And the illustration:
The second installment!
As previously, the main article is by Elckerlyc over on deviantArt.
And like last time, here is the illustration on its own:
“Please…” she whined to no effect, “Please, no more…”
Her crimson buttocks felt like they were pulsating, sending waves of rich, hot pain up her spine with each of her shallow breaths. She swallowed and pleaded again, hearing no response. She didn’t dare look back, but she knew that the paddle was high in the air, just about to come dow—
“Oww!” she yelped as the hard wood connected with her bruised flesh once more. Tears streamed down her face, dripping over the desk. Her boss’ desk. He was mad. he was more than mad; he was furious. She had messed up. Again.
“OWW!” she cried, louder, another hard swat landing on her tender, plump bottom. For a few seconds, the pain became her whole world; it was all that she could think of. Then, it receded, leaving her ass burning, her legs trembling… and her panties wet.
She didn’t argue, because she knew that it was futile. When he had called her in his office, there had been no ambiguity as to her fate. She had walked in expecting to be punished, and she knew that she deserved it. She had closed the door behind her, and started to undress without a word. She had been through it a few times already.
It had started with a playful joke one day, about how she had messed up with a client. Her boss had been understanding, but she had carried on telling him how bad she felt, how guilty. He had brushed it off at first, until she had said these fateful words, as a jest: “Sometimes I wish I could get spanked again!”
He had raised an eyebrow, and she had let a little embarrassed laugh out.
“What do you mean, Caroline?” he’d asked, softly. She had instantly turned into a stuttering mess, cheeks as red as a ripe tomato.
“I… Hum… My mother, she… She used to spank me, you know? And, well, it wasn’t pleasant, but at least I didn’t feel the guilt anymore afterwards.”
“I see…” he had simply answered. He had kept his eyes on her, and she had carried on. She wasn’t sure why she had kept talking then, but the words had just kept spilling from her mouth.
“It’s… It’s like, cathartic, the punishment, the… pain… It takes the guilt away. Well, it did then…”
He had nodded. She had stared at the floor. She couldn’t look at him.
“And so… Caroline…”
“You think a spanking would help you do a better job with the next client?”
Her eyes had widened. That little off-hand joke hadn’t seemed like a joke anymore. It had seemed very, very real. That day, she had received her first proper spanking as an adult, right there over her boss’ lap. As she had been quietly weeping in the corner afterward, he had defined a few rules. First, this was purely disciplinary, he was faithful to his wife, thank you very much. As such, she would get to keep her panties. She thought it a little odd, and a little hypocritical, but was in no position to argue ethics.
Second, any further punishment would increase in severity, going from hand-spankings to hairbrushes, paddles, the cane… She had shivered. And for a time, it had kept her on the straight and narrow. Then mistakes had happened. She had been late finishing a report. She had overslept and missed an early appointment. Paperwork got filed in the wrong place…
True to his word, he had summoned her in his office each time, and each time, the punishment had been more severe. And as much as she dreaded it, she knew she needed it, the discipline, the atonement. She needed it and desired it. Not enough to make her make mistakes on purpose, no! But she loved how it pushed her to do better. And indeed, after each session, she knew that her work got better. For a time, she was a model employee, employee of the month even! And then the slip started again. A little longer each time, knowing that the punishment would get harsher, but it always happened.
And so, as the paddle slammed into her ass once more, leaving a deep red mark, she cried her shame out and let the guilt leave her. The hard wood fell again, making her yell. No walls were thick enough to keep people from hearing, she was sure of it. Her panties were drenched —so much for keeping it modest— and she was heaving, sobbing, sniffling between each hard slap.
She knew she would be forgiven but— OWW!
She knew she deserved it and— OOWW!!
She knew she would be better, she would— OWW!!
She clenched her buttocks, knowing full well it would do nothing. She could feel the bruises coming, she imagined the marks. She bit her lip, waiting for the next one.
“Get up, Caroline,” he boss said.
In her heels and underwear, she made her way to the corner, knowing what was expected of her. She would stay put while he fixed her mistake, her fingers interlocked above her head. No more mistakes, she silently vowed, no more screw ups. And for a time, she knew she wouldn’t. She closed her eyes and let the pain radiating from her crimson ass fill her mind.
I tend not to post text-heavy images here, but half the fun in this one is the formatting of it ^^
The main article is by Elckerlyc over on deviantArt. I had fun putting the thingy together! look forward to a few more of these
As an added bonus, here is the illustration on its own:
When he came home, I thought we would have the most perfect evening. We had said we were going to put the tree up that night, something I’d been looking forward to for weeks in this bleakest of years. I had put mulled wine to warm up on the stove, Christmas music was playing…
But the minute he passed the door, everything seemed to go wrong. Well, I say passed the door… I had left my keys in it, locked, and he had to bang on the door for five minutes before I heard him, busy as I was bellowing Christmas songs from the kitchen. Mortified, blushing and looking down, I let him take his coat and shoes off before starting to apologise as best I could. He didn’t let me finish, dismissing me with a wave, and my heart sank.
Sheepishly, I followed him to the living-room where I’d laid out the tree and the many boxes of decorations that we have accumulated over the years. I was ready to put a silly Christmas film on and forget the door incident. But he sighed.
‘Are we doing this tonight?’ he asked, clearly not up for it.
I looked down. ‘Well, we’d said we…’
‘I know, I know, fine…’ he said. My eyes were down, but I could feel his eyes rolling.
‘Did you have a bad day?’ I asked, gently.
‘No, I’m fine, just tired’ was all he said.
Suddenly, I remembered the wine on the stove. ‘Shit!’ I said and ran over there. As I’d feared, it had started to boil. Not a tragedy, in the grand scheme of things, but still… One more thing that wasn’t going right.
‘Can you grab me a beer while you’re in there?’ he called from the living-room. With a sigh, I served a single mugful of mulled wine and got him a beer.
When I came back to the living-room, the tree was up, bare as it was. He was rummaging around in one of the boxes, looking for something. I set the drinks on the table. Well, I tried to. I tripped on a bunch of lights and everything went crashing to the floor, lights, drinks and all. He jumped and took my hand, genuinely worried.
‘Are you okay?’
‘It’s not the evening I wanted…’
‘It’s all right,’ he said, ‘just pick a movie, I’ll get a mop, yeah? Then we can decorate, wrap presents, and it’ll all be okay.’
I wiped tears from my eyes and nodded. He went to get a mop, and I started browsing. Maybe things would be fine after all.
‘Honey?’ he called from the kitchen, ‘What’s in the oven?’
The oven? I thought. The oven. Fuck! The oatmeal cookies I had made were probably completely burnt… I rushed to the oven and, sure enough, smoke billowed out when I opened the door. I bit my lip, and felt tears running down my cheeks.
‘Honey?’ he asked. ‘Are you sure everything’s all right?’
‘No…’ I managed in a tearful little voice, ‘It’s really not…’
‘They’re just cookies, my love, it doesn’t matter…’
‘It’s…’ I started, hesitating, then everything came out at once, ‘It’s everything, it’s covid, it’s not seeing family this year, then the door, and you’re mad about the tree and I burnt the cookies and spilled the wine and…
He shushed me gently and took me in his big, bear arms. I cried my eyes out in his chest. His hand came up to stroke my hair and slowly, I calmed down.
‘Tell me what you need…’ he said.
‘I… I feel so bad, about everything…’
‘Honey… It’s okay…’
‘No… Will you… Will you spank me? And then we can start over…’
‘A nice, cathartic spanking?’
‘Yes… I want to be over your knees… I want to let go… Please?’
Gently, carefully, he took my hand and led me to a chair in the kitchen, where he sat down. I took my jeans down. He was smiling up at me. I blushed. Lovingly, he put me down over his knees, and I abandoned myself to his embrace, to his loving discipline. Despite the pain, I smiled as the guilt left me with each slap of his hand.
Once it was all over, and my tears were exhausted, we decorated the tree, drinking freshly made mugs of mulled wine; we watched a silly Christmas film just like I wanted, and nibbled on burnt cookies while laughing at each other’s awful Christmas pun. All the while, my bottom was burning, and I loved him all the more for it.
It was the day of the Christmas party at the office, and Helen had come dressed for it in a short, red dress and Santa hat. She liked to turn heads, and the dress clung to her curves, plentiful as they were. She had decided that the dress was too tight for a bra or panties, and she was only wearing a pair of tights underneath it, much to her delight. Office life could be dull, and she liked to spice it up.
She was having a flirty conversation with John from accounting (or was it sales?) when she heard her name being called. She turned around to see her line manager, furiously coming towards her, holding his phone to his ear and a wad of papers in his other hand. She excused herself and mouthed ‘What?’ to Ben, her boss. He lifted a finger, telling her to wait, and pressed mute on his phone.
‘In my office. Now.‘ he said, ominously.
She blushed at the tone, and followed him in. There was another man there, waiting for them. He turned around, revealing himself to be the CEO of the company. Her dress suddenly felt very short, and she tugged on it. The door closed with a clack that sent a shiver up her spine.
‘Mr. Jacobs!’ she said, ‘it’s a—
‘Take a seat, Helen,’ Ben interrupted. He pointed to one of the chairs in front of his desk. Mr Jacobs remained standing, eyeing her up and down. She blushed and did as she was bidden. Suddenly, the hat felt very silly. This didn’t look like a merry occasion. She didn’t dare move to remove it, and she felt her cheeks blushing to match the stupid hat’s colour.
‘Do you know why you’re here, Miss Clemens?’ Mr Jacobs asked. His voice was soft, gentle even, but she could tell by the steely gaze of his blue-grey eyes that he was anything but.
‘I…’ she hesitated, trying to think of what could have landed her in such a meeting. Ben, her manager, turned from the window where he was finishing his phone conversation, and put his phone on the large, glass desk that throned in the middle of the room. The view outside was gorgeous, and she noticed none of it, flinching instead as the phone thudded on the glass.
‘I… I have no idea, Mr Jacobs, S-Sir,’ she stammered.
He rolled his eyes and tutted in annoyance. He waved a hand for Ben to take over and went to the window to admire the view, his hands joined behind his back.
‘Helen,’ Ben said, ‘You’ve been here what, five years now?’
‘Six…’ she said, sheepishly.
‘Six years. That’s a long time, isn’t it? That shows commitment, that shows loyalty.’
‘And in turn, you have been treated well here, wouldn’t you say?’
‘Of course, Sir!’
‘We are a forward-thinking, modern company, with values we’re proud of, wouldn’t you agree?’
‘Yes, Sir, I agree…’ she said, completely lost as to where he was going with that.
‘And one of these values,’ Mr Jacobs said, still looking out, ‘is a zero-tolerance policy towards sexual harassment in our offices.’
‘Sex-sexual harassment? Sir?’ Helen blushed, and tugged on her dress, biting her lip.
‘Four colleagues, Helen! It’s all in there!’ Ben said, loudly, shaking the papers. ‘How long did you think you would get away with it?’
‘Spanking the members of your team, Helen? Is that what you consider acceptable behaviour in this company?’
She said nothing, staring at the floor.
‘And taking pictures as well! You thought they wouldn’t dare report you! Well! HR has a pretty clear-cut case!’
‘B… b-ut…’ she stuttered, ‘they all agreed to it in… in writing when they joined my t-team and…’
‘You can’t make them sign a piece of paper and get away with something like this!’ Mr Jacobs said, his tone icy.
Chewing her lip, Helen’s gaze stayed down.
‘However,’ Ben said, ‘Given your track record, and given that you seemed to treat them well in every other respect, they have accepted to drop their complaint under one condition.’
‘One con-condition, S-sir?’ she said, looking up.
‘Unsurprisingly,’ Ben continued, ‘They want what happened to them to happen to you. They are willing to drop the claim if you submit yourself to a spanking of your own.’
Her eyes opened wide. ‘But… Sir…’ she said, her voice trembling.
‘Mr Jacobs and I will administer it. Your other option is to be fired for gross misconduct, with no severance pay and possible civil lawsuit. Your choice, Helen.’
‘I would say I’m sorry, Miss Clemens’ said Mr Jacobs, ‘but you clearly brought that on yourself.’
Helen thought of her skimpy dress, and the panties that she was not wearing. Surely there was another way. She looked at them in turn. She felt her world crumbling.
‘And… And if I accept?’
‘Then you will keep you position. With a different team, of course, and a year on probation.’
‘That… That’s it?’
‘We reward loyalty, and results, Miss Clemens,’ Mr Jacobs said with a dry smile.
He shoulders dropped and she nodded.
‘Do you accept the terms?’
‘Yes…’ she said, tears in her eyes.
Having signed a waiver without even reading it, she bent over the desk as Mr Jacobs instructed. She could feel her dress riding up and had no doubt the two men would soon be able to appreciate how little she was wearing underneath her already skimpy dress.
The first slap got her by surprise, and she let a little cry out. More soon followed, and she grabbed the other end of the desk, screwing her eyes shut not to yelp with each heavy slap. Soon, her bottom was warm, burning, and she was having a hard time trying not to kick her legs. Both men stayed silent, letting the noise of the barely muffled slaps fill the office. She knew people outside could hear them. She just knew, and her shame was instantly multiplied.
After what felt like an eternity, the slaps stopped. Her bottom was on fire, and tears had long ruined her make-up, pooling on the glass desk. She heard Ben say, ‘I think you should have a go, Sir…’ The relief she had felt at the pause vanished when she heard the sound of a belt buckle being undone. No no no no no… she thought. All of a sudden, she felt like a child again, like the bratty teenager she had been, coming home late to find the belt waiting for her. She shivered. Right when she thought things couldn’t be worse, she felt a hand grabbing the end of her dress and pulling it up to her waist.
There was a silent instant when time seemingly froze as the men realised quite what they were looking at. She felt a pang of desire and knew that she was wet as could be. Mortified, she buried her head in her hands, sobbing.
If she thought that would mollify the CEO, she thought wrong. The belt came whipping down a few seconds later, and she couldn’t help but yell loudly. A second smack of the belt fell down on her crimson bottom, and a third. By the fourth, she wasn’t trying to stifle her yelling anymore, and she was panting, trying to catch her breath between each agonising strike. She clenched and unclenched her buttocks, hoping to attenuate the pain, but the belt bit like a firebrand every time.
After twenty lashes, her tights were torn, and she felt like she had cried every tear in her body. Ten lashes later, she could barely stand on her trembling legs, and she was repeating ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry’ between sobs.
Finally, it stopped. She stayed down on the desk, her legs spread, her lips parted, dripping. She didn’t even care anymore. It was finally over. And it hurt, It hurt more than she thought it could. Her bottom hurt, her eyes, her thighs, the shame hurt. But at least it was over.
‘Now,’ Ben said, ‘as stipulated in the document you signed earlier…’ he unzipped her dress and passed it over her head, ‘You are going to stand in the corner of the open space for the duration of the office party.’
‘Merry Christmas!’ Mr Jacobs said.
To be honest, Lana had fantasised about that moment. She had dreamt of it; she had imagined how it would play out. So when the day came, she was beyond ready. It started with a very polite smile and one simple sentence:
‘Oh but ma’am, I am the manager.’
That stopped the harpy in her tirade. The coupons were strewn on the counter. The superior air was instantly deflated, and the older, short-haired, haughty woman started to stutter.
‘Wh-wh-what?’ she said, eyeing 22-year-old Lana up and down, ‘Don’t… Don’t lie to me, you stroppy brat!’
Still smiling, Lana slammed her ID badge on the counter, hard enough to make the woman flinch and look at her, worried. The woman hummed and hawed, looking at the ID with wide eyes. It clearly stated Manager in bold, red letters.
‘So,’ Lana begun, ‘like I said, we don’t accept expired coupons.’
The woman huffed. ‘Typical…’ she muttered, ‘You young people have everything handed to you…’
Lana pointed to a sign taped to the till that read ‘Staff abuse will not be tolerated’.
‘I suggest you stop, ma’am, or I will be forced to take action.’ she said, simply, pleasantly, never dropping the smile.
‘Or what?’ the older woman snapped, ‘You’ll force me to listen to another of the horrible songs that always play in here? Probably your boyfriend’s shitty band!’ She looked around at the few other clients in the store, hoping for support. All she got were raised eyebrows and shaking heads. Undeterred, she continued ranting.
‘I’m not surprised there are so few clients anyway, with such poor service, and your shitty attitude! Young people shouldn’t be in charge, they always mess it up! You should be ashamed!’
Lana walked around the counter. ‘I’m going to have to ask you to leave, ma’am…’
‘You can ask all you want, you little trollop! The customer is always right! Don’t you know the first thing about following store policies?’
Lana pointed to the sign again. She tapped the small prints.
‘Oh I do; in fact I was hoping you would bring it up. Look here: per company policy, any abuse will be met with corporal punishment.’
The woman blanched, and probably for the first time in her life, fell silent. It lasted a few delicious heartbeats, during which Lana’s smile only grew wider.
‘You… You can’t!…’ the woman tried.
‘Sorry ma’am,’ Lana said with relish, ‘it’s company policy!’
Without giving the woman time to argue, Lana grabbed her wrist and dragged her over to a chair that lay innocently in a corner by the counter. Having dreamt so much about it, she felt like she was just performing a role she had rehearsed many times before. Stunned, the woman only started to resist too late to change the outcome.
Lana liked to finish her day with a workout, and she was much stronger than the Karen in her grasp. Sitting down, she forced the tyrant over her lap and wasted no time in landing the first hard slap over her tight jeans. The woman screamed.
The few other customers in the shop didn’t move a single muscle to help her, and more slaps rained down, sharp and loud. The woman pleaded. She screamed more. She threatened. Nothing made Lana stop. Again and again, she slapped the woman’s ass. For an older woman, it was quite firm, shapely, bouncy. Truth be told, Lana was enjoying this immensely.
The threats slowly turned to sobs, pitiful and quiet, until Lana grabbed the jean’s waistband and started to pull down.
‘No!’ the woman pleaded with what was left of her defiance. ‘Not on the bare! People… people will see!’
‘You had no problem with people being there when you were yelling at me, did you?’
The woman said nothing.
‘You have no issue with witnesses when you humiliate store clerks, do you?
Still no answer, but the woman wriggled uncomfortably.
‘Now, I think you know that they’re coming down no matter what, so I’d advise you make it easier on yourself, ma’am….’ Lana said, menacingly.
With a defeated sigh, the woman reached for her jeans and managed to undo the button. With the woman’s jeans and white panties down to her thighs, Lana could finally admire the results of her handiwork. The round buttocks were already a dark pink, and the trembling woman had given up all hope of resisting what was to come.
The other client had long ago stopped browsing, and only pretended to look at the merchandise on offer, instead darting eyes over to the scene playing out. The smiles and nods were all the encouragement Lana needed to raise her hand once more.
With a loud SMACK!, she sent the bottom wobbling again, and the conceited woman cried out once more. More slaps came down, leaving marks and prints every time, turning the arrogant ass a bright crimson. Tears were running down the woman’s cheeks, and she was mumbling apologies in a tearful voice.
Lana continued spanking her for long, humiliating minutes, until the woman’s ass was red throughout and burning to the touch. The tears had not stopped rolling, and the sobs were a pleasant music to her ears. Then she spanked her some more, until at last she was satisfied.
None too gently, she got the woman up and dragged her to a corner of the shop. The woman kept her head down and didn’t protest. When Lana told her to put her hands on her head, she obeyed. Her jeans stayed down; so did her panties. In the following hours, the store got busier than it had ever been, as clients seemed to come in but not leave. In fact, most of them seemed to find every article in the store very interesting and made a point of checking each an every one of them in detail. As she prepared to close the store down, she tapped the woman’s shoulder and pointed to the door. With a sigh and a shameful nod, the woman pulled her jeans up and ran away.
“But mum!!” the girl yelled, “I’m twenty-two! You can’t— OWW!!”
Holding her daughter over her knees, the mum in question kept spanking hard.
“We’re on— OWW! Mum! We’re on lockdown! Oww! Oww!” the daughter tried again.
“And that’s no reason to be lazy, Janice!” the mother exclaimed.
“As long as you live under my roof, young lady…”
“Yes! Yes! Your rules, I kn— OWWW! I know, mum but PLEASE!”
The slaps kept coming, sharp and biting. Her panties were long gone, down to her knees.
“When was your sociology class?”
“Ye- Ow! Yesterday…” the girl managed between to sharp intakes of breath.
“And what about Economics?”
“Mon… Ow! Oww! Owwww! Monday, mum, please, please stop!” she begged again.
“So you haven’t been to school, your bedroom is a mess, you haven’t showered, all you do is lay in bed all day, on your computer and your phone!”
Her mother shook her head, peppering Janice’s bare bottom with hard slaps.
“I know! Mum! I’m sorry! And I’ve had classes! It’s all on the computer!”
“Classes on the computer? Are you lying again?” the mother said, outraged.
“No, mum, I… OWW! I promise!”
Tears were rolling down her blushing cheeks. Her mother shook her head.
“I don’t think there are classes on the computer. I’ve never heard of that. Classes need their teacher.”
“No, mum, please… Please stop, listen! It’s— Owwww! It’s like a video-ow-ow-owww! A video-call! Please!”
“Stop your nonsense! You will go to your classes!”
“But mum! We’re in lockdown! Oww!”
“Schools are open! I’ve read it in the papers!”
“But this OWW! It’s Uni, mum! It’s on the comp—”
“Don’t tell me it’s on the computer again or I’ll go get the paddle!”
The girl’s screams echo across the large, mostly empty room, a perfect counterpoint to the rhythmic, sharp noise of the slaps raining down on her ass. Again and again, her tormentor’s hand falls, delivering heavy slaps that make the girl’s tender bottom wobble and redden a little more with each blow.
Once more, she begs, begs for mercy, begs for it to stop, begs, wails and promises. It will never happen again, she cries; she has learnt her lesson, she swears; there is no need to continue, she pleads.
Time and time again, her pleas fall on deaf ears, or on ears that don’t care for her empty promises, at least. Without pausing her spanking, the stern disciplinarian says, “I’ve heard all of this before, Ella. And not just once…”
Only a wail answers. More slaps, more cries.
“I’ve warned you,” the spanker continues, “I’ve told you what would happen.”
Only sobs answer back. She carries on, matter-of-factly, “And yet you chose to take my car… Again…”
“But…” Ella manages between two sobs
“But nothing, young lady!” the other woman snaps, punctuating it with a nasty slap down between Ella’s legs. The young, curly girl howls in pain. Her skirt up, panties dangling off her leg, there is nothing to cover her bottom, or her dignity. Nothing to protect her from the wrathful slaps either.
Her mother continues, “You took the car; you took it and you got caught speeding… Again…”
The heavy palmfuls continue to rain down.
“I’m sorry muuuum!” Ella whimpers, “Please, mummy…”
The begging, as before, does nothing to attenuate the regular explosions of pain in her backside.
“You thought I wouldn’t find out, huh? Whose name is on the ticket, do you think? Who’s got to pay a fine?”
“Mum, please!” she wails.
“Wait until your father comes home…” her mother says, menacingly. Ella doesn’t think it could get any worse, but she knows better than to answer. Her father, whilst strict, usually softens up when she cries and sobs. Her mother… not so much.
As if to prove her right, a series of hard slaps come down on Ella’s thighs, making her kick her legs in agony.
“All of that for what, huh?” her mum asks.
“To impress your boyfriend? Is it?”
“Mum, pleaaaase! Pleeease stoooooop!”
“Is that what this is, Lucas? Are you impressed right now?” the mother says, turning her head to the right.
Sat on the sofa, straight in front of Ella’s spread legs and exposed intimacy, Lucas shakes his head, not daring to say a word. Eyes open wide, his blushing cheeks are almost as red as Ella’s bottom. His mind is racing, his cock as hard as it’s ever been, painful against his tight jeans.
To be honest, he doesn’t know what turns him on more, Ella’s crimson ass and shamefully dripping pussy, or her stern, dominatrix of a mother.