I was sound asleep when I felt my Master's rope brush my skin. My mind, thick and still engaged in a dream, barely registered what my wrists already knew: that my Master had bound them tightly together, starting with the fingertips, so that my hands were forced into the position of a Hindu at prayer.

By the time I forced my eyes open, my Master had coiled the rope around my waist and was now threading the rope between my thighs and pulling it up hard. Then he pulled my wrists up to my neck, and used the rope to make a collar. He bound my wrists firmly to this rope collar, then pulled the rope back down and once again bound my waist.

In this position, lying on my back in bed, I could not move my hands at all without causing the rope at my neck to grow tight or pulling the rope that now rubbed into my labia. As helplessly gazed up at my Master, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a knife.

Then, delicately, carefully, deliberately, silently, he began to cut away the sheer nightgown and silk panties I still had on. First he cut holes for my breasts, and gripping the nipples, pulled the swollen tits through. Then he sliced off the silk around my shaven cunt, and exposed my bare lips. Pulling on the rope, which caused me to whimper, he flipped me onto my stomach. And then he cut open a large hole in the back, to expose the pale cheeks of my ass.

My bound hands secured to the center of my chest forced my tits to stick to the sides, so my Master could see my nipples even as he worked on my ass.

I heard him walk away from the bed, and called out to him.

There was no answer.

Again, I cried out, "Master!"

When he finally returned, the first thing he said was, "Why are you making so much noise!"

And with that he gripped my hair in his hands, jerked up my head, and stuck a pair of my panties in my mouth. Then he took one of my leather belts, and secured it around my head, to keep the gag in place.

"Stick your ass up in the air, but keep your forehead on the bed," he instructed, and I quickly complied. I pulled my knees up underneath me chest, hoisting my exposed ass into the air.

I felt my Master rubbing my ass slowly, warming it up, then he spanked me fast 30 times. With one hand he spread my buttocks apart: with the other he inserted an enema tube.

Beneath my gag I was crying out and squealing with fear. I had only had an enema once before and had nearly died of fright. That time he had been kind. But this time, he obviously had different plans. I trembled and wriggled as he worked.

"If you move again," said my Master, "I will increase this enema to 4 quarts."

I held still as best I could then, my heart pounding furiously. I felt the warm fluid flood my insides. I felt my complete helplessness and my nakedness. There I knelt, forehead down, my ass in the air, my tits hanging down, my buttocks spread, my shaved pussy lips exposed, except for the rope which pressed against my clit. My Master seemed amused.

As the soapy water emptied into my bowels, he reached his free hand around to tug at the rope, to pinch my nipples, to swat my ass, and stick fingers into my mouth.

At last, I had taken all the fluid my Master planned for me. Now, I wondered, what would happen next! I'm still lying in bed! How will I ever get to the bathroom in time? And what about this rope?!

My Master simplified things. The second he pulled out the nozzle from my throbbing asshole, he replaced it with a small, vibrating buttplug. I screamed into my gag. But it made no difference: my scream was virtually inaudible.

With my asshole plugged up, and my interior dying to release the accumulated fluids, my Master put his arm around my waist and began massaging my clit: then he began to spank me. His smacks were so hard that at moments I thought he would send the buttplug flying straight out of me. And I knew that if I lost control--if I shit without my Master's permission--there would be hell to pay.

My Master's spanks were so hard I thought my skin was on fire. My bottom was burning and I felt my temperature rise.

But at last, my Master finished, and turned me over again onto my back. He stared into my eyes for a few moments, as I blushed. And I tried to beg him with my eyes. My eyes said, "Please, Master, please, Master, PLEASE."

"Please what," he said, reading my mind.

"Please," I thought, "please, no more, please, no more of this, please let me shit."

"Would you like to shit, little girl?" he asked, smiling broadly.

I nodded my head at him.

"Oh, you would, would you," he said. "But, you see, I have other things in mind."

He reached into his black silk and suede bag and removed a pair of nipple clips he had instructed me to buy. I hated these clamps, which had fat black rubber tips that clung tenaciously to my tender nipples. He attached them to me, tightening the screws, till I squirmed and moaned into my gag.

Then he reached down again and removed an 18" rubber, doubled-ended dildo. I had never understood why he made this particular purchase, imagining he intended to put one end in me, another in some slave he had yet to acquire. I watched as he lubricated one end with KY-gel. Then he dipped the other end into a dark jar.

He took his knife from his pocket and now destroyed every trace of fabric, half cutting and half ripping the rags off of me. Then he gripped the rope and pulled it to the side, exposing my throbbing clit. He slapped my thighs and tore them apart, then introduced the lubricated head of the dildo between my pussy lips. At first, it could barely go in, it was so large, and my cunt is so tight.

My Master began rubbing it against my clit, teasingly, then spanking me between the legs, then rubbing it against the butt plug, which would shift against the strain of my bowels. Then my Master reached between my legs.

"Why do you suppose you're so wet, little girl?" he asked, in a cool, serious tone of voice.

I couldn't respond but my hips trembled and shook, and my Master pushed the dildo up inside me as I panted into my gag.

Then Master undid the belt and pulled the panties out--only to replace them with the other end of the cock. He pinched my nostrils, forcing me to gasp and open my mouth, then stuck the fat head of the dildo between my teeth. I tasted...chocolate! My Master had dipped the head of the cock in a jar of chocolate sauce.

"Now, suck," said my Master, leaning back to watch.

And so I sucked: with the butt plug up my ass, 2 quarts of soapy liquid and shit creating a terrible pressure in my bowels, trussed like a slave about to be sold, with nipple clamps pinching my oversensitive swollen nipples and an enormous dildo stuck into my pussy and mouth.

After obediently sucking and licking on the dildo for several minutes, my Master came over and pulled it out of my mouth. He used it to spank my sore nipples and breasts.

"What would you like to say, slave?" he asked.

"PLEASE, Master," I begged, craven, "PLEASE LET ME SHIT, Master. Please, Sir. I beg of You!"

"Is that all you can think of?" he said.

"No, Master," I confessed, humiliated by the fact that my thighs were soaking wet with pussy juices that betrayed my enormous excitement.

"I didn't think so," he said. "But, never mind," he said, "I'm in a kind mood today."

And, to my amazement, he removed the dildo from my hot, swollen lips and took off the nipple clips and pulled me up to my feet.

"You have my permission to go," he said.

Gratefully, I bowed down and kissed his feet, feeling him gaze approvingly upon me. Then I asked permission to go relieve myself, and he consented, merely stating that I would have to wait for him to remove the butt plug. I raced in relief to the bathroom and waited. But, after several minutes, he still had not showed up.

I peeked out of the bathroom. There was no sign of him at all. Tentatively, I emerged and headed back towards the bedroom. I caught sight of him standing in the middle of the living room.

"Master?" I timidly asked.

"I've been waiting for you," he said.

I looked at him confused...then look down and saw, to my surprise, the newest item he had added to his collection. A porcelein chamber pot glistened at his feet. As I drew closer, I saw that the pot was extremely small. I looked up at him questioningly.

"Isn't this a nice potty for a little slave like you?" he asked. "From now on, this is where you'll be doing all your pissing and shitting. Right out here in the open where I can see you."

"B-but," I stammered, my face flushed.

"Do you or don't you want that buttplug removed?" he asked.

There was no question of that! I felt that my insides would explode if the buttplug didn't come out immediately. So, meekly and subserviently, I approached.

"Crawl to me, slave, on your elbows and knees."

I crawled over as best as I could with my rope harness still on and the butt plug inside me. Then Master had me position myself much as I'd been in the bedroom, with my forehead to the floor and my ass sticking way up in the air. He pushed my knees apart with the toes of his leather boots and slowly dislodged the butt plug. He took his knife and cut the rope that went between my legs. Then he abruptly turned me over and placed me directly on the potty.

"You're lucky I allow you to sit on the potty," he said, "I had considered making you stand while I watched."

Within seconds, the agonizingly embarrassing noises of my shitting began. I could not even look into my Master's face, I was so incredibly humiliated. Even more humiliating was the fact that my nipples were wildly erect and steely with excitement.

After a few moments, I thought I was done, and--still trembling--begged my Master for permission to get up. He immediately agreed and I stood up, so relieved to be out of that humiliating situation. But, as soon as I got up, another cramp invaded my bowels, and I had to go again. So, I once again begged my Master for permission.

He had just given me his permission when, to my horror, the downstairs bell rang. My Master rarely invites visitors. I hoped against hope it was only the mailman with a package, which he would drop at the front door. My Master left me sitting on the potty, and went to deal with it. After several minutes, I heard another man's voice, then some laughter, and a slamming door.

I was sure it had been a delivery and waited for my Master to return so that I could get up, since I was sure I had finished shitting this time for good.

My Master walked in. Behind him was a friend of his whom I had met only once before at a party. I was not aware that this friend knew anything about my slavery to my Master. I did know that the friend had been extremely flirtatious with me, however, and that I had snubbed him in a casual, but cold, way.

When his friend saw me, he examined me with his eyes. I felt his gaze burn into my nipples, and follow my belly down to my naked, shaved labia.

"Have you finished shitting yet," asked my Master.

I gulped and turned deep crimson, uncertain I could speak.

"Well, have you?" asked my Master.

"Yes," I peeped, utterly debased.

"Then I guess I will have to clean you off, won't I?" said my Master.

This was something I had not even considered!

"Get up off the potty," said my Master, "and crawl to me."

I did as he commanded, trying hard not to look at his friend. But just as I reached his feet, the most awful thing happened. Once again, my bowels cramped up. Once again that urgent sensation possessed me. I gazed up desperately, determined however, not to give in to my need. But it was to no avail. My Master immediately recognized my dilemma.

"Get back to the potty," he commanded, "and this time, you will SQUAT above it till you're done."

I went back and prayed that somehow I could stop my sphincter from performing its natural function. I helplessly squatted a foot above the potty. My skin literally crawled from mortefication. The two men began talking congenially, but I was conscious that both were watching me from the corners of their eyes. At last, I could not hold out any longer, and I began to shit again.

As I did so, my Master's friend began studying me. This time, everything was visible. My helpless bottom stuck out below my open pussy lips as I squatted with my knees and ankles splayed.

"But you know what," my Master said, as if picking up the thread of an ongoing conversation, "it makes her excited to shit like that, on a potty in front of two Masters. You know how I know?"

The other man inclined his head. My Master pushed a finger under the rope and started toying with my cunt.

"Because her pussy is so wet. Here, feel it."

His friend came over and touched me as well. The two men stood above me, each taking turns at sticking their fingers between my pussy lips, and grazing my clit, as I helplessly shit into the potty at their feet. I knew there was nothing I could do to prevent them from using me in this way. I knew I was utterly helpless before my Lord and Master. I knew that however he chose to play with me, I was his to play with. And if it amused him to excite me by subjecting me to the cruelest of humiliations, I knew that there was no protest I could make.

The combination of these sensations and ideas was making me so excited, I simply didn't know what to do. I was trembling and squirming, and now I began to moan and whimper at the incredible humiliation and excitement I felt. Suddenly, I started to lose control of my excitement...I could sense my clit swelling and I started to give in to the wave after wave of intense lust that possessed me.

My orgasm started mounting, and I panted and whimpered loudly. My Master and his friend studied me quietly as I came, my face bright with embarrassment partly because of the way they were staring at me, partly because I was just so horny that I couldn't help myself.

Master said, "You're done shitting for now, I see. Well, then, it's time to clean you off." And with that, he picked me up off the potty straight onto my knees. Then he and his friends returned to their chairs and he commanded me to crawl to his friend. By now, one would think that I had reached the limits of my embarrassment, but, on the contrary, each new humiliation was making me even more excited, and even more ashamed. I was profoundly aware of how my dirty ass, sticking up in the air, wiggled as I crawled.

When I reached his friend, I heard the men laugh, and then nearly died with shame to realize that it would be his friend who'd clean me off. I was ordered to offer his friend my ass and press my forehead to the ground so that he would have a good view of the terrain. Then he worked vigorously, scraping my asshole till it burned.

Suddenly, my Master was beside us. My Master removed his knife again and cut my wrists free from my neck, leaving them bound together but now pulling them up over my head. He took the double-headed dildo and put it inside my pussy. It slid in easily this time! Then he pulled the other end and again stuck it into my mouth. I looked entirely ridiculous and helpless and I knew it.

Master merely laughed and pulled me, just like that, onto his knee and started spanking me and spanking me, harder and harder, each stroke like a whip wounding my flesh. As I rolled in his lap, the dildo dug inside me, and again I began to swoon in lust and submission, desire and frenzy, and began screaming with ecstasy over and over as I reached higher and higher and higher peaks.

But before I could achieve full orgasm, my Master roughly pushed me back onto my feet and commanded me to scamper over to his friend. I hurried, my eyelids lowered, conscious of my tits bouncing uncontrollably as I took those tiny, ridiculous, scampering steps. As I ran I could feel my wet thighs glide against each other, and the dildo hanging out of me.

When I reached the other Master, he immediately set to pinching me: tweaking my nipples hard, pinching my ass, pinching my labia and my thighs, till I began to squeal at each pinch, and tears sprang to my eyes. Then he grabbed the free end of the dildo and began forcing it up into my ass. He stepped back to stare at me, and started spanking my tits with firm swats.

"So, you little bitch, you thought you could snub me!" he murmurred. "You thought I didn't know that you were a slave!"

He reached into his pocket and removed a rolled up a cat o'nine, uncurling its lashes, and spinning it in the air.

Suddenly, I felt the lashes fall across my tits. He began rapidly beating my breasts with the cat, till narrow streaks of red appeared. Then he turned me around and started flicking the cat across my back and my buttocks, till the stinging once more made me cry out.

Now I was facing my Master, who suddenly said, "Get down on the floor and crawl over here!"

I did as he said, relieved to crawl away from the blows of the other Master.

My Master extended his hand down to my ass, and pulled out the dildo from my asshole. Then he said, "Start kissing my feet, and reach behind and pull the cheeks of your ass apart so that my friend has complete access to your asshole for his pleasure."

Breathing heavily, I obeyed my Master, and began kissing his beloved feet submissively. I gingerly reached behind to separate my swollen and raw cheeks, and thus exposed, waited fearfully. I heard the sound of a zipper unzip, and felt the second Master approach and start pushing his cock inside me.

Above my head, I heard my Master open his fly, and then he grabbed me by the hair and raised my lips up to his lap, where his stiff cock waited for its due.

"Get going!" he growled softly, and I quickly wrapped my mouth around his cock, lapping it slavishly.

As I sucked my Master's cock, I felt the other Master fuck me up the ass, and I felt his fingers pinching and playing with my sensitive clit till I squirmed and writhed frantically beneath him. Meanwhile, my Master, who still gripped my hair in one hand, used his other hand to pinch my nipples and spank me all over.

Thus enslaved to two Masters, completely humiliated, forced into total obedience, and subjected to all manners of painful punishment, I felt myself climbing to wave after wave of orgasm.

Making a Man Feel Like a Boy:
A Dominatrix Talks About Spankings

copyright © 1989 Gloria G. Brame. Originally published in Stand Corrected magazine.

Dear Stand Corrected Readers,

The adorable (and let's admit it: she can be a little bit of a brat when she wants to!) Eve Howard asked me if I'd be interested in sharing with some of my experiences as a dominant woman who enjoys spanking.

Eve and I met recently at the Dressing For Pleasure event in New York City, and quickly found much to talk about in the spanking scene. She and Tony Elka have been kind enough to let me see a number of issues of Stand Corrected and I feel this publication is the best of its kind. I am impressed both with the quality of the copy and the spirit of its editors. I feel that everyone should pursue the things that make them happiest, in life as well as in love. The folks at SC provide a real service to spankers by letting them know that spanking can be a sexy, fun, and loving activity, and to let readers know that there are thousands of others who share your interests in a positive, happy way.

So I consider it an honor to take the time to tell you about some of my experiences and demonstrate how spanking is one of the more pleasurable pursuits a dominant woman can have.

I have been an active dominatrix for a few years. What I have always particularly enjoyed is knowing that I can control my partner for our mutual pleasure. I have spanked a number of naughty little boys and girls. All of them have discovered the joys of being helplessly hoisted aloft onto the lap of a woman who knows exactly what they deserve and is more than happy to give it to them in punishing doses.

Like most of you, I have been interested in spanking since childhood. One of my earliest "erotic" memories is of the times when I would go into a back room during parties at my parents' friends houses. There, a group of 3 or 4 little girls would often play a favorite game: one by one, the girls would line up, raise the hem of their party dresses, lower their cotton panties, and climb onto my lap for a spanking. I still recall the feel of a little girl's clammy skin as I--who always played the Mommy in these games--warmed her bottom with my hand.

Of course, we were all under age 10 then, and none of us quite understood why we enjoyed playing this spanking game. It just seemed like another sneaky pleasure that we hid from our parents, like stealing desserts from the kitchen, or hiding in closets when it was time to go home.

It was many years before I incorporated spanking games into my adult relationships. In fact, you might say that I was introduced to it by one of my submissives. It was with him that I learned how very effective a good spanking can be towards developing that special relationship between a good little submissive and a serious dominant.

Tom was a handsome, slender, athletically built young man with one of the roundest and firmest bottoms I'd ever seen. The first time I saw him, I knew what I wanted to do to those impudent buns. As we got to know each other, I taught him how to please a dominant woman and trained him to be a very good and obedient boy to me. He enjoyed indulging all my whims. I soon learned that the way to his heart was directly through his bottom.

I still recall the first time I told him that part of his training would include sound, childish spankings. He was, of course, slightly embarrassed that Mistress wanted to treat him like a little boy. He was actually quite a bit bigger than me (I'm rather petite, only 5 feet tall, and fairly slender, though I have a voluptuous build) and the image of his strong, masculine body propped up on my delicate lap made him shiver.

As I watched my fine boy hesitate, I grew quite stern. I informed him, in that extremely firm tone which always sent a chill down his spine, that I was growing impatient. I told him that he would either have to take his spanking like a good boy immediately; or he would be scolded at length, and then spanked.

I could tell that this dual embarrassment--of both psychological and physical domination--excited him all the more. He stood there, squirming like a schoolboy, his cheeks beginning to show a rosy blush. Noting this blush, I warned him that he would soon develop a similarly rosy complexion on his posterior. I also couldn't fail to note that the more he squirmed, the more excited he seemed. This pleased me enormously.

Although he was not normally a brat, it suddenly sank in that the quantity and severity of his paddlings would be in direct proportion to the amount of sass he gave me. I'm afraid my little boy gave me a rather insolent look.

"I'm not a baby!" he said stridently.

"Well, well, young man, I see that you are bent on finding out just how serious Mistress is," I said sternly, "in fact, the longer you postpone your punishment, the worse it will be."

"I want to please you, Mistress," he said, "but I just don't understand why I deserve to be spanked."

"Are you questioning my authority, boy?" I asked, raising an eyebrow, but remaining very calm.

"Oh, no, ma'am, but I don't think I've been bad!"

He pouted and looked down at the floor.

"You weren't bad 10 minutes ago," I said, "but your insolence has earned you a far harder spanking that I planned to give you."

I grasped his forearm and pulled him closer to me. I ran my fingers up and down his chest, and let them idle over his pants. I reached behind and felt the muscles in his bottom tense.

"You will NOT tense those muscles in my presence," I said. "You will do exactly as I say, and you will do it this minute, young man!"

With that, I pulled him down over my lap, while he complained, and kicked, and wriggled.

"Oh, please, Mistress," he said, his face bright red by now.

"Please?" I echoed, laughing. "Now you're begging me to spank you, are you?"

I gazed down on that plump, accessible bottom supported by my knees and smiled with pleasure, knowing what I had planned for him.

"I am not!" he said hotly.

"Oh, yes you are," I said, laughing again. "Or at least you WILL be!" With that, I issued 15 nice hard smacks right on the yielding flesh. "Beg me to spank you," I commanded.

He remained silent, so I gently pulled his head up to gaze into his face. By now, his lips were quivering and but I saw a little smile on them, nonetheless.

"What a bad, naughty, boy!" I said, "Why, I can feel how excited you are because something very very naughty is pressing right into Mistress's thighs. How can you explain that, young man?"

He had obviously grown silent not from fear as much as from excitement. Through his clothing, I could feel how warm his flesh was getting and each time he wiggled, he seemed to give a little gasp.

"This simply won't do," I exclaimed.

I eased his body up a little ways off my lap, and quickly unfastened his belt and unzipped his fly. Then I pulled his pants down to the very tops of his thighs. He wore a rather childish looking pair of bvd's: they were fresh white cotton, and the fabric had inadvertently gotten stuck right in the crack between his cheeks.

I tugged the fabric back into place and began spanking him in earnest over his underpants. By now, it was impossible for him to conceal his excitement, and he was indeed feeling quite helpless and small.

I was not fully satisfied, however, because the underpants hid the evidence of my handiwork. I lowered them, and then pulled both the bvd's and his jeans down to his knees.

It was a most delicious sight indeed! His plump, well-rounded behind had a soft pink glow on it and was becoming slightly warm to the touch. I gently let my fingernails rake the sensitive skin, and heard him moan softly.

"You are behaving just like a bad little boy! You didn't obey Mistress promptly, and instead, you stood there wasting my time with insolent remarks. Since you insist on acting like a child, from now on, I will treat you like a child! You are to call me Mommy. Do you understand?"

He sighed and whispered, "Yes, Mommy!"

"That's much better," I announced. "Now, if you want to get back into my good graces, I strongly recommend that you ask nicely for Mommy to give you the punishment you deserve."

"Oh, please, Mommy," he faltered nervously, "please give me the spanking I deserve."

"Rest assured that I will," I laughed.

It really thrilled me to see how submissive he had become. He was virtually melting in my lap and I could feel him vainly try to rub himself against my strong, solid thighs.

"What a nasty little boy!" I scolded, secretly delighted that he was losing control over his lustful instincts.

I then gave him a bare bottom spanking. First, I used my hand indiscriminately over his entire bottom. Then I told him to count each and every stroke, which I administered in groups to one cheek, then the other. Whenever, in his excitement, he messed up the count (which he did intentionally, more than once),I began from zero again. I loved the feeling of his pliable, creamy skin and the subdued tone of his voice.

My palm was growing quite sore from all the punishment. Furthermore, I could tell this excitement was mounting untenably.

I instructed him to stand up so that I could a good look at him. He was so startled and embarrassed that, although he stood up, he dared not meet my eyes. Exposed like that in front of me, he felt exactly like a small child caught with his hand in a cookie jar. He had no where to turn: if he turned around, he displayed the proof of his Mommy's punishment; if he faced front, he exposed his excitement.

I told him to walk over to the cabinet where I store my paddles. It was not easy for him to walk with the pants down about his knees and he was forced to take small steps, again just like a naughty, punished child.

I told him that, since it was his first time, Mommy was going to give him a special treat and permit him to select which paddle I would use on him for his debut as a spanked little boy. I was quite amused to note that he selected one of the more severe toys in the collection. It is a short, mean paddle made of stiff, black leather.

This time I did not bother to instruct him to get over my lap. Instead, I simply pointed down at my lap and gazed coolly into his eyes. I detected that he was trembling slightly, so I put my arms around his waist and told him that Mommy had to be very strict with her little boy, or he would grow up to be a very rude and loutish big boy.

With that, I pulled him over my knees again. I saw with great satisfaction that his cheeks had kept their bright rosy glow. I gripped the paddle securely in my hand and heightened that glow till it bloomed crimson.

By the time I was finally through teaching my little boy his lesson, he was literally shaking with excitement. He had no illusions that I might have failed to notice how erotic the situation was to him. And he knew quite well that I would, forever afterwards, put his excitement to good use in training him to be obedient.

I told him to stand up again, but I did not permit him to draw his pants up. I rather enjoyed the sight of him humbled like that, and was quite excited myself by the effect. I was somewhat intoxicated by the joys of affirming my authority over Tom with such discipline. I loved how childlike he'd become and how frustrated he was as well.

From then on, spanking became a regular activity for us. I rarely needed an excuse to pull my boy over and scold him for any infractions of my rules or any display of insolence. I also experimented with a number of techniques designed to increase our mutual pleasure.

For example, I occasionally made him wear some unusual item to heighten the feelings of helplessness. I had him purchase an extremely tight pair of latex underpants: this sharpened the sting of my blows, while reminding him that he would be unable to relieve his frustrations.

Sometimes, I made him wear underpants that I'd dipped in warm water. The wet fabric reduced the marking on his bottom, but the wetness itself suggested that he'd committed a very naughty little crime and made the punishment all the more humiliating-- especially since I scolded him for having wet underpants. (For those of you who might be reflecting at this point that life isn't fair, I'll remind you that dominants like me take pleasure in being unfair.)

At other times, I instructed him that he would only be permitted to climax while over my lap, and without any direct stimulation. Just telling him that this was my plan generally caused him to flush to his roots and wiggle in anticipation.

As you can tell, Tom was an excellent little submissive to me, and an incredibly flexible, willing, and happy partner. Within only a few weeks, he was begging for spankings regularly. In fact, he often was completely satisfied by nothing more than that incomparable sensation of being pulled onto "Mommy's" lap for a long, sensual spanking. His knowledge of his vulnerability to me and the feelings that my authority over him induced were immeasurably sweet to him--and extremely exciting for me.

Since then, I have treated many boys and girls to a sound spanking. All of them have felt the helplessness and childishness of being scolded by a Mistress who recognizes that they are naughty little brats who require discipline. To my mind, one of the cutest sights a dominant can ever witness is when a saucy submissive is forced to yield his or her bottom to my knowledgeable hands. I love the feeling of their cool naked bottoms growing red and hot as I teach them a lesson in obedience. I also love seeing the looks on their faces when I am done and they are forced to stand in front of me, eyes lowered, rubbing their little poor, sore little bottoms and promising to be good from now on.

They never stay quite as good as they promise for very long--but, then, that's what makes it so much fun!