Harshly Caning a Lesbian Redhead

"What are you?"

"I, mistress, I'm a, a n-naughty little girl, mistress."

"And what do naughty little girls deserve?"

"A, a thrashing, mistress."

"Hold out your left hand. Right arm behind your back."

She vaguely reaches toward me. I seize her arm and position it, the upper part vertical, elbow beside her waist, forearm extended horizontally in front of her.

I flex the cane. It's made of very pliant plastic, and easily goes into a circle. "Stand with your feet wider apart than your shoulders."

She shuffles her feet out sideways. I touch the instrument's tip to the upper slope of her left breast, and trail it down between the twin swellings toward her navel. "Close your eyes, and keep them closed until I give you permission to open them."

She shuts her eyes, full of trepidation at what's to come. I move the corrector down further, to the red hair on her mound.

"You must keep your hand in that position until I tell you otherwise. Do you understand this instruction?"

"Yes mistress."

I put the end of the cane between her legs and move it quickly from side to side, rapping on her inner thighs again and again in quick succession, but without enough force to cause any pain. "You must keep your palm flat, open and upright until I tell you otherwise. Do you understand this instruction?"

"Yes mistress."

I jerk it up and a tap the underside of her half-open pussy. "You must keep your fingers straight until I tell you otherwise. Do you understand this instruction?"

"Yes mistress."

"Will you obey these instructions?"

"Yes mistress."

I jab the cane's narrow end into the softness of her chest. She squeaks in shock and takes half a step back, arms seeking to balance her.

"Simone! Did I give you permission to open your eyes?"

She shuts them. "Sorry, mistress."

"Again you commit insolence by failing to answer my question! Did I give you permission to open your eyes?"

"No mistress."

"Then why did you open them?"

"I'm a, a naughty, uh, disobedient girl, mistress."

"Yes. That is exactly the reason. Did I tell you to keep your hand in position?"

"Oh!" She rushes her hand back to where I put it. "Please mistress, yes mistress, you told me to do that mistress."

I stab the punisher into her again, this time her throat. Struggling, she almost maintains the pose I ordered her to hold. I poke her a few more times. She's obviously fighting not to bow her neck, but manages to keep her chin up to leave her defenseless throat exposed.

"Why did you move your hand?"

"Please mistress, cause I'm a, I'm a naughty girl mistress."

I draw the instructional device she has chosen for herself all the way down to her sex. There I brush its very end sideways across the delicate pink folds inside. Her outer lips move further apart in response to this toying. "Say girls who misbehave need moral guidance to teach them to mend their ways."

"Girls who misbehave, mistress, they need, moral guidance to, to t-teach them to mend their ways, mistress."

I prod the cane about an inch below her navel. "Say redheads have a genetic lack of morality and self-control."

Her mouth goes hard and it looks like she's about to open her eyes, but she catches herself. "Please mistress.... redheads have a genetic l-lack of, of morality and, and self, uh, self-control, mistress."

I slide my right foot back, pull my elbow back as far as it will go, and then drive the thin plastic spear hard into her womanhood. Simone yells as if electrocuted and repeats her earlier sins, but within a couple of seconds she realizes her error and returns to the pose I dictated. Tears creep from the corners of her eyes as she closes them again.

I give her a few more jabs in the vulva, but with less strength then the first. She does her best to stay still. Her hand clenches, but she forces it open and flat again. Her outer cunt-lips are wide apart now. The relentless attentions of the stiff probe obviously stoke her lusts. The inner petals also unfurl, granting the intruder unhindered access to stab inside the deepest cup of her femininity.

"Say those who won't voluntarily restrain their sinful nature need motivation to reform."

"Please mistress, those who won't voluntarily control their sinful nature need, need.... motivation to reform, mistress."

I withdraw the cane from the hollow between her engorged labia, lift it and slash it down hard. It whistles through the air and Simone tenses at the sound, but doesn't move. I deliberately miss, the plastic passing an inch from the end of her longest finger.

I give her more lines to speak, swishing the cane down after she's said each one:

"It was wrong of me to pester you for sex when you were getting dressed, mistress."

Swish!

"I'm the kind of scum who will never learn to behave unless I'm taught a harsh lesson, mistress."

Swish!

"All redheads need severe physical discipline to overcome their wayward nature, mistress."

Swish!

"Please mistress, please apply the strongest measures of behavioral correction to me."

Swish! Crack! "Aaaaaaaah!!!"

This last one I aim true, powering the paingiver into the fleshy parts of her palm, and she pulls her hand back. But before I have to tell her, though shaking violently, my redheaded plaything closes her eyes and once again positions her hand as I told her. She holds it there, vulnerable to the searing bite of moral instruction.

Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack! I hammer four hard strokes into her in quick succession, each eliciting a high-pitched squeal. She reels on the spot, but manages to keep her hand out and mostly open. She can't help curling her fingers a bit, but is obviously doing her utmost to comply with my earlier commands.

I stop to admire my handiwork, five parallel lines swiftly darkening. Though her eyelids are pressed tightly shut, her flushing cheeks glisten with tears.

I lift the cane high and, turning my shoulders, I slash it down into her chest. Its tip just clips her left breast, and the long plastic rod crashes into the plumpness of her right orb. The flesh is yielding, and the instrument of justice cuts a deep sloping trench that barely misses the rosy circle around her nipple. It's such a shock, she loses her footing and falls in a weeping mass.

"Out of position again! I see I have not yet taught you obedience. Stronger correctives will be required. Get on that bed."

She looks up at me, horrified, even though I have not rescinded my command to keep her eyes shut. I point with the castigator to the restraining-couch she recently bent over. "Move!"

Clutching her cane-scorched hand to her side, she half-rises and crosses to it.

"On your back. Wrists and ankles as wide apart as they'll go."

She climbs on and puts her arms out like a T. Then slowly, shuddering, she spreads those slim legs to expose her outrageously open pussy to anything that might fall upon it.

"Beg me to chain you."

She draws in a long ragged breath. "P-please, please mistress, I, I.... beg you to chuh, ch-chain me, mistress."

Standing out from the corners of the couch are four bars, each ending in a winch. From these, four stainless steel fetters hang at the end of chains. They can be wound in or out to accommodate piglets of varying stature. Simone is considerably shorter than most men, and I have to extend them before I can clasp the cold glinting metal bands around her wrists and ankles. Then I tighten the restraints, ratchets clicking. Soon her limbs are held out straight and she has no room to wriggle away.

Standing at the foot of the bed I press the cane's tip into the insides of her legs, prodding one side and then the other several times. The vivid blossom between them is more open than ever. I amuse by myself stabbing into there again and again and again, watching the little dyke slut writhe under my insistent goading of her delicate inner parts.

Then I walk around to the side of the bed, trailing my plastic teaching aid up her belly to the fold at the bottom of her bosom. I grab a bunch of the red bush on her mound and twist it hard, then move down her outer labium doing the same. She does her best not to make a sound, an act of defiance which I'll need to severely correct. But she can't help writhing in her chains, and this intensifies when I push two fingers inside her wet gaping cunt and flex them.

After a minute or so I pull out, open her clitoral hood and start rubbing her pleasure-button. Her body spasms, muscles randomly contracting, but the unyielding steel bands keep her limbs splayed.

"Do you like that, squirmy little worm?"

She chokes out some incoherent sounds, among which is something resembling the word "Yes."

"Worthless whore! You have to address me as mistress!"

"Kkhhh.... nnmmng.... pa-please, miss, mistress, y-yes mistress!"

"Then I'll stop. You're here to squirm in suffering, not enjoyment."

"Hhhhhh.... yes, mistress.... I deserve pain for my, my insolence and disobedience, mistress."

I dictate a few more lines to her, which she dutifully repeats:

"I'm a worthless piece of meat for you to enjoy, mistress."

"I love being tied up as your helpless pain toy, mistress."

"Please mistress, I humbly beg you to employ the harshest possible measures to improve my moral character, mistress."

"Please do absolutely anything you like to my soft defenseless body, mistress."

I gaze upon my spreadeagled piglet, considering where to begin. It still bothers me that I can't place a name for the deep reddish-pink shade of those nipples. Forgetting for a moment (as if I ever could) Simone's other sins, the annoyance this alone causes me makes the principles of natural justice cry out for retribution.

I turn my wrist, flicking the cane away from her chest so that it travels almost horizontally above her torso and legs, then immediately drive it back in the opposite direction. As it tears toward her bare titties, Simone instinctively tries to shift her upper body sideways. But the strong steel chains hold her in place. My aim is perfect, and the plastic punisher tears a squeal from her throat when it clips the very tip of her right breast's claret bud.

Claret! That's the color! But the resolution of this question will save her from not one jot of what she deserves. I repeat the action many times, strafing both nipples, and my freckled little dykelette vents a stream of agonized shrieks under the implacable, stinging impacts.

My arm still, I continue to use only the turning of my wrist to power the thin whippy length of plastic. But now I raise it before driving it straight down. The corrector's tip only just touches her skin before I lift it away again, but Simone's yip shows she has tasted its bitter wrath. I repeat the action again and again, exercising my skill to ensure that with each downswing, the implement of imparting virtue delivers a light but fiery kiss. The rapid onslaught excoriates the ripe silky curves of her two melons, goading her to howl at fever pitch. When her lungs have exhausted their capacity, she gulps air deeply before emptying them once more.

Still feathering the cane, I move it down her body, past her navel to her furry hill. After a few whacks at that, I rush around to stand between her shackled ankles. I shower punishment on the insides of her thighs, before moving on to the primary target. Her cunt is as open as can be, and I don't spare it. Driving down with relentless speed, at least twice a second, the cruel hardness of the cane scathes the insides of her open femininity. This is the first time I've had a girl-flower at my mercy, and I linger over it. I relish this new experience, rejoicing that I am giving this irresponsible little sex pest what she richly deserves.

After a long time I grant her a moment of rest while I take down various punishers from the wall, contemplating which I should use next and where upon her body it should fall, laying each tool on a table positioned for this very purpose.

I expose her clitoris once more and brush my fingertip over it a few times. It's a technique I use on male piglets, though in their case it's stroking their cocks. I get them excited, but don't give them release. Any rational person would expect such frustration to put them off returning, but on the contrary, it seems to keep bringing them back for further suffering.

"Now, bitch, do you want me to thrash your ass?"

I leave off her clit to let her catch her breath.

Voice hoarse: "Mistress.... please, mistress, I.... your lowly dyke whore deserves a thrashed ass, mistress."

"Then you shall have one." I uncuff her. "Turn over onto your front."

With some difficulty, she complies.

"Put your hands out in front of you, palms together. Now push your ass up in the air and keep it there until I give you permission to relax."

I haven't yet laid a single stroke of correction on these cheeks, but now they're going to find out how real punishment feels. I admire them for a moment, marveling how perfectly suited to chastisement their shape is. Why has it taken me so long to appreciate this? I run my fingers over them and Simone trembles.

I lift the thin plastic rod high above me and lower it behind my back. I raise my body to its full height and go up on my toes. I take a last admiring look at the curvaceous target, then unleash my full strength. I contract my muscles simultaneously to power the chastiser toward her trembling backside as hard as I can: I bend my knees, my stomach muscles pull my shoulders down, and my arm flies up from behind me. Forward it rushes, and down, straight at those pale ovals. It slices into the soft pale flesh, biting deep, and a contraction shoots through Simone's whole body. It runs up her spine and down her legs, jerking her head and feet up as she vents a howl of misery.

I lift this agonizer, and ply her with many more hard and pitiless strokes. I cane her as fast as can while keeping up the same level of force, striking from high up each time. She's going to need a lot of this, and when I'm done with this rod, I have plenty more tools to apply. Fortunately, my thrashing arm does not tire easily.

On the table I've laid out a strap, a rubber paddle, and a thicker sturdier rod than the one in my hand. I lay the plastic cane aside and pick the last of these, a length of rattan, and test its weight. Simone is probably beyond speech now, and I can't be bothered with making her plead and grovel more. Inflicting physical pain is the real fun.

I start in on her again. It doesn't matter how loud she screams in this room, nobody will ever hear. And unless she has the temerity to ask me to stop, I'm going to try a lot of my implements on this piglet-bottom. It looks like I'll be working on this one all night.