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Subject: {ASSM} "The Cruel Lottery" (Fm, Faceslapping, Domestic Discipline. Older woman younger man.) (Complete and Final Version)
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Date: Sat, 25 Mar 2006 01:10:01 -0500
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[The Cruel Lottery, or 'On the other cheeks'. Original story by Horrid
Boy. Fm, Faceslapping, Domestic Discipline, Older woman younger man.]

A new fashion has regrettably taken hold in domestic discipline. It all
started when my lady wanted a new method of deciding my punishments.
They call it the "win-lose" lottery because the lady who plays always
wins, and those poor souls like me always lose, whether we like it or
not. It's a lottery that chooses punishments by random, and once you
draw the tickets your fate is sealed.

One day I was preparing for my lady's return from her tea time meeting
with her ladyfriends; when she returned she was quite mad. I was
instantly afraid of the consequences sure to follow. She can't exactly
thrash adult women who gossip about her, so I knew I would end up as
the "whipping boy". Her petite blonde figure walked in briskly with her
face contorted in barely-controlled rage, and I knew that always
signaled a harsh punishment. She ordered me to disrobe and kneel down
before her. She was 'very displeased' with my breakfast-in-bed catering
to her that morning, claiming the plate wasn't warm enough. I wisely
gave my usual "Yes Madam" answer. I instantly knew I had better do
exactly as she says if I want any chance of getting out of this without
another thrashing. . .

Usually, she disciplines me once a week for 'maintenance', if I've been
good, in order to keep me in line. If I displease her, she will punish
me instantly. However, this time she wanted a different way to
randomize the punishment. Therefore, she decided to create her own
'lottery' to determine what punishment I receive. You must draw tickets
from three separate hats.

In the first hat, there are tickets with the numbers one through ten.
The male has to draw two of these tickets out to get the count of
strokes. The lady may decide beforehand whether she will simply add the
two numbers up (e.g. boy draws a five and a five, so he receives ten
strokes), or if she really wants to be a royal vixen about it, she can
multiply them (he would receive twenty-five strokes). As long as the
male puts back the first drawn ticket before he takes the second, there
is a minimum of one and a maximum of one-hundred strokes.

In the second hat, there are tickets of the offending body area to be
disciplined. My lady had "plums", "rump", and "cheeks". "Plums" was her
favorite term of the male 'eggs', for their obvious resemblance. (In
any case, ladies can put their own preferred target areas of the male
body in this second hat.)

In the third hat is the instrument the lady will use to administer the
discipline. This is a little more complicated. The result must match
the body parts marked for punishment. Certain tickets should be double
marked. For example, to punish a rump you would get her hands, strap,
paddle, hairbrush, cane, birch, riding whip, &c. For 'plums' you would
draw hand, knee, foot, or her special "plum paddle" which is a wooden
paint stirrer, very thin and very lightweight, guaranteed to cause
temporary maximum effect with no lasting damage. For face slapping, the
lady would draw regular alternative hands (left, then right), or
simultaneous hands (both at once, sandwiching the poor boy's face), and
dry or wet (the lady can spit in her hands, or wet them down, as the
water greatly amplifying the slapping effect upon the cheeks).

In addition, there is a special ticket called "Lady's choice" that
allows her to choose any method she likes.

There are some additional concerns. First, the lady will want to adjust
the punishment to be most effective. She may only multiply the numbers,
for example, if it is a regular spanking as opposed to the more
sensitive areas, where would instead merely add them. Alternatively, if
a great number is reached (such as one hundred), the lady may simply
break up the punishment in stages, extending the strokes over a period
of time. These rules should be set beforehand.

If the boy can't take his required punishment and begs for mercy, his
lady will not push him past his limits, but will be very upset with
him, and he can forget any chance of relief for a long time.

When she first ordered me to play her lottery this is the unfortunate
combination I drew. . .

Tonight I played her cruel lottery for the first time. Once it was
ready, she told me simply to "draw my fate".

"Yes Madam."

I had already stripped completely bare and was on my knees. The first
tickets would determine the number of strokes I'd receive. I reached
into the first of her hats and read what I chose. In elegant and
feminine cursive script it read, "Seven." This is not good, I thought.
I was hoping to be a below-average number, and this was significantly
worse than average.

Madam, on the other hand, sounded out with a rather evil-sounding laugh
which given the situation caused me to shiver involuntarily. Her eyes
were all upon me as I played her horrible little game, closely and with
great intent watching me, do doubt anticipating what how she would
punish me. She was standing above me with her hands on her hips in a
haughty manner and eyes glaring down on me as if I were her prey. She
kept her vigil over my every move not only out of her nearly-sadistic
interest but also to make sure I didn't try to cheat by misreading the
results. Of course, I was too enraptured and afraid of her to dare try
any such naughtiness. She was quite proud that I had drawn the
higher-than-average number, practically licking her lips at getting an
even higher second one. Right now, it looked almost certain that I
would get an above-average dose of torment from her tonight, courtesy
of my bad luck.

Madam commanded me further, "Try another number boy, and we shall
multiply both together. And remember, this is to teach you a lesson so
I'd better not get any attitude from you."

"Yes Madam," I replied, my worry rising. She returned the slip I drew
back in, remixing the contents of the hat for me to randomly select the
second number. I reached in again, my worried as hell because I needed
a low number to balance the multiplication factor now working against
me. I needed a low number to offset that damned seven I just drew. I
pulled out another slip of paper. It only read "Three" in her elegant
handwriting so and I breathed a sigh of relief. I might get through
this after all.

"Hmmmph. . .  very well, twenty-one strokes it is then," Madam
announced, with not quite the level of happiness she had before. Of
course, even twenty-one of hers is quite an ordeal. It could be much
worse though. Still, if only I had draw a pair of "twos"! I would only
be facing four strokes from her, and who couldn't take four strokes?
However, as it stood, even with my lucky 'three', I was facing
twenty-one of her best.

It's sad knowing all I can do is try to limit the number of her strokes
against me. There was no hope of avoiding her punishment altogether;
that is the cruel part of it. There's no way for me to escape. She
could only have degrees of winning, and I could only have degrees of
losing. She was going to thrash me no matter what, and I was still
going to get the 'short end of the stick', so to speak.

"Well boy, you seemed to have escaped rather drastic ends. But
twenty-one should be enough tonight regardless. Anyway, now draw from
the second hat."

The second hat was to determine where exactly her twenty-one strokes
would be crashing down on me. I knew that if it were a less sensitive
part, like my rump, she would nail me as hard as possible to get the
most of out of those twenty-one strokes. Still, it was important to
limit the damage she could--that is, WOULD--cause. I reached into the
second hat and pulled out the crucial test of where I was to suffer. I
didn't know what to expect when it simply read "Cheeks".

"Hah! It's been awhile since you've gotten a good face slapping. Choose
the implement and let's get going, as doubt you can hardly wait to
begin either." She followed that with a slight laugh at her comment.

"Yes Madam," I replied immediately. I had mixed feelings about this--it
was much better than twenty-one strokes upon my 'plums', but I never
had gotten my face slapped more than once or twice. The last time it
happened really stung and was so hard it also made me dizzy. How could
I possibly take twenty-one of her slaps across my unprotected face,
much less now that she is so angry and eager to make each one count?
All I could do, at this point, was to submit to her will and hope for
the best. I reached into the third hat the slip of paper read, "Lady's
hands, assorted".

"Well, so it looks like I can improvise a little. Well then boy,
prepare yourself. I shall not bother to tie you up as you have been
punished enough already to learn your place-and I am warning you, if
you dare flinch from my hand, we shall redo that one and add another as
extra punishment. I am eager to begin and I intend you to feel each
stroke at its fullest and I won't have any wincing take away the
effect."

"Yes Madam." I forgot about the flinching prohibition. Whenever there
is a punishment while I am unbound, the slightest reflex reaction I
have (even involuntary) makes her furious, and she adds to the
punishment greatly. This of course, makes not flinching under her
onslaught even harder. It is extremely difficult to suppress your
instincts while under such an assault. It really requires even more
submission to her in order to take it without such natural reflexes.
Worse, she would not just slap my face in the normal, one-handed
fashion, but also use both her hands simultaneously. I had never
encountered this before and the uncertainty made things worse. My lady
is physically smaller than I am of course. But I worship her too much
to dare subvert her will, even if that will is to make me suffer. So I
have to take her punishment without complaint. If you are untied, there
is no pretense into being forced; it is obvious to both of us that she
is simply so dominant there is nothing else needed to keep me in place.

Madam left the room quickly and returned with an evil gleam in her eye,
a sort of silent message of her total and complete dominance. That look
made it appear as if she were a predator on a hunt for a nice, pale and
innocent male face to paint with her palms. I was the prey.

"Now boy, you know the rules of the game: twenty-one strokes of my
hand, as I please, upon your face. You will count each stroke correctly
and in order. Flinching will result in a repeat and an extra punishment
stroke. Missing the count will result in a repeated stroke. Forgetting
the count altogether will result in starting over from the beginning,
and I know you don't want that, so you'd better play your part properly
if you know what's good for you. Are you ready for your just desserts,
so to speak?"

"Yes Madam, I am." All I could do is think of the incoming 'palms of
fury' about to crash into my cheeks.

"Do you wish to beg for leniency or mercy from me? Now is your last
chance."

I knew I had to beg since failure to do so would make her even more
ruthless in her treatment.

"Oh Madam please don't slap too hard, I don't know how much I can take.
I didn't mean to anger you. I am your loyal servant; won't you take
pity upon me?"

She smirked, raising a half-smile on one side of her face. She always
was amused, or possibly delighted, by my begging. It never seemed to
work.

"Not a chance boy. I intend to get every last lick in, and you know it.
Now it's time to begin."

* * *

By the work of her cruel lottery, I was now facing twenty-one slaps
across the face by her soft, feminine, and extremely cruel hands. I was
kneeling, naked and unadorned as usual, before her. My knees were
roughly pressed upon the carpet; my hands were behind my back, grasping
on to each other in anticipation of the coming onslaught, since I was
forbidden to flinch from her blows. My face was looking upwards in
resignation to my fate as she stood above me. Her stern visage was
brimming with sadistic anticipation. I glanced nervously at her
delicate hands, each of which ended in her meticulously painted red
nails. How much exactly could those delicate hands, on an older-than-me
lady, hurt a healthy, young, virile male? One who is so much in her
power that he can neither escape, nor resist her will? One who is
taller and heavier than her relatively petite and feminine frame? I was
going to find out the answer whether I wanted it or not.

I could hear her every step and she walked closer towards me; her
dainty, well-heeled feet, again with the red painted nails, her shoes'
dark straps contrasting with her fair skin, trotting around just in
front of me.

I saw her nose crinkle with breath as she drew in the extra needed
oxygen for her assault. As her left hand roughly gripped my hair in
order to hold my head in place, she pulled her right hand back with
visible tension. Since I had been forbidden to look away, I had no
choice but to stare right into her eyes. No sense of mine could escape
from the impending doom. I had to see and feel it all. Her right hand
like a tidal wave started crashing towards me in an arc.

SMACK!

There was no warm up to her method. The first hit came like a
thunderbolt, her right hand upon my left cheek. It wasn't even that she
used full force, or even needed to; even her regular slap still exerted
her complete power. Although it was supposedly just a woman's hand,
delicate and ladylike, its actual momentum and movement to my cheek was
brutally harsh. Combined with the tender cheeks of my face, her hands
had a shock effect upon me like no other. The faceslap is more
overwhelming than a spanking, which is 'only' across the rump. When you
are slapped across the face, it is as if you entire being is under
attack.

She already started out with quite a bit of force and the whole left
side of my face was already tingling and stinging like the devil. How
much harder would slap by the end? Was I going to last for all
twenty-one slaps, or was I going to disappoint her? Luckily, at least
for now, I wasn't tempted to flinch from her motion. Part of the reason
for my self-control in this matter is because I love her so much all I
want to do is please her, even in this cruel regard. I also didn't know
how much it would hurt. My face felt numb and stingy at the same time,
and that pretty bad for just one, not to mention I had twenty left to
go.

"One, Madam," I said, following her orders to count aloud. She gently
put her right fingers up, not to slap, but to feel my cheek and the
effects she did upon me.

"Hmmm. Already you are flushed and a little red. Not bad. I thought it
would take longer, but perhaps I underestimated my own strength." She
smiled with glee at her unfortunately true comment. Now for her left
hand; she reared back, her cold blue eyes fixated upon their new
target, and those five red nails came crashing into my 'virginal' right
cheek that before today had never been slapped.

SMACK!

The cracking sound of her hand meeting my cheek was much louder than I
expected. In order to compensate for her weaker hand, she used more
force, making the impact harder than the first. The force of her
slapping hand even pushed my face towards the direction she slapped me.
Now I felt a total rush of heat (like severe blushing) in my right
cheek, balancing out my already aggravated left side. Because I am used
to getting spanked and not slapped, I never thought about how much
louder it would be when the smack is so near your ears. I had to face
not just the sight of her hands slapping me silly, or the feeling of
being smacked by her, but also the very sound of it as well. Listening
to your own delicate flesh being slapped into submission is a strange
thing that only put me under her power even more.

"Two, Madam."

She looked particularly pleased at her left-handed slap. "Well boy, how
does it feel now? . . . answer me."

"Oh Madam, it stings on both cheeks terribly, and it sounds so awfully
loud." I was afraid to ask for sympathy from her out of fear it would
only make her more resolved in her desire to punish me.

"Well of course you foolish boy, that is how it's supposed to be, and
we have nineteen left. Now, face up and look at me."

Her right hand went back, her eyes intently staring upon her target.
Her left hand was tightly grabbing my hair, holding me exactly in place
for her purposes, and. . .

SMACK!

Ouch! "Three, Madam"

Her left hand this time. . .

SMACK! "Oooowww. . . . four, Madam."

She then slapped me twice in a row without any deliberate pause between
them.

SMACK! SMACK!

"Oooww. . . Five, Madam, and six."

At least a pause might have helped me recover between the strokes. Then
again, she gave me two more even fast, her arms cutting swiftly towards
the air to their target. .

SMACK--SMACK!

The total force of her slaps was harsh but still I could tolerable
them, even if just barely so. Her hands were now striking me viciously
enough to turn my head in either direction. I gasped for breath and
tried to stay upright. In my exposed and kneeling position, suffering
under her ministrations, it's wasn't easy to keep your balance.

"Seven, and eight, Madam", I muttered, barely able to ignore the tears
welling in eyes. I think she could tell I was at the crying point
because she looked at me with a certain recognition. She views making a
boy cry under her punishment to be a great success and show of her
strength, especially if she can do it before the half-way mark. With so
many more strokes still to come, it was troubling that I already was
near my breaking point.

"I seem to be pushing that pretty face of yours around both left and
right. Perhaps I have a solution to help us both," she said. Then, my
cheeks feeling like they are on fire, I prepared myself for her cryptic
promise. Both her arms reared back and. . .

SMACKSMACK!

The sound was like the crack of a rifle shot in my ears.
Simultaneously, her hands crashed into my cheeks together on each side,
sandwiching my face most savagely. It was even more overwhelming than
the single-handed slaps before (and those were bad enough). Well, at
least two slaps are gone, right? Wrong.

"Nine and ten, M--," I began, before she curtly interrupted. "No! That
is only number nine. I shall let you correct yourself and avoid a
repeat and extra stroke because so far you have been a good boy in
facing your punishment. But you'd better get it right from now on."

"Oh yes Madam, thank you Madam. Number nine, Madam." That was a close
one, for I was already in bad enough condition. I still faced eleven
more of her 'best', and I sure didn't need to worry about two extra on
top.

She did the same 'simultaneous slap' upon my abused and maltreated face
again, and then again.

SMACKSMACK! SMACKSMACK!

"Ten Madam. . . eleven, Madam"

My cheeks were suffering horribly but could not even protest the force
she was using, much less beg for fewer strokes. Any attempt would only
make things worse for me, because when Madam is angry it's best to let
her take it out on you while you hope for the best.

"Hold still boy, just one more of these." Both her hands drew back for
the extra force she wanted, and again the sound of:

SMACKSMACK!

"T--twelve. . . Madam", I spoke, my voice almost breaking to get the
words out of my mouth.

She let out a sigh of relief while relaxing her shoulders and arms. She
was taking a short break to recover her strength for the remaining
strokes. She did it not to let me recover, but rather to let me further
anticipate and appreciate the remainder of the punishment. She needed a
rest to keep her arms and hands at full strength. She wiped her brow,
drying all the beads of sweat upon a cloth. I knew that every drop of
her sweat had formed because during her little 'workout' on my face. It
was a rare thing for me to see my lady sweating, knowing that her
exertions were entirely due to her punishment of me. It was as if I
accomplished something by virtue of suffering for her, and I could see
the results on her brow. Once that was done, Madam again ran her
fingers gently over my red face, feeling the effects of her first
twelve strikes against me.

"Don't move boy, we aren't done just yet." She left and returned with a
large bowl of lukewarm water. She allowed me a sip from the bowl, but I
did not know its purpose. I was soon to find out. She dipped her right
hand into it, and then glared at me again. She had a look of triumph
upon her face, as if she knew something I didn't. I understand the
significance of the water soon enough, at the next impact of her wet
hands upon my face.

"Prepare yourself boy, we are going to finish the next eleven with the
help of a little water. Don't worry; at least my hands will be clean."
She smiled like the cat that ate the canary.

"Yes Madam," said I, not comprehending just yet.

She grabbed my hair sternly, and with her now soaking wet right hand
rising in the air. . .

SMACK!

Her glistening hand crashed into the soft flesh of my cheek, pushing it
into the cheekbone. Her hand was like an overpowering wave engulfing my
face with the shock of her slapping. Worse, this time the water on her
hand viciously amplified the effect, making an even louder,
sicker-sounding 'crack'. The sound literally echoed around the room.
The water on her hand felt like it turned to mist, so thoroughly did
she slap me. My left face still had residue of the water from her hand.
It stung like crazy, much worse than the dry slaps.

"Thirteen, Madam," I managed to spit out. Madam was interested in the
effect of the water.

"Well how did that feel?" asked she.

"Oh Madam, it's quite bad, even worse than before."

I felt like asking if she was going to wet her hands down for the
remainder, but I knew better, of course she was. While she baptized her
left hand in the water, the fingers of her right hand grabbed my hair.
Back her hand goes, and. . .

SMACK!

"Fourteen, Madam." This was repeated four times more.

SMACK! "Fifteen, Madam." SMACK! "Sixteen, Madam." SMACK! "Seventeen,
Madam." SMACK! "Eighteen, Madam."

My face was in dire straights and desperately it needed this to end. My
cheeks were rouge all around the area she had slapped. It was as if she
was painting my cheeks red. Despite this, she wasn't even done yet; her
cruel lottery gave me twenty-one slaps across the face, and Madam was
going to get every last one in.

She dipped both her hands into the bowl while glaring at me severely.
We both knew what was coming. No words were necessary to express her
power over me and how she planned to exercise it.

She removed her two hands from the bowl. I could sense that her hands
were almost getting sore as a side effect from the harsh treatment she
was giving me. I knew, however, it wouldn't make her hold back in the
slightest. If anything, it would encourage her to new heights of
savagery upon me. Her will is firm when it comes to keep domestic
discipline. She knows that by comparing the rather minor wear on her
hands with the major wear upon my face, it was an efficient punishment.
I was definitely getting the worst of it.

She pulled her arms, both moving together, back and upwards from me.
Beneath her gown, I could see her breath heaving her chest, it rising
along with her accelerated breathing. No doubt she was getting her
exercise in. Madam is so delicate on the surface and yet underneath
totally evil. Her arms suddenly became a blur as. . .

SSSSMMMMAAACCCKKK!

Both her hands came together in an arc with my face in the middle. It
was another 'sandwich of slap' for me. It hurt something awful and I
could literally feel her fingerprints were now on my face.

"Nineteen, Madam."

She wet her hands in the "bowl of tears" again, reared back, and they
unstoppably raced towards my lobster-like cheeks, again, for the
twentieth time. However, I had been so slapped down already that the
sight of those, wet, painted, delicate incoming hands towards my
well-abused face caused me to lift my shoulders in pre-emptive terror.
"Boy! I told you no wincing, and you broke the rules," she announced. I
could tell there was no anger in her voice, but almost a sense of glee.
She was happy I winced because now she could practice her slapping
further than just the original twenty-one strokes.

"Prepare to receive the stroke again, and add an additional one so you
remember."

"But Madam, it was only a twitch, and now I have to have two done to
me? Oh please Madam, I've taken so much already if--"

"Quiet boy," she interrupted. "Rules are rules, and you will respect
mine to the letter. Now prepare yourself for number twenty again before
I add another to your total." Her pitiless hands dipped into the bowl
again, her arms reared up and back, and I knew I had to resist the urge
to flinch or wince in anyway under this wanton assault. My whole body
froze in fear that I would again flinch. I knew she wanted me to recoil
from her strike so she could get an excuse for further slaps. It was
all for her sadistic delight. I had to hold myself back from reacting
to her intentional attempts to trigger those primal reflexes of
defense.

For now, she just held her hands up there, in suspended motion, trying
to trick me. Finally, they crashed down swiftly.

SSSSMMMMAAACCCKKK!

"Twenty, Madam."

Somehow, I managed to control myself from wincing. Madam, though, was
not done trying to entrap me. Still wanting more, she tried again to
trick me into 'overreacting' to her, which would trigger additional
strokes. This time, as her hands were about to strike me, she held
back. I was so rattled by it, I flinched without thinking. She laughed
that evil laugh of hers.

"Hahahhahaha. Oh poor boy, I got you. Two more."

SSSSMMMMAAACCCKKK!

"Twenty-one, Madam." Finally, I had suffered through the original
twenty-one slaps. However, I still had to face the two punishment
strokes.

"Now boy, three more and we'll be done, assuming you can control
yourself like a proper young gentleman, and not show me such primitive
reactions. A lady deserves better."

"But Madam, I thought there were only two left?"

"No boy, I never had a slap in that last one you winced at. So you owe
me that one as well."

"Yes, Madam," I agreed wisely. Don't complain or it could always get a
lot, lot worse.

SSSSMMMMAAACCCKKK!

"Twenty-two, Madam."

SSSSMMMMAAACCCKKK!

"Twenty-three, Madam. SSSSMMMMAAACCCKKK! "Twenty, oh, twenty-four,
Madam." SSSSMMMMAAACCCKKK! "(Gasp) Twenty-five, Madam."

Finally, the long marathon was over. My face was as red as a beet. I
could literally feel her fingerprints embedded in my cheeks. She took
the cloth and carefully dabbed my face dry. "You poor boy. . . there,
there, now it's all over." Her fingers gently touched and prodded my
cheeks to examine the results of her handiwork. She was beaming with
pride at her accomplishment. She sat down quite satisfied with herself.
No doubt she enjoyed this little game as much as I hated it. From now
on, I would be even more motivated to please her, starting right
now--anything to avoid being in this position again.

"Now, won't you be a good boy and bring me my evening tea, and hurry."
I rushed to resume my duties of serving her. With that damned cruel
lottery hanging over my head, I didn't have much choice, did I?

-- 
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