Standing there naked, nothing upon you but your guilt.

You knew you had done wrong but you couldn’t acknowledge it; you will acknowledge it now!

I take your hands and bind them tightly to the top of the four poster above your head. You moan as the cord bites into the softness of your wrists; those moans will soon turn to screams.

I spread your legs and tie your ankles to the corners of the bed, I feel between your legs, your cunt is wet and swollen; why? This is a punishment, not a pleasure.

I grab your hair and pull back hard, you open your mouth to scream but before a sound can come out I force a large handkerchief into your mouth, packing it fully; your words will not be heard today.

I take your red bandana and pull it hard between your teeth, forcing that gag deeper into your mouth. I lift your hair and pull that bandana tight, muffled moans escape your packed mouth as the cloth bites into the corners of those soft and vulnerable lips.

I walk towards the dresser and lift the cane; long, slim, almost flimsy looking but with a bite that can break the strongest of wills.

I stroke your buttocks; smooth, firm, soft, almost peach like, not a mark on them…for the moment.

I pull back my arm left arm, the cane bites deep into your right cheek, you scream through your packed mouth as that slim devil performs it’s righteous task on your soft and yielding flesh!

I step to the left and it bites into your other cheek with equal delight!

Left, right! Struggle, scream! Left, right! Struggle, scream! Poetry in motion!

I stop for breath and look at my endeavours; soft, pretty, welts already decorate your guilty behind. That red bandana is now soaked with your sweet saliva, that makes my cock hard but you must feel more from the bite of the cane before you can feel the thrust of my shaft.

I draw back, both cheeks simultaneously now, feel that disciplinary bite!

Again! Again! Again! You struggle wildly against your bonds, that cruelly, tightly, gagged mouth crying out your pain and your pleasure. Yes, pleasure, for I feel your recalcitrance may have been a means to an end!


I bring back the cane for one more stroke, feel it slice into you; watching you almost collapse into your bonds as the final bite ends your punishment and begins my pleasure.

I grab your hair once again and force you to look into my dark, angry eyes. Tears stream from your face but they don’t move me…much.

I touch your buttocks, swollen and red, an ugly kind of beauty.

That vision excites me! My cock is so hard it aches!

I free it from it’s prison and slide it slowly into your ass hole, that tight, warm, pleasure channel!

You groan as my full length fills you. I move, slowly at first; in, out, up, down!

Then faster, harder! You moan through that packed and painfully fettered mouth as my stiff rod slams into that soft and vulnerable hole.

Faster! Harder! Deeper! Until I explode inside you, filling you with that part of me!



I take a large butt plug from the dresser and push it deep inside your hole, trapping my cum inside you, leaving my essence there to remind you that I was a part of you and that you were all of mine!

You have been punished enough, I will leave you bound, gagged and plugged for a while.

When I come back, we will talk.

Charlie Singer sat in the waiting room glancing at a magazine and watching the lady in the corner knitting a stocking. Ironically, he had always wanted to learn how to knit ever since Ashleigh Samson had made him a scarf their freshman year of college.

The door swung open and a young blonde nurse dressed in mint green scrubs came out with a clipboard “Lydia,” She said. The lady stuffed the stocking into the bag and hobbled after her. Charlie Singer looked back down at the title of the magazine article on the page in front of him. “Ten Keys to the Female Orgasm.” He turned the page. He had been mad about Ashleigh Samson since she sat by him on the first day of Anatomy Class. After that, they had gotten drinks together and spent plenty of time studying and doing anatomy research, just not the type Charlie Singer had hoped.

The door swung open again and a male voice called out this time, “Charles?” Charlie Singer set down the magazine and followed after him.

Charlie Singer checked the name tag. The tall, dark and decent looking young man’s name was Saad and he was an intern.

Charlie Singer hung up his coat and hat, had a seat and rolled up his sleeve. Saad the Intern ran his hand slowly up Charlie Singer’s arm tied it off, winked and checked to see if he was alive. He then placed his hand gently on Charlie Singer’s chest as he listened to his heartbeat, smiled, nodded and headed for the door. “The Doctor will be with you in a moment,” Saad the intern said in a sing song voice. Charlie Singer blushed.

Charlie Singer dug the rubber strap, which Saad the Intern had taken off his arm, from the garbage can and stood reading a pamphlet about the dangers of smoking. He had almost finished the pamphlet when the door opened.

The doctor walked in, took a seat at the desk and examined his chart. “It looks like we are checking to see if you are healthy enough for sexual activity.” She said. “I’m gonna need you to pull down your pants and undergarments.”

Charlie Singer undid his pants and slid them down. “Ah! So far so good.” She said as she cupped her hand around his scrotum. Charlie Singer coughed twice.

“Now I’m going to need you to get up on the table, Doctor Samson.” Charlie Singer said as he pulled out the rubber strap.

Doctor Samson climbed up on her hands and knees, but Charlie Singer bound her wrists behind her back and pushed her face into the crinkly white paper. He hiked up her skirt and found himself staring into the gorgeous backside he had fantasied about on so many drunken nights, studying the female under carriage, but so far had been denied access.

“Naughty Ashleigh!” He said. “Isn’t going commando in a sterile environment a bit unsanitary?” She started to answer but since she wasn’t wearing panties he stuffed her mouth full of cotton balls.

Doctor Samson shivered as he ran two fingers across the back of her calves, up the side of her thighs and finally into the dripping slit between her legs. Her back stiffened, her foot trembled and one of her heels fell off as he pulled them out and shoved them back in recklessly.

Doctor Samson tried to scream but choked as Charlie Singer left a handprint on her backside. He thought about giving her a matching one on the right side but instead took the stethoscope from her neck and smacked her with the cold metal part leaving the first of many bright red circles on the otherwise white surface.

He stepped up on the little stool with black rubber grippies, mounted her and grabbed a fist full of hair and yanked it back straining her neck. He was fully erect and she turned her head, as he pushed himself into her, so he could see the agony and passion bulging from her eyes. He let go of her hair and grabbed her throat with his hand pressing up into her jawline as he slammed into her, wetting the tip of the middle finger of his free hand and running it around the circle of her puckered anus.

She squirmed as he continued rocking back and forth and her whole body jerked as his finger slid deep inside her. The whole table started to shake as he throttled her with his hips, then ripped the finger from inside her and gave her another hand print.

Her body convulsed and he thought he felt sobs rattling in her throat as he entered her anally stretching her like an opening umbrella as he buried himself in her. She flailed twisting her arms and begging with her eyes for him to stop. Charlie Singer obliged but only after he had exploded inside her. He then fell forward, loosening his grip on her throat and kissed her gently on the cheek.

He was still wondering what side of the plate Saad the Intern batted from as he grabbed his coat and hat. He may never know, but he was sure, Doctor Samson was about to find out.

July 2018
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