The Dance – part two

Read part one here

Cindy pressed her round bottom against her locker, pushed her chest up and bat her eyelashes at Brad as he came down the corridor. The spaghetti top and tight, short denim shorts she was wearing didn’t leave much to the imagination and accentuated her round hips and full breasts.

“Heyyy, Brad…” she purred, “I heard Susanna cancelled on your for the dance… That’s too bad…”

Brad came to a stop in front of her and put let his rucksack down on the floor. Taller than she was, lean and toned, his hair cropped on one side, he was everything that that made her bite her lips with desire. She often thought of him at night, alone in her bed, when her hands started to wander.

He stared. “Yeah… You wouldn’t have anything to do with that, would you Cind?” he said.

“Me?” she said in her most innocent voice, “Why would I do that?”

“I heard you were pretty pissed at her…”

“Oh yeah? Who told you that?!”

“It doesn’t matter who. Did you do it?”

“Do what?” She raise an eyebrow.

Brad put his hands on his hips and frowned.

“You know what!”

“No!” she pretended “I don’t.”

He blushed and continued in a hushed tone, looking up and down the corridor.

“You spanked her? What’s wrong with you?”

She laughed. “What? Who told you that?”

“it doesn’t matter who told me!”

“I never… spanked… her. What the fuck, Brad? Are you a pervert or something?


“That’s your fetish, huh? Girls spanking each other?”

“What? No! I…”

“Oh I’m sure it is… Naughty, naughty girls getting punished… Is that what you like, Brad?” she smiled wider while he blushed.

“You’ve got issues, Cind…” he muttered

“Oh yeah? What are you gonna do about it? Are you going to take me to the dance or what?”

He took his bag from the floor and grabbed Cindy by the wrist, not too gently.

“Come on, not here,” he said, and pulled her towards and empty classroom.

“What are you doing?” she asked, half smiling, half panicking. Maybe she had taken it a little too far? Surely not. She knew how boys thought, manipulating them was one of her favourite things. A little teasing, a little waving her hips around, and she had them wrapped around her finger.

He closed the door behind them as they entered the empty classroom and let go of her wrist.

“Well?” she asked, hiding her misgivings behind another grin.

“I know you did spank Susanna, and don’t you even dare deny it!”

She shrugged, “Yeah, and? That slut shouldn’t have been strutting around, that’s all…”

“Don’t call her that!”

“What? A slut? I call a piggy a piggy, that’s all!”

“All right, that’s enough,” he said, grabbing her arm and dragging her to the nearest chair, “You think you can spank someone just because you don’t like them? Well I’ll show you how that feels.”

He sat down and swiftly bend her over his knees.

“Hey! No! Stop!” she yelped, but he didn’t listen. Without another word, he raised his hand and smacked her bottom, a loud, painful slap that immediately made her eyes water in surprise, pain, and delicious shame. Not wasting a second, another slap fell, and another, and another until the sound of them filled the room in a steady rhythm punctuated by whining, barely contained cries. She kicked her legs

“Brad!…” she pleaded, tears rolling down her cheeks. This wasn’t going as planned, not at all. “Brad, please!…”

Unmoved, he continued to rain spanks over her round, denim-clad bottom. Already he could see her sit spots turning a satisfying red. After a dozen more slaps, he grabbed the waistband of her shorts and dragged them down, panties and all, to her knees despite her outraged protest.

“No! No! Stop! You can’t!”

“Did you give Susanna a choice?”

“No but… Please! I’m sorry, all right! You can go with that bitch, I don’t —OWWW!”

“Don’t call her that,” he said, punctuating each syllable with a hard, painful slap on her now naked bottom. As he kept on spanking and smacking her round, bouncing bottom, her shorts and panties fell further down her legs until they were at her ankles, then on the floor. All the whiles, her tears were flowing openly, her cries getting more desperate.

“Braaad! Please! I beg you! I’m sorryyy! Please! Please! Someone will come! Someone will see…”

“Did you think of that when you were doing it to Susanna?”

The slaps were getting harder and harder. Cindy was sobbing, bawling, unable to articulate her begging anymore. Finally, satisfied, he relented. His hand resting on her burning, bruised cheeks, he said, “If I hear that you said anything to Susanna, if I hear you’ve been anywhere near her, I promise you you’ll end up in the same position for round two. Is that clear?”

She sniffed, “Y-yessir…”

All the while, shaking from the sobs, the pain, the humiliation, and the scolding, she was thinking. Only three people knew what she had really done the day before. Only three people knew that she’s spanked Susanna on the bare. Three people: herself, Susanna of course —but she wouldn’t have dare admit it to Brad— and Abi. That bitch Abi. She had told Brad, she was sure of it. That. Bitch.

She was going to pay.

Sneaking Out

Simple enough, Lilah figured, to just climb back up the side of the house by the pipe and get back in. It was the way she’d gotten out of the house once her father was asleep, and it was how  the teenage girl would got back inside and pretend she’d been asleep and in bed the whole night when the sun rose.

So, she made her way up. She was only 5’2 and her height didn’t help her in the slightest, but it wasn’t exactly difficult to climb up either. What she had to be most mindful of was noise. If she woke him up now, she’d be done for.

She got back inside through the bedroom window with seemingly no fuss, and after shutting the window quietly behind her, she let out a deep sigh of relief.

With a heavy sigh, Michael, her adoptive father, fully opened the bedroom door behind which he had been standing and turned the light on. He’d been waiting, anxious, angry, worried, furious.

Lilah, his adoptive daughter, was… complicated. Draining. His pride and joy. A real brat.

Sometimes, he didn’t know what to do with her. But it usually ended with her apologising through her tears, her bottom a dark crimson. Tonight might be one of those.

He glared.

“Well? Anything to say?” he said.

“Daddy!” She smiled, fakely, nervously, and began putting on her ‘I’m just a little kid, don’t be mad at me!’ voice, even though she was far from being one anymore.

“I was just going outside to see the stars! What are you doing in here?”

“I’ve been waiting, Lilah,” he growled, “I’ve been waiting for hours. I’m sure you’ve seen many stars on this overcast night…”

He crossed his arms over his chest.

“Do you want to try that again?” he continued.

“Well, y’know, um, I went for a walk to see if I could see them anywhere. Like, around the clouds you know?” Shit. He was totally on her trail, and that was bad.  “Buuut I really should be going to bed now, so-“

He raises an eyebrow

“For three hours, huh?” he shook his head, “Lilah, I think you know better than to lie to me, don’t you? It’s bad enough that you disobey, it’s bad enough that I was worried sick, don’t lie to me on top of it!” His voice was getting louder and louder as he went. She winced at that. It was always a sign that he was getting fed up, and perhaps it was better to just come clean… though she hated it when her adoptive father was cross with her.

“U-um… I went to Emi’s house because they were having hum… a ‘get together’.” She explained, her cheeks heating up in embarrassment. “Honest, That’s where I was…”

He sighed. “A get together, huh? Just hanging out, sipping orange juice? Yes?”

He closed the bedroom door behind him with and ominous ‘clank’.

“I-it was really just a couple of close friends!” she said, backing up when he closed the door. She wished he would just leave her alone to go bed, but the chance of that happening seemed smaller and smaller.

“I swear daddy, it was just like, six of us, and we only had like, soda and stuff! Really! You can smell my breath if you want, I wasn’t drinking!”

“Soda and stuff” he said, dismissively, “Oh, Lilah… Why… Why do you keep doing this? Do I not treat you well? Are you really so fed up with your old man that you simply don’t care? Is that it? Because frankly, I can’t see why you’re doing this…”

He shook his head again.

“You know what needs to happen now, don’t you?” he said again.

“No! Dad, I just- I just wanted to go and you said I couldn’t but… I should be able to! It’s not fair!”

Her friends always got to hang out no problems, and Lilah was always stuck getting told no, or negotiating with the stern older man.

However, she could predict his next move. “A-and I won’t do it again! I’m sorry, I know I should’ve told you…”

“I said you couldn’t. And you still did, didn’t you?” he asked, his tone ice-cold. He went and sat on the bed

“Now, I’ll ask you again, Lilah… What’s going to happen?”

He rolled up his sleeves, keeping his gaze on her.

The teen whimpered, and tears gathered in her eyes at the prospect of having to go over his knee or over anything to be smacked. Not again…

“Y-you’re going to spank me- please don’t spank me, dad, please-!” She whined, backing up to the wall. “I-I’m 17! I’m too old for that! I just wanted to go with my friends, you’re being unfair!”

“If you behaved, there would be no need for a spanking. And if you behaved, I would be more inclined to let you hang out, as you put it” he said, and gestured her over. “Come nicely, own up to it and it will be over soon, all right? The more you argue, the worse it’ll get, you know that…”

“Daaad…” she whined again, seeing that he wasn’t going easy on her. “I’m sorry, I know I made you worry, but I didn’t mean to!”

Still, she knew how his rules were, and she slowly came to stand in front of him. “I’ll behave from now on, I promise…”

He closed his eyes and sighed “Now where have I heard that before?”

He smiled, sadly “I believe you, my little butterfly…” he said, “But I’m not letting you get away with it. You need to learn.”

He pointed to her worn-out jeans and said:

“Take them off”

Her face was blushing bright red at the prospect of being this age and still being subjected to a spanking, but at this point, there really was no getting out of it, was there?

“Yes sir…” she murmured, a tear running down her cheek. When she’d been adopted, she’d never expected this, and every time It happened, she always swore it never would again, but it always did. She undid the button and pushed the trousers down to her knees, thoroughly mortified.

“What are…” he started, seeing the lacy, pale pink panties that she was wearing. He blushed. “You know what, I don’t want to know…”

She wasn’t even sure how to explain that one had to wear sexy panties when they went to hang out with friends and their boyfriend of course, because what if things had gone further? That night, Lilah was glad that they hadn’t.

He took her wrist and gently brought her down over his lap.

Sometimes, he forgot how grown up she was now. Even if she ended up on his lap with her bottom bared more often than her card to remember, she was nearly an adult now. Where had the time gone?

He cleared his throat.

“This could have been avoided, you know. All you had to do was stay in your bed, be on your phone, anything… But you had to disobey…”

He wanted to scold her, but his heart wasn’t in it.

“Let’s get this over with…” he said, finally.

With a loud SLAP!, he let the first blow fall on her barely covered bottom

“You never let me hang out with my friends!” She whined, a tear already falling from her eye. She always felt horribly guilty in this position. “You’re being unfair daddy!!”

The slaps keep coming, one cheek, the other, hard, fast. SLAP! SLAP!  SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP!

“I am not! Other kids have earned the right to go out unsupervised! I can’t say you have…”

SLAP!  SLAP!  SLAP!  the hand keeps falling, quickly turning the pale white of her cheeks a pale pink, then to red.

“Again and again you disobey!”

“Daddy!!” Lilah yelped, whimpered, gasped and cried out in pain, and still the hand was relentless. It hurt badly, so badly that she couldn’t help but bury her face in her hands and sob.

She’d only disobeyed because she felt he was always so unreasonable with her! He couldn’t control her forever, she was practically an adult! Or so she thought, at least…

“I’ll be good! I’m sorrryyy!” she sobbed.

After a dozen more hard slaps, he paused. Her bottom felt burning to the touch and he knew that there was a very wet patch of duvet where she’s been burying her head to muffle her screams and sobs.

“I really want to believe that you are, my butterfly… I really, really do…”

Still, he grabbed the waistband of her lacy underwear…

“Daddy no! P-Please!” She rarely ever referred to him as such anymore, and for her to be doing it so frequently meant she was truly upset.

Her hand flew back next to his, also taking a firm hold on the waistband to keep it pulled up over her cheeks. “I promise, daddy, I swear! Please, please not on the bare. I’ll never leave the house again! Please!”

“I…” he hesitated “Maybe you are a little old for that…” he said, unsure. He could feel his cheeks blushing. Taking her hand off the undies, he wedged them up instead of pulling them down, revealing her burning red globes but leaving her intimacy covered.

Swiftly, the slaps began raining down again, harder now, intent on giving her a proper lesson.

“I do hope you will obey, Lilah.. I do…”

Lilah could swear that her skin was raw, and possibly even starting to bruise. She felt she had a good pain tolerance but this… this was all too painful and not to mention, humiliating. It was embarrassing to be put over his knee like she was still a little girl!

“I will!” She whimpered, tears dripping from her face onto the bedsheets her head was above. “I’ll be good! I’ll obey, I w-will! No more, please n-no more!” Her legs kicked somewhat involuntary, and her hands gripped tight onto his pant leg.

With a loud, harsh final SLAP!, he let her catch her breath and gently stroked her hair as she sobbed quietly.

“There, there… It’s over now… It’s over…”

He helped her up and sat her on the bed next to him.

“I love you, my sweet butterfly…” he said with a sad smile, and offered his arms to her, hoping she would forgive the pain and hold him like she used to when he’d first adopted her.

“H-hurts…” Lilah cried, her hands under her to rub gingerly at her sore, abused cheeks. Heat radiated off them, and she fell into his arms. If he was going to spank her like a child, then she’d accept the comfort that came with it.

“I’m sorry…” she whispered

He held her tight and stoked her hair.

“I know, butterfly, I know…”

He closed his eyes and sighed

“Daddy’s here, it’s all going to be all right…”

This story was written in collaboration with Lia 🙂

The Dance – part one

‘WHERE IS SHE?’ Cindy roared as she entered the communal area of her college dorm, ‘Where is that fat German slut?’

Her friend, Abi, came to her, puzzled. ‘Cind,’ she said, ‘what are you talking about?’

‘The German brat! yelled Cindy, ‘That girl that joined at the start of the year!’

‘You mean Susanna?’, asked Abi.

‘Yes! That kraut slut!’

‘Hum, I think she’s in the study ro—’

Cindy was already running towards the room. She all but kicked the door and stared at Susanna, who had nearly jumped out of her chair, her book falling down to the floor.

‘There you are!’ said Cindy, triumphally. She planted her hands on her hips.

‘J-ja? Here I am? W-why?’ said the plump German student, readjusting her glasses on her nose.

Cindy crossed her arms. ‘You fat slut, you know why!’

Susanna looked more puzzled than ever. ‘W-what? How am I a… a s-slut?’ she mumbled.

‘Well it’s obvious! With your big tits always showing and your nerdy glasses, I’ve seen how you strut around! I bet you’ve been giving all the boys BJs in the toilets as well. That’s it, isn’t it? Is that your big fantasy? Coming abroad and fucking as many men as you can?’

‘Was? Nein! No! I never did any of this!’ said the German, blushing hard.

‘Yes you did! There’s no way Brad would go to the Dance with you otherwise!’

‘I… I… He just asked me if I wanted to go with him, und-and… I said I would, that’s it!’

‘Well Brad is not going to go with you, you disgusting pervert!’ yelled Cindy, ‘He’s gonna go with me.’ She closed the study-room’s door and continued, ‘And I’m gonna show you how we deal we German sluts around here…’

Rounding on Susanna, she grabbed her hair and forced her up. The exchange student yelped and Cindy took her place down on the chair, then pulled harder on her victim’s hair and forced her to lie over her knees.

‘Nein! What are you doing?!’ cried Susanna, finding herself very vulnerable all of a sudden, her bottom up in the air over the crazy blond girl’s lap. She had seen her lot of hazing and mean pranks since arriving from her homeland but that seemed entirely different.

Cindy’s hand fell down on her rump with a loud noise that made Susanna jump. A split second later, she registered the pain and whimpered. ‘Nein! No!’ Cindy didn’t let up, and spank after hard spank fell down on the German’s bottom, making them bounce and burn even through the jeans she was wearing. All the while, Cindy was scolding her, yelling invectives and accusing her of a whole spectrum of inappropriate acts. Tears welled up in Susanna’s eyes, and rolled down her cheeks as she tried to explain that she had never, would never do such things. Her English, ordinarily virtually flawless, was unravelling, and she found herself using more and more German as she sobbed.

After what felt like an eternity, Cindy forced her up again and grabbed Susanna’s jeans and started to undo the button. Stunned, Susanna barely resisted, rubbing her bottom and sniffling hard. ‘Bitte… Please, C-Cindy… Please… I… You can go mit Brad, I don’t mind. Es… Es tut mir leid… I’m sorry…’

Cindy sneered, ‘Least you can do is speak English, you stupid cow!’

‘I’m sorry!’ cried Susanna, feeling Cindy pulling her trousers and panties down to her mid-thighs. She didn’t even know what as happening anymore. All she knew is that her ass was on fire, and that she wanted to be back home, were people weren’t crazy. Cindy pulled her hair again and she found herself on the blond girl’s lap once more, her bottom naked and throbbing with pain.

The slaps came as she knew they would, hard, fast, utterly humiliating. She couldn’t stop the tears, she could barely articulate little ‘Neins’ in between all the sobs and sniffles. Thankfully, Cindy had stopped yelling, instead focusing on inflicting as much pain as possible to her victim, it seemed.

After a few more interminable minutes, the door of the study room opened, and she heard a gasp. Looking up, she saw one of the other girls —Abi, she thought— a horrified look on her face.

‘Cindy, what the fuck?’ the other girl said, ‘Stop it!’

‘It’s all that brat deserves,’ Cindy said with a merciless grin, and she slapped Susanna’s ample bottom once more, making it wobble while the girl cried out.

‘Stop it! You’re gonna get in trouble!’ Abi pleaded.

‘She won’t say anything, will you, Slut-anna?’

‘N-no, ma’am…’ the German girl managed between sobs.

‘See?’ Cindy said, still grinning.

‘Come on…’ Abi said.

Rolling her eyes, Cindy pushed Susanna off her lap and left with her friend, leaving the German girl sobbing on the floor and rubbing her burning hot bottom. They were all crazy, she decided, all of them. Should she tell Brad? The tall, muscular boy had seemed really nice, but it might have been a prank as well. She was lost. Truly, there was no place like home.

Landlord visit

Claire whistled as she came down the stairs. The 22-year-old student was in a good mood, and was ready to go out with her friends, global pandemic be damned. She jumped over a pile of random boxes and glanced at the kitchen sink as she passed it in the corridor. It was full —had been for a week, really. But who cared? Sure, there was an ecosystem developing in there, but wasn’t like she was getting visitors, and doing the washing-up was boring anyway.

She slipped-on a pair of trainers and was about to open the door when somebody knocked. She jumped. As far as she knew, she wasn’t expecting any delivery. Startled, she adjusted the glasses on her nose and hesitantly unlocked and opened the door. In the corridor stood her landlord, his arms crossed over his chest.

“Ah, Claire, there you are!” he said, “I’ve been trying to reach you for weeks!”

“Hum, err, I…” she mumbled, blushing. Yes, there was that little issue of the rent not having been paid for the last two months; that had totally slipped her mind.

“Can I come in?” he said, his tone making it clear the question was purely rhetorical. She moved away from the door to let him in.

He looked around and raised a concerned eyebrow gazing at the absolute mess, the old pizza boxes, the dirty socks, the empty bottles, and more besides. Claire was looking down at the floor, twisting her hands together as her cheeks burned with shame.

“I…” she started, not finding anything more to say. The pink-haired student, normally so bubbly, couldn’t see a way to justify how she had let herself go so badly. Blame it on COVID, she thought, half-heartedly. She knew it wasn’t that. She was a procrastinating slob at the moment, and she could only blame herself for it.

Her landlord, Mr Dawson, seemed at a loss for words just as much as she was. He was slowly shaking his head in disbelief and making his way towards the kitchen. Panic settled in Claire’s gut and she blurted out, “Wh-what can I do for you, Sir?”

He turned around, his hands on his hips. “Well, I came to check you were all right, since you weren’t answering your phone, or emails, or texts…”

“Hum… Yes… I was, err, I’ve been very busy you see and…”

“I can see that…” he said, looking around in dismay. She nodded nervously and looked down, her blushing showing no sign of going away. He continued, “Mostly, we need to talk about your unpaid rent…”

She looked up, shyly, then down again. “I know, I’m sorry…” she mumbled.

“I know things are tough at the moment, Claire,” he started, then pointed at all the delivery food packages strewn around, “But I’m not sure you have your priorities straight…”

“No Sir…” she whispered.

“What was that?”

“No Sir,” she said again, louder.

“Do you think this how you should keep your flat?” he continued, gesturing at their surroundings.

“No Sir…”

“And about the rent?”

“I will pay it, Sir…” she said, her head still bowed.

“In full and on time?”

“Y-yes, Sir…”

“All right, I’ll give you until the end of the week…”

“Thank you, s—”

“I’m not finished!” Mr Dawson interrupted, “I will be back on Sunday to check that you’ve cleaned this mess, and for the rent. And before I go, I’m going to give you a taste of the consequences, should either not be done by then.”

“Con-consequences, Sir?” she said, looking up at him worriedly.

He cleaned an old Domino’s box off a chair. “You are going to come over my lap, and I’m going to spank your bare bottom, young lady.”

Young lady? She thought. He was not a decade older than she was. Wait, that wasn’t even the point, she corrected herself. A spanking? What was he talking about?

“I… I don’t think you can do that…” she said, looking away.

“No? Don’t you think you deserve one? Look at this place! It was just re-done when you came in. I remember your mother telling me how you were a very neat and ordered student…”


“Do you want her to know about this mess you’ve done?”

“No! Please…”

“And I can only guess at how your university work is going…”

She said nothing. Tears were welling in her eyes. She was a mess, she knew it. She missed home, she missed rules, she missed being held accountable. Yet… a spanking?! Like a misbehaving brat?…

He sat down on the chair, waiting for the cogs to stop turning in her head. Finally, she bowed her head and shuffled her way to him, walking around a mouldy curry tupperware and what looked like the rest of some Chinese. He pointed at her jeans. “Pull them down”

“Please, Sir…”

“Pull. Them. Down.” he said, unmoved by the tears of shame that already had started rolling down her cheeks. She bit her lip and undid her belt buckle, then pushed her tight jeans down, revealing a tiny pair of white panties. He was gracious enough not to comment further and indicated her over with a shove of his head. She approached, closed her eyes, and went to lay across his lap. She felt his firm hand holding her side and she shuffled slightly, trying to find some comfortable position despite the shame and humiliation. Her comfort, however, was the least of Mr Dawson’s concerns, and he made that very clear when the first of many heavy slaps landed on her perky, offered bottom.

“Owww!” she yelled out in pain and surprise. Sure, she’d been spanked before, but he was clearly not going easy on her. Each slap made her wince in pain and kick her legs. After a dozen slaps, she was already crying openly. “Please! Sir! Mr Dawson!” she cried, trying to wiggle her way off his lap. He held her in place, unwavering. Clearly, he had done that before. “That’s enough! Owww! I’ll clean up! Please!” Relentless, the slaps came, hard and fast, a staccato of pain on her rump.

“STOP!” she yelled and tried to protect her burning cheeks with her hand. He paused. For a moment, she thought he had listened, and that her nightmare was over. she lowered her shoulders and sniffled. “Let me go, Sir… I..” Then his hand grabbed the elastic band of her panties, and she panicked.

“No! Nonononono! Please!”

“I told you I was going to spank your bare bottom.” he said, matter-of-factly.

“No, please! I’ll clean! I’ll pay the rent on time! I’ll do anything you want!”

With one pull, her panties were down to her mid-thighs and her bottom bared for him to admire and punish as he willed. She clenched her buttocks, foolishly hoping to hide her intimacy and to make what she knew was coming hurt less. With the first slap, she knew it wouldn’t work.

The thin fabric of her panties hadn’t protected her much, she knew, and maybe it was all psychological, but the flesh-on-flesh slaps felt ten times worse. Maybe it was that her bottom was already burning, maybe it was the sheer humiliation of having her ass bared for a man —pretty much a stranger— to see. She wailed with every merciless slap, knowing that there was nothing she could do to stop them. Through her tears, she looked at the mess around her, and knew that it was what she needed. I will change she thought with every stroke of Mr Dawson’s large hand, I will change, I will change, I will change, I will change…

Finally, after an eternity of pain and tears, she found herself standing in the corner, her hands over her head, her burning cheeks on display. Her phone on the coffee table was counting down 45 minutes, and even though she knew that Mr Dawson had left, she dared not move away from the corner. The mantra kept repeating in her head, I will change, I will change, I will change, I will change…

She would make him proud on Sunday. Her burning bottom was a dire reminder of the consequences if she didn’t. But mostly, she knew that she would make herself proud.


“It’s not faaaaair!” she yells as the slaps rain down on her bottom. He doesn’t listen, his hand coming down hard and making her cry out in pain once more. Her bottom, red even before he pulled her panties down, is throbbing with pain. Added to the pain is the humiliation of knowing that her pussy is on display, wet with desire, all but begging for his cock. And he won’t give it to her.

“Please!” she pleads once more. He ignores her, the slaps steady and merciless.

“It’s extremely fair,” he says between two hard slaps.

“But…” She bites her lips, stiffling a moan as his hand spreads and caresses her burning cheeks.

“What was the rule?” he asks, punctuating the question with a sharp slap.


“What was the rule?” he asks again, spanking her harder.

“Oww! No… Oww!! No porn during working hours…”

“And what were you doing?”

“I… Please…”

“What *SMACK!* were *SMACK!* you *SMACK!* doing?”

“I was… watching… naughty things, but…


“Working from home is so boooooring! It’s not fair!”

“You know how you get…” he says, his hand lightly brushing her dripping pussy, sending shivers up your spine, “You get yourself crazy excited, and then you come and distract me… I have to work too…”

“Mmmmhm… Yes… Distracting, yes…” she says, moaning. She feels his hard cock against her belly and his fingers linger, caressing, probing her. She closes her eyes. He finally realises that ending over his lap was her plan all along. “You’re not even sorry, are you?” he says.

A rhetorical question.


It was when food started to mysteriously vanish from his cabin that Captain Flintsworth became suspicious. Knowing his crew, there was little chance they would be drawn to fruit when there was plenty of jerky and ale below deck. The HMS Exultant was a 3rd rate ship of the line, and boasted a crew of nearly six hundred sailors, none of which, he thought, would risk being caught in his cabin just for some taste of aging fruit. That, and the fact his prized bottles of fine whisky and rums had been left undisturbed left him unsettled. Yes, he thought to himself, the case of the vanishing fruit was most suspicious indeed.

In more busy days, he would probably have forgotten about it, or, more likely, wouldn’t have noticed in the first place. A ship this big was like a little village, and there was always something to do, orders to give, people to supervise, courses to plan. The 70 guns that adorned the Exultant weren’t for show, and he had pirates to hunt for the glory of Britannia.

Still, the seas were calm, and they were a long way yet from the pirates’ most frequented routes. Smooth sailing so far had meant that the Captain had had time on his hands. One evening, after noticing that, once more, somebody had been in his cabin in his absence, he decided to catch the thief in the act. Insubordination was better dealt with while they were in untroubled waters. Who knew what could happen later… The next morning, he put a new display of fresh fruit —well, as fresh as he could have them— in evidence, and, having given discreet orders not to be disturbed for the day, he lay in wait, hidden behind a carved panel that cleverly concealed a little nook in the side of the cabin.

The hours passed with monotonous boredom. He could hear his first mate yelling at the sailors, the rush of the waves against the ship, and the wind blowing in her sails. Still, the food lay undisturbed. Maybe, he thought, this was just his mind playing tricks on him. Maybe he had just been eating the fruit himself, distracted by one of his many tasks. Maybe he had caught some illness of the mind… No! he told himself. He was sound of body and mind, he knew he was. That nagging doubt, that gut feeling was enough for him. He had risen to captaincy by trusting his instincts, and they wouldn’t let him down this time either.

Noon came and went, and he wished he had taken food with him in his secreted alcove. Yet, he prided himself for his self-discipline, and didn’t relent. He would catch the thief, and he would see to his punishment personally.

Another hour went by, and another. Finally, as he was about to give up, eyeing the dark brown rum bottle on the side to drown his sorrow, there was movement. To his surprise, it didn’t come from the cabin’s door, but from the windowed gallery that lined the stern. Someone was getting in through the narrow windows. Someone small and remarkably nimble. Young, for sure, one of the ship boys.

The intruder looked around, suspiciously, and got to the table where the fruit awaited. Quickly, he pocketed an apple, grabbed another and took a huge bite out of it. The Captain, triumphant that his instincts had been right, but confused as to who that ship boy was, all but lept out of his hiding place and grabbed the boy’s wrist.

“Now I have you, little thief!”

The boy let out an anguished cry that seemed an octave too high and tried to escape. As he did so, the Captain’s suspicion got stronger, and he grabbed the thief’s oilskin jacket, pulling it off.

Underneath it was, clearly, not a ship boy. Wearing a leather corset and a puffed-sleeves shirt that used to be white over a pair of leather breeches, the thief was a young woman.

“Let me go!” she pleaded, terrified.

“Who in the heavens are you?” he asked, sternly.

“No one! Let me go!”

“No one, huh? I don’t think so. I think you’re a stowaway, young lass, and a thieving one at that.”

“I was hungry, I was!”

“Why are you on board? Answer me!”



“I want to sail the seas! I want to fight ’em pirates!”

“You… What?”

“For England! For the Queen!”

“Yes, yes, Glory to Britannia and all. It doesn’t explain how you got on my ship, and how you think you’re going to defeat pirates if you’re a thief, no better than them!”

“I… I was just hungry!”

“You will adress me as Captain, understood?”


“Yes Captain!”

“Yes Captain…” the girl said, hesitantly.

“Better. Sit.”

He forced her down on a chair.

“What is your name?” he asked.

“Is-Isabelle, Sir, Captain, Sir.”

“Captain will do.”

“Yes, Captain, Sir.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Right… What am I going to do with you, Isabelle?”

“I… I don’t know Sir, I mean, Captain.”

He rubbed the bridge of his nose.

“I can’t have a woman on board.”


“It’s bad luck.”

“You don’t—”

“But more importantly,” in interrupted, “there are 600 men on board, who haven’t seen a woman since we set sail. How did you stay hidden for weeks?”

“I know my way ’round ships, Captain… My da is a shipbuilder, he is.”

“I see… Well that doesn’t help me, does it…”



“Maybe I could… Be your servant? Keep your room—”


“…Your cabin in order and such things?”

“A maid?”

“I would serve you well, Captain, been a maid since I was 6, me.”

He eyed her up and down.

“Were did you find these breeches? And the oilskin?”

“Nicked them from my brothers…”

“And the corset?”

“… A wench at the tavern…”

He shook his head.

“The shirt was mine!” she said with a warm smile. “Ma would have tanned my hide if I’d lost it”

“She would have, would she?”

“Oh for sure, Captain. ‘Never too old for a spanking’, my Ma says.” She nodded, gravely.

“Well, I agree with that!” the Captain said with a dry smile. “Get up”

She obeyed and he took her place on the chair.

“I cannot in good conscience let you out of the cabin, it is far too dangerous out there for a young lass. Maybe keeping you as a servant could work…”

She nodded enthusiastically and opened her mouth to say something, but the Captain lifted a finger up.

“However!” he continued, “thievery is a crime, and crimes must be punished. Your Ma is a wise woman, she must have had the measure of you.”

“What… What do you mean, S-sir? Captain!”

“I mean I’ll be the one to tan your hide, Isabelle, and you better believe I won’t go easy on you!”

“Oh but… Ca-Captain…”

“Pull your breeches down,” he said, his voice commanding.

She blushed and looked at the windows, then at the door. Finally, she looked back at him, his arms crossed over his chest. Her shoulders sagged and she sighed.

“Y-yes, Captain…”

Her leather breeches pulled half-way down her thighs, she came to lay upon his lap, a thin piece of home-sewed undergarment barely covering her pearly white buttocks. He wasted no time asserting control and pulled them down to her thighs as well. She let out a pip of embarrassment but said nothing, fully aware that her fate was, quite literally, in his hands.

Immediately, his large, callous hands fell down on her rear, making her yelp and scream. She kicked her legs as more slaps rained down, accompanied by the Captain’s scolding. Theft, lies, deception, hiding herself aboard his ship, there were countless things to atone for. Her bottom jiggled and bounced under the slaps, and tears streamed down her blushing cheeks. Both the heavy slaps and her cries were covered by the waves, the sails and the creaking of the boat. Still, she expected the door to barge open at any point, letting in countless sailors to witness her humiliation and exposed intimacy.

The door stayed closed, mercifully, but the punishment only gained in intensity. Large, broad slaps were falling down on her burning ass, and she begged the Captain for mercy, for leniency, for respite. She promised him everything she could promess, she said again and again that she was sorry, that she would make it up to him. She wore it on her Ma, on her Dad and on the Throne of England. She cried, and moaned and begged again until, at last, he relented and let her catch her breath.

Getting her off his knees, he led her to the hitherto hidden alcove and had her stand in it, her hands over her head, her bruising, fire-red bottom on display for his enjoyment. Bad luck or not, he thought, she was there to stay. He found that he didn’t mind. He was sure Britannia would understand. Call it a gut-feeling.


—Et ça, c’est qui?

—Ben c’est Catherine, c’est marqué.

—Et c’est qui, ça, Catherine ?

—Mais tu l’as rencontrée, Catherine, du boulot…

—Ah ouais?

—Ouais, 55 ans, trois gamins, la frange comme ça.

—Mouais… Et celle-là ? Élodie ?

—La femme d’Henri ?

—Elle s’appelle Élodie ?

—On a diné tous ensemble, Julie…

—Oui, oui… Sandy ? C’est quoi ce prénom ?


—Ah bah bravo, exotique, tout ça… t’es vraiment un beau sal—

—Sandy, la lesbienne américaine, oui.


—Oui… C’est bon, t’as fini ?

—De ?

—Da faire ta jalouse ?

—Chuis pas jalouse.

—Ah bah pourtant…


—D’aaaaccord. Tu me donne mon portable ?

—Oui, une minute… Lise ?

—Ben ma maîtresse.

—Quoi ?!

—Oh non, oups, je suis découvert, trop ballot…

—Pffff, t’es bête…

—Et toi t’es jalouse.

—Oui. Tes mains, elles sont à moi.

—Juste mes mains ?

—Le reste aussi, mais là, c’est tes mains que je veux.

—Où ça ?

—Commence par mes fesses… Et ne te retiens pas…

—Sinon quoi ?

—Sinon j’appelle mon amant, oh !

While the Cat’s Away…

“Unacceptable!” Madame Clairmont muttered as her hand came down on her maid’s already reddened bottom.

“Just unacceptable!” she said again, her ire making her slaps all the harder.

“Nein! Madame, please!” Belinda pleaded, tears rolling down her blushing cheeks.

The stern older woman kept repeating the same word, like a mantra, marking every syllable with a heavy slap.

“Un- *SMACK!* ac- *SMACK!* cept- *SMACK!* ta- *SMACK!* ble!”

Older or not, Madame’s hand didn’t seem to tire, and Belinda kept clenching and unclenching her buttocks, moaning in pain, begging for mercy.

*SMACK!* *SMACK!* *SMACK!* *SMACK!* *SMACK!* it continued.

It had all started when Madame Clairmont had left that morning, leaving Belinda, her German maid, to do her usual cleaning of the house. As she did every morning, Belinda had opened the windows to let the fresh morning air in. Suddenly, a cat had jumped through the window, and proceeded to run straight for the kitchen. “Was zur Hölle!” exclaimed the young, surprised Belinda, and she ran after it.  As she did so, her feather-duster hit Madame’s jewellery stand and the precious earrings and necklaces fell on the floor. As she paused to try and pick some off the floor, she heard a loud crash in the living room. She hurried herself there, only to find a vase in pieces on the floor. Oh Scheiße… she thought and went after the cat.

It had reached the kitchen, making straight for the work surface where food lay, ready to be prepared. The fresh fish seemed to be of particular interest to the kitty, and, having grabbed one, it jumped back towards the living room, passing between Belinda’s legs. She turned around only to see the cat dragging the wet, smelly fish all over the dense, expensive carpet. Ach du heilige Scheiße!

“Komm hierher!” she called the cat, who let the fish fall down on the carpet in a wet splosh to meow at her. Just as she thought she might catch the elusive intruder, it run away again, and in her hurry, Belinda slipped on the fish. She fell down and crashed into the coffee table, sending the ashtray that was on it to the ground. Of course, she hadn’t emptied it yet. Madame tended to smoke a few cigarettes in the morning, she knew. It was now all over the fishy carpet. Das kann doch nicht wahr sein!!!

The accursed Katze meowed again, as if mocking her, and she got up, her vengeful feather-duster held high. Finally, she managed to chase the cat out the window it had come in. As she caught her breath, trying to process what had just happened, she heard the unmistakable click of the front door opening. She closed her eyes. Surely, this was all a bad dream.

“OH MON DIEU!” she heard Madame Clairmont say, and then a loud “BELINDA!”

Before she could offer an explanation, stammering as she was in a mix of German and French, Madame had pulled her over her lap, pulled her skirt up and started raining hard slaps on her quivering bottom. The small thong that she was wearing didn’t afford her any protection, and she felt Madame’s anger in full. “Unacceptable, Belinda,” Madame Clairmont was saying in her thick French accent, “Totally unacceptable!”

And the slaps came, and came, and came again. Belinda was crying, begging, still trying to explain what had happened as her bottom turned from pink to red to dark, throbbing crimson. As more slaps came down, she could swear she heard a mocking meow in the background.


Why do I love you even more when tears roll down your face?

Why does your pain make me feel good?

Why do you look so beautiful when you’re begging for mercy?

Why, my love, did you choose me?

Why do I love you even more when you make me cry?

Why does my pain make me feel so good?

Why do you look so beautiful when you are merciless?

Why, my love, did you choose me?