Eleanor’s Humiliation Story

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As Eleanor caught her breath from the warm up spanking, Mark disappeared for a moment, telling her to stay where she was. She was bent over the end of the bed, legs spread apart slightly with a small spreader bar, belly and breasts hanging down as she leant on her hands. Her bum was feeling pleasantly warm, and she took the moment to stretch and shift her feet.

Mark was only gone for a moment. When he returned a put a couple of printed out pages in front of Eleanor on the bed. It was an erotic story she’d written and sent him recently. She looked at it in surprise, then felt the sting of the dressage whip (she’d always thought whip was the wrong name for it- it wasn’t that scary; more like a cane or a crop) on her large bottom, making her flinch.

“Read.” Mark said from behind her, not unpleasantly.

“Yes sir.” she answered, and began to read.

As she read, Mark continued to spank her. It meant her reading came in stops and starts, and she processed some of the meaner thwacks. Whenever she read something said to her, too, that was humiliating, she would struggle to get the words out. All the while the sharp stings to her bum built into a heat and had her jerking and gasping.

This is the story she read:


I get off the ferry and find you waiting for me moments later. You look at me critically for a moment, then you say, not bothering to keep your voice down,

“Have you gained weight?”

Mortified I shake my head, unable to look up, to risk seeing who heard.


“I don’t know.” I say quietly, wishing to be out of here. You start to lead me up the ramp, we’re near the back of the crowd, but there are still people around.

“Hmm, I think you have.” You say thoughtfully. “Yes- you look like you’ve put on at least a stone.”

My face must be bright red; whole body feels deeply hot with shame. I know there’s know way I could have gained that much weight since you last saw me, but arguing back would only expose me more and right now all I want is to disappear, vanish into a void, or failing that get out of here as quickly as possible. So I say nothing and let you lead me to the car.

“In you get jelly belly.” You say amused. “If you can fit.”

I say nothing and get into the car, securing my belt.

You’ve settled into the driving seat, and reaching into a compartment you tell me to keep my legs wide open. You’ve brought out a child’s dummy.

“Open you’re mouth, useless girl.”

I do as I’m told and you pop the dummy in.

“A dummy for my dummy. Wouldn’t want you forgetting that your just a dumb little girl, now would we?”

I feel so stupid holding the dummy in my mouth, and I know anyone who looks through the windows will be able to see.

As we drive you make small talk about the area, and some friends you played with recently. I ‘mmm’ in response around the dummy, until you ask me a question. I reach to take the dummy out of my mouth to respond.

“No.” You correct me. “Speak around it.”

I do so, feeling utterly stupid for the way my words a mangled by trying to speak with something in my mouth.

When we reach your place and you park, before getting out you reach over and run your hand up and down my pussy through my leggings canlı bahis şirketleri several times. Then as you start to get out you tell me not to remove the pacifier until we reach your flat. I groan in shame, and as we cross the courtyard to your building I scratch my lip as a pretext to cover the thing with my hand. You don’t stop me, apparently amused.

To my great relief we pass no one all the way to your flat, and once we enter you take the pacifier from me a bid me make myself at home. I’m still reeling from the humiliation of everything I’ve been through so far, and can barely look at you as I dump my stuff on the sofa, and take off my shoes.

“Do you think you’re wet?” You ask me from your arm chair as I finnish my glass of water.

I nodd. “Probably sir.”

“Stand at the side of the sofa, put your hands on the seat and bend over the arm.” You instruct me, and I do as I’m guided.

You give me two hard slaps to my bum, having lifted my dress, before pulling my leggings halfway down and putting your hands on my knickers, confirming my wetness.

“I’ve got some more lines for you to do.” You say, still stroking me through my pants. “I think you’ll recognise them. From now on if I ask you what you are – unless otherwise specified – you’re to answer with the line you’re about to write.” You yank my pants up hard, wedgieing me. “Understood?”

“Yes sir.” I say, thinking it must be the phrase we talked about in IM the night before. When you pull my leggings back up and direct me to sit on the chair in my corner, I look down at the sheet of paper waiting for me with the line at the top, and find I’m right.

The corner is something unique to your little flat overlooking the docks. Full as it is with thick wooden beams of a dark golden kind of colour (I don’t know the name of the wood), this corner is no exception. The ceiling slopes and a horizontal beam forms the opposite cornder to where the two walls meet. Either side of this beam, two beams rise diagonally from the ground, each to one of the walls of the first corner, completing the square. In the center sits a dark brown little table with an equally old fashioned chair. It is a bit too narrow for me to fit into, and, embarrassed, I have to perch on the edge.

A pen is also on the desk, and my lines await me.

‘I am just a spankable arse, tits and cunt, with no brains.’

We both no from your inspection of me that I am already quite wet, but had I not been, I would be now.

“I want 10.” You say, and I squeeze my legs together, embarrassed but turned on by being treated like a stupid little girl. “Tell me when they’re complete.”

I put a number at the side of each line so that I don’t lose count. I write them reasonably neatly, letting the words sink in as a do so.

‘I am just a spankable arse, tits and cunt, with no brains.’

It starts to feel truer as the count reaches ten, and while part of my brain knows I’m intelligent- that this is only a game-, the other part starts to feel that if I’m truely so dullwitted then I must accept that you, cleverer than I, know best and I must put myself in your hands.

When I reach ten, somehow it is hard to speak, but I manage to quietly call “Finnished all the same.”

“Good girl.” canlı kaçak iddaa You say, and it feels nice to hear it. “Another ten I think.”

Yes- I thought you might tell me to do more. I’d anticipated the possibility, but it’s working on me nonetheless- I feel more in your control, and I feel another curl of arousal deep in my pelvis.

“Yes sir.”

I set to work again, not realising until a couple of lines in that I restarted my count a 20 by mistake, and having to change redo a couple of numbers, so that it continues on from 11. I blush, thinking how you will see how stupid I’ve been.

The chair I sit it, which has been uncomfortable and digging into my sides from the beginning, is becoming more painful. I shift in a useless attempt to get more comfortable, and the chair creaks.

“Uncomfortable?” You ask, not missing a beat. I’m part way through line 16.

“No sir.” I say too embarrassed to explain.

“The truth please. You’re far too transparent to be deceptive. Are you uncomfortable?”

A silence stretches out- I seem to have lost my voice again.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” You sound a little triumphant. “Why are you uncomfortable? Answer.”

“Um.” I say very quietly. I feel so vulnerable and exposed. “The chair is digging in a bit.”

“And why is it digging in?”

I’m staring down at my lines, unable to look up and turn to face you. “It’s too small for me.”

“It’s not the chair’s fault that your such a massive wobble bottom is it?”

My gut clenches and I can barely answer. “No sir.”

“Why don’t you fit in the chair, Eleanor?”

I know what you want me to say. “I’m too fat for it sir.” It’s like confessing to a crime.

“Stand up, idiot.”

Awkwardly I push myself out of the chair. You take it away, and quickly return with another. This one has no sides.

“Sit. Finnish your lines.”

Obeying, I complete my lines feeling vulnerable, as if I’ve just been on trial, and been found guilty.

This time when I’m done, you demand no more. You examine my lines, telling me they’ll do and I’m a good girl. Then I’m directed to take off my dress and leggings and stand in the centre of the room. I do so apprehensively, now dressed only in my plain white brain and knickers (which I wear under the fold of my belly, and are still uncomfortably wedgies between my lips).

“Hands on your head- shake your hips from side to side.”

I do as I’m told, mortified as I feel my belly wobbling to and fro. I cannot look down, which is my first instinct, because I’ll see the source of my embarrassment. I find a spot on the wall instead, unable to look at you. You have me do this for a minute, not saying anything but occasionally chuckling at me.

“Good girl.” You say at last. “Into the bedroom, bra and pants off, stand with your back against the beam, hands behind you as well.”

You don’t follow me in immediately, so I’m already in possition when you arrive. You trace a finger over my left breast, the pinch an twist my nipple, causing me to exclaim and flinch. You take my chin in the same hand forcing me to look at you, but now your other hand is brushing my right nipple.

“What are you?”

“A- a spankable cunt tits and arse with no brains.” I say desperately, canlı kaçak bahis almost unable to bear saying it but also deeply turned on..

“Correct.” You say and you slap the breast you were touching. You grab a handful of my belly and jiggle it, causing me to close my eyes in shame.

“You’ve no idea how embarrassing it is to be publicly associated with you.” You scold me, “All fours on the bed, thunder thighs.”

Suddenly aware of how massive my fat thighs are as the rub against each other, I get on the bed. You start to hand spank me, taking you time, gentle to begin with. It gives me a chance to catch my breath, to take a breather from the overwhelming assault of humiliation. The spanks are pleasant, even as their intensity grows, and slowly my mind focuses on them until I’m once more relaxed.

“Just process the things I tell you.” You say to me gently, still spanking, now hard enough to make my breath a little less deep and steady. “You know I’m right, and you just need to accept the truth of the things I tell you.”

“Yes sir” I murmur between a quick intake of breath as one spank, and a tense jerk at another.

“You don’t need to let it stress you out.” You voice is soothing, and juxtaposed with the two hard spanks you deliver to my sit spot, pulling a groan from me. “I won’t lie to you and pretend you’re not fat and stupid, but I do accept you as you are. So just accept your place, and try not to worry so much. Ok?”

More painful spanks.

“Yes sir.” I feel as if your words have sunk into me, as if agreeing to them is the most natural thing in the world.

You stop spanking for a moment, and when you return I sense you’ve picked up an instrument. You give me a couple of whacks and I decide it must be a paddle, or a hair brush. I don’t bother to ask. A couple more whacks.

“Such a very bad girl.” Your voice is sterner again. “Apologise.”

“I’m very sorry Daddy.”

I don’t know whether the idea of being forgiven is more or less frightening that idea of not being forgiven.

“But you try to be a good girl for me.”

“Yes sir.”

“Bottom up higher.”

I grab a couple of pillows, to pile under my torso before leaning forward on my forarms and pushing my bottom out as much as I can. Still, the following reign and brittle merciless spanks takes me by surprise and has me tensing and yelping and desperate for it to stop, but it doesn’t and some gives and I flop. Feeling at peace at last. At length the spanking stops. You lie beside me, helping me to turn onto my side. You gently stroke my arm and belly, admiring me, finding me pretty, telling me I’ve such a very very good girl, and that you’re proud of me.


By the time Eleanor had finished the story, she was not quite as badly spanked as the protagonist she had just been narrating, but her bum was painfully stinging and she was very wet.

“Good girl.” Mark said, sounding pleased. He undid the spreader bar. “Lie on the bed and I’ll put some beads in you.”

Eleanor felt an interesting sense of anticipation. She’d only tried anal once before- last week in fact- and she was still uncertain about. She scrambled onto the bed.

“Ok,” she agreed, cheekily. “But then will you spank me properly- you know, so that it actually hurts?”

“Insolent girl.” Mark said, and the both laughed, looking forward to the anal and to more spankings.

Definitly a good day, Eleanor decided, letting Mark spread her legs to expose her arsehole.


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