|Your cart is currently empty|
The Specialist: Marie
Marie was waiting in her apartment complex parking lot when I drove up in my van at seven. She looked around, and then quickly climbed into the front seat. I drove away immediately. What we did required discretion. She greeted me with a nervous smile.
"How are you, John?"
"I'm great, Marie. When you called last night, I noticed the urgency in your voice. Have you earned a good one?"
"Tell me about it. My bottom is tingling to the point where I feel like I'm sitting on pins and needles."
"I promise you won't be sitting when I take you home."
I'm John Anderson, a specialist for a select group of naughty young women who need the pain and embarrassment of sound spankings on their bare bottoms as punishment and correction for real or imagined misbehavior. Currently, five women present their exposed hindquarters for my scalding ministrations; Jennifer, Marie, Annette, Lynn, and Joanna. I met them through discreetly placed ads in certain publications. After getting well acquainted and deciding we trusted each other, I began bringing them to my house for disciplinary sessions. No money changes hands and there is absolutely nothing sexual involved.
How good am I? At the risk of bragging, you name an instrument of corporal discipline and I'm an expert with it; my hard hand, hairbrush, paddle, strap, or cane. I can judge how hard and long a spanking my naughty ladies can take without permanent marking or serious injury. I can devise complimentary punishments to better drive home the lessons they seek to learn. I can scold without raising my voice to shame them for their misbehavior and make them acknowledge their need for a sound spanking.
Marie is twenty-eight and works as an Assistant Registrar for a local college. She's five-three, about 110 pounds, thick jet black hair, brown eyes, shapely figure with medium size breasts, and a shapely firm behind that would make any spanker salivate. When we first met over dinner, she said her parents spanked her bare bottom at least once a week from the earliest she could remember until she graduated from college. Living on her own, she missed physical discipline and being called to account for her behavior through corporal punishment. She usually calls every six weeks to request a Friday evening session.
Our conversation during the short ride to my house was friendly and warm at first. The closer we got the more silent she became. When we drove into my garage and I brought the door down, she was trembling, hugging herself with both arms across her chest.
Normally I take them to the living room for informal conversation before going to the basement. That's when they inform me of the behavior that calls for my specialty. As we walked through the kitchen, my arm around Marie's shoulders, she turned toward the basement door. She wanted to go downstairs immediately.
I've enclosed part of my basement into a small room I call the disciplinarian. It is well lighted with off white walls and a dark green tile floor. The first piece of furniture is a table beside the door with peg hooks on the wall above it. They undress for their spankings, allowed to wear only bras and panties in the disciplinarian.
"Strip and be quick about it!" I smartly swatted the seat of her pants. Marie slowly unbuttoned her cranberry red blouse. "Please don't, sir," she pleaded. "I'll obey you."
I gave her a harder smack. "I told you to undress, not talk. If you aren't in your bra and panties within one minute, I'll bend you over the table for a spanking before you're over my lap."
That quickened removing her blouse. She hung it on a hook, and then slipped out of her shoes and black stirrup pants. Marie loves expensive and luxurious lingerie like the bright pink satin bra and matching high cut brief panties she was wearing. They set off her dark skin and matched the blush on her face and neck from stripping in front of a man who wasn't her lover.
"To the circle, young lady." I gently spun her around, gave her panty covered bottom another smack, and then escorted her to the center of the room, my finger pinching her earlobe. I've painted a two foot diameter red circle of shame in the middle of the floor. They stand in the circle, feet together, arms at their side, looking at their reflection in a wall mirror in front of them. They confess their naughtiness, and I scold and inform them, in exact, excruciating detail, how they will be punished. To heighten the effect, I turn off every light except a dim floodlight above the circle. They feel alone, vulnerable, and frightened.
Marie was visibly trembling when I turned off the lights and stepped behind her. She lowered her head and closed her eyes. A spank and her head bobbed up and her eyes opened. "You will watch yourself, young lady." I grasped the waist band of her panties and slowly lowered them to her knees. It still embarrassed Marie to have her thick black pubic thatch bared in my presence after eighteen months of spankings. She reflexively started to put her hands in front, but I unleashed a hard smack on her bare behind. They forfeit any right to modesty. What they must feel, standing under a floodlight, forced to look at themselves in a mirror, naked except for a bra and panties bunched around their knees, revealing the most intimate areas of their bodies.
I stepped back and said, "Do you remember the times when you've bent over with your hands on your knees and I've decorated your bare bottom with my big paddle to make you confess to your naughtiness, Marie? Do I need to do that tonight?"
"Oh no, sir," she hastened to assure me. "I'll be honest."
"Start talking, young lady.