The dimly lit room was calm, silent, and perfectly arranged—the way I liked it. The wooden stool sat in the center of the room, unremarkable in its simplicity, but it was all the more powerful for what it represented. I crossed my stocking clad legs in my chair, the sharp point of my Louboutin heels brushing against the wooden floor with a soft click. My hair, a striking shade of deep red, fell in waves over my shoulder. I had always found the contrast of my vibrant hair against the dark tones of the room pleasing. Today was no different.
I glanced at J, who knelt on the stool, stripped of his garments, and vulnerable in every possible sense. His body was on display, bare and tense, as he knelt upright with his hands on his head, fingers interlaced just as I had instructed. His knees pressed against the hard surface of the stool, his muscles already beginning to show signs of strain. He was a picture of submission, and it pleased and aroused me to see how tense and afraid he was.
I held my tools in my hands—a smooth wooden ruler in my right and a worn leather strap in my left. The weight of them was familiar and comforting, symbols of the power I wielded in this space. J had violated one of our cardinal rules and had pleasured himself. He had compounded the transgression by attempting to hide it and even lie about it, but I can see right through him. Now, he needed to be corrected.
“You understand why you’re here, J?” I asked, my voice quiet but firm. I didn’t need to raise it; my authority was already well established.
“Yes, Miss M,” he replied, his voice steady despite the vulnerability of his position. The way he addressed me was important, a reminder of the dynamic we shared.
I nodded approvingly and leaned back in my chair, my eyes never leaving him. He had been instructed to remain perfectly still, his hands locked on his head, his posture rigid, eyes locked on me. The position, while seemingly simple, would become unbearable soon enough. The room was silent except for the faint sound of my heel tapping rhythmically against the floor. The subtle reminder of my presence and the tools in my hands filled the air with a tense, expectant energy, and I knew the effect of looking at my stockinged legs and heels would have on him.
Time passed slowly, as it always did during these sessions. I watched J carefully, observing the slight tremors in his muscles as the strain began to set in. His breathing was slow but deep, and I could see the effort it took for him to maintain his composure. His body, though disciplined, was not immune to its own reactions.
I could see it happening before he even realized. The subtle twitch, the way his breathing quickened just slightly—it was a telltale sign. His member had begun to stir, rising despite his best efforts. He was fighting it, but his body was betraying him, and I noticed immediately.
“Ah,” I said softly, my voice cutting through the silence. “We seem to have a little problem, don’t we, J? Your cock is being unruly again!”
His face flushed with heat, a deep red that spread across his cheeks and down his neck. He struggled to suppress his arousal, but it was too late. His body had already given in.
“Yes, Miss M,” he replied, his voice barely above a whisper. He knew what was coming next, and I could see the tension ripple through him.
I stood from my chair, my Louboutin heels making a sharp sound against the wooden floor as I approached him. Each step was measured, deliberate, heightening the anticipation that hung heavy in the air. Kneeling beside him, I placed the wooden ruler gently against his thigh, the cool wood a stark contrast to the heat of his skin.
“You know the rules, J,” I said, my voice calm but firm. “If you cannot control yourself, I will help you.”
“Yes, Miss M, as you wish Miss M” he whispered, the weight of his devotion heavy in his words.
Without hesitation, I lifted the ruler and brought it down in a swift, sharp strike against his member. He winced, his body tensing, but he didn’t move—not yet. His resolve was admirable, but I wasn’t finished. The ruler struck again, a controlled stroke that echoed in the room, sending a clear message.
I watched as his body responded, as his arousal began to subside under the blows from the ruler. His breathing steadied, and slowly, the tension in his muscles eased.
Satisfied, I stood and returned to my chair, crossing my legs once more and resting the ruler on my knee. “Better,” I said with a hint of approval in my voice. “But we’re not done yet.”
J’s body was trembling slightly now, his muscles straining from the effort of holding his position. I could see the fatigue beginning to set in, but I also knew he wouldn’t give up easily. He was determined to avoid disappointing me.
“Hold your position, J,” I instructed, watching him closely.
He tried, he really did, but I could see it in the way his hands began to slip, the slight shifting of his weight as he sought relief from the discomfort. His body was betraying him again.
The leather strap was in my hand before he could correct himself. “Hands,” I said sharply, my voice cutting through his thoughts.
His hands flew back to their proper place on his head, but it was too late. He had broken the rules.
I stood once more, walking around to stand behind him. His back was straight, his body still, but I knew he was bracing for what was to come. The first crack of the strap against his bare backside was sharp, but controlled. He inhaled sharply but didn’t move, just as he had been trained.
“Stay still,” I reminded him.
Another strike followed, then another. The sound of the leather against his skin filled the room, each strike firm and precise. This was about discipline, not punishment for its own sake. I could see the tension in his muscles, the way he fought to remain still despite the pain.
After several strikes, I returned to my chair. J had held his position, and I was pleased with his resilience. His body trembled with the effort, a tear ran down his face, but he had endured the first round.
“Well done,” I said softly, watching as he lowered his hands from his head.
“Who said you could lower your arms now. Hands! Eyes, on me!" He immediately complied as I again crossed my legs and dangled my heel and waited for his member to twitch and rise. It always amazes me that the poor thing knows the ruler is coming and it still can't control itself.
So the cycles continued, alternating ruler strikes to address his erections and crop strikes to address his lack of body control.
One cycle. A second. A third. A fourth and a fifth.
Finally I deemed he had enough. "You may put your arms down," I told him gently. He did so, his shoulders sagging in relief. His body was tired, his cock head and ass welted and red, but he had done what was required of him.
I stood once more, approaching him, my demeanor now gentler. Placing a hand on his shoulder, I offered him a quiet smile. “You did well, J,” I said, my voice soft. “It’s over now.”
“Yes, Miss M,” he replied, his voice filled with gratitude and relief.
I helped him to his feet, his body still trembling from the ordeal. His teary eyes met mine, and in that moment, there was a shared understanding. Through this correction, our bond had grown deeper and stronger.
“I think you have learned your lesson. Go and get dressed,” I instructed, my voice gentle. “You’ve earned some rest.”
As he gathered his clothing, I watched him for a moment longer, feeling a quiet sense of pride at the devotion and willingness to please he had for me. Though, I knew that before long his unruly cock would lead him right back to this place for more delicious correction.
I licked my lips at the thought.
