The Devious Mr. Brownstone

John Brownstone, also known as Southern Sir, is a devious man. In the best possible way, of course.

We’d talked a couple of times about getting a babysitter so we could go to one of our local munches and then to the club after. Between lunch at the munch, the price of admission into the club, and the babysitter, it was easily a $150+ night. Mama don’t sell enough books for that.

But my Daddy is always thinking, always planning (much like his sweet Babygirl – just sayin’). He’s the devious Mr. Brownstone.

We’d not asked his family for babysitting help because everyone was stretched to the max dealing with his sister’s health and cancer diagnosis. After so many insane weeks, it looked like things were beginning to normalize – a new normal, but at least bearable.

He thought and planned and did his Dominant thing before coming to me and asking if I was comfortable with the idea of his mother watching the boys for a night. Free babysitter and his own mother? Yes please!

I was more surprised that she agreed than anything else. Two little boys are exhausting for me, and I’m half her age.

Fast forward a few days, and we made the 45 minute drive to her house. The boys were loaded down with all their gadgets because, frankly, the house of a sweet little 70-something grandmother and great-grandmother isn’t always the best place for boys to find entertainment. For the record, we managed not to throw them out of the moving car, and our tires never squealed when we pulled out of the driveway. Daddy and I got the boys settled, the oldest hooked up to the internet, and made the appropriate approving noises at all the food she’d bought for them to eat. I didn’t have to heart to tell her they were only two little boys and they’d never eat it all.

As we left, both of us visibly relaxed. He could be Daddy and I could be Babygirl for the next several hours without censoring ourselves too much.

The munch is always interesting. I saw faces I recognized and some I didn’t. I met people Daddy holds in high regard. I saw my secret girl crush (I may, or may not, have flirted with her – if I did, it was unintentional.) Lunch was delicious. The topic of conversation was fascinating.

We discussed play partners and the idea that you can be a bottom or a top in a temporary scene, regardless of the role you choose in the lifestyle. A slave discussed the fact that she has topped several people in the past, as well as played the submissive role. We also discussed the idea of scening or playing with someone outside of a relationship and the play not being sexual at all. Food for thought, y’all.

Daddy and I headed to Starbucks for coffee and our own debriefing of what we’d heard. We had to remember to keep our voices down as we dissected what we’d heard and figured out what that might mean in our own relationship.

Then it was time. Time for the club. Time for whatever he had planned.

We arrived early, after a quick dinner. The owner of the club is a good friend of Daddy’s and my secret girl crush. She was just unlocking the door when we got out of the car. We helped her clean and get everything in order. Daddy had me change into my club clothes. A short, really short lacy dress that, thankfully, had a solid sheath underneath that covered my tits and ass. Barely.

We talked to people we’d just met that day at the munch. A female Dominant and her gay, male submissive. Their relationship epitomized the conversation we’d had at the munch. They are very good friends and they play a lot, but it is never sexual. She shared her toys, and I watched as the devious Mr. Brownstone’s eyes lit up with each new discovery. I squirmed with desire when he tried out a couple of them on my ass in front of everyone.

Finally….finally, he was ready to go upstairs. Yes, I know the dungeon shouldn’t be upstairs, but this is Florida y’all. We don’t do basements – the building would collapse and flood if we did.

He sent me ahead so I could unpack and lay out all of the toys. I know, when I think about it later, that this is part of the mindfuck. I have to look at and touch all the possible implements of my own destruction. The cat o’nine, the floggers, the paddle, the Wartenburg wheel (still not my favorite), the crops, all of it.

I finished and waited, fidgeting and wandering around the general area. Being a babygirl, basically. We were alone upstairs, the first to play.

He arrived upstairs and ordered me to strip. When we play, I wear only a thong, a thin protection between my pussy and the equipment we’re using. This is a private club so full nudity and anything goes, but Daddy and I haven’t ventured that far yet.

Bent over the spanking bench, and I was already beginning to fall and float just a bit. His fingers twined through my hair. His grip was merciless. He pulled my head up, forcing me to face him, and whispered, “I’m going to break you tonight, girl.” He stroked my cheek and jaw sweetly just before his palm made contact with my face. My eyes rolled back in my head and he released me gently.

I couldn’t tell you what toys he started with, what he used to torture my poor ass. All I know is that he was true to his word. At first, I could bear the stinging of the toys, the thuds against my ass. Every once in a while, the tips would hit my most tender bits – in between cheeks and lips left exposed by my position on the spanking bench. My face was hidden behind the curtain of my hair but I heard footsteps on the stairway. People came and went, but I didn’t care.

He changed toys and every so often, gripped my hair, forcing my head up, and barked, “Give me a color, girl.”

“Green, Daddy, GREEN!”

Over and over, no matter how bad more poor ass stung, I wanted more. I was determined to take more. He pushed harder and harder.

Stings, thuds, burning pain, the spikes of the wheel. I took it and took it. My body trembled. My arms shook with the effort to brace myself against the pain. Finally, he asked for a color, and I cried, “Yellow, yellow, yellowyellowyellow!”

He backed off. Picked up a new toys. When he checked again, I smirked. “Green, Daddy.”

He took it for the challenge that it was. “You want more, girl? You think you can handle it?”

“Yes, Daddy!”

THWAP! My body arched up, off of the bench. THWAP! THWAP!

“Red, red, redredredred. RED!”

It was the fucking cane. I hate the cane. The pain becomes so localized there’s no way to crawl away from it, even in my own mind.

“Ok, girl, ok. Shhhhhh.”

He crouched down next to me, soothing me. I knew he was ready to be done.

“Please more, Daddy. Please. Just no more cane.”

“You want more, girl?”

“Yes, please!”

He picked up the paddle. I have no idea how many times it made contact with my body, but I was a sweating, drooling, crying mess when he was done.

My body shook uncontrollably. I couldn’t keep my eyes open. I couldn’t stand.

He ushered me into a chair, covering me with a towel. My body and mind felt like lead. He encouraged me to drink water. We sat there, silent. After several minutes, I found my voice. I told him I wanted more.

“What? More?”

“Yes, Daddy. It feels unfinished.”

After a few minutes, he helped me stand and gently lowered me back onto the spanking bench. I sighed with pleasure, adoring the position of my ass in the air, open and inviting to anyone who happened by.

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

His palm landed on each cheek, alternating across my ass, harder and harder with each impact. I screamed and screeched.

“No more, Daddy! No more!”

The devious Mr. Brownstone made sure I knew our session was done, nothing left unfinished.

My body shook violently. I couldn’t breathe. I had reached my own limits and we both knew it.

Back in the chair, he stroked my hair and whispered what, I don’t know. I drank water with my eyes closed. People came upstairs to play their own games and I watched with a dispassionate gaze. Instead of floating, I sank into myself. There were no thoughts or cares or worries. There was simple existence. The burning heat radiating from my own skin was my reality.

The devious Mr. Brownstone promised to push me and break me, and he succeeded. I slept like the dead that night…but first, I giggled, demanded (politely) a sweet treat, and spent more time with new kinky friends.