A handmade card left on Master's pillow with a silly rhyme. Implements laid out on the bed for His use. And a lesson learned.
"'On the Monday before Valentine's Day, my Master gave to me/a bright pink bottom that looked so pretty,'" He read. "You don't have a pink bottom," Master looked bemused.
His little slave girl smiled, pulling back the duvet to display the arrangement of toys laid across the bed, "Not yet," she blushed. Alongside the usual toys were two apple tree switches that had been tried once before and not really liked. His girl thought this might be a good opportunity should Master choose them. She had briefly debated about running downstairs to get a wooden spoon or the small wooden cutting board to include. Or one of Master's belts. However, the selection seemed good enough. Master would add whatever He wanted if He wanted more.
A short while later, the bottom was pink from one of her favorites -- the paddle -- and Master was slamming hard into His slave, using her well. She felt herself slipping into that familiar head space, where each whack of the paddle, each forceful thrust sent waves of intense pleasure cascading throughout her body. Thrust. Whack. Thrust. Slap of hand. Thrust. Thwack of flogger on shoulders. Deeper thrust. Slap of crop across the breasts. Bottom hot. Pussy dripping. Cock filling, reaching in further. Erect nipples grazing the bed as they swung hard from the movement.
"Crack!" a stinging explosion of pain burst across her left thigh as Master snapped the slender switch from the apple tree. She could not help but whimper. "Snap!" a much lighter touch still brought fireworks of pain across her buttocks. Even lighter flicks were laid across her back. She remained still, bracing against the no longer pleasurable stabs of engorged cock into cunt. The apple switch was cast aside, a few thumps with was it the paddle? the flogger? the crop? she did not know. Each touch, however light, was almost unbearable. Each movement in or out caused pain. Feelings of embarrassment and shame flooded her. Feelings she could not process rationally. Images of schoolchildren from decades ago, suffering the pain and humiliation of a switching, paraded across her mind. She had never experienced this, never felt nor seen a switching; why did she feel the sting of punishment? She was not being punished, not being humiliated. One corner of her mind whispered this is Master, you are safe. This was an intimate moment with her Master, the One who protects and cares for her. Yet the fearful little girl inside would not listen. His little slave girl remained in position, her hair hiding the streaming tears. The evil branch came across her front, and she attempted to scoot out of its way.
"Get up here," said the stern voice of Master. She felt herself being pulled upright, arms pinned behind, the switch coming toward her breasts. A loud whimper of terror escaped her lips, the switch was dropped, she was released, and Master was gently astride her prone body. The only wetness remaining was on her cheeks and upper lip, as tears and mucus flowed. Master tossed the switches onto the floor and kissed His slave. Still the tears fell. Rolling off, Master pulled her close and held her, tenderly stroking her hair, wiping her tears, calming her with his gentle voice. "Only one more use of the apple branches," He whispered. She looked up at Him, both fearful and trusting at the same time. "May i please blow my nose first, Master?" Master nodded, allowing her to gather her composure.
"Pick up the branches," Master commanded. "Give them to Me, and sit on the edge of the bed."
Master knelt at eye level to His girl. "Open your hands," He instructed, laying the instruments of such incredible pain across her palms. "What do you want to do with them?"
She paused, thinking, loathe to even have them touch her hands. "Put them in the woodpile," she replied softly. "First...first break them."
"Then break them," Master said. "You take them and break them. No more apple switches. Ever."
His girl slowly bent them, folding them back and forth until they cracked and the green inside poked through. Then she handed them to her Master.
"Come, lie back down with Me." As she lay nestled and safe, Master did not press her for an explanation, and she could not find any within herself. Stroking His cock, she looked over at the unused cane. She picked it up and handed it to Master. He smiled. Caressing her, He began to lightly tap her feet, calves, and thighs, delighting in her moans of pleasure. "Would My girl like some of this?" He showed His hardened cock. Her smile was her answer, and He slid inside easily.
"I can tell what My girl likes: this is what she likes. This is the wet pussy that is ready for Me," He whispered.
