Crime, Confession and Punishment I should point out that I had a long correspondence with Ted before this event. In that correspondence, I had said several times that "when we meet, don't let me talk you out of giving me a spanking." He responded that I did not have to worry about that, that when the moment came that I was going to get my fanny tanned in the old fashioned way. I was not sure that he meant it-I kind of thought so, but I have learned since that many men (but practically no women) can be talked out of it, and especially if sex is offered, they will forget about it. At that point in time, I had been almost there a number of times, but never all the way. Oh, I had a gentle hand spanking lots of times but nobody had taken me over the wall yet, and I knew that I had to have that experience. Now Ted had assured me, but did I believe it absolutely? Well, back to the fateful day. He had me on my feet now, and the collar around my neck, the leash attached, and holding the crop in his hand. Leading me by the leash, the crop rubbing against my naked bottom, he had me parading around the room for him, terrified but more excited than I have ever been before--frightened of what he might do next, and still almost at the point of orgasm, every erogenous part fully stimulated. He led me to the bedroom, and flipped me down on the bed, turned me over so that my rump was uppermost, had me raise up further so that he could force a pair of pillows under my belly. Now I offered a target that excited him, too. He tickled me with the crop, and said "now slut, tell me what you want me to do. You have been talking about wanting punishment--tell me now if you really do." I gasped, but said nothing, my face down into the bed clothes. I am not sure if I just didn't want to speak or could not, but I am sure that I did not want to stop now. Suddenly the crop flashed through the air, hitting nothing but making that characteristic sound. I gasped again, and again the crop flashed through the air, this time striking both cheeks of my upraised bottom with a hideous TTTTHHHHWWWWAAACCCKKK. He waited a long time to let the sensation of that first stroke soak in fully. It felt like a firey line had been drawn across my ass. I was already fully in tears, and begging him to stop. But he knew I did not mean it yet, and probably he would have refused even if he did believe me. My bottom was shaking, wiggling this way and that, trying to find a comfortable position, and hoping (perhaps) that he would not use the crop on me again. Of course he did, slowly, firmly, hard biting strokes across my heaving rump, which by now seemed to have taken up a motion of its own as it received another five firey red lines. I know that you would like me to tell you that he then gave me a royal fucking in my burning ass. Actually, he did, but he was not especially large and it was not uncomfortable. That part of my fantasy went unrealized- though if had something like a 9" monster I would have had it all. What he had was big enough and certainly hard enough to get the job done, and when after cumming in me he withdrew, he had no problems whatever- considering that the fire-bringing crop was right there on the bed- in getting me to suck it clean for him. Comparing that session to the one I had at Emily's house is difficult for me, because in a way they were so different. The first one, I always felt in control even though my hands were fastened behind me. Any time I really wanted him to stop, I think he would have. At Emily's, she (Emily) was fully in control, and being another woman, had a better understanding of what I could take, and resolved, I am sure, to take me all the way there, and beyond. Now she did not wield the crop, Doris did. But she was in charge of the event, the mistress of ceremonies, so to speak-have no doubt about that. When I was invited (or ordered, if you prefer) there for a hen party and a dinner, I had no idea what was going to happen. Lets face it, she and I were not exactly social friends, but I was in no position to refuse, so I duly showed up, suitably dressed for a social dinner with 8 or 9 women present. Early on, there was no obvious sign that this was going to be different from a thousand similar parties we both have been to. Later on, however, the tone of the conversation changed, and Emily announced in words that I cannot really remember that this was a special occasion-that present was the person who had helped break up her marriage, etc., etc. Everybody chimed in at that point, and however it worked conversationally, I ended up nude, with my wrists behind me, tied. Doris had a metal clip that winds through the hair and locks, and to it, a long cord attached that she tossed over a ceiling beam. There I stood, totally helpless, now very fearful of this particular event. I did not feel that I had any control at all over what would happen, and considering that Emily was still very angry at me, I foresaw real problems, and did not have the feeling that the other ladies present were going to be supportive in the least measure. Doris did her particular specialty after blindfolding me--gentle, stimulating caresses of the nipples, guaranteed to arouse one and erect those nipples no matter how frightened and apprehensive one might be. And when they were suitably erect, a final pinch, and then those metal spring clips attached, first one and then the other. And soon enough, a searching finger between the legs finds moisture, finds an erecting clit, massages it so that it is standing fully at attention, and another clip attached to it--all three together now applying a kind of hideous metallic caress that never stops. Now Emily is seated comfortably, and asks me for my version of the relationship with her ex. I tell her the truth- that we had been together at a Christmas party, and he kissed me under the mistletoe, but nothing more- that day. What about the next day she inquires, and I confess that we had done some juvenile petting, with him maybe kissing my titties, and sliding his hand up under my skirt--hardly enough for all this to-do right now. She gives the sign to Doris, and the crop flashes, whacking me severely across the rump, making me gasp, and making some unseen female titter. I dance, I shake, but I have nowhere to go. Again she asks, and I confess that later I had let him take my panties down. That day he gave my pussy a sweet kiss. At that I get a sweet kiss, too- by the crop, again across the rump. I am really fearful now, and crying, begging to be let go. Nobody will have any of that, and I get another slash with the crop for even asking. Emily is leading the confessional now- she wants to know what happened next-of course, she already knows, that same day I had taken his cock into my mouth, but nothing more. I admit that, get another shot with the crop for it, and I am screaming, practically hysterically now, because I do not know how much farther this is going to go. I also do not know that I am going to be the star of this film, that is being taken this minute. Emily wants to know about his fucking me, and I swear that it never happened. Nobody believes me now, and the punishment continues, worse than I ever got before. My confession is extracted from me, and by now after a dozen or more stokes of that crop, I will confess to anything, and confess I do to seducing him every which way, and from her leading me, to badmouthing Emily to him (which the ladies seem to think is the ultimate insult- this whore badmouthing a good, innocent wife. Innocent, hah!!!). Somebody suggests that my mouth be washed out with soap for that- and it is duly done, with a strong laundry soap. Now understand this cropping. I am standing, my hair holding me upright. Doris is an artist with that crop, and she has me bobbing and dancing, kicking, even leaping, and certainly screaming. None of it makes a bit of difference-I am not going anywhere until I am released, and that will certainly not be until Emily is satisfied. And when I got the cropping that day- much more severe by the way, it was in part because she really did believe that I had been fucking her husband (and believes it to this day) and wanted my full confession. She got it, true or false. And when I had confessed-which was absolutely believed by the other ladies present, the consensus was that I was a slut who was getting what she deserved-a comeuppance and tramps deserve but rarely get. The fact that Emily had the pictures and I could not let them get out and therefore she owned me-they did not know that. All they knew was that this whoring slut, who had seduced Emily's husband plus who-knows-who else, who might be making an unknown play for the husband of any of the ladies present, she was getting a richly deserved lesson, written on her ass by a luscious black maid. They watched every stroke approvingly, and nobody protested that the punishment exceeded the crime. Later, when Doris? Emily? The volunteer? I don't know. All I know is that I had received a cropping- a cruelly efficient one given under the most exotic and erotic circumstances possible, before a very interested audience. I know that Doris had me bobbing and weaving, crying and begging for forgiveness for a crime that I did not commit, and if these ladies in the audience had been a jury, I am sure that this sentence given me would have been even more extreme. If anybody had suggested that they put a brand on my bottom, I am certain that the group would have agreed, perhaps unanimously. And of course, adding to the overall flavor of the moment is that the whole thing was being videotaped, in full, glorious color and sound, for posterity to view. Crime and Punishment-or better yet, Crime, Confession, and Punishment-- how's that for a title. It has a sort of Russian Ring to it, no?