Emerson's Long Overdue Spanking

Note: The second in a series. Pure spanking fetish, no sex in this chapter. I really appreciated your comments and support on my first story.

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How long does it take the recipient of a severe spanking to look back on the painful and mortifying experience with rose coloured glasses? To view it once again as desirable, if not absolutely necessary for their wellbeing? It took Emerson less than twenty-four hours. However, the next opportunity he had to experience it again in person would take over a month.

Emerson was back at that front door, clutching his elbow with his hand, eyes fixed on the wooden planks of the porch. Someone walked by the sidewalk behind him, and he prayed that this house and the services offered within were not common knowledge. It took forever for his future spanker to answer her door, as he checked over his shoulder repeatedly.

The door finally opened. The woman's makeup was subtle and she wore a modest white dress that went mid-calf. She reminded Emerson of a teacher he once had a crush on in high school. "Yes?" she asked. As if she didn't know.

Her name was Ms. Hartford, and she was listed online as a professional disciplinarian. There was no first name listed on her website, because guys like Emerson would never be permitted to use it, anyway. She would be Mrs. Hartford or she would be ma'am and there would be nothing more familiar than that.

He took a shaky breath in and then breathed out the phrase, "I'm here for my spanking, ma'am," so quickly and quietly that she made him do it again. A finger under his chin lifted his gaze to meet hers. The shyness was worse than the first time, because this time he signed up for a different experience. This time, he only checked boxes for his absolute limits, and so whatever would happen during his punishment session would be completely up to her. There was still a safe word, but Emerson knew it would take quite a lot for that. Just like last time, he needed this.

He reiterated his request, more slowly, clearly, so perfectly crisp that there would be no mistaking it. "I'm here for my spanking, ma'am." His shoulders involuntarily cringed at his own words. A flush crept across his cheeks and nose. Saying the word itself was shameful. So childish. She took him by the hand, leading him inside.

He stood facing her in the living room, head lowered. She held his paperwork, a painted fingernail tapping the printed pages as she read.

"It says here that you broke the blender, cleaned it up, put it back, and then pretended you had nothing to do with its demise."

"Yes, ma'am."

"You're twenty. I'm going to guess this didn't happen recently."

"I was about nine, ma'am."

"Your guilty conscience knows no bounds."

He looked at her, grinned for a fraction of a second, and looked back to the carpeted floor.

"How did you break it?"

"Tried to blend rocks."

"Did you know better, at the time?"

He winced. This line of questioning mattered, as did his honesty. Today, Emerson had absolutely no idea what would happen to his bottom and the answers he gave now might determine it.

His hands twitched, as though desiring to protect his posterior in advance. The more he explained, the worse his future became. "I was pretty sure it would break. I just wanted to see what would happen."

"Emerson, tell me, what crucial piece of information am I missing here? Why did you never let go of it eleven years later?"

He squeezed his eyes shut. "They blamed my sister. They wouldn't let her go on a field trip. She was devastated."

"Oh my. And you never said a single word in her defence?"

"No, ma'am. I didn't want to get in trouble."

"Corner," she snapped. It was a direct order, with a finger pointed to the corner in question. Emerson didn't nod or reply, but immediately walked to it, a sigh of shaky trepidation his only response.

He pressed his forehead against the intersection of the two walls, chilly against his skin. Waiting here for his punishment made it worse. To his right, he heard Ms. Hartford climbing the stairs. Without a shadow of a doubt, he knew she had just added something more to his punishment. When she returned, he heard a clunk of a sound, something being put on the table. Today would not just be her hand, which was bad enough last time.

"Come here, young man."

Emerson turned to face her. It had only been a few minutes in the corner, and already she was beckoning him over. He took it as a sign that she might actually be fairly disappointed in him. On behalf of sisters everywhere, his bottom was going to absolutely get it.

She sat on the dreaded barstool again, which meant he'd be propped so high up that his feet and hands would not touch the carpet. It was especially shameful to lose even that small modicum of control. Just behind her chair, on the top of the bar, he saw a flat wooden hairbrush. He determined it to be thicker than any hairbrush ought to be, and the dread made him startle hard when she spoke again.

"Hands up, you know the drill."

Emerson put his hands on his head, letting Ms. Hartford unbutton and unzip his jeans. This part especially shamed him; the way she so formally stripped him of his dignity. Her hands found his waistband and tugged his denims to his ankles. Then she pulled his shirt higher up on his chest, tucking it temporarily under his arms. "You're going to learn a hell of a lesson today, Emerson."

He winced, and her fingers found the waistband of his underwear. With one firm yank he was naked before her, and he fought to keep his hands resting on his head. The air inside was cool on his naked skin.

"Over my knees," she commanded, a tug on his arm pulling him forward.

He lay down as ordered, his backside now presented for his spanking, his genitals pressed snugly against her dress. She rubbed him, as though smoothing down his skin in preparation, and he grimaced, and suddenly cried out, "I'm so sorry, ma'am!"

"Emerson," she said. "I haven't even started."

He squirmed, his arms dangling in front of him, legs dangling behind him. "I'm just so sorry," he repeated.

"I know. And today you're paying the price. This is what should have happened to you a long time ago."

Her words were tinged with warmth again. His tendency to panic openly and with abandon sometimes had that effect on people. He squeezed his face up and waited for it.

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

The spanks landed hard and fast, all directly on his sit-spot. Last time, it went more slowly, and Emerson had tried to hold back his yelps as much as he could. This time, he immediately began gasping out squeaks of pain. She didn't wait for him to rebound before another spank landed. The effect was that he was lost in an endless fit of yelping and gasping pitifully as her hand warmed his bottom like a merciless machine.

A full minute went on like this. A minute sounds like nothing, but when a minute is filled with nothing but stinging pain, it lasts an eternity. The burning built up to encompass the whole of both bare cheeks. He squirmed helplessly, absently, lost to his pain. His yelps turned into longer, more desperate strangled cries.

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

Then the begging and bargaining stage of his spanking began. "I am soooo sorry! I am so sorry!"

Ms. Hartford wrapped a firm arm around his small waist, trying to keep the struggling university student still. Emerson felt so small, being held down in such a way.

"I think we both know that what you did was fully unacceptable."

"Yes, ma'am!"

"And you're going to take the full punishment." He kicked his legs as she resumed the spanking, crack after crack of her hand burning his sensitive skin. His hands swung desperately at the floor, and then he settled into doing something so childish that Ms. Hartford actually stopped spanking him for three whole seconds, and let a soft chuckle escape. He had gripped two hands around her nearest ankle, holding on for dear life.

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

"Nooo! Please! No more! Noo!"

"You need this, Emerson."

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

He pressed his forehead against her ankle now. He was practically hugging her, strangely, upside-down, trying to find comfort any way he could. She paused to rub him, and he was sure he was bright, burning red.

"I see this is already having quite an effect. It's time for the second part of your spanking," she said. Her cool fingers soothed him. "You're going to get the hairbrush."

"N-nooo." He'd actually forgotten about the wooden implement, waiting behind him. It made his heart sink in terror. "Please no!"

"Who is in charge, here, young man?"

He simply cried out a helpless whimper in reply. For some reason, she accepted this response.

"I want both your hands - behind your back. If you reach back and get a wooden brush to your fingers I can't guarantee you'll be drawing again anytime soon."

Emerson let out a gasping breath as he moved his arms behind the small of his back. He felt her pinion his wrists together, holding them firmly. It was here that he knew with absolute certainty that the hairbrush would be a nightmare. She was making preparations in advance for his catastrophic reactions.

He felt it rubbing circles on his skin. It was cold, and currently felt nice. He allowed a sigh of forbidden pleasure to escape his lips.

"The spanking you just received was for breaking the blender even though you knew better, at the time."

"Yes, ma'am."

"This hairbrush against your bare bottom is for allowing someone else to take the blame."

It was one of the worst things he ever did in his life, so far. It would be a severe punishment and he was going to have to accept it. His shoulders drooped. "Yes, ma'am."

"I'm not going to go easy on you. This spanking will only end when I think you're truly repentant. And not one second before that."

"Yes, ma'am."

She tapped it just twice against his bottom, as though taking aim. He sucked in a deep breath, and held it, and then WHACK! his bottom lit up in an instant flash of pure fire. Emerson screamed out a strangled cry.

WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!

He screamed, embarrassingly high-pitched, and kicked his legs like scissors, like a child. "I'm sorry!!"

"I bet."

WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!

It impacted him deeply, with an aching sort of pain to accompany the sting. Clenching only made the pain worse, but going limp felt equally unbearable. He attempted to pull his wrists free, his mind focused only on protecting his bottom from more assault. The brush continued to spank every square inch of his bottom, hard and fast. Ms. Hartford did not let go. Her warm hand clutched his wrists together tightly, both protecting his slender fingers and ensuring his bottom would take the full punishment.

WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!

The pain was unbearable, in the truest sense of the word. He was trying to turn away, to flip his whole body sideways or over, but she held him firm. His legs tried to kick him free, but that plan of escape also failed. He was over her knees far too securely. His bottom was on fire. Some spanks of the brush were so severe that he felt something like an icy chill for a half-second before the stinging burn erupted in its place.

"I can't t-take it!"

"You can and you will. You've earned every single spank."

WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!

That wooden brush landed on every part of his bottom, and several times directly on his upper thighs, but she especially focused on the most sensitive area just above his legs. He started heaving out dizzying cries that shook his whole body. He was lost to the pain. Tears formed in his eyes. She paused, briefly, to lecture him.

"Tell me why you're being spanked."

He coughed, his throat tight. "I let my sister take the blame."

"You did. Naughty boy, you. How unfair to be punished for no reason at all. For something someone else did."

The heat poured from his backside. He lay limp over her knees, exhausted from the futile fight he'd put up. She was right, too. It was completely unfair, what he did.

"Yes, ma'am. I'm so sorry, ma'am."

WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!

He was back to struggling and squirming, helpless on her lap. How unfair to be punished for something you didn't even do. He thought about it, and imagined this hairbrush repeatedly spanking him was for a crime another person committed. It would be awful. Unbearable. It was awful enough having deserved it.

"I w-won't do it again!"

This wasn't enough. His promise fell on deaf ears and the spanking continued. "You had better not! I'm so disappointed in you."

How he hated to disappoint anyone. Especially the ones in charge. He told himself to stop fighting. He deserved to lay down limp and take every second of it. Just then, when he stopped all kicking and wiggling and attempts at freeing his wrists, the helpless tears started.

The steady rhythm of the hairbrush didn't stop when the tears began. It still spanked him soundly and firmly as teardrops fell into the carpet. Now he'd given himself over to the remorse completely, sobbing with true abandon. He struggled to catch his breath, blubbering like a child, and that's when it finally ended. His glowing, likely purple, bottom was now only rubbed, and not spanked.

"Okay," she said. "Okay. There you go. It's all over."

She let his wrists go free, and held one of his trembling hands instead. He couldn't stop the bawling once it had started, and now just lay there, a broken boy over her lap.

"Emerson, shh. The spanking is over now. All is forgiven."

Eventually he got the message. The tears stopped falling, and his breathing settled back down. She went to rub his bottom, gently, but even that touch made him jump. This spanking would leave quite the impression, he could tell. Tomorrow in English 203 he'd be squirming in his seat. Humiliating, and quite deserved. Would the young ladies in his class take notice?

She helped him up and he wobbled on his feet. His legs still shook under him, his body still reeling from the intensity of it all. She gave him a tissue and a warm hug. "Back to the corner, young man. Ten minutes. Then we'll talk."

"Yes, ma'am."

His jeans had, at some point, fallen off his ankles. So he gingerly padded to the corner unimpeded. There, his body finally began to accept that the worst part of his punishment was over. Now he was just a shamed young man, put right in his place, facing the wall and displaying his red bum. He stopped trembling after some time, and his breathing became slow and steady.

In fact, a type of unexpected bliss began to envelop him. His limbs felt pleasantly heavy. His head was empty of everything but the present moment. Emerson wasn't sure if he had ever felt this serene in his entire twenty years. He was in a state of total and complete submission. It was comforting to know his place, his exact place, even if that meant his place was below everyone else in the whole world.

"Come here, sweetheart," said Ms. Hartford. She had never called him a pet name last time. He accepted it with such gratitude that it made his heart flutter just a little.

She was on the couch, and a pillow lay over her lap. Emerson was in just the right state of mind to allow her to do whatever she wanted. If she thought he needed more spanking, he was going to take it. With only the smallest bit of direction (a gentle tug of his wrist) he lay face down over her lap once more. His legs and head rested gently on the soft couch cushions. In total submission, he offered her both his wrists, crossed over each other against his back, and made her laugh softly.

"You poor thing. No, no, it's over."

She helped move his hands to his sides, her touch gentle and sweet. He was too drained, albeit pleasantly, to speak his relief aloud.

"I'm going to give you some healing balm. That's all. But I do appreciate the obedience."

He couldn't help a pleasurable sigh as the cooling lotion was rubbed into his skin. He arched his back, slightly pushing against her palm.

"There, there," she said. "Are you going to let it go, now?"

"Yes, ma'am," he said, his words just two quiet little sighs.

"Good boy. You've been punished. It's over now. Price paid."

"Thank you, ma'am."

She ran fingers through his hair, and her other hand rubbed his back. He almost purred under her ministrations. She leaned low, towards his ear, and whispered, "Are you alright, sweetheart?"

"More than alright, ma'am."

Eventually he dressed to leave, and she hugged him at the door. "You really needed that. You know where to find me if the need arises again."