The antics of my brat’s family is something of a soap opera, with goings on which would curl anyone’s hair.

They’ve always claimed to be a close family - which unfortunately equates to sibling squabbles, fallings out and sometimes full-on guerrilla warfare. For this and other much darker reasons, brat has suffered with depression for a long time. I’m honoured to say that my love for her over the last almost ten years (and my diligence in removing her from the direct influence of the damaging elemens of her family) has slowly but steadily helped to dispel much of her problems - the agreement to follow a DD M/s relationship being one of the most effective “treatments”.

Now and again, however, something will prey heavy on her mind and she’ll be in danger of reverting to the sullen, depressive soul that spent 14 hours in bed every day and refused to accept anything good in her life.

This week has been a bad week in that regard.

I should expalin first that neither of us work. I have been a stay-at-home dad to our two little girls for the last six years (with various stints working in bars over the years) due mostly to brats’ depression (long-term and post-natal), and brat is currently studying to become a qualified Reflexologist (she’s already qualified in a number of holistic therapies and eventually wants to set up her own business). Therefore, we have been blessed with four solid days together this week.

Tuesday morning, brat asked to return to bed for a couple of hours while I did the school run and visited the doctors with my bad knee. I agreed, but told her that I’d want her awake and attentive when I returned.

I slid ino bed beside her and gently woke her up - which she did grudgingly. While I tried my best to make the rest of the day enjoyable - a nice romantic cuddle followed by lunch out - brat did nothing more than complain, criticise and basically whinge her head off, no matter how nice and understanding I tried to be.

Finally, after I’d spent two solid hours trying to talk her out of her funk and get her to the point of leaving the house to go to lunch, she delivered the final straw, getting angry over some imagined confusion about how much time we had, where we were going and what she wanted for lunch when we got there.

There comes a time when even the most patient Master will reach the end of His tolerance and brat was simply showing no signs of slowing down on the mad spiralling journey of anger and confusion she was on, so it was in desperation and sadness that I decided I would have to deliver her first proper Bad Girl spanking.

I ordered her over the arm of the sofa and, holding her still with one hand, built up a steady, stinging rhythm with the other. It was a sign of her state of mind that from the very first - not amazingly hard - spank she was complaining. Throughout the spanking I lectured her on what I thought was wrong with her behaviour, how I wanted her to straighten out, how her contradictions and attitude were threatening to spoil what I’d planned would be a very nice, sweet day together.

Her protests eventually turned from pleading to anger as the pressure of the spanking increased and when I eventually gave my hand a rest, she broke position and ran our bedroom where she lay and cried. I gave her a few minutes, then followed her upstairs. She was still being defiant, but I got the impression that the spanking had done its’ job as she was not so much bothered about the mechaincs of the day as aggrieved at me for the punishment. I gave her an ultimatum - I was going to go back downstairs and continue getting ready to go out. If she still wished to be my slave and accept my discipline, she would follow me down, apologise for her behaviour and we’d try to rescue what we could of the day. Otherwise, the M/s relationship would be through.

She took all of thirty seconds to make up her mind. I held her in my arms while she wept and apologised, then we finally went out and had a reasonably nice afternoon shopping together.

It wasn’t much of a punishment to be honest and she frankly deserved much more, but it really did seem to do the job - at least temporarily. As you’ll find out in my next post, the depression didn’t stay away for long and Wednesday saw a crisis point and a far more extreme solution…

This can’t be right.

It took about three months for me to get any decent results from Google with my vanilla blog.

I’ve just looked at our visitor stats and noticed a google search hit.

Apparently, if you look for “Master spank punishment clitty”, This lil’ ole blog is number one result!

The only thing is, I haven’t talked about spanking brat’s clitty yet - although it’s something she particularly enjoys and I’ve set off many an aftershock orgasm with a swift slap to the clit.

..Well, I guess I have talked about it now, haven’t I?

Welcome one and all, pull up a stool and pull down your pants, Master will be with you soon.

* Just one other thing - We’ve worked out tonight that the pain I thought was Gout actually seems to be a knee injury I picked up from a fall at the local Fitness Centre last time I went. Bollocks! I’m off to see the doc tomorrow to find out the specifics. More news then.

One of the things that we agreed was to be a punishable offense was brat’s intake of fluids.

She’s notoriously bad at drinking and has been known to go days without a significant drink - we’re talking maybe half a pint a day for weeks. Not good. So we agreed on a minimum limit of five pints of some kind of liquid each day. She’s to be responsible for her own intake, but for each pint not drunk by midnight, she recieves a stroke of the cane.

Normally, she’s diligent enough - even if she’s chugging two pints at 11pm, she manages to meet her target one way or another. Yesterday - the day of sex and spanking, that is, she managed to drink maybe a few sips. And that’s it.

Oh. Dear.

Five strokes of the cane, delivered at full or near-full force on a cold ass.

I decided to spare her a miserable night lying on a well whipped ass, so we agreed that punishemnt would be taken after the school run this morning. She pleaded for leniency, the silly thing, but we finally compromised by introducing hr to the concept of cornertime.

Each stroke had the poor thing dancing around the room. She took two, then was put in the corner to think about how stupid it was that she was being caned just for not drinking - and for some recovery time, took another one and begged to go back in her corner, then took the final two in swift succession, which I told her to stay in position for. It was a closerun thing - she said afterwards that what she really wanted to do was put her hands behind, dance around and shout at me, but to her credit she managed to stay perfectly in position for the last stroke.

When we were done, I took her in my arms and hed her close until she’d stopped quivering and snivelling, kissing her and telling her how good she was, how it was all done now and how I didn’t want to deliver that kind of punishment again. She’d let me down and herself down and I seriously don’t think she’s going to scrimp on her fluid intake again.

Later on we were in bed talking about subspace and my tentative plans to take her there. There’s been a few times I’ve spanked her to the point where she wanted to fight back, btu I’ve only managed to cane her to tears twice. Once on purpose to exorcise some particularly nasty demons from her past and once by accident during a badly timed scene.

making your sub/slave cry through a spanking or caning is a powerful and strange experience. For me, there’s that barrier that I think most people have that tears equals “Stop”, but during my readings on the subjects of DD and subspace, it seems that the key to bringing about that particular mental state is to watch her reactions, listen to the noises she makes and spank through the tears. It’s a journey I want to be strong enough and confident enough to take my brat on. After our discussion, she’s willing to let me try and she certainly trusts me enough to submit to a spanking which will necessarily be far beyond anything she’s taken so far.

It’s going to be a scary trip, but I hear it’s one worth taking - and then some.

Apparently, she also wants to learn to ejaculate. Now that will definitely be a less painful experience…

I suffer from gout, which, when it hits, cripples me.

This week has seen a pretty violent attack, with my right knee in almost permanent excruciating agony.

Don’t let anyone tell you a Dom is a Dom because he can’t take the pain he dishes out, OK? I’d put gout up there with any punishment! Oh yeah, and there ain’t no safeword, either.

Well, ranting aside, by Sunday I’d ecovered enough to stand without wincing, so it was with - well, not exactly wild abandon, but cautious care that I sent the kids upstairs to watch Pokemon (Oh wonderful God of Children that can use DVD’s unassisted!), ordered brat over the arm of the sofa and took up my position by her side, one hand firmly in the small of her back, one hand delivering the stingy, sexy spanks that make her virtually squirt with desire.

Flushed with my success at risin from my deathbed, I succumbed to the swelling in my shorts, freed the beast and slid into my very hot little slave.

It was all of five seconds before she was asking permission to cum. Well, what could I do but indulge her? There was a real fear that she’d either flood the lounge or burn my poor cock off if I denied her any longer, so I allowed her her release - and what a release! Five minutes later she was still quivering from the self-same orgasm, resting full length on the sofa arm (we have one of those high-sided suites - the perfect height for spanking and - as it turns out - fucking), feet off the ground, teeth grinding from the effort of keeping quiet, pussy deeply pumped by her rapidly tiring and ecstatically not hurting Master.

Normally I can last for a while, but the situation was just far too much for my poor unwell brain and came deep inside her in just a few minutes. After cleaning up and unlocking the lounge door (Thank the God of locking doors, while you’re at it), she snuggled into the crook of my arm with
joy - and obviously up for more.

Well, I wasn’t done spanking her, even if I’m past the point - at 33 years of age - of being able to repeat a sexual performance without a written invitation and two days’ advance warning, so she found herself blissfully thrown over that armrest and thoroughly spanked quite a few times during the rest of the day.

As it happens, brat actually did manage to bring me to another orgasm, but I blame her red hot little pussy and ass for that. How can she expect me not to cum like mad when she makes such a terrific target and gets so incredibly horny at the drop of a hat…erm, hand?

All in all, a spectacular day - and another step on the journey to truly unleash my brats’ deep dark inner slut.

OK, not so deep, not so particularly dark, but she hates admitting that her pussy tells truths about her desires that she can’t accept in her head.

As a good Master, I’m obliged to help in any way I can, aren’t I?

(Insert evil chuckle here)

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Spot on! Thanks to Kayley at Brat Under Control for the quiz.

Yesterday was grocery day chez Fitz, which means we usually pop along to the local city cenre and keep a shrewd eye out for pervertable implements.

We found a very yummy replacement for the cheapo paddle I’d picked up the other day, which got tried out across brat’s hand and which was duly reported as being “Very nice”, a stupid leopardprint bat which absolutely refused to administer any pain whatsoever and - joy of spanko joys - wooden spoons for a mere 25p (50c for our over the pond friends).

At this point, brat got somewhat…excited, announcing that her pussy was, not to put too fine a point on it, drenched.

It didn’t help when I surreptitiously bent her over in the next aisle and gave her a couple of test whacks with that spoon.

Her mood after that could only be described as euphoric - dancing through the shop singing out “I’m gonna get spanked!” and constantly making horny little yummy noises.

Well, obviously, we made our way home as quickly as possible and pretty much as soon as we’d dried off from the rain and put the most perishable items away, out came mister spoon and over went the brat.

What followed was a very exciting, very juicy, very stingy spanking that left the poor thing with a sensetive bum for the rest of the evening. I say spanking, but really it was about six separate spankings because she’s begun craving that stingy glow that comes from a well abused bottom, so she kept coming back for more, draping herself over the arm of the sofa again and again, wiggling herself at me and practically purring as I held her down and laid in with gusto!

The only problem I’ve encountered with this new-found joy of being spanked is that she’s begun shrugging off her punishment canings. She actually managed to notch up nine demerits recently, something which, just a few days ago would have been devastating and left her on the virge of tears. Instead, she literally shrugged them off. Oh yes, her ass stung like fuck afterwards, but not enough to change her attitude, so after some thought and a little discussion on the subject I decided she was to be punished again, but this time recieving much harder strokes.

Well, that did the job. I’ve found a new way of making her punishments undesirable, which is just the way I want them. To my delight, the punishment park from two days ago is still there today, sitting proudly underneath the one she got yesterday.

I’d begun to think I was being a little lenient on her. Well, now I’m happy. And brat is a happy, bouncy, chastened, cane-fearing slave all over again. All is good in the world!

If I spanked brat every time she wiggled that naughty bottom of hers at me, she’d be finding it hard to sit for a week, I swear.

The thing is, she’s recently been showing signs that not only is she getting used to the cane, but subconsciously desiring it.

A number of times recently I’ve discovered - well, let’s say “Signs of arousal” after a discipline caning. Now, am I supposed to expect more bratty behaviour from her, just so she can feel the bamboo on her backside?

The easy answer, I suppose, is to vary the implement.

To that end, the three strokes she earned this morning were delivered with a nice thick fibreglass tentpole section I happened to have lying around. And quite satisfying it was too. The noise-to-effort ratio (brat’s noise that is, not the cane’s noise!) is significantly less than the bamboo cane, which pleases me no end when you consider that the swats I gave her hut just as much as the bamboo, but with far less effort on my part. Imagine if I’d hit her with the same force? Hmmm….

Sorry, lost me for a moment there.

Anyway, yes, where was I? Oh yes, the fibreglass rod/cane/implement. Very satisfying and also - much to brats’ amazement and shame, thoroughly arousing, too.

Excuse me for a while, I think she may have just been naughty again…ahem

Thursay was the first day in about two months that we’ve had any time totally to ourselves, so as soon as the kids were safely packed off to school, we dropped, barely conscious onto the sofa and resolved to spend the day quietly relaxing.

Things didn’t happen like that, fortunately.

About five minutes into the day, we retired to bed and for a while did nothing but revel in eachothers’ closeness. It’s not often we get to snuggle up together as comfortably and as relaxed as that, so we took advantage of the time we had.

As they do in those situations, one thing led to another and soon we were kissing, fondling, writhing together, slowly getting hotter. She sighed with contented pleasure when I finally bushed her pussy lips, bucking her hips towards my fingers in a completely wanton sign of what she wanted.

Nudging her legs gently apart, I dipped a finger in her wetness and carefully began circling her clitoris, just as she loves it. Soon, she was laid flat on her back, my finger playing with the spo I know will eventually get her off. Her breathing became more urgent and the delicious writhing under my hand became more desperate as her excitement increased.

“Please sir, let me carry on…”

She replaced my fingers with her own and settled into a stroking rhythm which threatened to take her over the edge in seconds. With deep lust in her eyes, she looked up at me, devouring the sight of my enraptured gaze as she played with her own throbbing clit. Suddenly, with a gasp, she let go of her clit and clasped her hands to her chest.

“Keep playing”
“Can I cum, sir? Please?”
“Just play - and don’t stop.”

My order was rewarded with a deep groan as her finger resumed its work. brat may only cum with my permission, but this time I had no intention of giving it to her. However, I wasn’t about to let her stop playing with herself, either. I wanted to see what was more powerful - her need for orgasm, or her desire not to get caned.

In short order, I had my answer. Suddenly her body tensed and she began to beg for permission to cum. I leaned in close to her ear and started to whisper,

“Kep playing, brat. You’re going to cum without permission and when you do I’m going to cane my dirty little girl…”

Well, that fair pushed her over the edge and with wracking gasps and yells, she came on her finger. Again and again.

When her orgasms had subsided, I flipped her over and swiftly delivered a couple of good hard spanks to her writhing arse, then flipped her back onto her back and thrust my hand down between her legs again, to be rewarded with a shuddering aftershock orgasm for my attentions.

For a few minutes, I relished her panting shame at having cum so wantonly, knowing she was going to be punished for it, then I stacked the pillows in the middle of the bed and she obediently lay across them, bum high in the air in order to meet the cane.

With each stroke, I ordered her to repeat a different phrase, each designed to gt her to admit the horny feelings she was in the throes of submitting to:

“I love being a bad girl”
“I want to be caned”
“Being spanked makes me wet”

…each followed by a stroke of the cane, which made her arse dance beautifully.

True to form, though, silly brat had trouble coming to terms with her inner masochist, refusing to say the phrases properly most of the time - and earning herself quite a few extra strokes in the process. She had a problem with one phrase in particular - “I love the pain”

Despite all the evidence to the contrary - the playful attempts to escape my clutches, the giggling submission as each hard stroke fell, the thoroughly evil giveaway squelching that accompanied my massaging of her well whipped bottom - she wouldn’t say the words until I’d landed a number of swift, stingy lashes squarely on her by then well striped buttocks.

Then, just to prove the point, I demonstrated just how much she loved the pain by dipping a couple of fingers into her dripping wet pussy and bringing her to a shattering g-spot orgasm or two almost instantly.

Unable to contain my own lust any longer, I then ordered her onto her knees and sunk my cock into her thoroughly betrayed spanko depths, ploughing away at her and bringing her to shattering climax after climax, each one signalled by the phrase “I’m your slave, master”, which never fails to double the intensity of the following orgasm.

I’m so proud of my dirty, horny, bratty little spanko wench, I really am.

Our play session ended with us both crashing to the bed, dripping in sweat and thoroughly satiated, her still protesting her innocense and me suggesting that maybe now she can admit more freely to those deep dark desires she undoubtedly gets whenever my cane falls across her backside.

She’ll try, apparently…

“So, can you still feel my hand on your arse?”
“Mmmm, more than that…”
“Can you still feel my cock in you?”
“Yep…”
“Oh, you’re so going to get it later,”
“Thank you!”

Rewind eleven hours…

brat works part time as a Holistic Therapist, working either from the clients’ home, or her parents’ living room. Due partly to the end of the school holidays and therefore people having more time and money to spare, she’s been quite busy this past week, which has been good for her bank balance, but terrible for her state of mind.

Not only does she take on other peoples’ worries very easily as a side-effect of her job, but she’s hd to spend some extended time around her father, who is, quite frankly, arsehole enough to make a saint curse.

As a result, she’s been getting more and more stressed out about a number of things and breaking more and more rules on her slave contract.

Yesterday, for example, she managed to wrack up six demerits, each usually equating to a stroke of the cane (we’re just starting out, remember, and I’ve learnt my lesson when it comes to being too hard on her…). I decided to get up close and personal with that naughty bum, so when she bent over the arm of the sofa to recieve her punishment, I decided on a good hard hand spanking. The first couple she managed to stay quiet for, but the next few were accompanied by random ouches and gasps. Music to my ears!

I let up on her before she out and out revolted on me and to my surprise instead of sulking, she bounced to my side and snuggled up on my lap - partly, I suspect, to save sitting on her stinging bottom.

You see, we really haven’t been at this long and I’ve been concentrating on yummy spankings and harsh canings. Well, judging by last night, it really should be the other way around.

“I think I needed that,”
“Reeeally?”
“Mmmm, thank you sir. I’m not so stressed anymore.”

Bliss!

We had a little chat after that and it turns out that, as I’d been suspecting, she’s having trouble admitting to needing a spanking - it apparently comes down to her having problems admiting that she needs a little pain. After a good cuddle and chat, she agreed to be a bit more communicative and not be scared of her darker desires.

Now fast forward to earlier this morning…

Another early start for us all - a school day, obviously, but also brat’s busiest day at work and the most time she has to spend around her father. As a result, the school run was a little fraught.

Halfway through the morning, not long before we left the house, she leaned over to me and whispered quietly in my ear,

“I think I’m going to need a spank later”

Well, OK then.

Half an hour later we were back in the house, kids dropped off, work bag packed. All that needed doing was a little tidying up - or so she thought. When she moved to start clearing the morning detritus away, I stopped her with a word, sat down on the sofa and patted my lap,

“Over you go, brat” (or words to that effect, anyway - I was a bit taken up in the moment)

And over she went, like a good girl.

I’m afraid I laid in just a touch, each whack eliciting a variation on ouch, oof, ahh, that hurts, or most satisfyingly, a well spanked grunting towards the end.

I let up on her after about five minutes, at which point she draped herself around me and slumped in chilled out bliss, squirming - so I thought - because of her bright red arse. A couple of minutes later, though, she looked up at me and with more than a little desperation in her voice, asked permission to adjourn to the bedroom for some - ahem - personal pleasure…

OK, her little OTK session has apparently got her all hot and bothered and her pussy was in need of some attention.

Seems like my tender ministrations on her backside had finally had the desired effect!

After she’d masturbated, proclaiming herself my slave and my toy at the point of orgasm (what could be better, I ask you), I delivered a couple more firm whacks to her writhing bum, massaged a couple of aftershock climaxes out of her, then ordered her onto her knees for some hard and horny fucking.

At which point there was a beep from outside as her lift turned up.

Arse, fuck, bollocks and shite!

We both scrambled downstairs and dressed swiftly. She still had her “Brat 24/7″ badge on that I’d told her to pin on before the school run, and just before leaving the house, she raised her skirt and wiggled it at me, all horny and sassy - so I gave it a couple of whacks to remember me by.

And apparently it’s had the desired result, as the snippet of phone call at the start of this post testifies.

Hopefully we have the next couple of days completely to ourselves, as our youngest finally begins fulltime infants’ school. I may spend the seven free hours each day helping brat to thoroughly explore her inner spanko painslut.

Good idea?