You’ve never been disciplined before — unless you want to call a lackluster smacking by a boyfriend followed rapidly by a “there, I’ve punished you … let’s fuck” to be correction. And now you’re faced with the prospect of real punishment, from someone who really does know what he’s doing and who won’t stop just because you think he should.
In a short time you’re going to find yourself experiencing all the things you’ve thought about for so long, experiencing the things you dread and desire, that you try to push out of your mind but find yourself thinking about at great length as you masturbate. In a short time you’re going to find yourself having to go over my lap, having to lie there to wait until I raise your skirt, lower your panties, and proceed to do to your behind what you’ve only fantasized about, the things that start with the shaking down and Vaselining of the rectal thermometer … but that only start there, and end somewhere else entirely
Your excitement is unquenchable; so too is your terror. For fantasy is one thing but reality quite another. To help you bridge that divide, I’m setting you a number of tasks to focus on as the time ticks by to your going across my lap. Tasks that tie up your mind in a series of mundane acts, so that your mind falls away and the mindfulness of what you’re going to receive ensues.
In this post I’m revealing the first of these tasks to you.
1. You’re going to go shopping for the clothes you’ll wear for your first punishment, an otherwise mundane task but one you’ll be experiencing in a completely different way this time, because of the new meaning that lies behind your routine actions.
We have to think carefully about how you’ll be dressed for the first time. Should I make you come to me as a schoolgirl about to be chastised by her teacher, too-short skirt ready to be pinned up in back, puerile white panties tight to reveal the curves of your buttocks, white blouse to testify to your inexperience at such humiliating matters? Or would it be better to skip the preliminaries and have you in a hospital gown, open-backed for the reasons you already know but that I’ll have you repeat to me even so. “Why is the gown open in back,” I’ll ask, and after you’ve told me you don’t know, can’t figure it out, I’ll repeat the question, with equally calm a voice but with much greater severity behind the words.
“Why is the gown open in back, sweetheart?”
“Because … because that’s the part you want exposed.”
“And what part is that, please tell me exactly what part of you I’m dealing with.”
“With my ass …”
“Yes, with your bottom, sweetie. With your bottom, and it has to be bare to my eyes, doesn’t it?”
“Yes. Yes, it has to be my bare bottom. Always my bared bottom.”
“And you have to wear the gown to show me your bare bottom?”
“Yes. Yes, I do.”
“And your bottom has to be bare the entire time so that it’s easily available to me?”
“In more words, sweetie.”
“Yes … yes, Sir, it does. Yes, my bottom has to be bare and available to you Sir.”
“For whatever I want to do with it?”
“Yes Sir, for whatever you want to do with it.”
“And whenever I want to do it?”
“Yes Sir, whatever you want to do to my bottom, and whenever you feel you need to do it.”
“You’re a very good girl, sweetie. And now it’s time to put your gown on and come out to me so that I can put you across my lap …”
At some later point I’ll have you buy a gown; for this first lesson I want you to go shopping for the lingerie you’ll wear beneath your school skirt, the panties, stockings and garters you’ll wear to frame your behind as I prepare it for correction.
Think carefully about that image as you pick through the choices — you’ll be revealing yourself to me for the first time, and it’s important that I see you’ve been a good girl and thought hard about how best to please me. Everything you’ve chosen tells me a great deal about you, reveals a great deal to me about your mind, and what you’ve been thinking, so there’s no selection you make that doesn’t have consequences associated with it.
Let’s start with the stockings and garter belt. I’ll be absent-mindedly adjusting them as you lie over my lap listening to me lecture you, so they should be pretty for me to look at, sensuous for me to touch. Will they be black, to show me what a naughty girl you are, or should they be white, to demonstrate to me that it’s your first time and you’re filled with the purity that comes of inexperience?
Your underpants — the plain white cotton of a schoolgirl, modest cut to reveal little of your bum? Or high-cut lacy panties that are sheer in back to show me the target area even before I lower them to reveal your about-to-be-chastised cheeks?
You’ll want to shop carefully, these thoughts running through your mind as you browse. Although you’ll hold each garment in your hands, in your mind you’ll imagine me feeling them, or rather feeling you through them, cupping your buttocks through the fabric of your panties, gently smacking your upper thighs through the film of the stockings.
With each wisp of fabric you’ll find a mental image, and a sound to go with it. I cup your ass through your panties — you feel me doing that — and then, as you stand there in the store holding the garment up, you hear the loud SMACK that soon follows. A single impact of my hand against silk-covered flesh, and then, after a pause as the underpants are pulled down, another louder smack of hand against bared female skin.
You examine the stockings and think about me seeing you kneeling on the bed, head down, behind up, the nozzle inserted into your behind, the stockings forming part of the frame of fabric that accentuates your about-to-be-filled backside. Perhaps I’m running my hand up and down them, feeling the smoothness of the silk and the warmth of your legs underneath, letting my hand stroke your legs to soothe you as I reach my other hand up to grasp the clamp on the hose and open it with the CLICK that you’ve been dreading to hear.
You pick up the garter belt and realize that it’s going to define the top of your behind, the portion where the redness I’ve caused to your buttocks ends and the whiteness of your back begins. Or perhaps you’d rather think of it as a band of fabric around your waist that I can look down at and enjoy as my cock begins to push into the tight Vaselined intimacy between your sore cheeks?
The chemise that completes the ensemble — you are buying one, aren’t you m’dear — how will it look on you when you stand in the corner, your underpants down to your knees, one of the lights in the room shining on your red bum? Will it come down to just above your ass? Or will it go lower, so that I have to make you hold it up in back to expose your cheeks to my gaze …
These are the the first thoughts I want running through your mind as you prepare yourself for our meeting. The first thoughts … but only the first.
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