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 It’s like he’d been replaced by an evil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 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.
“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.
“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.
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.)
No comments:
Post a Comment