The Dream

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It was dream I had, I watched it happen, then I was punished.
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She is numb. Nothing seems to matter anymore. The tears spring into her eyes, she picks up her bottle of antidepressants and wonders how many it would take to end her life. She finds herself thinking this and other thoughts, before she throws the bottle angrily at the wall. The lid pops off and little white pills scatter everywhere. Furious, she punches a nearby wall. She does this over and over until the wall has a nice dent and her knuckles bleed. She stares at the damage and starts to cry. She knows exactly what she needs to do. With trembling fingers, she picks up her cell phone and speed dials her disciplinarian. He answers on the first ring.

"Yes?" he asks. She bursts into tears on the phone.

"I-I need you..." she sobs.

"I'll be right there, I want you to sit on the couch and wait for me, okay?"

"Okay," she whispers. She walks over to the couch and sits, her hands folded in her lap. She is shaking all over now. She waits for what seems like an eternity, before she hears his car pull up, his car door slam, and the front door open. He walks in, his "toy bag" in hand. He looks from the wall, to the pills, to her. His eyes slide down to her hand, which is now bruised and still bleeding. He walks over to her.

"Let me see your hand..." he says gently. She holds it up, she is trembling violently. He sighs and produces a first aid kit from his bag. He cleans and bandages her hand. She has not looked at him the whole time and he finally lifts her chin to look at him. Her chestnut brown eyes are a sappy brown from crying. "Why did you do this? What happened?"

"I-I don't know," she croaks, "I felt numb and listless all of the sudden, and I couldn't figure out why I felt like that and I got scared and lost my temper..."

"Well, you know what needs to be done now, so be a good girl..." he sits down next to me on the couch and slowly pulls me over his knees. His hand rested on the seat of my jeans and left, to return with a sharp smack. I give a small jerk but make no other move. He repeats the motion, bringing his hand firmly down on my up turned bottom. Before I can stop myself, my hand flies back to protect my ass, he rectifies this with a sharp smack.

"No...you know better," he says sternly. He gently but firmly pins my hand at the small of my back and continues with my spanking. His hand increases in speed and intensity, and he has me in tears before setting me upright, he has given me 25. I know he isn't done, and he unzips and pulls my jeans down to my knees before repositioning me on his lap. "Your bottom is a lovely shade of pink, little one," he says softly before smoothing my underwear and continuing his assault on it. He brings his hand down another 25 times, and it begins to sting and burn. I squirm uncomfortably on his lap and he lets me up again, this time to take down my lacy black underwear.

I still feel slightly uncomfortable when he exposes my womanhood and try to casually cover myself. "No, no, no little one, hands at your side," he reprimands, landing a sharp smack to my behind. I yelp and comply, blushing as I placed my hands to their sides. "Good girl," he says, "I know it's hard, but you can do it, we're just getting started my dear." He pulls me back over his lap, blazing my backside with another 25 smacks. "Now, pull your panties and your jeans back up," he said, standing me up again. I glance back at my ass, which is now a rosy red. I wince as I slowly pull my panties and my jeans back up. He goes into the kitchen and produces one of our hard wooden chairs, placing it in the corner. I cringe as he beckons to me and orders me to sit.

I cry out as I obey, the embers in my backside rekindling into fire. "I want you to sit there and think about your actions for a bit while I prepare the next part of your punishment." I only nod, the tears streaming down my face.

He has me sit in the corner for what seemed like forever, but was only about five or ten minutes. "Alright little miss, you may get up and come here," I cringe at his voice, even though he is using a soft tone. I gratefully rise and slowly turn around. I see what he has for me and gasp quietly.

He has lain out a wooden spoon, about a fourth of an inch thick, a paddle, fourth of an inch cherry wood, a foot in length...and the strap. I dreaded the strap above all else. A wicked little instrument, it was a well oiled, ebony leather, a foot and a half long, and three-fourths of an inch thick. I just sit down in the middle of the room, and start sobbing. He comes to me, wrapping his arms around me comfortingly. "Sh, sh, sh...hey, hey," he whispers. I bury my face in his chest, crying on his shirt. He picks me up and carries me to the couch, sitting and placing me on his lap.

He holds and rocks me gently. "You didn't take any of those pills, right?" he asked, lifting my chin to look me in the eyes. I shook my head, "Okay, that's good, I'm proud of you for calling me before this escalated any further. However, I am disappointed that you let it get as far as it did, that is why you are being punished, to ensure that this doesn't happen again. I care about you way too much to let you hurt yourself like this, understand?" I nodded, the tears streaming silently down my face. He nods and knows that I am ready to continue. He stands me up then rises himself. He guides me to the back of the couch and I know that he wants me to drape myself over it. I ask quietly to be restrained.

He nods his consent, taking the black leather restraints out of his bag and securing my wrists and ankles. "We are going to start with the strap, my dear, since I know how much you hate it. You will receive 25 with each implement, understood?" My tears renew themselves, but I nod. I watch as he walks back to the coffee table and picks up the strap. I begin to tremble violently as he walks behind me. He doesn't keep me waiting long however, before I feel the stinging bite of the strap on my jean-clad backside. I buck and cry out. He puts a reassuring hand on my back, before continuing.

I am grateful to him for keeping a steady rhythm this time, instead of increasing like before. Still, I am squirming by the time he is done, the fire raging on my backside. He replaces the strap, and comes back to me, asking me to lift up. I do so and he pulls my jeans down. I intake my breath sharply as the rough material rakes my tender flesh. He walks around again, picking up the spoon. The spoon isn't as bad as the strap, but he lands each solid smack with grim resolution, making me squeal in pain.

For the last part of my punishment, he asks me to count the strokes, as he pulls down my panties and reports that my backside is a "cute" shade of red-violet. I just lie limply over the couch, exhausted after my chastisement. I do as I am told as he rubs my smarting backside with the smooth, cherry wood finish of the paddle. It lands with a resounding smack and I call out the count, choking on my tears. This last part of my punishment, and is slow and deliberate, as he drives the point home.

A little while later, we are sitting on the couch, I am curled up on his lap, his arms around me, rubbing my back, and the soreness in my blazing behind. He has applied the Aloe and Vitamin E lotion to keep it from being permanently damaged. I feel so lucky to have someone here for me, to let me know that I can get through this okay; that I am not alone.

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AnonymousAnonymousover 14 years ago
enjoyed every word

Great story and great writing. I have a Disciplinarian in my past, the story is prompting me to send him an email... thank you...

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