“I’m—Oh God—Pres—I’m—COMING!” she screamed, the tight walls of her pussy clamping down tightly on his shuddering pole as the colossal surge of pleasure plummeted through every pore of her frame. His grunt joined hers as his cock made its final descent into her womb, buried in the deepest recesses of her body as it emptied itself of steaming, hot seed.
Serena collapsed in a breathless heap upon the bale of hay, feeling Preston’s weight upon her back and his breath on her neck. She turned her face in that direction. “Pres? I really like it when you break the rules. Wanna break some more?”
Preston just laughed. He now knew he had created a horny little monster!
Chapter Seven
Serena sat nervously on the bench outside of the new woodshed Sunday afternoon. She was dressed in a pale blue smock with a white apron, stockings, and little ankle boots. The outfit was cute, she admitted, except for the bloomers. These were split in the middle to allow easy access to her posterior and felt strange under the airy dress.
She watched as Preston thumbed through her punishment book, trying desperately not to break out in a terrified sweat. He looked up from her book and contemplated his next move. “Serena, you have fifteen accounts of swearing, seven of disrespect, three of failing to do your chores, and four tantrums. That is an awful lot of trouble for one little girl to accumulate in just one week, don’t you think?”
“Yes, Daddy,” Serena tried the words on her tongue, surprised to see how easy it felt. She also hoped it would give Preston reason to spare her.
“Yes, Daddy,” he repeated back. “NOW you decide to show submission. Brat,” he chuckled, shaking his head. “This is how things are going to go, young lady. Of all these things, I abhor disrespect the most. For each count, you will receive a taste of the strap—”
“No, Preston! Please—” Serena looked frightened.
“No Daddy now? My, that changed quickly,” he observed. “Cussing is the paddle, failure to do your chores is the hairbrush, and temper tantrums are with my hand. You will always incur corner time as well to consider your punishment.”
“Can’t we negotiate this?”
“Negotiation implies that both of the involved parties have the option to come to an agreement or a compromise. Being that we already agreed that I will make the decisions and you will be responsible to follow them, the subject of negotiation at this point is considered moot.”
“Does that mean the answer is no?” Serena asked. Preston frowned. “I guess so,” she sighed.
“One more thing. The woodshed will be used for your strappings and paddling, but you will go into the RV for the remainder of your discipline. Have you anything to say, young lady?”
Serena looked up at his stern, handsome face from her place on the little bench that he had built especially for her. He teasingly called it the “hot seat” and not because it grew uncomfortably warm in the heat of the day. She bit her lip.
“No, Sir, Daddy,” Serena whispered, suddenly feeling like she was ten years old again.
Preston pointed to the woodshed. “Go inside there and pull up your skirt, lean across the bench, and wait for me. Make certain you have that little bottom high in the air.”
Serena’s legs trembled as she gazed around the special portion of the woodshed. At first glance, it simply looked like any carpenter’s shed—with a sawhorse, a work bench, straight-backed chair, and various hooks and nails on the walls. Her second perusal of the room brought attention to the long-necked, rectangular paddle that rested neatly on the seat of the chair and the thick belt that hung discretely from a hook in the corner of the room.
Gulping back tears, Serena lifted the dress to her waist and draped over the broad platform of the wooden sawhorse. The hard board underneath her pressed uncomfortably into her abdomen, bringing her to the realization that she was not properly positioned. Maybe he wouldn’t notice—
She squeezed her eyes shut as she heard the telltale sound of Preston’s boots outside. The door opened, and she pictured him standing in the doorframe, studying her.
“I’m glad to see that you chose to obey me, my darlin’. Although, not completely,” Preston strolled over to her side. “I told you to put that hind end of yours up. Go on. Mind me.”
Serena bit down on her lower lip as she pushed her stomach forward over the bench, clutching the legs in front of her to keep from tumbling onto her face. With the platform now resting on her pelvis, her bloomers stretched open to reveal her shaking cheeks. Preston reached across to push the material to either side, exposing all her glorious delights. He made no mention of the glistening wetness that shimmered from her womanhood. The little minx, he thought, she doesn’t even know how excited she is.
“Serendipity Nicole—do you believe in coincidence? Do you think it was fate or destiny that brought you here, to this place, with your beautiful bottom perked high up in the air, waiting to be disciplined like a naughty child?”
Serena did not respond as a rush of excitement raced through her veins. His voice rumbled with a low timbre through the room, adding to the sensation of helplessness, vulnerability, and wanton desire to feel. She did not care what she felt, as long as it was something. She felt a hot tear roll down her cheek as he slowly walked around her like a prowling lion.
“You are my very special girl, Serena. It makes me very unhappy to see how you have allowed yourself to come to this sad situation. Why is that? What do you need, Serena?”
He expected an answer. Not just any answer, but the right answer. Patiently, he waited for the jewels to roll from the young woman’s lips.
“I—I need a Daddy to love me,” Serena choked out, feeling the blood rushing to her face due to her awkward upside down position.
Preston was pleased. She was finally accepting her inner needs, albeit under duress.
“Have you been a naughty girl, Serena? What should Daddy do to help teach you proper behavior? Tell me.”
“Please don’t make me say it. I’m begging you,” Serena mumbled, humiliation flooding every pore of her body. Preston merely waited. He had lots of time to gently break this filly from her self-made corral. His patience paid off as Serena finally conceded. “Daddy needs to discipline me and teach me what’s right and wrong,” she said with a catch in her voice.
“How does Daddy teach the best lessons to his special girl?”
“He spanks me on my bare bottom,” Serena choked back a sob. She had never felt so exposed in her life. Even fully clothed with only her nethermost regions cleared for punishment, she felt completely naked and vulnerable before this strong, dominant man. He had stripped her of her dignity with just a few simple words and left her disturbingly defenseless to anything he desired of her.
“Yes, he spanks your bare bottom,” Preston repeated, running his warm hand across the white span of flesh. Several small bruises remained from the previous days switching. “Why are we here in the woodshed, Serena?”
“Because I was bad and disrespected you,” Serena began to cry from fear as she allowed her inner child to escape the confines of her control. She forgot her pride as she voiced her wrongdoings. “I cussed a lot after you told me not to and called you bad names and insults. I don’t mean to be naughty and rude, Daddy! I’m sorry.”
Real tears seeped from her eyes as she heard her little girl voice admit her faults. Preston patted her back calmingly. “Daddy knows you don’t mean to be, which is why we are here. This lesson will teach you how to be more careful in the future.”
He lifted the strap from the hook and slapped it against his hand, satisfied with the startled jump elicited from Serena’s bottom. “You will receive seven licks from this strap for being disrespectful. Before I start, do you have anything you want to say? This is your only opportunity to convince me that you don’t deserve to be here, receiving this strapping.”
Serena shook her head, grasping the long horizontal plank that ran from one side of the sawhorse legs to the other. She noticed the eyehooks em
bedded under the wood and balked, twisting to stare at him.
“Ah, yes. Those are just in case you decide to be uncooperative. No reaching back and no moving from your position. This is your last chance. Talk.”
When nothing escaped her lips, Preston placed his body beside her, once again spreading the fabric of the bloomers to either side of her shivering, pale rump. “Very well, seven strokes for disrespect.”
Serena felt leather lightly brush against her bottom as Preston carefully gauged the distance he required for maximum effectiveness. The sound of the first collision between the strap and her flesh resonated through the tiny room, causing Serena to writhe and wail dolefully as a crimson stripe formed in the middle of her upturned hide. With care and deliberation, Preston slashed down the leather strap six more times, but not without allowing a prudently timed and suitable pause between strokes to permit the full benefit of each lash to sink in.
Tears poured in buckets as Serena tried to catch her breath. She felt Preston graze his fingers over the scarlet beacon that used to be her backside. Fear clutched her heart. She had forgotten about the 15 strokes of the paddle! The tearful girl twisted around to give him a pathetic, pleading look. Preston touched her chin and explained calmly that her punishment must continue and not to make things worse by fighting him. He then patted her behind with the flat of the paddle.
“Fifteen I think we said.. One each for swearing,” he repeated.
“Yes Sir,” Serena whispered.
The sting from the first thwack knocked the breath from her lungs, sending a blaze of fire across her flanks. “Oh God,” she finally breathed.
“Stings a bit, huh?” Preston asked drily.
“Yes, S—Sir,” Serena bleated.
Preston added another and the woman yelped. “Your sweet little backside is coloring up nicely,” Preston observed. He moistened his dry lips with his tongue as he gazed at her contracting cunnie. After three more, Serena was panting and began to rock back and forth a little, trying desperately to obey his instructions.
SPLAT! The paddle fell a sixth time, quickly followed by the seventh and an accompanying howl of pain. When the paddle again connected with her tortured, bare rear on the eighth stroke, the inevitable occurred.
“GODDAMN FUCKING PRICK!” she yelled.
Preston froze, his face clouding in disapproval. “Have you lost your mind? You have just earned yourself a mouth washing, young lady, as well as a start over with 30 strokes now.”
“No! I’m sorry! I couldn’t help it—It was an accident!” Serena bawled, trying to dislodge herself from the saw horse. Out of nowhere, Preston slapped lined cuffs over her wrists and deftly secured them to the legs of the bench. Serena screamed in protest, twisting and turning in a futile attempt to free herself like a bronco fighting to buck off the first saddle. And, like the horse, Serena finally crumpled, exhausted and unable to present further struggle. It was at this point that training could begin.
The next twenty minutes was a bitter experience. Serena squeezed her eyes shut as the paddle thrashed down with a volcanic CRACK across the crown of her already tender bottom. Preston was a veteran when it came to knowing exactly how to carry a punishment to the very edge of a girl’s endurance. His refined technique of pacing his strokes while gradually increasing the force and speed was guaranteed to bring the recalcitrant victim from a place of judicious discomfort to a twisting, squealing torment, the final few seconds becoming an inescapable torrent of misery.
Dangling limply over the sawhorse platform, Serena recoiled and thrashed in mounting anguish. The pristine, oil-polished wood seared her buttocks like a lick of fire as it leapt from side to side and raised a heated, ruddy blush over her lurching rear end. He placed the paddle aside, and with infinite patience, he raised his hand in an intensified swing as he switched his target from her rump to her upper thigh. His palm smashed down with lethal accuracy, sizzling through the air before slapping the pale feature below. The result was both theatrical and instantaneous as Serena released a long, ardent howl and tried to scramble off the platform and save herself from further punishment.
"Ow! Preston! Stop it! Don't! Ow! God Almighty! Stop it! FUCK!"
Preston ignored her shrill protests and continued without a second's hesitation. He now felt no pity, no regret, and no compassion as she, once again, challenged his rule. Redoubling his efforts, Preston laid his steely hand up and down Serena’s naked thighs.
“You STILL haven’t learned? Oh, baby, I'm going to make sure you remember this lesson for a long time to come. We will finish when I say so now," he said, as livid, fire engine-red blotches sprang up, turning her creamy thighs into glowing lanterns of branded flesh. He again lifted the paddle, watching as she hopelessly wriggled her hips to dodge the oak edges as they bit with unbearable pain into her quivering cheeks.
"Ow! Oh God, Ow! Stop! That hurts! I’m SORRY! Ow! Preston, please, honey, I’m begging you. No more!"
What little was left of Serena’s ego dissolved under a surge of humiliation. How could this be happening? Here she was, a 26-year-old professional architect with a master’s degree, dangling over a piece of hard wood with her now useless bloomers slipping towards her ankles. Her bottom was pulsing with indignation, blazing like a lighthouse in the middle of a storm. She would never forgive Preston for this outrage, no matter how long she lived.
Preston braced for the grand finale as he paused to enjoy the spectacle of her freshly-smacked, and indisputably naughty bottom. As much as he—and his cock—wanted to sit around and delight in the view, he returned to the task at hand. Preston drew back his arm for the next volley and swept the paddle down to explode against Serena’s shivering orbs. He was rewarded by shrill, girlish screams.
"No more! Daddy! Please, no more! OW! Daddy, stop! It hurts too much! No, Daddy, please!"
"Oh, it hurts, does it?" Preston inquired good-naturedly, shifting his position to allow for greater accuracy.
Serena’s fingernails dug into the palms of her hands. "Yes! Ow! Yes, it hurts! Stop it! Daddy, please. Stop! Please—Please—Please—" She broke and let go of all control.
Relieved, Preston finally heard the sound of submission, the distant abandonment of feigned control, and the resultant surrender of her will to his. She was now his. Totally and completely. Tossing the paddle on the workbench, Preston returned to the weeping girl and ran his hands gently over her flaming, almost violet, backside. The heat was tremendous, and his cock throbbed with the desire to take another plunge into the depths of her womanhood. He gently released her from the cuffs but did not permit her to stand. The lesson was not yet complete.
“You have disappointed me today, Serena. I hate having to be so strict with you, but your lack of self-control has once again landed you in a heap of trouble. Stay right where you are. I will be right back,” Preston ordered, leaving her to cry into her shaking hands.
“I hate you,” she sobbed to herself. “I HATE you.” But the words were mere lies spoken in the heat of the moment. She loved him, now with even more passion than before. Stripped of pride and arrogance, she could finally be the person she knew she really was. He would teach her all she would ever need to know.
Preston returned with a small box in his hand and placed it on the workbench. He squatted in front of Serena’s red face and pushed the hair from her eyes. “You don’t hate me, you know,” he said quietly, seeing her balk fearfully. He heard her? Impossible! “You only hate that I made you let go. Now you can be molded and shaped into what you were destined for. I decided to forego the rest of your punishment except for one last thing. It will be to remind you that you are mine and I am the one in control at all times. Understand?”
“Yes, Daddy.” Serena whispered, her mind drifting in and out of that subspace of total freedom from responsibility and expectations. She only needed to be right now—nothing more. He pulled a metal item out from the box and wiped it down before positioning himself behind her. Serena tensed as the finger of his righ
t hand gently probed her tiny, tight anus while his left hand parted her cheeks to give him an unobstructed view. Embarrassment and humiliation once again flooded through her, and she whimpered as she felt him push something cold and hard into her rectum. She gasped as it grew more uncomfortable, stretching her bottom hole.
“What are you doing?” she cried out.
“This is a rectal speculum.” Preston announced, screwing the device in place. “You are to leave it in while you stand in the corner. Hands on top of your head. In fact, take off that shift.”
Just when Serena thought she could endure no more, Preston showed her otherwise. She stood before him, naked from the waist up, the bloomers dangling around her ankles and with a large silver device protruding from her bottom. He pointed to the corner and watched as she hobbled to it, her bottom glowing like a neon sign.
Serena had no perception of time as she stood with her nose pressed to the wall. The speculum was lodged uncomfortably within her and left her with the impression that he could see everything disgusting about her. She wept again, feeling more naked and vulnerable than ever before.
Preston returned to the woodshed thirty minutes later. Wordlessly, he removed the speculum and led her outside into the warm sunlight. He pointed to a bale of hay. “Sit right there on your bare bottom until I am done with my chores. I will bring you some water.”
Just when she thought the torture was over, a new flame was lit on her bruised posterior. The prickly hay itched and scratched her to the point of tears, and no position could be found that provided any comfort. She did not complain though. Preston looked up at her as he curried the horses, feeling sympathy for her plight. He quickly finished and walked over to her. She stared up at him with big, trusting blue eyes, waiting silently for his instructions.
“Would you like to go inside and take a shower?”
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