I let out a gentle laugh at the irony. Since she was my first crush I had often fantasised of Julia as my lover, of delving between those long slender legs to explore her hidden depths. If only I’d known back then that getting into her knickers would be this easy, that she would respond this way, it would have saved me much teenage angst. I lifted the wet finger to my lips and held it there, drawing in her aroma. Generally it is the smell of a woman rather than her appearance that excites me. Julia smelt good and even before I slipped the finger into my mouth I knew she would taste good. I wasn’t disappointed.
Still, I couldn’t believe that I’d actually enjoyed spanking this woman. I never thought I could physically hurt anyone. Somehow this felt different. I felt wicked. Julia had been right. I had spent many hours daydreaming of revenge but even given the opportunity I doubted I could go through with it. Somehow I managed. As thrilling as my power over her felt, it had been Julia’s passive compliance that had served to increase my excitement. Julia wanted me to punish her and despite my initial reservations I needed to vent my anger for all those hours of anguish she caused. Yet ultimately, it was the thrill of knowing that what I was doing was taboo that drove me on. Each time I struck her – each time she moaned – drove me deeper into my adopted persona.
While I was still contemplating this bizarre turn of events, Julia slid off my lap and kneeled in front of me. I felt suddenly deprived, almost bereft. She looked so pathetic huddled between my thighs that I wondered why I was ever afraid of this woman. Yet I had been and she, knowing how I felt, had shown me no mercy. Why should I show her any now? Besides, her vulnerability made her look so sexy that I wanted her more than ever. Like the girl at the bar. My mind raced with all the things I would make her do ...
But before I had a chance to capitalise on my victory, Julia surprised me. She stood and walked slowly to the dresser and leaned forward against it, resting. She looked as exhausted as I felt. “Now it’s your turn,” she said eventually.
“My turn?”
I felt a little frightened by the surge of emotion coursing through me, by the way it centred on my sex. The feeling was intense. Perhaps too intense. For a moment I was in denial. What did she mean? Julia was nodding slowly – smiling. I knew exactly what she wanted. The whole situation felt wrong. When had Julia vested control? In an instant she had turned my victory into defeat and I suddenly found myself trapped in a situation I hadn’t contemplated, let alone prepared for. I tried to remind Julia that despite what had just happened I honestly wasn’t into spanking. It was meant to be a one-off. Julia agreed. She made it clear that it was the last time I’d ever spank her. She picked up my hairbrush. On the other hand ...
Julia edged towards me, patting the hairbrush against her palm, the sound threatening, sickening.
“Look, I’m not ...”
“Get used to it,” she said, waving the hairbrush. “This is what you want, isn’t it, why you invited me home with you? Don’t tell me you prefer the submissive Julia?”
“Yes. No. I ...”
My mother always told me that people never really change. When it came down to it I was still the submissive devotee and Julia still a terrible bully. Even during the years of abuse I suffered at her hands, or perhaps because of it – because at least that way she noticed me – I still adored her.
“Over my knee! Now! Quickly!” The authority in Julia’s voice made me tremble. Real menace lurked behind her words. By comparison my playacting had sounded pathetic, as did my subsequent pleas for mercy. Julia would have none of my whimpering. I was to be spanked whether I wanted to be or not. Almost in a trance I lay across Julia’s lap, allowed her to lift my skirt, to pull down my panties. Not for the first time in my life I wished I had never set eyes on her. Julia pressed her left hand into the small of my back, holding me firmly in position. I realised then Julia Pemberton – bully – love of my life – would show me no mercy.
She didn’t!
Sleeping Beauty
by Heather Davidson
Please kind sir, don’t ask me what’s wrong,
For I’ve sat amongst the trees here far too long,
And in that time I’ve shed a hundred tears,
One for each of the passing years.
Once upon a time, many years ago, in a land far, far away, there was an enchanted forest. And in that forest, there lived an elf. Yet he was sad of countenance, for a great trouble lay on his shoulders and he took to spending many a day sitting glumly amongst the trees. Then, one fine April morn, he espied a Knight and his faithful Squire riding through the forest, and he asked them who they were.
“I,” announced the Knight grandly, “am Sir Roderick de Nance, Prince of Cornubia.”
“A Prince!” the elf cried gleefully, leaping to his feet. “A Prince! At last, after all these years, a Prince! Let us give thanks to God for the moment of our deliverance is near!”
“Deliverance?” queried Sir Roderick.
“You must come with me, good Sir Knight,” replied the elf earnestly. “For there is a matter to which you must attend.”
And so Sir Roderick, being filled with much curiosity, dismounted from his fine white palfrey and followed the elf through the thicket and bramble until at last they came upon the overgrown ruins of an old stone building. And inside this building, fast asleep on a bed, lay a girl of the most remarkable beauty, with skin as white as snow and hair as dark as coal. Sir Roderick ran a gloved hand along the headboard and then carefully inspected his fingers. “Look at the muck in here,” he said.
“This is Sleeping Beauty,” the elf explained. “And she has lain here for a hundred years; the victim of a cursed spell.”
“What happened?” asked Sir Roderick.
“She received a prick,” said the elf.
“I know the feeling,” nodded the Knight.
“It was only a little prick,” continued the elf uneasily.
“Size isn’t everything,” said Sir Roderick hurriedly.
“Anyway, you must kiss the girl and wake her from her slumber,” said the elf.
“Kiss her?” cried Sir Roderick, aghast. “Kiss her? This I simply cannot do.”
“But you must,” retorted the elf desperately. “Then you will make her your wife and everyone will live happily ever after.”
“I don’t think so,” said Sir Roderick haughtily.
“Why not?” shrieked the elf.
“He can’t,” interjected the Squire. “He’s a bit.”
“A bit what?”
“A bit … funny,” replied the Squire. “He doesn’t like girls.”
“Don’t care for them at all,” agreed Sir Roderick.
“But you cannot leave Sleeping Beauty here!” implored the elf. “She needs a good, strong man.”
“Don’t we all,” sighed Sir Roderick wistfully. “Anyway, we’d best be on our way. Come along Squire, we have things to do.”
And with that, the Knight and his faithful Squire departed the scene. The elf gave chase for a little while until he realised the futility of his gesture, at which point he sank to his knees and burst into tears.
Presently, another horse came trotting along the forest path.
“Why so sad small elf person?” enquired the female rider.
So the elf recounted the sad story of Sleeping Beauty and of how Sir Roderick de Nance had failed to break the evil spell. On hearing this sorry tale, the woman dismounted from her mighty steed, and the elf was greatly taken aback, for the stranger was dressed in a short black tunic which barely covered her buttocks and long, thigh-length leather boots.
“Show me this girl,” she commanded. “For perhaps I can be of help.”
And so the elf led the lady in black through the dense undergrowth until they came to the place where Sleeping Beauty lay. The woman slowly circled the bed, tapping her riding crop thoughtfully against the palm of her hand. Finally, she leant over Sleeping Beauty and kissed the girl hard on the lips. Then she stood back.
; Sleeping Beauty stirred and opened her eyes. She focused them first on the elf and then on the lady in black.
“Oh,” she said, slightly miffed. “You’re a woman.”
“Your powers of observation do you credit,” replied the lady.
“But shouldn’t you be a handsome prince?” asked Sleeping Beauty, sitting up.
“There appears to be a shortage of them,” said the elf sadly.
“I am Lady Della de Domme,” smiled the woman. “I have released you from the spell and now claim you as my own. You will accompany me to my Castle at Chateau de Domme, where you will live as my companion for the rest of your days.”
“Well, I suppose it beats lying around here all day,” remarked Sleeping Beauty, rising to her feet.
Lady Della slipped an arm round the girl’s waist and guided her back through the undergrowth to the waiting horse.
“Goodbye then, Mister Elf,” said Sleeping Beauty as she mounted the mighty steed. “And thanks for everything.”
“Do not despair!” cried the elf. “I will not abandon you to the clutches of this evil woman. I will get help and then come and rescue you!”
By the time he had finished speaking, the horse was already out of sight.
They rode for many miles; through wood and forest, pasture and meadow, and thence into the mountains until, at last, they came unto the black castle of Chateau de Domme, perched high on a rocky outcrop.
“Does anyone else live here?” enquired Sleeping Beauty.
“No, just me,” answered Lady Della, “and my dwarf servant.”
As if on cue, the huge panelled door of the chateau creaked slowly open to reveal a small hideous figure.
“Ah, Mistress, you have returned,” purred the Dwarf. “And with a prrrretty girl in tow.”
“See to the horse will you, Tallboys,” ordered Lady Della. She placed an affectionate hand on Sleeping Beauty’s bottom. “Come, my darling, let me show you round your new home.”
The guided tour of the castle took several minutes and concluded upstairs in the bedroom.
“Is this my bedroom or your bedroom?” asked Sleeping Beauty, regarding the lone double bed in the centre of the room.
“This is our bedroom,” replied Lady Della, removing her long black gloves and placing them carefully on top of a chest of drawers along with her riding crop.
“Oh dear,” Sleeping Beauty said worriedly. “I haven’t brought any night clothes with me.”
“That is not a problem,” answered Lady Della, “For I wish you to sleep in the nude.”
“Oh, that’s alright then,” said Sleeping Beauty matter-of-factly.
“I’m sure you must be tired after the journey,” smiled Lady Della, conveniently overlooking the fact that the girl had been asleep for the past one hundred years. “Why do you not undress ready for bed?”
Sleeping Beauty hesitated for a moment but then did as she was bid; first she removed her beautiful gown and then she slipped off her pretty knickers.
“But first,” said Lady Della, picking up a chair and placing it at the foot of the bed, “It is time for your evening spank.”
Sleeping Beauty appeared crestfallen. “Are you displeased with me, Mistress?” she asked, genuinely surprised.
Lady Della let her eyes feast on the gorgeous naked body standing shamelessly in front of her.
“No, not at all,” she answered softly. “Quite the opposite in fact.” Her voice took on a distinctly harder edge. “Now, come and kneel on this chair.”
Once the girl was in position, Lady Della began to spank hard: eight ruthless slaps to Sleeping Beauty’s right buttock cheek, followed by a further eight to the left. Then she repeated the exercise – only this time with even more ferocity than before. Then she stopped and let her hand gently caress the girl’s reddening rear.
“I call this my sixty-four-er,” she explained. “Eight crisp spanks to the buttocks, eight times.”
“Forgive me, Mistress,” whimpered Sleeping Beauty, “but I fear that I have received only half that number.”
“I haven’t finished yet,” replied Lady Della coldly. “But as you are clearly impatient for the rest, then we will resume.”
She slapped Sleeping Beauty hard on the bare bottom. “And that wasn’t one of them!”
The spanking began again; four batches of eight hard smacks, all expertly delivered by a woman who, over the years, had become well qualified in the art of discipline.
“So beautiful,” whispered Lady Della, using both her hands to knead Sleeping Beauty’s shapely rear. “So warm and so beautiful. Oh, how I’ve longed for this day; to finally have a girl in my castle who will submit to my special brand of discipline.”
Lady Della crossed over to her chest of drawers and picked up the black riding crop from where she had left it. “And now I want to introduce you to something that you’re going to get to know very well during your time at Chateau de Domme.” She waved the riding crop under the girl’s nose. “This!”
Lady Della brought the riding crop down hard against the girl’s well-rounded buttocks.
“How does that feel?” she asked.
“Oh, Mistress, it hurts,” replied Sleeping Beauty truthfully. “But …”
“But what?”
“But … in a nice sort of way.”
“Hmm,” murmured Lady Della. “Very interesting.”
She placed a hand on Sleeping Beauty’s scarlet backside and felt the girl shudder with pleasure. Lady Della raised the riding crop. “Then let’s see how nice you think this is!”
The woman began to thrash mercilessly. Howls of anguish echoed round the castle, and it was only when they turned to cries of pleasure that Lady Della lessened the pace. From then on, each new stroke of the riding crop produced a shriek of ecstasy, until one final, brutal blow brought Sleeping Beauty to a shuddering climax.
Lady Della stood back and waited for the girl to regain her composure.
“If this is what happens when you are pleased with me,” remarked Sleeping Beauty dryly, “then I should hate to know what happens when you are … displeased.”
Lady Della laughed and kissed the girl softly on the lips.
“You’ll find out soon enough,” she said. “But now I wish to consummate our relationship.”
“Consummate?” frowned Sleeping Beauty. “I’m not quite sure I know what you … oooh!”
And so Sleeping Beauty settled into her new life at Chateau de Domme. Most of the time she walked round in just a top with her bare bottom on display, and other times completely naked. And if she displeased her Mistress then she was spanked, and if she pleased her Mistress then also she was spanked, but not as hard. And afterwards, Lady Della would make love to her, sometimes tenderly, sometimes roughly, depending on how the mood took her.
Then, one fine spring morn, a visitor arrived at the entrance to the Chateau. Sleeping Beauty, being for once correctly attired, opened the door.
“It is I!” cried the elf excitedly. “After a year and a day, I have found you.” He held up a small glass phial containing a colourless liquid. “Tonight, when Lady Della takes her evening meal, you will slip this potion into her wine. She will immediately fall into a deep sleep; not, alas, for as long as a hundred years, but long enough for you to escape!”
“Sod off,” said Sleeping Beauty and slammed the door shut in his face.
“Well, that’s gratitude for you, isn’t it?” complained the elf to no one in particular. “Anyone would think she didn’t want to be rescued.”
“Who was that?” enquired Lady Della, descending the stairs.
“Just some elf,” replied Sleeping Beauty. “I got rid of him.”
“Do you know what today is?” asked Lady Della, taking Sleeping Beauty in her arms and kissing her passionately on the lips. “It is exactly a year and a day since I found you in the forest and brought you to my castle.”
“I am aware of this,” answered Sleeping Beauty quietly. “And, in all that time, I never re
alised how happy I could be.”
“Then let us mark this occasion,” Lady Della suggested, “with three hundred and sixty-six spanks to your bare bottom – one for each day of your new life.”
“Ooh, Mistress!” shrieked Sleeping Beauty.
And everyone lived happily ever after. Apart from the elf, of course.
Mistress Satina’s Slutmaid Academy 2: A Caning for the Goddess
by Alexia Falkendown
Mistress Satina’s Diary.
Strict discipline is my secret for success in running my select SlutmaidAcademy. A strong hand is essential – be it to chastise aspiring Slutmaids’ bared bottoms or stroke their throbbing sissycocks. Behind the discreet satin drapes of my residence in Brighton’s
Royal Pavilion Square
, I whip and massage my postulants into shape, so that when they receive their Slutmaid Diploma they have that feminine poise and charm which sets elegant ladies apart from baser, grosser, undepilated males. Aspiring Trannies spend a fortune on satins and silks, wigs and facials, stockings and heels, but without my training and make-over how-tos, accompanied by regular application of cane and dildo to their bared bottoms, they cannot achieve that feminine silhouette, beauty and poise that distinguishes my Academy graduates from a Widow Twankey in the Theatre Royal Christmas Panto or a hirsute transvestite looking uncomfortable in a misfit dress bought at the Oxfam shop.
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