I smiled beneath my glasses as her car pulled up at the carpark near the seaside beach.

She exited the vehicle, eyes searching around until she spotted me, walking up the track towards me. As she got close, I turned and took a small path to the side, through some trees and up to a small wooden park bench, sitting in the middle, my elbows on my knees as I sat forward.

I knew there was no chance we would be disturbed at this time of the day, the beach abandoned in the overcast late spring morning. There was only one way in and out of the beach and I could just see the road over the hill and spot any potential approaching vehicles.

A few moments later she appeared through the trees, spotting me before her eyes dropped to my feet as she approached me. Well trained, she came to a rest standing about half a meter away, directly in front of me, hands behind her body.

I drank her in, from her jandel clad feet, up her pale, thick legs, her curvy size 16 body under the yellow knee length summer dress, double d breasts to her nervous, pretty face and brown ponytail hair.

“I already see we have a problem…” I said, calmly, my hands sliding forwards and up the outside of her thighs, penetrating under her dress. “What is rule number 3?”

“Babydoll will not where panties while in the presence of master” she responded. “But master…”

“What’s rule number 7” I interjected, firmly, the growl in my voice educating her that today was not a day that I was to be tried. I hooked my fingers in the hips of her black lace g-string and dragged them roughly down to just below the hem of her dress, mid thigh.

“Babydoll will not interrupt, whine, complain or tease” she said, reflecting on her own words. Clearly she had some justification for her actions that she wanted to present.

I entertained her.

“So, explain why you think it’s okay to break the rules?” I questioned.

“I… I…. I don’t master….” She began nervously stuttering as her body tried to keep up with her racing mind. I could see her shifting as her heart rate increased in the face of danger. “It’s just… my… husband was home… so I couldn’t leave with no underwear or he would have been…. suspicious… if I left without underwear… you see?”

“Fair” I said calmly, feeling her energy relax with her master so calm and reasonable. I allowed a few moments, a few breaths for her to relax.

I soon squashed that comfort.

“However…” I continued, the tension returning to her body immediately. “You could have taken them off any moment between leaving your house until you walked through those trees right there”

Her shoulders slumped knowingly.

“What’s rule number ten?” I asked.

“Babydoll must be punished appropriately for each rule broken” she said, dejected.

I slid my hand down her thighs, removing her underwear as she stepped from them and placing them in the pocket of my shirt. She swallowed nervously as I sat back against the chair, patting my lap.

“Assume the position” I instructed. She glanced around, making sure the coast was clear. “Nobody’s around. And even if they were, more shame to you to be exposed in your true state”

I felt the flush through her face as she stepped from her jandels, kneeling to my right on the chair and lowering herself across my lap, supporting her upper body on her elbows. She turned her head slightly towards me and spoke, robotically.

“I submit my body to master for my fortnightly maintenance spanking. I acknowledge my wrongdoings and wilfully and without reservation request master’s punishment”

“Mmmm” I respond, my hands reaching over and gently folding the back of her loose yellow dress up to reveal her derrière. “Good girl, babydoll”

I know the effect it has on her, and it doesn’t surprise me yet still brings me joy. I hear the dampness of her pussylips tightening in response, knowing full well without even looking that she will be a mess of anticipation and now compliments. Nothing made her knees buckle faster than being called a good girl by a respected authority.

My left hand rested on her lower back with her dress gathered and secured, my right began slowly tracing around her ass cheeks and the backs of her thighs. I used the palm of my hand and the backs of my fingers, completely controlled and barely grazing her soft skin for about 30 seconds as the goose pimples formed across her.

It was the calm before the storm.

Her ass still astounded me, round, juicy, the skin soft yet meaty. Although she was a thicker girl, her ass was firm, responsive and shapely. My eyes traced down her ass crack, her cheeks falling slightly apart due to the angle of her positioning.

“20 hard spanks for you babydoll” I spoke, softly, hoping to calm her. I could feel her heart beating though her chest into my knees, her breathing elevated already.

“Are you ready?” I asked.

“Yes, master”

I raised my hand, flattening my palm and fingers, firm but not too tight. I rained the first blow down from about 50cm away, watching the rippling effect through her body, shunting it forwards slightly as she cried out.

The whiteness of her flesh ran bright red almost instantly, the handprint across her left cheek detailed and raw. I repeated the process with the right cheek, the response the same. I moved my hand back over her left cheek, repeating the process.

It was unavoidable that the next blow would have some overlap with the previous, and her moan was more of a hiss, the sting present and noted. It was pleasure and it wasn’t pain, it was something different. Something primal.

After the fourth blow, I paused.

“Thank you master” she said, as per protocol.

Every fourth blow she would repeat the words.

20 slaps were required every fortnight.

And nobody would know just how much we both craved it, especially her husband.

Those were the rules and without them, we are nothing but animals.

The second set was much like the first, although overlaps were now part of every blow, her ass a warmth of bright pink, her body tensing before each strike.

The third set was always the crux, if ever she would have broken it would be then. The previous eight blows had tenderised her ass meat, and my fingers were beginning to tingle, but these were the blows that I did not hold back on. I would use the palm of my hand to stroke her, hard and penetrating.

These were the blows that would cause the bruises she would need to hide from her husband for the next few days.

The ones that she would send me daily update photos of.

The ones that would remain her who owned her each time she sat on them.

The fourth set was always a mixed bag. The mental and physical heavy lifting of the experience, so to speak. The pain levels were at their highest, but also knowing that more was still to come, but that we were nearly there.

The final set was more about survival. Just hold on until the final blow, her weight fully on her knees as she crossed her lower legs and ankles in a desperately ineffective way to protect herself. As per usual, she released with a hiss of relief as her body relaxed, feeling her take the first deep, proper breath since the ordeal commenced.

“Thank you master” she sighed, making to move away.

I gripped her ponytail with my left hand, my right on the exposed small of her back to hold her in place. She froze.

“We aren’t done here” I growled, her relief turning to agony. “For the crime in violating rule number three, I sentence you to ten additional strokes, to be issued immediately, with no relief until completion”

“Yes master” she sobbed, the struggle evident.

I kept by left hand on her ponytail, beginning my right hand up to rain alternating blows on her left and right ass cheeks. The warmth off them was evident, marks that would not fade for some time.

In those moments she was completely beside herself, her cries and whimpers as loud as the slapping itself. If anyone had been nearly, there would be no hiding from discovery.

By the final blow she was gasping, her breathing short and laboured, ass cheeks mottled with tones from white, dark red, pink and some deep purples already forming.

“Thank you, master” she gasped.

“You may have a short break before I administer your punishment for the rule seven…”

I watched as she stood, walking in small circles near the chair, wiggling her fingers, eyes glued to the ground.

I allowed her a couple of minutes, knowing it was a struggle and she had never been pushed this deep before. 24 blows was her previous record, and although she had surpassed that, there was still more to come.

I knew it.

She knew it.

In some ways that was worse for her.

I felt her slowly regather her heartbeat, the adrenaline slowly draining from her system. Her fingers shook slightly, though not sure if that was from the ordeal of the previous blows or the fear of what was to come.

She never made eye contact, nor engaged with me, her mind in a hypnotic and hyperactive state which I respected. As her back was turned I took a few moments to gather our surroundings, checking that no one had arrived that could interrupt our ceremony.

Careful not to allow her too much time to recover and talk herself out of the final stage, I stood and moved to the back of the wooden chair, the ground slightly elevated, motioning her to join me.

She did not hesitate. The pride that filled me was indescribable, seeing her know she has to face the dragon, and the fire that it brings, yet knowing what treasure lay on the other side and facing it boldly.

I positioned her standing about a meter behind the structure while facing it, her feet shoulder width apart, pivoting at her hips forward to rest her hands on the chair. I again lifted her dress up, the cool breeze beginning to form on the day providing some light relief to her exposed cheeks. They were a picture of colours and patterns.

I reached into my shorts, unclasping my leather belt and slowly drawing it from its loops. I felt the fear flow through her and the flick of each movement, yet she didn’t flinch. I filled with pride once again.

No mercy, just pride.

“For the crimes of violating rule 7, I punish you to four lashings with my belt”

“Yes master” she winced, the emotion as powerful as the act. As much as she put on a brave face, there was no denying her true terror.

Her body tense, the first blow cracked across her cheeks, the sound deep and thrilling. Her previous convictions now lost, her face wore the thrill of the moment across it as she bit at her lip, fighting off a tear.

Unlike the spanks, the belt levelled across both cheeks, an inch wide strip of welts instantly forming against the psychedelic backdrop of her tanned glutes.

I made certain the strike lines varied, knowing that the impact was going to ruin her enough with the previous spanks underlying, but any accumulation of belt straps would be significantly damaging.

By the third strike, she was whimpering, and I was reinforced that she was touching her physical limit. In the fourth and final, her knees buckled momentarily as she moaned.

“Thank you, master” she whispered, her head down deeply, as if she was staring into the bowels of hell itself.

“Just stay still” I instructed, slowly reinstating my belt around my waist. “Give yourself a few moments to recover before you move. I am incredibly proud of you, babydoll”

“Thank you master!” She smiled, her thighs tightening at my words, knowing that would wetten her futher. “Permission to speak master?”

“Granted” I said, crouching lower to inspect my work as I moved behind her.

“May I please masturbate when I get home, master?” She asked, hurriedly.

It wasn’t just her ass that I owned, but her orgasm too. She would be required to seek permission from me prior to masturbation or from engaging with her husband. If he instigated things prior to her gaining permission, she had become the master of faking orgasms, often messaging me after to get permission to masturbate while he lay cluelessly asleep beside her.

It aroused me heavily. The control of her mind focused on me even while taking her husband’s cock was intoxicating.

“Hmmm” I mused, slowing her down. “Explain to me how you will do that?”

“I…i… assuming my husband has left for work… I will…” she stumbled, before swallowing and resettling herself. “I will strip naked on my bed, lay on my back and use my satisfyer pro, likely to make me cum very fast, master”

“No” I responded. I felt her flinch, everything wanting to protest, but she had learnt her lesson. “You will be allowed, but you will only use your hand…”

“Yes master” she responded.

“First you will remain clothed, lay face down on the bed and grind your clit into your hand. You will bring yourself to the edge of climax and stop, warning for half an hour”

“Yes, master”

“Then you will strip naked, and you will stand in front of the mirror, looking at yourself, playing with yourself until you are right on the edge. At that point you will call me and beg for permission to cum”

“Yes master” she shuddered.

“Oh and before you go, you might as well have these back…” I said pulling her underwear from my pocket. I reached down with my left hand, parting her cheeks. With my thumb and forefinger I pressed the soft fabric inside her damp pussy, taking three or four attempts to stuff it all inside her moistness.

“You may not remove them until you call me and ask permission to cum” I instructed. “I don’t care if you are at risk of getting caught by your husband, that is your burden to wear for breaking the rules. Understand?”

“Yes master” she said. Sensing our time was at an end, she closed the session out. “Thank you for your time and effort master. I appreciate being your babydoll”

“I am proud of you, babydoll” I said, watching as she gathered her things and walked tenderly off towards her car, as a few cars began heading down the road towards us, knowing her torment for the day had only just begun….