There was just the merest space between the bookshelf and the chest of drawers. Just enough to slide a few sheets of paper between them.
Or wedge in a ruler.

She called it her Bottom Smacking Machine.
Though that name did somewhat overstate its complexity.
Bottom Smacking Contrivance would have been more accurate, if much less catchy.

She’d thought it strange when he’d first instructed her to search her house for a narrow gap between two heavy objects. The gap had to be narrow enough to hold in place a few sheaves of paper, and have space to stand either side of it. And two sides of the gap had to be more or less flush with each other.

Eventually she found one.
When she reported back, he instructed her to wedge her plastic ruler into the gap – just up to the 8 centimetre mark, and leave the rest jutting out.
And put it just below waist height.
Suddenly, his intentions became very clear.

She had been so very, very naughty.
And he was such a long, long way away.
Some means of discipline would have to improvised.
Or standards would slip. And that would be just unacceptable.

One night alone, her phone chirped.
A new message.
From him: pronouncing her sentence.
A visit to her bottom smacking machine. 30 whacks on each cheek.
She cursed his strictness, but wished he was here to discipline her himself.

She was well rehearsed with her punishment protocol by now and began to make her preparations.
First, she had to decide on a setting, and dress accordingly.
She had considered donning her pyjamas, and acting out a bedtime spanking before being put to bed. She also thought of wearing her skinniest thong bikini, and pretending to be a Roman galley slave, being whipped under a merciless sun.

In the end though, she decided to wear her school uniform, and to imagine herself reporting for after-school detention to find her teacher holding a ruler. She lay on her bed, a hand inside her panties, imagining all the details. Joining the back of the queue, she would watch her classmates being called forward, one by one, to pull down their knickers.

In her mind’s eye she’d look on timorously – but fascinatedly – as they yelped in response to the ruler’s slaps. Then, skirt up, knickers still down, each girl would be sent to sit down, wincing as her sore bare bottom met the cold hard wood of the desk benches. Her dedication to fleshing out her fantasy was commendable.

She opened her eyes, looking across her room to stare at the ruler, now hanging in the air beside the bookcase. She closed her eyes, and found herself standing at the front of the queue. There was only one desk in the detention room still empty: hers. Her rubbing quickened, knowing it was her turn next. Behind her eyelids she heard her name being called. She managed to stop rubbing – just in time – and rose from the bed feeling every inch the naughty schoolgirl, a throbby, achy unresolved heat inside her knickers.

Her legs were trembling as she walked towards her appointment with the ruler.
She stood in front of it, continuing to play out her punishment fantasy.
“Oh no sir! Please don’t spank me! Not on the bare!” she pleaded, to her empty room.
But there was no one to hear, no one to grant her reprieve.

She turned around. She could almost see her pink bottomed classmates in front of her, sitting uncomfortably on those crude wooden benches, each girl so wanting to rub her sore bottom but with their hands cruelly occupied by writing lines instead.

She reached down to her hem and raised her skirt, tucking it into her waist.
“Oh sir…” she whined, “not on my bare bottom!”
She let her fingers linger inside her knicker elastic. With no disciplinarian to keep waiting, she could enjoy the skin-tingling sensation of slowly lowering her panties as they slid down her legs. Once fully exposed, she started to bend over, shuffling backwards until she felt the cool plastic on her bum.

In her fantasy classroom, she imagined him scolding her.
“Disgraceful behaviour! 60 whacks for you, girl…”

She reached back, pulling the plastic ruler away from her.
She felt its tension building on her fingertips.
By now, she knew just how much to bend it.
Too little, and she’d receive an avuncular pat.
Too much, and the ruler would snap.
Just enough gave a delicious slap.

She imagined him, standing behind her, poised with his ruler, about to strike.
She felt the ache between her legs.
She let the ruler slip from her fingers…
It sprang back in an instant, delivering a smack that made her bottom quiver.

“Ooooo! I’m sorry, sir” she whispered.
She pulled the ruler back a bit further this time, her fingers trembling.
The ruler sprang back again, smacking the spot where the first blow had landed.
She yelped, feeling her bottom smart.
Bending over fully, she touched her toes, savouring the fiery pain until it ebbed into a warm tingle.
She shuffled slightly, so the next blow would strike a different spot.
“Oh, sir…” she whispered as she reached behind again, “I’ve been such a naughty girl…”
The ruler twanged again, and again; she gasped as it corrected her.

Soon, the dispassionate ruler had turned one of her cheeks pink.
Her instructions were unequivocal.
She turned around, and stood on the other side of the ruler, shuffling until she felt the cool plastic on her unspanked buttock.
“Oh please sir, I promise I’ll be good…” she begged, but her pleas fell on no ears at all.

She reached behind her with her other hand, pulling the ruler back.
The smack made her mew in pain, but she showed herself no mercy.
He had sent her to the bottom smacking machine to be punished because he cared, and she had deserved it.
The ruler twanged again and again, until her whole bottom was pink.


Faraway, inside his jacket pocket, his phone cheeped.
A new message.
A photo.
Of her.
Her bottom glowing.
Her hands on her head.
Her school skirt still raised.
Panties around her ankles.
She stood astride the ruler, its edge just parting her pussy lips.
She’d even included a message.
“Thank you, sir, for disciplining me.”

Her obedience made him smile. Standards did have to be maintained.
On her next infraction, maybe he’d have her replace the ruler with a whippy cane.

“Good news?” asked his dinner companion.
He pocketed his phone, smiling back, “The best.”

@spankingtheatre 2012