by Adrian Caine
First, I announce that she's going to be punished and why, and send her to change into her punishment (drop seat) pajamas. This is an effective way to start, because she hates coming out into the living room wearing those things, even though it's just the two of us. Although she's still wearing panties at this point, the flap must always be down - it's the reason we got them, after all!
Usually I just point to the corner next to the TV. She puts her nose in the corner and her hands on her head. She's usually still grumbling a little at this early stage, but I ignore it. After ten minutes, I call her out and have her stand in front of me, her hands still on her head. I ask her what she's being punished for, and once I get a confession, I tell her why the behavior is unacceptable and how disappointed I am. This unfailingly brings a bright blush to her cheeks and tells me I have her full attention.
She goes over my lap, and I start spanking her over her panties. Once I've built up a good flush, I tell her to stand and take off her pajamas. Although she knows it's futile, she always begs me to let her keep them on! I just wait, staring at her and waiting. Knowing I'll wait her out, she finally surrenders and takes off the pj's, leaving her in just her bra and panties.
Back over my lap she goes, and I peel her panties down to mid thigh. Then I set to work, peppering her bare bottom and the tops of her thighs with sharp, hard swats. She tends to wiggle and squirm, kicking her bare feet and reaching around to protect her burning backside. I catch her right hand in my left and pin it to her back, and wait a moment to let her catch her breath. Then I pick up my wooden hairbrush, and start spanking hard! She becomes very vocal at this point, and it takes a bit of effort to hold her in place as she flops around on my lap, trying to avoid the brush. I cover the entire spankable area, and I keep it up until she she's caterwauling!
As I want her to sting a lot, but bruise not at all, I soon slow my pace. I concentrate light, sharp, stinging swats of the brush all over the sensitive junction of her bottom and thighs until I'm sure she won't be sitting comfortably for a few days. Then I put down the brush and let her cry, rubbing her back and her sore bottom.
When she gets herself back under control somewhat, I ask, "Are we going to have to revisit this issue, young lady?" She swears by all that's holy that we won't, and I seal the promise with two stunning hand claps across her backside. This results in more sobbing, at which point I unhook her bra and remove it along with her panties. "Corner," I tell her.
Naked and sore, she stands up and walks stiffly to the corner. Without being told, she puts her hands back on her head. Over the next ten minutes, I enjoy the sight of her hot pink backside, and make occasional comments about what a well-punished girl she is, and how her bottom is most beautiful when it's that color.
After ten minutes, I call her out of the corner and sit her on my lap. I hold her tight, letting her feel her nakedness against my clothes. I tell her how much I love her and that she's forgiven. After several minutes of cuddling like that, I turn on the TV and we watch something together. We have a tradition in which she asks for permission at this point to go put on some clothes. I always answer, "No, you may NOT put any clothes on, silly girl, you know you need to be naked." She smiles contentedly and throws her arms around my neck. I pull a blanket over her, and soon she falls asleep in my arms.
Carla sat at the kitchen island, impatiently tapping her foot. Maggie was now a full hour late, and despite repeated attempts to reach her both at work and on her cell phone, Carla had no idea where her lover was. Each time she'd called Maggie's cell, it had gone straight to voice mail. Her careful timing of the roast pork dinner was for naught; they'd wind up having to microwave everything now. What a waste of her considerable culinary expertise! She was quite irritated, but also a bit worried. Maggie always called if she knew she wouldn't be home on time.
Carla took another sip of Merlot to steady her nerves. It was nothing to be worried about, she told herself. She must have gotten held up at work, then found herself in a traffic jam. Maggie was notorious for forgetting to charge her cell phone. That must be why she was unreachable. Despite having been spanked for the offense, she hadn't managed to make phone-charging part of her nightly ritual.
"We'll see about that, little Miss," Carla said aloud. One hour, 15 minutes. Something must be wrong, as this was unprecedented. With a rising sense of anxiety, she opened her laptop to distract herself. There was a message from one of her readers. T. had read her story describing a typical punishment scenario when Carla was on top (she and Maggie switched according to who was in need of discipline at any given time), and he was requesting a story in which Maggie was bare-bottomed under her drop-seat pajamas. Happy to oblige, she thought. Assuming Mags wasn't in an emergency room or on the side of the road somewhere, her rear end was toast!
Carla looked at her watch for the umpteenth time. Maggie was now close on 90 minutes late. Carla downed the rest of her wine in one gulp, and it burned her stomach where her anxieties tended to manifest themselves. Irritation had given way to full-on worry, and it was time to call someone. Maggie's parents lived about a half hour away. Might she have stopped by unannounced for some reason? As much as it pained her to worry them, Carla dialed their number.
"Hi, Lisbeth? It's Carla."
"Hi, Carlita!" her mother-in-law said warmly. "How are you?"
"Fine. Well, not quite fine, to be honest. Is Maggie over there by any chance?"
"No, she's not. Isn't she usually home by now?"
"Yeah, she's an hour and a half late, and I can't reach her at work or on her cell." Carla hated making her mother-in-law worry, but she was feeling quite anxious herself.
"Oh, no!" Lisbeth said. "Hang on, let me ask her dad if he knows anything." Carla heard Lisbeth ask her husband, "Hon, it's Carla, and she can't reach Mags. Do you know where she might be?"
The anxious sound she heard in both her in-laws' voices cut Carla. For a moment, she wished she hadn't called.
"No, honey, he doesn't know," Lisbeth said anxiously. "Does she have her cell phone with her?"
"Yeah, as far as I know. But she's not real good about keeping it charged, and..."
Carla heard the garage door opening, and a flood of relief went through her. "Oh, Liz, I'm sorry, she's just come in."
"Oh, thank god!" Lisbeth sounded equally relieved.
"I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to worry you."
"No, that's quite alright, dear. I'm just glad she's home. Would you mind putting her on the phone?"
"Not at all. Just a minute, she's coming through the door as we speak." Shooting a none-too-happy glance at Maggie, she held out the phone and said, "It's your mom."
"OK, hang on a minute." Maggie was taking off her coat at a leisurely pace, apparently quite unaware of the worry she'd caused.
"No, now," Carla said coldly. "You've already scared the poor woman to death."
"What? You're kidding! Why?"
It was clear from Maggie's demeanor that she'd had a drink or two. So, compounding the felony, are we, my dear? she thought, holding out the phone.
Mags said, "Hey, Mom, how are ya?"
Furious, Carla turned away and turned off the stove. Dinner would have to wait, she had an important disciplinary task to perform first. She poured herself another glass of wine, and sat at the island, sipping it and listening to Maggie's side of the conversation.
"Oh, no, I'm fine!" she said breezily. "Did Carla worry you? I'm sorry!"
Carla did a slow burn. So she was responsible for worrying Lisbeth? She didn't stay to hear any more. Instead, she went and got her wooden hairbrush out of her bathroom, the one reserved for Maggie's punishment spankings. Maggie feared this particular implement and its singular sting; Carla would definitely be putting it to use tonight! She came out to the living room and put the brush on the coffee table in front of the sofa.
"OK, Mom, sorry 'bout that," Mags was saying, still in her alcohol-induced happy place. "Love you guys, talk to ya soon."
She hung up, and Carla immediately went to her and hugged her tight.
"Uh, happy to see you, too, Babe," Mags laughed.
Carla pulled away, a scowl on her face. "You won't be too happy when I'm through with you, young lady!"
"Aw, come on!" Maggie said, still seemingly oblivious. "Stan asked us out for drinks after work. Was I supposed to say no?"
"You're supposed to let me know if you're gonna be late!" Carla replied. "Over 90 minutes! I thought you were stuck on the side of the road somewhere! Do you know how many times I tried calling?!"
"Oh, yeah, that." Mags was starting to sober up, no doubt remembering her last spanking for not keeping her cell phone charged. "My phone isn't working," she hedged, like a schoolgirl in trouble.
"Isn't working? More like you didn't bother charging it last night, am I right?"
"Yeah, but..."
"Quite. Not only did you scare me to death - and your parents - but you drove home after drinking. By the look of you, not just one drink, either."
"Well..." Maggie was busted, and she knew it. Not only did she forget to call, but she had two whiskey sours on an empty stomach before driving home. According to their domestic discipline agreement, both these were spankable offenses. She didn't like her chances of coming out of this without a seriously sore bottom.
"Right," said Carla. "Dinner's going to be late tonight. Go to your room, strip to the skin, and put on your punishment pajamas."
Maggie's punishment pajamas were a pair of drop-seats that Carla made her wear when she had a discipline spanking coming. On such occasions, she had to come out into the living room with the flap down (which she truly hated, as it made her feel ridiculously juvenile), but normally she'd start off with panties on underneath. Apparently tonight she wasn't even to get that small mercy.
"Oh come on, babe, can't I at least keep my panties on for now?"
"No way," her resolute disciplinarian said flatly. "You have three separate spankable offenses to answer for tonight, and I just decided you get to be bare-bottomed from the get-go."
"Three? What's the three?"
Carla counted the charges on her fingers. "One, not calling and making me worry myself sick. Two, having more than one drink on an empty stomach... quiet! You can't fool me, I know when you've had more than one! And three, driving afterwards, putting your life in danger. Now go get changed, you have exactly five minutes!"
Maggie groaned and headed for the bedroom. Why couldn't she have just made the call? Sure, her boss had been in the middle of talking to her about something important, then invited her and a few others to continue the conversation over drinks, so she'd been quite distracted. But if she had just had the presence of mind to make the call, then limit herself to one drink, she wouldn't be facing a flaming butt tonight!
Feeling sorry for herself, she stripped naked. She opened her drawer and took out her punishment pajamas, a garment that made her feel like a naughty child every time she had to wear it. That was the point, she supposed. Unlike their fun, playful spankings, this outfit was reserved for her punishments, as was Carla's wooden hairbrush that she feared. She always dreaded going out into the living room with the flap down, her panties on show, even though it was just the two of them. Eventually, the pj’s always came off and her panties always came down. But tonight she didn't even get to start out wearing panties! Miserably, she put the pajamas on and turned around to look at herself in the floor-length mirror. Her ample white butt was completely on display through the flap in the back. "Lovely, just lovely," she muttered to herself. She knew her bottom wouldn't be white for long!
Maggie crept out of the bedroom, sobering up quickly and feeling like a kid who'd been caught with her hand in the cookie jar. Not only did she have a major spanking coming for her three spankable offenses, she also had to wear her punishment pajamas with the flap down, this time without the benefit of panties underneath! Regardless of the fact that it was just she and Carla in the house, walking out into the living room in that state of dress, with her large, very bare bottom sticking out was an incredibly humbling experience.
Carla was sitting on the couch. Following tradition, she merely pointed and said, "Corner." There was something so humiliatingly dismissive about that command! Maggie fought back the urge to mutter something untoward under her breath and headed to the corner, her face aflame.
"Hands on your head, young lady," Carla commanded from the couch. The combination of the pajamas, her bare bottom, and Carla's curt, no-nonsense commands conspired to make Maggie feel very juvenile indeed. She obediently placed her hands on her head, inwardly cursing the day she had suggested the two of them sign a domestic discipline agreement. According to that contract, when either party failed to live up to her agreements, the other had the option to spank the offender, put her in punishment dress, and assign corner time. They didn't do all three every time, in fact, there had been times when they had simply discussed the matter at hand, then let it drop.
This was not one of those times.
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