Over the Knee
You won't find whips and crops, here--just strict disciplinarians administering well-deserved spankings to adults.
A Snippy Girl
I am pouting: you’ve been ignoring me all week, or at least that’s what it’s seemed to me. You’ve explained to me that work kept you busy and that you weren’t intentionally neglecting me, but I’m already in a mood and I can’t get myself out of it. Even though you’ve taken me out to my favorite restaurant to apologize, I am still being difficult and snippy.
Although you’re a patient man, you won’t put up with my rudeness. When the server is out of earshot, you fix me with a stern look and tell me in a voice so low that I have to lean across the table to hear, “Look at me. The tone you’re taking with me is unacceptable, young lady. Lose the attitude immediately, or you’ll find yourself over my knee as soon as we get home.” Just hearing the threat changes my demeanor. My eyes drop to my hands in embarrassment.
“Say ‘I understand, sir.’”
“I understand, sir. I’m sorry,” I say.
“I accept your apology. Now, let’s have a pleasant dinner without any more rudeness. Can you do that?”
I say, “Yes, sir,” and I really do intend to stick to it.
Easier said than done, I guess.
We’re just finishing up when I let another snippy comment about your ignoring me pass through my lips. I regret it before I’ve even finished saying it. Your face resolves into a much sterner expression than before. “I’ve already given you a very generous opportunity to change your attitude,” you tell me. “Now you’re in trouble and you’ve earned yourself a serious spanking before I send you to bed early.”
I’m silent on the way back to your place, mentally kicking myself for the comment. Well, I’d wanted the attention, hadn’t I? And now here I was, about to get more attention than I’d bargained for.
You direct me into the corner as soon as we enter the apartment. I can hear you behind me, pulling out the chair that’s reserved specifically for spankings. “Young lady, get yourself over my knee,” you say, and I drag myself from the corner, giving you a long, baleful look as I come to stand beside you. “Don’t look at me like that,” you say. “You earned this spanking all by yourself.” When I still hesitate, your hand grabs for my wrist, and you tip me over your lap. You don’t even let me have the dignity of spanking me over my skirt: that, you flip up right away, and you tug down my panties just a moment later.
You start with your hand, but even that has me squirming within seconds. “You brought this on yourself, you know,” you remind me. “Had you shown just a little more self-control and kept your attitude to yourself, you wouldn’t be in this position, would you?” You wait and listen for me to squeak out, “No, sir!” before you continue to scold. “I care too much about your behavior to let your lapse in manners go uncorrected. I hope I’m making it clear that speaking to me in a disrespectful way is never acceptable. I don’t tolerate rudeness. To make it extremely clear to you,” you continue, “I’m going to paddle your backside red.” And indeed, you have already gotten out the small hairbrush-shaped paddle, and now you pick it up, ready to make me really regret my behavior. I can feel every swat with the paddle throughout my whole body, like a shiver or a shock wave, and it’s not long before tears spring to my eyes. You never stop right at this moment: you won’t let my tears dictate my spanking. You continue on for ten or so smacks more before you scoop me up into your lap to cuddle me. “No more rudeness, sweetheart,” you murmur.
“No more,” I agree.
After a few minutes, you disentangle us. “You’re forgiven, but I’m still sending you to bed early. Go get ready.”
I’m tempted to pout, but I know where that would get me, so instead, I lean over for a kiss and do what you ask.