Brat Boot Camp pt. 3

Things had been going much more smoothly between Sharon and Gracie. Gracie learned to be honest, to apply herself to her chores, and to avoid mouthing off at the slightest annoyance. Gracie still had a hard time admitting to herself that she needed– and enjoyed– Sharon’s firm guidance. And her temper was far from perfect, too.

On Wednesday, right in the middle of their week together, Gracie resurrected her old bratting ways and was taken to task before she could even process what had happened.

It all started when Sharon suggested a trip to the gym to go swimming and enjoy the sauna. Gracie had mentioned being a lifelong athlete, and that exercise helped quell some of her stress and irritability. Wanting to be accommodating, Sharon suggested that they ditch a few of their scheduled mundane tasks and enjoy a couple of hours at Sharon’s athletic club. The women packed swimsuits and water bottles and headed out of Sharon’s mansion of a house for the first time all week.

“Wow,” Gracie said as Sharon drove along the neighborhood streets, “I forgot what the sky looked like. We’ve been trapped inside forever.”

“It’s behavior boot camp, not a vacation,” Sharon retorted, “We’re not supposed to be dining at Mastro’s and shopping on Michigan Avenue.”

“Yeah yeah,” said Gracie dismissively, just happy that they were doing something fun for once. She was enjoying her time with Sharon immensely (probably more than she’d admit) but she was ready for some time in public to feel like a normal young adult again rather than a captive submissive.

Sharon and Gracie split up at the gym and agreed to meet back in the lobby at noon so that they could go out for lunch before returning home to tackle some curriculum. Sharon was supposed to be reviewing budgeting and saving with Gracie that afternoon, which Gracie was happy to avoid for as long as possible. Gracie started with a run on the treadmill, followed by a long swim in the lap pool, deep stretching, and relaxation time in the sauna. Gracie felt like a whole new woman. She was relaxed and ready to take on the day when she sauntered into the lobby at 12 on the dot, right on time to meet her dominant lady partner.

Gracie gave a smile and a wave when she saw Sharon, but Sharon’s eyes narrowed somewhat ominously. Gracie had showered and changed into dark jeans with giant holes all over them, converse sneakers, and a neon yellow crop top hoodie that said “CHICKS BEFORE DICKS” in large black lettering.

“I have no idea what to say about the outfit choice,” Sharon sighed impatiently, crossing her arms for emphasis, “But none of that is okay. First of all, you’re half naked. Your stomach is hanging out and half of the skin on your legs is exposed by those giant holes. And I’m not taking you to a restaurant in that sweater. You need to change.”

“I don’t have anything to change into,” Gracie whined, feeling herself start to get annoyed. Her outfit was fun and age appropriate. Plus, it was up to 38 degrees. Not even freezing! She practically lived in crop tops and torn denim.

“You don’t have a choice,” Sharon responded kindly but firmly, “This isn’t a negotiation. You’re changing.”

“Well I don’t have extra clothes and I’m fucking hungry,” Gracie spat. “You should have asked what I was packing if you were going to freak the fuck out about the word DICKS.”

“I will not tolerate that language. Your choices include getting a new outfit from the gym’s shop, or changing at home. You have like 3 seconds to make a choice before your choices disappear entirely today, little girl.”

Gracie bristled at being called little girl.

“I’m not hungry. I’ll starve.”

“Fine. We’ll do things the hard way this afternoon. Makes no difference to me.” With that, Sharon grabbed Gracie’s elbow right where it met her upper arm, digging her fingers into a pressure point that Gracie didn’t even know existed. Gracie yelped in pain and tried to wiggle away, but Sharon simply used her grip to steer Gracie toward the parking structure. Once they were mostly out of sight of the other gym goers, Sharon spun Gracie around and landed four loud, sharp warning smacks to hear rear end.

Gracie gasped in horror and looked around to see if anyone had seen.

“WE’RE IN PUBLIC,” Gracie whined, starting to lose her nerve.

“We won’t be if you march your butt to the car and sit in it silently while we drive home,” Sharon pointed out with a self-satisfied smirk.

Sulking, Gracie hopped into the car and settled into the passenger’s seat. As Sharon silently maneuvered the car out of the garage and back up onto the street, Gracie’s annoyance was replaced by guilt and remorse.

Faaaaack, Gracie thought miserably, I ruined our one outing for no reason. Now we can’t enjoy our lunch and we’ll probably never leave the house again. 

Sharon’s calm silence gave Gracie even more anxiety. She wondered how much trouble she was in for the outburst. Feeling smaller by the minute, Gracie leaned her head against the cool glass of the window beside her and twiddled her thumbs nervously in her lap.

“Are you okay?” Sharon asked lightly, glancing at Gracie’s sad, crumped figure at the red light.

Gracie merely shrugged in response, biting her lip and begging herself not to start crying before she even got the spanking that she knew was coming. Sharon gave Gracie space to think about the position that she was in, driving silently but placing a hand gently on Gracie’s knee to show her that she was still there for her. Gracie’s tense shoulders relaxed at Sharon’s gentle touch, even though her mind was still racing.

When the two pulled back into Sharon’s driveway and headed toward the front door, Gracie hung back a little and held out her hand with a pout. Sharon looked back at Gracie’s hand and felt her heart melt a little.

“Would you like to hold hands?” Sharon asked, even though the answer was obvious.

Gracie nodded. She wanted to be lead again. “Um.. I like when you’re in charge,” Gracie said softly, her facing flushing red hot with humiliation. “I want, uh…” Gracie’s eyes filled with tears and she didn’t finish the sentence, but Sharon knew what she wanted. She wanted to be put in her place so that she could feel like a good girl again and their dynamic could be restored. Sharon firmly grabbed Gracie’s hand and walked her into the house. Since Gracie was suddenly acting like a fish out of water, Sharon took care to give her extra guidance and instructions.

“Shoes off, meet me in my room. You can sit on my bed and wait for me,” Sharon instructed.

Gracie obeyed without a peep. Sharon came in a few minutes after and beckoned Gracie to stand up. Nervous but wanting to show her good behavior, Gracie quickly scuttled over to stand in front of the dominant woman. Very gently, Sharon grabbed the bottom of Gracie’s bright yellow garment and pulled it over her head. Grace let her hands fall awkwardly to her sides, but she stayed quiet and waited for what was next. Predictably, Sharon unbuttoned Gracie’s jeans and slid them down her leg, softly tapping Gracie’s calf to let her know that she needed to lift her foot and step out of the pants.

“Fold them and put them on the bed,” Sharon instructed gently. Gracie folded up her clothes as requested, her work a little sloppy given that she was nervous about Sharon’s watchful eye, and then she returned to standing quietly in front of Sharon, naked and vulnerable.

“Get your suitcase,” Sharon commanded, her voice firm, but still gentle as to not startle the stressed-out submissive. Sharon didn’t believe in using more force than the situation required. Gracie had been naughty, and she’d be punished for it, but she was already showing signs of remorsefulness.

When Gracie came back with her suitcase, Sharon pulled it open and placed it between them.

“We’re going to go through what you packed and I’m going to let you know whether something is appropriate for a young lady of your age to be wearing,” Sharon explained. “There’s not going to be an argument. If I don’t think it’s ok, I’ll set it aside to be donated. Got it?”

Gracie nodded. “Yes, ma’am,” she snuck in for good measure.

“Good girl,” Sharon replied with a genuine smile.

“Are little rips in jeans ok?” Gracie asked genuinely, separating out the extremely ripped pants and the pants with no holes. Sharon regarded the pair with small rips carefully and ultimately let them go back in the keep pile.

“The crop tops have to go, but can the exercise crops for yoga stay?” Gracie asked hopefully.

“Yes.”

“Nothing else with profanity,” Gracie confirmed, “I promise.”

“Great.”

Item by item, they sorted out Gracie’s clothes until Sharon was satisfied. As Sharon packed up the donate pile, she overheard the loud rumbling that was starting in Gracie’s stomach.

“I need to feed you before you get punished,” Sharon confirmed with a sigh. She grabbed one of her own sweaters and a thicker pair of socks for Gracie. Instead of handing the garments to Gracie, she put the sweater over Gracie’s head for her, and then stripped off Gracie’s thin athletic socks and replaced them with her thicker wool selections. When Gracie was dressed to her liking, she gave both of Gracie’s fit an affectionate squeeze.

Holding out her hand, Sharon helped Gracie stand up and they headed to the kitchen.

“I’m sorry I ruined our lunch,” Gracie offered, her voice laced with sadness.

“I’m not letting you ruin a thing,” Sharon promised with a small smirk. “I’m going to make some sandwiches for us right now, and we’ll just have to go out for dinner instead. Not Mastro’s,” she winked, “But something good.”

After scarfing down a giant sandwich, a banana, and a glass of bubbly water, Gracie was taken to the living room where Sharon placed her down on the couch.

“I think we’ve had enough time to process your… outburst…,” Sharon reasoned, “So we’re going to skip the corner time. I don’t appreciate you arguing with me in public, and I really don’t appreciate the cussing at me. I know you’re not used to someone having this much control over what you do, but I know that you know the rules and that you broke them this afternoon.”

Gracie nodded silently and let Sharon take Gracie’s hands in her own. Taking a breath, Sharon continued.

“I’m going to put you over my knee and spank you. I’m going to use my hand, and then we’re going to wash your mouth out with soap. After that, you’re going to get six with the belt, ok?”

Gracie’s eyes filled with tears and she tightened her grip on Sharon’s fingers. The belt terrified her, but she didn’t want to argue again; that’s how this whole mess had started. Sharon rewarded Gracie’s cooperating with a small kiss on the forehead. Gracie was amazed that Sharon could remain kind and nurturing even while dishing out a spanking. Since there wasn’t much left to say, Sharon grabbed Gracie around the waist and settled her in the OTK position.

Since Gracie’s bottom was already bare, save for her massively unhelpful thong, Sharon rubbed it just for a moment to get Gracie to relax, and then the spanking began. Gracie tried to focus on breathing and staying still. She felt oddly serene over Sharon’s lap. She liked that it made her feel submissive. Small. Safe.

The warm fuzzy feeling in her gut started to fade as the reality of the warm stinging feeling spreading over her bottom settled in. Gracie gave a few little grunts as the spanking increased in intensity.

SMACK, SMACK, SMACK, SMACK. Sharon was pulverizing Gracie’s sit spots, going back and forth between the sensitive area over and over and over again. Gracie wiggled to try and subtly encourage Sharon to smack another spot, but Sharon just held her tighter and continued her relentless assault on Gracie’s tender sit bones.

SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK. “I want you to feel the soreness when you sit for the next couple days,” little girl, “I may not be using an implement, but your bottom is going to be a nice shade of purple by morning.”

Sharon gave Gracie’s sit spots a moment of reprieve by spreading her sharp smacks to the farthest reaches of Gracie’s bare bottom. 5 minutes ticked by painfully slowly. Her whole butt felt like it was under attack by a colony of vicious fire ants. Right when she thought she couldn’t take it any more, Sharon returned to the already bright red sit spots.

“NOOOOO,” Gracie howled, starting to kick her feet angrily. “Please, it hurts so bad, I’m so sorry, please no.”

Sharon didn’t respond. She just kept at Gracie’s sit spots until they were finally showing signs of turning purple. Gracie went limp and let herself cry openly. Satisfied, Sharon gave one last round of smacks to Gracie’s outer booty, and finished with five smacks on each of her upper thighs. Sharon let Gracie cry for a few minutes before pulling her up and giving her a bear hug.

“It’s ok, the worst part is all over, baby love,” Sharon cooed, playing with Gracie’s hair and rubbing her fingers affectionately along Gracie’s belly. Gracie calmed down fairly quickly in Sharon’s arms.

“I’m sorry about the gym,” Gracie hiccuped.

“I know, baby,” Sharon reassured her with a gentle smile. “Let’s get the rest of this punishment over with so that we can move on with our day.”

Gracie sat on the toilet bravely for Sharon while a new bar of soap was lathered up. Sharon set an iphone timer for two minutes and hooked her hand under Gracie’s jaw, forcing her to open up. Gracie squeezed her eyes shut and tried to breathe slowly through her nose as the terrible waxy texture and bitter taste filled her mouth. Sharon just let her bite down on the bar and hold it in rather than truly rubbing the bar across Gracie’s tongue like a real mouth soaping. This girl was making her soft, she thought miserably. When the ordeal was over, Sharon let Gracie rinse and took her to the bedroom for the third and final phase of the punishment.

Sharon helped Gracie lean over the bed, and she went to her closet to get the belt. Gracie desperately wanted to stand up and beg for mercy, but she kept repeating to herself that six licks of the belt would be over in a flash.

“Now please do you best to stay in place. I’ll have to add strokes if you don’t. Not because I want to torture you, but because safety is very important.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Gracie squeaked back.

With that, Sharon pulled her arm back and let the first strike go. It landed a little too softly. Gracie merely breathed out in surprise but didn’t seem hurt. The next stroke was harder. Gracie gasped. Three and four made Gracie yelp in misery as the belt hit her already bruised bottom. Five and six were equally hard but aimed at the barely reddened thighs. It hadn’t been the worst whipping, but Gracie had learned her lesson.

Sharon collected a sniffling Gracie in her arms again and the two of them snuggled and exchanged affection.

“That’s a good sweet princess,” Sharon praised, squeezing Gracie and rubbing her back and arms. “You did so well. It’s all forgiven. Let’s put today behind us and plan an amazing dinner.”

Gracie nuzzled her head into Sharon’s curly hair.

“I like it when you call me princess. And baby. And little girl,” Gracie admitted softly. “I usually hate pet names, but when you do it, it makes me smile.”

“I’m so glad,” Sharon responded genuinely. “I love making you feel good. I don’t love spanking you, actually, but it’s my job, and I love how you’re discovering your soft side.”

“Can we have Mexican for dinner?” Gracie asked, making Sharon laugh with the abrupt topic change.

“Yes, little princess,” Sharon gushed, tickling Gracie and showering her in little kisses, “Anything for you.”

 

Brat Boot Camp 2- Gracie Gets Spanked

Gracie woke up to a quiet house on Saturday around 8:00. Sharon had given her another two hours to sleep in, but it only took a few minutes for Gracie to become restless. At home, she would have taken out her phone or computer and been in bed for several more hours scrolling social media and watching Youtube clips. Without technology to distract her, she woke up a bit more peacefully and was ready to get out of bed and start the day.

Gracie hopped out of bed and suddenly blushed to herself. She was still completely naked. Unsure of whether she was meant to wear a towel or just walk around naked, she knocked on the inside of her own door to get Sharon’s attention. It took a few seconds before Sharon could process where the knocking was coming from.

“Are you ok in there?” Sharon asked curiously, wondering why Gracie didn’t just open the door and come out.

“Uh.. yeah.. I’m just.. like.. still naked though. So I was wondering if I was supposed to come out naked or put on a towel or something.”

In answer, Sharon opened the unlocked door to Gracie’s room and gave her an amused look. Gracie flinched and moved her hands toward her breasts as if to cover up, but abandoned the attempt halfway because it felt even sillier to try and hide.

“Are you a little embarrassed?” Sharon asked with a small smirk.

Gracie only nodded in response, her face contorted in a look of panic and shame. Sharon’s heart melted a little. Gracie looked so vulnerable and upset.

“There’s nothing to be embarrassed about,” Sharon reassured Gracie softly. “But we have a lot to do today so why don’t you put on a bra and panties so that you’ll be a little more comfortable. If we have a good day, maybe you can earn some pajamas or another outfit.”

“Thank you,” Gracie squeaked thankfully. She thought guiltily about the tank top that she had taken last night, but she didn’t want to risk losing the bra and panties privilege. She decided to deal with the issue later.

After Gracie was more properly dressed, she and Sharon sad down for breakfast. Sharon had spend the morning making eggs, bacon, and biscuits. Gracie’s mouth watered as she dove in to the hearty fare.

“Thanks for making breakfast,” Gracie gushed with a mouth full of fluffy biscuit.

“No problem,” Sharon laughed in return. “Do you usually make yourself breakfast or does your sister do the cooking?”

“Actually,” replied Gracie thoughtfully, “My sister is always gone when I wake up. I typically eat pop tarts or cereal for breakfast. I make my own lunch and my sister and I usually cook separate dinners. We’re on different schedules and I guess we’re just used to doing our own thing.”

Sharon frowned. “So you live together but you never eat meals together?”

“Not really,” Gracie replied with an indifferent shrug while shoving a full piece of bacon into her mouth.

Sharon took a sip of her coffee thoughtfully. Maybe if Gracie and her sister spent some positive time together, their relationship wouldn’t consist of so much bickering. She made a mental note to address it later.

When Gracie finished eating, she cleaned up her dishes without being asked and even started to wipe up the counter and rinse of the baking sheet. Sharon made sure to praise Gracie for her thoughtfulness, and Gracie beamed in response.

After breakfast, Sharon and Gracie worked together on a number of chores. Gracie learned the art of vacuuming, dusting, tidying up. It actually wasn’t terribly hard, and it wasn’t boring because Gracie was allowed to play music on her phone and the two women passed the time by chatting.

“Do you think that you and your sister could work together on some of this stuff,” Sharon asked as the two headed to the kitchen for a second cup of coffee after most of the chores were done.

“Yeah, I think so,” Gracie offered with a small smile. “If I live there, I should help out. I should have learned how to vacuum a long time ago.”

“You are extremely intelligent,” Sharon said firmly, giving Gracie a warning look, “Your sister let you play stupid about not knowing how to do chores for too long. I’m going to email her tonight and let her know all of the fabulous housekeeping that you are capable of now. Clear?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Gracie smiled, burying her face in her coffee cup. She never thought that she would enjoy the feeling of accomplishment that came with doing chores, but she had been in a good mood all day.

“Now,” Sharon explained, “We can take a little break. I’m going to catch up on some emails. After lunch we have a few more things to do.”

After Sharon retreated to her bedroom, Gracie used a few minutes to text some of her friends and let them know that she was alive and well. They all thought she was traveling in order to work on some interviews for a story. She wasn’t in the mood to peruse social media, though. Gracie felt bad about the tank top situation. Without giving herself time to think twice, she grabbed the t shirt from her room and marched into Sharon’s room, where her caretaker for the week was sitting at her desk focused on typing. Hearing Gracie’s footsteps, Sharon turned around expectantly.

“What’s up?” Sharon asked, swiveling her chair around to face Gracie.

Gracie held out the tank top without saying anything.

“What’s that?” Sharon asked, confused.

“I took it out of my bag last night without asking. I didn’t wear it. I felt too guilty. But I shouldn’t have taken it at all,” Gracie said, looking at the carpet in shame.

“Ok,” Sharon sighed slowly, processing the admission. “Thanks for telling me.”

Sharon paused to think about the situation. The offense wasn’t that bad. Gracie had actually been adjusting to her submissive position fairly well given the suddenness of the transition. But Sharon needed to set the tone, so it was important that she follow through with punishment.

“You know I have to punish you,” Sharon explained calmly, “But I’m proud of you for telling me and for not wearing the shirt to bed. Why don’t you go stand in that corner over there and spend a few minutes thinking about what compelled you to break the rules. You’re going to get a hand spanking. It’s going to hurt, but it’s not the end of the world. I expect you to be a good girl and stay still for me during the spanking. When it’s over, we can put this behind us and you can focus on earning your clothes back the right way.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Gracie replied contritely. “So… I just go stand over there?” she clarified, looking a bit puzzled.

Sharon laughed. “Yes, you go stand with your nose facing the corner and try not to fidget. And think about why you’re there!”

Gracie had never stood in a corner, but it was sort of awkward. It was humiliating to press her face into the wall while Sharon kept typing at her computer. Gracie felt like a little kid. Gracie started to pick at the wall with her right hand.

“Stop fidgeting,” came Sharon’s sharp command. “Put your hands behind your back.”

Gracie complied with a silent internal groan. It felt like corner time lasted all day. It was really 5 minutes.

When corner time was over, Sharon told Gracie to come to the bed. Sharon was sitting on the end of the mattress, pointing to the spot on the floor between her legs. Gracie stood in front of Sharon and looked into her disappointed eyes.

“Ok, little one,” Sharon explained calmly, “Why do I have to spank you?”

“I lost the privilege of having my stuff by mouthing off, and then tried to break that rule by sneaking behind your back. That breaks trust and I should have followed the rules.”

“Precisely,” Sharon stated, taking Gracie’s hands gently in her own. “I care about you very much and will do everything possible to make sure that you feel safe and supported while you’re here. But I am 100% in charge and every time you disobey me, a swift consequence will follow. Clear?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Gracie was biting her lip nervously and her body language was screaming trepidation, but she was cooperating.

“Good, over my lap then,” Sharon stated as she helped Gracie settle over her knees.

Sharon settled her left arm on Gracie’s lower back and used her right hand to gently peel down Gracie’s panties. Gracie wiggled a little and whimpered in embarrassment, but to her credit she didn’t protest verbally. In reward, Sharon took a moment to rub the nervous girl’s bottom and upper thighs.

“Is this your first spanking?” Sharon asked before beginning.

“Mhmm,” Gracie squeaked miserably.

“Just stay still, sweetie,” Sharon cooed, “Spankings hurt, but you’re totally safe.”

With that, Sharon lifted her hand and brought it down sharply on Gracie’s upturned bottom. It stung, but not terribly. The first 10-20 smacks were more surprising than painful. Just when Gracie began to think that adult spankings weren’t so horrible, Sharon began to spank a little harder and a burning sensation spread in Gracie’s behind. A few smacks were one thing, but being repeatedly hit in the same area caused a fire to spread rapidly across her cheeks. Gracie was already starting to wiggle and it had barely been two minutes.

“Breaking a rule will never be worth the punishment that comes with it,” Sharon scolded, interrupting Gracie’s thoughts. “You will always end up being VERY sorry.”

“I’m sorry now,” Gracie wailed as Sharon continued to rain down hard smacks on each of her cheeks in turn. Sharon was alternating between the left and right cheek, hitting every spot from the uppermost corners of Gracie’s bottoms to the tippy tops of her thighs. Gracie took deep, gasping breaths and danced desperately across Sharon’s lap. Sharon simply held Gracie tighter and continued.

Left, right, left left left, right. Repeat. Gracie’s bottom had taken on a nice pink hue.

“It hurts so baaaaaaad,” Gracie gasped desperately, “Please no more. I get it. I won’t break a rule ever again.”

“I hope not,” said Sharon evenly. But her spanking continued until Gracie’s bottom had gone from light pink to a definite pink-red. Slowing down, Sharon took one more chance to deliver a lecture.

“Disobedience is not tolerated,” Sharon explained again. “I will punish you reliably every time. Our day didn’t have to include a spanking, but until you stop being stubborn and accept that my word goes, you’ll be finding yourself in this position.”

Sharon thought about making Gracie count the last 10 smacks, but the girl was crying hard and Sharon felt like it would be better to wrap up mercifully. Aiming at Gracie’s sit spots, Sharon smacked each cheek five consecutive times at full strength, causing Gracie to let out a heartbreaking wail. When she finished, Sharon immediately scooped Gracie up into a hug and started to shush her.

“It’s ok, it’s all over. Clean slate, baby. I forgive you,” Sharon rubbed Gracie’s back as she whispered to her, and peppered the top of her head with kisses. Gracie melted into Sharon’s affection, curling up in her lap and nuzzling her tear-stained face into Sharon’s shoulder. Gracie continued to mumble apologies while Sharon rubbed her back and assured her that it was all over.

When Gracie finally calmed down, Sharon helped Gracie stand up and took Gracie’s small, cold hand delicately in hers. Sharon’s hands were soft and gentle, so unlike the raging pain they had caused minutes before. Leading Gracie by hand to the bathroom, she helped Gracie wash her face with cool water.

“Let’s have you wear some sweatpants,” Sharon suggested kindly. “Some people get a little chilled after a spanking. It’s normal. I want you to be warm and have a little protection for your rear end. It will still hurt to sit, but it won’t bruise as much if we keep it nice and covered.”

Gracie nodded thankfully as she slipped on her comfy sweats. She had never felt so cared for even though her butt was throbbing. Tears still in her eyes, Gracie held out her arms to Sharon for another hug. Sharon happily obliged and gave Gracie a firm, affectionate squeeze.

“Let’s go make a can of soup for lunch,” Sharon suggested, stroking Gracie’s hair and brushing a rogue tear from her cheek. “You can have as much affection as you need, but I want you to eat something right now.”

Nodding again, Gracie slipped her hand into Sharon’s and let Sharon lead her to the kitchen. Gracie wasn’t sure why she was feeling so vulnerable and clingy, but she hovered right around Sharon as she heated up the soup and poured it into bowls. Sharon didn’t mind. She treated Gracie to plenty of gentle touch and kind smiles. They had a long 5-6 days left together, but Sharon already noticed how calm and sweet Gracie could be when she knew someone else was in charge.

Maybe Gracie would go back home a changed girl, after all. Changed, or sore, or both.

Brat Boot Camp

Gracie dragged her duffel bag lazily through the wisps of snow still gently layering the cracked sidewalk. She stared up in disdain at the beautiful gothic-style house in front of her. It was three stories tall with with dark windows and adorned with gas lamps. By all accounts, it was beautiful. Gracie, however, did not want to be here. She had been signed up for a programme against her will in which young girls and boys went to live with a strict same-gender caretaker for the week in order to (ostensibly) learn discipline and respect. Gracie used to watch the World’s Strictest Parents t.v. show and make fun of all of the loser teens on the show and the nerdy families who took them in. This was different. Brat Boot Camp was for older brats– those in college and even beyond. Anyone could nominate you for Brat Boot Camp, including a parent, a boss, a lover, a friend, or even yourself. Gracie was 27 and still living with her older sister, who had nominated her for the program given that Gracie still spent most of her time drinking and mouthing off when she wasn’t working on her journalism degree.

Gracie wrapped her thin cardigan more tightly around her shoulders. It wasn’t quite so cold in her hometown, and she had left in a torrent of curse words when her sister tried to force her to pack a warmer jacket. With a hesitant sigh, Gracie raised her fist and knocked. She listened intently for sound on the other side of the massive door. Eventually, she heard a calm voice announce “coming,” followed by the door opening with a soft swoosh. Standing in front of Gracie was a woman who looked to be about 40 years old. She was only slightly taller than Gracie, but had a wider build with curvy hips and ample breasts. She had long curly hair and deep green eyes. Gracie could’t be more opposite with her stick straight figure, long black hair, and dark almond-shaped eyes.

“You must be Gracie. I’m Sharon,” the woman announced, her tone polite and pleasant.

“Nice to meet you,” Gracie replied, letting her heavy duffel bag fall to the ground and kicking the snow off of her black army-style boots.

“Why don’t you come in and get settled, and then we can talk about the house rules,” Sharon suggested, sizing Gracie up silently as she slipped off her cardigan.

“Uhm. Ok. Guess you don’t waste any time,” Gracie said, suddenly annoyed and uneasy. “I haven’t fucking taken my shoes off but sure, let’s talk about everything I’m not allowed to do this week. Awesome.”

Sharon knew better than to take the bait. She raised her eyes and crossed her arms, casually leaning against the wall in front of Gracie.

“Well first of all,” said Sharon firmly, “You won’t be talking to me like that at all this week. It’s completely unacceptable. You’re a grown woman. I don’t actually care if you curse. But you aren’t going to curse at me, and you aren’t going to give me that sort of attitude again. You can apologize and then express yourself more maturely if you have a concern about what I’m telling you to do.”

Gracie couldn’t argue with the logic. She had sort of gone off for no reason. But, on the other hand, how goddamn annoying that this woman was already talking about rules before Gracie had taken more than one step into the house. Like she already thought Gracie was going to be a fuckup before she had even opened her mouth. Gracie’s stubborn side prevailed again.

“Sorry you’re annoying,” Gracie said dryly.

Sharon’s expression remained unchanged.

“Ok,” Sharon said casually, shrugging her shoulders and giving a slight smirk. “When you’re ready to come into the house, you can apologize. Until then, we can stand here all night. I ate a late lunch. I’ll be fine.” With that, Sharon settled into her comfortable position against the wall.

Gracie bit her lip, unsure of what her next move should be. She crossed her arms as well and simply stared back at Sharon in silence. It felt like they had been staring at each other for 10 minutes, but it had probably barely been one. It was already uncomfortable. Gracie rolled her eyes and tried to find something on the ceiling to stare at. She focused on breathing in and out slowly. Tick, tock, tick tock. Seconds felt like minutes. Time dragged on. Sharon didn’t budge.

“Pick up your duffel bag,” Sharon finally said softly.

Relieved that she had won the standoff, Gracie scooped her duffel bag up and looked at Sharon expectantly, waiting to be shown to her room for the week.

“Oh, you can keep standing there,” Sharon clarified. “I just don’t want your crap all over my floor. Your bag is wet from the snow. You’ll hold it until you apologize, and then we can go to your room and put it down.”

Gracie stared at her incredulously. This was not going to happen. Gracie put the bag on the floor defiantly.

“Oh no,” said Gracie, “I’m not standing here holding my fucking bag. It’s heavy!”

“Two choices,” Sharon stated, still calm as ever. “Hold your bag, or I’ll take it and lock it in my room and you won’t see your belongings for the rest of the week.”

“So I’ll walk around naked all week?” Gracie asked sarcastically.

“We’ll manage,” said Sharon, again refusing to take the brat bait.

Not knowing what else to do, Gracie shifted her bag into a more comfortable position on her shoulder and resumed her silent staring routine. She had spent all day walking around an airport. Her feet were tired and her shoulder was already aching from the strap of her bag. Setting her jaw in a firm line, Gracie vowed to persevere. This lady would have to give up eventually.  Several more minutes ticked by. Gracie was too embarrassed to shift the bag around– she didn’t want to show that she was struggling. But damn, her shoulder was really starting to ache. Another few minutes went by before Gracie felt herself slowly going crazy from the silence and the pain in her shoulder.

Gracie dramatically let the bag fall to the floor and then sat her body on top of it and buried her head in her hands.

“You’re crazy,” Gracie announced, looking up at a somewhat amused Sharon. “You’re literally insane. You can’t have my bag and I’m not fucking standing here holding it all day either.”

Without saying anything, Sharon crouched down next to Gracie. Carefully, she reached around and pinched the skin on Gracie’s side directly under her left ribcage. She didn’t pinch hard, but it was enough to make Gracie yelp in pain and fall backwards off the duffel bag. Sharon then yanked the duffel bag off the ground and retreated silently into the house.

“STOP, WHAT THE FUCK,” Gracie shouted, wondering if she should follow Sharon, but being suddenly unsure of whether she dared to push the boundaries further. It wasn’t going well. Sharon was gone for a few minutes. Gracie could hear footsteps going up the stairs and coming back.

“Now,” said Sharon with a tired sigh as she appeared back in the entryway of the house, “Are you ready to apologize and come sit down inside, or are we going to keep digging a deeper hole?”

“You took my bag,” Gracie stated with a slight pout.

“Like I said I would, yes” Sharon nodded. “You’ll get your things back when you show me that you can behave. Right now, I just want an apology for how you spoke to me almost 45 minutes ago. We can waste all evening with us just standing here for all I care, but I will get an apology.”

Gracie desperately wanted to break, but Sharon’s cockiness was grating on her. She thought she was going to dominate Gracie that easily. She thought wrong.

“Can we compromise and I apologize after dinner?” Gracie asked, hoping to gain any ground she could.

“Uhm… no,” said Sharon with the pretense of thoughtfulness. “You can apologize in the next two minutes or you can go stand on the porch in the cold until you change your mind. I’m counting.”

“You can’t make me stand outside,” Gracie whined, “I’ll get sick. I have no jacket!”

“Not if you apologize you won’t,” Sharon suggested. “You control how long you’ll be out there. Or you can apologize now and stay inside here.”

“Ok, ok,” Gracie relented finally, remembering how the bitter cold felt against her skin through the thin cardigan. “I’m sorry I snapped at you. It won’t happen again.”

Gracie still felt annoyed but hoped that her apology was genuine enough. In response, Sharon gave her a smile and stepped aside to let her in.

“It’s going to be a long week if everything is that difficult,” Sharon said simply, retreating into her spacious living room and settling on the couch.

Gracie didn’t reply. She just followed Sharon silently and settled into a recliner across from her.

“I’d like to know a little more about you,” Sharon said softly after a long, silent pause. “The email that I got didn’t say much. Where are you from. What’s going on?” Gracie crossed her arms and looked down at the soft cream-colored carpet. “Uh..,” she mumbled, “I live in Alexandria, Virginia. I live with my older sister, Charity. She’s a veteran and she works for the government doing drug enforcement. I’m going to school to be a journalist. I don’t go to campus that much though. I do fine in school, I guess, but I don’t do very well working within a hierarchy. I want to freelance so that I can be my own boss. But right now I don’t necessarily make money so that’s why I live in my sister’s condo. That’s pretty much it.”

“And why did your sister think you needed to fly halfway across the country and spend a week with me?”

“As you can see, I can be a little stubborn. I don’t do well with authority. I don’t disagree that I’m a bit of a brat. And I supposed I’m old enough to start taking responsibility,” Gracie offered, her voice barely audible on the last few words.

Sharon and Gracie spent time talking and getting to know one another. Gracie actually found Sharon to be pleasant and funny when she wasn’t making her stand in a doorway holding a heavy object. The house rules were simple enough: clean up after yourself, tell the truth, do what you’re told, respond with “yes, ma’am” or “no, ma’am,” don’t talk back, no electronics after midnight, no sleeping in past 10am, and no drugs or cigarettes. This was all doable for Gracie. She wasn’t a smoker, and she wasn’t one to sleep in too late anyway. Maybe the week wouldn’t be as terrible as she thought.

“There’s one more thing,” Sharon added slowly. Gracie’s enthusiastic nodding ceased on a dime.

“Ok… shoot,” Gracie said with suspicious narrowed eyes.

“If you break a rule or you are acting like a disrespectful brat, you’re going to be treated like one,” Sharon explained. “I’m not going to make you stand in the doorway again, but there will be a consequence and you won’t like it. Namely, you’re going to be spanked. You might also be sent to the corner, or made to write lines, or I might soap your mouth out for backtalk. I could take away privileges like your phone or even your right to pick your own clothes. We can have earlier bedtimes. The possibilities are endless, but I do believe in corporal punishment and you should basically know that if you act like a child, you’ll be treated like one.”

Gracie went pale. “Spanking?” she repeated simply, ignoring everything that had come after that dreaded word.

“Yes, spanking,” Sharon echoed calmly. “I’m not going to beat you, but a spanking is going to hurt. We’ll talk about what happened, and then you’ll bend over and I’ll spank your bare bottom with my hand, or possibly something like a hairbrush or belt if that’s necessary to get the point across.”

“Ohmygosh that’s so embarrassing,” Gracie whined with her mouth agape.

“I imagine so, yes.”

Gracie nodded feebly and chose to keep her other questions to herself. Hopefully it wouldn’t come to that.

After having some time to settle in, Gracie met Sharon in the dining room. Sharon had made a vegetarian lasagna and a salad for dinner. Gracie thanked her host for cooking and dug in happily, the two women talking about travel, journalism, pets, and everything in between. They were talking like two old friends and Gracie felt perfectly at ease. As dinner wrapped up, Sharon begin to gather up the plates.

“You are going to help with the dishes,” Sharon announced.

“Ok!” Gracie replied enthusiastically, hoping that she could build goodwill to protect her from the humiliation of a spanking if she slipped up later. “But I’ve never done them before so I don’t know how,” she announced with wide eyes.

Sharon dropped her chin and fixed Gracie with a serious stare.

“So you have never helped your sister clean up at home?” Sharon demanded.

“No,” Gracie mumbled, losing confidence in her newfound chore enthusiasm.

“Ok,” Sharon replied firmly, “We are going to have a lot to learn this week! I’ll help get you started and you can finish the rest. You just have to prewash them before putting them in the dishwasher. Tomorrow maybe we can work on laundry and dusting.”

“What fun Saturday,” Gracie moaned miserably.

With one sudden, sharp swat to Gracie’s behind, Sharon pointed toward the kitchen and Gracie ran off to do her job.

The rest of the evening proceeded normally. Gracie helped with cleanup, and then she and Sharon shared a glass of wine and a bowl of chocolate ice cream over a documentary. The two women did have a lot in common (their love for documentaries, the obsession with sweets at the end of the day, passion for protecting the environment, and they both loved going to hatha yoga). If Sharon wasn’t so bossy, Gracie thought, they could be best friends. It was nearly 11:30pm when Sharon finally turned the t.v. off.

“You have 30 minutes to get all of the texting and web surfing out of your system,” Sharon stated with a yawn, “Then you can either read in your room or get some sleep. But we’re getting up and doing chores tomorrow, so I don’t recommend being up all night. I’m going to my room to read, but bring me your phone by midnight, ok?”

“Why can’t my phone stay in my room overnight. I won’t use it,” Gracie pouted pathetically.

Sharon grabbed Gracie’s chin and looked her directly in the eyes.

“Little girl,” she said firmly, “When I tell you something, it’s an order, not an argument. I think you need to try a “yes, ma’am” and an apology for pouting.”

“Yes, ma’am. I’m sorry,” Gracie relented quickly, “But can I please have pajamas and my tooth brush out of my bag?”

“Hmm,” Sharon smiled playfully, “Well hygiene is important so you can definitely have your toothbrush. But it’s pretty warm in here, so I don’t think you need pajamas. Maybe you can earn your pajamas and a couple of outfits back tomorrow by behaving all day.”

“YOU CANNOT MAKE ME WALK AROUND NAKED,” Gracie shrieked. “Oh my gosh, please, at least just a sleep shirt,” she begged.

Sharon raised her eyebrows and said nothing. Gracie bit her lip and stared back in terror. This woman was a brick wall. She was getting nowhere with her.

“Grab your brush and get your phone to me by midnight,” Sharon instructed, patting Gracie’s knee affectionately.

Frowning, Gracie disappeared to Sharon’s bedroom and found her bag in the corner. She whipped out her toothbrush and toothpaste, and then silently listened to see where Sharon was. She could hear her washing the wine glasses and bowls in the kitchen. Slowly unzipping the main compartment of her bag, Gracie snuck out a clean t shirt and tucked it under the shirt she was wearing. She would put it on to sleep in and take it off before heading down to breakfast in the morning. Smiling at how easy it was to sneak one past Sharon, she brushed her teeth and took a long, hot shower. Wrapping herself in a towel, Gracie combed out her long, dark hair and applied some lotion to her face and arms. When it was 11:58, Gracie scooped up her cell phone and padded toward Sharon’s room. She was still wrapped in a towel.

Sharon was sitting on her bed, thin reading glasses balanced gently on her nose. She looked up at Gracie and gave her a small smile. Gracie handed over her cell phone with one hand, the other hand clutching the towel for dear life.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” Sharon responded, setting Gracie’s phone on her nightstand. “Do you have everything you need? Is there anything that you want to discuss before bed?”

“No, everything is fine, ma’am” Gracie replied.

“Great. Well then I’ll see you in the morning. Since you don’t have an alarm, I’ll knock on your door at 10 sharp if you aren’t awake before then.”

“Ok, goodnight,” Gracie whispered, backing out of Sharon’s room and retreating down the hall.

She felt a weird emotion creeping up. Was it… guilt? For breaking a rule? Or, perhaps, fear of a consequence? Gracie hated rules and she didn’t know the first thing about guilt or consequences. What was happening? In the safety of her room, Gracie fondled the stolen shirt in her hands. With a shrug, she let the shirt fall to the floor and climbed under the covers stark naked. Before she could even think about what had gotten into her, she was fast asleep…

End of Chapter 1.

Better Late Than… Oh Wait

Hi guysssss. The Melissa stories aren’t wanting to be written lately. They’re a bit of a struggle. But I really like the whole doctor-dom dynamic, so here’s a new doctor-patient lesbian spanko story for ya’ll. 

***

Ever since moving to the United States from the U.K., Ellie didn’t favor having to make trips to the doctor or dentist. The NHS healthcare system was so easy and familiar, and having to pick private doctors that work with your insurance plan was a big hassle. Ellie had tried to navigate the insurance company websites when she first arrived in the Windy City (aka Chicago), but it gave her a huge headache.  When a two-week bout of bronchitis brought her into an urgent care clinic, Ellie admitted to the intake nurse that she hadn’t seen any sort of doctor in almost 3 full years. Horrified, the nurse insisted that Ellie get a full check up then and there, and she wrote her a referral to a local gynecologist.

“You have to get a well-woman exam,” the nurse scolded, “You’re 25 years old- women’s health checkups are essential for preventing ovarian, cervical, and breast cancers. And you need to get to a dentist yesterday.”

Referral crumpled in her now-sweaty hands, Ellie scuttled out of the office feeling annoyed. She felt completely fine, other than the bronchitis. Maybe she wouldn’t even pick up her prescriptions. Ice cream and hot tea had never let her down…

Nevertheless, after hearing about her health situation on the phone that night, Ellie’s mother doubled down and insisted she’d stop paying her phone bill if she didn’t get to a doctor ASAP. Feeling trapped, Ellie made an appointment online with the gynecologist and sent her mom a screenshot of the appointment confirmation email.

“Hope everyone is happy,” Ellie thought bitterly as she went to bed that night, “Now I have to let some creep shove his hand up my you-know-what for no reason.”

When the time for the appointment rolled around a few weeks later, Ellie felt herself growing nervous. She took to Google to explore what even happens at a “well woman” check-up. The Google search revealed ghastly photos of the tools used for a pap smear, and Ellie may have read one too many horror stories from women who’d had bad experiences with their exams. Ellie nearly considered skipping the appointment, but then she remembered how much she didn’t want to be paying her own phone bill while also juggling rent and tuition at psychology school.

Ellie showed up at the right office and shoved her plastic insurance card at the receptionist.

“Name?” the receptionist asked without looking up from her computer.

“If you can read, my name is on the card,” Ellie huffed impatiently. She knew this appointment was a mistake. These people were idiots! She was not going to let any of them manhandle her nether regions.

With a pointed glare, the receptionist click-clacked on the keyboard with her extra long hot pink nails. After what felt like hours of typing and glaring, the receptionist shoved her card back and said, “Follow the nurse back to your room.”

Ellie was taken down a winding hallway to a clean, spacious room lined with pamphlets about STDs, cervical cancer, and breastfeeding. She was instructed to undress from the waist down and was handed a thin blue sheet to cover up with. Ellie peeled her clothes off delicately and folded them neatly on a nearby chair. From there, she climbed up gingerly onto the exam table and placed the sheet over her naked lap. It didn’t do much to preserve her sense of modesty or dignity, but it was something.

Ellie waited and waited, and she couldn’t hear a peep coming from outside of the room. After 25 minutes had passed, the doctor finally entered with a harsh knock on the door. Ellie took a deep breath, ready to tell this dude just how annoyed she was. But when the door opened, Ellie found herself staring at a short woman with tightly curled hair and a kind, round face. Ellie’s facial expression morphed from irritation to surprise.

“Sorry I’m late,” the woman responded with an apologetic shrug and a tired sigh, “Another patient had an emergency this morning and we got off track. But I’m Dr. Candice Miller.”

Dr. Miller extended her hand and Ellie shook it meekly. “Nice to meet you,” Ellie mumbled.

“I’m told that you’ve never had a pap smear,” Dr. Miller announced seriously, sliding on her gloves and rattling a tray of scary looking equipment around.

“And looking at all of those very fun metal implements,” Ellie stated coldly, “I’m reminded of why I’ve put it off for so long.”

The doctor smiled sympathetically and slid over to sit in front of Ellie.

“No one looks forward to their well-woman exam, but I’ll be as gentle as possible and I’ll describe everything I’m doing. I’ll check your breasts first to make sure that there aren’t any unusual lumps. After that, I’ll do a quick pelvic exam, followed by the actual pap smear. That will involve using a speculum to open you up, and I’ll take a small sample of your cervix for testing. It might feel a little funny, but it shouldn’t really hurt. Then we’ll go over your health history and talk about birth control. Does that all sound good?”

“Like a carnival, really,” Ellie sneered.

Dr. Miller raised her eyebrows but didn’t respond to Ellie’s sour attitude. Working quickly and professionally, she slipped her hand under Ellie’s shirt and bra and felt quickly around Ellie’s small, perky breasts.

“No lumps,” she announced, withdrawing her gloved hand and moving back between Ellie’s legs. “Try to relax for this part though, you’re just going to feel my fingers” Dr. Miller said gently.

“Arghhh,” Ellie exclaimed as the doctor stuck a cold, gloved hand into her most intimate parts. The exam wasn’t exactly a slow serenade. Ellie squirmed uncomfortably as the doctor put pressure on her insides.

“No abnormalities,” the doctor continued, “Any pain?”

“I guess not,” mumbled Ellie bitterly, “But it didn’t feel great.”

“Almost done,” Dr. Miller reassured, grabbing the terrifying looking speculum. Ellie squeezed her eyes shut and tried to count slowly to ten while taking deep breaths. Before she had even reached 9, the doctor announced that they were all done.

“Oh,” Ellie sighed in relief, “That’s it?”

“Yes, other than a few questions,” the doctor smiled back. Her chipper attitude was grating on Ellie’s nerves for some reason. Dr. Miller slid over to her computer and began typing.

“Are you currently sexually active?” Dr. Miller inquired.

“I’m single. I’ve had sex before, but I don’t have a partner right now and I don’t just hook up with anything that moves. But I would have sex again with the right person.” Ellie blushed at how stupid she sounded. The doctor hadn’t reacted at all, though.

“How many sexual partners have you had?” Dr. Miller continued.

“Uh.. is that important?”

“Yes,” Dr. Miller sighed, beginning to show a bit of impatience.

“2 men and 4 women,” Ellie mumbled in embarrassment. Not even her mom knew that she had been gay since the end of college. Dr. Miller, however, showed no outward sign of homophobia.

“Have you always used protection,” she asked?

“With the two men I used a condom, yeah, but with women there isn’t really a need for protection.”

“That’s not true,” Dr. Miller scolded with a furrowed brow, “Lesbians can transfer STDs and other infections to one another, and there are ways–”

“Ok are you some expert on lesbians now?” Ellie interrupted impatiently. Dr. Miller turned and faced Ellie, her arms crossed impatiently.

“I have a medical degree that says I’m an expert in all sorts of sex, and you have an attitude that says you’re a little unsure about taking responsibility for your sexual health,” Dr. Miller snapped harshly, her light brown eyes boring into Ellie. “I don’t care who you have sex with, but I get paid to educate you on doing it safely. I hope that you can be mature enough to participate in the conversation.”

“So now I’m immature?” asked Ellie, her blood boiling, “Well at least I always show up on time to places.”

Dr. Miller stood up and walked over to Ellie. There was fire behind her previously calm eyes.

“I won’t tolerate being disrespected in my own practice,” Dr. Miller explained calmly but firmly. “If you were my daughter and had spent nearly 3 years avoiding medical appointments while having sex without any understanding of disease transfer, you wouldn’t be sitting for WEEKS.”

Ellie bit her lip nervously. She felt tears stinging her eyes. The difficulty of living away from her family, combined with her anxiety surrounding health issues and the vulnerability that today had caused, sent a sudden waive of emotion rushing over her. Ellie began to cry softly. She had taken her nervousness and embarrassment out on Dr. Miller and her staff for no reason.

“I’m s-so sorry,” Ellie gushed, “I didn’t want to come at all because I thought people would judge me for being a lesbian, and I was worried that maybe something was wrong after all. I took my fears out on you in the wrong way after you were so kind to me.”

Dr. Miller appeared sympathetic once more.

“There, there,” she hushed, handing Ellie a tissue. “Why don’t we make a follow-up appointment next week to go over the results of your tests, and we’ll discuss safe sex when you’re in a better place emotionally.”

“Ok,” Ellie agreed with a sniffle. “But you can do it if you want.”

“Do what?” Dr. Miller clarified.

“Spank me,” said Ellie flatly. “I know the threat was probably just you blowing off steam, but I deserve a spanking, really. My ex-girlfriend would have totally spanked me if I had been neglecting my health and mouthing off to people. Not that you’re my girlfriend. My mum used to spank me to. I’m used to it; I’ve always been hard-headed and bratty. It works for me.” Ellie blushed deeply in humiliation, but Dr. Miller looked calm and thoughtful.

“I shouldn’t have threatened you in the office,” she conceded, “It was unprofessional. How about you think about it this weekend, and if you still think you deserve a spanking, I’ll make a little house call and we’ll get it done.”

Ellie nodded her understanding and blew her nose. Dr. Miller handed her a business card and scrawled her cell phone number on the back.

“It was very nice to meet you, Ellie,” the doctor said with a warm smile, “Even if I was a few minutes late.”

“It’s no big deal,” Ellie mumbled with a shy smirk, “Thanks for the help. I’ll… uh.. text you this weekend, I guess.”

“I look forward to it. Now please get dressed and go enjoy your Friday.”

With that, Dr. Miller left the office and Ellie was left holding her business card and wondering what on EARTH she’d gotten herself into…

 

to be continued very soon 🙂

Another One Spanks the Butt

Sorry for the delay in writing a new story! I’ve been traveling and working on an anthology story. Here’s a short Melissa / Shae story to tide ya’ll over!

***

“Shae, this is my friend Stacey. We went to high school together. She’s going to be supervising you at your internship next semester.”

I stood by Melissa’s side awkwardly, my hands crammed into my pockets and my eyes staring over Stacey’s shoulder. I didn’t respond.

“It’s nice to meet you, Shae,” Stacey replied gently with a small smile. She held out her hand for me to shake, so I grasped the tips of her fingers with the tips of mine and gave her the world’s most pathetic and disinterested handshake. Stacey’s eye contact never wavered and the smile never left her face.

“Shae is very busy with dance and classes. She wasn’t thrilled about my suggestion that she earn a little income on the side and get some professional experience. Alas, she can’t dance for the rest of her life, and she thinks she’d really enjoy being a lawyer. If not, she’ll enjoy having some money to spend.”

I still don’t respond. I keep my expression as blank as humanly possible. It’s true that I’m always complaining about not having money and Melissa being the one to buy everything. It’s also true that I may have expressed to Melissa that spending all of my time dancing was starting to wear on my body and mental health. I worried that if I didn’t bulk up the professional side of my resume, I wouldn’t have a career exit strategy when dancing became untenable. But I didn’t actually mean for her to set me up an internship RIGHT NOW when I’m in the middle of trying to have a life.

“Why don’t Shae and I have a chit chat about the internship, just the two of us, and we’ll meet you out in the lobby in a few?” Stacey asked Melissa, her voice sweet like honey. Ugh, what a boring goody two shoes lawyer, I thought to myself with disdain.

“Great,” chirped Melissa with a smile. She turned to me and put her hands on my upper arms, looking me intently in the eye. “Be polite and engage. It’s very kind of Stacey to set this up for you. I’ve given her permission to handle your training and discipline in any way she sees fit.” With those final words, Melissa looked at me emphatically, as if challenging me to guess what she was getting at. My face instantly went red and I felt my confidence start to waiver. Had she told Stacey that she could spank me?!

“Do you understand?” prompted Melissa when I still hadn’t responded. I nodded. Satisfied, Melissa waved to Stacey and retreated down the hall. Now I was trapped with another stranger that undoubtedly thinks she can boss me around and control me. What is with these women…

“Why don’t you take a seat and we can talk?” Stacey asked with a slight smirk. “Melissa hadn’t told me that you were this shy. You’ve barely said a word.”

Sitting down gingerly, I folded my hands and looked up at her calmly. “Oh you know the old expression… if you don’t have anything nice to say…” I let myself trail off casually and gave a noncommittal shrug for emphasis. Stacey simply laughed at my baiting tactic, never losing her kind smile and relaxed posture.

“If you don’t want to work here,” Stacey explained softly but with authority, “I won’t force you. But if you come into my office and behave like an insolent brat, your bottom is going to meet the same fate as it would meet at home. I can already see why Melissa has her hands full with you. You need to learn boundaries and respect. Melissa has already told me that she worries about your judgment and your ability to control your emotions. It’s my job to help you gain those skills while you’re learning about being a lawyer. I’ll use corporal punishment as much- or as little- as needed. I want you to succeed. I’d rather have you sore and mad at me than see you go out into the world and get fired.”

My heart sinks to my shoes. Melissa told her all of those things about me? She thinks I’m a handful and that I can’t control myself? I’m embarrassed and feeling hurt. Tears sting the back of my eyes. I dig my thumb nail into the palm of my opposite hand in order to distract myself just long enough for the tears to dry. Sensing my change in demeanor, Stacey shifts forward in her chair and looks at me sympathetically.

“You seem stressed,” she whispers compassionately. “Do you want to tell me what’s going on?”

“I…” I try to talk but the tears are starting to leak. Dammit. “It’s just…” I try again, “Everyone always wants to just spank me and punish me and make me do things. I’m feeling beat down. But I know it’s upsetting to Melissa, too, because she obviously thinks I’m difficult. I want to be good, I just get so frustrated sometimes. I can’t help my impulses, and then I feel guilty but mad about being punished at the same time.” Tears are falling freely now. I’m humiliated that I’m pouring my heart out to a complete stranger.

“Thank you for communicating that so well. I can understand how frustrating it must be to feel like you’re living under all of these rules that are challenging for you to follow. I know Melissa adores you- she doesn’t see you as a failure or a burden. She just wants you to be the best that you can be, and that takes a lot of work from both of you.” Stacey’s kind smile has returned, and I feel myself relax a little.

“We have had a rough few weeks,” I admit. “Structure and discipline are good for me. I think it’ll be nice if Melissa isn’t always the bad guy, though. Not that you’re bad. Or a guy. You know what I mean.”

“You’re very adorable despite the attitude,” Stacey concedes with a giggle. “I am here to support you. I’m always here to listen to your needs and concerns. But in return, I expect respect and compliance. I think I’m probably more strict than Melissa, even if I don’t look it. Your first impression today was pretty awful, and first impressions matter. I have half a mind to give you an introductory spanking just to ensure that we don’t get off on the wrong foot again.” Stacey doesn’t look angry, but she does look determined.

I shift uncomfortably in my seat. “I guess I do deserve it,” I mumble with a frown, my bottom lip quivering as more tears threaten to come. “Sorry I’m being a baby,” I add earnestly, “I’m feeling unexpectedly emotional.” I look down at my hands in shame try to regulate my breathing.

“Oh, sweetie, it’s going to be ok,” Stacey coos, moving in to the chair next to me and wrapping her arm around me. “I used to hold a lot of frustration in with my partner. I think we have more in common than you think. I hope that I can teach you a lot about lawyering, life, and relationships. And I hope that you can trust me enough to let me in. I know we just met, but I’ve known Melissa forever and I’ve heard so much about you that I feel like I know you, too.”

“Well… I trust you enough to let me into my pants. You know, to spank me.” I smirk at Stacey’s shocked expression and we both let out a laugh.

“Ok, sassy thing,” Stacey announces with a gentle squeeze of my hand, “Let’s get you over my lap and we’ll see how you handle punishment.”

“My bottom is very seasoned,” I groan jokingly as I stand up and lower my jeans.

“Leave your underwear on. And your shirt. I want to make sure you feel comfortable.” I think of some sassy retorts, but decide to thank her- sincerely- for being conscientious of my boundaries.

Stacey lowers me fluidly over her lap and adjusts her knee so that my bottom is in the air.

“This is more of a quick warning spanking,” Stacey explains firmly, “It’s a reminder that first impressions matter and that you cannot go around acting like a brat just because you feel like it. When you’re upset or overwhelmed, communicate like an adult. Got it?”

“Yes, ma’am,” I respond nervously.

“Good. And say red if you want me to stop.”

With no further discussion, Stacey lifts her hand and begins smacking my upturned bottom. It doesn’t hurt very badly, especially since I’ve been getting used to spankings due to all of my attitude with Melissa lately. Stacey spanks in a predictable rhythm, right to left, but occasionally drops a spank down onto my ever-sensitive thighs, making me pant and squeal in discomfort.

“You are a little wiggly, my dear,” Stacey announces with regret in her voice, “I don’t usually allow that. Next time you earn a real punishment, you’ll be restrained or you’ll get extra swats with the belt.” She continues her spanking, picking up to a pace that is undeniably painful. My bottom is starting to really burn, but answering for my earlier brattiness is having a calming effect. I feel my tension drain and I stop trying to avoid the swats. Stacey finishes after only a few more minutes of hard swats. When she’s done, she immediately has me stand up with no rubbing whatsoever.

“In the corner with your hands on your head for five minutes,” Stacey instructs with a small smile. She pats my sore bottom affectionately as I retreat to the back of the office. As I stand there with my red bottom on display, I can’t help but think that this is going to be a very interesting internship.

When my five minutes are up, Stacey calls me over and pulls me into a hug.

“That’s my good girl,” Stacey praises, “We’re going to work so wonderfully together. Let’s get your pants on and go find your girlfriend.”

Nodding enthusiastically, I zip up my jeans and practically sprint back to Melissa. She’s sitting on the couch in the lobby reading. I throw myself onto her lap and wrap my arms tightly around her.

“I’m sorry I was difficult today,” I tell her earnestly, “I think the internship will be great. I appreciate you setting it up. And I want to be better at home with you, too. I know it’s been hard lately.”

Melissa hugs me back and kisses my head. “Did you talk about the job with Stacey or have a therapy session?” she asks with surprise.

“Both!” I answer with a big grin.

“Shae, I’ll see you next week for orientation,” Stacey says with a warm smile. I nod back with enthusiasm.

“Thank you!” I call after my new boss.

Melissa takes my hand in hers and we head back down the elevator to her car. “I think it’ll be good for you to have discipline from someone else,” Melissa affirms. “Then hopefully we can do less fighting and spanking at home.”

“I agree,” I tell my dominant girlfriend. “I mean… maybe if everyone in the world bosses me around I’ll actually have a chance at behaving!”

With a loving swat to my bottom, Melissa sticks her tongue out playfully and says, “Somehow I still doubt it.”

In a better mood than we have been in a while, we climb into the Audi with the promise of hot cocoa in our future.

Juliet’s Turn

[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.

 

Double Trouble Pt. II

Amy really means business when she spanks. Her hand alone makes it feel like a million fire ants are biting my rear end.

“You will never look me in the eye and lie to me again,” Amy says matter of factly. She falls silent after that and the room is filled with the sound of sharp smacks and my own labored breathing. When I try to wiggle, she seamlessly adjusts herself in order to keep me in place without once breaking her rhythm. She moves her hand to my upper thighs, and smacks until I screech in pain. I try kicking my legs again, but my butt is so high up in the air that I’m off balance and can’t get any momentum. With a sob, I give up and let Amy’s assault continue. Finally, she gives a few smacks to each of my sit spots and rests her hand gently on my lower back.

“Ok. I think I can safely assume that we’ll have complete honesty from now on.”

“Yes, ma’am, I’m sorry,” I sniffle as she helps me sit up. Amy pulls me into a hug and I bury my head against her shoulder. My tears start anew, but I let her hold and comfort me. Melissa, calm as ever, is patiently watching from the other end of the couch. When I look up at her, she stands up and holds out her hand with a smile.

“Let’s get going so that we can let Amy take care of your compadre, yeah?” I nod solemnly and give Amy another hug.

“Can you tell Juliet that I… I’m sorry she’s in trouble. I still feel terrible about ratting her out.”

“Juliet got herself in trouble. There is no need to apologize. I will have her call you later.” Satisfied with that promise, I head out to Melissa’s car. I start crying again before she even has the keys in the ignition.

“What’s wrong, love?” she asks as she carefully backs the car out of Amy’s driveway and onto the snowy roads ahead.

“I don’t want you to be mad at me,” I cry miserably. I had such a good night, and I’m letting myself throw a pity party that I managed to ruin the rest of the weekend. The guilt was bad enough, and Amy’s soaping and spanking both SUCKED. Melissa sighs sympathetically, and I can tell she’s torn between her irritation with me and her desire to soothe me.

“Let’s have our chat in the car, ok? We have a long drive and there’s no need for me to stew in my anger and for you to sit there feeling sorry for yourself. First things first, I brought some fruit and mini bagels. You need to eat breakfast.” She motions to a plastic bag of snacks in the back seat, and I start crying harder.

“You [gasp] brought me [gasp] breakfast [sniffle] but I was so bad and now you’re upset and we won’t have a nice day and I’ve ruined everything.” I drop the breakfast bag onto my lap and continue crying miserably. Melissa’s eyes go wide in confusion.

“Ok. I mean, I didn’t expect you to be thrilled about being punished, but don’t you think you’re being a little dramatic?” Melissa asks, looking truly puzzled.

“What can I say? I’m a sensitive little thing,” I retort with what has to be an adorable frown. Melissa laughs.

“You are so cute. You are so sensitive sometimes. But you need to eat and you’re still going to be punished. And then we’re going to have an amazing day. In fact, I have plans for us tonight. Right now, I just want to talk to you.”

“Ok,” I sniffle, peeling a clementine and looking at Melissa expectantly while I munch.

“The lying has been addressed, but this is the second time that you’ve put yourself in danger where alcohol has been involved. I’m so disappointed because I know that you know better. I hope taking away your drinking privileges will help, but what you allowed Juliet to do was serious. You two endangered yourselves and everyone else on the road.”

“I know,” I squeak, “And I know that saying sorry is inadequate, but I can promise that it will never happen again.”

“I’m glad to hear that you think so. In addition to the no alcohol rule, I’m going to sign you up to do 20 hours of volunteer work with Students Against Drunk Driving. You also owe me a six page essay on why drinking any amount of alcohol makes driving entirely unsafe. You have one week. If I’m not happy with it, we can move on to a documentary about the devastating effects of drunk driving. When we get home, you’re going to be spanked with the paddle and the belt. I hope that after that, we’ll be in agreement on how I feel about you putting yourself in danger. Remember that I’m punishing you because I care about you.” My brows furrow as I process the punishment. It seems fair under the circumstances.

“Alright. I accept the terms of your punishment.” Melissa laughs again.

“I’m so glad,” she says with mock relief. “Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

“No,” I mumble, “I just got caught up in the moment. It wasn’t peer pressure or anything like that. I don’t have any excuses.”

“Good girl.” Melissa lets me hold her hand until we arrive at home. When we do, her demeanor becomes more businesslike. “Up to my room, clothes completely off, and stand in the corner,” she orders. I have never been entirely naked for a punishment before, but I don’t argue. I take everything but my bra off and fold my clothes neatly. When Melissa comes upstairs, she wordlessly unhooks my bra and slides it off my shoulders. “When I said everything, I meant everything,” she growls.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper back, “It’s super embarrassing to be naked even though you see me naked all the time now.”

“Mhmm,” is her only response. Melissa retreats to the bed and just stares at me in the corner. I feel a blush creeping up on my cheeks. Finally, she calls me over and I stand in front of her. “I’m going to have you lay on the bed with your hips over those pillows,” instructs Melissa seriously. “I’m going to paddle you, and you’re going to stay still. If you move, you’ll move your fanny right back in place before the next smack. If you move too much, I’m adding swats with the belt. Also, see that spray bottle?”

“Yes, Ma’am,” I reply, wondering what on earth it could be for.

“It’s cold water. If I spray your bottom with it, the smacks will hurt a lot worse. It’s like magic. Trust me- you don’t want to find out. Answer questions when I ask them, and don’t move, and we won’t have an issue.” My eyes go wide and I nod vigorously. That’s pure evil!

Melissa settles me onto my pillows and stands by the side of the bed. I twitch in anticipation, but remind myself not to move an inch. When the paddle comes down, I realize that my bottom is still slightly sore from the hand spanking this morning.

“AHHHHHHHHH!” I scream miserably, “OHMYGOSH that’s so hard.”

“You can cry as you need to,” says Melissa, “But no more speaking unless you’re spoken too.” I bite my lip miserably. She was so sweet in the car, and now she’s being a monster. The paddle comes down again, and man is she swinging her arm hard. My hips jerk involuntarily as pain rips through my lower half, but I settle immediately back onto the pillow for fear of making the punishment worse. Melissa begins to vary the speed and intensity of the strokes with the paddle. I cross my legs and bunch the sheets up in my fists in order to prevent myself from moving. I hiss and gasp in pain with every stroke, but avoid calling out again. The sting is unreal. Melissa begins to hit the same spot over and over. My crying and panting turns into a screech.

“PLEASEEEEE PLEASE STOP IT’S TOO MUCH, IT HURTS TOO BAD.”

“Shae. That wasn’t your safe word. You were asked not to speak.” With that, Melissa grabs the bottle and sprays each cheek twice. The ice cold mist actually feels amazing on my hot skin. But then the paddle comes down rapidly, twice on each sit spot, and I let out a full on scream. I shove part of the pillow into my mouth to avoid talking. I cry and cry and squeeze my legs and fists tighter still to avoid moving. Finally, the paddle stops and I breathe a sigh of relief. My breathing is ragged and my bottom has never felt so swollen. “We’re going to continue this conversation with the belt,” Melissa says gently, “Same rules apply.”

I nod in response. Melissa shuffles around a little, and then stands beside me again. “Shae. Why did you get into the car with Juliet last night? Answer concisely.”

“My judgment was impaired because I had consumed 4-5 servings of alcohol myself. I didn’t want to miss the show and was having fun. I didn’t think we’d get caught because the roads were so empty. My priorities were way off. My safety is way more important that a fun show at a slumber party.”

My confession is rewarded by a sharp smack of the belt. It burns across my already fiery bottom, but I stay in place wordlessly. “What should you have done instead?” Melissa asks.

“Tell Juliet that we have to wait for a cab, or tell her that we can’t go.” I brace myself for another strike. I get two on my upper thighs, and I cry out in misery.

“When should you have texted me?” Melissa probes.

“I should have let you know when I got to the show that we made a mistake so that someone could have prevented us from driving home drunk.” The belt comes down again and I hiss once more.

“And why did you both continue to drink at the show, making the drive home even more reckless?” Melissa presses on.

“Impaired judgment. Once I get a buzz going, I keep drinking, and I didn’t want to tell Juliet to stop, either.” I’m shaking and dreading the next strike. Instead, I feel Melissa’s hand on my shoulder.

“I have serious concerns about your relationship with alcohol, little one,” she says softly. “I think that, given the eating disorder, you may have… an addictive personality.” Her voice is gentle and worried. “I want to help,” she continues, “So why don’t we bring this up with your counselor. I won’t let you drink again until we have some clarity.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” I reply miserably.

“I think we’re all done here,” Melissa says with a sigh, “Stand up.” I stand up slowly and face her. I’m in a lot of pain, and I feel vulnerable standing in front of her naked. Sensing my feelings, she brushes my hair off my tear streaked face and asks one more time if I understand why I was punished.

“Yes, Ma’am. I understand. It was just terrible.”

“I know,” she laughs, “But hey, I planned to take you Christmas shopping today. We can get cocoa, shop till we drop, then come home and, eh, make some love by the fireplace while my son is at his dad’s place. Do you think your sore butt can handle an outing?”

“Oh, yes, that sounds amazing.”

“Ok, princess,” she smiles, “Let’s have you take a nap first.” Melissa tucks me in, and I drift off to sleep before she’s even turned the light off. When I stir over an hour later, I see a text from Juliet on my phone. My heart skips a beat. Is she mad?!

Juliet: I’m sorry about last night. I put you in danger. Thank you for sticking up for me, and then telling the truth. I’m not mad at all. Best friends still, right?

Me: Yes!!! It’s not your fault. We were both irresponsible. But hey, we’re gonna learn to make some KILLER virgin cocktails. 

Juliet: Heck yeah!! Your butt ok? 

Me: Ugh. No. I can’t wait to tell you how terrible my punishment was. Wanna call real quick? 

Juliet: Oh, yes. Wait until you hear about mine. It just ended. 

Me: Shit. I hope she didn’t beat you for 2.5 hours straight. 

My phone rings and I pick up.

“Let me tell you what happened,” Juliet begins, “Here’s a literal play by play….”

 

[to be continued while my brat mind tries to come up with punishments for Juliet]