Master's a Bastard
Ms. Ponsonby grasped the counter with all her might, and bit her lower lip. Five harsh painful lines on her upper thighs, two on her back and three already on her bottom.
And oh, she wanted to masturbate!
Specs swung the rattan cane hard against her small but curvy buttocks. "How many is it?"
"Oooh!" Ms. Ponsonby screamed. She reached around with her hand to touch what she thought was a broken blister on her left cheek.
"No, no, Ms. Ponsonby" Specs said patiently. "Remember, you keep your hands clutching the counter. Turn your right hand over, please, hold it out while you keep your other hand on the counter."
Ms. Ponsonby's lower lip trembled. "Bu-please."
"Put it out."
Ms. Ponsonby put her hand out and closed her eyes, and Specs slashed it with the cane.
"No, don't put it back yet. You counted several of my strokes, 'Thank you, Specs, may I have another' but then you stopped. I know it's painful but..."
Ms. Ponsonby shook her head. Her palm felt as if it had been burned. "Of course, Master Specs, but could you correct my other hand, since this one hurts so much?"
Specs laughed. THWACK! the cane came down hard on her already punished hand, but then he let her re-grasp the counter.
"Ms. Ponsonby, you have to learn to take the pain and thank your Master."
"Yes-Specs." Ms. Ponsonby paused. "I do want to be here, Specs."
"I know you do, Ms. Ponsonby." Specs said soothingly. He reached down and rubbed a stubbly forefinger against Ms. Ponsonby's shaved clit.
Ms. Ponsonby opened one eye and surveyed him. Specs was no beauty, that was for sure. And Ms. Ponsonby had once been a model.
And she was a tough broad. Ms. Ponsonby was chief Compliance Officer at the Buttermilk Falls Polytechnic Conglomerate, but she really needed to be dominated.
She'd heard of Specs through word of mouth, and had taken him to lunch. After hearing his rates, she'd gotten up the nerve to put her cards on the table.
She'd picked at her salad, and basically interrogated Specs. That she did.
"I need a strong man to give me direction and teach me to take severe corporal punishment. I'm a feminist, certainly, but I have been in the scene since college."
It was funny, her first Master had been a sweet guy in his early twenties, her teaching assistant. He'd just been grateful to have her as a gorgeous friend, but when she'd told him of her needs and desires, he'd quite willingly ordered her to drop her jeans and take a spanking...
And there had been other guys. Masters. But none of them really understood her, and she'd heard so much about Specs on the Internet. Part of the reason she'd taken the job at Polytech Conglomerate was because she knew Specs lived here in Buttermilk Falls.
"Do you understand my needs, Specs?" Ms. Ponsonby had speared an olive from her Greek salad and gobbled it lightly.
"More than you know, kiddo." Specs had said, gazing fondly at her through his mended eyeglasses.
Ms. Ponsonby had been somewhat doubtful, though her Teaching-Assistant master had gone from being worshipfully afraid to hurt her, to having her eat from a dog dish within six months.
But he wasn't creative, was Specs going to be creative?
Now, naked, Ms. Ponsonby's butt shaking from the cane's impact it was sort of a dilemma. Had he gone too far? Why then, was she so horny?
Her clit was welling up, even as Specs pulled his meandering fingers away, right before she exploded. How did he KNOW?
"Do you remember why you're getting this caning?"
"Y-yes. Because I couldn't kneel right?"
"I asked you to spend your day off kneeling in a little taped triangle, that I laid, using my best hockey tape-" Specs sounded terribly aggrieved.
"Just kneel in the middle of the floor from nine to twelve this morning, and then you could get up. The nanny-cam would cover your progress."
"Yes, I did the best I could-" And it was giving up a hell of a lot. She had plans with her girlfriends from Pilates, Chardonnay at Buttermilk Bistro, and then shopping...
Ms. Ponsonby did work so hard. But she'd cancelled everything to do this for Specs. She had a weird fantasy that if she was the perfect submissive, he might stop charging her and even move in.
He'd be a homely husband, but what a dominant!
"So you shifted in the little tape triangle. Specs came up and rubbed his blue-jeaned crotch against Ms. Ponsonby's suffering rear.
"I did. I tried hard to stay kneeling, I've been practicing weird positions in Yoga and Pilates but-"
Specs had lit a cigarette and burned Ms. Ponsonby's back for just a moment.
"Stop interrupting me, Ms. Ponsonby. You really have so much to learn."
"I-I know." She was in tears, but oh, he was branding her, wasn't he? Specs didn't just burn any girl.
"It's hard, kneeling on the wood floor, I know. My significant other has to kneel on a cinderblock. Imagine, Ms. Ponsonby, staying balanced, your knees being crushed into a cinderblock off the ground."
"Oh God."
"Language." The cigarette burned again on her back. Ms. Ponsonby wondered if he would burn her breasts. Just once, on her areola. She began getting wet again.
How did it happen? Ms. Ponsonby had dressed to the nines for Specs, expecting they'd do something exciting for the Saturday, and then she'd been forced to strip and kneel in the triangle. (She'd canceled plans for THAT?"
And worse, Specs had a loser friend, a pimple studded moron with grotesque yellow buck teeth.
"I thought we'd be alone, Ms. Ponsonby had asked, perturbed, but Specs had just pointed to the little taped square, after ordering her to strip in front of this repulsive stranger.
"This is my sister Calpurnia's boy. What do you think of her, Albemarle?"
"She's real purty. Kin I touch her?"
