It was an even more repentant submissive who came out of the corner. Between the plug and the corner, she was glowing, happy to do anything he asked of her. He had removed the plug, but that lovely sense of submission remained.

”Here,” he said, pointing at the floor in front of him. He was sitting in his recliner, sitting very upright.

Quickly, she moved to kneel at his feet.

He watched her with one eyebrow raised. She waited.

He shook his head. “Is there something you want to say to me?”

“OH!” She flushed. She had forgotten. “Yes, Sir. I – um,” and a shiver ran through her, a wave of arousal. “Um, would you please spank me, really hard, Sir?”

”You want a really hard spanking? You sure?”

Almost amused at how he was making her squirm, “Yes, Sir, please – I – I need a really hard spanking, Sir.” The words were hard to say, but she meant them.

”Good girl.” He smiled. “Get me the belt, the wooden spoon, and the tawse, please.”

Her eyes widened, “Ohhh,” and she bit back the protest on the tip of her tongue. “Yes, Sir,” and got back to her feet, moving away quickly. Returning quickly, not letting herself think about the impact they would have on her bottom.

Following protocol, she knelt again, offering the tools one at a time on her open palms. He accepted each one with a grave, “Thank you.”

Then, “Undress.” Her panties were already off, she was not wearing a bra. Still kneeling, she pulled her dress over her head, folded it and laid it to the side.

”Good girl. Up and over my knee now. I’ll warm you up a little bit.”

Smiling to herself – how ridiculous to be glad he was going to spank her with his hand first, she draped herself over his lap, her upper body resting on one arm of the chair, her toes just touching the ground on the other side.

He began. Short sharp smacks, a series on one cheek and then the other. He moved his hand around, the center of her bottom, the upper part, and then concentrating on the sit spots. She moaned softly. It hurt, and it felt good; he could have spanked her like this for a long time and she would have been content.

Instead, he stopped. She knew that meant he was satisfied with how rosy her bottom was. “Up,” he said, standing himself, taking the belt in hand. “Over the arm of the chair, please.”

She collected herself, feeling a little spacy already. Her bottom was raised even more in this position, sit spots exposed. “Open your legs,” he said.

She obeyed, knowing she had exposed her most vulnerable parts, knowing he could see how wet she was.

“Keep your hands on the chair. If you kick, you’ll get extra on your thighs.”

“Yes, Sir.”

He had folded the belt over so he could direct the blows to one cheek or the other. She liked the belt – it hurt, of course, but something about the feel of the leather striking her also felt good. At least, it felt good once the sting had faded a little bit.

He wasn’t using it full force, and it made her squirm and cry out a little, but she was able to relax into it and let the feeling move through her. She resisted the urge to tighten up each time she heard the warning swish right before it landed, leaving a warm, stinging stripe across her bottom.

She didn’t know how many times the belt fell before he stopped. She thought he would get the wooden spoon and start with that. Instead, he said, “Tell me why you are being spanked.”

For a moment, she couldn’t remember. Then, “Oh, because, well, because I let myself get overloaded and overwhelmed, Sir.”

His silence lasted long enough for her to realize she must have been wrong. “Up,” he said, helping her stand. “Wrong answer. I wouldn’t spank you for getting overloaded and overwhelmed. Let’s try 5 minutes in the corner. I want you to think about what you’re supposed to do when you notice you’re getting overloaded and overwhelmed.”

He led her to the corner, and she was grateful for that. Hands on her head, she stood, obediently trying to think. What was she supposed to – oh. Ask for help. She was supposed to tell him how she felt and ask for help. Of course she knew that. But damn, it was so hard to remember.

Then his voice, very close behind her. “Let’s try again. Come.”

He sat down, wooden spoon in one hand, and let her kneel in front of him. “Tell me why you need a hard spanking.”

She looked at the floor, embarrassed, but “Eyes on me,” he said, and she met his gaze. “I’m getting a hard spanking because I got overloaded and overwhelmed AND I didn’t tell you and ask for help.”

“Better,” he said. “And when you were overloaded and overwhelmed and didn’t ask for help, what did you do instead?”

She wanted to look down, but made herself keep eye contact. “I cut corners with things I’m supposed to do for myself. I rushed my meditation, barely did my stretching. That kind of thing.”

“Who do you belong to?”

“You, Sir. I belong to you.”

‘Are you supposed to neglect what belongs to me?”

“No, Sir.”

“That’s right. Back over my lap.”

She was glowing inside, even knowing she was about to feel a a new level of pain. She was his. She arranged herself carefully, prepared to take her spanking. She did deserve it.

But the wooden spoon! Omg. It landed with force on one spot, concentrating the pain in one area. He covered one cheek thoroughly, and she went from gasping to groaning, then apology. “I’m sorry, so sorry, I won’t do it again, I’m so sorry, Sir, I’ll do better, please I’ve learned my lesson!!! I’ll be good, I promise!”

Having finished covering the second cheek, he started aiming the spoon toward the first cheek again. This time the spoon landed on spots that were already hurting and she began to kick her legs. Two quick whacks on her thighs, and even though she cried out, “Noooo, please no,” she managed to keep her feet down.

He had covered both cheeks twice and her bottom was burning. But she was no longer resisting. She had settled into that space of acceptance, opening herself to him in some way that she didn’t understand by knew that she needed. The spoon still hurt, dreadfully, but she could let the pain be what it was, allow it to roll through her the way the belt did.

When he stopped, she sighed with relief. She didn’t get up, just waited, draped over his lap. He rubbed her bottom gently and she moaned. That felt so good. She could felt welts on her bottom. But the pain began to fade.

“There’s my good girl,” he said. We just have the tawse left and we’ll be done.”

“Oh!” she gasped, “Oh, the tawse. I – I forgot about that.”

She could hear the smile in his words as he said, “You’re forgetful tonight. Tell me again why you need a hard spanking.”

She almost smiled, “Because I didn’t ask you for help when I needed it.”

“And…” he prompted.

She sighed. “And because I didn’t take good care of what belongs to you, Sir.”

“Yes. You didn’t take care of yourself, or ask me for help. Now, I want you to do 5 more minutes of corner time before we end with the tawse. I want you to think about what keeps you from asking for help and how you can do it differently next time.”

Gently, he helped her stand, led her to corner. She stood, arms up, hands on her head. Her bottom was still burning but the intensity was fading a little bit. She already knew why she didn’t ask for help. She didn’t know if she could really explain it to him.

And then he was behind her, his hands on her waist turning her toward him. Leading her back to the chair, bending her over the arm one more time.

“Legs,” he said, and she opened them wider. With one hand he probed between her thighs, feeling how hot and wet she was, sliding one finger inside her while his index finger found her clit and rubbed lightly. She moaned with pleasure, pushing back onto his finger, but he laughed and pulled his hand away.

“Later,” he said. He stroked her bottom lightly and she sighed. “Mmmm.”

“I won’t ask you to share your thoughts yet,” he said. We’ll do 12 with the tawse, twelve hard ones. I’ll cover both cheeks, but I’ll change sides after six to keep the pain evenly distributed. I’ll count, and you can thank me. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Sir,” she said, grateful that she didn’t have to explain herself now. “You count, I’ll thank you.”

“Good girl,” he said, and the tawse landed in the center of her bottom, covering part of both cheeks. She cried out.

“One,” he said. “It’s ok if you scream or cry, I’ll wait the count to let you catch your breath.”

“Thank you, Sir.” She knew this was not really a kindness. The stinging burn of the tawse – that was how she thought of it – would only have a chance to blossom into more pain as he waited.

The second blow landed and again she cried out. There was a pause, then “Two.”

And she answered, “Thank you, Sir.”

By the time he had landed six blows, she was crying. He had landed each one a bit above or below the previous one so her whole bottom felt on fire. But the right cheek hurt more than the left, and as he switched sides, she knew that would quickly change.

The seventh blow landed over a strip that was already bright red and she screamed. He gave her a moment to catch her breath, murmuring softly that she was a good girl, she could do this.

“Thank you, Sir,” she said at last, tears running down her face. And the tawse landed again.

“Eight. Just four more, baby, just four more.”

Sobbing, she managed to say, “Thank you, Sir.”

But then he paused. “You know what?” he said. ” I’ve changed my mind. Let’s do these last four quickly and be finished.”

She never knew if that was better or not – she was beyond being able to measure the pain. Each blow was worse than the last and she was sobbing hard all through the next four. When he had finished, she lay quite still. He stroked her bottom gently, feeling the heat and the welts.

After a few minutes, as her sobs subsided, he took the blanket off the back of his chair and gently wrapped it around her. Helped her to her feet and, sitting down in his chair again, pulled her into his lap. She curled into and sighed with contentment. Here is where she needed to be – even though her bottom throbbed where it touched his leg.

He handed her the bottle of water beside him, watched her drink.

“Good girl,” he said. “We can sit for a little bit. When you’re ready, you’ll tell me why it’s hard to ask for help when you need it, and we’ll talk about how you can do better next time.

She snuggled into him more closely. “Yes, Sir,” she said.

*************************

Dear Reader,

Some of you had expressed interest in the ‘ why it’s hard to ask for help’ conversation. I had intended to cover that in this part of my series. But once I started the spanking scene, I got lost in it. This is almost 2,000 words long, a lot longer than my usual fantasy segments. But I promise to cover it in the next part.

Also, in case anyone is thinking I want to be spanked like this, no, I really don’t. I mean, spanked is good and spanked hard is also good, but I get a little carried away writing about it. Just to be clear, not this hard.

But somehow, I can almost hear a voice saying, “That’s my decision.”