Stress and attitude (M/F story)

Lizzie looked down on her stomach, pulling at it to see if there was any fat she could get rid of. There was, she concluded grimly. She still didn't look like the girls in the magazines. She had a feeling she never would.

She had gone out running before breakfast every day this week, and she really wanted to see the changes. But there was still that little strip of unnecessary fat to get rid of.  She made it back home, panting for air. She was exhausted. Good. That meant she was giving it her best.

When she got inside, her boyfriend, Rob, was setting the breakfast table, lighting up as he saw her. "Good morning, Lizzie," he said. "I figured you'd be back soon. Hard workout today?"

She scowled at him. He didn't need to run like she did. No one she knew did.

He sighed. "Let's try that again. I say 'good morning', so you say …"

"I'm going back to bed, Rob," she said, brushing past him.

"You don't need to be rude about it," he told her, his gentle voice containing a very clear threat. "I expect at least a token effort at being civil, even in the morning."

"Go fuck yourself," she snapped.

The look in his eyes immediately told her that this had been the wrong thing to say, and her backside began to tingle as the thought about what is next action was likely to be. True to her expectations, he grabbed her wrist as he sat down in one of the wooden kitchen chairs, and in the blink of an eye, she was bent across his knee. She found herself once again getting a close look at the carpet, and his firm palm slapped down on the seat of her tracksuit.

"I've told you before, mind your language," he lectured as he spanked her. "And your attitude, while you're at it."

"Ow!" Rob's spankings always hurt far more than she expected! She'd tried pointing that out to him before, but he'd just told her that 'that's the point'. "Rob! Don't do this!"

"You've been far too stressed lately, young lady, and this is just the thing to knock some sense into your head – even if I have to do it from the other end," he said as he delivered a series of hard smacks to her sit spots.

"Rob! Please, I don't want a spanking!" she yelped.

"Yes, dear, I know," he replied as he kept smacking her wriggling rear. She protested, pleaded, bargained, and cried, but nothing she did could stop that iron hand – or even slow it down. She kicked her legs and tried to wriggle away, but a firm arm around her waist held her in place until he was satisfied.

To Lizzie, it seemed like she'd been over his knee forever when he finally let her up. She jumped from foot to foot, trying to rub the sting from her rear end, when Rob opened his mouth and destroyed her belief that her punishment was over. "Lizzie, go and get the paddle."

She looked at him with the biggest, most pleading eyes she could manage. "Rob, please, I've learnt my lesson."

There was no mercy in his eyes. "Lizzie, do as I say."

She went into the bedroom and picked up the hated implement from the bottom drawer. It was a long time since she had felt the dreaded wood against her bottom, but she could still remember he pain and shame. She handed it over to Rob, her eyes containing a silent plea she already knew was useless.

"Bend over the couch," he said. She did so, pushing her bottom up as far as she could. At this point, the only thing she could do was do as he said and hope he'd be lenient.

"I'm only giving you five strokes, as a little reminder to watch your temper, Lizzie. Count them out loud. If I ever have to punish you for this again, I'm giving you twenty. Keep that in mind."

She would. The very thought of twenty strokes with that thing was scary. Even five were quite intimidating. The paddle whistled through the air and struck her rear end, and she whimpered in pain. "One," she said, loud and clear.

Again, Rob lifted the paddle, and again, Lizzie cried out in pain and wished she could find some way of getting rid of that paddle that wouldn't earn her an even sorer bottom from Rob. "Two!"

Another stroke, this on her sit spots. She wriggled in pain, but managed to remain in place. "Three," she said through her tears.

The next one was the hardest yet, and Lizzie had to gather her breath before she could croak out a "Four".

The last stroke fell, and Lizzie sobbed out a "Five" before collapsing in tears. Rob gathered her in his arms, letting her cry against his shoulder. When she'd calmed down, he told her what he expected from her in the future.

"First of all, if you're irritated, don't take it out on me, or anyone else for that matter. We can help you, but snapping doesn't help anyone."

Lizzie nodded. Rob was right. He usually was, which was most inconsiderate of him.

"Second, from now on, you have breakfast BEFORE you go on your run. It will help you work out, and it will also make you less irritable - which will, in turn, do wonders for your ability to sit. Third, realize one thing. You're not fat, so stop telling yourself that you are."

"That's just your opinion," she said glumly.

"I'm warning you, I still have the paddle here, so stop with the self-hate. It's unbecoming. Anyway, you'll have plenty of time to think about it during your corner time."

She sighed. She'd known it was coming, but some part of her still hoped he'd let her off this once.

Rob put the punishment chair in the corner. It was an old wooden chair with a hard seat he'd found in an antique shop. Whenever Lizzie earned herself a spanking, she would find herself sitting in the corner with her trousers down for at least half an hour. The hard seat was murder on an already sore bottom, but Rob didn't seem very sympathetic to her pleas.

"If you want to avoid corner time, just start behaving."

She sighed as she sat down, grimacing in pain as her red rear met the hard wood. "Easy for you to say."