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This was a while back... I was hanging out in a gay bar in NYC in my tight, little cut off denim shorts. This older guy accused me of being a flirt and a tease and said he knew exactly how to sort me out.

He led me to a booth at the far end of the bar, took down my denim shorts and put me over his knee, with my bare bottom facing the rest of the establishment.

Then he produced a small wooden paddle and paddled my bare bottom with it, long and hard, until my buttocks were white hot. The other guys in the bar were laughing and cheering. The assault was relentless and it stung like crazy.

When he finally let me up, I was thoroughly chastened. While I was pulling my shorts back up, he was getting a big round of applause from the other guys. Then he led me away to a darkroom, where he made me get down on my knees and blow him.

Back out in the bar, he told me "thanks for the BJ" in a really loud voice and said he hoped I'd learned my lesson. My bottom was throbbing from the paddling and I could taste his spunk in my mouth. It was totally humiliating and I was blushing furiously, but I just said "yes, sir, thank you, sir" while the other guys kept laughing at me.

She was required to be naked for her spankings. The nudity and it’s accompanying shame were parts of her punishment. The worst shame for her though was a secret that haunted her late at night underneath her sheets: the humiliation excited her like nothing else in the world. 

She would imagine people finding out that she was still spanked, still taken over the parental knee like a naughty girl and spanked on her bare bottom until she was wailing. She would imagine her boyfriend or guys she had crushes on witnessing her spanking, their cocks growing large in their jeans as they did. She would imagine her friends, or the neighbors (they probably overheard sometimes already anyway) and other people in her life watching her bottom get smacked red. She wanted the Carlson twins from down the street, the kids she babysat sometimes on Saturdays to find out what happened to their babysitter when she was bad and then tease her about it. She would touch herself to these thoughts, orgasming greedily in the humid Summer darkness. She would reach back and touch her swollen cheeks, still so sore and warm to the touch.

In the hotter weather, she would develop tan lines from laying out in the sun in her bikini. The white contrast provided a canvas to paint red with slap after slap against her naked cheeks. Her father would inevitably see parts of her body tanned by the sun that he deemed inappropriate and the skimpiness of her swimming attire would inspire a harder and more thorough spanking.