Saturday, 24 November 2012

The Strap - Guest Fiction

My recent review of the strap as an implement of correction got one of my lovely followers Brett thinking and he wrote this cute little tribute to the shop. I hope you all enjoy it.

From School Mistress Fantasy. Brett stares his ultimate fate in the face.

I got in trouble and an appointment was made for me to see Aunty Andrea at The Spank Shop

"Have you ever been spanked?" she asked, eyeing me squarely from across her desk.

"Yes, Ma'am," I answered. She was beautiful. I was too busy feeling uncomfortable to fully appreciate it, though.

"When was the last time? And please speak up, young man."

I was so embarrassed. "When I was a boy."

"Who spanked you?"

"My parents."

"Both parents?"

"Sometimes. Yes, Ma'am."

"And the last time?"

"I was sixteen." I didn't want to admit that I was spanked at that age. I wanted to change the subject from that memory.

"So you have not received any form of corporal punishment since then?"

"No," I wondered if that was a good thing or a bad thing. Would Aunty go easier on me? Or would it be worse because I was so long overdue?

"What did you get punished with?"

"A paddle, Ma'am."

"Have you ever received the leather strap?"

Something fluttered in my stomach. "No, Ma'am."

"Please take off all of your clothes."

I begged her not to make me strip, but she had already decided my fate. As I undressed, Aunty explained that my behavior had been so shameful, she was making certain that I felt thoroughly ashamed of myself. By the time my clothes were off, shame was the only thing I wore.

Aunty had me lay on my stomach on her padded spanking bench. I was told to grasp the two handles on the underside of the bench, and that if my hands left those handles before Aunty was through with me, she would make me a very sorry young man.

"I'm afraid I'm going to have to introduce you to the strap this fine afternoon, young man."

I felt so vulnerable, so naked on the spanking bench with my behind raised slightly but feeling as if it was the highest thing in the room. When Aunty said the word 'strap', I clenched and unclenched my bare cheeks. Where my lower legs jutted free past the end of the bench, I flexed my feet and wiggled my toes in dire anticipation. I had been shown the leather strap Aunty Andrea was going to use, and I knew in the pit of my stomach that I was in deep, deep trouble.

"This is baby oil," she told me as I felt two cool dollops poured onto my backside. "It will make the strap sting more, but will help protect your skin." With her fingers she rubbed the oil into the spots she intended to punish. I wasn't sure if I should be happy about the baby oil. Protect my skin? It needed all the protection it could get, but that didn't sound good at all. Did I say I had not been spanked in years?

"You have been a very bad boy," she said as she raised her hand, holding the black leather strap high in the air.

"I'll be a good boy, Aunty! I promise I'll be good!"

Miss Rebekah from Strict Women does a good approximation of what Aunty gave young Brett.


  1. Ouch, that is about to be a serious strapping, well done and nice short story, thanks

  2. As always you made my bottom tingle just reading this, I hate when the strap is applied, whether OTK, or over the some pillows on the bed. I do know promises of future behaving always passes my lips. But this never seems to help, until She is satisfied that I am truly sorry.

    Great Story


  3. I'm glad people have enjoyed Brett's delightful tribute to the blog. I thought ending it where he did was absolutely perfect, and I thank him again for writing it and agreeing to share it with us all.