Proper Punishment (Non-fiction, rough spanking, degrading, handcuffs, and choking)

*This is a true story. It was written with the knowledge of my dom. All names have been changed and every action performed in here is done with enthusiastic consent.*

*This story includes: extremely hard spanking (the worst I've ever had), handcuffs, patronising talk, degrading, breath play, and a lot of crying, because I am a crybaby. If any of these things are uncomfortable to you, please avoid this story. If there is something that you believe should be added to this list, please let me know and I'll add it as soon as possible.*

I don't know what's been wrong with me lately.

Maybe I'm in a bad mood. Or maybe, like an understimulated dog, I'm misbehaving because I'm bored. Maybe I'm just getting too full of myself. But whatever the reason, whatever the excuse, this much is obvious: I've been a fucking brat recently.

It seems like every weekend for the past month, when Milo has come over I've ended up bent over his knee at some point. But these punishments always feel short, and have no lasting effect, and by the next day I've regained my attitude.

So, Milo decided to fix it.

Last night I was being especially annoying. I hate to refer to myself as a misbehaving dog again, but last night it's exactly what I was. I was crawling all over him the second his attention wavered. I complained about being hungry, but didn't want to eat anything we had in the fridge until I was scolded and told to sit my ass down and have some dinner. I don't know what exactly Milo's tipping point was, but I did know that one moment I was laying on the couch watching videos obnoxiously loudly on my phone, and the next I was being pulled to my feet without warning.

"Do you have to keep acting like a brat?" Milo asked, holding my shoulders tightly to keep me in place. I could feel his fingers digging in, not enough to be painful but enough to keep me still.

"I am *not* being a brat."

"You are."

"Am not."

"You–" Milo sighed, letting go of my shoulders. For a moment I felt a flash of guilt, and apologies quickly rushed up my throat before I saw it. A little upturn in the corner of his lip – a teeny-tiny smile. He was playing with me. "You *are* a brat," he continued, and his fingers wandered down to the waistband of my shorts. "Which is weird, because you're usually so good for me. Don't you want to be my good little puppy anymore?"

"I do," I mumbled. It seems that whenever he starts to talk to me like that, I just absolutely melt. My face turns pink and I get all flustered and shy.

"Should I turn you into my good puppy then?" Milo pulled my shorts down and let them drop down to my ankles. I turned even more red. "Do you want me to do that? Should I make sure you'll *really* remember how you're supposed to behave?"

Looking back on it now, its obvious that he was implying a punishment. But at the time, my brain had already turned into a puddle of mush from a few sweet words, and all I could do was shrug.

My underwear was next to go. He tugged them down quickly, letting them pool around my ankles as well, then grabbed my shirt and easily pulled it off. I was left standing naked, stripped of my pajamas, and all I could think about was how degrading it was to be completely clotheless while he was still fully dressed.

"Lay down on the couch," Milo ordered. "On your belly."

I quickly did, and he placed his hand on my lower back. "I want to try something," he said. "You know how we ordered that cane yesterday? I might get some practice in. With this."

He held something in front of my face, and I blinked in confusion, trying to figure out what it was for a moment. Then it clicked.

You might not know this about me, but I have two cats and a dog. They're my babies and I would die for them. So it won't surprise you when I say that they've been spoiled with a ridiculous amount of toys. The item Milo was holding was originally a cat toy – one of those sticks with the toy on a string. My sisters dog chewed the string and toy off a few weeks ago, leaving me with just a long, surprisingly sturdy plastic rod. It wasn't much of a loss, because like I said, my pets have heaps of toys. I've been meaning to throw it out, but now that Milo was holding it, I realised it would make a very good practice cane.

"You–" I stumbled over my words for a second. "You can't hit me too hard with that!"

"I'll hit as hard as I want." He put his hand on the back of my head, pushing my face down into the cushion, then brought the stick down hard on my butt. It made a loud cracking sound, and from the pain alone I knew an angry red line would be forming. My yelp of pain was muffled by the cushion.

"Fuck," Milo said. "I'm even more excited for the cane now. I don't think you'll ever misbehave again when I have that. Stay still. If you get up, I'll make it worse."

I recieved a second stroke, then another. Soon he was bringing the stick down hard onto my skin over and over, and I couldn't hold back my howls of pain. At some point, tears started to prick at my eyes.

When my butt had been covered in red lines, he moved to other sensitive parts of my body. I wailed when he began to hit the backs of my knees, then moved down to my calves, and finally my feet.

His grip around my ankle was strong, and I couldn't do anything but curl my toes and yell as he caned the bottom of my foot. Each hit was more painful than the last, and I was almost grateful when he shifted to my other foot – until that started to fucking hurt too, of course.

He moved back to my butt. The hits were harder than ever. Each stroke came quickly and without mercy, and I gripped the couch cushion tightlt. I was determined to take the punishment, but after a minute I couldn't handle anymore. I pushed myself up onto all fours and began to bawl.

"Are you okay?" Milo asked gently. He put the stick down on the coffee table. "Do you need to safeword? Do you need to talk?"

I sat up on my knees, rubbing my butt and continuing to cry. He allowed me to take a moment to compose myself, and then I shook my head. "No," I sniffled. "I don't need to safeword. I need a punishment."

"I know you do." He stroked my hair for a moment, holding my head against his stomach. My tears and snot covered his shirt, but my brain was far too overwhelmed to feel ashamed about this, and he didn't give me the scolding he usually does when I make a mess.

"Are you ready to continue?" He asked, after letting me cry for a little bit.

I rubbed at my teary eyes and looked up at him. "Yes please."

Milo gently pushed me back down onto my stomach, then rubbed my sore butt. "I'll be right back," he told me. He left the room for a minute, then returned. I heard a jangling sound, then my wrist was roughly pulled behind my back. "You showed that you can't be trusted," he scolded as he locked the handcuffs around my wrists. "I thought you were smart enough to know you're not allowed to move, but I was wrong. Wasn't I?"

This felt like a trick question, and I answered hesitantly. "Yes...?"

"Yes, I was wrong. I should have known that you can't listen to basic instructions. That's on me." He moved around, and I heard another jangling sound. I was about to ask what it was, when he pulled my head up and wrapped a leather collar around my neck. After checking that it wasn't too tight, he attached a leash to the back, and got comfortable.

He sat on top of my calves, completely trapping me and rendering me even more helpless. "Riley," he said, and I made a humming sound. "I need you to listen. *Properly*. Can you breathe when I pull on this?" He yanked the leash, and I lifted my head and craned my neck back until I was looking at the ceiling. After a moment, the leash slackened, and I dropped my head back down.

"I can still *kind of* breath" I answered honestly. "It's hard though. And I don't think I can talk."

"That's okay. That's good." There was a moment of silence, and then he shifted a bit. "I want you to stay completely quiet until I tell you that you can speak. If you need to safeword when I'm pulling your collar, I need you to give me two thumbs up. Are you listening? Did you understand that?"

Removing my ability to speak is something I thoroughly enjoy, but Milo and I are both aware of the risks. Whenever we're involved in a scene involving breath play, a gag, or anything that could impede my ability to safeword, we always discuss it beforehand. This time was no different. Which, just separately, is why I don't like it when people suggest gags to inexperienced couples. I personally believe that a gag is something that is done after boundaries and trust is heavily established, and both the dominant and submissive are experienced enough to read each other's body language. *Anyway*.

"If I need to safeword when you're pulling my collar, I give you two thumbs up," I echoed back to him. He rubbed my butt with his hand.

"Good puppy. Now I want you to be *really* good for me and keep your little barks to yourself until I tell you otherwise, okay? If you make a sound, I'm going to have to pull on this. And you don't want me to do this, do you?"

"No Sir," I answered, then gasped as he tugged on the leash and cut off my air.

"You don't want me to pull on the leash, do you?" He repeated. I quickly shook my head, then sucked in a big breath as the leash slackened again. "Good puppy," he said. "Are you ready?"

I nodded my head. And then the punishment *really* started.

When he had left the room, he must have grabbed the riding crop as well. I could tell immediately from the different feeling, and swore at him in my head. I've never been able to get through a spanking session with the crop without yelling in pain, and I realised quickly that this was his plan. He wanted to test me. To see if I *really* needed to cry, or if my obedience would silence my voice.

My butt was already sore from the cane, but this didn't make him hold back at all. In fact, he was spanking me harder than he ever had, and I wasn't even allowed to swear. His place on the back of my legs, combined with the handcuffs, meant I was barely able to move. And it hurt *so* fucking bad.

I couldn't help myself, and I let out a loud cry. Immediately the leash was yanked back, choking me, and the hits just kept on coming. I was only without air for a few moment before my head was dropped back down.

I made this mistake three more times, and each time my breath was stolen from me cruelly. Milo scolded me as he did this, making sure that I knew this wasn't an option, and if I was doing this deliberately then I was only making things worse for myself.

Occasionally he would pause to say "speak, puppy," and I would let out a moan of pain or a pathetic little sob. This would always get a laugh out of him, but very quickly I was told to be quiet again.

After what felt like *hours* Milo let go of the leash and stopped hitting me. He stood up. "Speak, puppy," he said, and I sniffled. My cuffed hands made it awkward, but I managed to rub my bright red butt to ease the pain.

"Owww..."

"You've got some nice welts there," he said, picking up his phone. "You always joke about not being able to sit down after. I don't think it'll be a joke this time." He showed me a photo of my butt, and I pouted up at him. Instead of the cute, rosy pink it usually is when I get a spanking, it was a dark red. There were several parts that were raised up, and I saw the blossoming colours of small bruises forming. It was, without a doubt, the worst spanking I had ever recieved. And it wasn't over yet.

After allowing a few minutes rest, Milo placed his phone in front of me. On the screen I saw a timer for five minutes, ready to start. "This time you're allowed to cry and scream as much as you want," he told me. "But if you need me to stop, you have to safeword. Don't say no, don't say stop, say *red*. Do you understand that?"

His tone was serious, and I nodded quickly. "If I need you to stop I say red."

"That's right." He picked the crop up off the floor. "I'm going to hit very hard, okay? Harder than I've ever done. And I'm going to continue doing it for five minutes unless you safeword. Is that okay?"

"Yes Sir."

"You know you need this, don't you?" He rubbed the crop gently on my butt and I flinched. "You've just been such a naughty little girl."

*Naughty*. I don't know what it is about that word, but it makes me melt. It's just so condescending and patronising, and it pushes me so deeply into that submissive headspace. The word made me squirm, and I hid my face in the cushion of the couch. "I'm sorry," I mumbled.

"Not yet. But you will be."

He pressed start on the timer, sat back down on my legs, and began.

I was howling. Literally howling. If it wasn't so painful, my sounds would have been almost funny. Every single hit felt like it was burning my skin. I attempted to kick my legs, but Milo easily kept me still. Although I *could* have covered my butt with my hands, despite the cuffs, I knew it would make the punishment worse. The only thing I could was lay there and take it, and beg him to stop or at least slow down. But the word "red" never left my lips, so he didn't stop.

When I turned my head, I saw the timer sitting in front of me. The seconds ticked by slowly until I couldn't even see it through the tears in my eyes. And by the way, when I say I was crying, I mean properly crying. I mean snot, red eyes and red cheeks, hiccuping and sniffling and everything.

And I was also soaking wet, which Milo discovered when the timer went off. He spread my cheeks apart (earning another whine of pain from me) and pressed his fingers into my hole, not enough to give me any pleasure but more than enough for him to see how turned on I was.

"Come here," he said, and removed the handcuffs. I ignored his instructions, instead rubbing my burning butt and sulking. With a sigh, he grabbed my legs and rolled me over. I saw him grin when my bright red skin made contact with the cushions and I let out a little whimper.

We did some aftercare for a little while, and I was allowed to cum twice on his lap while he held me and called me really cute things, like his good little puppy. And I think I'll end that here, because this has gotten pretty long and there's something I want to talk about before you leave.

I was recently messaged by somebody who accused me of using AI and ChatGPT to write my stories. This guy was a dick, so I blocked him, but he did make me worry a little. There's something I want to clear up.

I *never* use AI or ChatGPT or anything like that to write my stories. I've been writing since I was a little kid and exclusively read old books from the ages of 10 to 14, which is why my words might seem a little... odd, sometimes? Also, another thing he claims is that bots use this hyphen – a lot. Yes, I use it, because I think it's great, and I have too many thoughts to fit into one sentence seamlessly. Writing has been a passion of mine since I was very young. Only damn thing I'm good at – apart from blowjobs, LOL

*Anyway*. Now that's cleared up, I'll finish this. As always, thank you for reading! If you see any grammar mistakes, spelling mistakes, or anything like that then let me know and I'll fix it as soon as possible. Hope you all enjoyed and I'll be sure to post again very soon! (Mainly because Otis came over last night and I *always* have something to write about after he's left)

– Riley <3