Much Needed Discipline

They were standing in her living room. She with her arms crossed over her chest, obviously irritated. His manner was as relaxed and outwardly calm as usual.

"You realize that you've been pushing me, don't you? Are you sure you can handle the consequences of your actions?" He crossed to the couch, sat down and relaxed against the back.

Slapping her hands onto her hips, she replied, "Pushing? I've just been asking questions! Legitimate ones, from my point of view."

"Have you considered that you've been trying to control me with the questions you're asking? Trying to push me into a corner?"

"No. They're just things I feel I have the right to know."

"The issue, Stacy, is that you keep pushing at the same subject. I've asked you to stop and give it time. You refuse by coming back at the same issue from a different angle. Enough."

"But..."

"No. Not another word."

"Fine," she said, re-crossing her arms over her breasts, practically glaring at him. He could see the energy almost bursting through her skin.

He watched her for a moment, thinking about her recent behavior. She had been pushing for something. On the surface, it was seemingly answers to her questions but perhaps it was actually something else. He hadn't had a lot of time lately to spend with her. She became more outspoken, pushier, the longer he was away. Hmm. Maybe the problem was not the questions she continued to ask but that she couldn't feel the boundaries he set that kept her in balance. Maybe she needed him to reassert his dominance over her to help her regain that balance.

"Stacy," he said firmly, "I believe I know what's wrong and I'm going to help you. Strip."

"What? I'm not going to strip! We're in the middle of a discussion." A stubborn look crossed her face as she practically glared at him.

"If that's the way you want to play this...," he said as he stood and approached her. Gripping her wrists, he pulled her arms down to her sides. He then placed his hands on her shoulders, his eyes locked on hers. "You need to learn what happens when a little girl defies her Master."

Curling his fingers into the neckline of her blouse, he gave a swift yank ripping her blouse open and sending buttons flying across the room. She gasped, her eyes widening in astonishment. She glanced down at her now bared breasts then back into his eyes. She tried to take a step back but he had a good hold on her blouse, preventing her from moving away. She sputtered apparently trying to get her thoughts together enough to protest his actions.

"As I said earlier, you've been pushing me. Hard. Now is not your turn to speak. I'll let you know when I want your input. The longer I've been away, the less time I've had to spend with you, the more defiant you've become. I think the problem is that you need a lesson about who is in charge."

He stripped her blouse from her body, turned her toward the dining room and gave her a slight push. "Get one of your dining room chairs and place it in the middle of the living room."

Not understanding what he was up to, but knowing better than to disobey at this point, Stacy retrieved the chair and placed it as directed. Stan sat down and braced his feet a bit more than shoulder width apart. He wrapped his fingers around her wrist, then pulled Stacy down over his left knee. She was bent at the waist, nearly in half, her hair trailing on the floor. Her still-clothed ass thrust up in the air. She finally realized what was going to happen and tried to push off his knee. Stan pressed her back down with a firm hand between her shoulder blades. Using his right knee, Stan held her legs down. He caught both of her wrists and contained them with his left fist against her lower back.

"Stacy, I am going to spank you until I know that you remember who is in charge. Do you understand me?"

"No! Don't!" She yelped, afraid of what was about to happen. Other than that first night together, he hadn't spanked her as a disciplinary measure. She hadn't been truly spanked since she was twelve years old and had angered her father. How could he do this to her? She wasn't a child!

Smack! His hand came down on her ass, a couple of inches above her thighs, squarely in the center of her right cheek. Smack! Another slap to her left cheek. Though he had spanked her through her skirt, she could feel the blood rush to the surface, her flesh warming. Stacy cried out, tears beginning to flood her eyes in humiliation.

Alternating cheeks and slowly increasing his force, Stan spanked her a half dozen more times before pulling her skirt up over her waist. He administered another dozen smacks – this time to bare flesh. The stinging increased at first with each blow, but then became so much that she began to lose track of the individual swats. She couldn't believe the pain! This was so much worse than she remembered as a child. She forgot to struggle, but began crying in earnest; her ass now bright red and hotter than a sunburn. She wasn't aware that she'd begun to beg him to stop.

"Please! I'll be good, I promise!" Though she begged, she did not use her safe word, which he took as consent to continue. After another solid three dozen strikes, he stopped and placed his hand gently against her reddened flesh.

"Why have I had to spank you, Stacy?"

Tears flowing freely from her eyes, snot building up in her nose, Stacy gasped out, "I don't ... I ... because you're my Master!" Strangely, just admitting to that, or realizing it anew, caused a tremendous sense of calm to flow throughout her body. He did care how she behaved.

"That's right Stacy." He softly kneaded her bottom, rubbing some of the soreness away. "Now sit up on my lap."

Stacy, slowly and carefully, dragged herself up until she could sit on his right leg. Stan helped to brace her, as she was quite unsteady. Carefully, he lifted her legs over both of his so that she was sitting squarely on his lap. Pulling a handkerchief out of his pocket, he gently wiped her eyes and nose. He tucked her head under his chin and cradled her in his arms. Rocking her slowly, and caressing her from the top of her head, down her back, to her waist, he comforted her.

"You can be such a good girl, Stacy. Remember that. You're my good girl."

"Yes, Sir. Thank you." She took in a deep, quivering breath and wrapped her arms around his waist. She knew, deep in her soul, that this was where she belonged.