Sometimes pictures speak for themselves, I think (I hope)
Sometimes pictures speak for themselves, I think (I hope)
Her bottom already crimson from the warm-up spanking over her master’s knees, Becky walked to the glass desk and put her hands on it as instructed, her legs slightly parted at her knees. Standing on the tip of her toes, she pushed her bottom up, a perfect target for what she knew was coming. The glass was cold to the touch under her palms, and she wished she could sit on it and cool her sore bottom.
She shivered; she hated the belt. She hated its burning touch, she hated how it made her cry out uncontrollably, she hated how it meant she had pushed him too far. He would not hold back, how ever few times he would strike her. She screwed her eyes shut as she heard her master’s belt buckle coming undone. He caressed her offered bottom with the cruel piece of leather. She softly moaned.
One lick for her attitude that day.
One for talking back.
One for unfinished chores.
One for snacking.
One for disappointing him.
One to make sure she learnt her lesson.
“Daddy!” the little boy said with a giggle as the door opened, and he ran towards his very confused father. His equally confused mum came followed in and closed the door.
“James? Why aren’t you in bed?” she asked, worried.
James giggled and threw his arms up with a big , adoring smile. His father lifted him up in his arms after putting his own coat away, and began searching through the house for the babysitter. There was a half-eaten pizza still on the sofa, James’s toys were strewn everywhere, the TV was on, showing some cartoons. Jessica, the babysitter, was nowhere to be found.
“Jessica?” the father called, “Jessica, where are you?” There was no answer but a noise upstairs caught his attention. He gave the boy to his mother and went up the stairs immediately, at once angry and worried. Was it a burglar? Had something happened to Jessica? The lights were on in the upstairs corridor, the doors all closed.
He paused and listened. A giggle came out of the spare bedroom and he moved in closer to the door, quietly. Another giggle. His worries burned away, leaving only anger, and he almost kicked the door open. As he’d suspected, the girl was there, with whom appeared to be a very surprised young man.
“Oh my God!” Jessica screamed, startled, as her boyfriend tried desperately to pull his jeans up. The father spared him but a glance.
“Out!” he said, pointing a finger at him and then at the door. He was trying his best to keep his voice down so as not to worry his young son. “Out now!”
The boyfriend hurried himself out without a word, leaving Jessica on the bed, mortified, looking down at the floor.
“I…” she started, then closed her mouth, not knowing what to say.
“Yes?” he said with a glare, crossing his arms over his chest.
“I’m sorry Mr. Jones, I…”
“How old are you again, Jessica?”
“I… Nineteen, sir, wh—”
“And you think that leaving a four year old on his own in front of a TV is a responsible kind of behaviour? Do you think that’s acceptable? Is that what we pay you for?”
Her blush intensified and she mumbles a little “No sir…”
“What was that?”
“No, sir… I’m sorry…”
“Sorry… You’re going to be sorry. Come downstairs. Right now,” he said, and took a step back against the door, freeing the doorway. She blushed and chewed on her lip a little.
“Yes, Mr Jones… It’s just that… I…” She paused, “I’m not wearing any trousers…”
He sneered, “Don’t worry about that, Jessica, you won’t need them, believe me…”
What followed was a long, hard lesson taught firmly over Mr. Jones’ knees. Mrs Jones, having finally put James into bed, came back to scold her while the slaps continued to pour down on her already crimson buttocks. Tears streamed down her face as she cried pitiful sorries to no avail.
When her bruised cheeks were finally given a rest, she was sent to the corner of the living room and told that she would have to clean up all the mess that she had left with her red, punished bottom on display before she’d be allowed to get her trousers back. She did as she was told, still sniffling and rubbing her round buttocks until she was finally handed her jeans. She winced and moaned softly as she pulled the rough fabric over her tender behind.
She stood by the door, about to leave, her head bowed.
“I’m really sorry, Mr and Mrs Jones…” she said coyly.
“A lesson only has value if it’s learnt, Jessica,” the father said.
She unconsciously rubbed her backside with a pout. “I’ve learnt my lesson, sir…”
“We’ll see, Jessica. Be there at six next Saturday, no delay, understood?”
She opened her eyes wide and nodded forcefully, “Yes, sir!”
It had started very simply, with a letter. It was a simple, white envelope among all the others that had come that day. She had paid it no mind and it had sat on the pile of letters waiting for him when he got home.
The afternoon had been pleasant; she had baked cupcakes, spent an hour reading her favourite book for the tenth time, browsed Pinterest for a while in search of inspiration for her living-room decoration. Dinner had been simmering on the stove when he’d come home, filling the house with a delicious smell. Five minutes before he came home, she was waiting by the door, her hands behind her back, head bowed subserviently, as she knew she had to be.
He had kissed her, deeply, complimented her on the spotless state of the house, on the mouth-watering smell that came from the kitchen, and had asked her how her day had been. He was in a good mood, tender and loving. She had a happy sigh as she went and fetched him a drink.
Then he got to the letters. He opened the first one and his smile instantly turned into a frown. She came back from the kitchen with a glass of martini in hand and was about to say something when she saw the expression on his face. She froze.
“Ashley?” he asked, raising an eyebrow, “Can you explain what I’m looking at?”
“I… I… I don’t know, sir, wha-what is it?” she stammered, red in the face.
“It’s a very formal letter from our credit card company, Ashley.”
“Oh…” she said, her eyes widening.
“Maybe you’d care to explain to me how we are maxed out on it? I don’t remember any purchases lately?”
She bit her lip. “Well…”
“Well I was… I was on the internet and…” She was still holding the glass, and the ice cubes tinked as she shivered with dread. “I’m sorry, sir,” she tried.
“You were on the internet and what, young lady?” he said, getting up, the letter still in his hand.
“I might have… bought a few things?” Tears were gathering in her eyes and she bit her lip harder than before.
“That’s more than a few things, Ashley!” he yelled, holding the letter up to her face.
She started crying, “They were nice and… I didn’t want to wait for my birthday and…”
He pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled deeply. He took the glass from her hand and gently set it down on the nearby coffee table.
“Well, whatever it is that you bought —handbag, shoes, tablet, believe me, I’ll find out—, you’re sending it all back.”
“No, ple…” she started.
“And!” he interrupted her, grabbing her ear like a scolded schoolgirl, “I’ll give you a taste of what you’ll be receiving every night for the next two weeks.”
“Nooo! Owww… Please!…”
Ignoring her pleading and muffled cries, he dragged her to the sofa and across his knees, pulled her jeans down and started generously slapping her round bottom, quickly turning it from creamy white to bright pink, and then from pink to a deep, warm red. She begged and pleaded at first, bawled her eyes out, then gritted her teeth, held tight to the sofa as her punishment went on.
The food in the kitchen started to smell like burning when he finally relented, after he got a long, sincere and heartfelt apology from her in between her sobs. He pulled her jeans all the way off and sent her to save their dinner with a final slap on her bruised bottom. She would have to plan it better for the coming two weeks ; her evenings were going to be a lot less pleasant.
Today’s Wednesday and Lurvspanking’s back with a wicked tale of a very special kind of auction… Go read it!
Khalisah al-Jilani, for those not familiar with the MassEffect series of games, is a journalist. And a damn annoying one at that, very hostile in her on-camera interviews with you, the protagonist, and always trying to paint you into a corner. She appears in the 3 first games of the series and never gets less infuriating… Ever since I first stumbled into her web of lies and deceits, I’ve been thinking that she deserved a good spanking… On camera of course!
*SMACK!* the first slap fell and Laura cried out as her eyes watered instantly. *SMACK!* another, just as hard ; she clenched her teeth, moaning painfully as the next ten fell in a quick succession over her short skirt. Way too short, she thought as she lay across her teacher’s lap, the top of her stockings already peeking out from under the blue tartan fabric.
Laura had always been tall, and even now in college she was among the tallests in her class. That had gotten her some attention over the years but never had she regretted more than that morning as she was taking her final in a crowded room and thought herself safe from the eyes of her teachers.
She had thought she would get away with a little help sheet, just a few formulae to help her out. She had thought she wouldn’t be noticed. She had thought she would get away with it. She had thought wrong, of course.
As she was giving her work back, her teacher had taken Laura aside and informed her he would be failing her, and that she could try her luck again the next year. Her head bowed, blushing, tears in her eyes, she had begged quietly, tried to explain herself, promised she would do anything, but it was all to no avail.
Laura had decided to wait in the corridor until all the other students had gone, and had gone back inside to try her luck on last time. Her teacher and the other two that were helping him that day stared at her when she entered the room and walked to them. She couldn’t have been more ashamed —or so she thought at the time.
*SMACK!* the slaps continued to rain down on her barely covered bottom, pain and heat building up rapidly as her teacher scolded her for daring to cheat, having the nerve to ask for leniency, her skimpy outfit, everything. She cried more out of shame than out of pain, the thought of disappointing him even worse than simply failing her class.
He got her skirt up with a quick pull and instantly resumed her punishment, her little light-pink thong offering no protection at all. The two other teachers still hadn’t left the room, and were going to great lengths to go in every row and check that no student had forgotten a pen or an article of clothing, or anything really. She could feel their gaze on her long legs, her red, burning bottom. And still the spanking went on, harsh and unforgiving.
Her thong went down and so did the tears on her face, abundant now. She could feel the bulge in her teacher’s trousers as he continued berating her and slamming his palm on her already crimson behind. She couldn’t even understand what he was saying anymore, the pain overwhelming all her other senses. She moaned, loudly, she cried, she begged. Spank after hard spank rained down on her slender cheeks in a continuous shower, leaving not a single spot unblemished. It seemed to her it went on forever until, at last, he stopped.
He got her up from over his knees and pointed to the desk.
“I’ll give you one hour to retake the exam,” he said, and she nodded, sniffling and trying to wipe the tears off her cheeks. She didn’t dare rubbing her bottom for fear he would take her over his lap again.
“However,” he continued, “you will take it standing at that desk, with your skirt up and your…” he shook his head, “…thong down.”
She blushed. “But sir…”
“I’m not done!” he cut her, and got up, taking his belt of with metallic click, “You will be getting sixty strokes of the belt, one for every minute I give you.”
Laura felt a shiver go up her spine and her hand flew to her bottom. “I…”
“Last chance, miss Spencer. You can walk away and fail your exam, it’s all the same to me.”
Head bowed, she walked over to the desk. He got a fresh paper out of his briefcase and put it down before her. She assumed the position: bent over the desk, a pen in her hand and her throbbing bottom up. She could barely see the paper through the tears.
Her teacher got behind her, his belt held in a loop in his hand. He raised his arm high.
“Your test begins… Now!”
Keep Looking Back Over your Shoulder
NSFW, 18+ only please: Lots of kinky sex, domestic discipline, Dominance & submission, BDSM and spankings ahead!
Dominant & Submission Writing
Married submissive: The love, the kink and the connection.
[No cats were harmed in the making of this blog. They all love to be spanked.] Exploring the psychology 'behind' spanking through fiction and poetry. Because, nothing says 'I love you' better than a red, sore, bare bottom. Comments welcome and discussion encouraged. I believe spanking between consenting adults leads to closer and more intimate relationships. Spanking is not a kink, not a fetish, not a lifestyle, but rather, a healthy and honest means of communication. Let your mind free and respect will follow. Contact me firstname.lastname@example.org
NSFW; F/F Spanking Stories