Well first or all, I notice the gift of not deigning to choose your punishment or reward, and so I will be the arbiter.
Does it not depend on how convincingly you lie and whether you get caught? There is also of course the matter of what is good and what is naughty, they are not necessarily mutually exclusive and one person’s good girl could be another’s naughty little slut. Complicating matters further, given that you have chosen for me to be the arbiter there’s nothing saying that these definitions couldn’t shift according to my whim. So maybe you’ll truly believe that you’ve been a good girl but I’ll decide that your behaviour falls into the realms of naughtiness and have to demonstrate how consequential that is. I wonder if you’ll be resigned or indignant about this lack of control?
There’s are at least two problems here: the naughtiness compounded by the lie. There’s also your conceit in imagining you might dupe me and pretend you were one thing when in fact you are the diametrical opposite.
Given you are naughty, I will need to punish you, and continue to do so until I am assured that you will not be so again. Given you are deceitful, I will need to strip you bare and ensure you have no possibility of trying to mislead me again. Given your conceit, I need to exercise power over you so that it becomes unthinkable that you should build any artifice to pretend to be anything other than you are.
Upon discovery - “you’re not a good girl at all, look at you, you’re a naughty little slut” - I grab your arms by the wrists, frogmarch you to the kitchen. You struggle a little but my grip is like a clamp, your arms are locked behind your back and I propel you, however unwillingly. Sandwiched now between myself and the kitchen island, I reach for a knife - “better hold still” - I warn, as I reach around your torso and cut two tit-sized circles in the front of your t shirt, presenting your beanbag sized boobs through them. I pull you upright, an arm across your collar bone to arch your back slightly and present them before I slap each, in turn. “No one’s going to be ignoring these anymore, are they honey?”
Then I bend you over the kitchen island, take a pair of scissors and cut a large hole in the crotch of your leggings. The hole follows the curve of your buttocks, exposing most of your ass and then runs parallel with the folds of skin at the top insides of your thighs. At the front it entirely exposes the area around your labia and mons pubis. Finally, I use the scissors to snip through the gusset of your panties and the waist elastic, pulling them from the side of your leggings and cursorily sniffing them before rubbing them in your face. “Is that the smell of a good girl?” I ask you, rhetorically.
Having exposed you, I release you from my grip. “Stand up straight, arms by your sides.” My eyes scan up and down your body as I inspect your breasts, grabbing each in turn and releasing it, grabbing at your ass and then slapping it, before curving two fingers inside your exposed cunt which, slippy and swollen, readily accepts them. I rest them knuckle deep inside you. “There’s no opportunity for secrets any more is there?” Before you have an opportunity to answer I withdraw my fingers from you and press them into your mouth. You shake your head, eyes down, by way of response.
With your newly enforced vulnerability, I step behind you, wind my fingers through your hair, and bend you over the island. You hear me unzip and immediately I’m there, bullying my way inside of you. Is it that I’m bigger than usual, or is your pussy so tightly wound that every thrust feels like a struggle? Whichever it is, your breaths are immediately laboured, you feel every contour and vein as I possess you, as much as you try to forestall your orgasm, you cum hurriedly and violently as my balls slap rhythmically against you.
I rest for a second, fully sheathed in your cunt as you clamp around me, hips shaking, the last remnants of that orgasm shivering up your spine. As you gasp for oxygen I resume fucking you, long slow hard strokes which drive my cock right up to your cervix and make my thighs clap uncompromisingly against your ass cheeks. As I fuck your, now oversensitised, pussy, I lay out the rules in time with my thrusts.
“There’s no cloak of swcrecy anymore, is there butterbean? When I want to know whether you’re naughty or nice, do you think I’ll ask for your opinion, rather than just consulting these hard little nipples or this sticky little cunt? Maybe I’ll just draw my own conclusions and pet that exposed ass if I decide you’re good or put my belt across it if you’re naughty.”
“Will it be reward or punishment when I grab you without warning and thrust a vibrator between those legs forcing a hurried orgasm out of you, maybe then leaving you be or maybe determining that you’re naughty, or good, enough to deserve another in quick succession? What will our guests say when they see you presented like this? You’ll need to explain why you’ve been laid bare, and maybe they too will want to determine your temperament by reference to your body. I’ll encourage them all.”
My cock is throbbing deep inside you by this point, my thrusts become shorter and yet even more determined as you feel the warmth of my semen spraying so deep inside you in repeated powerful jets, flooding your guts. “You might call this arbitrary, but it’s less so than your deceitful answers. I’m sure this body of yours will answer truthfully and unfailingly, so I intend to put it to good use.”
Only by grace. I get reward for being so bad? Oh yes I have learned, I will be good because you were so good to me. Feel like it would not go so well next time.
There’s plenty of time for it to not go so well whilst you’re exposed like this, ready to be used or abused at will, and when there’s no way to disguise your naughtiness because all your secrets are in plain sight 🤭
Do you want the detailed and explicit answer to this question?
Um, yes (sir).
:: nsfw, dubcon, 18+
Well first or all, I notice the gift of not deigning to choose your punishment or reward, and so I will be the arbiter.
Does it not depend on how convincingly you lie and whether you get caught? There is also of course the matter of what is good and what is naughty, they are not necessarily mutually exclusive and one person’s good girl could be another’s naughty little slut. Complicating matters further, given that you have chosen for me to be the arbiter there’s nothing saying that these definitions couldn’t shift according to my whim. So maybe you’ll truly believe that you’ve been a good girl but I’ll decide that your behaviour falls into the realms of naughtiness and have to demonstrate how consequential that is. I wonder if you’ll be resigned or indignant about this lack of control?
There’s are at least two problems here: the naughtiness compounded by the lie. There’s also your conceit in imagining you might dupe me and pretend you were one thing when in fact you are the diametrical opposite.
Given you are naughty, I will need to punish you, and continue to do so until I am assured that you will not be so again. Given you are deceitful, I will need to strip you bare and ensure you have no possibility of trying to mislead me again. Given your conceit, I need to exercise power over you so that it becomes unthinkable that you should build any artifice to pretend to be anything other than you are.
Upon discovery - “you’re not a good girl at all, look at you, you’re a naughty little slut” - I grab your arms by the wrists, frogmarch you to the kitchen. You struggle a little but my grip is like a clamp, your arms are locked behind your back and I propel you, however unwillingly. Sandwiched now between myself and the kitchen island, I reach for a knife - “better hold still” - I warn, as I reach around your torso and cut two tit-sized circles in the front of your t shirt, presenting your beanbag sized boobs through them. I pull you upright, an arm across your collar bone to arch your back slightly and present them before I slap each, in turn. “No one’s going to be ignoring these anymore, are they honey?”
Then I bend you over the kitchen island, take a pair of scissors and cut a large hole in the crotch of your leggings. The hole follows the curve of your buttocks, exposing most of your ass and then runs parallel with the folds of skin at the top insides of your thighs. At the front it entirely exposes the area around your labia and mons pubis. Finally, I use the scissors to snip through the gusset of your panties and the waist elastic, pulling them from the side of your leggings and cursorily sniffing them before rubbing them in your face. “Is that the smell of a good girl?” I ask you, rhetorically.
Having exposed you, I release you from my grip. “Stand up straight, arms by your sides.” My eyes scan up and down your body as I inspect your breasts, grabbing each in turn and releasing it, grabbing at your ass and then slapping it, before curving two fingers inside your exposed cunt which, slippy and swollen, readily accepts them. I rest them knuckle deep inside you. “There’s no opportunity for secrets any more is there?” Before you have an opportunity to answer I withdraw my fingers from you and press them into your mouth. You shake your head, eyes down, by way of response.
With your newly enforced vulnerability, I step behind you, wind my fingers through your hair, and bend you over the island. You hear me unzip and immediately I’m there, bullying my way inside of you. Is it that I’m bigger than usual, or is your pussy so tightly wound that every thrust feels like a struggle? Whichever it is, your breaths are immediately laboured, you feel every contour and vein as I possess you, as much as you try to forestall your orgasm, you cum hurriedly and violently as my balls slap rhythmically against you.
I rest for a second, fully sheathed in your cunt as you clamp around me, hips shaking, the last remnants of that orgasm shivering up your spine. As you gasp for oxygen I resume fucking you, long slow hard strokes which drive my cock right up to your cervix and make my thighs clap uncompromisingly against your ass cheeks. As I fuck your, now oversensitised, pussy, I lay out the rules in time with my thrusts.
“There’s no cloak of swcrecy anymore, is there butterbean? When I want to know whether you’re naughty or nice, do you think I’ll ask for your opinion, rather than just consulting these hard little nipples or this sticky little cunt? Maybe I’ll just draw my own conclusions and pet that exposed ass if I decide you’re good or put my belt across it if you’re naughty.”
“Will it be reward or punishment when I grab you without warning and thrust a vibrator between those legs forcing a hurried orgasm out of you, maybe then leaving you be or maybe determining that you’re naughty, or good, enough to deserve another in quick succession? What will our guests say when they see you presented like this? You’ll need to explain why you’ve been laid bare, and maybe they too will want to determine your temperament by reference to your body. I’ll encourage them all.”
My cock is throbbing deep inside you by this point, my thrusts become shorter and yet even more determined as you feel the warmth of my semen spraying so deep inside you in repeated powerful jets, flooding your guts. “You might call this arbitrary, but it’s less so than your deceitful answers. I’m sure this body of yours will answer truthfully and unfailingly, so I intend to put it to good use.”
Only by grace. I get reward for being so bad? Oh yes I have learned, I will be good because you were so good to me. Feel like it would not go so well next time.
So hot, thank you. (Sir)
There’s plenty of time for it to not go so well whilst you’re exposed like this, ready to be used or abused at will, and when there’s no way to disguise your naughtiness because all your secrets are in plain sight 🤭