shoulder where her arm held it high and proud for all to see, poised, ready.

Then there was an interminable wait that made his heart tremble. It could have only been a few seconds but felt longer, far longer as Ms Smeet stared into his eyes and he was acutely aware of the strap ready to descend.

Every eye in the class was on the strap also, or at least those that weren’t watching him and his upraised and red palm waiting for the leather to swish down onto.

When it came it was almost too fast to see, but the full bodied and shrill sound was distinctive, echoing around the room.

ssshhhwwwwiiicccckkk,” went the strap onto his waiting palm and this time it wrenched a full bodied shout from him as the dam holding back the tears broke then they coursed down his cheeks. He had no choice but to bend over fully, both hands pressed under his armpits as he tried to reduce the awful stinging, moving them, trying to get on top of the pain.

Graham had found out, Ms Smeet straps really hard. Not only that, her strap was so much more painful than Mr Hughes.

But Graham’s time in front of the class is far from over. Ms Smeet has new ways to get the message home to him. And not only that, Ms Smeet has more surprises in store.

Continued in Part-3

Grahams Strapping – Part 1

This is the story of Graham who has, and not for the first time, been caught out day dreaming in class. It so was hard not to Graham reasoned as Ms Smeet was impossible not to day dream about.
The big problem for Graham is that Ms Smeet sent him to Mr Hughes the previous time for the strap, “as a wake-up call” she said and it worked for a time. But it has now only been a short while later that he’s been caught again so Ms Smeet is going to show the whole class how she deals with repeat offenders. Not only that, with this turn of events Ms Smeet will make an offer to the class that will answer some questions and leave a few more hands red and stinging.

Called Out - Again

“GRAHAM,” said his teacher sharply from the front of the room in exasperation, her cross voice shrill and loud, cutting through the classroom making the other students jump.

Suddenly all activity stopped, all sound stopped. It was impossible not to know when Ms Smeet was angry. The other students, though usually quiet in Ms Smeet’s class now turned to statues so that even the gentle sounds of movement, the sounds writing of breathing almost, were stilled as total silence descended.

Graham for his part had been in another time and space, day dreaming about his teacher the formidable Ms Smeet, the focus of much of his fantasy since he’d started sixth form with her only a few short weeks prior. She was new to the school this year so he’d not known what to expect. On the first day in class they’d all found her to be extremely strict, demanding total attention and respect from the class. Not only that, she was ancient to his eyes, she must have been at least forty years old yet she dressed in a way that made his mind wander and he knew others in the class approved of, not just himself. He and the other boys and he had talked about Ms Smeet all agreed she was hot, damn hot in her leather skirts and trim figure. Even for an oldie.

All his fantasies evaporated as his eyes snapped to Ms Smeet standing on the side of the classroom, her hands on her hips, looking crossly at him. He gulped, “Yes Ms Smeet,” was all he could say through his throat that felt like it was going to close over.

“Do you know the answer Graham,” she repeated, “because it would be best if you did,” she added.

He was dumb struck, had she asked a question? He had no idea. He tried to replay what had been said moments before but the only thing in his mind was the visage of Ms Smeet in her leather skirt looking at him. “Sorry no Ms Smeet, I forgot.”

“Well then Graham since this is not the first time you’ve forgotten I have a special question for you. Can you answer this? What is kept in the drawer of my desk, right at the front of my drawer?” Her eyes boring into him and she was not smiling.

He thought about it for a moment, he didn’t have a single clue. He tried, “Pens and paper Ms Smeet?”

That felt like a reasonable assumption but this whole situation brought back a memory. An unpleasant memory.

That last time there had been a pen and paper in the desk drawer

It just was a week ago that Ms Smeet had caught him day dreaming just the same as this time, his eyes un-focused as his mind wandered along unfamiliar pathways. The same then as now, Ms Smeet featured in heavily and in ways he was not going to admit to any one.

That time Ms Smeet had gone to her desk, got out a sheet of paper then written a note on it. She’d told him to take it to Mr Hughes making him feel rather scared as he walked to the principals office, so scared he didn’t dare read the note, he couldn’t.

Was it going to be the note to Mr Hughes again? He’d rather not. Not again. Not after last time.

The Note To Mr Hughes

Mr Hughes was the principal at the school, an older man who he assumed was close to retirement. He was an ‘old school’ type principal he’d said at school assembly and Graham now knew exactly what that meant.

All the previous times Ms Smeet sent him to Mr Hughes office it had ended the same way. The last time had been in the middle of a class period, but they all resulted in the same thing. And it wasn’t just him either. Others in his class had also been sent and they had the same outcome, it wasn’t just Graham who found out what ‘old school’ meant. They all ended up with the same red hands he assumed he was going to get. Again.

He knocked then opened and entered when he heard Mr Hughes say loudly ‘Entaarr’ or what sounded like it. He handed the note to Mr Hughes then waited. Mr Hughes opened the note, read it, looked up at him then asked a few questions like ‘did he know why he was here’ and ‘this wasn’t the first time so why hadn’t he learned his lesson’ and of course the main one, ‘what did he think was going to happen next?

The last one, the main one he knew the answer for and with certainty he answered “To get the strap sir,” and to that Mr Hughes had nodded, opened his desk drawer then pulled out his black leather strap. He’d met this one before, it was the same as last time and the tiems before that. It was about a foot and a half long, maybe an inch and a half wide and looked like it was cut from an old belt. It wasn’t all that thick and was kind of floppy. As Mr Hughes unrolled it, it drooped down from his hand onto the desk. Holding it in two hands as he ran it between them, it still drooped in the middle. Clearly it was supple and well used. He knew first hand that it was well used.

“Stand back, turn to face me, left hand up quickly now, I haven’t got all day,” said Mr Hughes when he’d come around the desk moving surprisingly quickly.

Graham did as instructed. He faced Mr Hughes, moved back a little then held his left hand up at chest height open and flat ready for the leather.

Mr Hughes wasted no time, “Three each,” he said. The same as last time also.

The strap was flicked up over Mr Hughes shoulder then without pause was quickly brought back down at speed ending in a loud crack, it only taking a couple of seconds at most.

Getting the strap from Mr Hughes hurt and Mr Hughes didn’t waste a moment, there was no fanfare, just the crack of the strap, the gasps and hand shaking then the next crack. There was only a few seconds between each stroke, he had to hold his hand up, the strap was raised, then the strap was brought down in moments, then it repeated.

Damn. It stung though, there was no doubt of that. He shook the hand then quickly brought it up again. The last time he’d got the strap he’d taken too long and Mr Hughes had shouted at him and given him an extra stroke to each hand. He didn’t like that at all. The second stroke slammed down seconds later making him gasp, “Ahh,” and shake the hand again. Then he lifted it up quickly, the hand still stinging. The third crack sounded loud and sharp making him jump, rub his hand quickly and then the command, “Other hand,” was all Mr Hughes said so he put his right hand up and out. At least it would be over soon was all he could think, and of course, damn that did strap did sting.

Mr Hughes strapped this hand just as hard and fast, the gunshot loud cracks echoing off the wall. Wasting very little time at all Mr Hughes powered his strap down ‘crack.’ It slapped down full length on the palm and fingers making them blaze, same as for the left hand. All he could do was shake the hand then present it again for the next stroke. Facing Mr Hughes as he gave the strap really was not easy, the man put a lot of effort into it and was totally absorbed in bringing the strap down on the waiting and open hand. The second made him shake it and gasp and the third made him gasp louder then rub both his hands together as the infernal sting got in and felt like he’d put his hands too close to the fire.

“Back to class Graham, one more time and I really don’t know what I’ll do with you. I’ll be talking with Ms Smeet about this.”

“Yes sir,” was all he could say as he left with stinging hands.

Then and almost as bad, when he got back to class Ms Smeet stopped him from going to his seat, making him stand at the front of class. Of course she did, she never missed a chance. “What happened Graham,” she asked.

He was damn sure she knew what happened. It happened every time she sent him with a note to Mr Hughes and the same as for the others in the class. She must just want to humiliate him but he had to answer.

“I got the strap Ms Smeet, three to each hand.”

Ms Smeet nodded as she looked at him, “Good. You needed it. Show the class. Show them your red hands. I want them to know the price of day dreaming in my class.”

He’d had to do that also and feel the embarrassment, holding his red hands up to show everyone, and only then been allowed to go back to his seat after Ms Smeet warned him not to do it again.

And now he had.

Not A Note This Time

But now the whole class was utterly silent, all eyes were on him and he could feel his embarrassment rising. It was bad enough when he got sent out with a note and everyone knew what was going to happen. This was something new. They were used to Ms Smeet sending students off to Mr Hughes.

Ms Smeet shook her head slowly from aside to side, “No Graham, it is something I brought from my last school, a specially effective teaching aid, something very special indeed. Mr Hughes and I have been talking about this and we are in agreement. We think it will help you. Get up, go to my desk, open the draw and lift it out please,” she said slowly with each word emphasizing her strict nature as her eyes bored into him, transfixing him, making him go more and more red.

Gulping slightly and not realizing what was happening, he stood on slightly shaky legs feeling every eye on him, every one of his peers also wondering what was happening. All he could think was, ‘what is it in the drawer? It is a homework book or maybe a pre-written slip of paper to take to the headmaster?’ She’d said it wasn’t, so what could it be?

Then, still, he hoped it wasn’t a note to the headmaster, that got him the strap, or at least the last few times it did. He was no stranger to Mr Hughes black leather strap but the last time Mr Hughes said he didn’t know what would happen. It could only be worse. Would it be more than six of the best this time?

The trip to Ms Smeet’s desk felt like it was miles and miles away as the embarrassment rose with every eye on him, but after the dozen steps in reality he pulled the drawer open then stared down.

It wasn’t pens and paper. It was nothing like that at all.

What Is That?’ his mind asked, then as soon as he thought that, he knew. How could it be anything else? With a deep dread he knew exactly what it was and he suddenly felt scared again but in a different way. This could be worse than getting the strap from Mr Hughes.

“Go on Graham, lift him out and show everyone,” Ms Smeet said taking absolutely no pity on him.

Graham moved slowly, almost reverently, his limbs like lead.

Graham reached down then picked up the leather item, a long brown leather strap that had been laying flat in the front of the drawer. As he lifted it, the leather cool to his touch, he found it was two feet long, an inch and a half wide and as thick as a pencil. One end was shaped for holding which is what he did, then the last half was split into three tails, each about a half inch wide that he held with his other hand.

It was the first time he’d held a teachers strap and it was something he never thought he’d do. Feeling the leather as he lifted it, he felt an excitement as something strange inside him flared up.

He lifted the leather strap up held between his hands and if anything, the silence in the room became deeper. Holding the leather strap that was used for punishment was surreal, and if truth be told it was also exciting. He thought it was damn exciting in a very special way and he hoped no one noticed because it was having an effect on him.

“Class,” Ms Smeet said loudly as soon as it was visible, “This is Mister Crisp the finest of teaching aids for naughty boys and girls who don’t pay attention in my class.”

He wasn’t a mind reader but he could read every other mind in the room as it was the same as what he was thinking, ‘Ms Smeet is going to give Graham a strapping.’

That she had a strap like this, and he’d not suspected else he’d have been daydreaming about that also, was very telling.

He wondered for a moment how hard she strapped.

As Graham soon finds out – getting the strap is bad enough, but Ms Smeet as new ways to make it even worse.

Part-2 to follow.

New Femdom Domestic Discipline Series

Femdom Domestic Discipline Series Preview

I am massively guilty of starting writing on a series then not finishing or not publishing when I know I should.

So, this post will hurry me a long. Here is an excerpt from a new series that just needs the finishing touches before I publish it.

I hope you like it.

Barrys Friday Maintenance

After Barry and Jo had been married for a few years they fell into the same old routine of a married couple, but it started to lose it spark, its special qualities that kept them as a couple. The sex and the intimacy had been great and particularly when they’d met at Uni, but after a while it eventually wore off.

Jo had been the first to state the obvious, “What’s wrong with us? We seem to be drifting apart,” and Barry had nodded. “Sweetheart,” he said, “we seem to be getting into a rut. I’ve, ah, been thinking of spicing it up a bit.”

After a lot of discussion and more than a few shocks for Jo, Barry had explained his hidden kink. He talked about his feeling of ‘almost a loss sweetheart, of something missing’ as he explained it and how it had been consuming him. Barry admitted to watching porn on his computer and wanking off to it, then when he showed Jo, showed her the kinds of porn he was drawn to they had some long discussions. At one stage they talked about breaking up but they both loved each other so much and they both wanted to stay together, but as Barry said, ‘sweetheart, it, this thing, this is coming between us,’ so they worked on it and found a way to make it work.

This opened a whole new world for Jo, something she would never have dreamed of in a million years, but it somehow resonated with a part of her deep inside and clearly it did with Barry.

All of a sudden she realized why they got on so well, why Barry was so attentive and wanted to please her so much and why he put her first so often. It explained why she was the defacto leader in the relationship and it was her who often drove the conversation, the lifestyle and the dynamic within their marriage.

The Maintenance

It was Friday night and Barry was looking forward to the night out. He and his wife Jo tried to get out once a week and despite their busy lifestyles in finance and accountancy, they usually managed it.

This week they were meeting up with Amanda and Frank, friends from their early university days. They’d not seen them in at least a few years and truth be told, they were both in slight awe of them. Amanda and Frank really had achieved well, Frank was the CFO of a large organization and Amanda was the CEO at the same place and they looked to be raking in the money considering their lifestyle. Also truth be told, Barry was a little in awe of Amanda as she was so definite, strong, and absolutely no nonsense. He wondered at the dynamic in their relationship at home as after all he and Jo had what many would consider an unusual system. But it worked and that was what mattered to them both.

His reverie about the night to come was cut short when he heard, “Barry, come in here please darling,” Jo called from their bedroom. She’d left to get ready a little while ago and even though it was two hours till they were scheduled to meet Amanda and Frank, Jo liked to try on different outfits and take her time. Maybe she wanted some ideas or feedback on the outfits she’d chosen, he reasoned.

On entering the master bedroom he saw plenty of Jo’s clothes on the bed, ‘so that must be it’ he thought but then he noticed something else which made all other thoughts evaporate. Jo was holding her XH tawse from MC Customs, the supremely painful three tail leather strap that she’d come to love using and he’d come to dread.

“Pop your clothes off darling,” she said with a smile. She pointed the strap at the carpet at the end of their bed, “Then just kneel there please. I’m thinking you could do with a maintenance and I feel like a heart starter for the night. Quickly now,” she said.

Sometimes he regretted their marital discipline relationship as he stripped off. He folded then put his clothes on the end of the bed, neatly, as that had been strapped into him many times, then he knelt on the floor where she’d pointed.

Kneeling and naked, looking up at his lovely wife dressed only in a bra and g-string he felt his cock erecting, and particularly so when he watched her running the leather of that split strap between her hands, caressing the leather as she smiled. Over the last little while Jo had developed quite an aptitude for erotic tease and also, he suspect, a blooming leather fetish. Not that he minded at all, it added a spice to the whole maintenance thing.

Jo walked to stand beside him then she bent so a bra covered breast was in his face, her scent and her perfume strong in his nose, “Tonight when we are at dinner you can think of this,” she said.

His erection was now straining as he nuzzled the bra covered delight of his wife. He loved her breasts and them being in a bra seemed to make them all that much more sensuous and erotic.

Hands UP,” she said firmly with her face next to his.

He lifted his left hand up to kneeling face height then supported it with his right. His wife quickly moved in front so he was now looking over the top of his palm at his wife in her bra and g-string holding her strap. The imminent pain of what was coming was now tempered by the sight of his wife and her strap, as it always did.

With a smile she flicked the three tailed strap up onto his palm then moved back till her arm was nearly straight with the strap extending out and down across his palm and onto his fingers, just laying there feeling menacing and cool. Jo liked to tease, to flick the strap up so he could feel it and anticipate what was to come. Sometimes she would pull the strap off, raise it, then lower it and again gently flick it up to sit there, taking her time, drawing it out, ramping up his feelings as he waited for the strapping to start.

This really did focus the mind. His palm at face height meant he was looking at it, and the end of the strap and along the leather to his wife in front of him in her bra and g-string. She looked damned hot but also dreadfully severe.

“Hands flat, look at me, keep them still,” Jo said sharply and not really needing to say, but they’d talked about this and the theater of the strapping was enhanced by her saying that and she seemed to like doing it. Then after a moment the strap was pulled back then flicked up high and over behind her bare shoulder. This really did focus the mind.

Jo usually took her time with a hand strapping so that he had time to appreciate each stroke, she said, and also to appreciate her she also said. He sure did. It absolutely captivating his mind being in this position and it left nothing to the imagination.

Six Of The Best

— to be continued very soon —

Domestic Discipline

Over the years I’ve written a number of stories in various genres, from penal (strapubus), school (Teaching Teachers) to dungeon (Roby and Rick) and also the “domestic discipline” type stories (training).

Without going into too much detail, these have always held an attraction because they pull the mind into unchartered waters (for most of us). They merge home setting with corporal punishment then the possibility of sex with someone afterward, and not cheating on a marriage.

So, below are links to some existing stories – and a promise of more to come.

Domestic strapping

After dinner and before bed, “Lets just get you ready for bed, I’ve not been happy with you today,” she says. Luckily she’s forgotten to redden the palms with her tawse, or at least that is his hope.

Here are some links to previously pulished domestic type stories;

Millennium Discipline” – discipline in the family unit brings back stability and polite behaviour and saves their society from anarchy and decline. There are multiple stories.

Millennial Discipline Friday Night” – is their end of week review and discipline night. Prepare for sore butts on poor performance.

Melanie Does Session Training” – his wife catches him using his implements on himself then lends a hand to make their marriage very much more satisfying.

Melanie Does Discipline And Bondage” – is part 2 and takes Melanie’s acceptace of domestic discipline a whole lot further.

Hands strapped by the wife” – I gotinto this blog entry far too entheusiastically, but well, here are some tips on enhancing domestic discipline and corporal punishment in general.

Coming in the near future are;

Gary’s Strapping” is about his strict principal wife finding then correcting fault. This has two versions, the succinct, then the longer version for readers to choose and comment on.

Barry’s Maintenance” where his lovely wife gifts him red hands and buns before he pleases her.

Ryan’s Home Strapping” is an account of a marriage gone wrong then returning to fulfilment when fetish and role play become the chemisty for reunion.

Ricks First Strapping From Mistress Tish

Here is an except from “Rick’s First Session” (published on Amazon) where he gets to meet Mistress Tish in all her leather finery in the dungeon.

Rick has a fine collection of gear and has had many sessions, but his previous mistress has moved overseas. So now after much research he is having his first session with Mistress Tish.

This is an ideal story for those with a leather fetish, a wide belt fetish and are into hand strapping and tawsing and corporal punishment in a dungeon setting. The full story of course goes a lot further.

Perhaps strangely, much of this is taken from real life. The names, the locations and the height of Mistress Tish have been changed to protect the kinky.

Mistress Tish - The physicist dominatrix

Being a gangling tall nerdy geeky girl in high school then winning a scholarship to university to study mathematics and physics was an easy transition for her.

The only problem was that while her tuition was paid for, her living expenses were not. Suddenly she found how expensive eating was which was when poverty and an empty tummy found her working as a receptionist at the Satisfaction-X adult venue.

Mistress Tish

Reception work in an adult venue work was easy and mildly amusing but she was drawn to the BDSM side. After trying a sub session she decided to try being an Apprentice Mistress and from there, Mistress Tish was born.

Over the years she became a top flight dominatrix with a large stable of regular and adoring clients.

Mistress Tish used her scientific background to craft superior BDSM sessions. She found herself drawn to the leather dominatrix look and really quite enjoyed bondage and corporal punishment sessions.

Then as time passed her earnings made life easy, paid for an apartment and an enviable lifestyle as she worked for her PhD’s.

Rick

For years Rick has been having regular BDSM sessions.  It is part of his life and not something he can dismiss or evade, it is who he is.

The last mistress he’s had sessions with decided to go back to Europe leaving him high and dry, and this was not the first time it had happened.

Choosing a new mistress was his least favorite thing as he had to read profiles then hope like hell he could find someone who had all the attributes he wanted.

Rick enjoyed the whole leather dominatrix with bondage and corporal punishment thing and liked his sessions to go a particular way.

Tawse

Rick was strongly drawn to hand strapping and tawsing. He had an extensive gear collection with many of each.

After reading many profiles then booking a session, he found himself waiting in a small room for Mistress Tish to arrive.

Mistress Tish in her leather outfit was all he could have asked for. They had a great pre-session discussion about what he wanted in the session then Mistress Tish took him to the dungeon where he pulled out his gear and arranged it on a folded towel.

Mistress Tish took his two widest and favourite leather belts out with her as she left him to get ready.

So Now The Session Begins

For Rick, getting ready for a session was the ultimate in anticipation. After Mistress Tish led him into the dungeon, and he got to look at her from behind which was a pleasure all in it own, the dungeon was very similar to many he had been in. It had a shower in one corner, a suspension winch, a wall of gear and a bench with wide black leather straps hanging down looking ideal for some bondage.

After Mistress left and now being in the dungeon with all his gear laid out for use was delicious. He only had a few minutes to get ready before the Mistress returned, so he had to prepare quickly. It was the ultimate thrill of anticipation.

He stripped off, put his clothes in the lock box then had a quick shower. Sure, he’d showered in the morning but now at the end of the day it was a nice feeling to put his face into the water stream, to close his eyes and push his face into it, to soap up and wash his cares away. Not only that, it was all part of the ritual, the accepted start of the session, and knowing Mistress would soon return made it exciting.

After drying off, he sat on the floor beside all his laid out gear. He quickly put on the collar, then the cuffs, strapping each on firmly. Shaking his wrists he smiled slightly as he felt the leather circling them move and chafe slightly, then he rolled his head and shoulders a little and felt the collar also. It was all part of the experience, feeling the leather, being in the dungeon, knowing that the session was about to begin.

With every movement of the collar and cuffs he felt relief seeping into him. All his cares and stresses were departing. He was enjoying this so much and nothing else in the world existed.

Taking up a belt he wrapped it round one ankle, then round the other, then round both and buckled it firmly. He loved the feeling of the leather circling the limb then round both, holding them firmly. Bondage had been a love of his since his teenage years and now in the dungeon it just felt so right.

He did the same with a longer belt just under his knees, at the top of the calf, then again with his longest belt just above his knees. Taking up a coarse leather stirrup strap he looped it through the front of the ankle belt then ran it up the front of his legs, over his knees, and took it through and around the belt circling above his knees. Returning it he buckled it reasonably, not too tight. If he did that he wouldn’t be able to bend his legs to kneel. This was something he’d discovered years ago with self bondage; when he bent his legs the belt tried to wrap round the outside of his knees putting tension on the ankle and knee belts. It was simple movement restrictive bondage but it did work well.

With that done he got onto his knees and felt the belt preventing his bottom from coming down fully. He put his head down, put the back of his opened hands on his knees and knelt waiting for Mistress.

He was in the submissive slave pose.

It was a totally dreamy time, and time slowed as he regressed. He became someone new on the floor of the dungeon waiting for the mistress to enter.

Kneeling on the floor, smelling the leather, feeling the belts binding his legs tight and being in the dungeon waiting for the mistress created so many emotions.

There was nowhere else in the world he would rather be.

Yet at the same time he knew he was going to be punished so very hard and that he needed it for the escape, for the relief. It would be difficult to accept, extremely painful, yet it was right now enormously attractive.

One thing he did which heightened the whole experience was to abstain from masturbation and any other sexual activity for a week before a session. That included reading any BDSM material or even looking on the web at forums or reading BDSM stories. Experience had shown a week was his limit, he just couldn’t go any longer and with a week he got the most out of a session.

Sometimes he wondered if he’d had a wife or girlfriend what he’d do about having sessions, but since he didn’t, that particular issue wasn’t a concern. He did know that with the way he was now living, he couldn’t go without a regular session. The whole bondage and corporal thing and the way he felt about it made it impossible to deny himself.

These and more conflicting feelings were swirling round inside him and his excitement grew as he knelt on the floor with the belts strapping him into bondage.

Time was different now, neither slow nor fast. There was no real frame of reference for him in the dungeon other than any sounds coming in from outside. He was naked, kneeling, with his legs in bondage and the collar and cuffs reminding him of why he was there.

So it came as no surprise when he heard the clacking of the stilettos again, the definite stride of a dominatrix as she headed into a dungeon. His heart started to race a little more. Was it Mistress Tish coming into this dungeon?

Then the sound approached. His heart beat faster.

Then with a rattle, then a little more rattle, a small delay, then the door opened.

Now his heart raced but he kept his head down. It wasn’t the accepted thing for the slave to look up at the dominatrix when she entered as it would break the submissive pose. It was up to mistress to modulate his movements and grant permission to look at her.

With his head down all he could see was her stilettos and the bottom part of her leather trousers as she walked up and stood in front of him, her presence and the light perfume she wore filling his senses completely.

Time For Your Strapping

“Slave,” Mistress Tish whispered, then a little louder and firmer, “those hands need to feel the leather. It’s time for your strapping.”

And with that she extended a wonderfully feminine hand into his vision. Taking her time she extended a  finger under his chin then lifted his head till he was looking at the three belts circling her waist, taking up most of it.

For a belt fetishist, which he was, this was a wonderful sight. For a leather fetishist which he was, it was even better as the belts circled the leather corset and above that the leather bra that struggled to keep her breasts contained. It was all he could do to not gasp and admit his admiration.

The belts looked magnificent, triggering his belt fetish to the max. Mistress Tish had her own black solid looking belt, an inch and a half wide and thick one sitting on her hips. That looked like it would give a quite acceptable belting or hand strapping and hopefully both. Above that was his brown belt, thick and two inches wide and when sued hard, had plenty of thud. Above that was his black two inch wide belt, thinner than the brown and when used hard had more sting but less thud. This collection of belts had all the bases of his belt fetish covered.

“Watch,” she said quietly as he looking fixedly at her waist. She slowly took off the two inch wide supple black belt and held it between her hands. She ran it once through her hands, his eyes riveted on it, then she draped it over her left shoulder with the buckle end hanging down over the leather bra and onto the corset below.

He’d said belts and straps were his thing and it was pretty obvious from his extensive gear collection. In the pre-session discussion he’d asked the mistress to wear his belts and now here she was with his two widest around her waist and she looked fabulous. That was until she took off the the black one and let it hang down from a shoulder and that looked totally special.

She whispered, sounding strict and stern, “Present me with the school strap slave.”

He quickly turned, collected then held the school strap flat between his outstretched palms and raised it up to Mistress.

He looked at the Mistress, looked at the belts, the corset, the leather bra and felt his penis starting to stir. It was impossible not to.

Mistress reached forward, took the strap then ran it through her hands feeling the leather. “Present your left hand for the strap slave,” she said quietly as she fondled the leather, running it through her hands slowly.

He held up his left hand, level with his face, flat with his thumb in, and pointing his fingers toward the Mistress. His right he put back on his knee.

He watched as Mistress flicked the strap out onto his palm to lay there along it and down onto his fingers for a few seconds. Then it was withdrawn, put over her shoulder then after just a second of delay whilst she studied her target, the strap flashed down. It cracked loudly, pushing the palm down a little but he brought it up again quickly. The school strap was not particularly painful so he didn’t have much trouble accepting it.

Mistress then gave him another, quickly flicking the strap over her shoulder then bringing it down again. Again the sting, again he raised the palm and Mistress raised the strap and lashed the waiting palm again. After those three she stopped, looked at the palm and fingers then ran the strap through her hands.

“Three more I think, you need more strapping,” she said then she did exactly that. She lashed each stroke home along the length of his palm and down his fingers bringing it up into a light pink band of stinging pain.

“Other hand,” she said, so he dropped the left, shook it slightly and rubbed it with his right hand, then presented his right hand high and flat for the strap.

Quickly that too was awarded its six strokes. The first three lashing down, cracking loudly on the palm and fingers. Each stroke firm and crisp. Exactly the same, she raised her arm, then in lowering it she flicked her wrist down making the strap move faster through the air to crack onto the extended palm. After three she stopped, ran the strap through her hands, then “Another three of the strap of course,” she said quietly, then these she applied without delay.

After his six to each hand with the school strap she presented it to him, “Put it back,” she said quietly as she laid it on his reddened palm. He did that then turned back quickly. This mistress triggered his wide belt and leather fetish so strongly he didn’t want to miss a moment.

As he watched in rapt fascination she slowly took the black belt off her shoulder then wrapped it round her fist till only the last foot or so at the end remained. She tugged on it, ran her hand along the leather as she fondled it. Then she pulled on it tightening it, lengthening it a little, then “Left hand out for the strap, slave,” she said quietly saying each word precisely. “The end of this nice belt will work well. A nice strapping from the belt.”

In the pre session discussion he’d said he liked to hear the mistress say he was going to be strapped, to be tawsed, to be belted. He liked to hear the words ‘strap’ and all the other words. It all helped to drive the session home for him and Mistress Tish was only too happy to oblige.

He held out his left again, high and flat. He watched Mistress measure the end of the belt against his hand, pull it back, flick it over her shoulder then bring it down firmly. The belt being two inches wide struck more of his palm and fingers than the school strap and brought more heat flaming up in his hand. She repeated the stroke two more times and now his hand was shaking slightly, the tremor of a well strapped palm.

“Other hand,” she said quietly. He dropped the left, put out the right then it too was treated just the same from the end of the belt firmly applied. Three quick strokes over the palm and down the length of the fingers left it also shaking and stinging.

Slowly she wrapped the belt round her waist then she buckled it firmly. She took off the brown belt then put that over her shoulder, smoothing it down, running her hand over the leather then the buckle.

He watched as she went to his array of implements then selected the softer tawse, it was eighteen inches long and a single layer of leather split into two three quarter of an inch wide tails. The wider tails and the softer leather meant it was nowhere near as severe as the Lochgelly replica, but that was relative, it was a lot more severe than the school strap or black belt.

She walked in front of him, ran the tawse through her hands slowly, “Present for the tawse slave,” she said as she flicked it up in the air, caught it, and ran it through her hands as she stroked the leather.

He held his left hand up at eye height and supported it with his right, the correct way for a tawsing.

She wasted no time. The tawse was flicked out, lay on his palm for a second, withdrawn and flicked over her shoulder. A second later with a flick of the wrist it was slammed down in a sharp loud crack across the length of his palm and fingers. He screwed his face us and gasped, ‘Ahh’, as he shook his hand then swapped hands and presented his right for the tawse.

Mistress strapped him with the light tawse six times, three to each hand alternating hands. She took her time strapping him, making it count, making it precise. Each stroke was hard and laid down the middle of his palm and extended along his fingers. Each stroke was measured up by flicking the tawse on his increasingly stinging palm, then the tawse was withdrawn, pulled back then raised over her shoulder and held for a moment so he could look at it, poised, then brought down hard.

The tableau was everything he could ever ask for; the attractive BDSM Mistress with a tawse raised over her shoulder, the leather corset, bra, belts and the wide black choker collar. All this combined into his perfect ideal of a leather Mistress giving a strapping. He tried to capture the image in his mind like a camera so he could replay the image later.

After the six she put the tawse down by his equipment on the towel then returned to stand in front of him. Standing close, almost touching him, she pulled the brown belt off her left shoulder letting its length fall down across his back surprising him with the slap of the leather on his skin.

She stepped back, pulling the belt slowly over his shoulder then taking her time, wrapped her right hand with it, wrapping it round tightly then when just a foot or so was left, pulled on it, tightening it. “Left hand up for the strap slave,” she said quietly. “Those hands need a lot more strapping.”

He knelt looking at her feeling the utter thrill. She was brilliant. He raised his left hand and held it out.

Taking her time she put the belt over her shoulder, waited a moment, then brought it down hard over his palm and fingers. The brown belt was thicker than the black, really quite thick, and when it landed it stung. Over the top of the palm that had so recently felt the tawse it was remarkably painful. He gasped.

Taking her time she repeated the stroke, strapping the end of the belt down along the length of his palm. Then a third stroke followed immediately and his hand was shaking more and felt like it had been burnt in a fire.

“Other hand slave,” she said quietly as she ran the belt through her hand, standing in front of him, making it impossible to take his eyes off her. He extended his right hand.

Mistress repeated the strapping. The belt was brought over her shoulder, it paused, then it flashed down to crack along his palm and fingers. Taking her time but not wasting a moment, the belt was brought up, then poised over her shoulder then taking her time the next stroke was given. After the three firm strokes each, both his hands were red hot and shaking.

Mistress Tish unwound the belt then holding it by the buckle she ran her hand along its full length, watching him as she caressed the leather. Taking her time she wrapped her waist with it, smoothed it out, pressed it down, then buckled it firmly. “Nicely belted if I do say so myself,” she said quietly, and he enjoyed the pun.

The Lochgelly Tawse

Mistress Tish went to his array of gear then picked up the replica Lochgelly tawse, the three thick tails of intense pain he sometimes regretting buying. He looked at her as she walked in front of him carrying the tawse and felt deeply nervous. A hard strapping from that tawse was damn difficult to take and Mistress Tish was certainly giving him a hard strapping.

“Left hand,” she said quietly as she stood in front of him, the tawse held between both hands.

He lifted his left, and supported it with his right, not taking his eyes off her for a moment. She stepped back, she flicked the tawse out so it landed on his palm. Then, looking intently, she pulled it back, let it fall down so it swung back slightly then she flicked it up and over her shoulder. Standing tall in all her leather gear, the tawse raised, she was everything he could imagine a Strict Leather Mistress could possibly be.

The stroke when it came devastated him. He bent over his red hot deeply stinging palm and rubbed it with his other hand trying to ease the excruciating pain, both of his palms pushed into his tummy as he rubbed them together.

He was in a world of sting, his palm shrieking out in its pain. He hunched over rubbing the palm when he heard, “Hands,” from the Mistress, the traditional command to present a palm for the tawse.

He looked up to see her swinging the tawse beside her, swinging forward and back, looking impatient, swinging the tawse.

He straightened up then presented his right hand, supported by his hugely throbbing left. He watched as the tawse flicked out to land, be withdrawn then be raised and put over her shoulder hanging down her back just like the last stroke. He felt the near terror as he looked at the split strap, then almost too quick to see she brought it down on his palm reducing him to holding his hand against his tummy again as he bent over again and rubbed it with his left equally stinging hand.

“Hands,” was all she said. He knew where that came from, from schools in Scotland. When the tawse had been in everyday use, students considered themselves lucky to go a day without at least one dose of the belt as it was then known. The teacher would call the student out then give the single word command ‘hands’ after which the tawse would lick the unlucky recipients palms however many times was required. They must have been an uncommonly hardly lot to have put up with this kind of thing on their hands was all he thought.

With slightly shaking hands he raised his left then supported it with his right. “Keep it there, do not let it fall else it will be six of the best to each hand this time,” she said quietly. “A grown lad like you should take his hand strapping better. Keep those hands UP slave.”

She was strict. She was stern. She stood strong and tall in her leather gear in front of him with the dreaded tawse in her hands. Se was perfection personified in a dominatrix.

He summoned all his will power and made a vow to himself to keep the hand presented even after the stroke. It was feeling impossible but he’d been commanded by Mistress.

The tawse was flicked out, lay on the palm a moment, was withdrawn then he watched it as it was flicked up and over Mistresses shoulder. He commanded himself to be strong, to not drop his hand, to keep it presented.

Then the tawse cracked down and the blinding pain consumed him.

He gritted his teeth, he gasped out ‘aagghhh’ and he shook his body from side to side but he kept his hand up and presented, the dreadful red hot burning pain running down the middle of it from palm to finger tips.

“Change hands,” was the stern command. He swapped hands, raised the right hand, supported it with the left then seconds later it received its stroke. It was impossible to know which of his palms hurt more, which was burning more. Both felt red hot from that dreaded tawse. Both his hands felt like they couldn’t take any more but he knew there was more to come. She would give him six of the best at least, and these really were ‘the best.’

“Better,” she said quietly then more sharply she added quietly, “change.”

He swapped hands over presenting his left again for its stroke. He looked at the Mistress swinging the strap beside her, forward and back, forward and back then it was flicked up onto his palm and lay there for a moment.

Again he summoned all his will power and when the tawse descended and burned a path along his palm he barely managed to keep it presented, to keep it raised and submissive.

“Change,” she said and he heard through the haze of pain in his palms. It was hard to believe a simple leather strap split at the end could hurt so much, to sting so deeply into the palm so that nothing else existed in the world. Yet it did.

He swapped over his hands with his right on top, hot and shaking and throbbing in pain already. His left was worse, he could feel the heat in it on the back of his right hand.

“Let’s try something special,” Mistress said. She flicked the strap out so it landed on his palm then pulled it back. She let it swing down then raised it over her shoulder but this time she put her left hand behind herself and caught the end of the tails behind her. She tugged on them, he could see that, could see her pulling with her right hand as her left tugged down on the tails. Then when it came it was the worst yet, the worst ever. The action of putting the tawse under tension, of pulling it between her hands then pulling it harder when she delivered the stroke made it supremely painful.

He couldn’t help it. He gasped loudly, “Aagghh,” then he rubbed his hands frantically. This was one of those times when he regretting buying that tawse.

He finally collected himself enough to look at the Mistress. She had a slight smile as she looked at him, the tawse held in both hands.

“Both hands out, side by side now,” she said running the tawse through her hands again, letting it rise and then fall into her left palm. It was impossible to take his eyes off her even though concentrating on anything was difficult with his palms and fingers hurting so much. But he complied. He knelt there, both hands side by side and shaking quite markedly from the strapping with the dreaded tawse.

“Good,” she said as she leaned down and looked at his palms, “using that tawse for strapping those hands does work well,” as she ran a finger across his reddened palms and down the fingers. She walked around him then put the tawse beside his other equipment.

Standing tall when she was in front of him again, with a glance at him watching her, she took off the black belt again and draped it over her shoulder.

He saw her run her hand over it for a moment, smooth it down, run it over the leather then down over the buckle just under her breast.

For the full story,  please search Amazon for Trikki Watson and Ricks First Session.

Moniques Hand Strapping

Teaching Teachers is a fictional story, published on Amazon in eBook format.

The story revolves around Cath and Monique, two teachers at a school for recalcitrant young women needing strict and regular corporal punishment to get them back on track. Notably, hand strapping, tawsing, then being strapped down onto the punishment horse for plenty of corporal is a regular occurrence for staff, pupils and now parents alike.

Ms Smeet

Ms Smeet the headmistress, a term she liked far too much, ran her school on a policy of regular and effective corporal punishment to guide students and staff alike.

In her vast experience there was nothing like glowing red and shaking palms and a well striped set of buttocks to help a young lady along in life. And when they came back for more, and harder, she was only too happy to oblige.

It was also a role she relished and now, this night, she was inducting a group of returning alumni and new parents into her special activities.

So, what better way to demonstrate how her older “students” could benefit from a course of corporal punishment than demonstrate on two of her staff. After all, it was not as if either of them had not been in a similar position before.

Ms Smeet

A Group Session. HANDS UP!

“You first,” said Ms Smeet as she stood in front of Monique. “Get those naughty hands up in the air, just how I like them.”

Cath knelt beside Monique and knew she would be next. It would if anything be worse this way as she would have to witness Moniques punishment, Her mind would be translating that onto what Ms Smeet would give her and she would feel the fear. And she would feel that same secret thrill too which would make it all worthwhile.

Ms Smeet stood in front of Monique the naked and kneeling French teacher. With the benefit of daily and much repeated strappings, Ms Smeet flicked her heavy leather split punishment strap out and up onto Monique’s waiting left palm, supported by her right, just the way all the girls presented their hands for strapping.

Monique had been strapped by Ms Smeet many times now, but this was the first time there had been an audience watching, lined up on the side of the room. In this case it was a collection of ‘old girls’ from the school returning to observe then perhaps (re)experience the stict discipline that Ms Smeet was renowned for, and they all had experienced in the past.

Hand strapping was central to school discipline. Monique had a wonderful split strap and she used it regularly, daily, in the classes she took. It was a ritual they all followed. Girls would move out to the front of class, a hand would be raised then supported with the other hand. The hand on top would be flat, the fingers pointed to the teacher administering the strap with the whole hand exposed and waiting for the leather to descend at speed.

Now it was her turn to hold her hands up for the leather.

The benefit of supporting one hand with the other might not have been immediately seen by the casual observer, but it worked well.

The theory was that with two hands raised, pulling the top hand away from the descending strap was more difficult. If the left palm was moved, that meant the right palm received the leather. And then, if that happened, Ms Smeet would usually add extra strokes, lots of extra strokes so the lesson about not moving the hand during a strapping was well learned.

But now there was a difference. Monique was naked but for the tight leather hood and the collar.

Another difference was that Cath the senior chemistry teacher was likewise kneeling beside her, and she too was naked but for the collar and hood.

The silence in the room was total, every eye was on the three tailed leather strap laying on the waiting soft palm, the leather covering the fingers and running up to the palm.

The visiting alumni stood in their bath robes, not moving, not a word spoken, their satin hoods looking strange but keeping their wearers anonymous just as intended.

Cath knelt next to Monique and knew it would be her turn all too soon as she looked at the tawse laying on the palm.

If anything, watching Monique get the strap like this was an exquisite form of torture. But she felt it to be deeply erotic at so many levels, making her insides excited. Seeing Ms Smeet discipline Monique was a voyeurs wet dream, seeing the naked woman with the hood and collar kneeling with the extended strap laying on the palm. Waiting.

Soon it would be her own turn.

Ms Smeet pulled the strap back toward herself. If fell down off the palm, toward the floor then like a pendulum moved back behind her. With a deceptively graceful and gentle arm movement, Ms Smeet moved the strap forward and up then over her shoulder so it hung down behind her back. Moving slowly, Ms Smeet moved her left hand behind her, gripping the ends of the tails of the strap, pulling them down slightly, putting the leather under tension.

It was a tableau that Monique was mesmerized by. And all the others present too.

Ms Smeet was standing in front of her with the strap raised, the tails gripped behind her and pulled down. Just one flick of the arm down and those tails would be wrenched out of her left hand then brought down at warp speed across her palm, and it was exactly the same technique she used when she strapped girls in her class. She knew it worked so well. The action of pulling down on the tails added so much speed, so much pain to the stroke that few girls, when she strapped them, did not show a visible reaction and more than a few had tears on their cheeks after just one and usually two strokes.

After only a moment of delay as she was poised, perhaps only a few seconds when every eye was now on that punishing leather, Ms Smeet with often practiced effort brought her arm forward and down flashing the strap through the air with a swish that was terminated by the sharp ‘schwaacck’ of leather full onto palm flesh in a perfect stroke. That was then followed by the inevitable high pitched feminine gasp the stroke produced.

For a first stroke it was perfect. It was crisp, solid and delivered to the dead centre of the palm and along the fingers, and it had the required reaction.

By an effort of almost inhuman strength and backed by oft repeated acquaintance with having her hands strapped, Monique kept her hands presented.

Ms Smeet smiled, flicked the strap up onto the waiting palm with a red band down the middle of it then turned to the audience. “Doesn’t this bring back memories girls? It is just the same as you all got here isn’t it, except the kneeling and the hood make a lovely difference. The same sound, the same feeling, the same anticipation.”

Ms Smeet then pulled the strap back and repeated the stroke, slowly and carefully getting ready so that the strap drew the eyes. The audience of alumni and the victim fixated on the strap and Cath also found herself mesmerized with the knowledge it was going to be her own hands that the same strap was going to come down on, all too soon.

With her right arm raised and holding the strap high over her shoulder, her left hand behind and gripping the tails, Ms Smeet strained then brought it down for a second sharp craaack along the middle of Monique’s hand.

Again Monique gasped but by a super human effort, the palm with the red stripe down its middle was kept in position for the next stroke which was not long in coming. ‘Shhwaack’ sounded the third stroke and this time Monique gave a short high pitched squeal, the pain of the hand strapping finally getting to her.

Monique waved the hand quickly, feeling like her hand had taken an electric shock, then she summoned the willpower to present the hand again, red stripe up and supported by her right.

This time however Ms Smeet surprised them both. “Change hands girl,” she said as both Cath and Monique expected it to be the full six of the best to each hand. Clearly that was not happening this time.

Quickly Monique presented her right for the strap, it’s unblemished white palm facing upward for the punishing leather, inviting it down.

Ms Smeet took her time as she repeated the procedure for three cracking strokes. She flicked the strap up onto the palm, let it lay there for a moment then pulled it back and then flicked it over her shoulder so her left hand could reach behind and pull down on the tails. Then when the tension in the leather had built, the strap swished down on the upraised palm in a mighty crack that made Monique gasp each time and shake her hand madly on the third stroke.

Ms Smeet stood in front of Monique with her strap held between her hands, running the leather through her left hand, caressing it. She turned to the audience, “That girls was what you got when you came to my office, but now my special clients get a lot more.

“Change hands girl,” and with that Ms Smeet setup for the second set of three strokes per palm.

Cath looked at the left hand with its bright red band facing up again, facing the leather and with the strap laying on it. She knew Monique would be dreading this strapping. She’d thought, and so had Monique she was quite sure, thought it was only going to be six of the best. Clearly it was not, it was going to be a double six-er, a standard hand strapping from Ms Smeet for her older clients.

Shhwaaack’ sounded the strap and Monique gasped loudly, her mouth going wide, then her hand was dropped and shaken as she bent over, still kneeling, from the pain of the strap. Quickly Monique raised up again and presented the palm for the strap and again the leather visited it, firstly to lay on it, then to be raised over a shoulder and only seconds later to be brought down at speed. Again Monique gasped, loudly, and shook her hand but she quickly raised it into position.

“Yahhggg,” said Monique on the third stroke and this clearly hurt after all the others, and Monique was shaking her hand madly before she presented it again.

That was three more for a six-er to that hand, and she expected Ms Smeet to tell Monique to change hands, but the command didn’t come. Instead Ms Smeet flicked the strap up onto the decidedly read and trembling hand then gave it a further stroke, a hard one and again Monique cried out.

Ms Smeet took her time, flicking the strap up onto the waiting palm, moving the strap back and forward teasing the victim with the feeling of the punishing leather, then she brought it back, let it swing down, then up over her shoulder for the next hard stroke. This was repeated yet again and now Monique had been given a six of the very best after the three previous strokes. That made nine and she was worried, that was one hell of a strapping and she suddenly wished she’d gone first and not Monique as the anticipation was dreadful.

This time the command came, “Change hands girl,” as Ms Smeet stood running the strap through her hands with a slight smile on her face.

The left hand after the additional six strokes was bright red and shaking, then, Monique swapped it for the right. The difference was significant, the right palm had it’s red palm but it was only quite mild by comparison.

“Six,” said Ms Smeet, quietly and forcefully, as the strap lay on Monique’s waiting right palm. “It is always six,” said Ms Smeet as she flicked the strap up in the air and let it land gently on the waiting palm, “that is six to each hand for my senior girls.” Me Smeet moved the leather back and forward, then added, “At least six, that is, and in groups of six.”

Ms Smeet then pulled the strap back and repeated the procedure. Each stroke was slow, practiced and deliberate. Each cracked down crisply on the rapidly reddening palm and each brought a louder and louder gasp then a muted shriek from Monique on the sixth stroke as it clearly hurt deeply, along with a lot of urgent hand waving.

After the six, Monique knew to keep her hand presented. Dropping it away was an invitation for Ms Smeet to repeat the strapping for the disrespect shown by the girl needing to be punished. It was always up to Ms Smeet to command the hands to be raised, swapped or lowered.

Ms Smeet flicked the strap up onto Monique’s making her wonder if she was going to get more? Another three would make an even dozen, a number she’d never received in one session, one after the other. She had no doubt that Monique thought so also.

“There,” said Ms Smeet as she flicked the strap up into the air and caught it with her left hand, then she turned to the audience. “That is a six-er this time, standard fare for my senior girls.” Ms Smeet smiled at Monique, “Hands down girl.”

Ms Smeet then walked in front of herself, “Just like you shall get, girl. Hands up.”

Cath knew it was her turn now and Ms Smeet sure did have her strapping technique down pat. Suddenly her mouth went dry, her heart fluttered and it was now her turn.

She raised her left, supported it by her right and looked over her palm at Ms Smeet as she flicked the strap up and out and onto her palm. Suddenly it was very real, the feeling of the leather bringing it all home.

She was going to get her hands strapped. Hard.

She was going to be strapped by Ms Smeet in front of all these people and there was nothing she could do about it.

It would be just like how the girls felt in her class when she strapped them out the font, in front of the rest of the class. It might be less embnarrassing as she was hooded, but then again she was naked otherwise. That counted for something in the embarrassment stakes surely.

That was an excerpt from ‘Teaching Teachers – Strict School Reunion’

Millennial Discipline Contract – Part-1 – Friday Night

Friday Night Family Discipline

“John, Jenny, it’s time,” called their mother Claire not long after dinner. She’d watched an episode of the serial she liked then re-read their reports.

Friday night was family discipline night when parents reviewed performance and progress for the week, then applied the discipline required for improvement.

The mantra, ‘We must be the best we can be‘ was backed up every Friday night within the family. That their Sunday night meant a visit by their Discipline Supervisor was not forgotten. Getting more on top of a Friday night discipline was something everyone hated and added extra incentive.

Shaking her head. ‘Disappointing. So disappointing,’ she thought. And worrying too.

She’d had a cup of coffee in the kitchen as she considered her next action. This needed to be nipped in the bud but she knew she was late, their behavior and results had dropped badly and now it was on their pages and she would be in trouble too come Sunday night. The Discipline Supervisor would be sure she was paying a price on Sunday night for this for sure.

But she needed to start sometime, and there was no time better than now. Well, last month would have been better, she wouldn’t be in this trouble if she’d done something about it then.

Things had to change and now she was sure her own performance would be judged badly and she knew that would happen on a parenting supervision review. On Sunday night. Two nights away it was going to be her turn.

Both John and Jenny shot down the stairs and into the lounge room where family discipline was dispensed. Not hearing their mother or being slow usually meant she came up the stairs, into their room and that meant an on the spot discipline happened. They knew to pay attention and respond immediately as a pants down laying on the bed strapping really did set their rears on fire.

“John, you got three black marks and Jenny two. Plus your school results have not been good, not good at at all. Plus, this week I’ve down voted you both three times so I think we’ll clear the sheet right now. Arrange the chair John, Jenny fetch the family strap from my room please. You know where it is.”

Jenny turned to fetch the dreaded family strap, but their mother added loudly so she couldn’t miss it, “John, I think your problem is that you’re not focusing enough on your studies and you spend too much time at night with your hands where they shouldn’t be, on the phone and elsewhere I’m sure. I think three days of denial is in order, and Jenny, I think you need the same. Both of you, put your denial restraint belts and cuffs on before bed.”

“Yes mum,” they both said, and neither was going to argue. They’d both argued with their mum over denial time in the past and each time their mum had used the same and simple solution. Arguing with parents always got a black mark on their reports and that caused extras on a Friday discipline night and it was usually more than one set of six.

Complaining or arguing also meant denial time was increased to a week and they were really annoying. For both arguing and complaining they usually got an additional six of the best strapping every night just before bed as well as denial and that was difficult to say the least. They’d be sleeping on their fronts in denial every night for the week with their hands restrained behind their backs and their butts would be on fire from the strapping. They couldn’t rub their butts or move their hands round their fronts to soothe somewhere else if the heat from the strapping made them needy, which it usually did. It was called denial for a good reason.

It was different after a Friday night strapping. They usually had an hour or two before they were put in denial and hence the sting abated slightly. That time, small though it was, made all the difference. When they got extra from complaining just before bed it seemed to sting and be so much hotter and difficult.

The only option they had was best behavior. They knew to do the dishes and clean up so carefully. Any kind of excuse on discipline night just multiplied what they got. Not only that, they got such a telling off that it was demeaning and embarrassing.

But of course it all got posted on their Family Pages for the whole world to see. If they got extra for complaining then their friends saw it and commented at school. Teachers would see it and comment. People down the street they knew, places they worked part time at would all comment about the extras. To say it was demeaning was the understatement of the century.

Fetching The Strap

Jenny exited the lounge room then headed up the stairs, reluctantly.

Each step brought her one step closer to the family strap, each step made it more inevitable. With each step she anticipated holding that strap in her hands.

Holding the family strap had become consuming these last few months. Now she couldn’t resist, standing there holding the family strap, running it through her hands. It was almost impossible not to fondle it. She held the handle in her right hand then ran her left hand slowly down the handle feeling the leather, along the strap, then over the last third of the length with the twin tails that gave it such a bite. She fondled the strap just like her mom did, both of them running it through their hands the same way.

She knew from all her friends that a family strap was normal in houses now. None of her friends didn’t have one at home. The strap usually hung in the parents rooms in their walk in robes or behind a door. She’d heard of some parents who claimed the strap was barbaric but she’d also heard that their children had been ostracized by everyone.

Oh how she wanted a boyfriend right now. Some mornings she woke so needy. The thought of a sleep over and how her boyfriend would be subject to the same discipline she and John were was disquieting. Then the thought of her sleeping over at his house and being subject to discipline there. Now that was even more unsettling. Having to bend and pull down her knickers for the strap or the cane in front of strangers was a strange thought.

She ran the strap through her hands again. Time was getting on but she couldn’t resist standing and feeling the strap.

Yet again, she ran her hand along the leather and out of nowhere wondered what it would feel like to apply it to a bent bottom. She had a momentary image of herself with this in her hand, clenched hard, applying it to John’s bent butt, bringing up a red band that spread and showed the crimson streaks from the twin tails.

She imagined how it would proceed; she’d be extending her arm with the strap at the end and tapping it on Johns butt cheek to get her range. She’s seen her mom do this so many times, and been the recipient more times than she could count. It did serve to focus the attention. She knew the feel of the strap laying on her bent bottom, knew the feel of it flicked in the air then it cracking down in a slightly stinging stroke, a ranging stroke. She imagined doing this, the strap under her control as she watched the leather flicking up then down. This whole thing, this tapping of the bottom in front of her was almost as if the strap made the bottom aware of what was happening, just before lashing it properly, letting the bottom know what was to come.

Running her hand along the leather, she imagined putting it way back behind her, swiveling her shoulders away from the bent naked butt in front of her. Just like he mom did. Then she’d bring her arm around and uncoil her shoulders to make the twin tails swish through the air and land flat on the butt in a ‘splaat’ that cracked and echoed through the house.

Damn. The whole mental image was doing her head in. Then she felt it, a warm tingle between her legs she normally only felt when the lights went out, she was in bed, and her fingers were dancing around her front.

Dammit times infinity. Not that she’d be doing it tonight, her mother was going to put them both in denial for a few nights so no naughty business for them.

“JENNY,” called her mother. “Come down this instant or else.”

She knew what the ‘or else’ meant. Usually a dozen. An extra dozen on top of what she was going to get anyway.

Bend For The Strap

Meanwhile, back in the lounge after Jenny went up the stairs, John turned then got the tall backed chair from the dining room table and put it into the middle of the lounge.

“You first,” his mother said so he dropped his trousers, pushed down his briefs as he stood behind the chair. Bending forward he lifted his long school shirt so it was clear of his bottom, then when he was fully bent over, he reached down and gripped the chair seat.

The cool air on his bottom was ominous. Damn. It was always like this, bent, bared, waiting for Jenny to fetch the strap. Worst of all, for the last two years he’d been having erections in this position while he waited. What was it with baring his butt in preparation for the strap?

Now, every time he bent he found himself hardening up so he always quickly bent to hide it against the chair. A few times his mum had told him to rise half way through his strapping so as to check his state. Luckily every time it had gone down when his butt was stinging madly.

The problem was that it returned when he watched his sister getting the strap. Every damn time the sight of his mum wielding that damned leather strap hardened him up and his mother always caught him with the erection, suggesting another strapping was in order.

He and his mother didn’t have long to wait. Jenny returned with the strap then handed it to his mom. Lifting slightly and looking to his left, he saw his mom hold the strap in both hands and run her hand along the length of the tails, feeling them. She was almost fondling the leather, appreciating it, not that he’d appreciate it the way she was going to use it.

She always did that, and he wondered why. He’d never touched the thing, and quite the opposite, it always touched him right where he didn’t want it to.

“Bend,” said his mom, noticing he’d come up to see Jenny return from upstairs. Then she added, “Properly,” which meant he was bent almost double, his butt sticking up high and proud. And bare. And defenceless.

He bent down again, and again his butt was the highest part of him with the cold evening air on it making him very aware of where he was, but he knew it would be red hot soon enough.

He didn’t have long to wait. From his position all he could see were his mothers feet moving to one side of him and a little back, then something tapped his rear He knew what that was.

Then the strap was lifted and flicked back down so it was a light slap of the leather tails, making him jump. If anything these served to make his erection harder and right now it was rock hard. This repeated. The leather was removed then a moment later there was a slap as the tails were flicked back down. Mom was getting her range, setting up for the strapping.

There was nothing for a few moments then he heard movement. Something indistinct. Like the sound of air over something.

Gunshot loud a ‘craack’ preceded an immense sting right in the middle of his butt.

The first was always the worst.

He hissed, “oohh” then in a few seconds when the sting peaked, “aaahh,” as he clenched his butt cheeks, waggled his hips and shook his legs.

The first half dozen were always the worst he thought. The butt was fresh and tender and unprepared so it reacted strongly to the two tails of their family strap coming down hard.

The second stroke arrived in a handful of seconds, the time taken for his mom to tap his butt once, then put the strap far behind her and wind up.

It landed equally hard and on exactly the same place making his gasp of pain louder, as it should have been. Damn but two in the same spot stung.

All his friends at school had talked about this. All their mom’s had a similar strap and they all used it pretty much the same way. They’d talked about it regularly and the consensus was that there must be some kind of manual or video on how to give a strapping as there was almost no variation. All the moms gave the strokes a few seconds apart, not waiting long, and they all tapped the bared butt then put the strap way back and behind them and wound up for the delivery.

“It’s like a forehand in tennis,” his friend Ralph said. “My mom winds up then blam, she lets me have it right onto the butt time and again. Shit, I get a dozen spread out and it’s hard to sit for a day.”

John had nodded, “Me too, my mom is the same.” All the other boys nodded and agreed. One had added, “My mom straps my thighs if she’s really angry. Had that?”

They all nodded. They’d all had it that way and hated it. For all the obvious reasons.

His mom was clearly annoyed as she usually spread the strokes out over his butt and only came back to the same place if there were going to be a lot of them. This time and two on the same place meant she was cross. Not only that, she was timing the strokes more carefully than she usually did.

His mom usually gave strokes a few seconds apart, requiring just the time it took to put the strap far behind herself then bring it round onto his butt. This time she was delaying a half dozen seconds and he couldn’t help think that it made the strapping worse. After each stroke the sting increased. It increased and increased, then when it peaked his mom slammed the strap down for the next stroke so it really was worse than a normal strapping.

The second ‘craack’ of strap on his butt had lifted his chest up for a moment, his arms struggling to keep him down then as the pain again peaked his “Aaaghhh,” came out stronger.

That was two. He didn’t know how many he was getting but it was seldom less than a dozen. With his report he guessed it might be eighteen and hopefully no more.

The strapping proceeded. The ‘craack’ of the third stroke found a new part of his butt, a little lower and the fourth a dozen seconds later landed on top so now his whole butt felt like a wide band of fire was laying on it.

The fifth was high on the butt, above the others and on a new area also. Then the sixth landed on top of that one and now his whole seat was blazing.

Then his mom stopped. The delay in the strapping was unusual as she usually wanted to get it out of the way and go back to whatever she’d been doing. Not this time.

“John, that’s your first six.” She was speaking sharply. He didn’t like the word ‘first’ as it implied more sets of six. He felt the strap laying in his flaming butt, the weight of the leather just felt in among the stinging heat.

“Here is your second. Hold tight,” she said quietly.

He braced himself expecting the next stroke right in the middle of the butt over the place where the first two strokes had landed. He knew his butt was starting to lose its sensitivity a little, the strapping dulling it slightly. It was a phenomenon he and Jenny were quite used to.

Not only that, his erection was gone now, the heat and sting in his butt had driven that completely out of his mind. All he could feel in his front was, nothing. Nothing at all. His butt was screaming out drowning all other thoughts.

This time the strap landed in the middle of his thighs, right in the middle of the backs of his legs exactly half way between the sit spot and the back of his knees. He’d been strapped there before, many times and dreaded it but was unable to control himself. He shouted out “Yarrr”, shot upward and rubbed his hands over the fierce band of sting, not that it helped much at all. The twin tails of the family strap lashed deep into his thighs resisting any kind of lessening of the sting.

“That one does not count. Bend for the repeat,” his mother said slowly and coldly.

He instantly regretted standing.

It was a rule in the family just the same as for all his friends that if he or his sister rose during a strapping the stroke was repeated. Some of his friends mom’s even added penalty strokes, sometimes one and a few of the mothers made it two. He was thankful his mother didn’t know to add penalties. Three extra was not what he wanted at all.

But his mom did know. “Rise again and it will be two extra as well as the repeat,” she said, “same as what your friends get. I’ve been checking their pages. I’ve been far too lenient with you and Jenny. Jenny, let this be a lesson to you, you will get the full three if you rise.”

“Yes mom,” said Jenny quickly, standing in front of John watching the strapping with real fear. But also she felt something else, something insidious was happening and she couldn’t resist its effects.

Jenny knew it would all too soon be her turn to bend and have that strap lick across her butt and feel the red hot sting again. But that didn’t stop the feelings as she thought about how it would feel to use the strap like her mom was. That was something she couldn’t let go and it was exciting.

For John, as he waited he feared the worst then it arrived. Another stroke right over the top of the last one, doubling the sting in his thighs which he had thought would be impossible. He lifted his chest slightly but kept his grip on the chair seat as he yelled out in pain, “Aaggh,” and then in a few seconds as it seeped into him, “Oh-oh-hooo,” and he remained bent over.

Not long later his mom wound up and strapped him again, and again it was in the same spot. Three in a row and the sting was incredible. “Agghh mom, please,” he gasped. This was far harder than he’d ever had before.

“Far too lenient,” his mom said then the next stroke landed just above the band of flaming sting from the previous three. Well, two with a repeat. This too blazed into him and hurt like hell making him gasp as did the next placed over the same place.

Still bent he hoped like hell this was the last six, but he had two more strokes to go. The next arrived lower, just above the backs of his knees and below the first three strokes. He jumped, he shook his legs and he lifted slightly but remained down and he barely kept the gasps in. The next stroke was over the top and this too just felt impossibly painful.

“That’s better. Take your strokes properly.” Then after a second she added, “We all have to if we want to be the people we should be.” His mom was making an effort tonight, he could almost feel the determination she had in applying the strap. “It would be far better not to earn them in the first place. Maybe they’ll help you with that.”

As he was bent over he felt something cool laying on his bottom. He looked up and around so see his mom had her arm extended so she was resting the strap on his butt. Not a good sign. Then his butt was tapped lightly, the strap lifting up then falling down, then it happened again. She was teasing him almost, the taps getting stronger as she repeated.

“That was your second six, with an extra. Lets see how we go with the third six shall we,” she said quietly, ominously quietly. She sounded determined and more than a little cross.

He didn’t have long to wait. The first stroke scorched over the crown of his butt. Then while he was gasping and shaking his butt, the second landed almost on the same spot but just a little down. He didn’t have long to wait for the third which was lower again. Then the fourth, the fifth and the sixth strokes all landed lower and lower till the sixth had landed on the join between his butt and his legs, right at the top of his thighs. That stung, lifting him up onto his toes and made him shake his legs and butt in the sting.

After this six he was gasping and shaking his hips, trying to get on top of the sting and the heat and he noticed something. His whole butt was an even hot, an even sting, every part of it stung infernally. Mom hadn’t missed a bit of it.

Again he felt the strap laying on his butt. Again he looked back to see his mom poised, arm extended, the strap lifting just a little then fall back with a gentle arm flick.

The delay lingered, then lingered some more as the strap rose then fell just a few inches so he was aware of it. Then, “Those thighs need more,” his mom said quietly.

It was the last place he wanted strapped.

This time and just seconds later the strap streaked around then slammed into the tops of his thighs making him jump and stamp his feet. “Yaaahh,” he gasped with the pain, his thighs and butt both screaming in the red hot intensity of the strapping. He looked back and saw his mom’s feet moving then the next ‘craack’ sounded and again the strap slammed into his thighs just a little way down from the last. He barely kept himself down, barely was able to stop himself from rising in the immense sting from the strapping.

Only the thought of three more strokes of the family strap to his thighs kept him down.

In the pain, in the total immersion of the red hot sting he managed to stay down, just. His mom applied the strap as hard as she could moving the lashes down his thighs till the last one was just above his knees, the whole area a band of red hot sting.

Again there was a delay, and again he hoped that was the last set of six. Again he felt the strap laying on his bottom as his mom looked at her handiwork. “John, that was four sets. If your school ever posts a report like that I’ll double it up.”

That was a hell of a number. His butt would be roasted and he didn’t want to think about his thighs. If he had to wear swimming trunks the bruises would show for days. Lucky he was in long pants then he almost smiled. Not so for Jen, she wore some short skirts and he’d seen other girls with strap marks on their thighs at school, even the girl he fancied like hell had.

The strap rose and fell, a light crack as she strapped him to keep his attention, then another, then another. “I am so tempted to give you more you have no idea. Now stand in front of the char and Jenny can have her turn.” With that the strap rose then cracked down harder making him jump.

As he rose he felt the pain in his butt and thighs increase. She was sure taking a liking to cracking that strap down. Even the light strokes like that last little one were painful.

He stood then went to raise his pants but his mom ran the strap through her hands, flicked it in the air and caught it. “No. Pants down.” So he shuffled till he was standing in front of the chair, intensely aware of his cock and worried it would erect itself despite his best intention. The heat from his strapping wasn’t helping. At the moment it was all sting and some heat. In a few minutes the heat in his front would ramp up and he just knew he’d get a stiffie.

With every movement he took and even when he was standing still he felt his butt and thighs scream out their anguish from the strapping. No part of them wasn’t red hot and stinging.

But his cock was starting to twitch as Jenny moved forward. Dammit, it was impossible to control the damned thing he thought. Why did he get that feeling when it was his sister? There was something vastly wrong about that. Then and even worse, how would it be if it was his girlfriend in this position? She shuddered to think, then the thought of her staying over made him think thoughts that just made it all the more difficult to keep his cock under control. Damn and triple damn.

— Continued in Part-2

Millennial Discipline – Where It Started

The Problem With Society

Early in the 2000’s it was noticed that society was trending downward in so many things, so many ways. It was happening all over in their country and it was pervasive. Soon it was realized this was a slow-death of their way of life and that the damage would be irreparable.

First of all the new millennial generation were massively entitled. Getting the young to actually do work, to attend school and learn, to become responsible citizens was getting harder as time went by. Then, after a few years, the realization came that the new young adults the children had grown into were no better than they had been as children and if anything, were worse. They were permanently attached to the smart phones, to their computers and blotting everything else out in their lives.

The thing that really hit home was the casual rudeness and poor attitude of the young. They just didn’t care. Some small trials were started and failed. Using incentives, using rewards, using removal of privileges but nothing worked. The entitled generation blew through those with a torrent of abuse, whinging, screams and crying. Something more stern was needed.

The great debate was then begun as ‘Something had to be done’ else society would collapse.

A Discipline Contract Is Designed

After a time, the ‘Millenial Discipline Contract’ was developed

To say it was unusual was the understatement of the age. It harked back to a hundred or more years ago when etiquette, manners and politeness mattered mattered and were enforced.

Now and with the more modern nature of their troubles, the use of technology was included into the contract and made the system society-wide pervasive, transparent and effective. Suddenly there was total inclusion of the whole of society in this contract.

The implementation was then, after the realization it had to be done, quick and simple.

It worked like this;

Discipline Supervisors were trained at an academy The syllabus included consistent grading of performance and awarding discipline for those they supervised. Then discipline was administered in the form of corporal punishment and other means to bring about a change to a persons life. They trained on each other and well understood the effects of a carefully applied strap, cane and tawse. The year of intense training and qualification exams included many practical sessions so they would maintain standards from a first hand experience point of view as they too were not exempt from the contract.

All recipients of their discipline could be sure that they were treated fairly and the same as all other recipients. Quickly the complaints flooded in from parents and teenagers alike as to the severity of discipline which had shocked their systems to the core. Suddenly the results of their attitude were brought home and usually on welted throbbing posteriors. The complaints were then, with minimal effort, resolved with ease; supervisors were swapped. Suddenly it was found there was absolutely no difference and once the penalty demerits awarded for the trouble they caused had been worked off in the form of extra discipline, the complaints ceased completely and once and for all.

Everyone had a Page that showed their performance. The internet was included into the system and given a boost to the way it worked. Every single person was given a Page, usually associated with a Family Page that showed how they had been behaving, showed any black marks and demerits accumulated, and showed any discipline awarded and the causes. For teenagers this usually meant that results of school exams as well as any social interactions with others that might cause issues, and parents were not immune. Workers could find themselves with black marks from their employers for any number of reasons.

The effect on casual rudeness was instant and profound. Not saying please and thank you, not helping, not being the best person they could be all conspired to add black marks to a Page that would then bring about review and discipline.

For example, a teenager getting a low score in a math exam would have that noted on the Family Page, then a black mark included from their teacher on the teenagers Page. After hours, on the weekends, any kind of mischief or even being rude to someone would also add a comment and a black mark and this was for all to see. While the opportunity for abuse of the system did exist, and did happen at times, this was quickly stamped out when the consequences for offenders was published on their Pages, linked to from all those they offended, and a summary of the discipline they received from their Supervisors was given. Repeat offenders were few and far between.

An open and effective supervision system, transparent and available to all made the system work as well as it did.

Come the weekend and usually on a Sunday night Millennial Discipline Supervisors would visit then clear any demerits and black marks.

Usually this meant at least a strapping, sometimes the tawse and quite often a sound caning all of which left the recipient remembering their mistakes, promising not to repeat them and almost worst of all, having it documented on their Pages.

On Monday mornings at workplaces, at schools, at homes all across the country it became common to talk about discipline recieved and the effect. It was common for those having received discipline the night before to experience painful moments when they sat, and often for a few days afterward.

The change in society was marked, as was the deportment of the general population as a result of the applied discipline and the new sport of monitoring Family Pages to see who had got what discipline applied the night before.

The mantra for society then changed to be, ‘The millennial discipline contract helps make us the best we can be.

Then as the first generation went through the system, the discipline was found to be absolutely traumatic but it worked.

This cemented a whole new ethos and also sub-industries catering for the needs of a society using corporal punishment on a regular basis. Shops flourished selling canes, straps, tawse and other specialized equipment. Not only that, the thriving shops found that full service for their clients was required. They provided tuition in the use of such equipment, video tutorials, practical hands on demonstrations with mannequins and sometimes even staff participated in training for both giving and receiving as it was seen as a mark of growth and maturity to accept such in public.

Supervisors and Family Life Changes

Then over the years the millennial discipline contract became the bedrock of their society, expanding and changing to suit the changes to their society.

Sunday night the Discipline Supervisors would visit then discipline would be enforced. The slate might be wiped clean, but marks would be left elsewhere.

Quickly the value and virtue of the system was recognized then expanded into Friday night home discipline sessions where mothers applied discipline to their households adding an extra layer of discipline to the society and this was in addition to the Sunday night Discipline Supervisor visits.

Not only that, it had become accepted practice for ‘Maintenance Wednesdays’ to be imposed for repeat offenders and those in need of improvement.

Maintenance meant they received discipline, irrespective of performance, on a Wednesday night to give them a short sharp shock, to make them aware, to ground them, to keep them in a state where the knowledge of their performance had been sub standard and monitored.  The goal was to make the recipients aware that they were being watched, their performance had been poor, needed improvement and they must improve immediately. For the Maintenance to cease, their behavior must improve and be seen to improve for at least a few weeks.

What follows is the story of Claire (the mother), John and Jenny her teenagers in living with and experiencing the Millennial Discipline Contract.

This is a multi-part fictional story. The first part to be published mid December 2020.

Robyns Session

Robyns BDSM Needs

She didn’t have many female clients but among that small number, Robyn was stand-out unique in her need for heavy corporal punishment and the way she reacted. She did like Robyn even with her odd ways.

Robyn made her genuinely smile and that was rare enough. It was just that Robyn was more like a man than a woman in her need for the special services that she provided and also, well, she was a nice person. Plus, and never to be underestimated, Robyn was brutally honest about herself and life in general.

Another point was that she could see herself in Robyn, all too easily. She could see the need for escape, the unhappiness in her life and how she felt trapped in the role she was in. If she wasn’t a dominatrix, she knew she could all too easily become a Robyn, at the mercy of her workplace.

Robyn needed regular fairly heavy corporal punishment with a happy ending to help her keep both feet anywhere near the ground, mentally speaking. Robyn needed a deep and engrossing trip into sub-space with all the trimmings. She wasn’t precious about anything which was refreshing. Robyn accepted she had needs then just booked a session to see to them.

Where Robyn worked was as far from precious as it was possible to get making Robyn accepting of most things, much more so than most men.

Robyn’s job as the personal assistant to a major construction industry senior executive pushed her ability to deal with stress to the limit. It was a job she was good at but the problem was that her boss was a pig, ignorantly rude and unpleasant to work for. Robyn managed to stay with the job by being as capable as she could and ignoring his rudeness but it came at a cost. Being without qualifications, she needed the job as it paid well. The problem was that she became so stressed she needed the out of body screaming release, quite literally. She needed something to help her escape for a short while and leave her spent but refreshed. She needed to detox herself.

Robyn was tall, attractive and probably in her mid thirties with a great body. She said she kept in shape running errands, quite literally running, and the only thing she ate during the day was fruit on the go as that was all she had time for. Her life was one of rush, stress, and trying to stay sane and pleasant in a male-pig dominated world. She felt for Robyn.

In her own life, she’d suffered a touch of that in her chosen career as a physicist. With her looks she’d had to put up with more than the occasional comment and looks that were decidedly lascivious. Shutting them down in such a way that she became a respected member of the community and accepted for her merit was never easy. For Robyn this was probably impossible.

She’d asked Robyn why she stayed with the company, why not get another job with someone pleasant. The answer had been that she didn’t have any qualifications and the pay was really good. “It’s like a shit sandwich Mistress Tish. The more bread I get, the less the shit tastes bad I suppose.”

She’d laughed with Robyn at that but it had still upset her. Her boss sounded like he needed a regular and hard caning and most definitely some tail end action with her biggest strap-on to make him appreciate women more. Definitely no happy ending for him. He needed the really big strap-on, the one with ridges and bumps that would make his eyes pop and if his mouth went open, then Angel could do a spit roast from the front. That would help him immeasurably. She’d probably get a thank you from his wife who’d book him in for regular sessions. His behaviour to women was appalling, a nice deep and hard spit roast or at least a pegging from her strap-on could only improve his attitude. And there would not be any happy ending for him. No way. He could beg his wife for that and that would do them both a world of good.

The other thing that surprised her was that Robyn was single. She’d been single for a while as she struggled to find someone, what with her super busy schedule and she was nervous of telling anyone about her sessions. “How can they accept me Mistress Tish? I really like these sessions. I told a couple of boyfriends and they couldn’t handle it. Sure they liked to fuck me and all, but the session thing was too much.”

That had left her sad and disappointed. Robyn couldn’t survive without the sessions and at the same time she didn’t have an intimate partner to help her and give her affection and support. She felt the similarity with herself all the more.

She turned her mind to her male clients who were single. Should she play matchmaker? Now that was a thought, and she had two single male clients in mind.

A Naked Robyn Kneels

Stepping forcefully making the clack of her heels echo along the corridor, she put her hand down on the door handle to the dungeon making it rattle. She did this for every client. Every client would have their heart beating faster, their respiration peaking as they heard Mistress approach. It was her goal to ramp their inner fantasies up, to excite them, the make the anticipation delicious.

She rattled the door handle once, a second time after a few seconds then entered. Clacking her heels on the floor all the while, she knew this time, right now was what Robyn had been looking forward to since her last session.

Entering the dungeon she found Robyn nude and kneeling on the floor, a trace of moisture from her shower evident. Robyn knelt with the back of her hands on the back of her knees just like the male slaves.

She circled Robyn, running her finger across her back and shoulders feeling the slight dampness. Words were not required. Stopping in front of Robyn she put the finger on Robyn’s forehead, showing ownership. Mistress owned slave, that was the message. She would toy with her slave however she pleased. Just by touching, showing ownership, she made Robyn know Mistress had entered and was in charge.

She stood like that for a moment letting Robyn savour the time. Every moment in the dungeon was something Robyn would think back on for days and possibly months and years to come. Accident and chance should not happen in the dungeon. Mistress owned slave and owned time. She could take her time.

After a moment of touching the slave with her finger she went to the wall of gear.

Strapping the wide leather collar round Robyn’s neck started it all off. She knew from personal experience that a collar round the neck was such a powerful thing to feel when you were a slave. It was an undeniable first step into sub-space, the vulnerability of the soft neck meeting the leather collar triggered a powerful emotion. The wide firmly buckled collar said ‘slave’ like few other things.

Robyn was now just a slave. Mistress’s slave.

Then, cranking the winch, she lowered the suspension bar to just above Robyn’s head. Taking wide leather cuffs she quickly strapped them round Robyn’s wrists then lifted and clipped them to the suspension bar so now slave was kneeling with her wrists buckled to the bar above her head, making Robyn expose her breasts, making Robyn even more subservient. Back at the winch she wound the handle lifting Robyn onto her feet, then cranked it a bit more till Robyn was upright.

Now Robyn was on full display, all her body available and exposed, open to Mistress to do with as she wished.

For all of Robyns life, her natural desire to cover up, to be feminine yet demure, to be sexy yet stylish, all those instincts had now been breached. And here in the dungeon it was exciting. She was naked and on display.

She had a moment of thought, should she get another slave in here with Robyn? How would Robyn react to having a session with an audience? Would it push her? Would she be even more excited?

But in her sessions Robyn was different. Unlike most of her clients, Robyn didn’t take hand strapping.

On Robyn’s first session she’d strapped her hands with the end of the belt. Giving her three medium strokes to each and Robyn hadn’t taken to it. She’d looked uncomfortable, screamed a lot, been unable to present her hand for the strap properly, and was clearly not needing the experience. She’d said later she found it embarrassing, something she didn’t need that pushed all the wrong buttons. Robyn didn’t need embarrassment or humiliation or to fixate on Mistress, she needed mental release, total cathartic mental release helped along by plenty of corporal. Maybe that would suggest having an audience might not work with Robyn.

Then again, hand strapping was a voluntary activity, the Mistress strapped the hand that was offered up to the leather. Being in bondage was different, and being in bondage unable to change anything and with an audience might work? It was a question.

There was another big difference to most of her male clients. Being a woman Robyn didn’t fixate on the leather Mistress standing in front of her with the strap in her hand the same way the males did. More’s the pity, it made her task more difficult.

Same as when she strapped the cuffs and collar onto Robyn, she did it quickly and efficiently. Robyn needed to be in bondage quickly, whereas the males enjoyed her taking her time. Everything about Robyn was quick and efficient, up front and immediate.

She took the ankle spreader from the corner of the room then strapped that between Robyn’s ankles holding her legs wide apart, her sex on prominent display. A quick look, not that she was a pussy admirer, told her that Robyn was quite excited. Her little clitty was peeking out of the curls and there was a definite puffiness to the whole area and a certain scent as well. Back at the winch, just one more turn got Robyn presented perfectly, standing tall, open, available and unable to evade what was coming. She was in a full vertical spread eagle, her arms and legs wide open and bound tightly.

Robyn was as exposed as she had ever been. Now all the boundaries for her had been crashed down.

She resisted the temptation to grope the bound woman, to let her hands rove over the breasts and down lower. She thought of running her hands up and down the torso and then fondling and fingering the exposed and open crutch till slave was gasping in her need. Then deny slave, edge her, make her beg for release.

She wasn’t a lesbian but Robyn she counted as a fun partner, an almost friend in the dungeon who she could be tempted to play with. That was a fine distraction and something she could enjoy, but she knew it would happen later with someone else. After all, whatever happens in the dungeon stays in the dungeon.

Robyn would now have that slave’s contradiction of not wanting the heavy corporal yet at the same time desperately needing it. She was scared of the pain, she was longing for the experience and being taken to where she needed to be. She knew what as coming, she was dreading it, yet she was excited at the prospect.

And she could see Robyn was as excited as she could get, one look at her little clit told that story. Robyn would be thinking back to all the other sessions and how they went.

She moved behind Robyn then slowly ran a hand down Robyn’s spine. She moved a finger across Robyn’s hips from side to side then down over her butt, cupping it, feeling it. Mistress owned slave, that was what she was saying to the slave. She could do as she wished.

Robyn jumped slightly, shook slightly and tested her bondage and the fngers walked over her.

Robyn was descending into sub-space.

She watched as Robyn moved her head from side to side, feeling the collar strapped round her neck, feeling how the leather restricted movement and kept her aware of her situation. She could see Robyn’s front in the mirror, her breasts wobbling slightly as she pulled on her wrists and probably on her ankles against the spreader bars. Robyn was testing the bondage, feeling it, taking it into her innermost self.

As she watched, she saw Robyn change, morph, move into a different personality. Robyn was entering sub space, fully becoming the slave.

“The belt first,” she said quietly into the silence as she stood in front of Robyn.

Strapping It All Out

She took off her wide leather belt and wrapped it round her fist till just a foot long strap was hanging free. Pulling on the end of it, tightening it up, she extended that to just under a foot and a half, the perfect length.

This was part of the theatre for Robyn, the visage of the Mistress preparing for the discipline, her the slave in bondage. This was just the same as for her male clients. Anticipation was king.

Putting the end of the belt over her shoulder, keeping it there for a second as Robyn focused on it, she brought it around in a lazy forehand round-house stroke strapping it across Robyn’s left breast giving it a crisp cracking blow.

The breast wobbled and Robyn shook. She jumped and gasped, her eyes half closed as she was well into the dream already. But this pushed her hard. Robyn was free falling into sub space, only the belt, the Mistress and her bondage intruding. And now the sting of the strapping added and pushed, the horror of having her breasts strapped taking her hard.

Strapping her breasts was something Robyn had asked about and tried. On her first session she’d admitted it had been a high point. The Mistress strapping her there was something so alien, so impossible, so femininely impossible that it became mandatory in all the sessions she’d had.

Her instant reaction meant she’d obviously been looking forward to this, thinking about it, wanting it.

Yahhh. YOU fucking BASTARD!” screamed Robyn at the top of her lungs, penetrating out through the door and echoing into the corridor beyond.

The transformation was instant and complete and shocking. The first time this happened in a session she’d been quite astounded, thinking Robyn was cursing Mistress out but it became clear quickly.

Not that she would have been surprised if Robyn had cussed her. A strap across the breasts was unbelievable at every level. Who would apply the end of a belt to a woman’s breasts? What monster would do that? The answer of course was that slave must take what Mistress gave. It gave the slave a mighty hard push into sub space.

Running the end of the belt through her left hand to steady it and to help her aim, she gave Robyn’s right breast a healthy back hand stroke of the belt. The crack of the leather on the breast made the breast wobble and the slave convulse in her bondage. Robyn screamed out, “Yaagghhh, you’re such a bastard Jeremy, I’ll fucking kill you, you sick bastard.”

She gave Robyn another forehand then a backhand stroke of the end of the belt to Robyn’s breasts and each time Robyn swore at Jeremy calling him every name under the sun.

With a loud ‘crack’, then crack’ then ‘crack,’ then ‘crack,’ the belt end lashed Robyn’s breasts and each stroke brought profanity aimed at Jeremy. Jeremy was cast into hell. Jeremy was castrated with his balls sewn into his mouth. Jeremy was impaled on a red hot poker shoved up his ass. Jeremy had a live rat sewn into his mouth. Then he had a dead rat sewn into his mouth. Then he was drowned slowly in a bucket of faeces she also pissed in as he drowned.

Each crack of the belt to Robyn’s breasts brought a new curse, one more from what must be a list of curses she was working through. She could imagine Robyn working through these under breath during the day at work.

She stepped to the side, extended the belt by unwrapping her fist one turn and held the far end with her left hand to keep the belt straight. Taking careful aim she brought it round over both breasts at the same time. Robyn bucked in the bondage and screamed out, “You prick Jeremy, I’ll shove rusty barbed wire up your asshole then pull it out slowly.”

She strapped Robyn across both her breasts again. Robyn screamed, “Jeremy you pig I’ll stake you face down naked in a gay bar.”

She strapped Robyn again, the belt cracking over both nipples and again Jeremy was cussed; “Jeremy I’ll strangle you with your intestines,” Robyn screamed.

She strapped Robyn again, “Yagghh, I’ll stake you down, push ants up your ass and get a randy aardvark to pull them out then fuck you senseless.”

Some of Robyn’s curses showed an inventive streak and they were certainly rehearsed, no one could think of them off the cuff like that. Maybe Robyn in her lunch five minutes added to the list and ran through them time and again during the day?

She gave Robyn a half dozen careful strokes of the belt over her nipples. They weren’t all that hard, but they would have stung. The whole concept of strapping a woman’s breasts was so out of body and something Robyn would be rebelling at. No doubt it would be pushing her head into a different space.

Each stroke of the belt brought forth profanity in the inventive cursing of Jeremy, and even his shadow was cursed, calling down a suppurating pox on it and its owner.

Then she stood in front of but slightly to one side of Robyn. Robyn was looking spaced out, her eyes half closed but she was watching the mistress in front of her with the belt in her hands. Holding the belt near the buckle in front of Robyn’s face with the strap hanging down she flicked her hand in the air bringing the end of the belt up, then she swung it over and around to swing it up and make it crack right between Robyn’s legs. The end of the belt struck the slave in bondage right over her little bush and its swollen inhabitants.

The effect was instant. Robyn jumped. The belt to the crutch stinging her deeply. She screamed out even louder as her body shook, giving a long wailing scream. Being strapped across her sex was painful but Robyn had admitted on other sessions that it worked so well, pushed her deeper, released her from any form of control, from the here and now. Hence it was necessary. It extended the slave. It pushed her deeper. This is what she came for.

Seconds later Robyn composed herself and the profanity began again but this time less structured. She knew when Robyn lost coherence in her swearing she was getting deeper into her release, deeper into sub space as all semblance of control was lost.

She gave Robyn a second stroke of the belt, windmilling it up and over then around and back up onto her sex making the leather crack and Robyn scream again louder and longer. Then, “Pig. Bastard. Asshole. Skunk. Wart. Bastard. Pig,” flew out of Robyn’s mouth.

Robyn had lost the plot. She was off-script with all the exquisite tortures Jeremy was going to get and was now repeating herself. Excellent. The deeper she got, the less coherent she became and the better the release.

She’d lost the ability to remember the full and complete curses she had stacked up in her mind.

She wrapped her belt round her waist and buckled it then went to the equipment on the wall. She chose the softer flogger, its lashes made of suede making them ideal for Robyn’s front.

She stood to the other side of Robyn then with a backhand brought the flogger across both breasts again. “Peter you’re a slime ball and take it up the ass from Jeremy.”

This was less demanding than the belt between the legs, and a different feeling to the belt across the breasts.

Peter was reserved for the flogger and heavier cat. Jeremy the belt and wood handled strap. It was an odd division of corporal but Robyn had her ways and who was she to get in the way of a slave and her sub space? It worked for Robyn.

She cracked another stroke over Robyn’s nipples, “Yeouch, and you got scabs on your knees from swallowing him you chinless pervert,” Robyn screamed.

She gave Robyn a six of the best of the suede flogger across her nipples and each time Peter got cursed long and loud. She knew that Peter was the second in charge where Robyn worked and quite unpleasant and untrustworthy too. This whip being softer didn’t push Robyn quite so hard so the cursing was more coherent and again it felt like it was scripted.

She put the flogger back on the wall of gear then stepped in front of Robyn again. She took off her belt, held it up with the leather hanging down then brought it round in a nice cracking round house stroke between Robyn’s legs again.

Again she shook in her bondage and again there was a scream and again the cursing was incoherent. The belt to the pussy was too much for her carefully considered long lusted after and often rehearsed curses.

She walked behind Robyn then folded the belt in half. Winding up she strapped Robyn’s butt generating a loud shout then,”Yeeaahh, Jeremy you pig, you’re a bastard pig,” but she didn’t get further till another stroke of the doubled belt landed and another scream and another curse flew out of Robyn’s mouth.

These doubled over belt strokes were loud. Very loud. Some slaves loved the crisp loud crack of belt and strap on butt. She suspected Robyn was like that also.

She gave Robyn a quick dozen, then letting the end fall down and still gripping it near the buckle she brought it up between Robyn’s legs from behind, making the end of it wrap around onto her sex again. Again Robyn shook and the scream came from deep down and then just words flew out, mostly incoherent words mixed with four letter swear words and occasionally the name of one of her bosses mixed in with them.

She folded the belt in half again then gave Robyn another dozen of the best to her butt making them slower and harder. Robyn used the time between strokes to scream out insults and curse the company, her bosses, their clients and everyone remotely associated with them.

After that dozen she repeated the stroke between Robyn’s legs making her scream loudly and again curse incoherently.

How long could Robyn scream before she became hoarse? That was something she’d wondered in previous sessions, but Robyn had a surprising stamina when it came to screaming and cursing. Maybe any lover or partner would have some serious abuse if he or she upset Robyn and the way she screamed in orgasm might also be entertaining. The neighbours would be entertained for hours, probably call the police when the novelty wore off.

She stepped in front of Robyn, “You need a belt like this, something to remind you of your discipline,” she said as she buckled it round her waist. Robyn watched her through narrowed eyes, her head hanging down slightly, the discipline getting to her now.

She went to the wall of gear then returned with the heavy leather flogger. This was much firmer, much more severe than the soft suede one. She rubbed Robyn’s back and shoulders with it then standing close she brought it round across Robyn’s back making the tails wrap around onto her right breast. Robyn screamed incoherently. She repeated the stroke and then did it again. Stepping to the other side she repeated it making the tails wrap around onto Robyn’s left breast making her scream one long wail.

Stepping back she lashed Robyn’s back and shoulders hard. She made the strokes crack home and bring up bright red welts. She flogged Robyn hard, each stroke bringing a scream and a long wail of agony until the whole of her back and shoulders was a mass of red welts.

This was all punishment. All pain. Robyn was taking a proper flogging now. Not that many of her clients could take a flogging like this.

Adjusting her aim she gave Robyn six of the very best of this harsh whip across her butt, each stroke making Robyn lift onto her toes and shout out. Gone were the obscenities, the cursing, the cussing out of her boss and his slimy subordinate. Replacing it were shouts of pain and screams, screams of a woman released from the here and now. She was now getting through to Robyn, regressing the woman past that need to curse and insult. Robyn was now fully into sub space.

Then after that, she shifted aim and lashed slave’s thighs one at a time. Each stroke bringing the soft flesh a new collection of angry welts, matched only by the screams of pain from the slave as she endured the endless lashing.

Strapping With Benefits - Angel Time

She stopped for a moment, and that was the cue. Robyn had been so vocal and she was a good half hour into the session, so now the sudden silence was almost deafening. The sound of leather on woman flesh was absent as were Robyn’s vocal responses.

It didn’t take long, and there was no warning as the full service sub didn’t wear shoes like her own. The door to the dungeon opened and there was Angel standing in all her glory, buck naked but for a wide collar and the strap-on at the front hanging down and looking menacing. The image designed to captivate, the leather of the collar, the sultry hot woman and the big black dick leaving nothing to the imagination.

Angel ran a hand over the strap on, lifted the end of the large rubber cock as she moved forward. She rubbed it, wanked it as she moved forward till she was almost touching, face to face with the bound woman in suspension. If she had been a man it would have been entirely believable, the man pleasuring himself as he prepared to penetrate the woman.

This was a time when severity was not required, but the discipline must continue. Pushing Robyn hard in sub space and overloading her senses was the name of the game. Pleasure came at a cost, and the cost for her pleasure was more corporal. In truth, the price would only act to increase the pleasure, to prolong it, to take the slave deeper and deeper into her sub space and shake her foundation leaving nothing behind.

She put the heavy leather whip back on the wall of gear then moved in front of Robyn so she could see the slave and her reaction. The time for the whip was over, it had done its work quite nicely. It had striped Robyn all over her back and shoulders and down over her butt and thighs.

She knew how that felt, the back and shoulders aching and the butt and thighs with the hot sting that only the harsh leather lashes of the whip brought up. For her own sessions when she was under the lash she dreaded that whip, knowing how harsh it was. It was absolutely ideal to punish with, to push the slave.

Now it was time to return to the old favourite, something that brought up heat along with the visual and of course and most essential, the red hot sting. It was the heat that made it all worthwhile, got the blood pumping.

Taking her time, she ran her hands down over her breasts then onto her hips, all the while watching Robyn. Robyn was looking at Angel, and then at herself, alternating. She was looking at each of them wondering what was going to happen next. But Robyn knew. This happened every session with minor variations, the variations just enough to make it interesting.

Slowly, she ran her hands round the belt at her waist, caressing the leather till at last she unbuckled it. She pulled the belt from around her waist and now she had Robyn’s total attention. Angel standing in front of her with strap-on was relegated to second place compared to Mistress and belt. The punishing belt. But that wouldn’t last long.

She slowly folded the belt in half making it ideal for a strapping, for a belting, then she moved behind and to the side of Robyn. Taking her time she flicked the belt up to tap Robyn on the bottom. She slapped the belt across the bottom gently. Robyn knew what was coming. This was the precursor. She gave a second, then a third light strike of the belt to the waiting butt. She knew Robyn would be looking at Angel, and lusting, feeling the belt. The slaps of the belt would be sending her high, the look of the naked gorgeous Angel with the big black rubber dick a total turn on.

Then she wound up and brought the belt in a hissing blur to crack across Robyn’s bottom.

The stroke cracked down loudly, slamming onto the waiting cheeps right on top of all the welts from the hard whipping. By itself it was a hard stroke. On top of what Robyn had already received it was devastating. It was engrossing, totally capturing the slave into its sting.

Robyn screamed again, her head going back a little as she stared at the roof in the moment of deep pain, of sting.

Angel took that moment to grip the strap on cock and with a half step forward, brought it up firmly and into Robyn, making the sharp squeal from the belt turn into a deep throat guttural drawn out gasp that had a touch of pain in it. Now it was a total out of body sexual release for the slave. The rubber dick, the welted back and shoulders and thighs, the strapped bum drove Robyn into a head space where nothing else mattered, nothing else existed. Robyn was immersed.

It was sensory overload. And it got stronger.

Angel wrapped her arms around Robyn and pulled her body against her, hard, making the large rubber cock fill the woman in bondage. The feeling of the naked woman against her was overwhelming when the penetration was factored in. It was the embodiment of so many of her fantasies.

Robyn reacted strongly to the dual sensations, quivering, bucking against Angel and the cock. There was only one response to this display of lust, she strapped her belt hard against the well striped bottom. Robyn bucked against Angel, her hips moving of their own free will forward and back, up and down, side to side in the dual sensations from the belt and cock.

Robyn wasn’t silent either. She screamed out “Yahh,” then after a few hip motions, “YES OH YES,” as the cock up her front did its work.

That was her signal. She gave Robyn a six of the best strapping, laying the strokes on at ten second intervals. Each made Robyn gasp, cry out, then in increasing volume scream under the double assault.

Angel was not idle either. She was pushing against Robyn, her hips moving back and forwards keeping that big fat rubber cock moving inside Robyn, sending her higher and higher.

The noise in the dungeon was peaking after a few seconds. The folded belt made a good loud crack, and the sound of Robyn taking the cock as Angel fucked her was loud and primal. There were growls, screams, gasps, all the sounds of a woman in thrall.

It wasn’t long in coming. Robyn lived up to her vocal reputation letting out a loud shriek as the climax engulfed her. She shuddered against Angel, her butt cheeks quivering as she clenched her vaginal and pelvic floor muscles onto the rubber cock. The shriek went on and on so now with the climax in full swing, she strapped the butt cheeks more gently trying to keep time with the spasms to make Robyn prolong the climax.

Climax. Belt. Cock thrust. Bondage. Scream. It repeated time and again. Her body hot from all whipping, Robyn screamed louder and louder. The sensations conspired to take Robyn higher and higher, deeper and deeper.

When it was finally over Angel stood still with her arms wrapped around Robyn, her head beside the totally spent woman’s head as Robyn came down from the mountain of climax.

Lock and Leave with Benefits

Putting her belt back on she waited for just a minute then cranked the suspension winch letting Robyn’s arms down. Releasing her wrists from the cuffs, Robyn wrapped her arms around Angel and stood still with her eyes closed holding Angel close. No doubt the feeling of naked woman against her was lovely and the large rubber cock would still be there. They didn’t go down after a come.

It was now time for the next phase. She tapped Angel on the shoulder.

Angel was ready. The two of them worked to get Robyn onto the leather covered bondage bench. Robyn’s wrists still had the wide leather cuffs on them which made it easy. They brought the wrists behind her bottom then using a clip fastened them together. A few seconds later Angel wrapped a strap around Robyn’s ankles and cinched it up tight.

The bondage bench had straps all down its length. Lifting one she bound Robyn to the bench at the waist. Then another slightly up her back, then a third across her shoulders bound Robyn firmly to the bench.

Angel meanwhile got another strap and pulling Robyn’s heels up and back, ran the strap between the ankle-strap and Robyn’s wrists. Pulling on it, Robyn was quickly in a tight hogtie strapped to the bench.

Only one more thing remained. She got a ball gag from the wall of gear and stuffed it into Robyn’s mouth and buckled it firmly. Robyn was immobile and silenced.

She looked at Angel and nodded, Angel nodded back. Turning off the light in the dungeon they left Robyn strapped down in the dark as they exited.

It was time to regress Robyn.

She had a long slow cappuccino in the staff common room with a biscuit while Robyn spent a dreamy post orgasmic half hour strapped up tight in bondage in the dark by herself.

After the massive orgasm, the well whipped back, shoulders and rump, being strapped down in a tight hogtie with ball gag, Robyn would be well and truly immersed in subspace.

Every time she moved she would feel the straps holding her firmly against the bench and also bent in the hogtie. Any sound she made would be swallowed by the rubber ball strapped in her mouth and in the darkened room, the only sensory input would be the feeling from the bondage, from all the corporal and the hard fucking courtesy of Angel and her strap-on. And the scent of leather.

Time was up. It was time for Robyn to get her finale.

For this part, Robyn dressed in her rubber catsuit, black and fetish looking and of course the strap-on remained, the straps and the rubber cock adding nicely to the look.

She and Angel walked into the dungeon. The lights were on a dimmer switch so she turned it to minimum before turning them on. The faint glow was enough to see that Robyn had her eyes closed and looked to be either asleep or deep into sub-space. Either way Robyn would be loving every moment. No doubt she was still in the sub space of bondage and cock sucking with the heat from the corporal all working together to zone her out of the here and now.

She and Angel went to the bondage bench then took Robyn out of sub-space as they unstrapped her from the bench, but Robyn didn’t move other than small quivers as she felt the straps coming off.

She and Angel took an arm each then lifted her off the bench. “Stand,” she said making Robyn stand beside the bench.

She had no doubt of it. Robyn would still be feeling the effects of the belt, the flogger and the wood handled strap. Her body would be tingling from the massive strap-on orgasm and corporal. Now, being in such tight bondage with all those feelings circling around in her, Robyn was re-living every moment of the session as she blew the penis gag.

From her own sessions, she knew that feeling well when Magenta did the same to her. It was a dreamy spaced out time not unlike a deep meditation when the mind and body shifted to a different plane.

She and Angel unstrapped Robyn from the bondage bench but left her arms strapped together in the middle of her back. They released her ankles and pulled them down from the hogtie freeing up her legs.

Pulling Robyn off the end of the bench they got her feet onto the floor. But they weren’t going to release her, not yet, she had some more screaming to do.

Quickly they flicked a pair of straps from the bench over her back and waist and strapped her down again so she was standing but bent over the bondage bench unable to rise her chest strapped flat to the bench. Then then she and Angel took an ankle each and strapped on the leg spreader opening her legs wide and making her pussy available.

The temptation to get the wood handled strap or the heavy leather flogger almost made her do that, but looking at Robyn, she was still deep in sub-space. No doubt the heat already in her punished butt and back and shoulders along with the intense orgasm, the bondage and the feeling of being strapped down in the dungeon were still affecting her.

Angel went to the wall of gear then returned with a vibrator. Reaching round, taking her time she worked it up and down Robyn’s crutch, stroking slowly and moving the end of the vibrator all over Robyn’s sopping crutch.

It didn’t take much time for Robyn to start struggling and thrashing around in the straps, the vibrator humming and Robyn almost singing into the penis gag as she got more and more excited.

Then, when it looked like Robyn was reacting strongly, approaching her climax Angel changed, she moved around behind Robyn and inserted the strap-on again and started the hip thrusting movements again. In, out, in, out and taking her time she gave Robyn a long slow deep bent over strapped down on the bondage bench and gagged fucking.

Robyn couldn’t take much of this, and Angel wasn’t going to delay the inevitable. Angel reached down and around then used a finger for some extra stimulation. That did it, Robyn climaxed again. This time strapped down to the bondage bench, and her second orgasm of the session, her movements were still frantic but not at the same intense peak as when she’d been standing in suspension.

Robyn climaxed nicely, shuddering and shaking, grunting and mumphing into the penis gag as it went on and on. Angel slowed the speed of her fucking, pushing the strap-on deep inside Robyn and keeping it there as she gyrated her hips slightly from side to side then pulling it out almost all the way out and hesitating for a pair of seconds before driving it all the way back in again.

Robyn finally quietened, unable to climax any more and looking totally spent. Her red streaked well whipped back and shoulders had stopped shaking and now she just lay there, almost comatose in her post orgasmic bliss.

Angel withdrew the strap on then with a look at each other they quickly started to tidy up the dungeon. Robyn would need a few minutes to come back to planet Earth from the sub-space fucking she’d just had so they might as well use the time wisely.

Nurturing Robyn

Finally it was time, Robyn’s time was finished.

They unstrapped the leg spreader from Robyn’s ankles, put that away then she reclaimed her belt from around Robyn’s wrists and put that back around her waist again, patting it down and making sure it sat just right. She did like wearing a nice belt.

Removing the penis gag Angel took it to the shower and washed it under a gentle stream and left it on the bondage bench for an antiseptic wash later when they swabbed down the bench and straps. Cleanliness was everything in the dungeon.

They helped Robyn up, helping her stand then pushed her back gently so she was sitting on the bondage bench, hunched over with her head down, looking lost, spaced out. Robyn had been deeply affected, deeply immersed in her sub-space so coming back was not quick. And it shouldn’t be, Tish knew that all too well from her own sessions.

Angel moved forward, between Robyn’s knees and hugged her, putting Robyn’s face to her rubber covered chest as she soothed her hand over the now sobbing woman’s head and hair.

She decided that Angel didn’t need her input, this was a few minutes of comfort Angel could provide that would help Robyn immensely.

~~~~~

Later in the staff room when she and Angel returned from seeing Ronbyn out, she asked Angel, “How was she? All good?”

Angel nodded, “She cried her eyes out then we had a shower together. She didn’t want any girl girl action, she wanted the closeness and the  best friend thing. I soaped her up and rinsed her off a few times.”

Robyn smiled at the memory, she had to, “She said she’ll be back soon. Her work is driving her mad and Tinder isn’t doing it for her. She said she needs more than a man for a few hours.”

Tish nodded, she felt exactly the same. “I know. I know all too well. This whole BDSM thing is part of me, I can’t ignore it. Robyn does like it though. She surprised the hell out of me the first time.”

Angel agreed, “Shit Tish, Robyn is freaking amazing. I’ve never heard anyone scream obscenities like that, anywhere. She really gets into it. And then the orgasms, OMG, she blasts herself into total body loss. She cried her eyes out there with me when you left.”

She looked at Angel and thought she was so good in the dungeon, an absolutely perfect assistant and more than that. Angel was able to identify with the clients, provide just what they wanted and what they needed which were often wildly different, but Angel seemed to know. That she and Angel were able to run sessions like that one, totally without saying anything, each of them coordinating with the other by just a look, and knowing what to do to make the session better for the slave was ideal.

She chuckled, “Robyn is unique I’ll give you that. Right at the end, when she was sobbing I thought that. You don’t get many clients who come off as hard or deeply. She gets into the whole sub-space thing more than any other client I’ve got.”

Hell yes,” said Angel. “During the corporal you could hear her out here in the staff room. I thought the Head Mistress was going to get you to gag Robyn, other clients would have heard her and be wondering what’s happening. It was obvious a woman was getting corporal and that sends some men sky high.” Angel was grinning, “Now that I think about it, it does add to the ambiance of the place.”