I hadn't been punished for anything RL in ages. But about 2 weeks ago Q saw the state of my fingers after some nervous nibbling and threatened me with the ultimate sanction: strapping my hands. Instead, he was lenient and only (Only!) paddled me. Then he told me to post an account of it on the Punishment Book. Well, if you never saw that post it's because I never made it. :-(
And so... we had dinner with Haron and Abel last night and Abel was cheerfully talking about how certain punishments in their house were enhanced by Haron's having to report them here. Which of course prompted Q's memory.
He asked if I'd made that post and I had to admit I'd forgotten. (OK, you know that's not true. I just didn't think he'd remember saying it.)
He took me home right then, interrupting what was a very pleasant after-dinner conversation. I was already in school uniform (that's what 'dress for dinner' means in pervy circles), so he told me to go upstairs and wait. He pulled a chair out into the centre of the room and my knees felt like melting wax. He had a nasty three-tailed tawse, which is what he uses on my hands. I was ready to burst into tears if he said that was what he was going to do. But he told me to raise my skirt and bend over the back of the chair instead. He made me lower my panties and I gripped the edge of the chair. He told me to count, adding that he wouldn't tell me how many I was going to get. I can't stay in position for the strap. This time was no exception. I was terrified. And it bloody hurt! I leapt up after each one, counting, but still unable to stay down.
After ten strokes Q said that if I couldn't take it properly he'd have to try something else. So he grabbed a polished ebony hairbrush off the dressing table and sat down, ordering me over his lap. That wasn't much more comforting. I was howling and writhing and kicking with each stroke from the evil hairbrush and at one point he stopped and told me I'd grazed his knuckles with my shoe by kicking. (These are Mary Janes with a chunky heel - a gift from Mija.) I have to say I didn't feel much sympathy right then, but I was frightened that he was angry now. Sure enough, the strokes got harder. I struggled and yelped and he stopped again, telling me that I'd kicked him in the jaw. Now I was really scared. I kicked the shoes off and braced myself for the worst. And a few very hard whacks later, I was crying and sniffling and he stopped.
He said that being made to post here was a punishment in itself (yes it is) and that now I'd have to post about both incidents. He says he's going to check my fingers again tonight and if he doesn't like what he sees... :-(
