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Spanking stories for the theatre between your ears

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The Booth

A spanking story

Naughty Girl

said the text message, almost accusingly.

She stared at his response. She’d thought her misdemeanour was trivial, worthy of a playful light-hearted scolding at the very worst. But the abruptness of his reply made her realise how seriously he took her disobedience.

In the mall, crowds of busy shoppers milled around her, quite oblivious to her predicament, as she stared meekly at her phone, awaiting his judgement. She felt the phone vibrate in her sweaty palm.

You must be punished.

She stared at the little glowing words.

A good hard spanking, on your bare bottom.

She could feel a warm, clammy wetness seeping from her slit, and sticking to her panties. A good hard spanking meant being spanked until her bottom burned, until its sore persistent sting overwhelmed every other sensation. Then obediently standing in the corner until the glowing ache consumed her, dominating her mind.

Go to the 5th floor of the shopping centre. To the atrium with the waterfall.

She acknowledged his instructions, stepping onto the escalator, and was carried away.

The atrium was filled with the hubbub of passing voices, and the gurgle of water tumbling down the mound of mossy rocks into the surrounding faux marble pool. The cool stone felt nice against her skin through her thin dress. She waited and wondered why he’d sent her here, why he hadn’t just ordered her home, to be put over his knee.

She felt her phone vibrate again.

Booth 1. The keypad code is 1212

She scanned her surroundings, spotting three nondescript white cubes against a nearby wall. Each was about 2 metres high, and unremarkable enough to be completely ignored by the crowds hurrying past. Each booth had a big foam letter above it, each sinking into the cloud-like fluff that covered the top of each booth. An N, an A and a P.

The booths were nap pods, available to rent to subscribers for half-hour periods. A quiet space about a metre square, little oases of calm amid the din of the big city. There was a chair to lie back in, and a charging point for your phone, which displayed the countdown until your 30 minutes expired, and the booth was unlocked. All one needed was the app and an account. Her disciplinarian had become a regular customer.

After punching in the code with somewhat shaky fingers, the keypad beeped agreeably in response as the magnetic latch disengaged. She tugged the door open and stepped into the tiny space beyond, closing it circumspectly behind her.

Inside the booth was a reclining chair, if she’d sat on it, she’d be facing back the way she’d entered.

She placed her phone in the charging cradle at the back of the booth, leaning over the chair to do so, and activated video calling. It connected moments later, though his face didn’t appear, leaving her disappointed that he didn’t greet her with a smile, but he seemed not to have activated his own camera. His voice, when he finally spoke, was stern and authoritative.

“Take it all off,” he instructed. “Everything.”

There was something in what he said, an edge, that could only have meant he was referring to her clothes. She complied rapidly, not wanting to displease her disciplinarian further, loosening her shoes before lifting her white summer dress over her head. Having a relatively small bust, she hadn’t worn a bra, so only needed to pull down her damp panties to be standing naked before him. She widened her stance, parting her legs, folding her arms behind her back, presenting herself for his approval…

She waited in silence as he examined her.

“Turn around. Straddle the chair. Open your cheeks.”

She did as she was told, lifting one leg over the chair, and turning so her bare bottom was now facing her phone. Splaying herself open revealed just how excited she’d become.

“… you’re soaking wet.”

She felt her face burn, as simultaneously, her clit throbbed.

“Take out your paddle.”

She had a paddle in her handbag, she carried his paddle everywhere, a lingering reminder of her submission to his discipline. His rule was if she ever misbehaved in his company, she would take out the paddle, present it to him, and ask to be spanked. Then he’d lead her by the hand somewhere quiet, have her take off her panties and deposit them in his pocket, before he lifted her skirt and spanked her hard.

If she misbehaved alone, she was expected to confess her misdemeanours, and he would instruct her to spank herself. But sometimes she’d also use it on her own initiative, giving herself six quick spanks in the ladies toilets if she ever found herself the only one there. Lavatories with squeaky doors were the best, because they would serve to warn her of intruders, cruelly robbing her of the chance to be alone.

The Voice Memo facility on her phone was particularly useful for recording the sound of her smacking, allowing her to send him the evidence so he could hear for himself: that she was an obedient girl who understood the importance of self-discipline.

Sometimes she would lie back in bed with her earphones on and listened to the sounds of her own spankings. Stroking herself as she remembered the episode she was listening to.

He pronounced her sentence with a strictness that made her legs quake and her heart thump.

“You deserve a good hard spanking, young lady. On your bare bottom.”

As usual, he was right. She did deserve it. She craved it.

“Bend over.”

She leant forward, placing one hand on the seat of the chair she was straddling, so she could reach back and smack her own bottom with her paddle.

“6 smacks on each cheek.”

She followed his command, spanking hard so he couldn’t fail to hear her repentance in the severity of her whacks.

“6 more.”

Her bottom tingled.

“And again.”

Oh Sir. Yes.

“8 more for being such a naughty, naughty girl.”

She smacked her bottom hard, eager to demonstrate her contrition. Each stinging impact a reminder of how lucky she was to have a disciplinarian who was so strict with her.

“10 more. Nice and hard.”

The booth was supposed to be soundproof, its occupants came here for a peace and quiet after all. But she couldn’t help wondering if the sounds of her smacking were audible outside. Whether a small crowd might be gathering just beyond the thin door, curious and puzzled. Would they recognise it? How many would realise the faint clapping as the sound of a young woman having her bare bottom smacked? And if they did, would they snigger, or secretly wish to be behind the door themselves?

“12 more. Harder.”

Her bottom was now smouldering painfully. She could feel her dew dribbling from her lips, and smell the musky scent of her arousal filling the confined space. Had he not been be watching, she knew she’d have her fingers in her slit by now, savouring the pain, yet also rubbing the ache away.

“That’s enough. Corner time, girl. Step forward, and stand up straight in front of the door.”

She shuffled forward, clearing the chair, so she was standing naked in front of the booth’s thin opaque fibreglass door. She still had her back to her camera, so her spanked bottom remained prominently on display. She obediently put her hands on her head, just like he’d taught her to, and waited.

There was a small numeric display on the door latch, counting down the minutes and seconds until the booth was unlocked. She realised that if she remained in this position, whoever had booked the subsequent slot would open the door to the shock of their lives, a beautiful young woman standing naked with her hands on her head, her wetness dribbling from her bare puffy slit, her clothes folded neatly on the chair behind her.

The thought of being discovered thrilled her, in an almost visceral way. An excitement that only intensified as the time ticked away.

Soon, just five minutes remained.

The jeopardy of being caught had made her clit swell, so it know felt like a hard little button between her legs. A hard little button that needed to be repeatedly pressed. Filthy thoughts began to gatecrash her fevered mind.

Now, there were just two minutes to go. Still the phone behind her was silent. She longed to hear his voice. Anything.

She could feel her own juices dribbling down the inside of her thighs.

A sudden knock on the door interrupted her reverie.

She almost jumped out of her skin in shock. The true precariousness of her position made suddenly obvious, in less than 100 seconds the thin partition that separated her from the outside world would disappear, and she would be exposed. Utterly.

She could get dressed, of course. Disobey him. Again. Prove she couldn’t be trusted. Again.

She could turn around and show her weakness, earnestly covering herself like a shy little ingenue at the beach as she heard the disappointment in his voice.

Her tummy churned as the final minute disappeared from the counter, as it started counting down the remaining seconds. She knew the next customer would be watching on the other side, tired and tetchy, waiting impatiently for their turn.

Silence roared in her ears as she strained to hear his voice, the rustle of his clothes, the whisper of his breathing. Any clue that would signify he hadn’t forgotten about her plight, that he was an intake of breath away from releasing her from her torment.

She wanted to open her mouth, to plead. But she knew that wasn’t what spanked girls did in the corner. Spanked girls stood up straight with their sore pink bottoms on display, in silence, for as long as their disciplinarians deemed necessary. Spanked girls never turned around, or whined or begged, or dropped their hands to rub their bottoms. It didn’t matter if they were being watched, or left in the room all alone. Spanked girls stayed in place, on display, immobile. Wordlessly. Until they were told.

Her heart was now hammering in her chest. She could almost feel the outside world, pressing against the door of the booth, straining to get in. Did she trust him? Really trust him? Even if he’d decided her punishment was to be public humiliation?

30 seconds left.

She begged him silently under her breath, for his mercy, for his indulgence. She knew opening her mouth to speak without permission would be massively disrespectful, one that would surely condemn her to the most excruciating embarrassment.

20 seconds.

Oh Sir, please.

10… 9… 8…

There’d still be time, if only he’d give the order, just time enough to throw her dress over her head and preserve at least a shred of her modesty.

7… 6… 5… 4…

She felt her legs trembling, having to clench her pelvic muscles with all her might just to prevent peeing herself. She forced herself to keep her hands on her head. What a way to be discovered, standing in a little puddle, as your hot pee streams uncontrollably between your desperate fingers.

3… 2… 1…

The door opens, as she clenches her eyes tight.

As a solitary tear trickles down her cheek.


The hubbub of the world outside assaults her ears.

Yet something makes her open her weeping eyes.

His face looms in front of her, and she feels a euphoric surge. A rush better than any orgasm.

He envelops her in a hug, concealing her nakedness.

His mouth whispers into her ear. What a good girl. What a wonderful girl.

He tugs the door closed behind him.

She notices the timer on the latch has been reset. It seems they have another 30 minutes.

He embraces her, kissing her deeply, one arm around her shoulders, his free hand cupping her soaking slit.

He spins her around, lifting her forward until she’s straddling the chair.

She feels his hands grasp her hot stinging cheeks, splaying her buttocks apart, exposing her holes.

Inspections followed spankings. Always.

She can feel his hot breath between her legs. Then his rough tongue intruding between her slit, scraping upwards until it circles her bottom hole, tasting her obedience.

She hears his belt unbuckle, and his trousers sliding down his legs.

He reaches past her, tapping her phone screen a few times to activate the voice memo app.

I want you to keep this recording safe, he growls. Next time I put you in the corner, you can listen to me fucking you as you hold your sore bum apart.

She feels his stiffness against her wet entrance. He enters so easily.

The first sounds she’ll hear when she listens to this back will be the rustle of his trousers lowering, his deep voice talking about fucking, her own needy moans, and the sudden squelch of penetration.

She can see the little booth timer reflected on her phone screen. Twenty-six minutes and four seconds until the door unlocked. He’d last that long easily. She felt hands grip her breasts and the roar of hot breathing on her neck.

Her last rational thought before his deep thrusts switch off her mind is:

I do hope we can extend our stay.

.

.

.

@spankingtheatre 2018

10 Reasons for Bottom Inspections

image

All good spankings should end with a bottom inspection.

Where the spankee is exposed and examined by their spanker, who intimately surveys the effects of the spanking they’ve administered.

The picture above is of a naughty young lady I
recently spanked. One of the
pictures taken during her subsequent inspection marvelously captured the very moment her arousal dripped from
her swollen lips. So I asked to her to trace the picture, and with her
agreement, it’s posted here to conclude her punishment. So everyone can
see what a well-spanked, naughty girl she is.

And so everyone can see the physical effect a good bottom inspection can have too.

But there’s more to inspections than just amplifying post-spanking arousal, I can think of at least 10 reasons why inspections deserve to be an integral part of your spankings:

  1. prolonging the moment
  2. making it real
  3. sharing vulnerability
  4. embarrassment and shame
  5. building arousal
  6. examining the impact
  7. aftercare
  8. submission
  9. empathy
  10. continuations

Intrigued? Let me explain…



1. To prolong the moment

Inspections are an opportunity to be mindful, to stay in the present moment and
conserve the precious erotic charge that you’ve developed during the
spanking. If you’ve been roleplaying, an inspection allows both top
and bottom to stay in character just a little while longer, remaining within
and keeping the fragile bubble of their fantasy intact. 

Mindfulness is about experiencing the present moment with your full attention. The bottom experiencing the thrill of being exposed, whilst for the top it’s a chance to read back a miniature
story of the scene you’ve just played.

2. To make it real

If a tree falls in a forest, does it make a sound? As anyone who’s ever spanked themselves alone knows, unwitnessed spankings can feel rather unfulfilling. Something important is missing, someone who’ll elevate the experience from perfunctory to erotic.

Inspections can assume
a special significance if discipline has to be conducted remotely. If you’ve just finished spanking yourself, and your bottom is sore and
smarting, just sending a message like “I’ve had my spanking” to your spanker doesn’t really communicate the hurricane of pain, shame and arousal you’ve just experienced. Sending a picture of your spanked bottom to your partner, or an audio recording of the smacks, helps bring the spanking alive for both of you.

3. To share their moment of vulnerability

The purpose of an inspection is not to ogle your partner, however
beautiful the view might be, but to share in their moment of
vulnerability. Exposure is an act of trust, where the spankee reveals themselves at their most vulnerable, and invites their
partner to share in that moment.

Presenting oneself for inspection is a highly submissive act, so I believe a spankee should always ask politely to be inspected, rather than being commanded to. And if they don’t feel comfortable enough to be inspected, there’s never any obligation.

4. To scold, embarrass and shame

Many find sexual shame is intensely erotic, and an intimate inspection is a fine way of experiencing erotic humiliation in a safe environment, in the privacy of your own bedroom.

I tend to conduct inspections with the spankee’s legs spread wide, so the slit and bottom hole are visible. Such exposure can be very embarrassing, even for those very comfortable with their own nudity. Even more revealing is being told to hold your sore spanked cheeks
apart. To be so thoroughly exposed when all you want to do is rub the
sting away.

5. To assess arousal

Inspections are ideal opportunity to reveal just how exciting your spankee partner has found your playtimes. There’s no denying the implications of a stiff pointing cock, or seeping sticky slit, on display for all to see.

If the spanking you’ve given was intended as a punishment, and the spankee is unavoidably aroused, you might decide to scold them for lack of self-control. Perhaps other punishments will be earned. Or, if you’re spanking for your mutual pleasure, now’s your opportunity to run your finger down
their shaft, or glide a fingertip between their eager lips.

6. To examine the impact

This reason is practical rather than erotic. When the spanker inspects, they are paying careful attention to what their spanking has inflicted. Look at the pink blushes on the spankee’s bottom, did you intend to spank
that hard? Do they need more, or is it time to conclude their punishment?

Be mindful and inspect with all your senses. Is their skin hot to the touch, do they squirm away from your
fingers? Are there any little marks or bruises? What about the state of
the bottom’s clothing, in place or disheveled? Are there tears, either
on their face or damp dots on nearby pillows? Can you see goosebumps?
Was this spanking just what they deserved?

7. Aftercare

Yet inspections should also be more than just a forensic exercise in finding marks.
It is a time to talk to each other, a chance for the top to check the
bottom is ok. To let the scene gently wind down, and allow
reality to resume.

If you’re physically present, it’s an opportunity to rub and caress their sore bottom and provide
the comfort of a cuddle. If you’re both remote, the top should be checking the bottom enjoyed the experience, and their emotional well-being.

8. Submission

Inspections continue the power exchange that began with the spanking being announced and the bottom being bared.

And what could be more submissive than asking them to bend over, holding their spanked
bottom open for one final dramatic act of exposure, an invitation to their disciplinarian to read their most intimate secrets.

9. Empathy

Inspections are also a kind of a time-out, during which the spanker should acknowledge and empathise with the spankee’s discomfort. Perhaps
you’ll commend their obedience to your instructions, and praise their stoicism.

Likewise, if you spent the spanking chiding her for
behaving like a naughty little girl, this is a chance to build her up
again, to express your admiration of how she took her punishment like a
big girl. Or a chance to remind the spankee who sets the rules, and what
they can expect when they misbehave again.

10. Continuations

Last but not least, inspections provide an opportunity to continue the scene.

You might send the spankee to stand in the corner, or to sit upon a naughty
stool.  Or perhaps you’ll get them to take a picture of themselves and instruct them to Draw Lines, tracing out their own image, line by line, just like the picture above.


Spankings should be so much more
than just a few minutes of inflicting pain. Inspections prolong playtime. Why shouldn’t what happens
afterwards last far longer than the punishment itself? After all, once a
fire is ignited, who doesn’t want to linger, and enjoy its glow…?

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