She didn’t love being scolded Or even the notion of being disappointing But her mouth often had a mind of its own Which brings us to this moment The sass… Stayed in her pants Her brusquely exposed derrière Laid down furtively over Sirs lap She struggled to reconcile things Feeling him fully dressed against her skin And his incredibly warm strong hands Pressing and caressing her Each breath catching in her throat Arousal deepening with his cologne on her The way he controlled her was humbling Unspeakably erotic and corrective She was reduced to a little girl Arms and legs writhing With every cathartic blow Spanked into a state of focus Eradicating all doubt of her place And all traces of bratty disgrace She needed this Him This bliss from within him He could disarm her without harming her And the flood of treacle from her loins He made her taste right off his fingers He worked his way into her mind Centering and possessing her Before he was inside her sex She always forgot her crises When he brought order to her chaos Dispensing his brand of discipline Over his well dressed lap She melted into him With every ensuing butt slap
The road to life is a disciplined life; ignore correction and you’re lost for good.
It’s so easy to feel like you have it all together. It’s also so easy to rely TOO much on grace. Grace is what saves us – but like my pastor said at church this past sunday, GRACE just gets you into heaven. It is by grace we have been saved through faith… But then what? Where do those crowns of glory and mansions of glory and lots of things of glory come into the story?
Yes, Madam. I am and I’m also hoping that you will milk me empty at the end like you did last time…
you need to understand that I didn’t start out wanting to smack men. It was only after one begged Me to do so that I put that first tentative slap on his thigh and heard him gasp so erotically that I realized I could get used to that real quick.
A male’s arousal, his excitement…it’s electricity in the air that, much like solar cells capture sunlight, I collect and turn into energy. In physics, energy is the quantitative property that must be transferred to an object in order to perform work on, or to heat, the object. And of course what I mean by that is my hand- either by itself or using flogger or crop or brush or cane or paddle or wooden spoon or belt - heats a boy’s backside.
Well, sometimes, I whap his penis. But usually it’s his butt.
If I’m with a fella who isn’t eager for such treatment, it’s not going to happen. Because I need that spark. That’s not to say that his excitement might not be accompanied by a certain degree of dread. But there is enough genuine desire for discipline, for punishment, for pain, that the fear is just part of the thrill. Like a roller coaster fan who knows there is a risk that things could go horribly awry, but trusts that mechanics have done the necessary inspections to make the odds very slim, a man believes I won’t cause irreparable damage when I announce My plan to soundly beat him.
Anyone who’s seen my workspace in real life knows it’s covered in “motivational” post-it notes, with reminders, schedules, and various pithy quips ranging from scripture to Stoicism. Sometimes I’ll pick one and do a meditative rendition as a warm-up for my brain in the mornings.
This one concerns training for the pack test–as I make choices during the day, it helps me reflect on how those choices will impact my success when I need to perform. It’s coming next month, and I will be ready!
You’ll wait until I’m good and ready. You’ll sit there and you will think until it’s time for me to have my way with you. Patience is a virtue, little girl. Work on it.
