Hi guys does anybody have this video from miss Baton. Thanks.
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Mistress Baton Thank you Stepmother, may I have another?
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- Femdom Mistress Mistress Baton
I'm not sure if its in here maybe?
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Couldn't find the exact one. But a wonderful share of miss Baton videos nonetheless. Thanks.
Just make a free account and you get 6gb storage, save the videos you want then download them to your computer and delete from Pikpak (empty trash) and save another 6gb download delete over and over that's how you do it if you don't want to pay from premium 🙂
In the past Mistress Baton did not have extensive tatoos. Am I the only one who prefer models without extensive tatoos?
Hey just giving this thread a push to see if anybody has got a hold of this video. Many thanks in advance.
Why no normal upload? Why should someone install this software to get the files?
I am sorry if its too much but just giving this thread heads up to see if anyone has got hold of this video. Thanks
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. An ai generates story from the videos description. I thought it was pretty good. The silence in the admininistrative wing of the academy felt heavy, thick with the scent of floor wax and old parchment. Principal Baton sat behind her mahogany desk, the sunlight filtering through the Venetian blinds to cast striped shadows across the room. She shifted her weight, and the PVC of her stilettos gave a sharp, rhythmic creak against the leather of her chair. The shoes were a mirror-polished black, their thin heels like needles poised to puncture the silence. Her leatherette leggings clung to her thighs with a suffocating precision, shimmering under the fluorescent lights. Above, a floral blouse of thin, breathable silk draped over her frame, the neckline plunging just enough to showcase the soft, pale curve of her cleavage, which rose and fell with each measured breath.
She checked the clock. Three minutes past the hour.
A hesitant knock sounded at the door.
"Enter," Baton commanded. Her voice was a cool blade, cutting through the stillness.
The door groaned open, and Steven stepped inside. He looked less like a senior student and more like a vagrant. His white button-down shirt was untucked and stained with something yellow at the collar; his tie hung limp and loosened around his neck like a discarded noose. His trousers were wrinkled, and he lacked the required school blazer. He didn't look at her; he looked at the rug.
"Close the door, Steven. Lock it," she said.
He obeyed, the click of the lock echoing in the room. He turned back to her, shifting his weight from foot to foot.
"I assume you know why you are here," Baton said. She leaned back, the PVC of her leggings squeaking against the chair.
"The cigarettes," Steven muttered. "I didn't think it was a big deal."
Baton stood up. The click-clack of her heels on the hardwood floor sounded like a countdown. She walked around the desk, the floral fabric of her blouse fluttering. As she stopped in front of him, the scent of expensive jasmine and polished leather enveloped him.
"A big deal?" she asked, her voice dropping an octave. "You have been warned three times about your own habit. We discussed the health risks, the discipline, the respect for the campus. And yet, you decided to evolve from a smoker into a pusher. Selling nicotine to fifteen-year-olds, Steven? To juniors who barely know how to tie their laces?"
"I just needed the money," he whispered.
"Ignorance of the rules is not a defense. And look at you," she said, gesturing to his disheveled state. "You stand in my office, in the presence of the head of this institution, dressed like a street urchin. Where is your pride? Where is your uniform?"
"I forgot to iron it," he stammered.
"You forgot to respect the dress code. You forgot to respect the law of this school. And most importantly, you forgot that I am the one who decides whether you graduate or spend your summer in remedial detention."
She walked toward the corner of the office, where a tall, velvet-lined rack held various implements of correction. She paused, her hand hovering over a slender, flexible rattan cane.
"Strip," she ordered.
Steven froze. "What?"
"You heard me. Your attire is an insult to this academy. Since you choose not to wear the uniform properly, you shall wear nothing at all. Remove your clothes. Now."
"Principal Baton, please—"
"Do not 'please' me, Steven. Every second you spend arguing is another stroke added to the tally. Clothes. Off. Now."
His hands trembled as he undid his buttons. The shirt fell to the floor, followed by his tie. He hesitated at his trousers, his face flushing a deep red.
"The trousers, Steven. I will not ask a third time."
He stepped out of them and his underwear, standing naked and shivering in the center of the room. He felt small, exposed, the cool air of the office biting at his skin. Principal Baton circled him, the click of her PVC heels circling him like a predator. She stopped behind him, and he could hear the faint rustle of her floral blouse.
"Bend over the desk," she commanded. "Hands flat on the mahogany. Feet apart."
He obeyed, his heart hammering against his ribs. He pressed his palms into the cold wood, his backside protruding, pale and vulnerable.
"The cane is for the insolence," Baton said.
The first stroke came without warning.
Whack!
The rattan sliced through the air with a sharp whistle before connecting squarely across the swell of his buttocks. Steven let out a strangled yelp, his body jerking forward. The pain was immediate—a searing, white-hot line that felt as if a branding iron had been pressed into his skin.
"Stay still!" she snapped.
Whack!
The second stroke landed just below the first. Steven groaned, his fingers gripping the edge of the desk so hard his knuckles turned white. The sting began to bloom, a radiating heat that pulsed with every heartbeat.
Whack!
"Who did you sell to?" she asked, the cane whistling again.
Whack!
"A—a few boys in Year Ten!" Steven cried out, his voice cracking.
Whack!
"Names, Steven!"
Whack!
"Leo! Marcus! I don't know the others!" he wailed, his breath coming in ragged gasps.
Baton didn't stop. She delivered a rhythmic succession of strokes, each one precisely placed, overlapping the previous ones. The sound was a repetitive, wet slap. Steven's skin began to glow, shifting from a pale white to a vibrant, angry pink. He moaned in agony, his legs shaking, his forehead pressed against the cool wood of the desk.
"You thought you were a businessman," she whispered, leaning in close. He could smell her perfume and the faint scent of the leatherette leggings. "But in this office, you are nothing but a disobedient boy."
She set the cane aside. Steven let out a shuddering breath, thinking it was over. Then he heard the sound of something heavier being lifted from the rack.
The sjambok.
The heavy, thick leather whip looked menacing, its braided texture designed for maximum impact. Steven's eyes widened.
"The cane was for the rules," Baton said, the sjambok whistling as she tested the air. "The sjambok is for the greed."
The first blow of the sjambok was a revelation of pain. Unlike the sharp slice of the cane, the sjambok landed with a heavy, thudding crash. It didn't just sting; it crushed.
CRACK!
Steven screamed, a raw, guttural sound that tore from his throat. The impact sent a shockwave through his entire lower body. He felt the flesh of his buttocks compress and then snap back, the heat intensifying into a roaring fire.
CRACK!
"Please! Stop! I'm sorry!"
CRACK!
"You are sorry you got caught!" Baton shouted, her voice losing its coolness and becoming fierce. "You are sorry that the game is over!"
CRACK!
Each stroke of the sjambok left a wide, raised welt. The pink skin was now a deep, smoldering crimson. Steven was sobbing now, his voice reduced to a series of broken moans. He felt the blood rushing to the surface of his skin, the area feeling tight and swollen.
CRACK!
The final blow landed with a sickening thud, sending Steven sprawling forward against the desk. He lay there, gasping, his backside quivering and radiating heat.
Baton stood over him, her chest heaving slightly, the floral blouse clinging to her skin. She looked down at the ruin of his backside with a look of clinical satisfaction.
"Get dressed," she said, her voice returning to its icy calm. "Go home. I have already called your stepmother. I believe she will be expecting you."
Steven dressed with shaking hands, the fabric of his trousers feeling like sandpaper against his raw skin. He walked out of the office, every step a reminder of the fire burning in his wake.
***
The walk home was a blur of anxiety and physical discomfort. Every time his thighs brushed against his buttocks, a fresh jolt of pain shot up his spine. He entered the house quietly, hoping to slip upstairs and hide in his room, but as he entered the lounge, he stopped dead.
His stepmother, Elena, was waiting for him.
She was sitting on the edge of the velvet sofa, her posture rigid. She wore a pair of denim jeans so tight they looked painted on, hugging the curve of her hips and thighs. A revealing black blouse was tucked into the waistband, the fabric thin and clinging, and over it, she wore a sharp black work jacket. Her high heels were still on, the pointed toes directed toward the door.
Her eyes were narrow, burning with a quiet, dangerous fury.
"Sit," she commanded.
Steven sat in the armchair opposite her, his movements stiff.
"I had a very interesting phone call today, Steven," Elena said. Her voice was low, vibrating with anger. "Principal Baton is a woman of great patience. I am not."
"I can explain," Steven whispered.
"Explain what? That you've turned into a common street dealer? That you've embarrassed this family? That you've been caught lying and stealing and selling poison to children?"
She stood up slowly. The denim of her jeans creaked as she moved. She reached up and shrugged off her black work jacket, tossing it carelessly onto the chair. Underneath, the black blouse left little to the imagination, the contours of her body sharp and imposing.
"Stand up," she ordered.
Steven stood, his legs trembling.
"You think you've had it hard today? You think the Principal's office was the end of it?" Elena reached for her waist. She unbuckled her thick leather belt, the metal buckle clinking as she pulled the heavy strip of hide from her loops. She snapped the belt in the air, the sound like a pistol shot.
"Face down on the carpet. Now."
"Stepmom, please, I already got it! I'm bruised, I'm—"
"I don't care if you're bleeding, Steven! You will learn that there are consequences for your actions that extend beyond the school gates!"
He collapsed onto the lounge carpet, lying face down. The fibers of the rug tickled his nose, but his focus was entirely on the looming presence of Elena. He felt the air shift as she stepped closer, the click of her heels echoing on the hardwood perimeter of the room.
Whap!
The leather belt descended with a savage force. Steven gasped, his body arching. The belt didn't have the precision of the cane, but it had a brutal, wide impact. It slammed into the already tender flesh, reigniting the fire that Principal Baton had started.
Whap!
"You will not lie to me!"
Whap!
"You will not steal from this house!"
Whap!
"You will not disgrace this name!"
Elena was getting worked up. Her breathing became heavier, her face flushing. She wasn't just punishing him; she was purging her own frustration. The belt rained down in a chaotic, furious rhythm. Steven wailed, his hands clawing at the carpet, his voice echoing through the house.
Whap!
Whap!
Whap!
He could feel the heat building, a suffocating warmth that seemed to pulse in time with the blows. The denim of her jeans brushed against his legs as she leaned into the strokes, her high heels digging into the carpet for leverage.
"Get up," she panted, her voice ragged.
Steven tried to push himself up, his muscles failing him.
"I said get up! Move to the couch. Now!"
He crawled to the sofa, his movements sluggish. He draped himself across the cushions, his backside exposed as he struggled to find a position.
Elena didn't reach for the belt this time. She walked over to the sideboard and picked up a heavy leather strap—a thick, double-layered piece of hide that looked like it belonged in a stable.
"This," she whispered, "is for the lack of discipline."
The first strike of the strap was a thunderclap.
THWACK!
Steven's scream was a high, thin sound. The strap didn't just sting; it felt like a slab of meat being hit with a mallet. The impact drove the air from his lungs, leaving him gasping.
THWACK!
The skin of his buttocks, already a bruised pink from the school and a raw red from the belt, began to transform. Within seconds, the area turned a deep, smoldering, hot crimson. The blood rushed to the surface in a desperate attempt to heal the trauma, making the flesh look like it was glowing from within.
THWACK!
"Do you feel that, Steven?" Elena asked, her voice trembling with adrenaline. "Do you feel the weight of your mistakes?"
THWACK!
"Yes! Yes, I do! Please, stop!"
THWACK!
The strap continued to fall, each blow landing with a heavy, wet sound. The skin began to swell, the crimson deepening into a dark, angry purple in the center of the impacts. Steven's body quivered, his muscles twitching involuntarily. He was sobbing openly now, the tears soaking into the fabric of the couch.
Elena paused, her chest heaving. She looked at the devastation she had wrought. The sight of his quivering, crimson backside seemed to fuel her further. She wanted it to be perfect. She wanted the lesson to be etched into his very nerves.
She set the strap aside and reached for a slender, polished cane that she kept for such occasions.
"The finale," she murmured.
She stepped closer, her high heels clicking. She didn't swing wildly this time. She stood with the poise of a marksman, her eyes narrowed, calculating the exact point of impact.
Swish—CRACK!
The cane landed with surgical precision, slicing right across the center of the swelling. Steven shrieked, his entire body jolting. The pain was a different breed—sharp, piercing, and focused.
Swish—CRACK!
Another stroke, perfectly parallel to the first.
Swish—CRACK!
She worked her way across the surface of his backside, delivering hellishly sharp strokes that crisscrossed the previous welts. Each strike was a needle of fire, cutting through the dull throb of the strap and the belt.
Steven was no longer screaming; he was making small, whimpering sounds, his spirit completely broken. He felt the skin stretch and snap under the pressure of the cane. He could feel the heat radiating off his own body, a shimmering haze of pain.
Swish—CRACK!
The final stroke was the hardest of all, landing with a definitive, echoing snap that seemed to vibrate through the furniture.
Elena stepped back, her breathing slowly returning to normal. She looked down at him.
Steven lay slumped on the couch, his breath coming in ragged, shallow hitches. His backside was a testament to her sophisticated skill—a chaotic map of deep crimson, vivid pink, and dark, bruised purple. The flesh was swollen and quivering, the skin glistening with a thin sheen of sweat.
"Now," Elena said, her voice returning to a cold, maternal firmness. "Go to your room. You will stay there until tomorrow morning. You will reflect on your actions, and you will think about how lucky you are that I love you enough to ensure you don't grow up to be a failure."
Steven didn't move for a long moment. He just lay there, the fire in his skin slowly settling into a deep, throbbing ache.
"Go," she commanded.
He rolled off the couch, landing on the floor with a soft thud. He crawled toward the stairs, every inch of his lower body screaming in protest. As he climbed the stairs, one slow, agonizing step at a time, he could still hear the click of Elena's heels as she walked back to her chair, the sound of a woman who had restored order to her home.
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. Hi just checking if anybody got this video? Thanks