Katy's Second Visit

 Katy’s Second Visit

A week had gone by since my little session with the delicious Katy. A week is a long time in politics they say; it is also a long time in the life of a disciplinarian. I had been somewhat surprised when Alan had agreed to my scheme so I wasn’t entirely prepared for Katy’s first visit. In the intervening week I had had a lot of time to plot, plan and prepare. As for Katy, well I am sure that the week involved a lot of sobbing and a growing panic as our next appointment drew close. I had had a drink with Alan at the weekend and, while he was a little circumspect, it was clear that I had made quite an impression on his wife. Her behaviour was apparently much improved but I insisted that she required a few more sessions to make any changes permanent.

I was a little worried that the threat of divorce may not be sufficient incentive as the intensity of her punishments increased so, unbeknown to Alan, I had a little extra incentive to ensure that Katy paid me a few more visits. I had let her know that I had filmed our last session using my Google Home app and that, should she suddenly become uncooperative, I could not guarantee that the video might not inadvertently find its way into the cloud.

So I was not surprised when, at the appointed time, I heard a by-now familiar sheepish knock on my door. It was a chilly evening and Katy was dressed in a woollen overcoat, a lilac pullover and a dark woollen skirt. She wore a little make up and smelt faintly of some fragrance.

Katy lowered her head submissively.

“Good evening sir. May I come in please?”

I waved her inside and closed the door behind us.

“Thank you sir. I know that I have been bad and am here to be punished. Please will you discipline me, sir?”

Her newly submissive attitude was a pleasant surprise but I was not entirely convinced. I detected the slightest hint of contempt in her apparent complaisance.

As I ushered her in, my hand reached for her bottom which I gave a little squeeze just to remind her that, for the time she was with me, her body was mine.

Katy looked startled when she walked into the living room to see the array of implements laid out. Implements intended to inflict the maximum pain on her delicate body, implements intended to restrain her should the need or the desire arise and, perhaps most shockingly of all, implements normally associated with more pleasurable pursuits. Looking oddly out of place there was also a bikini very similar to the one I had seen her wearing on our last trip to the beach.

“Put it on.” I said passing it to her.

Katy looked puzzled but quickly complied. She first took off her overcoat and then her pullover. I sat and watched intently offering her no opportunity for modesty. The skirt was next. She neatly folded her outer garments before rather more hesitantly removing her underwear. Her neatly trimmed bush matched her russet hair. She quickly put on the bikini. I had guessed her size correctly. The bikini bottom clung to her shapely arse which seemed to have fully recovered from last week’s mistreatment. In the cold of the room her nipples protruded sharply.

She looked every bit as fetching as she had done on our beach trip and it took all my forbearance not to act on some of my baser impulses. I had a very full evening planned and nothing could be allowed to disrupt the schedule.

Alan had identified two areas of ongoing concern with his marital life and I intended to work on both of them. The first was, that like so many modern women, Katy regarded household chores as beneath her. Also in common with her emancipated peers she had no qualms about exploiting some poor migrant woman to do the tasks that she considered so demeaning. Nevertheless, there were still things to do around the house and after a hard day at work it fell to Alan to do them. I suspected that the sight of Alan doing these naturally feminine tasks contributed to the other problem. Katy showed little interest or enthusiasm in the other half of her wifely duties. Now, it is normal for that sort of thing to tail of a little in most marriages, particularly after children come on the scene, but Alan had confessed to me that weeks and even months might go by between their rather uninspired lovemaking sessions.

His discovery of the popular Tinder app on Katy’s phone only confirmed his worst suspicions. Despite her protestations we all know that there is no good reason for a married woman to use such an app. It was clear as day that while Alan was out at work and the children were at school, his wife would be engaging in extra-curricular activities with less domesticated males. The thought filled me with anger. This was partly out of a sense of solicitousness towards an old friend but if I am honest, there was also quite a bit of envy and resentment. If anyone were to be writhing under the sheets with the lovely Katy, it should be me. I now could have kicked myself at my principled stand when a couple of years ago I had declined her offer. If only I had known then how lightly she took her marital vows.

I would deal with this matter in due course. For now, there was the question of her slovenliness. My home is old and rather too large for me. It is some time since I shared it with a female companion. I am a busy man, even outside my disciplinary interests and have neither the time nor the inclination to engage with domestic matters. Uncharitable souls may even go so far as to call me a slob. Normally I have an older Polish lady come in but this week I had decided to give Magda a well earned break. The house was thus in quite a state.

Katy’s task was to bring it into a reasonable condition while I supervised. There were dishes to wash, floors to wipe and toilets to be sanitised. She would have to do each task to an impossibly tight time schedule, with only my riding crop for encouragement. The fact that she would have do all this while wearing a bikini added a little extra touch of humiliation into the mix. Failure was inevitable but it would still be punished severely.

Her first failure was in the kitchen. Not only did she fail to beat the clock, I found streaks of grease on one of the wineglasses. Positioning her over the sink, I administered several strokes of the riding crop to her bottom and thighs.

The living room was not much better. She was already starting to tire from the unfamiliar exertion so she was hopelessly behind time. A quick inspection detected dust on the skirting boards. This necessitated the partial removal of her bikini bottoms and the administration of the strap as she knelt up on the sofa.

Nor did she distinguish herself in the bathroom. Her now bared bottom was showing the telltale signs of the strap. She did her best to scrub the toilet but the glass of the mirror was covered in soapy streaks. I made her stand in the bath. I scolded her on her appalling domestic skills while teaming the water from the mop bucket over her head. Trembling with the cold, and no doubt quite a bit of shame at her failure as a woman, she then learned just how excruciating the tawse can be when used on a wet bottom.

I then rinsed her down with cold water from the shower head before toweling her down not neglecting her most intimate parts.

It was the bedroom next. She looked rather nervous upon entry. The bedroom has, shall we say, certain associations which were clear to both of us and I am sure that Katy had made them. I told her to stop her silliness and get on with the job at hand. This involved changing the sheets and vacuuming. By now she was wearing only the still sodden bikini top. I thought she might be more efficient if she was less encumbered so I told her to remove it. Her naked body was covered in goosebumps and her nipples were so erect I thought they might explode.

It was a perfect opportunity to express my disappointment in her various marital infidelities. I cruelly joked that she obviously did a better job in the sheets than in changing them. She looked deeply ashamed when I said this and attempted to distract herself by busying herself with the bedding. Sadly she failed to do this within the required time and I told her that once again I was forced to punish her. I positioned a pillow in the middle of the bed and told her to lay over it.

“Stay there” I said to her as I left the room.

I took my time, pouring myself a glass of whiskey as I planned what to do next.

When I returned, it was with a vibrator and a cane.

“You have obviously grown accustomed to your little illicit pleasures. Were I to discover that my wife was a whore like you she would be out on her ear but Alan is a more forgiving man than I am. Nevertheless, something must be done to correct your wanton ways.”

I droned on, enjoying my pompous and deeply hypocritical lecture. Katy lay naked face down on the bed. Her bottom already red and blotchy from my ministrations looked very inviting, as did the pouting lips of her pussy, which were clearly on display.

I switched on the vibrator and walked towards her. She looked panicky as the buzzing came closer. She winced as I thrust the object into that place which should have been the sole preserve of her husband. I had not bothered with any lubricant and she was clearly unprepared for its entry.

“In time you will learn that conjugal relations are the duty a wife owes to her husband. They are a reward to him for all his efforts in providing for and protecting his household. It does not matter whether you find them pleasurable or not.”

The vibrator buzzed away as I rambled on.

“You are not permitted to cum. If you do, you will receive a caning. Eventually you will come to associate these sensations and hopefully this will break your nasty little habit.”

Already Katy was starting to writhe involuntarily as the vibrator did terrible things to her pussy. Her hips thrust into the bed. Her breathing became laboured as she struggled to fight off the impending orgasm but eventually her body betrayed her.

She emitted the unmistakable sound of female climax.

“Aaagh…..Oooo….”

“Crack!” my cane rudely interrupted her pleasure.

“Ayeeee!” The moan of pleasure was replaced by a shriek of pain.

“You filthy little slut. I can see that I have my work cut out for me”

The cane landed again, slicing her bottom cheeks in two.

“Aaaargh! Christ!”

“Now then, no profanities!” I growled, as I thrashed her bottom again. And again.

Twelve strikes in all, of increasing severity, lashed her soft bottom and thighs.

At the end, Katy slumped over the pillow. Her body wracked with sobs.

What happened next does not exactly fill me with pride. My task was to set my friend’s wife on the straight and narrow, and however much I attempt to justify my behaviour, I cannot but think that I betrayed him. Surely this was what I had so gallantly refused that time, when Alan was away on a trip, and Katy had invited me round to “keep her company”.

As I rode Katy, I managed to convince myself that this was merely the logical conclusion of her punishment and even as the inevitable orgasm rippled through her (all the more intense for having previously been denied) she could hardly be said to be enjoying the experience. And isn’t that after all what most men fear, that their woman may experience greater pleasure with another man than in their own arms? Besides even though she had consented, she was hardly an enthusiastic participant. The irony of the fact that I was having these thoughts, all while my seed was spurting into my friend’s wife, barely registered.

No, there was no doubt in my mind, as a shell shocked and clearly chastened Katy hurriedly dressed, that this was merely the final humiliating episode in a deeply unpleasant evening.

Still, as I sipped my drink and reviewed the video I couldn’t help feeling a twinge of bad conscience. I would clearly have to find a way of making it up to him.