Breaking the Rules

This series is proudly sponsored by Sssh.com - the award-winning female-led and female-focused indie adult cinema company, bringing you feminist porn for women, men, and couples since 1999.

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After a languid afternoon of sex and rest and meals and lounging around our vacation cottage, I finally make my way to town for errands. We’ve spent summers in this neighborhood for years, and it’s our turn to host the biweekly dinner party.

Per our usual approach, we divide and conquer – by the time I head out for appetizer provisions, you’re already down at the local farmer’s market shopping for our main dishes.

The air is crisp and warm, the coastal breeze doing little to cool my sun-flushed skin. Taking off my light cardigan, I tuck it into one of my canvas bags and shop in my snug, white t-shirt, cropped just above my belly button. Stripping down a little does the trick, and my body heat is finally tempered.

When I get home, laden with shopping bags, I find you prepping food in the kitchen. I set my bags down and nuzzle against you.

“Hey, boo,” I smile up at you, kissing the cheek you offer me.

“Hey, swee-” you stop short as your hand slides around my waist and you notice what I’m wearing. “Did you run errands in that?”

“I, um…” glancing down at my ensemble, I instantly realize my mistake. “Oh… I’m really sorry…”

“Mmhm. Look at this,” you lean back and gesture at my tits and perky nipples, clearly visible through my tight, tiny little t-shirt.

I’d forgotten to put on a bra before going out to run errands – very against the rules. I don’t need you to say it to know I’m in trouble.

“It’s bad enough that you’re in leggings and a crop top,” you admonish me, “but you know the rules about not wearing your bra or panties in public.”

I nod, my gaze lowered, contrite.

“Yes, sir.”

“And?” You prompt.

“No going braless or panty-less without your permission,” I recite.

“Exactly,” you agree, “which is pretty bad all on its own. But remind me… what were you punished for only just yesterday?”

You frame it as a question, though we both already know the answer.

“I was, um… punished for flaunting my barely-clothed body where strangers could see me…” I stumble a little, mortified to realize I’ve broken the same rule twice and failed to learn my lesson in less than 48 hours.

“Uh-huh.” You step back, looking me up and down with a tsk of reproach. “So what do you have to say for yourself?” 

“I’m… I’m sorry, sir… It’s… I, um… I have no excuse.” I lower my head now, trying to look as penitent as I feel.

“What will it take for you to learn your lesson?” You ask.

“Maybe, I, um… need to write the rule down? A few times, so I remember?” I offer.

“That’s a good start,” you reply.

“A… g-good start?” I venture. The look on your face makes me think I’m probably in even more trouble than I realize.

“While I was out, I ran into your friend Cassie,” you say.

“Uh huh…” I chew my lip nervously, waiting to learn of my newest transgression.

“She teased me about our ‘Fifty Shades play.’” Taking hold of my chin, you tilt my gaze upwards until my eyes meet yours. “Would you happen to know anything about that?”

Fuck…  I really had meant to come clean to you, but I’d forgotten. Whatever punishment - no, punishments, plural - lay in store for me… they would not be gentle.

“Um, I… yes, sir… It was, I think maybe happy hour, last week. When Cassie and I shared that bottle of rosé…?” I trail off, hoping that will be enough information to settle the matter, but I know better. You wait patiently, your face steady as you watch me squirm under the inquiry.

“Yes, I remember.” It isn’t just a statement, but a prompt for me to continue.

“Well, I um, might have told her that um… sometimes I get in trouble and need to be, um… spanked.” The confession tumbles out of me in a fit of nerves.

Judging by your sharp intake of breath and the shaking of your head, my punishment is definitely about to get much, much worse than a handful of copied lines.

“Bring me your spreadsheet,” you command, and I feel my nipples stand at attention, tingling at the sound of your authority over me.

I nod, with a “Yes, sir,” and scamper out of the room to fetch my laptop. When I bring it back to the kitchen, you have me open the Excel file and read aloud to you:

“Delighting your friends with stories of the naughty things you/we do is a punishable offense.”

“Mmhm,” you concur. “And tell me again, what’s the other rule you broke this afternoon?”

“No going braless or panty-less without permission,” I read.

You click your tongue – a sound that instantly turns me on – and sigh.

“Sounds like you have a lot to learn.”

“Yes, sir,” I chew my lip, awaiting my fate.

With a sigh, you look me over once more.

“This little outfit of yours is exceptionally slutty,” you chastise, and I feel a tingle in my nipples with the truth of your reprimand.

Taking me by the arm, you lead me over to the full-length mirror in the hall.

“Describe it to me,” you instruct.

“It’s, um… leggings, um, gray… leggings,” I stammer, “and sneakers… and um, a tight, white… crop top…” I trail off, since that’s all I’m wearing.

“And what can you see, plain as day?” You ask.

“My, um… my nipples, sir…”

“And?”

“...the… shape of my tits?” I guess.

“Right. So we have your tits fully on display here,” you give them each a squeeze, for emphasis, then turn my hips around to face the mirror, “and your leggings leaving nothing to the imagination where your ass is concerned.”

You look at me, waiting for my agreement.

“Yes, sir,” I acknowledge.

“So you were basically walking around shopping in a slutty little outfit that allowed every single stranger to picture you naked with a great deal of accuracy.”

You’re right, of course. And the embarrassment of it all makes my cheeks flush… and my pussy throb.

“I know… I’m sorry, sir. It was an accident.”

“Mm. I see. Well you can start with writing out the rule about going without underthings, twenty times, as a reminder to put on a bra. Does that sound fair?”

“I… y-yes, sir…” the throbbing in my pussy starts to make me wet, and in a moment of panic I realize I also neglected to put on any panties.

“Good. And for telling your friend naughty stories without permission? What do you think your punishment should be for that?”

You direct me back to the spreadsheet, which contains a number of punishment options.

“I, um…” Normally I would default to some spankings, but I’ll be in so much more trouble if you know I’m not wearing panties, either. Part of me knows I need to confess, and I squirm at the scolding I’m about to get. 

“Maybe a time out?” I propose.

“Probably some spankings, too, don’t you think?”

“I, um…” I hesitate, and you furrow your brow at me, knowing something’s up.

“Hmm. If not spankings, maybe… a time out in the corner?” you counter. “With your leggings around your ankles.”

I’m outright wriggling now, my feet doing their little bashful, squirmy dance. I can’t keep it from you any longer.

“I’m so sorry, sir… I, um, I forgot to put on panties, too…”

At this point your head shake is joined by a smirk and a chuckle.

“I was wondering what you were all squirrely about,” you tease. “Looks like you’re not a very obedient pet today, are you?”

“N-no, sir…”

“And what do you think we should do about that?”

“I, um… I could write out… both rules, that I broke? Um, twenty times each?” I suggest.

You raise an eyebrow. I try again.

“Thirty?”

“Better. Go on.”

“Oh… I um… I could write them out… bent over the desk? With my leggings around my ankles, like you said?”

“Mmm. Mmhm… I like that idea,” you agree, and for a brief moment I think I’ve gotten off pretty easy. “I appreciate that you ultimately confessed, but now you also need to be punished for trying to hide this infraction from me.”

Taking hold of my waistband, you yank my leggings down to expose my bare ass.

Trying to hide breaking the rules is very naughty,” you scold. “So it seems like you need some serious punishment to really learn your lesson. Yes?”

“Y-yes… sir…” I concede. 

“You’ll need to write out your lines, as you described. And you’ll have to be spanked, of course… though I’m not sure how many times just yet. And I’m afraid during the party, you’ll have to stay in the bedroom.”

A pout bubbles up in me before I can stop it.

“During the party?? But I-”

“Tied up. With your tits out.”

I clamp my mouth shut, before I earn myself additional punishment. Instead of further protest, I lower my gaze and nod.

“Yes, sir.”

Taking me by the elbow again, you lead me into the office. I shuffle along awkwardly, with my leggings pulled down below my naked ass. You share more details of my impending torment as we go.

“I’ll tell everyone you have a migraine. And if you behave, and come up with a sufficient apology for your slutty, disobedient behavior, maybe I’ll allow you to “recover,” and join our guests before the party is over.”

I accede, keeping my voice humble.

“That sounds fair, sir. Thank you.”

“I’m very fair,” you remind me, and I nod again in agreement. “Now bend over.”

In front of the desk, I comply with your order, bending at the waist and propped up by one arm, so I’ll be able to write out my lines. You slide my leggings down to my ankles, a move that always accentuates any chastening… a persistent reminder that I’ve been naughty and have things to learn.

In my prostrate position, I wait patiently for you to set paper and a pen in front of me. Before leaving me to my assignment, you run your hands along my hips, down the outside of my thighs… up the backs of my thighs… and ever so briefly between my legs. The caress sends a thrill and a shiver through my body, and you chuckle at my twitching.

“Get to work, pet,” you command. With a sharp smack on my ass, you leave the room.

Dutifully, I write out both rules that I’ve broken in meticulous lines, thirty times each. My wrist and hand start to cramp, but I pause only long enough to work through the kinks before pressing on. 

When I’m only a few lines from finishing, you come back into the room. After assessing my progress, you stand behind me and unceremoniously slip two fingers inside me, making me moan and falter, my pen slipping off the page.

I hear the smirk in your voice when you say, “Write that one again.”

“Y-yes… sir… oh, fuck…”

I’m so wet from being chastised and reprimanded - and deservedly so - that my pussy offers no resistance to you fingering me while I struggle to finish my task.

“When you parade around in slutty little outfits, this is what people look at you and think about doing to your body. Do you know that?”

“I… oh… yes, I know… you’re right… sir…”

I grapple with writing my last two lines while you thrust into me.

“They think, ‘look at that lewd, indecent outfit… I bet she’s a dirty little slut… I bet she loves getting bent over and fucked…’ And you do, don’t you?”

“Ohh… god… yes… I do… I l-love it… ohh…”

Having finished my lines, I let my pen fall and press myself back onto your fingers, wanting you to fuck me deeper… 

But seeing that I’ve finished my assignment,  you take your fingers away as swiftly as you gave them.

“Mmm… Good job, pet.”

Pulling me up by my hair, you turn me to face you. Taking hold of my face, you kiss me, deep and slow. I melt against you, aching for more of your fingers… but knowing that even if I beg, I haven’t earned them yet.

“Come on, pet,” you murmur into my ear, “let’s get you ready for the party.”