Real Punishment
We've had lots of chats, Miss Monica and I. Online chats, phone chats, and several in-person sessions. Our time together, whatever the medium, always addresses one undeniable point about me: deep inside, I'm very naughty, and will always be naughty. That fact always brings me back to her, and she always sets me straight with the spanking I deserve.
After many talks, I broached the concept of "real punishment”. It’s something I’ve thought about but I also know those are pretty big, brave words to say.
When I'm alone, touching what I'm not supposed to touch without her permission, “real punishment” is as exciting as it is scary. “Real punishment” is easy to say or hear in chat or on the phone because right then, let’s face it, the purpose of hearing it isn't exactly punishment!
But today I heard those words in a much more meaningful way.
I was standing at the sink, naked as I always am after she strips away my clothes and my dignity with her hands, eyes, and words. I thought I was in for a regular spanking - one that would surely hurt, one to punish me for being my naughty inner self, but one that also ended in reward. I've had many before, over her lap or bent over the bed or even bound standing up.
"You've been touching again,” she said. She stood beside me, stoic, holding the big lexan paddle so that I could see it. “Touching what is mine without permission. We’ve talked about it enough, I think it’s time you get some real punishment for that.”
I stared at her in the bathroom mirror. Those words made me nervous...alright, scared...and it showed. I was about as far from aroused as I could be. A weak, "Yes, Ma'am," escaped my lips.
Miss Monica patted my bottom. “Just remember, real punishment doesn't start...until you think you can’t take any more."
“Yes, Ma'am,” I repeated, but my heart sank, my knees weakened, and I shrunk smaller. Yes I knew, of course I knew.
"Then show me, naughty boy," she whispered. “Show me what you’ve been doing without permission.”
I reached to touch and she swung the paddle. Hard! No gentle hand warm-up over her lap before things got serious. I gasped and whimpered, ignoring her instruction and clutched at the edge of the sink instead.
“Show me,” she repeated. “Show me, naughty boy.”
Shaking, I began to stroke. As I did, she began to paddle me, hard and rhythmic.
"I'm going to keep paddling until you cum, naughty boy. I'm going to paddle harder WHILE you cum....."
Frantically I stroked. I could barely breathe. She didn't pause, she didn't let up.
"And then I'm going to paddle you until you cry. And when you start to cry....that's when your punishment is going to truly begin."
I exploded. She didn’t stop. I began to cry. She didn’t stop. She paddled me long and hard, paddled me until I thought I couldn’t take any more, and then paddled me more.
Miss Monica gave me a real punishment. I wasn’t sure she would, or could. But I know better now, as I sit here on my bottom so sore that I can barely stay still to type this out.
I asked for real punishment, and I got real punishment. It’s not something I want to endure all that often, but when I need it, I know Miss Monica will make it count.