That little dyke Simone with the flaming hair is bothering me again. Since she's been coming to this martial arts class, she's been ogling me. Of course, it's only realistic to admit that my body is irresistible. If there's a lesbian in the locker room with me, she can't be expected to resist the temptation to look. Though understandable, that's still a misdeed. According to the principles of natural justice it warrants punishment.
But lately she's taken to pestering me. Simone's a beautiful girl, and they usually think rules don't apply to them. She combines this with the ill-disciplined temperament of redheads, all of whom have no more moral sense than alley-cats, nor any self-control.
Right now I'm the last still getting dressed after showering. She's hanging around, all freckles and soft green eyes.
"Come on Vanessa. Maybe you'd like it if you tried it."
I glare at her. "
You
wouldn't like it. I guarantee you that."
She looks up at me, face pleading. "I'd love it if...."
Let's scare her off. "Do you know what I do? Do you realize the kind of games I like to play?"
Simone's brow furrows a little. "I, uh...."
"I'm a sadist, Simone. I only ever let piglets into my bed after they've bent over for me. Is that what you want? A good hard thrashing?"
Shock on her face, she shrinks from me and scurries away without another word. I can't help smiling. Job done.
(≡!≡)
During that week, I command three different boys of mine to come over for an evening. I brutalize each one, but I don't let them touch me. I send them all home unrequited, and I sleep alone each night.
This is my way. I use men's lust to persuade them to yield to me their bodies as canvases for my art of agony. I make clear to them that I'll probably never let their cocks go inside me. But they want me so badly that they endure my castigations, deluding themselves with hope of getting what they really want.
Don't get me wrong, I'm not a virgin. Every so often I enjoy a man as a man, not as a piglet. But far more often I get my jollies by hurting and then denying them.
(≡!≡)
At the next week's class, Simone can't stop stealing glances at me. After we shower, instead of dressing, she comes over to me wet and naked and says quietly, "I've been thinking about the offer you made last week."
I draw myself up to my full height, a good five inches taller than Simone, and look her right in the eyes. "I didn't make an offer. I never make any kind of exchange. Nobody gets into my panties in return for submitting to my cane."
Some of the other ladies look at us in shock. I don't care who knows I enjoy handing out thrashings, but Simone cringes with embarrassment.
"If you enter the spider's web you will be mine to do with as I please. You will not have any claim over me just because you let me do what I wanted. I'm not fair, you see. I never enter into equal relationships. I get to do whatever I want to you, but you don't get whatever you want. You only get what I allow you. And I expect you to get down on your knees and thank me after I abuse you."
The locker room has mostly cleared. The other class members have hurried away from my frank explanation. Two linger in the corners, listening, titillated.
"I.... I'd be okay with that."
"Okay? That's not good enough Simone. You have to give yourself completely."
"Yes.... I will. Give myself. Completely."
I'm 100% heterosexual. But, let's be honest, my primary motive for spanking men isn't sexual. It's because I enjoy inflicting pain. And Simone has been bothering me for weeks now. The principles of natural justice cry out that such prolonged wrongdoing requires extensive correction. Even though I don't feel the slightest physical attraction to her, giving the worthless little bitch a few good hard cracks of the cane -- or better still, many -- would be righteous. And great fun.
"The first rule is that you must call me mistress every time you speak to me. Do you understand?"
Simone looks at the two others still in the room, who are avid to see what she'll do. Then she looks at her feet, swallows audibly, and says, "Yes, mi-mistress."
"Look at me, girl!" I snap.
She looks up at me, guilty.
"Tell me you long to be my plaything."
"I long to be your -- your plaything, mistress."
"Very well. You drove here, didn't you?"
"Yes, mistress."
"In that case you may follow me home."
"Yes, mistress. Th-thank you, mistress."
(≡!≡)
Outisde my house, we both lock our cars. She follows me to my front door in the fading light at day's end. I turn and give her my most merciless look. "You can still back out, Simone. If you walk through this door, I will do a lot of things to you which I fucking guarantee you will not like."
"I, I understand."
"You stupid little turd! You have to say mistress when you speak to me!" I shout, not caring who hears. The neighbors know. I don't keep my proclivities a secret.
"I, mistress, I, I'm sorry, mistress."
"You fucking will be when we get inside. Once we go in there, I will be free to do anything I like to you, and you will gratefully receive it."
Simone nods, collects herself. Little above a whisper she says, "Yes mistress."
I unlock the door, jerk my head in its direction. "Inside, bitch."
Simone enters my lair. I go in after her and close the door. She turns to me and looks up into my face, pleading and desire in her eyes.
She lifts her hands, obviously meaning to put them on my waist, but I'm too quick for her. My palms block her wrists outward, then fly up to her shoulders. I push her hard and she staggers back, barely able to keep her footing. She's no match for me in unarmed combat. As she recovers her balance, her expression is wounded, almost betrayed.
"You insolent little cunt! Did you think I was joking? Did you think that was all just talk? I was deadly serious."
"Yes, mistress, I believe you, mistress."
"You don't get to put your hands on me without my express permission. I see you don't really understand your true position here. I am in charge in this house, and you have no right to expect any sort of pleasure, or reward, unless it happens to be my whim to give it to you. Or, of course, if you happen to enjoy pain. Now get your fucking clothes off!"
Simone starts to undress, but her hands are shaking.
"Hurry it up! I haven't got all fucking night!"
She strips as fast as she can manage. I point to a spot on the floor about four feet in front of me. She hurries over and stands there, hands clenched together at the base of her belly, hiding her sex, even though I've seen it plenty of times in the showers.
"Now. No more touching me. That was very improper. Any more behavior like that and I'll throw you straight out into the street, naked. Do you understand?"
"Yes mistress."
I put one finger under her chin and run it down her throat, then along the collarbone to her shoulder. I walk around behind her, and trail four fingertips across her shoulder blades. When I come around to her front again, she has a stupid expression of gratitude and hope. It will be my pleasure to crush that hope. I'll teach her she'll get nothing from me to be grateful for, only treatment that will make her regret she ever offered herself.
"We need to keep those hands out of mischief. Fold your arms behind your back."
"M-mistress?"
"You stupid little ginger slut!" Strictly this is inaccurate. Her hair's flame red, but ginger's a better insult. "Don't you know how to fold your arms?"
She bites her lower lip and looks down, ashamed. I grab her chin and pull her face up, glare into her fearful green eyes.
"I just asked you a question, and you didn't answer it. That is dumb insolence, and you will pay for every last act of insolence you commit toward me. For I am a merciless and exacting god. Now answer the fucking question. Do you or do you not know how to fold your arms?"
"Y-yes miss, mi-mistress."
"Do it then. Fold them."
She lifts her hands from over her red pubes, and crosses her forearms underneath her bosom.
"Now do the same behind your back."
She puts her arms back and slowly performs the unfamiliar act. I lay my hand on her bare belly and walk around her several times, brushing over the narrowest part of her torso. Her breath grows uneven, even though I'm barely touching her. She shifts on the spot, unable to keep still, sweat rises on her pale-pink skin, and her dark nipples lengthen. What should I call their color? Magenta? Fuchsia rose? No, they're a deeper shade than those.
Those pleading emerald eyes and her slightly open mouth betray her yearning for me. It's a look I'm very used to. Every day in the street, men ogle me. False modesty has no place in my life; the fact is, I am one sexy athletic goddess. Knowing this, I manipulate men's reproductive drive to lure them into being my pain toys. The libido centers of their brains tell them I'm ideal breeding stock, and they must do anything for the opportunity to plant their seed in me.
That's guys. But Simone is a girl. She doesn't have a billion years of evolution pressuring her into trying to buy her way inside a woman's fertile body. And she's pretty, more than pretty. She should have no trouble finding lesbians to fornicate with. Why would she be desperate enough for me that she'd yield to the kind of miseries I'm about to visit upon her?
"Have you ever been beaten before, you little minx?"
"N-no, mistress."
"Never? None of the dykes who've eaten you out have even smacked your ass with their hands?"
"No mistress, nev-never."
She's not a sub, then. So what is it about me that makes her prepared to suffer so much? The only plausible explanation is that I really am just that drop-dead gorgeous.
As I continue to circle her, I eye this piece of meat which has rashly given itself into my hands for cruel use. From an athletic point of view, it's a disappointing body. I work hard at physical training and martial arts, which has given me hard muscles and excellent fitness. Simone has been at our martial arts class almost as long as I have, but she's only gone up two belts in the time most other students at her level have managed four or five. It's always been obvious to me she doesn't train hard enough, and the shape she's in confirms my suspicion that she rarely works out. She's obviously lazy, and the contempt she inspires in me convinces me more than ever that the harshest punishments are needed.
That's my assessment as an athlete. However.
Something is forming within me which I would never have imagined possible before tonight. I begin to see the attraction in curves like these. They're particularly ripe for physical corrective measures.
The boys I spank are all trim. Early on I learned that excessive numbers of men would offer themselves to my punishments, and I quickly started being selective. Flabby men are not worthy of my canes and straps. Now, hourglass-shaped Simone is not at all fat. But she is soft, and for the first time in a long time I find myself looking forward to cracking the punisher into yielding flesh.
It's not just her lack of a muscle tone that calls for retribution. There's something about the exact shape of the female physique that's never caught my eye in this way before. Her rear cheeks stand out with a prideful swelling, and such pertness is an affront to the principles of natural justice.
I stop in front of her and run my hands up her flanks, bypassing her tits, and she leans forward a bit as if in hope that I'll brush against them.
