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By (user no longer on site) OP
10 weeks ago
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Chapter 2 was the breakthrough where Princess met the ginger brickie who flipped the switch from caution to addiction.
Now Chapter 3 is more quieter on the surface but hit me in a different way: the morning that Princess met “Sir” and came home truly contrite, warm, fuzzy… and beautifully marked.
She’d been craving structure, someone older, experienced, who could take full control without hesitation. Sir fit the bill: calm, authoritative, BDSM-savvy. She has met him before I came on the scene so she knows he’s the real deal. Mid-morning slot at our place. She dressed like his perfect little secretary: blouse, pencil skirt, heels and texted me on the way:
“Look like a fucking secretary I need to find stockings or I'm in trouble”
I felt that familiar twist: pride that she was brave enough to step into this, a flicker of nerves (would he push too far?), and that deep possessive heat knowing she’d return to me changed.
The messages started rolling in after:
“...Slipper, strap and cane used, but the slipper was awful...”
“...I think i took about 3 sets of 6 with everything plus lots of hand spanking over the chair...”
“...He strapped my hands too which I've never had before...”
“...We have a safe word but I didn't use it...”
“...Think thats the first time I've genuinely been contrite from a spanking...”
“...I got quite the fucking lecture and I got extras for talking back and giggling...”
“...I enjoyed that and now all warm and fuzzy now...”
Every text landed like a punch to my stomach but in the best way. She was being lectured, punished, corrected… and she was loving it. The contrition, the fuzzy afterglow, the fact she didn’t safe worded even when it hurt told me everything. She felt safe enough to let go completely.
Then the photos arrived.
Her ass and thighs striped with perfect cane lines, all red, raised and symmetrical. The one where the marks are clearest, legs slightly parted, still glistening from the session… I stared at it for a full minute at work, cock throbbing, heart racing. My Princess, my strong, independent, filthy girl, had been taken apart and put back together by someone else’s hand. And she’d come out softer, sweeter, more mine than ever.
When I saw her eventually, she was different. Not wrecked like after a pounding, but… surrendered. Warm. Fuzzy. Eyes glassy in the best way. I pulled her straight into my arms, kissed her forehead, felt the heat radiating from her skin. We didn’t speak much at first. I just held her, ran my fingers lightly over the marks, whispered how proud I was. Then I took her to bed, slow at first, gentle, tracing every line Sir left, then harder, deeper, reclaiming every inch while she moaned into my neck: “He made me so good for you.”
That reclaim was different too. Tender and fierce at once. I tasted her submission, felt how pliant she was, how open. She came whispering “I’m yours” and I nearly lost it right there. Afterward we lay tangled, her head on my chest, and she told me every detail: the lecture that made her blush, the giggles that earned extras, the slipper that stung worse than the cane, the way being put across his knee made her feel small.
This one wasn’t just about sex. It was correction, care, and trust. She needed to be put in her place so she could come back to me even stronger. And I needed to see her surrender so completely, knowing she’d always choose me after.
We’re still buzzing from it. The marks are fading, but the memory isn’t. She keeps looking at that photo of the cane lines and smiling shyly. Round two with more Disciplinary Doms is already being discussed.
Stay wicked,
The Devil & his perfectly corrected Princess
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