Harshly Caning a Lesbian Redhead

That little dyke Simone with the flaming hair is bothering me again. Since she's been coming to this martial arts class, she's been ogling me. Of course, it's only realistic to admit that my body is irresistible. If there's a lesbian in the locker room with me, she can't be expected to resist the temptation to look. Though understandable, that's still a misdeed. According to the principles of natural justice it warrants punishment.

But lately she's taken to pestering me. Simone's a beautiful girl, and they usually think rules don't apply to them. She combines this with the ill-disciplined temperament of redheads, all of whom have no more moral sense than alley-cats, nor any self-control.

Right now I'm the last still getting dressed after showering. She's hanging around, all freckles and soft green eyes.

"Come on Vanessa. Maybe you'd like it if you tried it."

I glare at her. "You wouldn't like it. I guarantee you that."

She looks up at me, face pleading. "I'd love it if...."

Let's scare her off. "Do you know what I do? Do you realize the kind of games I like to play?"

Simone's brow furrows a little. "I, uh...."

"I'm a sadist, Simone. I only ever let piglets into my bed after they've bent over for me. Is that what you want? A good hard thrashing?"

Shock on her face, she shrinks from me and scurries away without another word. I can't help smiling. Job done.

(≡!≡)

During that week, I command three different boys of mine to come over for an evening. I brutalize each one, but I don't let them touch me. I send them all home unrequited, and I sleep alone each night.

This is my way. I use men's lust to persuade them to yield to me their bodies as canvases for my art of agony. I make clear to them that I'll probably never let their cocks go inside me. But they want me so badly that they endure my castigations, deluding themselves with hope of getting what they really want.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not a virgin. Every so often I enjoy a man as a man, not as a piglet. But far more often I get my jollies by hurting and then denying them.

(≡!≡)

At the next week's class, Simone can't stop stealing glances at me. After we shower, instead of dressing, she comes over to me wet and naked and says quietly, "I've been thinking about the offer you made last week."

I draw myself up to my full height, a good five inches taller than Simone, and look her right in the eyes. "I didn't make an offer. I never make any kind of exchange. Nobody gets into my panties in return for submitting to my cane."

Some of the other ladies look at us in shock. I don't care who knows I enjoy handing out thrashings, but Simone cringes with embarrassment.

"If you enter the spider's web you will be mine to do with as I please. You will not have any claim over me just because you let me do what I wanted. I'm not fair, you see. I never enter into equal relationships. I get to do whatever I want to you, but you don't get whatever you want. You only get what I allow you. And I expect you to get down on your knees and thank me after I abuse you."

The locker room has mostly cleared. The other class members have hurried away from my frank explanation. Two linger in the corners, listening, titillated.

"I.... I'd be okay with that."

"Okay? That's not good enough Simone. You have to give yourself completely."

"Yes.... I will. Give myself. Completely."

I'm 100% heterosexual. But, let's be honest, my primary motive for spanking men isn't sexual. It's because I enjoy inflicting pain. And Simone has been bothering me for weeks now. The principles of natural justice cry out that such prolonged wrongdoing requires extensive correction. Even though I don't feel the slightest physical attraction to her, giving the worthless little bitch a few good hard cracks of the cane -- or better still, many -- would be righteous. And great fun.

"The first rule is that you must call me mistress every time you speak to me. Do you understand?"

Simone looks at the two others still in the room, who are avid to see what she'll do. Then she looks at her feet, swallows audibly, and says, "Yes, mi-mistress."

"Look at me, girl!" I snap.

She looks up at me, guilty.

"Tell me you long to be my plaything."

"I long to be your -- your plaything, mistress."

"Very well. You drove here, didn't you?"

"Yes, mistress."

"In that case you may follow me home."

"Yes, mistress. Th-thank you, mistress."

(≡!≡)

Outisde my house, we both lock our cars. She follows me to my front door in the fading light at day's end. I turn and give her my most merciless look. "You can still back out, Simone. If you walk through this door, I will do a lot of things to you which I fucking guarantee you will not like."

"I, I understand."

"You stupid little turd! You have to say mistress when you speak to me!" I shout, not caring who hears. The neighbors know. I don't keep my proclivities a secret.

"I, mistress, I, I'm sorry, mistress."

"You fucking will be when we get inside. Once we go in there, I will be free to do anything I like to you, and you will gratefully receive it."

Simone nods, collects herself. Little above a whisper she says, "Yes mistress."

I unlock the door, jerk my head in its direction. "Inside, bitch."

Simone enters my lair. I go in after her and close the door. She turns to me and looks up into my face, pleading and desire in her eyes.

She lifts her hands, obviously meaning to put them on my waist, but I'm too quick for her. My palms block her wrists outward, then fly up to her shoulders. I push her hard and she staggers back, barely able to keep her footing. She's no match for me in unarmed combat. As she recovers her balance, her expression is wounded, almost betrayed.

"You insolent little cunt! Did you think I was joking? Did you think that was all just talk? I was deadly serious."

"Yes, mistress, I believe you, mistress."

"You don't get to put your hands on me without my express permission. I see you don't really understand your true position here. I am in charge in this house, and you have no right to expect any sort of pleasure, or reward, unless it happens to be my whim to give it to you. Or, of course, if you happen to enjoy pain. Now get your fucking clothes off!"

Simone starts to undress, but her hands are shaking.

"Hurry it up! I haven't got all fucking night!"

She strips as fast as she can manage. I point to a spot on the floor about four feet in front of me. She hurries over and stands there, hands clenched together at the base of her belly, hiding her sex, even though I've seen it plenty of times in the showers.

"Now. No more touching me. That was very improper. Any more behavior like that and I'll throw you straight out into the street, naked. Do you understand?"

"Yes mistress."

I put one finger under her chin and run it down her throat, then along the collarbone to her shoulder. I walk around behind her, and trail four fingertips across her shoulder blades. When I come around to her front again, she has a stupid expression of gratitude and hope. It will be my pleasure to crush that hope. I'll teach her she'll get nothing from me to be grateful for, only treatment that will make her regret she ever offered herself.

"We need to keep those hands out of mischief. Fold your arms behind your back."

"M-mistress?"

"You stupid little ginger slut!" Strictly this is inaccurate. Her hair's flame red, but ginger's a better insult. "Don't you know how to fold your arms?"

She bites her lower lip and looks down, ashamed. I grab her chin and pull her face up, glare into her fearful green eyes.

"I just asked you a question, and you didn't answer it. That is dumb insolence, and you will pay for every last act of insolence you commit toward me. For I am a merciless and exacting god. Now answer the fucking question. Do you or do you not know how to fold your arms?"

"Y-yes miss, mi-mistress."

"Do it then. Fold them."

She lifts her hands from over her red pubes, and crosses her forearms underneath her bosom.

"Now do the same behind your back."

She puts her arms back and slowly performs the unfamiliar act. I lay my hand on her bare belly and walk around her several times, brushing over the narrowest part of her torso. Her breath grows uneven, even though I'm barely touching her. She shifts on the spot, unable to keep still, sweat rises on her pale-pink skin, and her dark nipples lengthen. What should I call their color? Magenta? Fuchsia rose? No, they're a deeper shade than those.

Those pleading emerald eyes and her slightly open mouth betray her yearning for me. It's a look I'm very used to. Every day in the street, men ogle me. False modesty has no place in my life; the fact is, I am one sexy athletic goddess. Knowing this, I manipulate men's reproductive drive to lure them into being my pain toys. The libido centers of their brains tell them I'm ideal breeding stock, and they must do anything for the opportunity to plant their seed in me.

That's guys. But Simone is a girl. She doesn't have a billion years of evolution pressuring her into trying to buy her way inside a woman's fertile body. And she's pretty, more than pretty. She should have no trouble finding lesbians to fornicate with. Why would she be desperate enough for me that she'd yield to the kind of miseries I'm about to visit upon her?

"Have you ever been beaten before, you little minx?"

"N-no, mistress."

"Never? None of the dykes who've eaten you out have even smacked your ass with their hands?"

"No mistress, nev-never."

She's not a sub, then. So what is it about me that makes her prepared to suffer so much? The only plausible explanation is that I really am just that drop-dead gorgeous.

As I continue to circle her, I eye this piece of meat which has rashly given itself into my hands for cruel use. From an athletic point of view, it's a disappointing body. I work hard at physical training and martial arts, which has given me hard muscles and excellent fitness. Simone has been at our martial arts class almost as long as I have, but she's only gone up two belts in the time most other students at her level have managed four or five. It's always been obvious to me she doesn't train hard enough, and the shape she's in confirms my suspicion that she rarely works out. She's obviously lazy, and the contempt she inspires in me convinces me more than ever that the harshest punishments are needed.

That's my assessment as an athlete. However.

Something is forming within me which I would never have imagined possible before tonight. I begin to see the attraction in curves like these. They're particularly ripe for physical corrective measures.

The boys I spank are all trim. Early on I learned that excessive numbers of men would offer themselves to my punishments, and I quickly started being selective. Flabby men are not worthy of my canes and straps. Now, hourglass-shaped Simone is not at all fat. But she is soft, and for the first time in a long time I find myself looking forward to cracking the punisher into yielding flesh.

It's not just her lack of a muscle tone that calls for retribution. There's something about the exact shape of the female physique that's never caught my eye in this way before. Her rear cheeks stand out with a prideful swelling, and such pertness is an affront to the principles of natural justice.

I stop in front of her and run my hands up her flanks, bypassing her tits, and she leans forward a bit as if in hope that I'll brush against them.

"Tell me you're my humble and obedient plaything."

"I'm your, your humble and obedient plaything, mistress."

"Tell me your body is my property to do with as I please."

"I, uh, mistress, my body is your p-property to -- to do with as you please, mistress."

I grab her freckle-speckled boobs and squeeze them, making her gasp. They must be the softest part of her soft body. Her breaths grow short and fast as I toy with them, slapping their sides, tickling underneath them. I put one hand between them and jerk it side to side, making the plump chest-fruits wobble. I clamp two fingers and a thumb to each nipple, and start pulling them in random directions, up, down, sideways, and toward me. Her eyes widen and she pants noisily.

"Do you like that, you dirty little dyke bitch?"

"Mmm, I, I...."

"Don't babble, child! And say mistress when you speak to me! Now answer the fucking question! Do you like it?"

"Y-yeah, yes mistress!"

"Thank me!"

"Tha, thank you m-mistress."

I let go of her nipples and admire her for a moment. Though I feel no attraction to girls, I have to admit: the way her titties move up and down as her lungs heave is something worth watching.

"Turn ninety degrees to your left."

She does so, and I point.

"Through that door is the place where wrongdoers get what they deserve. If you want to go any further today, we go into that room.

"I'm giving you one last chance to back out. If you like, you can put your clothes on, fuck off out of my house, and never come back. Or.... you can walk through that door. And once you're in there, I will do absolutely anything I like to you. Make your choice now."

Simone looks at me, at her clothes, at the door, and back at me. She swallows hard, seems to steel herself, and whispers, "I want to go in there, mistress."

I put my hand on the base of her spine, pinkie on her ass, and propel her forward. I open the door and her eyes widen when she sees the contents of the room I've revealed: the couch with its shackles, the restraining frames, and the many givers of correction mounted on the walls.

I clap her twice on the butt. She shudders, then steps inside a few paces. I rub up and down her spine, enjoying the way she quivers. I close the door and turn the handle to drive the heavy steels deadbolts home. The room is soundproof.

"Has a man's cock ever gone inside you?"

"N-no mistress."

"Dildos?"

"Yes mistress."

"How many rug-munchers have stabbed dildos in you?"

"I, uh, don't know mistress."

"That many?"

Her head droops. "Yeh, yes mistress."

"What does that make you?"

"A.... a slut, mistress."

"Your language is too mild. Spice it up."

"A filthy.... filthy whore, mistress. I'm a, a worthless little dyke bitch and, and, I.... deserve to be punished for my whoring, mistress."

I cross to the restraining-couch, which is something like a hospital gurney with stirrups at both ends, each ending in a steel cuff for restraining limbs. I tap its black top. "Bend over this. Take hold of the far side."

She creeps over to it with trepidation, unfolding her arms. She takes a breath and lowers her front onto the PVC surface.

Out of her sight I strap on my piglet-stabber afore my pelvis, a cruel intruder which has punished the inside of many boy-victims. It's a hard plastic spike ten inches long, eight of them an inch thick, the frontmost two tapering to a point. All over it are many little cones, each standing about a fifth of an inch from the surface.

I walk around to her front and her emerald eyes widen in shock.

"Ever received one like this?"

"N-n-no, mistress, only.... only smooth ones, mistress."

"Beg."

"Please, mistress, I, I beg you, to, to fuck me, mistress."

"Spice it up!"

She swallows hard, gaze flicking between my face and the shaft projecting from my loins. "Please, mistress, your dirty little whore huh-humbly begs you to stab her with your.... with your rigid beast, mistress."

I go around the couch to her rear. "Why?"

She looks back over her shoulder. "Mistress, I, I deserve to be punished with it -- inside, mistress. The, the inside of my body deserves.... castigation, mistress."

Her knees are clamped together, but when I prod its point into the back of her thigh she spreads. The pink is in full bloom. I stroke the gaping inner lips then slip a finger into the opening between them. A tremor that runs all through her and she can't stay quiet. Her eyes implore me, moisture in their corners, though whether to pierce her or to spare her the agony I can't be sure.

I take my hand from her open flower and move the piglet-stabber into position. With a jerk of my thighs I give her womanhood a tiny jab and she flinches, emitting a soprano yelp.

I lift the impaler to the very base of the sternmost trench, and her crinkle-edged brown rosette tightens. All the muscles in her back tense, and her expression shifts to unalloyed fear.

"P-please, mistress, I've never -- please, I--"

I touch my spear's point to the clenching hole. "Is this virgin?"

"Y-yuh, y-yes mistress."

"Beg for it."

Grimacing, she shuts her eyes, and a single tear runs from each corner. "P-please, miss, mistress, I.... I beg you to.... take the virginity of my, of my--"

I take hold of her waist. "Spice it up, bitch!"

"Please, please mistress, your w-worthless piglet begs you to punish her virgin b-b-bottom hole, mistress, because I'm a very naughty little whore, mistress -- aaaaaaaaaaghhh!"

With all the strength in my legs -- which is a lot -- I ram her asshole as hard as I can. The hard plastic brutalizer goes in most of the way, probably eight of the ten inches buried in her. Simone's body goes out of control, spine flexing to lift her shoulders, head jerking back and twisting to whip her flame hair around. And that's just one thrust. I immediately pull back and stab again. I use her fast and hard, sending her into a demented paroxysm of shrieking. Her arms flail. Her legs kick up and down, my own between them. I gouge her long and violently, then without warning I step back and I'm out of her.

I give her a minute to calm down. Her sobs become gradually gentler.

"Simone!"

She half-lifts her chest from the couch and looks back at me, anguish on her wet face. That really hurt her. Good.

"Choose an instrument for me to use in the exercise of justice upon your worthless body."

She starts to stand and winces, obviously pained in the anal region. I wave my hand at a wall covered in whips, paddles, straps and other implements for teaching righteous behavior. She gets fully off the couch and, back a little bowed, takes little hesitant steps toward the many thrashing-tools.

"I told you to choose one! Your failure to do so is disobedience. What is the punishment for disobedient girls?"

She looks at me, cringing. "It, mistress, is it a spanking, mistress?"

"Disobedient girls deserve to be thrashed. Say it!"

"D-disobedient girls, they deserve, to be, to be--"

"Again you disobey me! I just told you to say something, and you can't even do a simple thing like repeat the words I said. Are you an idiot?"

Her lips make a couple of silent motions, but she says nothing.

"When I ask you a question you have to answer it! Failure to do so his dumb insolence, and all such transgressions will be punished without mercy. Now answer my question. Are you an idiot?"

"Y-yes mistress."

"Have you disobeyed me today?"

"Yes mistress."

"Have you been insolent?"

"I.... yes m-mistress."

"What punishment do insolent disobedient girls deserve?"

"They, uh, they, mistress, they d-deserve to be -- be thrashed, mistress."

"So do as I fucking told you and choose something for me to thrash you with!"

She whimpers, the corners of her mouth down, but she steps up to the wall and takes down a long thin plastic cane, about a quarter-inch at its thickest, tapering to less than an eighth at its end. I reach forward and she places it in my hand, eyes big with horror, lips twitching.

"What sins have you committed since entering my house?"

"Please mistress, I've.... been insolent mistress. And disobedient, mistress."