The Competitor in Training
"Congratulations on completing your apprenticeship, well done."
I couldn't find any words, just a silly grin on my face. The journey had been long and, at times, painful, but I was so proud of myself. My aunt and I would make a great team.
I knew that, under her mentorship, I would keep evolving.
Six months ago...
I sat on the train, with a gloomy look on my face, my mother's words still echoing in my ears. She had warned me this was my last chance; my aunt had agreed to take me in for the summer. I had to sort myself out and get my life back on track.
To be honest, I had messed up pretty badly. I had been kicked out of university at the end of the Christmas term for failing all my exams. As I hadn't done any work in the previous term, it was no surprise. Then, I was fired from the local supermarket for arguing with a customer. That was the final straw for my mother. She had run out of patience and called her sister-in-law for help.
I didn't know my aunt very well. She was always distant but loving towards me. I just didn't know what she did for a living. She lived in a nice house in Brighton, so she must have been doing something right. I knew she was in her mid-forties, always looking great for her age, and exuding confidence.
I knew I was failing; I was bright when I tried. I could engage well with people. While I wasn't a stunner, I was an attractive woman. I needed direction and to put in the effort. I hoped the change of scenery would inspire me.
My aunt met me at the station with a warm hug and a kiss on the cheek. We chatted on the way back to her house. I was taken to the attic to unpack and promised a nice meal at a local restaurant later. I felt relaxed and was happy with my decision to come. My aunt seemed to have her life together.
The dinner was lovely, with fresh fish caught that morning. The conversation and the wine flowed. Curiosity got the better of me, and I asked, "What do you do to make a living?"
There was a long pause before she answered, "I have two jobs. I design websites in the day, and in the evening, I provide discipline services."
"I'm sorry, I didn't quite catch that."
She hesitated before repeating, "Discipline services."
My mind spun, and I was at a loss as to what this could mean. I tried to think of a logical explanation, but I failed. "What does that mean?"
"I discipline clients for money."
"Do you mean smack them?"
She smiled and said, "There's more to it than that. I help people achieve things they desire in their lives, sometimes it's disciplining them, other times it's fulfilling a need. My job is to meet that need. Yes, sometimes I spank bottoms, but more often, I use a tawse or a cane."
I was stunned.
"Many people use my services, and I enjoy it too." She smiled again.
"Does my mother know?" I wondered if my aunt had been the one who'd orchestrated this.
"Yes, she does."
"Does she approve?"
"Not only does she approve, but a long time ago, while your father was still alive, I also disciplined her."
"What? You smacked my mother?" I couldn't believe what I'd just said.
"Yes, I caned her. Your father was very strict with her. His death left a massive void in her life. She put in an immense effort to ensure you were raised well, but she missed the discipline. I filled that gap for her."
My father had died when I was seven years old. He was a distant memory to me. I never imagined my parents' relationship to be like this. "Is this why my mother wanted me to stay with you?"
My aunt hesitated, then said, "Yes, partly. She's concerned about you going astray. You have so much potential, but you're wasting your opportunities. Dropping out of uni and ending up with the police. She's scared for your future and asked if I could help."
Later that evening, I was sitting with my aunt when she mentioned, "I'm going to discipline someone tonight. Would you like to watch?" I felt intrigued and a bit nervous as she continued, "If you're interested in this lifestyle, this could be a great opportunity for you to see a professional in action."
I considered it for a moment, then replied, "Yes, I'd love to observe."
So, we headed downstairs and prepared for the session. My aunt was wearing a nicely tailored skirt and blouse, giving her a commanding yet refined appearance. I could tell she was the type of woman who would be capable of making strong rules and enforcing them. We sat in the living room, waiting for her client to arrive. Once he was there, my aunt asked him to kneel on the floor and begin removing his clothes. "Go ahead and take everything off," she said, her voice stern but not unkind.
As he complied, my aunt explained, "You're here because you enjoy being punished. You understand that I'll drip wax on your bare skin or spank you until you cry. It's not about pleasure, but about submitting yourself to me."
The man nodded, and my aunt motioned for me to step over to the corner so I could watch. I sat on a chair, my mind buzzing with anticipation. He knelt in front of her, her skirt inching higher with every sip of coffee we shared, revealing more of her toned, mature legs. In that moment, I realized I was enjoying fantasizing about the situation. It felt wrong to delight in another's discomfort, yet I couldn't help but be intrigued. Her authority was captivating, and the potential for pain made me fidget with excitement.
Eventually, my aunt's client took off his clothes and knelt before her again, fully nude. My aunt gave him a cane, long and wooden, which she wielded in her right hand. "Now it's time to punish you, but first, show me your bottom," she ordered. He turned around and revealed his reddened backside where he'd already been punished multiple times. My aunt drew the cane back and, with effortless precision, hit his bottom several times. Each stroke caused a sound like a clap – loud, stinging, and painful. I was surprised at how intense the experience seemed.
His chest heaved with each blow, and the sight of his bruised skin gave me a thrill. I couldn't believe I was watching this in person.
The room became tense and quiet. I found my jaw slack, and my eyes transfixed on the punishment. He yelped and whimpered at the impact, while I couldn't help but wonder what it would feel like on my own skin. My aunt continued her task for what felt like ages, pausing after each stroke to observe the redness of her target. At one point, she asked, "Do you regret this?"
He froze for a second, then responded, "No, I enjoy it."
Uncomfortable, I glanced away, then back at my aunt, who raised a questioning eyebrow. While I considered her question, she moved on to the next portion of his punishment. And so the room filled with the sound of cane strikes as my aunt punished her client, seemingly without reservation.
When it was all over, I couldn't contain my curiosity, so I asked her about her motivations for getting into the discipline business. "I think you need help, young man." It was her way of telling me that this lifestyle wasn't for everyone but could offer assistance to those who sought it.
Curiously, she continued, "Sometimes a good spank is just what's needed to bring order to a wild, out-of-control life. Old-fashioned, yes, but effective nonetheless." I couldn't believe the boldness with which she talked about it, but it was refreshing to hear such unapologetic honesty.
Over the next few weeks, I became more intrigued. I eagerly studied her sessions and participated where I could. Slowly, I learned that disciplining others could be rewarding and even enjoyable. I started to understand that some people need guidance and punishment to find fulfillment in their lives and that accepting these needs was crucial.
Gradually, I became more aligned with my young, adventurous side and came to see punishment as a method of control or revitalization – not as a force of cruelty. This transformation was a terrific feeling, and I found myself appreciating my aunt's own love for the art of teaching others the value of restraint.
Now, it was my turn. We found a willing participant and prepared him for a session. I found myself stood in my aunt's shoes, dispensing discipline as she had done before. It was a surreal experience to recreate the situation from just a few weeks prior. As I stood there with the cane, I had a flash of inspiration.
"This is what you need," I said to him, channeling my aunt's vocal tone. I began to discipline him, feeling the power of my words ring true. Over the next few weeks, I thoroughly dug into the world of discipline, even partaking in sessions with him. Each time I punished him, I experienced potent feelings of dominance, power, and control, which gave me a sense of profound personal satisfaction.
At the end of it all, my life had taken a course I was not expecting – but in a way, I was grateful. Who knew that a simple cane could lead me to such revelations!
I tagged along with her into her bedroom, where the space was tastefully adorned and spotless. It appeared like everything in her life was carefully organized. "So, remember, our customer, Mr. Evans, is into breasts. It's wise to show a little cleavage, as you already know, the customer always gets their way." As she said this, she began removing her clothes, standing before me completely nude. Her lean figure caught my attention, and I noticed a small strip of pubic hair just above her vulva. She opened a drawer, pulled out a pair of black satin panties, and slipped them on. Next came a pair of black stockings held up by a black suspender belt. She looked like a goddess. Swiftly, she put on a formal grey skirt and light blue blouse, leaving the final button undone so everyone could appreciate her chest. "That oughta do the trick." She gave a quick spin and a grin. "Now, what are you going to wear?"
"I'm not sure. What would you recommend?"
"Don't suppose you brought an old school uniform, did you?" She mused aloud.
"No, that didn't cross my mind." We shared a laugh.
"Do you possess any formal skirts or blouses in your possession?"
"Unfortunately, no."
"Let's check the wardrobe and see if we can find something for you." She opened the closet, and began browsing through her wardrobe. "Take off your clothes and your bra. You'll feel more comfortable that way."
I couldn't believe what I was doing, but I removed my clothing and waited nervously.
My aunt retrieved two hangers from the closet, each draped with a skirt and top. "You are an extremely attractive woman, did you know that?"
It felt like a huge compliment. I quickly dressed, and despite this ensemble not being an outfit I'd typically go for, I looked surprisingly professional. "You might want to undo another button to show a little more cleavage," she suggested.
Though my breasts weren't particularly large, undoing another button undeniably made an impact.
We descended the stairs, and entered her office. "Take a seat there, you'll get a good view of the action," she directed me.
I took a chair and waited, my mind drifting. The room had an old-fashioned desk that resembled the one my old headmaster sat at. There were two bookcases on the walls, picturesque, but slightly dissonant in this study. On the other side was a large mirror, and it struck me as peculiar. Before I could think anymore, the doorbell sounded. I felt anticipation mounting.
I sat and watched. I could hear murmurs outside, followed by a nervous man entering the room. I'd guess he was in his 40s, around six feet tall and well-built.
"James, this is Miss Penny, she'll be observing your chastisement tonight."
The man nodded, "Hello, Miss Penny."
I nodded back, my excitement skyrocketing.
"Alright then, let's begin. James, undress yourself."
My aunt's command was delivered with a nonchalance that caught me off-guard. James hesitantly began removing his clothes, first his shirt followed by his trousers and underwear. He set his clothes aside, then stood before me, his hands covering his groin.
"Hands on your head."
He obeyed, revealing his throbbing erection, a sizeable result of his impending punishment.
"As you can see, Miss Penny, even though he's about to be punished, this is exciting to him." While saying this, my aunt played with James's erection. He moaned in ecstasy.
"Miss Penny, place a chair over there. Let's get his behind punished."
Trusting her guidance, I moved to place the chair where she wanted it. It looked like a dining room chair with no arms, and appeared oddly out of place in this study.
Upon sitting down, my aunt said jauntily, "As men tend to leak from here," as she grasped his penis. "Since I'm about to lose my skirt, I should take it off," she slipped free from her skirt and stepped out of it, leaving only her high heels, stockings, and suspenders.
She sat down and gently patted her lap. "Over you go, let's get your ass punished."
James got into position, his bottom hovering over her lap. "Miss Penny, there's a drawer in the desk that has some gloves and a hairbrush. Could you bring them over?"
I quickly complied, handing her the requested items, along with a tip: "Behind the door, there's a cane, please put that on the desk. I'll need it very soon."
I fetched the cane and felt a small tingle of excitement. I was beginning to yearn for its use.
My aunt handed me the brush and began to slide on her gloves, ensuring they were cozy before securing them in place. The gloves were black, made of latex that reached halfway up her forearms. Once she was satisfied with their fit, she took the brush and glided it lightly over James' bottom.
"I like to warm a bottom with the hairbrush before a caning, it makes the bottom more receptive to the punishment," she said nonchalantly.
Without hesitation, she raised the brush and brought it crashing down on James' left cheek. The sound of the strike resonated through the room, followed by a sob from James. She repeated the stroke on the other side, eliciting another sob. She quickly fell into a steady pattern of strikes, with James sobbing after each one and his legs shaking with each impact. Several minutes of this passed before the final blow landed. The room fell silent again, only to be broken by James' ragged breathing.
Feeling a growing arousal, I watched intently as my aunt leaned back. "Miss Penny, come and see the effect a hairbrush can have when wielded properly." I stood and took a look at James' swollen, red bottom, which was still draped over my aunt's lap. The bottom was particularly red and swollen in the lower half.
"Now that his bottom is ready for the caning, James, please present yourself at the desk."
James got to his feet and walked to the desk, a look of determination on his face. He positioned himself with his bare bottom exposed above the desk. In this position, he could see my aunt behind him, so he could witness his imminent punishment. Now, I understood the purpose of the mirror.
My aunt took the cane and swished it through the air, sending a shiver of fear down my spine.
"James, I will give you a choice," my aunt said. "I will give you nine strokes of the cane. Or, if you wish, I can remove my blouse so that you can see my breasts, increasing the number of strokes to twelve. What do you choose?"
"Twelve, please, Mistress," James replied promptly. The term "Mistress" sent another wave of excitement through me.
"You have the nicest way of asking," my aunt replied casually. With these words, she pulled off her blouse to reveal her naked chest, save for her heels, panties, stockings, and suspenders.
James' eyes widened as he watched my aunt's breasts bounce with each swing of the cane. He was instructed to spread his legs further apart, stand on his toes, and push his bottom out. His blood-red bottom was now fully exposed, leaving nothing to the imagination as he looked up at my aunt in the mirror.
My aunt held the cane close to James' bottom. "Legs further apart. Up on your tip-toes. Push your bottom out."
James obeyed as instructed, his bottom now perfectly positioned for the cane to do its work. The sight was undeniably erotic.
Taking aim, my aunt started swinging the cane, hitting James across his injured bottom with a loud crack. James shook his bottom after each blow and cried out in pain.
"Back in position," my aunt commanded.
James reluctantly complied, and the caning continued. With each strike, a new line appeared on his bottom.
After the eighth stroke, James was finding it difficult to maintain his position. "James," she asked, "Would you like Miss Penny to hold your arms in place for you?"
"Oh, yes, please," James replied, what a perfect opportunity!
"James, if you ask me nicely, I will remove my blouse and allow you to see my breasts. That would add three strokes to your punishment."
I could hardly contain my excitement. "James, would you like me to hold your arms and show you my breasts?"
"Yes, please, Miss Penny," he begged.
"I will allow it this once." I knew my breasts would be on full display as I approached James' position, and his view would be even more enticing.
James looked up at me longingly as I put my hands on his shoulders, allowing him an unobstructed view of my large, erect nipples.
"Let's continue, shall we?" my aunt said. With that, she lined up another strike and dealt it to James' bottom. He gritted his teeth, his eyes firmly fixed on mine. The rest of his punishment ensued in the same manner until the fifteenth stroke, at which point James' bottom was a patchwork of red stripes, and his breathing was swift and shallow.
"Miss Penny, could you please inspect James' bottom?" my aunt asked. Upon doing so, I could feel the heat radiating from his bottom and noticed his erection had returned. My wet panties added to my overall dampness, the sight of his painfully swollen bottom being the cause.
"We'll give James some time to change and join us in the living room." We walked into the living room while still partially clothed, where my aunt offered me a large gin and tonic. Once we were comfortable, she posed the question. "Would you be interested in becoming my apprentice?"
"Absolutely."
The tale is now complete. If you have any feedback or want to get in touch, please send me a private message.
Remember, new story concepts are always welcome!
Read also:
- Yes, Darling
- Madam Inanna's Life in FLR Continues: Part 2
- Day Two of The One-Way Voyage
- Julie Attends a Wedding: Part 12
Source: www.nice-escort.de
