Nandita To Nandini
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Friday Night - Confession And Contrition free porn video
Friday Night - Confession and Contrition
I stand outside the study in my school uniform. White long-sleeved shirt
and tie under the gymslip, which is tied with a sash at the waist, and
comes to just above my knees. Long white socks in black pumps. My light
brown hair is cut in a squared off bob, and my firm breasts tent my shirt,
and so my gymslip, satisfactorily. My hands are held out, palms up, and
the cane, the rattan cane, lies across them.
I wait.
I stand there and wait. I can do nothing until he orders. I am calm,
though my heart is beating faster than usual. I just have to be patient,
and wait.
Finally the door to the study opens.
"Come."
I walk in and place the cane on the desk in front of him. My lord and
master, Wesley. I kneel down in front of the desk, and bow my head. I must
not look up at him unless he tells me to.
"I wish to make confession, Daddy."
"Go on."
"I've been a naughty girl, Daddy."
"How have you been a naughty girl?"
"I've had sinful thoughts and, um, done wicked things. I need to be
punished, Daddy."
I have to call him 'Daddy', although Wesley is more than half my age,
though you wouldn't know it to look at us. He looks just a few years
younger than me, handsome and arrogant.
"And what sort of sinful thoughts have you had?"
I've had time to consider this. I hope my reply will be sufficient.
"I keep thinking that you're a sadist and a pervert with all the things
you make me do. You and all the men in the Association as well." I blush.
He snorts, though whether it's in disgust, derision or amusement it's
difficult to tell.
"What, me and all your Uncles?"
"Um, yes, Daddy."
"I see. And what wicked actions have you been doing?"
"I've been playing with myself, although you specifically told me not to."
"And what were you trying to do, playing with yourself?"
"Um, um, to - to - bring myself off."
"And did you succeed?"
"N-no, Daddy." I am blushing furiously now.
He laughs. "Do you know why you didn't succeed?"
"Er, because, because, because I haven't got a clitty?"
"That's right, clever girl. The rejuve removed your clitty completely. You
just have a cunt," With, fortunately, a G-spot. "So what's the only way
you can get your rocks off?"
"When, when, you, you..." I can't say it.
"When I give you a good seeing to, isn't it, girl?"
"Yes! Oh I'm sooo sorry, Daddy!" I'm almost crying, although the
punishment hasn't started yet. "Please forgive me, Daddy! Pleease!"
There is silence, and I keep my head bowed, not daring to look up at him.
I never know how long the silence is going to last. Finally he speaks.
"You've been a naughty girl, Lillian. A very naughty girl indeed. Your
thoughts are quite wicked, sinful and inappropriate, and you've been
disobedient, doing disgusting things that I specifically forbade. You are
a dirty little slut, and you deserve to be punished severely. And you will
be."
"Please, Daddy, please forgive me. I promise I won't do it again. I
promise I'll be good. I promise-"
"Quiet, girl! How many times have I heard that before? Yet you still do
these disgusting things. It seems only the cane on your posterior has any
effect."
He comes round the front of the desk to stand before me. He puts a finger
under my chin and raises it, so that I am looking up at him. So confident,
so masculine!
"Only the cane has any effect on you. Isn't that right, little Lillian?"
"Um, yes Daddy."
"Good. The traditional six of the best, I think."
I'm not fooled. 'Six of the best' means six strokes on each bum cheek,
that's twelve strokes altogether.
"Go over and kneel by the chair. And drop your knickers. You should know
the routine by now."
There is an old wooden chair by the side of the desk. It has a wooden
seat, a carved wooden back, and wooden arms. I rise, go over and stand in
front of it. I lift the hem of my gymslip and drop my knickers to my
ankles. Then I kneel, bend over the seat, and grasp the arms. Carved into
the back is a grinning demon mask. It always seems to be laughing at my
predicament, at my humiliation.
Almost the worst part is the anticipation before the caning starts. I feel
my guts wrench as I feel the hem of my gymslip being lifted and tucked
into the sash at my waist, exposing my bare bottom. Then my darling Daddy,
who is actually my husband, says
"Count the strokes. And don't forget to thank me after each one"
Bad as the anticipation is, the reality is always worse. There is a swish,
a thwack, and a line of fire across my bum!
"Uhh - one. Thank you, Daddy."
Swish! Thwack! "Uhh - two. Thank you, Daddy."
Each session I am determined that I won't cry, but each time my body
betrays me. By the sixth stroke I am sniffing.
Wesley doesn't spare me, but swings the whippy rattan as hard as he can.
But after the sixth stroke there's a gap as he rests his arm for a bit. I
am snivelling but don't move. Clinging tightly to the arms of the chair
stops me putting my hands back to soothe my burning bum.
"Right, here's the rest of them." Swish! Thwack! As he starts on the other
bum cheek.
"Aaah! Seven. Th-thank you, Daddy."
By the twelfth stroke I am weeping openly. I can't stop myself; it hurts
so much. And yet...
And then -
"Your thoughts were particularly wicked and disgusting this week, so you
get an extra stroke. Here it comes!" Swish! Thwack! Right across both
cheeks, on top of existing weals
"Eeaagh! Thirteen (sob)! Th-thank you, (sniff) D-daddy."
"Stand up, Lillian."
Slowly, painfully, I push myself upright. I bend down to pull my knickers
back up. I gasp - ooh! - as the cotton settles across my burning bottom. I
smooth the back of my gymslip back down. Then I turn and face Wesley. The
tears are still streaming down my face. I daren't wipe them away.
Adopting a contrite posture, head bowed and hands clasped in front of me,
I sniff and say
"Um, thank you, Daddy, for disciplining and punishing me. I know I've been
a bad girl, and I deserved it. I'm very sorry, Daddy, please forgive me.
I'll be a good girl in the future, I promise I will. Please forgive me,
dearest Daddy."
"Hmm, we'll see. I think you need some corner time to meditate on your
sins. But first bring me a drink. I shall be in the living room. I'm going
to watch television."
As I go to get Wesley's wine, I take the opportunity to wipe my face and
dry my eyes with a kitchen towel. When I enter the living room, carrying a
small circular tray on which sit a wine glass and a bottle of his
favourite Cotes-du-Rhone, he Is sitting in his usual chair, the tv remote
in his hand, paging through the channels.
"Your wine, Daddy."
I bend to place the tray on the coffee table next to his chair. On any
other night I would be dressed as a maid and would address Wesley, my
husband, as 'Sir', but tonight, the first Friday in the month, I am still
in my school uniform and address him as 'Daddy'. The only other time I
have to wear the school uniform is when I attend the local NuWives School,
three afternoons a week, to learn or brush up on my skills and techniques,
cooking, dress making, deportment and so forth.
"Thank you, Lillian. Now, corner!"
One corner of the room is bare, except for a small rubber mat, for just
this purpose. I adopt the required position, kneeling on the mat back on
my heels (Ooh my sore bum!). I face the wall, or rather the corner. My
knees are spread wide apart; my thighs are at an angle of 45 degrees.
Fortunately the skirt of my gymslip permits this, just riding up a little.
As both knees touch a wall, with my thighs I form a sort of square with
the corner. My hands are clasped together on top of my head.
"Er - how long will my corner time last, Daddy?"
"As long as I deem necessary. Now be quiet, girl, I want to watch the
television."
I face the wall.
I can hear the TV but not see it. Oh God, this could last for several
hours.
In my corner I do have the chance to meditate, and I consider the changes
to my life in the last five years. Not for the first time I ask myself -
was it worth it?
I'm a fit and healthy 35 year old woman, or rather I have the body of a
fit and healthy 35 year old woman, and I'm married to a man who likes to
cane me regularly, and control me, and I submit to him and obey him. But I
wasn't always like this.
Rejuve is expensive, because it's a complex procedure, though totally
effective. It is possible for a man to be rejuved into his birth sex,
though that's even more complex, and so much more expensive. Why that
should be, I'm not at all clear. Some sort of gobbledegook about 'The Y
chromosome becomes an X chromosome during rejuvenation. We have to replace
the missing Y.' I don't really understand; I've never been expert at
science. Natural women don't have this problem. They just rejuve into
their younger selves.
So the 'standard' rejuve is a sort of devil's bargain. You become young
again, but lose your balls. You go from being an older man to a younger
woman. A 'NuWoman'.
And that's me. Five years ago I was a balding, 70 year old man who walked
with the aid of a stick. After my rejuve I had become a healthy NuWoman
with rapidly regrowing, even luxuriant hair.
So, standard rejuve for the rich, birth sex rejuve for the superrich. I
wasn't rich. The government provides a grant for the standard procedure.
The sex ratio is still askew after all those women died in that pandemic a
few years back, so of course they want to increase the number of NuWomen
as much as possible - but of course the grant is never enough. That's
where the Association steps in.
The Patriarchal Association is a group of rich men. Very rich men.
'Gentlemen' they would expect me to call them. They will fund a standard
rejuve completely, including any and all ancillary expenses. But here's
the catch. Rejuvees become in effect the property of the Association, who
then train them and allocate them to their members to, mostly, be married
to them.
This is a real devil's bargain because the Association believes in NuWomen
knowing their place, believes in NuWives obeying their husbands. Most,
including my Wesley, believe in firm discipline. What man would accept all
this in return for becoming young again? Well, a fair number do, and I was
one of them.
I sigh, but not loud enough for Wesley to hear above the noise of the TV,
and ask myself again, was it worth it?
Tonight I will spend two hours in the corner with legs spread and hands on
head. Later in our bedroom Wesley will already be aroused, as he always is
after our monthly 'Confession and Contrition' sessions. I won't have to
stimulate him to get him ready. He'll give me 'a good seeing to', as he
puts it, long and hard the way he likes it.
And me? That new part of my anatomy, my 'vaj' - that's how we rejuvees
refer to it among ourselves, as it's not ladylike to use the C-word -
well, it's ready as always. Just kneeling there I can feel my schoolgirl
knickers getting a bit damp. Because I wasn't born with it, it can
sometimes still feel strange to have this entrance into my body. Sometimes
I feel my vaj has a mind of its own. It too loves it long and hard.
We share this life, with my dear Wesley dominant, and I, Lilian, his
submissive partner, but the real difference between us is, he enjoys it,
but I need it. Oh God, how I need it!
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