Punishment: Free Form Poetry

For each day she’s too busy to message him,

She dresses down,

Lays on her stomach,

Strikes herself with the paddle

They chose together.

She falls asleep,

The paddle still in hand,

Resting by her side.

Flesh marked raw

Pain singing

Stinging

Across her claimed ass

It’s been five days since.

And she hopes

Time will find her

So her body can heal again.

12 Days of BDSM Christmas 2017 – #5: Baby, It’s Cold Outside

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My hand is clasped around the chain that clings to her leash, our leash. The one we picked out together.

She stood before me, dressed down in all of the ways; pink splotches covered her nipples where I had smacked her gently moments ago. Her face wears a frown.

She had on her heel boots, the one she wore to work this morning. This much I let her do.

 

Maybe she had a rough day at work, we all have rough days at work, but I did warn her. Gently.

I told her that her sass has no place at the dinner table.

For whatever reason, she chose to ignore that reason.

This act wasn’t a mistake, an error in judgment, no she knew the rules – we went over them by candlelight the night I claimed her in the great storm of 2016. Every detail, every loophole, every reason was covered. If I made a mistake, she corrected me. If she made a mistake, I corrected her. And tonight, well tonight she was at fault.

 

I must admit, when I told her her punishment and a hint of fear flickered in her eyes, there was a little tickle deep down in my cock. My love, ever smart and anticipating, caught unaware.

‘Baby, it’s cold outside’ she said, slipping into her baby girl mode instantly.

‘You should’ve thought of that, my sweetling’ I replied.

 

Her frown as she undressed, lifting her floral dress overhead and tossing it to the floor to reveal today’s underwear – a black strapless bra and rainbow panties, laced with black lace on the outskirts of the fabric – made me grin. I could feel that side coming out of me then. The primal side. The sadistic side. The Master was meeting the Daddy half way and merging.

 

‘Leave the boots’ I said. ‘We can’t have your feet frozen’

She looked at me venomously but I did not relent. A punishment is a punishment, which is the nature of the beast.

 

In silence I fitted her collar around her, the one she wears at home once she slips into her around-the-house clothes, and in silence I led her outside.

 

My heart began to flutter. Would there be people walking their dogs tonight? It was 7-30pm; the sun was yet to set. It was certainly likely.

 

I moved ahead of her, keeping my hand back, forcing her to walk behind me. That was how you kept Dominance with pups’ right? And tonight, she was my little puppy.

 

We turned the corner and began to walk down Lavender Street. Suburbia was quiet. No domestic arguments, no dogs barking or cats fighting. It’s as if the neighborhood knew the punishment as well. Perhaps that was true. If it weren’t by now, it certainly would be soon.

 

I looked back at my little puppy. Her little pixie hair was an auburn tangle, her green eyes fierce and fixed on me. I kept my gaze until she broke it, looking down at her feet. Not something we practiced, but I didn’t raise it at that point in time. I would carry out the punishment before I showed any warmth.

 

With her eyes down, I looked down at her body. They were covered with Goosebumps, prickles all over her arms and breasts. Her small breasts in the moonlight took on an ethereal form. She is my angel, she always will be. I hope she remembers that.

In that moment, I wanted to lower my mouth onto her hard pink nipples. Perhaps my saliva would make her cold but hopefully the warmth that comes from such an action might counteract such coolness.

 

Nevertheless, I strayed my mouth. This was a punishment after all – and I will fulfill it. Around the block, was the full punishment. Nothing more, nothing less.

 

The weather tonight was a cool 16 degrees Celsius. There was a bite to the air and a gentle breeze that traveled up my spine every so often. The primal being within me chuckled at the idea of it affecting my little puppy. I felt strange for the feeling, a pang of guilt hit me, but I shook the thought before it could spread like an illness through my mind.

 

The sweet and heavenly image of her bare ass, pale and covered in goosebumps, brought me back from the darkness – and I found myself smiling.

 

I looked back at her, my little puppy, which cast her eyes down at the ground as she walked along behind me, the chain rattling as we moved.

 

We turned the corner – another right. Just another right at the end of this street and we’ll be back on the street we live in. I’ll turn on the heater; I’ll let her pick a movie.

 

Behind her, my little puppy kept her arms by her legs. Her mound was neatly trimmed. I wonder if I should ask her to style a new design for me. What would she say? How would she feel? Hm.

 

She felt my gaze and looked up at me, and in that moment something seized my chest. What I said about her being an angel, something ethereal, was genuine. But in the light of the dim streetlight, she looked mythical. It gave me chills and I wanted to kiss her there and then. I could’ve very easily taken her, lying her down on what could be the wet grass and slide into her just to hear her deep grunts. Something about that was so….there is no decent word.

 

There came a cough from ahead of us – and my little puppy whined.

With a gentle tug of the chain, she began moving again.

When a woman and man came into view, walking their lab, the woman let out a noise signifying distaste. The yellow lab bounded over to us, eager to sniff my little puppy’s body. For a second, I was eager to let it. But the couple, their faces twisting into snarls in the night, wheeled the lab back and quickened the pace. My little pup and I kept moving.

 

Shortly, we arrived back m out the front of our house, my little pup close behind me, her frozen hands on her body as I turned the key in the door and stepped inside.

 

I ran her a bath, hot but not scalding, hoping it would bring her back into our realm, back into our house.

 

As she slid down into the bath, sighing as steam rose off her mythical body, she whispered low and wavering. I didn’t catch what she said and I didn’t ask her to repeat it, I let her bask in the warmth.

 

“Huh?”

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“Huh?”. It’s a simple word, really.

And yet, I find it distasteful.

Now, this is just me. But under my leadership, any submissive, when engaging in discussion with me, should be speaking politely. If I say something that, for whatever reason, they mishear, “Huh?” is not the response that you say.

“Beg yours?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Sorry, what was that?”

So forth and so on.

My kitten has been struggling with remembering to exclude the idea of using “Huh?” as a response if she mishears me. In the past, I have, perhaps been a bit too kind, and let her off with a warning. Tonight, I did not. I told her that when she is finished her dinner, she can undress and bend over my knee.

I take no pleasure from smacking her, nor does she take pleasure from being smacked. At least…when it is a punishment.

The dislike of “Huh?” as a response, if I had to guess, comes from my upbringing. My father disliked it as well, as well as “What?”.
It’s actually interesting how much my upbringing kind of plays into who I am as a Dominant.

In any case, this has been my Wednesday evening. How has yours been?

Spanking is Cathartic

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Spanking is cathartic – it really is. Not only for me, the Dominant doing the spanking, but perhaps for the submissive. I obviously can’t speak for their minds, only my own but the release I get during this act is just sensational.
Yet there is something psychological about it all, something that might even connect to us and resonate. Maybe it might reveal truths to us we never knew where there.
During a particularly intense spanking session, my submissive blurted out a childhood memory. It wasn’t scandalous or a revelation but it was a piece to that enigma that was revealed by making her rather lovely ass raw.

I mean, this is  huge – that this act can connect somehow and someway back to that doorway. Back into her past. I think that’s rather fascinating.
But then to add another layer to this act is the fact that it is such a release for me. I can’t begin to describe just how much I love seeing my bare hand come into contact with her ass.
She’s bent over my knee, her dress pulled up around her waist and her cute little panties pulled down. I strike her hard and her whole body reacts, convulsing forward an inch.
A grunt escapes her lips. Or was that a moan? Impossible to make sure.
I strike her again, harder. My hand stings but I bet her ass stings even more.

I can’t begin to even describe how it feels to have her crumble beneath me, writhing about and exploring her pain threshold.

But spanking can be used as a different method, like punishment. This one time, we were just conversing as ourselves. Playing video games together – hey, it’s what we do in our down time. She curses in anger at the TV, throws the word ‘Slut’ around. Now: I am all for her identity being maintained, it’s what drew me to her, but that language is really not on. Identity is one thing, language is another — especially when WE have worked so hard at correcting her words, going from “Huh?” to “Pardon?” (Which she does now in everyday conversation, making me proud).

I was shocked at the vulgarity out of this quiet lady’s mouth. I tell her to go our room, pull down her dress and await me. She does. I spank her three times – three, hard times – telling her to watch her language.

We both didn’t enjoy the punishment – not at all – but I can bet you she won’t use vulgar words like that again. Truth be told, I should’ve given her a warning first. But a part of me was a little angry. We have worked hard together on her negative qualities, trying to iron out the speech patterns and this was an aggressive side I didn’t appreciate.

So: Spanking. Cathartic, psychological. Mind blowing.  The doorway to our past. Mind Altering? Surely yes.