And so, Becky remembered exactly why one should never start talking about politics with Uncle Roger at the Christmas dinner table…
Happy Saint Andrew’s day! Have an Irn-Bru on me, lads and lasses! Or, you know, something stronger! When this whole Covid thingamabob is over, I’m looking forward to visiting you again ❤
Sorry if there’s a lot of pictures lately and little text, it’s hard to find the time for both at the moment!
“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!”
Tamika turned around and reached for a box of products she was to put in the display window of the department store. As she did so, her round hips slammed into one of the shelves, sending it crashing down with a thunderous bang. Reaching to try and save any of it, she banged her elbow into the second display shelf, sending it down as well. All the intricate, delicately arranged displays, hours of effort, lay ruined on the floor. The other employees shook their heads and facepalmed. This wasn’t the first time she’d had an ‘accident’. The manager, Mr Jones, walked up to the bashful Tamika, who stood frozen in the middle of the mess she’d created.
“Enough is enough!” said Mr. Jones, his tone sharp and angry “Tamika, follow me to me office.”
“Oh, but Sir…”
“No ‘buts’, young lady, I’ve had quite enough of your excuses!”
The young girl looked down and twisted her fingers, looking for something to say, something to save her from what she knew was to come. The other employees had warned her: Mr Jones, as nice and fair a boss as he was, was pretty old-school when it came to discipline. They had told her he routinely spanked employees if they messed up. Surely, she had thought, they had been messing with her. Surely, it was just a prank to scare the newbie… Surely…
Hesitantly, she followed Mr Jones to his office, and closed the door that displayed a gold-lettered ‘Manager’ sign behind her. She was blushing, feeling scared and ashamed. Mr Jones had been very kind to her, patient despite her repeated mistakes. Now he seemed really cross. Even then, she couldn’t deny a certain attraction towards him. She’d always like authority; she liked to know her place in the world and being told what to do eased her anxiety. Still, her clumsiness had, once again, landed her in trouble.
Mr Jones pulled an object out of the top drawer of his desk and set it down on said desk with a wooden, heavy thud.
“Do you know what this is, Tamika?”
Her eyes widened.
“Hum… A… A paddle, Sir.”
“A paddle, exactly. Were you ever spanked before?”
“Sp-spanked, Sir? I… Hum… No, no, never…”
“Well, I’m sure I don’t need to draw you a picture…”
“But Sir, you’re not… I mean, you can’t—”
“Can’t I? As I see it, this is very simple, Tamika. Either you take responsibility for your actions and accept your punishment, or you can go find another job.”
“No Sir, please! I love this job! But please…. That… That would be so humiliating…”
He nodded. “Yes. And hopefully that’ll stick with you.”
“I’m not going to say it again. The spanking or the door, your decision.”
She hesitated, thinking about her job, her colleagues, her future, weighing her mistakes against the utter humiliation of being spanked like a little misbehaving brat. Then again, she had been careless —again— and she was ashamed of herself. She looked up at him, his groomed beard and neat, pulled back dreadlocks a picture of fatherly authority. She felt… something in her stomach, a mix of fear and desire. She bit her lip and looked down.
“I don’t want to lose my job…” she finally said.
Mr Jones nodded. “Very well then, I think you’re making the right decision.” He pointed at her, “Take your shirt and skirt off,” he said.
“But Sir… Mr Jones, please…”
“No arguing, Tamika! You’re not the first I’ve had to bring here for a ‘talk’”
“Yes, Sir…” she mumbled softly, and slowly unbuttoned her shirt. Her skirt was next, and she stood in front of him in her unflattering underwear, her cheeks already burning with humiliation. She felt tears welling in her eyes when she looked at the paddle again. Her hands behind her back, she tugged at the band of her panties, pulling them up in the vain hope of covering her large, round buttocks a little more. The fabric tensed between her legs and she felt a shiver of pleasure running up her spine.
Sitting in his office chair, he beckoned her over, and she came, submissively, to lay across his lap. His hand held her at the waist, firm, warm. She closed her eyes and tears rolled down her cheeks. She deserved to be punished, she knew it. The first blow of the paddle came as she was about to say how sorry she was. Instead, she moaned loudly and kicked her legs. The paddle came down again, slapping across her round ass, setting it on fire. She gritted her teeth, trying to keep as quiet as she could. With each of the hard, heavy hits that followed, she felt the guilt leaving her, the pain washing it all way. The paddle fell again and again, and the more she hurt, the better she felt. Tears were rolling freely down her cheeks, and she sobbed with abandon, having never felt that relieved despite the shame, the humiliation, and the pain.
When her bottom felt like it couldn’t take any more of a beating, Mr Jones finally relented, and let her go. He directed her to the corner, where she stayed a long while, her hands over her head. Thoughts were racing through her head. She felt like the greatest weight had been lifted off her shoulders. She felt liberated. She knew now that there would be consequences for her mistakes. She didn’t have to internalise all the guilt anymore. She didn’t have to do it alone. She dared a glance back at Mr Jones, who was busy working at his desk. Her bottom was still burning hot. She loved it.
“Stop!” she yelled, “Stop spanking meeeee!”
He didn’t. In fact, it only made him spank her harder. Left-right, left-right, heavy, punitive slaps. Her small bottom was bouncing and wriggling under his painful attentions, and tears were streaming down her face over her blushing cheeks.
“It’s not… oww!… it’s not fair!”
He said nothing, readjusting her over his lap and resuming the spanking impassively.
“I mean… Ooow! Stop!… It wasn’t that bad…”
He rolled his eyes and pulled her skirt up in a swift, sharp move. He couldn’t help but pause, not because of her outraged cries and pitiful attempts at getting her skirt back down, but rather mesmerised by the two perfect little pink globes he had revealed. She was wearing the smallest pair of panties —hardly any protection at all— and her fretting made her bottom wiggle and bounce in a most alluring manner. He lifted his arm up again.
“Oooooow! How dare you! It was just— Oww!! It was just a little prank!”
He clenched his jaw at the memory, and slapped her tight bottom harder than ever. Just a prank… The nerves on this one…
“Okay… Okay! I’m sorry! It was… OoooOoow!!… just to welcome you… Ow, ow, oOOow! It’s tradition ! Don’t you have traditions like that in Europe?”
“Oh we have many traditions in Europe,” he said with a hint of an accent, “Most of which don’t involve humiliating other people…” he landed a couple more swats and went on:
“But first of all, the swastikas are really offensive,” he said, punctuating each word with a hearty slap, “And second of all, I’m not even German!”
“Oow! But Europe…”
“Is a continent, not a country. Consider this your first lesson, the first of many!”