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When I walked into the kitchen you dutifully knelt. Unable to put your arms behind your back because of the shackles, your arms got stuck at your sides, with the elbows out like you were doing the chicken dance. I couldn’t help but laugh a little.

“You can just fold your arms in front for now, as long as your nipples are showing.”

I let you hang there for a while, kneeling. I couldn’t believe that we had come so far down this rabbit hole in only a day. Naked, shackled, kneeling on the kitchen floor with your mouth wide open. Waiting for my next orders. Waiting to suck my cock. Waiting to be severely punished. You were willing to give me total control, and we both felt the electricity of that fact.

I left you kneeling there and went to get my ropes from my bag upstairs. When I returned you hadn’t moved a bit. I pulled out a chair and sat facing you, placing the ropes on the table.

“Like we talked about in the car, the goal of this punishment is precisely not to be pleasurable. I appreciate that you have consented to this, when you could have chosen not to. I truly treasure that. Now, the way I see it, your disobedience has two roots. The first is that you don’t yet fully trust me as your dominant, and that’s normal, this is new. That I can only fix by proving myself over time. I can forgive you that. The second root cause is also common in new D/s relationships. You’re grasping around for the boundaries of your new submission. This I cannot accept. You need to know that the rules are firm. I need you to obey, without deliberation, or hesitation.”

I explained to you the first part of your punishment. For the rest of the day, you were only to sit on the floor, not a chair, not the couch. You might get a chance to sleep in the bed tonight, but you might not. That would depend on how you acted. I know you hate walking around even indoors barefoot, so in addition to being kept naked, your slippers were also off limits until the morning. I reminded you of last night when, in the throes of passion, you had called me ‘sir’. For the rest of the day I ordered you to do that as well. Lastly you would not be allowed to come. You agreed to these terms.

“But, what did you mean that was only the first part?”

“Ahem?”

“I’m sorry sir. What did you mean that was only the first part, sir?” Saying it like that didn’t feel anywhere near as sexy right then as it did the night before. But you accepted it all the same, we had both mutually agreed on the need for punishment, and that punishment wasn’t meant to be fun. I tapped your head, grabbed my ropes, then told you to follow me out back.

The backyard was far more secluded than even the front. No nosy neighbors to see or hear anything, even from the driveway of the house you wouldn’t see it. It was surrounded on all sides by giant maples and oaks, each in different stages of changing to their fall colors. Once we had descended from the porch to the thick grass lawn, a sadistic thought occurred to me.

“I want you to crawl on your hands and knees.”

“But with these cuffs on my wrists and ankles I can barely walk as it is, sir.”

“Take your time, I’ll wait for you.” You weren’t sure how much more humiliating it could get. It was one thing to be naked and have me play with your asshole, or even take a spanking that turned out to be much longer than you had bargained for. Sure, that’s some kinky games, plenty of people have done that. But to crawl, while bound, across the yard, following me and calling me ‘sir’ was a whole new low. You could feel the grass stains accumulating on your knees and palms. While it was still very early in the Fall, you could feel a light breeze on your backside. You thought about the direct sunlight on your pussy and asshole, and how for the first time in your life they were where the sun does, in fact, shine.

The backyard was big, and in the far end there was a fire pit with some chairs around it and a two-person swing set with monkey bars for guests with kids. I ordered you to sit by the fire pit and wait. Obviously the chairs were off limits, so you sat there in the dirt and soot. The heat from the fires and the trampling of guests' shoes prevented grass from growing in that area. While you waited I went over to the woods nearby.

You could see me searching for something on the forest floor, but what? I picked up a thicker stick, and examined it. You thought to yourself that there was plenty of kindling already in the pile left by the rental hosts. I snapped that stick in half and threw it down. The problem was that a dead stick breaks easily, I had been going about this all wrong. I went over to a smaller tree, not really a sapling, but one short enough that I could reach its branches. I saw a newer limb, maybe a bit over half an inch thick, but a good three feet long. And it was straight, so perfectly straight. I knew I had found the one when it snapped off easily, as though it had been waiting for me to pluck it for this purpose.

I returned with my new find, and told you to hold out your hands, palms up. With a loud smack the stick came down on the fleshy part of your palms. You yelped and shook your hands to get the pain to recede.

“This is the second part of your punishment. I’m going to tie you up out here, and I’m going to beat you with this. I am going to stop when I think you can’t take it anymore, and then I’m going to build us a nice little fire. When you’ve calmed down and I’m convinced you’re sufficiently remorseful for intentionally breaking a rule, I’m going to beat you again, just as hard. Then I am going to enjoy the fire, while you go cook us dinner. Do you consent to this?” You hesitated, and really gave it some thought. I was legitimately giving you an out. You didn’t have to accept this, and you knew that. It was still a game we were playing. But on the other hand, over the last twenty-four hours you had really grown to enjoy the game, and if you were going to really play by the rules, and get into your role, you had no choice. You tried to think not so much of the beating, as of the way you would feel afterwards. Forever from that day, you would be a woman who had allowed her husband to beat her with a stick. Not as playful foreplay, but as legitimate punishment for something you had done. If you allowed this, then what was off-limits? Was anything?

How would that feel? In your normal life, that was something you could never accept. But the part of you that was sinking deeper and deeper into submission craved it. If this was on the table, you certainly would stay in your place, and you wouldn’t be thinking of disregarding an order again, at least not until the weekend was over. If you let me do this to you now, you would truly be mine to do with as I please for the rest of the weekend. But would it end on Monday morning?

“Yes sir. I want this.” You decided to play by the rules.

The monkey bars were really serendipitous. I told you to stand and walk over to them. Folding a length of rope in half, I then held your wrist up over your head and tied it to one of the bars. I had done my research; the tie was inescapable, but also loose enough to be comfortable for a long time. I tied your other wrist to another bar as well. With both arms tied above your head like this, your feet barely touched the ground, and you had to keep shifting your weight around on the balls of your feet.

And just like that, it began. The first few blows landed hard on your thighs. There was dirt on your ass and legs from sitting on the ground, and as I beat you with my little stick, clouds of dust flew off into the air, as though I were cleaning a rug. You tried to let your mind wander, to just jump ahead to when it was over and you had endured it, but each strike landed you back firmly in your body. I hit your calves as well, and the fleshy front of your thigh. On some of the strokes, you could feel the swoosh of air on your mons pubis.

“Are you feeling warmed up? I almost want to apologize, because this part is going to hurt more.” I walked around behind you, and finally started hitting your ass. It was still faintly pink from the night before, when you had received your first spanking as a grown woman. The additional pain now on top of the lingering soreness was extreme. You understood now, what I had been saying about how that was a pleasure spanking, and this was a punishment. You could feel tears forming in your eyes, but you were determined to accept whatever I thought you needed. I was starting to feel like I was running out of safe, fleshy parts of the body to hit. I gave you a few cracks along the upper back, careful to avoid the spine, and somewhat more gently reddened your breasts. Every part of your body ached, and you were loaded with adrenaline.

“It looks like you can take more of this than I expected.” I didn’t want it to show, but I was feeling tired, and running out of creativity, so I returned to the old standby. I knew how to break you with the least effort if I wanted to. So I began raining blow after blow on your butt-cheeks. In groups of five, starting soft, growing up to the hardest I could do, then I would rub your butt for a few seconds, before starting over. You started to yelp and moan during each round, and I decided you had had enough when the moan became a constant, even between groups of hits.

I kissed you and told you I loved you and that you had done a great job. After I untied you from the monkey bars, I told you to sit back down by the fire pit, and went to grab you some water and a sandwich.

Later, with the fire roaring and warm, I sat down and asked you to come sit in the dirt at my feet while you finished your snack. I stroked your hair and asked you how you were feeling. Dazed, you barely managed to respond.

“I feel… like a slave.”

“You sure do look like one.” My eyes darted up and down your body in the firelight with the sun setting. I had turned your long, beautiful legs red. You couldn’t sit directly on your butt for the pain, and you were eating a sandwich awkwardly with shackled arms.

“Do you think… Well I mean how do you feel about what happened?”

“Well, right now, to be honest, I’m mostly just sorry for having broken a rule. Honestly I’m glad we did this. It all feels so real. Sitting here now after all that, I just… I don’t feel like I’m in character. I don’t feel like I’m playing a role. I am a slave, who is very sorry she disappointed her master, and that’s all.”

“Then it’s time for round two.”