Most of us have at one time or another experienced waiting for a spanking. Some of those experiences may have been most unpleasant and while others were delicious. Perhaps you are looking forward to making someone wait or someone making you wait? I discovered this story at The Spanking Theatre in the Waiting category. Drop by and find some other treats. This is the middle part of three short vignettes.
My version of the top shelf
I approach to within two paces of my prone young student. I see her legs tremble, and I know she is afraid. I know her heart is fluttering, her primal instincts telling her to run away from the imminent discomfort. Yet here she still is, compliant and submissive, lying across my sturdy old oak table, waiting for the spanking that will wipe all her transgressions away. At heart she’s a good girl, sometimes a bit reckless, impulsive even, she’ll benefit from a lesson in patience.
I am scolding now: “I am very disappointed in you, young lady. Your teachers consider you a gifted student, but your casual approach to your studies must be corrected.”
Now my voice softens, as if to emphasise my sadness at her disobedience.
“And I gave you explicit instructions not to turn around, yet you still disobeyed me.”
A meek voice peeps, “I’m sorry, sir.”
But I have punished too many recalcitrant minxes to be sure of her sincerity. At first, most I punish are only really sorry they’ve been caught. But by the time they leave this room, their bottoms glowing, their sorrow tends to be genuine.
“Let us begin. Place your hands on your head.”
She complies without complaint, a good sign.
Next, my fingers grasp the hem of her skirt. She emits a shallow gasp as her upper thighs and panties are exposed. Moments later I’ve folded her skirt and tucked it into her waistband.
She is holding her legs tightly together, clenching her bottom in anticipation of what’s to come. I reach down to correct her stance.
“Legs apart, please. Point your toes inward. I don’t want to see you clenching your bottom.”
Now I can see her globes stretching the material of her white school knickers.
“Good girl. I expect you to take your discipline with grace. No shouting or pleading, or I shall take down your panties. We’ll begin with a session with the leather paddle. Then you’ll discover the special punishment reserved for impatient peepers.”
I begin to rub the paddle over her taught underwear and the bare skin of her upper thighs. It’s less shocking that way. I start spanking slowly and gently, alternating between her cheeks. My spanks increase in force until she begins to wince with every smack. A pink glow begins to develop underneath her panties. Her breath is ragged, as she struggles to keep her composure.
One last flurry of smacks, accompanied by yelps. Then silence.
Now to do something about that peeping, I think I have just the answer.
I walk back to cupboard and retrieve two special items, one is a plastic, mechanical timer, shaped like an egg. I wind it up, twist to set it and it begins ticking: it emits a hollow, metallic clink-clink-clink, like two teaspoons jangling together. She gasps as I pull back her panties, slipping the egg timer between her warm rosy cheeks and onto the gusset of her underwear. I position it carefully, against her perineum, and she begins to feel its ticks.
“Stand up.” She gingerly eases herself off the desk.
Now I pick up the second item, a black silk scarf.
“This will stop your urge to peep”, I explain.
I place the scarf over her eyes and wind it three times around her head, before tying it in a bow. Once blindfolded, I take her hand and escort her back into her naughty corner.
“Hands on top of your head again, please. Good.”
“Now young lady, what you feel between your legs is an egg timer. You will feel the passage of every second you spend in the corner. But this time you have no distractions, and no way of peeping, so you may spend your time contemplating your behaviour and your sore bottom.”
I save the surprise until last.
“You shall learn patience, and come to appreciate waiting. Because when the egg timer rings, your bare bottom has an appointment across my knee…”
She gasps a syllable of complaint, but manages to stifle it.
I return to my desk, to admire the view.
What are you thinking, I wonder, as you stand silently in the corner, skirt lifted, bottom glowing, a ticklish ticking against your most sensitive spot? Do the tiny vibrations echo through your body, amplified by your anticipation?
I leave her to wait.
Waiting with anticipation