Working Late (a strap-on and spanking short story)

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I got an extra long hug from Val when we left. She whispered in my ear: “I’m gonna miss you the most.” I must say, the feeling was mutual – although I did miss the Mustang too. I got it every bit as good (or bad) as I'd given it to Shayla. Again, I think we went overboard compared to what Mom usually did, but it was better to be safe than sorry. I wept and wailed just like my sister, but also like her, I endured it for both our sakes.

Like many boys, I loved cars. Val’s husband had a classic Mustang and had promised me a ride in it when we got over there. I was very excited about this. One of our favorite things was comparing our bodies after just one of us had gotten spanked. We'd stand side by side in front of a double mirror and compare one red, sore bottom with one white, unblemished one. It was so fascinating, a living before and after picture. If I was the one spanked I loved it, feeling how hot and red by butt was, but if Shayla had the red bottom, I was fascinated and excited that my smooth cheeks were going to look like hers in twenty minutes or so.I even spotted the naughtier exit hole above, winking casually at me. It fascinated me, since it wasn't a part of my anatomy I had any way of seeing. I marveled at how it looked. I couldn't believe Mom had been seeing that when she spanked me! Instead of being bound at just wrists and ankles, additional ropes had been used to bind Kim’s elbows and knees to ensure that escape was impossible. Mark had also fashioned a tight crotchrope that was also tied to the bed so that the slightest wiggle would remind Kim of the intruder in her private bits. Then I talk seriously to her, show her the nature of the fault, and the need of punishment as a cure. Next I put on the waist band, after having told her that if she submits quietly no one needs to know; if she struggles I must call in help (girls generally prefer to be quiet).

Kim then turned around and now, facing Mark, she descended on his waiting length again as Mark stared wide-eyed at Kim’s incredible breasts. Large, shapely and lovely they were and she started to play with her breasts and nipples. Kim sighed, yelped and groaned as she dominated her prisoner.I was generally a well-behaved young boy throughout primary school, though, always getting good reports and glowing parents’ evening meetings, so this sort of discipline was never felt necessary until slightly later in my school career. And with that, out of the blue, the strap suddenly came whizzing down and before I knew it had landed and my hand burst into flame.

Kim watched with apprehension as Mark took more rope. This was a thinner hemp twine. Mark wrapped the base of Kim’s left breast until the body part bulged. He did the same with the other breast. He briefly caressed the distended breasts and tweaked the nipples as Kim groaned in protest. Mark untied the crotchrope tormenting Kim noting how Kim’s pussy had wet the strands that were inserted into her. He marched us to an empty classroom where, one by one, we were lined up to be punished. I was fourth in the 'queue' and waited, watching fearfully as he wielded the belt and hoping by some miracle that I might be spared. The boy behind me must have realised I was new to this, and with an authority obviously based on previous knowledge whispered... Stand for your beliefs. You should have told your mom painful punishment benefited you or kept your cane marks hidden." The spankings were similar to before, but we just used our hands. This wasn't an offense that warranted a hairbrush, we felt, and the spanking was pure pleasure. We got our bottoms nice and pink and glowing hot, so when Mom came up 30 minutes later, she was pleased.

Kim jerked in her bonds as the icy cold droplets hit her ravaged nipple. She shook her head pleading for mercy, but Mark merely repeated the treatment on the other nipple. Mark took the rapidly melting ice and rubbed it down the slope of Kim’s large breasts even as his prisoner jerked at her bonds uselessly. Carly shuffled to the cream plastered wall, her jeans around her ankles. Her nose touched cool plaster as her burning bum faded, overwhelmed by her raging legs. Thomas changed his route to school after that incident, always fearing that a woman wielding a cane would be waiting behind the gate for him when he passed by. The image of her haunted him. Even now, fifteen years later, the image he had manufactured in his own head, made him nervous each time he had to pass near to 'Wood End House'. Summoning her reserves of bravery, she demanded her legs remain dead still. Imagining her imminent pain was worse than it beginning.