Part 1 here

Carolynn’s bottom was hot. A million nippy little worms squirmed under the skin and just when she thought she could handle it their nasty bites overwhelmed her and she would cry again. It was a strange image that clung to her mind, but there wasn’t a whole lot of alternative stimuli at that moment. When a girl was standing with a bare bottom and her nose to the corner, it was like that.

Actually she was kind of proud of herself. The strapping had been quite an ordeal but she had come through it. She was now thoroughly spanked and it felt like a woman’s punishment, like John Dacia was actually now taking her seriously.

Of course there was still the cane to come and she deserved it, she knew that now. But how bad could it be? She had developed dozens of properties with this attitude, she didn’t overmuch focus on future problems, it was her way. Right then the nippy worms in her bottom were reasserting themselves and she returned to thoughts of the strap and how she had screwed up to earn it.

“The strap is just a warm up for the cane,” he had said, the thought asserting itself for a moment to set her nerves jangling.

She suppressed the thought and fixed her gaze on a blemish in the plaster right where the seam of the room met. She imagined a nearby crack was a road leading to a village and she traced the route with her eye. There was a small cobweb and she was distracted again…

*

The spanking frame had been folded down to make a padded platform. It was on this that Carolynn now knelt with her head down and her elbows resting on a large cushion. The posture elevated her bottom and she could feel the heat rising at the indignity of it.

John was now standing directly behind her flexing the cane and studying the tender red bare bottom served up before him.

Craning her neck, she couldn’t decide whether to venture a glance over the right shoulder or the left. The view over her right allowed her to see the cane in his hand, but the left view allowed her to see his determined sportsman’s stance as he readied himself.

“This is going to be difficult for you,” he said.

“Yes Sir,” she whispered.

Outside a car went by, bringing home the normality of the world outside beyond John Dacia’s walls. There were sounds too from the kitchen where Magda was clearing away tea things. She would hear everything, Carolynn thought, and the embarrassment was somehow thrilling as if there was satisfaction or pride even in knowing that she deserved such shame.

Her head fizzed with the surreal situation and she turned her gaze to a spot on the carpet to brace herself. She was acutely aware of the cool air meeting her recently warmed bottom as it jutted skyward.

“I am going to lay on a few and then we will see,” he told her from somewhere behind. “You can count the final set.”

The sound was an alien one, separate as it was from the cutting pain that slashed her bare bottom.

“One,” she said in an urgent voice and then balked at the following delayed sting.

“Don’t count them yet, I’ll tell you when,” he said gently. “And when you do you will say, ‘one, thank you Sir, two, thank you Sir’ and so on.”

“Yes Sir,” she gasped, still contending with the searing sting in her bottom.

There were a few more strokes, all slowly delivered and each making her shout. The tears flowed freely but apart from the ragged breathing she was quite together for the ordeal.

John examined the vivid welts chiselled into her bare fleshed and nodded.

“You’re taking this well,” he observed. “That was about 12.”

“Thank you Sir,” she sniffed and shifted the weight on her knees as her bottom wagged to shake off the pain.

“We will count off 12 and let it go at that this time,” he told her.

She was both relieved and disappointed. Almost as if she was addicted to the struggle.

The next cut was loud and landed sharply. She matched the volume with a yell.

“One thank you Sir,” she finally gasped, quickly followed by, “Two thank you Sir.”

By the third stroke she was struggling and copious tears rolled down her face as he voice croaked out the count.

By the seventh stroke she was bawling out the words and sobbing manically into the carpet just inches from her bowed head.

“For two extra strokes I’ll let you stand in the corner for half an hour so to compose yourself,” he said kindly.

“No thank you,” she said wetly as she shook her head, “let’s finish this.”

The stroke was straight from hell and she screamed.

“Eight thank you Sir,” she yelled, her voice both strained and frantic. She bucked up and down making a waa-ing sound like an angry baby.

Nine was worse and 10 almost broke her so that she slammed the floor with her hands and openly cried.

“Two more,” he said softly and paused.

It took a minute to compose herself and finally she nodded.

“Ah… 11 thank you Sir,” she said with more steel in her voice and then after a beat, “10, nnnnh thank uh you Sir.”

“Alright, stand up,” John said, putting down the cane.

“I’m sorry,” she said in a broken voice as she stood up.

“Quite an experience eh?” he smiled.

She smiled back through a curtain of tears and nodded. “Yes, thank you Sir,” she said.

“Okay, you can go back to the corner now, have a good cry maybe,” his tone sympathetic.

She drew a breath and moved to obey, but as soon as she had reached the haven of the wall she broke again and burst into noisy fulsome tears.

To be continued.