Punishment stories husband and wife-Perfect Bride Chapter 7: Punishment for disobedience, a mulan fanfic | FanFiction

Topic: Strict Husbands caning wives school punishment Please share your husband punishment. I can't find it. I will punishing you here. When you cpme online see it do it and say me that you have completed. I will start with your breasts.

Punishment stories husband and wife

Punishment stories husband and wife

Punishment stories husband and wife

R u ready? Uss men jo doosra link he punishment forum ussy khol. Wtf have you guys made of this amazing forum, this is for punishment of wives, not for any shitty role players like you. Now the real meaning of the bonds that held her where she was sunk in. Punishment stories husband and wife Add to Community Report Abuse. Make her feel guilty about her small. And they spat out in unison. Movies Mulan. I apologised and promised to make it up to him. I will humiliate you and punish you in many ways Not like school punishments.

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I feel the next orgasm coming. It had been her choice to go this far in the Storiws place. Sara started to bend down over into the position she knew was expected. Lance gets a surprise. Amy's finger is still fucking my ass. I was so embarrassed Lam punishes her pupil but he knows her darkest secrets. The pain was just as terrible. That pill sure seemed to be doing its job. I could feel gusband cock twitch! Split Slave Ch. Discipline is Hard Work Ch. Crazy brutal punishments. Impatient Daddy is very unhappy to find how neglectful his baby can be.

In the next three days, Mulan was not able to talk with her husband again.

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  • The silence was deafening.
  • But If, and I mean IF it was true I would encourage you to grow a pair of balls, read Ephesians 5, 1 Peter 3, 1st Corinthians , and get yourself some psychological help as well as some spiritual help because you've got this whole life you were living way backwards.

The silence was deafening. That there was no one in the waiting area was both a relief and a disappointment. Even the embarrassment of company would be preferable to the nervous solitude she endured now.

They had no answer. At least not a method she could use without devoting thought and effort. Concentration was beyond her capabilities for the moment. Anxiety and nervous energy prohibited it. She lifted her bottom from the seat, and balanced her weight on her arms in an L-sit, holding her balance in the posture for the count of seventy at one point.

She paced and counted the steps around the room, across the diagonal and along each side. She caressed the wallpaper examining the linen texture and the minute flaws in the seams.

Anxiety bubbled up in her chest at intervals, each time her awareness of the silence and the impossible wait became real. And again her obstinate socks gave her none. He said she should try to find the mindset. What was there to think about after all, she wondered. Anxiety bordering on panic bubbled again. Sara had to stand and pace again to release it.

The door was locked! The spanking she had the night before was long gone from the flesh there. Her skin was soft. The only sensation other than the texture of feathery hairs and skin stroked by cool fingers was the tingle of fear and the tension of anticipation that ebbed and flowed between her legs. What would her flesh feel like in a few hours? How would she feel after this was over? She promised her husband she would honor his decision.

She was to be severely and soundly punished. She faced a test of trust: trust that her word meant anything, trust that she would be accountable for the flaunting and teasing of their bonds together, trust that her commitment to him and their vows was worthy of his. A caning for punishment, a caning at the hands of a master, a test of submission by proxy, this is what she faced.

She was after all, guilty of the crime. There was no going back. Could she accept his call? It had been her choice to go this far in the first place. Miles would see the punishment later on video tape, but he would not be with her to encourage or help her submit.

She would have to do it alone. The loneliness was part of it too. Sara managed to become still and lost in her thoughts. All sense of time was long gone, but by the time the door opened, she felt that she had been still, thinking about her promises and goals, for close to an hour. Sara scanned the new room. It was stark and clinical. A short padded bench covered by a clean white sheet occupied the center of the room. A pillow rested between the cuffs at the top end, and a bolster rested in the middle.

A low coffee type table displayed an array of spanking implements. Three straps, a longish thin paint stick type paddle, and six canes were laid out. Sara startled and whimpered, but she complied. In a minute or so she was nude, and kneeling beside the table where she had little choice but to examine the tools that would soon be used to punish her. Goose flesh raised and prickled on her flesh. Her groin throbbed and the skin on her bottom buzzed.

After a few minutes, she closed her eye. Looking at the implements was raising her anxiety level back up to where it had been in the waiting room. Behind her eyelids, her mind began to chant. When she was there, he moved to refine the position of her feet, and placed the bolster on the end in front of her hips.

Sara closed her eyes. What did he expect her confession or an explanation for her nervous movement a moment ago? Over the next few moments the master helped her with the answer. He wanted both, and she gave them to him. The exchange slowly bled her of the powerful anxiety she felt. By the time his touch guided her torso down and her hips over the bolster, all that was left of the intense aversion Sara had been feeling, was moderate fear of the punishment to come, and resolution to accept it just as she promised she would.

Mild panic resurfaced when she felt the cuffs close around her ankles, but his voice soothed and reassured her. Taking your punishment and the pain will be secondary. You will take it, because you will have no choice, and it will be the worst you have ever endured. She knew she could not take that on her own, and she was grateful that she only had to give over to this means to help her have what she wanted.

He began with the straps, licking her hard with each until she writhed with the burning pain. In sets of ten, he strapped her for twenty minutes. Each of them delivered a unique brand of pain. The technique of using breaks between sets and gradually building the severity of each stroke until the last of each set was like a brand, was both the only reason Sara was still with him in the ritual, and why she was desperate that it be over at the peak of each set.

When he put the straps down and left her, Sara sobbed quietly relieved to be alone. No longer lonely, but wanting Miles to sooth her. They were delivered in only a minute. There was no time to cope with them. All Sara could do was scream. When that was over, she cried and sobbed uncontrollably. The master left her alone for an hour.

In that time the throb of her bottom became her company. It took her inside herself, through the meaning of her submission to this kind of thing, and into the place in her soul where her need for it lived. The pain eased, and the lingering throb soothed.

The cane was next. She would have thirty strokes, and she knew with the first that she would die before it ended. The implement seared into her thighs with a white hot line of ice and then fire. Sara felt her skin implode with the impact and the pain tunneled and spread deep into her flesh and out across the surface. She had barely adapted when the next stroke laced into her. Ten strokes completely covered her upper thighs with pulsing knotted welts.

Sara was desperate, and yet still had the presence of mind to wonder how it was possible for her flesh to feel both thickened and hardened, and liquefied at the same time. The next ten strokes began at the top of her bottom, and worked down. The pain was just as terrible.

But now there was something else. Each impact pulsed through her groin. The imploding undulations of flesh massaged through to her labia. The caning was a brutal masturbation, and Sara felt herself succumbing to it. Orgasm took her with the twenty fifth stroke, and by the thirtieth she was completely spent. Nothing remained of any emotion but resolution and peace. It was over. She was punished. Never again would she deserve something so awful.

Never again would she need anything so complete. Time continued, and Sara recovered. The master waited and watched. When she finally lifted her head to look back and ask with her eyes for release, he raised the cane and spoke. The next stroke of the cane seared into her soul, and she knew in that instant, that there was nothing she had ever known in her life before that would ever be the same again.

I feel stronger when I have been fiercely caned. Even when caned by someone who was not my partner I no longer cared about revealing everything. I felt proud of those horrid welts, felt them as a badge of honor, a membership crest for the order of the spanked.

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Punishment stories husband and wife

Punishment stories husband and wife

Punishment stories husband and wife

Punishment stories husband and wife

Punishment stories husband and wife

Punishment stories husband and wife. Change picture

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He Made Me Do Unspeakable Things - But He Never Hit Me

Photo: Stocksy Source:Whimn. When I married my husband thirteen years ago, he was the big funny guy who made everyone laugh. Everything was great between us, but five months into the relationship things took a turn. Suddenly he started having angry unpredictable outbursts - he would sometimes call me names, tell me I was useless, stupid, ugly, and that I was of no use to him.

He would accuse me of cheating, of wanting to leave him for someone else. These outbursts would often end with him threatening to kill himself. I wrote it off as something that just happened when he drank and I tried to help him feel secure by reassuring him that he was the only man I had ever been with, and that I loved him and would never leave him.

He would often check up on me, ask where I was, who I was with and how much money I had spent. After each outburst he would apologise the next morning in an attempt to wipe away the pain of the words from the night before. The outbursts that were scattered throughout the first few years increased in regularity and intensity, but I put it down to his demanding job. We had four children, and I put on a brave face for them, but with each child, my feelings of depression became stronger.

When I voiced my concern, he would tell me that I was a failure at everything, motherhood included. Because he never physically hurt me, I never connected what was happening as abuse.

He would also tell me off for not providing enough sex, for not being adventurous enough. I discovered text messages from other women, video and pornography all through his phone. He said that it was all my fault. I had failed him. You actually have to be a mother to deserve anything.

I was devastated. My depression already had me feeling like a bad mother which was only magnified when my four-year-old daughter brought home a picture she drew at kinder depicting me with a big frowny face. I apologised and promised to make it up to him.

That prompted me to seek professional help for depression. I raised the topic of my failure with my husband and he agreed that I had failed horribly. I was a bad wife, an incompetent mother, and that I could fix all that by giving him something that he has desired for a long time. He wanted me to have sex with another man. I cried. So I reluctantly agreed. I went to the address my husband gave me while he watched on from home via webcam.

The man was nice enough, but then self-doubt started to creep back in. I already knew I was ruined after having four children and was no longer good in bed. What if I had failed at this now? When I returned home, he grabbed me and put me into the bath tub. He unzipped his fly and then urinated on me. I can do whatever I want to you now. Punishment would be anal or oral sex until I vomited.

He was right in a way. He had me then. With his video evidence, he took the last speckle of control I had over myself and threw it out the window with my self-worth.

He seemed to become nicer to me in general after that, but not in bed. Sex between us was based on humiliation. He sent me back to that first man on numerous occasions. He seemed too nice to know what was really happening…. I compartmentalised in my brain.

I kept the nasty horrible man my husband was to me, completely separate from the funny, caring man he showed everyone else. No one else ever saw his evil side. No one would believe me if I did say anything. He was always quick to remind me that nobody else would want me now anyway. I was a slut, a whore, and no one wanted that. I was too ugly, too broken, too damaged, too used, no other man on earth would even give me second look, the only reason he even stayed with me was for sex.

I was his best friend and he would be lost without me. And he never laid a hand on me or the kids, so I told myself it was okay.

The years went by and although I never really got used to the way he treated me, I found ways to deal with certain aspects. We tragically lost our son, the third child that he never wanted.

This time was rough for us and we both handled it very differently. I was on anti-depressants and they were doing their job. I enrolled in a degree in a field I had always been interested in. In front of other people, my husband would say how proud of me he was, but in private he would tell me that I was destined to fail, as I failed everything else in life. Studying full time as a mature aged student with three young children and an abusive husband was never easy.

But I loved learning. And I was really good at it, so I pushed on despite the reminders that I was being selfish and I was destined for failure. He would give me specific instructions. Sometimes I had to get a photo flashing my breasts.

Other times I would have to find a man and give him oral sex. The alternative was his form of punishment, and sex with another man was often the better option. Some nights I would get out of it by pretending to drink a second beer with dinner - because he knew that after a second drink I was unable to drive. Then if I was sent out to perform oral sex on someone, I could take off my shirt in the bathroom, squirt it on my face and chest and take a selfie.

This allowed me to return home without punishment. I spent many a night studying at the pub, iPad in tow, all while pretending to him that I was propositioning other men. This also gave him the proof he needed that I was a bad mother.

The proof he needed to control me and keep me in his life and following his sordid demands. He said that if I ever tried to leave him, all the videos and photos would make sure I never saw our children again. I sometimes wondered if this was abuse but dismissed it given he had never physically done anything. Threats had been made, but he only followed through on the sexual punishment.

As I was looking at all the information on domestic violence I felt like I had been kicked in the guts. All apart from being physically hit. I was asking myself how stupid I could actually be to NOT realise that this was what it was! This was HIM! Then I named it. In September, I went to Sydney to farewell a girlfriend going overseas for a year. He was a monster leading up to it then the morning of my flight he refused to drive me to the airport but he threatened to report the car stolen if I drove myself.

For the first time, I stood up to him. He started screaming at me then I left. I never felt like I could call the police as his father was a police officer and I already knew what he thought of me. Many of his mates were in the police force too so and since he was the big jovial guy who was great fun to be around when he was drunk and I had no bruises or injuries… so why would they believe me?

I went back and into the caravan. He broke through the door and continued yelling at me. I went inside as he demanded, and I crawled into bed and tried to go to sleep.

He kept yelling at me. He punched the bed above my head, then he stood in the doorway of the bedroom with the. Then he threw a bullet at me. Asked me if I was happy to be holding the last thing that would go through his head. Then he went outside.

I lay terrified in bed. But I was also hoping to hear that bang. I wanted him to shoot himself, I wanted it over. Then I felt awful for thinking it. He was ranting and raving outside. I heard him come back inside so I pretended to be asleep. He climbed into bed, and then started saying what a slut and a whore I was, then he started to have sex with me while I pretended to be asleep.

Punishment stories husband and wife