A Story for Kat - Part 1

I recently came across a profile for a woman into spanking. I sent her an introductory message, and wrote a little story for her, although to date my message remains unread. I did enjoy the story idea, though, so I’ve expanded it out a little (umm, make that quite a lot) and thought I’d share it with you all.

To a certain ‘Kat’ from Mandurah who likes to be spanked – this one is inspired by you, I hope you enjoy!

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Thank you everyone for your amazing feedback on my previous story, unfortunately it disappeared following the server fire. Anyways, it’s really appreciated. Please keep your comments coming. And don’t forget to hit that Like button!

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It’s almost 1 am as I cruise slowly down the narrow suburban street. The streetlights are few and far between, and most of the street is in inky blackness. My phone tells me your house is just ahead, on the left. As I drive slowly I see your house; your porch is lit, the area around your front door illuminated by a dim bulb, barely holding back the dark night.

I pull into your drive and kill the engine. As I step out of the car I take a deep breath, letting it out slowly, feeling my pulse slow a little. My breath mists in the cold night air. I am always amazed at the dichotomy of sleepy suburbia, blissfully unaware of the depraved and debauched that exist within their midst. Feeling calm and relaxed, I walk to the back of the car and remove my gym bag from the boot. Locking the car behind me I walk to the door.

As I arrive at the entrance to your house your door opens; it’s clear you’ve been watching for my arrival and are waiting for me. As agreed, you’re wearing nothing but your underwear and stockings, the same as in your profile picture. Wordlessly I step inside the door and you close it behind me. Compared to the chill outside, the inside of your house is warm, almost uncomfortably so, dressed as I am in my trousers, shirt and jacket. You look up at me, demurely, and I can see the nervousness in your eyes. I reach up with one hand, gently cupping your chin, and lean forward, giving you the barest of kisses on your lips.

I step back, releasing you, and gesture for you to lead the way. I follow you down the short passage which opens to the living area. It’s a layout common to many modern open-plan houses; the kitchen, dining, and lounge all share a large open space. I place my bag on the dining table as I survey the layout. The kitchen and dining area are tiled, and quite unremarkable other than for the heavy wooden dining table and chairs. The lounge area though is covered with a soft, light-coloured carpet. A large screen TV hangs on the wall, and there is quite an expansive space between it and a long couch. Plenty of room to work with. I smile inwardly. Yes, this will do nicely.

I look at you as you stand there in your underwear, stockings, and heels. Your face is carefully made up, with thick eyeliner and heavy mascara accentuating your amazing eyes. Your lips are covered in bold red lipstick. With your pale skin and strawberry-blonde hair you look exquisite.

“Don’t move” I instruct you. My voice is deep and authoritative, and you instinctively obey. I open my gym bag, rummage around, and begin pulling items out and placing them neatly on the table. A pair of wrist cuffs. A ball gag. A collar. Nipple clamps. A butt plug. Leather paddle. I watch as your eyes widen as you look across the array of items carefully laid out on display.

I begin by picking up the collar. I turn it over in my hands, inspecting it carefully, then nod to myself in approval. I look deep into your eyes, staring at you for a moment, and I get a sense of the emotions you must be feeling: some nervousness, definitely. But I also see excitement, anticipation, longing.

Lust.

“I am about to put this collar on you. When I do you will become mine. While you wear this collar, I will own you. You will not speak unless asked a question, or I give you permission. You will call me Sir. If you break these rules there will be consequences,” I explain. I pause a moment, allowing you time for it to sink in. I can tell you feel awkward, notice the blush that slightly colours your cheeks. “Do you understand?” I ask you.

“Yes,” you say, a little sheepishly, as you give a nervous nod.

“Yes what?” I ask sternly.

“Yes, Sir,” you reply meekly.

“Very good,” I encourage. “You’re not wearing the collar yet, so I will allow that little mistake… this time. Now, by wearing this collar you will be mine to do with as I please. You will do as I instruct. You will surrender yourself to me, and I will take responsibility for you. My role is to ensure your safety and to give you pleasure, although at times you may feel some discomfort. All of this is intended for our mutual gratification. You can decide to stop at any time by using your safe word. What is it?”

“Firefly… Sir.”

The slightest of hesitations, but I choose to overlook it. “Firefly it is. Now then, do you understand these rules?” I ask.

“Yes, Sir,” you reply, more confidently. It appears you’re learning.

“Do you consent to me placing this collar on you, and thereby being bound by these rules?”

“Yes, Sir,” you nod.

I reach around, fastening the collar around your neck.

I begin a slow walk around you, wanting to look at you from every angle. You watch me as I move. “Head forward, eyes to the floor,” I snap. Your head quickly turns forward and you look down demurely. Satisfied, I resume my walk. I drink in the sight of your body, your pale skin, the colour of your hair, the smell of your perfume.

I complete my circle, finishing in front of you. “Remove your bra,” I instruct you. You reach behind your back, undoing the fasteners, and your bra comes free, falling from your shoulders, down your arms, to fall on the floor. I admire your breasts, your pink nipples. I reach forward and cup one breast with my hand, tracing my thumb around the areole, pinching the nipple slightly, and feel it harden under my touch. I do the same with the other breast.

I take the nipple clamps from the table. They’re spring-loaded, with an adjustable screw. They’re pre-set at low tension. I slowly place the clamp on your nipple, allowing the clamp to apply the gentlest of pressure. When I see that is comfortably in place, I adjust the screw, increasing the pressure, watching as it begins to pinch your flesh, the skin compressing and going slightly pale. You gasp slightly at the sensation.

I repeat the procedure with the second clamp, then take the chain connecting the clamps and attach it to the ring in your collar. I step back to admire my handiwork; damn you look hot!

“Tell me, how does it feel? I ask you.

“A little sensitive, Sir,” you reply, then after a brief pause, “but in a good way.”

Gotcha. I quickly step forward, taking the screws and giving them a quarter turn, tightening them. This time your gasp is sharp. “Do you know what you did wrong?” I ask in a quiet voice.

I can see your mind racing, trying to think through the intense sensation you must be feeling. You lick your lips nervously and I raise my hands ominously towards the clamps again when you suddenly exclaim “Yes, Sir! I forgot to use your name, Sir!”

“That’s correct, you forgot to use my name. Now then, what do you say?” I ask calmly.

“I’m sorry, Sir.” I stand there, impassively, unresponsive. The silence stretches and I make no move to adjust the clamps. “Please forgive me, Sir,” you finally ask.

I give her a warm smile and cup her face with my hands “Yes, of course I forgive you!” I offer graciously, and I loosen the clamps off again. A small sigh escapes your lips as the pressure eases off. I always like to check in after a punishment. “Are you ok?” I ask.

“Yes, Sir.”

“And do you want to continue?”

“Yes, Sir.”

I reach out with one hand, lifting your chin, making you look me in the eyes. I hold your gaze for a long moment. “Who owns you?” I ask you.

“You do, Sir.”

To be continued...