You’ve always longed for a spe­cial kind of man. A sophis­ti­cated, accom­plished man who under­stands the neces­sity of being firm with you. A man who under­stands the old-fashioned notion of being in con­trol of a woman’s behav­ior, and isn’t afraid to exer­cise His con­trol over you with the par­tic­u­lar forms of juve­nile pun­ish­ment you find so embar­rass­ing, so painful … and so nec­es­sary. A man expe­ri­enced in tak­ing charge and set­ting lim­its, who cares about you enough to enforce those lim­its when you go beyond them. An old-fashioned dis­ci­pli­nar­ian, some­one you respect and admire so much for the way He runs his own life and for the way He helps you run yours that your help­less sub­mis­sion to His author­ity when your behav­ior goes beyond the lim­its He sets is nat­ural, unques­tion­ing … and inevitable.

Most nights find you sit­ting on your bed imag­in­ing Him firmly and lov­ingly cor­rect­ing you. Upstairs in your bed­room, ner­vously perched on the edge of your bed, watch­ing your clock tick­ing towards the time He set, each tick bring­ing the inevitable closer. You look around your empty room, feel­ing the humil­i­a­tion of being sent there with­out sup­per. A lit­tle girl, help­lessly await­ing her stern father’s arrival. Alone in your room, feel­ing a grow­ing dread, a sense of fear­ful antic­i­pa­tion that rises as you ner­vously pick at the waist of your white paja­mas. The spe­cial ones. The ones that make you look and feel like a lit­tle girl. The ones hang­ing promi­nently in your closet to remind you of the penalty for your mis­be­hav­ior. The ones He has you change into when he sends you to your room … to wait.

Is it really just the creak­ing of the floor­boards in the wind, or do you sud­denly hear the sound of his slow steps on your stairs? Does the hair on your neck rise as you hear a sharp “click,” real­iz­ing that He is there, out­side your room, turn­ing the knob on your bed­room door? Does your mind flash for­ward a few min­utes, to the lec­ture, his scold­ing, and the but­ter­flies in your stom­ach as He gives you the inevitable command.

Can you see your unsteady hands mov­ing to obey? Do you see your­self slowly unty­ing the draw­string at your waist, your pajama bot­toms slowly slid­ing down your legs as you shuf­fle from your bed towards the chair He is posi­tion­ing in the mid­dle of your room? Do you see your­self, your paja­mas at your knees, your bot­tom on dis­play, your hands shield­ing your­self in front as, red-faced with humil­i­a­tion, you argue with Him … plead with Him, play­ing for time. One last des­per­ate promise to be good as He takes your hand and gen­tly puts you across his lap. Can you imag­ine your­self bent over his knees, face-down, a young woman sub­mis­sively await­ing a lit­tle girl’s pun­ish­ment, your bot­tom framed by your pajama top and low­ered pants, bare and painfully vulnerable?

And then it begins. The unmis­tak­able sounds from behind your bed­room door. The stern male voice deliv­er­ing the lec­ture, the loud SMACK that punc­tu­ates each main point, and a woman’s inter­mit­tent plead­ing, which soon changes to a con­tin­u­ous wail. Can you imag­ine the scene within? Open the door a crack and peer inside. What do you see? The bare bot­tom of a young woman, per­haps, unusu­ally promi­nent from its posi­tion, bent shame­fully across a well-dressed man’s lap. The white pajama top end­ing just above her neat, trim waist, her pajama bot­toms now in a tan­gle around her ankles. Her legs pressed tightly together, com­press­ing the crease between her but­tocks to a des­per­ately tight line, the but­tocks them­selves wob­bling obscenely as the man’s pow­er­ful hand rises and falls against them with unre­lent­ing reg­u­lar­ity. As that hand explodes with incred­i­ble impact upon her writhing, crim­son behind, and the young woman twists her head up towards her chas­tiser, how do you feel when you rec­og­nize that tear-drenched face … as your own?

A long pause. The stern male voice again, fol­lowed by the rus­tle of cloth­ing and the sound of small fem­i­nine feet. Walk down the hall­way to your bath­room and peer inside. Do you rec­og­nize your­self now, wear­ing a white hos­pi­tal gown, gin­gerly posi­tion­ing your­self back over your chastiser’s knees? Watch Him unbut­ton the back of the gown and sep­a­rate the flaps to bare your crim­son behind for the juve­nile pro­ce­dure He has pre­pared for you. Does your tummy turn a flip when you see Him pick up the baby ther­mome­ter on your sink and method­i­cally coat it with a thick layer of vase­line? Does your face burn when you feel his hand part­ing your cheeks? Do you feel the slight tick­ling sen­sa­tion as He slowly inserts the ther­mome­ter between them? As you lie across his knee, only the tip of the ther­mome­ter peep­ing from between your red­dened but­tocks, does your mind slip, unwill­ingly, to the bulging enema bag hang­ing high above you, the long rub­ber hose attached to it descend­ing down to the hard plas­tic noz­zle, already greasy with vase­line? After He with­draws the ther­mome­ter, do you hes­i­tate when He instructs you to spread your legs, … wide! Do you see your­self held face down, his hands pry­ing apart your tightly clenched cheeks? Do you feel Him press­ing the noz­zle up against your most inti­mate open­ing? Do you Him slowly, gen­tly push­ing it up into your bot­tom, inch by inch until He has inserted its entire length inside you?

A moment, while He looks down and enjoy the view you present to Him. His instruc­tion not to move. Then, the loud “click” as He releases the clamp, and the sud­den pres­sure as the warm soapy water spurts into your bot­tom. His voice calmly describ­ing why you have earned a pun­ish­ment enema, a “thor­ough clean­ing out” as he puts it, and all the while the sen­sa­tion of the warm soapy water slowly, inex­orably fill­ing your bow­els. When you have taken the entire bag, how long will he keep you in this humil­i­at­ing posi­tion, the noz­zle still pro­trud­ing from between your red­dened cheeks while the “med­i­cine” does its work? Ten min­utes? Twenty? Will He decide to remove the noz­zle and use the butt plug instead? Will He spank you while he makes you retain? Will He spank you while He admin­is­ters the enema?

I am look­ing for you — an attrac­tive woman who both wants and needs a dis­ci­pli­nar­ian to help her guide her life. And you are look­ing for me: a dis­ci­pli­nar­ian. An attrac­tive, suc­cess­ful, edu­cated man, per­cep­tive and com­pas­sion­ate, who under­stands your need to be pun­ished, and is expe­ri­enced in admin­is­ter­ing the pun­ish­ments you need.

M.R. Strict