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Souvenir Paddles

(Part 2 from 2)

In my fantasy, it was exciting, arousing, sexy…appealing. I wasn’t feeling aroused or sexy now. Just afraid - terrified, actually, as I started to comprehend how much this was going to hurt. It hardly seemed possible that the paddle could hurt so much.

I felt the sting, the incredible sting, of the paddle’s bite as it repeatedly made contact with my bottom. Over and over, one cheek to the another and then low-center - my ‘sit spot’ as I’d seen it called on the internet.

I guess that she like the sound of my howling as she began to ‘work’ on this sit spot. She just kept swatting the same place - time and again, one swat nearly over-lapping the previous sting.

My mind suddenly traveled back in time to my senior year in high school. I’d traveled to Florida with some friends on spring break and drunk too much beer, falling asleep on the beach. The sun had rapidly par-broiled my body, leaving a burn that required but a light touch to be painful. That was what my bottom already felt like.

But, she wasn’t touching it lightly. She was punishing it with maybe one swat every couple of seconds, each swat as vigorous as the last, with a promise of another, equally-severe swat to follow.

I slowly became aware that she’d stopped paddling. I continued to cry - sob, really, as she’d promised I would - tears streaming down my face, my nose running, my chest heaving. I don’t know how long my disciplinarian had been speaking but I heard her now, speaking to her twins.

“There you have it, girls. That was an acceptable warm-up. We will let him calm down and collect himself before I give him his thrashing. If either of you would like to have his tear-covered face between you thighs - or between your butt cheeks - you can take this opportunity to have a submissive man serve you. Serve you, that is, as I whip his ass like he’s never even imagined that a man could be whipped.

“You needn’t say anything. Just scoot forward on your chair and, if you’re wearing any, remove your panties. If you’d prefer that he rim your butt, simply kneel on the chair, bare bottom facing the room and I’ll have him show his respect to you while I whip him.

“Surely you know what a privilege it is for a man to be able to serve such young, beautiful girls in the most intimate ways. A privilege for which he will pay. I’ll see to that. He’ll pay with the skin of his rear.”

I was just able to see that the twins had both responded to their mother’s invitation. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw that one of them had scootched forward in her chair, offering her clean-shaven pussy to my attentions. Her twin had opted for the rear homage and was kneeling on her chair, her hard-bodied young bubble butt transmitting a silent siren’s song, promising the reward that only a young lady can offer.

In spite of what I anticipated to come in a moment, I was still anxious to lick and suck on these two girls’ bodies. I could feel my cock throbbing and my ass burning. I knew that I was going to be beaten some more. Beaten unmercifully as my pleas were ignored. I knew that her promise to ‘un-man’ me was not empty. I felt, viscerally, that I was soon to travel to a spot that many men dreamed of - but never experienced in reality.

Directing me to the daughter whose bottom was facing me, she ordered me to crawl over and insinuate my face between her butt cheeks. As I did so, I saw her sweet little, clean-shaven pussy peeking from between her luscious thighs. I hoped that I’d get a taste of her pussy also, but was also excited at the prospect of licking her ass.

“It’s almost show time, little man. Later, I’ll treat you to the strap and the cane. For now, I think that you will benefit from a further application of the paddle. You certainly seemed to react to it’s sting during your warm up.

“When I stop talking and start paddling you, I expect you to start licking Tammy’s crack and tongue-fucking her butt hole. I want you to get your tongue up her ass as far as possible and if you don’t perform to her satisfaction, I’ll get out a single tail whip and make you wish you’d never entered my store.”

She’d stopped talking and my tongue was already in motion when I felt the now-familiar sting of the paddle.

If asked, I’d have said that nothing could hurt more than her so-called ‘warm-up’; and, I’d have been wrong. So wrong!! This was difficult to describe. I was torn between the heavenly feeling of my face buried in the ass of a hard-bodied teen and the relentless swat, swat, swat of the fiendish ‘souvenir’.

Competing with the two sensations of my face and bottom was the voice of my new ‘friend‘.

“Do I have your attention? I hope that you know how fortunate you are to be serving my daughter. Half the boys in her class - and many of the girls - would love to have a turn on their knees for her. If I keep you around you will have this privilege - and duty - with both of the twins…and, at times, their friends. For this, you will pay, literally, with your ass.

“You‘re getting a taste now. But, I must caution you. This is truly only a taste. Until you‘ve had a thorough strapping and felt the cane‘s delicious bite, you‘ll not have known what true submission to a woman‘s whip-hand can mean.

“While it is true that most women lack the wish or capacity to discipline their man, some of us revel in your cries. We get moist at the thought of your submission and soaking wet at the sound of your sobbing.

“Speaking of sobbing, I promised you that you‘d do so and it sounds like you‘re almost there.”

While she’d been talking, I’d be totally overloaded with sensations. Like the proverbial kid-in-a-candy-store, I’d never ceased to lave the silken cheeks before me, running my tongue frequently from the base of her crack to her ‘coin slot’.

As instructed, I periodically focused my attention on her butt hole, spearing it with my tongue, reveling in the submission of it. She’d called it the ‘submissive kiss’ and the name seemed appros pos. There was absolutely no doubt in my mind that I was the ‘submissive’ in this menage. Of course, the continued stinging of the paddle helped to reinforce my feeling of quiescence.

I remembered that she’d said this was Tammy. I wondered if I would be allowed to lick Tiffany’s pussy. I realized that, yes, I would, for their mother had a contract to have me ‘pay with my ass’ for the privilege. While I had trouble imagining how the whipping could hurt more when I attended to Tiffany, I knew that it would. I’d had it demonstrated with the second paddling. While I licked and rimmed Tammy.

In spite of the certainty. This sure knowledge that I was to suffer horribly as the price of admission, so to speak, I looked forward with eager anticipation to the moment with my lips would sip at her vulva. I knew that her shaven, teen pussy would be fresh and sweet. I had learned, over the years to eat pussy. Now, at the ripe old age of twenty-six, I had developed a predilection for the activity. I was, after all, a ‘submissive’ at heart. I’d developed a psycho-sexuality that caused me to live the reality of ‘it’s better to give then to receive’.

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Once again, the paddling had stopped but not my crying. It’d been a challenge to keep my face between Tammy’s cheeks while I was being so severely paddled. As I’d begun to cry, it felt like her bottom had quivered with approval.

When I began ‘sobbing’ it had become next to impossible to maintain my position and my face slipped from its place of homage only to have me instantly return it to its duty.

As my sobbing became ‘racking’ and I heard myself begin to hiccup, I had given up any pretense of oral devotion and simply yielded to the discipline being so enthusiastically delivered via the thin slice of wood that continued to redden and heat my bottom.

With the cessation of the paddling - at least temporarily - I fell again to my elbows and continued to cry as I’d not cried since I’d been a little boy.

I’d read erotica that suggested a whipping lessened in painful effect as endorphins were delivered to the body, in response to the stimulus of the pain. I’d read that the ‘bottom’ could find a ‘sub-space’ where, in a kind of dream-like euphoria, the pain would abate and turn to ‘pure pleasure’.

Bullshit!! No endorphin rush; no euphoria. Just unmitigated, unprecedented (for me) pain. The only satisfaction that I’d felt from the discipline was the sense of accomplishment for having endured; and, I suppose, the feeling of completion. Completion of a tacit ‘contract’. A contract that called for one party to deliver and the other to receive, a thorough, merciless, very severe thrashing. I felt like I was beginning to understand that word.

As I said, I knew that there would be worse to come….and I knew that I would welcome it. For I knew that the pain I was submitting to accepting was to be my price of admission. Admission to the phantasmagoric vision of worshiping at a beautiful teen girl’s most intimate parts.

And, so I found myself kneeling on the floor, beaten into what I felt was total submission. My face was covered with tears, which still streamed out of my eyes, seemingly unaware of the cessation of my discipline. My buttocks and thighs burned and throbbed in pain. Pain like I’d never ever experienced before.

My sobbing seemed to be subsiding along with a slowing of my breathing. I wondered if I would be made to wait before being given the privilege of serving Tiffany, who had remained on the front edge of her chair, her skirt raised to her waist and her legs apart.

I could see the pink within her vagina. Past the labia - majora and minora. The lips, themselves, were devoid of any trace of hair and I assumed that she’d not only been shaved but thoroughly waxed to a smoothness that lured me like a moth to a flame.

I could feel my mouth salivating as I anticipated my next ‘task’ - as I looked into the immediate future of finding my face between her satin-smooth thighs and my mouth paying my respects to her vulva. I hoped I would be allowed to kiss lower and give her some of the same treatment that I’d given her sister.

So, I felt beaten - more accurately, paddled - and paddled severely. I also felt that my erection surpassed any and all the had accrued in my past. Surely this level of sexual arousal was something that most men were never given. I felt an ironic gratitude to my new love.

Yes, love. For that’s what I thought of her. I knew that if she were to give me the option, I would eagerly choose a life of servitude to her - with or without (but preferably with) her twins - knowing that she would whip me. Whip me regularly, hard, and long.

She’d told me that she intended to ‘un-man’ me. I’d never heard the term before and could only conclude that she meant I’d be psychologically castrated. Subjugated to her Goddess-like rule. A rule that included corporal discipline and service to her and others. I could only aspire to serve her in some sort of permanent position.

In my vivid imagination, I’d didn’t see us as ‘Mistress’ and ‘Slave’ - this seemed to role-playingly phony. I saw us, I guess, as husband and wife. Submissive husband and dominant wife. Submissive husband and disciplinary wife.

The concept of disciplinary wife was new to me when I first visited a web site for the disciplinary wives club. This was a long-standing site devoted to helping women, either married or in committed relationships, to learn the particulars of disciplining their husband or significant with corporal punishment.

They advocated painful, severe, and frequent spanking and paddling in order to address ‘the little boy’ that many say that men have. When I’d read letters from purported ‘real people’ I wondered if this was the only ‘real’ site of this flavor on the net. Certainly the only one that I had found.

What set it apart was the severity of the corporal punishment. Not the patty cake playful of the loving wife who was loathe to ‘hurt’ her beloved by ‘spanking too hard’. Such squeamishness wasn’t in evidence at the disciplinary wives site.

The punishments that were described often as not brought the husband to very real tears. Spankings - and canings - left husbands and boyfriends in fear of their wife or girlfriend. Welts endured for days and, with a cane, sometimes weeks - reminders of past misbehaviors and admonishments to behave ‘good’ in future.

Wives spoke of their husband ‘sobbing’ after they’d thoroughly punished them, tears on their face and unable to compose themselves for as much as an hour after the discipline.

Almost without exception these women would provide a ‘training’ or ‘maintenance’ spanking on a regular basis. The most common schedule of periodicity was weekly - sometimes it was more often. In addition to these weekly ‘reminders’ as to ‘who is the boss’, there were so-called punishment spankings.

More than one couple had found that merely ‘milking’ the husband/boyfriend prior to their discipline would cumulate towards a more effective - read that ‘painful’ - result. Another issue seemed to be the choice of restraints to ensure that the submissive husband or boyfriend was held in place during their discipline - most especially for more salutary thrashings.

I’d never imagined that I would ever find myself in circumstances that were described by these people. I couldn’t imagine what it would feel like to be spanked that hard.

Now I didn’t need to imagine. I knew what it felt like and I found that I was proud to have endured what had been given me so far. To my surprise, I found myself looking forward to the genuine thrashing that was to’un-man’ me. For the first time in my life, I knew that this was my destiny; to be ‘un-manned’ by a woman who knew how to truly possess me.

The thought of the thrashing to soon come absolutely terrified me. At the same time, it gladdened me to know that, after she’d struck the last lash, I would have given her what so few understood to be a gift that was truly priceless.

That gift being my unqualified submission to her authority. A submission that was predicated upon the clear understanding that its value was in direct proportion to the amount of pain that I could/would endure for her. A gift that begged her commitment. A commitment to regularly and severely discipline me. To regularly bring me to tears and then beyond to sobbing.

I hoped, at least at this moment, that she’d take me at my word and test my sincerity. Test it with a paddle; a strap; a cane; and a whip. Test it until I was hoarse from screaming and then reward me by granting me the privilege of service.

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