A SADISTIC SUBMISSIVE

The sometimes-twisted ideas of a girl unsure of whether she would rather be the victim or the aggressor.

364 notes

kinkykellyann65:

Kelly Ann Hartman!  Stand up!  I’ve warned you twice about talking, haven’t I?  Out you come then.  Over you go.  Come on, right over.  Quiet, girls, unless you want to follow young Miss Hartman here.

kinkykellyann65:

Kelly Ann Hartman!  Stand up!  I’ve warned you twice about talking, haven’t I?  Out you come then.  Over you go.  Come on, right over.  Quiet, girls, unless you want to follow young Miss Hartman here.

(via lucybeeee)

124 notes

lostinamazement:

I think I’ll reblog this seeing as it is Sunday after all, when a gentleman’s thoughts turn to virtuous acts like educating young ladies.

lostinamazement:

SUNDAY MORNING IN THE CITY
She thought she had got away with it; after all, it was Sunday and she was having a nice day off. Of course she wasn’t silly enough to chance wearing jeans or anything else that would have been more age-appropriate. The white kneesocks always felt particularly juvenile and embarrassing, but then again she got a lovely thrill from wearing them and her school skirt in public. Of course nobody ever said anything directly to her but every middle aged bloke who passed by lingered just that bit more than necessary. But then she bumped into him, some stranger in the supermarket glaring at her when, lost in her fantasies, she pushed her trolley into him. Of course she had apologised, “I’m so sorry Sir”. It must have been the word “Sir” that triggered his response.
He looked her up and down. “That was incredibly careless young lady, you clearly need to be taught a sound lesson or two.”
His house was just around the corner. Each of them paid for their groceries and they walked in silence. This had to be the dumbest and most dangerous thing that she had ever done in her life. Even dumber than having submitted to her college tutor and embraced the life of a schoolgirl under discipline as an aid to focussing on her postgraduate studies. But she had knocked into him, had been so careless, felt a strange sort of obligation to make it up to him.
He left her facing the corner, hands on her head, while he went off and made a cup of tea. She liked his house, all the books made her feel safe. Birds were chirping away in the garden, a few cars made their way along the street. Some boys walked by, laughing, boucing a ball, probably on their way to the park. It would never have crossed their minds that they had been so close to a young woman who was about to be spanked.
It would be a spanking wouldn’t it? She had read stories about girls and boys getting caned, wasted hours of valuable study time looking at pictures on her tumblr dashboard of striped and bruised backsides. And suddenly she knew, looking at the detail of the slightly-faded wallpaper, suddenly she knew that this grey-haired gentleman with his soft accent that had so quietly conveyed authority and the expectation of obedience, this stranger in whose house she was standing, must surely own a cane.
He returned. She heard him moving around. Then he spoke, again quietly and calmly. “Let’s get this over then, shall we? Come here, bend over the back of this chair.”
He did have a cane. She had never had such a flurry of butterflies before, but she knew that she was going to go through with it, just as she also knew that if she said that she wanted to leave he would do nothing to stop her.
"I think six strokes, the old traditional six of the best, would be appropriate, don’t you agree?"
She bent over the chair, stretched her hands down along the legs and gripped them hard. He lifted her skirt, gently folding it over above her waist.
"Oh dear, I dont think those panties are at all acceptable. Shouldn’t you be wearing proper school knickers?"
"Yes Sir, I am sorry Sir, but as it’s Sunday I thought I’d wear something prettier for a change."
"You will indeed be sorry young lady. I think two more strokes for that infringement. I take it that you agree that two strokes for disobedience is incredibly fair, lenient even?"
"Yes Sir, thank you Sir, that’s very kind of you Sir."
"Eight strokes then, it’s probably best if you count them out loud."
The pain was indeed awful, so much worse than the lovely spankings she had received from her tutor. From the fourth stroke onwards she was in agony, wanting to get up and run away. But she had this strange notion that as this was no more than girls and boys had suffered in the past, surely she could get through it and survive.
When it was over she thanked him for her caning and shook his hand.
"There’s a loo under the stairs, go and wash your face and sort yourself out. I will expect you back here next Sunday. Ten o’clock. Bring your schoolwork. And make sure you are dressed properly."
It had been a lovely morning. She got back to her flat, unpacked the groceries, went to her bedroom, and took off her panties. Her bum looked amazing, she thought she could see each individual stroke, and the welts really had come up just as she had seen in all those photos. She just had to take a picture.
She pulled on a fresh pair of school knickers and threw her pretty panties in the bin. She just loved being obedient, loved knowing that even without someone watching over her, supervising her, inspecting her clothing, she was a good girl. And she was going to be a good girl too. She would of course be going back next Sunday.

lostinamazement:

I think I’ll reblog this seeing as it is Sunday after all, when a gentleman’s thoughts turn to virtuous acts like educating young ladies.

lostinamazement:

SUNDAY MORNING IN THE CITY

She thought she had got away with it; after all, it was Sunday and she was having a nice day off. Of course she wasn’t silly enough to chance wearing jeans or anything else that would have been more age-appropriate. The white kneesocks always felt particularly juvenile and embarrassing, but then again she got a lovely thrill from wearing them and her school skirt in public. Of course nobody ever said anything directly to her but every middle aged bloke who passed by lingered just that bit more than necessary. But then she bumped into him, some stranger in the supermarket glaring at her when, lost in her fantasies, she pushed her trolley into him. Of course she had apologised, “I’m so sorry Sir”. It must have been the word “Sir” that triggered his response.

He looked her up and down. “That was incredibly careless young lady, you clearly need to be taught a sound lesson or two.”

His house was just around the corner. Each of them paid for their groceries and they walked in silence. This had to be the dumbest and most dangerous thing that she had ever done in her life. Even dumber than having submitted to her college tutor and embraced the life of a schoolgirl under discipline as an aid to focussing on her postgraduate studies. But she had knocked into him, had been so careless, felt a strange sort of obligation to make it up to him.

He left her facing the corner, hands on her head, while he went off and made a cup of tea. She liked his house, all the books made her feel safe. Birds were chirping away in the garden, a few cars made their way along the street. Some boys walked by, laughing, boucing a ball, probably on their way to the park. It would never have crossed their minds that they had been so close to a young woman who was about to be spanked.

It would be a spanking wouldn’t it? She had read stories about girls and boys getting caned, wasted hours of valuable study time looking at pictures on her tumblr dashboard of striped and bruised backsides. And suddenly she knew, looking at the detail of the slightly-faded wallpaper, suddenly she knew that this grey-haired gentleman with his soft accent that had so quietly conveyed authority and the expectation of obedience, this stranger in whose house she was standing, must surely own a cane.

He returned. She heard him moving around. Then he spoke, again quietly and calmly. “Let’s get this over then, shall we? Come here, bend over the back of this chair.”

He did have a cane. She had never had such a flurry of butterflies before, but she knew that she was going to go through with it, just as she also knew that if she said that she wanted to leave he would do nothing to stop her.

"I think six strokes, the old traditional six of the best, would be appropriate, don’t you agree?"

She bent over the chair, stretched her hands down along the legs and gripped them hard. He lifted her skirt, gently folding it over above her waist.

"Oh dear, I dont think those panties are at all acceptable. Shouldn’t you be wearing proper school knickers?"

"Yes Sir, I am sorry Sir, but as it’s Sunday I thought I’d wear something prettier for a change."

"You will indeed be sorry young lady. I think two more strokes for that infringement. I take it that you agree that two strokes for disobedience is incredibly fair, lenient even?"

"Yes Sir, thank you Sir, that’s very kind of you Sir."

"Eight strokes then, it’s probably best if you count them out loud."

The pain was indeed awful, so much worse than the lovely spankings she had received from her tutor. From the fourth stroke onwards she was in agony, wanting to get up and run away. But she had this strange notion that as this was no more than girls and boys had suffered in the past, surely she could get through it and survive.

When it was over she thanked him for her caning and shook his hand.

"There’s a loo under the stairs, go and wash your face and sort yourself out. I will expect you back here next Sunday. Ten o’clock. Bring your schoolwork. And make sure you are dressed properly."

It had been a lovely morning. She got back to her flat, unpacked the groceries, went to her bedroom, and took off her panties. Her bum looked amazing, she thought she could see each individual stroke, and the welts really had come up just as she had seen in all those photos. She just had to take a picture.

She pulled on a fresh pair of school knickers and threw her pretty panties in the bin. She just loved being obedient, loved knowing that even without someone watching over her, supervising her, inspecting her clothing, she was a good girl. And she was going to be a good girl too. She would of course be going back next Sunday.

(Source: torch-echo)

2 notes

Requirements & Parameters

» Female
» Local
» No sexual contact
» A true desire to learn, grow, and improve
» Mature communication skills
» Accepting of punishments a a disciplinary tool to correct and guide
» Appreciative
» Honest
» Willing to follow boundaries & rules set into personal life with intention of self-betterment
» Makes conscious efforts toward improvement
» Cares for self

1 note

IT IS 6:20 AM! WHY IS MY DADDY NOT UP AND ATTENDING TO ME?!
😠😡👑
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