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Disciplinary Measures

Disciplinary Measures

My name is Ruth Martin. I am thirty-seven years old, happily married with two children, both girls in their pre-teens, and I work as a District Nurse. I make house calls in my capacity as nurse all over the district during the day and usually return home to my family in the early evening. My life is interesting, well regulated and happy. I think I can say I am good-looking, with my dark, shoulder length hair tied back in a tail, though I am, perhaps, a little plumper round the middle, fuller in the hips, than I should be; possibly this is a symptom of conservative complacency, but I am not apologising for it. However, over the past year, I have had reason to take a good, hard, long look at myself and ask myself just what kind of a person I really am.

A little more than a year ago, I was called to one of the larger houses in our rather affluent district. On arrival, I was shown into a spacious living room, where an elegant lady introduced herself as Mrs. Farley, the lady of the house. She was about my age, quite pretty with her long, blond hair piled up on her head and clear, blue eyes. She told me that she wanted me to attend to her two stepchildren, a girl of fifteen and a boy of thirteen. In confidential tones, she began to explain that the children needed a firm hand, but that it should not be hers as she was afraid it might alienate her from her husband, the children?s father. I was a bit puzzled by all this so I asked her what was wrong with them. She laughed and told me they were both in perfect health. She said what they wanted was not so much a nurse as a ?disciplinarian? to administer punishments when required. I was somewhat taken aback at this and must have looked it. Mrs. Farley explained that she wished her stepchildren to learn the meaning of discipline and respect, usually a parent?s task to instil. However, because she was not their real mother, she felt she could not handle this herself; it had to be another person, a disinterested party with authority, and it had to be a woman, preferably herself a mother. She thought I qualified admirably, being a nurse and a mother, a figure of authority, and she named an impressive figure to be paid per session for my services should I agree. I did not know what to say.

?Perhaps you should meet the children,? said Mrs. Farley, pressing a bell push. A few moments later, a maid ushered the girl and boy into our presence. The boy was more pretty than handsome, with longish, dark hair and a slender figure. The girl?s hair was blond, and she had a pretty if rather petulant face. The introductions over, Mrs. Farley explained to the children who I was and why I was there. They both gasped with shock and apprehension on hearing what my proposed role in their lives was to be. To the children?s horror she then suggested that I demonstrate my ability in order to decide on whether I could, or would, accept the offer. After a little hesitation while I regarded the two wide-eyed and apprehensive children, I rather doubtfully agreed to try.

Mrs. Farley rang for the maid and instructed her to prepare them for punishment. The maid was a pretty, young, blond woman in her mid twenties. She wore a typical maid?s uniform, which made her look quite fetching. Leaving them for the moment, Mrs. Farley led me to the Games Room, where, she said, the punishments would take place.

It was a large room with a covered billiard table pushed to one side and here and there other items of sporting activities scattered around. In the centre of the ceiling hung a restraining ring fitted with leather straps. Mrs. Farley drew my attention to a long whip, which was hanging on one wall. She told me it was a nylon circus whip. It was, she said, what she wanted me to use. I found the idea rather daunting.

The door opened, and in walked the two children, shepherded by the maid. I caught my breath; they were both stark naked! They advanced further into the room with uncertain steps, seemingly shy and embarrassed to be paraded naked in front of me, and this affected me in a curious way.

I began to experience an intriguing sensation of delicious, tingling warmth down below my abdomen, and I ran my tongue over my lips in tacit response.

Mrs. Farley made the girl kneel down submissively in front of the couch on which she had sat, and then she ordered the maid to get the boy ready. This involved the maid?s taking him by the hand and leading him to the centre of the room. Once there, she fetched a low stool and placed it under the dangling restraining ring. Then, she made the boy stand on the stool, and she climbed up next to him to secure his wrists to the straps above his head. When it was done, she patted the boy?s bottom gently, stepped down and pulled the footstool out from under his feet, leaving him dangling a few inches above the floor. It reminded me of a ?hanging,? and this also aroused some incongruous feelings in me, which I ashamedly suppressed to the best of my ability.

On Mrs. Farley?s instruction, the maid approached me and handed me the whip. She flashed me a discreet, conspiratorial smile as she proffered the handle. I took it but felt a little embarrassed at handling the unfamiliar and cruel implement. I was at a loss at how to proceed, and I looked back at Mrs. Farley for some kind of guidance.

?I?ll let you have a free hand,? said Mrs. Farley. ?You may give him as many lashes as you see fit.? Seeing my embarrassed awkwardness, she added, ?You can lash him as hard as you like, anywhere you like, and you may judge for yourself when he?s had enough. You are, after all, a nurse.? As a nurse, my job was usually to relieve pain, not inflict it, and I found the prospect of what I was about to do daunting yet, somehow, intriguing. When I still hesitated, she said encouragingly, ?When you?re ready, Nurse Martin.?

I had never before handled a whip so I stood off a little way to try to come to grips with it. I allowed the lash to unfurl until the tip rested on the floor. Then, as I had seen circus ringmasters do, I cracked it with a smart flick of the wrist to try it out. The sharp crack it produced sounded extremely intimidating, and I heard both the youngsters gasp and begin to whimper. The girl especially began sobbing fearfully. I was surprised to find myself experiencing a unique and delightful sense of power, which had me running my tongue around my lips. To the children?s further dismay, I cracked the whip several more times to get used to the feel of it. I did it standing behind the boy.

Up to then, he had been doing his best to put on a brave face in front of me, manfully holding back the tears that threatened to overcome him at any moment. His attempts to preserve his masculine dignity appealed to me and aroused in me a bittersweet tenderness, which intensified the delicious warmth suffusing the most intimate parts of my body. But, the boy?s efforts at bravery were all to no avail.

As I unfurled the whip again and stood ready to commence lashing, he broke down and began to weep like a terrified little girl. My nipples stood up and hardened under the starched white bra and blouse of my nurse?s uniform.

My mind could not help dwelling on the fact that I did not know what he had done to deserve punishment and therefore did not know how severe I was expected to be. Had he, in fact, done anything wrong? Or was he simply serving as an unwilling subject for my trial demonstration? I told myself it was not my concern, but the sweet sensations I was experiencing were, to my acute shame, unjustifiably further intensified at the enormity of the injustice this last idea suggested. Well, his stepmother had said that the severity of his punishment was up to me, had she not? Well, so be it, I thought.

Ready to start, I raised my whip hand, ?and then, I whirled the whip around my head and sent the lash coiling as violently as I could manage around the boy?s haunches. Oh, how he shrieked as the lash burned a livid welt around his thighs and bottom. My tongue slid out between my lips as I swung the whip again, this time at his legs. He was struggling, wailing and gasping in agony now, but nevertheless, I lashed him with formidable force around his tummy. By now, I was getting a feel for the whip. I settled down to lash him as hard as I could all over with a slow and steady rhythm. As I delivered lash after lash, now to his torso, now to his head, I became acutely aware that the sweet sensation between my thighs had consolidated into a pulsating and urgent throb, which synchronized with the rhythm of the lash. My panties had become soaking wet, bunching up and sinking deeper between my labia with each violent lash I delivered. The boy?s shrieks and screams filled the room in time to the swishing, whooping and cracking of the whip as I continued to wield it with increasing passion.

I paused for a moment to catch my breath, which was coming in short, panting gasps, and I saw that the boy, in spite of his obvious suffering, was experiencing an erection.

I was amazed. Being the mother of two daughters, I had had relatively little experience with adolescent boys, except occasionally as patients who had needed caring for. My feelings were in tumult. Was this boy, I found myself wondering, actually enjoying his suffering at my hands? Yet, he was clearly in terrible agony. I supposed then that it was perhaps no less of a contradiction that a woman, like myself, was having her love juices made to flow by dominating a young male so completely.

In a sudden paroxysm of cruel passion, I hefted the whip once again and directed the lash at his stiff, young organ. The tip of the lash struck his penis, and the violent impact caused tiny droplets of pre-cum to spray in all directions. Oh dear, how the poor boy howled and screamed in agony.

I was in front of him now, and my tongue lay curled up and spread large upon my upper lip as I concentrated. His pain-crazed eyes were drawn to it like magnets, and I found this rather delightful. I moved closer to him and leaned forwards to give him a better view. His penis was still erect and hard, though I could see the fierce welt around it produced by my lash. I allowed my tongue to slide large and slowly back and forth across my lips. His feverish eyes never left it. Suddenly, I again sent the lash curling around him. He screamed with fresh urgency and began to twitch as his organ pumped out a child-sized squirt of sperm onto the floor.

I waited until he had ceased gyrating and hung limp and drained. He was now done, I realized, with whatever enjoyment he had derived from this punishment. From now on, I thought with cruel relish, whatever pain he was about to feel would be just that ? pain - without enjoyment. I stepped back and then joyfully proceeded to deliver a prolonged and slowly measured flurry of ferocious lashes to his already scarred and blooded midriff, haunches and legs. When he was sobbing with pain and exhaustion and seemed on the point of fainting, wrung out physically and emotionally, unable to cope with any more, I lashed him three or four times more and then coiled up the whip to signal that the ordeal was over.

Mrs. Farley rose from her couch and approached me, her eyes shining with pleasure.

?That was wonderful,? she exclaimed. ?Considering you haven?t done this before, you show a remarkable aptitude.? I was flushed and panting as softly as I could, doing my utmost to hide the emotions stirred in me by my own cruelty, but it was not easy. The delicious and urgent throbbing persisted unrelentingly in my nether regions, especially when I glanced at the small, naked figure still hanging there, all limp and covered with a criss-cross pattern of blooded welts, and I surreptitiously squeezed my thighs together. My head was reeling with shameful thoughts; it was I who had reduced him to such a state. It was I who had determined the awful severity of his punishment. And to be so cruel had felt simply delicious!

My thoughts were interrupted by Mrs. Farley?s voice. ?As soon as I met you, I felt you were the right person for the job,? she said. ?And, so far, my instincts have proved accurate.?

? Susan?? This last was addressed to the maid. ?Release young Timmy, take him to the bathroom and tend to him. Then come back here.?

?Very well, Madam,? said the maid. She proceeded to unfetter the boy. The poor youngster could hardly stand up on his feet, let alone walk, and he ended up being half carried by the maid. She was none too gentle as she bustled him out, and I noticed a cruel, frowning smile on her face. ?Well, well,? I thought wryly, ?it seems to be infectious!?

While we waited for the maid to return, Mrs. Farley poured me a cup of tea, and we sat on the couch to chat, taking no notice of the abject, naked and weeping, young girl kneeling at our feet. I took the opportunity to clear up the one point that had been nagging at me.

?If you don?t mind my asking, what did they do to deserve punishment?? Mrs. Farley seemed a little embarrassed by my question; perhaps thinking it was none of my business. However, she deigned to reply.

?In truth, Nurse Martin, they haven?t actually done anything wrong. Not this time.? I had known it all along! ?Today?s session is to show them how they will be disciplined in future. It is also, as I mentioned earlier, a demonstration of your ability to carry out the punishments to my satisfaction.? She went on, ?And I am pleased to say you have impressed me very much so far. I must say, you were extremely severe with young Timmy, and that is exactly what he needs right now. I liked the way in which you allowed him to release his involuntary pubescent reaction and then severely thrashed him again afterwards. It served to remind him that he was being punished, not indulged in his pleasure.? I flushed a little guiltily. The real truth of the matter that I had to face if I were to be honest with myself was that I had done it very deliberately just to be cruel, to make him suffer for me, for my pleasure, and I was still trying to come to terms with that. Of course, I said nothing.

A short time later the nurse returned, and Mrs. Farley turned her attention to the girl at our feet. ?Right, child,? she intoned sternly, ?You?ve seen how strict Nurse Martin is. Now it?s your turn to feel it.? The girl burst out in wailing tears. Her voice tight with stern authority, Mrs. Farley ordered the maid to prepare her for punishment. The girl became hysterical, begging to be spared and protesting her innocence, but it was no good. The maid dragged her, struggling and screaming, to the middle of the room.

Glancing furtively at Mrs. Farley, I noticed a smile of cruel anticipation on her attractive face and realized there was more to these punishments than just instilling discipline. Well, I thought, it was her prerogative, whatever her reasons. She had not liked my asking about it. I was, after all, to be paid handsomely for my efforts, so mine was not to reason why.

In a matter of moments, the girl hung helplessly by her wrists, waiting to be thrashed. Once more, I was handed the whip. I stood myself in front of her and let it uncoil ominously. She cried in panic, and begged me not to lash her. I said nothing, but gazed sternly and meaningfully at her. I cracked the whip several times to further intimidate her. The sound and sight of it drove the girl into a frenzy of panic, her eyes wide with dread. That sweet throbbing down below resumed with a vengeance. I looked her in the eye, slowly ran my tongue across my lips and walked with measured steps to a position behind her, my nipples hard. I was going to give her hell!

And I did just that. I lashed her, and lashed her, and lashed her, and lashed her from every angle without restraint. I lashed her with mercilessly cruel abandon and as hard as I knew how. I thrashed every inch of her young flesh and left it suffused with livid red and bloody stripes. And by momentarily obscuring her stepmother?s view by standing in her line of vision, I even surreptitiously managed to flick the lash smartly and maliciously between the child?s legs more than once.

And, oh dear, how she screamed and screamed! But no matter how much she screamed and struggled, she could not escape the merciless scourging of my cruel lash. I paused every now and again to give her a little time to gather her strength; I wanted this to last! Then, I recommenced thrashing her harder and with more cruelty than ever. By now, my breath was coming in short gasps as the merciless throbbing inside my wet panties became impossibly intense. I began involuntarily to whimper and moan softly with each lash I delivered, and I could feel the wetness between my legs sopping each time I swung the lash.

After about fifty or more lashes, the girl finally fainted. The struggling, shrieking and sobbing stopped, and she suddenly went limp. I squeezed my thighs together to contain the volcanic eruption that was taking place between them, and let out involuntary but clearly audible sighs as I succumbed to my feelings. I looked over at Mrs. Farley, flushed and embarrassed, as I coiled up the whip, still trembling from my erogenous convulsions. Did she know why I had sighed so?

?It?s alright, Nurse Martin,? she said reassuringly as she came towards me, ?it?s only natural.? I flushed hotly with embarrassment and shame. She knew! She, herself, also seemed flushed and breathless.

While the maid tended to the girl, Mrs. Farley and I returned to the sitting room to talk. I gladly accepted the job, I told her, and would await her call.

Over the following few months, I was called on to play my role of disciplinarian with increasing frequency. I never again asked whether the children were guilty or innocent of any wrongdoing, and I looked forward with great anticipation to each call. Likewise, Mrs. Farley was always pleased at my coming. Not so the children!

The young boy seemed to have mixed feelings about my visits. He was terrified of me, with good reason of course, and yet he always experienced an ejaculation while I was lashing him. After that, it was hell for him.

The girl, however, simply dreaded my coming with very good reason. I took great pleasure in making her suffer. She always begged me not to lash her breasts and between her legs, but it was always to no avail.

Through my visits I was able to get to know Mrs. Farley better. I better understood, also, her reasons for calling me so often, though it was never really mentioned outright. She spoke of the ?maternal instinct for correction? and ?authoritarian emotions,? and how I was not to feel guilty or ashamed of experiencing them. In her book, they were natural symptoms of ?aroused feminine passion,? and she said she shared them with me during the sessions.

I also struck up an acquaintanceship with Susan, the maid. She had worked there for five years. She confessed to me that when Mrs. Farley had first engaged me, she had been a little put out. She had known, she said, of Mrs. Farley?s plans for disciplinary measures for the children, and she had hoped to be asked to do the job. She had even gone as far as buying a cane for the purpose to show Mrs. Farley how truly dedicated she was. However, Mrs. Farley had had strict criteria for the prospective disciplinarian, and Susan, being a young, unmarried woman, did not measure up. She did not feel too badly about it now, she said, since she was always allowed to watch the proceedings and enjoyed them thoroughly. But, there was more.

?You mustn?t tell,? she confided, giggling, ?but when I take them to the bathroom afterwards, I sometimes cane them too. Especially young Timmy.? Her tongue sensuously traversed her lips before she added, ?While Jane (the girl) is screaming from your attentions in the Games Room, no-one can hear Timmy?s screams in the bathroom.? She had seen me in action often enough to know that I would understand the nature of her feelings.

?I?ll probably be a mother myself someday,? she said, and then added, ?but I won?t treat my children like that.? I laughed and told her that, believe it or not, I never laid a hand on mine either.

And, in a nutshell, there lies the nub of the matter. I had rediscovered feelings I thought I had lost with the passing of puberty. I hesitate, even now, to admit to myself that I am a sadist. Yet, how can I otherwise account for the deliciously pungent and sweet feelings aroused in me when I was engaged in those cruel practices? And that I was deliberately cruel, I shamefully admit. I punished those children with extreme cruelty precisely because they were not my own, and I did not have to live with the consequences. I was free to indulge myself, and I did so with profound pleasure.

During one call, Mrs. Farley had to go out unexpectedly, much to her disappointment, just as I arrived. Rather than having me make a wasted journey, she told me to go ahead anyway. So I conducted that session on my own with Susan assisting. Well, when the cat?s away!

The children?s stepmother had never interfered with my methods, or ever stopped me, even in my cruellest moments, but perhaps unsurprisingly, there was always an intangible measure of restraint with her presence. Now I was in charge.

By way of a change, I dealt with the girl first. And, oh my, how I made her suffer! I cruelly whipped her into unconsciousness over a very protracted and sustained period of time. Then I asked Susan to revive her, which she did with a wet sponge. After I had let her rest for a short time to regain her strength, I recommenced lashing her with increased severity until she passed out again. As I was lashing the poor girl, I imagined my husband was watching me, even giving me his amorous attentions. To young Susan?s gratification and amusement, I came to a panting and moaning climax as the girl lost consciousness once again.

Once Susan had taken the girl to the bathroom, I sat on the couch and took the boy on my lap. I knew he was ashamed at being treated like a small child, but he dared not resist. I cuddled him and kissed him, and explained in motherly tones that discipline was a vital part of his growing up.

I pointed out that his erections were clear proof of that. Then I began to gently fondle his young organ, which almost instantaneously hardened. I told him that he would learn to respect women in the way they deserved, and that would make him grow up into a proper man.

?Let me show you,? I said, getting a little carried away, ?how a woman likes to be kissed.? And I did so. He was still afraid, yet his penis showed his tacit enjoyment as my adult tongue thrust and probed into his mouth. I opened my white blouse and bared one breast, and then pushed the nipple into the boy?s mouth. While I was enjoying the sensation of his sucking at my breast like a baby, I thought I could hear anguished screams coming from the direction of the bathroom; it had to have been the girl receiving supplementary attention from young Susan?s cane.

When she returned to the Games Room, Susan was flushed and a little breathless. She squealed with delight when she saw what I was doing to the boy. ?Oh, how sweet!? she carolled.

Well, I thought, enough was enough; I still had a job to do. ?Get him ready if you please, Susan,? I said. The boy began to whimper as the maid seized his hand to hang him up for whipping. In no time at all, the boy hung there crying, and I stood, my tongue between my lips and the whip uncoiled, ready to strike.

I gave him a severe lashing, during which he had his customary orgasm. After his juices were spent, I whipped him even more severely for much longer than usual, walking around him and lashing him from various angles, until he too fainted, and I was panting breathlessly and moaning with tumultuous ?authoritarian emotion.?

Susan took him down and revived him so he could walk to the bathroom. As she was leading him out, she stopped briefly to smile at me, and lowering her eyes demurely, silently bade me to follow. The poor boy could barely walk and progress was slow.

When we got to the bathroom, Susan rubbed the child?s welted, striped body with an antiseptic solution, which stung and made him cry some more. Then she produced a length of nylon cord tied in a loop at one end. The boy obviously knew what it portended because his tears took on fresh urgency, and he begged for mercy. Susan, ignoring his pleas, passed the loop over his wrists and pulled it tight. She placed a low, wooden towel rack, which had been standing in one corner, in the middle of the room. She ordered him crisply to bend over it, but by pulling the free end of the cord, she gave him no other option. Now, she tied the cord to a lower bar on the far side of the rack, and so the boy was forcibly bent over it, unable to move. She opened a cupboard and produced a long, thin, rattan cane.

?This is the cane I bought,? she told me with girlish glee and took a few practice swings in the air, making the cane swish in its characteristically ominous manner. The boy was sobbing desperately, begging not to be caned. The young woman took up a position at right angles to the boy?s buttocks and laid the cane gently on his cheeks. She ran her tongue around her lips and lifted the cane high above her head. She waited. Then ? she brought it down hard and fast to impact squarely on the boy?s buttocks, bending her knees for maximum force. He was still wet with the antiseptic solution, and the sound of the cane striking his wet flesh was particularly sharp. How he screamed!

She caned him hard and for what seemed an age, her youthful exuberance making her surprisingly cruel. She did not seem to care that he had already suffered profusely at my hands. I found myself deeply aroused at how cruelly this young woman, ten or more years my junior, indulged her passion.

The boy passed out yet again, and Susan moaned and panted in short gasps as she experienced violent, multiple orgasms. At the same time, I, myself, shuddered as the familiar throbbing inspired by the young woman?s authoritarian demonstration culminated in yet another sweet eruption. It was ironic to think that such cruelty to innocent children culminated in such ?authoritarian emotions? from which beautiful babies were conceived.

I have not told my husband about my excursions into domestic discipline, even though they ceased a month ago when the Farley family, to my surprise and, I will say disappointment, moved out. Like most men, I suppose, he probably put my increased conjugal appetite down to his irresistible charm. I do not mind that. I do love him dearly, and I am happy that those poor children?s suffering has been good for something.

Disciplinary Measures

My name is Ruth Martin. I am thirty-seven years old, happily married with two children, both girls in their pre-teens, and I work as a District Nurse. I make house calls in my capacity as nurse all over the district during the day and usually return home to my family in the early evening. My life is interesting, well regulated and happy. I think I can say I am good-looking, with my dark, shoulder length hair tied back in a tail, though I am, perhaps, a little plumper round the middle, fuller in the hips, than I should be; possibly this is a symptom of conservative complacency, but I am not apologising for it. However, over the past year, I have had reason to take a good, hard, long look at myself and ask myself just what kind of a person I really am.

A little more than a year ago, I was called to one of the larger houses in our rather affluent district. On arrival, I was shown into a spacious living room, where an elegant lady introduced herself as Mrs. Farley, the lady of the house. She was about my age, quite pretty with her long, blond hair piled up on her head and clear, blue eyes. She told me that she wanted me to attend to her two stepchildren, a girl of fifteen and a boy of thirteen. In confidential tones, she began to explain that the children needed a firm hand, but that it should not be hers as she was afraid it might alienate her from her husband, the children?s father. I was a bit puzzled by all this so I asked her what was wrong with them. She laughed and told me they were both in perfect health. She said what they wanted was not so much a nurse as a ?disciplinarian? to administer punishments when required. I was somewhat taken aback at this and must have looked it. Mrs. Farley explained that she wished her stepchildren to learn the meaning of discipline and respect, usually a parent?s task to instil. However, because she was not their real mother, she felt she could not handle this herself; it had to be another person, a disinterested party with authority, and it had to be a woman, preferably herself a mother. She thought I qualified admirably, being a nurse and a mother, a figure of authority, and she named an impressive figure to be paid per session for my services should I agree. I did not know what to say.

?Perhaps you should meet the children,? said Mrs. Farley, pressing a bell push. A few moments later, a maid ushered the girl and boy into our presence. The boy was more pretty than handsome, with longish, dark hair and a slender figure. The girl?s hair was blond, and she had a pretty if rather petulant face. The introductions over, Mrs. Farley explained to the children who I was and why I was there. They both gasped with shock and apprehension on hearing what my proposed role in their lives was to be. To the children?s horror she then suggested that I demonstrate my ability in order to decide on whether I could, or would, accept the offer. After a little hesitation while I regarded the two wide-eyed and apprehensive children, I rather doubtfully agreed to try.

Mrs. Farley rang for the maid and instructed her to prepare them for punishment. The maid was a pretty, young, blond woman in her mid twenties. She wore a typical maid?s uniform, which made her look quite fetching. Leaving them for the moment, Mrs. Farley led me to the Games Room, where, she said, the punishments would take place.

It was a large room with a covered billiard table pushed to one side and here and there other items of sporting activities scattered around. In the centre of the ceiling hung a restraining ring fitted with leather straps. Mrs. Farley drew my attention to a long whip, which was hanging on one wall. She told me it was a nylon circus whip. It was, she said, what she wanted me to use. I found the idea rather daunting.

The door opened, and in walked the two children, shepherded by the maid. I caught my breath; they were both stark naked! They advanced further into the room with uncertain steps, seemingly shy and embarrassed to be paraded naked in front of me, and this affected me in a curious way.

I began to experience an intriguing sensation of delicious, tingling warmth down below my abdomen, and I ran my tongue over my lips in tacit response.

Mrs. Farley made the girl kneel down submissively in front of the couch on which she had sat, and then she ordered the maid to get the boy ready. This involved the maid?s taking him by the hand and leading him to the centre of the room. Once there, she fetched a low stool and placed it under the dangling restraining ring. Then, she made the boy stand on the stool, and she climbed up next to him to secure his wrists to the straps above his head. When it was done, she patted the boy?s bottom gently, stepped down and pulled the footstool out from under his feet, leaving him dangling a few inches above the floor. It reminded me of a ?hanging,? and this also aroused some incongruous feelings in me, which I ashamedly suppressed to the best of my ability.

On Mrs. Farley?s instruction, the maid approached me and handed me the whip. She flashed me a discreet, conspiratorial smile as she proffered the handle. I took it but felt a little embarrassed at handling the unfamiliar and cruel implement. I was at a loss at how to proceed, and I looked back at Mrs. Farley for some kind of guidance.

?I?ll let you have a free hand,? said Mrs. Farley. ?You may give him as many lashes as you see fit.? Seeing my embarrassed awkwardness, she added, ?You can lash him as hard as you like, anywhere you like, and you may judge for yourself when he?s had enough. You are, after all, a nurse.? As a nurse, my job was usually to relieve pain, not inflict it, and I found the prospect of what I was about to do daunting yet, somehow, intriguing. When I still hesitated, she said encouragingly, ?When you?re ready, Nurse Martin.?

I had never before handled a whip so I stood off a little way to try to come to grips with it. I allowed the lash to unfurl until the tip rested on the floor. Then, as I had seen circus ringmasters do, I cracked it with a smart flick of the wrist to try it out. The sharp crack it produced sounded extremely intimidating, and I heard both the youngsters gasp and begin to whimper. The girl especially began sobbing fearfully. I was surprised to find myself experiencing a unique and delightful sense of power, which had me running my tongue around my lips. To the children?s further dismay, I cracked the whip several more times to get used to the feel of it. I did it standing behind the boy.

Up to then, he had been doing his best to put on a brave face in front of me, manfully holding back the tears that threatened to overcome him at any moment. His attempts to preserve his masculine dignity appealed to me and aroused in me a bittersweet tenderness, which intensified the delicious warmth suffusing the most intimate parts of my body. But, the boy?s efforts at bravery were all to no avail.

As I unfurled the whip again and stood ready to commence lashing, he broke down and began to weep like a terrified little girl. My nipples stood up and hardened under the starched white bra and blouse of my nurse?s uniform.

My mind could not help dwelling on the fact that I did not know what he had done to deserve punishment and therefore did not know how severe I was expected to be. Had he, in fact, done anything wrong? Or was he simply serving as an unwilling subject for my trial demonstration? I told myself it was not my concern, but the sweet sensations I was experiencing were, to my acute shame, unjustifiably further intensified at the enormity of the injustice this last idea suggested. Well, his stepmother had said that the severity of his punishment was up to me, had she not? Well, so be it, I thought.

Ready to start, I raised my whip hand, ?and then, I whirled the whip around my head and sent the lash coiling as violently as I could manage around the boy?s haunches. Oh, how he shrieked as the lash burned a livid welt around his thighs and bottom. My tongue slid out between my lips as I swung the whip again, this time at his legs. He was struggling, wailing and gasping in agony now, but nevertheless, I lashed him with formidable force around his tummy. By now, I was getting a feel for the whip. I settled down to lash him as hard as I could all over with a slow and steady rhythm. As I delivered lash after lash, now to his torso, now to his head, I became acutely aware that the sweet sensation between my thighs had consolidated into a pulsating and urgent throb, which synchronized with the rhythm of the lash. My panties had become soaking wet, bunching up and sinking deeper between my labia with each violent lash I delivered. The boy?s shrieks and screams filled the room in time to the swishing, whooping and cracking of the whip as I continued to wield it with increasing passion.

I paused for a moment to catch my breath, which was coming in short, panting gasps, and I saw that the boy, in spite of his obvious suffering, was experiencing an erection.

I was amazed. Being the mother of two daughters, I had had relatively little experience with adolescent boys, except occasionally as patients who had needed caring for. My feelings were in tumult. Was this boy, I found myself wondering, actually enjoying his suffering at my hands? Yet, he was clearly in terrible agony. I supposed then that it was perhaps no less of a contradiction that a woman, like myself, was having her love juices made to flow by dominating a young male so completely.

In a sudden paroxysm of cruel passion, I hefted the whip once again and directed the lash at his stiff, young organ. The tip of the lash struck his penis, and the violent impact caused tiny droplets of pre-cum to spray in all directions. Oh dear, how the poor boy howled and screamed in agony.

I was in front of him now, and my tongue lay curled up and spread large upon my upper lip as I concentrated. His pain-crazed eyes were drawn to it like magnets, and I found this rather delightful. I moved closer to him and leaned forwards to give him a better view. His penis was still erect and hard, though I could see the fierce welt around it produced by my lash. I allowed my tongue to slide large and slowly back and forth across my lips. His feverish eyes never left it. Suddenly, I again sent the lash curling around him. He screamed with fresh urgency and began to twitch as his organ pumped out a child-sized squirt of sperm onto the floor.

I waited until he had ceased gyrating and hung limp and drained. He was now done, I realized, with whatever enjoyment he had derived from this punishment. From now on, I thought with cruel relish, whatever pain he was about to feel would be just that ? pain - without enjoyment. I stepped back and then joyfully proceeded to deliver a prolonged and slowly measured flurry of ferocious lashes to his already scarred and blooded midriff, haunches and legs. When he was sobbing with pain and exhaustion and seemed on the point of fainting, wrung out physically and emotionally, unable to cope with any more, I lashed him three or four times more and then coiled up the whip to signal that the ordeal was over.

Mrs. Farley rose from her couch and approached me, her eyes shining with pleasure.

?That was wonderful,? she exclaimed. ?Considering you haven?t done this before, you show a remarkable aptitude.? I was flushed and panting as softly as I could, doing my utmost to hide the emotions stirred in me by my own cruelty, but it was not easy. The delicious and urgent throbbing persisted unrelentingly in my nether regions, especially when I glanced at the small, naked figure still hanging there, all limp and covered with a criss-cross pattern of blooded welts, and I surreptitiously squeezed my thighs together. My head was reeling with shameful thoughts; it was I who had reduced him to such a state. It was I who had determined the awful severity of his punishment. And to be so cruel had felt simply delicious!

My thoughts were interrupted by Mrs. Farley?s voice. ?As soon as I met you, I felt you were the right person for the job,? she said. ?And, so far, my instincts have proved accurate.?

? Susan?? This last was addressed to the maid. ?Release young Timmy, take him to the bathroom and tend to him. Then come back here.?

?Very well, Madam,? said the maid. She proceeded to unfetter the boy. The poor youngster could hardly stand up on his feet, let alone walk, and he ended up being half carried by the maid. She was none too gentle as she bustled him out, and I noticed a cruel, frowning smile on her face. ?Well, well,? I thought wryly, ?it seems to be infectious!?

While we waited for the maid to return, Mrs. Farley poured me a cup of tea, and we sat on the couch to chat, taking no notice of the abject, naked and weeping, young girl kneeling at our feet. I took the opportunity to clear up the one point that had been nagging at me.

?If you don?t mind my asking, what did they do to deserve punishment?? Mrs. Farley seemed a little embarrassed by my question; perhaps thinking it was none of my business. However, she deigned to reply.

?In truth, Nurse Martin, they haven?t actually done anything wrong. Not this time.? I had known it all along! ?Today?s session is to show them how they will be disciplined in future. It is also, as I mentioned earlier, a demonstration of your ability to carry out the punishments to my satisfaction.? She went on, ?And I am pleased to say you have impressed me very much so far. I must say, you were extremely severe with young Timmy, and that is exactly what he needs right now. I liked the way in which you allowed him to release his involuntary pubescent reaction and then severely thrashed him again afterwards. It served to remind him that he was being punished, not indulged in his pleasure.? I flushed a little guiltily. The real truth of the matter that I had to face if I were to be honest with myself was that I had done it very deliberately just to be cruel, to make him suffer for me, for my pleasure, and I was still trying to come to terms with that. Of course, I said nothing.

A short time later the nurse returned, and Mrs. Farley turned her attention to the girl at our feet. ?Right, child,? she intoned sternly, ?You?ve seen how strict Nurse Martin is. Now it?s your turn to feel it.? The girl burst out in wailing tears. Her voice tight with stern authority, Mrs. Farley ordered the maid to prepare her for punishment. The girl became hysterical, begging to be spared and protesting her innocence, but it was no good. The maid dragged her, struggling and screaming, to the middle of the room.

Glancing furtively at Mrs. Farley, I noticed a smile of cruel anticipation on her attractive face and realized there was more to these punishments than just instilling discipline. Well, I thought, it was her prerogative, whatever her reasons. She had not liked my asking about it. I was, after all, to be paid handsomely for my efforts, so mine was not to reason why.

In a matter of moments, the girl hung helplessly by her wrists, waiting to be thrashed. Once more, I was handed the whip. I stood myself in front of her and let it uncoil ominously. She cried in panic, and begged me not to lash her. I said nothing, but gazed sternly and meaningfully at her. I cracked the whip several times to further intimidate her. The sound and sight of it drove the girl into a frenzy of panic, her eyes wide with dread. That sweet throbbing down below resumed with a vengeance. I looked her in the eye, slowly ran my tongue across my lips and walked with measured steps to a position behind her, my nipples hard. I was going to give her hell!

And I did just that. I lashed her, and lashed her, and lashed her, and lashed her from every angle without restraint. I lashed her with mercilessly cruel abandon and as hard as I knew how. I thrashed every inch of her young flesh and left it suffused with livid red and bloody stripes. And by momentarily obscuring her stepmother?s view by standing in her line of vision, I even surreptitiously managed to flick the lash smartly and maliciously between the child?s legs more than once.

And, oh dear, how she screamed and screamed! But no matter how much she screamed and struggled, she could not escape the merciless scourging of my cruel lash. I paused every now and again to give her a little time to gather her strength; I wanted this to last! Then, I recommenced thrashing her harder and with more cruelty than ever. By now, my breath was coming in short gasps as the merciless throbbing inside my wet panties became impossibly intense. I began involuntarily to whimper and moan softly with each lash I delivered, and I could feel the wetness between my legs sopping each time I swung the lash.

After about fifty or more lashes, the girl finally fainted. The struggling, shrieking and sobbing stopped, and she suddenly went limp. I squeezed my thighs together to contain the volcanic eruption that was taking place between them, and let out involuntary but clearly audible sighs as I succumbed to my feelings. I looked over at Mrs. Farley, flushed and embarrassed, as I coiled up the whip, still trembling from my erogenous convulsions. Did she know why I had sighed so?

?It?s alright, Nurse Martin,? she said reassuringly as she came towards me, ?it?s only natural.? I flushed hotly with embarrassment and shame. She knew! She, herself, also seemed flushed and breathless.

While the maid tended to the girl, Mrs. Farley and I returned to the sitting room to talk. I gladly accepted the job, I told her, and would await her call.

Over the following few months, I was called on to play my role of disciplinarian with increasing frequency. I never again asked whether the children were guilty or innocent of any wrongdoing, and I looked forward with great anticipation to each call. Likewise, Mrs. Farley was always pleased at my coming. Not so the children!

The young boy seemed to have mixed feelings about my visits. He was terrified of me, with good reason of course, and yet he always experienced an ejaculation while I was lashing him. After that, it was hell for him.

The girl, however, simply dreaded my coming with very good reason. I took great pleasure in making her suffer. She always begged me not to lash her breasts and between her legs, but it was always to no avail.

Through my visits I was able to get to know Mrs. Farley better. I better understood, also, her reasons for calling me so often, though it was never really mentioned outright. She spoke of the ?maternal instinct for correction? and ?authoritarian emotions,? and how I was not to feel guilty or ashamed of experiencing them. In her book, they were natural symptoms of ?aroused feminine passion,? and she said she shared them with me during the sessions.

I also struck up an acquaintanceship with Susan, the maid. She had worked there for five years. She confessed to me that when Mrs. Farley had first engaged me, she had been a little put out. She had known, she said, of Mrs. Farley?s plans for disciplinary measures for the children, and she had hoped to be asked to do the job. She had even gone as far as buying a cane for the purpose to show Mrs. Farley how truly dedicated she was. However, Mrs. Farley had had strict criteria for the prospective disciplinarian, and Susan, being a young, unmarried woman, did not measure up. She did not feel too badly about it now, she said, since she was always allowed to watch the proceedings and enjoyed them thoroughly. But, there was more.

?You mustn?t tell,? she confided, giggling, ?but when I take them to the bathroom afterwards, I sometimes cane them too. Especially young Timmy.? Her tongue sensuously traversed her lips before she added, ?While Jane (the girl) is screaming from your attentions in the Games Room, no-one can hear Timmy?s screams in the bathroom.? She had seen me in action often enough to know that I would understand the nature of her feelings.

?I?ll probably be a mother myself someday,? she said, and then added, ?but I won?t treat my children like that.? I laughed and told her that, believe it or not, I never laid a hand on mine either.

And, in a nutshell, there lies the nub of the matter. I had rediscovered feelings I thought I had lost with the passing of puberty. I hesitate, even now, to admit to myself that I am a sadist. Yet, how can I otherwise account for the deliciously pungent and sweet feelings aroused in me when I was engaged in those cruel practices? And that I was deliberately cruel, I shamefully admit. I punished those children with extreme cruelty precisely because they were not my own, and I did not have to live with the consequences. I was free to indulge myself, and I did so with profound pleasure.

During one call, Mrs. Farley had to go out unexpectedly, much to her disappointment, just as I arrived. Rather than having me make a wasted journey, she told me to go ahead anyway. So I conducted that session on my own with Susan assisting. Well, when the cat?s away!

The children?s stepmother had never interfered with my methods, or ever stopped me, even in my cruellest moments, but perhaps unsurprisingly, there was always an intangible measure of restraint with her presence. Now I was in charge.

By way of a change, I dealt with the girl first. And, oh my, how I made her suffer! I cruelly whipped her into unconsciousness over a very protracted and sustained period of time. Then I asked Susan to revive her, which she did with a wet sponge. After I had let her rest for a short time to regain her strength, I recommenced lashing her with increased severity until she passed out again. As I was lashing the poor girl, I imagined my husband was watching me, even giving me his amorous attentions. To young Susan?s gratification and amusement, I came to a panting and moaning climax as the girl lost consciousness once again.

Once Susan had taken the girl to the bathroom, I sat on the couch and took the boy on my lap. I knew he was ashamed at being treated like a small child, but he dared not resist. I cuddled him and kissed him, and explained in motherly tones that discipline was a vital part of his growing up.

I pointed out that his erections were clear proof of that. Then I began to gently fondle his young organ, which almost instantaneously hardened. I told him that he would learn to respect women in the way they deserved, and that would make him grow up into a proper man.

?Let me show you,? I said, getting a little carried away, ?how a woman likes to be kissed.? And I did so. He was still afraid, yet his penis showed his tacit enjoyment as my adult tongue thrust and probed into his mouth. I opened my white blouse and bared one breast, and then pushed the nipple into the boy?s mouth. While I was enjoying the sensation of his sucking at my breast like a baby, I thought I could hear anguished screams coming from the direction of the bathroom; it had to have been the girl receiving supplementary attention from young Susan?s cane.

When she returned to the Games Room, Susan was flushed and a little breathless. She squealed with delight when she saw what I was doing to the boy. ?Oh, how sweet!? she carolled.

Well, I thought, enough was enough; I still had a job to do. ?Get him ready if you please, Susan,? I said. The boy began to whimper as the maid seized his hand to hang him up for whipping. In no time at all, the boy hung there crying, and I stood, my tongue between my lips and the whip uncoiled, ready to strike.

I gave him a severe lashing, during which he had his customary orgasm. After his juices were spent, I whipped him even more severely for much longer than usual, walking around him and lashing him from various angles, until he too fainted, and I was panting breathlessly and moaning with tumultuous ?authoritarian emotion.?

Susan took him down and revived him so he could walk to the bathroom. As she was leading him out, she stopped briefly to smile at me, and lowering her eyes demurely, silently bade me to follow. The poor boy could barely walk and progress was slow.

When we got to the bathroom, Susan rubbed the child?s welted, striped body with an antiseptic solution, which stung and made him cry some more. Then she produced a length of nylon cord tied in a loop at one end. The boy obviously knew what it portended because his tears took on fresh urgency, and he begged for mercy. Susan, ignoring his pleas, passed the loop over his wrists and pulled it tight. She placed a low, wooden towel rack, which had been standing in one corner, in the middle of the room. She ordered him crisply to bend over it, but by pulling the free end of the cord, she gave him no other option. Now, she tied the cord to a lower bar on the far side of the rack, and so the boy was forcibly bent over it, unable to move. She opened a cupboard and produced a long, thin, rattan cane.

?This is the cane I bought,? she told me with girlish glee and took a few practice swings in the air, making the cane swish in its characteristically ominous manner. The boy was sobbing desperately, begging not to be caned. The young woman took up a position at right angles to the boy?s buttocks and laid the cane gently on his cheeks. She ran her tongue around her lips and lifted the cane high above her head. She waited. Then ? she brought it down hard and fast to impact squarely on the boy?s buttocks, bending her knees for maximum force. He was still wet with the antiseptic solution, and the sound of the cane striking his wet flesh was particularly sharp. How he screamed!

She caned him hard and for what seemed an age, her youthful exuberance making her surprisingly cruel. She did not seem to care that he had already suffered profusely at my hands. I found myself deeply aroused at how cruelly this young woman, ten or more years my junior, indulged her passion.

The boy passed out yet again, and Susan moaned and panted in short gasps as she experienced violent, multiple orgasms. At the same time, I, myself, shuddered as the familiar throbbing inspired by the young woman?s authoritarian demonstration culminated in yet another sweet eruption. It was ironic to think that such cruelty to innocent children culminated in such ?authoritarian emotions? from which beautiful babies were conceived.

I have not told my husband about my excursions into domestic discipline, even though they ceased a month ago when the Farley family, to my surprise and, I will say disappointment, moved out. Like most men, I suppose, he probably put my increased conjugal appetite down to his irresistible charm. I do not mind that. I do love him dearly, and I am happy that those poor children?s suffering has been good for something.

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For the first few weeks working at Joelle’s, my feet never really touched the floor. This was everything I had dreamed of, and more. In case you don’t know about her - though I’d be curious if you didn’t - Joelle’s the woman who turned makeup into a true art. Where others only “applied” lipstick, rouge and eye shadow, she painted with an artist’s skill and turned the plainest women into goddesses, into true artwork. Nobody knew her surname, and nobody needed to. All the big stars flocked to her...

Barbie Measurements

Cecelia and I had been down in their big, basement playroom having fun that hot afternoon, playing computer games on a big screen mostly, when she asked, “Want to see my Barbie collection?” Nobody was home in the big house. I remember it was late summer and kind of exciting to see some girl’s bedroom. We had been friends for a long time, two or three years I guess. So I followed her up stairs and she had this whole line of Barbies on a windowsill, maybe two dozen on them, all in costume, a...

Coming ashore part 2

Marlene moved closer, dropping her hand to Stu’s fly, groping him through the cloth and looking him in the eye. He let her for a second then brushed her hand aside, unbuttoned his fly and pulled out his prick. It was fully extended and Marlene ran her palm along the underside of it. “ Mmmmm”, she said, running her tongue over her lips. “what a big boy”. She dropped to her knees and took it full in her mouth, the full length of the shaft disappearing between her lips. She held it...

Stop Watch GenesisChapter 4

“It must be nice to see that your parent’s still want each other.” I said conversationally to Emily as I still held her naked body in place with my hand on her shoulder; trying to keep the amusement out of my voice. Emily didn’t answer me. Unable to face away from the sight of her father panting after he’d just finished forcibly cumming down her mother’s throat; her head was hanging down and she was looking to one side. The knowledge that it had been her vulnerably nude body which had tipped...

Gone from my body but not from my dreams

Imagine waking up to the feeling of your little love nest being opened, so very gently, by a very hard and hot intruder. It was too tender to be troubling and then too wonderful to stop.He had stayed over after a party, too drunk to drive. Seth was tall with a runner’s body. You could tell he was used to being a top, used to submissive partners. But his jeans revealed a taut muscled ass that I really wanted to own. Now would have been a perfect time to get my cock into him, but it doesn’t work...

The Elevator

The day had been dragging on and she grew quite bored. In three minutes it would be lunch time. Suddenly, she received a text. She drew a quick breath and her heartbeat increased as she saw it was from her Sir. "#3 Elevator. Five minutes." As the head of Maintenance in the office building where she worked, He had full access to every space in the 48 story structure. #3 Elevator was used primarily for moving furniture, though it could be programmed to act as a back-up when either of the others...

Here Try This

Chapter 1 It was a few weeks day after my sixteenth birthday when I finally made up my mind to ask my mother about something ... masturbation. No, I knew about it; after all, I was sixteen and all my friends talked about sex all the time, including masturbation. One, my best friend, Jillian Reynolds, even told me that her mother had giver her a vibrator. I asked her how it was and that took about an hour and a half. Then she invited me over for an afternoon to try it out. Oh, it was the...

Marilyn F

Marilyn was another recommendation from Barbara. Marilyn was a hair stylist at the salon where Barb visited frequently. Marilyn was also a close friend too. They shared many secrets about their personal lives. Marilyn was a few years older than Barb and kept in pretty good shape. A few extra pounds but still very attractive. The years working on her feet have been catching up to her and she seemed to be getting a lot more tired standing all day. Not like it used to be in her youth. So one day...

MySistersHotFriend Nia Nacci 23379

Seemingly alone at her friend’s house and doing laundry, Nia Nacci decides to stretch and do a little yoga. It’s quiet, it’s peaceful, it’s the afternoon…it’s the perfect time to masturbate! But as her hand’s in her pants getting things wet and warm down there, her moaning awakens the unknown person in the room down the hall…her friend’s brother Rion. He follows the trail of pealing passion to find Nia knuckles-deep. Embarrassed, she flails around until she’s covered, but Rion tells her not to...

The Institution

When Charlie volunteered to do community work he never thought it would be in one of the mental institutions, but that was where he now was. He had taken it on mainly to please his wife who was continuously on his back because she was involved in the council's social calendar. Such community work led to lunches and dinners, in which he had to go to; she had told him that she felt embarrassed as other husbands were also involved in community and social work. The hind was that to make her more...

MOM WANTrsquoS TO BE MY CUMBUCKET ndash CHAP

This is the third installment of my story. If you haven’t read the previous two chapters you probably should, as this will detail the events that led to my current predicament. If merely want to read on, my name is Rick and I am a normal 15 year old teenager, who happens to have been fucking his mom senseless for the past two days. I had just finished fucking mom’s ass and had blown a huge load up her shit-hole, when I realized my 13 year old sister Rebecca had arrived home from camp three days...

Majgen Appendix 001

Warning: If you are not a steady Majgen-story reader this appendix most likely holds nothing of interest to you. My apologies for your inconvenience. Foreword: My self-editorial skills are not as developed as I would like them to be yet. Hence this section had to be presented as an appendix rather than as a part of a chapter. This section, ‘The Human Nation’ contains only historical background for the time and age of Majgen. Maybe interesting for the reader who wants to know more. The...

Conference Conception Part 1

They say pride comes before a fall. I can tell you it’s true.I had always hated my husband’s conferences. I had always hated having to play the ‘Little Woman’ whose sole role in life was to support her big, strong husband in his glittering career.It wasn’t that William, my husband didn’t have a glittering career; he most certainly did and if things went well at this particular conference, they would be even more glittering in years to come. It wasn’t that I resented having to support him in his...

Experiences of a Late Starter 4

Despite my wish to maintain a steady relation with George, we were forced to go separate ways. We were living in different cities and our wives did not leave us much time to meet. I used to meet George once a week during the morning after his wife left to work. He would check if she had arrived at work before I would come to his apartment. But one time she returned because of a sudden strike and we almost got caught. From that day on, George was too afraid to meet me. After two months of...

First Day

My first story, hope you enjoy it. It was my first day of class and to be quite honest I wasn’t really looking forward to it either. I didn’t know any of the people in the room with me and that made me a little nervous. The desks were set in pairs of two at each. I got there early to watch the others file in after me. I watched as one by one all my peers walked through the door and avoided the seat next to me. As the last person filed in he had no option but to sit next to me. We sat there in...

She Can8217t Stop Sucking Me

I was 18 when this happened. I was one of the most popular girls in high school. It was heavily raining that day. I and some more people had stayed back in the school to finish some preparations of the annual day that was dues the next day. After finishing my work, I was about to leave. But the rain go heavier and heavier. I went up to Jay, the cute head of the department I worked under. ‘Is the rain going to stop anytime sooner?’- I asked casually. ‘I don’t think so, I guess everyone will have...

Another AmberChapter 4

Shortly Roger arrived at the address Gordon had given him. Leon was home - drunk. Roger woke him the easy way. Pain is a great awakener. Leon was wide awake in short order, still drunk, but wide awake. "You took a girl from here to a slave training house fifteen months ago. Where is it?" Roger asked, directly. "Don't know what you are talking about," the drunk replied. The pain that he got then was both more intense and longer lasting than what woke him. He lay there and gasped and...

My Daughter and My Batlle Within

This story is fictional. For the last five years, I have fought a major battle of morality within my own mind. My daughter now eighteen, has developed into an absolute gorgeous young woman. My secret desires have remained within my mind for so long now, explicit taboo thoughts of incestuous lust. This is a story, an account of how I fought this battle and how this battle was ultimately lost. I know there are many men, fathers out there that also fight this secret battle within and I admire...

Their Little Sister

I've written before, as Ann O'Nonymous, and after reading some of the stories posted here, I thought I'd try my hand again. My own comment would be: Try another hobby. This, I guess, is possibly a one-off. This is a work of fantasy - all people and situations depicted are fictional, with no basis in reality. Permission is given to post this disaster-in-the-making on any free site. Their Little Sister by Ann O'Nonymous After...

Sex with Ranbir and my friend

The car started and I sat more comfortably in the backseat. I and my best friend Shilpa were being taken to Ranbir’s farm for an evening of sex and fun. You remember the wild night I had spent with Ranbir in the train where he had fucked me all night. The next day my husband noticed the way I was walking and the bruises on my arms etc and we had a fight but soon Ranbir met Ajit outside and convinced him that me being his keep was beneficial to all of us. Since then my affair with him was...

Hidden Pleasures in Lesbian exploration

Hello all ISS readers, this is your one and only JJ back with a lesbian experience after writing so many stories in this site and receiving a very good response from readers. As you all know I am a true advocate of lesbianism and one of my readers wanted to me to narrate a story that will make her horny as ever and every time she reads the story it must make her climax again and again. They day I submitted my first lesbian narration she has been in touch with me and truly feels there more...

Being HumanChapter 8

The endless banality of the grey, thick forest was disturbed only by the sounds of its foreign intruders. The constant scrape of wood being dragged along the ground served as a backing for the feet marching through the undergrowth, out of sync. It was like music being played by a trio with no souls. Sometimes when Rachele looked back at the mattress she was pulling all she could see upon it was death. It was hard to articulate what death looked like exactly, except that it was bloody and...

BetrayalChapter 7

Zoe's battered car turned up an hour later at Andy's house and Rhea climbed in. Her eyes were still red, but there was a calmness about her demeanour and steely resoluteness that frightened Zoe. They drove in silence to Zoe's house. "I'll be a minute," Rhea told her as Zoe unlocked the front door. Rhea walked into the lounge, leaving Zoe by the doorway, where her partner was sobbing on the couch. "Oh Rhea," he started and she interrupted him with an outstretched finger. "I don't...

Helping Melissa

Chapter 1 Growing up, I had an older cousin, Hank, who taught me some things about life. Maybe not the meaning of life and all that but, well, he taught me about sex. Since I'm a guy, named Richard by my parents, but, of course, called Dick or Dickhead, or Dickwad or Dickbag, or Dickbeater, or Dicklick, oh, you get the picture, you may wonder but Hank and I were and are straight. There was never any stuff going on between us even though he was the one that first told me about masturbation. I...

Fucking the hot aunty

Hi sex story lovers, my name are Arpith from Hubli. When i was 18 year old, i have to stay with my uncle’s place and my parent suggested me to stay with my Stella Aunty (aunty -father’s sister) who was 42yrs old widow and staying alone in a single bedroom apartment at Bangalore. Her daughter got married and they also lived in the same city. I was initially very reluctant to stay with her due to privacy reason. But i had no options. I reached her home, she greeted me well and told me to feel at...

SGT Brittin Part 2

This story is completely fictional. Let me start off by introducing myself. My name is Jason Britton and I am a Platoon Sergeant in the U.S. Army. I am in excellent shape, with a six pack and killer pecks; standing at a towering 6 foot 8 inches, I loom over all my soldiers, and I was also blessed with a very large penis, a 8 ½ inch monster that is very thick. A few days ago I had a sexual encounter with one of my soldiers who bribed me with sex, in return for not turning her in to her Platoon...

The Hot Tub

My dad left my mom and I when I was still young. Mom got the house in the divorce, it is a huge house that has a massive back yard and deck. And on the deck outside my window is a big hot tub. This was great because I could go to bed and peak out my window and watch all that was going on in the hot tub and no one could tell I watching. Most of the time it was the neighbors and I would spy Mrs. Roberts in her tiny bikini and run my wanker. Sometimes though, Mom's best friend would come over and...

Ruth and Me

Hey Guys im ink , with 6 inch long and thick Tool,20 years of age . This story says about a Housewife cheating and having fun with me . It happened 3 months ago. Ruth the Maths Teacher of mine. Ruth is a short chick with a boobs not too big nor small , her ass is so good in shape,she got married to a man who was so bad looking. I went to her marriage and saw her not at all happy in their marriage . After their marriage she posted a pic in their fb with her hubby carrying her ,it was nice to see...

Lucky Jim 2Student Farmer Volunteer Pickup Truck DiplomatChapter 5

Janie was gone in the morning and I got up and performed my morning ablutions. This was the first time that I’d slept past dawn in a long time. Surprisingly, Mom didn’t start questioning me as soon as I entered the kitchen. I was halfway through breakfast and getting ready to stuff a forkful of eggs into my mouth when she said, “A girl called for you this morning.” I finished the bite, took a drink of orange juice, and replied, “You’ll need to be much more specific than that. It could be...

Sweet TortureChapter 3

He got up and looked down at her, very seriously. he took one of her wrists, then the other and one by one released the straps. He didn't say anything, just matter of factly untied them. Her ankles too. She just lay there looking up at him untie her. "Whats going on?" she demanded to know! "You're free to go. I'm sorry for what!'ve put you through, I really am." She was shocked to hear this. Just as she was beginning to feel something for this man although she didn't quite know...

How I Became a Cuck

I work a lot and my precious 36 year old wife is very understanding, especially since that working lifestyle provides her with a substantial spending budget that she enjoys frivolously. I come home late, usually 8PM or so and typically leave in the mornings around 7AM, so when I say I work 60 hours a week, I'm really serious unlike some of my wanker friends that pretend to work long hours to make time for their mistresses and golf games. I very thankful that my wife, Kim, has her closest friend...

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