[this story is told from Juliet’s perspective]
When I went upstairs, I found that Amy had dumped several handfuls of uncooked white rice in the corner that I usually stand in. Unsure, I knelt down awkwardly on the rice facing the corner. I gasped as my full body weight was transferred onto my knees, allowing the rice to dig in painfully. It was way worse than it looked. I immediately tried to adjust so that less rice was under my knees, but I was already in big trouble, so I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to breathe through the pain. At least I was kneeling on carpet instead of hard wood- it’s the small things in life!
Amy finally came upstairs after what felt like an eternity. My heart started thumping, but I stayed still and waited for instructions. “How are you feeling?” asked Amy’s dryly.
“The rice hurts, Ma’am, but I know I deserve it.” The guilt about the car and the money and the lying is eating me up. My head is racing as I try to figure out how to come clean. I’m in a bit of a predicament already, and she has barely gotten started. \
“Juliet,” says Amy seriously, “Come meet me in the bathroom.” Oh, no. It’s going to be the soap. She knows I lied about something. I stand up gingerly, my knees stinging from the rice. I brush off the pieces that have stuck to my skin and hobble over to the master bathroom where Amy is standing by the shower. Hmm? A shower? She normally only forces me to take a shower before a bedtime spanking. Amy gestures wordlessly to the tub, so I climb in and stare at her expectantly. “Put your hands behind your back,” Amy orders. I comply, wondering what the heck is going on. “Juliet,” she says darkly, “I’m going to turn the water on. You are going to relay to me everything that happened yesterday from the moment you bought the tickets to the moment Melissa showed up this morning. When you answer me completely- and truthfully– we will turn the water off and begin your punishment.”
I’m really confused about why I’m in the shower if she just wants to re-hash the events of the past couple of days, but it becomes clear when she turns the nozzle. Ice cold water hits my skin, and I shriek and jump away. “AHHH, IT’S COLD!” I shriek, trying to get as far away from the icy stream as possible. Amy grabs my arm and yanks me back under the cold stream. I howl in misery and start panting hard. It’s FREEZING.
“The sooner I get the truth, the sooner you can get out. Talk.”
“AHHH OHMY AH, OK, IUSEDYOURCREDITCARDWITHOUTPERMISSIONANDDROVETOTHESHOWDRUNKANDTHENKEPTDRINKINGSOIBROKETHESPENDINGRULEANDTHESAFETYRULE.” My words come out in one breathless string, stopping just short of admitting that the crash happened last night. Amy is still staring at me blankly, so I add, “We also left a mess and I wasn’t diligent about texting you updates. Please let me move it hurts sooooo baddddd.” I hug myself with my arms, trying anything to create warmth.
Amy turns me around and lands five loud swats on my frozen bottom. It’s excruciating. I burst into tears and continue to beg her to let me get out. “I said to leave your hands behind your back,” says Amy unsympathetically, “Stand how I told you to, look me in the eyes, and tell me the rest.”
“The rest,” I sob, realizing that she already knows more than she’s let on, “Is that I crashed the car last night and tried to cover it up by lying to you again. That’s everything, I promise. Please let me get out.” With a sigh, Amy reaches over and turns the water off. I can hardly feel my skin. She hands me a towel, and I immediately envelop myself in the fluffy warmth. “I’m so sorry,” I sob, “And I’m s-so c-cold.” Amy motions for me to join her by the sink. Great, now it’s the soap, I think to myself with an inward groan.
“I soaped Shae’s mouth for lying, so you are going to get the same punishment. While the bar is in your mouth,” Amy explains, “I’m going to let you know the rest of your punishment.” I nod submissively and open my mouth for Amy. She lathers the bar, and sticks it into my mouth, forcing me to jerk and gag due to the invasion of bitter soapiness. “Bite down,” Amy orders when she’s done dragging the bar across my tongue. I comply, tearfully.
“In addition to losing your drinking privileges,” Amy begins, “You’ve lost your car and credit card privileges as well. You can make purchases with your own debit card, and if you want anything else, no matter how small, you will ask me and get permission. You are grounded from TV for a month, and you can use your phone for one hour in the evenings, but that is it. I will drive you to school when possible, and otherwise you can walk or use public transit. I will pay for your car repairs, but you’ll repay me by taking laundry, dish, and shoveling duties until Christmas Eve.” With that, Amy takes the soap out of my mouth and allows me the customary two rinses. “Meet me in the living room,” Amy instructs.
She takes my towel away, and I head downstairs with a pout. This punishment is already terrible. When Amy gets downstairs, she grabs the tv remote, a wooden spoon, and sits on the couch. “Come over my lap,” she instructs. When I get settled over her thighs, she asks me to quickly outline why I’m being punished.
“The mess, the drunk driving, the unauthorized spending, not texting you, and the lying,” I reply concisely.
“That’s quite a list, young lady,” Amy says softly.
“Yes, ma’am. I was bad.”
“You’re not a bad partner,” Amy clarifies, “You just made bad choices. Here’s what those bad choices got you. I’m going to spank you with the wooden spoon for 60 minutes. During those 60 minutes, Melissa pointed me to a great documentary about the dangers of drunk driving. You will watch it on the tv in front of you while I spank. Understood?” This is really unusual. A 60 minute spanking?! Watching tv during it?! Amy clicks on the TV and starts the documentary. When the introduction begins, the wooden spoon cracks down. It stings, but she’s not hitting very hard. The documentary starts, and Amy is hitting me every 5-10 seconds with the spoon. The rhythm isn’t too intense, but a sting is building. The documentary is heart wrenchingly terrible. It’s a compilation of interviews with people who have lost relatives to drunk driving. When I try to bury my head and look away, Amy grabs a handful of my hair and holds me painfully in place, all while continuing to pepper every inch of my bottom with gradual swats.
When I finally glance at the clock, it’s only been 20 minutes. The spoon is driving me crazy. “Amy,” I plead, “An hour is too much with the spoon. Please, please have mercy.” She hits me harder three times in a row with the spoon, then settles into her previous rhythm.
“I have no patience for your complaints,” she retorts. I return to crying and watching the documentary. The pain causes me to dance across Amy’s lap, but she keeps me in place by locking her leg over mine. I start to groan, and it’s getting harder to focus on the documentary. She slows the swats down at the 30 minute mark. She gives me five minutes to watch the documentary in silence before her torture resumes. By the 45 minute mark, every swat of the spoon makes me hiss in misery, and my tears are blurring my vision. Amy takes a few moments to rub my back. In the last five minutes of the documentary, she picks up the pace, causing me to scream and twist as she lands hard swats on my already sore and hot bottom. At long last, the credits roll across the screen and I collapse over her knee, sobbing as she pets my hair and rubs my back.
“That was the longest spanking ever,” I howl in self pity as Amy comforts me.
“Stay over my knee,” says Amy gently. “We have a little more. The drunk driving was dangerous, but the lying and your bad behavior yesterday just made me feel disrespected. I won’t tolerate disrespect. So for that, we have a little more of this punishment to go before the slate is clean.” I feel Amy’s hand circle my sore bottom. Her gentle attention feels good. Gradually, her hand moves to the crevice between my cheeks, and I feel her finger right above the entrance to my back door. I tense in fear. Amy knows that I hate anything being near that entrance. It’s humiliating. Slowly, Amy presses one finger inside of my delicate rosebud, and I gasp in horror.
“Please not this,” I beg, “I hate it. It’s embarrassing. It feels… ughhnnn… not good,” I cry.
“Shhhhh,” Amy soothes, pumping her finger in and out of my ass, making me shudder in discomfort. “You need to relax. At the very least, you owe me your submission,” Amy says gently. I let myself go limp over her lap. I trust her, even if I’m not thrilled about my position. Amy removes her finger and I feel something being pressed against the same entrance. My eyes go wide. She presses an object that feels like a bowling pin into my ass, when in reality it’s probably only an inch long. When it’s in place, an unbearable heat spreads throughout my nether regions.
“What is it?!” I ask urgently.
“Ginger root,” Amy replies, “I found the idea on a blog. It’s perfectly safe. It’s just going to burn quite a bit until I take it out. I’m setting a timer for 5 minutes.” I wince and try to relax, but my bum has taken more than enough punishment for the next several years. When the five minutes is finally up, everything below my waist is stinging. Amy removes the ginger and helps me sit up. “You owe me a shoveled driveway,” Amy insists, “And then you can come back in and write, ‘I will not lie’ 100 times on a piece of paper. After that, the slate will be clean other than the groundings and what not.”
“Ok,” I nod miserably and stand up to get dressed.
“Do you want to snuggle for a little bit before you go shovel?” Amy asks with a kind smile. I let myself smile just a little and crawl into her arms eagerly. She caresses me and let’s me know that I’m forgiven. She reminds me of how loved I am. I cry a little more, and when we both feel a little better, I stand up to go handle the driveway.
“How about I make some cocoa while you’re out there,” Amy offers kindly.
“Uh.. maybe tea? I’ve had enough junk food to last a long time,” I reply with a sheepish grin.
“Tea it is, baby girl,” Amy smiles, kissing me once more on the head.
[back to Shae’s perspective]
“OH. MY. GOSH.” I gush, “Your punishment sounds terrible. Amy is a sneaky one. She seems so warm and cuddly, but she’s harsh!”
Juliet laughs in agreement. “No more antics for a while, k? My butt kills and I have no more privileges to lose.”
“Yeah,” I agree, “We’ll be angels. Let’s come up with an amazing Christmas surprise for them to make it up.”
Juliet agrees, but tells me that her phone privileges are suspended until the following evening. I hang up and call to Melissa that I’m ready to go shopping.
5 thoughts on “Juliet’s Turn”
This was so good! Scary creative, haha. 🙂
Looking forward to the next installment 💜😻
Thanks, Lucy!! Xx
Just discovered your blog. This whole Shae story is just great. Hope it will continue for a long long time 🙂