#g-n

"When I need it, I have a hairbrush - just for spanking. It’s particularly hard and heavy and the 'business' potion is about the size of my hand. Much more effective than my hand - particularly when used vigorously - and extensively - on a soft, bare, misbehaving bottom.”

"If that's what you need you'll come to know it well - and I expect that just the sight of it will fill you with anxiety and trepidation."

...and excitement, I thought.

"Though if you've earned it, you'll probably already have a great deal of trepidation," she said, echoing the word. "Not so much at just the sight of it. Say, sitting on the bathroom counter, where I keep it on display."

I nodded.

"In any case, when I have it in my hand, you may also feel a bit of contrition - before I ever even use it. Depending on if you agree you deserve it..."

I nodded again. I almost always agree that I 'deserve' it.

"I'm likely to say to say, 'Now it’s a spanking for you - one that you won’t forget in a hurry, I’m going to make sure of that."

I felt my knees weaken. How long before I actually feel it?

"Then, I'll sit in a spanking chair - you know the type, of course - set somewhere with nothing to obstruct my movement. This will be in the bedroom if I'm going to use my hairbrush, since I don't carry it with me.

"If I've had to drag you up there - or drag you home, heaven forbid - I'll expect you to approach my side immediately, removing what you need to - except perhaps your undies."

"Oh?" I ask, speaking at last.

"Yes. Oh, you'll be spanked on the bare - always on the bare. But I can handle that final step when I'm ready."

I imagined myself, already on the verge of tears, standing obediently as she lowered them.

"If you ever fail to cooperate, you'll learn not to fail to cooperate," she said with a grin.

"No, Ma'am," I mumbled.

"Even the most difficult spanking can always be made worse," she warned. "So you'll want to avoid that."

She paused for a beat, then went on. "You'll put yourself across my lap - bottom up, of course." Another smile at this. "We'll get you arranged and make sure you're in a position you can maintain, and the way I'll hold you I'll be able to keep you in place from start to finish.

"That will allow a spanking that will do you the most good."

"Yes, Ma'am," I peeped. I felt like I could hardly breathe.

"Any questions?"

"Ummm... when will I be feeling this?"

This is a 'Like' / 'Re-Blog' post for the lengthy story 'Lunch with Chelsea', the latest in the 'Kendall' Saga.

Lunch with Chelsea - Camille and Chelsea have lunch and catch up on their efforts in spanking their partners Kendall and Jordan, respectively.

The Guest Slipperer (restored!) - Kendall's original story where Camille invites Chelsea to join them; in Part II (by @agbbswts), Chelsea uses what she learned to get Jordan to take her seriously.

Caption by @cyclepsycho57

"I would love to spank you. Let me finish my drink and we'll go up to my room."

Yes, that might be better.

"Unless you want an audience when I take your panties down?"

Oh? Um, down?

"Down, off - we might even have trouble finding them by the time you get out of there."

But, ah, you know, I, haven't done anything wrong..."

"We can always find something. Just depends if it's a big something or just a naughty something."

Oh?

"I do have a belt if I need it..."

I, ah, maybe have a hairbrush in my room...

"You do? Well, there's something right there!"

It is? A big something or a naughty something?

"We'll see. Too bad we're not at my house, I have a yardstick I like..."

***

@cyclepsycho57 has a lot of great captions that work for my 'reverse' captions, where it's the spankee in the picture rather than the spanker, but of course this one works either way! And it suits a story that could be gender-neutral, which I like to do sometimes.

"Good morning," Océane said brightly.

"'Mornin'. I see you're wearing your bossy shoes," I teased. My girlfriend got a new pair of slippers and they're pretty hard to miss.

"My what? Oh, you mean my slippers," she laughed. "Don't worry - I'm not feeling bossy this morning."

What we were joking about was that recently when she wore them, she had threatened to spank me (not a rare occurrence). How did that go? The next day she told me:

""Still rubbing? I guess it wasn't such a good idea to openly underestimate my slipper yesterday night, was it? It only made me so, so, so eager to prove you wrong!"

(quoted text by @agbbswts2)

So I figured if she told me to do something, I'd better do it! But she just walked off, chuckling to herself as I went back to scrolling my phone.

Mere minutes later she returned, standing in front of me with her hands crossed over her chest. "The kitchen hasn't been cleaned today," she announced. "You'd better get after it." She may have tapped her foot - in her slippers, it was hard to tell.

"But," I sputtered, confused, "it's not even 10 o'clock and it's your turn clean it, anyway."

"I want it clean now," she said firmly. So firmly, in fact, I wondered what was wrong since this was her 'we're about to have a fight' and her 'I'm going to start crying' voice. "And I want you to do it." She gave a quick, definite nod (which let me know she wasn't upset, which was good but still mystifying).

"Okay, I guess," I said as I got up. She held out her hand for my phone. "What?" I asked.

"You won't be needing that," she said as she 'confiscated' it. "And do a good job."

I'm not sure I always, or even usually, 'do a good job', but how hard is it to clean a kitchen that was just cleaned yesterday evening? I wiped off the coffee maker, made sure its reservoir had water, and checked the toaster, which hadn't been used. As always, though, it had a lot of crumbs, so I shook them all out and carefully cleaned all of them up. Put a small plate in the dishwasher. Ran an orange bead down the garbage disposal so it would smell fresh. Took the recycling to the bin, the garbage being empty, and reported back.

Océane had seated herself in our straight-backed chair, her feet (still in slippers) up on the couch. "All spic-and-span?" she asked.

"I think so," I hedged a bit nervously.

"Good!" she chirped as she jumped up. "Now, you are going to take down my cute little bossy-pants and show me just how much you like to make me happy. Then, I'll take down your pants - and I assume your cute little undies - and you can tell me how you'd like to be spanked!"

As she sat on the edge of the couch, I started to say something but thought better of it. The next step was not something I objected to.

Oddly, though, I couldn't take off her pj shorts because she was still wearing her oversized slippers. I braced my arms outward on the couch so she could rest her legs on them, feet behind my head.

The resulting climax lessened my anxiety, since she rarely spanks all that hard afterward - but she was eager to get my pants down as well.

"So, what would you like me to spank you with?" she asked.

It seemed like a trick, so I said, "Your hand would be nice, unless you wanted to use your slipper."

"I do want to use my slipper!" she sang.

"Then, ah, ma'am, you should."

"No, that's exactly why I asked you what you want, in case you don't want me seeing how hard I can spank you with it again.

"Or do you?"

"I'm sure I'll have my chance. I can wait," I informed her, stepping out of the pj pants she'd lowered and removing my 'cute little undies'. I did worry that my choice would mean that she'd slipper me later but we'll cross that bridge when we come to it.

Over I went for an incongruously cheerful hand-spanking (which she still tried to make, alternatingly, as hard and as stingy as she could, with quite a bit of success).

"Now!" she said, standing up nearly as soon as I did, "back to bed! And I am going to be on top!"

---

So, no, she didn't take off her new slippers. Is that kinky? I'm not one to judge.

"You know..." Océane drawled afterward, extending her leg above us as we lay on our backs, "it's cold in the mornings an awfully lot this time of year."

"That's okay," I told her, assuming she meant she'd be wearing her slippers a lot.

"I may want coffee," she said as I nodded. I can do that. "I may want appreciation," she added. I can do that, too.

"And when Ms. Bossypants wants something, you'd better hop to it - or exactly one of these slippers will be coming off!"

"Ms. Bossyshoes," I corrected.

"You really do want me to show you that slippering last weekend was no fluke, don't you?"

"No, ma'am. Sorry, Ms. Bossypants."

agbbswts2 wrote:

"After this trying day at work, I indeed wouldn't mind some 'service' for myself too.

But let me give you a thorough incentive slippering first.

I've got quality standards too after all. "

***

“You, ah, don’t really need to…” I reminded her.

“Don’t I?  I’m in the mood for your best work,” she replied, reaching down to remove her slipper.  I blushed bright red by her implication but she continued, making it explicit.  “If I roast your backside, your enthusiasm goes through the roof.  It gets a… a touch of desperation, almost.”

“Yes ma’am,’ I admitted, “I’m sorry, it’s inexcusable.  It just happens!”

“And your own arousal – to say that it’s, well, obvious, is quite the understatement,” she said with a slap of her slipper against her palm.  “True?  Or shall I check?’

“No need, ma’am, it’s true,” I confessed, shivering a bit as I shucked off my pants.

“I would be willing to bet,” she added slowly, “that even this little scolding has already aroused you much more than anyone would expect.  Much more than I would expect – if I didn’t know you better.”

“Yes’m,” I agreed, my blush deepening, the burn on my face extending down onto my chest.

“I put your face between my thighs and I think you're doing wonderful things… until I remember how you please me with a sore, hot bottom behind you!”

There was nothing I could say.

“What did you call it, this ridiculous level of excitement?  ‘Inexcusable’?”

“Yes’m.”

“What am I to do with someone so perpetually naughty?” she asked.

“You should spank them,” I suggested quietly.

“Whom?  I should spank whom?” she demanded.

“Me, ma’am.  I meant, you should spank me.”

“And for this level of naughtiness – this extraordinary level of naughtiness – what sort of spanking shall I give you?”

“Well, umm, hard, ma’am,” I conceded.

“And bare.”

“Of course, ma’am.”

“And long?”

“If you’d like, ma’am,” I offered.  “I don’t want to keep you waiting.”

“What I’d like,” she said in a scolding tone, accompanied by a ringing smack! against her palm.  “Is your best-ever service after I've had a long and difficult day – and experience has shown me that a thorough spanking provides the best incentive.”

“Yes, ma’am.  Of course, ma’am.”

“Perhaps later I will accept your less-inspired version… or in the morning.”

“Yes’m.”

“Or both.”

“Gladly, ma’am.”

“But for now I am content to wait – to delay (smack!) my own gratification in anticipation of the truly phenomenal pleasure you always provide me with once I have provided you with appropriate inspiration!”

With that she motioned me across her lap and I quickly complied.  No matter how expected, I couldn’t help but squeal under three sharp slaps on my bare cheeks as she settled me into position.

“I wasn’t wrong about your arousal,” she noted.

“No, ma’am, sorry, ma’am.” I yelled as she delivered some fiercely hard spanks.

“You’re right – I am impatient!  Maybe if I make this fast enough, we can be done a little sooner,” she said.  I had no comment as she peppered my bottom with sharp, stinging swats.  “Wouldn’t that be nice?” she inquired sweetly.

I nodded, tears already overflowing my eyes, verbally silent, recognizing that I had well-earned this richly-deserved punishment.  At some point, overcome, I would doubtless be reduced to begging and pleading – which would most likely be ignored, if she could even understand me at that point – but for now I set myself, though struggling, to receive my agonizing but much-merited physical admonishment with the same acceptance that I had my all-too-appropriate scolding.

“The paradox,” she observed as my spanking quickened and my non-verbal suffering increased in frequency, urgency, and volume, “Is that the discipline I try to provide…”  She paused her musings to slap down my thighs and lock down my flailing legs without easing her relentless rhythm.  “…that same discipline causes, actually leads to, the very naughtiness I am attempting to address!”

Unable to control my hands, I wrapped one around her calf while the other flew backward to be pinned by the wrist to the small of my back.

“Doesn’t it?” she asked, demanding a reply.

I nodded again, vigorously this time, my every motion a frantic, instinctive response to her rapid-fire spanks now solely targeting the tenderest spots of my now-immobile behind.  I continued to tense and clench without disturbing her aim in the slightest.

“If the… consequence… encourages the behavior rather than dissuading it – or, as you claim, triggers the response instead of suppressing it…”

“It might be better if, having recognized the situation, I just accept it, and later this evening, and bedtime, and morning – and other times, perhaps, I should pursue a course that facilitates this lovely naughty enthusiasm rather than reprimand it.

“Possibly with the help of the hairbrush…”

By this point I could not even shudder, my movements, such as they were, entirely in response to the scalding smacks of her ever-stinging smacks.

“And if I’m going to do that…” she resumed, “I don’t need to wait any longer for my first round of your delightful service!”

With this conclusion she quickly untangled our limbs and nearly dumped me off her lap as she stood.  “Now!” she commanded, reaching under her uniform to almost tear her pantyhose off her hips and legs before reseating herself on the edge of the chair.

No matter how old I was when my stepmother told me to clean my room, I was expected to do it or receive a sore, red bottom. She was only a year older than me and had been a grade above in school, but soon after I went off to college she had married my father and on the first opportunity had asserted her right to administer bare bottom spankings whenever she saw fit. If I wanted to remain as a part of the household I was expected to bend over and take it without complaint.

Once again today, she happened to stop by my room and finding me lying in bed, laundry unfolded amongst my untouched mess, so without hesitation, I found myself naked, ass glowing red propped over the edge of my bed while she spanked me soundly with the stinging sole of her slipper.

She warned me she would be returning in a few minutes with the punishment strap and if it didn’t look better in there, she would be happy to double my leathering and have me clean the entire house naked, evidence of my spankings on display.

She had been showing, at best, moderate interest in me, and I'm probably flattering myself, I wasn't very likely to ever see her again.

Then she watched Mrs. Simmons give me a very long spanking, one that started out with her hand, very tolerable, but grew into standard kicking-and-crying hairbrush discipline. I had no secrets from anybody at that point.

She literally left a puddle on the chair she was watching from and when I was finally allowed out of the corner she displayed considerable interest that had not been there earlier.