This all started one day when I was on my way back home from school early. Mister Davison, our maths teacher, had to call in sick that day, and the school had been unable to find a substitute, so we’d been sent home about two hours early. My father and my stepmother were of course at work, but my stepsister Michelle had the day off from school – her class was doing a project that they were supposed to work at from home, but I think she spent most of her time surfing the web or watching films.
Michelle was three years older than me, and it was now a little over two years since she became my stepsister. We hung out occasionally, but I wouldn’t say we regarded each other as siblings, or even close friends. There was no animosity of any kind, but we just didn’t have much to talk about.
I headed inside, and as I walked past Michelle’s room, I heard some fairly strange noises inside. The door wasn’t closed, so I had a peek inside and saw something that made my jaw drop.
Michelle had placed her computer chair in the middle of the room, and laid a pillow across it. She was now bent over it, her stomach resting on the pillow with her backside in the air. She was smacking her the seat of her jeans with her hand, bending over in an awkward manner to reach her target. She was also lecturing herself under her breath, calling herself a “bad girl” and saying that she needed to learn a good lesson. It was, to be frank, a bizarre sight.
After a minute or so, she rose to her feet and started to undo the button of her jeans. Part of me wanted to leave, or to ask her what in the world was going on, but I just stood there. She pulled the jeans down to her knees, revealing a pair of fairly modest cotton panties, and bent back over the pillow, where she continued to smack her backside with her hand. After another minute, she picked up a brush that was resting on the floor, and started to apply it to her own bottom. The brush made a surprisingly sharp crack as it struck.
She continued like this for a few minutes, then rose again. Apparently, her imaginary spanker now told her to bare her bottom, for she slowly reached down to lower her panties to her knees. She bent back over the pillow to continue her self-punishment, and I decided to withdraw and think about what I’d seen.
I went for a walk to clear my head, and returned half an hour later. When I went inside, I deliberately made a bit more noise than usual, so that Michelle would hear me coming and think I’d just returned from school. I didn’t want her to know that I’d seen her – at least, not right now. Michelle was sitting at the kitchen table as I entered. I noticed she was sitting a bit more gingerly than usual. We exchanged brief nods, and I went to my room to put my backpack away and process what I’d seen.
Later that day, Michelle went shopping with a few of her friends, and while my father and stepmother watched TV in the living room, I decided to sneak into Michelle’s room and have a look at her computer. Half an hour later, I’d had a look at her files and browsing history, and made a few conclusions.
Michelle obviously had a spanking fetish. This didn’t take much mental work on my part, considering that I’d seen my stepsister bent over a chair, bare bottom in the air as she spanked herself with a brush, but the things I found left absolutely no doubt. She seemed to have an interest in naughty girls being bent over the lap of strict, but caring, friends, who spanked them soundly for their misbehaviour. I had to admit that, while I’d never given it much thought before, I suddenly found the subject quite fascinating myself.
She had quite a few audio files on her computer – a strict man telling a woman he knew that his patience had run out, she’d pushed her luck too far, and she was going to get what she’d been begging for; that sort of thing. I concluded that Michelle hadn’t found someone to spank her yet, and thus had resorted to self-spanking. I couldn’t recall her ever having a boyfriend. As I left the room, I made sure that everything was exactly where it had been when I entered. I headed back to my room and thought about what I should do, now that I knew her secret.
That Saturday, our parents had decided to visit some friends. I knew they’d be gone for hours, so I decided it was a good opportunity to enact my plan. I was in the living room, reading in a chair, when Michelle entered, about to sit down in front of the TV.
“Michelle, you still haven’t done the washing up from yesterday,” I gently reminded her. We had a washing machine, but the pots and pans still needed to be washed by hand, and we took turns. Michelle had a habit of leaving it unfinished for a day or two, which had been a minor point of irritation.
“I know. I’ll do it later,” she said, waving it away.
“I think you should do it now,” I said, less gentle than before. “It’s not a good habit, leaving things unfinished like that. The rest of us have to -”
“I’ll do it later,” she said dismissively. “Don’t nag me.” She turned her back to me to head for the sofa, and I saw my chance.
“I said NOW,” I scolded as I gave the seat of her jeans a good, hard smack.
She spun around, clutching her backside with both hands as she stared wide-eyed at me. Her mouth opened and closed a few times, but she didn’t seem to be able to think of anything to say. “You… “ she tried again. “I… it’s not…”
I folded my arms in front of me, doing my best to radiate determination. I wasn’t exactly sure how one does that, but I don’t think I did too badly. “Michelle, go do the washing up,” I said, in a firm voice.
For a second or two, she met my gaze, but then lowered her head. “OK, Robert,” she said, and walked into the kitchen.
I was amazed at the change she’d undergone. With a few strict words and a single slap to her posterior, my stepsister was obeying me. I had made a few guesses after taking a look at her reading material, but it was interesting to see it in action.
I had positioned my chair so that I could see her while she was in the kitchen. She was bent over the sink, working, and from time to time she’d look up and stare at me, as if seeing me for the first time. Her eye studied me, but when I met her gaze, she quickly looked down and continued with her task. She’d occasionally reach her hand back and rub her bottom, right where I’d slapped her. The sting couldn’t have lasted this long, so I suspected that she was savouring the memory or something.
After a while, she seemed to come to a decision, and turned off the water. She dried her hands and walked out of the kitchen, heading for the TV again.
“You’re not finished,” I said, nodding towards the unwashed pots near the sink.
“I’ll do it later,” she said. She tried to make her tone dismissive again, but her voice was quivering slightly.
“I thought I made it quite clear,” I said, standing up, “that you should do it NOW.”
“Or what?” she said, trying to sound mocking. “Are you going to SPANK me or something?”
“Yes, I am,” I said, in a calm but firm voice. I wished I felt as confident as I seemed.
Her hands were shaking slightly, but she placed them at her hips and tried to glare at me. “You wouldn’t dare!”
I smiled at that, then quickly grabbed her arm and dragged her over to the sofa, where I sat down. There wasn’t the slightest hint of resistance as I dragged her over my knee, pushing her forward until her bottom was sticking up and her head was facing the carpet. I began to rub her bottom, and smiled to myself as her cheeks clenched under my palm.
“You disobeyed me, Michelle,” I lectured, “and now you’re going to face the consequences.” I started to spank her. She gasped as the first smacks landed, wriggling a little under my palm, but otherwise remained in place.
After the day I’d looked at her files, I’d done a bit of research on my own, and picked up a few tips on how to deliver a spanking. I spanked first one cheek, then the other, delivering firm smacks over every inch of her bottom. After a few minutes, I told her to stand up.
“Is it over?” she asked as she rose to her feet. From the tone of her voice, she wasn’t entirely sure whether to be relieved or disappointed by the prospect.
“Far from it,” I said, reaching out to undo the button of her jeans. Instinctively, she took a step backward, but quickly moved forwards again when I glared at her.
“Sir- I mean, Robert, I’m sorry that…” she stopped, not sure of what to say.
“I know,” I told her as I pulled her jeans down to her knees. “But not as sorry as you’re going to be.” I patted my knees. “Over my lap,” I instructed. She immediately obeyed. Like the last time I saw her with her jeans down, she was wearing a pair of modest white cotton panties. I could tell that her bottom was beginning to turn pink, and I rubbed her seat a little bit, before delivering the first slap.
Everything was completely different. The sound, the sensation of the cotton-covered flesh under my palm, the way she reacted… I continued to spank her, smiling to myself as she whimpered. I continued to spank her for a few minutes, before reaching out and grabbing the waistband of her panties.
I hesitated. Could I really pull her panties down and spank her bare bottom? How would she react? A silly thought, considering she’d accepted everything else I’d done that day – heck, she’d been just as eager as me, as far as I could tell – but there was still a nagging voice at the back of my head. Ignoring the voice, I lowered her panties. Like before, I rubbed her bottom slowly before the spanking began. Her bottom was now pink, with parts of it turning red.
As my palm gently patted her seat, she took a deep breath, letting out a small moan. I started to spank her bare bottom. Tears were rolling down her cheeks, but she couldn’t hide the smile on her face as I spanked her soundly. She was wriggling her backside, eagerly inviting me to continue.
When I helped her to her feet, her bottom was bright red, and she was breathing heavily. She sat on my lap as I hugged her, rubbing her back.
“Thank you,” she whispered. “How did you know? Where did…”
“I’ll tell you later,” I answered.
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