The Nerd and the Bully (f/f, M/f story)

As I was sitting at my desk grading papers one Friday afternoon, someone knocked on the open door of my office, and a timid voice said "Mister Rackham?"

I looked up from my work to see Nicole, one of my favourite students, standing in the doorway looking at me. Nicole was a lanky girl of 18 with long, brown, curly hair, and large, green eyes. She was biting a fingernail nervously, and looked very uncomfortable. There was something about her manner that suggested she might be in trouble, which surprised me; Nicole was a hard-working student who always had good grades and never broke the rules. "Hello, Nicole. What can I do for you?"

"Can I talk to you about something?"

"Of course!"

She closed the door behind her. I offered her a chair, but she declined it with a grimace. "I don't want to sit down right now." Before I could ask what she meant, she sighed. "Beatrice has been bullying me."

Beatrice was one of the goths – a surly, dark-clad, dark-haired girl who treated homework like suggestions, though she usually kept quiet and didn't disturb the rest of the class. She'd never been the friendliest girl, but she mostly wanted to be left alone, and I'd never heard of her being a bully. I couldn't imagine that Nicole was lying, though.

My confusion must have been apparent on my face, for Nicole glanced outside the door to make sure we were alone, and then suddenly turned her back to me, flipped up her skirt, and lowered her panties. "Look at this, sir!"

Once I got over the surprise of having one of my favourite students suddenly mooning me, I could see that her bottom was bright red, covered in handprints. Someone had clearly given her a good spanking. "And that is Beatrice's handiwork?" I asked.

Nicole nodded, before slipping her panties back on and lowering her skirt. "She came to my room and ordered me to write her assignment for her. When I refused, she dragged me over her knee, pulled my panties down, and –" she sniffled. "Spanked me!"

I quickly offered her a paper tissue, which she gratefully accepted and began to dab her eyes. I also wanted to offer her a comforting hug, but it was not considered acceptable for teachers to hug students.

She told me the rest of her story, and I promised to deal with her bully. As Nicole left my office, there was a relieved smile on her face, though she was also rubbing the seat of her skirt with one hand.

Deciding to handle the matter immediately, I stopped one of the students walking past, asking if she could tell Beatrice to report to my office immediately. Ten minutes later, the short, stocky goth girl knocked on my door. "You wanted to see me?" Unlike most of the students, Beatrice never called me 'sir' or used my last name. I offered her the chair, and she sat down.

"I've heard reports that you've been bullying others. Someone walked past and heard you give one of your fellow students a spanking." This wasn't true, of course, but I wanted to give her the impression that someone other than Nicole had reported her, to reduce the chance of her retaliating against her victim.

Beatrice only glared at me, as if she hoped to scowl me into submission. This was obviously futile.

"Is this true?" I asked. Though I couldn't imagine that Nicole was lying – and I'd already seen her marks – I wanted to give Beatrice a chance to defend herself. I couldn't imagine what she'd say, but I was willing to listen.

Beatrice only shrugged.

"You think it's funny to beat your classmates?"

"It was only a spanking," she muttered.

"Well, we'll see whether you think it's 'only' a spanking once I'm done. Stand up." With a sulk on her face, Beatrice obeyed. My hands went to the front of her dark denim cutoff shorts, and I unbuttoned and unzipped them, before lowering them to her knees, revealing a black thong. I pulled the girl over my lap, and her thong soon joined her shorts around her knees. My hand smacked firmly down on her pale cheeks, and the girl grunted as I began to spank her.

My hand moved swiftly from cheek to cheek, and I spanked hard and fast. The girl bit her lip, doing her best to convince me that it didn't hurt at all, but I wasn't fooled. I knew my hand would last a lot longer than her bottom, and as I continued to thrash her, I was soon proven correct.

My hard hand slammed down on her soft skin. She began to squirm over my lap, and she could no longer hold back the tears. Her bottom was as red as Nicole's had been, but I kept going – I wanted to make sure this never happened again.

"I'm sorry, sir! I'll be good!" she finally pleaded. I smiled; it was the first time I could remember Beatrice calling me 'sir'. I gave her a few more smacks, just to make sure she had learned her lesson, then ended her punishment.

I helped the girl to her feet, where she gingerly rubbed her bare bottom. I offered her a tissue, and once again wanted to roll my eyes at regulations that allowed me to bare a girl's bottom and spank her, but not to give her a hug and comfort her.

Beatrice soon pulled her panties and shorts back up, leaving my office with a promise to behave from now on. I smiled, confident that the matter was solved.


A week later, Nicole was back in my office, telling me that Beatrice had spanked her again.

The boss, the wife, and the secretary (M/FF story)

 It was now one week left until the Friday when Archibald Combs, CEO, would celebrate his fortieth birthday. His wife Camilla had decided to surprise him by having his office decorated with bright banners and confetti before he arrived, and had enlisted the aid of Marsha, his secretary. Camilla invited her over that Friday evening, as Archibald would be out of town all weekend, and they could plan their little surprise in perfect peace.

Marsha Sutton was a slim, short brunette in her late twenties. In secret, she had always felt a little intimidated by her boss' wife; Camilla was a tall, attractive redhead who always dressed her best, and there was something powerful, almost regal, in her bearing. Next to her, Marsha had always felt flat, drab, and boring, but Camilla had always been nice to her and done her best to make her feel comfortable. It seemed she could sense something of the younger woman's nervousness.

They sat in the Combs' living room, and Camilla had just poured her a cup of tea. Over the course of their conversation, Marsha had shared some humorous stories from the office, and they were discussing how they would brighten the office on the morning of the big day, and who would buy which decorations, when Camilla's phone rang. She smiled when she saw it was her husband. Placing the phone on the table, she hit the speaker button, intending to share some of the stories about him she’d just heard.

"Hello, Archie. You know, I've just heard the funniest tale from –"

"Hello, Camilla." He chuckled gently. "You know, I just had an idea. You know that red lingerie you bought recently? I think you should wear it when I spank you on my birthday – I will make your bottom match the wrapping."

Marsha let out a squeal, blushing beet red. She buried her face in her hands, peeking at Camilla through her fingers; this did not sound like a conversation she should be overhearing. He obviously didn’t know his wife was not alone.

Camilla quickly moved her hand towards her phone, about to turn off speaker, but then she glanced at the secretary. She grinned as she studied the red face peeking out at her, and she sat back again, leaving the phone untouched.

"What was that sound?" Archibald asked suspiciously.

"Must have been the kettle," Camilla answered calmly. "I had just sat down for a cup of tea when you called me."

"You just sit down all day, don't you?" he scolded, but in a teasing tone that removed the sting from the words. "That's why I need to spank you; I'm sure you'll get a lot more done when you're too sore to sit."

Camilla pouted. "You know, it's YOUR birthday. Shouldn't YOU be the one getting the spanking for once?"

He tutted. "Now, what do you think the chances of that are, little girl?"

"Not happening?" she guessed.

"Not happening," he confirmed. "Now, any particular implements you'd like to feel caress your curves? I could pick up a new bath brush tomorrow, if you want."

She winced. "Now, dear, you know those sting too much for my delicate derriere. Your belt or my hairbrush will be more than enough – in addition to that delightful hand of yours, of course."

He chuckled again. "As you wish – though I think it will be the belt AND the hairbrush for such a big day. See you on Sunday. I love you."

"Love you too," Camilla said as she hung up the phone. She glanced over at the secretary, who was blushing crimson and seemed about to faint. Camilla smiled at her. "Did you enjoy that little peek into our private life?"

"Of course not!" Marsha insisted, vehemently shaking her head.

"Tut, tut," Camilla said, imitating her husband's tone. "No lies, young lady. I could tell from the light in your eyes as he spoke that this was scratching some itch. You've thought about spankings before, haven't you?"

As usual, Camilla proved to be far more perceptive than Marsha was prepared for. Truth be told, there was something she had always found appealing about the concept of spankings. She’d never acknowledged those feelings, but they’d remained in her subconscious, like a distant ache that never quite left her.

When she didn't respond, Camilla leaned closer. "Haven't you?" Unwilling to trust her voice, Marsha nodded. Camilla chuckled. "I thought so. This is some dark fantasy you haven't dared to explore yet, am I right? There is something hungry in your eyes."

Marsha blushed and looked at the floor, but she nodded again.

Camilla grinned. "You've heard about the spanking I'm going to receive for being such a bad, bad girl," she said. She leaned even closer to the fidgeting secretary, and her next words were delivered in a soft, gentle whisper. "Would you like to watch it?"

The HR meeting (M/F story)

"Hello, Brett. Glad you could come," Cassandra said as she welcomed me into her office and nodded at me to take a seat in the chair opposite her desk. Cassandra was the company's HR manager – a tall, slim redhead in her early thirties who always knew how to put you at ease with a smile. I knew enough about how HR operated not to trust that smile, though. She was neatly dressed in a dark blouse and designer trousers, and had her long hair tied back in a bun.

I sat down, returning her smile. "I always try to make time for important matters, and it sounded serious over the phone. What's this about, Cassandra?"

Sitting behind her desk, Cassandra steepled her fingers as she pondered how to begin the conversation. "I've heard some rumours about you and young Rhonda." She paused, and I sat silently as I waited for her to continue. "Rumours about the way you've been… disciplining her."

"I see," I said calmly. Rhonda was an intern who'd been working for us for about a year now. A bright, bubbly, scatter-brained girl of nineteen who usually did her best, though that was not always good enough.

"And I have to ask you… what are the truth of these rumours?"

I sighed. It was probably best to tell her the truth, I decided. "If you're asking whether I took the girl over my knee and spanked her, the answer is yes. I did."

I was delighted to see a blush appear on the cheeks of the HR manager, who was usually so calm and collected. "Ah. And what made you even think of doing such a thing?"

"She asked me to,” I told her. Cassandra raised an eyebrow, giving me a sceptical look, so I continued: "Rhonda is a decent enough worker, but she had a tendency to show up late a little too often. She also forgot quite a few important tasks I gave her, even when I suggested she should write them down. I was about to recommend to Tracy that we should let her go and find someone else, and Rhonda begged me for another chance. She then suggested an alternative punishment for her misdeeds."

Cassandra was taking notes, but she stared at me as if hanging on every word.

"Just a few months before she began here, Rhonda was at a school where she was subject to corporal punishment. If she arrived late or forgot her assignments, she could be bent over her teacher's lap for a good dose of the slipper. She was also subject to spankings at home." I paused, reflecting. "Actually, from what she's said about the subject, I'm fairly certain she still is."

I was rewarded with another blush, and it took a few seconds before Cassandra could respond. "These punishments… how did they happen? How did you… discipline her? Please be as detailed as you possibly can."

I was a little surprised at this request, but I complied as best as I could. "We would wait until the end of the workday, when I knew we wouldn't be disturbed. We went down into the workshop, where I scolded her for whatever she'd done – or had failed to do. I sat down in one of the old armless office chairs and patted my thigh, which was the signal for her to place herself over my knee."

"How was she attired?" Cassandra asked, leaning forward to make sure she caught every syllable. "Did you pull her panties down?"

" I would lower her jeans before beginning to spank her – as well as her panties," I admitted.

"Did you do that before or after she went over your knee?"

I paused. Why would she ask that? Why would it matter? "I bared her bottom once she was already over my knee."

"Oh," Cassandra muttered. Was it my imagination, or did she look disappointed?

"I spanked her for about fifteen or twenty minutes with my hand – starting off slowly, then gradually smacking harder and faster. She squirmed and squealed over my lap, promising to behave, but I did not let that deter me. When she sounded sufficiently sorry, I placed her in the corner with her hands on her head for another fifteen minutes. Then, she was allowed to get dressed, and I hugged her and told her she was forgiven." I shrugged. "She never resented me for her spankings – in fact, she seemed to view me more favourably. And they definitely had an effect for a few weeks – sometimes longer."

Cassandra stared at me, and there was a strange light in her eyes. "Did you ever spank her with anything else – like your belt, for instance?"

I frowned. "No, just my hand. I never felt I needed anything else."

"Oh." Again that strange hint of disappointment. "Did you ever pull her hair, or drag her to the corner by the ear?"

I was beginning to get the feeling that she was not thinking about her report any longer. These questions seemed to come from another part of her – possibly a more prurient one. "No. She was always very compliant when I decided she needed to be disciplined."

She made another note. "You mentioned scolding her. What did you say to her, and how?"

Another strange question. "Hm. I guess I said, 'You've been a very naughty girl, and it's –"

She cut me off. "Brett, I am absolutely sure you did not say it in that soft, gentle tone of voice. You were much stricter than that, surely? Please, pretend that she's here and needs to be disciplined, and scold her properly. I need to hear your exact words."

I raised an eyebrow, but I did as she said and found the stern tone I used during the punishment sessions. "You have been a very naughty girl, and it's time for a good, hard spanking. Bend over my knee right now."

From the way that Cassandra bit her lip, the far-away look in her eyes, and the quiet sigh she couldn't disguise, I was now absolutely sure that she was not asking these questions for innocent reasons. She was a little too interested in the subject to be thinking about her job right now.

Well, if that was what she wanted, I was willing to oblige her. I leaned forward. "You know, if you're so curious about the spankings I deliver, I'd be quite willing to give you a personal demonstration, Cassandra."

Cassandra turned pale. A squeak escaped her lips, and she dropped her pen to the floor. She hurriedly picked it back up, managing to bang her head on her own desk in the process. She stared down at the sheet of paper again, pretending to take notes. "I-I'm quite sure I don't know what you mean, Brett," she said, trying to hide the blush on her face. "N-not at all."

I smiled. It seemed I had got a little too close for her comfort. "You're sure about that?"

"Y-yes. Now, please leave while I finish this report."

I remained seated, watching her bend over the report as she pretended to ignore my presence. After a minute or so, I spoke up. "You know, it'll probably be a lot easier to write your report if you turn the pen and write with the other end."

She stared at the pen in her hand, before quickly flipping it around. It was absolutely adorable watching the calm, collected woman be so flustered. I rose to my feet, grabbing an empty sheet of paper from her desk. "I'll be going back to work now, but I'll be back when the workday ends." I handed her the paper. "If you write me a request for a good, hard spanking, I promise to do my best to fulfil it." I smiled. "You remember which end of the pen to use?"

I chuckled as I left the room, leaving the stammering woman to continue her report. Or perhaps she’d be writing something else…

Sylvia, part II (M/F story)

Two weeks ago, I was visited by Sylvia, the mother of my ex-girlfriend. I was surprised to learn that she had known that I often spanked her daughter during our relationship, and downright shocked when she admitted that she wanted me to do the same to her – Sylvia asked to be taken over my knee and spanked. After overcoming my bewilderment, I saw no reason to refuse her request, so I gave her the long, hard spanking she craved. Afterwards, as she stood facing the corner with her bare, red bottom on display, I had a feeling it wouldn’t be the last time I disciplined her.

And tonight, my prediction would come true.

Sylvia had told me that she’d sat quite gingerly for a few days after visiting me, and had sported some lovely marks. However, the bruises had faded, and she was now eager for another dose of discipline. We agreed that she should visit my flat on Saturday evening.

When she arrived, she was dressed in a relatively modest shirt and a nice skirt, and there was something in her eyes that suggested she'd been looking forward to this for several days. I asked her if she wanted a cup of tea or a glass of something, but she declined, saying that she was eager to get started right away. I led her into the kitchen, where I’d placed a pen and some sheets of paper on the table. She cast me a questioning glance.

“You are going to sit down and write, Sylvia,” I explained. “You will write ‘I have been a bad girl and deserve a good, hard spanking’… let’s say two hundred times.”

She raised an eyebrow and gave me an impertinent look. “I’ve never written lines before!”

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll get the hang of it before you’re done. Two hundred times, and you’ll get extra punishment for each error. Do I make myself clear?"

She glared at me as if she wanted to challenge me, but she must have seen from the expression on my face that this would not end well for her. With a sigh, she sat down on the kitchen chair and began writing.

I sat down behind her, where I could keep an eye on her without being observed. She worked on her task for a few minutes before she shook her hand, turning and looking over her shoulder at me. “Ouch. I’m out of practice. It’s been years since I did much writing by hand – decades, possibly.”

“Keep your eyes forward,” I instructed her. “Don’t look at me.”

She pouted, but obeyed. “You know, I came here hoping for a sore bottom, not a sore hand.”

I grinned at the petulant tone in her voice. “Don’t worry – you’ll get that as well.”

The knocker-upper (M/F story)

Knocker-upper: "A person whose job was to go from house to house in the early morning and wake up workers by tapping on the bedroom window with a long pole or similarly convenient implement. " - Wiktionary.

 

It was early Monday morning, just before dawn, that I was awakened by a loud, insistent tapping on my bedroom window. Wondering who it was, and how on Earth someone could be knocking on the window of a second-story flat, I eventually managed to force myself out of bed. Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I staggered over to the window, which my sleep-deprived brain took some time to open. When I looked out, I saw a young woman grinning up at me. She was a lanky brunette somewhere in her early twenties, wearing a woolly jumper, a matching skirt, and a flat cap balanced on her head, and was joyfully waving a long pole in greeting. Clearly, the stick was how she'd managed to tap on my window.  "Finally, you're up! Good morning, sir!"

 

I stared back at her, stunned at this behaviour. Before I could think of a response, the woman had walked away, cheerily whistling a tune. What on Earth was going on?

 

I stumbled back to bed, once again reflecting on the strangeness of Londoners. I already had enough of that from my neighbour Sheena, with whom I had a couple of disagreements – I had not expected to find another madwoman so close to home.

 

 

The following day, around the same time, I once again heard tapping. I rose, making sure I was properly awake and ready to speak before moving over to the window. If it turned out to be the same woman, I wanted to be able to ask her to explain herself before she left. I hoped it was – the thought of there being more than one hooligan roaming the streets rapping on people's windows in the dark was too much to bear.

 

"At last!" she laughed when I opened the window. "You were a lot harder to wake today. Good morning," she said, tipping her cap and turning to leave.

 

"Wait a second," I called out. "What's going on? Why are you doing this?"

 

"Well, I'm the knocker-upper, sir!" she exclaimed. When she realized from the look on my face that this meant nothing to me, she explained, "It's a service you find in big cities. I go from flat to flat, waking people up so they can go to work on time!" There was more than a hint of condescension in her voice; presumably, she'd realized from my accent that I wasn't a Londoner.

 

"Well, I am a night watchman, and I don't need to be at work any time soon – in fact, it's only a few hours since my shift ended. So you can stop knocking on MY window," I informed her as civilly as I managed.

 

"Oh no, sir," she said, shaking her head. "When I'm hired to do a job, I do it."

 

"I haven't hired you," I told her, still trying to keep my voice calm.

 

"Oh, I know, sir," she grinned. "Your wife did."

 

"I'm not married!" I called out, but she'd already started to walk away, looking for her next victim.

 

 

When I was awoken on Wednesday by the familiar knocking, I buried my face in my pillow and resolved to ignore her until she went away. When you work all night, having some stranger wake you up after only a few hours of sleep, on the orders of an imaginary wife, is not particularly pleasant. However, as the minutes slowly dragged on, it was clear that she was not stopping until she'd wished me good morning. Sighing, I admitted defeat and rose from bed.

 

"Good morning! Wow, you slept soundly today! No wonder your wife needs help walking you up. Or maybe she doesn't need to get up as early as you do."

 

"I DON'T have to get up early – and I don't have a wife," I repeated, once again trying my best to keep my voice level. "So I suggest you stop bothering me, never knock on my window again, and go find someone who DOES need to be woken up."

 

"Oh, no, sir!" she said. "I've been paid to do my job, and do my job I shall! See you tomorrow!" Before I could respond, she'd tipped her cap and left.

 

I leaned out of the window, sighing my frustration. How could I get through her dense skull? Glancing up, I could see a hint of red curls from one of the other windows, and I realized that my neighbour Sheena was watching me through her window, a smirk on her face. Like I said, we'd had quite a few disagreements, so I wasn't surprised to see the young woman taking pleasure from my suffering. She'd shown a sadistic streak on occasion.

 

 

On Thursday, when I was once again wrenched from my pleasant dreams by an insistent knocking, I decided I was done being nice. Slamming my window open, I did not let her call out her customary greeting, but yelled "Stop knocking on my window! I have told you repeatedly that I do not need your services. I have not hired you, and I don't have a wife. If you knock on my window again, young lady, you will regret it. I warn you." I glared down at her, hoping she'd finally got the message.

 

The girl only laughed. "Yes, a lot of people are grumpy in the morning. See you tomorrow," she called before leaving, whistling merrily.

 

I shook my head as I returned to bed. She'd finally pushed me too far. She'd decided to test me, and I was going to show her that I meant what I said. She'd been warned, and now, she would suffer the consequences.

Hiatus

I'm sorry to have to do this again so shortly after the previous one, but for health reasons, I'm going to have to take a short break from writing stories. Hopefully, I'll be back before the end of the month; if not, expect a new story the first week of April.

If you have ideas for stories you'd like to read, or stories you'd like to see sequels too, feel free to leave a comment. My last story ("Sylvia, ex-girlfriend's mother") received some positive feedback and clamours for more, so I have some notes for sequels I'd like to write, once my health allows.

Sylvia, ex-girlfriend's mother (M/F story)

When my doorbell rang one Saturday evening as I was sitting in front of the TV, I was not expecting to find my ex-girlfriend's mother standing on my doorstep.

"Hello, Roland," she said, giving me a friendly smile. "May I come in? I hope I'm not disturbing you – I should probably have phoned ahead."

"Hello, Mrs. Cohen," I replied, taking a step to the side to let her pass. "Please, come in. I was just watching an old movie and trying to remember if I'd seen it before."

"I've told you a million times to call me Sylvia," she scolded playfully as she hung up her coat.

I first met Sylvia Cohen about two years ago, which was three months into my relationship with her daughter Violet. Violet and I had gone to the same high school, and had started dating shortly after we ended up in the same college class. I only learned later that she'd deliberately chosen the same college as me so that she could get closer to me, which was flattering. She herself had no interest in drama – or at least not in studying it; on the other hand, I soon found out that she was an absolute master at creating it.

I admit I was feeling a little nervous when I met my girlfriend's mother for the first time, but Sylvia had greeted me warmly and seemed pleasantly surprised with the young man dating her only daughter. In fact, she seemed to grow fonder of me with every month that passed.

I had always enjoyed those occasional chats with Sylvia, but it was a bit of a surprise to find her in my home two weeks after my relationship with her daughter had ended. What could we have to talk about now? "So, what brings you here?" I said as I brought her a cup of coffee. Milk, two sugars – just the way she liked it.

"I just had to talk to you and see how you were getting on." She shook her head. "That girl has no sense whatsoever! She just made the biggest mistake of her life by letting you slip through her fingers, and she doesn't even realize it. But don't worry – she will."

I raised an eyebrow at that, choosing not to comment. It was flattering, of course, but I wondered how I'd feel if MY mother had gone to my ex to tell them how much of a moron I was. In my experience, mothers tended to be more supportive, even when they disagreed.

"Not only were you good to her, but you were good FOR her," she said, huffing. "After she started dating you, she was far easier to have in the house, and she got better at picking up after herself. You should have seen her grades, too!"

I smiled. Having someone show up in my living room to praise me to the skies wasn't how I'd expected my Saturday evening to go, but I had no complaints. I was feeling quite good about myself. "Nice of you to say so, Mrs. Cohen. I think it's a matter of setting a good example, and being there for her when she needs it."

She snorted. "You're free to think that, of course, but I think it's all those spankings you gave her."

The cup in my hand stopped halfway to my lips as I stared at her. I was glad I hadn't been drinking when she said it, as I would probably have spat the coffee all across my table – and possibly my guest. I wasn't aware that Violet had shared that part of our relationship with her mother. I certainly hadn't mentioned it to mine.

"Oh, Violet never said anything," Sylvia said, seeming to guess my thoughts. "She didn't have to. I could tell by the way she squirmed around on her chair after one or your little private discussions, and how she'd wear a nice skirt instead of those faded, holey, TIGHT jeans. They're a lot less painful for a sore bottom!" She chuckled. "A couple of times, when she was on the phone with you, I could see her absently rub her rear end when she knew you were upset with her. Thinking about past punishments – or possibly dreading upcoming ones."

"You approve, then?" I said as I sipped my coffee. I saw no reason to try to deny her observations.

"Wholeheartedly. In fact, I think that Violet losing your discipline might be the worst part of this breakup. Some women benefit from struggling to sit on a sore seat from time to time."

"Have you ever spanked her?"

She shook her head. " I've never been comfortable with the idea of taking my daughter across my knee. It just doesn't feel right. That was always her father's job. When he was alive, he handled all the spankings in the house." She sighed wistfully. "Violet's – and mine."

I stared at her. Was she saying what I thought she was saying?

"Yes," she said, once again responding to my unspoken thoughts. "My dear departed husband would bend me over his lap and spank my backside whenever he thought I deserved it – which was often." She smiled at the memory. "I must admit, when I realized that you were spanking Violet, I felt more than a little envious. A proper young gentleman, able and willing to deliver the discipline the young lady so sorely needed." She sighed. "You remind me of him, in some ways."

"I'm sure Violet would have gifted you every single one of her spankings if she could. I never got the feeling that she enjoyed them much – in fact, she pleaded quite insistently for them to stop, every single time."

She laughed. "Good to hear. That must be why they were so effective." Her smile vanished, and she gazed at me. "Now, believe me, despite my …. needs, I would NEVER ask my daughter's boyfriend to put me across his knee. That would be completely inappropriate, obviously." She grinned. "But you two are not dating any more, are you?"

The smoking landlady (M/F story)

Conrad had now rented the basement flat in the house of the middle-aged accountant Rebecca Trask for a little over a month. He considered himself very fortunate for finding the place; the house was old, but well-maintained, and only a short walk from the university where the nineteen-year-old studied.

Earlier that afternoon, a new chest of drawers had been delivered to the house, and Rebecca had asked the young athlete to help her carry it inside. They were now sitting in her living room chatting about life over a cup of coffee. In the weeks he'd been here, Conrad had found it easy to talk to his new landlady.

During the conversation, Rebecca pulled a pack of cigarettes and a lighter out of her purse. She lit a cigarette and took a drag, then raised an eyebrow as she looked at Conrad. "I take it you disapprove of my little habit?"

"What makes you think that?" he replied evenly. "I've said nothing."

"You don't have to. It's written all over your face," she said, smiling.

The teenager shrugged. "Obviously, you can do whatever you want to your own body in your own home. But surely you know it's not good for you – or those around you," he said, managing to resist the urge to cough meaningfully.

She nodded. "I know. I've been trying to quit, but it's very hard. Have you ever smoked?"

"No, but an ex-girlfriend of mine used to."

"Used to? How did she stop?" Rebecca inquired.

"Every time she smoked, I spanked her," he said calmly, showing not the slightest trace of hesitation or embarrassment.

"Really?" she said, looking wide-eyed at him as she tried to process this.

He nodded. "Every time she lit a cigarette, I lit up her butt," he said. "It didn't happen overnight, but with enough encouragement…"

She laughed. "I see! Well, I can imagine that being quite an effective treatment for a young lady! She can protect her lungs and her backside at the same time."

They soon changed the subject. If Conrad noticed that his landlady seemed distracted for the rest of the conversation, as if she was pondering something, he didn't say anything about it.


It was a week later that Rebecca knocked on the door to Conrad's flat. It was a warm spring day, and the teenager was wearing a new t-shirt and an old pair of shorts. His landlady was dressed in a long summer dress. "Mrs Trask! What can I do for you?" he said with a welcoming smile.

"I've told you to call me Rebecca," she chided gently. "Can I come in?"

He stepped aside to let her in, and she quickly scanned the flat as she entered. As she had expected, it was a lot cleaner than most teenagers' living quarters; Conrad had shown himself to be a responsible young man.

They sat down on the couch. Conrad could tell that there was something on her mind, but as she seemed to have trouble putting it into words, he stayed silent to allow her to collect her thoughts. Finally, she seemed to collect herself. "When you started… disciplining your girlfriend, how old were the two of you?"

He cast his mind back. "Well, it was a little over a year ago, so we were both eighteen."

She nodded. "Do you… do you think it would have been effective if she was older?"

He shrugged. "Well, I don't see why not. A spanked bottom will teach a naughty young lady of any age. In fact, she considered herself far too old for a spanking already – which she told me, at length, every time I pulled her over my lap and bared her bottom. I never let that stop me." He looked into her eyes. "Why did you ask? Did you have someone in mind?" There was something in his eyes that suggested to her that he'd guessed what she was thinking of.

She took a deep breath to steady her nerves. "Well, I- I've been trying to quit smoking, as you know. And I was wondering if maybe what I truly need is…" She blushed, avoiding his gaze. " It would probably help me if… if maybe –"

"If I took you over my knee and spanked your bottom every time you smoked?" he said, raising an eyebrow. "Is that what you are proposing, Rebecca?"

The exam bet 2 (M/F story)

 Sequel to last week's story.

 

The previous day, the 18-year-old student Dean had placed his classmate Chloe over his lap, giving her a bare-bottomed spanking for losing their bet over who would get the better grade – before discovering that she'd lied about her results; she had actually won the bet, but told him she hadn't, because she secretly wanted to be spanked by him. When he discovered all this, he'd promised the red-bottomed miscreant another spanking the following day, causing her to grin and give him some insincere protests.

It was now the following day, and Dean was back in Chloe's bedroom, sitting on her bed and ready to fulfil his promise. She stood before him fidgeting, toying with a strand of hair, and he could tell that she was both nervous and eager.

"Come here," he said as he waved her towards him. "I need to look at your bottom."

"You mean you WANT to look at my bottom," she teased.

"That too, of course. But I also need to see whether you're able to take another spanking already, or if we should postpone this."

"There is nothing wrong with my butt," she huffed, but obeyed.

"I'll be the judge of that," he said. He raised her skirt, wordlessly handing her the hem to hold. He placed his fingers in the waistband of her panties, quickly lowering them to her knees. She blushed at being undressed so casually, standing naked before him, but didn't protest at this treatment – nor at being turned around so that he could examine her rear. He rubbed his hand over her cheeks, pinching and squeezing here and there, which caused her to squeal and mutter indignantly.

"A bit pink," he said, "but I think you could take another spanking without problem." He smiled. "Well, we'll soon find out. You know, I think you should change into your gym clothes. Your bottom has always looked good in those shorts."

Pleased at the compliment, she shuffled over to the wardrobe to fetch her training outfit. She raised an eyebrow as she regarded him. "Are you going to leave the room while I change?" she asked pointedly. "Or at least turn around?"

"No," he said calmly. "Why would I do that?"

She shook her head, but was unable to hide her grin. There was something deliciously humiliating about the way he treated her. She pulled the shirt over her head, then unzipped her skirt and let it fall to the floor. Since her panties were still around her knees, the only thing protecting her modesty was her bra – which she quickly discarded. She could practically feel his eyes devour her as she stood there, naked as the day she was born.

She reached for a sports bra, but changed her mind. As far as she knew, she wouldn't actually be doing any exercise, and going without a bra under her gym shirt would present an appealing sight. She very much doubted Dean would object – and if he did, what would he do about it? Spank her?

She stepped out of her white cotton panties, replacing them with the dark, skimpy underwear she used for gym. Picking up her tight, dark grey gym shorts, she slipped them on, feeling them tighten over her rear. She wriggled her bottom in his direction, before slipping on the dark, sleeveless shirt she wore for gym.

She finally turned to look at Dean. Judging from the lascivious smile on his face, and the bulge in his trousers, he'd enjoyed the show just as much as she'd expected. "I've done as you asked, Dean. Now what?" she asked innocently, pretending to wonder what would happen next.

His grin widened. "Now, young lady, you're going over my knee for a good spanking."

The exam bet (M/F story)

"So, Dean, are you worried  about the upcoming exams?" Chloe said. The lanky blonde had a smirk on her face as she sat next to her classmate in the high school lunchroom.

He shrugged. "I've worked hard, now we'll see if it pays off." Dean was far from the tallest guy in class, but he had an athletic physique that many envied. His sandy hair and deep blue eyes had also earned him a few looks.

"I'll bet I'll get a better grade than you," Chloe said smugly.

"Maybe," he said noncommittally, showing no interest in continuing the conversation. He'd never cared about anyone's grades but his own, and at the age of eighteen, he expected a little more maturity from his classmates than these childish games and taunts.

"Hmph!" she frowned, annoyed that he wasn't responding to her attempts to rile him up. "How about this for a bet: if you get a better grade than me, I'll let you spank my bottom."

He stared at her, before glancing around to make sure they were not being overheard. He was about to refuse her absurd suggestion, but when he stopped and thought about it, he realized it had a certain appeal. Chloe had a very attractive bottom, and he'd often admired her too-tight gym shorts when they were out on the track – subtly, of course. He liked the thought of getting his hands on her soft cheeks, and taking her down a peg would be a welcome bonus. "And what if you get the better grade?" he asked.

"Then you'll be going over MY knee, of course," she said, smirking again. "A long and hard spanking, on the bare bottom, until you're sobbing."

He raised an eyebrow. She seemed to have thought about this a little too much, and it was an interesting glimpse into what went on in her mind. She always tried to maintain an image of purity, so it was enlightening to see a glimpse of the real person.

He thought about the offer, before eventually nodding. "It's a bet," he said. It was a risk, but one he was willing to take. The reward if he succeeded seemed worth it.


It was a week after the exams that they finally got the results, and they'd agreed to meet up at Chloe's house to compare. Before heading over, Dean opened his envelope to learn what his efforts had achieved. It turned out he'd received a B. A decent grade, and ordinarily, he'd be satisfied with it, but would it be enough? Chloe was a good student. Would he be able to take her over his knee and paint her butt red? Or would he be forced to bend over her lap, having his own backside spanked?

Envelope in hand, he walked over to her house. She grinned tauntingly at him as she opened the door and invited him inside, and they made their way to her bedroom. Her parents were out for the evening, so they knew they wouldn't be disturbed when the debt was settled.

"You've opened it already," she complained as she saw his envelope. "You've ruined the suspense."

"It was a B," managing to sound calmer than he felt. He showed her the sheet to confirm his words.

Her fingers trembled slightly as she picked up her own envelope, and Dean could feel his own heart beating in his chest. What would happen now? Had he won or lost? Who would end up receiving the promised spanking?

The pantsing (M/F story)

Ashley was heading to the classroom for the final lesson of the day, when her classmate Tricia suddenly placed a hand on her shoulder. "Hey, nerd. I need to talk to you."

Tricia was one of the high school's mean girls. Tall, blonde, curvy, and gorgeous, always in full make-up and expensively attired and manicured. Next to her, Ashley always felt flat, drab, poor, and boring. Tricia rarely spoke to her, and from the tone of her voice, Ashley suspected she wouldn't enjoy this conversation either.

"What about, Tricia?" Ashley asked, trying to keep a calm smile on her face as her heart was beating rapidly in her chest.

"You've been getting quite friendly with Lucas lately," Tricia said. Their classmate Lucas was considered one of the best-looking guys in school  – tall and athletic, with long, sandy hair, deep blue eyes, and a smile you could lose yourself in. "That's going to stop."

Ashley raised an eyebrow. "Why do you care who he's friends with? As far as I know, you two are not dating."

"Not yet, but I'm working on it," Tricia told her. "And I don't like competition, even from someone as insignificant as you."

"We're just friends!" Ashley told her, though that wasn't entirely true, at least from her side. She'd developed some feelings for the boy – most of the girls in class had – but so far, he hadn't picked up any of the hints she'd dropped. Maybe she was being too subtle, or he just wasn't interested. It was hard to tell with Lucas.

"You WERE friends," Tricia corrected her snidely.

Ashley sighed. "Come on, Tricia, aren't you being a bit silly? Trying to decide who's friends with who? We're eighteen, not eight." She wasn't entirely sure why she dared to speak up against Tricia. Maybe she'd just had enough, or Tricia had finally found something she wouldn't give up without a struggle.

"So you refuse my simple request?" Tricia shook her head. "Fine." The smile she sent Ashley as she walked away made a shiver run down the smaller girl's back. Though she didn't show it, Ashley could feel her insides twisting. Speaking up against Tricia always had a price.

She went inside the classroom. The teacher hadn't arrived yet, which was not surprising. It was still a few minutes left before class was supposed to start, and besides, Mr Matthews was often a bit late.

Lucas smiled at Ashley as she entered, and she blushed and smiled back. Briefly, she considered heeding Tricia's warning and taking her seat like a good little girl, but then she discarded the thought. For once, she wasn't going to be bullied.

She walked over to Lucas, and they were soon engaged in a pleasant conversation. Admittedly, he did most of the talking, but that was OK – she quite liked listening to his voice. Lost in his eyes, she didn't notice Tricia approaching. Nor it is likely she would have sensed danger even if she had. She expected Tricia to do something, of course, but later; on the way home from school, or on the way to school tomorrow, or at a party, or something like that. She wouldn't try something in the middle of the classroom, would she?

Unlike most of the girls in class, Ashley never wore tight jeans – she blushed at the thought of the way they'd show off her rear end. She tended to wear baggy trousers, which were a lot easier to put on. And now, when Tricia suddenly grabbed the waistband and pulled, she realized they were also a lot easier to remove.

Ashley squealed in humiliation when she realized that Tricia had not only pulled her trousers down, but her panties as well. She was nude from the waist down in the middle of the classroom. She could feel the eyes of her classmates on her naked form, and blushed so much she almost passed out. Frozen in fear at first, she eventually tried to reach down to put her clothes back on, but Tricia grabbed her hands, holding her in place. The tall blonde smiled cruelly at her victim, clearly enjoying her torment.

Ashley turned to Lucas, her eyes pleading him to help. The boy was staring in shock, just like everyone else, but in time, he regained his composure. He stepped forward, but before he could act, they heard a stern voice ring out in the classroom. "Patricia. What on Earth do you think you're doing?" They glanced at the door, where Mr Matthews had arrived.