Femdom Spanking Tales

Two Short Story Collections My Devoted Submissive & Keeping Him In His Place Plus…a Bonus Story: Ms Shelby’s Boy by Lizbeth Dusseau A Pink Flamingo Ebook Publication Copyright © 2011, All rights reserved With the exception of quotes used in reviews, no part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, by any means, including mechanical, electronic, photocopying recording or otherwise without prior written permission of the publishers. For information contact: Pink Flamingo Publications www.pinkflamingo.com P.O. Box 632 Richland, MI 49083 USA Email Comments: comments@pinkflamingo.com My Devoted Submissive Table Of Contents My Devoted Submissive Dominant In Training Miss Click—Proving Herself Beach Buns Cold Nights & Hot Bottoms My Devoted Submissive When I received Douglas’s letter, I was immediately interested in his proposal, though it was something I hadn’t had before: a direct inquiry from a submissive male. Douglas told me in his letter that he got my name from a friend. His intention was for me to paddle him soundly on his bare ass. He didn’t say why he needed such treatment, except that he’d been yearning for a zealous punishment for some time. “. . . if there is anything I can do to please you, to sway your decision, please let me know. Knowing that you provide such a service as you do, gives me hope that this quirk in my personality can somehow be satisfied . .” I could tell right away that the poor boy had a strong need beyond just simple punishment. I’d met such men before. Over the last several years, I’ve become accustomed to “doing favors” for business acquaintances who have unruly young gentlemen in their employ. I’ve been engaged for numerous rousing sessions with naughty boys, by employers not having the authoritarian sensibilities that are so natural to me. They find that I’m vigorous and thorough, applying necessary discipline on recalcitrant male bottoms, and have discovered that a good session with me has positive effects on their worker’s future performance. These interesting arrangements serve me well, for I cannot deny that administering a hair brush or strap to a fine youthful set of male cheeks and seeing them turn bright crimson gives me an extraordinary feeling of satisfaction. But in reference to Douglas, I’ve found that there are two types of men I’ve had the good fortune to discipline. There are those that come to me, usually once. Their errors are quickly fixed by one session; having no intention of repeating the process, they quickly mend their ways or quit their job. Most of the men I discipline are of this kind. But there are those others, like Douglas, that seek discipline and punishment as a way of life, an aspect of their psyche that affects them deeply, usually in ways they don’t even understand. With my assistance, they find a degree of satisfaction in their lives that they wouldn’t have without my exacting treatment. I recall the first such young man to suggest to me this deeper need. Jeff was a new employee of my dear friend Caroline. She was terribly dissatisfied with his work despite his qualifications. “Do something with him Alexandra!” she directed me. She was totally exasperated with her attempts to move the young man in the right direction. “Perhaps with your guidance he’ll come around. I certainly hope so, or I’ll have no choice but to fire him.” I told her I’d be happy to accommodate her. It had been some time since I’d had the pleasure of a bottom poised and ready for my paddle, and I was enjoying the warm surge of sensation accompanying the thought. When Jeff arrived at my office that afternoon, he was trembling terribly, but surprisingly submissive to the punishment he was about to receive. With most men there’s usually some brief battle when they challenge me; though having their jobs on the line, they quickly change their tune. With Jeff, however, there was no fight at all, almost as if he was looking forward to the paddling. “Has Caroline told you what’s going to happen?” I asked him. “Yes, Ma’am.” “Good,” I said, appraising him carefully. He was so anxious I almost felt sorry for him—wiping his damp palms against his trousers, beads of sweat on his brow. I pulled my paddle from the bottom drawer of my desk and let him see it. He trembled even more as he stared at the menacing instrument. I’d had it specially made for sessions like this; much like the backside of an oval shaped hairbrush, it was smooth, sleek and black. “Have you been spanked recently?” I asked him. “No, ma’am.” “Were you as a child?” “Yes, ma’am.” I appreciated his naturally polite demeanor. “Then you can think of this in much the same way as your parents’ discipline. Caroline only wants what is best for you, of course that being what’s best for her company. From what I gather, your untimely mistakes have cost her dearly in the past few weeks. I hope this puts you on the right track.” “Yes, ma’am,” he replied. “Remove your trousers,” I ordered him. (It’s a most tantalizing feeling giving them that order; it takes the punishment from the imagination to real life, and demonstrates my control over these poor souls.) Jeff’s blush was nearly instantaneous; and he should blush, considering what I was about to do to him. I watched him hesitate. His hands shook, though he finally found his way to his belt buckle, undoing the clasp. He couldn’t look at me for his embarrassment. “You’re taking too much time, Jeffrey, the more you hesitate the longer I will use this paddle on your bottom.” After that, he wasted no time in dropping his pants to the floor and stepping out of them. In just his shirt and underwear he looked all the more submissive. “Come here,” I ordered and he was quick to stand in front of me as I assumed my place in the straight back chair I always use for such occasions. I briskly pulled the boy over my knee and noted the lovely roundness of his tight ass cheeks as I gazed at them through the fabric of his briefs. With a finger under the elastic, I slowly pulled them down, hearing Jeff gasp as I did. As was normal, his manhood was rising, though I ignored that. At the moment, I preferred to consider the delicious sight of his creamy white buns . . . so round, so fresh, inviting the paddle to bring out a rosy blush. I could see how nervous Jeff was; his poor rear cheeks were clenched so tightly. Raising my arm, I let the paddle fly with a resounding whack against his left ass cheek. “Yeow!” The blow wasn’t hard, I’m sure his response was shock more than pain. The second blow landed on his right cheek, but without the accompanying cry. I then began leveling the instrument across his bottom in steady rhythmic whacks, though these first were not intended to be too biting. I’d save the most severe for later. I planned a long paddling, letting him get used to the treatment a little at a time. “Yeow, ow ouch!” He began to cry out again. After my initial round of whacks, I began another, increasing the intensity just a little, covering every inch of his delightful bouncing rear. “Ouch ow, please!” he wailed. As the blows became more severe, so was the sting, and so was Jeff’s obvious distress. “Ouch, ow, oh gawd no!” “Hush! You’re going to take every bit I have to give; if you think I’m stopping now, you’re in for a rude awakening.” And for good measure, I decided to give the center of his cheeks a special treatment, directing at least a half dozen whacks on each, one whack right on top of the last, so that those two fiery spots would burn like hell! “Oh, my gawd, no! No, ow, please,” he shrieked, squirming wildly on my lap. “Be still!” I ordered and I smacked him hard. “Ow, ouch, please, Alexandra.” “Ah! You can take a good deal more than this young man. You’ll have a lesson you’ll not forget, do you understand?” “Yes, ma’am.” As I continued, I was determined that he got the message. The crimson on his bottom was fast turning a deep shade of purple, and his cries were becoming more distressed. I paused only to let him get ready for the next. “Oh ma’am please, please stop,” he pleaded. “When I say it’s enough, then it’s enough. Do you understand me?” “Yes, ma’am,” he replied pitifully. “Ouch, ooo gawd!” As the paddling continued, I realized there was a discernible difference in the tone of his cries from the first ones. Rather than wails of horrible distress, he was beginning to moan as if there was something unexpected taking place. “Oh, ah, ah, augh,” the deep sounds from him, seemed almost musical. And with this change in tone, I was soon aware that his manhood was rising even more than when he’d first laid down across my knees. I leveled another round of strokes to find that this change continued. His jerking, jiggling changed too, as his bright red fanny was moving erotically, there was no other way to describe it. “Have you learned your lesson, Jeffrey?” I finally asked, not sure I wanted him sexually aroused. After all, this was a punishment! “Yes, ma’am, oh yes, ma’am, I have.” There was such a sweet softness in his voice. “Then we’re done,” I said, with two last emphatic swats. I let Jeff recuperate for a moment, not pushing him from my lap too quickly. I took the time to relish the sight of his punished bottom; I would have loved to caress it, it was so appealing. “You can get up now,” I said at last. And as he rose, I returned to my desk waiting for him. Once he’d dressed, he stood before me. “So, have you learned something today?” “Oh yes, ma’am,” he said. “Thank you. Really. Thank you. I . . . I really needed that.” He stumbled over his words, but they were sincere. Never had one of my charges been so honest to admit his need. Jeffrey saw me many times on a regular basis. It seemed that he would find some small thing to upset Caroline enough that she would send him my way for another session over my lap. It became clear to both Caroline and I that Jeff was more content when he regularly faced my paddle. I came to recognize that after each encounter, the young man was truly grateful for the stern discipline, his face would brighten. His attitude was more peaceful. And . . . he was always delightfully aroused, a state I assumed he took care of in his own way. Spanking satisfied him, and I was only too glad to accommodate his need. Which brings me back to Douglas. I had a feeling, from Douglas’s letter, that he might be just like Jeff; and curious about his proposal, I called him to see how serious he was about his desires. “Tell me what it is you need, and don’t be vague. I don’t have time to waste,” I told him after I’d introduced myself. “Well, ma’am, I’m looking for a female to serve, a dominant woman that will give me the discipline I need.” “How interesting,” I commented. My mind was racing with a dozen fascinating thoughts. Having a good submissive man at my beck and call could give me even more satisfaction than I was already getting from my sessions with Caroline’s naughty boys. This new dimension to my own dominant urges was certainly appealing, and Douglas’s proposal in particular sounded very tempting. I agreed to have him come to my home for our first meeting, to see how compatible we would be. And fortunately, once he arrived, it took little time to figure that the arrangement he had in mind would likely work for both of us. Douglas was not much younger than I was, and to my surprise and delight he was not anything like the young “pups” I’d been spanking for Caroline. A mature business executive, with a pleasing smile, he seemed to know without any reservations what it was he was looking for. I’m not sure who was more pleased with the initial first impression. Though he was older than the men I was accustomed to, he did share those younger men’s “naughty” inclinations. And standing before me as I lounged on my divan, I made him tell me everything he wanted. “You can have no secrets from me if I’m to assume control of your behavior, is that understood.” “Yes, Alexandra,” he answered. “Then tell me, what naughty thoughts or deeds have you feeling so dreadfully guilty?” “My thoughts of you, Alexandra,” he answered timidly. “Of me?” I feigned surprise. “I don’t just want to have you spank me just because I’m bad . . . it also makes my d**k hard, to think of being taken over your lap and spanked.”