Simple enough, Lilah figured, to just climb back up the side of the house by the pipe and get back in. It was the way she’d gotten out of the house once her father was asleep, and it was how the teenage girl would got back inside and pretend she’d been asleep and in bed the whole night when the sun rose.
So, she made her way up. She was only 5’2 and her height didn’t help her in the slightest, but it wasn’t exactly difficult to climb up either. What she had to be most mindful of was noise. If she woke him up now, she’d be done for.
She got back inside through the bedroom window with seemingly no fuss, and after shutting the window quietly behind her, she let out a deep sigh of relief.
With a heavy sigh, Michael, her adoptive father, fully opened the bedroom door behind which he had been standing and turned the light on. He’d been waiting, anxious, angry, worried, furious.
Lilah, his adoptive daughter, was… complicated. Draining. His pride and joy. A real brat.
Sometimes, he didn’t know what to do with her. But it usually ended with her apologising through her tears, her bottom a dark crimson. Tonight might be one of those.
He glared.
“Well? Anything to say?” he said.
“Daddy!” She smiled, fakely, nervously, and began putting on her ‘I’m just a little kid, don’t be mad at me!’ voice, even though she was far from being one anymore.
“I was just going outside to see the stars! What are you doing in here?”
“I’ve been waiting, Lilah,” he growled, “I’ve been waiting for hours. I’m sure you’ve seen many stars on this overcast night…”
He crossed his arms over his chest.
“Do you want to try that again?” he continued.
“Well, y’know, um, I went for a walk to see if I could see them anywhere. Like, around the clouds you know?” Shit. He was totally on her trail, and that was bad. “Buuut I really should be going to bed now, so-“
He raises an eyebrow
“For three hours, huh?” he shook his head, “Lilah, I think you know better than to lie to me, don’t you? It’s bad enough that you disobey, it’s bad enough that I was worried sick, don’t lie to me on top of it!” His voice was getting louder and louder as he went. She winced at that. It was always a sign that he was getting fed up, and perhaps it was better to just come clean… though she hated it when her adoptive father was cross with her.
“U-um… I went to Emi’s house because they were having hum… a ‘get together’.” She explained, her cheeks heating up in embarrassment. “Honest, That’s where I was…”
He sighed. “A get together, huh? Just hanging out, sipping orange juice? Yes?”
He closed the bedroom door behind him with and ominous ‘clank’.
“I-it was really just a couple of close friends!” she said, backing up when he closed the door. She wished he would just leave her alone to go bed, but the chance of that happening seemed smaller and smaller.
“I swear daddy, it was just like, six of us, and we only had like, soda and stuff! Really! You can smell my breath if you want, I wasn’t drinking!”
“Soda and stuff” he said, dismissively, “Oh, Lilah… Why… Why do you keep doing this? Do I not treat you well? Are you really so fed up with your old man that you simply don’t care? Is that it? Because frankly, I can’t see why you’re doing this…”
He shook his head again.
“You know what needs to happen now, don’t you?” he said again.
“No! Dad, I just- I just wanted to go and you said I couldn’t but… I should be able to! It’s not fair!”
Her friends always got to hang out no problems, and Lilah was always stuck getting told no, or negotiating with the stern older man.
However, she could predict his next move. “A-and I won’t do it again! I’m sorry, I know I should’ve told you…”
“I said you couldn’t. And you still did, didn’t you?” he asked, his tone ice-cold. He went and sat on the bed
“Now, I’ll ask you again, Lilah… What’s going to happen?”
He rolled up his sleeves, keeping his gaze on her.
The teen whimpered, and tears gathered in her eyes at the prospect of having to go over his knee or over anything to be smacked. Not again…
“Y-you’re going to spank me- please don’t spank me, dad, please-!” She whined, backing up to the wall. “I-I’m 17! I’m too old for that! I just wanted to go with my friends, you’re being unfair!”
“If you behaved, there would be no need for a spanking. And if you behaved, I would be more inclined to let you hang out, as you put it” he said, and gestured her over. “Come nicely, own up to it and it will be over soon, all right? The more you argue, the worse it’ll get, you know that…”
“Daaad…” she whined again, seeing that he wasn’t going easy on her. “I’m sorry, I know I made you worry, but I didn’t mean to!”
Still, she knew how his rules were, and she slowly came to stand in front of him. “I’ll behave from now on, I promise…”
He closed his eyes and sighed “Now where have I heard that before?”
He smiled, sadly “I believe you, my little butterfly…” he said, “But I’m not letting you get away with it. You need to learn.”
He pointed to her worn-out jeans and said:
“Take them off”
Her face was blushing bright red at the prospect of being this age and still being subjected to a spanking, but at this point, there really was no getting out of it, was there?
“Yes sir…” she murmured, a tear running down her cheek. When she’d been adopted, she’d never expected this, and every time It happened, she always swore it never would again, but it always did. She undid the button and pushed the trousers down to her knees, thoroughly mortified.
“What are…” he started, seeing the lacy, pale pink panties that she was wearing. He blushed. “You know what, I don’t want to know…”
She wasn’t even sure how to explain that one had to wear sexy panties when they went to hang out with friends and their boyfriend of course, because what if things had gone further? That night, Lilah was glad that they hadn’t.
He took her wrist and gently brought her down over his lap.
Sometimes, he forgot how grown up she was now. Even if she ended up on his lap with her bottom bared more often than her card to remember, she was nearly an adult now. Where had the time gone?
He cleared his throat.
“This could have been avoided, you know. All you had to do was stay in your bed, be on your phone, anything… But you had to disobey…”
He wanted to scold her, but his heart wasn’t in it.
“Let’s get this over with…” he said, finally.
With a loud SLAP!, he let the first blow fall on her barely covered bottom
“You never let me hang out with my friends!” She whined, a tear already falling from her eye. She always felt horribly guilty in this position. “You’re being unfair daddy!!”
The slaps keep coming, one cheek, the other, hard, fast. SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP!
“I am not! Other kids have earned the right to go out unsupervised! I can’t say you have…”
SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! the hand keeps falling, quickly turning the pale white of her cheeks a pale pink, then to red.
“Again and again you disobey!”
“Daddy!!” Lilah yelped, whimpered, gasped and cried out in pain, and still the hand was relentless. It hurt badly, so badly that she couldn’t help but bury her face in her hands and sob.
She’d only disobeyed because she felt he was always so unreasonable with her! He couldn’t control her forever, she was practically an adult! Or so she thought, at least…
“I’ll be good! I’m sorrryyy!” she sobbed.
After a dozen more hard slaps, he paused. Her bottom felt burning to the touch and he knew that there was a very wet patch of duvet where she’s been burying her head to muffle her screams and sobs.
“I really want to believe that you are, my butterfly… I really, really do…”
Still, he grabbed the waistband of her lacy underwear…
“Daddy no! P-Please!” She rarely ever referred to him as such anymore, and for her to be doing it so frequently meant she was truly upset.
Her hand flew back next to his, also taking a firm hold on the waistband to keep it pulled up over her cheeks. “I promise, daddy, I swear! Please, please not on the bare. I’ll never leave the house again! Please!”
“I…” he hesitated “Maybe you are a little old for that…” he said, unsure. He could feel his cheeks blushing. Taking her hand off the undies, he wedged them up instead of pulling them down, revealing her burning red globes but leaving her intimacy covered.
Swiftly, the slaps began raining down again, harder now, intent on giving her a proper lesson.
“I do hope you will obey, Lilah.. I do…”
Lilah could swear that her skin was raw, and possibly even starting to bruise. She felt she had a good pain tolerance but this… this was all too painful and not to mention, humiliating. It was embarrassing to be put over his knee like she was still a little girl!
“I will!” She whimpered, tears dripping from her face onto the bedsheets her head was above. “I’ll be good! I’ll obey, I w-will! No more, please n-no more!” Her legs kicked somewhat involuntary, and her hands gripped tight onto his pant leg.
With a loud, harsh final SLAP!, he let her catch her breath and gently stroked her hair as she sobbed quietly.
“There, there… It’s over now… It’s over…”
He helped her up and sat her on the bed next to him.
“I love you, my sweet butterfly…” he said with a sad smile, and offered his arms to her, hoping she would forgive the pain and hold him like she used to when he’d first adopted her.
“H-hurts…” Lilah cried, her hands under her to rub gingerly at her sore, abused cheeks. Heat radiated off them, and she fell into his arms. If he was going to spank her like a child, then she’d accept the comfort that came with it.
“I’m sorry…” she whispered
He held her tight and stoked her hair.
“I know, butterfly, I know…”
He closed his eyes and sighed
“Daddy’s here, it’s all going to be all right…”
This story was written in collaboration with Lia 🙂
Older or not, Madame’s hand didn’t seem to tire, and Belinda kept clenching and unclenching her buttocks, moaning in pain, begging for mercy.
*SMACK!* *SMACK!* *SMACK!* *SMACK!* *SMACK!* it continued.
It had all started when Madame Clairmont had left that morning, leaving Belinda, her German maid, to do her usual cleaning of the house. As she did every morning, Belinda had opened the windows to let the fresh morning air in. Suddenly, a cat had jumped through the window, and proceeded to run straight for the kitchen. “Was zur Hölle!” exclaimed the young, surprised Belinda, and she ran after it. As she did so, her feather-duster hit Madame’s jewellery stand and the precious earrings and necklaces fell on the floor. As she paused to try and pick some off the floor, she heard a loud crash in the living room. She hurried herself there, only to find a vase in pieces on the floor. Oh Scheiße… she thought and went after the cat.
It had reached the kitchen, making straight for the work surface where food lay, ready to be prepared. The fresh fish seemed to be of particular interest to the kitty, and, having grabbed one, it jumped back towards the living room, passing between Belinda’s legs. She turned around only to see the cat dragging the wet, smelly fish all over the dense, expensive carpet. Ach du heilige Scheiße!
“Komm hierher!” she called the cat, who let the fish fall down on the carpet in a wet splosh to meow at her. Just as she thought she might catch the elusive intruder, it run away again, and in her hurry, Belinda slipped on the fish. She fell down and crashed into the coffee table, sending the ashtray that was on it to the ground. Of course, she hadn’t emptied it yet. Madame tended to smoke a few cigarettes in the morning, she knew. It was now all over the fishy carpet. Das kann doch nicht wahr sein!!!
The accursed Katze meowed again, as if mocking her, and she got up, her vengeful feather-duster held high. Finally, she managed to chase the cat out the window it had come in. As she caught her breath, trying to process what had just happened, she heard the unmistakable click of the front door opening. She closed her eyes. Surely, this was all a bad dream.
“OH MON DIEU!” she heard Madame Clairmont say, and then a loud “BELINDA!”
Before she could offer an explanation, stammering as she was in a mix of German and French, Madame had pulled her over her lap, pulled her skirt up and started raining hard slaps on her quivering bottom. The small thong that she was wearing didn’t afford her any protection, and she felt Madame’s anger in full. “Unacceptable, Belinda,” Madame Clairmont was saying in her thick French accent, “Totally unacceptable!”
And the slaps came, and came, and came again. Belinda was crying, begging, still trying to explain what had happened as her bottom turned from pink to red to dark, throbbing crimson. As more slaps came down, she could swear she heard a mocking meow in the background.
As I was finishing this commision for a client, I was looking through a dictionary of the Monachi language, spoken by the Native American Mon people that live in the Southern Sierra Nevada (yes, that is quite random, but I love learning about other languages).
Depuis le début du confinement, ils ont un système. Il a bien fallu, parce qu’au début, ça ne marchait pas. Dans les pieds l’un de l’autre toute la journée, c’était pas possible. Au bout d’une semaine, elle en était à trois, voire quatre fessées par jour. Ça ne laissait pas beaucoup de temps pour les réunions Zoom, ça, et franchement, ses fesses avaient un peu de mal à suivre. Et elles avaient mal tout court, aussi.
Donc, le système. Au lieu de passer à la proverbiale casserole tout de suite, il lui fait noter ses bêtises dans un petit carnet qu’ils laissent sur la table basse du salon. Ça donne quelque chose comme ça :
Lundi – 9h25 – lâché un ‘p*tain’ quand j’ai renversé mon café sur le bureau.
(Il n’aime pas les gros mots.)
Mardi – 10h40 – Dansé seins nus derrière son ordi portable pendant sa téléréunion avec le patron
(Il aime ses seins, mais là, il est au boulot.)
Mardi – 16h – fait la tête et refusé de lui parler jusqu’au diner parce qu’il ne voulait pas que je fasse des lasagnes pour le quatre-heure, mais honnêtement c’est vraiment [gribouillis illisibles]
(ne pas garder la ligne, c’est une chose, mais se comporter comme une gamine capricieuse, c’est non)
Jeudi – 14h03 – Gribouillé un zizi dans le Grand Carnet de Punition Très Important
(Franchement ?!)
Arrivés en fin de semaine, ils font les comptes, et, si besoin, elle est punie. Jusqu’à présent, il y a eu besoin. Il se demande même si elle n’en profite pas un peu, la miss. Au final, une grosse punition, c’est sans doute moins que le cumul dans la semaine. Mais au moins, il peut lui faire rendre des comptes et, petit à petit, il y a moins de choses dans le carnet. Ou des choses moins sérieuses, au moins.
Cette semaine, cependant… Ce n’était pas une bonne semaine. C’est les nerfs, ça, et la pluie. Rester isolée, ça ne lui réussit pas, mais alors pas du tout. Bah ouais. Elle était grognon, là, elle l’avoue, c’est bon ? Pffff.
Il s’assoit sur le canapé pour faire les comptes. Pas de carnet. Sur le meuble télé, peut-être ? Elle ne sait pas, elle ne l’a pas vu. La dernière vois qu’elle l’a utilisé ? Bof, il y a deux semaines, peut être ? Sourire innocent. Sérieusement ? Peut-être hier… Oui elle l’a remis sur la table. Non, elle ne l’a pas caché. Elle n’oserait pas, voyons, quelle idée… Ce manque de confiance, alors, c’est consternant. Non, elle ne se moque pas. Non, non, elle ne prend pas ce ton moqueur exprès. Oui-oui, elle arrête tout-de-suite-sinon-ça -va-barder. Oui m’sieur.
Il fait le tour du salon, de la cuisine, pas de carnet. Il commence à perdre patience. Ils avaient un système ; si elle préfère les punitions instantanées, elle peut le dire ! Pas sur que ses fesses apprécient, mais c’est toujours une option ! Elle boude. Non, elle ne veut pas de fessées tous les jours, mais elle ne l’a pas, son fou… fichu carnet. De toute façon, il sait très bien ce qu’il y a dedans, non ?
Il le sait. Et c’est pas joli-joli… Mais il veut faire les choses correctement. Alors elle va chercher le carnet, elle a cinq minutes, après ça il va chercher le paddle, et elle ne va pas aimer ce qui va suivre.
—Mais je l’ai pas ton carnet, putain !
Elle se couvre la bouche des deux mains, les yeux écarquillés. Oh non. Oh non non non non… C’est sorti tout seul. Elle est stressée. Elle est désolée. Elle… Elle…
Elle est penchée sur le bureau, des larmes plein les joues. Ses fesses sont cramoisies, brulantes, douloureuses. Elle serre les dents quand un autre coup de paddle ajoute à sa douleur. Elle pleure. Elle est désolée, elle ne sait pas ce qu’elle a. Elle fera des efforts, promis. S’il te plait ? Il fait une pause. Elle souffle. Elle a les yeux fixés sur le bureau. Elle essaye de trouver quelque chose pour la distraire de l’incendie de sa croupe. Il n’y a rien. Des papier, des stylos, un carnet, un ordi… Un carnet ? Non mais… Il se fiche d’elle ?
Elle se relève, le carnet à la main. Et c’est quoi ça ? Ce serait pas le divin carnet ? Ah oui, il l’avait pris hier soir pour jeter un œil. Ah bah il est gonflé, le monsieur. Oui, oui, elle devait être punie mais il a fait fort là, non ? Et il l’a accusée pour rien ? Franchement, c’est pas juste.
Ah non, non, les bisous ça suffit pas ! Il se prend pour qui ? Ça, c’est un mois d’amnistie, minimum. Bon, une semaine ? Quatre jours, okay. Mais s’il le perd encore, c’est elle qui brandira le paddle, non mais oh…
Since the start of lockdown, they have a system. They had to because at the start of it, things just didn’t work. In each other’s way all day, it just wasn’t doing it. After a week, she was getting three or even four spankings a day. It didn’t leave much time for Zoom meetings and, honestly, her bottom was having trouble keeping up.
Thus, the system. Instead of getting it there and then, he asks her to write all her misbehaviours in a little notebook that they leave on the living room’s table. It goes a little like this:
Monday – 9:25am – said ‘f*ck’ when I spilled my coffee all over the desk
(He doesn’t like rude words)
Tuesday – 10:40am – Danced topless behind his laptop as he was having an online meeting with his boss
(he likes her breasts, but he’s working)
Tuesday – 4pm – sulked and refused to talk to him until dinner because he wouldn’t let me make lasagne for an afternoon snack, but frankly that’s [illegible scribbles]
(not keeping to the diet is one thing, but acting like a wilful brat is a no-no)
Thursday – 2:03pm – Scribbled a willy in the Big Big Very Important Punishment Notebook
(Honestly?!)
At the end of the week, they tally it up and, if needs be, she gets punished. So far, she’s needed it. He even wonders if she doesn’t do a little of it on purpose. After all, one big punishment is still probably less than the sum of all of her misbehaviours in the week. But at least he can hold her accountable and, little by little, there are less things in the notebook. Or less serious things, at least.
This week however… It wasn’t a good week. It must be nerves. And the rain. Being isolated doesn’t become her, not at all. Yeah, she was grumpy, so? She admits it, all right? Pffft.
He sits on the sofa to make the tally. No notebook. On the TV stand perhaps? She doesn’t know, she hasn’t seen it. Last time she saw it? Meh, two weeks ago maybe? Innocent smile. Honestly? Maybe yesterday… Yes, she put it back on the table. No, she didn’t hide it. She wouldn’t dare, of course… That lack of trust is just appalling… No, she’s not being funny. No, no, that mocking tone isn’t on purpose. Yes, yes, she stops it right now or-else-she’s-going-to-regret-it. Yes, Sir.
He goes around the living room, around the kitchen, no notebook. He’s starting to lose patience. They had a system; if she prefers instant punishments, she just has to say! Not sure her bottom would like it, but it’s always been an option! She sulks. No, she doesn’t want daily spankings, but she doesn’t have his fu… fudging notebook. Anyway, he knows what’s in it, doesn’t he?
He knows. But he wants to do things fairly. Thus, she will get the notebook; she’s got five minutes, then he’s going to get the paddle, and she won’t like what is going to follow.
“But I don’t have your damn notebook, for fuck’s sake!”
She covers her mouth with both her hands, eyes wide. Oh no. Oh no no no no… It just came out. She is stressed. She is sorry. She… She…
She is bent over the desk, tears rolling down her cheeks. Her buttocks are crimson, burning, painful. She grits her teeth when another slam of the paddle adds to her pain. She’s crying. She is sorry; she doesn’t know what’s wrong with her. She will make lots of efforts, she promises. Please? He pauses. She breathes. Her eyes are down, looking at the desk. She tries to find something to distract her from the burning fire in her rump. There isn’t anything. Papers, pens, a notebook, a laptop… A notebook? Is he kidding her?
She gets up, notebook in hand. What’s this? Isn’t it the Holy Notebook? Ah, yeah, he had taken it last night to have a look. Well he’s got some nerve, mister. Yes, yes, she had to be punished, but he went a bit overboard, didn’t he? And he falsely accused her? Honestly, it’s unfair.
Oh no no, kisses aren’t enough! Who does he think he is? It’s a month’s amnesty, at least. Right, a week? Four days, okay. But if he loses it again, she’ll be the one wielding the paddle…
[No cats were harmed in the making of this blog. They all love to be spanked.] Exploring the psychology 'behind' spanking through fiction and poetry. Because, nothing says 'I love you' better than a red, sore, bare bottom. Comments welcome and discussion encouraged. I believe spanking between consenting adults leads to closer and more intimate relationships. Spanking is not a kink, not a fetish, not a lifestyle, but rather, a healthy and honest means of communication. Let your mind free and respect will follow. Contact me lurvspanking@gmail.com
