So, I'm having another one of those days. The kind of day that fills your head with this buzzing noise akin to a wasps nest in your brain. I've Just left work, a little tired and whole lot frustrated at people in general. I never could understand how so many people could be so utterly clueless. Like Mindless chickens simply pecking the sand as they pass through existence. So having decided that my mind can't take any more stupidity I decide to head on over to my favorite pub for a pint of black. Nothing better to wind down a long day than a nice tall, glass of Guinness. So I stroll through the door and take my favorite seat at the bar. This seat has been my savior on so many occasions I can't even count. It's almost as if it were tailor made to my very own specification. A dear friend, and companion on many a rough day. The wood of the bar under my arms is a nice, soft, mahogany. You can tell this bar has been owned by someone who cares for it like they would a wife, or lover. Constant oiling, and rubbing down have made the wood shine like glass, but as soft as silk. It's a comforting feeling sitting here as I usually do. Nothing can go wrong in here. No one can make things worse once I've taken my seat at the bar.
After a couple pints, and a lot of decompression I realize that I'm sitting all alone, and that's no good. Don't do well when I have "To much" time by myself. My brain starts to swirl with all the thoughts and ideas I've had over the course of the day. Making my thoughts jumbled and chaotic, like a mass of crumpled bed sheets after a long hot summers night. So I pick up my phone and call up my Sweetness. She answers the phone in that voice that I love to hear beg me for mercy. In my mind I can see her sitting in our apartment, She'd be wearing her pajama bottoms, the ones with the little bears and clouds all over them, and one of my old T-shirts. She has always had the habit of stealing those from me. I don't know where she hides them but once she gets her hands on them their gone for good, the only reprieve they have from whatever dungeon she locks them in... when she wears them to clean. I know all this because that's what she always wears when she's just laying around the house. To say she is a creature of habit would be an understatement. After a short conversation she says
"On my way Sir. It will take less than 5 minutes."
I like to know when and where if you know what I mean. She knows This , and so many other things that please me. She has spent our entire relationship learning these minuscule tid bits about me. The way she puts it is "Anything to make Sir happy." How much I love to hear those words issue from her mouth. How much I love knowing that she means them with all of her heart. How much I love her for giving that heart to me.
So 4 minutes and 30 seconds later she comes walking in. Dark hair spilling over her shoulders and down her back, in tawny silken waves. Her eyes a shade of green that sparkle like an emerald in a blazing sun. At five foot seven she is the definition of "dynamite comes in small packages." Pale skin so soft it seems a Sin to touch it with my own rough hands. To gaze upon her is breathtaking. She's wearing that button down top that I love to see her in. It's the red silk number with what appears to be a million tiny little buttons down the front. One of my favorite pass times is slowly unbuttoning that blouse. The sheer number of buttons gives me the opportunity to instill a feeling of anticipation and longing. After about the fifth button she begins to shiver a little and breath a little heavier. She's matched that blouse with one of my favorite skirts as well. Black, above the knee, and split up the side to what most would consider a rather inappropriate height. It hugs her thighs like a second skin, showing every marvelous curve. Oh my god, and those heels, the red four inch stilettos that she knows, to see her in them just sets me over the edge. To have put together this outfit means she definitely knew something was amiss. She must have noticed over the phone that I wasn't in the best of moods. She sees me ogling her and comes over to stand just behind me and off to one side. Her arms crossed behind her back, and her head lowered just the way I taught her too.
"May I have a seat Sir?"
She asks me in a whisper.
"Excuse me?"
"What was that?"
"I couldn't quite hear you."
"May I have a seat please Sir?"
Well who in their right mind could say No to that. So she takes a seat in the bar stool next to me. We talk a little about our days. She went shopping and spent WAY to much as usual, But then most of what she bought was for my pleasure anyhow so it's forgivable. Of course I explain how my craptastic day is just now starting to look up a bit now that she's here and I've gotten a chance to unload a bit.
After about my 5th beer I notice she's not really paying attention to what I'm saying anymore. What, all the sudden my fantastic day of stupidity and ignorance isn't enough to hold her attention. So I look up at her, and she's locked those remarkable eye's on some filthy pool rats ass at the other end of the bar. I take a good look down toward the far side of the pub, and for the life of me I can't figure out why she's staring so damn hard at him. He's not really to much to look at if you ask me. Ratty T-shirt, and a torn pair of bluejeans. And who in the fuck told this guy the Freddy Mercury moustache was back in style?
"What, you like him?"
"you think he's hot?"
"No Sir I was simply admiring his leather jacket."
I have to call bullshit on that one. I know better, his jacket is on the fucking chair next to him, Not plastered all over his ass, and It's fucking denim, not leather.
"Are you fibbing again?"
"Haven't we discussed your little habit of little lies?"
"Of course we have Sir, I apologize for my misbehavior. It won't happen again."
Well now I'm hot again. Probably a bit more than i should be but the fact remains. We've had this discussion a thousand times. I've had an incredibly horrid day, and she should know better than to white lie to me in order to avoid a light punishment. Now she's escalated it a notch or two. Taking my ire from a decent muddy rain storm to a full blown, hurricane style, storm of the century. A quick glance over at her, and I can see she knows what she's done. She gets this frightened look in her eyes when she knows she's been bad. She's not afraid of me, but of the blistering hand prints that she knows she's going have to sit on for the next few days.
"How many times am I going to have to Punish you for this same exact thing?"
"We've been over and over this time and time again."
"I've tried to be nice."
"I've tried to explain."
"I've punished you accordingly."
"The whole nine yards."
"What's it going to take to get this through her head?"
Usually she's such a good girl. Hell I praise her for it on a daily basis. Then every time it's some little shit that we've been over a million times that just fucks it up.
"Well since you seem to need a refresher, and simple punishments don't seem to be working lets try something new."
"Yes Sir, what do you want me to do?"
"Bend over that stool."
"I want your feet next to two legs and hands on the other two."
She gets slowly down from the stool, head lowered in shame at my displeasure. Trembling slightly she places one foot by each leg, and slowly leans over the top of the stool to grab the other two legs. The way she's positioned her perfect breasts hang on one side of the stool. Accenting them by the crease the edge of the stool has put into her blouse just at the underside of them. Her skirt has raised up in the back a couple of inches. Baring more than just a little bit of her thighs. By this time everyone in the bar is standing mouth open and eye's wide. Even the sudohomosexual Freddy Mercury pool rat. But their all men so of course they'd rather see a show than turn the other way. I Leave the comfortable safe haven of my bar stool, allowing my fingers to run across the bar. They make a gentle brushing sound, like you would imagine two clouds rubbing against one another would make. With a heavy foot stomp I let her know I mean business, and move to stand beside her. She starts to look up at me.
"Don't you look up here bitch, you know what's going on and you know better than that."
"Keep your wandering eyes to the floor until told otherwise got it?"
"Yes Sir."
is her only response.
She starts to slowly lift her skirt up, and tucks it into her waist line to keep it out of the way. This again is another thing I've taught her to do. She can be so pleasant at times, and so naughty all in the blink of an eye.
"Now pull down your panties, and show everyone in the bar your sweet little cunt."
"Isn't that what you wanted to do in the first place?"
"Show Mr. pool haul your Pretty little pussy?"
"No Sir That's not what I wanted to do."
"Please Sir Don't do this to me."
"Not here Sir I'm begging!"
It kills me to have to do this to her, but she needs to learn the lesson. Otherwise she'll keep repeating the same mistakes over and over, and if Sir's not happy she's not happy.
"Hands back on the legs of the stool."
And it starts. At first I'm teasing her pretty little ass a bit. Slowly rubbing each cheek, then giving it a little pat. I love this little ass. She's used to this warm up period, so she's starting to relax a little bit. I can see the tension starting to leave her shoulders, and back. Her death grip on the bar stools legs is starting to lessen just a bit. With every pat I make it a bit harder, until I'm just barely spanking her. Her ass has this nice light pink color to it now. This is how I know she's ready for the punishment. I know that now her bottom is nice and warm, and more sensitive than it would have been had i just started to spank away right off the bat.
It's time to start the punishing. Each swat a full swing swing now. I'm counting in my head, I know and she knows what this kind of behavior will get her. The other guys in the bar have started to murmur. Every spanking produces a loud *SMACK* that I'm not to sure you can't hear down the street. Every smack producing a whimper at first then as it continues those whimpers become small stifled screams. With every Stroke I can see her breasts sway on the other side of the stool. This is may be a punishment for her, but with the day I've had it's a pleasantry for me. Once I've reached the mental count of 40 I stop for a bit. Gently rub her bright red Swollen cheeks. As i place my hand on her ass to rub out some of the residual sting I can feel the heat of it against my palm. I take this time to listen to her harsh panting, and Push my hand down between her thighs to gently stroke her hot little pussy.
I whisper in her ear,
"You want to act like a bitch in public?"
"I'll treat you like a bitch."
I take her by the shoulders and make her stand up. Unbutton her blouse, slowly while she stands there whimpering a little and shaking. Like I said earlier I love this blouse, Every button gives her a chance to think about what's going to happen next. To run all the ideas through her mind of all the pleasure I'm going to bring to her, or the pain. The dark thoughts of spankings, and floggings to be had, The light thoughts of my hands, or lips softly caressing her entire body. I work my way down the buttons to the last one which I leave buttoned up.
"Please Sir, not in front of all these people."
I Undo her bra, and help her out of it. Pulling one arm out of a sleeve and taking the bra strap down. To put it back, and do the same with the other. I leave the blouse on to frame her amazing tits for everyone to drool over.
