Creation (M/F story)

Lucy made the final touches on the drawing. She smiled in satisfaction as she glanced over her work. It showed a young woman, about eighteen or so, standing in the corner with her red, spanked bottom on display. She was looking at the viewer with tear-stained eyes, obviously pleading to be let out of the corner, but it was clear she was not going to be granted that mercy.

Lucy smiled, enjoying the sadness radiating from the girl, even if she had created her herself. She briefly wondered what the girl had been spanked for. Lying, perhaps? She'd kept secrets from her boyfriend one time too many, so he had to deal with her, even if he didn't want to? As it should be, she thought to herself.

She felt her eyes getting heavy, and glanced over at the clock. Barely ten in the evening. She would have time to begin her next picture before going to bed. She just needed to relax a little. She leaned back in the comfy chair and closed her eyes.

"Wake up. I want to talk to you."

Lucy opened her eyes with a start. A strange man's voice in her apartment was not a very relaxing sound. She looked up, and felt her jaw drop to the floor.

The man was tall, dark, with a scar running down his right cheek and dark, deep eyes. He was also very, very familiar. "Owen?" She knew him well. She'd created him after all.

"That's me, yes."

"But... how can you be here?" She stared at him, befuddled. "How can you be REAL?"

"Don't know, don't particularly care. I have something else I want to discuss with you, young lady."

Young lady. The words made a shiver run down her spine. Lucy glared up at him. "I will not be spoken to in that tone."

"Yes, you will. I'm sick of you using me like some instrument of torture, spanking those poor, innocent girls just for your own enjoyment." Lucy knew what he referred to. She'd used Owen for quite a few of her spanking drawings. "You've time and time again put these girls through a painful, humiliating ordeal that you yourself have never even experienced."

That was true. Despite having had an interest in spanking for over a decade, Lucy had never actually been spanked.

"Well, I'm here to show you what you've been missing all this time."

She didn't particularly like the sound of that.

Owen leaned forward, grabbing her upper arm and pulling her to her feet. She tried to protest, but couldn't get the words out. He strolled over to the kitchen, dragging her behind him, and sat down on one of the wooden chairs. She tried to stop him as he unbuttoned and unzipped her jeans, but he just slapped her hands away and kept at his task. With trained hands, he pulled her jeans down to her knees, with her panties following.

The absurdity of the situation hit her like a ton of bricks. Here she was, standing with her trousers and panties down in her own kitchen, about to be spanked by one of her own fictional characters. She was ready to protest, ready to stop this farce, but just as she was about to open her mouth, he pulled on her arm, making her fall across his lap.

He gave her pale cheeks a couple of gentle pats before lifting his hand above his head.

"Oh no!" she gasped.

"Oh yes!" he responded. The force of his spanks drove all air from her lungs, and a few seconds went by before she was able to cry out.

"Hey!" she said, wincing from the pain. "Stop that!"

"Not a chance," he said, continuing his assault upon her unprotected posterior. "You've been acting like a brat, and it's about time you got your comeuppance."

His hand fell on her backside again and again, and Lucy was shocked to find tears in her eyes. Were spankings meant to hurt like this? Wasn't it supposed to take longer before the spankee cried?

She howled, kicking her legs to get away from his punishing hand, but he held her in place with his left arm around her waist while his right hand put some colour into her cheeks.

"So," he said, resting his hand on her stinging bottom, "Did that satisfy your curiosity about spanking?"

"Yes, sir," Lucy responded eagerly, not wanting to anger him.

"Glad to hear it. Next, I think you should learn something about the joys of corner time." He helped to her feet and directed her into a corner.

She turned her head and looked pleadingly at him, completely unaware of just how much she looked like the drawing she has made earlier. "Do I have to?"

"I could always take off my belt and give you another spanking instead, if you'd prefer that."

She stuck her nose in the corner. Corner time it is, she thought to herself.

It felt like she had been in that corner forever. Her feet were starting to hurt, and she desperately wanted to rub the sting out of her poor bottom, but she had a feeling it wouldn't be too popular with the man sitting in her chair, not taking his eyes of her.

She pouted. Corner time was a lot less fun when you were the one in the corner.

Eventually, she heard his calm voice. "You can come out now. Your ten minutes are over."

Ten minutes? She'd only been in the corner for TEN MINUTES? She'd been certain it was at least an hour.

He told her to get dressed again, and she did, wincing as the rough fabric of her jeans pressed against her sore cheeks.

"Now, I expect you to behave in the future, or I will have to repeat this, do you understand?"

"Yes, sir," she said. He hugged her tight and comforted her, and she smiled to herself at his sudden gentleness. Soon, she stifled a yawn. She'd heard that spanking was supposed to make you tired, but until now, she'd never truly believed it.

He helped her down into the comfy chair, with an extra pillow for the sting.

"I have to go now. You take care of yourself, right?"

Lucy awoke to the sound of bird song. She looked around her. It was morning.

"I've just had the strangest dream," she said to herself. Suddenly, she tensed. Was that what it had been? A dream? Or something else?

She rose to her feet, pulling down her jeans as quickly as she could. She hesitated, not really sure if she wanted it to be a dream or not. In the end, she couldn't take it anymore. She turned her head and glanced at her bottom.

White as snow. Not a mark on it.

It had all been a dream. She was surprised to discover how disappointed she was.

"Dream or not, it'd make a good drawing," she told herself. She went over to the mirror, jeans around her ankles. It had been her butt on the line in the dream, it should be in her drawing as well.