Sa main vengeresse s’abat tant et plus sur le rougissant postérieur de sa soi-disant consentante victime.
«Ah! Fieffé coquin! » s’exclame-t-elle, «Vous ne m’aviez dit que votre main était de plomb !
–Allons ! Vous l’aurais-je dit, ma blanche colombe, jamais de votre présence sur mes genoux je n’aurais eu le plaisir !
–Certes non, gredin! Bandit ! Aurais-je su ce qui se tramais sous ces airs innocent, c’est mon cul qui en serait fort aise, plutôt qu’à l’agonie!
–C’est bien là, ma donzelle, que se trouve mon génie. Non seulement ai-je le plaisir de votre compagnie, je profite qui plus est de la place de choix au théâtre de votre derrière cramoisi.
–Et a en juger par cette trique qui me taquine l’estomac, ce n’est pas un spectacle qui semble vous deplaire, bien au contraire…
–Seul un véritable rustre resterait impassible face a telle vision. Si rondes, si belles, si rouges, brûlantes !
–Brûlantes, à qui le dites-vous ? Auriez vous oublié que ce cul sur lequel vous jouez votre rythme endiablé est de chair tendre et requiert douceurs et caresses ?
–Douceurs et caresses font suite au tonnerre de ce tannage bien mérité !
–Filou ! Tu oses !
–Que ne l’oserais-je, un autre en aurait le plaisir ! L’homme doit saisir sa chance quand d’aventure elle se présente…
–Et une fois que mon cul sera fait a la convenance de Monsieur ?»
Il se penche et murmure:
«Dis, c’est bien gentil ton petit fantasme mais on va pas garder les costumes ridicules pour baiser, hein ?»
Claire whistled as she came down the stairs. The 22-year-old student was in a good mood, and was ready to go out with her friends, global pandemic be damned. She jumped over a pile of random boxes and glanced at the kitchen sink as she passed it in the corridor. It was full —had been for a week, really. But who cared? Sure, there was an ecosystem developing in there, but wasn’t like she was getting visitors, and doing the washing-up was boring anyway.
She slipped-on a pair of trainers and was about to open the door when somebody knocked. She jumped. As far as she knew, she wasn’t expecting any delivery. Startled, she adjusted the glasses on her nose and hesitantly unlocked and opened the door. In the corridor stood her landlord, his arms crossed over his chest.
“Ah, Claire, there you are!” he said, “I’ve been trying to reach you for weeks!”
“Hum, err, I…” she mumbled, blushing. Yes, there was that little issue of the rent not having been paid for the last two months; that had totally slipped her mind.
“Can I come in?” he said, his tone making it clear the question was purely rhetorical. She moved away from the door to let him in.
He looked around and raised a concerned eyebrow gazing at the absolute mess, the old pizza boxes, the dirty socks, the empty bottles, and more besides. Claire was looking down at the floor, twisting her hands together as her cheeks burned with shame.
“I…” she started, not finding anything more to say. The pink-haired student, normally so bubbly, couldn’t see a way to justify how she had let herself go so badly. Blame it on COVID, she thought, half-heartedly. She knew it wasn’t that. She was a procrastinating slob at the moment, and she could only blame herself for it.
Her landlord, Mr Dawson, seemed at a loss for words just as much as she was. He was slowly shaking his head in disbelief and making his way towards the kitchen. Panic settled in Claire’s gut and she blurted out, “Wh-what can I do for you, Sir?”
He turned around, his hands on his hips. “Well, I came to check you were all right, since you weren’t answering your phone, or emails, or texts…”
“Hum… Yes… I was, err, I’ve been very busy you see and…”
“I can see that…” he said, looking around in dismay. She nodded nervously and looked down, her blushing showing no sign of going away. He continued, “Mostly, we need to talk about your unpaid rent…”
She looked up, shyly, then down again. “I know, I’m sorry…” she mumbled.
“I know things are tough at the moment, Claire,” he started, then pointed at all the delivery food packages strewn around, “But I’m not sure you have your priorities straight…”
“No Sir…” she whispered.
“What was that?”
“No Sir,” she said again, louder.
“Do you think this how you should keep your flat?” he continued, gesturing at their surroundings.
“No Sir…”
“And about the rent?”
“I will pay it, Sir…” she said, her head still bowed.
“In full and on time?”
“Y-yes, Sir…”
“All right, I’ll give you until the end of the week…”
“Thank you, s—”
“I’m not finished!” Mr Dawson interrupted, “I will be back on Sunday to check that you’ve cleaned this mess, and for the rent. And before I go, I’m going to give you a taste of the consequences, should either not be done by then.”
“Con-consequences, Sir?” she said, looking up at him worriedly.
He cleaned an old Domino’s box off a chair. “You are going to come over my lap, and I’m going to spank your bare bottom, young lady.”
Young lady? She thought. He was not a decade older than she was. Wait, that wasn’t even the point, she corrected herself. A spanking? What was he talking about?
“I… I don’t think you can do that…” she said, looking away.
“No? Don’t you think you deserve one? Look at this place! It was just re-done when you came in. I remember your mother telling me how you were a very neat and ordered student…”
“Yes…”
“Do you want her to know about this mess you’ve done?”
“No! Please…”
“And I can only guess at how your university work is going…”
She said nothing. Tears were welling in her eyes. She was a mess, she knew it. She missed home, she missed rules, she missed being held accountable. Yet… a spanking?! Like a misbehaving brat?…
He sat down on the chair, waiting for the cogs to stop turning in her head. Finally, she bowed her head and shuffled her way to him, walking around a mouldy curry tupperware and what looked like the rest of some Chinese. He pointed at her jeans. “Pull them down”
“Please, Sir…”
“Pull. Them. Down.” he said, unmoved by the tears of shame that already had started rolling down her cheeks. She bit her lip and undid her belt buckle, then pushed her tight jeans down, revealing a tiny pair of white panties. He was gracious enough not to comment further and indicated her over with a shove of his head. She approached, closed her eyes, and went to lay across his lap. She felt his firm hand holding her side and she shuffled slightly, trying to find some comfortable position despite the shame and humiliation. Her comfort, however, was the least of Mr Dawson’s concerns, and he made that very clear when the first of many heavy slaps landed on her perky, offered bottom.
“Owww!” she yelled out in pain and surprise. Sure, she’d been spanked before, but he was clearly not going easy on her. Each slap made her wince in pain and kick her legs. After a dozen slaps, she was already crying openly. “Please! Sir! Mr Dawson!” she cried, trying to wiggle her way off his lap. He held her in place, unwavering. Clearly, he had done that before. “That’s enough! Owww! I’ll clean up! Please!” Relentless, the slaps came, hard and fast, a staccato of pain on her rump.
“STOP!” she yelled and tried to protect her burning cheeks with her hand. He paused. For a moment, she thought he had listened, and that her nightmare was over. she lowered her shoulders and sniffled. “Let me go, Sir… I..” Then his hand grabbed the elastic band of her panties, and she panicked.
“No! Nonononono! Please!”
“I told you I was going to spank your bare bottom.” he said, matter-of-factly.
“No, please! I’ll clean! I’ll pay the rent on time! I’ll do anything you want!”
With one pull, her panties were down to her mid-thighs and her bottom bared for him to admire and punish as he willed. She clenched her buttocks, foolishly hoping to hide her intimacy and to make what she knew was coming hurt less. With the first slap, she knew it wouldn’t work.
The thin fabric of her panties hadn’t protected her much, she knew, and maybe it was all psychological, but the flesh-on-flesh slaps felt ten times worse. Maybe it was that her bottom was already burning, maybe it was the sheer humiliation of having her ass bared for a man —pretty much a stranger— to see. She wailed with every merciless slap, knowing that there was nothing she could do to stop them. Through her tears, she looked at the mess around her, and knew that it was what she needed. I will change she thought with every stroke of Mr Dawson’s large hand, I will change, I will change, I will change, I will change…
Finally, after an eternity of pain and tears, she found herself standing in the corner, her hands over her head, her burning cheeks on display. Her phone on the coffee table was counting down 45 minutes, and even though she knew that Mr Dawson had left, she dared not move away from the corner. The mantra kept repeating in her head, I will change, I will change, I will change, I will change…
She would make him proud on Sunday. Her burning bottom was a dire reminder of the consequences if she didn’t. But mostly, she knew that she would make herself proud.
“It’s not faaaaair!” she yells as the slaps rain down on her bottom. He doesn’t listen, his hand coming down hard and making her cry out in pain once more. Her bottom, red even before he pulled her panties down, is throbbing with pain. Added to the pain is the humiliation of knowing that her pussy is on display, wet with desire, all but begging for his cock. And he won’t give it to her.
“Please!” she pleads once more. He ignores her, the slaps steady and merciless.
“It’s extremely fair,” he says between two hard slaps.
“But…” She bites her lips, stiffling a moan as his hand spreads and caresses her burning cheeks.
“What was the rule?” he asks, punctuating the question with a sharp slap.
“Ooww!”
“What was the rule?” he asks again, spanking her harder.
“Oww! No… Oww!! No porn during working hours…”
“And what were you doing?”
“I… Please…”
“What *SMACK!* were *SMACK!* you *SMACK!* doing?”
“I was… watching… naughty things, but…
“But?”
“Working from home is so boooooring! It’s not fair!”
“You know how you get…” he says, his hand lightly brushing her dripping pussy, sending shivers up your spine, “You get yourself crazy excited, and then you come and distract me… I have to work too…”
“Mmmmhm… Yes… Distracting, yes…” she says, moaning. She feels his hard cock against her belly and his fingers linger, caressing, probing her. She closes her eyes. He finally realises that ending over his lap was her plan all along. “You’re not even sorry, are you?” he says.
Il ferme la porte d’entrée et pose son attaché-case au pied du mur. Elle l’attendait, les mains derrière le dos, la tête baissée, comme toujours. Il défait son manteau et le suspend, puis, enfin, il lui pose un baiser sur la joue.
Chantonnant, il va jusqu’au bureau, la laissant plantée au milieu du couloir.
Il est gonflé. Pas un mot, pas un petit commentaire, même pas un ‘je t’aime’. Il n’a pas l’air fâché, pourtant ? Juste un bisou sur la joue ? Elle ne comprend pas. Elle s’était faite toute belle, le maquillage, les ongles, les cheveux… Pas un commentaire. Rien. Non mais les hommes, des fois…
Une moue aux lèvres, et le suit et passe la tête dans l’entrebâillement de la porte de son bureau.
“—Tu ne remarques rien ?” minaude-t-elle.
Son regard se pose sur le paddle qui trône en évidence au milieu du bureau. Ses yeux s’écarquillent. Il lui fait signe d’entrer.
“—Mais…
—T’es belle, dis-donc, Julie…
—Ah bah quand même…
—Quoi ?
—Bah t’as remarqué…
—Ah ça oui, j’ai remarqué…
—Ça ne te plait pas ?
—Ah si, si, t’es magnifique…
—Mais, le paddle ?…
—Ils sont bien, tes ongles, dis-donc…
—Oui…?
—On dirait presque que tu as été chez l’esthéticienne…
—…
—Et puis les cheveux… La coupe, la couleur…
—Oui…
—Pédicure, aussi ?
—Peut-être…
—Autre chose ?
—Ben…
—Oui ?
—Épilation…
—Je vois… Et qu’est ce qu’on a dit le mois dernier, Julie ?
—Le mois dernier ? Euh… C’est loin, ça…
—Réfléchis…
—On a dit… Que je pouvais me faire toute belle pour le plus chanceux des amoureux ?
—Pas exactement, non…
—On a dit qu’avec la COVID et tout le tralala, il me fallait quelque chose pour me remonter le moral ?
—Non plus, non…
—On a dit… Que…
—Sérieusement, ce coup-ci…
—Pfff… Que j’ai trop dépensé le mois dernier chez l’esthéticienne…
—Et ?
—Et le coiffeur…
—Et ?
—Et que je devais me retenir…
—Sinon ?
—J’aurais pas de dessert ?
—Presque…
—S’te plait…
—Ah bah tu peux être privée de dessert aussi, c’est pas un problème…
—Non…
—Sur le bureau.
—Quoi ?
—Relève ta jupe et penche-toi sur le bureau.
—S’il te plait… Je suis désolée, d’accord ? J’avais besoin…
—On a fait un budget, oui ?
—Oui…
—C’était un peu juste, oui ?
—Oui…
—Tu as promis, oui ?
—Rhoo, oui, c’est bon…
—Sur le bureau.
—Oui m’sieur l’inspecteur des impôts…
—Il y a une taxe sur les mensonges, oui…
—Même pas drôle…
Elle retrousse sa jupe et se met en position, le cœur lourd. Les larmes vont gâcher son maquillage. Trente euros pour rien, pfff…
It was when food started to mysteriously vanish from his cabin that Captain Flintsworth became suspicious. Knowing his crew, there was little chance they would be drawn to fruit when there was plenty of jerky and ale below deck. The HMS Exultant was a 3rd rate ship of the line, and boasted a crew of nearly six hundred sailors, none of which, he thought, would risk being caught in his cabin just for some taste of aging fruit. That, and the fact his prized bottles of fine whisky and rums had been left undisturbed left him unsettled. Yes, he thought to himself, the case of the vanishing fruit was most suspicious indeed.
In more busy days, he would probably have forgotten about it, or, more likely, wouldn’t have noticed in the first place. A ship this big was like a little village, and there was always something to do, orders to give, people to supervise, courses to plan. The 70 guns that adorned the Exultant weren’t for show, and he had pirates to hunt for the glory of Britannia.
Still, the seas were calm, and they were a long way yet from the pirates’ most frequented routes. Smooth sailing so far had meant that the Captain had had time on his hands. One evening, after noticing that, once more, somebody had been in his cabin in his absence, he decided to catch the thief in the act. Insubordination was better dealt with while they were in untroubled waters. Who knew what could happen later… The next morning, he put a new display of fresh fruit —well, as fresh as he could have them— in evidence, and, having given discreet orders not to be disturbed for the day, he lay in wait, hidden behind a carved panel that cleverly concealed a little nook in the side of the cabin.
The hours passed with monotonous boredom. He could hear his first mate yelling at the sailors, the rush of the waves against the ship, and the wind blowing in her sails. Still, the food lay undisturbed. Maybe, he thought, this was just his mind playing tricks on him. Maybe he had just been eating the fruit himself, distracted by one of his many tasks. Maybe he had caught some illness of the mind… No! he told himself. He was sound of body and mind, he knew he was. That nagging doubt, that gut feeling was enough for him. He had risen to captaincy by trusting his instincts, and they wouldn’t let him down this time either.
Noon came and went, and he wished he had taken food with him in his secreted alcove. Yet, he prided himself for his self-discipline, and didn’t relent. He would catch the thief, and he would see to his punishment personally.
Another hour went by, and another. Finally, as he was about to give up, eyeing the dark brown rum bottle on the side to drown his sorrow, there was movement. To his surprise, it didn’t come from the cabin’s door, but from the windowed gallery that lined the stern. Someone was getting in through the narrow windows. Someone small and remarkably nimble. Young, for sure, one of the ship boys.
The intruder looked around, suspiciously, and got to the table where the fruit awaited. Quickly, he pocketed an apple, grabbed another and took a huge bite out of it. The Captain, triumphant that his instincts had been right, but confused as to who that ship boy was, all but lept out of his hiding place and grabbed the boy’s wrist.
“Now I have you, little thief!”
The boy let out an anguished cry that seemed an octave too high and tried to escape. As he did so, the Captain’s suspicion got stronger, and he grabbed the thief’s oilskin jacket, pulling it off.
Underneath it was, clearly, not a ship boy. Wearing a leather corset and a puffed-sleeves shirt that used to be white over a pair of leather breeches, the thief was a young woman.
“Let me go!” she pleaded, terrified.
“Who in the heavens are you?” he asked, sternly.
“No one! Let me go!”
“No one, huh? I don’t think so. I think you’re a stowaway, young lass, and a thieving one at that.”
“I was hungry, I was!”
“Why are you on board? Answer me!”
“I…”
“Well?”
“I want to sail the seas! I want to fight ’em pirates!”
“You… What?”
“For England! For the Queen!”
“Yes, yes, Glory to Britannia and all. It doesn’t explain how you got on my ship, and how you think you’re going to defeat pirates if you’re a thief, no better than them!”
“I… I was just hungry!”
“You will adress me as Captain, understood?”
“Y-yes…”
“Yes Captain!”
“Yes Captain…” the girl said, hesitantly.
“Better. Sit.”
He forced her down on a chair.
“What is your name?” he asked.
“Is-Isabelle, Sir, Captain, Sir.”
“Captain will do.”
“Yes, Captain, Sir.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Right… What am I going to do with you, Isabelle?”
“I… I don’t know Sir, I mean, Captain.”
He rubbed the bridge of his nose.
“I can’t have a woman on board.”
“But…”
“It’s bad luck.”
“You don’t—”
“But more importantly,” in interrupted, “there are 600 men on board, who haven’t seen a woman since we set sail. How did you stay hidden for weeks?”
“I know my way ’round ships, Captain… My da is a shipbuilder, he is.”
“I see… Well that doesn’t help me, does it…”
“Maybe…”
“Yes?”
“Maybe I could… Be your servant? Keep your room—”
“Cabin.”
“…Your cabin in order and such things?”
“A maid?”
“I would serve you well, Captain, been a maid since I was 6, me.”
He eyed her up and down.
“Were did you find these breeches? And the oilskin?”
“Nicked them from my brothers…”
“And the corset?”
“… A wench at the tavern…”
He shook his head.
“The shirt was mine!” she said with a warm smile. “Ma would have tanned my hide if I’d lost it”
“She would have, would she?”
“Oh for sure, Captain. ‘Never too old for a spanking’, my Ma says.” She nodded, gravely.
“Well, I agree with that!” the Captain said with a dry smile. “Get up”
She obeyed and he took her place on the chair.
“I cannot in good conscience let you out of the cabin, it is far too dangerous out there for a young lass. Maybe keeping you as a servant could work…”
She nodded enthusiastically and opened her mouth to say something, but the Captain lifted a finger up.
“However!” he continued, “thievery is a crime, and crimes must be punished. Your Ma is a wise woman, she must have had the measure of you.”
“What… What do you mean, S-sir? Captain!”
“I mean I’ll be the one to tan your hide, Isabelle, and you better believe I won’t go easy on you!”
“Oh but… Ca-Captain…”
“Pull your breeches down,” he said, his voice commanding.
She blushed and looked at the windows, then at the door. Finally, she looked back at him, his arms crossed over his chest. Her shoulders sagged and she sighed.
“Y-yes, Captain…”
Her leather breeches pulled half-way down her thighs, she came to lay upon his lap, a thin piece of home-sewed undergarment barely covering her pearly white buttocks. He wasted no time asserting control and pulled them down to her thighs as well. She let out a pip of embarrassment but said nothing, fully aware that her fate was, quite literally, in his hands.
Immediately, his large, callous hands fell down on her rear, making her yelp and scream. She kicked her legs as more slaps rained down, accompanied by the Captain’s scolding. Theft, lies, deception, hiding herself aboard his ship, there were countless things to atone for. Her bottom jiggled and bounced under the slaps, and tears streamed down her blushing cheeks. Both the heavy slaps and her cries were covered by the waves, the sails and the creaking of the boat. Still, she expected the door to barge open at any point, letting in countless sailors to witness her humiliation and exposed intimacy.
The door stayed closed, mercifully, but the punishment only gained in intensity. Large, broad slaps were falling down on her burning ass, and she begged the Captain for mercy, for leniency, for respite. She promised him everything she could promess, she said again and again that she was sorry, that she would make it up to him. She wore it on her Ma, on her Dad and on the Throne of England. She cried, and moaned and begged again until, at last, he relented and let her catch her breath.
Getting her off his knees, he led her to the hitherto hidden alcove and had her stand in it, her hands over her head, her bruising, fire-red bottom on display for his enjoyment. Bad luck or not, he thought, she was there to stay. He found that he didn’t mind. He was sure Britannia would understand. Call it a gut-feeling.
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.
[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
