Computer Generated Punishment

I am late again. I begin to apologise and explain, but you cut me off with a finger on my lips. You do not say anything, but turn on your computer and open a website from your favourites bar.

From the options that are presented on screen, you instruct me to enter moderate severity, three different implements and one additional punishment, to be delivered completely naked. Then you order me to choose at least seven implements, three positions and three additional punishments. You smile as you watch me imagining each option, trying to decide which would be least painful or humiliating. From my selections, the website randomly chooses the options below:

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*Punishment Certificate*

This certificate dictates that Slut, for the reason of being late, will receive the following punishment:

Three sets of spankings.

Set One: 29 swats with a hairbrush and Slut bent over
Set Two: 12 swats with a wooden spoon and Slut over the knee
Set Three: 13 swats with a belt and Slut bent over.

These spankings will be carried out with Slut completely naked.

In addition, Slut will receive the following extra punishment:
11 minutes with a ginger fig inserted.
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You order me to go and collect the necessary implements and bring them to you before preparing myself. I go upstairs to fetch my hairbrush and one of your belts. In the kitchen, I take a wooden spoon from the drawer and then place a piece of ginger and a sharp knife onto a plate.

I return to the living room and place the hairbrush, wooden spoon, belt and plate on the coffee table. Trembling slightly, I undress and then bend over, clutching my ankles. You admire the sight that is presented to you before picking up the hairbrush and running both sides of the brush lightly over my cheeks, back and thighs.

"Count," you instruct me. "If you forget to count or say the wrong number, we will start that set from the beginning. If you make more than one mistake in a set, I will add an additional punishment."

The hairbrush comes down on my arse and I cry out, more in surprise than pain. "One, Sir," I squeak. Your blows become gradually harder, but I manage to count each one. By the time you reach the 29th swat, my arse is pink and beginning to sting.

You pick up the wooden spoon and move to sit down, beckoning me over, pulling me over your lap. I can feel your hard cock underneath me. I tremble slightly under the touch of your hand stroking my arse, anticipating the pain that is to come. Again, you start gently, building up the speed and firmness.

After the tenth blow, I am not quick enough with my count and the eleventh blow lands before I have had a chance to say the number.

"We'll have to start this set from the beginning," you tell me with a smile. I think about protesting, but I know that it would only make things worse for me.

You bring the spoon down onto my red arse and I resume counting. "One, Sir." After the fourth blow, I lose concentration for a moment, distracted from my counting by the stinging of my arse. "Five... no, four. Four, Sir." But it is too late and you instruct me to begin again from one.

This time I make it through all thirteen swats. My arse is sore and I am not sure how I will make it through the belt whipping. You help me to my feet and guide me to the arm of the sofa, knowing that I will benefit from something to support me and that you will benefit from having a target that won't suddenly move.

You wrap the buckle end of the belt around your hand and swing your arm, landing a fairly gentle blow on my arse. I am grateful for your generosity in this, but it is still painful, landing on top of the red skin that has become highly sensitive from the previous sets. I concentrate carefully on counting, not wanting to endure any more blows than necessary, and this helps to keep me grounded. As before, your blows become gradually harder and tears begin to roll down my cheeks as my arse grows redder and more painful. "Thirteen, Sir," I eventually sob.

Putting down the belt, you pull me into your chest, stroking my hair and telling me what a good girl I have been. When my tears subside, you begin to prepare the next part of my punishment, peeling the ginger root and expertly carving it into a wide plug. Figging is not something I have experienced before and I watch in trepidation. When the shape is exactly the way you want it, you order me to go and stand in the corner of the room with my nose touching the wall, explaining that this is my additional punishment for missing the count twice during the wooden spoon set. You use some of the wetness from my pussy to lubricate your finger, pushing it into my arse to prepare me. As you remove your finger, you replace it with the ginger plug.

At first, I feel little other than the stretching of my arsehole and the slight fullness. But soon, I feel the burning begin. I instinctively clench my arsehole muscles around it, but this only serves to exacerbate the pain. I whimper and try to relax my arsehole. This cycle of tensing, stinging and forcing myself to relax continues and my whimpers become more intense. But in addition to the pain, I begin to feel my pussy growing even wetter and I find myself becoming frustrated, wanting some sort of stimulation. I am also feeling humiliated by standing in the corner, knowing that you are watching me intently. Standing still, I have nothing to think about except the burn of the ginger and the neediness of my growing arousal and the time seems like an eternity.

By the time you announce that the eleven minutes is up, I am desperate for you to fuck me. Luckily, you are feeling just as aroused by having inflicted and observed my punishments. You have undressed while I was standing in the corner. Quickly, you remove the plug, turn me around and bend me over the arm of the sofa again, holding me down firmly as you force the entire length of your cock into me in one hard thrust. I yelp as your hips make contact with my bruised arse. You fuck me brutally, taking your pleasure from my body with little regard for my needs. I feel slightly ashamed of how much I enjoy being used in this manner.

As you near orgasm, you abruptly pull out of my pussy and order me to kneel. You hold my head and push your cock into my mouth, almost making me gag. You make a mental note to work on my deepthroating skills before filling my throat with your cum. I swallow as best I can, but a few drops leak out of the side of my mouth as you withdraw your cock. You scoop these up on your fingers and feed them to me, enjoying the look of displeasure and humiliation on my face.

Then you pull me into your arms again before kissing my neck and bending to lick my nipples. Thoughtfully, you mentally search for a position where you can bring me to orgasm without causing too much additional pain for my sore arse. You push me to my knees again and kneel behind me. I lean back into your body as you use one hand to pinch my nipples while your other hand rubs my clit. I moan in pleasure and you whisper in my ear, "I want you to last at least eleven minutes before you cum."

At first I am relieved that this removes the pressure of wondering whether you expect me to reach orgasm quickly and whether you are growing impatient. But I soon find myself struggling to hold back my pent-up arousal under the relentless and skilful movement of your fingers. And I have no way to measure or judge the time that has passed. I give in to a powerful orgasm, feeling the waves ripple through my body before I melt and sink into your strong arms.

You kiss my shoulders and neck and reassure me that I am forgiven for being late and my orgasm did not earn me any further punishment.