Punishing a 'recalculate' Itten

"Miss Smith, get in here, now!"

My assistant and girlfriend appeared in the doorway, immediately with a frown on her face. She was a lovely, petite thing with naturally long, blonde, curly hair falling past her shoulders wearing a school girl outfit with a very short, plaid, pleated skirt, white thigh high stockings and a tiny white crop top that displayed her underboobs.

"Wh--what is it, Daddy?" she stammered.

I slapped a wad of papers down on my desk. "A misspelling, in fact, one of several misspellings in my most recent essay! Whose job is it to proofread my writings, Kitten?" I bellowed.

"M-m-ine, Daddy," she said, trebling on her white, platform heels.

"Look at this. The word 'recalculant' came out 'recalculate!' How did this happen?" I demanded.

"I guess I just made a mistake, Daddy," she said, in a barely audible voice.

"A mistake! A MISTAKE!" I roared. "Is that your excuse, Miss Smith!?!"

"I sorry, Daddy! I'm so, so sorry! I think the word processor doesn't have the word recalulant in it and it must have put in recalculate instead and I didn't catch it. It won't happen again!" she cried, tears forming in her vivid blue eyes.

"It won't happen again?" I yelled. "Isn't that what you said last time and the time before?"

She was past speaking at this point, and just nodded.

"So what are we going to do about this?" I asked.

"I guess deserve another punishment," she said, quaking in her heels.

"Then get my tools," I directed her.

She backed out of the doorway and in a minute returned. She carried a tray with a velvet cloth on top. On the tray was an assortment of switches, each about two feet long and of various thicknesses. Miss Smith was forbidden to touch these items with her hands, and for that reason brought them to me in this manner.

I picked up one of the thicker canes and said, "How many strokes are we up to now?"

"Fifteen, I think," she mumbled.

"Fifteen, you think! You're not sure?" I demanded. "If you don't know then obviously it isn't making an impression on you, Miss Smith, is it? Perhaps we should double that, to say thirty?

"No, no, Daddy! I'm sure! It's fifteen strokes. We add five strokes for each essay I make mistakes proofreading and now we are up to fifteen!" The words came tumbling out of her mouth in a rush.

Of course I knew exactly how many strokes were due her, but I didn't like this "I think" business.

"Assume the position then, "I commanded.

At least she got this part right and walked over to the side table. Leaning over it, she pulled up her skirt, tucked it in her waistline and spread her legs widely apart, put her elbows on the table and fixed her eyes on a spot on the wall. There was no need for her to pull down her panties as she was forbidden to wear any within the house (and often outside too) despite wearing skirts that barely covered her tight, little ass.

I decided to make a phone call at that point. It wasn't pressing business, but it was good training to have my kitten, stand in that position, her most sensitive and private parts exposed while waiting for her punishment. She could consider what was about to happen to her and contemplate the sins that led her there.

As I talked on the phone I studied her body. A perfect, shaved, pink pussy hung between her supple thighs. Looking at those moist petals of her girl flower I felt my cock stir inside my pants.

After about 10 minutes I hung up the phone, stood up and walked up behind her. "Do you know why I'm doing this, Kitten?"

"Oh, yes, Daddy! Because you love me and want to make me a better little girl. Thank you for taking the effort to improve me."

I said. "Do you remember the rules?"

"Yes, Daddy" she said. "I'm responsible for counting each stroke. If I lose count, we start over. After each stroke I need to thank you for taking the time to correct me like this. I'm allowed to move after a stroke, but must be back in position in less than 10 seconds, otherwise we start over. I also need to ask you politely for each additional stroke."

As she spoke, I took my hand and pulled her little crop top up around her shoulders so her bare breasts were visible hanging from her torso. They weren't huge, but well shaped and with nipples the shade of pink bubble gum. I gave the left one a quick slap and sent it jiggling.

"Good," I said. "Let's get started."

I lowered the cane to her delicious little ass and started swinging it back and forth. My habit was to give her several "taps" on her bottom before the real stroke to make sure it would be positioned correctly. I never tapped the same amount of times, however, as I wanted her not to be sure when exactly the strike would come and keep her on edge.

I liked to start at the top just below her butt crack and work my way downward, past the point where the curve of her ass connected with her thighs. If I was careful, I could space the stokes out evenly across her rear end to create a pleasing and artistic pattern.

I tapped her once, twice, and then the third time brought the cane down hard with an impact of three on a scale of one to ten.

She let out a modest shriek and jumped in the air doing an adorable little two-step dance for a few seconds, then remembering the 10 second deadline, repositioned herself and said, "One. Thank you, Daddy." She paused, panting for a moment, then added, "May I have another one, please?"

This time I tapped her five times bringing the cane down hard on the sixth. I would say the impact was a six out of ten and Kitten responded by leaping a bit higher in the air and dancing a couple more seconds before settling back down. "Two," she said, sniffing back tears. "Thank you, Daddy. May I have another one, please?"

And so this continued for eight more strokes as I carefully worked my way down her pretty little ass. Each blow fell within two to seven on the range of my impact scale. As the punishment progressed I noticed it became more and more difficult for her to ask for the next stroke with increasing hesitation in her voice.

We had reached the bottom of her butt and the next stroke would fall at the meeting of the curve of her ass and the top of her thigh. I had observed that this was an especially sensitive location on most girls and my kitten was no exception. This time, two taps, followed by the stroke. It was a hard one, though. A full ten!

Miss Smith reacted as I anticipated, nearly hitting the ceiling and letting out a wail that, if we weren't in my sound proof office, would have woken the neighbors. She took her entire ten seconds dancing before getting back into position, and when she spoke, she was barely audible through the sobbing. "E-E-leven," she cried. "Th-thank...you...Daddy." There was a long pause and I could tell she was struggling to get the next words out. "May I have another...one...please?"

Now I had to decide how far down her thighs I would extend the strokes. I liked to put one, or even two low enough that if she bent over wearing her skirt, or even climbed a set of stairs, the welts would be visible to an observer. This would shock, many witnesses, titillate some others and humiliate my Kitten, but at the same time arouse her.

The final blow, a ten in strength, I placed three inches below the curve of her ass, and would be completely visible to anyone who cared to look. She danced for more than ten seconds, before settling back into position, but there was no penalty as the caning was now done.

Being an obedient, girl, she thanked me a final time, then waited quietly maintaining the punishment position. My rule was she could not move until I had given her permission to relax.

The effect of punishing her and then seeing her still standing there trembling as she tried to hold still, made my cock very hard. I reached out and grabbed her by her soft, pliant, pussy, slipping my thumb into her cunt and letting my fingers stroke her clit hood.

"W-what are you doing, Daddy!?!" she asked, as if she didn't know.

"I'm afraid disciplining you has gotten Daddy very hard, Little Slut. So just stay still while Daddy relieves himself," I answered.

"But Daddy," she whimpered, "My bottom hurts so much!"

"Maybe you should have thought about that before you made that proofreading mistake!" I replied.

"Please, Daddy no!" she cried, but did not try to move from her position.

Despite her pleas, I could feel her pussy getting wet. The nerves that connected to her ass ran with those connected to her pussy and stimulating one, even painfully, made the feeling on the others nearby much more sensitive and intense.

I slipped the tip of my cock in between her pussy lips, grabbed her by the back of her golden hair, and entered her with a single, solid, deep thrust. She yelped as she was impaled by my manhood, and moaned as I began moving back and forth in her tight, little honey pot.

"Please Daddy stop!" she begged, through sobs.

I slapped her ass with my free hand. "Quiet, Little Slut! Daddy will be done using you in a few minutes."

As I fucked her I ran my hand up her smooth skin to where her tits where hanging under her torso. They were soft and just the perfect size: big enough to have that lovely tear drop curve under the pull of gravity, but not so large they would hold a pencil from falling if placed under their fold.

Soon I felt the burning feeling of cum in the base of my cock and knew it was time. My body climaxed and I felt my thick, sticky man juice being injected into her cunt until it was overfilled. Despite her protests, that set off her own orgasm and I felt her back arch and saw her mouth form that classic "O" as she felt the waves of ecstasy flowing through her.

When I finally withdrew myself from her body, she crumpled to the floor exhausted from the double demands of the punishment and the rough fucking I had just given her. She looked amazingly beautiful and helpless laying there on the rug curled up in a fetal position and sucking her thumb as my cum dripped from her pussy lips and down across her butt cheek so I snapped a photo with my phone.

***

I'm laying on the couch on my tummy with my head on Daddy's lap. His hands are stroking my hair and back and I feel like I'm floating on a cloud. The punishment was harsh -- fifteen strokes -- but the aftercare is heavenly. I always find that for me, the severity of the punishment is in direct proportion to the pleasure I get out of the aftercare.

I had lain on the floor for a couple minutes before Daddy picked me up and carried me to the couch (I love being carried by him and will find any excuse to have him do it). He arranged my skirt as he put me down so it is pulled up and spread out, leaving my ass bare. This is fine as my butt is extremely tender at this point and even the weight of the fabric on it would hurt. Besides, I also know that Daddy likes to watch the welts form on my rear end. There is nothing wrong with this. He is an artist and I'm proud to be his canvas.

I'm looking forward to the next week because I know every time I sit I will feel the burning in my butt and be reminded of tonight. Every time I bend over a bit, somebody will spot the marks and the shame and humiliation will well up in me and turn me on. Every time I get undressed for a bath I will be able to look in the mirror and see those visible red welts on my body be proud of how I served him.

I know a lot of people would not understand my relationship with my Daddy. Why I let him beat me like this and fuck me afterwards. It probably has to do with my childhood. I've always been submissive. When I was in elementary school I was always the girl that when we played "Cops and Robbers" wanted to be tied up.

Another reason is my family was pretty messed up. I have only vague memories of my father before he died in a traffic accident and my relationship with my mom was distressing,confusing and I was struck with a rug beater a lot. I was ten when she was put into a mental institution and my aunt took me in. Life was less crazy after that, but my aunt made it clear that she enjoyed her single, swinging life and as soon as I hit 18 I was out the door. Then I lived on the street for a while, like a stray cat, until Daddy took me in.

I bet you're thinking I have "daddy issues." Well, your right! I don't know why people look down on girls like me for that. These vague memories of my father are some of my most pleasant ones I have, so why wouldn't a seek out a man that gives me the things I missed when I was a little girl? Yes, I get some spankings, sure, but also some trips to the zoo holding his hand, too! The day he collared me and I was no longer a stray kitten was the best day of my life!

Our life is so nice. I love the way he sort of casually abuses me. Walking up behind me while my hands are busy in the sink and feeling up my tits and pussy while he tells me about work. The other day he came home and walked into the bathroom while I was in the tub. I love that he feels so free to see me in my most private times and this occasion he unzipped and peed into my bath water as if it was nothing. It was such a turn on!

The only thing I long for in our relationship is getting more serious discipline from him. I need a good cry every few weeks to release the tension in my body and mind, but I'm lousy at being anything, but a pleasant, submissive little girl. I wish I could be bratty and earn more discipline, but it's just not in my nature. I'd like to put a regular maintenance spanking into our BDSM contract, but I don't want to rock the boat when things are going so well. In the meanwhile, I've been slipping little mistakes into the proofreading I do for him. I guess this is naughty of me, but I'm happy to take the punishment and l adore the aftercare!

I just hope he doesn't figure my little game out!

THE END