The Good Girl

He unlocked the door and let me in. I immediately went to the corner. My heart pounded and my palms sweat as I listened to him wash up and putter around the room. He always made me stand in the corner for a while before he spanked me. It was part of my punishment to have to wait for my spankings, to think about what I've done (or, often in my case, haven't done.) I heard the rustle of the newspaper and groaned. My stomach was fluttering and I almost felt like I had to pee. He was relaxing and reading the newspaper.

I started to fidget.

"Emily, stand still," he said, firmly.

I sighed and tried to keep still. I had enough energy to run around the hotel three or four times. I wasn't sure how much longer I could keep still. Corner time was torturous for me. I have always had too much energy. I thought I heard him put the paper down, but it was a false alarm. I sighed audibly.

"Emily, don't make me speak to you again," he said, in a tone that sent shivers up my spine. I pushed his boundaries, even when I knew I was about to be punished.

I spent too much time as a good girl. I was the dependable one, the one who could always be counted on to meet deadlines and to shoulder many responsibilities at once. I always put in overtime at work, and the rest of my time was spent involved in community politics. On top of all that, I was a pent-up, repressed, New England puritan with a family legacy of inhibitions that dated back as far as the Mayflower.

One time a month, I had the gift of a release, the only time that I could let go of all the stress, guilt, and overwhelm that built up as a result of my frantic lifestyle. I was edgy as I waited in the corner.

I heard him put the paper down, and I sighed quietly. Every nerve in my body was strung out. I heard him sit at the foot of the bed.

"Okay, young lady. Come here."

I wandered over to him, slowly, my hands clasped behind my back.

"We go through this every month. You assure me you're going to take care of yourself, but you never fulfill your promise."

I hung my head. It was true. I didn't take care of myself. One weekend a month was the only respite I allowed myself, the three days where I put my full trust and "education" in someone else's hands.

"What do you have to say for yourself?"

"I haven't been taking care of myself," I said, "but I got a lot done." I added the last part in an attempt to be cute. He reached around and gave me a sharp slap on my bottom.

"Do you need more corner time?"

"No, sir," I said, in an almost pleading voice.

"I think you do. I don't think you've considered your actions, or thought about the things you can change in your life to allow you time for adequate rest and nutrition."

"I did!" I objected, on the verge of a temper tantrum. He was going to send me back to the corner!

He stood up, took my shoulders, and turned me away from him. He marched me back to the corner.

"I don't want more corner time!" I complained loudly. I resisted, but he was firm.

"You are going to stand in this corner," he said, and reached around my waist to unbutton my pants. "And, I'm pulling down your pants."

"No!" I whined, trying to push his hands away and enjoying the release of my one moment as a complete brat.

"Emily, cooperate, unless you want the belt."

I whimpered as he pulled my pants down to my ankles. He slid his fingers into the elastic waist of my panties and lowered them slowly, so I could feel the caress of his fingers and he worked them over my hips and down my thighs. I sighed quietly, relishing the feeling of slowly being exposed. When my panties were around my ankles, I felt a sharp slap on my right bottom cheek.

"You need to remember that you're in trouble," he said, sensually in my ear. I felt a tingle between my legs and longed to touch myself. He went back to the paper and let me stand in the corner for a time that felt like an eternity but was probably no more than five minutes.

"Okay, young lady," he said, "pull up your pants and come here."

I slowly pulled up my pants and stood in front of him again.

"Was that enough corner time or are you going to let your mouth buy you more?"

"No, sir."

"I am punishing you tonight because you have to learn to take care of yourself. You push yourself too hard, and as a result you don't get enough rest or eat properly."

"Yes, sir," I said, quietly, drinking in his scolding.

He guided me over his lap. As he waited for me to adjust and get comfortable, he tenderly rubbed my bottom. When I settled, he spoke again, still caressing my bottom and the backs of my thighs.

"Did you have numbers for me?"

"Yes, sir."

"Okay, let's hear it."

"I missed 45 hours of sleep and 40 meals."

"You missed almost half your meals!" he exclaimed.

"I had a couple of-,"

"I don't want to hear it," he said, firmly. "I don't want to hear about meetings, projects, or anything. You have no excuse for abusing your body like that."

I held my breath as he drew his arm back. His spanks came fast and hard and I was soon squirming and writhing across his lap. My bottom quickly grew warm and achy.

"Stand up," he ordered, and I obeyed. He unbuttoned my pants and yanked them to my ankles. As soon as I stepped out of them, he yanked down my panties as well.

"But-," I said, surprised.

"Over my knee," he ordered. When I tried to protest, he pulled me across his lap and began spanking me hard.

"Don't (spank) think (spank) that (spank) you (spank) can get (spank) away with (spank) (spank) missing (spank) half (spank) your (spank) meals!"

I was kicking my legs and howling. He knew how to make me cry, how to break me out of my complacency, how to wake me up. He pushed my limits with every spanking. He spanked me with a force that reminded me that this was more than sexual play. This was, at the moment, an actual punishment.

"I'm sorry," I sobbed, reaching back. He caught my arm and pinned it to my lower back.

"Your spanking has just begun, young lady. Don't you dare try to cover yourself, or I'll go right to the belt."

"I promise I'll eat all my meals this month!" I cried.

"You promised that last month and you ate less meals this month."

I wasn't sure how much more I could take. My bottom ached and throbbed from his ceaseless thrashing. I kicked and writhed and protested loudly. It was one of the few moments in my life that I was allowed to make that much noise.

He stopped and began to gently rub my sore bottom.

"Did you bring your hairbrush?"

"Yes, sir," I moaned. "Please-,"

"Emily, bring me your hairbrush."

I choked on a sob as I stood up, my legs trembling. I brought him the flat-backed oak hairbrush from my overnight bag.

"I think a smack for every meal and every hour of sleep missed should be an adequate punishment."

I rubbed my hot, aching bottom and burst into a fresh set of tears.

"That's 85 smacks and I'm so sore I can't take 85 please please please don't spank me with the hairbrush-," I wailed, like a naughty little girl. He listened to my tantrum, patiently and then guided me over his lap again. He rubbed my bottom very gently to settle me.

"You are getting 85 smacks and tomorrow, you're having a session with the belt."

"No!" I wailed.

He began immediately. He counted slowly and calmly, even though I wailed and kicked. He alternated cheeks for every smack, taking his time on delivery. He took a break at 20, rubbing my throbbing bottom, and I thought for a moment that he would modify my punishment but knew he wouldn't when he started spanking again.

"Are you going to skip meals this month?" he said when he took a break at 40.

"No, sir. I'll never skip a meal again," I said, incoherently.

"I think we should start having weekly meetings, rather than allowing you to stray for a month," he said, and continued spanking.

Toward the end, at around 65, I grew hoarse from the wailing and tired from flailing and lay sobbing across his knee. I knew I would feel this spanking for the next few days.

When he stopped, he rubbed my sore bottom, thighs, and back as I cried myself out over his knee.

"That's my brave girl," he said, tenderly. "Let it out."

When my sobs dissolved to hiccups, he helped me up. He lay me down on the bed and started to massage my shoulders, back, and neck.

"Do you want some water?"

I nodded. I took a long sip when he brought it to me. He returned to rubbing my back and moved down to my legs and feet. I felt deeply quiet inside. My hiccups subsided and I was able to relax deeply. He rolled me over, and the ache I felt in my bottom no longer mattered as he began to massage my breasts.

"You took a lot tonight," he said. "I'm proud of you."

"I needed it. I need something to think about when I skip a meal or think about skipping a meal or skimping on sleep."

"I meant it when I said you're getting the belt tomorrow."

I groaned as the muscles in my yoni contracted. I guided his hand between my legs.

"I don't know how effective these spankings are if you enjoyed them," he teased, feeling how hot and moist I was.

"Oh, they're effective," I said, enigmatically. I smiled slyly.

"I know something more effective," he said, kissing his way down my stomach. I soon felt his hot breath between my legs. I moaned, tangling my fingers in his dark brown hair. I felt his tongue draw small circles around my clit and I groaned and contracted my abs. He licked and firmly slapped the sides of my thighs. I curled my toes as my moaning grew louder, my breathing heavier.

"Come for me, Emily."

He gently licked my clit and I shuddered. I squirmed and he continued licking until I was writhing and groaning. My legs shook and I moaned loudly before I felt my whole lower body quake.

He lay beside me, tracing his fingers over my body.

"It's bedtime," he said, quietly.

"Thank you," I whispered, and fell into a deep sleep, comforted by his gentle fingers.




~*lilith*~ 1997-2009, except where noted