Chicago Spanking Review Fiction

Thursday's Spanking

by Jules

Web-Ed's note: Jules had not originally intended this story for publication here, but it was so sincere and heartfelt that we insisted on publishing it. It is "based on a true story" as they say over in Hollywood, and the discerning reader will not have too much trouble recognizing it as autobiographical, or in identifying the disciplinarian. Speaking of whom, he's not a bad fellow, really - kind of lovable, we'd say - and if he seems unduly harsh here, the reader is asked to keep in mind that Jules actually did endanger herself and, as she readily admits, "I really deserve this."

I had lied to my friend who had given me my first adult OTK spanking about a top I was talking to. He had been concerned and questioned some of my actions. I lied and assured him, not realizing the precarious if not dangerous position I was putting myself in. Without meeting him or getting to know him I invited that "top" into my home. It ended badly and I feared for my safety for some time. Afterwards I called my friend and confessed. We discussed it and agreed that I deserved a good hard spanking and I met with him last Thursday.

It felt like the first real OTK punishment spanking I've ever had. The other two I had received from him so far, looking back, seemed to have a playful edge to them. When I arrived we chatted for about 20 minutes about little every day things. Then we discussed the reason for me being there and the possible outcomes that could have occurred. By letting someone I didn't know into my home I exposed not only myself but my family to danger. Also lying to him was not acceptable either, and if I had not lied I wouldn't have been putting myself in that dangerous position.

We headed to the back room of his house. I was wearing loose trousers and a sweater. Instead of bending over right away I first lowered my trousers. I then bent over his lap for the warm up. He used his hands and the swats were sharp and brisk. Very shortly he pulls down my panties and takes up a leather strap giving me a dozen strokes of the leather. They stung and I made small whimpering sounds with each strike. He remarked he was glad I was feeling those and hoped they were making a lasting impression. The strap lead to a leather paddle, similar to a ping pong paddle. Those felt sharper and it started to hurt. I was wincing with each smack and starting to fidget. "I'm sorry" I said, clenching my fists and trying not to clench.

"Oh you I am sure you are sorry, you will remember this for a long time. You are a good mother but you need to be more careful. This spanking will serve to remind you to be more careful" he replies. The swats become sharper and soon I am begging and pleading for a break. We have a safe word but I am loath to use it, thinking it means failure. He knows this and listens to my words and tone. He gives me that break. My breathing is heavy; this is so much different than the last one! There is also a sadness to my heart because I know I really deserve this. I really did do something wrong.

We begin again, the next series of swats hurt so. He continues to scold me for my bad behavior. Soon I am begging and pleading for another break. He doesn't stop right away, but pushes my limit a bit. When he ceases there is such relief to go along with the throbbing and heat of my bottom. I want to rub but don't dare. I tell him I want to put my hand back when he is spanking me but that I am trying to be good. He points out how useless it would be and would only earn me more punishment. "We will use the lexan paddle now. I know how much this made an impression on you last time," he says during my reprieve. My bottom quivers knowing what is to come. My stomach fills with dread. That is the paddle that was able to bring me to tears last time. Tears that I desperately needed for release. I welcome it, fear it and despise it at the same time.

He begins to strike my bottom with the lexan paddle, scolding me. He knows I need both the scolding and the spanking for it to benefit me. The pain of the lexan reaches a new level in my brain. His words are echoing in my brain. "I deserve this. I deserve to be punished. I need this." I begin to sob, my shoulders begin to shake, crying hard where it is difficult to draw breath. He knows I am crying. "Please, I am so sorry" I cry out. The swats continue. I don't know when it will end. My face is bathed with tears. My bottom is on fire, I can feel the heat and the deep sting of the paddle. Then he stops, I feel his hand on my bottom rubbing, moving to my back and rubbing to comfort me.

"That's ok. You’re forgiven. Sshh, that's right," he says in a soft voice. My crying eases off and he helps me up. He hugs me tightly. I pull up my panties and trousers while he fetches me a Kleenex. He tells me he will give me time to recover but that we still need to address the lying. He has two paddles in mind for that and shows them to me. They are in velvet bags, he pulls them out. One is a short wooden paddle about 1/3 inch thick and light in color. The other looks to be a regulation frat paddle, half an inch thick with the Greek letters on it. My eyes bug a little as I take them in. I thought my spanking was over once I had cried. My stomach clenches a bit.

I once again pull down my trousers and panties then bend over the edge of the bed, back arched, legs taught. He begins with the smaller paddle. Oh God! I had forgotten how that felt. My hands grip the coverlet; I wince and whimper with each swat. I receive about a dozen. I can't count them in my head, too focused on how each swat feels. There is a pause and I know what is coming. The last swat is always the worst. SMACK! It shoots me forward a couple of inches, my jaw clenches. I try to even out my breathing. "You took those very nicely. We will finish with the larger paddle. You're to get 10, you will count them and after each one you will respond 'Thank you sir, I will not lie.'" I think to myself THE BIG PADDLE?! I HATE COUNTING!!! You see it on those videos. How will this paddle feel? It's heavier. Oh God!

He places the cool paddle against my heated bottom, rubbing in a small circular motion. I receive a few small taps and the paddle pulls away. I tense. SMACK!! At once I am up on my toes, my eyes open wide, and I suck the air in through my teeth. Nine more? "One, thank you sir, I will not lie". We continue with me bent over the bed, each swat worse than the last. Small cries escape when I receive each swat. I am regretting everything I did. None of it was worth it. Finally we come to number nine. I am so glad we are at the end. My sit spot is beyond being in pain. I am well and truly punished and feel better for having it. He steps away for a moment. I know what is to come and I try to prepare for it, also knowing there is no preparation for it. The last swat. It is always the worst. I can't even imagine what could be worse than what I have had so far.

"Are you ready?" he asks and returns to his position behind me. I nod my head 'Yes sir" I reply. I arch my back, make my legs taut and try to prepare. SMACK!!! Oh my God! I cry out at that one. I am pushed forward on the bed, my hands fly to my bottom, clutching it gingerly. Geezus! I waver between relief, feeling sorry for myself and gratitude. He chuckles a bit at my reaction. I stand up, the movement setting off more waves of pain on my bottom, I wince. He pulls me into his arms and holds me again, tells me I did a good job and asks if I learned my lesson. I nod emphatically, vowing to never lie to him again or take dangerous risks.

I cursed every pot hole on the drive home! By Sunday the two large bruises on my sit spot had faded away along with the guilt I had been carrying around for months.