    
Lexybridges
New member
Username: Lexybridges
Post Number: 1
Registered: 06-2021
| | Posted on Saturday, June 05, 2021 - 03:50 pm: | 
|
These are the first two chapters of a (very long) novel length work about consensual domestic discipline. You can find the full 100+ chapters on my Patreon (patreon.com/alex_bridges) and as a series of novels on Amazon (https://www.amazon.com/gp/aw/d/B08Y871L44?ref_=dbs_dp_wim_ser_img_widg&storeType=ebooks).
You can find links to my other content at allmylinks.com/alexbridges
Enjoy!
_______________________
Chapter 1: Meet Daphne and Mary
“Do I have to take them down myself, little girl?” I hate it when my girlfriend calls me that! Yes, I’m six inches shorter. Yes, she’s six years older. Yes, she’s the one in charge in our relationship, and yes, this whole domestic discipline lifestyle thing had all been my idea three years ago, but I’m thirty and Not. A. Little! Girl! Dammit!
But all I did instead was whine, “Not here. Please? I’m sorry. Can’t we just wait until we get home?”
“Daphne,” Mary said, “this is not up for discussion. Besides, Brenna has seen plenty of bare bottoms spanked, including yours.” I glared at Brenna. We knew her through a local Fetlife group. Sometimes we do just plain vanilla stuff with her, like regular friends, like today, when she’d asked us for help planting trees in her yard. I hate yard work.
“Bare? Can’t it just be over my shorts?” You’d think I’d have gotten used to being spanked, what with not a week going by when I wasn’t, but I never have, which I guess is the point. I looked at Brenna, who was smiling approvingly from the couch. Mary had pulled a kitchen chair into the living room and sat down.
“Did your shorts make a rude comment to Brenna? Did your undies? So why would I spank those,” Mary asked me in her stern voice, the one she saves for when she’s talking to me like I’m a naughty little kid.
“No,” I mumbled. I’d learned the hard way that there is no such thing as a rhetorical question when I’m in trouble. Mary reached out and grabbed me by the waistband of my innocent shorts and pulled me closer. None of this would have happened if Brenna had just been grateful we were over there helping in the first place. So I’m not Ma Nature – did it really matter if the hole wasn’t exactly twenty inches deep? Of course, I do have a tendency to kill houseplants, even succulents. But anyway, she was harping on it, and I got irritated and said, “Then why don’t you just do it yourself?” There was heat, and I don’t mean to be a brat, but I snapped. Not that I’m ever impulsive. Really.
At least I didn’t interfere when Mary popped the button on my shorts and whisked them, along with my panties, down to my ankles.
“How did you get so dirty, anyway,” Daphne asked. “Not like you were putting that much effort into it.” I didn’t need to respond because Mary wasn’t looking for one and easily tossed me over her knee. My hands were on the floor, but my feet were not, leaving my butt poised across her lap. “Anything to say, Daphne Ann,” Mary asked as she rubbed my butt.
“I’m really sorry?”
“Not as sorry as you will be.” That little rub is all I got for a warmup. Mary believes punishment spankings are best delivered hard and fast, and within ten second she’d probably spanked me twenty times.
This all started as a relationship with spanking involved – some scenes, a little role play, and bedroom fun. I even spanked her a couple times, though neither of us liked it. Eventually, I said I wanted it to be more than roleplay. I wanted it to be our lifestyle. I shortly thereafter found out just how many issues Mary had with my behavior and how much she’d been wanting to fix them for a while by then. But I wasn’t thinking about the time she had needed to spank me three times in one day. I was thinking about the spanking she was giving me right then.
Mary is thorough in everything she does. She started out spanking me seemingly at random, no order to which side she wailed on or how many times. She likes to make sure I can’t anticipate where the next one will land, or so she says. But it's gonna land on me, is the main thing. I laid there doing my best to hold still and be quiet, trying to keep my eyes closed and pretend Brenna wasn’t there, probably smiling.
When I've been as naughty as I'd been, only when my butt is a dark pink from top to sit spots does Mary really get going. As she says, this is when the real spanking starts. She stopped assaulting my butt and said, “Hand me the paddle, Daphne Ann.”
I freakin’ hate the thing. It’s small and heavy. She got it specifically to keep in her purse. She could just use her hairbrush when she disciplines me away from home (dressing rooms are the worst – everyone can hear!), but no, she says knowing she has a just–for–spanking implement with her at all times does a better job reminding me to behave.
I picked it up with my left hand and reached behind me to give it to her. She took it, then took my arm and pinned it behind my back. I can sometimes (okay, often) be a wiggler when she uses that thing. She’s like a freakin’ ninja with it.
Equal parts thuddy and stingy, she paddled as fast as she hand-spanked, but in a tight pattern. Up and down, each spank overlapping with the one before it, in a tight row, then shifting over and working a line from top to sit spot again. She didn't make it from one side to the other before I went from grunts to sobs to tears. The small, teardrop-shaped paddle bounced off my bottom so fast I didn’t even feel the individual spanks anymore. It’s was one swollen throb.
She’s gentle, by comparison, with my thighs, but before she was done with those ten spanks to the tender backs of my legs, I frantically promised, “I’m sorry! I’ll be good! I’ll be good!” Geez, I can be pathetic when I'm over her knee, except not really because I’m also a warrior-princess and never pathetic even at my most well-spanked and teary. Really. But it’s a good thing I only find myself over her lap one to three times a week, (on average). Really.
Mary finished the last spank, and I laid over limp over her soft lap, big tears falling, and my nose running. It took me a few seconds to realize Mary was rubbing my back, like she always does after a hard spanking, shushing me gently. When I was ready, I started to get up, and Mary helped me so that I was sitting on her lap, my crimson bottom aching, and crying into her shirt while she calmed me.
“It’s okay, little girl,” she cooed to me, “All is forgiven.” She kissed my temple. “Let it all out. That’s my brave girl.” When I got myself under control, though still struggling with the occasional sob and needing badly to blow my nose, she helped me off her lap. “What do you say to Brenna,” Mary asked. I don’t know when I kicked off my shorts and panties, nor did I care. I shuffled over to Brenna.
“I’m sorry for being rude,” I said.
“I forgive you,” she said, opening her arms. Brenna is big woman, and I all but collapsed into her softness. I do like her, even though she has a way of bringing out the brat in me (which she does deliberately), but that brat never seems to be that far away (which is odd, because I’m not a brat, even if I said I was – really). I stood between her big thighs, and she rubbed my butt with one hand while she hugged me with the other.
“Mary, why don’t you go take her to wash her face, and I’ll get lunch ready,” Brenna suggested.
“Can I have my shorts back,” I asked meekly.
“After lunch,” Mary said, holding out her hand. I took it. I like Mary’s hands. I also knew she was gonna lift me up and seat me on the cold vanity, and that would feel good for about five seconds then feel clammy and hard.
After lunch, I for sure gonna dig those holes right, and without a word of complaint.
 
Chapter 2: Not in the Store!
Nordstrom is the only store I can stand to shop in. I rarely do, because who can afford it, but everything is spaced out more, everything is nicer, everything is more organized. Everything is just better, including the salespeople, which is how I got in trouble. The salespeople at Macy’s get paid by the hour. The salespeople at Nordstrom get paid by the hour plus commission, which is why they tend to follow you around at a distance. I find that annoying.
Mary and I were looking through blouses after having already told the woman working in that department we didn’t need her help, but everywhere we went, she was just ten steps behind us, pretending to straighten the racks and fold shirts on the tables. Maybe I was in a bad mood already, but I snapped at her, “We don’t need any help! Stop following us!”
“Daphne!” Crap. “Apologize right this instant,” Mary ordered me. The saleswoman looked more surprised than hurt by my comment or happy with Mary’s rebuke.
“I’m sorry,” I said to her.
“Can you point us toward the junior miss department,” Mary asked as she put an arm around my shoulder.
“O, Mary, no. Please? I apologized. I meant it, really!”
“Hush, little girl.” Dammit! She knows I hate that, and I know nine out of ten times she calls me that, I’m about to get my butt spanked.
“Stop calling me that!”
“I can’t believe the scene you’re making,” Mary said, making me more aware of our surroundings. Now the saleswoman was smiling, and a couple shoppers were looking in our direction.
“I’ll take you over there myself,” the saleswoman said, and Mary took my hand. I walked alongside her, knowing if I didn’t she would pull me along.
“Anything in particular you’re looking for,” the woman asked.
“She needs some new undies.” I decided the least embarrassing thing I could do was stay quiet.
“Hmm. Everybody has their own style I guess,” the saleswoman quipped, “but I think you’ll find some to fit her over here. She’s pretty small.” How is it I was the one who (allegedly) deserved a spanking, but Miss Shop Girl Schadenfreude didn’t? If I could’ve taken back my apology, I would’ve.
“Thank you. We appreciate your help, don’t we, Daphne.”
“Yes.”
“’Yes’ what?”
“Yes, thank you for your help,” I said with zero enthusiasm. Too late now, so might as well say it like I felt it, or at least use the tone I was feeling.
“See,” Mary said, “She can be very polite when she remembers to be.” The saleswoman left, and Mary turned to me with her you’ve–really–done–it–now smile on her face. “Go ahead and pick out a pair.”
“Mary, I said I was sorry. What’s the big deal?”
“The big deal is she was doing what she’s been trained to do and needs to do to earn her living. You were rude to the waiter at lunch and to her, and you need to learn that you lead a privileged life even if it doesn’t always seem like it.”
Put that way, she was right, and I was wrong, and I told her so. “I’m sorry, really. You’re right. I’ll try to remember … But I don’t really need another pair of panties.” In fact, I have an entire drawer of panties from junior miss departments. Mary makes me wear them when she wants to remind me to be good, which is to say probably four or five days a week.
“Yeah, you do. You definitely, definitely do,” Mary said. “C’mon, pick out a pair.” I reached for a pair of plain, heather grey ones. “Uh–uh. You know better.”
I smiled at my attempt to get away with that, but Mary didn’t. I looked over my choices. Mary wanted me to pick something cute and girly, like always. I have ones with hearts already. I have rainbows. I have a pair just like the ones with the little pink bow on the front.
“What about the ponies,” Mary suggested.
“Fine,” I said.
“Let’s go try them on.” I knew that code!
“No! Please? We know they fit. I can try them on at home.” Mary’s just shook her head.
“I think we definitely need to try them on here.”
“Why?” This was just unfair. Mary loves finding reasons to spank me in public, and this one was a little contrived. She was right – I had been rude – but I didn’t think that called for a spanking in the dressing room. “This isn’t fair,” I pleaded.
“Do you want to try them on twice? Once here and again at home?”
“No,” I meekly replied.
“Then let’s go.” Mary took my hand again, and this time she did have to pull a little to get me to stop dragging my feet. When we got into the dressing room, Mary indicated for me to walk in front of her, and I walked down the aisle of booths to the one at the very end. I’m not sure how many other people may have been in there, but I know there were at least two because we could hear some girl bickering with her mother.
If Mary had any intention of being discrete, she wouldn’t have made me “try on the panties” at the store. As far as she was concerned, she closed the dressing room door behind us, and therefore we were being discrete even if others could hear us. I knew and Mary knew that anyone would think they were hearing some very old fashioned parenting going on, and while that embarrassed me all the way to the middle of my tummy, it didn’t embarrass Mary at all. And why should it? She wasn’t the one who people would hear yelping or the one they might see walking back through the aisle with an obviously sore butt.
The booth was big enough for both of us, but it didn’t have a chair. I like going over Mary’s knee – if I didn’t, I never would have asked for this relationship dynamic – but I really hate the position she spanks me in when there’s nowhere to sit. That’s when I really do feel like a naughty little girl, because it only works because of our size difference. She knelt down in front of me.
“Lift,” Mary said, and I lifted by right foot, and she took off my sandal. I lifted my left without being told. Without a word, Mary reached up under my skirt and pulled my panties down. She likes me in A–line skirts just for that reason: they make it easy for her to take my panties down. She stood back up.
“Tell me why you need to be spanked,” Mary instructed me at her normal lecturing volume.
“Because I was rude to the saleswoman and the waiter, and I need to remember that I’m privileged,” I whispered.
“That’s right,” Mary lectured. “Those people work hard all day long, on their feet, and they make a lot less than we do in our jobs and get a lot less respect. But they’re going to get that respect from you from now on, won’t they?”
“Yes.”
“I swear, Daphne. I don’t know what’s gotten into you lately. It seems like I can’t take you anywhere that you don’t embarrass me or need a trip to the dressing room half the time.”
“I’m sorry,” I sniffled. I felt guilty. She was right. It wasn’t half the time, but it was definitely more than it should have been. I probably got around two public spankings a month, although not all of them were at stores and restaurants (and rest stops and hiking trails). Some were at munches and play parties and were deliberate on my part. But, obviously, plenty of 30–year–olds can go shopping with their wife without earning a spanking ever.
“So am I. I want to go places with you and have fun, not need to spank you in the dressing room.”
“I want that, too,” I said. “Please don’t stop taking me out with you.”
Mary smiled at me and gave me a kiss. “I don’t think we’re there yet. Let’s get this over with.” Mary reached down into her purse and took out the small paddle she keeps there. “Bend over.”
Facing Mary, I bent at the waist, and Mary tucked me under her arm so she held me by my middle. With her other hand, she took the hem of my skirt and tucked it into its own waistband. I looked up and got a good look at myself from both sides in the mirrors on both walls. I looked back down at the floor; I didn’t want to watch. That just makes it harder.
SMACK! Mary wasn’t holding back. I grunted and struggled to stay in position.
SMACK! “Ow!” SMACK! “Oomph!” SMACK! “Ugh!” That last one got my right sit spot. SMACK! That one got my left.
“Five more,” Mary said. SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK CRACK!
She delivered them fast, so fast I didn’t have time to make five sounds in response. My legs were quivering, and my cheeks were wet. I wasn’t sobbing – I’m used to much worse spankings – but it was definitely hard enough for me to let go a tear from each eye.
“Wow,” I heard from some stall, not the one with the mother and daughter in it. “Glad that’s not me.”
Mary let me up and hugged me in one motion, and I put my cheek against her breast and let her shirt wick the tears away. “I’m sorry,” I said, my voice muffled by Mary.
“Shhhh. I know you are, little girl.” She kissed the top of my head, a gesture that always makes me feel small and loved. “Are you going to behave the rest of the day, or are we going to need to visit another dressing room?”
“I’ll be good.”
“Okay. Here.” Mary knelt back down and took the tag off the panties ‘we’d’ picked out, then held them open for me to step into. She pulled them up my legs, pulled the hem of my skirt back down, and gave me a love tap on my bottom after she’d straightened my skirt out. She put the paddle away, along with my panties, and took out a package of wet wipes. I held still while she used one to wipe the tear stains from my cheeks.
“Are you ready,” she asked me.
“Yes.”
“Okay. Let’s go pay for these, and then we’ll go back to the tops.”
I followed Mary out of the booth and down the aisle, keeping my eyes on the floor when we walked past a woman who looked bug eyed when she saw me, obviously shocked I wasn’t about twenty years younger.
We went to the register. Thankfully there was no line. I tried to look inconspicuous. Mary handed the woman behind the counter the tag.
“We had a little emergency and needed to change into these right away,” Mary explained to the woman.
“O, that’s okay. I think we’ve all been there. Some just need a little more …,” the woman said to Mary, trailing off when she took a closer look at the size listed on the tag. Wait, I thought, what kind of emergency does she think I had? My face was undoubtedly as red as my butt, more so when the clerk looked up and saw me, obviously not the age she expected. Her lips closed tightly, and she made an inscrutable expression, finishing the transaction without another word.
“Now, let’s go back and find what we came here for,” Mary said as she took my hand. “Then we can go home and play.”
“Promise,” I asked with a smile. Between the spanking and the humiliation, she had me wound up like a spring. We were definitely going to have a nice rest of the day. |
Member's Spanking Stories