Little Boy

Submitted by Nicolae Parx

LITTLE boy "Have you been a bad boy?" She asked him very quietly but with sternness in my voice that was easy to muster on this cold and damp day.

His teeth clenched and his neck stiffened. It was so easy to read his body language that she almost felt the game wasn't fair. And it wasn't - she knew all about him even before she met him. He knew nothing about her, except the voice he'd heard and the directions he'd followed for those 60 interminable days prior to this one. She don't play fair; it's more fun for her that way.

She ran her nails down his back and he just sat there, in a straight chair, wondering and worrying what she'd do next. He'd waited all his life for this, he wrote so many times, and she love taking virgins who have been wanting her and simply not knowing that it is her that they want. As he sat there, she continued running her nails across his shirt and watched his eyes clench tighter.

After instructing him to sit in the chair facing the window and leave the door open, she walked in quietly and stood behind him. The blindfold fit snugly over his eyes and even after those 60 days of waiting and anticipating, he still didn't know what she looked like. But he knew her voice.

"You've been a bad boy," she switched to a declarative mode. His head nodded almost imperceptibly and she's not sure he even knew he had made the motion. Grabbing his shoulder, she spun him toward her and she could feel him strain to see her, even through the blindfold. Her fingers grasped his chin as she pulled his face within inches of her own.

"Bad, bad boy," she admonished in her sternest voice. Under her fingers, his face was wet with sweat and she could hear his breathing quicken. she knew that if she had him drop his pants, he'd be hard as a rock. There would be time for that, she reminded herself. He was hers for 3 hours and she was going to fulfill a lifetime's worth of his waiting into 180 blissful minutes. Tomorrow, he'd remember where he'd been today.

Pinching his ear between two fingers, she lifted him from the chair.

"I punish bad little boys," she cooed into an ear that burned from both her fingers and her voice. "I'm going to have to punish you," she continued. "Bad boys need to be spanked, don't they?"

It was fun to watch him struggle for those few seconds as to whether or not to respond to her. She hadn't given him explicit instructions on what to say or whether or not to say anything. One of her joys is watching submissives struggle with themselves and reveal so much of their souls to her through the process.

He grunted. She took it as a 'yes.'

"March over here to my desk," she instructed as she dragged him

by his ear to the closest table. "Bend over," she spat out as she pushed his back toward the wooden top. His hands rushed to grab his weight and keep his face from falling directly onto the tabletop.

"Not so fast," she warned him. "Open your jeans first."

Without so much as a whimper, he obeyed and within seconds his jeans were unbuttoned and his hands returned to the tabletop. She watched him shiver with fear and anticipation. After all, waiting for 45 years is a long time. As his shoulders twitched and his chest heaved and his lips sucked in a sharp breath, she saw his legs tremble. He was perfect - scared to death and uncontrollably excited at the same time.

She stood next to him so he could smell her perfume and feel her presence.

"Pull your pants down, little boy," She ordered. "Let everyone see what happens to bad little boys. Do it now - or I'll do it for you."

With one hand balancing himself on the table, he struggled to loosen his jeans from his hips. First one side slid down a little, then the other. It was an agonizingly slow process that she allowed to continue until she felt her lips curl up in a tight smile.

Moving her hand to his waist, which was now slightly exposed, she allowed her fingers to dance on his skin. His reaction was immediate. He gasped for air.

After a lifetime of waiting and 60 days of intense long-distance learning, her touch against his skin was more than he could stand. She knew that if she exposed him, she'd see a fully-erect penis, dripping with eagerness and expectancy. The only thing that mattered was how long she wanted to wait.

She leaned closer to his ear as she pulled the zipper down.

"Little boy, GET YOUR PANTS DOWN!" she hissed into his hot and red ear.

At that moment, it occurred to him that he owned two hands. Grabbing the open waistband, he pulled his jeans down to his ankles and stood awkwardly in front of her. He simply didn't know what to do next.

Walking around him, she inspected him from all sides. Without speaking a word, he desperately tried to determine where she was, yet was too excited and scared to move a muscle. She kept circling him, saying nothing, but watching every move his chest made as he inhaled and exhaled. She studied his stomach as it wrenched in and out with his labored breathing. Forty-five years is a very long time to wait.

Finally, she stopped right behind him and gave him a final instruction.

"Bend over," she demanded. "Bad little boys need to be spanked soundly."

Her rattan cane is an old friend. What she like most about it is the sound it makes as it cuts through the air and the ominous whistle's effect on bad little boys. She wanted him to hear it before he felt it and she wanted him to feel it as it landed its first blow. After all, he had waited for a very long time. He deserved to have all his senses filled.

She swung it once or twice and watched his face contort with excitement and fear. Real fear can be felt, she believe, and what he showed her was gut-level terror. It tasted delicious as she allowed the image to invade her. He didn't dread the punishment; at least, not yet. He had waited too long to taste the cane against his ass.

"Bad little boy!" she scolded and landed the cane across his right cheek.

He gasped, shook and steadied himself on the table. But she didn't want him to think that little boys were caned only once. Sizing up his left cheek, she landed an equal blow to that side. He gasped again, steadied himself and she watched his legs quiver even more dramatically.

"How many strokes does the bad little boy deserve?" she asked and waited for an answer. Again he struggled with himself, palpably unsure of whether she expected verbalization or blind, silent obedience. she hoped he made the right choice.

"Ten," he whispered. Apparently, he'd been reading too many stories. It's always 'ten.'

"Six," she corrected him. "Now, tell me why you are being caned."

She was pushing him. With a lifetime of waiting finally over, she forced him to talk to her and participate in his fantasy. Swinging the cane and listening to its siren song, she watched him flinch in terror as she neared his ass. Yet he knew that she would not land another blow until he answered her demand.

"Why - are - you - being - caned?" she dropped each word carefully.

"I was a bad boy," he tried to comply. For that effort, she landed two full blows across both cheeks. A nice red welt formed from the final blow and watching it rise on his white skin intrigued her. For a moment, she forgot that he hadn't fully answered her question. His hoarse voice regained her attention.

"I was a very bad boy," his lips formed each word with great effort.

"You were a bad LITTLE boy," she corrected him and landed three more equally timed blows against his ass. Each left a momentary impression. She wasn't even trying hard yet. There was so much more to come.

He nodded up and down ferociously as if shouting silently in response to her rhetorical statement. She grabbed his hair and pulled his head up. With her face perilously close to his own, she repeated her statement.

"You were a BAD LITTLE boy!" He nodded, but her fingers held fast. Each nod brought a new illustration of anguish to his face. she dropped her handful of hair and his arms caught him before his face splattered against the table.

It was time to bring him what he so desperately craved. It was time for her to have a little fun. What's a caning without a birch rod?

"You will receive 12 strokes of birch," she intoned and watched his back stiffen with expectancy. Without anymore warning than that, she brought the birch full bear on his ass. He howled with pain and shook with pleasure. Another blow graced his backside and another and yet another. In swift succession, he withstood 6 medium blows of stiff birch and his ass glowed red to prove it.

Rubbing his ass with gentle fingers, she felt him shiver with eagerness. When her nails raked the welts, he groaned with a guttural groan.

"I think you're enjoying this too much," she informed him. "Stand up," she commanded and he straightened immediately, trying in vain to face her when he still wasn't sure exactly where she was standing.

The poor little boy had been playing with homemade toys for so long, she thought he'd have more fun with real ones. Using adjustable nipple clips, she grabbed as much of his nipple as possible and tightened the clip on his left chest. She tightened it slowly and watched his lips part and his mouth drop open. Repeating the action on the other side, he was soon sporting clips that were pressing his flesh tightly in their rubber-tipped grip.

"You'd like to see real clips?" she asked. His head nodded feverishly as the anonymity of the afternoon promised to soon be over.

"Soon," she promised and watched him reel from the verbal blow.

"Open your mouth," she ordered, bent his head down and placed the chain between his teeth. "If you let go, I'll punish you again," she warned. Taking his chin in her hand, she lifted his head until the clips strained and pulled his nipples mercilessly from his chest.

"Higher," she ordered.

And without touching his chin, he lifted his head higher and straighter. What had been merciless was now almost intolerable and his visceral groan left no doubt in her mind that the intensity of the pain was washing throughout his body. He was learning how to overcome it, to allow it, to accept it. And he knew why he was taking it.

She kicked his legs slightly apart, as far as the pile of jeans around his ankles would allow. Using her little leather penis paddle, she rubbed the purple skin of his penis in long slow motions. His groans became moans and his mind yielded to his body. He wanted more - much more.

she swung the little paddle back and let it land soundly on the sweet spot under his balls. He jumped and yelped simultaneously. He was so far into his headspace that she had to reach out and steady him from tripping over his jeans. After he was balanced, she did it again.

It was time for him to understand the difference between wanting and having. With short deliberate strokes, she punished his testicles and penis over and over again until she was certain he was no longer capable of counting. she wanted him to stop thinking; to react; to take it all in and make it work for him. One way or another, she was going to make that happen.

There was one more thing she had to do.

"It's time," she announced and removed his blindfold. she knew he couldn't focus right away, but seeing clearly wasn't what she was after. Turning him toward the table again, she repeated her earlier admonition.

"You're a bad little boy," she spoke clearly and plainly and wailed the leather strap across his cherry-red asscheeks. Varying the rhythm and heaviness of her strokes, she brought 45 years of wanting to his eager backside and waited patiently for what she knew was going to happen.

With the chain from the nipple clips still in his teeth, she reached under his chest and jerked them loose from his skin. With a gleeful eagerness that surprised even her, She massaged his aching nipples unpityingly. After stopping while he caught his breath, she did it again.

With his ass red and welted, his nipples sore and aching, she stood him up to face her. And then she looked for what she knew she'd see.

Tears. Streaming down his face.

"Cry, little boy," she instructed him.

Forty-five years' of wanting rushed from the depths of his body and his soul. He sobbed as she held his head, rubbed his back and shoulders and soothed his untamed spirit. Marked, red and aching, she gave his body back to him, but she kept a small piece of his soul.

Until next time. When his virgin ass would also be hers. she just love virgins.