Neglecting housework (M/F story)

Cynthia smiled. She loved these sleepy Saturday mornings, when she could just lie in bed, relax and feel the stress of the week pour out of her. No work to get up for, no appointments, just her and the pillow.

"Cynthia, I need to talk to you."

She sighed. She loved her husband Dominic dearly, but he had never quite grasped how much she loved sleeping in. "I'm sleeping."

"It's almost noon. Anyway, do you remember whose turn it was to do the dishes last night?"

"Nope," she answered, truthfully.

"Yours. And did you?"

"Can't we deal with this later?"

"You always want to deal with it LATER. Don't think I haven't noticed that you haven't been doing your share of the housework lately. Talking to your friends on the phone or sitting in front of the TV is obviously more important."

"I'm too pretty to work," she pouted.

"How adorable," he told her. "Now, are you going to get that cute little butt out of bed?"

"Nope. Now go away. I'm sleeping."

He frowned at her, but left. Cynthia smiled and leaned back, basking in her victory.

After a few minutes, she heard his footsteps approaching, and looked up to tell him to go away again. But the words got caught in her throat when she spotted what he was carrying. Dominic was wielding a large, wooden hairbrush.

She realized what he was planning, and in a flash, she was on her feet. "You've made your point. I'll wash up. In fact, I'll do it right now."

She tried to run past him, but he caught her upper arm. "That's good to hear, but I'm afraid I have some things to discuss with you first."

She whimpered as he sat down on the bed, pulling her pyjamas bottoms down to her knees. "Please, sir, I'll do as you say. Please don't spank me! I'm sorry!"

"You should have thought about that before," he said as he guided her over his lap. He picked up the brush and rubbed it against her bare bottom, watching the goosebumps forming in anticipation. "Please tell me why you are being spanked."

"Because I haven't been doing my chores lately, and because I was rude to you," she said as calmly as she could, even though every instinct she had was telling her to get up, run away and hide.

"Good," he said. "Just what I wanted to hear." He lifted the brush and began the spanking.

The first few smacks were relatively light, but still hard enough to cause Cynthia to gasp in pain after only a few strokes. Dominic always made sure that she would learn her lesson fast, because sometimes, he didn't have very much time to discipline her.

Soon, Cynthia could feel tears rolling down her cheeks, and the sting in her rear end was increasing every second. Dominic spanked hard and fast, moving from cheek to cheek, from the top of her tights to her lower back, leaving no part of her bottom unspanked. He was a skilful spanker, but then, he'd had a lot of training.

Dominic watched the pert little posterior in front of him turn pink, then red, as Cynthia's crying grew louder. Soon, she was promising to behave, pleading with him to forgive her.

At last, when Dominic was satisfied with the colour of her cheeks, he helped Cynthia to her feet. "Now, go get your apron."

"Oh, please, sir, I've learned my lesson. Don't make me -"

He didn't answer her, just bent her under his arm, giving her half a dozen quick, hard smacks to her sit spots.

"Go and get your apron," he told her again. This time, she obeyed immediately.

Dominic had bought a pink apron at a garage sale years ago, and designated it her 'punishment apron'. If he really wanted to punish her, he would tell her to put on the apron. She would wear it for as long as he told her to, and more importantly: it was the ONLY thing she was allowed to wear. Cynthia hated it with a passion, but she couldn't even imagine what he'd do to her if she tried to get rid of it.

Cynthia spent the next fifteen minutes in the corner, nude except for that blasted apron, desperately trying not to rub her red, stinging bottom. Dominic sat in a nearby chair, enjoying the sight. There was something very calming about watching his wife in the corner, red bottom on display.


As she stood washing up, still wearing the hated apron, Cynthia vowed to make sure she did her chores on time from now on. She would feel a lot better about it if it was the first time she made such a promise.

Older sister (F/ff story)

When I was growing up, I had a friend named Angela. Angela was my best friend in the whole world, and we would play together every single day. We were so close, we were almost sisters.

Angela had an older sister named Lauren. Since me and Angela were so close, Lauren almost became like my sister as well. Lauren was really cool – she was a university student, so she was practically an adult, but she often had time to play with us if we wanted. And since she had a driver's license, she could take us places we couldn't get to on our own.

One day, we arrived from school to find Lauren waiting in the living room, with an annoyed look on her face. "Angela, come in here," she said to her younger sister. When Angela came closer, she continued, "Didn't I tell you to clean your room yesterday?"

Angela got a worried look on her face. "Oh. I forgot! Don't worry, Lauren, I'll go do -"

"Yes, you will, but first, it's time for a little discussion." She patted her lap. "Come here."

Angela looked over at me, then at her sister. I was confused. What exactly was going on? I had never seen Lauren talking so strictly to her sister, or Angela so worried about talking to her.

"Please, Lauren, not with Kelly here. Can't we do this later? Please?"

"Young lady, you've earned this, so I suggest you stop dawdling and get over here."

"Please? I don't want Kelly to see this!" she said, glancing over at me. Now, I was intrigued. What exactly was going to happen that she didn't want me to see?

"Angela, I'm going to count to five, and if you haven't gotten your butt over here by then, I'm going to fetch my hairbrush. One..."

By the time she reached "Three", Angela had hurried forward and almost thrown herself over her sister's lap. Lauren moved her forward, so that her head was close to the ground and her bottom was sticking up, and I had a sinking feeling that I knew what was going to happen.

Lauren was going to spank her sister.

My suspicions were confirmed when Lauren raised her sister's skirt, and then peeled down her panties. Angela whimpered. "Please, Lauren, not on the bare! Please!" Her sister ignored her. I watched, wide-eyed and breathless.

Lauren began to spank her sister's bottom, and I jumped as the loud smacks rang out in the otherwise silent room. Angela hung her head low as her sister's palm moved from cheek to cheek, each impact producing a pink handprint that soon disappeared.

I stared at the sight, completely fascinated as I watched one of my almost-sisters taking the other across her lap and spanking her bare bottom. Angela was crying and kicking her legs at every slap, but Lauren seemed merciless, and was completely in control.

Suddenly, it was all over. Lauren helped Angela to her feet, and as Angela tried to rub her burning bottom, Lauren hugged her, telling her that she was forgiven, and that if she would only behave, she wouldn't have to do this again.

Soon, me and Angela had gone up to her room, and I started to ask her about what I'd just seen. Angela had previously told me that whenever her parents were out, Lauren was in charge, but I'd thought that just meant she could boss Angela around. I had never, in my wildest dreams, expected that she'd have the right to spank her sister. In fact, I could scarcely believe that Angela was spanked at all – I'd never been spanked before, and as far as I knew, no one else I knew had been, either. Spankings were something that happened in films and comics, not in real life!

But no, apparently Angela was spanked both by her parents and by her sister. It seemed to be a sore subject for her, so she tried to change the subject. When I kept pestering her for details, she snapped at me, telling me that if I was so curious about spankings, I could go ask Lauren for a demonstration – she was certain she would be only too happy to oblige.

The thought hit me like a brick, and I shivered at the sudden image of my bare bottom over Lauren's lap. I would kick and squeal, just like Angela had done, but Lauren would be strong and authoritative and merciless, and would not stop until I was a sore, sorry, red-bottomed young lady. Then, she'd hold me close and tell me I was forgiven, just like she did with Angela. It was a very persistent thought, and as the day went on, I couldn't shake it out of my head.

I never seriously considered Angela's suggestion of asking Lauren for a spanking. I didn't know much about spankings, but I felt that they weren't something you just got – you had to EARN them. And I had a good idea about how I could do that.

Me and Angela had a lot of sleepovers, both at her house and mine. If Angela's parents were out, Lauren would be the one looking after us. I realized that if we misbehaved on a sleepover – made a lot of noise and refused to sleep – then she'd be the one to punish us. All I had to do was misbehave, and I would earn myself a spanking. Easy, right?

So one Friday, a week after I watched my best friend get her butt roasted by her older sister, I asked Angela if we could have a sleepover at her house. I knew her parents were away for the weekend, so she would have to ask Lauren, but as far as I could remember, Lauren had never said no to a request like that. She didn't this time, either.

That evening, we were watching TV in Angela's room, me on a mattress on the floor, her in her bed. At about half past nine, Lauren came in to let us know it was time to sleep. "Sleep well, girls. I'll see you in the morning."

Angela looked a bit sad as she turned off the TV, so I decided to enact my plan. "You know, we don't have to go to sleep just yet. We don't have school tomorrow, so it doesn't matter if we stay up late."

"But Angela said -" she began.

"I know, but if we turn the volume down, she'll never know, will she?" I said.

So we did. I turned the volume down a bit, but as we continued to watch, I gradually turned the volume back up. About fifteen minutes later, Lauren came back.

"I'm glad you're having fun, but it's time to go to sleep now," she said. She was giving us her friendliest smile, but looking closely at her, I thought I could see some seriousness in her eyes.

We told her we would go to sleep right away, but when she left, I managed to talk Angela into turning the TV back on. When Lauren came back ten minutes later, the smile was gone.

"Look, girls, it's getting late, and I don't want you to be sleepy all day tomorrow. I'm going to ask you one more time to go to sleep. If I have to come back in here one more time, I'm going to have to be strict, and you won't enjoy that."

This is it, I thought to myself. One more time, and I'll get the spanking I've been thinking about. But as Lauren left the room, I found it completely impossible to convince Angela to turn the TV back on. "I don't want to be in trouble," she told me. She put her head down to go to sleep. When I turned the TV back on, she pulled the remote from my hands and turned it off again.

"What's wrong with you today?" she whispered angrily. "You're going to get us both into trouble."

I realized that I'd been selfish. I really wanted to know what it was like to receive a real spanking from Lauren, and I hadn't thought about the fact that Angela already knew what it was like, and didn't want to repeat the experience. I hadn't thought about how my actions would affect her. I quickly apologized.

"That's OK. Let's just go to sleep now."

I put my head on the pillow, vowing to find another way to get what I wanted – one that wouldn't get Angela in trouble at the same time.

The next day, me and Angela got up late, and spent the watching TV in the living room in our pyjamas. It was hours before we got dressed. My parents were out and wouldn't be back for another hour, but Lauren offered to drive me home. I accepted.

She'd only been driving for a few minutes when she glanced at me. "So. Care to tell me what was wrong last night?"

"Huh?" I said, looking up at her.

"You're usually very well behaved – in fact, you both are. But last night, you weren't your usual angelic self. Something is bothering you, isn't it?"

"I don't want to talk about it," I told her.

"Well, tough." She stopped the car in a side street, far from home. She looked at me. "You're like a sister to me, and I care about you. I don't want you to suffer if there's something I can do to help. Therefore, we're going to stay right here until you tell me what's wrong."

Looking into her eyes, I quickly caved in. I told her how I'd felt when I watched Angela's spanking. I told her what Angela had told me afterwards, and how the image of ending up over her knee had stayed in my mind ever since. I told her how I'd tried to earn a spanking last night, but I'd finally realized that I shouldn't get Angela in trouble.

She smiled. "So that's it, then? You're curious about spankings, and didn't want to ask for one." She shrugged. "Well, I can certainly do something about that. Your parents aren't home, so your house is empty right now, right?"

I nodded.

She started the car. "So, when we get there, I'll take you over my knee and show you what it's all about."

I bit my lip. I had butterflies in my stomach, and I felt a bit light-headed. "I didn't want to come out and ASK FOR IT," I told her. "I wanted it to be a REAL spanking."

She chuckled. "Oh, don't you worry about that, missy. You're going to get a genuine bottom-blistering today."

Somehow, that wasn't terribly comforting.

When we arrived, Lauren helped carry my things into the house. We placed them in my room, and as I began to put them away, Lauren walked over to my bed and sat down. "Right young lady," she said, "I think it's time we had that little chat." She patted her lap.

I took a step back, both hands clutching my backside. "Lauren, I'm not so sure about this anymore. I think -"

"You've been curious about this for more than a week. You thought about it, even dreamed about it, from what you told me. Now, you're going to get it." She frowned. "Besides, you tried to get Angela into trouble last night. You certainly DESERVE a spanking today."

She beckoned me forward with a crooked finger. When I was close enough, she reached out and grabbed my shoulder, and gently pulled me forward and over her lap. I bit my lip as she raised my skirt, then lowered my panties. She started to rub my bare bottom, and I could feel goosebumps appearing on my skin. "Are you ready?" she said gently. I nodded.

When the first smacks landed on my bottom, bringing a sudden sting and a warm flush to my cold posterior, I gasped, unable to process the sensation. After a few seconds, as Lauren continued to spank my backside, the pain broke through my foggy mind. So this was a spanking. "Ouch!" I said. "It hurts!"

"That's the point, Kelly," Lauren said, her hand continuing its assault on my butt. "Real spankings cause real pain and real tears."

"I guess," I said. "Ow!"

Her hand moved from cheek to cheek. As the spanking continued, the pain began to build up. Soon, I was kicking my legs. "Ouch! OK, you can stop now!"

She chuckled. "Stop? We have barely begun, young lady. You asked for a real spanking, and that's exactly what you're going to get."

She delivered a quick, stinging volley to the lower parts of my bottom, and I howled. I pleaded with her to let me up, but she ignored me. Soon, tears were rolling down my cheeks. I tried to get up, but she placed her left hand on my back to hold me down as her right hand continued to spank me.

I was sobbing loudly, barely aware of the fact that I was kicking my legs. It felt like I had been over her lap for hours, and I wondered whether I would ever sit again. Who knew spankings could be this painful?

Finally, the spanking stopped. She helped me up, and I sat on her lap, bawling into her shirt as she rubbed my back soothingly and whispered something comforting into my ear. I don't know what she said, but I assume it had something to do with being punished and forgiven now.

When I had calmed down, she placed me face-down on the bed. My skirt was still raised and my panties were still around my knees, so the cool air caressed my burning butt.

After Lauren left, I got up and walked over to the mirror. Turning my back to it, I examined my bottom in the mirror. To my surprise, it wasn't red and swollen, which is what it felt like – in fact, the skin was pink.

I returned to my bed, trying to convince myself that my curiosity was completely sated now, and I would never ask for a spanking again.

A good day (M/F story)

Roger knew it was going to be a good day the moment he opened his eyes and saw his girlfriend standing next to the bed, hands behind her back, wearing a maid's uniform.

"Ah, master," she said, adopting the subservient tone that she often used in moments like these. "You're awake." She put on her best puppy-dog eyes as she sniffled at him. "I have some news, and I don't think you're going to be very happy when you hear them."

Roger put on his sternest face and glared at her. "What have you done now, Diane?" She looked at the floor, seemingly unable to meet his gaze, so he leaned forward, giving the seat of her skirt a quick smack. She whipped her head up to look at him, blushing furiously. "Answer me!" he demanded.

"Uh... Well, I was resting earlier, and all these naughty thoughts just... appeared in my head. And... I sort of.... touched myself."

Roger could feel his hard-on pressing against the soft fabric of his pyjamas, but he kept his face stern. "What did I say would happen if you did that one more time?"

"Oh, but sir, I've learned my lesson, honest! You don't have to -"

"Diane," he said, his voice barely a whisper. "What did I promise you?"

"You- you said you'd give me a spanking, sir." By now, her face was redder than the delicately applied nail polish she wore.

"Lift your skirt."

Hands trembling, she grabbed the hem of her skirt, lifting it above her waist. He reached forward, slipping his thumbs into the waistband of the white cotton panties she was wearing. Slowly, as if to savour the moment, he pulled them down to her knees. Gently, but firmly, he guided her over his lap.

As he adjusted her position, making sure she was comfortable while keeping her bottom up over his knee, he placed his hand on her now quivering bottom. "You know you deserve this, Diane," he said as he let his hand wander over the pale mounds of flesh before him. "I don't like to do this to you."

"I know, sir, I know," she said, as she felt his erection poking her in the stomach. She licked her lips. "I think I know how to make it up to you afterwards."

Roger took a deep breath; he suddenly found it difficult to focus on the task at hand, but the cute backside laid out before him soon found his attention again. Loud smacks rang out in the air as he started the spanking.

Diane moaned. It was way too long since she'd found herself in this position. She arched her back, lifting her butt towards his stinging hand. They both knew that she loved these spankings even more than he did.

He moved his hand from cheek to cheek, placing smacks upon her once-white cheeks with the eagerness and intensity of a painter, and with similar results. As her backside went pink, then red, Diane's moaning grew louder and louder, and as if it was planned, she reached her climax at the same time as the spanking did.

He helped her to her feet. Tears were rolling down her cheeks, but there was no disguising the huge grin on her face. He turned her towards the corner, placing her hands on her head as he made sure her well-spanked bottom was sticking out towards the empty room. "I'm going to get a shower," he told her as he placed one final smack on her appealing cheeks. "If you stay in that corner, and act like a good girl while I'm away, I'll let you show me just how much you appreciated that spanking."

He kissed her lips, which they knew would soon be wrapped around his shaft. Her favourite part of their games was the spankings. He preferred what came afterwards.

As he headed off for a cold shower, she felt the cool air on her hot bottom. She grinned to herself. This was going to be a VERY good day.

Strange and new (M/F story)

Julia wasn't sure why she'd never spoken to her next-door neighbour before. True, she knew he had a reputation for being odd, but she saw nothing wrong with that.

She was sitting in the living room of his spacious house, enjoying an interesting conversation. She'd learned he wasn't that much older than her own 40 years, a widower with no children, and a man of some charm. He was giving her a tour of the house when something caught her eye.

"What's this?" she said, pointing at a strange-looking object standing in a corner in the kitchen.

"Ah, you don't want to know about that," he told her.

There are few things more likely to cause curiosity than being told you can't know about something, so Julia studied it closely. It looked like a gym horse, but thinner and lower. A little shorter than waist height for her.

"It's just something I keep around in memory of my wife," he told her, his tone indicating that he didn't want to talk about it.

Julia asked him anyway. "What is it?"

He sighed. Well, if she really wanted to know... "It's a whipping horse."

You could have heard a pin drop in the silence that followed. "Pardon?" she said, convinced that she had misheard him.

"A whipping horse," he repeated. "You bend over it and grab the legs on the other side, and someone whips your bottom. Or canes, if you prefer."

After a few seconds of silence, Julia responded, "And you keep it around as a memory because…"

"Because my wife enjoyed being caned from time to time," he said calmly, as if they were discussing the weather.

They'd finished the tour rather quickly after that.

Hours later, Julia was turning in her bed, unable to sleep. She tried telling herself she just wasn't tired, but that wasn't it, and she knew it. She was thinking about the whipping horse.

Her neighbour seemed like a nice enough man. Why did he keep it around? Why did he own something like this? What about his wife? How could she live with a man that beat her? That kept a symbol of her punishment around as memorabilia? The next thing she knew, she had put on her jeans, reaching for a nearby top.

Most people around here kept their back doors unlocked, and her neighbour was one of them. There it was, leaning against the wall. The object that had rattled her so much, kept her up all night. Looking so peaceful and so intimidating at the same time.

It was heavier than it looked; she managed to lift it up on her own, but not without struggle. She placed it in the middle of the room. To get a better view, she told herself. Although, since it was already out...

She was going to lie down over it. She knew it, even if she didn't want to admit it. That was why she had come here. That was why she had been unable to sleep. With a slight trembling, she approached the horse, leaned forward, and grabbed the legs on the other side.

She could feel her posterior being lifted high in the air, ready for whatever awaited. She imagined an angry husband standing behind her, cane lifted to punish her, to thrash her bottom soundly. It was an intimidating thought. Wasn't it?

"Enjoying yourself?"

Julia's heart skipped a beat. She hadn't heard him enter the room. She tried getting up as quickly as possible, but ended up almost tipping the whole thing over. He had to rush forward to keep both the horse and her from falling to the floor.

So, she asked herself when she was finally back on her feet. What do you say to a guy when you're in his kitchen, in the middle of the night, bending over his dead wife's whipping horse? She didn't know the social protocol.

She realized that the first thing he had seen when he entered the room, was her own rear end, bending over, in a pair of the tightest jeans she owned. Oddly enough, her prayers for the earth to swallow her up went unanswered.

"You didn't answer my question," he told her as he examined the whipping horse.

"What question?" she said, her heart still pounding in her chest.

"Did you enjoy yourself?"

She didn't answer. Mainly because she didn't know.

"Well, I don't think it sustained any damage." He turned to look at her, a strict glare creeping into his eyes. "Which you should be very grateful of, young lady."

Young lady. The words had a strange effect on her, causing her heart to pound even faster.

"Couldn't get it out of your head, could you?" She shook her head. He smiled. "Katherine was the same way. She saw it in some antique shop one day, and couldn't stop thinking about it. In the end, I bought it just to get her to shut up. I don't know how many times she went over it, wriggling her rear, wanting me to whack it, but it was a lot."

"Wait a minute! She WANTED you to cane her?"

"Of course," he told her. "I wouldn't have done it otherwise."

So you could want canings. You could desire whippings. Suddenly, a lot of things made sense.

"Do you want one?"

"One what?"

"A caning."

She looked at him. There was no indication in his eyes that he was kidding. She stared at the floor, afraid to answer, and even more afraid of admitting to herself what the answer would inevitably be.

"Why would you come her otherwise?"

She bit her lip. "I don't know."

"I do." He opened a nearby drawer, pulling out a long, intimidating object that she recognized as a cane. She had seen one before, on the wall of her teacher's office when she was a little girl. That had been a relic, a silly memory of more barbaric times.

When it was being held by a handsome man intending to use it on her, it suddenly seemed a lot less silly.

"Will it hurt?"

"As much as you want it to. If you tell me to stop, I will."

That sounded reassuring. She bent over the horse again. He helped her forward, lifting her rear even higher. She felt vulnerable, exposed, visible. And excited.

He moved to her side. Partly to get a better swing, he explained, and partly because he needed to see her face. "Comfortable?" She nodded. "Prepare yourself, then." And he lifted the cane.

The first stroke was light, not much more than a tap. She realized that she was trying to ease her into it, and she was grateful. The next stroke was harder. A handful of light strokes followed.

He could tell that she found the cane much less intimidating now. Which meant he could increase the severity. The next one was hard, and Julia cried out. It was like a line of fire broke out on her bottom.

He looked at her. "Do you want me to stop?"

He cared about her reaction. She found that comforting. "No, go on."

He gave her a couple of hard strokes, and she could feel the cane biting into her bottom. Now that she was prepared for it, however, it wasn't so bad.

Five hard strokes landed on her bottom, and she hissed in pain. The parts were the strokes crossed each other were particularly painful.

"So, how does it feel?"

"Strange," she told him. "It hurts, but not in a bad way. Was this how you caned your wife?"

"With one or two minor differences, yes."

"Such as?"

He smiled. "I never caned her jeans."

"What was she wearing, then?" she said, smiling back.

"Nothing."

"Nothing?" she repeated, nervously.

"Nothing at all." He shrugged his shoulders. "She preferred it that way."

Again, Julia felt those butterflies in her stomach. She had wanted what Katherine had gotten, a true caning, and it felt like cheating over her jeans. But could she do it? Could she take off everything in front of this man? She could just lower her jeans, it would be just as painful. He would let her do that.

But she wouldn't.

She rose to her feet, starting to take off her top. He reached a hand forward, as if to stop her, until he realized that he was trying to interrupt an attractive woman taking her clothes of in front of him. He stepped back again.

As she undressed, she could feel his gaze on her body, hungry eyes drawing in every inch of flesh. She blushed. It was good to feel a man's eyes on her again.

At last, her panties joined the rest of the pile. The floor was a little cold, she noticed. With a confident smirk at him, she bent back over the horse. He stepped over to her, rubbing her sore cheeks a little. She sighed. His hand felt good.

"Your bottom is marking nicely. No bruises yet. How does it feel?"

"Sore," she told him. "A burning sting."

"And yet, you're enjoying yourself."

She didn't answer. She didn't have to.

He stepped back into position, sent her a reassuring smile, and lifted the cane again.

She cried out as the cane burned into her bottom. Without the protection of the jeans, it burned like fire. He sent her a quick glance to confirm that she was okay, and then continued.

He gave her another stroke, and even when she mentally adjusted for its new sting, it was painful. A few more strokes cut into her cheeks, and she could feel tears rolling down her face.

Again and again, the cane landed, and she started to cry out with every single one. The pain was starting to become unbearable. Then, when she was debating with herself whether to throw in the towel or not, she heard him place the cane on a shelf.

"I think we'll say that's enough," he told her.

She tried to stand up, but felt her knees grow weak. Suddenly, he'd picked her up and was carrying her away. "Where are we going?" she asked him.

"Upstairs. I've got a cream that'll do wonders for the sting in your bottom." That sounded wonderful.

"So how did I compare?"

"To what?" he asked her.

"To your wife. Can I carry a caning like she could?"

He furrowed his brows, staying silent for a few seconds. "You can't compare yourself to her. I caned her for years. This was your first. You'll be able to take a lot more strokes in future sessions."

"What makes you think I'll ever agree to such a barbaric treatment again?" she said, pouting.

He just smiled.

In the sun (F/M story)

Mike took another sip of beer, grinning to himself. It was one of the hottest days of the year, and he was sitting in the garden, enjoying the sun, drinking beer and listening to the radio. Life was good, he concluded. For the fifth time in as many minutes, he picked up the remote, turning the sound up. 70s rock blasted across the garden.

"Excuse me?" a voice said. He looked up, and saw Christie, the next-door neighbour, leaning over the fence. Christie was in her early twenties, making her almost a whole decade younger than Mike. She was short and cute, but he'd always found her a bit stuck up.

"What is it?" he asked, not trying especially hard to be friendly.

"Well, I was wondering if you could turn the music down. It's hard to relax when there's loud rock music everywhere."

Mike stared at her as if she'd politely asked him to cut his own testicles off. "It's AC/DC!" he replied.  "The best of the best!"

"Regardless, I'm sure you can turn it down. Other people are trying to relax. "

She left, and Mike sighed. What a bitch, trying to tell him what he could and couldn't do in his own garden.

A few minutes later, he heard her voice again. "Excuse me?"

"What?" he said.

"I thought you were going to turn that down," she said, getting a little annoyed.

"You thought wrong," he answered.

"Well, turn it down," she told him. "If I have to ask you again, you're going to regret it."

Bring it on, he thought to himself as he leaned back in his chair, putting on his sunglasses. No one was coming here and telling HIM what to do.

Suddenly, the garden turned silent. He looked over at the radio, and found Christie standing there, glaring at him with her arms folded in front of her.

"What did you do that for!?" he yelled. "I was listening to that!"

"I asked you nicely, but you didn't listen," she told him, ignoring his outburst. "Now, you'll see how I am when I'm NOT being nice."

She grabbed his hand, pulling him to his feet. Mike was surprised; she was a lot stronger than she looked. Before he could react, she sat down in his chair, pulling him over her knees.

"Hey!" he yelled. "What's going on!?"

"You're about to find out what happens to bratty boys around here, Mike." She raised her hand, placing a series of hard smacks on his rear end.

"Ow!" Mike kicked his legs, trying to stand up, but she was more than strong enough to hold him down.

"Oh no, you have a lot more coming to you, brat!"

"Hey, you can't do this. What if someone sees me?"

"Seeing a naughty young man getting his just deserts? I'm sure they'll find it an amusing sight, don't you?"

Young man? She was ten years younger than him! "Ok, ok," he said. "I'll turn the music down."

"See? Your attitude's improved already," she said while continuing to spank him. "This is really effective. Unfortunately for you, it's a little too late. If you'd just been this nice a few minutes ago, you'd be sitting comfortably on an un-spanked bottom right now." She grabbed his shorts, pulling them down to his knees, with his boxers following shortly afterwards. She placed a couple hard slaps on his bare bottom. "As things are now, there will be some time before you're sitting comfortably again."

As the spanking continued and Mike's buttocks grew redder, he discovered to his horror that tears were rolling down his cheeks. How could this little slip of a girl spank so hard?

By the time he was allowed to stand up, Mike was sobbing loudly, and he danced around on the lawn, rubbing his bottom furiously. Christie grinned; he looked so silly dancing like that.

"Are you going to keep your music down from now on, Mike?"

He nodded, too out of breath to speak.

"Good, 'cause the next time I have to come over here to remind you, I'm bringing my brush, and I don't think you want that."

She was right, he thought to himself, grimacing as he rubbed his stinging posterior, he didn't want that at ALL.

History (M/F story)

"I'm not so sure about this." Vanessa stared at the machine, humming quietly in the corner. A large contraption, with a chair placed between two large monolithic objects, and a computer screen connected to it all.

"Why are you so worried? I've tested it myself, more than once, and nothing has happened," Damon told her.

"So tell me again, what exactly happens?" she said, biting her fingernail.

"Well, the machine finds some ancestor of yours, anywhere up the line, and puts you in their body on a random day. You can hear what they heard, feel what they felt, and such. For historical research, it's invaluable."

"And if that person DIES while I'm in their body?" She said, glaring at him.

"Then you're transported back to your own body," he said calmly. "Basic fail-safe. How stupid do you think I am?"

"And if I step on a butterfly?"

"You're not controlling the girl, I've told you that. You see what she sees. If you step on a butterfly, then she did too, and nothing changes."

"So you've tested it yourself?" she asked him.

"Plenty of times."

"So why do I have to?"

"Well, first of all, you don't HAVE to. But it would be fun. Secondly, I know that it works FOR ME. I don't know if it works for anyone else. That's what I need to test."

"Can you control the time period?"

"Sure. Where do you want to go?"

She thought about it. "The eighteenth century." She sat down in the chair,

He smiled. "Good choice." He focused on the screen, pressing a few buttons. "Here's one. Amelia Rumford, 1753. So she would be... seventeen." He looked at his girlfriend. "There's no way of knowing more about her. It's limited that way. So do you want to be Amelia Rumford, seventeen, or should I find some other ancestor of yours?"

"Sure, why not. Go for it."

"Let's see if this works," he said, pressing the button.

The humming of the machine got louder and louder, and Vanessa closed her eyes. The noise was giving her a headache. Suddenly, the noise was gone. She opened her eyes.

She was in a bedroom, but not a bedroom she had seen before. A large bed, a washing basin, a couple of chairs and a giant mirror.

Success, she told herself.

But something made her nervous. Her skin was tingling in anticipation of something, and a pit in her stomach told her something bad was coming. She tried to look around to see if anything was wrong, but found she couldn't. She remembered what Damon had told her. 'She didn't look around her room, so neither will I'.

She suddenly realized that the tingling and anticipation she felt wasn't hers. A remnant, a ghost of the fear that a seventeen-year-old girl felt over two hundred years ago.

The door opened, and a large man with a scowl on his face stepped in.

"Have you thought about your actions, young lady?"

"Yes, daddy," Vanessa felt herself say. This was Amelia's father? He didn't look particularly happy.

"Are you ready for your punishment now?"

"Yes, daddy."

The word 'punishment', spoken by a large man with a scowl on his face, wasn't giving Vanessa any good connotations. She decided to leave, immediately, but found she couldn't. She had no idea how to get back to her own time.

Suddenly, she felt herself bending over the bed, sticking her bottom out. The man stepped forward, raising her dress and lowering her panties. She wanted to yell at him for this breach of her privacy, but of course, she couldn't. She could feel his eyes over the bare skin of her body, and she didn't like it one bit. The fact that it wasn't her body, didn't help matters much.

Suddenly, something whipped through the air and bit into her bottom. He was spanking her! She wanted to scream, to run away, but she couldn't. For the moment, she was trapped.

She and Damon were going to have words about that.

Again, the object whistled through the air, and again, it left a deep imprint on her bottom. A couple more strokes followed, and Amelia cried out, stomping her feet a little. Vanessa had no idea how she stayed so still. If it had been her in control, she'd be running around, rubbing her butt like crazy.

She had no idea how many strokes she received, but after what seemed like an eternity, the large man helped her to her feet, gave her a hug and told her she was forgiven. Vanessa didn't think SHE was the one in need of forgiveness, but she said nothing, mainly because she couldn't.

After the man left, Amelia stepped over to the mirror, taking a look at her bottom in the mirror. Vanessa wanted to gasp. It was crimson, and there were bruises all over.

But she received another of Amelia's feeling, and it wasn't shame, or shock, or pain, or anything else Vanessa had expected. It was a sort of joy, a feeling of contentment. Vanessa wanted to furrow her brows. Something strange was going on.

Suddenly, a deep noise appeared. She tried to start in fear, but suddenly recognized a familiar humming. She was back in the machine, and the stinging, burning pain in her rear end was gone. She jumped to her feet, raising her skirt and lowering her panties. Not a mark on her.

She turned to Damon, who was staring at her, more than a little surprised. "Uhm, why are you looking at your bottom?"

She glared at him. "Do you have any idea what happened to me there!?"

"No clue," he told her. "That's one of the problems with the machine."

"I was met by a very angry man with some sort of strap, and the intent of using it on my defenceless bottom! That's what happened!"

"Oh!" He raised an eyebrow. "Well, that's not good."

An hour later, Vanessa was sitting on the couch, a tub of ice cream in her hand. Damon was sitting next to her, still apologizing for the mistake. He'd promised to make it up to her, any way she wanted.

Vanessa smiled to herself. Now that the initial shock was over, the punishment wasn't as traumatizing as she'd expected. Gone and forgotten.

Although, that feeling that she received from Amelia, the contentment she had felt looking upon her red rear...

Maybe she'd ask Damon if he was interested in spanking her. Provided, of course, that he was a LOT gentler than Amelia's father had been.

At the bar (M/FF story)

It was late night, and I was at my favourite bar. Most of the time, there would be lots of people, good bartenders, and great beer. Unfortunately, none of those were here tonight.

Well, to be fair, the beer could be quite good, but since I had been unable to get my hands on any of it, it wasn't an easy judgement to make. The lone bartender was talking to a friend of hers. Two blond women in tight shirts and virtually non-existent shorts would usually fall into the "good things"-category. Nevertheless, anything that kept me from the glass of beer I had ordered ten minutes ago would sadly have to be classified as a bad thing.

I got to my feet and walked over, trying once again to get their attention. "Hey! Excuse me." The bartender turned to look at me, piercing blue eyes letting me know that I was in no way excused. "I believe I ordered a beer from you some time ago. I would like it now."

She picked up a glass and filled it, letting me know without words that my intrusion into their oh-so-precious conversation was not at all appreciated. Beer in hand, I walked back to the table I had occupied at the back of the bar. I sat down, leaned backward, and put the glass to my lips, eager to taste the golden brew.

Two seconds later, I was on my feet again. I managed to get the bartender's attention with a delicate combination of hand movements, coughing and yelling.

She rolled her eyes at me. "Yes? What is it now?"

"I distinctly remember ordering a BEER. Regular beer contains alcohol. This is, unfortunately, a NON-alcoholic beer." I pushed it over the counter towards her. Again, she rolled her eyes at me, removing the offending object and pouring me an actual beer. She glared at me as she handed it to me. "And I would like to make a formal complaint about the service at this bar. I have always believed in the principle of treating paying customers nicely. Included in that, one would ordinarily find 'listening when they're trying to get your attention'."

"I'm just talking to my friend here," she said, with another eye roll. She was getting rather good at those. "What's the problem? We're hard-working girls."

"You think that jabbing away for hours is working hard? You're brats, is what you are, and brats in need of a good paddling at that," I told her. I expected another eye roll, but was mistaken. They both gasped audibly, and turned towards me, impish smirks starting to appear on their faces.

"Oh? We are, are we?" said her friend, speaking to me for the first time.

"Yes, you are, and I wouldn't mind pulling you over my knee and teaching you that myself."

They giggled. The bartender whispered something in her friend's ear, and got a nod in return. The bartender turned towards me, and now, the tone of her voice was sweet as sugar. "Well, we'll be closing soon. Would you like to wait outside with Crystal?" She nodded towards her friend.

"Oh? Why?" The turn of the conversation had left me quite confused.

"Well, you've got to give us our paddling, right? I don't see any paddles around here."

"Me neither," Crystal added.

The confusion was over, and I found I quite liked this turn of events. I realized that I would have to leave my beer behind, and it does feel sad to abandon something you've fought so hard to gain. Still, it was important to prioritize.

Me and Crystal stood outside the building for about five minutes while the few remaining patrons left, and the bartender locked up. During that time, not much was said, but Crystal would occasionally glance over at me and blush furiously. When the bartender showed up, she led way to their apartment, located a few blocks away. On the way in, I saw a sign by the door. "Crystal and Heather." Good, I thought. I'm not as knowledgeable about etiquette as I perhaps should be, but I firmly believe that you should at least learn the name of the girl whose bottom you'll be paddling.

When we got in, Heather led me into the kitchen and asked me if I wanted a drink. I asked her if she had any beer. She giggled and leaned into the fridge, giving me a great look of the seat of her tight shorts as she bent over. She then handed be a bottle. For the second time that night, I leaned back to let the golden brew flow into my throat. For the second time that night, I was disappointed. I put the non-alcoholic beer down on the table.

"Right. I guess we found out who will be the first one over my lap."

She smiled, and handed me a real one. I drained half of it on the first sip. It is incredible how much a man can want something when it's repeatedly pulled out of his grasp. Just as I put the beer down on the table, Crystal appeared, holding a ping-pong paddle. Too flimsy an implement for my tastes, but used correctly, it could definitely bring tears to a brat's eyes. I told her to hold on to it for the time being.

The chairs in the kitchen were wooden, sturdy enough to carry the weight of both me and the girl over my lap, and without any handles to get in the way. I sat down on it and pulled Heather over my lap.

I don't know what it is about a woman's bottom that makes it that much cuter the instant it's turned over someone's lap. Through her shorts, I could make out one of the loveliest backsides I had ever seen. Spankable, I thought to myself. That is a very spankable bottom. Soon to be a very spanked bottom.

I decided to start with my hand over her shorts. What I really wanted was to immediately bare her bottom, pick up the paddle, and paddle her butt raw, but I realized that if I was too harsh, they might change their mind, and I would lose my chance to get my hands on Crystal's goods.

I gave her a few light spanks, starting off easy. Heather laughed and turned her head to look at me. "You said you'd spank me! If all you wanted to do was touch my backside, you should have said so."

I gave her a dozen of the hardest slaps I could muster. "Better?" I asked her. She looked at me, the annoying smirk gone, replaced with a grimace of pain.

"Not quite that hard, please."

"That's my decision, not yours."

I continued to spank her. Every slap on that tight bottom sounded like a gunshot, and I briefly wondered about what the neighbours might hear. But I realized that with these two as neighbours, worse sounds were probably quite common. In fact, if I had been their neighbour, hearing those brats getting their just deserts would have been a dream come true.

As I warmed Heather's seat, enjoying the sound of her yelping in pain as my hard hand landed, I glanced over at Crystal. She sat there wiggling back and forth, clearly impatient to take her friend's place. That pleased me.

When I felt that Heather had received enough of a warm-up, I told her to stand up. She did so, seeming disappointed that it was over so quickly. But her spirits rose again when I turned her to face me, unbuttoned her shorts, and pulled them right off her. Her panties soon followed. Then, I pulled the brat, now naked from the waist down, back over my lap.

By now, her bottom was darkly pink, and she wiggled around as she waited impatiently for what was ahead. I decided to give her a few dozen smacks with my hand, to see how sensitive she was without her clothes on. Her reaction surprised me. She started yelping in pain, reacting much more strongly than previously. Even though her shorts were so thin I was sure I could see through them if I held them in the air, they obviously provided some protection. I smiled. Seeing this arrogant brat in pain was very enjoyable.

But the warm-up was over. I asked Crystal to hand me the paddle, and she did so eagerly, clearly enjoying seeing her friend getting spanked. I rubbed around in circles, trying to make Heather relax. She did so, and I immediately gave her the hardest smack I could. She cried out in pain, but the dozen spanks following the first one took her breath away. I spanked hard and fast, really painting her bottom red.

When I felt that she sounded sorry enough, I told her to stand up. Slowly, she did so. When she tried to rub her bottom, I gave her thigh a smack with the paddle. "Go stand in the corner with your hands on your head."

When she obeyed, I then turned to Crystal and told her to come over. She did so, but slowly and nervously. She was clearly a little surprised by the tomato-red colour in her friend's bottom. But she still approached me. I smiled. These girls clearly appreciated a little handiwork.

I decided to waste no time with warm-ups and hand-spankings, and go to the main event straight away. She looked down at the floor as I started to undo the button of her shorts, lowering them half-way before letting them drop to the floor. I then did the same with her panties. With her shorts and panties on the floor, the blond brat looked even cuter than before. I patted my lap, and she placed herself over it. I picked up the paddle and started right away.

I don't know whether it was because she didn't have a warm-up, or Crystal just didn't handle pain as well as her friend, but the reaction was much more powerful. She kicked her legs and squealed as the paddle painted her rear end pink. I realized her movements could impair my aim, and decided to do something about it. With my leg wrapped around both of hers and a hand wrapped around her waist, there was very little Crystal could do, so I concentrated on her most important feature.

With her bottom already pink and turning red, Crystal started yelping. The two of them sounded like small, yapping dogs, and it was adorable.

I glanced over at Heather, and found her peeking over her shoulder at her friend's spanking. I pointed at her with the paddle. "Young lady, turn around this instance, or you're going back over my knee after I'm finished with her." She whipped around, whimpering. She was clearly done antagonizing me.

When I was satisfied that Crystal's rear end was as red as Heather's, I told her to join her in the corner. With my opened beer already starting to get warm, I got up and fetched another one, and sat down to enjoy the sight of the two red bottoms in the corner. There was no denying that those were two well-spanked brats.

After about thirty minutes I got up and walked over to them, placing one hand on each bottom. "Ok, girls, you're forgiven. I think we should move this to the bedroom."

Heather turned around with a wicked grin, "Now we see if you're as good in bed as you are with a paddle."
 
That evening marked two important events in my life. It was the first time I ever spanked Heather and Crystal, and the last time I was given rude treatment at my favourite pub.

Paladin's Duty (F/F story)

Katherine lifted her head and glanced at the campfire. As far as she could tell, Azaria hadn't come back yet. Katherine smiled. That meant she had time to finish the ring of flowers she was making.

Azaria was a paladin, and one of the strongest swordswomen working for Duke Thorn, Katherine's father. Katherine had decided to visit one of the neighbouring Dukedoms, and her father had decided that Azaria would come along and protect her, should the need arise. Katherine had no problem with that; she liked Azaria.

When they made camp, Azaria had given her strict instructions to stay near the campfire while she scouted around a bit. Katherine had nodded, promising to heed her. She had travelled with Azaria before, and knew exactly what kind of consequences she could expect if she didn't listen.

And as soon as Azaria was out of sight, Katherine slipped into the nearby woods, to a flower patch she had spotted previously. When she came back, Azaria would probably believe that Katherine had forgotten about the consequences – forgotten that she was very likely to have her dress raised and her bare bottom smacked for her disobedience. Nothing could be further from the truth. Katherine was VERY aware of what awaited her. She was looking forward to it.

She thought about her petite form pulled across Azaria's thighs, her bottom raised toward her guardian's punishing hand, tears rolling down her cheeks, into the grass below, and she smiled, a blush appearing on her cheeks. She looked up again, and saw Azaria heading towards the camp. When the paladin realized that her charge had wandered off again, her eyes widened in fear. She ran towards the camp, raising her hands to call out: "Katherine! Lady Katherine, where are you?"

"I'm here," Katherine replied, feeling a sting of guilt; she hadn't meant to make her friend worry quite that much.

The paladin ran up to her, giving her a quick hug before glaring angrily at her. "I told you to stay at the camp until I got back. Why did you wander off?"

Katherine held up the ring of flowers she had finished. "I made it for you."

As soon as the words left her mouth, she realized she'd gone too far. A touched look appeared on Azaria's face before she got it under control, and Katherine wondered if Azaria might let her off without punishment. Which was the LAST thing Katherine wanted.

Azaria shook her head. "Flowers or not, I can't have you ignoring my orders, Lady Katherine. Your father asked me to protect you, and that's not possible if you don't LISTEN to me."

"I'm sorry," Katherine said, bowing her head. Not out of shame; she just didn't want Azaria to see the smile on her face.

"Well, you're about to be a great deal sorrier." The paladin sat down on a nearby tree stump and patted her lap. "Come here."

Katherine inched forward, as if she was reluctant to get too close to the waiting paladin, but too scared to resist her. Slowly, she lowered herself over Azaria's knees. The paladin raised her dress, lowering her panties to display a white, quivering bottom. "I hope you're ready for this," she said and started smacking.

Katherine cried out; the initial sting of the spanks always took her by surprise, no matter how many times she went over her lap. A life of combat had given Azaria great strength, and all of that strength was now focused on Katherine's unprotected bottom.

Azaria spanked hard and fast, with no warm-up or pauses. Partly because she wanted the girl to know how disappointed she was, and partly because she knew every second spent spanking was a second she WASN'T looking out for enemies.

Katherine could feel tears running down her cheeks, and her bottom felt like it was on fire, but despite that, she was happier than she could remember being in a long time.

When Azaria was satisfied that her charge had learned her lesson, she helped the red-bottomed girl to her feet.

"Now, go to the campfire, or I'll pick a few switches and really teach you a lesson," she said, sending the girl off with a smack.

Katherine pulled up her panties and lowered her dress, rubbing her stinging seat. Azaria clearly hadn't lost her touch!

Some time later, Katherine was lying next to the fire (since sitting was out of the question), and glanced over at Azaria. The paladin was sitting there, ring of flowers around her head, with a smile on her lips. The gift had really pleased her.

Azaria noticed that Katherine was looking at her, and sent her a sad glance. It was clear that Azaria was sorry that she had to punish the girl.

'I'll find some way to make it up to her tomorrow,' Katherine told herself.

Short skirt (M/F story)

Robert heard the usual noise of his girlfriend returning from the town. Melissa had great trouble entering ANY building silently. He watched her peek into the room, and from the naughty look on her face, he knew she'd done something he wouldn't approve of. She'd spent years perfecting her 'Yeah, I'm a big brat, what are you going to do about it' look, and it was usually followed by his 'This is what I'm going to do about it' spankings.

As she entered the room, he looked up from his computer, and he realized immediately what she had done to annoy him. She was wearing her shortest skirt; a tartan one she'd bought a couple months back. It barely covered her backside when she was standing, and if she bent over, she'd flash the world her panties. A skirt perfect to wear around the house, but around town? Not if he had anything to say about it. "Melissa, I want to talk to you," he said sternly.

"What about?" she grinned evilly, clearly looking forward to what they both knew would happen.

"That skirt. What did I tell you about that skirt last month?"

"That I shouldn't wear it outside the house, because people will be able to see my panties," she answered.

"And yet you wore it today, despite me ordering you not to."

"Don't worry, it's okay," she said, trying to sound innocent as she turned her back to him. She started to raise her skirt and added: "Look! I'm not WEARING panties!"

He looked at the pale backside that they both knew would soon find itself over his lap. "So not only did you disobey me about the skirt, but you also disobeyed me when I told you that you should always wear panties as well," he said. "That's two violations I'm going to take out on your backside, little missy."

"I don't get that 'panties' rule," she said as if she hadn't heard his last sentence. "You've asked me several times to go without panties when I'm out with you."

"I've ORDERED you to go without panties," he corrected her. "And that's different."

"So when YOU want to show off my arse, it's okay, but when I want to do it, it's wrong and I should be punished?" she summed up.

"Yes, that's right. Now, I want you to take of the skirt and hand it to me." She did as instructed, leaving her naked below the waist, apart from a pair of long socks. He pointed at the stairs. "Go to the bedroom and wait for me. I will be up shortly to deliver the spanking you so richly deserve."

He watched her beautiful backside sway from side to side as she walked away. He returned to his computer, wanting to leave her waiting for a while. Perhaps a bit of anticipation would do wonders for her attitude.

About fifteen minutes later, he decided it was enough. He wondered what he'd find when he entered the room. Would she be nervous, biting her lip and promising to be good – or at least pretend to be nervous? Would she be horny, licking her lips as she looked at him? He didn't know.

He opened the door. She was lying on the bed on her stomach, still basically bare from the waist down, playing PlayStation. Not what he'd expected.

She grinned as she saw him. "I grew bored while waiting for you," she explained.

"Well, I'm here, so turn that off," he said strictly.

She pouted. "Can't I find a saving point?"

He looked at the screen. "You're playing Tetris," he pointed out. "Now, turn that thing off. It's time I put you over my knee."

"Finally," she said impatiently as she turned off the machine. He sat down on the bed, patting his lap. "Get that little butt of yours over my lap for the spanking you have coming," he said strictly. She giggled as she leaned over his lap. He pulled her forward, making sure her bottom was sticking up above his knee. "Are you ready for your spanking, young lady?"

"I was ready fifteen minutes ago," she complained. "Get going!"

He raised his hand, planting a series of hard smacks on her bottom that rang out in the room. He moved from cheek to cheek, watching as the pale flesh turned pink under his firm palm. "Are you learning your lesson, young lady?"

"Oh, you've started?" she said. "I hadn't realized."

He had to smile as he continued the spanking. Eventually, she was giving off little 'Ow!'s of pain as the sting started to get to her.

"Are you going to be a good girl, Melissa?"

"Nope!" she said happily. "And that's how you like it."

He had to admit, it was. He just wished she wasn't so lippy.

Her bottom was a dark pink, and turning red, before he let her off his lap. "Tired already, old man?" she shook her head. "It's awful what age does to you."

"I'm only a year older than you," he said. "And no, it's not over. Now it's time for your corner time."

"But I don't LIKE corner time," she whined. "I like spankings. Spank me."

"I know you don't," he answered. "That's why I use them." He guided her into the corner, giving her bottom one last slap.

After a few minutes, she turned around. "Can't we just skip this bit and go to the part where you spank my bottom? I miss that bit."

"No," he answered. "And face the corner. If you turn around or talk in the corner again, I'll use the cane. Do you want that?"

She gasped, pressing her nose into the corner as quickly as she could. She'd felt the cane once before, and was in no hurry to repeat the experience. He smiled to himself; there was at least ONE thing that could still have an effect on her.

Fifteen minutes later, he decided she'd had enough. He knew Melissa hated corner time; she felt it was boring, and there was nothing to do but think. That's why he used it.

"Ready for more?" he said, holding up the old wooden hairbrush they kept by the bed.

"Like you wouldn't believe," she said, eagerly leaning over his lap, crying out as the hard wood crashed into her already-spanked rear.

He grinned as he watched her trash around over her lap, moaning in a mixture of pain and pleasure.