by Jon - Australian author
One of the most exciting aspects I enjoy in a disciplinary session when I am the recipient is if the tables are turned on the Mistress initiating the discipline.
My introduction to this concept was at a Discipline Club I used to frequent in Kent when I lived in England. One of the features of these evenings was in the nature of challenges, whereby the Disciplinarian would offer to take a pre-arranged session of discipline by the submissive if she or he was able to take the Dominant's prescribed dose of chastisement without pleading for mercy.
However, if the tables were to be turned, that Dominant, if female, was allowed to put up vigorous resistance against being chastised.
One very stimulating outcome of this was a young 'policewoman' who soundly strapped a 'schoolmistress' and was forcibly spanked and caned herself. However, I have no doubt this was staged.
The Dominant woman, very much for real, was Gertrude. Gertrude was no beauty. An almost matronly 50 year old woman of nearly 6 foot with hair worn in an austere bun. She always wore a severe blouse and skirt and was a Disciplinarian of the most feared kind, in that she was totally merciless in her administration and always got her pound of flesh.
In the year or so I attended the club there was always Gertrude's challenge, which always had stipulations and clauses. For instance, one night she agreed she would accept a 'slippering' from anyone who could take 200 swats of a hairbrush on the bare behind. These were to be issued in a group of 50 strokes, with no turning back after each group of 50 had commenced.
One young man had a go at this and was squealing after about 35, so had to take 50. The only woman I ever saw challenge Gertrude just made it to 100, after which she was black and blue. After that I saw a man howl and writhe under paddle, strap and crop but none went close to making a successful challenge.
At Gertrude's penultimate challenge she offered for the very first time to take a bare bottomed caning from anyone who could take 200 strokes of a lethal oval paddle called a Jokari bat. The catch was that once you were strapped down to the bench, you were up for the full 200 even if you were yelling 'mercy' at the second stroke.
Some newcomer had a go at that one and was in considerable discomfort at about the 20th stroke and was crying real tears by the time she finished with him. No-one else had the bottle to take on Gertrude that night, but I made 2 trips to professional Disciplinarians before the next meeting for some practice, as I decided it was time she was taught a lesson.
Word had evidently got around about Gertrude's challenges as there was a fair crowd at the next meeting. There was a hushed expectancy as she took the floor after a few tame preliminaries and announced 'The Challenge'. 50 strokes of the bat. A most effective ally at the last meeting, followed by 150 strokes of the cane, to be issued in 5 batches of 6, 5 batches of 12 and 3 batches of 20. If anyone could last that out she would accept a handspanking and 50 strokes of the hairbrush over each layer of her clothing, including her bare bottom. However, she said, in the unlikely event of it coming to that, there would be a maximum of 3 minutes allowed between the last stroke of the hairbrush and the forced removal of her next layer and she would be resisting vigorously!
Much conjecture arose as to what exactly Gertrude did wear under her skirt and a friend commented that were he to undergo a thrashing such as she intended, nothing short of a carbon tungsten chastity belt would get in his way of meting out his revenge.
For me, it was make or break and I accepted her challenge.
As she strapped me down to the bench, she murmured "no-one gets the better of me sonny" and without more ado she started with that lethal bat. I could see why my predecessor made such a racket under that thing and like him I was writhing after 20 strokes which she laid evenly on each cheek, then changed her tack to 5 each cheek for the next 20, then 10 blistering swats which echoed loudly around the otherwise quiet room.
My legs were shaking as I was unstrapped from the bench and tied over a school desk. With the rope connecting wrists to knees so that the bottom really stuck out, the only thing I could move was my legs and head. I had never before and have only once since experienced a caning remotely on that parallel. I really did go through the pain barrier and at 30 strokes nearly conceded. At 90 I'd passed through pain to numbness and could only feel some wet spots where the blood was flowing, albeit not too severely. By the time we reached 150, the members raised a cheer. I received the usual medical assistance required after such a thrashing and sat down with difficulty on a chair to enjoy my revenge, choosing as my other implement an extremely effective wooden hairbrush.
It was obvious that Gertrude was not relishing the reverse and as she had the privilege of resistance, promptly sat down on the floor. I'm of powerful build, but it took me a good 2 minutes to secure her over my lap as she not only weighed about 13 stone, but was powerful and very resentful of what I believe was a new experience and maybe one she'd not realistically considered. As soon as my hand hit her skirt I could tell she was wearing very robust underwear of some description.
My hand had no effect whatsoever with 50 swats and the hairbrush just bounced off, though she was still wriggling as much as she could to get off my lap. As soon as the hairbrush landed for the 50th time she said, "Now you have 3 minutes to get my skirt up or you quit" Although by now goaded, I was misled by this statement and wasted a minute trying to pull her skirt up over her very ample hips, revealing black stocking tops and a blue petticoat. Realising I had to pull her skirt down over her hips instead of up, I made a grab for her belt, momentarily releasing the strong grip I'd maintained on her right hand during the spanking. She started getting up off my lap so I dragged her back across my knees and after what seemed an eternity of clawing, I undid her belt and managed, inch by inch, to lower her skirt to her knees and wrestle her back face down over my lap.
"Two minutes and fifty two seconds" said the neutral time keeper. The lack of her tight skirt made her buttocks bounce perceptively, but although I was using considerable force on her petticoat the only reaction was the odd grunt and a lot of struggling. Raising the petticoat was done in a relative trice to reveal the source of Gertrude's seeming resilience. The wretched woman was wearing a girdle as tight as tight could be and as I gave her third hundred swats I was frantically trying to think how I could get the damned thing off her backside in the allocated time.
Fortunately it was one with no gusset between the legs and I thought I could probably drag it up her hips to her waist. As soon as I'd finished with the hairbrush I locked her legs between my own, then, holding her right hand tightly I undid the suspender clips behind her leg. The girdle seemed to have been sprayed on it was so tight, and obviously worn so to afford it's wearer the maximum protection from pain and to make it impossible to remove.
I was fighting a losing battle with her in this position so, getting a firm grip under each leg of the garment, I suddenly spread my legs and let her drop onto the floor between my knees. To a great howl from Gertrude, the garment inverted itself inside out around her waist. With strength anew I hauled her across my lap, her right hand forced into the small of her back.
"Two minutes and fifty eight seconds" said the time keeper.
"Noooo, please!" yelled Gertrude, kicking wildly until her skirt became tangled around her ankles, helping to keep her in place. Even when she was kicking it was possible to see her buttocks swaying under her white satin knickers, knowing they now had lost the protection of the thick skirt and armour like girdle.
To the delight of both me and the club members, many of whom had been on the receiving end of her sadistic beatings, Gertrude's reaction to the spanking was now totally different. She twisted and wriggled as much as she was able but she couldn't escape my hand and although her knickers were extremely tight, her large bottom jiggled and undulated like a water bed. The hairbrush had her convulsing helplessly over my knee and she howled like a banshee at every resonant stroke. At the 50th stroke she begged to be spared the humiliation of having her bottom bared, but the club manager said rules were rules and bade me proceed.
The lowering of this once haughty martinet's knickers was by no means a foregone conclusion, as the waistband was very tight and her hips very big. Furthermore, she secured a desperate, vice-like grip on either side of the waistband. I rid her of her hindering skirt and with my last ounce of strength I took two similar holds on the waistband, tucking each of her legs under my armpits and stood up off the chair, effectively standing her up on her head.
Eventually the pressure upon her head and neck told and she released her grip on her knickers with a cry of despair and let her hands take the weight of her body. Even with all that pressure on the waistband, it took a good half minute for her knickers to inch down, involving much wrenching and yanking on my part to reveal a very large but still voluptuous and by now, quite a pink bottom. The waistband was so tight even around her knees that it acted as a perfect hobble. Her determination in choosing such an irremovable garment proving her final downfall and over my knee she was unceremoniously hauled, bare for all to see from hip to hobbled knees with black stocking tips contrasting with her pink thighs.
Never before nor since, have I taken such satisfaction in administering a spanking. Each smack on that large but shapely bottom sent ripples along to the other cheek and all she could do in resistance was to kick her hobbled knees and sway her voluptuous hips adding to the convolutions of her buttocks.
Fifty smacks of my hand left her crimson and I made sure each hairbrush stroke tell, leaving a white mark each time. A screech like a scalded cat and an eventual purple hue which I'm sure lasted a week or more. Gertrude, The Arch Dominatrix, was humbled at her own game but, if you put your arse on that line, you're bound to get it scorched from time to time.
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Copyright Mrs Birch 2012
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