I am a 60 year old man who likes to dress in panties, bra and stockings and be punished. When this happens I call myself ‘Sarah’. I know that I can’t live without this: after a while without punishment I can’t think of anything else, and my work and everything else I do will be neglected until the need is dealt with.
This was my second visit to Miss Kendal. The first was magnificent and I left with a feeling of gratitude and complete trust in her. This time I didn’t want to say anything about what I wanted: I would simply submit, and she would do whatever she wanted. I was influenced by a blog post that I had read: how can it be true submission if I am giving her a wish list?
Miss Kendal told me to go upstairs and put on the lingerie she had chosen for me. I would have ten minutes to dress and wait hands on head for her in the middle of the room. I went upstairs, stripped, and put on first the black and silver panties with a lacy edging, the matching bra and then saw to my dismay that the stockings had seams. On my first visit I had disappointed Miss Kendal by not getting my seams straight, and I had been punished accordingly. This time I tried as hard as I could in the mirror, but however much I adjusted them they would not seem to stay straight.
I waited as ordered. Finally I heard footsteps on the stairs and Miss Kendal entered. At first, she did not say a word, but walked around me inspecting carefully. I won’t say exactly how, but in a short time she has reduced me to a pathetic, quivering wreck without even touching me, using nothing more than her calm voice and some simple commands that I have the greatest difficulty in carrying out.
I have never really dared to see myself as more than an overweight man dressed in lingerie and beaten, but as Miss Kendal gets more and more into my head I start seeing myself as the ‘Sarah’ I want to be. But how can I be the person I dream of when I let her down so often by not being able to follow simple orders correctly? She tells me that she will not address me as a woman, but as a girl, because women are strong whereas girls still have a lot to learn. I have shown that I am not strong enough, but with her help I could become stronger.
Finally, Miss Kendal orders me over her knee. I have visited disciplinarians in the past who boast how hard their hand spanking is, but in fact I have never considered hand spanking as more than a little warm up. There is a sensual element too, because you can feel the warmth of the disciplinarian’s thighs under your own. But Miss Kendal spanks very, very hard. I think she could break me with hand spanking alone. To this she adds a little stingy tawse, that has me really yelping and gives me such a sinking feeling: already I am wondering how I can take much more. I am already feeling rather desperate when she sends me to the corner to contemplate my predicament. She adds to my trepidation by pointing out that the punishment has hardly started.
After some corner time, I am ordered over the vaulting horse for more punishment. My panties are pulled down. I can’t see what she is using, but I think some kind of paddle and then a strap. Miss Kendal is very calm, but the pain is building more and more. I am consciously trying to do well for her, not to let her down. At the same time, I feel that she will not stop until she has taken me to my limits and broken me. She tends to apply strokes in sixes or twelves (I can’t stop counting in my mind, even when not ordered to count aloud), I have no idea know how long this will go on for. Even if she said I had to take 50 or a hundred, there would be an end in sight, but Miss Kendal takes me to my limit, and then calmly and firmly comes back for more, and then more, until the only end will be when I am broken and sobbing.
Finally, I am sent back to the corner. My bottom is absolutely on fire. Miss Kendal announces that I will receive 36 with the heavy tawse on my bare bottom. She orders me to fetch it, and I have to stand holding it for five minutes before presenting it to her and asking her to beat me with it. She is not satisfied with the way I ask, and I have to ask again and again. Finally she accepts the tawse and tells me to get into position over the horse. Will this be the end? I have to count the strokes aloud. It isn’t easy, but I get through the first 12. 12 more. A lot harder this time. I manage to get to 24. My bottom is on fire, but there are only 12 more. Surely I can take 12? She says “I have decided to save the last 12 for later.” And I hear her swishing a whippy cane. Oh no.
The cane comes fast. Not hard strokes, but 5 or 6 together, one quickly after the other. Soon I am pressed up against the horse as hard as I can, as if I can get away from the cane. Of course I can’t. It insists. She insists. Over and over again until I can only squirm and squeal. I want to beg but I know it will do no good. I am totally in Miss Kendal’s power, totally at her mercy. I feel the tears come. She places her hand encouragingly on my shoulder and says I am doing well, but the cane does not stop. It goes on and on until I am nothing but the pain in my vulnerable, chastised bottom. When I am broken, I receive the final 12 with the tawse in true, utter submission. And then Miss Kendal puts her arms around me and we can laugh and hug in shared joy and relief. It is over, for this time.
I see no contradiction between the encouragement and support I felt from Miss Kendal and the fact that I knew that she would show no mercy if I begged her to stop. She would complete the punishment, irrespective of my wishes, and I had to take it. Now, in retrospect, I feel better for it, and also a little proud that with her help I was able to bear it. At the time I went through emotions of hoping it was nearly over, wanting to plead, desperation, and finally acceptance that she would administer and I would submit. Although I regard myself as a ‘submissive’, this is one of the very few times I have felt that I truly submitted, where my will was nothing and Miss Kendal was everything. When I next report to her, I know it will not be easy. I will have to go on a journey of her choosing, which I have no say in, but which I have submitted to willingly. And the curious thing is that it is only through giving up every right to decide anything that I can feel truly free. Thank you Miss Kendal, for being there for me, for your intelligence and your understanding.