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Lauren slapped her alarm clock off, still groggy after a night of bad sleep. She had dreamt all night about her coming spanking; they had not been good dreams. She was a little embarrassed to realize that she had, in her sleep, rolled over onto her stomach and pushed her pillows down under her pelvis as though she was getting into a spanking position. Her nightshirt had drifted up leaving her butt exposed to the cool morning air. It really wasn’t any wonder, she supposed, considering that last night was the first time she had ever gone to sleep knowing without any doubt that she was getting spanked the next day.
That thought gave her pause. How absurd was this anyway? She was about to submit to a spanking . . . and she hadn’t even done anything wrong. She thought about it for a moment, though, and decided that what she had done was lose a gamble. She had bet that the only way to keep Don from giving her a worse punishment was to distract him by ASKING for the punishment that she was now facing. She had, it turned out, bet wrong, but now she had to face the consequences.
She was also embarrassed to realize just how horny she had woken up; she hoped it had nothing to do with her dreams. She thought momentarily about her vibrator, but a glance at her clock confirmed that she didn’t have enough time. She’d just have to take care of it after breakfast.
She stopped at her mirror to make a last check of her pubic region. She had trimmed the remaining patch of hair down to the quarter-inch requirement that Don had laid out. She had to admit . . . it looked kind of classy that way.
Lauren sighed, pulled on a pair of shorts, and went out to the kitchen to start some eggs.
***
Lauren was putting breakfast on the table just as the clock hit 7 and Don walked out of his room. “Good morning, Lauren,” he said, sitting down to his eggs and bacon.
“Good morning, sir.” She sat down across from him with her own plate.
“So, what are your plans for the day?”
Was he serious? He couldn’t possibly have forgotten about the promised punishment . . . not after it had kept her restlessly worried all night. “Well, I have a group meeting at 2:00, sir, so I thought I’d prepare for that until about 9:30 and then get ready for my . . . my spanking.”
Don stared at her for a moment. “I see. So I assume you’ll want your punishment to be over by about 1:00 to give you enough time to get cleaned up and get to your meeting?”
“Um, yes, that would be nice, sir.”
“Lauren, you realize, I think, that what you appear to be doing is trying to retake control of the situation by backstopping your punishment.” She hadn’t thought of that. “Since you’re so determined to have some control, I’m going to give you a choice about your consequences: you may either call all of your group members to tell them that you might be late for the meeting and explain why, or you may accept a paddling right after breakfast. I’ll give you to the end of breakfast to decide which.”
“I’m sorry . . . I . . . I didn’t mean to . . . please—”
“I don’t want to hear it, Lauren. Spend your energy deciding which consequence you’re going to take.” He grabbed his newspaper and began reading it.
Lauren ate her now-tasteless breakfast and considered her options. Not that there was really much of an option, she figured. Don had to know that she couldn’t endure the humiliation of revealing to others this strange arrangement she had agreed to—and once she told a few, she could be sure that everyone in her classes would soon know! But a paddling? And only as a prelude to the longer punishment she’d soon be undergoing? Worse, she realized, the more she thought about her options and the inevitability of some sort of punishment, the hornier she became.
All too soon, Don looked up from his newspaper. “Well, Lauren, what will it be?”
“The paddle. I’ll take a paddling, sir.”
“Ok, then. Pull down your shorts . . . clear the table . . . and go retrieve your paddle and a pillow from your room.” She hoped that it was just a coincidence that her horniness surged with each of his commands as she stood up to comply. She pulled her shorts about half-way down her thighs and then proceeded to clear the table and load the dishwasher. The shorts hobbled her a lot more than her panties normally did, so the table-clearing took some time. Meanwhile, she was nervous about Don commenting on her new look—this would be the first time he would be seeing her with her properly-groomed pubic area—but he didn’t look up from his paper until she came out of her room holding the paddle and pillow.
Don took both from her and folded up the pillow to place it against the edge of the table. “Bend over, Lauren.” She did so. “Your elbows are not to leave the table. I recommend holding on to the edge of the table if that will help.”
With the extra height of the pillow, she was forced up onto her toes to comply. And now she had another fear: the soft pressure of the pillow on her mons pubis. She was sure the paddling would force her to rub against it, and as horny as she was. . .
“Lauren,” Don brought her mind away from that thought. “Does thirty sound fair to you?”
THIRTY?!? With the paddle—and she still had her long punishment later today? “Sir, please . . . I know what I did was wrong, and I’m sorry, but thirty—”
Don placed the paddle under her chin, silencing her and tilting her face up toward him all in one motion. “Let me clarify, Lauren. This isn’t a negotiation. You’re getting thirty.”
“Yes, sir.”
That settled, Don wasted no time getting started.
whistle. . . POP! Even knowing it was coming, the first one still managed to take Lauren by surprise, and she yelled out in pain.
whistle. . . POP! “This is good, Lauren. . .”
whistle. . . POP! “I’m playing tennis later. . .”
whistle. . . POP! “And this is a good warm-up.”
whistle. . . POP! “I can go forehand. . .”
whistle. . . POP! “Or backhand. . .”
whistle. . . POP! “Or two-handed.”
whistle. . . POP! She was already sobbing and lifting first one leg, then the other, but she maintained a firm grasp on the edge of the table and kept her elbows on the table.
whistle. . . POP! Despite the pain, each stroke sent a pulse through her loins and pushed her higher toward her peak.
whistle. . . POP! She was fighting it, putting more effort into that than into holding still.
whistle. . . POP! Closer. . .
whistle. . . POP! Closer. . .
whistle. . . POP! She couldn’t hold it any longer. . .
whistle. . . POP! She bucked wildly and yelled out, vaguely aware of Don admonishing her to hold still.
The rest of the paddling passed in a haze. She must’ve looked like a broken woman as she sobbed limply on the table, absolutely humiliated at what the paddle had driven her to. She hoped. . . she PRAYED. . . that Don thought her thrashing legs and arching back had simply been a reaction to a particularly painful blow. Somehow. . . she didn’t know how. . . she had managed to keep her elbows on the table.
She only became truly aware that the paddling was over when Don walked up to her winding up a kitchen timer. He placed it on the small of her back where she could hear its incessant ticking, patted her reddened behind, and walked around to tilt her tear-slickened face up toward him.
“You will stay here until the timer goes off, Lauren, and while you are here, you will think about why you were punished. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, sir,” she sniffled.
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