First Punishment His Perspective

The messages arrive on your phone as you leave work:

"You were too tired last night for this to be fair or effective, but you are not now."

"From the moment you return home until your punishment is complete you are Slave, not Sweet young lady, once your punishment is complete you will once more be my Sweet."

"Undress in the hall then and kneel by my chair, you may walk to my chair, I will attend to you."

On arriving home:

When you enter the hall you see a small table has been placed by the door to for you to place your clothes on, the heating is on, it is not hot, but it is warm enough for you to be comfortable nude in the house.

The living room is warmly lit with the curtains closed; you see a cushion has been placed on the floor by my chair, the coffee table within reach of the cushion. There is a carafe of iced water a glass and a packet of tissues, you notice that the glass is simple, not the crystal we use and that it is on a plain coaster marked with the single word Slave.

Also on the table are two floggers one very light, the other with soft suede tassels, a loose hooped riding crop and a leather bound cane.

The only other item out of place in the room is on your chair, there, neatly folded is your softest robe.

Time Passes:

You are kneeling for a few minutes at most when you hear my key in the front door though it may seem longer -- you cannot see the clock from your position.

You hear my approach and hear my voice, "Good evening slave." I take my seat and continue "Look up slave."

When your eyes meet mine I describe the process in detail, "I shall prepare your body for your punishment with light use of floggers, this will not be part of your punishment as such -- merely preparation to ensure that your punishment is has the correct effect on you." my voice even.

I go on "You will receive three blows from the crop to each breast and three to your vagina, you will then receive three hard strokes to your buttocks from the cane, and these may bruise you. Should you require to be bound for any part of your punishment the count of blows will be increased by one." I pause, then finish, "Do you understand and accept that this is fair and appropriate?"

"As this is your first such punishment I shall ease your suffering between the blows if that is your wish, do you wish this?" I pause once more, allowing time for the words to sink in and for you to decide on this and to respond, waiting until I see your head nod nervously, "Very well, are you ready to begin?"

You respond, your voice tentative, your face flushing slightly, your eyes low, "Yes Sir."

"Stand, face the mirror and put your hands behind your head.", I am not completely happy with your position, you are uncertain and this is the first time this has had to happen, I offer guidance, "Feet apart.". I am still not entirely satisfied "Further apart slave-- at least half a metre."

"Good slave." I say once I am content. You see the reflection of your body, entirely open, completely vulnerable.

I rise and take the light flogger in my hand; I trail its tassels across your shoulders, your back, your breasts, your buttocks, and their touch as light as love.

You hear the tassels swish.

You hear and feel them strike, there is a light stinging in your left bum cheek, this is repeated five times taking the count to six, and each blow separated from its neighbour's by seconds, the stinging builds and your skin warms.

I repeat this with your right cheek then pause and tenderly stroke the areas with my hand; you feel the skin is now more sensitive.

You see me reposition myself, ready to strike your left breast "Hold steady slave." the blows are softer, but the flesh more sensitive after two blows your nipple becomes erect, the third blow hits the erect tip and stings sharply the fourth the underside the fifth the outside and the sixth again takes your nipple spreading heat into your flesh.

Again I repeat the actions to your right.

My arm lowers - the tassels stroke across your abdomen to your Mons, I pull my arm back and they lightly flick your most intimate places, there is the lightest of stinging the mildest of warming, though both grow and intensify as the count of blows passes, once the sixth has landed I hold the flogger to your lips, "Kiss."

"Thank me." The command is calm, measured; you know this cannot end until you do as instructed.

I return the flogger to the table and come back with its heavier sibling.

Again I stroke your body with the tassels (the leather warmer against your skin) taking my time prior to using them to strike you, they are heavier, but their suede is e softness itself -- this is the touch of a sterner, more assured, lover; you notice that the skin the lighter flogger has struck is more sensitive than before compared to elsewhere.

Again I position myself to strike your buttocks, as I repeat each blow with centimetric precision with the heavier instrument you feel the slap more heavily, the heat deeper in your flesh, you see yourself in the mirror, you can feel the redness of your buttocks but can see the reddening of your breasts, outer labia and Mons. At each point the last blow is heavy enough to draw a sound of pain from your lips -- and to send heat deep into you.

Again I hold the flogger to your lips for you to repeat the ritual of kissing and thanks.

Strong gentle hands caress your reddened flesh, and then I embrace you, kiss your forehead, gently whisper, "Good slave." the air of the words warming your ear and neck before I return the flogger to its place on the table.

This time when I return to you from the table I hold the crop.

The ritual caress with the implement of your chastisement is repeated its texture is differentiated, the hardness of the shaft contrasting with the softer leather of the loop, both feel harsher against your reddened skin, tingling as they pass over it. This time I position myself to deliver blows to your outthrust breasts. "Ready?"

Again left first, a loud slap -- but little pain as the loop snaps into your nipple though heat pours into you, I pause, tenderly caress your breast -- teasing the heated flesh then deliver the second blow. Each of the three blows is followed by such gentleness -- the third by a tender kiss.

The torture and ministrations are repeated on your right breast, and then once again my arm lowers.

You know where the next blows will land SLAP the crop strikes immediately over your pubic bone -- despite the lightness of the blow it seems to travel through you your g-spot and echo there.

I pause, and the crop's touch is replaced by caresses that linger until I can hear your sweet voice moaning.

The second blow is harder -- but a twin of the first and the caresses are repeated again until your response is vocalised.

The third and final strikes directly over your hood sending waves of heat and sensation, your knees soften, though I am there, I lift you, carry you easily to the sofa caress and kiss your Mons, your labia, your hood, your lips, your clitoris, again taking you close.

I present the crop to your lips for you to kiss and wait for you to thank me.

I kiss you; you taste your own wetness on my mouth, "Good slave." I say the words softly, once more emphasising your loss of status.

My fingers find your most intimate flesh and I caress you again to the point of release.

Then I reposition you kneeling against the sofa, your still tingling, sensitive breasts pressed into the softness, your buttocks pushed out vulnerable.

There is a pause.

You hear me change implement for the final time as I lift the feared cane, "Nearly done, my slave." I say.

Then another pause, this position does not allow you to see the blow coming or tell when I am ready to deliver it.

There is a

whum

sound, then the cane crashes into your buttocks, you sense it deep within you.

Two seconds.

A second

whum

reaches your ears and a second blow an inch below the same sensations but greater heat spreading through you.

Two seconds.

The third, again an inch lower again the heat rising, reaching throughout your body now but peaking in your beaten breasts and vagina.

I embrace you.

Lift you.

Kiss away your tears.

Present the cane's fragrant leather to your lips to kiss.

Await your thanks.

"It's over, my Sweet." I say once you have kissed the instrument of your torture, lifting your chin with my fingers, I look directly into your eyes "Will you try to love yourself better?"

I kiss you deeply.

I rise, take you your robe, wrap it tenderly around your still shaking shoulders, hold you, the strength in my arms now pure gentleness.

You feel my hardness -- but I do not press it into you -- or even against you though you know that I a desperate to do so.

I hold you, stroke your hair and repeat the kisses.