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Subject: Cassie's Very Bad Day (M/f - Discipline, paddling)
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CASSIE'S VERY BAD DAY
By: DNC
Cassie awoke to a beautiful day in a wonderful mood. He had
put her to bed last night at 10:00 pm instead of her usual 11:00
pm. He only did that when she was tired and cranky; and even she
had to admit she had been tired and cranky last night.
--==++==--
It had been a hard day at school. The kids had been
unusually horrible. They were late coming into class. They all
seemed to have forgotten to do their homework. None were
concentrating; all seemed totally distracted. Then, during her
free period, she had had a contentious meeting with a set of parents
and their child. At least it would be the last meeting she'd
have with those parents. That child had been expelled, and good
riddance. At the end of the day, Sister Jean had cornered her
and talked to her for a half hour about the stupid curriculum
committee meeting tomorrow. On the way out of the school, a
parent stopped her and talked to her for another half hour about
a very well deserved B- her little darling had received on a
writing assignment ... as if the world were coming to an end in
consequence of its not being an A+. Her car very nearly refused
to start. Then, on the way home, she sat for 45 minutes in a
traffic jam caused by a stupid truck driver who had taken a sharp
curve too fast and turned his stupid truck over on its side.
She finally walked in the door, nearly two hours late,
exhausted, frustrated, and angry. Then she found the roast was
still in the refrigerator, and her whole horrible day boiled over
inside her. She would never have asked him to cook dinner, but
it just made things bearable if he'd just have put the roast in
the oven when she asked. If he'd just do that much, five minutes
at the most, she'd do all the rest. He had agreed to it this
morning, but he had forgotten. She knew better than to upbraid
him. She'd done that once, and had to endure the most painful
weekend of her life. It was a month before she could sit
comfortably.
Nevertheless, she stomped around the kitchen in a thinly
veiled rage. She threw the roast in the oven and slammed the
door shut. Then she made the rest of the meal, muttering darkly
to herself and making as much noise as possible. He stopped work
a half-hour early, and came downstairs into the middle of the
maelstrom. He chatted bravely, as calmly as he could in the face
of the storm. But to every attempt at conversation, she re
sponded either with a curt monosyllable, or glared at him and
didn't respond at all.
Throughout the long delayed dinner, and even afterwards
through the rest of the evening, she brooded on his
thoughtlessness. Her answers remained curt, petulant or
thoroughly venomous. Eventually the evening grew tensely
silent. The TV was on, but no one was really watching it.
Both, instead, were reading and aggressively avoiding
conversation.
At 10:00 he looked up at her. "Bed time, young lady!" She
initially had a mind to protest. Then she realized that she was
indeed, tired.
"Yes, Sir," she snapped.
"Hey," he snapped back, "Don't take that tone with me.
You've been nasty all night, and I've let it go. Now, get
upstairs right now." He glared at her threateningly.
She glared back at him, then relented under his stern gaze
... and her fatigue. She arose, walked over to where he was
lounging on the couch, and gave him a merely cursory hug and
kiss. Then she curtly turned her back, and all but stomped up
the stairs.
She resumed her dark muttering as she prepared for bed.
Then she crawled under the quilt and gave one last monumental
angry roll, pounded her pillow twice, and was asleep within a
minute.
--==++==--
She woke up rested, refreshed, and re-energized. Her hair
was behaving itself. No, more than that, it was looking very
nice today. She found that she had plenty of time for her
makeup, and it, too, was looking very nice today. She then
dressed in her favorite outfit ... his too. That thought made
her smile with pleasure and then blush with remorse at her
behavior last night.
She had realized while taking her shower that he had never
said a word about dinner being late, taking the blame silently.
Chagrined, she realized he would have apologized had she given
him half a chance. She finished dressing for school, then made
herself a cup of coffee and a corn muffin for breakfast. He was
a stickler for that (she had to admit she felt better on mornings
when she had had a bit to eat). The more she thought about it,
the more she realized she deserved much worse than merely being
sent to bed early. He should have whipped her until she bled.
She pledged to make it up to him this evening. She had been so
bad, and he had been so good. She loved him.
She was making last minute adjustments to her makeup when he
came downstairs into the kitchen, dressed in his normal jeans and
tee shirt. She ran to him and threw her arms around him, and
gave him an extra long hug and kiss.
"Oh, Dave. I love you so much. You were so good to me last
night when I was so bad. I'm very sorry. Please forgive me."
He hugged her and kissed her lightly on the lips. (He hated
the feel of lipstick on his lips.) "Good morning, I love you
too, sweetheart. And, yes, you were very bad last night. But
we'll take care of that right now."
She looked at him astonished. "Dave ..."
"Sir!" he interrupted firmly.
In a much quieter voice, she continued, "But Sir, I'm going
to be late."
"First, you're running early this morning. Second, you
won't be that late. Third, you've been late before. You're
simply going to be late again," he said sternly. She could tell
that it would be useless to argue, and that that would only make
her even later. She might as well acquiesce now.
"Yes, sir."
He began to lecture her. "You were nasty to me all night
long last night. Now I understand you had a bad day. We could
have talked about that. You know I care, and I listen well. I
also know I forgot to start dinner when you asked me to. I felt
really bad about that. I came down early to apologize and try to
make it up to you. But you were so bitchy I could hardly get a
civil word in or get a civil word out of you. By the end of
dinner I was really angry, and by the end of the evening, I was
furious. I couldn't have punished you then because I might have
half killed you. So I sent you to bed and cooled off myself
before I came to bed.
"But, I'm happy to see you're feeling better today. I'm
feeling better too. Now, ask me for your punishment and tell me
why you deserve it." It was their ritual. She had found out
early on in their relationship that trite cursory answers were
unacceptable and usually were punished themselves.
In a soft very submissive voice she said, "I'm sorry, Sir.
I had a terrible day yesterday, and got all upset about it. But
took it all out on you. I deserve to be punished. Please punish
me for my terrible behavior, and so that I can learn to be a better
girl for you."
"Yes, you do deserve to be punished."
A ritual. But one they each found both necessary and
comforting.
He moved the short three legged stool kept in the corner of
the living room to the middle, in front of the picture window
overlooking the wide front lawn.
She knew what to do, though she had never done it in high
heels. The top of the stool was barely large enough for both her
feet. She climbed carefully upon the stool, her feet together,
her balance precarious. He lifted her skirt, and rolled the back
of it up to the middle of her back. "Here. Hold this."
She put her hands behind her back and held the skirt where
he gave it to her. While she stood that way, he pulled her hose
down to her knees, and then her panties.
"Bend over!"
She slowly and carefully bent over, struggling to maintain
her balance on the shaky stool with her hands behind her back.
"More!" he said sternly.
She complied, bending as far as she felt she could The pose
thrust her bottom backward, and a hint of her lower lips peeked
through her thighs.
He tickled the barely visible lips with his finger, then
stroked them slowly and gently, and she moaned.
"Ten! And five extra each time you fall off the stool."
"Yes, sir," she said quietly from her awkward position.
Only then did she see the paddle. It was a fraternity-type
paddle he had made himself. It was made from hard oak: very
hard, as she could attest. He had made the handle extra long so
he could grasp it easily with both hands. He stood to her left,
slightly behind her.
To keep from falling off the stool, she thrust her bottom
backward to meet the first blow. <SMACK> The first blow was
hard, and right to the middle of her bottom, and it nearly took
her breath away. <SMACK> <SMACK> The next two were higher. He
moved slightly to the left. <SMACK> <SMACK> These were on her
left cheek only. <SMACK> <SMACK> He moved behind her and placed
two more on her right cheek only. He did not hesitate between
blows and each one built on the previous ones without giving her
a chance for release or relief. <SMACK> His next was across the
middle of both cheeks again. He paused only slightly. <SMACK>
<SMACK> His last two, harder even than the others, were placed
lower, where her thighs met her bottom.
She squealed at each blow. After the first three, she began
blubbering. By the seventh, she was crying almost uncontrollably.
At the last two, she was whimpering in pain.
When it was all over, she did not move. He had not given
her permission to move. She remained, bent over, hands behind her,
wailing in misery. He stroked her bottom with his hand. His hands
were cool on her hot skin. His finger once more traced down the
crack between her pussy lips, just visible beneath her now very red
bottom cheeks. Through spasms of pain, she recognized that she
had become very aroused, and pushed herself against his finger.
Then he stepped away, and put the paddle away in the corner.
"OK, you get yourself all ready and get going. You're going
to be late."
She carefully straightened up, letting go of her skirt, then
stepped off the stool. She hastily and awkwardly readjusted her
panties and stockings, all the while tears coursed down her face
as her body was racked with sobs. Then she moved the stool back
to its place, and smoothed the wrinkles in her skirt as much as
she could.
"I ... I ... I'm sorry," she finally blurted out. He hugged
her closely, stroking her hair, comforting her, soothing her with
soft gentle loving murmurs, as a mama would a fussy sobbing baby.
"I know, darling. So am I. I felt really bad about
yesterday, but you never gave me the chance to apologize. Now,
dear, you better get a move on. You're going to be very late."
He helped her pick up her briefcase, handbag, and other
effluvia she always took with her to school. Then he helped her
to the car. By that time she had stopped sobbing and regained
control of herself. He placed her stuff in the front seat.
She looked at herself in her compact mirror. "OOOoouuu!
You're so mean. I look a fright. And I looked so good before."
"You look great!" he smiled back at her.
"But now I have to redo my make-up in the car. It never
looks as good that way as it does when I do it here."
She eased herself into the front seat, then moaned in pain.
"Owwwwwwwww. You have a very heavy hand, Sir. That hurts."
He smiled and shut the door behind her. "It's supposed to
hurt. You think about how you acted last night when you think
about how much you hurt. And then you remember that the next
time you think about acting up that way."
She wiggled in her seat, trying unsuccessfully to find a
comfortable position while he lectured her. "You're right, Sir.
I deserved it. I'm sorry. I won't do that again," she said;
ruefully, emphasizing 'that.' She reached around under her to
rub her bottom as she arched her back to lift it up off the seat.
"Boy, will I not do that again!"
He laughed at her. "Good. That's the intent. Now you
better get going. Oh, no speeding. Right?"
"Yes, sir."
"And you be very very careful if you put your makeup on
while you drive. Right?"
"Yes, sir. I will."
"In fact, I wish you wouldn't do that at all."
"I know, darling. But I have to. I don't have time to do
it here. I have to be there in time for class."
"I know, honey. So just please be careful."
"I will. I love you, honey. Thank you for punishing me. I
know you love me when you do that."
"And I do love you ... very much." He put his head through
the window and kissed her tenderly.
As she drove away, she shifted in her seat again, but her
bottom hurt, no matter how she sat. She thought of him all the
way to school. With every little bump she felt a sharp pang. It
hurt and a part of her was angry with him for doing that to her.
But another part of her knew she deserved it. In her heart of
hearts, she felt happy and warm. She was loved.
--
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