Hand, IIIt’s that time again… that awful time…“Ashley?” Mrs. Taylor
Hand, IIIt’s that time again… that awful time…“Ashley?” Mrs. Taylor asks… “Have you been good?”She knows I haven’t be ‘good’ – I’m never ‘good’! Touching, teasing, edging, climaxing… guilty, guilty, guilty. My panties are soaked right now!“Kneel, please…”I do as she says, holding my right hand out flat, palm up. It’s shaking so I grip my wrist with my other hand.“Very good…” she says, and One… Two… Three… I’m not made to count aloud – I don’t know that I could“Switch?” is all she says.I do, not gripping my wrist as tightly this time since my right palm is burning like mad and I can barely close my fingers. Tears stream down my face and my chin is on my chest. Slowly I raise it…One… Two… Three… my mind screams at the pain but all that comes out of my mouth is a high, keening sound… my tears double and I start to sob…I’m holding my right wrist – very loosely – in my left again but I don’t have it raised…“Please…” I beg.“Were you good?” she asks. So I raise my hand.One… Two… Three…“And switch…” As if I’ve forgotten. Shaking, sobbing, not even knowing what to plead or promise…One… Two… Three…I want to curl up in a ball… or crawl away… or both, somehow… my hands are between my knees, my head almost on the floor. My thighs are shaking, my buttocks sore from being clenched so tightly.She waits. Slowly, inch by inch I comply, despite knowing what the result will be…One… Two… Three…How? How can these be harder? Isn’t it enough that my hands burn so badly that I can’t even think? But mechanically my left palm rises.One… Two… Three…I can’t stay silent, blubbering pleas, apologies, promises, maybe – who can tell? My bottom’s resting on my heels, my face is one big mess…“I’ve been good!” I want to lie.She reaches out for my hand – the one around my wrist (barely!) and covers it in her own, raising my arm for me.One… Two… Three…I collapse, I’m hanging from her hand, rolling on the floor, desperate to press my hand between my legs (ironic, huh?) – anything to stop the burning stripes of the tawse. Calmly, it seems to me, she shifts her grip to expose my palm. I know what’s coming, know I can’t bear it, but I don’t – I can’t – resist.One… Two… Three…“Let that be a lesson to you,” she says and walks off into the living room. -- source link