Thursday, August 30, 2012


Well, I don't know any people who call it a sling blade.

But there are a lot of words people use for vagina.  Just check out this Jezebel article.  For erotica writers--and readers and other interested parties--what word do you like to use?  I have found myself going from "core" to "cunt."  I actually like "cunt."  To me it's sexy.

Once I saw a romance manuscript that used "massive log" for penis.  To me, so not sexy.  But that's a topic for another day.

Wednesday, August 29, 2012


Just saw that Superman and Wonder Woman are hooking up.  Who do you think is the spanker in that relationship?  My vote is for Wonder Woman and her golden lasso.

What superhero/heroine do you think would be a good spanker?  Is there one you think should be spanked?  Is it wrong that I keep picturing Albert spanking Batman (or at least Bruce Wayne)?  Albert was very disappointed in him at times. 

Do you think there's a supervillain out there who could be reformed with a good spanking?  Could a spanking make a supervillain cry? Weigh in!  (Meanwhile I have some new story ideas!)

Saturday, August 25, 2012


Last post on consensual vs. non-consensual spankings in the stories I write.  I have two where the spankings are non-consensual, and they are the two historical stories.  I didn't plan it that way.  I think it's just that I found it easier to get the characters into a situation where the hero gives the heroine a non-consensual spanking back when relationships between the sexes weren't as equal.

In The Headstrong Miss Henley, an earl enters into an engagement with an ill-bred American girl.  Lord Whitford is basically in it for the money.  (Which sounds so crass and unheroic, but he has sisters to support and an estate with servants to keep afloat.)  Miss Henley's father wants a title for his daughter, Betty.  Betty wasn't consulted, but she's attracted to the earl and longs for a little attention from him.  Although not the kind of attention she gets.  Lord Whitford is humiliated by her lack of decorum, and decides the only way to get her to behave is to spank her.  Non-consensual spankings follow.  Although as their wedding day nears, both she and he have learned that a spanking can be pleasurable as well, and the last spanking is definitely full-on consensual. Here's an excerpt from earlier in their relationship:

                Betty swallowed hard.  You have nothing to fear, she thought.  The earl is a stickler for propriety.  He is nothing if not committed to following every rule, and it is certainly against every rule of society for him to bare as much as my ankle.  She felt somewhat better.  In fact, there was no possibility Lord Whitfield could so much as touch her, ensconced as she was in her own home.  It would be most improper for them to be alone together.  At the ball, he’d been able to whisk her off into the darkened garden, but there would be no opportunity for him to have even a moment alone with her this afternoon.

                When Lord Whitford’s arrival was announced shortly thereafter, Betty was feeling quite ready to see him.  In fact, the stormy expression on his face when he was escorted into the drawing room gave her a thrill of satisfaction.  He’d thought he’d bested her, but he truly knew nothing of the woman he planned to marry.  Betty always gave as good as she got, and usually she managed to give better.

                “How good of you to come to visit, my lord,” Harriet said.  “Let me have some tea and cakes brought in.  We—“

                “That won’t be necessary,” he announced, his tone cold and haughty.  “All I require is a few moments alone with Miss Henley.”

                “Alone?” Harriet repeated.  “My lord, although you are betrothed, I can’t allow you to have that degree of privacy.  I can, however, take my embroidery over into the corner and be quiet as a church mouse.  You shan’t even know I’m there.”

                Betty shot a triumphant glance at the earl. 

                “Are you aware that your charge, a most headstrong young lady, galloped through Hyde Park this afternoon?” Lord Whitford demanded.

                Harriet gave a little start.  “Surely not.  She took her mare out for a ride, accompanied by a groom.”

                “A groom she left in the dust of her mount’s hooves,” Lord Whitford replied.  “I have it on good account.  Several members of my club were most eager to give me every detail.  And that is why I am here.  It is my duty to discipline this young miss for her most unbecoming and most irresponsible display.”  He swept his eyes over Harriet.  “It is your decision whether or not to give me permission to administer the appropriate punishment in private.  But know this, Mrs. Tittle, if you insist on staying, I will be most tempted to take you over my knee once I have seen to Miss Henley’s spanking.  You have proven to be a lax and ineffective chaperon, and in some ways, you are as much to blame for Miss Henley’s  unseemly behavior as she is.”

                Harriet’s mouth opened, then snapped shut.  “You are soon to be her husband, my lord, and I suppose, in the absence of her father, it is appropriate for you to monitor her conduct.”  With that, to Betty’s consternation, her aunt scuttled out of the room, shutting the door behind her.  She had expected more loyalty.

                When the earl turned toward her, Betty had the wild impulse to beg his forgiveness.  Would he believe her if she told him Morgiana bolted and that it had taken all her skill to bring the mare under control?  Would he believe her if she told him that she had confused the Rotten Row etiquette, believing it was five o’clock when horses were allowed a gallop on the bridle path as exercise rather than early in the morning when most of the ton was still abed?

                Don’t you dare grovel or plead, Betty thought.  She forced herself to meet the earl’s gaze, although the effort took almost all her will.  “You have nothing to say for yourself, miss?” Lord Whitfield demanded.  His voice was low, but had the bite of a whip.

                “I don’t believe I do, my lord,”  she answered, hating the tiny quaver she heard in her voice.

                “You don’t believe you do,” he repeated in disbelief.  “Was it not you who only last night gave me a promise of respectable behavior?”

                Betty’s temper rose.  Who was he to lecture her?  He expected respect from her, when he had shown her none.  Did he not consider that it was humiliating for her to attend ball after ball, soiree after soiree unattended by her fiancé?  Did he not understand that if he wished the obedience due to him as the husband he was soon to be that he should treat her as if she was to be his wife, not simply a bag of coin soon to be transferred to him?

                “Perhaps we have a different definition of respectable,” she countered.

                “It is very clear to me that we do, or, if not, that you have no care for my reputation,” Lord Whitford answered.

                His reputation.  Of course.  That was all he cared about, what society thought about him.  He cared nothing for her, that had been made more than evident in these past weeks.

                “To my way of thinking, respectable behavior is at least giving the appearance that you wish to marry your fiancée for more than money.  You wish me to have a care for your reputation, but you have not concerned yourself with mine.  Every time I am seen without you by my side, I can assure you it is noted, whispered and even giggled over.  Did it ever occur to you that perhaps as my betrothed you should have taking me riding in the park at the fashionable hour?”

                Without answering, without another word, the earl removed his gloves, then his jacket, which he draped over the back of the nearest chair.  He sat down on the sofa, and there was no question what he was preparing to do as he pushed up the right sleeve of his lawn shirt.  “Come here, Miss Henley,” he ordered.

                Betty’s knees trembled as she rose, but she walked over to him without hesitation.  If he thought his discipline would bend him to his will, she was determined to prove him wrong.  She would take the punishment he doled out without protest.  He would soon see his methods were ineffective.  She was not a child and his treating her as such would prove fruitless.

                She didn’t wait for him to put her over his knee.  She placed herself across his thighs, hard with muscle, of her own volition, letting her head and torso rest on the cool silk of the sofa.  Betty managed to give a sigh of boredom, determined to show him how little effect he was having on her.  It was harder to act nonchalant when he placed his big hand on her bottom, but she managed to hold her body still. 

                “I had hoped that the spanking I gave you last night would have been enough to convince you to behave yourself,” Lord Whitford began.  “Clearly, I was mistaken, and clearly more severe measures are called for.”

                Betty gulped, hoping the earl hadn’t heard the sound.  She tried to reassure herself with the knowledge that her fiancé was quite proper.  Certainly, her spanking would be longer, and perhaps more forceful, but he wouldn’t follow through on his threat of raising her skirts and petticoats.

                “In addition to the impropriety of your actions this afternoon, do you realize you endangered everyone in your wake?  You could easily have caused a collision, and injured another or yourself.  Do you understand that, young lady?”

                “I am an excellent rider.  I knew I could control my mount,” Betty answered.  She’d wanted to hurt the lord’s reputation, but not harm another in any way.

                Lord Whitfield gave a low curse.  Betty’s stomach tightened.  He was angrier than she’d realized.  “Perhaps you are the horsewoman you claim to be, but everyone in the park is not.  You could easily have spooked the mount of a less experienced rider.”  He pressed his hand more firmly against her bottom.  “This is not the issue at hand.  You and I discussed what was expected of you, and less than a day later, you have defied me.  Tell me, miss, what did I promise would happen if you disobeyed?”

                “You said you would spank me,” Betty replied.  Her mouth was so dry it was hard to get the words out.

                “Yes, and more specifically?” 

                Betty didn’t think she could bear to say the words.  Lord Whitford leaned down until his lips were near her ear.  “If you do not answer me, I promise you I will take your riding crop to you.  I see it right over there beside your chair.  You are quite untidy in addition to your other virtues.”  Sarcasm fairly dripped from his lips.  “Now, what specifically, did I tell you would happen if you disobeyed me?”

                Betty drew in as deep a breath as she  could.  It was difficult.  She felt as if someone were compressing her ribcage.  “Specifically, you said you would pull up my skirt and petticoats, take down my pantalettes, and spank my bare bottom.”  There!  She’d said it.  And she hadn’t sounded at all frightened, or at least not so very much.  He’d see whatever he did would be fruitless, that whatever he did would not change her.

                “Very good.  I wanted to be absolutely certain you were aware of why this is happening.  You obviously knew the consequences of flouting the rules of polite society, and though an American, I believe you are aware that galloping through the park is unacceptable unless it is a groom exercising a horse very early in the morning, are you not?”

                “Yes, I’m aware,” Betty answered.  She wished he’d just get on with it.  Lying here completely in his power was dreadful.  It felt as if her heart had begun to tremble.
                  “Then you must be aware that what is to happen is completely your responsibility.” 

Hmm.  I now find myself confused by my own definitions.  I was thinking of this as completely non-consensual, because Lord Whitford would certainly spank Miss Henley even if she tried climbing up the curtains to get away from him.  And yet, in this scene, she has gone and done exactly what she was told would lead to a spanking, and she's was, in theory, ready to accept the punishment if said behavior would humiliate him in front of society.  So I guess that is consensual.  Semi-consensual?  But it's certainly not as if she agrees that she needs to be spanked or accepts that he has the right to spank her.  So I'm leaving this story in this pile!

In the next story, The Scheming Miss Sinclair, Miss Lucy Sinclair has trapped Lord Reece into marrying her by contriving to have them found alone together at a ball.  As her husband, Gareth, Lord Reece, feels he has the right to spank her whenever he sees fit.  Miss Sinclair does submit to at least some of the spankings, but only because she knows her punishment will be worse if she doesn't.  Which I'd say makes them non-consensual.  (Although, she and her new husband also discover that spankings can be erotic, and there is definitely the implication at the end of the story that they will be indulging in at least some semi-consensual if not completely consensual spankings in the future.)  Here's a look:

            She needed to get away from her bridegroom at once.  If she had to say “yes, sir” or “yes, my lord” one more time she would begin to scream and possibly never stop.  If she had to endure one more spank, she would begin to cry and surely never stop.

            Pain biting into her derriere with every step, she crossed to the door and peeped into the main room.  Several men were in sight, as was a serving girl not much older than Lucy.  Gareth was nowhere to be seen.  This might be Lucy’s only chance to act.  Chin high, Lucy stepped out of the parlor.  “Gentlemen, I have need of transport to London.  My father will happily pay, and most handsomely.”

            “And could you put a number of quid to this ‘most handsomely?” one of the men, a rough-looking and somewhat dirty fellow asked.

            “Name your price,” she said grandly.  Once her father heard how Lord Reece had abused her, Lucy knew he’d be willing to pay whatever was requested and give his most genuine thanks.

            “I will return you to London free of charge at the end of our honeymoon,” a horrifyingly familiar voice drawled.  Lucy spun toward the sound and saw Gareth lounging in the entrance of the inn.  “Gentlemen, I’m afraid my new bride does not feel that I’ve been treating her with enough consideration, hence her desire to be returned to her papa and mama.”  His words were met with laughter, laughter that swelled when Gareth confided, “As it happens, I had to take the young miss across my knee for some naughty behavior, and she has flown into a temper.”

            Lucy felt her face redden, and the man who she’d thought might have been her savior called out, “Now that’s a sight I’d like to see.”

            “She does have quite a lovely bottom,” Gareth agreed.  He pushed himself away from the door frame, strolled over to Lucy, and gave her fanny a smack, then leaned close and whispered in her ear, “If you don’t wish for me to give these men a show by throwing up your skirts and spanking you here and now, I suggest you go directly to the carriage and wait for me.”

            She realized that escaping Gareth would take much more cunning, and that her new plan, whatever it turned out to be, had to begin with the illusion of absolute submission, and perhaps even devotion.

            Lucy dropped into a curtsy.  “Yes, my lord,” she answered.  The walk across the room felt endless as the men laughed and laughed, a few going so far as to applaud when Gareth ordered the serving girl to buy drinks for all in attendance.

            Her stomach twisted into knots as she waited beside the carriage.  She told herself that she shouldn’t fear.  She’d already endured a number of Gareth’s punishments.  She could endure another.  Somehow, she was not able to reassure herself.

            She almost expected Gareth to haul her over his knee the moment the two of them were settled back in the carriage.  He didn’t.  He simply stared at her as they traveled along.  Lucy was convinced that he was trying to determine the most mortifying and painful discipline he could administer.

            Near an hour later, he again instructed the driver to stop.  When Lucy alighted from the carriage, all she could see was countryside.  There wasn’t a structure in sight.  “I thought a picnic lunch was in order.  I obtained the necessary at the inn.”  Gareth tossed a bundle up to the driver.  “Have a meal and a nap if you desire one.  We’ll take a bit of a walk to stretch our legs then have our own meal.”

            He took Lucy’s hand, his grip firm, but not at all painful, and they began to walk across the field.  “This looks like an appealing spot,” he said when they neared a lovely willow tree.  He unwrapped the cloth bundle he’d been carrying in his other hand.  He spread the cloth on the ground, and set out several meat pies and two red apples, then assisted Lucy in taking a seat.

            It was hard for Lucy to swallow even a bite as Gareth made polite chitchat about the  view and the weather.  She knew she had punishment coming.  She wished he would simply go ahead and do whatever it was he’d decided on.  Her stomach now felt as if it were a small, cold, lump inside her, and her palms had begun to perspire.

            “Would you perhaps enjoy a brief nap?” Gareth asked.  “We have a half an hour or so before we need return to the carriage.”

            “No thank you, my lord,” she answered.  “It is most considerate of you to ask,” she added, certain that she would not have even the slightest hope of escape until she had convinced Gareth she would willingly, nay eagerly, comply with his every wish, that he had her obedience in all matters.

            Gareth stretched out on his back.  “I believe I’ll take a rest before we continue.  While I do, you might go over to that willow tree and pluck a switch.” Lucy’s heart froze for a moment, then began beating twice as fast and hard as it had been.  “To be prudent, why don’t you bring three. We need to have spares in case the first is not up to the task.”

            “Yes, sir.”  Lucy walked over to the tree, well aware of exactly what the task was to be.  She wanted to run.  She wanted to pummel him with her fists.  However, she would have to take his discipline with docility.  He could not know that with each branch she tore from the tree, the fury was building inside her.

            When Lucy returned to Gareth with the thin willow branches he did not stand or even sit.  He remained lying there with his hands behind his head.  He even had the gall to smile at her.  “You’ll need to strip the leaves off them.  They won’t make fit switches otherwise.”

            “Yes, sir.”  The words tasted like bile on her tongue.  She vowed she would never speak them again once she managed to free herself.  “I’ve finished,” she announced, when each of the three branches was stripped.

            Gareth held out his hand, and she gave him one of the switches.  He flicked it lazily through the air a few times, then slashed it in a wide arc that sent the air whistling.  “They should do nicely.”  He still didn’t bother to sit.  “I notice a boulder over yonder.”  He gave the switch he still held another lazy flick.  “Do you see it?”

            “Yes, sir.”  It was hard to keep all traces of her hatred for him out of her voice, but she believed she managed it.

            “Excellent.”  He stuck a blade of grass between his teeth.”  Take off your pantalets and leave them here.”  He began acting as if he were conducting an invisible orchestra with the willow wand as his baton. “Once you have, go bend over the boulder and raise your skirts so that your bottom is bare.  I’ll be over to whip you.” 

            “Yes, sir,” she said again. The word “whip” sent hot and cold shivers through Lucy’s body.  It took her several tries to unfasten her pantalets and remove them.  Then, as she’d been commanded, she took herself to the boulder and stretched herself over it on her belly.  Her fingers continued to quiver as she pulled up her shift, her petticoats, and her dress, leaving her limbs and bottom exposed.  She wondered briefly if the driver was witnessing her actions, but her fear over what was to come did not leave room for her to care.

            Had he fallen asleep back under the tree?  Lucy wondered what seemed like a quarter of an hour later.  When would he come to her?  If he’d simply come with her over to the boulder, they would be finished by now, or she hoped so.  She tried to twist around enough to see him, but couldn’t manage it and stay in the position he’d instructed her to take.  She wasn’t going to move, not if night fell and she was still there with her bottom on display.  She was going to be everything that was dutiful, devoted, and respectful until she made her escape and got her revenge.  Bent over that boulder, Lucy promised herself that said revenge would be full and mighty.  She tried to consider various hideous things that could be done to Gareth, but her fear had mounted into near-terror as she waited, her entire body tight with apprehension.

            She felt something light brush against her bare thigh.  Was some sort of insect crawling on her?  She reached back and tried to flick it away, but it simply moved higher, seeming to slide up the crevice between the cheeks of her buttocks.  She moved to flick at it again, and a line of fire crossed the back of her hand.  She yelped and began to jerk upright.

            “I wouldn’t advise moving.”

            The sound of Gareth’s voice had Lucy immediately pressing her belly tightly back against the boulder.  “Forgive me, sir.  I didn’t realize…  I thought some sort of insect was on my person.”  How had he moved right up behind her without her detecting him?  Perhaps it was because he was half serpent.  Lucy decided not to share this observation.

            “That is not the case,” he answered.  She thought he sounded amused.  Fury mixed with her fear; the fear was stronger.

            “I am fairly certain you know precisely why I’m about to whip you, but let’s be certain.  Why are you about to be punished, my lady?”

            Because you are a brute! Lucy wanted to exclaim.  A brute who somehow disguised himself as a handsome sweet-natured man for years upon years.  “I am to be punished because I tried to escape from you at the inn,” she answered.  She was proud that her voice hadn’t trembled, although perhaps it would be intelligent to let him see the apprehension and fright roiling inside her.  Surely if he were to whip her, he wanted her to fear him.

            “That’s right.  I have decided you deserve five stripes.  After each, I expect you to thank me,” he told her.

            “Yes, sir.”  She hadn’t determined whether or not to show fear, but her voice quavered without her volition.

            Lucy squeezed her eyes shut at the whistling sound made by the willow switch.  She had once been stung by a bee and when the switch hit her flesh, flesh that had been spanked and paddled so recently, it was like a dozen of those stings, hot and biting, in a row across the top of her bottom.  The pain took her breath and her ability to think.

            “Since you did not thank me, I will have to give you a repeat,” Gareth informed her.

            Lucy began to cry.  “I coul-could n-not breathe, m-my lord.  And so I could, could, could not s-speak,” she stammered.
Yeah, I'm confident that was non-consensual.  So here's a recap of where my stories fall on the Consent Scale.  (Though most of the stories end up with consensual spankings by the end.)
1. Taken in Hand.  Gigi makes an appointment at Real Fantasies to get a spanking, something she's been fantasizing about for years.  For Gigi, it's all about erotic fulfilment.
2.  Asking for a Spanking.  Katie's life is so out of control that she asks her handsome professor neighbor to help her--by giving her disciplinary spankings.  But she does ask!
3.  No Pain, No Gain  Madison hires a trainer to help her get into shape and lose weight.  She doesn't read the small print that says she gives the trainer permission to spank her.
4.  Time for a Spanking.  Elise agrees to take a paddling from the school principal, so her daughter doesn't have to.  (I'm ranking the semi-consensual spankings by how much leverage the spanker has over the spankee.)
5.  A Spanking for Santa.  Henry, dressed up as Santa, picks the wrong house to rob.  Single-mom Marci offers him a choice:  he takes a spanking or she calls 911.  He's actually not that unwilling to take the bargain.  Getting spanked  by a cute woman in her bedroom doesn't sound so bad.  Wrong. 
6.  The Naughty List  Briony hates the idea of her assistant--her assistant!--spanking her, but he'll turn her in for tax fraud if she doesn't go over his knee.
7.  Spanking Bridezilla.  Henry loves his bride-to-be, but her selfish behavior makes him hand out an ultimatum:  she takes spankings when he thinks she needs them or the wedding is off.
8.  Better Watch Out (Cause Santa Spanks)  Helen's husband gives her a choice:  accept a spanking or he'll take the kids to his parents' for  Christmas, leaving her alone for the holiday, and then he'll ask for a divorce.
9.  The Headstrong Miss Henley.  It's a battle of wills between Miss Henley and her fiance, Lord Whitford.  He spanks her every time she misbehaves.  She won't stop misbehaving because she finds that her behavior humiliates him in front of society, and that's the only way she has to punish him.
10. The Scheming Miss Sinclair.  Miss Sinclair's new husband, tricked into marrying her, is determined to show her she made a huge error because he now owns her, body and soul.
I find I'm still in the mood to write a few more Regencies, so I suspect there will be more non-consensual spankings to come!

Friday, August 24, 2012


In Spanked for What? Part 1 (and 1 A), I started breaking down the stories I've written by how consensual the spankings are.  I had four where the heroine gave explicit permission (or even paid) for the spanking.

Next up, the semi-consensual spankings, the ones where the spankee agrees to the spanking, but only to avoid something worse.  I've written three of these.

In Time for A Spanking, a mom agrees to take a paddling in her daughter's stead:

“I asked you if you remembered when we first talked about Shelby,” Principal Sullivan repeated, a steely edge to his voice now.

“Yes,” Elise snapped, not liking the way he was speaking to her.  It’s like he wasn’t the same man that she’d met that first day.  It’s like he’d been replaced by an evil clone.  “You said you could help her.  And you’re not.  If you were, she’d be behaving herself.”

“Changing behavior takes time.  It takes discipline.  Getting me to let Shelby off her punishment isn’t helping her,” the principal said.  “If you don’t agree with the Academy’s protocol, then you should remove Shelby from the school.”

“No!” Elise blurted out.  She didn’t know if she could even get Shelby in another school. Most private schools were way out of her price range. The Academy had given her a financial break, thanks to the principal’s recommendation.  He’d seemed to believe in Shell almost as much as she did.

“Then have Shelby report to me in the morning.  I assure you that the paddling won’t be severe, but it will get her attention,” Principal Sullivan said.  And he actually smiled at her, a kind, understanding smile.

Elise couldn’t do that.  Shelby had broken down and cried when she told Elise she’d been summoned for a spanking.  They’d talked for a long time—the longest in a while—and Shelby had convinced Elise to promise that she wouldn’t be paddled.  Elise couldn’t break that promise, not when she and Shelby had actually had a moment of their old closeness.

“I won’t allow it.  You don’t have my permission,” Elise said. The principal sighed. “I’ll take care of it.  It won’t happen again,” she promised. 

Principal Sullivan studied her for a long moment.  “I’m beginning to see that you’re a big part of the problem.  You’ve obviously been very permissive with Shelby, even more than I first thought.  That doesn’t do her any favors, you know.”

Outrage coursed through Elise.  “Are you calling me a bad mother?” she demanded.

“Actually, yes.  Or at least a mother who is much too lenient,” Principal Sullivan answered.  “You don’t want Shelby to be spanked, fine.  But you have to take the spanking in her place. It has a kind of justice to it. I suspect you’re as much to blame for her bad behavior as she is, probably more so.”

Elise planted her hands on her hips and stared down at him. “You want to spank me.” 

“What I said is, I’ll agree to you taking Shelby’s punishment.  You have three choices, and only three.  Shelby takes her spanking.  You take it for her.  Or Shelby leaves this school.”

“Fine.  Spank me.”  Elise leaned forward, stretching her arms across his desk, pressing her butt out. She felt the material of her tight skirt pull even tighter. “I assume this is how you want me.”  If he thought a little spanking was going to bother her, he was wrong.

“That’s the position I have the students take when I paddle them,” the principal agreed.  He stood and opened the bottom drawer of his desk.  When he pulled out a wooden paddle about a foot and a half long, Elise felt a jolt of electricity run through her and her heart began to beat faster.  It’ll be over in a minute, she told herself.  She wasn’t afraid of a little paddling.  Not the way Shelby was.

Principal Sullivan circled around the desk until he was standing behind her. Elise caught her bottom lip in her teeth.  She didn’t want to let a sound escape her.  That would make him way too satisfied.  She hoped he hadn’t noticed the way her breathing had speeded up.  She tried to bring it under control, but somehow that made the breaths come even faster.  Why wasn’t he doing it?  Why was he just standing back there?  She hated being forced to hold this position with her bottom held out for him to spank.
In Spanking Bridezilla, mild-mannered Henry finally has had enough of his bride-to-be's selfish, disrespectful behavior.  He informs her that he'll only go through with the wedding if Olivia agrees to disciplinary spankings whenever Henry sees fit.  In this scene, Olivia thinks she can get around Henry.  Uh, wrong:
When Henry walked into the apartment that night, he found Olivia curled up on the couch wearing his Giants t-shirts.  When she looked over him, he thought he saw a guilty expression pass over her face.  Uh-oh.

“Come sit with me, baby,” she said.  “You look like you’ve had a hard day.”  He hadn’t particularly, but he went to sit by her anyway.  She kissed him on the cheek, then with a wicked smile sank to her knees in front of him.  She unbuckled his belt.  He hardened before she got his zipper all the way down.  She slid her hand into his pants and stroked him.  Then she looked up at him from under her lashes.  “I…I can’t do this,” she said.  “Henry, I was trying to get you in a good mood.”

“Well, you were heading in the right direction,” he teased, stroking her cheek with the back of his knuckles.

“The thing is…”  Olivia nibbled on her bottom lip.  He didn’t think he’d ever seen her do that before.  It was adorable.  “Henry, you’re going to need to spank me.”  She wriggled her way up and over his lap.  His erection would have curved up against his belly if her body hadn’t been pressing down on it.

Olivia propped her chin on one hand and looked over her shoulder at him.  “I’m so, so sorry.  I went over our budget again.  I know I should have talked to you, but I got really excited because I found the perfect bridesmaids’ gifts.”  She used her free hand to pull the tail of the big t-shirt up over her bottom.  “It was disrespectful.  I know that.  I know you have to punish me.”  Her voice quivered a little.  She buried her face in the cushions, and he felt her body tense.

He looked down at her bottom, presented to him for spanking.  It was covered in a pair of pale pink ruffly little panties.  He’d never seen them before.  He would have remembered.  His head was whirling.  Olivia had come a long way.  Not only had she confessed bad behavior, she’d willingly put herself across his knee without even being asked. 

Henry put his hand on her bottom, fingers splayed.  Olivia squirmed a little, managing to grind across his cock.  “Sorry,” she quickly apologized.  “It’s just really hard to lie still and wait for a spanking.”  She squirmed a little more.  “I’ll try harder.  I know I’m not supposed to move.”

And Henry got it.  The new sexy little panties.  The wriggling.  The interrupted blow job.  She was playing him.  “I understand, sweetheart.  I know it’s difficult.  I really appreciate you understanding that I have to spank you.  It’s not something I like to do.”  Except maybe tonight.  She was asking for it big time.  Trying to manipulate him like that wasn’t at least as disrespectful as buying something for the wedding without discussing it with him.

Henry began rubbing Olivia’s bottom comfortingly.  “What exactly are we talking about?” he asked, keeping his voice soothing.  “How much over budget did you go?”

“Well…  We said that I’d spend a hundred dollars for each of my bridesmaids,” Olivia answered.  “I saw something so beautiful, I couldn’t resist.  These beautiful earrings.  There were six hundred and…something.  I don’t exactly remember.”

Henry began to toy with the little rows of ruffles.  “Hmm.  Four attendants.  So you went probably three hundred dollars over budget?”  He gave her one light spank.  “That was pretty naughty of you.”

“Actually…”  Olivia shifted, managing to do some rubbing on his dick.  “Actually each pair of earrings was six hundred and something.  I’m sorry, Henry!”

Henry felt a burst of anger go through him.  He wasn’t so angry he was afraid he couldn’t control himself though.  Still, she’d gone thousands of dollars over.  And it wasn’t the first time!  “I have to agree that you’ve earned yourself a sound spanking,” he said.  “I’m going to have to turn your cute little bottom much pinker than these panties.”

She giggled.  “You think my bottom is cute?”

Henry rolled his eyes. She was playing this to the hilt.  “You know I do.  I’m sorry I have to mistreat it.”  He wasn’t sorry at all.  “But you know I have to.”  And for once, he thought he was going to enjoy it.

He raised his hand and spanked every bit of those panties and the curvy section of bottom that peeked out beneath them.  He spanked firmly, but nowhere as near as hard as he usually did.  He’d decided to let her think she was getting away with her little scheme.  At least for now. 

He hooked one finger under the waistband of her panties and ran it back and forth, brushing the top of the crevice between her cheeks.  “We’re going to have to get these down,” he announced, striving to sound regretful.  “It isn’t a real spanking unless it’s on a bare bottom.”
Olivia looked over her shoulder at him, with her juicy lower lip stuck out in a little pout.  But then she nodded.  “I know.  And I know you’re just trying to help me be a good girl.”
She was really playing this to the hilt.  Did she think he was a complete idiot?  Olivia kept her big eyes on him as he slowly, slowly took her panties down, down all the way to her knees.

Olivia readjusted her position on his lap, pushing he bottom up slightly, and allowing her thighs to part a little, giving him a peek at her pink pussy.  Man, did he want to spank her until she was wriggling for real, trying to get out from under his hand.  But that would have to wait.

Henry gave her a sharp smack on each cheek.  “Tell me why you’re getting this spanking,” he said, then began rubbing her bottom.
“I was bad.  I was disrespectful.  I should have called you or texted to you or waited until you got home and talked to you before I spent any money at all on the wedding,” Olivia said, looking back at him again.  Then she gave a little squeak and pushed her thighs tight together.  “I didn’t realize…  You can see everything, can’t you?”

 “It’s nothing I haven’t seen before,” he reminded her.

“But it’s different during a sp-spanking,” she stammered.  “It’s different when I’m half naked and you’re dressed and punishing me.  It’s humiliating.”

“That feeling of humiliation should help you be good next time you want to pull out the credit card,” Henry told her.  “Now let’s get to it.”  He gave her a flurry of stinging spanks, and was surprised when she began kicking.  She’d never done that before.  The motion made her curvy bottom bounce and jiggle, and he was sure she knew it.  As she kicked, she also seemed to forget she wanted her thighs together.  They spread wider than before, allowing him an even better view of her pussy.  He noticed it was glistening.  She was getting turned on!  It’s not like it was having no effect on him, but he refused to let her manipulate him by distracting him with sex.

Henry trapped her kicking legs by looping one of his legs over both of hers.  The motion pushed her farther over one knee, and made her head drop down and her bottom tilt further up.  He let himself enjoy the picture she made.  She wanted him too, after all.  He gave her a medium-hard spank.  “You’re not going to disrespect me again, are you?” he asked.

 “No, Henry!” she exclaimed.
He spanked her again.  “Not ever, am I right?”
"Not ever!” she agreed.

 He stroked her bottom.  “Even when you see something very pretty?”  He brought his palm down on her bottom again, noting the rosy pink it had turned.

 “Never, never, never!” she cried. 
He gave her another little volley of spanks.  “Well, I suppose you think you’ve been punished enough?”  He returned to caressing her warm pink skin.

 “I have!  I really have!  I’m going to be good from now on,” she promised.

 “I guess I’ll let you off easy.  I’m finished spanking you for going over budget,” he told her.  He gave her fanny a light, affectionate pinch.  “I do hate to hurt such a gorgeous bottom.”
“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” Olivia cried.  She was laying it on so thick that Henry almost smiled.  He wasn’t angry any more.  Her plan had worked in a way.  He was feeling more amused than anything else.  But that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to give that gorgeous bottom some real punishment. 
Olivia pulled herself up until she was sitting on his knee, then gave him a big smacking kiss on the cheek.  Henry helped her to her feet, then began sliding his belt out of the loops.  Olivia grinned at him.  “Do you want me to finish what I started before you had to spank me?” she asked.
“I’d like that very much,” Henry answered her.  He pulled the belt free.  “But first I want you to go into our bedroom and lay face down on the bed.  You won’t be needing your panties.”  He doubled the belt, wrapping the ends around his hand.  Olivia’s widened, with what looked like pure panic.
“You said you’d spanked me enough!” she exclaimed, her voice high and shrill.

“For going over budget,” Henry said.  “I haven’t even started to spank you for trying to manipulate me.  Do you think I’m stupid?  Do you think I wouldn’t realize why you were wearing those sexy panties, and grinding on me, and flashing your pink pussy at me?”

“Henry!”  Olivia sounded shocked.

“You were trying to avoid your punishment.  We both know that.  Now go lay on the bed.”  He slapped the belt against his open palm. 
FYI, these were the panties I pictured Olivia wearing.  If you check out the price, you'll see that Olivia's been extra naughty. 
Each of the three Christmas-set stories I've written feature semi-consensual spankings.  In Better Watch Out ('Cause Santa Spanks), Mark orders his uber-perfectionist wife Helen over his knee, telling her if she refuses, she'll be celebrating Christmas without him or the kids and he'll divorce her:
“I’m going to get the kids,” I told her.  I wasn’t backing down.  This showdown had been coming for a long time.

“You mean it, don’t you?”  Helen stared up at me.

“You better believe it, sweetheart.  So make your choice.  And make it now.”  She hesitated, and I started for the stairs again. 

Helen grabbed my arm with both hands. “Don’t.”

“Does that mean you’re ready to take your spanking?”

Her lips thinned into a frown, and her eyes went icy.  “Fine,” she muttered.  “I’m not letting you spoil Christmas.”  As if she wasn’t the one who had gotten us into this situation.

“Good decision.  Let’s go down to the basement.  I don’t want the kids hearing this.”  I held out my hand again.  Helen batted it away, and marched downstairs, her back rigid with anger, chin up.

I walked over to the sofa.  You’d never know this room was a basement.  Helen did an amazing job decorating it.  She actually is amazing altogether.  She just gets so extreme.  It can’t make her any happier than it does the rest of us.  Her face when she was decorating the tree all alone—it was tight with stress, not at all the face of someone enjoying herself.

I spread my legs wide enough for Helen to stand between them.  “Well, get over here and let’s get this over with.”

“I’m only letting you do this so you don’t go running off with the kids. This isn’t going to change anything,” Helen informed me.

Letting me.  Christ.  “It will change things if I do it right,” I informed her.  “Now come over here to me.  If I have to stand up and come get you, you will be one very sorry young lady.”

She blinked at me.  I’m sure I’d never sounded so stern with her.  “Now!” I added.  I wasn’t sure she was going to obey me, but she did.  She practically stomped over, but she came.  I put my hands around her waist, the silk of her pajamas cool under my fingers, and pulled her between my thighs.  “This is for your own good,” I told her as I slid her pajamas down.  They slithered off her legs into a puddle at her feet.

Helen gave a yelp of outrage.  As if I’d never seen her in her little lacy panties before.  But, to be fair, it’s a lot different when you’re being bared for a spanking than for lovemaking.  I looped my fingers in the waistband of those panties of hers, but before I could get them down, she clamped her hands over mine.  “No!” she burst out.

“Your choice.  But your spanking doesn’t officially start until those panties come down,” I warned her.  Then I tipped her over one of my knees and used my free leg to lock her in place.  I didn’t hesitate.  I started spanking her upturned bottom immediately, ignoring her squeals of outrage.  She tried to wriggle away, but there was no way she was going to get out of the vise I’d created with my legs.  I alternated between her cheeks, with no hesitation between spanks.  Pretty quickly I could see her bottom getting pink underneath the thin lace of her panties.  I spanked until that pink turned red, then I planted my palm on her bottom.  “Are you ready to get started?” I asked firmly.  “If you are, then you slide those panties down for me.”  I raised my hand.  When she didn’t make a move to get her bottom bared for me, I brought my hand down with a crack.  It took three more hard, cracking spanks to motivate her.

“Stop!” she cried.  “I’m going to do it.”  I moved my hand away and she yanked her panties down so fast I couldn’t stop myself from chuckling.
In The Naughty List, a truly hideous boss gets spanked by her assistant the night of the office Christmas party.  It's that or he'll turn her over to the IRS for fraud:
Everyone knows you’re not supposed to drink too much at an office Christmas party.  But if I hadn’t had a few too many of the signature cranberry martinis, I never would have spanked my boss that night—actually spanked her twice--and my life would have continued to be a living hell.

Let me back up a little.  I’m the assistant to Ms. Briony Sanders.  Yeah, that Briony Sanders.  Voted most powerful woman of 2011 by Fortune magazine, the youngest person ever to have that honor. Cover of Time magazine.  Owner and founder of Visionary Inc.  And, as my little sister would say, a capital B beyotch.

She treats me, and everyone who works for her, like dog poop stuck to the bottom of one of her spike heels.  No one wanted to be at the office Christmas party, because no one wanted to be anywhere in the vicinity of Ms. Sanders one more second than they had to.

But we were all there.  We were all afraid not to be.  Ms. Sanders notices everything, and she would definitely notice someone skipping out on the party.  It would be seen as a lack of company pride.  She was big on company pride.

Anyway, control freak that she is, Ms. Sanders kept criticizing the Santa I’d hired until the guy walked out.  He could do that.  For him, it was just one night’s lost work.  The rest of us had to take Ms. Sanders’ abuse.  Our jobs depended on it.  And you know what the job market is like.

It was too late to get another Santa, so Ms. Sanders ordered me into the suit—with its wide leather belt (remember that, it’ll come up later)--and beard and padding.  I took up my spot by the tree and started calling out names and handing out presents.  When it was Ms. Sanders turn, I couldn’t didn’t find a package with her name on it.  I’d double checked to make sure there was a present for every employee, but there was nothing.  An epic screw up.  I was sure I’d be hearing about what an incompetent waste of space I was for the next few weeks, minimum.

As I did another search under the tree, praying I’d just missed her package, someone, someone who’d clearly also had a few too many, yelled out “She must be on the Naughty List.”  Ms. Sanders glared out into the crowd, but she couldn’t figure out who’d shouted the words.

“Get out your bundle of switches, Santa,” someone else cried.  And then a chant started up.  I don’t know who began it, but, boy, did it catch on fast.  “Spank her, spank her, spank her!”  The words echoed in the hotel ballroom.  The situation seemed like it was getting out of control, so, since Ms. Sanders was standing right next to me, waiting for her Christmas present, I grabbed her, bent her over my arm, and gave her butt a couple smacks.  Smacks.  I wouldn’t even call them spanks, and seriously, just a couple. She could probably hardly feel them.  It was enough for the crowd though.  They broke into applause.

I figured I’d handled it pretty well. I laughed.  Ms. Sanders laughed too.  Everybody in the place laughed. Then Ms. Sanders moved in close and whispered in my ear—“My room.  Five minutes.”  Don’t get me wrong.  She didn’t say it in a “hey, baby, come up to my room,” kind of way.  She said it in a “you have completely fucked up and are thisclose to getting fired” kind of way. 

So, four minutes later, I was in the glass elevator, heading up to the top floor.  Ms. Sanders had had me book the penthouse in the hotel where we were having the party.  She wanted to spend the night.  It’s not like she had a husband or kids to go home to.  And it’s not like the price of the penthouse was anything to her.  She had billions.

I walked down the hall, trying to prepare myself for one of my boss’s reamings.  I should be used to them, but she has a way of making you feel about one-foot tall when she gets going.  And she got going right away.  She whipped open the door before I could knock.  “Who the hell do you think you are?” she demanded.  Her blue eyes were practically flashing fire.  If you’ve seen her picture—and I’m sure you have—you know she has amazing eyes. Amazing everything.  Legs up to her waist.  Long black hair.  Pouty lips.  Too bad her personality completely sucks.

“I could hit you with a sexual harassment suit right this second,” she ranted.  “You know how hard it would be to get another job with that on your record?  You’d be lucky to get a job mopping up puke and piss in the bus station.  Not that you’re competent enough for a job like that anyway.  Even mopping takes more brains than you possess.  You humiliated me out there.  What is in that head of yours?  Straw?  Spare change?  Certainly not brains.  You--“

“What I did was diffuse the situation,” I interrupted.  Although I knew interrupting was on the long list of things Ms. Sanders would not tolerate.  “You should be humiliated that your employees think you deserve a spanking, not that I gave you a couple whacks to turn the whole thing into a joke.”

Her face flushed at the memory.  “I want the name of every person who joined in that ridiculous chant.  I refuse to employee anyone who doesn’t respect me.”

“Then you’ll have to fire everybody.  And you won’t be able to find replacements that last more than a day.  That’s all it takes to lose respect for you,” I shot back.  Like I said, I was somewhat drunk.  Also, I’d worked for Ms. Sanders a solid year, twice as long as any other assistant and I’d been pushing down my fury and eating my words for every day of that year.

"Apologize this instant and I’ll allow you to keep your job, although you’ll be on probation,” Ms. Sanders told me, voice rising.  I forgot to say, that my boss has no problem yelling at the people who work for her.  And she enjoys making people cry.  I’ve seen how she smirks when someone leaves her office in tears.  It’s not always women, either.  “And you can forget about your bonus.” 

Like she ever gives anyone a bonus.  She dangles the promise of one in front of our noses, but always finds a way to get out of actually signing the checks.  “You know what, I’m not apologizing,” I told her.  “And you better think twice about firing me.  You think I’m stupid.  I know that.  But I’m smart enough to know that those ‘loss of income’ insurance policies you bought in the Virgin Islands were bogus and gave you big tax breaks.  I have proof.  You fire me, I turn it over.  In fact, I’m going to need more than my job.”

Ms. Sanders face had paled.  She’d opened her mouth to speak, but no words were coming out.  There really is a first time for everything.  “How much do you want?” she finally asked.

I pulled off my Santa beard.  I’d forgotten I was wearing it.  “I don’t want your money,” I told her.  “They were right downstairs.  You do need a spanking.  You’ve been needing one for a long time.  And I’m going to give it to you.”

I sat down on the bed.  “Get over my knee.”  Christ, it felt good to say that   It was going to feel even better to spank that gorgeous bottom of hers until it was crimson.

She marched over to the phone on the end table. “I’m calling security.”

“Fine.  I’ll make some calls of my own.  Starting with the IRS,” I told her. “Now get over here and take your spanking.”

Ms. Sanders locked eyes with me.  I didn’t blink.  Finally she let out a long, dramatic sigh and walked over to me.  “You could have been very rich and this is what you ask for.  Stupid, stupid, stupid.”

“Over my knee,” was all I said in response.  I realized I was still wearing my Santa gloves and slowly stripped them off.

She obeyed.  Yes, obeyed.  She stretched out across my lap. I shoved her dress up to her waist, but when I started to take her panties down, she let out a screech of outrage and clamped her hands over her bottom like a little girl.

“Were you under the impression that this spanking wasn’t going to be on your bare bottom?” I asked.  “You’ve taught me that every task, no matter how small, must be done correctly.  That’s how I plan to do this spanking.”

I caught her wrists in one hand and slid them up behind her back, then I took a moment to admire her Frou Frou panties by John Paul Gautier.  How did I, your basic guy, know the designer?  Because I had the honor of doing my boss’s personal shopping.  The price of this little bit of lace?  Five hundred and thirty-four bucks.  Before tax.  She should have been spanked just for owning them.  Didn’t she know that there were people in the world who couldn’t afford food?

I ran my fingers over the lace.  It wasn’t smooth, more ruffly.  I let my fingers make another trip across, and Ms. Sanders gave an annoyed harrumph.  “Can we get on with it?” she asked, all I’m-way-too-important-to-waste-my-time-with-this.

“You aren’t the boss when you’re over my knee,” I informed her. I planted my palm on her bottom, my fingers spread wide. “I’ll start when I want.  I’ll stop when I’ve decided you’ve had enough.”  To prove it, I made her lie there with her hands held behind her back and my hand on her ass for a solid two minutes.  Her whole body was tense.  I don’t think she was nervous.  I think she was enraged.  But she managed to hold her tongue, and that was a little Christmas miracle, I can tell you.

When I was good and ready, I raised my hand high, and brought it down with a crack.  Ms. Sanders gave a little squeal.  Did I love hearing that?  Oh, yeah.  I spanked her all over those fancy panties of hers until she was wriggling to try and get away, then I planted my hand on her bottom again.  “Are you still eager for me to get with it?” I taunted.

“You little bastard!” she bit out.

That earned her a few more spanks on her black-lace covered bottom.  Then I decided it was time for those panties to come down.  She gave a surprised little squeak when I ran one finger under the waistband.  She probably thought I’d decided not to make her take the spanking bare.  Like I was going to give her any kind of break.  I toyed with the waistband a bit, plucking at it lightly, making her wait, then I jerked them all the way down to her knees.

“How does it feel having to go over my knee like a bad little girl, Ms. Sanders?” I asked.  “With your bottom all pink from a spanking.”  I ran my hand across her round ass.  The skin was warm, but not nearly as warm as it was going to get.  “Answer me, Briony Ann,” I demanded.  Of course I knew her middle name.  I do a ton of paperwork for her.  I gave her a sharp spank.  “How does it feel to have your bottom bared because you’ve behaved so badly?”
I just realized I had Briony wear the same type of panties that Olivia did in the scene I excerpted from Spanking Bridezilla.  (Except Olivia's were pink and Briony's were black.) There's just something about those ruffles and the astronomical price tag that says spanking to me.
Finally, in Santa Gets Spanked, a man dressed up in a Santa suit makes like the Grinch and tries to steal presents from a single mom and her little girl.  Marci , the mom, gives the thief a choice--take his spanking or go to jail:
Marci started to punch in 911.  She’d only gotten in the 9, when Santa started talking.  “You don’t want your little cutie to see Santa hauled off by the police, now do you?” he asked with a grin.

She didn’t.  But she also didn’t intend to let the thief stroll out of her house.  She decided that she could handle this herself.  “No, but I’m also not letting you stroll out of here with no consequences.”  Marci hauled in a deep breath.  You can do this, she told herself.  “Here’s the deal.  I give you a spanking, and then you leave—without our presents.  No police.”

Santa smirked at her, his gumdrop-green eyes sparkling.  “You want to spank me, sweetheart?  Be my guest.  Actually it sounds like fun.”

It’s not going to be fun for you, not in the least, Marci promised herself.  “All right.  Let’s get this over with.  Come with me.”  He obediently followed her down the hall to her room.

“You’re going to spank me in your bedroom?  This gets better and better,” Santa said.  He pulled off his Santa hat, revealing dark, curly hair that was a little too long.  Next he took off his cottony beard, revealing the mouth that had given her that kiss.  It was perfectly shaped, the bottom lip a little fuller than the top.  Did he have to be so damn cute?  Marci shoved the thought away.  She locked the door, and when Santa gave a soft chuckle, she whirled around to face him.  “I don’t want my daughter to see me giving Santa a spanking, no matter how much he deserves it,” she snapped.  She marched over to the bed.  It was the only place to sit in the small room.  “Get those pants down and get yourself over my knee,” she ordered.

She’d never given a spanking before—other than giving Geena a few quick swats.  But her husband had believed in administering spankings when he thought Marci had earned one.  They’d always gotten her behavior back under control.  All she had to do was give this guy a spanking like the ones Bill had given her before he died.  A wave of longing for her husband washed through Marci.

“Now!” she barked at Santa, who hadn’t moved.  “If you drag your feet, it’ll make your spanking that much longer, young man.”

“Young man?  I’m probably at least a couple years older than you are,” Santa answered.  He sauntered over to her.  “But don’t worry.  Someone as pretty as you isn’t going to have to ask me to take my pants off twice.”  He sucked off the red velvet pants of his Santa suit, and the padding that had given him his belly fell to the floor.  “You sure you want me over your knees?” he asked.  “I’m not complaining, but I might be a little heavy for you.”

He was big.  Tall and muscular.  “Are you stalling?” Marci demanded.  “You better not be stalling.”

“No, ma’am.”  He stretched out across her lap, the bed supporting most of his weight.  Marci planted her palm on his butt.  Okay, when Bill had spanked her, he’d always started by telling her exactly why she was getting spanked.  Sometimes tears had sprung to her eyes just hearing him lecture her, before he’d even given her bottom even a little swat.  She’d always felt so ashamed when she’d disappointed him.

“Look at yourself.  You’re an adult man and you’re about to get spanked like a bad little boy.  And for what?  Stealing a little girl’s Christmas presents.  How do you think my little girl would feel when she got up Christmas morning and found nothing under the tree?  You should be ashamed of yourself,” Marci lectured. She kept her voice cold and stern.  Yes, she was furious at him, but she was going to spank him thoroughly and methodically, keeping her anger in check the way Bill had.  And she was going to spank him until she decided he truly regretted what he’d done.

“I wasn’t planning to steal a kid’s presents.  I was hoping more for some jewelry, some electronics, something good,” he answered, not sounding especially contrite.  “A nice house like this, I figured there’d  be some high-end loot.  And that whoever lived here would have the money to replace it.”

That might have been true, when Bill was alive.  But Marci was struggling just to keep the mortgage paid.  She wasn’t telling Santa that.  That was her business.  “You can’t replace a child’s Christmas,” she told him.  It was time to get started.  Her lecture hadn’t affected him the way Bill’s usually had her.

Marci wrapped her fingers around the elastic waistband of Santa’s boxers, boxers covered with mistletoe!  She jerked them down until his bottom was completely bared.  “This is getting good,” Santa said with a happy little wriggle.

Marci raised her hand high, and brought gave Santa’s butt a hard spank.  He laughed.  Well, he won’t be laughing when I’m through, Marci promised herself.  She didn’t give him any time to recover.  Sometimes Bill would pat her or stroke her or rub her in between spanks, but this man wasn’t going to get any of that.  She spanked every inch of his bottom, trying not to notice that it was a pretty nice one, not too flat.  He didn’t give any of the little yelps or cries Marci could never stop herself from letting out when Bill spanked her.  His spanks started out stinging and ended up burning.

She kept spanking.  At least Santa’s bottom was getting red.  He didn’t seem bothered, but he had to be getting a little uncomfortable at least.  But uncomfortable wasn’t nearly good enough, not after what he’d done.

Bill had had big, strong hands.  Marci’s were strong enough, but they were small.  She didn’t think she’d be able to spank hard enough to get Santa’s bottom throbbing.  She leaned over and opened the drawer of her nightstand.  She took out the hairbrush Bill had kept for those occasions when she’d really stepped out of line.  The round back was wide and it was made of wood.  She knew from experience that it hurt.

Marci raised the brush, took aim, and cracked it down on Santa’s left butt cheek.  “Hey!” he protested, and Marci smiled.  Maybe they were starting to get somewhere.  She raised the  brush again and brought it down on exactly the same spot.  Lather, rinse, and repeat, she thought as she nailed the same spot again and again until he had an angry dark crimson circle on one side of his bottom.

“I don’t have to take this,” Santa said, starting to stand. 

“It’s that or the police.  You get back down where you belong and don’t you move until I give you permission or you’ll be spending the night in jail,” Marci warned him.  Santa put himself back over her lap, and Marci got to work giving him a matching red circle on his other butt cheek.  Then she got to work on the underside of his buttocks, whaling away until she heard Santa give a grunt of pain. 

This time it was Marci who smiled.  She was getting to him.  That knowledge gave her fresh strength and she spanked until his whole bottom was a dark, deep red.  Then she flipped the brush over and ran the bristles across his burning skin.  “Well, I don’t hear you laughing any more, big guy.  Are you feeling sorry for what you did?”

“Fine.  I’m sorry that I picked this house.”  Marci knew that was just bravado.  She knew exactly what a hairbrush spanking felt like.  Santa had to be in serious pain and he wouldn’t be able to sit down without thinking of her for at least a couple days.  But he clearly needed more.

“That’s not good enough,” Marci snapped.  “Stand up.”  He did, immediately reaching for his boxers.  “You won’t be needing those.  We’re not done.  Get on your knees and bend over the bed.  Don’t you dare move until I get back.”

Santa Gets Spanked is the only story I've written with a woman doing the spanking.  I've given a few spankings to men.  It was fun, and so was writing this story.  I should do another one.  And since I've been talking underwear, here are the boxers I pictured Santa wearing.
That's it for the semi-consensual spankings.  In the next post, I'll deal with the absolutely non-consensual ones.
All the stories mentioned in this post are available at Amazon Amazon UK

They are also all included in the Red Hots collection at Amazon, Amazon UK, and Barnes & Noble.  (FYI, buying the collection is less expensive than buying each story in the collection individually.)