A Severe Lesson for Scott
Scott visits me for correctional Discipline. He uses an online diary to record his progress after devising a set of measurable personal targets. The focus of this particular session was weight and alcohol consumption.
As usual we chatted briefly over coffee and, as usual, I could sense Scott’s nerves already. He had informed me ahead of session that he was concerned he may not achieve his weight loss target – a recurrent theme from our previous meetings. I was unimpressed at this, as he knew only too well. Before long he found himself in the corner of my playroom, an air of vulnerability emanating from him.
I had explained to him that he would be required to strip, before being brought to the weighing scales. His disrobing process was slow and excruciating. Deliberately so. Trembling and clumsy, he removed each item of clothing as instructed. I handed him a towel to briefly cover his modesty then proceeded to lead him through to the bathroom where we would discover if he had achieved his goal.
The silence was deadening as he lifted his feet on to the scales. First one, then the other. The numbers flickered upwards before settling. We both looked down.
His chest, that had been full and tight with anticipation, dropped swiftly as he let out a sigh.
I aimed a deliberate sneer in his direction before handing him the towel and guiding him back to the playroom.
It was luck. He had weighed himself before commencing his journey that same morning and had come in two pounds over target. He had expected the same result upon arrival with me though perhaps the stress and anxiety of the imminent session had somehow aided his weight loss. Nervous sweat, I wonder?
This unexpected victory didn’t seem to settle Scott as much as he desired. All of a sudden he found himself in unchartered territory – he had achieved all of his personal goals for the first time since we began our sessions together. But, what did this mean for him?
It was time to talk.
Stood before me, naked and facing the unknown, Scott knew the worst was yet to come.
I wanted to discuss the subject of alcohol consumption; something the two of us had agreed was a major contributing factor with his weight loss goals. Over the time we had sessioned together, we had noticed a pattern emerging for his preference of weekend drinking and subsequent weight gain. Of course, it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to work this out, but having physical evidence to support this was beginning to take it’s toll on Scott. He knew his alcohol intake was higher than necessary and was affecting not only himself, but his partner too.
A shiver of guilt ran across his body as I began explaining, in lowered tones, the consequences of his actions in real terms. At the very mention of his partner’s wellbeing, he crumbled. No longer able to contain his emotion, his hands fell from atop his head in a feeble attempt to stifle the flow of tears from his eyes. Ashamed and embarrassed, he turned away from me and fell to his knees to sob.
Loud and deeply emotional guttural sounds escaped his throat. He wept. I waited, cross legged and unaffected by his whimpering. It was what he needed to hear.
After a minute or two, he gathered enough strength to stand back up. As his hands moved back to his head, he murmured an apology.
I was ready. I instructed Scott to place himself over one knee and I wrapped my other leg around his to prevent any struggle. With such a strong response to the scolding, our physical connection in that moment was heightened and absolutely necessary. It allowed Scott to feel both a sense of comfort and safety as well as an inescapable hold.
He was there for some time, a volley of stingy pain beating down on his bottom relentlessly. It swiftly became a deep shade of pink and his twitching indicated his soreness was increasing rapidly.
He stood as I released him from the leg lock, and he took in a sip of water. His face, now reddened with both shame and discomfort, turned briefly towards the bench. He knew that was only the beginning.
I left him alone in the playroom to contemplate his fate while I selected my arsenal. I mused over my implements slowly, taking my time to ensure their suitability. This was a serious punishment and Scott needed a harsh release from the emotional hell I had placed him in during the chastisement.
Suitably terrifying and as yet unused on Scott’s bottom, I presented the chosen pieces to him. I lay them carefully in his eye line and gave him a moment to deliberate. All the while I warned that this would be severe. He would not enjoy a moment of this but, as he knew, it was absolutely necessary.
I was not responsible for his current situation. It was his own actions that had led to this point. He had only himself to blame for what was about to come.
The number of strokes assigned and first implement selected, I watched as Scott wound his fingers tightly around the metal hooks on the end of my bench. He was preparing himself for the worst. And it was coming at an alarming speed.
Beginning at one and working our way through in sets of ten, Scott’s bottom absorbed the impact of punishing stroke after punishing stroke. Flashes of fear in his eyes at certain stages told me his was unsure if he could make it through to the end.
He had no choice. I had no choice. I couldn’t go back on my word now. A punishment assigned is exactly that. No pleas. No bargaining. No leniency.
I gripped his shoulder to help him process this. To come to terms with what he already knew. I was there for him and I would guide him through each stroke, but I would not hold back nor lessen the punishment, for both of our sakes
In the moments surrounding the last few strokes, Scott’s eyes became distant. His body slumped and a quietness took him. He suffered the last and hardest strokes with minimal fuss and was ready for it to end. It was enough.
By then he was spent and unable to lift himself up through fatigue. I moved towards him and held his shoulders tightly in an embrace. He breathed loudly and with sobs of relief. A tenderness swept through the room and our emotional journey brought itself to a natural close.
He lay peacefully as I applied heavy cream to his ravaged bottom. We shared another embrace after he was able to bring himself to a standing position. I invited him to redress as we chatted lightly before heading downstairs for a bite to eat and a hot drink.
Our conversation was full of laughs and happiness. Now relaxed and feeling positive, Scott was coming out of his heady subspace and determined to face another month of proactive behaviour.
Scott commented on a Twitter photo following his session;
“Quite simply the most intensely real, severe, emotional cp I have received in 20 years of trying. Thank you.”
The alcohol consumption goal now realigned, can he achieve his goals again this time or will he teeter on the edge and risk falling into another mound of shame before me…?
These sessions are tailored to the individuals I am playing with. No session will be repeated like for like and, indeed, cannot be due to the nature of the relationships I have with the persons in question.
Names have been changed to protect identity. Consent has been granted for photographs and blog entries to be published.