My eyes followed Master as he entered the room with a long, white, plastic wooden spoon in his hands. That’s gonna hurt I thought to myself, being careful to keep my expression neutral. He stopped in the centre of the room and just stood there, looking at me. A nervous flutter went through me as his eyes inspected me thoroughly. Fighting not to fidget, I managed to remain still.

“Come here, anonymous,” he ordered quietly but firmly. “Stand in front of me, arms up, hands clasped behind your neck.” I did as he bade without a word. He forced his knee between mine and thrust it upwards, wrenching my legs apart. “Spread your legs…..good girl,” he whispered when I had them spread almost uncomfortably wide. Master slowly circled around me, tapping the spoon on his hand as he went. “Do you know why you are being punished, anonymous?” he asked when he was in front of me again. “Yes Master,” I replied, my voice soft. “I didn’t complete the cards to your specifications and I made a decision to alter the project without your approval.”

He nodded, apparently satisfied with my response. “45 minutes on your outer thighs then,” he announced then landed the first slap on my left side about halfway up. I flinched and drew in my breath. I knew he hadn’t smacked me at anywhere near full strength but oh, did it sting! The next several smacks came in quick succession, alternating legs. Master circled around me landing well placed slaps as he went. The sting was intense as some of the slaps were landing in the same spot a second, and sometimes third or fourth time, or more. I remember I gulped and closed my eyes, talking to myself in my mind, trying to make him proud. When I opened my eyes again, I checked the clock through a blur of tears – 20 minutes – almost half way there. My thighs were on fire, more from the frequency of the slaps than from the force behind them – Master had yet to put a lot of muscle behind it. And my legs were trembling under the strain of trying to remain still while they were spread wide and repeatedly battered by the hateful little spoon. Master had yet to speak a word to me since he had started.

My teary gaze followed him closely as he came around into my line of vision again. Whap, whap! He landed two well placed slaps on my upper right thigh in such a way that the spoon part actually slapped against my ass cheek while the handle left a red stripe across my thigh. Whap, whap! The same process was repeated on my left. We were 35 minutes in now and the hardness of the smacks was increasing as the frequency slowed some. A sweat had broken out on Master’s brow and my sobs had turned into outright crying. I tried to watch the clock but it seemed to be moving so slowly. I tried to think of other things but the stinging in my legs wouldn’t allow it. I wanted to beg him to stop, and almost did as he pulled the spoon back with one hand, bending it, and then letting it go so it whipped forward to smack my thigh once more. I cried out, “Owwwww,” as he landed yet another sharp snap of the spoon on my flesh. Master was behind me now so I could not see him. I was gulping for air, tears streaking down my face and sobs wracking my body. My knees felt so weak and had started to bend as I struggled to hold my position. I had to adjust myself slightly by stepping inwards in order to keep my balance. Thankfully, Master said nothing about that. “You’re almost there, little one,” I heard him say behind me and I cried out, louder and harder, as I prayed for the end. I think there was another four or five sound smacks on each thigh after that but I had long ago lost count.

“Kneel,” he said softly as he stepped back from me. I tried to be graceful about it but I all but collapsed in a heap on the floor at his feet. My shoulders shook as I tried to hold in my cries. Master stepped in front of me and held the spoon out to my face. It took every ounce of will power not to glare as I puckered my lips and kissed it. Without a word, Master dropped it to the floor and turned and left the room, leaving me there in the silence broken only by my cries. I heard him in the bathroom, as he started a bath and I hoped beyond hope that it was for me.

I listened carefully for any sign that he would be returning but there was none. Yet suddenly he appeared. He gently reached out for me and took my hand, while putting his other hand under my arm, and helped me to my feet. My leg muscles screamed in protest and a new wave of cries washed over me as I slowly made my way to the bathroom with his help. Master settled me into the bath, on the warm side to help relax me and then left the room without a word. I sighed with relief as I sunk further into the tub, cringing as my tender legs rubbed the side. I breathed in deep gulps to still my cries and had succeeded in reducing them to infrequent whimpers by the time Master returned with a glass of water for me. He sat on the toilet as he spoke to me. “Tell me, anonymous,” he requested. And I did my best to recount my feelings for him.

When it was time to get out of the tub, Master patted me dry with a fluffy towel, taking extra care to not touch my thighs. I got my first real look at them in the mirror – they were criss-crossed with angry red welts, and some viscous purple bruises were already forming in the areas that had been struck repeatedly. Master applied some soothing aloe to me, pulling his hands back as I winced when the pressure was too much. He kissed each of my thighs in turn before he took me by the hand and led me to our bedroom.

He was as good as his word that night and did keep me occupied for a good while to come, though where he had been the strict enforcer before, he was now gentle and kind as he issued his directives. I was eager to obey and the night ended with both our pleasure. “You are forgiven, my love,” he whispered as he turned out the lights, “Sleep well. Tomorrow is a new day.”