Punishment and Submission

"You're not been very delicate, you're going strong!" She ascertained.
"Nor thou hast spared. You look small and fragile, but they have strength in those arms, "he admitted.
"How many have you given me?" She asked.
"I do not know, I have not counted. You too, though, you have reached one hundred, "he said.
They stood facing each other, lying on its side for obvious reasons, and they were naked. He reached behind his neck and pushed her head forward until their lips touched. They were spanked at a good pace, with each other. First, it had fallen to Josephine: it was thrown face down on the bed. George had stripped slowly, just as she liked so much; last, had been taken off her panties. When Josephine was raised, George had already dropped everything and had his shirt unbuttoned. It was he lying on the bed and she metterglisi standing behind, and had raised his arm ....

"Small viper, come here! Give me the brush! "Madame moved back the ottoman on which she sat, without even turning up the ass by it. Camille performed promptly: he placed his own head in the lap of Mrs. mistress's lap barely covered by the short negligee. She went far above the pelvis; prodrome was pleased to hear of the hands of Madame lift her skirt and lowered panties purposes. The back of the brush was made of pewter, inlaid with silver and then cold. It soon became hot, as a result of contacts, short but frequent, with silky skin. Meanwhile, well-propping your upper body with arms, Camille had gripped the edge of the pants madame with her teeth and was dragging him down, the garment would not have come a long way, given the sitting position of the owner, but just enough enough to Camille: to expose a portion of meat and skin, a small portion, but more importantly, perhaps, for some females. And so it was. The brush hit faster and faster, the language of Camille adeguava at that pace, the body of Madame tended like a violin, so that it became difficult to ease handling the brush, though, now, I impugnasse the hilt with just two fingers. Finally, Camille took it between his lips, a small stud meat eater, who increasingly hardened. The rosy mouth the Appendix circumnavigava, skimming the edge. Camille will put the base to the cloister of the lower teeth. And suddenly dropped her jaw.

"What do you mean that it is your son? I had sex only with you, after you have worked! Yes, it's true: I made love with Jean, I've confessed it to me did you pay to the sound of strapping. But it's gone! Do not see it anymore, not even speak anymore! Believe me: what lies in my body, it is your son! What you have told the doctors of that time? Be wrong, it's been so long! It was said that the donkey in the village of Mr. Moulin, after they had removed a glene, continued blissfully spassaresela with the donkeys. What?? Repeat! Okay: I'll give this show! So you're sure to be your son! "Pierrette lowered his head: it was decided to do anything, now. Also ....

Mària his eyes were red and swollen. The gentleman had fired so abruptly without giving explanations. He had announced that she was no longer welcome at his house. In a week she could go to get what it deserved! Pure Miss Josephine seemed nervous that afternoon. Yet he must tell her, felt the need to express to someone your disappointment, your anger till. She had given everything, in every sense of the word, and now he gave her the heave-ho! "Ma'am, I can tell you what," asked Mary, with great respect, to Miss Josephine.

"You see that in game three, are favored. Or better at it, who knows? - Arletty was triumphant-About how come your Camille could not compete in the game today? ... I hope he recovers soon. However, you went under bad!
Duemilanovecentoottantrè points: almost 3000. Since I won, round it up to excess. He's also good to you, Margot? Well! Camille, belly on the table! "Too bad the tap dancing had a neck so short that he could not hold it Arletty two hands, but also with one hand would be fine. Vibrated the first spanking on the butt naked and exposed by Camille Deveraux.

The position was awkward, ridiculous and even shameful for a woman of her rank. Okay, but could go to the doctor mica: it was too intimate things. So she decided to go to Roxane: that all looked after, as the missionaries treated the Negroes, whatever illness they had. He made her sit on the marble of the kitchen table, not in a comfortable armchair on the kitchen table! Made her expand her knees and had his big head tucked under their skirts, with satisfaction, Edwige Deveraux noticed that even Roxane had several white hair. "It's nothing, just a little 'flushed: pass with a light lavender refreshing" declared the former nurse pulling his head out. Neither gave his hand to help her out, but Hedwig was still agile did a hop and straightened the elegant dress. "Now for the maid to your daughter. Did you take me on purpose, right? "Said the grumpy woman, drawing a gray wool blanket on the table. "Mrs. Hedwig, it is better that you are not present ...." he added, rigid and authoritarian. Forced out, while there visited the bastard: I am dealing with! However, Madame Deveraux obeyed.

Everybody said that Miss Josephine and Mr. George were tied by a liasion: solar age. It is not true, was not his lover! Yes, it was sometimes made love, but it quickly without malice. He insisted so much, it was so sad. He felt sorry for Mary, it was as if her unborn child by asking them to suckle. And she had made him suck. Not just the milk, in truth ... No! He could not ask that! True that she needed to work, that's true, perhaps, was wrong to assent to the overtures, very insistent, but Mr. George could not ask you this: he would lose his dignity. She was a countess, after all! Mària Josephine stared straight into his eyes.

I fell into a deep depression. The epilogue of the story with Tristana so dramatic and grotesque I was deeply marked. Those nightmares that now have become very rare at that time were rather common. I began to neglect the work up to the brink of dismissal. Relationships with customers and colleagues had gradually rarefied. I constantly feel sad and annoying that I spoke from behind and laughing at me. I do not know how, but had spread to the voice of my misadventure. Of course I had very serious risk of being castrated, perhaps killed. The idiots were the situation comedy! I wanted to see them cut off with the bird! But more than the laughter of men bothered me a pitying glances of only two female colleagues of 'office. I felt drained. I was alone, I was disgusted, including myself. When the idea of ​​suicide began to appear more frequently in my head I knew to be a turning point. I had to at least try. It finally began to treat me. The Director of the Agency, who had learned to appreciate me before I became a rag man, offered me a transfer at the offices of **********. He was a downgrade, I knew, but I needed to feel comfortable, to find myself. I accepted with resignation, but all in all I was partially satisfied. The seat was not too far from the house of his uncles and then could not stand now, neither the environment nor the agency almost all my colleagues. I would have gladly smashed with fists and sticks.
It was at the new place of employment that met Clelia. In the morning, before taking office, I stopped almost every day at the corner bar with respect to the agency. It was a neat little place and well maintained. The coffee was good. I consumed my nice frothy cappuccino sitting at a table, flipping through the few national and international news pages of the local newspaper or the "pink" (nda La Gazzetta dello Sport). At the counter served two girls: Marta, about 19 to 20 years, pretty but sullen talking, or rather muttered in his northern dialect incomprehensible and indeed Clelia, a young woman of 25, 26 years, but certainly not the prettiest of the other much more sociable. Oh sure it was not very expansive and had an attitude somewhat reserved, but he was kind, attentive to customer needs, at the right spirit. Two were the qualities which had struck me on first meeting and indeed I think they hit every drinker: A radiant smile and warm for 35 seconds I reconciled with life and a nice pair of tits that were really great a great look great poorly protected they were by fitting tank top (It was now late May and that year was particularly hot).
Clelia had none of the disturbing beauty of Tristana. In his big brown eyes I could see just a hint of sweet melancholy, and nothing to do with the eerie light of madness that transpired from the beautiful eyes of Tristana. Yet even Clelia had his little secret. Oh, Women!.
It happened on a Wednesday or Thursday?, Well, it does not matter. I was at the bar and read the titles of the sports newspaper highly critical of the national football team that was preparing to compete in the World Cup in Spain, when I remembered that I had to call his aunt. I should have done the night before but I forgot I was guilty. "If I do not call me on Sunday black ass" and I smiled to myself remembering when I was a kid my aunt chasing evil and brandishing a wooden spoon. There was a little jerky phone behind the counter and decided to take advantage. As I opened the cabin door my eye fell on the floor corner. There was a book with a bookmark. The title was "The eleven thousand rods" by Guillaume Apollinaire. I had read a bit 'of time before. And 'an erotic novel of the beginning of the twentieth century containing a vast collection of "perversions" sexual. The general tone is grotesque and surreal. Here and the reading can be very unpleasant, at times the text is fun. Curiously, the bookmark was placed between two pages describing a scene of spanking. Flipping through the booklet, I noticed that all the sentences that dealt with spanking and whipping on the ass were underlined. - But, that particular tastes that have the maidens - I thought the bartenders. I said nothing and made my phone call.
The next day I was seized with curiosity to see if that text so spicy it were still there. I went to the cabin with the excuse of the call and to my surprise, the floor was no longer "The eleven thousand rods" but "Delta of Venus" by Anais Nin. As I remembered it was a collection of stories dating back to 20 -30 years of the twentieth century when it was recounted one episode of spanking. I leafed through the pages quickly and I found that story. The scene of the lost was underlined with the yellow highlighter.
Even greater was the surprise when I realized that in a nylon bag on which was placed the book there were a dozen erotic comics all from the series "Isabella".
I leafed through them and found that even in the midst of the adventure genre "swashbuckling" Sapphic scenes were inserted and lost. - Three clues are a test "I thought, one of the maidens was a kindred soul. For a long time not thinking about my desire and inclination. With the awakening of the senses after a long winter of my heart and my mind was waking up this aspect of my sexuality. I hoped so much that it was Clelia. Then I fear not like it, that was not really interested in trying, in the end we did not know ... and a whole series of conjectures me affastellarono in the brain. - It 'my stuff, that is my brother ... - Clelia had appeared suddenly. I abruptly took the envelope with a embarrassed expression. Her cheeks as red as cherries. I apologized and smiled - Still, I understand more than pictures - From the moment we entered gradually into confidence. We began to see us outside of office hours. We talked about everything and of course the "what". Clelia had discovered this particular angle a little 'time. He had not had direct experiences in the family, but she realized that the scenes of the movie where there were spanking or flogging in general, but especially the first very impressed. The disturbed and attracted at the same time. Fourteen years on the view of the cover of a book of Isabella had excited. The picture represented the protagonist of the comic heroine wielding a rod with the arm raised. Bent over a four-poster bed with a young girl raised her skirt showed a round ass whole traversed by red stripes. The 'expression of fear and pain was punished. Clelia hurried home and masturbated in the bathroom. Had not had real experiences of spanking. With the ex-boyfriend had sex only "normal". After a month we were dating we made love. The vision of her ass like a mandolin so rosy and tempting heightened my desire to groom you must but I resisted. I limited myself to kiss him and he felt that Clelia mordicchiarlo.Volevo ready. Then it happened. It was the 'July 11, 1982. I was at her house. Cousin Martha was out with friends. We decided to watch the final World Cup of soccer together. - I propose a bet - he said with a mischievous air by putting a tantalizing pause, the girl - That? - I came - If Italy wins give me a good spanking. It 'so much as you like. But if Germany wins I'll give them to you. But thou taper sculaccerai only hands but I'll use the belt - I agree - I said - But get ready to take lots and bare ass. I'll decide how many you take. Mind you, I will be deaf to all entreaty. - Then began the historic game. We looked at each other's arms like a cool couple who were on the other hand, but with decidedly opposite expectations. When Cabrini missed a penalty in the first time I feared for my ass. I accepted the bet, but are funda mentally a spanker. So I like to bang their asses, but others are much less enthusiastic about taking them. Fortunately, as we know, the second time the race took a favorable trend in the Italian colors ... and the color of my ass. At the first goal of Clelia Rossi cominiciò agitated and biting his nails. At the second goal Tardelli Clelia swallowed with a funny expression of concern was that the contract the cheeks. At the third goal of Altobelli looked at me pleadingly. At the final whistle and all the houses nearby were shouting with joy and poured into the street, Clelia was lying on my knees and begged softly to floor, and pulled down her pants to the knees. - Please, please, do ... ah, ah, alas, alas! The sculacciai vigorously, slowly, alternating soft pats on the hills. My handful had the effect of an earthquake on the beautiful roundness rear of Clelia. Then accellerai. A barrage of spanks and then a slow but steady cadence of new, robust slaps. The ass was red and hot. The girl was kicking in a delightful sliding her panties to her ankles. "Enough, please, sob! Sob!, You do that thing with your mouth that you enjoy so much but do not spank me anymore! - You're a slut! Have her pussy all wet! Are you a lake! But now I make you black ass to the sound of spanking. Take it, take it and take it! And down on the butt spanked for the truth already well proven. I went on a couple of minutes. After the spanking Clelia looked at me with his mouth slightly open and moist, rosy cheeks crossed by a few tears. Snza many compliments I undid his pants and without giving her time to rub a little of the poor made her sit on my ass already turgid cock and launch position. We came quickly, almost in unison. Later Clelia confessed that he had always thought that 'Italy would have won, In the end we had hoped, but ... who knows what would happen if the outcome of the final was another.
I will never forget that night and that game. We could not have better to celebrate the victory.
A year later became my wife Clelia.

Marcel would soon returned home and was strapped, as always, the end of each month, when she discovered .... She had to prepare, dress, make-up, the little time left before her husband arrived.
Pierrette sat before the mirror, passed the mascara on the eyelashes, rouge on her lips, the blush on the cheekbones and cheeks, he avoided looking at his broken nose in the mirror.
Then began the complex task of dressing, and after 6 months of marriage, he knew what he liked to Marcel. First put on the pants, short ones that came just at the beginning of the thighs, because she fine cotton, with the salary of a seamstress, she could not afford those of pure silk. And, over the panties, suspenders, black women's apparel was a novelty, was released recently and in Paris, where he was going to steal, it cost a fortune, but it was worth it. Hooked the edge of the flesh-colored stockings with garters of special hooks, rose to smooth legs and make you better adhere the two socks. The skirt was very simple, held by three buttons on its side, but it was fitting: the latter made them perfect. From the head, Pierrette slipped the vest-type male and, above this, a T-shirt rather than light: he had to see her breasts under the fabric, not fastened the cuffs of her blouse.
Better to remain fast, if he had eaten, even a sandwich, it could happen like last time: he had rivomitato all, because of the pain. Pierrette sat at the kitchen table and waited.
As soon as her husband had been stripped, as soon as she washed, she would tell him immediately. And he would have pulled the belt from his pants, left on the back of the chair, he would have rolled a couple of laps around the big hand would look muscular and his wife. Then, she would go near the big double bed, the skirt would be undone, dropped the socks, slipped off his suspenders, and if it would be removed. Then, he slid the panties down her thighs, knees and calves, ankles until they arrive. It would be bent forward, his face and hands in contact with the soft surface of the bed, would support the bust on the mattress, leaning up the rear and would wait for the whistle of the first belt and whip lashing. Today, many would have given him at least thirty, Pierrette had calculated. After that has confessed that he did it again, yet another.
Marcel did not feel any fatigue was used to raise and lower the arm to plant the nails in his profession. Instead of the hammer, now clutching his belt in hand, perhaps he should use it on the side of the buckle on that slut wife would have done next month! With his free hand grabbed the short hair and forced her Pierrette to her feet and then, without letting go, forced to kneel in front of him. Her hands ran to open the gap in men's underwear, grab the penis and take it to his lips. She felt him grow little thing, while her tongue was troubling him. Pierrette Jean thought: that means that it was a boy. However, this was the Marcel, for what she, or rather his mother, had made many years ago. Her ass was painful and inflamed nothing compared to how it had been reduced to Marcel, the whip of Madame B *** and then, you would comfort Pierrette Tuesday, in the arms of Jean. He would caress the skin, he kissed one by one the bruises left by the belt, eppoiiii .... Almost inadvertently, Pierrette clenched teeth: the growl of Marcel made her understand that she gave a little 'discomfort. She returned to the darting tongue.