Jan and Sofia at the Disciplinary Studio, Part Two

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Sizzle!

Sizzle!

A Dozen Hot Spanking Stories

Kindle Direct Publishing said my book would be available today, but it's not up yet. Keep the faith-- Sizzle! will soon be available for your downloading and reading pleasure. Don't know if it's a glitch or if the review process actually takes longer than the 12 hours they forecast.

Yours sincerely,

Aunt Carla

A Humiliation Fantasy

Image from spankingshame.com

I hate the fact that I seem incapable of controlling my bratty behavior.

And that this seems to be more of a problem when we have guests.

You give me repeated warnings, but I continue to be insufferable. I persist in my spoiled-child behavior as if under an irresistible compulsion.

It's awful, that moment when you say “Young lady, I am out of patience!” and the whole room goes silent. I freeze like the proverbial deer in the headlights--actually surprised--even though I knew this would happen all along.

I detest the sounds of approval from all over the living room when you announce that I have certainly earned a spanking. 

And the dread command to disrobe.

Here? In front of all our guests?!

Certainly. You behaved abominably in front of them, they have every right to see your correction.

My face goes crimson as I cast about for some miraculous deliverance from this terrible situation.

There is none to be had, of course. You skewer me with your no-nonsense look; my eyes fill with tears and I begin taking off my clothes. 

Every eye in the room fixed on me.

I am soon standing bare as an egg, my hands on my head, and shamed beyond the telling.

A group of well-dressed people listen to every word of your scathing lecture. 

You are selfish, bratty, and inconsiderate of others; I won't have it.

I know it's all true. In my peripheral vision, I see heads nodding in agreement. My face burns.

You surprise me, and it's no pleasant surprise. You say that my behavior is so juvenile, I don't deserve the privilege of looking like an adult. At first, I'm not sure what you mean. Then I follow your gaze down to the wispy brunette bush between my legs, terrified that I do understand.

The look in your eyes confirms my horror. This is unprecedented, apocalyptic.

You ask your best friend to watch me while you retrieve a razor and shaving cream.

I stand naked under the man's intense gaze while you're away. I whimper as I hear fragments of

commentary from our guests:

About time.

Serves her right.

Exactly what she needs.

You return, and I plead for a reprieve as I never have in my life. Unmoved, you clear the coffee table, spread a towel over it, and lay me down on my back. I've been spanked bare-bottomed in public more than once, and it's been terrible each time. But this...this is a whole new species of terrible.

You place a warm, wet washcloth across my most private of areas; I gasp at the contact. You spread shaving cream all over my bush as people gather around for a close-up view. The shaving is worse than horrible. With every stroke of the razor, I feel another layer of my adult status being removed...in public.

You take your time, and it seems to go on forever.

I want it to be over. I want to turn back the clock. I want to emigrate, change my name, get plastic surgery to change my face.

None of these things will happen, of course. These people will all see me again and again; each time they do, their twinkling eyes and knowing smiles will confirm that they're imagining me as I am in this dreadful moment.

When the job is done and the shaving cream wiped clean, I look down, both fascinated and horrified. I look more like a little girl than a grown woman.

Which was the whole point, of course.

After this huge humiliation, going over your knee for a spanking is almost anticlimactic. Still, it stings terribly, especially when you switch from your hand to the hairbrush. As always, I raise a great fuss and make a complete spectacle of myself. I kick, I pound, I howl. I know that this image--that of the naughty brat who had to be bared, shaved and spanked in public--is forever burned into the consciousness of every person present. My tears and cries are as much about that as about the fire in my behind.

I hate the way I helplessly kick and shriek.

It's awful catching looks of satisfied approval all around as I do.

I detest the fact that I can't help but beg abjectly, making heartfelt vows of eternal virtue if you will just put out the fire.

After what seems like an eternity over your knee, you bring my 

spanking to a close.

You release me to do an impressive St. Vitus' Dance, howling, hopping from foot to foot, and holding my scalded rear end in both hands. I am nearly heedless of the fact that my breasts are flopping around and that my newly-nude, no-longer-private zone is on lewd display. After allowing this spectacle to play out awhile, you take me by the ear and lead me to the corner. Hands on my head. Blazing bottom facing the room.

I hate that I must stand in disgrace for the rest of the evening, until the very last guest leaves. I am painfully aware that the parting image in each of their eyes is that of a grown-up naughty little girl, naked, ashamed, and properly chastened.

How will I ever be able to face them again?

[END]

Copyright 2011 by Aunt Carla

All rights reserved

The Punishment Bench

A Most Unhappy Young Lady

Image from michaelalexanderstories.com

It’s seven o’clock on a Friday evening, and Tatiana Ivanov is a very unhappy young lady.

She is nineteen years old, and as naked as the day she was born. She’s in her Papa’s workshop, secured to the punishment bench he finished building recently. As homemade disciplinary inventions go, it’s a rather diabolical affair. Her wrists are secured beneath her, and her ankles are similarly attached above and behind her. Her bottom is the uppermost part of her anatomy, and the way the ankle restraints are placed spreads said anatomical part quite effectively. Her shaved sex is well-displayed, causing Tatiana's face to burn with embarrassment. That's not all that burns: buried deep inside her well-spread behind is a piece of hand-whittled ginger root that stings with a steadily-building intensity. When Papa inserted the dreadful thing, Tatiana thought she might faint from the embarrassment. (She'd heard Mama talk about how Grandmother used to use the herb on her for discipline, but she never thought she would experience it herself.) She’s been in this position for ten minutes, and can look forward to about twenty minutes more before the main part of her punishment begins.

She has endured the singular discomfort of Papa’s big carpentry project once before, for another serious transgression of the family rules. An old-fashioned Ukrainian couple and recent immigrants to the States, Mr. and Mrs. Ivanov believe in the efficacy of bare-bottom spankings and corner time for all of their children, and that includes Tatiana and her eighteen-year-old cousin Gregor who lives with them. More serious misbehavior--especially anything that shames the family through the involvement of teachers, law enforcement officials, or other authorities--is dealt with harshly.

Hence Tatiana’s naked suffering upon the punishment bench.

Tatiana’s parents have a zero-tolerance policy for drinking and driving, of course, and the girl just received a citation for same. At the moment, the citation itself is the least of her worries. She knows that, in less than a half hour, Papa will be along with a small, handcrafted wooden paddle that packs an astonishing sting. This she knows from frequent, hard experience-- experience she shares with her brother, sister, and cousin.

As she hangs in this humiliating position--her pendulous breasts hanging beneath her and her bottom well-spread, she rues her decision to drive home after an evening at the club. Her girlfriend suggested she try a drink called Long Island Iced Tea, which turned out to be a surprisingly potent libation considering its tame-sounding name. She drank two of them, and was in no condition to drive home by the end of the evening. Unfortunately, she was equally incapable of making wise decisions. She was stopped at a speed trap through which she’d been cruising at fifteen miles per hour over the limit while weaving erratically. The cop let her off with a $150 ticket and a stern warning that a second offense could result in her imprisonment. Without sufficient cash to pay for a cab, Tatiana was forced to call home for a ride. Both her her parents arrived, one to drive the girl home and the other to retrieve her car.

Thus was her fate sealed. 

A full-time college student without a job, Tatiana is in no position to pay the hefty fine. Since her parents will be paying it for her, they will see justice served by taking in out on their eldest daughter's rear end.

Mrs. Ivanov, horrified that one of her children has dishonored on the family name by being cited by an officer of the law, has added a new wrinkle to Tatiana’s predicament tonight. Once the girl was secure on the bench, Mrs. Ivanov shocked her by slapping each of her breasts smartly, then attaching a wooden clothespin to each of her nipples. The pain was also a shock, and added considerably to her shame. Her nipples are starting to become numb now; what she doesn’t know is that, when the clothespins are removed, the pain will come rushing back twofold.

Tatiana is also facing 150 swats with Papa’s awful paddle--one for each dollar of her DUI citation. After this grueling spanking, she knows her punishment will continue. She will feel the ginger root being removed, only to be replaced by a large plug slathered with a cayenne pepper paste. On fire both within and without, she will spend the rest of the evening naked in the living room corner, her hands folded behind her back. She will maintain this humiliating posture, the plug holding in the sting of the cayenne pepper, while her family watches a two-and-a-half-hour movie.

Despite the severity of the pain and discomfort she feels (with more to come), her imminent shameful corner time is perhaps the part of the punishment Tatiana dreads the most. Her younger siblings and cousin--Alina, sixteen, Victor, fourteen, and eighteen-year-old Gregor--will be there along with her parents. As the eldest daughter and cousin, Tatiana is expected to model good behavior for the others; since she has failed so spectacularly, they will see the consequences of her poor choices up close. Her well-reddened behind will glow brightly next to the entertainment center, the presence of the oversized black plug testifying to her great discomfort. Tatiana’s face will burn nonstop from the embarrassment--especially the fact that Gregor will see her naked shame. Mama and Papa are certain the three younger ones will be thoroughly dissuaded from drinking by their vicarious experience of Tatiana’s punishment. She is a particularly modest young woman; her nakedness, bright-red plugged behind, and enforced juvenile posture will guarantee an interminable and breathlessly humiliating period of reflection in the corner.

As the fire within her grows, Tatiana hangs miserably on the homemade bench, feeling very sorry for herself indeed. All too soon, she knows Papa will be along with that dreadful wooden paddle to ignite a matching fire without. There are two upsides to all this unpleasantness: that she will never again risk her life behind the wheel in an inebriated state, and that she will feel assuaged of her guilt. Of course, this is cold comfort to Tatiana just now. Waiting to be spanked, plugged, and cornered, she wishes Papa weren’t such an excellent carpenter, and that Mama had never gained first-hand knowledge of the disciplinary potential of household spices.

It’s going to be a long night indeed.

{END}

Copyright 2013 by Aunt Carla

All rights reserved

Jan and Sofia at the Disciplinary Studio

Part One

Image from amateurspankings.com

“Well ladies, it’s a delight to see you both again after so long. Although I’m sure it's safe to say you'd both rather it were under different circumstances.”

Aunt Carla regarded Jan, a woman in her late 40s, and her 20-something daughter Sofia. It had been 18 months since Mr. Allan, husband of the one and stepfather of the other, first sent them to the Disciplinary Studio for Adults. At that time, they had endured very strict spankings over the professional disciplinarian’s knee, and had served bare-bottomed corner time in the reception area for multiple infractions. Aunt Carla’s young assistant Amelia Chance had thoroughly enjoyed having the two well-reddened backsides just six feet away from her desk for a period of reflection. (As it happened, she enjoyed it a little too much for her own good, but that’s another story.) Now they were back, and knew what to expect: strict, no-holds-barred discipline and a temporary revocation of their sitting privileges.

“So tell me, ladies, why did Mr. Allan send you to see me today?”

“You already know,” said Sofia sullenly, looking out the window.

“Indeed I do, young lady, but I would like to hear it from you.”

Jan spoke up, her face flaring. “There was a...an issue regarding, um...some speeding tickets.”

“You know the proper terms of address at the Studio, Little Miss Jannie.”

The woman bristled for a moment at the humiliating diminutive, then caught herself.

“There was an issue regarding some speeding tickets, Ma’am.”

Aunt Carla smiled. Mr. Allan was right: it really had been far too long for both these ladies; they had slipped back into their old, cheeky ways.

“Unless I see a major transformation in attitude from both of you ladies immediately, I promise you you will both be serving your corner time in reception today.”

“This is ridiculous.” This from the sullen Sofia. "I'm 27 years old!"

Aunt Carla pressed the button on her intercom.

“Amelia?”

“Yes, Ma’am?”

“Could you come in here for a moment, dear? And please bring the paperwork these two clients signed.”

“Yes Ma’am, right away, Ma’am.”

The door opened almost immediately, and Aunt Carla’s attractive, 24-year-old niece and receptionist came in with the documents in hand. Both of the ladies standing before the disciplinarian blushed deeply.

“Amelia, would you please read aloud the bottom paragraph of the release forms?”

“Yes, Ma’am. I have come to the Studio of my own free will, mindful of the fact that I am an adult in need of discipline. I agree to hold blameless Aunt Carla, the Disciplinary Studio, and its employees for any and all pain and embarrassment associated with said discipline.”

“Thank you, dear. Would you please show the forms to each of our young ladies here, and confirm that it is her signature at the bottom of the form?”

“Certainly, Ma’am.” Amelia walked right up to Jan first, who was looking very uneasy indeed.

“Little Jannie, is this your signature?”

Aunt Carla smiled at the deep blush on Jan’s cheeks. Being addressed thus by a woman young enough to be her daughter was having its intended effect.

“Uh, yes.”

“Yes what?”

“Yes...Ma’am.” The woman’s face was red as a beet, and she was studying her shoes.

“Excellent. Little Miss Sofie, same question.”

“This is bullshit,” Sofia said under her breath.

“Young lady, we do not use that kind of language at the Studio,” Aunt Carla said sharply. “One more outburst of that sort, and I promise you shall serve your corner time with a bar of soap in your mouth.”

Sofia looked truly alarmed for the first time that day.

“No! I mean, don’t...come on, you don’t have to do that.”

“Terms of address,” said Amelia firmly.

The girl’s face went very bright red indeed; she studied her toes in her sandals.

“Please don’t do that, Ma’am.”

“We shall see,” Aunt Carla replied. Now kindly answer Miss Amelia’s question.”

The girl’s inward struggle was palpable, and clearly visible on her face. Finally, though, self-preservation won out over foolish pride.

“It’s my signature, Miss.”

“Good girl,” Amelia said, enjoying the way the young woman squirmed at being addressed that way.

“Very good then,” Aunt Carla said briskly. “In the interest of time, I shall dispense with the process of extracting confessions in pieces, and simply tell you what little Sofie has correctly intuited I know. You ladies can either concur if I’ve got it right, or correct me if I’m wrong.

“Little Sofia, a quite brilliant young nursing student, had made a habit of staying up too late at night and getting up too late in the morning. As a result, she was issued multiple citations for exceeding the speed limit, putting herself and others in jeopardy. Rather than tell the head of the household about this situation plainly, Jannie conspired with her daughter to hide it from him. He happened upon an opened letter regarding overdue fines for these citations; when questioned, the two young ladies foolishly denied any knowledge of them. He showed them the letter, and phoned me that evening to make an appointment for the two of them at the Disciplinary Studio.

“So, have I stated the facts accurately, ladies?”

Both women looked distinctly uncomfortable. Their faces aflame, with downcast eyes, they nodded their assent.

“Please use your words, girls.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” they said in halfhearted near-unison.

“Very well then. We have several issues to deal with today. One is your lack of self-discipline, Sofia, which is making you unable to get to bed at a decent hour and rise early enough to get to school without speeding. The second is the speeding itself-- a major safety issue. Finally, there  is the issue of dishonesty and collusion--again--between you two ladies, in a campaign to keep the head of the household in the dark about these matters. I thought we had put an end to this sort of thing at your last appointment, but I see I was mistaken. We shall have to step things up today, won’t we?

“Finally, we have the matters of your sullen and disrespectful attitudes toward my assistant and myself today, and little Sofia’s foul language. Really, ladies, these are all things one expects from ill-bred children and bratty adolescents-- not women of your age and stature.”

Aunt Carla let the scolding hang in the air for a moment. The two ladies squirmed appreciably.

“So, have I got it quite right, or is there anything either of you wishes to clarify? Sofie?”

“Um...no...I mean, yeah, you got it right I suppose.”

“You suppose?”

Sofia sighed dramatically. “I know, okay? You’re gonna spank us no matter what we say, right? So just get it over with, already!”

Aunt Carla’s eyes narrowed. “Your persistent poor attitude is duly noted. Miss Jannie?”

“Nothing to add, Miss,” she said in a nearly-inaudible voice.

“Right!” Aunt Carla said brightly, clapping her hands once. “You both brought the proper punishment clothing, I presume?”

By way of answer, Sofia kicked the duffel bag at her feet. Aunt Carla smiled; she was going to thoroughly enjoy frying the hams of this little brat. Or perhaps, to drive home the lesson further, she just might “outsource” Sofia’s spanking to Amelia. That would certainly get the young lady's attention.

“We brought it, Miss,” Jan said, looking at her daughter with alarm. She seemed to realize what a deep hole Sofia was digging for herself this afternoon.

“Excellent. You shall both go to the changing room, use the facilities if necessary, put on the required clothing, and return here in less than five minutes’ time. Any time beyond five minutes shall be added to your corner time on both sides of your spankings. When you return properly outfitted, you will both proceed to the reception room to serve ten minutes of reflection time, each facing a corner of that room with your hands upon your heads.”

Both women gasped. The possibility of being seen by other clients in the reception area was great, and their punishment outfits were dreadfully embarrassing. The only saving grace was that those who saw them would be there for spankings of their own. Both ladies silently considered that advantage and found it negligible; their faces became even brighter shades of red. Then Sofia did something surprising, even for a young lady whom Mr. Allan had once described as “Impertinence personified.”

“No...frickin’...way.” She stamped her foot and crossed her arms over her chest. She clearly meant it as a gesture of adult defiance, but she succeeded only in making herself look more childish and bratty.

“And Little Miss Sofie, thanks to her out-of-control tongue this afternoon, shall have the honor of doing so with a bar of soap in her mouth.” As she spoke, Aunt Carla reached inside her desk drawer and withdrew a new, paper-wrapped bar of Ivory soap and held it up. Sofia gaped at it as if it were a poisonous snake, and Amelia suppressed a grin.

“The clock is ticking, ladies,” said the strict disciplinarian. “I suggest you make haste.”

With heavy sighs of resignation, each woman picked up her duffel bag and shuffled off mournfully toward the changing area.

{End of Part One}

Copyright Ⓒ 2013 by Aunt Carla

All rights reserved

Early to Bed

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