Hard Day, Hard Night

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NB: This story was written by little x – a favourite of mine from chat.

“I arrive home to find you on your knees, naked except for a small apron, your head bowed. I kiss the top of your head lightly as I drop my things on the floor next to you. Taking your chin in my hand, I raise your face up to meet my gaze. “It pleases me to see you waiting here just as I have instructed you” I murmur, “but I have had a very hard day so I’m afraid you’re going to have a hard evening”. Still holding your chin, I smile and then slap your face slowly and deliberately once, twice, three times. I see you trying to smile up at me through the tears that have sprung to your eyes and I watch with satisfaction as the redness from my slaps spreads all across your left cheek. “Put my things away and bring me a drink” I tell you as I turn and walk toward the living room. I know the sound of my high heels clicking on the ceramic tile floor gives you a special thrill as you scurry to do as you’re told.

After a very few minutes you reappear next to my chair holding a small tray and offer me my Irish whiskey just the way I like it. Although inwardly I marvel at how quickly you have performed this little service, I arch an eyebrow and demand that you get back on your knees with your face to the floor. After a long delicious swallow of my drink, I stand and walk around to inspect your upturned bottom. I see some faded marks from older punishments and a few distinct reddish lines from the short caning I gave you the day before yesterday. Making my choice quickly, I reach for the black riding crop from among the canes and other implements protruding from the umbrella stand next to my easy chair. Without hesitating, I slash the crop down on your bare backside five or six times in rapid succession. The sudden sharp pain takes your breath away, and you have no time to process the sensation or recover from one blow before the next one lands. I step back and smile as I see red blotches the shape of the spanker tip of my crop appear and then deepen in colour. Among them are three red lines where the braided leather of the rod made its punishing contact with your buttocks. I hear you whimpering softly, but you say nothing. The rush of dominance I feel from inflicting this punishment is so pleasurable that I place the palm of my left hand on the small of your back and bring the riding crop down across your bottom again and again, this time more slowly and deliberately, leaving three or four seconds between the strokes. Although this may seem to the uninitiated like a small kindness, I know that it multiplies your suffering by allowing you to feel the impact of each stroke more fully without giving you enough time to recover from the pain. Now you are crying although you still have not said a word since I began to punish you.

Placing the riding crop back into the stand, I sit back down in my chair and take another sip of my whiskey. “You may rise and thank me, Little One,” I say softly, and I watch with great satisfaction as you stand painfully and wipe the tears from your face before kneeling in front of me and expressing your sincere thanks for the punishment I have inflicted on you. “How else may I serve you, Mistress?” you ask with shining eyes. “My feet require your attention now,” I respond, and you immediately kiss the toes of my black stillettos. “May I take them off for you, Mistress?” you plead. “Of course, darling boy,” I reply. After you remove my high heels, your eyes drink in the luscious spectacle of me raising my skirt high enough to unfasten the garter straps from my black stockings and tantalizingly peel the stockings down my long shapely legs. I drop them in front of you. Your cock, hard ever since your physical punishment began, now rages even harder at the sight. You scoop the stockings up and raise them to your face, breathing in the intoxicating scent for just a second before taking my right foot in your hands and caressing it lovingly. You repeat this act of devotion on my left foot and then you begin the ritual you know I require of you. Slowly and sweetly you kiss and suck each of my toes until you hear me moan out loud with pleasure.

“That was very nice, pet,” I tell you, “and now it is time for the cane. Go and bend over the spanking horse. Would you like me to strap you down, or can you hold still tonight without being bound?” I am pleased to hear you decline the restraints, even though you know my question means that I intend to cane you long and hard, and that your answer means that I will require you to hold your own arse-cheeks apart for me to direct my cane vertically down your tender crack, including your most private little rosebud in the punishment. The combination of your humiliation, pain and submission will be intoxicating for me and perhaps unbearable for you by the time I have finished striping your backside until the welts have merged into a shiny red glow across every inch of your bare bottom. “You may cry all you want, little one, but can you bear it for me without trying to escape?” I ask without expecting a reply. We shall see, I tell myself with another shiver of sexual arousal, and so I begin again…”

little x

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Empress Catherine
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