Keeping hold of my tender nipples, he leads me to the table and tells me to place my hands flat. He adjusts my position to his liking and then tells me to prepare myself for my first correction. I take a deep breath and steady myself. Still, I can't stop myself from crying out with the first sharp strike of the leather slapper. Four slaps - two on each cheek - and I'm already crying. Nonetheless, I am grateful, a feeling which shocks me. Without thinking, turn, drop to the floor and hug his legs, thanking him for his correction. I feel loved, safe, wanted.
The rest of the journey flies by. We are alone, except for the servants. I am humiliated beyond belief each time the footman serves us dinner. The man is a friend to my husband and is well aware of my plight. My husband has told him, in front of me, that he should feel free to look as he pleases, to touch as he chooses. Each time he serves me food or refills my glass, he does this, tweaking a nipple, rubbing my shoulders. My face flames with embarrassment. The first time he did this, I voiced an objection and my husband's eyes became hard and dark. He told me to stand behind my chair then bent me over it, instructing me to hold onto the seat, thus forcing my bottom into the air. Then, he told me that Brad, the valet, would administer the punishment since it was him I had disrespected. I began to cry and shake my head, but Milord, my husband, grasped my chin and forced me to look into his eyes. I saw him nod to Brad who began to spank me.
Milord said Brad would continue this for five full minutes. Brad, thankfully, used only his hand, but he was merciless. About halfway through my punishment, I closed my eyes, tears falling freely down my face, but Milord would not allow this. My time restarted. Five additional minutes. My eyes flew open and I managed to keep eye contact with Milord, despite my tears and crying. Once the five minutes had passed, Milord kissed me deeply while Brad fingered my wet pussy. Just as I was about to cum, both men stepped away from me. My husband told to be seated and to finish my dinner. Brad refilled my wine and the rest of the evening went on as if nothing had happened.
That night, Milord made love to me. He did not fuck me, he made slow, sweet, careful love to me, whispering how happy I've made him. I've never felt so cherished.
Three days later, he holds out his hand and helps me down the steps of our car. He must help me, not only because he is a gentleman, but because I can barely walk on my own. My bottom is red and welted. My thigh muscles strained and shaky, my pussy swollen and tender, my anus still filled with a rather large plug. I wobble a bit on my black pumps and he steadies me. I look up at his soft eyes and smile. I can't wait for the next trip.
