Stop being a brat before Christmas – 4 days to go

Image: Cliff Booth, Pexels

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I slept fitfully and awoke early.  My dreams punctuated with images of the cane striking my bottom.  I was apprehensive as to how I would cope with the six strikes.  Yet the idea also aroused my wanton body.

I lay there, my head spinning with a whirlwind of thoughts until finally Sir awoke.  He saw my eyes already open and offered me a reassuring smile and a kiss.

Then the same words.  “Shower, dress appropriately,” he stressed that word.  “My office in one hour.  Of course, no stimulating yourself.”

My breath caught in my throat as I uttered, “Yes Sir.”  My nerves summoning my obedience.

I did as I was asked and even took a few moments to stretch my hamstrings and glutes in preparation for what was to come.  I tried to brace myself mentally as well but I was struggling to focus enough – wild caning thoughts muddling with sexual arousal and frustration.  It was a heady combination.

I steadied myself as I knocked on the study door in an appropriate skirt and blouse.  He called for me to enter and then gestured for me to stand before his desk again.

“Better attire.  Thank you.  You may now remove it.”

“Thank you, Sir.”  My heart racing as I undressed.  The power imbalance striking as I stood naked and exposed before him.

“Now we have this unfortunate matter to discuss.”

I nodded meekly.

“Were you or were you not directly instructed not to touch yourself in any way?”

“I was Sir.”

“Yet with reckless disregard for my instructions I find you with your fingers in your pussy.”

“But Sir, I only….”

“I do not want to hear it.  Am I correct that you had your fingers in your cunt despite my direct instructions to the contrary?”

I wondered if his choice of such a vulgar word, yet said in such a calm and measured way, was intended to provoke me.

“Yes, Sir,” I replied.

“Which clearly makes you a greedy little cumslut.  Am I correct?”

“Yes, Sir.”  His words made me wetter between my legs.

He reached for something in his desk drawer and then walked around to me.  Slowly and deliberately he wrote the word “CUMSLUT” in big letters in bright red lipstick across my chest and then returned to his seat.

“So back to your punishment,” he continued and my legs trembled at the prospect of the caning ahead.

“Your caning will now be postponed for 24 hours.”

“But Sir, that is not fair!”  I blurted out without thinking.  I had spent 24 hours already building myself up for this.  I wanted to get it over with.

“This is not a discussion about fairness; it is about obedience and you failed to follow a simple instruction.  Your caning will follow tomorrow – although another outburst like that will increase the number of strikes, which will not be pleasurable for either of us.”

“Yes Sir,” I uttered, although even I could hear the petulance in my tone.

“Six strokes has just become eight,” exasperation now clear in his tone.

“My apologies Sir.  Of course you are right and know what is best for me.”  I knew the time for protestations was over.

“Better.”

He smiled.

“But that is for tomorrow.  Now to deal with your cumslut behaviour.”

I inhaled slowly.  My nerves jangled.  My pussy clenched.

“Hop onto the couch please.”

(Now my friend the reader – let me explain.  Sir has a special “couch” in his study.  It is more of a medical style bench that you would find in a doctor’s surgery than an actual couch!)

I climbed onto the couch.  He pushed the two leg attachments apart, spreading my legs and he stepped between them.

He leant forward, his nose almost touching my pussy.  Then he inhaled loudly.

Standing back up he looked me directly in the eye.  “You showered as instructed before coming here?”

I nodded.  “Yes Sir.”  A wave of humiliation flooding through me as he leant forward and inhaled again.

Then he placed two fingers on each of my pussy lips and pulled them apart.  The positioning of his fingers providing me with no stimulation.  A very clinical gesture – the nature of it arousing me further.

He starred at my exposed pussy.  “Very ripe and juicy, especially for someone who just showered.  You really are a little cumslut.”

His words just fuelled my desire.

“I can see your juices dripping from your pussy.  You look like some sort of animal in heat.”

Humiliation and arousal collided within me.  I felt so needy for him.

“Now get up and bend over.  Rest your chest on the couch.”

I felt confused as to where this was heading but adopted the position

“Hands behind you and hold your bottom cheeks apart for me.”

I complied obediently.

“Wider.  Let me properly see that hole.”

I did as instructed.  The exhibitionist in me enjoying this.

“Now hold that position and do not move.”

I heard him unzip and the rustle of material as he unleashed his cock.  I felt a frisson of excitement, desperate to feel him inside me.

And then the sound of him stroking his cock.  His hand moving backwards and forwards along the length of it.

The excitement of him preparing it for me was thrilling.

“Oh yes please Sir,” I murmured excitedly, waiting to feel his cock against my opening.

Yet he continued just to wank himself.  I could hear his moans building.  I knew he was getting closer.

I wondered when he would finally enter me but knew I must not adjust position to look.

And then I heard that final guttural groan and thick ropes of cum splattered all over my arse.

“Gosh that felt good,” he sighed after a moment.  “And just what my cumslut deserves!”

I wanted to sob with disappointment and frustration.

“Now you may not clean yourself or wipe any of my cum off.  You will wear it like a cumslut should.  Please dress now.  I will summon you later when my balls are full again.”

“Oh, and don’t forget, no touching yourself today.”


I left his office and tried to get on with my day.  I was sticky with his cum and my juices.  I felt every bit the cumslut that was branded across my chest.  I felt humiliated which just added to the never ceasing ache between my legs.

At lunchtime he called me to his study again.

This time he instructed me to kneel before him.  Now I knew what to expect but it made the frustration no less acute.

He wanked his beautiful cock so close to my face.  I could smell his scent, I knew how it would taste on my tongue.  I was hungry for him, wishing I could wrap my lips around his glorious manhood.

But instead I just knelt there submissively, watching every deft movement of his hand, the swelling of his cock, the drops of pre-cum building.  Until finally he exploded in my face.  I devoured the drops that landed in my mouth, but more coated my face and hair.  Some spilled down onto my breasts.  He used the head of his cock to smear it across my cheeks.  I looked a mess of cum.

Again I was sent away to continue my day in that state.

He summoned me one final time that evening and repeated the process over my exposed pussy and inner thighs, covering them also in his seed.

Then he sent me to bed coated in his cum – to spend the night reflecting on my actions as a greedy cumslut.

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