#791) My Sad Panties in My Friendly Corner

I must be losing my mind…! I should tell this to Jake as proof that he’s punished me far too much. But I’d swear that my panties look so sad at my ankles with nothing to hold or hug, but nowhere near as forlorn as my poor paddled bottom staring out at everyone from my friendly corner. It is officially “my corner” because Jake has punished me so much recently. I practically live here, so I’ve made friends with it, we talk, it consoles me. Yep, anthropomorphizing underwear and architectural features screams that I’m losing it!
“Shirley,” my lover, Jake, calls to me, thereby making fun of my most recent hair-do (he thinks that my permanent’s curls look like Shirley Temple’s), “come here.”
I shuffle over to him in the center of the room where he stands, those woe begotten panties making me take only small, mincing steps. But I get there. That’s when I see that Jake has a thick leather strap in hand.
“Haven’t I had enough already?” I ask, but it doesn’t come out as a polite question, more of an attitudinal argument.
“That. That right there shows me that you haven’t, sweetheart,” he says as he forces me to bend over. “That is neither the words or the tone of a contrite little submissive…”
Crack! Thick leather comes into high velocity contact with already sore fanny flesh.
“Ow! Jake, honey, I think I’m losing my sanity…”
Crack!
“OW!”
“No, darling, that’s you losing your pissy attitude. Bend over further.”
I obey. My butt was already throbbing from the wooden paddle, now it absolutely burns.
“How many strokes am I to get?”
“As many as it takes… You see, you should be saying things like, ‘I’m so sorry! I promise to try to do better!’ But instead, you only care about the consequences, not the results. Why don’t you count these out loud…”
CRACK!
“OWIE! Four!”
“That was your third stroke.”
“It feels like a thousand!”
“Pay closer attention, young lady. We’ll start over from the beginning…”
CRACK!
“Um! Thank you, one, sir! May I have another?”
“That’s better! Yes!”
CRACK!
“Umpf! Thank you, sir, two… another?”
Jake gave me a baker’s dozen of thirteen strap strokes. But he didn’t send me to my pal the corner. He fucked me from behind, kneading my abused ass, plowing me hard, right where we stood. I always cum so easily, so frequently after he’s punished me, I don’t know why. I felt him climax and groan simultaneous with the baby’s cry from his crib. He was awake for his feeding.
Jake didn’t let me go right away. He continued rubbing my ass as his cock shrunk and sputtered. “God, Suzy, we do that so well!”
“What, fuck?” I asked, and he nodded. “What, you don’t call me Shirley when we’re fucking? Does that make you feel like a child-molester?”
Jake gave me several hard hand swats for my surly lip, knowing that his job was not yet done. It would never be done.

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