"Suzanne!"

Though Jason knew his eyes were not deceiving him, he could still not believe the sight that greeted him in the living room. His sweet and petite young wife had been transformed into a hellfire dominatrix, in shiny, spike heeled scarlet PVC thigh boots and a matching micro-dress that fitted her slender body like a sheath. The nipples of her pert breasts thrust like bullets against the clingy fabric. The two-inch long, gleaming silver spike studs in her dog collar and the belt around her waist looked as lethal as the riding whip gripped in her right fist.

"Had a good day at the office, honey?" she asked, in a mocking voice.

"What"s going on?" he demanded. "Why are you dressed up like that?"

"You"ve been keeping something from me, haven"t you?" she said, taking a menacing step towards him.

"I..... I don"t know what you mean," he stammered.

Her left hand appeared from behind her back and she flung a bundle of paper into the air. The white sheets rained down like confetti.

"Your secret world of fantasy is no longer a secret," she snapped. "Who"s this Mistress T you"ve been boasting about on the Internet?"

"Oh, Christ!" he groaned.

"It"s a bit late to start praying now," sneered Suzanne. "Well, are you going to tell me all about this lover of yours, or do I have to beat it out of you?"

"She"s not my lover," he protested.

"Oh no?" She snatched up a page from the floor. "Let"s see what this one says. I have displeased Mistress T and now I must be punished. The meal I spent so long preparing for her was not to her liking. In addition, she has noticed a soup stain on my maid"s apron. What can I say? There is no excuse for such sloppiness, especially after all the time she has devoted to my training. I deserve no less than a severe thrashing and Mistress will see to it that I get just that."

"I am sentenced to forty strokes of her riding whip across my bare ass. One word of protest and a further ten will be added. Wearing only my apron, I bend over a chair and offer up my cheeks for their just desserts. As always, every stroke is delivered with a ferocity that takes my breath away. I yelp like the pathetic dog that I am, but the savage punishment is unrelenting. I had been prepared for perhaps a dozen strokes, but this is truly a butt-blistering salvo. It is at moments like this that the raw power of my Mistress is at it"s most awe-inspiring. I bask in her naked contempt, worshipping every scorching stroke of the whip, despite the agony."

Suzanne angrily crumpled the page into a ball and flung it at my face.

"So, who is this Mistress T you so adore?" she demanded, flexing her whip in both hands. "Some whore you pay to give you a good thrashing? Or does she do it for love?"

The whip whistled and slashed across his thighs, stinging him through his pinstriped trousers, causing him to yelp in pain and surprise. When he shot out his hands to protect himself, another lash cracked painfully across his knuckles.

"Ouch, that fucking hurt!" he yelled, hastily pulling his hands back out of range.

"Isn"t that how you like it?" she sneered. "Well, who is she?"

"She"s nobody," he wailed. "Mistress T is just a fantasy. I make up these stories about being dominated by her, save them on the computer and put them out on the Internet. It"s just a bit of harmless fun. There"s no other woman, I swear!"   

"You share your kinky fantasies with complete strangers on the Internet, but not with your own wife and you consider it just a bit of harmless fun." Suzanne"s soft voice was laden with contempt. "Well, I"ve got news for you, Mister. The fun is just beginning. Take down your pants."

"What?"

"You heard me!" she snapped, slashing the whip across his thighs again. "You"ll only make matters worse for yourself by playing stupid."

Wincing from the sharp pain, he hurriedly unbuckled his belt and dropped his trousers around his ankles.

"And your underpants!" The whip was poised to strike again. "Don"t just stand there like a goddamned imbecile. Do as you"re told!"

It was strange to feel embarrassed to be half-naked in front of Suzanne. But this rubber-clad dominatrix standing before him was unrecognizable as the woman he had been married to for the past four years. Surely she could not have been so dramatically transformed by just stealing a peek at the masturbatory fantasies she had discovered on his computer.

"I"ve known about Mistress T for some time," she said, as though reading his mind. "It"s a pity you didn"t use some of your expertise in electronic security systems to hide what was on your computer. Using the filename MISTRESS wasn"t very clever, was it, darling?"

"You had no right to go sneaking around in my study like that," he protested.

Fast as lightning, the whip cut across his upper thighs, branding a line of fire on his pale flesh. With an agonized howl, he leaped back as if scalded, tripped over his trousers and fell in an ungainly heap on his ass.

"You have some nerve!" Suzanne yelled, unleashing a rain of lashes at his wildly thrashing legs. "Next you"ll be saying it"s my fault that you have a mistress at all."

"But I don"t have a mistress!" he cried. "I just told you........"

"Silence, you impudent moron!" she snapped. "From now on, you speak only when I give you permission. Furthermore, you address me as Mistress. Understood?"

"Suzanne, for God"s sake........ owwwww!"

His protest was cut off by the stinging whack of the whip across his shins.

"Understood?" she repeated, in exasperation.

"Yes......, yes Mistress!" he screamed.

She nodded. "Good. In that case, we may continue. Get on all fours, like the mongrel dog that you are, and crawl to the kitchen. Move!"

He scurried obediently before her flailing whip, acutely aware of how pathetic he must have appeared. As soon as they reached the kitchen, she ordered him to strip. Wisely, he obeyed without a whimper. When he was completely naked, she tossed him a frilly white apron.

"Put that on, then bend over the chair."

"What are you going to do?" he demanded, his voice trembling.

"I should have thought that was obvious," she replied. "I"m going to count to ten. If you"re not in position by the time I"ve finished, you"ll find out how it feels to get a whack of this whip across your balls. One!"

Jason opened his mouth to protest further, but then thought better of it. The determined look on his wife"s face assured him she was not bluffing. Blushing to the roots of his dark blonde hair, he hurriedly donned the apron and bent over the nearest available chair. His buttocks were tightly clenched and his entire body trembled. His apprehension was spiced by a sudden rush of excitement, not unlike that inspired in his submissive fantasies. However, Mistress T"s punishments did not leave any marks. The red welts already smarting on his thighs were a sobering warning of what he could expect in reality.

"Now, how many strokes did Mistress T punish you with for being a naughty little maid?" she demanded. "Surely you haven"t forgotten already."

"Uh, forty," he muttered, eyeing her flexed whip with ever increasing terror.

"Speak up!" she snapped.

"Forty, Mistress," he repeated. "But........."

"Forty it is then," she interrupted. "One more word and I shall be adding on an extra ten."

Knowing he could only make matters worse by protesting further, Jason bit his lower lip and braced himself for the onslaught. As stupid mistakes went, leaving his fantasy files where they could be so easily found was in a league of it"s own. He had sometimes wondered how Suzanne would react to discovering how he really occupied himself in the privacy of his study, when he was supposed to be working. Even in his wildest imaginings, he would never have anticipated that she would turn into Mistress T.

Swish! Thwack! The whip exploded like a streak of white heat across his rear cheeks. With an agonized roar, he started to straighten up, but Suzanne seized the back of his neck and pushed him back down over the chair.

"Don"t be such a big baby," she hissed, raising the whip again. "If you can willingly take a thrashing from your mistress, you can damn well take it from me."

Jason"s fists gripped the back legs of the chair as the savage lashes rained down on his defenseless buttocks. Each resounding whack was followed by a loud cry of pain. Halfway through the allotted punishment, he began pleading for mercy. Suzanne responded by warning him that she would start all over again, if he uttered another word.

By the time the flogging finally ended, his ass felt like it had been flayed raw by the whip. Streaks of sunburn crimson covered practically every inch of his violently throbbing cheeks and his eyes were blurred with tears.

"That"s the end of your punishment, for now," Suzanne announced. "You may fix your Mistress a drink, then get to work on this evening"s dinner. And it had better be first class, for your sake. Well, what are you waiting for - another taste of the whip?"
   
For Jason, the kitchen was unfamiliar territory. Though not quite an old-fashioned male chauvinist, he had always taken it for granted that Suzanne took care of the domestic end of things, while he applied himself to his career. As her job in a local bookstore was only part-time, the arrangement seemed fair.

While he toiled over the meal, trying in vain to ignore the searing agony of his buttocks, he found himself recalling many of the fantasies he had compiled in the six months of his Mistress T computer journal. Suzanne had, of course, read and printed out the lot. There was enough to fill a full-length book. If she intended to act out each scenario according to the script, he was indeed in for an extremely painful and humiliating time.

Fortunately for his tender cheeks, the results of his labors as an amateur chef were deemed satisfactory. Suzanne appeared to regret that he did not even stain his apron and so provide her with a perfect excuse to once more wield the whip. However, she soon found an alternative reason to punish him.

As he was clearing the dishes from the table, her eyes fell to the prominent bulge in the front of his apron. Looking at her in her rubber skin had obviously worked it"s magic, at last.

"That won"t do at all," she tutted. "I refuse to tolerate my maid walking around with a hard-on. After you"ve done those dishes, report to the living room, on your hands and knees."

"But Mistress, I can"t help it," he pleaded.

"Turn around," she snapped, snatching her riding whip from the table. "Hands behind your head. That"s it. You"ll soon find it"s always wiser to obey."

Jason was already whimpering, in anticipation of yet further punishment. But Suzanne decided to spare his tortured cheeks. Instead, she administered ten full-blooded strokes to the backs of his thighs.

"Carry on," she told him, immediately afterwards. "Take off your apron before reporting for your next punishment."

Ten minutes later, he crawled naked into the living room, where his Mistress was waiting on the couch. On the coffee table, next to a neatly arranged sheaf of A4 sheets was her whip, a slender whip, dark brown leather and cat o" nine tails. She had obviously drawn her shopping list from the arsenal he had provided for his fantasy Mistress.

"Read this out loud," she directed, handing him the page from the top of the pile.

Jason anxiously scanned the page, then began reading. His tormentor smiled at the tremor in his voice.

"Once again, I have offended my Mistress. What a pathetic animal I am! It seems I will never learn."

"My crime on this occasion is the state of the comical little worm that is my cock. I am a maid with a hard-on, something which is strictly forbidden. Mistress T is determined that my cock will respond only when she dictates. An erection at any other time is a punishable offence. It is not fair that I should be expected to exercise such superhuman control over the most basic urges of my nature, but then, my Mistress is anything but fair."

"Standing before her, I am ordered to masturbate. This is the one task at which she is pleased to admit I excel. Of course, I am not permitted to come. To do that, without her specific authorization, would be more than my wretched life is worth. I bring myself as close to the brink as I dare, then hold out my stiff cock to be punished. The sentence is ten lashes of her whip to the offending organ. However, if I consider this too harsh, she graciously offers me the alternative of a single lash on my balls."

Jason looked up at his wife, with imploring, puppy dog eyes that might have melted the heart of a lesser dominatrix.

"Mistress, not that!" he pleaded.

"You wrote that stuff, not me," Suzanne replied, snatching the page from him and reaching for her whip. "Well, come on, do what you pride yourself on doing best. You can decide on your choice of punishment while you"re getting that silly little thing nice and hard. I"m a little disappointed that you failed to specify the precise nature of that punishment that would be more than your wretched life is worth, should you cum. I guess I"ll just have to use my imagination." She whacked her whip on the smoked glass tabletop. "Come on, get that right hand working. Feel free to feast your eyes on me, if it helps. Or am I not quite as horny a vision as your beloved mistress?"

"Mistress, you know she isn"t real," he pleaded.

Snatching up her cane, she leaped angrily to her feet. "You must learn to be far less impudent. Hold out your right hand."

Jason hesitantly obeyed. Seizing his wrist, Suzanne brought the cane cracking down across his open palm. He cried out and attempted to pull back before she could strike again, but her grip was surprisingly strong. The cane raised and fell a further five times, with scarcely a pause in between, leaving his palm throbbing and blistered.

"Get back to what you were doing," she told him. "Give me any more lip and you"ll find yourself over my knee."

Her tone, reminiscent of a stern headmistress, sounded shockingly erotic to his ears. He winced when he clasped his fist around his semi-flaccid cock again. Suzanne sat back to enjoy the humiliating spectacle of him masturbating before her. He was glad that she had at least permitted him to feast his eyes. In all the years he had known her, she had never looked more strikingly gorgeous. His biggest regret was that he had not had the courage to take the initiative and present her with the erotic rubber ensemble, rather than waiting for her to unearth his fantasies, like a sordid secret life.

Despite the afterburn of the rear end thrashing that throbbed through every fiber of his body, he managed to stroke himself to full erection in a matter of moments. The old Suzanne would have been only too eager to pleasure him with her mouth at that stage, but the dominant version had no such accommodating intentions. The whip in her right fist was poised in readiness.

"Well, what"s it to be?" she demanded.

He knew it would be pointless to try to talk her out of inflicting the appropriate punishment, so he did not waste his breath. Instead, just as in the story, he held out his stiff cock, gripping it at the base between thumb and forefinger.

"Ten lashes of your whip, Mistress, if you would be so kind," he whispered.

He shut his eyes and bit his lip, resolving that this time he would take what was coming to him like a man. He felt the breeze as the whip whizzed past his face, then the agonizingly sharp bite as it struck his cock. Instinctively, he tried to leap away from her.

"Stand still, or you get it in the balls," Suzanne warned him, grabbing a tuft of pubic hair in her free hand.

Though brief, the whipping was even more painful than he had expected and left his red striped cock feeling extremely tender. Tucking her whip into her belt, his wife ordered him to pick up her paperwork and her other tools and follow her upstairs, to where another surprise was promised.

Suzanne had not spent all of her free time just reading his Mistress T diary. The smallest of the spare bedrooms had been converted into what was obviously a punishment chamber. The walls were decorated with pages from fem/dom magazines, which he immediately recognized as being from his own collection. He had to admire the effort she had put into unearthing all aspects of his "secret" passion. The center of the room was occupied by an old-fashioned school desk, which faced the headmistresses desk and the huge blackboard that practically covered one wall. A dozen canes of various lengths, textures and thicknesses hung from a nearby wooden rack. In one corner was a filing cabinet, with drawers intriguingly labeled Homework, Disciplinary Records, Confessions, Magazines and Examination Results.

"Well, what do you think?" she demanded, after he had obediently placed her papers and tools on her desk.

"You did all this yourself!" he exclaimed.

"My talents do extend beyond bookstore and kitchen," she snapped. "As you can see, I"ve been quite busy these past few weeks. Your Mistress T work has proved very inspiring." Grabbing a cane from the rack, she pointed to his desk. "Time for lesson one on the Mistress curriculum. Sit!"

Jason winced as he lowered his throbbing cheeks to the hard wooden chair seat. Suzanne strode up to the blackboard, picked up a stick of white chalk and wrote, in large letters - Mistress Is Always Right.

"What does that say?" she demanded, rapping the board with her cane.

"Mistress is always right," said Jason.

She nodded. "The first and most important commandment. To ensure you never forget it, I want you to open your copybook and write it out, one hundred times. When you have finished, you will hand it up for correction."

With that, she sat down behind her desk, put on her large, gold rimmed spectacles and began leafing through a hardcore male bondage magazine. She looked more like a stern schoolmistress than any authentic member of the breed Jason had ever encountered. Feeling like a naughty little schoolboy, he opened the copybook before him, picked up his quaint pen and dipped the nib in the inkwell. He was pathetically grateful that she had not decided to exercise her cane, at least for the time being.

As he carefully scrawled the words on the blue lined paper, he felt his aching cock stiffening once more. Just writing the line Mistress Is Always Right, over and over again, infused him with a perverse sense of excitement. Now that he was over the initial shock of his fantasies becoming unexpectedly reality, he could no longer deny the pleasurable side of his ordeal. Earlier, he had thought that the thrashing and enforced maid service might just have been Suzanne"s way of teaching him a lesson and that normal domestic life would soon be restored. One look at the room she had gone to such trouble to secretly prepare left him in no doubt that her plans for him were much more long-term.

Halfway through his hundred lines, he looked up at Suzanne. She seemed engrossed in her magazine, obviously picking up further tips for her new career in domination. Very carefully, he allowed his left hand to drop to his erect, whip burnt cock. He flinched when he touched it, but the pain was far more arousing than before. He cast another wary glance in Suzanne"s direction, but she appeared to have forgotten him. Beneath the desk, she had crossed her legs, leaving a mouth-watering expanse of creamy thigh flesh visible above the tops of her boots. Without interrupting the motion of his pen hand, Jason began gently stroking his cock. Never had a furtive wank felt more delightfully forbidden. The knowledge that he could be caught in the act at any second, with painful consequences, merely intensified the thrill. He imagined this was exactly how it would feel to play with himself as a real schoolboy, in a real classroom, only feet away from a genuine whack-happy headmistress.

As his excitement mounted and the pumping tempo of his left fist gradually increased, he had to force himself to concentrate on his lines, in between anxious glances at his Mistress. He knew he could not allow himself to ejaculate without giving the game away, yet he was no longer sure he could exercise such manful self-discipline. A few seconds later, Suzanne solved the problem for him.

"Stand up!" she barked, without raising her eyes from her magazine.

Jason"s hand recoiled, as if his cock had suddenly become a red-hot iron. Suzanne looked up then.

"I said stand up!" she shouted, rising from her chair.

His face the color of his rear cheeks, Jason rose slowly to his feet. Suzanne rapped her cane on the side of her right boot as she stepped towards him, her blue eyes ablaze with fury.

"Have you been playing with yourself in class?" she demanded.

She already knew the answer, of course. The evidence reared like a flagpole from between his thighs.

"Yes, Mistress," he whimpered.

Suzanne tutted. "Aren"t you a silly boy! Go and stand in the corner, with your hands behind your head. I"ll deal with you in a minute."

Sheepishly, he did as he was told. From a drawer of her desk, his Mistress took a pointed white paper cap, inscribed with a big red letter D, and placed it on his head. But if he thought that small act of humiliation was to be the total of his punishment, he discovered an instant later that he was sadly mistaken.

"There"s only one way to deal with a wretched, dirty little boy, who plays with his weener in class," she announced. "This is going to hurt."

She was not lying. Starting at the backs of his legs, she worked her way upwards with the cane, landing a blitz of vicious strokes that burned his skin bright red. Jason yelped and danced from foot to foot as the thin ash rod bit like a swarm of angry wasps. Suzanne scored practically every inch of his legs, before laying twenty whacks across his already scarlet colored buttocks. Before she had even finished, his tears were flowing freely and he was sobbing that he was sorry.

There was not the slightest hint of sympathy in Suzanne"s voice as she then ordered him to go up to the blackboard and write out one hundred times - I Will Not Play With Myself In Class Again.

Perched on the edge of her desk, she watched him carry out the exercise, threateningly flexing her cane. When it was finally completed, she told him to return to his desk and finish his original assignment. His buttocks throbbed so violently, he could scarcely bear to sit. Suzanne returned her full attention to her magazine, knowing there was no danger of him repeating the gross indiscretion for which he had just been so severely punished.

His wrist was aching by the time he nervously stepped up to her desk and presented his work for inspection. She first counted the lines, to make sure he had not been tempted to skip a few, then startled him by flinging the copybook at his feet.

"Is that supposed to be some kind of modern art?" she snarled. "A collage of scrawls and ink stains! How dare you hand up such disgracefully sloppy work!"

"Please don"t punish me again, Mistress," he pleaded as she reached once more for her cane. "I"ll do better, I promise."

"I should certainly hope so," she replied. "Very well, I shall postpone your caning until tomorrow night"s class. For now, you can polish my chair with your tongue."

The instant she stood up, Jason fell to his knees and eagerly set to work. The seat was warm from her ass and he felt a sensual tremor as he ran his tongue over the burgundy colored leatherette cushion. When he was finished, Suzanne sat down again, stretched out her long legs and directed him to polish her boots in a similar fashion. This task alone made all his previous punishments seem suddenly worthwhile.

"Now for your homework," she said, finally pushing him away with the pointed toe of her right boot. "You will compose an essay of at least two-thousand words, detailing some of the pleasures you anticipate from your new role as my submissive plaything. I shall expect it to be ready for tomorrow night"s class."

Jason accepted his assignment with delight. Merely composing the essay would be an exquisite pleasure in itself.

"I suggest you scurry off to your study and get to work on that," said Suzanne. "I shall go through these Mistress T pages of yours and select something kinky for the bedtime menu."
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