MOMS SLIPPERY SLOPE
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Down The Slippery Slope - Part 1 free porn video
After a busy and stressful day at work, I drove straight from my office
and parked outside Miss Smith's large house just before 7 PM, barely
making it before my appointment time. The front door was unlocked, as I
had been told to expect, so I let myself in and made my way to her study.
Dressed in a dark suit, with a white shirt and crimson tie, I looked
every bit the business man, but inappropriately dressed for what awaited
me. Wanting to be neither early nor late, I waited for the hall clock to
chime the hour before tapping nervously on the study door. At that
moment, I wanted to be a million miles away, but knew that I had no
option but to complete the punishment that Miss Smith had decreed was
necessary for my recent bad behaviour.
I heard nothing, and was about to knock again, when she responded and
instructed me to enter. Shaking slightly, I went into the room. Miss
Smith was standing against the far wall. In her early thirties, and ten
years my junior, she was a tall, slim, attractive women with bright blue
eyes and long blond hair. She was wearing a knee length black dress, cut
low at the top to reveal a little cleavage, but what attracted my eyes
most was the riding crop that she was flexing between her hands. I wished
her good evening. She didn't return my greeting, instead saying, very
bluntly, "Strip off to your underwear, Joanna."
Without hesitating, I removed my jacket, folded it rather untidily and
placed it on the floor. I pulled off my tie and placed it with the
jacket. I wondered about asking permission to use the leather armchair to
sit in while removing my shoes but thought better of it. Kneeling down, I
untied my laces and slipped off my shoes and then my socks. Next followed
my shirt and lastly my trousers. All were put into an untidy pile on the
floor.
I stood up straight, feeling myself blushing, as Miss Smith walked
towards me to inspect me in my underwear, which consisted of a white
satin thong with a pink bow at the centre and a matching white underwired
bra with delicate lace over the padded cups and a pink bow between the
cups. Both items of lingerie were too small for me and the bra especially
was very tight and uncomfortable. What with the discomfort and the risk
of discovery, it had been a difficult day at work and, unusually for me,
I had had to keep my jacket on and buttoned up all day, despite the
summer warmth and the odd comments from my colleagues. But that
embarrassment didn't match what I felt now, as I stood in front of Miss
Smith, feeling foolish, vulnerable and very afraid. Ordinarily, being
dressed like this would have aroused me but tonight my nerves had caused
me to shrivel to nothing.
Miss Smith slowly walked around me, saying nothing, but checking out my
underwear. At one stage, she pulled the back strap of my bra away from
me, no doubt checking that the pink thread she had deftly sewn across the
clasp to serve as a seal had not been disturbed. We both knew that if
that thread had been broken it meant I must have removed the bra. I was
praying that it hadn't suffered accidental damage. Apparently satisfied,
she let go of the back strap and then addressed me. "Well, you seem to
have followed my instructions, Joanna, which is just as well for you. So
it'll just be six strokes of the crop, as we both agreed this morning!"
My thoughts returned to the morning, which seemed so long ago. To say I'd
agreed to this punishment was an exaggeration. It would be fairer to say
that she had left me with no choice. When I'd arrived at her house this
morning, following her phone call yesterday evening, she had taken
immediate command and, under the threat of what amounted to blackmail,
she had insisted I put on the bra and thong I had brought with me. I
should have refused but her tone of voice, forceful and assertive, made
the order seem compelling. It was only after I was standing there in the
lingerie that I spotted the video camera recording me. "I'm trained in
self-defence," she had remarked, "so don't even think about making a grab
for the camera. If you do what you are told, then the video is safe with
me. But if you don't accept your punishment, then who knows where it
might end up? Now let's get some close-ups with the still camera." I
realised I'd been ensnared. I was sliding down a slippery slope from
which there was no return. All I could do was pin my hopes on there being
a soft-landing at the bottom. It was clear that I had no choice but to go
along with what she wanted and get the punishment over and done with. So
it was that I found myself agreeing to wear the lingerie all day to the
office and then to report back to her this evening to receive six strokes
with the riding crop, which she had pointed out hanging on the wall.
"Well, answer me, Joanna! We agreed six strokes, yes?" The sharpness of
her voice returned me from my daydream to the reality of my current
circumstances.
"Yes, Miss," I replied, addressing her in the polite manner that she had
insisted on from the moment I had first arrived at her house this
morning.
"Go and bend over the armchair," she instructed. "Normally, I would
insist that a miscreant removed their underwear before being caned but
since your thong doesn't cover your buttocks it won't be necessary in
your case." Had I not felt so stressed, I might have stopped to wonder
where this experience of caning people had come from. But, as it was, my
mind was trying to control the butterflies in my stomach. I'd never been
punished in this way before but I had no doubts that it was going to
hurt.
I positioned myself at the back of the chair. Then I spread my feet a
little and bent over, grasping the front of the chair seat with both
hands. Miss Smith moved behind me and, after an audible tut, tapped both
of my inside thighs with the crop. Instinctively, I moved my feet further
apart into a position that proved extremely uncomfortable.
There then followed what seemed to be an interminable delay as Miss Smith
found the best distance and angle to stand. A couple of times she laid
the crop gently across my bottom, as if checking her position. There was
then a brief silence which ended with a loud whooshing noise which
terminated in the most incredible pain as the crop tore across the top of
my buttocks. It felt as if the crop had penetrated the skin, so intense
was the sensation. My knees buckled, a wave of nausea swept over me, and
I emitted a loud scream.
Barely had I recovered from this first stroke than the second landed,
this time just below, but parallel with, the first. The pain was equally
intense and I yelped, crying out, "Please! ...No more!" But the third and
fourth deliveries quickly followed, each below the previous stripe. Beads
of sweat had formed across my brow and I was gasping for breath, while
resisting the urge to stand up because of the obvious consequences. The
fifth stroke landed parallel with the others but across my upper thighs
where there was less fat to absorb the impact. The resulting pain was
indescribable and I again screamed out in despair. For the final stroke,
Miss Smith changed her position slightly and then brought the crop down
at an angle that cut through the welts from the previous five deliveries.
This, completing a 5 barred-gate effect, was the worst of all, opening up
the weals from the earlier strikes. By now my knees had buckled and I
struggled to stay on my feet, using the chair back to take my weight. But
at least it was all over.
I was kept waiting there for a couple of minutes while Miss Smith
inspected her work and then returned the crop to its place on the wall.
During this time, I attempted to regain my composure by taking some deep
and steady breaths. "Stand up, Joanna," she commanded, "but don't touch
your bottom. What have you got to say for yourself?"
"I'm very sorry for my recent behaviour, Miss Smith, it won't happen
again," I replied. "Please accept my apologies."
She looked at me for a few seconds. "Shouldn't you be saying something
else?" I thought for a moment and, feeling very foolish, added, "Thank
you for punishing me, Miss."
"I want you to remind me why you have been punished, Joanna," she said,
looking me straight in the eyes, she being of equal height to me.
Hesitatingly, and feeling very embarrassed, I responded in a low voice.
"Last week, I stole this bra and knickers off your sister's washing line,
Miss," I whispered. "She saw me, caught me on camera, and reported me to
you, Miss." The washing line was my neighbour's and it was only yesterday
that I had discovered that her older sister was Miss Smith.
"She was very upset and didn't know what to do," added Miss Smith.
"Fortunate for you that she sought my help, wasn't it? Someone who has
experience of treating perverts like you. She could have gone to the
police! As it is you've got off lightly - you've acquired a feminine
name, which I think suits you, you've worn her bra and knickers all day,
which can't have been much of a hardship, and you've received six strokes
of the crop. Do you think you've got off lightly, Joanna?"
"I think I've learnt my lesson, Miss," I replied, uncertain as to how
best to reply.
"That wasn't what I asked. Answer the question, Joanna," insisted Miss
Smith, in a tone that left me in no doubt that a better answer was
needed.
"Yes, Miss, I've got off very lightly. Thank you for being lenient," I
lied, in as sincere a voice as possible.
"I agree that I've been lenient," she said, "so I think a period of
corner time will allow you to reflect more on what you did and why you
had to be punished in this way. Go and face the wall, and place your
hands on your head."
I did as I was told, overcoming the urge to rub my bottom, to feel how
raised the welts were and whether there was any bleeding. These checks
would have to wait for later. Standing with my nose a few inches from the
wall, I placed my hands on my head. This caused the underwiring in my bra
to dug into my chest but the additional discomfort was lost amidst the
pain and stinging from my welts.
"You can get closer than that," Miss Smith commented. "Let's have your
nose brushing against the wall. And I want those hands on the top of your
head, not around your neck. I don't expect to see any fidgeting, Joanna."
Having assumed the required position, I heard the hall clock strike the
quarter hour. In the space of 15 minutes, I had been both humiliated and
cropped but my ordeal was not yet over. I heard a creak as Miss Smith sat
down on the chair at her desk and then, a few moments later, she began
tapping away on her keyboard. How long I was to stay facing the wall
she'd not said and I couldn't ask. All I could do was stand as still as
possible and wait, while listening for the strikes of the clock,
wondering if my punishment was soon to come to an end.
Kaidence
- 29.09.2021
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Down the Slippery Slope Part 4
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