Time Out, Buster! A time to reflect

He stood near the corner. Facing the wall, his hands against the back of his head, fingers entwined. His ankles were exactly a foot apart, the tip of the big toes on each foot exactly a foot away from the wall. I had made the measurement myself when we drew the two crosses, one for each each big toe to cover to ensure he is a foot away from the wall and his feet are a foot apart. He was leaning slightly forward, his nose resting against the wall. He'd been like that for forty minutes. His back glistened with a layer of sweat, I could even see where a few rivulets of sweat had run down his back, and I know that his face was probably dripping with sweat. He had twenty minutes left. Twenty more minutes keeping his nose pressed against the wall, ensuring that the panties he held pressed against the wall did not slip and fall to the ground.

The panties were mine. His nose pushed against the gusset. They'd been warm and damp when I first held them against the wall until his nose was in place. Damp with the secretions from my pussy, the pussy he worshipped. Now I imagined they were probably damp with his sweat. In a way I guess his punishment was also a reward. An hour holding a pair of panties against a wall with your nose can be hard, but then again, an hour smelling a Mistresses pussy perfume would surely be pleasure? They'd been damp because before sending him to the corner I'd taken him over my knee and spanked him fifty times with my slipper. His increasingly failed attempts at keeping still together with his ever more strained counting of, and thanks for, each spank, had that effect on me. My pussy just gushes when I'm making a sissy suffer.

I watched tv. Occasionally, like now, I glanced over to him to watch his suffering. I also admired how, as the time passed his bum got darker as some bruises from the spanking started to show. . . ."