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Charlotte stands there with the paddle in her hands. She caresses it slowly, gliding a hand along the long shaft, rhythmically moving her slender fingers up and down. The paddle has a solid rubber grip, shaped perfectly to fit her hand. It is the paddle itself that makes Jon’s breath catch. It is about eight inches long and a good hand width across. There are holes dotted along it, holes which Charlotte keeps fingering between her caresses. Jon looks at the paddle with fear and excitement. He looks away from it, from Charlotte. He looks down at himself, sodden in piss, his tongue is rancid and furry, covered in piss and dust and filth.
“You are disgusting. Stand up. Remove your clothes. Put them in the washing machine. Then go and wash that filth from your body, and make sure you clean your teeth. You stink, you disgusting boy, you do not deserve to be in my presence.”
The instructions are like a gut punch, he is like this because she told him to be, he doesn’t understand.
“Yes, ma’am, sorry ma’am”
“Good boy, leave the bathroom door unlocked.”
He did as he was told. As he walked through the house he felt ashamed of what he could smell and taste on himself, but his cock kept twitching in anticipation. His pulse raced and he felt close to the edge. He didn’t know what of, but an abyss was just there waiting for him.
The hot water ran down his back and across his face, warm and comforting. He seemed to have been in there forever and had almost forgotten her when the door opened. His body tensed.
“Feeling better, boy?”
“Yes, much, thank you”
“Good.”
Charlotte bought a little foldaway stool with her. She unfolded it, saying nothing. She sat on it, directly in front of Jon as he stood in the shower. The paddle was placed across her lap, looming over the room.
By now, the water was off and Jon was getting cold.
“Now, we must start your punishment.”
Jon’s stomach dropped, he felt sick wondering what counts as punishment if the past three hours didn’t.
“First, you pathetically inept idiot, you need to be reminded of the importance of correct spelling and punctuation. Face the wall. Put your left hand against it. With your right hand I want you to spank your arse. You must count as you do so.”
Jon looked at her a little dazed, perhaps confused, and disbelieving.
“Look at me like that again, and you will regret it. Now begin.”
Her voice was stern and full of something not quite anger, but definitely irritation, maybe even boredom? Could that be possible?
His hand lifted and made contact with his arse, it was a fairly delicate flat-handed SMACK
“One”
SMACK
“Two”
SMACK
“Three”
It felt ridiculous and silly to be doing this. Jon could barely feel it and it was more than a bit embarrassing.
“Stop! You aren’t even trying. Pa-The-Tic. Here, take this brush. You are not leaving that shower until your arse cheeks are red and sore. Spank yourself hard, in very quick succession. Ten times on each cheek.”
The hairbrush was a plastic thing with a flat oval back about the size of Jon’s hand. He raised his arm; the angle was awkward, adding to the discomfort. He bought the brush down hard. “Fuck,” he muttered, surprised at how hard it stung, the water had softened his skin and the remaining droplets enhanced the sensation. “One, Two, Three… Nine, Ten.”
“Again!”
Again he spanked himself; it was stinging now, the impact heating up his buttocks and making his cock twitch appreciatively.
“Now your thighs. Make it twenty each side, and hit harder. I know how hard you can hit and you are being easy on yourself. Cowardly little boy, do not make me punish you for failing such a simple task.”
It was impossible for Jon to use the full force of his strength at this angle. The shower was still wet and slippery beneath his feet and his large muscles were developed for strength, not for flexibility. He had to concentrate so hard to aim and stay upright that he hadn’t been able to hit hard. He felt compelled to try harder. The embarrassment had given way to a compulsion, a deep need to do what his mistress (oh, is she really that, already?) commanded. He used all the force he could muster and landed a strike on his thigh.
“Fuu…One”
He wasn’t expecting the searing pain the brush would cause, he clearly didn’t know his own strength, even in this impossible situation.
“Two”
“Three”
“Four”
By the time he had gotten to fifteen on the first thigh, it was agony, his leg was burning and he was making pathetic whimpering noises.
“hnngh….Sixteen”
He started to slow down, his breath was shaking, his thighs were starting to wobble. All the time his back was facing his mistress and she wasn’t saying a thing.
“Seventeen”
At the eighteenth Jon gave a little squeak. The nineteenth hurt so much he bit down and caught his lip making his eyes water. Finally, it was the twentieth strike on the first leg. His arm was starting to ache now, it wasn't used to making this kind of twisted movement. He bought the brush down against his thigh, right on top of the burning muscle he had already pounded. His mind screamed and yelled at him to stop. The thought of doing this all over again made his eyes water but his cock throb.
“Enough! You did that better than expected. Well done, you are relieved of the duties for the other thigh. We shall leave it blemish free.” Jon felt disappointment, he wanted and needed more punishment, but he felt proud about doing so well and excited about the unspoken “for now”.
“Get out of the shower.”
As he did so, he caught himself in the mirror. Bruises were forming on his thigh, he felt vaguely sick, proud, and desperately aroused. Pre-cum leaked from his cock as he gave in to the heady, confusing mess of feelings.
“On your bed you will find what I want you to wear. Put it on.” Charlotte held the paddle as she said this; she stretched her arm out. Jon tensed; his throat constricted expecting to be hit. Instead, the paddle gently caressed the bruises on his thigh, as though the paddle were a soft cushion easing his discomfort. He shocked himself by feeling desire and want so great he groaned and heard himself beg, “Please, ma’am, please.”
Charlotte chuckled, barely audible.
“Go, get dressed.”
On the bed was an item made of black lace. Jon felt confused, his sense of touch heightened, his body electric, his mind lost. He put the lingerie on and stood in the mirror. He saw himself in a skin tight negligee with long sleeves. He could just make out his nipples through the flowery lacy pattern. It came just beneath his arse and cock. The bruises on his thigh visible. He saw Charlotte in the mirror behind him and turned around.
Charlotte stood before him, the paddle on the bed behind her and in one hand she held what looked like a belt and in the other, a huge rubber cock.
Jon’s own cock responded, tenting the lace, rock hard, and dying to be touched.
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The next part of
the story is here 
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