‘Come here’

Simple word laced with meaning. Meaning that cuts through to his core like a knife.

When she speaks in that way, he knows. Her tone brooks no compromise.

Naked from the shower she insists upon on returning home, he walks to her, feeling instantly small and vulnerable before her piercing gaze.

Presenting himself, he feels the weight of her judgement upon him.

“Kneel, my darling’

His heart speeds, his stomach jitters.

‘Why do it, sweetheart?’….her tone so cool, so shaming. There was no reason to ask what she meant. He knew…she had made the rules clear, the rules by which he must live. The rules he followed, out of love and devotion, out of need for her control and approval. Rules that made him happy and now in the breaking of them, very sad indeed.

‘Cake’….the word hung like the accusation it was.

He hadn’t intended to break the ‘no cake’ rule. At the social, he was talking, distracted and before he knew it, the preferred piece of coffee and walnut cake had been consumed. Just a small piece, a bite size morsel really, just finger food brought round and accidentally eaten.

Still….’Cake’ she repeated more firmly.

His mouth felt dry, her disapproval rendering him miserably adrift.

If he hadn’t broken it a while ago, she might have been more forgiving but as it was. He sighed and tried a ‘Sorry’

She shook her head, gently smiling at her wayward boy.

She moved to the bed, sat in the middle propped by pillows and said ‘Here’, patting her soft ample thighs.

A spanking was inevitable…it always had been, from the moment he broke that rule and let her down.

A wash of feeling…contrition, sadness, dismay and shame…

Laying across her lap felt like coming home. She would make him feel he deserved to be hers again but only after the humbling experience of having his bottom smacked like a naughty boy.

She liked him to part his legs, so she could see his balls and his anus. Happy to make him feel he must go through whatever she ordained to reach the nirvana of her affection once more.

To feel even partially exiled from her love was agony. The slow rhythmic spanking, checked only by loving strokes of her hand on his thighs and balls or a finger grazing his anus, left him melting . He was lost in her touch. This was necessary and he trusted her, always calm, always good and so he submitted, the growing soreness soothed by her words of caring encouragement. It would do him good, she knew, he had been bad but this would make things better.

The experience could render him quite close to tears, emotional, desperate to please. The longer it went on, the more he yielded to her, soft, passive and obedient…she was doing with him what she needed…what he needed…under her loving control once more. The pain was never just that, always something better.

His cock was hard, pressing her flesh, each spank, sending sparks of pleasure as he rubbed against her softness.

This was also to be his punishment, a smacked rear was always paired with a couple of extra days of denial..always fondly explained, gently insisted upon. It was the most wonderful way to pay the price for his error, to see her happy and content in his extra suffering. His desperation to orgasm fueling her pleasures, pleasures he would be part of, whilst denied his own.

Her absolute strength of will on this matter always left him defeated and helpless and wanting only to please her more.

Last Updated on 2 years by pseudonymous