Once again…

“Hello corner my old friend…” she thought, trying her best to keep her hands where she had been told to put them, over her head. She wanted nothing more than to rub away the burning pain in her bottom, but she knew that in the end, she would only make matters worse for herself. Not that rubbing her red, throbbing bottom would hurt, but the second spanking she would earn by disobeying certainly would.

Of course, he had been right, she had been speeding, and she had flipped the bird at that stupid bi— at that elderly lady in the other car. Yes, the language had been a bit much… And she had told him to shut up too… In fairness, she probably would have deserved for him to tell her to pull over immediately for a spanking in the car, right there, right then. Sometimes, he really didn’t care if people could see… Just to think of it, she was wet again. She certainly didn’t care. Well, she did it was the most humiliating thing she could imagine. But she liked it. And hated it. It was complicated, okay? And anyway, it hadn’t happened. This time.

After the incident. He had been very quiet all the way home. No scolding, no angry voice. She had kept quiet also, trying to concentrate on her driving and not on the thoughts that were racing through her head. Thoughts of her bottom being thoroughly roasted, mostly. Not stopping and being punished right away meant that he wanted to take his time… And teach her a lesson she wouldn’t soon forget…

Of course, that had been exactly what had happened. Once home, he had told her to go wait for him in the bedroom. She knew what it meant and knew better than to argue. Once there, she had stripped down to her t-shirt and panties, as she always did before he punished her. She was used to it, she had to shamefully admit. She rarely went more than a few days without needing what he called “little adjustments”. The punishments, she felt, weren’t little at all. But the punishments, she knew, were deserved, and needed.

He had made her wait what had felt like a lifetime, her bottom seemingly burning in anticipation. Finally, he had come in. She had been waiting, her hands crossed over her belly, head down. She didn’t dare look up until she was told to do so. And when he did, she mustered the little rebellion she still had in her and blew a strand of hair off her face before asking “What took you so long?” in what she hoped was a too-cool-to-care voice. He had not liked it. Not one bit. In fact, he had turned her around, still standing, and landed twenty hard slaps on her barely covered bottom. She had yelped and moaned immediately, a prelude to the concerto of her cries to come.

And crying she did, big, shameful tears between promises of good behaviour and begging for him to stop, begging for the panties not to come down, begging for the ginger not to be used. The wooden bath brush he had brought with him had not gone to waste either, and she could still feel its heavy head falling on her poor little bottom. In reality, the spanking hadn’t lasted that long. Five minutes? Maybe ten? But he had spent at least as much time scolding her in between burst of spanking. And the shame of it had been worse than the pain. But then, he had told her that he loved her, and he had finally given her the kiss and cuddle that she had been craving all day. Had she done it all just because she had felt that he hadn’t paid enough attention to her? Surely, she wasn’t that childish… Surely…

Still, her heart had been as light as her bottom was hot as she had trotted to the corner. She knew that while she was standing there, he was on the bed, reading, and keeping an eye on her while she cooled off. Then, in a while… Well, they were in the bedroom, and she was already half naked so… She was pretty sure of what would happen next. After all, she was used to it.

Getting Ready

Tale as old as time… 🎵

Pensive

On reflexion, Karen told herself, maybe that young waitress was just doing her job, and there was no need to throw abuse at her and make her cry. The chef storming out of the kitchen and pulling her over his lap for a sound, humiliating public spanking had certainly made his point very clear. As she stared at the corner she had been told to stand in, she wondered which was the most painful, her red, throbbing bottom or the stares and snickers of the other diners in the restaurant…

Fun, fun, fun!

To be honest, I appreciate spankings much more when there is a reason behind them. It might not be a very serious reason, and it sometimes it can be a game to pretty much invent one in the spur of the moment, but I find that it brings so much more to the experience than a simple, ‘just for fun’ spanking.

Maybe it’s because I have known some very playful spankees for whom the threat of a spanking to come was just as fun as the spanking itself; maybe it’s because of these games of hide and seek, of playful banter and exasperation that culminates in a —well deserved by then— reddening of buttocks. It may also be that enjoying hurting someone is easier to accept when the hurting seems justified (no unwilling cheeks were hurt in the making of this post), but that’s a topic for another day.

Of course, spanking isn’t one thing. There isn’t one spanking, there are spankings, plural, and they come in many shades of red. Depending on the reason, on the occasion, on the spankee and on the spanker, there will be many ways to enjoy and punish as is fit. There is a simple pleasure in pale cheeks turning red (or dark cheeks, all skin tones are welcome), in resistance giving way, in breathing becoming harder as the burning increases. I hope that for the spankees, there is something also in having a fault, however small, being expiated, forgiven and forgotten. A clean slate for a red bottom, it seems a fair trade.

It’s not to say that funishment is not… well, fun; but it’s always nice to have a scolding to accompany the smacks, like lyrics to the music, if you will. Isn’t it?