PART THREE s – The Deal

  "I just had a joke run through my mind. You know the one. She's so hot, I'd drink her bathwater? Next bath we take, guess what? I'm just curious. I don't even want it, does nothing for me, but… I'm curious. How much of a complete, dirty slut you really are. I'm going to let you watch mommy pee in the bathtub water. Then? I'm going to watch you drink it. If you don't? Well… that will be quite temporary. You will. Its just a matter of how sore of an ass you feel like having, when you do it."

  "Now. In other news. Whether I like this and keep it up. Or you even make it. Whatever. Its not like you're going anywhere anyways. I mean, once I let you down from hanging here, at some point I have to let you down. Eventually. There will be the door. Or, you can leave when I'm at practice or css some day. Go ahead if you want. Nothing stopping you. You won't be hurt for it. You won't be coming back, I don't py the break up back together, break up back together bullshit. Honestly, I don't know why people do that shit, or put up with it. Why does anyone do all the retarded shit they do, who knows. I just know I don't. But… you're free to leave anytime you want. I just know you won't. This? Is permanent."

  "I'm serious. You lusted after a girl that looks like I look, on the TV screens watching women's sports, since you were little. You finally nded one, and she's as into you, as you are fascinated with her. Girls like me? We don't exactly grow on trees, you know. Ask any female athletics coach. We're hard to find at this level of py. I mean, you might get another? Good luck."

  "Then there's our educational goals. You don't just want, you need, you crave a smart girl like me. One that wants degrees like I do. Again, we don't grow on trees. And even then, there's something else, isn't there. Has to be one that doesn't ugh at you, if you want naughty fun. No, for a wife? Not trying to sound conceited, but… be honest. How hard would all that be, to repce. Especially one that pys the exact naughty games you always fantasized about, and fantasizes herself about performing those naughty deeds. You see, most girls? Almost all of them, actually. Like whatever the guy likes, to get in with the guy they like. I don't. She'll, again most likely, just be doing it for a while. About as long as her cooking css sts, or her aerobics thing. Couple years? Tops."

  "So. When I say, that if you want to see your future? Its me. Period. When we go to grad school? We'll be moving in together. That's another reason I kinda like this deal. I'm going to train you, to be what I like. Any way I want. For when we're alone, I mean. And when we're done with school finally? I'll tell you, when its time to get married. There's a load off your mind. I'll handle that. I'll let you know when to pencil that one in. Oh yeah. Almost forgot. There's one more thing."

  "Anything."

  "Well. I'm going to mark you. Permanently. As mine. As my personal property. What do you think of that one?"

  "Am I in trouble for asking how?"

  "I'm going to take you to my farm, in calf season? I'm going to tie your hands to your ankles, just like we do to the calves? And I'm going to make a fire, and I'm going to brand you, wherever I feel like it, with a red hot branding iron. I'll get one made just for the occasion. Companies make them for farms. What do you think of that?"

  "Um… can I be… drunk for that? Please."

  "Christ, you're thinking about it. I was fucking joking. But seriously though? I'm going to make you get a tattoo. That says I own you. I'm going to put my mark on you, that I own your ass. What do you think of that?"

  "What's the… ink look like. Where does it go, it…"

  "What's my nickname?"

  "Hurry. Unless you have another one I don't know about that you like…"

  "No, slut. What's my full nickname. Who am I?"

  "Oh. You're… well… The Hurricane."

  "Yep. Guess where it goes?"

  "My… oh. My ass."

  "Are you being a smart ass with me? Because I swear to god, I'll give you ten hard sh strokes, right the fuck now. I mean hard ones. Not these little friendly love pats you've been getting, either. Serious strokes. You've never felt a hard one. Convince me. Right now, that was a serious answer. Now!"

  "I'm… you whip my ass. You like it. You… just… banged me. There. I was being serious, I thought it made perfect sense… please, I wasn't…"

  "Knock the whiny shit off. Immediately. Or I'll give you those ten hard sh strokes. Yeah, that makes sense. You were telling the truth."

  "I'm… sorry."

  I walked over, and snapped out three hard shes in a row, fast, like I was hitting cans for a contest or a demonstration. One hit his left chest muscle, the other just below it and half on it, and the third I aimed lower. Above the navel, and just to the side. I got instant crying from the first one, that stroke had been fairly hard. Not the kind that could rip skin, but the kind that leave more than a simple red welt. The tears and instant quick sob from the first one, were nothing. When I go quick on multiple targets, because we all competed in every demonstration as part of the overall show, the second came quick. No sooner than the tears and sob came out, the second got a cry out and the just as quick third that followed it got me an actual scream. The tears and sobbing were during and after the scream.

  The screaming and crying, came with a gush of… whiny shit, really. Which I had already told him to knock off, that I had just gave him three fairly hard shes for in the first pce. Whatever, I gave him three more, just a hair faster and harder. I was poised to give a couple more, and I yelled at him.

  "Just shut up! That's all you had to do, was shut the fuck up! The hell do you think, knock the whiny shit off means, anyways! You stupid slut! It sure doesn't mean do the whiny I'm sorry, doing it more! Just shut your dirty little twat lick-er! Or do you want some more!"

  He was screaming and crying now, and I'm pretty sure the "no…" was the beginnings of a technically allowable "no please", but… shut up means shut up. You would think it definitely means shut the fuck up right now, coming from the person with a bullwhip in their hand, using it, and is obviously a professional with it to boot. What the hell.

  "You better just scream and cry right now, slut. Not a word. I just heard the word no come out of your mouth. That word isn't in your vocabury right now. Allow me to correct that for you…"

  I was about to sh four more to make the original ten, and pulled it. So I snapped several times, really loud, right in front of him and right around him. He most likely felt wind as well as heard the little gunshots going off around him like firecrackers. Instead I whirled several times, so he could hear the whoosh, like swishing a switch for effect. I did a fairly hard wraparound, on his upper thighs. When you wrap a full wrap or less, you pull back, and it unwinds and you get to retract, and go into the next whoosh or whooshes, and on to the next one. I gave him a total of four, fairly hard wraparounds, on his upper thighs. The screaming and bawling, was nothing short of exquisite. I walked right over to him, and smacked him across the face, fairly hard. I left a little bit of a hand print.

  "That was ten! You were gonna get ten, just for whining and sorriness, right after I said knock the whiny shit off! Then I distinctly heard the word no, come out of your dirty little slut mouth! I'm trying to be nice! You got your ten, for whining after I said no more whining! You basically just got away with a free no! So scream and cry all you want, slut! But if another word comes out of your dirty little mouth? I'll start giving you something to scream for, with what I'm holding in my hand! Do I make myself abundantly clear now! Don't you dare answer that, or you'll start getting something to really scream for!"

  I finished the st drink in my can, and tossed it. I shredded it, mainly for his benefit and watched him jump. I got myself another cold can out, and opened it and took a drink. I just stood there in front of him, took the occasional drink from my cold can, and simply watched and listened to him cry and sob for a while.

  No more nice mommy.

  After a little while, the commotion was down to a dull roar. Just crying and sobbing, and of course the little intermittent streams of tears. I decided to stay with the hard mommy for now.

  "When you feel the whip again, harder than any one you felt so far? You'll know, that I got bored standing here, listening to the whiny shit. Don't even say a word. Because right now? One sorry comes out of your dirty little mouth, just one? It means you must want mommy to show you, what sorry really means. Better knock this whiny shit off. Pretty quick, too. So? You better get done with your little pity party, I ain't buying it. You've been warned? And I speak once."

  A little while ter, I did it again.

  "I'm running out of this drink, and my patience is running thin too, mister. You better try the deep breathing again. I can't be any nicer right now. Fresh out of nice. Nice? Doesn't seem to work tonight. You? Are about this close right now, to seeing what the complete opposite of nice really is. Make it snappy."

  A few minutes ter, things were reasonable.

  "Now then. You will tell me, what you just got corrected for. Why? So I can get the idea, that you have some idea what's going on. Don't make me repeat myself, now is not the time, in case you couldn't guess that already. Speak."

  "Say… saying no."

  I walked over and after a few whirls, gave him a ying one on stroke, front of the thighs. Actually not real hard, to tell the truth. I got a little screech, and other than tears and a mild sobbing spell or two, not much more.

  "You did something before the no. Tell me what that was, too. Again!"

  "I did… didn't shut up, when mommy told me to."

  He got another fairly mild ying one on stroke, about the same pce. I got another few sobs and another longer, and quite whinier, screech.

  "And before that? Put all of them together. Again!"

  "No… no whining. And, I whined…"

  "Close enough. I told you, and I think we're speaking the same nguage, st time I checked, anyways… I told you, no more whiny shit. You? Immediately came out with another… some kind of whiny sorry shit. That's sass, that's disobedience. So? You got three shes. Then, you come out with more whiny shit, when you just got three for whiny shit. So three more again. Then, you lost your mind, and I heard you actually tell me the word no. I heard it, don't you dare deny it. You call me a liar, and I'll take some skin off your ass. You know I can do it. Dare me."

  "Hmm. Here's what I'm going to do. I can't let a no slide. That's just bad for business. I let stuff slide, and now I see where it got me. You're in the middle of getting a lecture, with a bullwhip. And you? Do the exact opposite of what I just said. No whiny shit, and you say whiny shit. Then you say it again, right after you get strokes for that. Which is one thing. But, telling me no? Uh uh. So I tell you what. We're going to go right back where we were, and keep going. But, when we're done? Then, I'll show you what telling me no, gets you. Its not going to be pretty, either."

  "Now then. I know where we were. You tell me. Unless you want another conversation starter across your skin. Speak!"

  "You were… tattoo."

  "Correct. As I was expining. You're going to get a tattoo. My mark. I'm going to mark you, as my personal property. We went over this, and my nickname is The Hurricane. Now, ask me what it will look like."

  "Please, tell me what it looks like."

  "You know how on the weather map, there's that kind of cloud, saw bde looking thing? Pretty much something like that. A fucking hurricane symbol. Its perfect. I already decided. Now, in addition to that? Have to figure out some way to work my team number into it. You? Are my personal property. Have been, since the third date, and I tied you up and whipped your naked little ass until you bawled. I want my mark on you. I want you numbered. So everyone can see, that you belong to me. Now. Ask me where its going on you. That? Is what started this whole… what we had. So, don't say your ass again."

  "Please tell me, where it goes."

  "Actually, I gave it some thought. On the bottom middle of your back? You have a lot of water. It goes perfect there. Body of water? Hurricane. Perfect, really. We'll figure out how to work my team number in somehow. Now, there's another reason I'm putting it right there, too. Ask."

  "Please tell me, the other reason."

  "Well. In addition to its just the perfect spot. Water, hurricane. Its also the perfect spot, for another great reason. Think about it. You? Are also my own personal slut. And a slut, is a tramp. That's the same spot, where a tramp stamp goes. Its too perfect. Its also a cute joke. I pn on lifting up your shirt, and pointing it out. There. That's me, that's my team number. This? Is mine. There's my permanent mark. You? Will be permanently numbered by me. Now… I know, I know. You never get your girlfriend's name tattooed, or your boyfriend's name. What if you break up, you're fucked. I thought of that. A hurricane, on the body of water? No one would know. That's why we figure out how to… get the team number in somehow… slick. We figure that out? We got it licked. Got a problem with that, slut?"

  "N… don… don't make me say it. Please don't."

  "Oh! Well. Scared to say the no word, huh? Hmm. You're allowed to say no, when its the good answer. You're certainly not allowed to say it, when you're saying no to me. So go on, and say it. Mommy allows."

  "No. I don't have a problem with it."

  "Wow. I was expecting some static. I was actually prepared to strike a bargain, of at what point it was okay. My little slut? Really is a good name for you. You'll do anything I want, and you're easy. Wow. I might see about branding you now. Just kidding. I think, anyways. Tattoo first, that's definitely."

  My compulsion strikes without warning. An image fshed through my mind. I had him calf roped. Wrists tied tight to his ankles. I had the little fire going, out in the sticks. I know companies that will make an actual branding iron, any shape. I could definitely order one with a saw bde outline. Hurricane. Numbers in the middle, they do numbers and letters. The mental image, Jesus. I had him naked, calf roped for this. I'm threatening him with the red hot iron. I'm kneeling on him, to hold him for the couple seconds pressing. I can hear him screaming in his gag and bandanna holding it in tight.

  Good lord. When I was really young, and I'd get a naughty image of smacking a boys naked butt, for instance. I was young, I'd go… what the hell is wrong with me. Am I nuts? I got older, got to understand the basic idea what was going on. Okay, whew. I'm not nuts. Then just now, that. A psychology major now, I know what compulsions are. I don't tell anyone that I have a special, unique understanding of them, but… I clearly do. Thank god the compulsion images are not… fucking dead roadkill, for instance. There are actually people with that compulsion driven mental image, out there walking among us. I mean, wow. Then again, nice to know they're out there, because it makes me feel somewhat normal, if only by comparison.

  "Well, little boy? You get a compliment. For agreeing to the tattoo thing so quick. I'm impressed."

  "Thank you for… complimenting me."

  "You? Are welcome. I gotta tell you, I was pissed about the whole no thing. I still am. And the no thing came out of the tattoo conversation. How you managed to fish a compliment out of that mess? You're either very good? Or very lucky. Quit while you're ahead, slut."

  "So, it cancels out the no thing, maybe…"

  I smacked the taste right out of his mouth for that one, and I could see a hand print for this one.

  "What! Do you seriously think, that you're going to disobey me! I tell you, that you're getting a severe punishment for misbehaving ter! Then you actually think, you're going to… bargain, or… weasel out of it? No!"

  I pasted another one on him again, in pretty much the same spot.

  "No! Let me expin this to you, because you're obviously not getting it! Mommy is in charge! Not the little slut! If I decide to let you off on a severe punishment you have coming? And trust me! That is one! Telling me no! I'll be the one who decides if you get off easy or not! Not you! Goddamn it, I was actually thinking of it, too! I even just told you! Quit while you're ahead, slut! That's what I meant! All you had to do? Shut the fuck up! And it probably would have been lifted! Now? Oh, no… no no no…"

  Bad mommy's back. I stood there a little, waiting. I decided. I ran my hand on some of the baby oil he was sthered in. Easy, I just picked a spot that hadn't been whipped yet. I got behind him, and let him feel me up against him. I grabbed his colr and pulled him back into me, so I could hiss in his ear, all pissed. I pulled his interest meter a couple times, slow, while hissing in his ear.

  "Yeah. You're a real piece of work, aren't you little boy. So, the little slut thinks he can work mommy, huh. Oh, you like how that feels, stroking your cock with mommy's oiled up hand, huh? Well listen up. You better fucking pray, that you don't come right now. And do you know why? You, my little slut, are about to really get it. Oh yeah. I'm about to really give it to your poor, little, naked, helpless, oiled up ass."

  I readjusted my hold on his colr and yanked him in again, rougher.

  "And oh boy, do I mean really give it to you good, too. You just wait. Go ahead, come. You're little ass is about to sing. Its going to take a while. And if it happens without a hard dick? Its going to hurt about three times as bad, not that it'll be fun even with a hard on. So go ahead and come, I dare you, slut. Squirt off for mommy. You're going to pay for that shit you just tried to pull. Right, fucking, now. Check this out…"

  He was puckering and starting to whine. I'm sure for a second there, he thought he was about to get bull-whipped a good bit more. But I had other pns. I finally took my hand off his cock, with one st diabolically slow pull off of my warm, oil slicked hand. I kept his colr tight back into me though.

  "You are so lucky you didn't come. Now, you can't see, but you can feel, just fine. Don't say a word right now. Do you feel that? Yeah, you do. You know what's just about to happen soon, I'm sure of it."

  I was letting him feel, in extreme slow motion mind you, me undoing my big, thick, leather cowgirl belt. You needed almost time pse photography to see it if you had it recorded. Which of course, I did. I was recording this whole scenario for this or another naughty movie night.

  "Uh huh. You're making mommy's belt come off. And we both know what happens, when mommy's belt comes off, don't we? Yeah, we do. It means, that some naughty little boy is about to get something to really cry for. We're not talking about a normal belt over mommy's knee. Oh no way, slut. We're talking about a much longer, much harder kind of belt on your ass. You're strung up completely helpless, like a naughty little slut should be. I don't have to hold your neck down, I don't have to keep your legs still. I just have to give it to you good. And trust me, that's just what I'm going to do. You? Are going to get something to really cry for. Then? You're going to keep getting something to cry for. And you know the best part? This is all just for trying to manipute me. Just so you know? I was so happy about the tattoo thing, I really was going to let you go on the no punishment. But now? This, is for trying to manipute your way out of it. Now, you're still getting the no punishment. Later. I won't forget."

  I yanked back the colr yet again.

  "Yeah. Belt's undone, slut. Its just hanging there. I'll pull it off in a little bit. Bet you can't wait. You maniputive little slut. You were already out of the no punishment. It was going to be a surprise. I even told you, to quit while you were ahead, but no, not you. Now? Instead of being out of the no punishment? You're going to get a far worse one. For trying to manipute mommy? Mommy is about to manipute your ass cheeks. Bad. And you're still getting the no punishment, too. Later. You wait on it, and anticipate it. Maniputive little sluts? Get double trouble. We'll see if you ever try to pull shit like this again. And if you think this is bad? And it will be, trust me, I'm going to make sure of that, naughty little slut… the no punishment? Is now going to be even worse than this. Real bang up job there, slut. Yeah… feel the belt sliding out? Here it comes…"

  I grabbed the bullwhip, and selected a nice thick part of it. Using it as a gag, I wrapped it tight around his mouth and held it behind his head nice and snug. I got the belt doubled over in my free hand, and started letting fly. I worked the bullwhip gag handle around to the side, and held it there instead, giving me the perfect path to y my belt on his ass. There was no counting, this was just until I felt a lesson had been learned. I took my sweet old time, all fast and hard belt smacks. No breaks until a safety breathing break was absolutely necessary, because he was looking faint from not catching his breath, screaming too long.

  He got a constant stream of hissed in the ear lectures and taunts. I constantly reminded him. Not only was this unnecessary and he had stupidly brought it on himself for no reason, given that he was out of the woodshed and being let go ter anyways. But that now the no punishment was reinstated, and getting worse when he finally got that one, too.

  I honestly didn't keep track. Certainly not how many belt swats fell on his ass cheeks. I didn't even realize the time passing. You could have told me he got 15 minutes or 45 inutes, and I couldn't countermand your procmation of it. When I was "done", was the best part.

  I told him we were done with mommy's belt. He was sobbing and crying and sniffling something fierce, and I was waiting for it to subside. When it did, I started to question him.

  "So. Maniputive little slut. How's that ass doing? Don't answer me, I know. I'm the one who did it to you. Now then. Do you think you learned your lesson, about trying to manipute mommy's punishment? Hmm? Tell the truth."

  He whined out that he was sorry, he had learned his lesson, and would never, ever try such a thing again. Etc etc. After a while of this gushing and apologizing, I shushed him. He doesn't know what's happening around him, he's blindfolded. I grabbed the colr exactly as I had done preparing for the belt. I got my bullwhip gag handle all ready and grabbed up firm, and hissed in his ear again.

  "Oh. You didn't learn your lesson yet. You just think you did. I wanted you to think it was over. How's it feel to be the one maniputed now, huh? What's that…"

  I was rubbing the paddle he was so frightened of earlier, on his ass cheeks suggestively. I cooed and ughed in his ear, at the whining and squealing I got when he realized what was being rubbed on his ass. We then repeated the whole procedure of the belt punishment over again, except with the paddle. The only difference being, the paddle gets there quicker than the belt does. It was less time being paddled before safety breathing breaks happened, and the requisite longer lectures to fill up the longer breaks before he had breathing back under control once again. Other than the differing duty cycle difference between the two punishments? They were otherwise equal. I felt strange. I was an ass smacking machine. I was getting some kind of light workout from all this. I worked up a sweat.

  I felt strangely powerful. The way I marveled at how powerful my hand felt, when I used it to bring crying and tears, because I had prepared beforehand with the long thin switch. It wasn't just my hand now, it was me. I felt powerful. It reminded me of the rush of dominating in a soccer game, knowing you were just beating up on the losing team, and couldn't be stopped. I always did get off on smacking a boy's naked ass, but this was different. It wasn't just the smacking like normal that was doing it, it was the feeling of having complete power over the other human being. That other being was my lover though. But I didn't have to feel bad, because this setup and goings on was exactly what he had asked for. If I didn't get off on punishing him and doing it, I wouldn't be pleasing him the way I wanted to. Like I said, a good feeling, but strange all around. As if I somehow should feel bad, and at the same time knew I shouldn't.

  The entire thing suddenly became, somewhat surreal. Ethereal in some way. Is this really me? The retive few times before this, I had smacked a boy's naked butt were few. Towel snapping boy, my 14 year old girlhood's first make out boyfriend. Naked wet towel snaps became some sort of ritual before every make out session I grew to crave in that dirty, filthy cement storage add on added as an obvious afterthought to the rear of the bare cement block wall main structure of the pool building. Looking back, how much craving for that dirty cement rectangle's interior was the making out with my make out crush, and how much was the sudden access to wet towel snapping a naked boy's butt, willingly accepted to get his first make out girlfriend, so the other boys weren't "ahead" of him any longer.

  Was he like me? Maybe the naked butt wet towel snapping was part of his interest as well. I would never know. I didn't even have the ability to separate my make out desire, from my possible towel snapping desire. Did he grow up to look back and realize that now he had a desire to get the smacks? Had I done that to him unknowingly?

  Then the slightly odd dissociated feeling passed. I didn't exactly snap back into myself, but I no longer felt as if I was somehow watching myself go through these actions, and experience these strange alien feelings. I was getting off on this. I had absolutely no desire whatsoever to pee on someone else. Never once, and I still didn't really. Yet somehow, when the right person who would take such done to them, and would come back and ask for it again, simply happened along? There I was. Smiling and giving a little squirt of pee in the shower. Ha, ha. Take that. With no thought given to it, whether it was right or not. No more thought than one might assign to squirting someone with a squirt gun at the pool in the summer. Just something to do.

  I had less than zero desire to pee in the bathtub and ask and then make if necessary, my lover to drink a gss of it. None. Less than desire, an anti-desire to such an act. Yet, here I was. Pnning it, just because I could. Was this the weird power that a bully felt, and idly pnned his next humiliation of some hapless fellow cssmate at grade school? No, it wasn't. I was sure of that. The kid in grade school certainly didn't suggest and help pn the next attack. My willing victim did just that. My lord, I had sort of spit in his mouth, just to show I could to make a point in conversation. More of a noise and a sudden rush of air, but still. This was me doing this. And even stranger than me enjoying it somehow, was knowing I was most assuredly being encouraged and egged on to do it.

  If I didn't invent humiliations and punishments, I was failing to please my lover. If I suddenly one day turned vanil on him, he would ask me what was wrong. Concerned, that I no longer loved him as much or held as much sexual appetite for him. I could hear such a conversation now in my head. Honey, what's wrong? What did I do to you to deserve this? Why won't you tie me up and whip my naked ass until I bawl anymore? Can I fix this? I thought you loved me.

  I was doing things to him, that if I engineered to perform the same actions on an unwilling participant, I would spend the next half of my life in jail. Sexual assault performed not by the day, but sometimes by the hour. Violent rape. Premeditated, so as to deliberately increase the humiliation of the victim. Assault, sexual assault, sexual battery, literal torture. Domestic abuse didn't even begin to cover it. I had gone from cute birthday swats, when I found them to be enjoyed… to a complete sadistic pervert. Practically overnight. The more I made him physically suffer and tormented him, the harder he screamed and cried, the wetter my pussy got. I daily dreamed up and premeditated and carefully pnned then executed ever more eborate means of sexual torture. I was a sadistic serial killer that wasn't, and only because I didn't kill.

  Yet I was none of these horrible things, that I honestly was, simply because the "victim" was willing, and that was putting it mildly. That was the surrealistic dissociated feeling's genesis. I was a rapist, the only difference was that the victim wanted it. I was a twisted serial killer that tortured the victim. The only difference was that there was no body left at the end. I recycled the same victim over and over. I was a rapist that didn't rape, I was a sadistic killer that didn't kill.

  As I had recently gone down through a list of reasons why he could never repce me, confident not cocky, but still? How could I ever repce him now. I had the strangest sexual appetites and desires, that could never be filled by anything or anyone even remotely normal now. Not even a garden variety fellow pervert would ever do. This compulsion we fed off of in each other, was a drug. Another boyfriend ever? Right. I could just imagine that one. What kind of prude doesn't let his girl pee on him in the shower. What kind of senseless jerk won't dress and undress me, to OCD level specifications. What kind of abject sissy, has a problem with being tortured and made to scream and cry for however long as it takes before I get bored with the torture. Oh, I'd be real popur on the dating scene in any small town, I'm just sure of it. I'd nd one boyfriend, one time. It would st a week, more like a day if even that long. I'd never get another.

  No. The lover I had strung up like a kinky Christmas ornament in front of me? This was the future. My only future possible now. Not only was his rare combinations of attributes uniquely tailored to my individual self? His sexual compatibility in itself was retively non-repceable. Might as well start naming the children now, I suppose. Hi, this is my daughter, Whip. And this is my son, Switch. Oh no, that one isn't my husband. The other one, the one with the prominent handcuff bruises on his wrists, the bullwhip scars on his chest? That's him.

  When the daughter was getting to dating age, I can imagine the birds and the bees talk. Honey, remember to wait until your third date, before you begin the sadistic sexual torture, dear. There needs to be a feeling out period that you have a true willing victim. CYS will be setting up a satellite office in my basement to keep tabs on the strange goings on at my house. The cops would get used to it all though. As long as we didn't drink and drive, they won't give a shit. 911, there's a murder going on next door? We'll send a SWAT team right over. Oh, what's the address again? Yeah… that one. Ma'am? That's just their normal Friday night. I suggest earplugs if you don't move out. What? No, don't go over and peek in the window to make sure everything's okay over there. You'll need therapy.

  So all these bizarre thoughts and jokes pass through my head, because I'm bored sitting here. I had dragged the chair over to sit down and enjoy a cold drink can still left, and watch and wait while he got himself under some sembnce of control. I had been idly admiring my craft work's results.

  Mommy's belt coming off had taken on even more powerful of a meaning than it already bore. I filed away in my memory banks, that I could smile and use that in the future now. I would smile at him luridly, and begin to suggestively unbuckle my thick leather belt, ever so slowly, and he would gulp and get nervous. Wondering what he had done. I would point at the ground in front of my feet, and get instant groveling and little kisses that turned me on so much now. I would get begging and pleading, for mommy to please not to use her belt on him after a switch had been already used on his well marked up ass. I would tell him to beg like the naughty little slut he was. Surely I would suggest something humiliating and degrading for him to beg me to do. Just to avoid mommy's belt. Then I would surely carry out the humiliating and degrading act, and enjoy it. The mere thought of it, made me wetter.

  The next time I threatened him with basement and chair, there would be a much more palpable fear. Adding the paddling in after mommy's belt, had produced the beginnings of actual fear. The threat of future "little talks" in the basement being conducted with an hour long fast and hard paddling, after mommy's belt had already come off as was already par for the course, had given him serious pause. Now, the additional attentions of mommy's belt, followed by the surprise longer paddling? Was moving several steps closer to actual fear of punishment.