Chapter 9

I don’t know why I asked permission to stand. Usually, I’d just wait in position until I was told to move, but after hearing Bambi ask permission, I think I wanted to see how much trouble I was really in.

I’d honestly not been guilty of doing anything genuinely wrong the whole time we’d been at Dolphin Shores until now. Not anything significant, anyway.

Sometimes Pat had called me out for not properly shaving my pits or for undercooking vegetables or something else as mundane as that, but this was different.

I serve my husband, but he serves me by monitoring and correcting my inadequacies. I love him for catching the small things that I miss. I don’t even need to mess up on purpose. I’m not perfect.

This, however, was an example of me intentionally fucking up. I should have told him things, and I knew I should have, but I hadn’t. I also knew I’d have to face the music now, and I accepted that, but it still scared me, not knowing if Master would punish me in private or in front of the girls.

Asking permission to stand would give me an indication of how Master was going to play this.

“Permission granted. Waitress,” Master addressed me as his waitress.

I couldn’t conclude anything from that, but I immediately complied. My husband told me to stand with my hands behind my head and wait with my legs apart until I was needed (by anyone). He ignored me after that and addressed our daughters.

“Jasmine has been a naughty girl,” he said to Casey and Tiffany, who weren’t really paying attention now that Bambi had left with the boys.

Casey shrugged, and Tiffany looked at her dad questioningly. They’d heard what had happened and had no idea of how serious my infraction actually was. They had no real frame of reference.

“I have a responsibility to your mom, girls. It’s my job to remind her that she’s not our equal. She chose this lifestyle, and it comes with benefits but also hardships. You heard Bambi say that tomorrow’s session will be about pain, right?”

Casey and Tiffany had his attention now. I think they could sense that something other than kinky sex games was being discussed.

“And I think that was TMI, Dad. I don’t need to know that Jasmine’s gonna spend the day tomorrow getting her butt spanked,” Casey rolled her eyes.

It still felt weird hearing my daughter call me Jasmine.

“What I’m getting at is that Jasmine really fucked up, and she has to be punished. It’s my responsibility to see to it and see to it immediately. It’s your choice, but you might want to leave us alone for half an hour or so while I ensure Jasmine understands just how naughty she was. It won’t be a lecture like I would give you girls. It’s going to hurt her, and she’s likely to let everyone in the neighborhood know she’s being punished.”

Master didn’t sound at all happy with the idea that his daughters would hear their mom make painful sounds.

I admit it bothered me too. This was not like the fun and games we’d all experienced when we arrived here. It was one thing being naked, tied up, treated like a slave, and paraded around the community like property. This was the flip side I hadn’t considered my children being exposed to.

A real punishment, not a paddling that the kids could see, wasn’t really hurting me. I began to tremble at Master’s words. I’d have to endure a ‘real’ punishment this time, and my girls would know I would be experiencing real pain even if they left us alone for it.

I wasn’t sure they’d be able to accept this the way they’d accepted everything else.

“Yeah ... no,” Casey replied. “I guess I need to understand what I can expect to see other times in the future. So far, since we’ve been here, Jasmine’s just acted like a ditzy bitch. I’m staying.”

“Then me too,” echoed Tiffany.

The expression on her face reflected uncertainty but, at the same time, determination.

“You’re not going to really hurt-hurt her, are you, Dad?” Tiffany finally asked.

“I’m not going to permanently mark her, Tiff. But she will likely let everyone know it hurts.” Pat sighed but continued, “This is the other side of submission. Why don’t you ask Jasmine yourself if she’s okay with this and let her explain herself to you.”

Tiffany nodded enthusiastically and focused on me. “Is this a big deal like Dad says?”

The question caught me off balance. I thought she was going to ask if I was okay with being seriously disciplined, and I was ready to assure her I was.

“You’ve seen your father slap my butt a few times, ma’am,” I started, reminding her that she’d giggled at the time. “This time, it’s different because I was willful and omitted telling Master things I found embarrassing. I should never ever have kept anything from him for any reason, and I know that, so, yes, it really is a big deal, and I’m really sorry for doing it. But I know that Master can’t leave it at that. As he said, he’s got responsibilities too, ma’am.”

“Okay, but if you knew all that, then why did you do it?” Tiffany looked more confused rather than less.

I knew I couldn’t tell her I didn’t know. It wasn’t an answer Master would have accepted either.

“Because she’s human, dummy!” Casey exclaimed, for the first time in forever sticking up for me.

“Hey!” Master barked, silencing both girls. “Let Jasmine explain, and you know better than to call your sister names, Casey. Apologize to her.”

Casey immediately did so, but in a way that made it clear, she wasn’t sorry at all. Still, Master let it go so I could answer Tiffany.

“Embarrassment is one of my biggest flaws, ma’am. So much embarrasses me, and it’s hard for me to ignore how I’m feeling. I thought I’d get away with saving myself a little embarrassment, and now I have to pay the price for my mistake. Bambi ... well, she has to get embarrassed sometimes, but to hear her talk, you’d never know it. I’ve got to learn to be more like that, and pain is one way to help me learn not to make the same mistakes over and over.”

“So, you WANT Dad to hurt you,” Tiffany concluded, nodding her head as if something clicked for her. “Then dad should do the right thing, and that means making sure you won’t quickly forget that there are consequences to what you do, right? Like what I told you about.”

“Is there something you want to share that Jasmine did other than not fully explaining what she did at her sessions?” Master asked Tiffany.

I knew immediately that Tiffany was referencing our recent late-night discussion about her wearing a collar at the pool. I didn’t want her to take the heat off me by admitting to her dad what she’d done.

“Girl talk, Sir,” I quickly volunteered, knowing I was only getting myself in more trouble speaking out of turn but wanting to save Tiffany embarrassment of her own.

Master shot me a sharp look, knowing I knew better than to answer a question directed at someone else, but after a moment, he nodded, trusting I’d broken another rule on purpose, for a good reason.

I’d still be punished for it, but he let it drop for now.

“Get up against the wall and stand on your head, cunt,” Master said. You can balance yourself with your hands, but I want to see the top of your skull on the floor and you presenting the underside of your tits for a caning. I’d rather cane your cunt, but the chastity belt is in the way.”

I’d done a few handstands against the wall for Master before since we’d been at Dolphin Shores, and even one or two headstands, but never as a prelude to caning and never a caning in front of my daughters.

Those times, the kids laughed at my antics. This time there was just quiet murmuring between my daughters.

I gulped and got into position, hoping I wouldn’t pee myself. My under breasts are one of the most sensitive parts of my body to the cane, and they provide a large target.

Part of me wanted to cry, half in expectation of the pain Master would generate and half at myself for being so incredibly stupid as to think I could keep something from Master.

There was an element of humiliation in preparing for a punishment before my daughters’ eyes, too, but among all the other emotions running through my head, that one was meaningless.

Standing on your head is harder when there’s not a thick mop of hair as a cushion between the scalp and the floor. Also, a large part of doing it at all is having strong neck muscles and good balance. I’d be expected to hold my position while the cane shook my body to the core and beyond.

“Would you fetch me the cane out of my bedroom, Casey?” Master asked.

Casey didn’t argue or complain that Tiffany should do it or anything like that. She just nodded and hurried off. I couldn’t decide if her haste was so she could get back, see the punishment and know it was over or because she was looking forward to hearing me scream. I knew I would scream, despite how hard I tried not to. I’m not really a pain slut.

I trembled as my husband stood over me holding the rod. A thousand different punishments ran through my mind that were preferable to the look of disappointment on his face.

“Oh my gosh, Dad!” Tiffany intervened on my behalf. “You don’t have to do this. She didn’t hold her butt cheeks in her hands. So what? She does everything else!”

I felt bad that my daughter felt she had to intervene in my punishment. My husband suggested tersely that if Tiffany was uncomfortable with my punishment that she should find someplace else to be right now.

“It’s okay, Tiffany,” I found myself saying. I exhaled because I had been holding my breath while I stood on my head. I was so nervous, and it was difficult to balance without subconsciously inhaling while tightening my stomach muscles in preparation for what was to come. “Your father is punishing me for intentionally not telling him everything I learned in my sessions.”

Tiffany’s empathy for me shifted. It didn’t fade away completely, but she no longer seemed intent on putting herself between me and her father. “Oh,” Tiffany stuck her finger in her mouth like she was reconsidering.

“Don’t worry about it,” Casey sat at the table, watching us like someone who thought the entire scene was absurd and unnecessary. “Let them play their little games. Mom likes it.”

It was true there were elements of BDSM that I enjoyed. Pain is not one of them – not really. I enjoy the high that I can get AFTER an intense session that involves pain, but I was not a pain slut. I did not ‘get off’ on it, but rough sex could make me orgasm like nothing else could – choking, being manhandled, and physically dominated.

When we lived in Minnesota, my husband used to take me to the Smitten Kitten sex shop on a regular basis. Guys knew the times we’d be there, and they were usually regular playmates that I’ve fucked dozens of times. It was seldom more than three or four guys. I had plenty of fantasies about gang bangs, but nothing compared to the first time.

The first time was a bunch of black guys who didn’t know I’d be there. It was so spontaneous, and they used me like I was a rag doll and cum rag to be tossed around. They fucked my face even when it sounded like I’d vomit, and they kept going until I did. They left me sweating, bruised, and quivering on the floor.

My husband had been there to pick me up and give me aftercare. He hugged me, kissed me boo-boos and took me home, and gave me a bath. The combination of safe but scary and the roughness followed by snuggles had opened up desires in me that I never thought I would have had.

I doubt I would have moved to Florida to live in this community if I hadn’t embraced submission fully and unequivocally after that gang bang. I had been raised to think that monogamy was desirable and anything else was giving up something special.

When my husband shared my body with strangers, it hadn’t felt like he was giving me away at all. I was his. He was showing me off, sharing me because I was special, and he owned me. It was a perfect feeling of complete submission to be controlled and owned.

Physical punishments were rare because I seldom gave my husband a reason to punish me. I also really dreaded them. I would often punish myself by overthinking and visualizing the punishment to come, and that mental anguish stung far more than the physical pain. I didn’t feel ‘submissive’ and sexy or desirable during a punishment.

I felt stupid, like a burden. I felt like a silly child who needed correction. A stupid dunce that could not follow a simple set of instructions. I didn’t want to be on the wall upside down, but I told my husband and daughters that I did.

“I belong here. I earned this. I should have been more explicit. I am so sorry!”

My husband brought down the cane wickedly on the most sensitive part of my tits. There was nothing provocative or sexual about it. He hit me on a very sensitive part of my body, and I yelped and then counted. I nearly fell off the wall.

“Fall face down, and we start again!” he warned. “Why did you not tell me you aren’t allowed to use your hands to hold yourself up without permission when you eat?”

I wanted to say that I didn’t know. I hadn’t thought specifically about my reasons for not clarifying that. I was used to crawling and eating on my hands and knees at home. I knew I couldn’t say that I didn’t know or that it slipped my mind.

“I was afraid everyone would laugh at me,” I admitted sheepishly as I counted another painful slice into my breast meat.

“You poop little turdballs on the lawn, and THIS is what you are afraid of people laughing about?” Casey was skeptical. I wished she wouldn’t make wisecracks like that because it only reinforced to her father that I may be lying. I knew sarcastic humor was how Casey dealt with some of the things she found strange about Dolphin Shores.

“Yes, Ma’am, things are changing rapidly for me. I am ashamed of myself. It is hard for me to adjust, but I will. This is the first time your father has ever allowed you to witness one of my punishments, as well, and that embarrasses me too.”

“You are the one that wanted to move here. You are the one that said you enjoy serving. Do you enjoy this?” Casey asked a rather pointed question.

Her father struck my tits with the cane, but it felt like Casey herself was doing it. He insisted that I answer.

“Yes, Miss Casey, I am glad that we moved here, and I enjoy serving. I don’t enjoy punishment, though, so this is the last time I will neglect to tell your father what I learned in session. I will tell you as well if you want to know.”

Pat left me standing on my bald head upside down on the wall after applying 20 swats of the cane to my tits. I was a blubbering mess, and he let me compose myself. I didn’t feel the rush of adrenalin that often accompanied a bondage session with my husband, and there were no “aftercare snuggles.”

I knew that the curriculum for tomorrow’s session was enduring pain, and I was unsure if I could handle it. I felt inadequate and unprepared for the first time since our arrival as I sniffled and tried to compose myself.

Pat went about his routine at home, watched TV, and asked the girls about their day. When my sons returned, they had huge grins on their faces. I assumed that Bambi may have gone down on them. She was so open sexually that it wouldn’t have surprised me if she thanked them after she finished swallowing their cocks.

I was still processing the idea of swallowing my son’s cum. It was something in the back of my mind. I was a cum gobbler, and I had not asked where any of the semen I drank during the sessions had come from. Yet, knowing it was, my son had felt taboo – wrong. Yet, everyone else had been fairly casual about it. I wondered if they had questions or concerns.

“Dad, Bambi asked if we could stop by her house and walk her to session with Mom tomorrow?”

“Bambi or Bambi’s dad?”

“Her Dad wasn’t home! You should see her sisters. They are just as hot as she is!”

“Uh-huh,” Pat shrugged and seemed unimpressed. He told them they could bring me and Bambi to session as long as we were there on time.

The boys didn’t ask why I was standing on my head. They just went about their business as well. I guess this was our new normal now.

The Master allowed me to enter his room that night instead of putting me in the cage right away. We used to share a bedroom, but it was always understood that things would change when we moved to Florida.

Almost as soon as the kids had settled down, he ordered me to crawl in front of him to the bedroom, swaying my hips and dragging my nipples across the floor. I was excited - I love attention from my Master. I was nervous and already horny for what would come too.

Crawling on the floor hurt, too! I was getting used to it, but While he hadn’t caned my nipples, the bottom of my areolas hadn’t missed a few strokes, so my whole chest was a tingly mess of sensitivity.

While I truly don’t like pain, the endorphins had seriously kicked in, and I was almost panting with need by the time Master closed the bedroom door and ordered my mouth onto his cock.

I wasted no time unzipping him and fishing his cock out before devouring him like it was the first cock I’d ever sucked.

He hadn’t been completely hard when I started, but he’d definitely already been quite firm. I know my punishment had excited him, and the only reason he wasn’t completely hard when I freed his cock was because he’d denied himself for so long between punishment and bedroom while making sure he’d spent regular time with the kids.

Usually, he talks dirty to me while I suck, lick, kiss, and throat him, but tonight, he wanted to talk. He told me he didn’t want me to answer but to just focus on his cock while he worked through some things he was conflicted about.

I wasn’t sure what he meant until he asked his first rhetorical question and then pressed on the back of my head, causing me to gag on his cock when I started to make other-than-blowjob noises by attempting to answer him.

I’m so used to answering direct questions that to have one directed at me and not being allowed to answer was strange.

“You didn’t even give me that look when I allowed Mike’s cum to be used to season your food,” he said.

I’d just wanted to assure him it wasn’t my job to double guess his decisions, but instead, the suddenness of his palms on the back of my head, jamming my mouth quickly down his length without warning, meant that the angle wasn’t perfect for me, and I almost threw up on him. Then he held my head against his pubic hair, cutting off my air supply.

“I told you to suck cock and listen, Jaz. Do what you’re told, or I’ll choke you until you pass out, finish with your unconscious head, then chain you up outside for the night.”

I nodded as much as possible, as quickly as possible. I hadn’t even taken a breath when he’d gagged me with his cock. I was already so desperate to breathe again that my body began fighting him, my fists ineffectively strumming on his thighs. He held me effortlessly, showing me who was in control.