Friday, April 30, 2010

Music Lesson

"Can you feel it?" He asked.

I stood stiff and straight, the violin tucked properly beneath my chin. My fingers held tight against the tension in the strings as I drew the bow across them. The notes whined in the air, the instrument vibrating against me, sending its echoes through my body. I felt all of it, but it was not what he was asking.

"No," I said, frustration creeping into my voice as I continued to play, "Am I doing something wrong?"

"Music is emotion," He said rising up from his perch behind me and standing close to my back. I could feel his breath on my neck, my skin prickling in response to his proximity. He said, "You play the notes perfectly, hold the rhythm without flaw, but there is nothing of you in this. If you want to be truly great, the music has to be more than the notes on the page. It must flow from your heart, not your mind."

"But how?" I asked, dropping the violin from my chin and holding it silent, dangling at my side.

"Your technique is not the problem," He said.

"I don't understand," I said, twisting to look at him behind me.

"Have you ever been in love?" He asked.

My face flushed pink with embarrassment, my gaze drifted downward, away from him and I said, "Of course."

"How did it feel?" He asked.

I raised my eyes to meet his and asked, "To be in love?"

"Yes," He replied and I shrugged saying, "I don't know."

"Were there butterflies?" He asked, wrapping his arms around me and gently caressing my stomach, through the thin material of my top.

"Yes," I said, exhaling.

"Was there excitement?" He asked, his hands wandering to my bosom.

I nodded, unable to speak.

"Did you burn for him?" He asked, his hand traveling downward to my hips.

I closed my eyes and pressed back against him. His body pulsed against mine. Every nerve tingled with electric passion. His breath felt like a cool summer breeze on my neck. My arms trembled and the violin felt suddenly heavy in my hand. A smile found its way to my lips and the frustration faded away, replaced by temptation.

"Yes," I said, answering him at last.

His hold loosened and his hands fell away, leaving me flustered and confused. He took the violin and bow from my hands, casting the instrument aside. Nervous, I turned to face him, but could not meet his eyes for more than a second at a time. Tears or laughter would have eased the tension between us, neither was forthcoming.

"Your emotions are raw, inexperienced," He said.

"I'm not an innocent," I said, my cheeks growing hotter.

"No one is," He said, whispering in my ear. "You must learn to call upon your emotions at will, focus them and allow them to flow through you and into the music."

"But how?" I asked and he replied, "I will teach you."

"Take them down," He said, taking a step back from me and pointing at my jeans.

"But I didn't do anything," I said.

"You're not an innocent," He said, mocking me.

I looked up to find a devilish grin on his face. My face flushed hotter and I resigned myself to complying with his demands. He had spanked me before anyway, although, never for such a contrived reason. My fingers obeyed and unclasped my jeans, slipping them down and leaving me vulnerable to his gaze and more. I bit at my lip, embarrassed, not because my jeans were lowered, but because all I could think about was his arms wrapped around me and his hands exploring my body.

He seated himself on a low stool, keeping his gaze trained on my blushing cheeks. My eyes danced between his face, his lap and the floor. He patted his knee, indicating he was ready for me to lay myself over his lap. I took a shuffled step toward him and leaned down toward his lap, until his strong arms took over, laying me against him. His hand caressed my bottom, easing me into a sense of safety and security.

The slap of his hand against my bottom jolted me from my dazed state. His spanks were not particularly painful, he was capable of much worse. He settled into a rhythm, alternating between cheeks and my bottom bounced to the tune. I stared at the floor, committing myself to take whatever he would give and without complaint.

"Do you feel the beat?" He asked, without pausing in his efforts.

"Yes," I said, appreciating the irony in his choice of words.

"And what else do you feel?" He asked.

"Your hand," I said.

"And?" He asked.

"Some pain," I said, although the sting was only minor.

"Good," He said, continuing to spank me in perfect rhythm. "Now listen to the music in your head. Feel the pain in tune with that music, in tune with the slaps against your cute, red cheeks."

I tried to do what he asked. My mind settled on a melody and I began to hum it aloud. The rhythm flowed through me and I could almost imagine myself twirling on a dance floor. His spanks complimented the tune adding a drum-like beat and my responsive gasps only enhanced the music further. We were dancing together, floating on a cloud with beautiful music connecting us.

A knock on his door brought the music to a grinding halt. His hand stopped its rise and fall, resting lovingly on my tender bottom. I blinked at the floor, saddened by the sudden interruption. He lifted me from his lap and stood to answer the door. I bent to raise my jeans back in place.

"Leave them," He said and I looked up at him with questioning eyes.

"It's merely an old friend of mine, come to visit," He said.


"He's seen it all before," He said.

I sucked in air trying to cool the hot blood rushing to my face. He unlocked the door and looked back at me before opening it. I resigned myself to the embarrassment and kept my silence. He nodded approvingly and then I felt it. The embarrassment, the shame, the approval, everything pulsing inside us was emanating in the silence, surrounding us in the room. It was as invisible as the air, but just as present.

Friday, April 23, 2010

The Girl In The Window

"Out," Ms. Garrett said, pointing at the door and staring at me.

A hushed silence fell over the classroom. Feeling the eyes of my classmates boring into me, I closed my textbook and slipped it off the desk, into my waiting book bag. My knees wobbled under the weight of my peer's scrutiny as I rose from my front row desk. I walked with a nervous, anticipatory stomach toward the door. Ms. Garrett's gaze remained stern and her finger continued to point the way, while everyone else sat watching and wondering.

I stepped out into the empty hallway and listened to solid clunk of the closing door. Anxiously, I walked the vacant corridor toward the office at the end. It felt like freedom, walking alone in the hallways normally crowded with students scrambling to their respective classes. I had never walked them during classes before, never listened to the echo of my heels against the locker lined walls.

My hand rested on the cold brass of the door handle leading into the administrative office. I took a deep breath and steeled myself against the fear building like a lump in my throat. It was too late for second thoughts. I pulled the door open and walked inside, keeping my eyes downcast as I approached the assistant's desk. She clunked her phone down into its cradle and turned her attention to me. I caught a flash of shock on her face before her usual emotionless facade restored itself.

I swallowed my lump and said, "Ms. Garrett sent me."

She looked me up and down before saying, "I'll let him know. Stand over there and face the wall."

I followed her finger to the wall across the office and bit at my lip. It was no surprise I would have to wait, but I had not expected to do so in such an embarrassing fashion. I swallowed again and walked as slowly as I could to the wall. In my imagination, hordes of my classmates came through the office at the very moment I reached the wall. They pointed and snickered while murmuring about the deeds I had undoubtedly done. None of them felt even the slightest twinge of sympathy for me. I deserved my fate, had escaped for far too long and now, finally, justice was upon me. Fortunately, my imagination is far more fertile than reality.

The wait seemed eternally long. I stared at the texture on the wall finding dragons, dogs, giraffes, elephants, and lions until it all blurred into white nothingness. The office staff continue about their business as if I were not in the room. They whispered amongst each other and although it was tempting to think their quiet words were about me, it was obvious they were not. Nobody cared, nobody except me.

"Mr. Pinkert will see you now," The assistant said, loud enough I knew she was talking to me.

I hesitated a moment, gathering my wits once more. Butterflies swirled in my stomach like dogfighting jets. My knees went weak, but I found the courage to put one foot in front of the other and made my way across the office to his closed door. The assistant nodded for me to knock and I raised my trembling hand to comply. The wood felt hard against my knuckles and the knock echoed like a sonic boom in my ears.

"Come in," Mr. Pinkert said from behind the door.

I stepped inside just enough to allow the door to close behind me. Mr. Pinkert sat behind his desk, his hands folded together and resting on the desktop. Underneath his hands, a small pink note awaited his attention. No doubt it was from Ms. Garrett about me. Admittedly, I was curious as to what she had written, but not enough to ask him. I felt tiny standing before him. The stern frown on his face set my heart to a pounding pace.

"Over here, girl," He said, pointing to a spot directly in front of his desk.

My legs carried me forward without my conscious cooperation. His voice boomed in my ears, leaving me lightheaded and scared. It had all seemed like a good idea in the beginning, but now, it was feeling like a mistake. I bit my tongue to avoid rambling nonsensical explanations. My eyes rose to the open window behind him. The empty courtyard outside taunted me, trapped as I was behind closed doors.

"If I'm not mistaken, this is your first trip to my office," He said.

"Yes," I replied, shifting my gaze down to his desktop.

"I aim to make it your last. If you had any illusions I might go easy on you, put them out of your head now," He said, pushing off his desk and standing up.

I chewed on my lip, uncertain if I was expected to respond or remain quiet. He opened a desk drawer and pulled out a small leather strap. The drawer slammed closed, making me jump at the unexpected sound. He smiled as if my nervous response pleased him. I watched him as he walked around his desk, coming to stand behind me where I could no longer see him.

"Do you have anything to say for yourself before I spank your naughty bottom?" He asked.

I swallowed and said, "Just that I'm sorry. I know it won't make any difference, but I want you to know I'm sorry and I know I deserve this."

He said, "Well then, why don't we get this over with. Bend over the desk, grab the far edge and stay down, unless you want extras."

I sucked in air puffing out my chest and closing my eyes. The moment at hand, I was no longer certain this had been a good idea at all. Still, the choice had long been made and the time to turn back was long gone. I leaned forward, carefully supporting my weight on his desk until my upper body was laying flat against it, my hands grasping the far, unseen edge. My leg jumped at the faint brush of his against my tender thigh and my eyes shot open in barely contained panic. He chuckled, amused at my reaction to his touch and without further warning his fingers swept underneath the hem of my skirt and flipped it up on my back. I swallowed fear by the gallon, unable to think of anything more pertinent than the gaze of his eyes upon my exposed bottom.

My reflection stared back at me from the window behind his desk. I could see him as well, arm raised high above me with a limp leather strap hanging from his hand. The ticking of the clock on his wall pounded like a drum in my ears. My skin prickled from light breeze of air conditioning over my body. I focused on the girl in the window, the fear and the commitment in her eyes. There was strength to be found and I grasped it, holding tight to the edge and waiting for the fall of the strap, the pain it would bring.

The dull clap of the leather against my protruding bottom belied the true force of the swat. I blinked as the sting twitched my buttocks and legs. In the glass his lips curled at the edges in the kind of smile men have when they are more satisfied than happy. My body returned to stillness. The sting of the first stroke passed from pain to warmth.

He laid on another stroke, striking perfectly below the first. I gasped in response to the new sensation of sting. My legs shuddered once more for his enjoyment and my bottom bounced. Holding me head up, I stared at the girl in the glass. I admired her composure, her strength, her acceptance. All the doubts I had harbored for so long slipped away. The choice was right and the consequences just. I refrained from smiling lest he realize the game being played and change the rules. Ms. Garret was right, sometimes even a good girl needs a spanking.

Friday, April 16, 2010

Shopping In The Red

"It's called lingerie," I said, hands planted firmly on my hips.

"It's called a waste of money," He said, glaring up at me from the couch.

"That's your opinion," I said.

"It's also my money, which means my opinion is the only one that matters," He said.

I huffed and said, "Don't you ever get tired of that line?""

"No, what I get tired of is your attitude," He replied.

"I'm only reflecting yours," I said, tossing my hair and crooking my head at him.

He snapped his fingers and said, "You better watch your mouth, young lady. You're in enough trouble."

"Would you rather I forego underwear altogether?" I asked, shaking my head.

"Keep it up and you'll forego it for a trip over my knee," He said.

"You can't be serious. It was just a couple hundred dollars," I said, taking a step back.

"I gave you the credit card for emergencies," He said scooting to the front edge of the cushion, "not to go on shopping sprees when you got bored."

"That's not fair," I said.

"That I didn't give it to you for shopping sprees or that I think you went on one?" He asked.

I rolled my eyes to the ceiling and beyond. He was impossible to deal with when he got in these moods. My lips pouted and I tossed my hair again, allowing it to bounce against my frustrated cheeks. What was done, was done and I could only apologize, but if I did he would assume that meant he was right. No way was I going to give him the satisfaction.

"Nice," He said, "you want to roll your eyes and ignore me? Let me remind you I know how to get your attention, young lady. Get that skirt off and get over my knee."

"As if!" I said, huffing.

"You don't want me to get up and do it for you," He said.

"You wouldn't," I said, eyes growing wide at the seriousness on his face.

He started to rise up off the couch and I said, "Alright. Alright. Geez, I'll take the stuff back if it's such a problem."

He took a half step toward me and grabbed my wrist pulling me to him. His free hand snaked around behind me and slapped the seat of my skirt three times with enough force to sting. I yelped and he said, "Yes, you will take those things back, but not before you've gotten the spanking you deserve."

"I'm too old for a spanking," I said, as if the declaration would matter to an ogre like him.

"You're too old when I say you're too old and judging by your behavior, that won't be for a very, very long time," He said, smacking my bottom a few more times to prove his point.

I tried to pull away, but his grip was like a vise on my arm. He wagged his finger in front of my nose, making me dizzy and said, "Now you're going to get that skirt off and might as well lose the blouse too, since you want to argue with me. If the next words out of your mouth aren't 'yes, sir' you can expect matters to get much worse."

My lips trembled, wanting to spew out anything, but the words he wanted to hear. I clenched and unclenched my fist and glared into his unblinking eyes. He was silently daring me to test him, almost eager to prove to me he was serious and in control. I swallowed a bit of pride and a lot more anger and said, "Yes, sir," as stiffly as I could manage. It's amazing how close it sounded to, "Go to hell," in my ears.

Staring down, so I didn't have to look at his smug face, I yanked the buttons of my blouse open one at a time. When the last button tore free and I shrugged the top from my shoulders and threw it at him, laughing when it landed as a cloak over his head. He tossed it across the room without a word while I fumbled with the waist of my skirt. Once free, I let it fall down my legs and then kicked it up in the air, narrowly avoiding kicking him in the shin. He snatched the skirt out of the air and sent it sailing to join my blouse.

I parked my hands on my hips again and asked, "Happy?"

He grabbed hold of my arm again and drag me back to the couch with him. Sitting down, he tossed me over his lap and laid his hand to rest on my panties, while I got a closeup view of the couch. He patted my tense bottom and said, "The day is starting to look up."

I gasped at the striking force of his hand against my backside. Clearly, he intended me to know he was serious about spanking. The speed at which his hand raised and fell, slapping my bottom into a stingy frenzy was almost certainly blurring. I cursed beneath my breath and prayed his hand burned and stung every bit as much as my bottom and maybe a little bit more. It would serve him right. Then again, life isn't fair and justice is blind and stupid.

I kicked and squirmed as his hand continued to spank. I kneed his leg and hoped for a bruise. He kept his rate steady and his spanks solid without any reaction though. Eventually tears stung at my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. I blinked them back with every smarting blow of his hand. Finally, he stopped and rested his hand on my panties, enjoying the warmth I'm sure.

"We'd be finished now, if you hadn't decided to throw all that attitude around," He said.

"You're the one with the attitude problem," I said. It sounded ridiculous, but it felt good to accuse him of something, anything.

He clucked his tongue at me and slipped his hand beneath the waistband, yanking my panties down, off my bottom. The coolness of his hand tickled against the heat of my bottom. I squirmed, embarrassed at the thought of what he could see and touch. His hand slapped against my bottom with a loud clap echoing off the walls and ceiling. Every one of my neighbors would be left without any doubt as to the happenings inside my apartment.

"Stop it," I begged.

He spanked me with the same regularity and rhythm of before. His hand seemed to be bouncing off my bottom faster than my wobbly flesh could bounce back. I began yelping with each smack, and wriggling to get free. My efforts were wasted. His hand never missed its mark and my bottom danced to his tune. The once held tears, slipped from eyes and dampened my cheeks. I blushed, embarrassed by my failure to withstand the childish punishment without reaction.

The last spank fell and he lifted me up off his lap. My panties had slid the length of my legs and been kicked across the room. I shook my head and bit my lip at the humiliating position I had left myself in. He stood in front of me, a light smile of satisfaction evident on his lips. I stared at the floor and tried to comfort my burning bottom with a gentle rub.

"Are you going to behave yourself now?" He asked.

I looked up at him with a mischievous smile and said, "Probably not."

Friday, April 9, 2010


"Get 'em down," He said, closing the front door behind him.

From the couch, I blinked at him. "But—

"Now," He said, opening the closet door.

I stumbled to my feet, mind racing. It had been a quiet day, not the usual sort to land me in a spot of trouble. My fingers felt cold and numb as they fumbled with the button and zipper holding my bluejeans in place. The noise of the television turned from entertainment to distraction. I watched him pick through the closet, remove the wide strap and close the door.

He turned to me, his eyes scanning me from head to toe, pausing in emphasis at my waist before leading down to my ankles. I hesitated with my thumbs hooked into the waistband on my sides. The warm glow of embarrassment graced my cheeks under his daunting gaze. I swallowed pride and forced the nervous muscles in my arms to comply, raking my jeans and panties down my legs until they rested around my ankles. Straightening back up, I found a spot on the floor between us and stared. I forced my twitching hands to rest at my sides, exposing me to his gaze.

"Over to the table," He said.

I bit at my lower lip. The table loomed ominously across the room, almost as if it were laughing at me. I shuffled toward it, my feet shackled by jeans and underwear. My eyes flickered to him, looking for some clue as to the reason for my shameful walk. He kept it hidden, his stern face a mask only softened by the slight amusement gleamed from my shuffled walk. I might have smiled.

When I reached the table, he said, "Over."

I looked back at him, pleading for an explanation with big eyes and fluttering lashes. He pointed at the far side of the table. I turned back to the table, sucking in air and courage. My lips trembled with the questions plaguing my mind. I kept quiet, not a whimper escaping and bent at the waist, reaching for the table's furthest edge. My fingers wrapped around the cold smoothness of the glass top and I waited.

He stepped closer, draping the wide strip of leather on my naked bottom. My legs twitched at the touch. I closed my eyes, bracing for the inevitable conclusion. He raised the strap only to bring it back again with same teasing gentleness with which he began. I knew it would not last. If only I knew why, it would be so much easier to accept.

A jerk of his arm and flick of his wrist ended all the pleasantries. The strap snapped against my quivering bottom, sending waves of force rolling through my body. I gasped at the suddenness. My eyes flickered open and shut, weathering the beginning sting and the tingle of warmth emanating from my bottom. He pulled the strap away to linger in the unseen space behind me.

"I'm disappointed," He said, lashing the strap down on my bottom as if in demonstration of his feelings.

"I'm sorry," I said, blinking back tears caused by the sting of his actions.

"Are you now?" He asked, connecting the strap with my bottom like the physical representation of the question mark in his tone.

"Yes," I said, wriggling my burning bottom. The cause of my sorrow remained a mystery, but there was no doubt about its existence.

"What were you thinking?" He asked, the strap whipping the question into my very soul.

"I don't know," I said amidst tears of global remorse.

"You don't even know what I'm talking about, do you?" He said, punctuating every syllable with a snap of the strap against my naked bottom.

I held tight to the table. Tears spilled from my cheeks onto the glass. My legs kicked. My bottom squirmed. There was no escape from the strap or its effects. The burning built atop itself with no respite and the sting, coursed its way through my body, leaving my every extremity tingling. I cried out with every lash.

"You're lucky, Mr. Wicker is a friend," He said, swinging the strap twice more.

The connections sparked together. I had been caught. I should have known from the start. Mr. Wicker was my boss. He owned a small bookshop on the corner of Main Street. It was not the most popular place in town, but he keeps a unique collection of rare editions which sell quite well amongst collectors of such things. They often arrive from far off places with bundles of cash, willing to pay much more for the books of their desire than Mr. Wicker asks. It was wrong, I suppose, to have tricked the young man today. He knew no better, so it seemed the extra hundred dollars would be better valued in my hands than his.

"Remembering now, are we?" He said, the strap eliciting every detail of the memory.

"I'm sorry," I said, with renewed conviction.

"I bet you are, now," He said. "Anyone else might have just called the police."

"I'll give it back," I said, wiping tears from my eyes on my arm.

He lashed the strap down on my bottom and said, "You certainly will."

"It was stupid," I said and he swung the strap, hard.

"Yes, very much so and you'll pay for the stupidity," He said.

"Yes, sir," I replied, knowing my agreement mattered little in the scheme of things to come.

"I'm going to give you ten more now and when I'm done, you are going to sit down, on your bare, sore backside, and you are going to write a very lengthy and apologetic letter to Mr. Wicker and then another to young man you swindled. Understood?"

"Yes, sir,"I said.

"And when you're all done and I'm satisfied you've done a good job we're going to go see Mr. Wicker and this young man and you are going to return the money you stole, apologize to them both and personally deliver these letters. Afterward, if they are at all inclined, you will tell them exactly how you've been punished and show them your big, red backside. Is that understood?"

"Yes, sir," I said, blushing at the mere prospect.

He whipped the strap through the air allowing it to crash against my already tenderized bottom, ten more times. I pushed myself up from the table, gratified it was over even though it was not. Carefully sitting down at the table, I picked up the pen and brought it down against the blank paper he gave me. His eyes held no compassion for me. I blinked back tears and began to write, but the only thought on my mind was the burning in my bottom and the shame of what I had done.

Friday, April 2, 2010

Tears Of Consequence

I almost made it. My fingers were wrapped around the brass knob leading to the outside world, to freedom. I had tiptoed down the stairs and across the tile entry floor. Every movement was carefully planned to avoid detection from my bedroom all the way to the front door. No one should have heard or even known, but there he was standing behind me.

"And just where do you think you are going?" He asked.

I suppressed a shudder, turning around to face him. Masking surprise with innocence, I said, "Out."

He raised an eyebrow. I tried not to laugh. He said, "Aren't you forgetting something?"

I looked to the ceiling, pretending to ponder the question. My eyes floated from the left to the right and back to the left again. He stood there, tapping his foot. I said, "No, nothing I can think of."

"I'm not amused," He said and I replied, "Good, cause I'm not a clown."

"With all that makeup, I wasn't sure," He said.

"Who's the comedian?" I asked.

"The only thing funny here is you thinking you could walk out the front door without me noticing," He said.

"Maybe I didn't care if you did," I said, resting my hands on my hips.

"That's why you were tiptoeing," He said.

"Whatever," I said. "I'm going out."

"No, you're not," He said, stepping a little closer. "In case you've forgotten, you're grounded."

I said, "In case you've forgotten, I'm an adult now. I can do what I want."

"You may be old enough to drive, vote and drink, but so long as you need to verbally affirm your status as an adult for others to realize it, you are not an adult," He said and pointed up the stairs behind him. "Now you can go back up to your room and think about why your behavior continues to disprove the theory that you're an adult."

I said, "You can't make me."

He shook his head at me and said, "That's your argument; I can't make you? You're absolutely right, I can't make you do anything. So go ahead, walk out the door and pretend you've done nothing wrong. I am the ogre after all. How dare I expect you to suffer any consequences for your actions? Is that how you think?"

"I didn't say that," I said, looking at the floor because I could no longer look him in the eyes. "I just want to go out."

"And I'd like to be a billionaire," He said. "Unfortunately, to get the things we want in life requires hard work and sacrifice. Sure, there are shortcuts. You could walk out the door, I could rob a bank, but there are consequences for those kind of choices and while you might like the short term satisfaction, I promise you, the long term results aren't worth it."

"Nobody is going to throw me in prison for walking out the door," I said.

"Hopefully not, " He said, "but you will have disappointed me. I've raised you to have better character than this, to have better respect for yourself and for me. If you walk out that door, I'll know I failed to teach you the most important lessons about life."

I looked at the door and closed my eyes. "Fine," I said, turning back to him and throwing my hands up in the air, "if it's such a big deal to you, I'll stay home."

"I give up, " He said, turning and walking away, "Do what you want. I'm sick of your attitude."

"Bastard," I said under my breath, watching him walk.

He spun back around and said, "What did you say?"

"Nothing," I said.

"I don't think so," He said, walking back to me.

"Like you even care," I said and started back up the stairs.

He grabbed my arm stopping me in my tracks. "I've got half a mind to put you over my knee," He said.

"You wouldn't dare," I said, glaring back at him and trying to pull free from his grip.

"A good spanking is just what a brat like you needs," He said, pulling me back down the stairs and dragging me toward the living room.

Tugging against him in a futile effort to escape, I said, "I'll scream."

He chuckled and said, "Go ahead, I expect you'll do a bit more than scream before I'm done."

"You can't," I said.

"I can," He said, sitting on the couch and pulling me down onto his lap, "and I will."

My face buried in a cushion, I kicked and squirmed as his hand began bouncing off my jeans. It did not really hurt and if I had not been outraged, I might have laughed. The slap of his open palm against my denim protected bottom gave truth to the old adage of it hurting him more than me. Still, I protested saying, "Stop it," over and over.

"I'll stop when you've got what you deserve and not a moment earlier," He said, pausing the spanking and resting his hand on my jeans, "Now I think its time we had these down."

A tug on the waist of my jeans shot my eyes wide open as his intentions were made crystal clear. I twisted on his lap, reaching back and grabbing at my jeans in a desperate attempt to foil his evil plans. He laughed at me and pushed my hand away toward the small of my back. In frustration, I kicked my legs while I stared at the cushion, shocked he could be so cruel. His efforts were slowed by mine, but in the end my jeans were tugged below my bottom, exposing my adult underwear to his view and consequently, the bare globes of my bottom.

"That's better," He said, his free hand resuming the spanking with more enthusiasm than before. This time, every slap left a sting I could feel all the way to my eyes. I kicked and squirmed, pounded the cushion with my fist, but it was all in vain. Better, is not how I would describe the situation at all.

"I'll be good," I said and he replied, "I've heard that before."

"I promise," I said and he replied, "You'll actually mean it before I'm through."

My eyes filled with teardrops. His hand whisked through the air. The walls echoed with the sounds of my spanking. My bottom burned with the heat of shame. Tears rolled down my cheeks and in their glistening drops I saw myself. Such a bad girl, such a naughty girl, getting exactly what she deserves.