By popular demand Angela’s story returns.

I hate corner time. I mean I know it’s necessary and a vital part of our relationship, but at the time, when you are actually standing with your nose in the corner it is a bitch.

The worse kind of corner time, after the one you get to do with witnesses, is when you are waiting for a punishment.

So standing here with my hands in the small of my back desperately wanting to scratch my nose is not fun. I tried rubbing my nose against the plaster to relieve the itch but David yelled at me to stop fidgeting.

“Please David it’s not fair,” I say automatically, although I know it is.

“That’s another six,” David sighs.

“Oh that’s not… oh I didn’t mean…” I stamped my foot in frustration and get scolded for fidgeting again.

Lately I have taken to complaining about David punishing me and using the F word ad nauseum. That is I keep saying it’s not fair. So David had decided that my use of it whilst under correction will earn me six of the best with the cane added to any existing punishment.

This week Alex called and arranged with me for David and I to meet him and Nan for lunch, a small factoid that I completely forgot when I wheedled myself a shopping trip that morning. Consequently when we returned having had lunch there was answering machine message from an irate Alex asking where we were.

“Oops. I forgot,” I said pulling a face.

“You know you are going to get spanked for this don’t you?” David scowled at me.

“That’s not fair,” I blurted. Too late I realised my mistake. “Oh I didn’t mean…”

“Strip down to just you T-shirt and go to the corner. I’ll deal with you later,” David said glumly as he pointed to the said corner.

“Yes,” I squeaked meekly in reply, suppressing the temptation to say it’s not fair.

So for corner time I was dressed just in my T-shirt with my nose touching the seam of the room and bare bottom exposed to the chill of the room.

The thing about corner time, when it’s done properly and believe me, David does it properly; I am digressing. The thing about corner time is that you never know how long you have been standing there and if you are being watched. You have no idea how long is left to go and whether or not you will be returned to the corner once your spanking is over.

The skin on my bottom tickles with goosepimples at this thought. I wonder if he will cane me right after my spanking or will I go back to the corner. I try to think. On a scale of one to ten how bad is making your man look an idiot by missing an appointment with his best friend and standing your own best friend up in the process? Well factoring in the selfish reasons why I forgot, I reckon it is somewhere up there with dating games, far worse than burning dinner. Something just short of burning the car, I guess, although that was a bottom burner.

Then I think about all the canings I got to curb my swearing. Is this F word in the same league? I must not try to find out.

Somewhere there is a clack. I have no idea what it is, but it reminds me that I am standing in the corner at David’s mercy.

Having someone moving around the room when you are doing corner time, keeps you on your toes. I mean if David went out and left me alone I would probably zone out and think about other things. I know because it has happened. David doesn’t trust me to stay in the corner when he is out, but he had his little ways.

In the early days of our relationship, I read a book about a woman who as left in strict bondage when her man went out. I mentioned this to David, I was mildly curious I think, but he laughed.

“What if there was a fire,” he had said. “Besides I don’t need to do that.”

I later found out what he meant. He has this method of binding a girl by her thumbs with paper tape. There is no way to free your hands without breaking it and no way to replace it if you do. Then you are put facing the wall with your nose on a penny. It’s completely safe if there is a problem and completely unbeatable if you try to cheat.

Like I said, David had his little ways and means.

One of the things you can get away with whilst in the corner is resting your head against the wall. Having carefully observed Nan in the same position, it is not always easy to spot this subterfuge.

“Angela stand up straight. I want that nose touching the wall and nothing else.” David chose that moment to break into my thoughts. Well it works sometimes.

“Did you just roll your eyes up at me?” He continued.

“No,” I lied. “How can I? I am not even looking at you.”

“You can take another six for answering me back,” He snapped.

“That’s not fair,” I wailed. Damn, double damn and sushi-shut-things.

I used the last bit in my head in case I was saying it out loud and got into more trouble. Luckily I wasn’t, I don’t think.

“Oh dear,” David sighed. “I make that 24 with the cane after a good spanking.”

“Please. Pretty please. I won’t say it again,” I wheedled.

“I hope not because that would be another six.”

“That’s… all well and good,” I caught myself in time, “but think of my poor bottom.”

“I do little else but think of your bottom my treasure. Now stop talking and stand still.”

With the mention of my bottom, I immediately became aware of the coolness of the air on my bare legs and the place where the hem of my shirt crossed the top of my bottom cleft. Suddenly I thought of my bottom as filling the room behind me, and what in due course was going to happen to it and I started to blush.

That was the end of further conversation for a while. I just waited with my bottom in the breeze while listening to the rustling of David’s newspaper as he read.

I imagined him occasionally glancing up at me, studying my bottom and biding his time. I started to get aroused at this thought.

Good you may think, but actually it makes things harder. It can be worse than an itchy nose. You have to stand there trying not to rub your thighs slowly together and the more you try not to, the more you must. And if David catches you… then ouch!

All the while or you can see is the corner and by now the tension is unbearable.

Then you hear those words that you thought you wanted to hear and now really, really don’t.

“Alright. Let’s be having you.”

David took me by the hand and led me over to the settee. I always find it quite comforting to be over his knee, but at the same time my bottom is exposed and I do know what’s coming.

His hand came down hard across my tail with a crack. The sting comes first, but you only take it in as you hear the sound. It’s not too bad at first, but then he spanked again.

That’s how it is, a spank and a sting and then he spanks again. The initial pain has not gone when he adds to it, so little by little it begins to burn. I cross my ankles and buck a little. I hate whining and I always try and delay any sign of surrender. But eventually I always do.

My breathing gets ragged and my bottom is stinging all over.

“David,” I gasp in prayer.

He shushes me and starts to spank a bit faster and a bit harder. I want it to stop, but I don’t want it to stop, then I don’t know what I want.

“David,” I say again. It is almost a groan.

He stops spanking and leans forward looking me in the eye, while his hand fondles my bottom. I incline my head into his and we half cuddle. He kisses my head. I know it’s not over.

The spanking begins again, the sound echoes around the room and I grunt out with each smack, although we are out of sinc now because I am still reacting to the last spank even as he swats me again.

By the time he is done I am sorry. I am crying a little and have come all over like a little girl. I feel humble and freshly spanked, which makes me shy.

I expect to go back to the corner. I like the corner for a short while after a spanking. It is like a little home. But David has other plans.

“Bend over the back of the settee,” he says walking over to get his cane.

“David please, I am sorry.”

“You have two dozen coming and you know it. So bend over,” he sounds a little angry now. I suppose I would be in his place. He is right and I know I have it coming.

I bend over the back of the sofa with my tingling bottom in the air. I steal a glance and it is quite red. The stain is localised, like gathering storm cloud covering just my bottom cheeks in crimson.

David slices the cane noisily through the air and I jump. I immediately turn my head to face forward and stare at a fixed point at the wall opposite. Sometimes I think it is like getting an injection. If you don’t look it doesn’t hurt as much.

He starts to pat my bottom with cane and I tense up. He waits. I want to beg. Not to get out of it, but just for the satisfaction. Secretly I enjoy futile begging, to utterly concede that I am at his mercy. But it is bad form. David is old school and school being the operative word.

As soon as I think this, I relax and David strikes.

The cane stroke hurts. Then it really hurts. Then when you think it might ease off it really begins to bite. Finally it does ease a bit and its time for the next.

I kicked my leg up at the impact and David scolds me.

Now I have two lines of pain burning ever deeper into my bottom. Then David puts another right where I sit. I sink at the knees and David threatened me with an extra stroke. So I get into position properly and wait.

After the first six I am breathing like a buzz saw.

“How are you doing?” David asks.

It hurts so can you please stop now and I’ll be a good girl, I think.

“Ok,” I managed to say.

“Good girl.”

The next six take me to a whole new level. I hug into the sofa like it is my mummy and will the pain to stop. But it goes on searing deeply. I start to cry a little and David pats my shoulder.

“I warned you,” he croons.

“I know. I’m sorry,” I sniff.

The next six aren’t so bad. I actually think I might handle it. Sure I yell a bit, but that is more for relief. But all the while the pain is slowly building.

The first of the final six comes after a long pause. Ship-shap-fan-doody! Sobs begin to escape my throat in short bursts and a beauty of a tear rolls down my cheek. The last five quickly follow at maybe five-second intervals. I shout out at each.

David waits while I try and get my breath. Then I begin to cry. Proper tears cascading down my cheeks washing away all the cobwebs.

“Okay back to the corner,” David whispers.

It is a slow careful walk back across the room now, but this time I love the corner. I feel safe.

I know I am going to be here a while. Long enough to start to hate corner time again. By which time I will have stopped crying and I will have begun to think about how to make up to David. I might even think about how sorry I am and forget that in truth I wouldn’t have it any other way.

To be continued.