Hairbrush

Spanking Survey, Part 5

(I swear this is going to be at least a ten part series at this rate.)

This post is a continuing series of spanking survey questions about my childhood. Part one starts here, part two is here, part three is here, and part four is here.

Did you play spanking games with friends? Only with one when I was about 9. We were playing house and I gave her a bare bottom spanking. It was a game we only played twice.

I also played house and gave bare bottom spankings with two families/three kids whom I babysat. I was 11-12 at the time, and they were 5, 7 and 8. I only played once with the one kid and once or twice with the others.

What’s fascinating to me is that I was always the spanker in these games even though I am very much a sub now and have never spanked an adult. I think at that time while I was a budding spanko, I wanted to be the spanker to regain some of the control I didn’t have in my own life. Instead of being the victim of the spankings, I got to be the one who controlled and administered them.

Were your friends spanked as teens? I only know for certain one college friend who was spanked as a teen and who knew she would continue to be spanked as a college student when she went home if she didn’t follow her parents’ rules. She was from rural Texas, and her family used a belt. The way I found out was a conversation in which we were talking about something completely irrelevant to spanking, but she commented, “If I had done that, my dad would have nailed my butt to the wall.” Her eyes teared up as she said it. Clearly her beltings were painful experiences.

I have a high school friend whom all of us very much suspect was spanked as a teen. Her parents were emotionally abusive, and I know her mother slapped her fairly often. I assume her alcoholic father did more. What’s worse is that she now abuses her young children, spanking them for anything and everything “because that’s how I was raised.”

I have another high school friend whom I suspect was spanked but she never discussed it. Her parents were immigrants from the Philippines. When she would sit some days, it was a very delicate maneuver. I think I may have been the only one who noticed, though.

Did you talk about spanking with your friends? Yes, infrequently, though I was always very interested in the conversation when it happened. I was reluctant to share details of my spankings, though. Almost all kids of the 1970s and 1980s were spanked. I only know of one friend who was never spanked by her parents; she is the exception to the rule. It was just presumed you were spanked and your friends were spanked. I don’t have any idea how old most of my friends were when their spankings stopped.

I remember numerous conversations with peers. The first conversation I remember having was in grade school with two boys who were the same age as me when we were about 6. We were sitting in our front yard talking. We all admitted to being spanked, and the boys went into greater detail about theirs. I don’t remember much of what was said. Both boys agreed the belt was the worst; one said that the buckle end of the belt was brutal. I have no idea if his dad had actually already used a belt buckle on him or if he was just talking about what he’d seen his older brothers get but was bragging about it like it was him. Up until that point, I had no idea people could get spankings with belts.

I remember one neighborhood friend asking me if I was spanked. I think she had been recently spanked with a hairbrush and that was why she was asking. We were probably in second grade or about 7 years old.

The next memory I have of discussing spanking was in middle school. One of my friends was describing with great animation an incident that had happened in her family the day before. Her younger half-brother had walked in the door crying and with a torn shirt. When she asked what had happened, her mother related the tale of his poor tail. She said that he smarted off to her mother while they were driving home, so his mother pulled over to give him a spanking. As she went to grab him from the middle row of seats in the station wagon, he jumped into the back. Her mother had managed to get part of his shirt which ripped. She then opened the trunk of the station wagon, managed to grab him, and gave him a really hard bare bottom spanking for his original disobedience and trying to avoid his spanking.

In high school, I know the group of girls I hung out with had a discussion about being spanked as a child. It didn’t include discussions of who was still being spanked. The only thing I really remember from the discussion was the one friend revealing that she had never been spanked—not even once. I’ve since learned that her mother is very emotionally abusive, though. After this discussion, the one girl in the group who was abused through high school would declare any time that she didn’t like what the unspanked friend had done that the unspanked friend was a brat and should have been spanked as a child.

Once when I was at a friend’s house during high school, the mail came. In the mail was the mid-semester failure notice the school sent out when a student was in danger of not passing a class. The friend’s mother was very angry and made a show of going in her husband’s office and placing the letter there. My friend was begging her mother not to tell her stepfather, but her mother said she had to. Based on the tears in my friend’s eyes, I knew there were going to be serious repercussions. I asked her if she was going to be ok. She choked on her tears and said, “Yeah, I’ll be fine,” but I got the distinct feeling she was going to be spanked before she was fine!

Another time in high school, a male friend was boasting about how his parents were having to spank his brother every single day lately because of his behavior. His brother was in middle school and was rebelling a lot. The way his parents were handling the situation made me very uncomfortable even then. That brother ended up having major drug issues as an adult.

During high school, a close friend and I were talking about spankings. She said she especially hated those with the hairbrush—those were the worst. Years later, I saw a discussion between her and her siblings on Facebook. It seems that only the older kids were spanked with the hairbrush. The youngest said he always jokes that his parents wore out the hairbrush on his older siblings which is why he never got it.

In college, I remember being at my roommate’s house. She mentioned that her father would spank her as a child for not eating what her mother made for dinner because her father considered it disrespect towards her mother. You know those awful 1970s recipes that circulate the web? The things her mother made for dinner were even worse than that. I understood why she chose the spankings sometimes after hearing about some of the dishes her mom made!

Another time the same roommate told me about a joke she told at the dinner table. Her father didn’t find the joke funny and decided to spank her then and there. She tried to get away and failed. With tears in her eyes, she said, “He really tore up my butt that time.” It seemed like her father was a brutal spanker and was willing to find reasons to spank.

The first person I talked to who had been spanked in school was a college friend. I was shocked to learn that spanking was allowed in her schools because it never had been in mine. She told me that in grade school they called it “getting licks.” I forget exactly what she had done in kindergarten, but I think it was talking when she wasn’t supposed to. Her teacher put her over her lap while they were sitting on the floor in a circle, lifted her skirt, and gave her a few “licks” over her panties with a small paddle. The friend said she was horribly humiliated by the whole thing and never did anything to get spanked again in school as a result.

When I was in college, the discussion about spanking as discipline came up in a class for future teachers. Looking back, the professor must have been a spanko though her official position was that she could not condone spanking as discipline in the schools. She let the conversation derail the entire class. The look on her face during the discussion is one I now recognize as someone trying to mask arousal. The class was divided about 50-50 as to whether or not spanking should be allowed in the schools. There was also some discussion about parents spanking kids. The only specific comment I remember was from one guy who said, “The only choice my kids are going to get around discipline is which belt they want me to use on them when I sent to them to fetch one.”

My ex-husband and I actually only had one conversation about his childhood spankings. He said his mother would give him a warning, and then if he didn’t comply, she would let him know he was getting a spanking. She would pull down his pants and give him a few swats on his bare bottom. He said nothing about his siblings’ spankings. His dad never spanked him, and I later learned his dad’s mom never spanked his dad. I don’t know about his dad’s dad. I’m certain his mom was spanked by both of her parents but it was never discussed.

Another guy I briefly dated was babysat by his grandma during summer vacations while his mom worked. He said that if he and his brother acted up, she would tell them to go pick a switch. He said he and his brother would just go outside and make a run for it. By the time they came back later that day, she would have cooled off, so they rarely actually got switched by her. He considered her to be a very mean woman, though.

Surprisingly, I haven’t discussed childhood spankings with any of the other men I’ve dated, probably because I wasn’t willing to discuss mine in detail.

One day when I was on a lunch break at work, one of my coworkers began talking about her 2 year old son. She also had a 5 year old daughter who wasn’t the handful her son was. She was saying how when her son woke up from his nap one day that week, he started coloring on the wall in his room with crayons so she gave him a bare bottom spanking. He did it again a second time on another day that week, so she gave him a harder bare bottom spanking. She said, “I am not abusing him, but I can see how parents could escalate to abuse because he’s not learning from the spankings.” Even at that time I was wondering why she didn’t just take the crayons away to stop him from coloring on the walls. However, since I didn’t have children so I didn’t feel qualified to give advice and because I was younger than her, I just kept my mouth shut.

My first exposure to Domestic Discipline relationships (though I didn’t know the name at that point) was when a friend and I went shopping as childless married young adults. We had walked around the mall, mainly enjoying each other’s company and not buying anything because we didn’t find anything we needed. As we walked out the door of the mall, she said, to me in a very worried voice, “My husband is going to spank me. I was supposed to buy something for myself and I didn’t.” I asked her if she wanted to go back in and look for something for herself since we didn’t have any kind of time restrictions, and she said no, but he was going to spank her for it. I couldn’t understand why she didn’t just go back in and buy something since it sounded like she didn’t want the spanking. Later, I was at the same friend’s house for dinner (without my husband) when she tried a new recipe that her husband didn’t like. He gave her a very damning look; her response that made me think she was going to be punished for it after I left.

When we were reminiscing as adults, one friend talked about how a boy at school had called her by a racial slur. This girl told her mother who told her father. Her father was the boy’s father’s boss! So her father went over to the boy’s house and spoke to his father. The friend said the boy’s father “beat his ass good” in front of her father.

Once we had kids, one of the things that happened was our friend set changed because of differences in how we raised our kids. We all naturally gravitated towards others who parented more similar to our own styles, and that included beliefs about spanking. Before we stopped hanging out with some of our pro-spanking friends, though, there were a few conversations about spanking. The one friend and her husband started out as anti-spanking but changed their minds when their daughter was about four. She told me at that point that her greatest regret was that they hadn’t started spanking sooner and more often.

Another friend seemed anti-spanking, but her husband was not, and so she deferred to him about spankings. However, she said, “It’s just best if I’m not around when he discipline’s the kids.” One day her husband was boasting about having spanked their three year old son for having thrown a ball in the house which hit a glass object but didn’t break it. His words were, “I popped that kid so fast he didn’t see it coming.”

Spanking sometimes came up on mothering listservs I was on, too. Most of the crowds I hung out with were pretty anti-spanking, but there were always a few vocal spankers. The one mother had almost enough kids to make a baseball team. She said that she used a small paddle which she kept on the kitchen counter and didn’t hesitate to use it. According to her, all she had to do was take a step toward the paddle and her misbehaving child would immediately comply without her having to say a word. She said that she spanked them often as younger children and didn’t have to at all once they were older as a result.

Another mother discussed a spanking of her child that made me really sad for that child. The child has intellectual disabilities, and so I never felt like the way they parented him was appropriate for the abilities he had. This child had hit his baby brother at one point, and so his father “punished him in a way that made sure he would never do that again.” I have no idea what actually happened to the boy, but I’m sure it involved corporal punishment.

One other mother discussed how she had started spanking her son at age 8 because she couldn’t handle his intellectual disabilities anymore. She realized how wrong what she was doing, so she got herself into therapy to help her find ways to work with her son’s limitations without spanking.

In another discussion I saw on Facebook, I saw a friend’s sister talking about how she was never spanked because she was such an angel (wink, wink), but she remembers a time when it seemed like two of her brothers were getting spanked almost daily because of their bad behavior.

And finally, not that long ago, a receptionist at my doctor’s office was talking about how her six year old son liked to pee in the shower rather than the toilet (not when taking a shower). She hated it because it made the bathroom smell because he didn’t rinse the shower afterward. She said that the day before she didn’t hear the toilet flush after he’d been in the bathroom, so she asked, “Did you pee in the shower without rinsing it or am I going to have to spank you again?” She said he didn’t answer but went running off to the bathroom where she heard the shower water running. She thought it was really funny. Me, not so much.

©2017 WoodLeatherLace.com

I’m in Charge

(F/M, spanking, crop, humiliation, CBT, paddle, nipple torture, hairbrush, clothespins, school memories, voyeurism)

Note: This story involves non-consensual activity, something I do not condone in real life. However, the story is pure fantasy and one that was a great release for me to write as I dealt with some political frustrations of late.

As I walked up to the door at the big white house, the butler’s eyebrows raised at my appearance. I thought I looked great, but perhaps I hadn’t toned it down quite enough for the vanillas. I was a vision in royal blue. My skirt was a tight and lacy yet lined A-line which hit a few inches above my knees. I had on a blue leather bra, but I had put on a sheer blue blouse over it for a little bit of modesty. My blue fishnet stockings and blue stilettos somewhat covered my legs and feet. I wore a lace blue choker necklace, and my hair was upswept into a loose bun. It would have been a marginally professional outfit appropriate for business wear had it been a little less revealing. I also carried a large duffel bag which carried the tools of my trade.

“I’m here to see Donnie,” I informed the butler as he looked me up and down.

“And whom may I say is requesting the honor of his presence?” the butler inquired.

“Tell him Lacey is here to play. His Uncle Steve sent me to change his attitude a bit,” I replied as covertly as I could. I didn’t think the butler really wanted to know I was there to beat his boss’ ass, but I wanted Donnie to start quaking in anticipation of what he had coming. I had played with Donnie once before, and he was a very whiny, very needy type of boy-man who deserved to be put in his place, a job I was happy to do. Getting paid for it was nothing but a bonus.

The butler showed me into a parlor off the main hallway where I knew I was to wait until I had been cleared for entering Donnie’s private quarters. The room was nicely decorated, and on the coffee table were magazines which had Donnie’s portrait on the cover. Not all of them were recent, but I knew Donnie’s ego dictated that nothing but magazines with flattering articles about him should fill his home. He had an image he wanted to convey to his guests, one of power and success as a corporate CEO. I didn’t buy it for a minute. I’d seen the true man, and I knew the real story of whom he was.

After a few minutes, the butler returned. “You may follow me upstairs,” he let me know. I remembered the way, but I knew protocol dictated that I follow him. We climbed a regal staircase and walked down a red carpet hallway lined with giant portraits of the previous occupants hanging on the walls. As I looked on the faces of honorable men from the past, I shook my head in bemusement. How had Donnie managed to descend from this lot?

As we approached Donnie’s private quarters, the butler gestured toward the two security guards standing at attention. I recognized one from my previous visit and knew he was the senior of the two. The other man was a stranger, but that didn’t surprise me. Donnie was the kind of man who had a frequent turnover in his staff because he was so difficult to please, or so rumor said.

I approached the senior guard and gave him my bag to inspect. It had been quite a process getting in with my toys the previous time I was here, but this visit I knew would go much smoother since the guard knew what to expect. As he opened my bag, he found paddles, a strap, a crop, a butt plug, nipple clamps, and a few other delightful toys. The guard smiled and nodded with approval as he dug through the bag. The only compromise we’d had to make last time was that I was not allowed to take my handcuffs or rope into the room. This time, I didn’t even bring them.

“Would either of you gentlemen like earplugs?” I asked.

“No, ma’am. We plan to enjoy this, if you don’t mind,” the senior security guard replied. His junior was looking very confused by this point since he hadn’t seen what was inside the bag, but I knew he would soon be enlightened. I laughed in response. Working for Donnie probably wasn’t a fun job, so I could imagine how hearing him suffering at my sadistic hand might be truly delightful for his guards.

“But of course,” I responded with a smile. “I’m always happy to have an audience listening in. Would either of you want to be an actual witness at some point?”

“Oh, ma’am,” the senior guard said, almost breath-taken, “You don’t know what an honor that would be. We’d be happy to witness.”

“What did you just sign me up for?” the junior guard asked.

“Just wait,” his superior said. “It will be well worth it.”

With that, I smiled at the senior guard, reclaimed my bag, and knocked on the door to enter Donnie’s room.

“Come in,” Donnie called in a hesitant voice. Good. He was already nervous. He should be. It took a lot to break him last time. I was hoping he had remembered some of his lessons, but I suspected that his ego was going to try to fight me again.

“Hello, Donnie,” I greeted him as I entered the room.

“Hello, Lacey,” he replied as he walked toward me.

“STOP!” I commanded. “Just what do you think you’re doing?”

“I’m coming over to greet you,” Donnie casually replied.

“I don’t think so, Donnie,” I retorted. “We ‘discussed’ this last time, and that discussion involved a harsh beating of your ass if you remember correctly.”

“Oh,” Donnie meekly said. He began whining at me, “But I didn’t think that meant I had to do it every time I saw you.”

“Oh, little boy,” I replied. “You are very mistaken on that one. When I am in your rooms, I am in charge. You will submit to me, and you will do it willingly…”

“But I’m in charge!” Donnie whined again.

“Like hell you are!” I replied. “The sooner you accept that I am in charge of you in the bedroom and that your Uncle Steve is in charge of you in the corporate realm, the easier your life will be. Now, would you like to try that entrance again or will we have to repeat the very intense beating you got last time for disrespecting me?”

Donnie looked rather miserable at this point. His ego was still struggling. I could see him debating whether he should fight me on this or not. He might weigh twice as much as me, but that wouldn’t stop me from being able to physically dominate him, and he knew it. His ass had been a very lovely shade of purple when I said goodbye to him the last time, and I knew he felt that beating for many days afterward. I suspected he was debating in his head whether or not I would really repeat that performance again. To make my point, I pulled a hairbrush out of my bag and smacked it against my hand. His eyes got quite wide in response to my gesture.

“No, Lacey,” he replied. “I’d rather not have a purple backside again.”

“Let’s get one thing straight, Donnie,” I sharply retorted. “You WILL address me as Mistress Lacey, Mistress, or Ma’am. If you don’t, you will pay for your disobedience. Now, please try that again.”

“No, Mistress Lacey,” he corrected himself, “I don’t want a purple backside again.”

“Excellent choice, Donnie,” I replied, “Because you are still going to have a very red backside for all the ways you’ve been disobedient since I last saw you.”

“But…” Donnie began whining. I slapped the hairbrush on my hand again and shot Donnie my best “if looks could kill” glare. He stepped backward, instinctively covered his bottom with his hands, looked down at the floor, and meekly replied, “Yes, Ma’am.”

“Good boy, Donnie,” I responded. “Now, I am going to walk out into the hallway and have a little chat with your guards for a few minutes. When I come back in, I expect you to be dressed and positioned as we discussed last time.”

“Yes, Mistress,” Donnie sighed submissively. I decided to let that bit of attitude go for the moment. I’d be correcting him for it soon enough.

I stepped out in the hallway with my hairbrush still in my hand and shut the door to Donnie’s room. The senior guard had a huge smile on his face.

“How is it going, ma’am?” he asked.

“Fine, thank you. Donnie just needs a moment or two to prepare,” I said.

“Are you doing his hair?” the junior guard inquired while staring at the hairbrush in my hand. “I had heard he didn’t let anyone touch his hair besides his barber.”

I laughed. Donnie’s hair really could use a woman’s touch, but I was not up to that task. “No, that’s not what I plan to do with this hairbrush,” I replied. The guard looked confused.

“Are you telling me that when you were a little boy your mother never put a hairbrush to good use on another part of you besides your hair?” I asked him.

“Oh!” he said, his face reddening. I could see the lights going off in his head. “So, you’re a…”

“Professional dominatrix,” I finished the sentence for him so that he didn’t accidentally say something inappropriate. “Yes, I am, and I’m quite a good one. Donnie’s Uncle Steve has hired me to come on a weekly basis to keep Donnie in line. I’ve been here once before, and Uncle Steve found Donnie much easier to control after I’d given him a good dose of discipline.”

“Oh,” the guard said again. “So when Joe said we’d be happy to witness, he meant…”

“That you would be happy to watch me give your boss a bare bottom ass licking,” I finished his sentence. A smile unlike any I’d seen from any of the staff at the big white house broke across his face.

“Wow!” he said. “Yes, I would definitely be happy to witness that. I’ve only been on the job for a few days, but still, I wouldn’t mind seeing him in a submissive position.”

“Well, wait a little bit, and I’ll call you in. Naughty schoolboys often need a witness when the principal paddles them at school, so I don’t see why it should be any different for a big boy,” I responded with humor in my voice. “Now, time for me to see if that naughty boy has followed my orders,” I stated as I opened the door and walked back into Donnie’s room. I closed the door, but not quite all the way. I wanted to make sure the guards got to hear as much as possible.

When I walked back in the room, I was greeted by the back view of Donnie wearing his tighty-whities and nothing else.  “Donnie” was even embroidered into the waistband of the briefs. Donnie was standing in the corner of the room with his hands on his head. This was a vast improvement to the way I had been greeted the first time I entered the room when he was still in his suit and tie.

“Good boy, Donnie,” I replied. “I am glad to see you remember how I expect to find you. And what exactly have you been thinking about while you were in the corner waiting for me to come in?” I asked him. By this time, I had walked up behind him, so I took advantage of the hairbrush in my hand, dragging it firmly across his bottom so that he knew I was prepared to punish an unacceptable answer.

“I’ve been thinking about how you are going to spank my bottom, Lacey,” he replied.

CRACK! Donnie let out a loud howl as my hairbrush very sharply and fiercely came down on his bottom. His briefs really weren’t much protection against my muscular swing, though I was sure he was grateful to still be wearing them.

“What did you do wrong, Donnie?” I asked sternly.

“I forgot to call you Mistress,” Donnie quickly responded, worried that his bottom was going to be spanked again. He was right on that account. He just didn’t know when the next swat would come.

“I’m glad you recognized part of what you did wrong,” I replied, “but that wasn’t your only error.” With that pronouncement, I gave Donnie’s covered bottom a series of five very quick, very hard spanks in one place which led Donnie to let out another howl. He was such a baby when it came to taking his spankings unlike most men who tried to stoically hide their pain for as long as possible. I continued to lecture him while randomly swatting his bottom at a slower pace, “You were supposed to be thinking about what a naughty boy you’ve been since I was last here and why your Uncle Steve had to call me to come discipline you again. You must be acting like quite the naughty boy from how disgruntled he was on my voicemail. He said that you have been using social media too much and working too little. He also said you haven’t been following his orders well at all. He wanted me to spank your negative attitude and your stubbornness out of you, and that’s a task I’m more than happy to do for the good of your entire staff.”

I could tell that Donnie was as displeased about my lecture as he was about the continued bites from my hairbrush. He so desperately wanted to be in charge at work, but he just wasn’t ready yet. His immaturity came through in his behavior. Despite his inherited title as CEO, he wasn’t the one who really ran the company. His Uncle Steve ran the show, and he was definitely right in thinking that the best way to handle a spoiled brat like Donnie was to spank some obedience into him. Donnie might not physically be a little boy anymore, but he sure acted like one.

I decided that it was time to increase Donnie’s humiliation. “Turn around,” I commanded, “But don’t take your hands off of your head. As Donnie did so, I could see the frustration and struggle in his eyes. When I was done spanking him, those emotions would be replaced with submission and acceptance. But for now, it was time to start with a bit of humiliation. I set my brush on the bureau next to me and turned backed to Donnie. I quickly pulled on both side of Donnie’s briefs, and they fell to the floor. As I expected, Donnie began to protest this treatment.

“You can’t do that to me,” he said, removing his hands from his head to cover his cock and balls. “I won’t stand for it.”

“Oh, yes I can, Donnie,” I reprimanded him. “And you just earned yourself quite a bit more punishment for both talking back to me and taking your hands off your head. Now, get back into position and shut your mouth unless you want to make this any worse for yourself.”

Donnie looked at me. He knew I wasn’t kidding. He sighed and put his hands back on his head. That sighing nonsense was going to have to stop, but one step at a time. I walked over to my bag and pulled out a handful of clothespins along with nipple clamps.

“What are those?” Donnie asked with trepidation as I approached him.

“’What are those, Mistress?’” I responded.

“Oh. Yeah. What are those, Mistress?” Donnie corrected himself.

“’Those’ are some devices for me to help adjust your attitude. I dropped the clothespins on the bureau but brought the nipple clamps with me to Donnie’s bare chest. His eyes got a bit wider as he saw me open them and approach his own delicate nipples.

“I don’t think I want you to use those on me,” he whined at me.

“Too bad,” I replied without a bit of remorse. “You made your decisions to accept whatever punishment I dealt out when you chose not to follow my orders to keep your hands on your head and address me properly. I am going to teach you to follow instructions no matter how much pain it causes you.” With that, I let the one clamp bite into his nipple. He winced at the pain. “Oh, little boy,” I reacted, “Just you wait for what’s coming next.” I latched the other clamp onto his free nipple and then sadistically turned the clamp as hard as I could. Donnie nearly jumped out of his skin as he screamed in pain. His hands started to come off of his head, but he quickly put them back. He was figuring out he couldn’t afford to disobey anymore. His punishment was already going to be harsh enough.

I grabbed the clothespins off of the bureau next. Donnie grimaced and asked hesitantly, “Please, Mistress, Ma’am, what are you going to do with those?”

“I am going to put them on your ballsack,” I replied. “And you should be aware that they twist just as well as the nipple clamps do so you better be on your best behavior. Now, spread your legs for me.”

I could tell that Donnie really wanted to refuse, but for once, common sense kicked in. His legs spread apart and his flaccid cock and balls dangled meekly between his legs. I cupped his balls and began carefully lining his scrotum with as many as I could, some facing to the right and some to the left. This was going to make it very uncomfortable to walk over to the bed without hurting himself or popping them off accidentally. Either way, he was going to be hurting.

I put the last of the clothespins on his scrotum, and I smiled at my artwork. I could make such creative designs, not that my clients ever seemed to appreciate that part of my talents. I stood up, and I gave Donnie a sharp whack with my hand on his bottom just because I could. He winced a bit, but I could tell that I needed to switch back to my hairbrush to make him yell. That was already my plan.

“Ok, Donnie,” I said. “It’s time for us to really get down to business. I’m going to sit on the bed, and you are going to bend yourself over my lap with your body draped on the bed so that I can give you the good, hard, bare bottom spanking that you deserve. I expect complete compliance. No kicking and no wiggling off my lap. Any infractions will be harshly punished. Remember, those clothespins twist just as easily as the nipple clamps.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Donnie replied. Finally. I was getting somewhere in changing his attitude towards me.

I gracefully walked over to the bed and sat down, pulling my skirt toward my knees. I set the hairbrush on the bed next to me so that I could assist Donnie in positioning himself over my lap.

“Alright, Donnie,” I instructed, “You may walk over to the bed now.” Donnie began what was an uncomfortable for him but amusing for me waddle over to the bed.  I could tell he was also not wanting to walk any faster than he had to because he was trying to stall his punishment. That was fine. He could really only extend the wait by a few seconds. When he finally got over to me, though, he quickly bent over my lap like a good boy. He spread his legs apart to keep the clothes pins from prodding his legs and balls too much. He delicately put his chest onto the bed, concerned about what the nipple clamps might do. I decided to show him. I pushed down strongly on the center of his back, and he let out a scream of pain as the clamps dug in.

“That was just a warning, Donnie,” I said. “I wanted to let you know how any lack of cooperation will be dealt with during this spanking.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Donnie replied.

With that, I was ready to begin his spanking. I picked up my hairbrush, rubbed it across his backside so that he knew I was about to begin, and then I let the brush come crashing down onto his bottom. As expected, he screamed out, but he did try to hold still as he didn’t want any of the torture devices on his body to create any more misery.

Not feeling overly merciful, I set forth in giving Donnie the kind of harsh spanking that any naughty boy could expect from me even if he spent his daytime hours as a CEO. Over my lap, I could revert him to a sobbing little boy in minutes. My wooden hairbrush and I were experts at the job. I began moving the brush up and down his bottom and legs, switching sides periodically but randomly. I settled into a steady rhythm, spanking fairly rapidly. Donnie was howling within only a few seconds, though most men would only have been grunting at that point. To his credit, Donnie was a good boy about staying over my lap and not reaching back. I’d had to smack his hands thoroughly last time for trying to stop the brush, and this time he knew not to do it.

As Donnie’s bottom and thighs went from pale pink to dark pink to red, he continued to howl and wriggle. I had my left arm around his waist to steady him from rocking off of me. Eventually, I felt the release in his body that I was waiting for: The one that told me he was no longer fighting his punishment and had accepted his place of submission. When he reached that point, I slowed my spanking strokes, working on randomly smacking the spots on his backside that weren’t as red as the others. His howling also slowed, but he still winced and shrieked with each new smack. Once I was satisfied with my artistry on his canvas, I placed the hairbrush next to me on the bed and began slowly running my hands over Donnie’s bottom. I could tell he found the gesture soothing though his whimpering and sniffing continued as he recovered from the harsh spanking he just endured.

“I’m very proud of you for taking this part of your punishment well, Donnie,” I began speaking again when I felt he was ready to pay attention. “You didn’t try to block the hairbrush or get off my lap. That shows you can be a good boy who follows directions when you want to. Hopefully learning to submit to me in the bedroom will help you learn how to submit to your Uncle Steve in the office. If not, he’ll report back to me, and I will punish you for it.”

Silence ensued this little lecture of mine, so I gave Donnie another sharp smack on his very sore bottom. Donnie yelped and replied quickly, “Yes, ma’am! I’ll be good! I promise.”

“I’m glad to hear that Donnie,” I replied. “Now, it’s time for you to get onto the bed on your back with your legs spread so I can remove the clothespins.”

Donnie scooted off of my lap as carefully as he could, not wanting the clothespins to cause any more damage than they already were. He gingerly sat on the edge of the bed and leaned back, spreading his legs as wide as he could. While he was arranging himself, I had stood up and reached into my bag of goodies. I pulled out a crop and returned to stand between Donnie’s legs. When he looked up and saw the crop in my hand, his eyes nearly bugged out of his head.

“What are you going to do with that, Mistress?” he asked with great trepidation.

“I’m going to remove the clothespins from your ballsack,” I confidently replied. “Don’t worry. This is not a trick amateurs should try, and I am not an amateur. I spent years practicing to learn how to do this correctly, and I’ve done it to many other naughty boys aside from yourself, Donnie. However, if you don’t want to receive a hard cropping in some very delicate places, I suggest you hold as still as possible while I do this. It’s probably best if you pull your legs up onto the bed and use your hands to hold your knees open.”

Donnie quickly followed my directions, though I could tell by the look on his face that he was still scared out of his wits about what I was going to do. I smiled my most wicked smile, and then I quickly began slapping off the clothespins with my incredibly accurate aim and my trusty crop. It actually took me less than a few seconds to remove them all, so fast that Donnie didn’t have time to react. However, once they were off and the blood began rushing back to his scrotum, Donnie let out another howl of pain. His hands flew off his knees and onto his sack, grasping and rubbing and attempting to stop the sting. I knew that this intense pain would only last briefly, and he would calm down quickly. However, I can’t say I didn’t enjoy watching his desperate attempts to stop it.

Once Donnie’s sack quit hurting so intensely, he simply lay on the bed. I could tell that he was in a submissive state. The hard hairbrush spanking had gotten through to him fairly quickly this time. I went and sat on the bed and gently rubbed his hair.

“You’re being a good boy, Donnie. You’re learning to listen and follow directions without questioning them. That’s a good thing. You need to be able to work well with others rather than insisting on doing things your way all the time. I know this isn’t a pleasant way to learn those lessons, but it’s well past time you learned them.”

Donnie looked at me meekly and whispered, “Yes, ma’am.” I had him in the submissive state I wanted him in. As an act of kindness, I then leaned over and quickly tugged off the nipple clamps he was still sporting. Of course, this resulted in another howl as Donnie’s nipples regained feeling. I could only smile as he desperately tried to rub the pain away.

I stood up and replaced my crop in my bag, but I also pulled out my heavy wooden school paddle.  Donnie’s Uncle Steve and I had worked out a daily incentive system that I was now going to put into action. Each day at the end of the work day, Uncle Steve was going to evaluate Donnie’s behavior for the day. He and Donnie would discuss it before Donnie went home. If Donnie had failed to be cooperative and compliant that day, then he would earn a demerit. Each demerit he earned from Uncle Steve would result in a hard swat with the paddle from me. Since there were five days in the work week, Donnie could earn up to five swats from me. This was on top of whatever type of spanking I felt was necessary to shape his general submission and cooperation with me.

Having grabbed my next weapon of choice, I went and stood in front of Donnie again. He was still curled up in the fetal position on the bed trying to recover from the stinging pain in his nipples, his sack, his ass, and his thighs. When he saw me with the paddle, he began to beg.

“Please, Mistress Lacey, no more. I can’t take any more today,” he whined.

“I’m afraid that’s not true, Donnie. You have to take what is coming to you. You earned the swats you are going to receive with the paddle through your behavior at work last week, and so now it’s time to pay the piper. Now, how many demerits did Uncle Steve give you last week?” I asked.

I could tell Donnie wanted to refuse to answer. Then I could tell he was thinking about lying. However, he knew that his Uncle Steve and I texted each other daily, so if he lied, I would know. Finally deciding to accept his fate, Donnie whispered out to me, “Five. Five demerits. Five swats.”

“I’m glad you know how the demerits translate to swats. I am disappointed, though, Donnie, that you were such a bad boy at work last week. However, I’m happy to give you the punishment you deserve. Please stand up for me now and walk over to your desk,” I ordered.

Donnie delicately rolled off the bed, being careful to put as little pressure as possible on his sorest parts, some of which were about to get even sorer. He limped over to the desk with his ballsack obviously still sore and his ass smarting as well. Once Donnie got next to the desk, he put his hands over his crotch out of modesty, not that I hadn’t just seen everything he had to display.

Ignoring his hands over his genitals, I began a new line of inquiry with him. “Donnie, when you were still in school, was corporal punishment allowed?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied, obviously wondering why I was asking.

“And were you ever in the principal’s office for a licking?” I pried further.

“Um, yes, ma’am. Twice when I was in high school. I probably should have been there more often, but I escaped with only two paddlings from the principal. There were some other incidents with teachers, though,” he fully confessed.

“So what was the routine in your principal’s office?” I requested.

“Well, we’d go in and sit down. He’d ask us why we thought we were sent there. We’d confess our sins, and then he’d issue a ruling on our punishment. If he decided we were getting a paddling, he’d call our parents to let them know even though they’d already signed a form giving their consent. My mom was the one who got the call both times, and both times she insisted on talking to me. She let me know that I could expect a hard belt licking from my dad that night, too, for acting out at school,” he reminisced.

“Hmmm…” I thought out loud, “Perhaps next week we’ll start with your paddling and then move on to a belt spanking afterward. That seems like it might jar some memories of how to behave from your subconscious.” Donnie did not look pleased with this idea of mine, but he knew that talking back to me when I was holding a big wooden paddle was a very bad idea.

“So tell me what happened next,” I prompted Donnie.

“After I hung up the phone, I would have to go stand at the back of the principal’s desk and lean over toward the front. The principal would get the secretary or a volunteer from the office to come in to witness the paddling. The rules said he had to paddle us in whatever we were wearing, and luckily both times I was wearing jeans though they didn’t offer much protection from his hard swing. Then, once he was ready, he would give us the paddling. He’d make us count off the strokes and thank him when he was done. Once we stopped crying, we were sent back to class,” Donnie finished.

“Well,” I said, “You’re not wearing anything right now, so it appears you’ll be getting your paddling exactly as you are, unfortunately for you. We’re also lucky enough to have not one but two willing witness for your paddling, though.”

Donnie’s jaw dropped as he realized that I was about to bring in his security guards to see him get a bare bottom paddling. His ass was already bright red, so he had to have known that the paddling was going to hurt a great deal, and he had to have known that he was going to scream loudly with each swat. The color began to drain from his face. I could tell he was debating protesting my verdict, but as I held up the paddle in both my hands for his viewing pleasure, I could see that urge back down within him. Donnie knew that the five swats he was about to get were going to be extremely painful, and he didn’t want to earn any more.

“Yes, ma’am,” Donnie squeaked out. And with that, he compliantly bent over the desk without me even asking him to do it. That was a very good sign. I walked over to the door and poked my head out.

“Ok, gentlemen, we’re ready for you to witness Donnie’s paddling,” I said with a smile. Both men smiled back and followed me into Donnie’s room. I motioned for them to stay at a distance of about five feet from the desk, far enough back that they could see Donnie’s face when he looked up but also close enough that they could see the details of the damage I was inflicting on his bottom.

I walked around to the back side of the desk and ran a hand over Donnie’s waiting bottom. It was still quite red and obviously sore. However, I wasn’t done with the job I had been hired to do. I lifted up my paddle with both hands, took aim, pulled back, and swung hard.

“ONE!” Donnie screamed as the impact of the paddle reverberated through his bottom. I gave him a few seconds to calm himself, and then I took aim again. Once again, Donnie screamed out “TWO” after the paddle hit is ass. I could tell he wanted to stand up and rub his bottom, but instead, he just rocked back and forth as his hands gripped the front of the desk with all his might. Once his rocking subsided, I gave the third stroke which Donnie counted off with a scream.

I paused to look up at the guards who were both still smiling at me. The joy on their faces was amazing. I was so glad I’d let them partake in this event. I decided it was time to get this over with, though. I let the paddle hit Donnie’s ass hard and rapidly twice in a row. Donnie screamed “FOUR” and “FIVE!” After the fifth swat, his body seemed to crumple on the desk. He let go of his firm grip, and his tears began to flow. I motioned to the guards that they should leave, and I began to rub Donnie’s back.

“I’m sorry I had to punish you so harshly, Donnie boy, but you earned this paddling and you know it. Next week, you might be able to avoid the entire paddling by cooperating with your Uncle Steve. If not, I’ll be paddling you again. And despite the rules in your principal’s office, I’m instituting a new rule here. You will always get the paddle on your bare bottom from me. Do I make myself clear, young man?” I asked.

Through his tears, Donnie replied, “Yes ma’am.” Then he asked very submissively, “May I get up, Mistress Lacey?”

“Yes, Donnie. Your punishment is over. You can get up and get dressed if you would like or you can get in bed and cry for a while. Whatever you would like to do is fine with me,” I responded. “However, I recommend that you spend some time reflecting on how you are going to avoid this happening next week when I come to visit you.”

“Yes, ma’am” was Donnie’s only response as he stood up and painfully walked over to his bed where he curled up in a ball on top of the covers. I put my paddle back in my bag, zipped it up, and headed out the bedroom door which I shut quietly behind me.

The guards both smiled at me as I said my goodbyes. Then, with a bit of hesitation, the junior guard asked me, “Um, ma’am? Do you have a business card? For a friend, of course,” he quickly added. I smiled and pulled one out of the side pocket of my bag.

“I look forward to hearing from your friend,” I answered, and then I headed down the long hall once again.

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