Sheriff (MF/F story)

Sheriff Graham sat at his desk, looking over the paperwork. He was currently the only representative of the law in the small town since Stephen had to quit, but that didn't bother him much.

Their secretary – his secretary, it was now – entered the room. Claire was a short, but very curvy brunette who liked tight jeans and smiling a lot. "Lily Barber is here to see you, Ben. Says she's here to complain about a speeding ticket you gave her."

"But?" he asked. Claire was quite good at leaving things unsaid, while making absolutely sure he knew something was unsaid.

"Short dress, lots of make-up? She's here to make a deal, and I think I know what it entails."

"No surprises there." Lily Barber was young, pretty and single, and well aware of all those things. She was also very good at making other people aware of them. "Send her in."

Lily Barber was tall, blonde, with blue eyes and a striking figure. She was dressed in a short red dress, and smiled in a way that was a bit too friendly. "Hello, Ben. It's great to see you again."

"So, you are here to complain about the speeding ticket I gave you?" Graham said, looking at the papers on his desk. He was a lot harder to manipulate than most people suspected.

"Come now, Ben. We're friends, aren't we?"

"The other night, when I stopped you for speeding and found out you had been drinking, you called me something quite different."

She was still smiling, but there was something quite desperate about her now. "Please, Ben, you know I can't afford a speeding ticket now. Pay is lousy, and expenses are high."

He glanced over at the dress she was wearing. "I can imagine. But you should have thought of that before you tried to break the sound barrier. We have laws for a reason, and I'm here to ensure they are kept." He was wondering to himself is she was desperate enough to agree to his 'special treatment', available to certain customers only. He had a feeling she might.

"Please, Ben." She leaned forward on his desk, batting her eyelids and exposing quite a bit of cleavage in the process. "Can't we work something out? I'm really sorry about what happened."

"What about calling me a 'dirty, good-for-nothing pig'? Are you sorry for that? And that wasn't the worst thing you called me."

She winced. "I'm really sorry. I can make it up to you."

"I don't think you can, no. But you can do something to convince me you're truly sorry for your crimes."

She smiled, confident of her victory. "Anything."

He didn't say a word, just opened the closest drawer, picked up the small paddle and dropped it on the desk. You could have heard a pin drop in the silence that followed.

"Out of the question," she said indignantly.

"Fine by me," Graham said, returning to his paperwork. "The door's behind you."

"Wait!" The situation was out of her control, and she didn't like it. "Can't we work something out?"

"You have two options, and only two. One: pay the ticket. Two: bend over the desk and take a paddling. Your choice."

She stood there for some time, biting her lip and pondering what to do. After a while, she looked at him. "This... paddling... how will it be done?"

"I raise your dress and pull down your panties, give you a set of hard strokes, and when I think you've had enough, you're free to go. I'll tear up your ticket, and you drive carefully from now on." He tapped his pencil against the desk. "One more thing. There will be a witness, to ensure nothing happens that wasn't part of the deal. Claire."

"That moronic secretary of yours gets to watch me get paddled? No way!"

"First of all, insult her again and you WILL regret it. Second, that's the deal. You bend over the desk, I paddle you. She watches everything. It's this, or the ticket. Choose."

She bit her lip, staring off into space as she contemplated his offer. Finally, she nodded. "OK."

"What's that?"

"OK. I'll take the paddling."

"Good choice," he told her. "Claire! Come in here."

The secretary entered, a smile on her face. She had already guessed what agreement had been reached, and it was clear that it pleased her.

"Lily here has accepted an alternative payment for her sins. She'll be getting a paddling, and I need you here to witness it. Is that okay with you?"

"It is," she told him.

"Now, Lily, I want you to tell her our agreement, so that there is no misunderstanding."

Lily blushed. It was cruel to make her do this, make her say it to HER. "I bend over and take a paddling, and he's promised to tear up my ticket."

"All clear?" Graham said. Claire nodded. This wasn't the first time they had used this arrangement, but she wasn't about to tell Lily that.

"Now, Lily, I want you to raise your dress and bend over the desk. Grip the other side FIRMLY, so you aren't tempted to reach back or stand up. That will earn you extras." She did as instructed, glaring at Claire. She did not like the woman at all. When she was in position, Graham stepped forward and lowered her pink panties to her knees. Lily lowered her head, unable to meet their gaze.

He picked up the paddle and rubbed it against her bottom, seeing the goosebumps forming in anticipation. Then, suddenly and without warning, he drew it back and delivered a loud SMACK! Lily cried out and jumped to her feet, both hands grasping her bottom protectively.

"Get back into position," he told her.

"But it hurts!" she whined.

"That would be the point." He pointed at the desk. "Now bend over." Reluctantly, she did so.

Another SMACK broke the silence. Lily hissed in pain, but stayed in position. He delivered a few more, making sure he covered her entire bottom. And for a while, she stayed down. It can't last, he told himself.

And sure enough, a few strokes later, Lily jumped to her feet and clutched her bottom again. Claire stepped forward, with a concerned look on her face. "Are you OK?" she asked.

"Go away, you bitch!" Lily screamed, tears rolling down her eyes. She was clearly not in the mood to talk.

There was a scowl on Graham's face that frightened Lily. "That outburst just earned you a whole lot of extra strokes, Lily. Now, bend over and take the rest of your licking, or I'll make you cut a few switches too."

Lily bent over, her eyes begging Graham for mercy.

About a dozen strokes later, her original punishment was over. Of course, then came the extras. Two strokes for each time she jumped to her feet meant four extra strokes. Those came quickly.

"Now, on to the matter of that potty mouth of yours, and how you insulted my kind and caring secretary. Now, since she's the offended party, perhaps I'll let her teach you a lesson."

Lily sent him a tearful, pleading look, but he ignored her. Claire looked like Christmas had come early, and she eagerly gripped the paddle he handed her.

"Give her five good, hard strokes."

"Just five?" Claire said in a disappointed voice, making use of her puppy-dog eyes.

"Just five. Unless she earns herself extras."

The strokes were hard, and slow, as Claire made the most of what she had been granted.

Then, it was over, and a tearful, contrite woman left the office.

"Best...day...ever!" Claire exclaimed.

"You like the paddle, then?" Graham said, grinning as he watched his secretary's enthusiasm.

"Like it? I LOVE it."

"Glad to hear that. Now, you were late again this morning, weren't you?"

She grimaced and nodded her head. She did not like the way this conversation was going.

"Third time this month. You know what that means."

She did. And as she bent over the desk, gripping the far side, she heard her boss pick up the paddle.

Rude awakening (F/M story)

As Becky entered the room and flicked on the light, she had to shake her head as she watched her brother put his arm over his face to continue sleeping. "Get up, sleepyhead," she said, not remotely as nicely as she had been almost an hour ago, when she had first tried to wake him. "It's almost ten, and it's a beautiful day today." She loved it when Andrew visited her, and she knew that he liked to get out of their parents' house and spend a week or two with her, but she hated that he spent most of the day sleeping.

He rolled over on his stomach, not even bothering to answer her. His duvet was in a pile on the floor, so the only thing keeping him warm was a pair of old, grey boxers. She planted a quick smack on the seat of his underwear, causing him to jerk his head up. When she was sure she had his attention, she continued. "Why don't you hop into the shower, and I'll see if I can have breakfast ready when you're done."

"Fine, I'll get up," he said, not sounding very pleased. Just before he headed into the bathroom, he looked at her. "You don't have to be a bitch about it, though." And then, with a final slam of the door, he headed off into the shower.

Becky glared at the door, as if she hoped her gaze would go through the door and make the brat on the other side feel really bad about himself. That was the final straw. She hadn't wanted to spank Andrew – he didn't visit all that often, and she didn't want to spend that time punishing him – but there was a line she wouldn't let him cross, and he crossed it as if he wanted a golden medal for the effort. She couldn't let him get away with it.

She opened a drawer, pulling out an old bath-brush that she'd painted the words "Attitude Adjuster" on. The letters were almost worn off, and she'd soon wear them away even more. She patted the brush against her palm. It was solid wood, and probably stung quite a bit when applied to the right place.

She considered marching into the bathroom straight away to deal with him – he never locked the door when he showered – but two things told her to wait. First of all, she was still too upset with his behaviour, and she never spanked in anger. That would be unsafe. Second, she wasn't about to pull him out of the shower once she'd finally gotten him in.

No matter. He would be finished soon. And she would be waiting.

He'd turned off the water, and had just started drying himself off when she entered. He glared at her, about to tell her to get out, but the words caught in his throat at the look on her face. The brush she held in her hand told the rest of the story.

"I'm sorry," he said immediately, recognizing that he was in a very bad situation. "I'm really sorry for..." And he stopped, trying to figure out what he was about to be punished for. She wasn't too surprised.

She grabbed him by the ear, picking up a towel before dragging him into her bedroom. Throwing the towel over her legs to keep the freshly-showered boy from getting water all over her skirt, she patted her lap. "Over my knee," she told him. He obeyed immediately – he knew better than to argue with her when she was in this mood.

She picked up the brush, patting it against his quivering cheeks. As she now had his complete attention, she decided to tell him where he'd gone wrong. "You stayed up far too late last night, and slept all morning," she lectured. "When I came to wake you, you were rude and refused to answer me, and you even called me a dirty word." She patted his bottom again, almost giggling as she watched his cheeks clench. "Let's see if we can remove that word from your vocabulary."

She brought the brush down hard, raining spanks down on his unprotected backside. He was soon kicking his legs, protesting loudly at every solid smack. In a few minutes, his pale skin had turned pink.

"I don't want to do this," she told him sternly. "And I don't think you want me to do this either." He was struggling to hold back tears, arching his back to escape the pain. "But until you learn to behave yourself, I will keep this brush nearby to remind you."

Andrew was sobbing, pleading with her that he'd learned his lesson and would behave from now on. He always did. But she kept spanking, making sure she covered every inch from the top of his thighs to his upper cheeks – paying particular attention to his sit spots: she wanted him to remember this spanking.

Finally, once he'd been reduced to a tear-faced, red-bottomed wreck, she put the brush down, picking him up for a hug as he cried into her shoulder. Once he'd calmed down a bit, she helped him to his feet.

"I'm fixing breakfast," she told him. "You go get dressed."

She considered whether she'd let him have a pillow during breakfast. Those wooden chairs could be awfully hard, but he hadn't done much to earn it.

Showing the boys (F/f story)

"So we'll see it? We'll see it all?"  Roger said, still not entirely sure she could be trusted. Steve didn't say anything. He rarely did.

"Every second of it, from beginning to end." Cheryl smiled. The three of them were outside Cheryl's house, standing under one of the oldest trees in the garden. A tree Cheryl knew held a remarkable view. Because if you were sitting there, hidden completely by the branches, you could look into all the windows on the west side of the house. One of the rooms was Cheryl's own. Another belonged to her sister Jennifer.

"So, let's recap. In half an hour, my mother will be home. She'll take one look at my big sister's report card and decide that it warrants a spanking. So she'll sit down on her bed, take her over her knee and bare her bottom. She'll use that wicked hairbrush on her bottom until it's bright red. And about fifteen minutes later, the show will be over. All clear?"

"All clear," Roger told her. He was grinning.

"Why are you telling us this? What's in it for you?" Steve said. Short and to the point.

"That's my business." Cheryl didn't feel like explaining. "I'm offering a great view to a great show. Take it or leave it."

So what was in it for her? Cheryl thought about this as she shifted her weight on the branch. She concluded that there were two reasons. One, this would earn Steve's and Rogers' favour, and since they were two of the most popular kids in school, this could make her more popular. Second, Cheryl REALLY didn't like her sister.

As they sat there waiting, Cheryl chewed her lip. She had a nagging feeling there was something she had forgotten. "Now quiet down, boys. The show is about to begin."

Below them, Mrs Brenheart entered the room, dragging a tall blonde girl behind her. She sat down on the bed and started lecturing, holding a small piece of paper under her daughter's nose. They couldn't hear much, as the window was closed, but they got the gist of it.

After a few minutes, she decided the lecturing was over. Trained hands pulled the tight jeans down to her ankles, followed by the panties. She guided the tall girl over her lap and picked up the small brush she had brought with her.

As the first few smacks landed, the strength of them took the two boys with surprise. They'd been the sorry owners of a stinging behind more than once, and it had been no picnic, but they had always assumed that girls got off more lightly. One thing was for sure, Jennifer wasn't getting off easy!

For the first minute or so, Jennifer suffered in silence. But slowly, as the spanking continued and the sting grew, she started to express her distress. She started crying, softly at first, and then more loudly.

Long before her fifteen minutes was up, Jennifer had been reduced to a sobbing, kicking, very sorry child.

"So what did you think?" Cheryl looked at the boys next to her. Roger was sitting there, mouth wide open. Steve was leaning back on the branch, resting his back against the tree.

"I liked it," he said. She knew that was all she'd get out of him. She turned to Roger.

"That was brilliant!" He sat there, opening and closing his mouth as he tried to think of something to say.

She sighed. Quite the conversational experts, these two.

The nagging feeling that she had forgotten something important had returned, and she couldn't push it out of her mind. She tried to think of what it was, but came up short.

"Does she always get it that bad?" Roger looked into the window, where Jennifer was laying across the bed, crying into the pillow.

"That was nothing! A small report card spanking. You should see what she gets when she REALLY misbehaves." She was lying, of course; there were few things Mrs Brenheart hated more than a bad report card, and her daughters knew it. But the boys looked impressed. "So, you guys want to hang out tomorrow?"

Suddenly, Cheryl heard her mother calling for her. "Be right back, guys. I have to find out what my mother wants."

As she climbed down the tree and walked over to the house, that nagging feeling was back, and Cheryl thought about what it was she had forgotten.

She found out when she entered the kitchen, and found her mother sitting there, holding a report card. Cheryl's report card.

As she was dragged into the room by her mother, she thought about her options. One, she could tell her mother that the boys were in the tree, which would mean they wouldn't see her spanking, but would lead to a few tough questions she didn't have a good answer to. Like, why were the boys there, and how did she know they were there, in a tree looking into their bedrooms. In addition, her mother would probably call the boys' parents, and they would get punished, killing any hope Cheryl had of getting on their good side.

Option two, she could keep her mouth shut, give the boys a good show, and fifteen minutes later, it would all be over. She thought about it. There was really only one thing to do.

Fifteen minutes later, as she lay across the bed, crying into her pillow, Cheryl had completely forgotten about the two boys giggling of joy in in the tree outside. Which was a shame, as she hadn't pulled up her jeans.

Grafitti (M/F story)

"So can you get it for me?" Jackie said, looking eagerly at her friend.

Lucy shrugged her shoulders, confusion apparent in her face. "Sure I can. I can get anything if the price is right. But... why would you want a fake ID?" She shook her head. "I mean, you're old enough to drink. There's no NEED for you to own one." She looked once again at the note Jackie had brought her, the details she had wanted for her new identification. "Not to mention that your new persona ISN'T old enough, I might add." She glanced at her friend again. "Why do you want the ID of a 16-year-old girl?"

"I have my reasons," Jackie said, the tone of her voice revealing that she had no desire to expand upon those reasons. "Are you going to help me or not?"

Lucy shrugged. "As long as you pay me, and as long as you're willing to swear you DIDN'T get it here..."

Some time later, Jackie stared at the card of Diane, her new 16-year-old imaginary friend that happened to look just like herself. She had no idea where Lucy got these, but they looked frighteningly real. She put the ID in her pocket as she glanced at herself in the mirror.

She was wearing a pair of cut-off jeans that showed off her legs, and a green shirt that failed spectacularly at covering her stomach. With her make-up, that for the occasion had been deliberately applied in an amateurish style, with a matching hairstyle, few people would guess that she wasn't in the middle of her teens. She grinned, thankful that her petite form would strengthen the illusion. She looked much more like Diane, the lazy teenager, than Jackie, the 22-year-old hard-working student.

Not for the first time, she thought back to the night that had changed her – the cause for her little charade. In her teens, she'd gotten some new friends of the misbehaving sort, a group of vandals that spent every night out in the streets. One evening, they'd decided to paint some graffiti on the high school they were supposed to go to, a pretty decoration on the institution that had brought them so much boredom.

They'd just started painting when they heard an angry shout, and saw the school's janitor come running towards them. The rest had taken off, but Jackie, unfortunately, wasn't as quick; rough hands closed around her wrist, and she was dragged into the school, into the rooms he used as an office.

She tried to get free, she tried to promise him she'd never do it again, and she even tried threatening him, but no matter what she did, he ignored her. She bit her lip; she knew standard procedure was to call the cops, and she really didn't want that to happen.

She was told to sit, but as he picked up the phone, she started to plead with him again. She'd never do it again, and she'd do anything, just don't call the police. He'd glared strictly at her, clearly quite angry with her, but there was an element of compassion that she hoped her tear-filled eyes could stir.

For a while, he was just standing there, phone in his hand. Finally, he'd given her a choice. He could call the cops, and they'd take her to the station... or, if she wanted, he could take her over his knee and give her a spanking. He'd teach her a lesson, but no one needed to know – not the cops, not her parents, no one. She looked at him, the tall man who looked quite rough despite his young age – he was in his mid-twenties, but looked like he could stare down a bear. She thought about those rough hands of his striking her poor defenceless bottom, and made a decision she still regretted to this day.

She chose the police.

But as she stood there, years later, dressed in her little costume, she imagined she had chosen differently, that she had taken the spanking. In her mind, he'd sat down as he pulled her over his knee. She'd blushed as he pulled her shorts down, his rough hands squeezing the soft flesh that quivered at his touch. He'd lifted his hand, bringing it down hard, and she'd cried out, begging for mercy as he took his anger out on her backside, rough hands covering her delicate posterior. It was a powerful image.

She took her cut-offs down, and soon, she was on the floor, her experienced fingers bringing herself to an orgasm.


As she shook the can of paint, ready to decorate the wall at her former high school, she realized how silly she was acting. Her whole plan was to recreate the scenario, trying to make all the variables the same, and hoping everything would play out the same as it did back then – apart from her own poor choice, of course. But she hadn't thought to check whether he still worked there, for one. In addition, she had no way of knowing whether he'd offer her the same choice – she could find herself back at the police station, trying to explain to the officers why a woman in her twenties was carrying the ID of a teenager that didn't make her sound like the pervert she actually was.

She was about to place the can of paint back in her backpack, when she heard an angry shout that brought those memories flushing back again.

Later on, it had seemed like a miracle, how he'd acted exactly as he had all those years ago, but at the time, Jackie's mind had been filled with fear – sure, this was what she'd wanted, but the tall janitor scowling at her was still an incredibly scary man. She could feel tears at the edges of her eyes and instinctively pushed them back, before realizing that letting them flow would be more to her advantage.

Just like last time, she was pushed into the office and told to sit. Just like then, she started to plead with him the second he picked up the phone. Just like then, he had a thoughtful expression on his face as he considered her pleas, but this time, there was something else – like a memory was trying to find its way to the surface of her mind. She turned pale, hoping it would stay buried. If he remembered her, it could bring some awkward questions she didn't want to answer.

He looked at the ID he'd forced her to give her, and the steel in his eyes caused her to shrink in her chair. "I'm going to give you a choice here, Diane. Either I call the cops, and they'll give you a ride downtown. Or option number two: I take those shorts of yours down and give your bratty little behind a good spanking."

Looking shocked was easy enough, but it took a bit more effort to appear unhappy at the choice she was presented with. For a few seconds, she glanced around as if she was trying to decide. "I'll take the spanking," she said at last.

"Let me warn you," he said in that deep voice that made her stomach feel funny. "If you take the spanking, I'm going to give you a long, hard trip over my knee – on your BARE bottom." He glared at her. "Don't think it's going to be easy, because it won't, and don't think you won't cry, because you will. You'll sob your eyes out long before I let you off my lap. Are you still sure you want the spanking?"

Right now, there was nothing she wanted more in the world. "Y-yes," she whispered. "I don't want the police involved."

"Okay then. Stand up and lower your shorts."

She rose to her feet, her hands shaking as they started to undo the button. Slowly, she pulled her shorts down to her knees, glancing up at the janitor, as he sat at his desk. He gave her a strict look that made her knees weak, before patting his lap. She stepped towards him, and he grabbed her arm, pulling her over his lap. She squealed as his thumbs found the waistband of her thong, pulling it – along with her shorts – completely off her.

She was nude from the waist down, over the lap of a rough-looking man who was about to begin his assault on her bottom. She was more scared than she'd ever been in her life, and yet it was the fulfilment of her fondest desire. She could feel herself growing wetter, and she wished he'd just start the spanking already.

As he brought his palm down on her unprotected cheek, a sting she never could have imagined spread, followed by a similar sting to her other cheek. She cried out in pain as he brought his hard hand down, the sound ringing out in the air as he smacked her. She kicked her legs, shocked at the pain she was feeling, and a cold shiver ran down her back as she began to realize what she was in for.

The spanks rained down on her bottom, and it was having quite an effect on her; she kicked, she squirmed, she pleaded with him to let her go, and she pounded her fists into his leg to make him stop. Nothing had any effect whatsoever, except the fists, but since those only made him spank harder, she quickly stopped.

She was sobbing loudly, the sting in her bottom growing to unbearable levels with every fresh smack. But no matter how much it hurt, she still found herself enjoying it.

When he was satisfied that he'd made an impression on her, he helped her up. She sat on his lap, crying into his shirt as he tried to comfort her. She squirmed around on her freshly-spanked behind, trying to find a position that wasn't murder on her bottom.

When the sting had died down somewhat, she got dressed, hissing in pain as the rough fabric of her shorts pressed on her bruised skin. Before she left, the janitor warned her that he would do far worse to her if she tried her stunt again. She wasn't sure he COULD, but she wasn't about to tell him that – or test him on it, for that matter.

As she got back to her apartment, she undressed in front of her mirror, studying her spanked flesh in the mirror. Her backside was red as a tomato, and as she reached back, rubbing, every touch was agony. She stared, fascinated, at the pale prints her fingers left, before the skin turned bright red again.

So, her dream had been fulfilled, her long-held desire, the event she'd worked towards for so long. How did she feel?

Fatigued. More tired than she'd been in years. She decided to find her bed, and sleep for the rest of the evening – on her stomach, of course.

Caught with a girl (FF/M story)

"So, Adam," Karen said, after a long, uncomfortable silence, "How is your business trip?"

Cindy stared open-eyed at the woman that had just burst into the hotel room. "What's going on?"

Karen sent her a quick smile. "Well, since my husband is unlikely to introduce me, I'll have to do it myself. Hi, I'm Karen. How are you?"

"HUSBAND?" The wheels in Cindy's head were finally working. She turned to the man in the bed next to her. "You're MARRIED!?"

Adam blushed like mad. He opened his mouth, then closed it again, clearly unable to articulate his thoughts. Cindy had a feeling he wouldn't have helped himself if he could.

"Let me give you a little hint, Adam. That ring on your finger? The one you slipped into your pocket before going to the bar? That means you don't get to fool around with girls, dear." She crossed her hands in front of her, glaring at her husband. "Maybe you don't remember the last time you failed to keep your hands to yourself. Do you need a reminder, Adam?"

"N-no, please, Karen, I'll-"

"In fact, let's do it right here! I think having Cindy watch this will help make this stick in your memory."

"What's going on?" Cindy suddenly found herself part of the conversation again, and she wasn't sure she liked it."

"Why don't you answer her question, Adam." He hesitated, and she added. "NOW, if you know what's good for you."

Adam turned towards Cindy, blushing again. "She's going to take me over her knee and spank me."

Cindy stared at him, having some difficulty comprehending it all. "What?"

"I'm going to take him over my knee and give blister his bottom with THIS," Karen said, holding up a large wooden hairbrush. She sat down on the bed. "Get over here, Adam."

Adam climbed over her knee. She patted his bottom a couple of times with the brush, before raising it high over her head.

As the smacks rained down on his bottom, and Adam cried out, Cindy woke from her petrification. Less than two feet from where she was sitting, the man that she had been doing wonderful things to her body a short while ago, was now over his wife's lap, getting his bare buns toasted by her brush. This was something worth seeing!

Karen had given her husband quite a few whacks with her brush when she spotted Cindy, who had crawled closer to the action. "Trying to get a better view?"

"Sorry," Cindy said, blushing.

"Don't apologize for it. If I were in your shoes, I'd be trying to sneak a peek as well." She pointed at a chair near the wall. "Why don't you sit there, you'll have a great view of the whole thing."

Cindy sat down, a little taken back by just how nice Karen was being. She had just found a woman in bed with her husband. Most people would be a bit angry at that. Luckily, it appeared that Karen was focusing all her anger on her wayward husband.

They sat there for a while, Karen spanking away, Cindy watching it with a big grin on her face. From his pleading, it would appear that Adam wasn't enjoying it as much as her, but that didn't bother her.

Suddenly, Karen looked up at Cindy, as if she'd had a sudden thought. "Would you like to try?"

"Try what?" Cindy said, confused by the sudden question.

"Spanking him, of course!" Karen answered, giving her husband's bottom a good slap. "After all, he's probably lied to you quite a bit to get you here. Telling you he's single, for instance. He should pay for that."

Cindy just stared. Was she joking? She looked into Karen's eyes. She was serious. "Uhm, I've... That is, I've..."

"You've never spanked anyone before?" Karen asked. Cindy nodded. "Don't worry, I'm sure you'll pick it up." She turned towards her husband. "Stand up." He did so, seemingly quite unhappy with the direction their conversation was going.

Karen rose to her feet, directing Cindy to sit on the bed. Adam was then ordered over her knee.

"Now, take this brush and -" Karen began, then frowned. "Hm. Maybe he should ask you for his punishment. A little extra humiliation would do him a world of good." She turned to her husband again. "Ask her for punishment, Adam." He hesitated, and she added; "Or would you rather get the strap when I get you back home?"

He turned his head, looking up at Cindy. "Please, Cindy, will you give me a good, hard spanking?"

Cindy grinned at him. This was getting better every second! "Sure, since you asked so nicely." She accepted the brush and raised it into the air.

The first few smacks were far lighter than what Karen had been providing; she could tell that by the sound of the smack alone. In addition, when Karen was wielding the brush, Adam had been squirming and kicking, while now, he was laying limp. That wouldn't do.

She smacked him harder, and harder again, until both the brush and Adam's cries sounded like before. Cindy beamed, and turned towards Karen, who was smiling reassuringly at her.

Cindy laughed as she brought the brush down again and again, draining the stress from her body. This was a man that had lied to her, promising her the world while he had a wife waiting at home. This wasn't the first time this had happened, but at least THIS bad boy wouldn't get away with it!

Adam cried and kicked and pleaded, but she wasn't showing him any more mercy than his wife had. She was in control, and she liked it!

Some time later, Karen and Cindy were sitting on the bed, chatting. "So, did you like it?" Karen said, smiling at the younger girl.

"I loved it!" Cindy said, beaming at her. "The authority, the power, the..."

"A powerful feeling," Karen told her.

Cindy turned to look at Adam, who was standing in the corner, still nude. With his hands on his head and a red rear on display, he was quite a funny sight.

"Well, I'll be taking this misbehaving boy back with me soon. Maybe I'll wash his mouth out with soap for lying," Karen said with a glare at her husband.

"You do that," Cindy replied, grinning as she left. Karen had a feeling she'd created one more spanko in the world.

Cindy stepped into the cool night air, taking it all in. The more she thought about it, the more enjoyable she had found the whole event. A naked man over her lap, promising to be good as she reddened his tush with that wicked brush...

She wondered where she could find a brush like that.

"So, what did you think, dear?" Karen said, pouring a glass for her husband. The girl had left, and the masquerade was over.

"You used her name," he told her.

"What?" she said, not really following.

"You called her Cindy when you first entered the room. She never introduced herself. I didn't introduce her to you either."

She frowned. "I'll have to look out for that in the future. Spoils the act. Luckily, she didn't catch on." She turned to her husband. "How was it? Was it everything you wanted?"

"It was exciting, for sure. I fool around with a pretty blonde AND get a spanking? Fantastic evening. I think I'll have bruises, though," he said, examining his rear end in a mirror with a worried look on his face.

"Well, she's a beginner. She's bound to make mistakes."

"I think she did well, all things considering. It still stings like crazy."

"Aw," she said with mock sympathy, "Does your little bum hurt? Shall I kiss it all better?"

"Thanks for the offer. I'd like that, yeah," he said, grinning.

"Dream on," she said, throwing a pillow at his head. "I'll rub your bottom with cream, how does that sound?"

"If it can't be kisses, I guess it will be acceptable," he said, lowering himself over her lap again as she took out the jar of cream.

Signs and postcards (M/F story)

A few years back, I was working in a small pawn shop in the south end of the city. I just sat behind the counter for eight hours a day, reading a book if there weren't any customers, pretending to be interested in their business if there were.

This day, however, was a bit different. I was half-way through some Lovecraft book I'd found near the back of the shop when a woman entered. She was a curvy, dark-haired woman slightly younger than my own thirty years. She was wearing what I supposed to be a pair of very short shorts, but I wasn't entirely sure they weren't just an ambitious pair of boxers. She was also dressed in a short top.

Her attire didn't leave very much to the imagination, and I had absolutely no problem with that. She started looking around the shop, and I don't think my eyes left her once. She didn't seem to mind, either.

After a few minutes, she spotted the sign hanging behind the counter, that proclaimed in large, unfriendly letters; "Shoplifters will be paddled." My boss had picked it up a few years back, and it had been in the shop ever since. The woman glanced over at me, and smiled. "Is that sign serious?" I had the distinct impression that she was flirting with me, and I liked it.

"Most of the time, no," I told her. "But we do make exceptions." I sent her one of my very best smiles.

"Fascinating," she told me, looking through the wares on display again. After a few seconds, she made her way over to the stack of postcards on display. She picked up a few of the closest, stuffing them down the back of her shorts, then glancing over at me as if daring me to do something about it. I stepped over to the door, locking it and flipping the sign that said we were closed. I really didn't want any other customers to distract me from what was about to happen. "So, young lady, you think you can steal from this shop unpunished?" I told her.

"Yes, I do," she responded, glaring at me as brattily as she could.

"Think again." I stepped behind the counter again, moving to the box of adult merchandise that we kept out of sight. There were a couple of paddles here, some of them from schools, others clearly domestic. I picked up the one that looked least worn. "Are you ready to be taught a much-needed lesson?"

Her eyes widened at the sight of the thing. She put her hands in front of her face hide the grin so that she could keep up the façade. "Please, sir, I won't steal again, I promise!"

"I don't think you will either. Now bend over the desk."

She protested, but didn't hesitate in bending over. I patted her bottom a couple of times over her shorts, to ready her for the paddling. I lifted the paddle and delivered my first smack. I started off lightly, not wanting to scare her off. "Is that all you've got?" she said, grinning smugly at me. I smiled. Harder, then.

I gave her a few smacks, each harder than the last, and at the last one, she gave a clearly satisfied moan. "Better, mister. Much better." I gave her a few more whacks, as slowly as I could. I was enjoying it immensely, but I knew that sooner or later, I would have to stop. My vote was for 'later'.

"Y'know," she told me, "You're damaging your own postcards." I smiled; I'd forgotten that the postcards had been stuffed down the back of her shorts, but I wasn't thick enough to think the hint was about the damage to our merchandise. I stepped forward, pulling at her shorts to make them slide to the floor. The bent-over brat wasn't wearing any panties, meaning I had a great view of a very shapely bottom. A few pink patches on her rear end was all the evidence of her paddling, and I realized that I had to up my game.

The next few strokes were harder, but from the moaning, I guessed she didn't mind very much. I kept paddling her bottom, she kept moaning with pleasure. It was a beautiful circle, really. From time to time, I'd reach forward and rub her bottom, both to rub away the sting and to get my hands on her posterior.

I have no idea how long we kept at it before I placed the paddle down. She gingerly rubbed her sore seat. She them stepped towards me, unbuttoning my jeans to indicate that she was ready to move on to something else. And I must say, I was eager to get on with it as well.

I kept working at the store for a few more years. It wasn't that great of a job, really, but it wasn't much work and it did give me a paycheck. But mostly, I stayed because my new girlfriend felt that it was romantic, given that it was there we first met.

I bought the paddle the day after our meeting. We've built up a nice collection of toys over the years, and we've gotten way more efficient paddles, but there is some sentimental value to your first implement that can never really be matched.

Living on her own (M/F story)

As Mike entered his house, going through the mail, he found a small hand-written note from his neighbour, Hannah. He smiled as he opened the letter from the young woman next door. It said: "I need your help again. Tonight?" and nothing more. He knew what she was referring to.

He picked up a pen, writing his reply underneath. He wrote he'd be there at nine, and he told her how he wanted her to be waiting. As he placed the note in her mailbox, he looked at the watch. If she found the note soon, she'd be waiting nervously for five hours, biting her lip as she thought about what was to happen. He found the idea pleasing.

Mike was in his early forties, a widower and father whose two girls had left the nest a few years back. When a young woman in her mid-twenties had rented the house next door, he'd taken an immediate liking to her. Perhaps he cared for her like a daughter; perhaps there was something else. All he knew was that he liked her.

Hannah was a short, red-headed woman that seemed a little too trusting. One night, when they were sitting outside, watching the sunset, she'd told him that this was the first time she tried living on her own. "I lived with my parents until I was twenty," he told him. "I then went to college, where I lived in a dorm for three years."

"And how are you handling life on your own?" he asked.

She sighed. "Badly." He gave her a curious look, and she explained. "I don't know, I just feel unmotivated. I rarely clean, almost never cook – I think I've spent more time on the phone with the pizza place than with my friends. Combined." She looked around at his garden. "I decided to do a bit more studying after I finished college, but I find it difficult to pick up the books."

"It's not unusual," he responded. "I'm guessing there were rules about cleaning up at the college?" She nodded. "There you go, then." He lifted his glass, even though it felt kind of strange; philosophical monologues should be delivered accompanied by a glass of wine or a good brandy, not a glass of soda. "For the first time in your life, you have to be responsible for your own behaviour."

"I'm a very responsible person," she said, a slight whine in her voice.

"Doesn't sound like it, from the way you're describing things," he pointed out. "When you lived with your parents, being lazy and not doing your homework would mean a punishment. Same thing in your dorm – not cleaning would have consequences." He shrugged. "When you live on your own, the consequences of your actions are slower and harder to notice – you feel less healthy, and so on. You've grown accustomed to other people making sure you do what's right, you've never had to make YOURSELF do what's right." He smiled. "Many young people experience this when they're on their own for the first time. It gets easier." He smiled. "If my daughters were lazy and ignoring their schoolwork, I can guarantee you they'd wouldn't sit for a week."

"Sometimes, I think that's just what I need," she said. "Someone to pull me over his lap and give me a good spanking."

He looked at her, surprised at the directness. She was looking at him, and she was blushing bright red. "I think we should go inside," he said after a few seconds.

He took her inside, where he gently, but firmly, guided her into his living room. He sat down on the couch and turned her to face him. He started to lecture her, telling her that she needed to care better care of her home – and herself. Blushing crimson, she stared at the floor, unable to meet his gaze, but he placed his finger under her chin and forced her to look at him. He then informed her that lazy, messy girls deserved to the spanked, and that she was finally going to get what she deserved. Her eyes showed a mixture of fear and relief, but she said nothing.

He guided her over his lap, raising her skirt to reveal a pair of thin, white cotton panties. He started with some gentle spanks, not wanting to overwhelm the poor woman. His hand moved from cheek to cheek, gradually increasing the force of the spanking. She laid her head down on the couch, meekly and soundlessly accepting her spanking – at least at first.

As the sting grew, she became more vocal and animated, squirming and yelping as her bottom began to burn. But she never protested or tried to get up. She squealed a bit as he pulled her panties down, embarrassed as she realized that he was looking at her bare bottom, but her modesty was soon forgotten as she kicked her legs and promised to be good.

By the time she was allowed off his lap, her rear end was red, and she was sobbing into the couch, but as he hugged her, there was something calm and happy about her. "I feel whole," she explained, "Like there has been a missing piece of me that's now been found."

And now, once or twice a month, she'd give him a small note telling him she needed his services.


Mike looked at the watch. 8.55 PM. He turned off the film he'd been watching, picking up a large wooden hairbrush he kept in a drawer, and went off to pay his neighbour a visit.

He entered her house, making his way to her bedroom. He didn't knock or ring the bell; she knew he was coming – she was counting on it, in fact. And it would feel wrong to wait for her to open the door; in their little game of make-believe, he was playing her father, who ruled supreme, and he was in charge.

Or perhaps he wasn't playing her father, he thought to himself. There was something in the way she looked at him that sometimes made him think he was in fact playing her firm-handed husband instead. He wasn't sure, and he wasn't about to make any assumptions at this point. That could ruin their game.

He opened the bedroom door. She was sitting on the bed, wearing a pair of navy-blue pyjamas, biting her lip. When he entered, she turned pale and blushed at the same time – an impressive feat, he concluded. When she spotted the large hairbrush in his hand, the paleness definitely won the little struggle. He didn't blame her; the brush was very large and looked very painful. His daughters, who'd felt the brush quite a few times growing up, had decided it was some infernal creature's invention released on mankind.

"Hannah?" he said. "Do you know why I'm here to talk to you?" She nodded. "And why is that?" he asked her.

She swallowed. "I haven't been doing my chores properly, sir," she said silently.

"Yes, you've been a very lazy girl. And what do lazy girls get, Hannah?"

She bit her lip. "They get a spanking," she said at last.

He sat down next to her. "Yes, they do." He guided her gently over his lap, and she sniffled a little as he rubbed the seat of her pyjamas. "Do you have anything to say before I give your bottom a good spanking?" he said.

"I'm sorry," she said pitifully.

"I know, sweetie, I know."

Hannah cried out as the first few smacks landed on her bottom. This wasn't some light game of patty-cake: she needed him to punish her, so he did. And he was determined to do it well. His hand moved from cheek to cheek, raining smacks down on her quivering cheeks. "Are you learning your lesson, young lady?"

"Ow! Yes, sir, I am, I'll be good, I swear!" She grimaced in pain.

The loud slaps rang out in the air, but was drowned out by the young woman's cries. She squirmed on his lap as the sting in her rear end grew by every merciless spank. He rested his hand on her backside for a second, feeling the warmth radiating against his palm. It was time to take her pyjamas bottoms down, he concluded.

She squealed as he pulled the pyjamas bottoms down to her knees, baring her bottom, and cried out again as she felt cold wood rub against her burning bottom. It felt good, but she knew that soon, the pain would be even greater.

The brush crashed down on her bottom with a loud smack, and she cried out. The pain was unbearable.

Mike held her down as Hannah started kicking her legs, watching her backside grow redder and redder under the firm brush. She'd kicked the pyjamas bottoms clean off, leaving her bare from the waist down, but she didn't seem to care all that much.

Finally, when her bottom was turning crimson, he put the brush down, holding her close as she cried into his shoulder. The spanking was over.

After a few minutes, she'd calmed down, and was almost sleeping against his shoulder. He tucked her into bed, making sure he placed her on her stomach. He left her pyjamas bottoms on the floor; he had a feeling she didn't want any more fabric against her bottom than absolutely necessary.

He smiled as he saw the sleeping girl, cuter than ever. He let himself out, wondering how long it would be before she needed his services again.

Taking pictures (F/ff story)

Julie tapped her foot against the carpet, clearly annoyed about something. "Sarah?"

Her younger sister looked up from the TV, feeling a nervous tingle down her back as she tried to remember what she could have done to upset her sister. "What is it, Julie?"

On the couch, their youngest sister, Eve, promptly forgot about the TV as well. There were few things more enjoyable than watching Sarah being scolded by their sister.

"Do you remember that I asked you to clean your room this morning?"

"Yes," Sarah replied nervously.

"I told you something else, too, didn't I?"

Eve grinned. She had a feeling she knew where this was going. It seemed Sarah had the same feeling, as she jumped to her feet. "Don't worry, sis, I'll go -"

"No, you won't," Julie said sternly. "What did I tell you this morning?"

"Aw, come on, I'm too old for -"

"What did I tell you?" Julie said, slowly and clearly.

Sarah bit her lip. "You told me that if I didn't, I'd get a spanking."

"Correct." She sat down on a nearby chair, patting her lap. "Come here."

Sarah stepped towards her, casting Eve a dirty look as she passed her. Sarah hated it when Eve got to watch her spankings, but she knew there was no use complaining. The two of them always got to watch each other's punishments. Julie felt that the added humiliation worked as an extra punishment.

Julie sighed as she bent her sister over her lap. She hated having to punish her sisters. But they needed a firm hand once in a while, that much was certain. She pulled Sarah's shorts down, followed by a pair of white cotton panties. The pale cheeks in front of her quivered a bit as she lifted her hand to begin the punishment.

Sarah cried out as the first smacks landed on her unprotected rear end. Julie's spankings where always a bit more painful than she remembered. Which partly explained why she earned so many of them.

"I hope you're learning your lesson, Sarah," Julie lectured. "Forgetting to do your chores has consequences around here."

She watched as her hard slaps left pink handprints on the pale bottom. They faded quickly, but slowly, her sister's bottom was taking on a pink hue.

Unlike Julie and Sarah, Eve was greatly enjoying the spanking. She loved watching her sister getting her just deserts, and wished that it would go on forever. Slowly, to keep Julie from realizing what she was doing, she reached her hand into her pocket and pulled out her cell phone. Holding the phone at her hips, she took a quick picture to mark the occasion, and slipped it back into her pocket.

Perhaps she would text the picture to a friend, she thought to herself. Or show it off to the boys in class, she had a feeling they would enjoy it. Or just keep it to herself.

The sting in Sarah's bottom built up, and she was kicking her legs. She would never forget to do her chores again! "Ow! It hurts!"

"It's supposed to," Julie responded calmly. She looked up at Eve. "Eve, go and get the hairbrush. It's in the bottom drawer in my bedroom."

Sarah gasped in fear. The hairbrush! She hadn't been that bad, had she? She wanted to protest, but she knew that would only earn her extras.

Eve, on the other hand, gasped in joy. The hairbrush! This was getting better and better! She would get to watch her sister kick her legs, beg for mercy, and cry her heart out under that awful implement. This was turning out to be a great day. She practically skipped out to the bedroom, and was back a few seconds later, holding the brush out to her sister, unable to hide her wide grin.

"Oh no, I'm not going to use it on Sarah," Julie told her. "That's for YOUR spanking, once I'm finished with her."

The grin on Eve's face disappeared. "Me? But what did I do?"

"Don't play dumb, Eve," Julie said strictly. Did you, or did you not, take a picture of your sister's spanking?"

Sarah felt a cold shiver run down her spine, suddenly aware of what her sister might have done with such a picture. She felt a wave of gratitude towards her older sister.

Eve bit her lip, and hesitated. Was confessing to her crime really such a good idea? Julie sensed her hesitation, and added, "Let me just warn you, if you lie to me, I'll double your spanking."

Eve made her mind up quickly. Confessing might be a bad idea, but NOT confessing was clearly an even worse one. "I took a picture," she said in a tiny voice.

Julie held her hand out. "Give me your phone." Eve handed it over, and Julie deleted the offending picture before handing it back. "Now, sit down and wait for your spanking."

Eve sat down on the couch, staring at the floor. The brush felt a lot heavier in her hand now that she knew it was destined for her OWN rear end.

Sarah cried out as the spanking continued. She had hoped her own punishment would be over, but no such luck. Fortunately for her, she was soon allowed to get up. Julie gave her a quick hug to show that all was forgiven, and turned her attention on Eve.

"Come here," she said, patting her lap.

Eve rose on trembling legs and shuffled over as slowly as she dared. She was pulled over her sister's knee, and experienced hands raised her skirt and lowered her panties in a flash. Then, she felt the awful brush patting against her bottom. Her spanking was about to begin.

Despite the pain in her own rear end, Sarah grinned widely as she watched her sister cry and kick her legs as the brush started its work on her bottom. Sarah's shorts and panties were still around her ankles, and she was trying to rub the sting away, but she wouldn't miss that lovely sight for the world.

Julie wasn't smiling. She had hoped that Sarah's spanking would make them both behave for a few days, but Eve wasn't even willing to wait for Sarah's punishment to be over before she earned her own. She was determined to teach the brat the error of her ways.

Eve was quickly regretting taking that picture. Not only was it deleted, but she got an even sorer bottom than Sarah's. She was going to be a lot more careful from now on.

Later that night, Julie was sitting on the couch, one sore-bottomed brat cuddling against her under each arm, both soundly asleep. She ran her fingers through their hair, and noted how angelic they looked when they were asleep.

She turned the TV off and carried them to bed, making sure to place both on their stomachs before tucking them in.

Unmotivated student (M/F story)

Will had always been a hard-working student, and had gotten an A in his coding class in college, so when the teacher needed a teacher's assistant, the choice had been relatively easy. Will didn't mind the responsibility and needed the money, so he had accepted.

In his job, he had two duties: help the students when they were working in the computer lab, and approve (or not) their mandatory assignments. It was during his second year in the job that he met Courtney. Courtney was intelligent, one of the brightest students he had met, but not really interested in working. "That's your problem," he told her one day as they looked at her latest screw-up. "You don't work hard enough. "

"I know, I know," she told him. "I've had this problem before. Sometimes I just don't feel like studying, you know?"

"I've had that feeling. I've got one advice: study anyway. Always works out better in the long run."

"It's not that easy. Earlier, you said I was unmotivated, un-disciplined. Well, do you have any suggestion to how I might become disciplined?"

He felt a little light-headed, and wished he had chosen a different word. Well, things that were at the front of your mind tended to be at the tip of your tongue, didn't they? He stared into space for a few seconds, and she couldn't tell whether he was blushing or not. "None. Just summon the willpower."

"No, you thought of something, I could see it. What was it?"

"Nothing. Let's go back to your work here." This time, she was certain he was blushing. What was he thinking about that made him blush like that?

Over the next few weeks, she tried to bring it up again, asking him what he had thought of, and every time, he told her she was imagining things. "What was it you thought about when you said I was undisciplined?"

He really wished she would stop using that word. It made it difficult to think. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Why are you so shaken up about this?" she asked him.

"I'm not."

"You're stirring your coffee with a pencil." Glancing down, he dried off the pencil with a napkin and located his spoon.

"I'm just tired. Late night. Now, back to the screen..."

She was going to find out his secret sooner or later, and she could be patient.

During the later parts of the year, people stopped showing up for the lab lessons. Either because they had quit the course, or because they preferred to study at home. Courtney still showed, and had still not given up hope of discovering Will's secret. She had wondered whether his laptop might hold any clues, and she got her chance one Friday afternoon. He had gone to help a student in another lab, and she knew he would be gone for a while; the student in question was far from the sharpest tool in the shed.

She had noticed that he had an unusual reaction to the word "discipline", so she tried searching his computer for that word, to see what came up.

About twenty minutes later, Will entered the lab again. He looked around the room to see if any more students had shown up, but there was only him and Courtney. He was just about to ask her whether she had solved her latest problem, when he realized that she wasn't sitting on her own computer. She was sitting on his. She noticed him, and the grin she sent him was slightly unsettling.

"What are you doing?" he asked her, trying to keep his voice calm.

"Ooh, strict. I like it," she said, giggling. "Can I ask you a question?"

"What?"

"Remember when I asked you what I could do to motivate myself, how I could become disciplined?"

"Yes," he answered, not liking the direction the conversation was taking.

"Was this what you had in mind?" She turned the laptop to face him, revealing one of the many pictures she had found on his computer: a girl being spanked over a man's knee, grimacing in pain. "Or maybe something like this?" She opened another picture, a woman crying as a slipper met her already red bottom. "Or maybe this?" A girl bending over as a cane was tapped against her bottom.

He said nothing for a while, just stood there with a blank expression on his face. "Those files are private," he said at last.

"Easy, Will, I won't tell anyone about your... hobby." She closed the pictures and walked up to him. "Besides, maybe you're right. Maybe that's just what I need to focus on my studies. Just one way to find out, isn't there?"

"I am not spanking you."

"Why not?" She said, pouting. "Don't you want to?"

With every fibre of my being, he thought to himself. "I'm not taking advantage of you."

"You know, you're so cute when you think you're being knightly." She put her hands around his neck. "Adorable, in fact. Will, I am a woman, perfectly capable of making my own choices, and right now, I want you to take me over your knee and spank me. And you're being a coward about it."

"I'm being a gentleman."

"Your erection is poking me in the stomach."

He looked down. "Sorry."

She smiled. "I'm just sorry I'm not taller. Now, are you going to be a man, take me back to your place and spank my naughty bottom, or are you going to make me question your sanity?"

"Cute apartment," she told him as he unlocked the door. "But I don't think green's your colour."

"My roommate's choice," he told her. He didn't feel like talking. Thinking about what to say took more blood than he currently had in his head.

"Now, where's your bedroom?"

"You know, you're being very impatient."

"And you're not. Questioning your sanity again."

"You're not being very nice."

"You're right, I'm being a bad girl. Maybe you should punish me."

He led her into his room and sat down on her bed. Without waiting for his instruction, she lowered her jeans and bent over his lap.

"Are you ready for this, you naughty girl?" he said as he raised his palm over her pink panties.

"I've been ready for half an hour. Now get to it!"

The smacks rang out in the room, and she gasped as the sting spread across her bottom.

"Are you ok? Did it sting?" he said.

"Little bit, but don't stop now, or I WILL hurt you."

The spanks came quick and hard, and before long, she was wriggling around on his lap, kicking her legs. Slowly, her cheeks became almost as pink as her panties.

"You know," she said after a while, "most of the girls in those pictures were bare-bottomed."

Taking the hint, he quickly lowered her panties, before resuming the spanking. He became more confident as he heard her squeal in delight. It's easy to be confident when a girl gets so much enjoyment out of what you're doing.

By the time he decided to stop the spanking, her bottom was red and hot to the touch. She got up on shaky legs and walked over to the mirror, enjoying the sight of her well-spanked rear.

"Impressive, Will, very impressive."

"I'm glad you think so," he said, smiling at her.

"Now," she said, reaching down and rubbing the bulge in his jeans, the one that had been poking her in the ribs the whole time she was over his lap, "I wish to move on to other things."

Will quickly realized that spankings worked better as a reward for a job well done than as a punishment for mistakes, but the end result was the same. A month later, his girlfriend got the only A in the class. She got her reward later that night.

Shoplifter (F/f story)

There were many places 15-year-old Chelsea wanted to be on this beautiful, sunny Friday afternoon. The police station, you'll be shocked to find out, was not one of them.

A few of her friends had wanted this new "One Direction" CD that had just come out. Actually, that wasn't entirely true; ALL of her friends had wanted this CD. It was just that some of them had decided they were willing to go through a lot to get it. Including breaking the law.

They'd decided to shoplift it, but they needed a lookout. Which was where Chelsea came in. Which was why, when the nervously giggling schoolgirls were immediately caught, Chelsea was dragged down to the police station with them. The police had promised to phone all the girls' parents, but there was a slight hitch in that plan: Chelsea's parents were on vacation, and not due to return for at least another week.

She was just wondering if she'd be doomed to stay at the station until her parents were back, when she saw that her sister had just stopped by the station. She waved at her sister, but stopped when she saw the glare Beverly threw her. She wondered if she might be better off in jail.

No such luck. The police handed her off to her sister's care, giving her a detailed description of her kid sister's crimes.

The ride home was ominously silent. Beverly was a decade older than her sister, but they'd always been close. It was rare for Beverly to get mad at her younger sister, but when she did, she usually had good reason. And Chelsea had to admit, today was one of those occasions.

As they approached the house, Beverly spoke to her sister for the first time that day. "I want you to go straight to your room and think about what you've done," she said, her voice cold and authoritative. "I'll be up shortly to deal with you."

"Yes, Beverly," Chelsea responded, deciding that this was not the time for backtalk. But she wasn't sure what her sister meant with 'deal with you'. What could she mean?

As she sat on her bed, dreading her sister's arrival, Chelsea thought about those words. Three years ago, when Chelsea was just a child of twelve, she'd shoplifted a few chocolates from a store. Beverly had found out, and to her sister's great surprise, she had taken their mother's old wooden hairbrush and warmed her younger sister's bottom. But that was years ago, for crying out loud. She was a teen now, almost an adult. She couldn't be spanked anymore, could she?

There was a knock on the door, and Beverly entered. Chelsea felt her stomach sink as she spotted the brush in her sister's hand.

"Have you thought about what you did wrong?"

Chelsea nodded, eyes locked to that horrible instrument of pain.

"Stand up," Beverly told her as she sat down on the bed.

"You can't spank me," Chelsea protested. "I'm too old to be spanked!"

"You know, I thought so too," Beverly replied. "But then, I also thought you were too old to shoplift."

Chelsea bit her lip. She considered pressing the point that technically, she hadn't shoplifted, just been a lookout as her friends did, but she had a feeling Beverly wouldn't quite appreciate her logic.

She stood up, then found herself draped over her sister's lap, feeling her shorts and panties being lowered to her knees. Beverly picked up the brush, patting it against her sister's quivering cheeks.

"Time to pay for your crimes."

Chelsea cried out as the hard wood of the brush slapped down on her poor, unprotected backside. It'd been years since she felt the horrible sting of that brush, and she'd forgotten just how painful it really was.

"Are you learning your lesson from this? I don't want to have to repeat this lesson any time soon."

Chelsea did her best to convince her sister that she HAD learned her lesson, that she could stop spanking her right now and that she'd never do it again, but to no avail.

She tried to reach back to protect her well-beaten cheeks, but Beverly just grabbed her arm and pinned it to the small of her back.

Mere minutes later, Chelsea had been reduced to a sobbing, kicking, red-bottomed little girl, and she would have promised anything to make the pain stop. Once Beverly was satisfied that her sister was sincere, she helped her up, sitting her down on her lap while hugging her, letting her cry into her shoulder.

Beverly went downstairs, doing a bit of reading as the sore-bottomed girl upstairs napped, knowing she wouldn't sit comfortably, or sleep on her back, for days.

The long walk (M/f story)

A very short story, featuring no actual spanking. I wondered if it was worth uploading, but decided it had at least some merit.

Sally bit her lip as she walked down the long hallway. She could feel tears at the edges of her eyes, but she tried to hold them back, tried to fight them out of existence. She shouldn't cry, not yet at least. There would be plenty of time for that later. For at the end of the hallway was the headmaster's office, where the headmaster, and the headmaster's paddle, were waiting for her.

She silently cursed herself for falling for Alice's mind games yet again. Alice was the class's uncrowned queen of subtle insults, so subtle that the teachers rarely caught them. All they saw, were the reactions of the insulted, which all too often seemed unprovoked, if you had missed the beginning. Which the teachers nearly always had.

She felt the tears beginning to return as she thought about what awaited her at the end of the hallway. She shouldn't have slapped Alice, she knew that. But the smug smile of that horrible girl had just been too much, she couldn't control herself. Wiped the smile of her face, at least. For a little while.

She knew what was coming, of course. She'd been sent to the headmaster's office, and very rarely for a nice chat or tea and biscuits. She'd been paddled almost a dozen times, yet every time seemed worse than the last. She knew it was painful, extremely painful, yet it seemed at in the weeks between punishments, she'd forgotten just HOW painful they were. So every paddling seemed worse than the last.

He'd ask her to bend over the desk, of course, and then raise her skirt and lower her panties himself. She'd better hurry; she'd been too slow one of the first times she'd been punished, and he'd given her a few extra strokes. Going back to class, to that hard wooden chair, had NOT been comfortable, especially given Alice's smug grin.

She hoped Alice would receive her next paddling soon. She was always much nicer when she'd gotten her backside blistered good.

She was there. Just a thin wooden door between her and the paddling, between a pain that would bring tears to her eyes, blisters to her bottom and drive all rational thoughts from her head. She reached out, placing her hand on the door handle.