Jane glanced around as she sat on the comfortable leather sofa. The house was small, but very stylishly decorated. Sitting opposite her in a comfy chair was the owner of the house; a tall, steel-blond man with a confident, comfortable air. He was in his forties, but his body was in a shape that many younger men would envy him. His dark trousers and expensive shirt enhanced the image projected by the house – that of a man of wealth and taste. Jane felt slightly underdressed in her old t-shirt and shorts, and wondered if she should have worn a dress, or perhaps one of her nicer skirts.
She had declined his offer of wine or beer, but had accepted a glass of orange juice. She took a sip, and the tall, slim woman in her late twenties, whose long, red hair was gathered in a ponytail, finally summoned the courage to say the words on her mind. "Like I said on the phone, I've heard that you're a man that can give me the spanking I deserve."
"Indeed?" Roger said, raising the glass of cognac to his lips. From the look in his eyes, she knew that he was studying her just as much as she was examining him. "And who told you about my… services?"
"My co-worker Sophie. You know, petite blonde with a mole on her chin, who blushes easily?" He nodded to show that he knew who she was talking about, and she continued. "When she sat next to me during lunch last Monday, I noticed that she was squirming in her chair. I couldn't help myself, and I made some pointed comments. When I saw how she reacted to them, I eventually asked if she was nursing a sore bottom, and if she'd been spanked." She smiled at the recollection, shifting in her seat as if to imitate Sophie's movements. "At first, she denied it, protesting indignantly, but when she noticed my enthusiasm, she admitted to everything – how she comes to you for a spanking every time she feels herself falling below the standards she sets for herself." Jane smiled nervously. "She says it's a lot easier to clean her apartment with a sore behind to motivate her."
"And she gave you my number?" he asked. When Jane nodded, Roger's brow darkened. "I'm going to have to discuss that with her the next time she's here. Maybe a few dozen with the wooden spoon to her sit spots, delivered after her usual strapping, will remind her not to give out my contact information without asking me first," he muttered, more to himself than to Jane.
He took another sip of his drink, and looked at her. "Are you seeking discipline, the way Sophie is?" he asked. "Or are you looking for something fun and gentle? A 'good-girl' spanking, if you will."
She blushed. "The former, definitely." The other one sounded quite nice – but that was not why she was here, she reminded herself.
"You've been a bad girl, then?" he asked. She nodded, and he continued. "I should warn you that I always spank naughty girls on the bare bottom." She fidgeted in her seat, her stomach doing flipflops, but she nodded. This fact was not unknown to her. He leaned back in his chair. "So, what have you done? Why do you deserve to be spanked?"
She thought about this question. "I'm a procrastinator," she admitted. "I tend to stay in bed far longer in the morning than is good for me, and I take a long time to finally get started on the housework. It's affecting my job, as well – I'm late to the office quite often, and I've been told I'd probably have been promoted already if I was better at keeping deadlines." She grinned nervously. "I'm sure I can think of other things if I try, but I was hoping we could work on those later – I'd like to sit comfortably at some point."
He returned her smile. "That is very wise of you. I agree that this sounds like excellent reasons for a good, hard discipline spanking – more than one, in fact." He took another small sip. "Have you ever been spanked before?"
She shook her head, the blush still tinting her face. "My parents didn't believe in it, and I've never dared to bring it up with any boyfriends. Sometimes I try to spank myself, but…"
"… but it's not the same. I see. Since this is your first time, I'll be somewhat gentle today, then." Noting the look of disappointment on her face, he chuckled. "Don't worry, Miss Howe. I can assure you that you'll feel properly punished long before I'm done."
He drained his glass and placed it on the living room table. "Well, I can't think of a reason not to start right now. Can you?" Biting her lip, she shook her head, and he smiled. "In the hallway, there is a straight-backed wooden chair. Please fetch it and place it in the centre of the room."
Rising to her feet, she felt a slight trembling in her legs, and noticed that her palms were sweaty. She wiped them on the seat of her shorts, reflecting on how she would soon be rubbing her bottom for a very different reason. She was surprised to touch something hard.
"Oh! I completely forgot!" From her back pocket, she drew a large, old ebony hairbrush. With butterflies in her stomach, she handed it to him. "It used to be my aunt's. She never put it to its PROPER use, I'm sad to say, but I've been using it during some of my self-spanking sessions," she said with a nervous smile. "I think it's perfect to teach me a good lesson."
He examined the brush with a grin on his face. "Well. I think this looks like an excellent spanking brush – one which can really make a young lady howl and kick. And I always love a woman who brings her own implements." He handed it back to her. "But sadly, we won't be using it today. Since you've never been spanked before, my hand will be enough."
She frowned. "I'm sure your hand stings plenty, but I don't think I will be TRULY sorry unless you use something like this hairbrush." She tried to hand it to him again.
He raised his eyebrow, and was no longer smiling. Her audacity was surprising to him. "Like I told you, Miss Howe, my hand will be enough for someone new to this. I appreciate that you're inexperienced and enthusiastic, but it would behove you to listen to someone who's done this many times before – especially if that someone is about to have your bare bottom over his knee and at his mercy."
She blushed, giving him an indignant pout. "But you always spank Sophie with belts, paddles, switches – even canes, she tells me! All I'm asking for is one little brush."
"Sophie has been receiving spankings from me for over two years – and I was not the first person to get my hands on her rear end." He spoke slowly, enunciating every word, as if he was speaking to a very dim child. "You have no idea what you're asking for. But if you insist…" He accepted the brush. The smile on his face was anything but friendly, and she felt a shiver down her back and a tingle in her bottom. He patted the back of the brush against his palm. "I should warn you that any young lady that tries to boss me around in my own house is in for a rude surprise, and far more likely to get what she DESERVES than what she WANTS – but luckily, in your case, those happen to be the same thing." He nodded toward the hallway. "Now fetch the chair."
She quickly obeyed his command, hurrying into the hallway. He watched the seat of her shorts as she moved, smiling to himself – the woman would look beautiful over his knee, particularly once she began to yelp and kick. She had a bit of an attitude problem, that was true, but he would soon see to that.
She placed the chair in the middle of the room, and he gave her a quick nod of approval. Unhurriedly, he rose from the comfy chair, seating himself in the straight-backed, armless wooden chair. She realized that he would have plenty of room to swing his hand – and the brush. Placing the ebony hairbrush at his feet, he summoned her to him with a crooked finger.
"From now on, until I decide that your punishment is over, you will refer to me as 'sir'. Failure to do so will have consequences. Do you understand?" She nodded, and he frowned. "Use your words, Jane."
She blushed. "Yes, sir, I understand."
He smiled. "Good. That's what I wanted to hear." He placed one hand on her arm and the other on her back, and guided her over his lap, gently but firmly.
Her nervousness was increased tenfold. This was actually happening. She was bent over a man's lap, her toes and hands touching the floor. Facing the carpet with her bottom in the air, she was about to be soundly spanked. This was what she'd dreamed of for years, and yet a large part of her wanted to run away and hide.
He placed his right hand on the seat of her shorts, gently stroking her quivering mounds. She jumped a bit at his touch, too tense to enjoy his caresses. Her cheeks clenched and unclenched, and she groaned in frustration, wanting him to get started. Chuckling at her reaction, he lifted his hand and began to spank her.
She wiggled a bit at the first slap, letting out a surprised cry. It didn't hurt, as he started off slowly and gently, but it was still a strange feeling to finally have her bottom spanked, especially by a man she'd just met.
Roger spanked in a pattern; first her left cheek, then her right cheek, moving from the upper parts of her bottom to the top of her thighs, before going back up again. She smiled; the gentle warmth felt a lot nicer than she had expected, but she wasn't sure she was learning anything.
He noticed her reaction. "This is just a warmup, Jane. I always start slowly with first-timers, as it helps to calm the nerves. I can assure you that you will get the severe discipline spanking you deserve."
Gradually, the spanks became harder and faster. Each smack still didn't hurt much, but the accumulating sting soon had her wiggling and wincing. After a few minutes, he stopped, resting his hand on her toasty buns. "Lift your hips, Jane. It is time for me to lower your shorts."
She bit her lip, but obeyed without hesitation. "Good girl," he told her, and she smiled at the praise. His experienced hands unbuttoned and unzipped her shorts, slowly lowering them to reveal her black lace knickers. While she hadn't remembered to dress for the occasion, she'd taken care to put on some panties that she didn't mind being seen in. After all, it would have been a surprise to her if her shorts had stayed on.
He rubbed the seat of her panties. "Very nice," he muttered appreciatively.
"Thank you, sir," she said, fidgeting at his gentle touch.
He lifted his hand and continued to spank her. She began to squirm; she'd known it would hurt more without the protection of her shorts – every spanking story she'd ever read had prepared her for that – but the reality still took her by surprise.
"You are going to stop procrastinating, Jane," he scolded as he spanked. "You are going to go to bed at a reasonable hour, get out of bed on time, and complete your housework before having fun." He planted a series of extra-hard slaps on the lower parts of her bottom, causing her to squeal and kick her legs. "You are going to respect your boss' deadlines, completing your work on time." She was surprised to find tears at the edges of her eyes already, and struggled to keep them back. "And if you don't," he said, striking her left cheek a dozen times in quick succession, before doing the same to her right cheek. "You will find yourself back in my house, back over my knee. Is that clear?"
"Ouch! Yes, sir! I'll be good, I promise."
He smiled. "That's exactly what I wanted to hear, Jane. Now to make sure you keep your promise…"
Jane had thought that he was spanking her as hard as he could, but as the speed and strength of his slaps increased further, she realized that she'd been wrong. She squirmed even more, but he easily held her in place.
Suddenly, he stopped spanking her, softly rubbing her burning bottom. She sighed with relief, since his comforting hand felt very nice, but she could guess what it meant. She knew that her punishment was not over.
"What do you think is going to happen now, Jane?" he said calmly.
"You're going to take my knickers down, sir," she said in a pitiful whisper.
"That's right," was the gentle reply. "We agreed that all proper spankings are on the bare bottom, didn't we? Lift your hips for me."
Reluctantly, she did as he instructed. Placing his fingers in the waistband of her panties, he whisked them down to join her shorts at her knees.
"What a beautiful pink bottom," he said as he continued to rub the sting away. She smiled at the compliment, and he gave her seat a few firm pats. "And now, it is time to make it red." As his hand struck her unprotected bottom, she yelped, squirming around as much as his firm grip would allow. The pain was growing unbearable, not to mention the humiliation of being naked and whimpering before his eyes. And she'd wanted this? She'd asked for this? She'd fantasized about this?
She was now kicking her legs furiously with every slap, as if riding an invisible bicycle. Tears were flowing down her face, and she no longer bothered to try to hold them back. As the burning sting grew even more intense, she reached her hand back to block the pain. Roger didn't even slow down – tutting at her weakness, he grabbed her wrist, holding it to the small of her back to hold both her torso and arm in place. During this, his right hand never paused its assault on her posterior.
She was sobbing over his lap, no longer having the strength to even try to resist him. Noticing that she'd broken down, he soon stopped spanking her and resumed the soft caresses.
Jane had to admit that she'd gotten exactly what she asked for – a long, hard, sound bare-bottom spanking that left her feeling properly punished. She was sore, sorry, and spent. There was no doubt in her mind that she'd mend her ways now that he'd dealt with her.
Once she'd calmed down, she felt him bend down and pick something up from the floor, but had no idea what it was – not until she felt something cold and hard rubbing against her sore cheeks. With a cold shiver along her back, she suddenly remembered what she'd demanded he should do to her.
"Now that you've received your hand-spanking, it is time for the proper hairbrushing that you asked for." His voice was calm and cold. "The one that… what was it you said? Ah, yes. Will make you TRULY sorry."
The ebony hairbrush tapped ominously against her bare bottom. Biting her lip, she whimpered as she thought of all the stupid things she'd said to him.
"Your bottom is quite red already, so I think ten hard strokes with the hairbrush should be enough to teach you a lesson."
She gasped at the thought of receiving ten hairbrush spanks on her already burning buttocks. "No! You can't!"
He frowned. "Can't I? Is that not to your liking?" He flipped the brush over, rubbing the bristles against her blistered skin. She winced – this was not a pleasant sensation. "Very well. Twenty strokes it is, then."
She did not like the direction that this conversation was taking. "No! Ten strokes is quite enough."
For half a minute, he said nothing, but continued to rub her aching derriere with the bristles. "Are you still trying to tell me how to do this?" he said calmly. "Do you think you're in charge right now?"
She gulped, realizing that she was not making the best decisions right now. Taking a deep breath, she spoke as humbly as she could. "I'm very, very sorry for trying to order you around, sir. I did not mean to question your judgement, and it was not my place. Please give me as many strokes as you think I deserve, with whatever implement you think is best."
After a few seconds, he flipped the hairbrush again, tapping the cold wood against her buttocks. "Ten hard strokes with the hairbrush should be enough to teach you a lesson," he repeated.
She sighed with relief. It was strange how a few minutes of conversation could change your perspective, and turn an unbearable fate into a show of mercy. "Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."
He grinned at her response. "That's good. You're learning a lot today," he said as he lifted the brush.
As the hard ebony slammed into her soft, sore cheeks, she kicked her legs and howled. She began to repeat "I'm sorry", an endless stream flowing from her lips, and she squirmed so much she almost fell off his lap.
Despite her earnest pleas, no mercy was shown as the brush continued to crash down. After five strokes, she was sobbing too much to speak, and in too much pain to struggle. As the final spanks landed, she lay limply over his lap, lost in a world of pain, unable to even feel the relief of knowing it was over.
He rubbed her sore cheeks and whispered comforting words to her. Once he saw that she was reacting to his words again, he helped her to her feet.
"Go stand with your nose to the wall," he said, nodding to the nearest corner. "Hands on your head, bottom bare and on display. If you move out of position, try to rub your bottom, or talk, you're going back over my knee for twenty strokes with the hairbrush." His tone of voice made it clear that he was in no mood for a debate.
She nodded humbly. With her head down, she shuffled over to the corner, obediently assuming the position. Her bottom was burning, and she longed to rub it, but she managed to obey – it was painfully clear that he meant what he said, and ten strokes had been more than enough.
Twenty minutes later, she was sitting on his lap, taking great care to please her weight on her thighs rather than on her blistered bottom. She was crying into his shoulder, while he was running his fingers through her hair. His other hand stroked her back, and he was telling her how brave she had been, how well she had taken her punishment, and how she was now completely forgiven.
She promised him that she would behave better from now on – and was under no illusions about what would happen if she didn't.
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