I realized I left out one in my rundown of spanking stories I've written that feature consensual spankings.
In NO PAIN, NO GAIN, Madison signs a contract allowing Jacob, a personal trainer, to punish her if she doesn't work up to her potential. I'd say signing a contract makes the spanking consensual, except Madison didn't read the fine print saying that the punishment in question ranged from hand spanking to strapping. Ooops.
Even so, I think this story goes in the consensual group. Madison could break the contract and walk away unspanked, although she'd lose the money for the sessions.
Here's a little scene that shows how things go between them:
On
Monday morning I had to call in sick to work and to training. I wasn’t food hangover sick. I wasn’t workitis sick or bossitis sick. I wasn’t Jacobitis sick or I-hate-exercise-sick. I was flu sick. When there was a knock on my door about
12:30, I was still in my flannel p.j.s, watching Judge Judy. Or maybe Judge Matthis. Judge Alex?
I was watching some sort of daytime judge-y show.
I shoved on my fierce bunny slippers (Monty Python merchandise) and slowly walked over to the door. It felt like my brain was swirling inside my skull. Maybe I was even a little sicker than I thought. In fact, maybe I was even delusional. Because when I opened the door, it seemed like Jacob was standing there. Trainer Jacob. From-the-gym Jacob.
“What are you doing here?” I asked. I know it sounds like I was being rude, but I was actually just confused. I’m pretty sure Jacob didn’t get that.
“If you had bothered to read our contract carefully, which I know weren’t responsible enough to do, you’d know that you agreed that I have the right to punish or reward you anywhere, anytime, as part of the motivational part of my program,” he answered. He pushed past me without waiting for an invitation. Now who was the Rudy Rudenstein? I’ll tell you—Jacob.
“Didn’t you get my message? I’m sick,” I told him.
“Sick with Mondayitis and sore-bottomitis,” Jacob said. He used the “itis” thing the same way I did. “You’re not my first client, you know. I’ve had many people call in sick on Monday morning because they had a little too much weekend fun and weren’t ready to work out. I figure that’s your problem. That and that I used the paddle on you for the first time on Friday, and you’re a) pissed off at me, b) still sore, or c) both of those.”
“I’m sick with the flu, for your information,” I shot back.
“Get on that couch with those pajama bottoms down,” he ordered.
“Seriously, you think you’re going to spank me for being sick?” I demanded.
“Seriously, I will spank you for any reason or none, which is what our contract states,” he informed me. “Now on that couch with your bottom bared for me.”
I didn’t like it, but I returned to the sofa and pulled down my pajama bottoms until they were just below my bottom. I didn’t have to worry about panties. I wasn’t wearing any. I literally bit my tongue to keep from saying anything. I felt like if I got into some confrontation I’d lose and I’d probably get paddled or worse instead of just spanked with his hand. His very hard hand. His very hard hand that never seemed to get tired of spanking.
Jacob walked over and sat down on the edge of the sofa next to me, putting his gym bag at his feet. He unzipped it and pulled out a thermometer. My fuzzy brain took a few seconds too long to put together the thermometer and my naked bottom. Before I could react, Jacob reached over and slid the tip of the thermometer into me.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” I burst out, abandoning my decision to be compliant. This was…this was not okay! I wanted to jerk away, but Jacob was holding the thermometer in place, and I was afraid it would snap.
“What I’m doing is determining whether or not you’re faking, which I feel pretty sure you are,” Jacob answered. “And if you use that language again, you will be one sorry little girl. I have the paddle, the strap, and everything else I might need to discipline you right here.” He nudged the gym bag with his foot.
Okay, Jacob was clearly a psychotic bottom-obsessed bastard. He was also bigger and stronger than me. I just had to get through this and get him out of my place. Then I’d break our contract, the money I’d paid be damned.
I pressed my face down into the sofa cushion. The thermometer tip was small. I could hardly feel it. But the idea that Jacob had done this to me… Fury and humiliation coursed through me. After what felt like an eternity, Jacob pulled the thermometer free. I kept my face buried in the cushion as I waited for what he would do next.
“You have a fever,” he said, and I heard disbelief and I thought regret in his voice. “A hundred and two.”
I yanked up my pajama bottoms, and leapt to my feet. The smart thing to do was play along with whatever he did until I could get him out and lock the door. It’s what I’d told myself I’d do. But I was way too angry to do the smart thing. “That was wrong and unfair and just, just wrong,” I said. “You should be spanked for what you just did. Get out of here. If you think I’m going to continue being trained by you, you’re crazy.
“Look, I know some of my methods are…unconventional,” Jacob said. “This is something I’ve done with a couple clients. Both were faking, and using the thermometer on them like that—it cured them of playing sick very fast,” Jacob explained. “You turned out to be telling the truth.”
“That’s all you’ve got to say to me. No apology?” I exclaimed.
“I don’t apologize for the way I train my clients. I get them the results I want,” Jacob answered. “Now, you might be a little embarrassed, but you weren’t hurt. I would never do anything that would hurt you.”
I crossed my arms over my chest. “Right. When you were staring at my ass just then, didn’t you happen to notice the bruises?” I demanded. “You’re the one who put them there.”
“Yeah, I did,” Jacob shot back. “And you know exactly why. You let your blood sugar get much more out of control and you could end up in a coma, you know that? You need someone like me to take care of you since you aren’t capable of doing it yourself. Now get back on the couch and I’ll get you some tea and soup. Have you taken any aspirin?”
My mouth actually dropped open. I thought that was only something that happened in cartoons. “You want to get me soup?”
“I’m committed to getting you fit and healthy. You’re sick, that means I’ll do what it takes to get you better,” he answered. “Unless you really do want to break the contract. Under the circumstances, I’ll refund your money. It’s your choice.”
My choice. This whole thing really was my choice. And when I was really honest with myself, I didn’t know if anyone but Jacob—or someone like him—could help me get the results I wanted. And who was I kidding. It’s not like there were a lot of trainers like Jacob. Trainers who were so dedicated they’d drive over to a client’s house to take them to task if they weren’t honoring their commitment to themselves. “I don’t want to fire you,” I answered, surprising myself, and by the looks of it, surprising Jacob a little. “I think you should maybe reconsider shoving a thermometer in someone’s behind. God, you could give people—and by people, obviously I mean me--the benefit of the doubt. Let me take the thermometer in my mouth at least. Or they have those ear ones.”
“Point taken,” Jacob answered. “But embarrassment is part of how I motivate. I know it’s hard on people—and by people, I mean you. It works though. One experience with a rectal thermometer, which isn’t at all painful but is very embarrassing, is a big deterrent to calling in sick to the gym.” He hesitated, looking down at the floor. “You know, I didn’t come up with most of these methods, including the thermometer, on my own. I used to be obese. Morbidly obese. I was in real danger of having a heart attack at age thirty. A friend recommend a trainer to me. He turned me around. Most of what I do with my clients I learned from him.”
A wild giggle burst out of my throat. “You let a guy take your temperature the way you just did me?” I asked. “Did he make you pull down your own pants too? I hate that. It’s so humiliating baring your bottom for someone, when it’s not, you know, for pleasure.”
“I know. And yes, he did. And when he pulled the thermometer technique on me?” Jacob pointed at his chest. “Faking.”
“Oh, no, you didn’t.” I giggled some more.
“Oh, yeah. And because I was I got one long, hellish session with the strap. Self-discipline was not something that came easy.” He held his arms out wide. “But, as you can see, I finally learned it. So, soup?”
You know, I thought I wouldn't have much of a personal comment to go with this story. I must be crazy. As I skimmed back through it, I realized it's one of the most personal stories I've written, and I wrote it in the first-person, no less.
It's personal in that I struggle with emotional eating, I'm overweight (much more so than Madison), and I have diabetes. (Unlike Madison though, I don't hate exercise and actually go to the gym three times a week. Where I work with a trainer who is absolutely nothing like Jacob, and yet manages to motivate me to work very hard without a single threat.)
I find it interesting and/or ironic that just earlier today I related a story on this blog about being put off by a potential spanking partner trying to move into more of a spanking conversation by observing that my weight indicated a certain lack of discipline. Because the way I eat is something I truly struggle with, something that's very emotional for me, it completely took me out of the mood.
Yet I wrote a story with a character who shared my struggle and received many disciplinary spankings to get her in line. Hmmm. That is what I have to say. Hmmm. And yet, even having written this story, I don't think I'd want to put myself into Madison's place, even a milder version, in real life. I want that line between real life and play. [Can I just note, as I am delving into my psyche and powers of denial, that I have repeatedly misspelled the word "disciplinary."]
Moving on. My other observation when I read through the story months after writing it, was that it's the only time I've had a scene that involved anal play (well, not play in the context of the story). Somehow the humiliation worked for me in the context of Madison and Jacob's relationship. Which, as pretty much always in stories I write, ends up with a happily ever after.
Up next, a rundown of the stories that I've written with semi-consensual spankings. You know the ones. The spankees agree to be spanked (consensual), but only to avoid something worse--like jail (which is where the semi comes in).
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