Missy called me to her house at nine that night. This was a little after the first time we'd really had sex--or at least, the first time she ate me out. To my closest friends, I even referred vaguely to "my girlfriend." At work I caught myself writing "Mrs. Janie Buskins" on a napkin. I had fallen for this older woman. If it were ever possible for two women to get married, even if we were waiting the rest of our lives... I would want to walk down the aisle and have some other woman, my aunt perhaps, give me away to Melissa Buskins, standing there in a tuxedo or a dress or whatever she cared to wear. Oh, the euphoria I would feel, being hers to have and to hold. Maybe one day we'll call ourselves a pair.

I got to the house, a cabin up in the foothills, and went in. Inside, Missy was sitting on the couch, wearing a bathrobe and nothing else. Her long blonde hair was not wet, and she was still wearing her red lipstick, so she hadn't been in the shower. I immediately assumed she wanted to eat me out again, or maybe get eaten out--but she solemmly stood, taking no care to keep herself covered, and said "I have a big favor to ask you, Janie."

"Anything."

"I did something at work. Bad... don't worry what. Nobody knows, and nobody will ever know, but character's what you are in the dark, and Janie? I need to get punished for it."

My heart skipped a beat. This would have been inconceivable to me before I'd heard it from her own mouth--Missy was my confidant and my lover, but more to the point, she was the one who gave the punishments. She had spanked me so hard that I cried, given me high, hot and soapy enemas, and even slathered my pussy and ass with Vicks' till I danced around--always, there was a "this hurts me more than it hurts you" attitude, and a genuine warmth when the punishment was done--a warmth that extended to oral sex, fisting, cuddling and making out. But she was the one who had the power in that sense.

But if the boss says you're the boss, who are you to argue?

"Would you like me to--?" I started to ask.

"No! You have to be the punisher tonight. You have to decide."

"You've disappointed me, Missy," I said at last, not quite strongly enough. "I think it's going to have to be an ice-cold enema and then the belt."

She reacted, so I doubled down. "I think I'll have to give you your belting while you hold the enema."

I took her to the bed room and layed down a bunch of towels on the floor at the foot of the bed.

"Kneel down here."

She did, without protesting. I admired the way her big, strong legs bent as she kneeled on the towel. Her genitals were unshorn, a pleasant golden wispyness nothing like a man's pubic hair in quality. I wanted more than anything to rub my face up against it, to lick deep inside, but there was a time and a place.

I ran to the bathroom, leaving her in the position of a catholic at the altar, then to the kitchen, and came back with an enema back full of water with some ice--not enough to make it agonizingly cold like the ice water enema Missy had given me before, though. If she had known...

I pulled over a tall lamp with three swiveling light fixtures, and hung the bag over one of the arms. Then I determined to perfect Missy's technique of jabbing the nozzle in in a way that makes one feel oddly violated. She moaned, so I must have done a good job--just barely missing the actual hole so that the nozzle had to slip in at an angle.

I unclamped the hose and let the water run in. Now, nothing has an effect like cold water. Not soap, not salt, not a dildo coated in vapor rub.

I wanted to rub that broad, pale back of hers, but instead I just put a hand on it. I hesitated. It took everything I had, but I swung my other hand, and with some amount of strength, spanked her on the asscheek. I did not like the feeling of punishing, I decided.

I racked my brain for what Missy would do to me. I got down by her face and saw for the first time that she was genuinely struggling to hold the cold water enema. Her big, pouting lower lip was white from her biting down on it. I whispered in her ear. "Only bad little girls have to get filled up this much. Oh, it aches, does it?"

She gave a faint and quivering nod. I stepped back from the scene. Her ass was vaguely heart-shaped as she kneeled with her legs together, the black hose snaking back up one leg from its lowest point about a foot off the floor. Not the faintest mark was left from my halting attempt at spanking her. But the bag was getting empty, so the time was coming. I loosened my belt but did not pull it off of me.

"Missy," I said as the bag began to gurgle, "you're getting ten licks of the belt."

I pulled the nozzle out, and water ran down her leg. I took a deep breath and pulled off my belt. It was a thin woman's belt that barely had any point, but it was mandatory to wear a belt or suspenders at my work... now suspenders... could I get away with those?

I doubled it up in my hand and pulled back like to strike her. I hesitated once more, bringing the belt to within only six inches of her in my false swing, feeling bad for being so ready to inflict pain. I pulled back again, and in a moment that changed my entire way of thinking, I looked again at her ass. It was ready, it was waiting--she had her ass sticking out for it, on purpose and with full knowledge of what she was about to get. It's not wrong to punish someone if they ask--I knew this, of course, but I had only been the one asking for it before. It had always been my body and someone else's will. Now, in reverse, the morality of the situation was more acute. I swung, harder perhaps than I should have.

She gasped. I gasped a little when I saw the thin red stripe, crossing almost directly in line with her puckered anus, from one cheek to the other.

"Count," I said. I'd seen it in a rented porno that Missy and I fell asleep to a few weeks before.

"One, Janie."

I hit her again, a little lighter, but aiming for the same spot.

"Two, Janie."

Three, rapid-fire, lower on the thighs where I, at least, am the most tender when she paddles me.

"Three, four, five, Janie."

And then it happened. She couldn't hold it anymore, or at least, for a moment she couldn't. A long line of brown water shot out across the linoleum faux-wood floor.

What would Missy do to me for that? I thought.

"Ten more strokes and another enema for that, Melissa," I said, trying me best to sound like a dad, on the nonce.

She faintly nodded.

The rest of her twenty-stroke belting went by with no further accidents. I left a criss-crossing network of pooling blood under the skin of her ass. I almost admired it, but still felt a little queasiness at having done that to another human being.

"Get up," I said.

We walked to the bathroom, where I insisted on remaining while she expelled the cold water. Next, I made her watch while I filled the bag with water just a little cooler than the hottest that comes out of the tap. Her eyes darted away from it in shame.

"Stand in the shower, I said.

Almost sullen, but with an erectness of the neck that said "I feel a little better," she got in the tub and stood there. I stuck the nozzle in, unclamped it, and let the hot water run.

This enema must have been almost as hard to hold as the first, but it elicited only a few grunts from Missy.

I walked up to her and grabbed her full, swollen stomach, jiggled it a little. She groaned. "Expell," I said. "In there."

She raised her eyebrows, but she squatted down and obeyed.

I closed the curtain while she finished, and disrobed myself.

"Alright," I said, stepping out of my panties. "The punishment's over. Have you learned your lesson?"

"I think so, Mistress." The word sent shivers down my spine.

"Turn on the shower, make it as warm as you like," I said, struggling even still to sound authoritative.

"Yes, Mistress."

I got in the shower with her. It was quite hotter than I would have liked.

"Turn around," I said. It was my last command to her that night. I lathered up and washed her ass with shampoo, then stepped aside and watched the showerhead rinse her off. The hair shone again like gold wire.

She turned back around and we embraced. "Thank you," she said, under her breath, her mouth near my ear. "I needed all that."

I washed her hair and she washed mine, and then she gave me a small enema right there in the shower for the hell of it. We made love passionately that night, all the way from the shower into bed and all the way around the bed, and when it came time to put on some diapers, to avoid squirting any stuck enema water on the bed, I diapered her and she diapered me, with powder going everywhere.

But deep into my dreams two words echoed, from our lovemaking, the words she squealed in my ear as I fucked her in the pussy with my middle and ring finger, thumb brushing her clit: "I'm yours, I'm yours."