I am sorry to keep you waiting but now I am back. I haven't written anything for you now so I have to look in the archives. This was, perhaps, meant as a beginning of a longer story but works, I think, as a short one too. Change of roles but hope you like it anyway. Don't let the picture decide the story for you.
'Are you angry?' she said, looking at me.
That look was very cute, very adorable but I was determined not to let it affect me.
'What do you think?' I replied.
'I was held up.'
'There is always something.'
'But I missed the bus.'
'You said you should be there.'
'What can I do about the buses?'
'Get an earlier one.'
'I couldn't know this one was to be late.'
'I don't care!'
'You are angry.'
'Yes, I am angry.'
'I am sorry.'
'Sorry isn't good enough.'
'I am really, really sorry.'
I looked at her. She looked miserable.
'I am going to punish you,' I said.
She stared at me. Part of her wanted to laugh, the other was bewildered.
'You are what?'
'I am going to punish you, for being late.'
'That's ridiculous, the bus was late. Are you going to punish the bus too?'
'No, only you.'
'Because I want to.'
She shook her head.
'So how are you going to punish me then – sulk?'
'No, I am going to spank you.'
She started laughing. I wasn't.
'I am serious,' I said, 'I am going to spank you.'
'You spank children,' she replied, 'or not even that, nowadays.'
'No, not children, you shouldn't do that to children.'
'But you want to spank me.'
'Sloppy girlfriends, that is a completely different matter.'
'Come on! We live in the 21st century.'
'That kind of things belong to the past'
'Are you sure?'
'This is silly, it won't happen.'
'You have no right.'
'No, I have no right.'
'It won't happen.'
'How is it going to happen, then?'
'You will let me.'
I rose to my feet and went into the bathroom. I saw how she looked at me, her face a mix of ridicule and worry. She wasn't sure of me. She didn't know what I was going to do.
When I returned I held her hairbrush in my hand. It was a wooden brush, with a flat back. It wasn't big but heavy enough for its purpose, I thought.
'Stop this now!' she said, staring at me, 'it is silly. I said I was sorry and it won't happen again.'
'Too late now,' I replied.
She stared at me. She seemed to take a long good look at me. I don't know what she saw. Maybe she saw that I really wanted this, that I was determined.
'You really are going to spank me?' she said, her voice a little broken.
'I told you so.'
She stared at me. She hesitated. This was a strange kind of stand-off.
'If I let you spank me,' she said, 'if I let you spank me, will it make you feel better then?'
'Yes, I would think so,' I replied.
'You will have to promise not to be too hard, if I let you.'
'I won't promise that.'
'You have no right.'
'Unless you let me.'
'I guess I could let you do this, this once, just because you are angry.'
I felt the hairbrush heavy in my hand. The thought of using it on her made my hands tremble.
'It is a punishment, after all,' she continued, 'I guess it is only fair you decide.'
She looked at me. I was still standing, she was sitting down. Her face was changed, she looked worried as if she wanted to plead with me. She looked very small.
I turned around and took one of the wooden chairs and placed it on the floor. I sat down on it and looked at her. She looked at me. She pretended not to know what she was supposed to do. I was not going to tell her.
She seemed to take a deep breath, swallow, shake her head before she rose to her feet. She walked hesitantly towards me. She stopped short some distance away. She wanted a prompt.
I tapped my knees. She looked scared.
'You have no right to do this,' she said.
'No right, whatsoever,' I replied.
She came forward and awkwardly leaned forward. She knew what to do, where she should be but she wasn't sure how to get there, where exactly to put her body.
I took her hand and directed her. Something in her stance made me think she appreciated this guiding hand. I wasn't sure either how to place a girl in your knee, whom you are going to spank.
It took some adjusting, some nervous action before she was lying in a way I deemed suitable for a spanking. She was hanging her head but I couldn't see her face. I couldn't see what she felt. I knew this was beyond that. Now it was me and her bottom, her jeans clad bottom.
I took a firm hold of the hairbrush, lifted it, hesitated a little. This was a strange moment. I really wanted to spank her. I was angry but I knew I wanted it for more reasons than anger. Still I was going to punish her, punish her because she had made me angry. That was the plan.
I smacked her right buttock. She drew her breath. I didn't hit very hard but I knew she felt it. She didn't protest. I couldn't know how much it had hurt her. She didn't say. She seemed to be determined now.
I smacked her left cheek, a little harder and I heard her sigh and felt her tense her body. I knew she felt this. But did it hurt? Did it really hurt? Did I want it to hurt?
I gave her a series of smacks, alternating between buttocks. I was still too afraid to put some real power in them but the series of five-six smacks made her squirms a little. She was affected. I knew that now.
I began to spank her bottom with a series of smacks, in a steady pace. I started not too hard and soon, after three or four she seemed to settle into it, squirming a little and moving her head. I then felt the urge to increase the power, to make them count. It was a punishment, after all, she was to feel pain.
She seemed to brace herself for the harder smacks and held her breath, sighed and moved her head, determined to endure. I liked this. I felt how much I enjoyed this. I was punishing her and I felt I had the right to do it but I couldn't explain the elation I felt.
Then I stopped. I knew what I had to do.
'Is this it?' she said, turning her head.
She was a little flustered.
'No, there is some more,' I replied.
I reached my hands under her belly, trying to find the button in her jeans.
'What are you doing?' she squealed with a hint of panic in her voice.
'Taking down your jeans,' I said.
'You can't do that.'
She protested but she didn't resist me. She just didn't help me. I managed to dig in, under her, and unbutton her jeans. I started to yank them down. That was not easy, her jeans fitting her quite snugly.
'Get up!' I ordered.
She scrambled to her feet. She made no effort of stopping me as I yanked her jeans down to her knees. She gave me a strange look that seemed to coincide with a sudden flash of arousal that traversed my frame.
I guided her to lie down across my lap once again and this time it was a little less awkward. Soon she was lying there, this time I was looking at her knickerclad bottom. She was wearing red, cotton knickers that partly covered her bottom cheeks. They were thin and would not protect her much. She had a small, round and very lovely bottom. That could not be denied.
I gave her four more smacks and she seemed to sense the increased effect of them. I felt that this more like the proper way of spanking a girl. I was amazed that I thought like that, 'the proper way of spanking a girl.'
Something in her body, how it moved made me know,, for sure, that she felt the impact of the hairbrush more directly now. I felt a strange excitement at that, the added cruelty of it. I struggled a little with that sensation. I was excited by the fact that she was less protected, felt it more, that it was crueller to spank her on her knickers. At the same time I felt a little bad for wanting to be cruel to her. I decided to go with the excitement. It was meant to be painful after all.
My qualms about being cruel gave away and soon I felt a strange and evil urge to go all the way. Although her knickers didn't give much protection it would be even crueller, even more humiliating to smack her bared bottom.
I stopped again. This time she didn't ask and when I reached for her knickers something strange happened. Instead of hearing her loud protests she gently lifted her hips and, thus, helped me pulling down her knickers. This gesture was a humble gesture, allowing me to bare her, to make it worse for her, making her punishment harder. Helping me was humiliating her but she did it, all the same.
Her bottom was a little pink at places and I resisted an urge to squeeze and caress it. Instead I lifted the hairbrush and smacked her.
She felt the impact. I doubt it hurt her more but she felt it directly on her skin. She knew she was bared for it.
I felt that sense of elation again as I smacked her and I decided to let go of my inhibition. I felt that it was time to spank her for real.
I began smacking her in earnest. I put some power in and felt how the impact affected her. The strange thing was that she did not protest. She struggled and squirmed but she didn't struggle with me. She struggled with herself, struggled to stay put and endure.
I spanked her for quite some time and I felt that she was on the brink of losing control. I felt that this may be it. I could go on longer but I felt that it was enough. I ended it with a series of really hard smacks and she squealed out loud as the hairbrush made hard and brutal contact with her beautiful and very naked bottom.
'You may rise now!' I said when I had stopped.
She scrambled to her feet. I expected her to pull up her clothes but instead she turned to me.
'Please forgive me!' she said.
Her face was flustered.
'I am not angry any more.'
'Then there was some meaning to this.'
We both started to laugh.
'May I pull up my jeans?'
'Yes, of course.'
She sighed deeply as she pulled her knickers and jeans over her newly spanked bottom. I could tell it hurt. She buttoned her jeans, let her hands stroke her bottom, looked at is, as if the redness the spanking had caused was visible through the fabric of her jeans.
She was in pain, that was sure but she seemed amazed more than upset. I didn't understand that. She had been spanked.