Punished
When a sissy maid make a mistake, his Mistress must teach him with a good spanking. Sometimes could be useful tied her sissy maid up and gag him. But today he was lucky, it just was the spanking.
F"You're late again, sissy," his Mistress said, her voice sharp as the gleaming knives in the kitchen he so meticulously organized.
"I'm sorry, Mistress," the sissy maid replied, his voice small and meek. He knew the rules of the house all too well. As a maid, punctuality was not just a guideline but a commandment etched in the very fabric of his existence. The slight tremble in his hands betrayed his fear, a silent plea for leniency that never seemed to reach his Mistress's unyielding heart.
Mistress, dressed in a tight, red latex dress that accentuated her formidable curves, strode into the room, her heels echoing against the cold, marble floor. She looked him up and down with a gaze that could cut glass. "You know what this means," she said, her eyes narrowing as she pulled out a wooden hairbrush from her pocket. The sight of it made the sissy maid's stomach drop. He had felt its sting before and knew all too well the dance of pain and submission that was about to unfold.
"Yes, Mistress," he murmured, his voice barely audible. He took a deep breath and bent over the edge of his bed, his black lace panties stretched taut across his round cheeks. The cool wood was a stark contrast to the heat that was about to be delivered to his bare skin. He closed his eyes and waited, his heart hammering in his chest like a drum announcing the arrival of his fate.
The first smack of the hairbrush sent a jolt of pain through his body, causing him to jerk and gasp. His Mistress's hand was swift and precise, each blow landing with a resounding crack that filled the air. The sting grew with each strike, turning into a burning sensation that made his eyes water. He bit his bottom lip to stifle his cries, not wanting to give his Mistress the satisfaction of hearing his pain. Yet, with each smack, a strange warmth began to spread through him, a feeling of submission that he found both terrifying and exhilarating."
"Count them," she ordered, her voice as cold as the steel rod she often used in his punishments.
"One, Mistress," he whimpered, his voice trembling.
The punishment continued, the brush coming down in a rhythmic pattern that painted his bottom a deep shade of crimson. He felt his panties growing damp with both fear and arousal, the friction against his sensitive skin sending shivers down his spine. He focused on the sound of the brush cutting through the air and the impact against his flesh, using it to anchor himself in the moment. He knew that the more he resisted, the longer it would last.
"Five more, sissy," she said, her tone one of amusement rather than anger. He could feel the smugness in her voice, enjoying the power she held over him. It only served to make him more determined to take his punishment without breaking. He counted each strike out loud, his voice growing weaker with each number, his cheeks clenching and releasing in a silent dance of pain.
When the final smack landed, he let out a sigh of relief, his body going lax. He felt the warmth of his Mistress's hand on his back, a gentle touch that contrasted with the fiery ache of his punishment. "Very good, my pet," she said, her voice now soothing. "You've learned your lesson, haven't you?"
"Yes, Mistress," he murmured, his voice still shaky. He felt a sense of pride at having withstood her wrath, even as the throbbing in his bottom reminded him of his place.
"Now, sit down and meditate on what you did," she instructed, her voice firm once more.
The sissy maid carefully straightened up, his legs wobbly from the effort of staying in place. He sat on the edge of the bed, the wood pressing against his tender flesh, sending waves of discomfort that only reinforced the message of his transgression. He folded his hands in his lap, trying to ignore the sting as his Mistress stepped back to observe him. Her eyes never left his face, watching his every twitch and gasp with a detached curiosity.
The silence was oppressive, thick with the scent of leather and the faint hint of her perfume. He could hear his own heartbeat in his ears, a rapid staccato that seemed to mock his attempt at calmness. His mind raced with thoughts of his failure, the punishment he had endured, and the knowledge that it would only get worse if he didn't learn from his mistakes. Yet, beneath it all was a strange thrill, a dark secret that whispered of his deep-seated desires to be dominated and controlled.
"I'm sorry, Mistress," the sissy maid replied, his voice small and meek. He knew the rules of the house all too well. As a maid, punctuality was not just a guideline but a commandment etched in the very fabric of his existence. The slight tremble in his hands betrayed his fear, a silent plea for leniency that never seemed to reach his Mistress's unyielding heart.
Mistress, dressed in a tight, red latex dress that accentuated her formidable curves, strode into the room, her heels echoing against the cold, marble floor. She looked him up and down with a gaze that could cut glass. "You know what this means," she said, her eyes narrowing as she pulled out a wooden hairbrush from her pocket. The sight of it made the sissy maid's stomach drop. He had felt its sting before and knew all too well the dance of pain and submission that was about to unfold.
"Yes, Mistress," he murmured, his voice barely audible. He took a deep breath and bent over the edge of his bed, his black lace panties stretched taut across his round cheeks. The cool wood was a stark contrast to the heat that was about to be delivered to his bare skin. He closed his eyes and waited, his heart hammering in his chest like a drum announcing the arrival of his fate.
The first smack of the hairbrush sent a jolt of pain through his body, causing him to jerk and gasp. His Mistress's hand was swift and precise, each blow landing with a resounding crack that filled the air. The sting grew with each strike, turning into a burning sensation that made his eyes water. He bit his bottom lip to stifle his cries, not wanting to give his Mistress the satisfaction of hearing his pain. Yet, with each smack, a strange warmth began to spread through him, a feeling of submission that he found both terrifying and exhilarating."
"Count them," she ordered, her voice as cold as the steel rod she often used in his punishments.
"One, Mistress," he whimpered, his voice trembling.
The punishment continued, the brush coming down in a rhythmic pattern that painted his bottom a deep shade of crimson. He felt his panties growing damp with both fear and arousal, the friction against his sensitive skin sending shivers down his spine. He focused on the sound of the brush cutting through the air and the impact against his flesh, using it to anchor himself in the moment. He knew that the more he resisted, the longer it would last.
"Five more, sissy," she said, her tone one of amusement rather than anger. He could feel the smugness in her voice, enjoying the power she held over him. It only served to make him more determined to take his punishment without breaking. He counted each strike out loud, his voice growing weaker with each number, his cheeks clenching and releasing in a silent dance of pain.
When the final smack landed, he let out a sigh of relief, his body going lax. He felt the warmth of his Mistress's hand on his back, a gentle touch that contrasted with the fiery ache of his punishment. "Very good, my pet," she said, her voice now soothing. "You've learned your lesson, haven't you?"
"Yes, Mistress," he murmured, his voice still shaky. He felt a sense of pride at having withstood her wrath, even as the throbbing in his bottom reminded him of his place.
"Now, sit down and meditate on what you did," she instructed, her voice firm once more.
The sissy maid carefully straightened up, his legs wobbly from the effort of staying in place. He sat on the edge of the bed, the wood pressing against his tender flesh, sending waves of discomfort that only reinforced the message of his transgression. He folded his hands in his lap, trying to ignore the sting as his Mistress stepped back to observe him. Her eyes never left his face, watching his every twitch and gasp with a detached curiosity.
The silence was oppressive, thick with the scent of leather and the faint hint of her perfume. He could hear his own heartbeat in his ears, a rapid staccato that seemed to mock his attempt at calmness. His mind raced with thoughts of his failure, the punishment he had endured, and the knowledge that it would only get worse if he didn't learn from his mistakes. Yet, beneath it all was a strange thrill, a dark secret that whispered of his deep-seated desires to be dominated and controlled.
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