But I got what I deserved

Tried to hurt me but now I know.

 

Kinksters can sometimes be over-sensitive about when something might be considered 'public play'.  Sometimes a slap in the face is just a slap, after all and sensible bystanders will realise that.

 

 

 

It never did matter much, to be honest, even before I started wearing the thing.

 

 

 

Oh, she shouldn't worry.  Nothing creepy about enjoying the sight of an elegant pair of ladies' shoes.  Or the taste of them, for that matter.

Thank goodness for that.  Words can cause real pain - as can bullwhips, too, obviously.

 

 

The thing about schoolgirls is not letting them know you're afraid of them.  Make that mistake once and you'll be doing a lot of homework for other people, believe me.

Despotic love

I suppose I can wait to watch the cookery programme - I've become quite good at coping with deferred gratification.  Thank goodness it's only Raoul this time, anyway.  Sometimes she invites all the guys round to watch a big game and I'm rushed off my feet fetching and carrying beers, snacks and condoms.  She must find it quite exhausting too. 

  

 

It's funny how the simple act of having electrodes attached to your genitals can change your whole perspective on things.

 

I know she's a busy woman, but I really think she could cane her own husband. And detention is a very special time in any relationship.

She works hard for her money (so he'd better treat her right).

But with dignity.  Always with dignity.

Spankable moments

If the other maids don't mind, why should you?

 

Paying €200 per hour only enhances the humiliation of line-writing or corner time, I find.

And don't forget that a spit-roast is charged at anal rates at both ends.

They say size doesn't matter, but even fully lubed up I find that it does.

It's symbolic of something or other.  Most things are.

Controlling passions



You can invest in ethical slaves too - taking the pay packets of men working in charity organisations and suchlike.  The returns aren't as high, obviously, but you know you're doing good whenever you whip extra performance out of them, not just doing well.

 

Self-respect is a delusion to which males are often prone.

 

She's going to want the mess cleaned up and taken away, too.  Let's hope she's remembered to bring a little bag this time.

 

I've heard that a lot of great writers had a habit of getting up early and putting in a good solid four hours writing.  Perhaps you could try that.

 


Probably facing rather a severe dressing down, by the look of it.



Humbled in her presence

Of course, for her it'll be very different from having sex with you.  Longer... more enjoyable...and more frequent too.

 

Don't worry - it'll be very special for both of you, I am sure.

And weekly confession too.

Sometimes men need a little encouragement to make the right choice of their own free will.

She has a point, you know.  I'd say more, but I've a leash to fetch.

The wonderful, stern Miss Cassie Hunter, the Hunteress, of course - who rather thrillingly could surely not give a rats arse about this blog one way or the other. Mmm.. contempt play.

Controlling promiscuity after hours

Shame they never made a video for that one. 

The Stranglers, of course.  Who are also famous for a lyric about a woman's clitares*... which one day I will work into a caption as an extremely bad pun**.

But today, we have a scholastic focus.

It's always worth negotiating.

Oh well.  Adult life was fun while it lasted, I guess.

Hmmm.  Might have to review her salary after a while.

But when does the blow job happen?

Well, if she can't be bothered to get the details right, then what's the point, eh?  I mean, really!  I'd have a word with her about it, but I'm still very bruised from last time.

*  No, actually it doesn't mean that.  Just go and look it up for yourself, OK?  Honestly, do I have to provide a link for everything?

** I haven't actually thought up the pun yet.  But I think we can confidently predict it will indeed be extremely bad.

Distance learning

Yes, I suppose I do like to take it seriously.  I'm always uncomfortable when I see dommes who are all latex and boots in what’s supposed to be a school scene, you know? 

Actually, I’ve got a client who can’t get enough realism. We discovered this online tuition outfit – puts you in touch with a tutor to take you through a whole GCSE course, and at the end of it you take the exam and everything. He used to send essays and tests off to some lady in Macclesfield, and she’d mark them. 

 

Then we had a system: the strap for less than 18/20, the cane for less than 14/20. We had a strict rule for how many strokes, and any additional lines or detention punishment.  You know – so it wouldn’t be me as a Mistress deciding; it would all be about the schoolwork.

 

And then he'd take the proper exam at the end of it - you can do it online these days.  With more punishment - obviously! - for any grade less than an A.

 

 

So it was all working out fine, he was doing course after course.  Getting so many qualifications!  Languages, sciences, all sorts of things.  I think he was quite a high-flying lawyer, though, so I don't suppose a few more GCSEs did him that much good.  Anyway, one day it went a bit wrong. He’d accidentally included some kind of email to me about his next session, in one of the packages of essays for her.  So I come down one morning, and there’s this nicely spoken lady on my doorstep, demanding very politely to know what the blankety-blank is going on!

 

Of course, she had the address because we’d used this one for the deliveries. He used to come here, and I’d open the envelope right there and read out the grades and any comments in front of him – with all the implements on display.  A bit difficult for me, actually, not to be in control of a session like that. He might have 19/20 and just be sent into the bathroom for a hand-job, or he might have 12 or so and need a good caning followed by lines and detention.  Made it hard to plan my day.

Well, I couldn't leave her standing there so I asked her in for tea and at first I wasn’t going to say anything. Client confidentiality and all that.  But then I thought – you know, in a way we’ve been involving her in this thing without her consent. It’s not really fair. So without giving her his real name, I told her everything. 

 

She went white!  But she listened to it all in silence.  Showed her the room with the whipping bench and the canes and things like that.  She looked pretty shocked, but she was quite calm.  Calm and quiet.  She’d once given him just 9/20 for a piece of work – that was the worst grade he’d ever had - and she asked me what he’d got for that, so I said 36 with the cane and writing seven hundred lines in detention. But she didn’t say anything… just nodded and reached out, gently touched one of the canes as if she was thinking about what it must have been like for him.  She asked a few more questions, but I think she was just being polite by then.  She wanted to leave, so we quickly finished our tea and off she went.

 

 

And, as luck would have it – or bad luck if you like – he was just arriving for a session.  He turned the corner of the road just as she was coming up to the end.  He told me their eyes met.  Of course, he didn’t know what to think at the time, didn’t know who she was, but when I got here I told him all about it. And he said that when their eyes met, he knew that she knew it was him!  Isn’t that weird! 

 

 

Anyway.  We thought that would be that, so I started looking around for another online tutor. But then he got a message asking where his essay on Cromwell’s reforms of the legal system was, as part of his GCSE on British constitutional history, so he wrote one up quickly, and sent it off.

Came back covered in red ink.  8/20 for content minus 4 for lateness.  I’ve never given anyone such a beating.  He literally could not sit down for a week - which was a shame, as he had several thousand lines to write. Fortunately, his next essay was a bit better: he'd have got 15 if she hadn't taken a few points off for messy handwriting.

 

He got a starred A for that subject, when he finally came to take the exam.  Examiner's report said it was the best script he'd ever seen.  Well, I suppose he is a lawyer.  He hasn't done quite as well on any since, although it's rare he doesn't get at least an A, nowadays.

Funny how things turn out sometimes, isn’t it?

 

Anyway, can't stand here talking all afternoon.  So what it's going to be today?  The cane for masturbation, was it?  Right then, you go and get into your uniform, and I'll set up in here.

 End

 

Note for foreign chaps: GCSEs are the exams English* pupils take when they're fifteen or sixteen.  But those of us whose emotional and sexual development is eternally stuck at that age could take more of them at any time, I suppose.

 

Note for everyone: all of these lovely pictures are of Miss Porter, of the English Governess site. I hope she isn't cross with me for using them like this.  That would be just awful... 

 

*Note for pedants.  Yes 'English' not 'British'.  Well, English and Welsh.  They do it differently in Scotland.  That's why the story above does not mention tawses.

And - finally - here's a bonus caption, also voiced by the divine Miss Porter, bearing some rather unsettling news!