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]

Double Trouble

Oreos, Cheetos, pizza, red wine, and Schnapps littered Juliet’s apartment floor. It was our first sleepover, and the first time I was able to carelessly eat junk food in what seemed forever. Saturday’s dance rehearsal had been cancelled due to an unexpected snow storm, so my mood was downright giddy. Amy was out of town, and Melissa was busy putting up her insanely detailed holiday decor.

Juliet and I had taken advantage of the freedom by creating a giant fortress of every pillow and blanket in the living room, and buying as much junk food at the grocery store as we could stomach. “I’m so glad I’m here,” I gushed to Juliet, “Thanksgiving with my parents was so miserable. I feel like they barely know me. I’m just so happy to be back in Boston with you.” Juliet flopped down next to me and squeezed my hand.

“I know that family can really suck,” Juliet nodded sympathetically, “I didn’t go home at all because of softball and Amy didn’t invite me to her family dinner. She basically ditched me here because she’s not ready for her parents to know about everything yet.”

“Family does suck,” I agree, “And sometimes, so do our girlfriends.” Juliet and I broke into laughter, and I reached for the bag of Cheetos.

“Hey,” she said, “We’ve both had a rough week or two. Let’s go do something fun. We’ve earned it.”

“Melissa took my fake ID,” I whined, “I can’t do fun things anymore.”

“Dude. You have to get more creative with your definition of fun,” Juliet smirked while pouring us both a shot. “Let’s go see Slutcracker. I bet there’s still tickets. It’s like a strip club version of the Nutcracker. You love dance, and I love me some half naked women.” My eyes went wide in surprise. I love Boston. I can’t believe such a show exists.

“I’m in!” I say immediately.

“I’ll put the tickets on Am’s credit card. She won’t care. She wanted me to show you a good time.”

“Great, I’ll pay for a cab,” I suggest, “We’ve both been drinking.”

Juliet nods, and we immediately high-five. “We have to wear something sexy!” she exclaims, “Let me rummage in my closet.” Within minutes, Juliet has emerged with various leather and mesh tops, and some tight, short skirts. She also offers me some fishnet stockings and a pair of black combat-style boots. Giggling with glee, we both pick out a racy outfit.

“UGH,” I shout, shaking my phone while I get dressed, “It’s super last minute and there are no cabs around. I think it’s because of the snow storm.”

“It’s fine, I’m ok to drive,” Juliet insists. I rack my brain trying to remember how much we’ve both had to drink. 3/4 of a bottle of red wine, and 2-3 shots of Schnapps. But Schnapps is more of a dessert… right? And we did share the wine. I hate being late to anything- it’s the dancer in me- so I throw on a jacket over my skimpy outfit and we race out to the car.

***

“That show was INSANELY amazing,” I exclaim as we hop back into Juliet’s car. My legs are bright red from from walking through the cold air back to our car, but we’d had a little bit more to drink during the show which is keeping me plenty warm. At this point, I know Juliet shouldn’t be driving, but I’m so tired out from the show and the junk food and the alcohol. I blast the heat and lean my head against the window as she pulls out of her space.

Juliet and I chat about our favorite parts of the show while she struggles to maneuver her car through the snow. I keep my eye out for cops, but the roads are pretty clear and Juliet is driving as well as can be expected under the circumstances. All is well until we get back to her street and she tries to park. Juliet’s reflexes have slowed thanks to the alcohol, and she misjudges her distance from a ditch. Her car loses control on the icy shoulder of the road, and the car descends into an unfortunate position in the ditch.

“GOSHDAMMIT. Oh no… It’s ok. I’m just going to tell Amy that it was snowy and the car slipped. It’s not damaged. She can get it out when the snow melts,” Juliet says hopefully.

“I’ll back you up,” I promise, “Let’s just get inside and text her to let her know we’re ok.” We both exit the car and I lead the way up to their front door. “Hey, you left the door unlocked,” I whisper urgently.

“No, I didn’t,” snaps Juliet, a bit defensively. I push the door open cautiously and look around. Suddenly, Amy appears out of nowhere, looking none too pleased. Juliet shoves me into the house and shuts the door behind her before Amy can notice the car in the ditch. “Heyyyyyy, Aim,” says Juliet evenly, trying not to give away that she’s a little tipsy, “Sooo glad you’re home. We weren’t expecting you, or we would have…”

“Not destroyed the entire house?” Amy fills in impatiently.

“I’m so sorry,” I gush, “I got really excited about the junk food and we were definitely going to clean up the food… and the crumbs… and the pillows and blankets and stuff in the morning…” I trail off, suddenly a little nervous and embarrassed.

“Yes,” says Amy evenly, “You’ll definitely both be cleaning this up. But I’d also like to know why you left the house in a blizzard without telling me, and then you both failed to answer multiple texts from me and Melissa when we tried to check on you.”

Juliet and I exchanged panicked looks.

“We went to see a show and we put our phones on silent,” Juliet explained, panic evident in her voice. “I promise I wasn’t ignoring you. I was enjoying being with Shae. I didn’t even glance at my phone when we left the… theater.”

“Take your coats off and sit down. We need to chat,” says Amy flatly. We hang our coats up compliantly, and shuffle over to the couch in shame. I suddenly feel exposed in my skimpy outfit, and my eyes well with tears. I’m a terrible liar, and Amy is so warm and kind. I immediately want to tell her everything, but I don’t want to sell Juliet out.

“Ok,” says Amy with a sigh, “Let’s start with finding out where you were.”

“We went to see Slutcracker. It was a last minute plan. We were both just kind of feeling down, and we were just sitting here eating, so I decided to check to see if they had tickets available. I knew Shae would love it since she’s a dancer,” Juliet explains calmly.

“And you didn’t think to inform me that you were heading out, given that you promised you’d be staying here given the terrible road conditions?” I don’t answer, because Melissa doesn’t expect that I always tell her where I am. We don’t have that kind of rule. Juliet shifts uncomfortably.

“I’m sorry. It was a mistake,” says Juliet, “It was just all such a whirlwind because we decided to go last minute and then we couldn’t find a cab and I just forgot to text.” Amy doesn’t respond, but let’s us all sit in an uncomfortable silence.

“You forgot to mention that you paid for it on my card without asking,” Amy finally replies, “I get alerts when you make a purchase of over $300.” My eyes nearly bulge out of my head.

“I DIDN’T KNOW HOW MUCH THE TICKETS WERE!” I squeal, accidentally throwing Juliet under the bus.

“I was going to pay you back,” Juliet tries lamely. “The house is cold, can we please put on sweaters while we talk about this?”

“No. Sit.” Melissa’s usually friendly expression is growing darker. “I have another minor matter to discuss. I found wine and peppermint Schnapps on the floor when I came home, so I’m trying to understand why either of you would have gotten behind the wheel of a car if you had ANYTHING to drink beforehand.”

“It was only me,” I speak up, my heart pounding as I lie to Amy’s face. “I had a bad Thanksgiving. I brought the wine and the Schnapps with me, but neither was a full bottle when I brought it over. We dipped a couple of Oreos in the Schnapps (this was true) but only I had wine.”

“I was going to have some wine after I finished my pizza, but then we got the show tickets so I didn’t,” Juliet nodded in agreement. I could feel my palms start to sweat anxiously as Amy sized us up.

“Juliet. Come here and let me smell your breath.”

Juliet shuffled over to Amy, looking annoyed but not nervous. They had free popcorn at the show. We’d both had vodka sprites at the show, but there’s no way that Amy would be able to smell any of the vodka over the handfuls of popcorn that we’d polished off.

“I can’t tell if you’re telling the truth, so I’m going to show you that I trust you by giving you the benefit of the doubt,” Amy finally sighed, “But I can tell you that you’re both in trouble anyway. Juliet- you didn’t tell me where you were going, you spent money over our limit without asking, you were unreasonably non-responsive on the phone, and you left this house a complete mess. It’s 11pm and I’m exhausted, so you’ll be punished in the morning. Please have all of this cleaned up before 7:30 in the morning. You’ll get your punishment then.”

Amy turns to me and I bite my lip. “Shae. I know that you don’t know our rules. I’m going to fill Melissa in, but I’m not comfortable punishing you.”

“I didn’t mean to break any rules,” I say as my eyes well with guilty tears, “But I don’t want Juliet to take responsibility alone. I should have known that driving in a blizzard was a bad idea. And I made the mess, too. Can I please stay and help her clean it?”

“Of course,” said Amy gently, “I’m not sending you home this late at night. It wouldn’t be fair. You and Juliet can continue your sleepover in the guest bedroom. I’m going to call Melissa and head up to bed soon.”

Juliet and I changed into pajamas and brushed our teeth in silence. When we both settled into bed, side by side, Juliet turned toward me.

“Thanks for having my back. But she’s going to see the car,” Juliet whispered. “I’ll have to explain that somehow.”

“I feel really guilty about lying to Amy, but we had such a fun night and no one was hurt.”

“Exactly,” said Juliet with a yawn, “Amy’s rules are pretty strict. I’m in enough trouble. I’ll go outside and try to move the car first thing in the morning, and if I can’t, I’ll tell her that it slipped on ice in the morning when I went out to get us Dunkin Donuts.”

“Ok,” I whisper back, my stomach in guilty knots over the web of lies we’re still building. Several moments pass, and I decide that my guilt is unbearable. “Juliet…” I whisper into the darkness. No answer. Her breathing is even, and she’s fallen asleep. I can’t stop myself from crying. I feel terrible. I glance at the clock. It’s 12:35, but I’ve woken Melissa up late at night before. I slip out of the guest room and into Amy’s den. I dial Melissa and cross my fingers.

“Shae. Hi.” I nearly melt when I hear Melissa’s concerned voice on the other end. “Amy just filled me in. I was worried when you didn’t answer my texts earlier, but I’m glad you’re ok.”

“I don’t feel ok,” I whisper, my voice wavering through my silent tears.

“What’s wrong? Are you hurt?” Melissa asks urgently.

“No. It’s not that. I just… I uhm. I just wanted to talk to you about tonight.”

“Amy already told me. We literally just hung up with one another. I know you didn’t mean to leave a mess. You thought you’d have time to clean it up. As far as I’m concerned, you didn’t do anything wrong. Amy said it seems like you drank responsibly, and I don’t prohibit you from driving when it’s snowing. Juliet has different rules, and that’s ok.”

“I know all of that. But Melissa, we lied to Amy. Juliet did drink. She drank quite a bit before the show and more during it. I covered for her because she’s a new friend and I didn’t want to get her in trouble. The car is literally in a ditch outside of the house yet, and Juliet is going to try to move it in the morning and lie again. I’m just feeling uncomfortable because I don’t want to let you down, but I don’t want to rat Juliet out.”

“Well, sweetheart,” Melissa beings after a pause, “I’m really disappointed to learn that you got behind the wheel after Juliet had been drinking. That’s extremely dangerous, and a DUI would ruin both of your academic and athletic careers. I’m also disappointed that you lied, but I’m glad that you are taking steps to correct your mistake. I can hear how sorry you are. You’re going to be punished tomorrow- thoroughly- but right now I want you to get some rest and try to calm down. You’ve had a long night.”

“Yes, ma’am. Should I talk to Amy, or should I encourage Juliet to talk to her in the morning?”

“What do you think, baby?”

“I want to apologize to her now so that I can sleep. Is that fair to Juliet?”

“Juliet put you in a bad position tonight,” Melissa emphasizes, “Go ahead and talk to Amy if YOU think that’s the right decision. You need to trust yourself. I’m very unhappy with your behavior, but I’m proud of how you’re handling this. I’ll meet you there around 7:30, ok?”

I agree and tell Melissa that I love her and click off the phone. I find Amy in her room and knock gently on the door frame.

“Yes, darling?” Amy asks with an amused smile, “I thought you were going to bed?”

“Amy. Uhm. I can’t. Well, yet. Because, the thing is, I’m really sorry about everything that happened tonight. I value my friendship with Juliet and I don’t want to tattle, but I need to let you know that… that… I lied to you. About the alcohol. Juliet drank, too, both before the show and during it. She drove home tipsy, and I didn’t stop her. You may not have noticed, but your car is kind of in the ditch, because we made it home but she slipped while we were trying to parallel park. She was going to move it in the morning and not say anything, but I just feel really guilty and wanted to apologize right away. I already spilled the beans to my girlfriend, and she’s going to punish me tomorrow when she picks me up, but I just still feel really awful.” I look down at my hands. I can’t see Amy’s reaction anyway because my tears won’t stop flowing.

“Come here,” Amy motions gently. I comply and stand in front of her, still looking down. Amy takes both of my hands in one of hers, and lifts my chin so that I’m looking her in the eye. “I had a feeling that that was the case about the drinking. Juliet never passes up red wine. I am upset that you lied before, but thank you for telling the truth.” With that, Amy stands up and pulls me into a hug. She rubs my hair while I cry and promises that she will deal with Juliet. “Now,” she says softly, “Why don’t you hop back into bed. It’s late and you have an early morning of cleaning. I’m going to go check out the car, and I’ll see you downstairs tomorrow.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” I nod, walking back to the guest bedroom feeling a million times lighter. I know that tomorrow morning won’t be fun, but at least I don’t have to keep acting. I am, after all, a dancer and not a theater expert.

***

The sound of Juliet’s alarm going off at 6:30 is complete torture. I’m a tiny bit hungover, and I still didn’t sleep well. I felt like I betrayed Juliet.

“Hey,” Juliet says, poking my ribs as I refuse to stir, “Will you clean up the living room while I go deal with the car?”

“Yeah, yeah.” I reply flatly, rolling out of bed away from her so that I don’t have to look her in the eye. Amy already knows about the car, so letting her try to move it is futile, but I don’t say anything. I quickly brush my teeth and throw myself into the task of cleaning. I throw away packages, vacuum, stack pillows, fold blankets, and I even find a rag to dust with for good measure. I also clean the entire kitchen even though we barely used it. Juliet finally comes in, snow covered and shivering.

“It’s still so snowy, and I can’t move the car. We have to go with the donut story.”

“Ok,” I reply, not looking up at her and pretending to be focusing intently on finishing the dishes. Juliet brews coffee, and we both sit on the couch sipping caffeine from our mugs like it’s the blood of life. Amy comes down the stairs at 7:30 on the dot.

“Wow. This place looks great. I just wanted you guys to clean up your mess, but you suck ups cleaned the entire first floor.”

“Amy!” Juliet says, standing up confidently, “I know I’m in trouble, and I’m so sorry, but I went out to grab us donuts because it was sooo early, and I know you love the strawberry frosted kind, and crazy thing… it got so icy overnight and I accidentally may have ended up in the ditch out front while trying to get our car out. I already called AAA and they’re sending someone in a couple hours.”

I look down at the carpet. Juliet is a darn good liar, but this situation is so uncomfortable. Before Amy can respond, the doorbell rings. I hop up, happy for a distraction, and throw myself into Melissa’s arms before she can even realize the door has been opened.

“Hi, babe,” she laughs, kissing my head as she steps inside. Melissa guides me back down onto the couch next to Juliet, and she and Amy settle on the couch across from us. You could cut the tension with a knife.

“Ok,” Amy speaks up evenly, “So, Melissa and I chatted a bit this morning about your predicament. Juliet and I have a lot to discuss and Melissa would like to discipline Shae at home, so we’re going to have a group powwow about last night before going our separate ways.”

“Because you have both exhibited issues with alcohol lately,” Melissa announces, “We have decided that neither of you are permitted to drink again for the rest of the semester. We will re-evaluate in January. But there will be no alcohol whatsoever.”

“And we appreciate that you two are becoming friends,” Amy adds, “But from now on, when you’re together, we need updates on where you’re going and what you’re doing every time you leave one destination for another.”

“And Shae,” says Melissa, “You lied to Amy, so I think it’s only fair that she gets to punish you. I know you’re new to being disciplined, so we decided that Amy will start your punishment here and I will finish the majority of it at home.”

“And Juliet,” Amy says darkly, “You’ll head up to my room now, strip, and kneel in the corner on the rice that I left on the carpet.” Juliet winced, but headed upstairs wordlessly. Kneeling on rice in the corner?! That blows. With Juliet gone, all eyes were on me.

“We’re both proud of you for coming clean,” says Melissa, “But obviously it was too late to redeem yourself from the lying and the danger you put yourself in.”

“I’m going to wash your mouth out with soap,” Amy said seriously, “Since that’s the punishment in my house for lying or talking back. And then I’m going to give you a brief hand spanking if you’re comfortable consenting to that. Melissa will handle the rest of your punishment at home. I’m punishing you for lying, and she’s punishing you for the danger you put yourself in.”

I feel nervous, but I agree. I trust Amy, and it’s only fair. I let her guide me upstairs. She lathers a bar of soap wordlessly, and grabs my chin. “Open,” she commands. I do. Holding my head in place, Amy sticks the bar of my soap far into my mouth. It’s worse than I thought, and I instantly gag as the soapy taste assaults every part of my tongue. Amy jerks the bar back and forth across my tongue, causing it to froth and making me try to wiggle away. She holds me firmly in place and instructs me to bite down. “I’m going to set a timer on my phone for two minutes,” Amy says, “Then you get to rinse twice with water.”

Tears run down my eyes and the time creeps by slowly. It’s so much more disgusting- and embarrassing- than I’d imagined. when the timer goes off, Amy takes the soap back and, as promised, gives me two brief rinses. When she leads me back downstairs to Melissa, my mouth still tastes and feels horrible. Without much fanfare, Amy takes down my pajama pants and puts me over her knees as Melissa watches on, unsympathetically. Amy immediately elevates her knee, driving my rear straight up into the air. She smacks HARD from the get-go, without a warm up, causing me to wail and wiggle. And this is only the beginning of my punishment?! Maybe I should have lied for Juliet after all.

To be continued…