Yesterday Mistress and I had discussed the lack of discipline in our home and asked if I was missing her authority. I admitted I was. I explained how, when I felt she was in charge, I was much happier with doing all my chores and serving her. But when I received no recognition for my efforts – either good or bad - I felt a strange resentment welling with in me.
The conversation did not last very long. Mistress made to effort to pursue my line of thinking. I felt deflated once more.
I need not have worried. After dinner tonight, Mistress asked me, “do you feel the need of a whipping tonight boi?”
I said no. My response was met with raised eyebrows. “Do you feel the need of the whip tonight boi,” she repeated in the same tone as before.
I knew this was a one-time opportunity to restore some kind of order to our DD regime. Deny Mistress this opportunity ad there may not be another.
When I went to fetch the cane I could feel my heart thumping in my chest and a stirring down below.
The punishment was harsh. If we have to do this I wish it was regular so I might train myself back to coping with it better.
Hard strokes, as ever from the start. Six moderate paced ones hurt like hell from cold. Followed by six fast ones. A brief break then it was relentless. 18 strokes, no breaks. The pain was excruciating and after each of the last six or so, Mistress was telling me to hush. She stopped at 18 to tell me to keep the noise down.
The next stroke was incredibly hard. I can’t remember a cane stroke ever having such force. Even on the bench, I felt myself rock forward. Another one, just as hard.
This time I felt a dizzy feeling as I rocked forward and toppled over, still tied to the bench. Luckily the leather armchair broke my fall.
We both erupted into laughter as Mistress tried unsuccessfully to pull me and the bench back up straight!
Our ‘bench’ is a leather-topped stool, to which is tied a footstool. I kneel on the footstool and then my stomach goes over the leather pad of the high stool and my wrists are fastened to the bottom of the far side of the high stool. My legs are also tied down. Theoretically I can’t move, and I crash-landed into the facing armchair, still tied to the bench. Only by now, the legs of the footstool had broken.
It took an age for Mistress to release me from my bonds since she was laughing uncontrollably – as was I, despite the fire in my bottom.
It took when felt like an age to untie me, and restore order. I still had to thank Mistress for my punishment and she insisted on inspecting my stripes - but later she called me back before her.
“You broke my stool. And I think you toppled over deliberately to avoid me completing your punishment,” she said with a look that was once more very stern. “Didn’t you?”
“I’m sorry,” she enquired, unbelieving of my response.
I knew where this was going.
“Yes Mistress. I’m sorry I broke your stool.’
“Exactly. If you had taken the punishment properly and not been creating such a fuss over a few cane strokes then you would not have rocked the bench so much. I’m very disappointed that we weren’t able to complete the punishment. We’ll have to deal with this later.”
“Thank you Mistress.”
In all honesty, I was just as disappointed it all came to an abrupt end. Yes, I was suffering but only something that was way overdue. Something that was needed. I think both of us felt very cheated by what happened, but at least it was a memorable moment. I’m worried next time might be memorable for very different reasons.