I took in the dried wax and nail marks as my eyes wandered along his back, watching it rise and fall from his labored breathing. He was up on his knees, his elbows resting against the mattress, his ass in the air. His cock dangled between his spread legs. The allure of it was tempting, but that wasn't a part of this. That wasn't what I was here for.
The blindfold kept him from seeing what I was doing around him, but I knew he knew what was coming next.
I picked up the whip off the nightstand, running my fingers through the tiny strands of leather. I heard the tiny intake of air he made and the slight shudder of his breath. The candles flickered from the wind, and the whoosh of the strands through the air lit up the quiet room, until the impact of them against his flesh echoed off the walls, melding together with the sound of his soft groan. The fanned pattern of red lines across his lily white skin showed up almost immediately, giving me an immense pang of satisfaction -- and something a bit more. Taking his placid reaction as a cue to go harder, I did just that. He jerked against the ropes, grunting softly with every blow as I made my way up his back and then back down to his ass. With every stroke, I increased the strength by just a little, testing his tolerance, until he was whimpering into his pillow, gasping out the occasional "shit."
I pushed as far as I thought I should go until his body was tensing up enough that I felt he was being pushed too far. I held the whip over my shoulder, stopping, watching as his muscles slowly relaxed. His breathing was heavy and ragged, and his legs trembled beneath him. Between his legs, I could see his arousal, his dick hard and dripping, aching for release. But I offered none. Instead I studied my handiwork, taking in the red marks and the wax that had yet to be fully removed. I wasn't sure who I was more impressed with -- myself for my job well done, or him for enduring it so beautifully. But one thing was for certain…
I wasn't anywhere near done with him yet.
Steve spanked me before we even kissed.
I was 21, a junior in college, and a intern with Doctor's Without Borders at a remote refugee camp in Liberia. Steve was my site leader, responsible both for overseeing my performance as a new paramedic, and my safety in the American dormitory at the edge of camp.
It was early in the Ebola outbreak. We knew what we were dealing with, but the World had not yet recognized the risk of global infection and thus resources were scarce.
Steve was in his mid-30s. He was an Army paramedic during the first Gulf War, and although he left the service shortly after Kuwait was free, he never went home. Wherever the World needed him, he went. He kept his Army look and routine - cargo pants, boots, black t-shirt, crew cut, and a daily 6am run. At 6ft he was ruggedly handsome, but it was his strict, no nonsense attitude that really turned me on.
I ran away from home at 17, from a family that didn't even notice I was gone. And although I did well in school, and took care of myself with part time jobs, part of me had always craved order and discipline, and especially a man to notice when I wasn't taking care of myself. Steve gave me all that, and more.
Steve drilled me on every safety measure, every containment precaution, every camp rule. He double and triple checked my bio suit before each patient, and insisted he walked me to and from the dorm each night and morning. In close quarters, with high demands and stress, we grew close fast. I craved his order, and he thrived on my new energy and optimism. He called me his little tree hugger.
It may have been the most stressful time of my life, but somehow I failed to notice. I was so alive. And so in love. It was because I thought my mistake ruined our budding relationship, that I cried the moment he told me he was going to spank me.
I had held the hand of a crying little boy why his mom was examined; without gloves. It was a mistake. If his mother was infected, then he had been exposed and would be contagious, but I just wasn't thinking. He was a crying little boy and I held out my hand.
Steve saw and pulled me away. He pushed me towards the sink to scrub my hands, where I quietly cursed myself for the mistake. Steve heard my self-scolding, leaned in and whispered in my ear, "that's not good enough, I am going to scold your bare legs with the palm of my hand; go wait for me in the office."
I was in shock, and bawling by time he joined me in the office 5 minutes later. In my naive age I wasn't scared of him. Nor was I scared to be spanked, or even of getting sick. I was distraught because I had begun to fantasize about a relationship with him, and I was sure I had ruined everything.
The office was nothing more than a folding chair, folding table, and boxes of medical supplies. I was leaning against a stack of boxes, wiping tears from my face and chocking from the knot in my throat when Steve came in. He shut the door, and without word, pulled me down by my arm and over his knee as he sat on the lone chair.
He tried to pull down my scrubs, but they were tied snug to my waist, the knot in the front. At first he tried to roll me over to reach the knot, but I was becoming quickly embarrassed, and attempted to pull away from him. So instead he grabbed the back of my scrubs with both hands and ripped them apart, tearing them to my knees. He then easily pulled down my underwear.
He started with ten sharp smacks, delivered quickly at the spot where my legs meet my bottom. The embarrassment was worse than the pain, but still I struggled over his lap. When he paused to adjust my position I softly begged "please," the only word I could utter as I smothered an audible cry. But in response I heard, "Belle 'please' doesn't work in Liberia."
He started again this time hitting me firmly, ever few seconds as he lectured. "Belle, please is for little girls who run in a parking lot. Please is for little girls that giggle too loud in church. Please is for little girls who wonder too far away in the mall. PLEASE IS NOT FOR LIBERIA!" The last line he delivered with a storm of relentless swats I couldn't bare. I screamed, and kicked, and arched my head back in agony.
"Please" was the only word I got out during that first spanking. He peppered my behind for so long and so hard that pain stole my thoughts. I'm sure he adjusted me again, I'm sure he lectured me again, I'm even sure he paused again - but all I can remember is the sting. The sting that built to an inferno on my bottom, on my thighs, and on the top of my legs.
Before it was over, I had kicked my way out of my torn scrubs and thrashed so desperately I had crawled forward off his lap. He finished my spanking squatting on top of me on the floor.
After he was done, he laid next to me, holding me until my cry faded. The kiss that followed, our first, assured me that I had not ruined our relationship - in fact, I had given it a kick start. I laid with him every night after.
The little boy's mom wasn't ill, but I never forgot the first time Steve spanked me. Or that first kiss.
My wife told me about her friend dawn from work and her boyfriend mike she explained that they were into kinky sex that dawn made mike wear girls cloths and she was his mistress that she spanked him as well as other things Joyce and I had finished a bottle and a half of wine so when she suggested we try it I agreed I couldn't believe that I got turned on as I put on Joyce's Lacey pink pantys bra pantyhose blouse and skirt she admitted she was turned on too she took off every thing but her pantys then got her big hair brush she put me over her knee and lifted my skirt and brought the brush down hard on my ass I am still embarrissed that I liked it she gave me 10 wacks with the brush then pulled my pantys down she put some lube on her vibrator and slowly slid it in my bottom then took her belt and I screamed as she gave me 20 lashes with it It became a regular thing then her friend dawn invited us to there house at the lake for a weekend Joyce bought me a few outfits,panties,and nighties Mike was as embarrissed as I was when we both had to dress as girls for them we were both spanked by both of them and they made us suck eachothers cocks but the worst was when they made us fuck eachother When that weekend was over Joyce threw out all my old undies and filled my dresser with girls pantys that's all I wear now 24/7 I'd love to chat with another guy like me let me know if your interested
A very nice SpankingTube Friend mentioned that he would be reluctant to spank me to tears. He sated that: "Tears and other antics...would be signals that I need to check on your well-being."
After replying, I realized that our discussion was really universal and might be a matter for discussion by others.
I noted that his reluctance to "spank to tears" was a very good example of why first (or 2nd or 3rd or 4th) spankings from someone new, or from a person who has not had a wide experience spanking a variety of different men and women, are usually very unsatisfying.
A good spanking requires that the top and the bottom completely trust each other, that the spanker have real experience, that the spanking couple have had long and detailed discussions about spankings and needs, and that they have spanked together enough that they can read each other's physical and verbal responses and, by doing so, satisfy each other's needs.
When a top and bottom know each other very well, intimately, there is no need for the top "to check on" the bottom's well being. He feels the bottom's body and its responses as he spanks and he KNOWS.
OK, I am something of a baby when getting a spanking. I do regress if the spanking is good. It is sort of age play, but it is not acting. It is regression to a mental age where I feel more comfortable being bare bottomed, cared for, and punished. And, unlike a lot of guys who are too inhibited to show their feminine side by being responsive and crying, I can be very uninhibited and very submissive when spanked by a confident but caring man or woman. I like to be taken to the emotional level where I cry. That, for me, is not a sign of pain. It is an indication of a very emotionally satisfying cathartic experience. Crying only happens after a really good spanking that is as much an emotional experience as a physical one.
It takes a really good spanker who relates to me on a mental as well as a physical level to get me to cry. But, if someone can do that to me, afterwards I feel very relaxed and almost euphoric. The experience is supremely cathartic. A real satisfying spanking CANNOT be experienced by strangers. With people who like each other, how to spank some one person is learned, and then each spanking after that becomes better and better.
We have posted the second video of a punishment set I gave to Bond. This multi-day set lasted 5 days and given with a multitude of implements to all his lovely pieces & parts. This second video short is 5 minutes of Day 4 & 5. We put some nice Slo-Mo action is this one and the effect is pretty interesting. I give him the strap, canes, switches & whip in these. Day 5 ends with me giving Bond the Punishment Dong. No harness this time just me putting a few drops of lube on his Anus and drove the thing in! It was Punishment after all. :)
Both the first & second full video's are posted in our spankinglibrary, are over 17 & 21 minutes long and jammed with some quite harsh punishment action.
Thank you all and enjoy!
I AM SO FRUSTRATED RIGHT NOW!! I NEVER VENT ON this site BUT I ABSOLUTELY NEED TO.....So I went to Walmart to get some stuff. I noticed this lady was staring at me in the same aisle I was in. No big deal. I moved to the next aisle and here she comes. Again... STARING! So now I'm like, "What the heck is her problem?!" I finish up my shopping and head to the cashier. Guess who is there ahead of me? Right. The staring lady! She turns around and starts staring at me again. So I start playing with my phone because at this point it's getting weird. Super uncomfortable!Finally she says, "I want to apologize for staring at you, but you look just like my daughter who passed away." I thought to myself, "It makes sense now." I felt kind of bad for thinking she was a weirdo and said, "Sorry for your loss." She says, "Thank you...but I have a favor to ask. I know it's weird and I'll understand if you don't want to, but can you give me a hug and say 'Bye Mama"? Inside I was like HECK NO crazy lady, but I know people have different ways of getting over a loss so I went ahead and did it. She smiles, thanks me, and leaves. The cashier rings up my stuff and the total comes out to $100.87 and I'm like, Hold up. I just bought a few things and I knew it should have been like $20. The cashier then tells me that my total was included with my mom's. I'm like, "WTH?!" She said, "Your mom said you were paying for her stuff along with your things. I told her that that woman was NOT my mom. She said, "Well I saw you hug her and heard you call her mama." I'm like OMG! I can't believe this! I flew out of the store looking for this awful woman, ready to drag her back in the store by her hair!!! I see her loading up her car and I started running towards her. She saw me and jumped in her car so fast. I got to her just as she was putting her leg in, and I started pulling her leg. She struggled but I kept pulling until her wooden leg popped off right in my hands!! Im thinking, OMG! Is this really happening right now?!
So I dropped the wooden leg and grabbed her other leg and started pulling...
Just like I'm pulling yours right now! hehehe
One (Payday) , ( Mr Goodbar) wanted a ( Bit o Honey) so he took Miss ( Hershey) to downtown next to the corner of Main and ( 5th Avenue) .. He began to feel her ( Mounds) with his ( Butterfinger) that was pure ( Almond Joy) .. It made her ( tootsie roll) and he let out a (Snicker) and she screamed ( Oh Henry).. " You are even better than the ( 3 Muskateers) .. Soon she became ( Chunky) and 9 Months later ( Baby Ruth) was born ..
Once again I rose early to get the Master's breakfast, I dressed again in my black maid's uniform, black open bottomed girdle with six suspender, black stockings and red high heels. I looked around and couldn't find my red satin knickers, I'd only brought one pair, thinking I could wash and dry them overnight if needed. But where were they now? I looked everywhere from under the bed to the chest of drawers and still no sign of them. I decided to look again later or Master's breakfast would be late.
After giving Master his breakfast, I looked again but no matter how I searched it was hopeless. I realised I would have to go knickerless till they turned up. Thanking me for breakfast, Master said you can do some outside work today as it's a nice day, the windows could do with a good clean. True the weather was sunny but there was a breeze blowing, I hadn't mentioned to him that I couldn't find my knickers. I dreaded another good spanking from him.
The Master lived in a bungalow, so, there wasn't any ladders involved, just some small steps to allow me to reach the top of the windows. I filled a bucket with hot water and took it and a sponge and went out the back door. Almost at once the wind blew my dress up and I had to hold it down. I knew better than to ask to do this another day, my bottom remembered what happened last time I questioned the Master.
Up the steps I went and started to clean the windows, it was easier than I thought and I soon finished the three windows. I stood and relaxed a bit when suddenly a familiar voice was heard over the fence. It was the Master's next door neighbour, the formidable retired ex-school headmistress who I had already met. Much to my chagrin, she had given me an old fashioned over the knees bare bottom spanking the day before for breaking one of her plates while washing up.
She smiled a ugly smile at the Master and told him again how lucky he was to have a maid to do his housework. He turned to me and said, "Ask her if she wants her windows cleaning as well." Of course I had no choice and tried to smile as I asked the old bat, she was quick to reply yes.
Another clean bucket of soapy water and I was on my way to her bungalow. Up the steps I went and started work, the Master had left me alone whilst I cleaned his windows but she stayed to supervise. Telling me not to miss the corners and do it properly, girl. I climbed to the top of the steps to reach the top corners when there was a gasp from her and she shouted, "Get down here at once, girl!"
I obeyed at once and stood before with my bucket and sponge. "I've just seen, you trollop, you're wearing no knickers!" She said red faced in anger. "How dare you, trying to tempt your employer, you little slut?" she spat out, "Thinking of making some extra money from him on the side, eh? Well, I've got the answer to that!" and off she stormed into her bungalow.
I suppose I should have felt glad she didn't notice my male bits whilst she was looking up my dress but the Master had said her eyesight wasn't the best.
She came back out with a large leather strap in her hand. "Bend over, girl, touch your toes" she cried in a voice that demanded to be obeyed. Over I went and did as she said. There was a pause and then the strap struck my bare backside, I gave out a cry as the pain kicked in. She certainly knew how to dish out the discipline, how many bare arses had felt that strap before me, I wondered.
Six strikes later I was allowed to rise and rub my by now red and sore bottom. "Right, girl, now go and put your knickers on," she said. "I can't find them, Madam, that's why I'm not wearing any." I stammered. Before I could say more, the Master's voice called from over the fence, "Are these what she's looking for, Mrs. W?" he asked and handed her what I thought were my missing knickers.
She took them, then a look of utter disgust came on her face as she spluttered out, "W..w..why these are crotchless knickers!" as she held up a pair of tarty red knickers.
It all made sense now, the Master had hid my own pair, replacing them with these and then contrived me into doing Mrs. W's windows. But it wasn't quite over, steam almost seemed to come out of her eyes as she bellowed, "You common little slut, only a complete whore would wear such knickers, bend over for another twelve, I'll teach you a lesson you deserve!"
Twelve strokes later, I was dancing on the spot, holding my red arse and whimpering. And again, it was only day three....
NOTE TO READER: Please read "Part 1" first, which is the preceding blog entry. Just hit "View All", and read the one below this one!
But first, a quick review of the first few rounds, leading to this, which are available on “On Demand” if you’ve got cable, and Netflix. Let's go back to the beginning:
ROUND 1 - “Quick Fire Round”: Scrambled Eggs
The curtains slide open. 10 slaves, bent over benches, restrained at ankles and waist. Asses high in the air, balls cuffed, exposed. 10 women, dressed in horseback riding apparel including caps, stand behind them, wielding long-handled spatulas … double-thick, the type used for grilling professionally, arms raised high in the air. The gals are smiling at the camera, their white teeth gleaming.
She Who Will Be Obeyed sits on a throne, stage left.
"What’s that in front of the slaves? Bowls and whisks? What’s in those bowls?” ask the viewers to themselves.
The Japanese gentleman walks onstage. Our task, he explains …. beat 3 eggs to creamy completion, without spilling a single drop. Whoever’s eggs makes the creamiest, lightest scrambled eggs, wins. No cream, thank you! Just egg, so they’d better be whipped to perfection!
For those of you unaware of the difficulties in preparing eggs for scrambling, James Beard himself once wrote that this is “one of the more complex kitchen processes” to complete correctly. Takes skill. Written in "On Food", 1974. Look it up.
A whisk and a pink ceramic bowl in front of us, containing 3 eggs. I grab my bowl in my left hand, tilting it slightly, and grab my whisk in my right hand. Ready!
Wait … why are the gals dressed in horseback riding apparel, besides the fact that they look great in those tight brown pants and long black boots?
Because, explains the Japanese gentleman, they will be whacking our asses to the beat of the William Tell Overture.
What? The music is not coming to mind? Here, follow this link. If you open in up in another browser window, I think the rest of this story will go much better with music:
All three minutes, six seconds of it. A little long for beating eggs, but they should be damned frothy by then, by golly!
She Who Will Be Obeyed has declared that the gal who does the best job beating us, both in strength and in keeping the beat to the music, will be going home with a brand new 11-piece set of professional-grade Shun Kaji Knife & Block Set, valued at $1,600, provided by our sponsor, Williams-Sonoma.
Nice Prize! I think. But I can get them cheaper than that! $1,400 tops! My gal looks like she works out. A lot. Hope she has rhythm.
“Oh, and no balls,” says the Japanese gentleman. “Deduction in points for that.
The girls frown. Lower their spatulas a little.
“There will be time for that during the tasting portion of the show.”
The girls perk right up! Yay!
The slave to my left turns his head towards me, smiles. I call him “Asshole”. “Asshole” thinks he’s my main competition. He probably is.
You have to love Rossini’s genius in this piece. I know this piece is “cliché”, I mean, every Bugs Bunny cartoon, right? But there’s a reason for that. It’s all about the timing and anticipation inherent in the music. Genius.
The beginning chords sound. Horns blare “Da…. Da Da Da….Da Da DAT Da Da … Da DAT Da Da Da … Da DAT Da Da Da …….you know the rest. That long final note of anticipation ….
BEGIN THE BEATING!
Ya gotta give my girl credit … she wanted that knife set. “Gusto” is the only adjective I can muster. Smile on her face, toothy smile. Quite photogenic, in that cap. I’m in luck!
She’s got stamina. Some of the gals tire a little by half-way through … I mean, that’s a lot of WHACKS! in a short space of time. I know I lost count after 150 …..
My Gal just went on and on. Never missed a beat. She’s obviously musically inclined. Did I mention she works out a lot? Forearm muscles, strong shoulders. Really put some extra “zing” into it.
And for the finale, she really put on a show. She took that long pause that Rossini so brilliantly timed, right before the ending refrain, to get herself into position.
Stood up straight, feet together, shoulders back, great lumbar curve, breasts pointed slightly upward, left arm behind her back. Fucking awesome … She looked like the conductor of the orchestra! BRILLIANT! My gal looked away from my backside, right at the camera, big knowing smile on her face, sparkle in her eyes. Showed control, perfect rhythm. Every WHACK! right on the sweet spot, mid-crack. My balls were bouncing, but she never connected. … just above the sac, perfect spot, so you couldn’t stop watching; the viewer anticipating an accidental TOOWACK! Never happened.
Winner by a mile. She must have practiced.
I stop whisking as the music end. There. Whisked perfectly, I think. Dip a finger in, taste it. Needs salt. I wonder if this girl is single?
Second slave from the right-end spills some egg, when his girl accidently catches some ball sac on the very last chord. Ouch! And he did such a good job whisking those eggs! Almost got there, “stupid loser shit eater”! HER words, not mine.
Add a little salt to the eggs. Some grated Pecorino Romano. A dab of hot sauce … I use “El Yucatero Habanero Red”. Try it. The eggs won’t be spicy, just “peppery”. Practice!
One last mix with a fork to combine. Heat the egg pan (anodized aluminum). Dot of olive oil. The trick is to get the pan hot enough, before introducing the egg to the pan, so the egg doesn’t stick, but not so hot that they bubble and fry. Practice!
After a moment, start mixing the egg slowly with a silicon spatula. The object here is to bring up the heated egg that is sitting on the bottom of the pan up to the top, so it will begin cooking the upper layer. Swirl the egg, like you’re making crepes. Each time the thin layer of new egg hits the pan, it will cook slightly. Swirl it to the top with the spatula, circle the pan lightly to get more raw egg onto the hot pan, repeat. Practice!
I got this technique from watching Julia Child. No shit.
Scrambled eggs should not be a bunch of yellow curds on a plate. Rubbery and disgusting. Ohhh…and then put some pepper on top, like that fucking helps, jerk off! They should look like a small fluffy egg cake. Spongy texture. A little moist inside.
Flip in pan once. Afraid to flip in the pan? Thinking of using the spatula?? Don’t be afraid. Pick up the pan, and “skootch” the eggs forwards, towards the anterior edge of the pan. If you heated the pan enough at the beginning, they won’t stick to the bottom … they will float forward, just like She Who Will Be Obeyed’s breasts. Then, flip “back”, towards you. Works every time. Well, ok, usually. Practice it. Alone.
Americans overcook their eggs… almost every time. “I don’t like them runny”, they whine. The French think that if there is any color at all, they are overcooked already, rubbery, time for the trash. I’m not quite that fanatical about it … I go for “just starting to turn color”. Then, get those fucker’s out of the pan, onto a plate IMMEDIATELY. Let the heat of the eggs finish the inside cooking, while you enjoy the smell.
I am declared the WINNER OF ROUND 1 by HER. “Asshole” comes in second. Mine were fluffier. SHE smiles at me.
My chest fills with … pride? Better to not let that show. I degrade myself. I suck. But “Asshole” sucks more.
I would do a “bump up into the air to all my peeps”, but my wrists are shackled to my ankles. While the other slaves are getting their balls whacked by their angry gals, “My Gal” is so happy that she won the knives, she forwent my ball slapping to show her favor. Instead, she is wearing her “Big Black Stallion Man Breaker”, riding me like a mechanical bull, arm waving in the air, while the other slaves are having their balls “tenderized”. What Gusto! Yee Haa!
She Who Will Be Obeyed is amused. “I like creativity” SHE says.
The loser of the tasting, “stupid loser fuck face” (HER words, not mine), overcooked his eggs like the stupid American he is. “Golden brown”, my throbbing ass. He is dragged out of the room by the eunuchs. He will compete with “stupid loser shit eater” in a special “face off” (!!!!!) We never see either of them again.
We are down to 8 slaves.
Next Round, coming up in our next installment: Up to you, dear reader. Post some ideas here. I will choose one to go into the next part!
We kneel before HER, prostrate. The last two contestants.
Pronated hands on floor, foreheads on floor. Heads covered in leather masks. Leather shorts cover our waists, the short chains around our necks clamped to an iron half-ring bolted to the floor between us. The spiked collars around our necks, the most beautiful I have seen, sparkle like diamonds in the lights shining down on us.
This is television, after all.
She Who Will Be Obeyed sits on HER raised throne in front of us. Resplendent. Dark purple latex bodysuit, cut open in front, down to HER navel. Breasts large, pointed forward, pushed up. Face white as porcelain, lips as red as red can be. Long, flowing purple cap, wrapped around HER shoulders. HER hands, covered in latex gloves …. The fingers of HER right hand drumming the armrest of HER throne. SHE looks at us, bemused, smirking.
And WHERE does she get that headgear? I mean…that’s not shit you see at the mall. Personally made for her by some sewing eunuch, I’ll bet. He’s obviously a Disney fan …. That’s Maleficent’s hat from Sleeping Beauty, I think.
Goddess, we call HER, down in the “slave pit”, in hushed tones.
I have made it this far. There were ten of us. HER sex slaves, desiring HER, serving HER. Now there are two.
She Who Will Be Obeyed speaks beautifully. She has a slight Italian accent.
Think “Isabella Rossellini in The Big Night”. Now keep that thought in your head every time she speaks.
“Let’s recap, for the new viewers”, SHE says, looking down at us. She looks up at the rolling cameras. “I have come to a point in my life where I must cull MY sex brood. I tire of the ‘same old, same old’, I tire of MY harem! I need to spice things up!”
“I will choose one of you, tonight, to be MY one and only remaining from this harem.”
She raises both arms. “We are here to crown "Slave Prime"! The one to help ME train MY new sex brood. And to be its leader.”
She lowers her arms.
“The rest will be relegated to latrine duty, yard work, and the general cleaning team. Those who survive, that is. And if you’ve seen earlier episodes, you know we’ve lost a few along the way.”
Arms back up.
“I require a personal drone, a single man servant, which I can personally train for MY sexual satisfaction. So that it may train others. I’ve got shit to do.”
I am not worthy. I am scum.
“I mean…SOMEONE’S got to teach the newbies how to eat pussy…..!Men! Know what I mean, ladies?”
She winks at the cameras.
“For the winner, it will be raised from the level of “it” to the level of “him”. Small case. I will be his alone, for 1 month of intensive training. I will share MYSELF with him. He alone shall know ME. He will be treated with kindness ….. of a sort …...”
This, I cannot imagine.
She walks down the stairs in front of her throne. She lowers her voice, and smiles at us, looking from side to side. “He alone will understand the meaning of MY compassion and warmth. I will reveal MYSELF, and MY desire, to him.”
I become nothing. Darkness. Deep darkness, without self. Nirvana.
She paces in front of us. Stands between us, puts her hands on the back of our heads. Looks at the camera. “But … how to choose? We began with 10 slaves. And I devalued them all equally. So I devised a competition…..”
I have made it this far……..down to the last two …..
Looking up at the cameras: “Food is love, and I consume so that it can become part of MY body, and give ME energy. So, I decided on a cooking competition.”
She looks down at the two of us. Stern voice.
“You last two. Make ME want you. Make ME consume your love and devotion, and turn it into MYSELF….”
“The reward will be MY hand on your cheek! And you will be MY pet.”
Oh. My. Goddess.
“Plaything.” She says. “For 1 month. Alone. I’m thinking Cancun.”
Did she just fucking purrrr???????!!!!!!!!
My teachers were right. All I need to do is apply myself.
She raises an arm into the air, gloved hand pointed and turned. Head turned up, showing chin. “Let the Games Begin!”
A man comes out, from behind her throne. A Japanese gentleman, dressed in black, jet black hair, with black cloak, smiling like a ring leader. He points at us, smiling. “Time for final round …,” he says. “… of IRON SLAVE!”
How did I get here?
I was just a normal suburban kid. Normal childhood. Everyone thought I was going places. Smart, but my teachers thought I underachieved. Daydreamer, they said. If he only would apply himself….
Now I am here, applying myself. Turns out I just needed the right motivation.
I’m here, kneeling prostrate, chained to the floor, without self, in front of She Who Will Be Obeyed. One of the finalists. For HER love.
Pretty good, eh, Mrs. Wallace, 8th grade math?
Two of her eunuchs, oiled skin, walk up besides us. These guys must just do squats all day long … look at their butts. They kneel down, unlock the restraints from the floor.
“Stand before ME,” SHE says. “You both have done well. For scum.”
Well, shit, I may be a slave, but I can cook…..
“Now we shall have the final challenge. Tell them what the main ingredient will be!”
The Japanese man walks over to a table, covered with a large cloth. He grabs the edges of the cloth….lifts it to chin level …. Looks at the camera, with fire in his eyes …
He smiles at us, and yanks the cloth off…..with flourish …
Next Installment: Flashback to Round 1
If you have had a profile on any social network for more than five minutes you have likely been the victim of an internet predator, better known as the catfish. If you are asking what a catfish is, (aside from the slippery whiskered creature found in most rivers, lakes and ponds) then read on. I'll be happy to fill you in, and perhaps save you some time and trouble and maybe even some pain. Fail to learn some characteristics of these villains (that seem to be far too common today) and you will likely find yourself lured in by their clever disguise.
Now that you know the basics of what one of these creeps are, how do you know if you have found yourself falling into one of their traps? Good question! Well, once in a while you will run across one that is so stupid they use easy to find photos found right here on our little friendly neighborhood internet. Modern technology has made this trickery easy to uncover. Thank goodness many of these idiots aren't the brightest bulb on the tree.
Other common tricks are flattery and false hopes. They act as if they have a bond with you waaay too quickly and they try to make you feel really good about yourself through overinflated compliments. They also pretend as if they have something to offer you and try to lead you to believe that one day this and that will actually happen. Often, all they seek is time and attention but some are far more cunning so beware of the whiskers unless you want to invest a lot of time into an illusion.
Ok, quick review... A catfish is an online predator that poses as something they are not in order to steal something from us. They may only seek our time and exploit our gulibility but they can be much more malicious as well.
This naturally leads most of us to ask the obvious question... WHY? Well, I feel most of the time they are just sad and lonely people who lack the confidence to be themselves. This is why I am not harsh with one of these poor souls. If I happen to learn more and find they are just a creep who doesn't care for others, I am still diplomatic with them because they are just sick in a different way and likely struggle with difficulties I don't understand. However, when I respond to one of these sad cases (like I have very recently) and they lash out at me and treat me disrespectfully, I call them out on the floor.
I am certain this most recent creep is a dude that gets off on trying to get off straight men (like myself) by posting pics of a young girl and trying to coax fantasies from them. Now, I have nothing against a gay man posing as a girl for a little online roleplay. Hey, what we don't know won't hurt us and fun is fun. They have a right to their little kinks just like the rest of us, but when you try to pose as a friend... that's when you are going too far!
When you pose as a genuine person to get what you want with no regard to other's, it is no longer online roleplay and begins to just be cruel. If someone shows you proof by sending you the link to the site you stole your supposed pictures, just admit it and apologize. Don't continue your charade and try to act like they are offending you by unrightfully accusing you of being a liar when clearly you are. Be a good spanko and bend over, take your licks and move on with your life. Grow up and take your medicine like a big boy or girl.
In conclusion, stop walking on others to get your rocks off. Find partners who are willing to play the same games as you. This site has thousands of members. Surely you can find a willing participant who shares your interests. If not, there are plenty of other sites to try. Make your personal motto, "Ask me no questions and I'll tell you no lies!" and make it known from the door. Take a minute to consider the human being on the other end of the computer screen. Surely it can't be hard to imagine what it must be like to share a piece of your heart and soul with someone that treated your life like a game. Look deep inside and ask yourself if you really want to be that kind of person. Just because you found someone with an anonymous profile online and you hide behind a mask does not mean you can't hurt them. We are real people with real feelings... SO STOP!
Choose to ignore this warning and I will mark your wall with my new stamp I have for creeps like you.
To my personal and most recent creep...
I just might have something extra special for you. For your rudeness and complete lack of respect after I gave you chance after chance to come clean, I may stamp your wall for all to see as well as add the web links to your fake pictures. The way I see it, a heartfelt apology is in order. Option B, you can delete your fake profile and come back with a little more sincerity...or a creep with a new identity! Look, you just barked up the wrong tree this time. I wouldn't recommend lifting your leg on this tree unless you wish to discover exactly how wrong of a tree I can be. I am a man with a particular set of skills. Now do as I ask or I will find you and I will...
I Have been punished for being naughty. I know I deserved to get a punishment but I think things are going to far and I think I need some help. I can't talk now because they are here. But if anyone is on line around midnight to 1am UK time please help.
I make tons of videos but I don't put them on here so I have an idea... if you want to see them
Just comment you scolding me for being such a naughty naughty little girl then message me how you'd like to punish me and I will Skype you a private spanking.... to my expense lol my sore bottom is waiting kisses
I am about halfway done rewriting the blog post for the 50 billionth time but in the meantime I need your help. I have to come up with three punishment suggestions for my next session besides spanking and cornertime. Basically, I got in the car with a friend I knew was an unsafe person and found out that she was extremely high with me in the car. We almost got into several accidents. I'm slightly in trouble..