reading room
Dedicated to the Master/slave, Dominant/submissive,
BDSM lifestyles.

The Dinner

Everyone relaxes around the fireplace, after dinner drinks in hand, slaves kneeling at the feet of their respective owners, soft music playing on the stereo, conversation light and carefree. Only I am filled with apprehension, dreading the moment I know is soon to come.

It comes all too soon to suit me. I have a love/hate relationship with being publicly punished. Master knows this and uses it to re-enforce lessons to be learned. He clears his throat and I know the moment has come. Hanging my head, I kneel quietly beside him, waiting for the sentence to be passed.

He really speaking to his guests when he says, "Dinner tonight was delicious." There are murmurs of agreement. "However, it was 15 minutes late, the wine could have been selected with greater care, and the dessert was a little too heavy to compliment the meal perfectly. I think my slave needs something to help her remember to ask questions in the future if she is not clear on my instructions for dinner." I do not see the nods of agreement as my flaming face is still turned to the floor.

Speaking to me, Master passes judgement, "For each of these offenses, you will receive twelve strokes, one set each with the paddle, the strap and the cane. You will have 15 minutes of rest between each set. Do you have anything to say?"

I look up at him with tears in my eyes, tears not for the punishment to come, but tears that I have displeased him and earned this much deserved whipping. Slowly I shake my head and return my eyes to the floor, ashamed of myself for everything not being perfect at dinner. I cannot bring myself to meet the eyes of any of our guests.

Master speaks to me softly, "You know the routine. Go to the corner and prepare yourself for punishment."

I cross the room on shaking legs to obey my Master. I turn on the reading lamp in the corner and slowly turn to face the corner. My hands shake as I raise my dress and tuck it carefully into the belt I am wearing to hold it in place. I lower my panties to the middle of my thighs and then spread my legs widely apart to hold them in place as Master wishes. I stretch my arms high over head and arch my back, presenting my bare butt to him and his guests. The folds of my skirt and my thigh high stockings frame my ass perfectly, the light of the lamp illuminating the white skin which will soon have a very different appearance. I wait in silence for his call. I can hear him behind me, positioning the straight backed chair before the fireplace, gathering the instruments of punishment he will use, the murmurs of the guests commenting on the whiteness of my skin, and talking to their own slaves. It seems like an eternity before Master calls me to him.

I cross the room to stand before him, head down, hands clasped behind my back. He motions to the seat of the chair and I bend over, grasping the edges tightly with both hands, my butt turned up and positioned for chastisement, my legs spread wide enough to hold my panties at mid-thigh, displayed for our guests. I am so thankful my long red hair falls forward to cover my crimson face.

The first stroke of the paddle sounds like a gunshot in the silent room, hard wood landing against soft flesh. I gasp at the severity of the blow. The vertical angle of the paddle covers the whole cheek, depressing the soft flesh. The second blow on the other cheek takes my breath away. The third, right in the center, catching the soft undercover in the center of my cheeks almost makes me break position. But I hang on to the chair willing myself to stay put. Blow after blow lights a fire in my butt and soon I am wiggling from side to side trying to cool the skin. After the twelfth blow lands, Master gently rubs my ass, feeling the heat rising from it. He orders me to the corner for my fifteen minute break and casually returns to his seat to enjoy his drink and the view.

Filled with shame, I go to the corner and return to my position, the bright light of the lamp spotlighting my flaming ass for all to see. I stand there, humiliated, knowing better than to reach back with my hands to try to ease the pain. Slowly my breath returns to normal. I hang my head and wait for the next set.

Master calls me to him again, and my face turns white at the sight of his heaviest razor strop dangling from his hand. He motions to the chair and once again I obediently bend over and present my ass. The leather lays a line of pure fire across my skin. I open my mouth to scream but nothing comes out. Over and over the strap falls, until tears are streaming down my face and my whole body is shaking with pain. When it is over, I am once again ordered to my corner to wait for the final set. I stand there trembling, trying to absorb the pain, knowing the worst is yet to come.

I can hear the conversation behind me as Master's guests comment on the glowing red of my ass, the fact that I have no marks at all, but have obviously taken a great deal of pain. My butt feels like it is on fire and I try so hard to stand still. It seems like only a few seconds when Master's voice calls me to the final set. As I approach him, he gives me final instructions, "Remove your panties completely, stand with your feet to either side of the chair legs, head down on the seat and grip the back legs with your hands. Don't even think about breaking this position." Trembling all over, I obey, raising my ass to him in silent offering.

He lays the cane across my flaming ass in preparation for the first stroke. I am shaking so badly, he lays his free hand on my back to steady me, and in his way, to give me some comfort.

The first stroke whishes through the air landing hard across the fullest part of my ass. My scream of pain comes out more as choked cry. Working his way down, stroke after stroke inflames my already aching ass. The strokes move lower, catching the under curve of my butt where it hurts the most. Each blow draws a cry a pain. Oh God, how many more are there??? I no longer care who is watching, my only desire is to suffer through it. Nine times the rod connects with my ass in ever increasing pain. I feel the welts rising swiftly, covering my ass from top to bottom. After the ninth stroke, Master pauses. Tenderly he caresses my ass, feeling the flaming welts, judging the damage. In a quiet voice he speaks to me, "Reach back with your hands and open your cheeks. The last three will be in the crease." I want to plead, to beg for mercy, but I know that will only increase the punishment to a possibly unbearable level. So with trembling hands, I obey, and reach behind me to pull my ass cheeks widely apart, exposing my anus. The last three blows fall swiftly, one on each side and one directly on my exposed asshole. I scream in pain at each blow. The last blow almost causes my knees to buckle. But I collect all my will power to force them straight again and remain in position until Master releases me.

Taking my arm, he pulls me erect and hands me a handkerchief to wipe my eyes and blow my nose. He holds me gently for a moment and then tells me to return to my corner and display my ass for his guests. I am way past shame and humiliation as I stumble back over to my corner and rest my weary head against the wall.

I lose track of how long I stand there. Just waiting for the evening to be over. Finally it is, and Master comes to me. Taking me by the hand, he leads me to our bedroom.

"And now, for the rest of your punishment . . . . . . . ."