The Choice You Make Remix Ch 04

I have been fantasizing about this moment for a long time, but now that it is here, I am a bit scared of the choice I made. I look at Brimstone's shapely thighs, but I am thinking more of my skinny ass lying bare and pointed up at her. She is holding the cane that will soon be striking my bottom. She said that she would not raise blood unless I was in "deep trouble," but then she said that I was in "deep trouble." I want to run, but I don't really have a choice. She had the goods to blackmail me; tapes where I was trespassing in her room like a cat burglar, really a peeping tom and where I was agreeing to be her slave while kneeling naked between her thighs. The first was illegal and the second was embarrassing. But I wanted to put off that whipping as long as I could. "Do you want me to take off my underwear?" The thong may have been called a man's swimsuit but honestly it was nothing more than lingerie for men and would do nothing to protect my me. It was obvious now that she had only given it to me in order to make me feel exposed and helpless; Why should I participate in the pretense, if it gave me 30 seconds more before that cane would leave a stinging red line on my backside?

My supervisor looks at me seeing right through to my hesitation, "Don't put it off, John. The longer you hesitate, the harder my spanking will be." She pats her thigh again and it looks enticing no matter what sort of pain may come with laying across it. Along with the submission and humiliation will surely come the gentle caress of her hand and the tender mercy of a relationship that is shifting from professional to personal. In my heart, I have been wanting this.

I want to put my jeans back on so the anticipated pain could be minimized. That is not going to happen. Carefully more like I am an old man with a back ache than a young man showing off tight rounded butt cheeks to a woman, I step forward and start to lie across her lap.

She stops me, "There is one thing we have to do." She uses both hands to slide my dick out of the grey cock holder. She does not take the swimwear off, but tucks it up underneath my balls to project my soft cock a little farther out. She gives the cock a gentle caress and it shifts as a reflex action towards getting hard. She asks, "Doesn't that feel better? It looks prettier."

I know the proper reply, "Yes, Brimstone."

She strokes my pubic hair and comments, "We are going to have to do something about that. I like my boy slaves properly trimmed, perhaps waxed." She orders, "Now, lie down."

Having all preliminaries and delays finished, I lie across her lap, feeling very exposed and very vulnerable. My ass is skinny and soft. I ride bike, but that is a means of transportation, not exercise, most of my time is spent in front of the computer or sitting in class. I probably look like a little boy and I certainly feel like it. Brimstone was older than my mother and shaped more like other men's mothers than mine did. I had a fetish for plump women and she fit the bill. I thought women with womanly curves and large breasts were sexy and comforting in a way that my own mother is not, but now I am worrying how deep the trouble was that I got myself into. She puts her hand on my ass and it feels warm soft and comforting for a second before she smacks it down on my cheek. "OW!"

"Not 'Ow!" Thank you, Brimstone!" she corrects as she picks up the cane.

She had not been kind with that first slap and I could feel the sting on my buttock rising up. I knew her tone of voice and she is not angry, only unyielding, I say, "Thank you, Brimstone." Almost immediately, the cane strikes my other cheeks just as harsh as before. She is not trying to be kind at all. "Thank you, Brimstone." She continues; Each blow causes my butt to sting and become sore like nobody has ever treated me before. "Thank you, Brimstone! ...Thank you, Brimstone! ...Thank you, Brimstone! ...Thank you, Brimstone! ...Thank you, Brimstone! ...Thank you, Brimstone!" I lose track of how many times she spanks me, but my ass is feeling red hot and alive with fire. She slows down and starts caressing me between each blow the touch is comforting, but also a reminder of the pain and sting.

She stops and asks, "Did you like that John?"

I answer, "No, Brimstone!"

She reaches between my legs to touch herself, drawing up moisture from her pussy. The act rubs her hand over my cock and I realize that I have gotten hard as a rock. She puts her finger into my mouth and I taste her for the first and hopefully not the last time. "I liked spanking you. Can you taste the arousal?"

"Yes, Brimstone."

"Did you like being spanked?"

"No, Brimstone."

"Rally? Because that was not me that you are tasting. It was your own spunk." I don't know what to say, because now that she tells me, I realize that I did cum and this fact and my feelings makes me feel more aroused and more connected to her than any other woman before.

Profound feelings of gratitude and excitement flood my body and I sob honestly without shame, begging, "Thank you, Brimstone. Thank you for making me your slave. Please spank me when I am bad, I have been wanting this. I need to be our slave. Keep spanking me. I deserve it." .

She says, "I will, but don't make me do it too often. Now, kneel down and lick up your spunk." She pushes me off her lap and onto the floor. I swiftly turn and go to work on her thighs. My cream is a young man's cream, thick and generous in volume. This does not bother me, but I can still taste the suntan lotion on her, so I avoid licking anyplace other than where my cum is dripping down over her legs. She smiles and says, "The next time that I ask if you enjoyed your punishment, you will answer, 'Yes, Brimstone'."

"Yes, Brimstone. You may punish me as often as you like," I say between mouthfuls of my own cum.

"I will punish you as often as you need, but I don't want to hurt my slave, so I won't punish you as often as I would like." She caresses my cheek softly, "and adds you may take your swimsuit off now and meet me down in the kitchen. Bring the suit with you. It is time that you start learning your duties.'' She pushes me away and I swiftly follow her instructions to discover If I would welcome the next task as little or as much.

I arrive in the kitchen and she hands me a frilly kitchen apron. It is not extraordinarily sissy, but it is clearly designed with feminine qualities in mind. It says "kiss the cook" on the front in pink letters and has shiny pink ties on the cotton fabric. She says, "Make us some lunch."

I say, "Yes, Bree. Anything in particular?"

She smacks my bare bottom and I jump. "Brimstone! You don't get to call me Bree, again." That stung!

My ass is sore from the harsh treatment and I turn facing her in self-defense. Normally a man facing somebody when naked is not self-defense, but my ass feels like it is on fire. It is a painful scary feeling, but it is also one that made me feel desire for Bree...Brimstone like I never had before. I have got to get into the habit of thinking of her as Brimstone, especially if she will spank me every time, I correct saying, "Brimstone."

She says, "I don't care. Make something good. There is a steak and some wine in the fridge."

"Yes, Brimstone," I say, but I am thinking I had better make something good. Most of the time, I eat in the college commissary so I not a practiced chef. I look in her kitchen and pray that there is a cookbook. I start looking in cupboards and realize that she is sitting in the dining room with her arms crossed watching me. This is the second time in a couple of hours that I had been caught looking through her cupboards. This time I have a legitimate excuse, but it still makes me nervous to have her sit there and observe me like a hawk. I look in her direction and give her a weak smile, "Where are the pans?"

She gestures, "Hanging above the kitchen island."

"Oh, yes." Right in the middle of the kitchen hanging on steel hooks from the ceiling were pots, pans and cooking implements. I should spank myself for being such an idiot. I decide the safe thing to do is to fry the steaks with some potatoes. I manage to cook the meal and it turns out edible if not exactly a culinary masterpiece.

I set the meals on the table with a bit of salt and pepper and steak sauce that I found in the refrigerator. Then I joined her at the dining room table. As she requested earlier, I now found myself being her guest for supper. The dining room chair made my sore butt hurt, but when I went to stand, she ordered, "Sit, Eat." I did not mention that it hurt to sit down, because I suspect that she knew that. The rub of my naked ass against the chair is a reminder that if I did not do what I was told, I could expect more punishment.

The potatoes were close to the right consistency, cooked through without being burnt. The steaks however were not at all the way steaks were supposed to taste; cooked all the way through but not seared at all. I was not in any danger of being called a chef. Brimstone was forgiving at least. She said, "You will learn, John. I will introduce you to Dave and he will teach you what you need to do. With time, you might even make an edible steak."

"Dave?" Apparently, her friend Dave was more than a former fling. He may be a regular visitor to Brimstone's bondage and whip. My faces flushes with the thought. I am already thinking of Brimstone as my girlfriend, even though she had said that I was only a slave to her and not a boyfriend. It was a title that I hoped would be swiftly overcame. But another slave with a longer history is competition, Competition that raises my jealousy. I was determined to win her admiration and love whatever it took and I was going to be her favorite slave even the boyfriend that she would always want to keep.