Sweet Surrender!
An adoring ode to the power & glory of
TOTAL submission by an anonymous Ms.!

"You promised, then you broke your promise. Do you have anything to say for yourself?"

I can't think of anything to say, and when I don't respond, she turns and walks from the room---a little too purposely! Time seems to jump, and before I know it, she reappears in the doorway. This time she is holding the paddle in her hand. The dreadful paddle that means I am about to be spanked like a naughty little girl!

"Okay, let's go," she says, pointing down the hall toward the guest bedroom. When I don't respond fast enough for her liking, she walks to me and grabs my earlobe and lifts. I come out of the chair, wincing in pain. She moves her grip to my arm and directs me to the guest bedroom.

I watch as she pulls the bench away from the foot of the bed. She is wearing a moderately tight and fashionably short suit skirt, and as she raises the hem and sits on the bench, I can see well above the tops of her stockings, almost all the way from the creamy white skin of her thighs to the shadowy vee of her beige, silk panties.

"Come here!" She points to a spot directly in front of her. "I'm sorry I don't have time to tend to you properly right now, but we will continue this when I get home. In the meantime, get across my lap. I want to give you something to think about until I return."

I move to her until I am pressed against her long legs. She places her left hand against my back and forces me to bend over her knees. I grab her ankle with my right hand, and with my left I try to support the weight of my torso, but I can't help but bend in the middle, bowing my back and thrusting my bottom high up over her knee.

She doesn't speak, but I can feel her waist twist as she draws the paddle back, and twist again as she smacks the paddle, hard, against my bottom. The pain is sharp and intense. Even through my cotton shorts and panties, the first stroke starts a throbbing that will not abate for several hours. Again, her waist twists, and again the paddle lands against my vulnerable bottom. Again the twist, and again the loud report and sharp pain. Three, four, five, six, seven, eight... the paddle strikes flatly and loudly, each one eliciting a gasp and bringing the hint of a tear to my tightly closed eyes.

"Stand up." She commands after 20 swats, and I rush my hands to my throbbing bottom. "I want you to stay right here in this room until I return from my meeting. Then we'll continue this discussion." She points toward a corner. "You can sit or stand, but I want your face in that corner until I come back and tell you to come out. If you need to go the the bathroom, be quick about it, or I swear I'll spank you every day for the next month!"

As I walk to the corner, she turns and walks to the closet and hangs the paddle on the wall where it always stays, and closes the door. Her heels echo down the hallway and a moment later I can hear the kitchen door open and close.

The house is strangely quiet as I wonder how long she'll be gone and what will happen when she returns. I rub my bottom and study the wallpaper that fills my vision, examining the little flowers I know so well as the minutes crawl by. I peek at my watch after five long minutes, and cautiously turn and tiptoe to the den. The book I was reading is there, and I take it with me to the bathroom and sit on the toilet reading and watching the time. I know I'll hear her car or the door, and be able to get back to the corner in time, or say I just went to the bathroom if not.

I see the words and turn the pages, but nothing registers as I wait for her to return. I wonder how she'll decide to punish me this day, but know she has so many methods to teach me to behave that I have little chance of guessing right, or preparing myself for what will come. I will suffer for lying to her, I haven't a doubt. I will be spanked until rivers of tears flow from my eyes; they always do. But what she will use to spank me, and what will precede or follow the spanking is a horrible uncertainty.

Ninety minutes have passed when I hear her car. I close the book quickly and scamper back to my corner, hoping my heart will stop beating so loudly at the fear I feel about being discovered disobeying her. I know she'll carry out her threat to spank me daily for a month, because she did so once, and I will never forget how awful it was. My bottom was sore and hot every single day, and none of my pleas for leniency were answered. Each night, my sore bottom was bared, and spanked sorer and as soundly as if I hadn't been spanked less than 24 hours before.

I hear the door open and close, and I hear her heels click as she approaches me. I tense as I feel her eyes on my back, but then her clicking heels tell me she is walking away and I will have to wait some more. I pray that she'll return soon and end my uncertainty, but I cringe when I hear her clicking heels approach, then stop behind me.

"Go upstairs and take a shower. Use the main bathroom, not the one in our room."

I do as I'm told, departing under her intense gaze, climbing the stairs, and entering the bathroom. I close the door and, dropping my clothes on the tiled floor, step into the bathtub. The main bathroom is large, almost as large as the smallest bedroom, and it contains a bathtub rather than the shower stall in our bedroom bath. The water is hot, and steam starts to rise. The shower curtain is nearly transparent, but the droplets running down the curtain make the room look somehow surreal.

I freeze when I hear the bathroom door open and her heels on the tile floor. Through the haze of the shower cutain, I watch as she carries in the stool from our bedroom vanity and places it directly across from the steamy shower curtain. She has removed her dress and is wearing a yellow satin robe, I can see, and I also can see that she has her awful hair brush in her hand.

It ought to be called a spanking brush, I think miserably, since she never brushes her hair with it. The only way she has ever used it has been to redden my backside. I watch as she places the hairbrush on the bathroom vanity, and the sound of the wood striking the marble sends a shudder up my spine. With a determined air, she sits down on the stool and crosses her arms and legs. She stares directly at me, watching me through the rivulets of water running down the shower curtain.

I look through the hazy curtain at the hairbrush lying so innocently on the vanity top. I know that as soon as I finish my shower I'm going to feel that brush on my bare backside, but there are only so many times I can wash and rewash my back and shampoo my hair. Finally, I grit my teeth and turn off the water. As I slide back the shower curtain, She reaches for a towel and hands it to me. I step onto the soft bath mat and proceed to towel myself dry. She stands, takes the towel from me, and walks to the clothes hamper. She even stoops to pick up my dirty clothes and place them in the hamper, too.

I watch as she unties her robe and shrugs it off her shoulders. She has taken off her dress, but the rest of her lingerie is left delightfully in place. Black hose, garter belt, panties, and bra--- she has the full-figured body of a goddess. She returns to the stool and sits down, and picks up the awful brush.
"Get over my lap."

Bending forward, my breasts brush her bare thigh as I climb into place. The touch of her warm skin against my hardened nipples sends new signals to my sexuality, and I moan in fear and desire as I settle across her thighs.

"Please?" I croon as I feel her rub the smooth back of the brush over and across my ass, but no answer comes. I have been bad, and now it is time for her to punish me.

She is a practiced spanker. She knows how to snap her wrist with every stroke to elicit the sharpest contact from the flat wood of the brush. She also knows how to make the heat and pain build until I am just on the edge of surrender, then back away long enough to allow me to collect my senses before beginning again. The gasps, grunts, yelps, whimpers, promises, pleas and, finally, screams which invariably occur while she punishes me are always ignored until the color and temperature of my bare skin are correct, and I sob and cry in a torrential emotional release that will leave me limp and cleansed of guilt and all of my other personal demons.

"You know what this spanking is for."

"Y-Yes," I whimper, knowing she is about to start. I tense my bottom, but I know it won't help. Nothing will. I will suffer and suffer until she decides I have suffered enough. And then she will make me surrender to her strength and will.

I have disobeyed her and, worse, betrayed her trust with a lie. I deserve to be disciplined. I must be punished. She knows it, and so do I.

She shifts her position slightly to afford a better angle to swing the hairbrush. She draws back the brush and slowly brings it lightly against my bare and very vulnerable buttocks. Satisfied that the smooth side of the hairbrush will land flatly against the most sensitive parts of my bottom and upper thighs, she draws back and delivers two very sharp blows---one to each cheek. Twice again the brush descends, this time a little lower, directly on the crease between my cheeks and upper thighs.

My eyes are closed, I grit my teeth, I hold my breath, but nothing I do can ease or prevent the startling, searing pain as she slaps the brush against my sensitive skin. My bottom is damp from the shower, increasing the sting unbearably. My mouth and eyes fly open, gasps are torn from my throat, and I wonder if I'll be able to survive what I know will come. She has only started!

Six hard, hot smacks flatten the rounded summit of the right cheek of my ass. I gasp at each, then brace myself for her to turn her attack to my cool, left cheek. She seems to know, and yet again thwarts me as the brush moves lower on my right cheek and scalds the lower slope six times. My gasps are hoarse, rising pants of pain and plea, but she only pauses long enough to choose another target, another spot of skin to scald with six skillful, energetic strokes. My feet rub against my ankles and my hands ball into fists as my bottom and thighs burn. I need breath now and gasp in ragged rents of air, but they are forced from me too soon as she continues spanking me. I feel lightheaded. I am in agony. I fight for air and strain to escape the awful strokes of her brush.

"Be still." I hear her voice. It is a low and throaty, cofident and threating. The bottom slopes of my ass throb with the echo of the hairbrush, even though she rests its cool surface against my bottom, moving it in a circle over both of my prickly hot bottom cheeks.