Mistress Pam
The punter reached for the draw. “Be careful not to pull it out too far or the contents will fall to the floor.” Those contents, a series of leather articles, one of which would shortly be the object of Mistress Pam’s attention, had long since been the subject of his fantasy. In spite of this, the next few minutes would seem like an age as he fearfully fumbled around the interior of the cabinet, heart beating, adrenaline pumping in anticipation of a journey which would translate that fantasy into reality. It was a journey which had begun a few moments earlier when he picked his way down the steps to the Aladdin’s cave which comprised No. 102 Basement flat, Warwick Road, London W4.
As he turned around, Pamela was on the point of zipping up the long, thigh length, stiletto, black, leather boots. To achieve this feat she had needed to sit down on a rather low, solitary chair stretching out her legs one at a time in front of her. This sight had served to remind him of his younger days watching “exotic dancers” remove their stockings in some North of England working man’s club which he was prone to frequent in his youth. Pamela, however, was no stripper although to look at her she was well endowed with all the relevant attributes for such a job. Blonde, twenty five years old, with firm young breasts and curving hips she would have fitted well into any establishment of debauchery. As she pulled the inside zip, the sight of the black knickers between her partially parted stocking covered thighs would, in normal circumstances, have given him a huge erection. He was, however, so nervous that the latter was only achieved with limited success and this, in spite of an attempt to augment his defiance, by attiring himself with his own wardrobe, a pair of black cowboy boots.
Having finally wrestled her way into the attire, she stood to her feet and he passed his chosen instrument, a tawse comprising a series of stitched layers of two feet long, two inch wide pieces of black leather. “Six on each hand,” he stammered, “straight through with a count of ten between.” He went on timidly “and if I beg you to stop, I want you to continue” “Very well,” she smiled. “Stand over there.” The punter moved to the spot from which he knew he could view the oncoming thrashing by means of the mirror in one corner of the darkly lit room. From this vantage point, he would be simultaneously able to see the forthcoming events in two different aspects. The first would be the reflection of Mistress Pam’s posterior framed by the black suspender belt and the top of the thigh length boots. The second would be his own self, devoid of clothing apart from the cowboy boots. On sight of this, his penis at last proudly stuck out dangerously close to what would be the backlash of the black leather now firmly in the grip of Pamela’s hand. “Oh by the way?” he questioned nervously. “If I pull it away what will you do?” “You’d better not” warned Pam “or the consequences will be extremely severe.”
“Hold it up” she said. “Higher” she snapped.”That’s better.” She raised her hand in the air to deliver the first of the series of exercises comprising what, in her trade, is euphemistically called correction. Seconds later the leather swept down rendering a “thwack” peculiar only to this device. This caused Pamela’s breasts to bounce in equal an opposite reaction to that just given to his right hand. It was during those first few strops that he would still have time to dwell on the magic of a sound which reminded him of his early schooldays. He therefore took advantage to contemplate those days in the classroom, hearing the noise of “The Whack” being dealt out in Form 5 next door.
In like manner, his mind wandered to the present ridiculous situation, surrounded by four cellar walls and the knowledge that a muffled version of the same sound would be heard by the maid outside. He knew that she knew exactly what that sound meant and he secretly longed for her to enter the room and sit and watch his ensuing discomfort and humiliation. Thwack! At this early stage, he still had time to analyse the nature of the blows which currently had befallen his palm. That one wasn’t quite straight, he thought, forcing a defiant, unrealistic grin.
Thwack! The crisp neat sound rang out as the leather impacted his hand with a perfect direct hit. “That’ll wipe the smile off your face,” she laughed, as he rapidly withdrew his arm in response to the agony he had just been dealt. “Stop playing the comedy, she added, “I’ve only just started.” Thwack! The exact same noise rang out again and, as he danced, waving his hand in reaction, he noticed a slight smile on Pam’s face as she observed the tip of his penis bouncing up and down in an absurd manner serving to add to his humiliation.
Thwack! Thwack! It was hurting now and he began to have his first real regrets about the words and his actions so foolishly and light heartily taken earlier. “Hold it out.” scorned Pam. “Hold it out.” “No please, I’ve had enough,” he pleaded.” If you don’t hold out that hand you’ll get an extra one.” Thwack!
Now dancing around the room, he had suddenly lost interest in any kind of fantasy and just wanted the end to come. “One, two, three, four, five,….” Stop wasting time and hold it out!” bellowed Pam. He looked to see she was no longer smiling. He could concentrate no more on the mirror and fell to his knees in front of her touching her legs and looking fondly up at her asking for mercy. “Who gave you permission to touch me? Get up,” she ordered, “No please I’ve had enough.” “Get up.” “No please,” “Get up! You said you wanted it straight through. If you don’t get up NOW it will be extra.”
With extreme effort the punter forced his hand to outstretch. “Hold it up properly.” As Pam aimed the final strap he could stand it no longer. He tried to pull away his tingling palm just before impact. This caused Pam to partially miss the stroke as the belt bounced off his hand passing perilously close to the tip of his erect penis. “Right that’s it,” she snapped, “you get an extra one for that.” “No, please Mistress, no!” “Stop arguing, I said you are going to get an extra one.” ” No, please, no. I’ve really had enough. I really didn’t mean what I said.” “I’m warning you” as she waved her finger. “If you don’t hold out that hand, NOW! I’ll give it you right on the end of your knob.” With a supreme effort he managed to hold out his hand for a last single strop.
Pamela took careful aim and brought it down with all the skill she could muster. As the crack rang out, he began his little dance. “That’s better” she uttered. “That’ll teach you to pull your hand away from me.” Exhausted, he wandered over to the bed. He lay down admiring his huge penis contrasting against his black boots. Pamela leant across him and took gently hold of the erected ramrod. The contrast between a few seconds earlier could not have been more extreme. Those same fingers which had been skillfully gripping and waving the strap were now softly stroking his penis. Yet in her voice, the severity of Sergeant Major Pam remained in command. “Shoot” she ordered! “Shoot, or I’ll start again. Shoot immediately you little runt!” Hard as he tried to hold back, he could brake no more. Suddenly and precipitantly, he burst into an orgasmic series of sighs as what seemed like pints of warm hot fluid ejected from six inches of uncontrollable flesh.
With hardly a pause, dispassionately, clinically, Pam wiped the warm fluid from off the top of his stomach with a paper towel already to hand. Disdainfully, she walked to the sink and began washing her hands. Before he could recover, she had half removed the boots and was putting back the attractive frock she had worn when he had first appeared. He smiled, said a brief thanks and hurried to recover his dignity so recently removed by this queen of flagellation. As he said goodbye, Mistress Pamela was already putting the gear away ready for the next customer.