SirDiscipliner69
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Joined: 2/1/2005
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Pinuk was a princess.
She lived in a castle.
Her favorite time was late morning.
She would ascend to the penthouse of the castle.
She would enter, dressed in her silken pajamas and the
attendants would snap to attention.
They would bathe her.
And massage her.
And clothe her.
She liked the masseur.
She liked tormenting him.
He would turn away as she disrobed and draped the cool marble with her smooth skin. A woman would drape her with a towel.
“Turn around,” she would command.
And he would obey, and start the massage.
“A little to the left,” she would say.
“Aren’t you awake yet?” when she thought him too gentle. Or even when she didn’t.
And he would press his rough fingertips into her skin in a little harder.
“I’m thirsty,” she would say.
He would bring her a cup of water with a straw and hold it beneath her mouth.
She would suck up the water and look up at him, trying to catch his eye. She never did.
She called him “Lunk.” She didn’t know his name.
She watched him in the mirrors, watching his head. Did he ever observe her? Follow her form with his eyes?
Never.
So she would make Lunk run small errands. “Bring me a magazine. Put it here. Turn the page.”
One morning there was a commotion outside the high windows.
“What is that noise?” she asked.
“Your people,” Lunk said.
He had never said anything.
His voice was low, with a soft woolen burr.
“What do they want?” Pinuk said and buried her face into a towel.
“They want work,” Lunk said. “They want homes.”
Pinuk opened her eyes. “It was a rhetorical question,” she said.
The noise grew loud. There was a shot. And another.
“Get me out of here,” she said, rising, but a large hand pressed her back down.
“What are you doing? I’ll have-“
“Quiet,” Lunk said. “You will be safe here.”
“What?” She twisted back her head to stare him down, only to see his face inches from hers. She felt a swatch of silk surround her wrist and attach it to the table leg.
Her heart raced. “Please, let me go and I’ll–“
Lunk said “Quiet” again and with a force that silenced
her. He tied her other wrist to the table.
“This will be over soon,” he said. The Penthouse had emptied, she noticed.
He picked up a pillow. What was he going to do?
He slipped it beneath her waist.
“Relax,” he said, and ran his hands down her back, pushing the towel away.
His palms, never rougher, reached her lower back, then her buttocks.
He pressed his hands into her ass, squeezing the cheeks down.
She shut her eyes tight.
His hands left her ass.
There was a slight whoosh.
Then a sharp, echoing clap.
Then a sting.
She opened her eyes.
What was he-
Another hard slap, pushing her ass flesh up, and then letting it resound back into shape.
She twisted away, and a firm hand pushed her back into place. Another whack. And another.
She tried to say “stop,” but instead she gasped. Her skin was hot. The slaps were traveling in quick succession up and down her ass, around the backs of her thighs.
Increasing in frequency.
She looked at a mirror. She saw his thick arms raised and then descending in a flurry of blows to her upraised rear.
She saw his eyes taking in her body, the swell of her thigh, the crest of her waist.
She saw him smiling.
Her ass was bright red.
The room filled with the echoes of his blows, drowning out the noise.
Something inside her slid open. Her gasps and cries fell into deep, soft moans.
When he stopped, it was quiet.
He removed the pillow. He undid the ties. He recovered
her with the towel.
A woman attendant entered.
“It’s over,” she said.
He turned around. The women attendant dressed Pinuk in her robes.
She fired the treasurer and appointed a council to advise her on policy. She brought investment, and jobs, and homes into her tiny fiefdom.
And from time to time she returned to the penthouse.
Princess Pinuk got married.
The prince was handsome, and quiet. The courtship was a little dull.
At their wedding ceremony, they posed for photos.
Hand in hand.
Eating cake.
Princess Pinuk was a little tipsy from the wine.
She sliced some cake for the prince.
And pressed it into his face.
She laughed. The guests laughed.
The prince didn't laugh.
He smiled and peeled off some icing from his cheek with his index finger.
He smeared it across her lower lip and leaned in to whisper:
"You shouldn't have done that."
What a killjoy.
Still, the sense of his finger pressing firmly against her lip was somehow pleasant.
Like a light shock.
What was that?
She licked the icing into her mouth. It was cool, crackly sweet.
After the ceremony, they went up to their suite. She was a little tipsier.
"Hold on," she said, inside.
He looked very good in that tux. Maybe he'd look better out of it.
She went into the bathroom and pulled off her bridal gown, hanging it up on the shower bar.
Keep the shoes on, she thought. That might be fun.
With the stockings, the garter, and the very naughty corset.
All bridal white.
She stepped out.
"I'm ready," she said.
He wasn't. Still in the tux.
She smiled, but was slightly annoyed.
"Come here," he said.
Good grief, what a romantic, she thought.
Still, there was something in his eye.
She walked over to where he was, by the bed.
She teetered a little, and steadied herself with a bedpost.
He drew closer.
He kissed her on the lips.
Like her father, or something.
This wasn't what she imagined.
She leaned up for another kiss, but before their lips met, he gently spun her around, facing the foot of the bed.
This did not bode well, she thought.
He ran a thumb across the back of the neck. He ran his hands down her bare arms.
Okay, she thought. Maybe-
Then, he roughly pushed her down over the bed. Her feet, in the high heels, lifted slightly off the ground. Her face pressed into
the downy comforter.
One of his hands grasped her wrists together over the small of her back.
She said, "Hey-,"
She felt the sting before she registered the loud smack.
The sharp pain spread wide over her ass.
Before she could protest, there was another smack over the other cheek.
Smack, smack, and then an especially hard double smack.
She wriggled.
"Hold still," he ordered, squeezing her wrists tight.
She thought it best to obey, for now. But this would not go unanswered.
She was Princess Pinuk, after all.
With each smack, she felt her flesh shudder, then bounce back into place.
Soon her whole bottom was on fire.
Why did she choose this idiot thong thing, she thought?
The he started working on her upper thighs.
Smack, smack, smack.
"Stop!" she said.
He didn't
Finally, he said: "Never," smack, "ever," smack
"humiliate your husband like that again."
Humiliate?
"The cake?" she said
"Yes," he said. Another smack. She twisted her head around. She couldn't twist far enough to see him. But she could see herself in the mirror, trussed over the foot of the bed, her ass and upper thighs the color of a pomegranate, his left hand still holding her wrists tight.
He raised his right hand.
He was smiling!
And his slacks-
He was enjoying this!
This was an outrage!
Smack, and one final smack.
He let her go.
She stayed in place for a moment.
And then bolted upright. Why had she stayed in place?
How mortifying.
"This is-"
He touched a finger to her lips. "Quiet," he said. "Go stand in the corner."
"I-,"
"Unless you want another session, go stand in the corner. And keep still."
She teetered over to the corner. And watched him.
"Keep your hands behind your back," he said, looking at her. She obeyed.
He sat on the edge of the bed for what seemed an eternity.
Yet she kept still.
He finally got up and went to the dresser, where he had placed a cardboard box.
He walked over and faced her, inches from her. She stared at his bow tie, not daring to budge.
He opened the box. A slice of cake.
What was he going to do?
"This is how you do it," he said.
He smeared some icing off the cake with his finger and gently pressed it onto her upper lip.
"Lick it clean," he ordered.
She obeyed.
"You missed a spot here," he said, brushing a corner of her lip.
Before she knew it, her tongue was eagerly seeking the remnant of icing.
He smeared a little more over her lower lip.
"Clean it up," he said.
This time, she found herself squeezing shut her eyelids as she searched out the icing with her tongue.
Where was this going?
How long was he going to take to get there?
Her ass still stung.
More creamy icing across her lips.
This was driving her nuts.
She emitted a little squeak. a question mark of a
whine. She wriggled.
"Keep still," he whispered. "Soon."
Finally: "Open your eyes."
She did.
"Look at my fingers."
They were covered in icing.
He lifted his right hand to her lips.
The hand that had administered that outrageous spanking.
She noticed, for the first time, how big it was, the breadth of the palm.
She took each finger into her mouth, and sucked it clean, staring into his eyes.
"Have you learned your lesson?" he said.
What an arrogant-
"Yes," she heard herself say. "I'll never do anything like that again."
She knew she was lying.
"Good," he said.
And he kissed her.
She took his tongue into her mouth.
This is nice, she thought.
And fun.
So where does she go from here. Tell Me.
Ross
Designermite :
http://www.cafepress.com/designermite
Bon D' Age' : BDSM
http://www.cafepress.com/bondage69/1147250
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