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Spanking Theatre

Spanking stories for the theatre between your ears

Month

November 2018

I thought I’d share a punishment idea for anyone looking for a way to stop procrastinating. I’m going to pull my panties up high underneath my clothing in a minute and let them dig into my bottom and my clit. Then I’ll do my assignments and chores like that. I won’t take it out until I’m done. My hope is that it will stop me from procrastinating as well as help me get things done faster so I can take it out faster. If I fail then I will have earned a good spanking, of course.

An excellent remedy for procrastination, dear reader, one I use often.

I find The Pinch really does a wonderful job of focusing wandering minds.

The female anatomy seems tailor-made for panty-pulling. So many sensations from such a simple piece of fabric. The heat felt as it rubs against her bottom hole. The hot tight grip against her perineum, as unforgiving as a disciplinarian’s grasp. The intrusion inside her tender, sticky lips. And how her hard little clit throbs as the taut material teases with her every move.

Not to mention the lingering aching delight of the resulting red stripe. Young ladies who masturbate with a nice sore stripe seem to come very hard indeed.

An excellent disciplinary lesson, I quite agree.

are we allowed to make requests? (I’m sure you have a rules page somewhere but I’m trapped on mobile for now.)

Of course, reader submissions are always welcome.

Feel free to ask, submit, tweet, message or email.

I’ll reply to asks publically,
but won’t post any other communications without your explicit permission. So just choose the medium that best suits your message…

He is very, very strict.

A serious-minded, austere individual.
One might even describe him as grave. He controls me, he does not
tolerate my silly nonsense. He ensures my obedience.

He applies two stinging smacks to each cheek, but that only intensifies my dampness.

Then he stops.

His
punishments are never whimsical. Each whacking carefully considered to
send a message. I’ve become expert at interpreting them. These smacks
clearly mean: he knows I am disgracefully aroused, and I should not be
on the edge of orgasm.

I shouldn’t be, but I am. I’m holding it inside of me. I feel as though I’m about to burst.

I’m
bent over a cold, unforgiving but exquisitely carved slab of granite,
clenching my loins, desperately trying not to disgrace myself.

As
so often happens, when I’m at the edge, my mind empties. Vivid memories
from long ago, rush in to fill the vacuum. Like the very first time I
was spanked by my godfather…

From my recent story Grave

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