Breaking the Ice
by Julnick
I watched as he slowly pushed his pants and shorts down to his ankles, and shuffled forward, pressing his nose into the corner. I knew how much he hated it, the boredom, the humiliation. "Don't move an inch, or we'll start over from the beginning. Understand?"
My voice sounded less confident than I would have liked, but he responded with a submissive, "Yes, Ma'am." I glanced at my watch, twenty 'til seven. My stomach was tying itself in knots, and I wondered if he was suffering the same nervous anticipation.
I picked up a book, and sat down on the couch where I could watch him. The silence filled the room. I tried to read, but the churning in my belly was too distracting. I watched him for several moments. He lowered his head slightly, and slowly shifted his weight from one foot to the other. I set my book down on the couch beside me, and wiped my palms on my skirt. I seemed to be breaking into cold sweats. I took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, feeling some of the tension ease in my chest and stomach. I heard him sigh softly, his head raising very slightly as he shifted his gaze back to the wall in front of him.
I suddenly thought that this would be the time when the ticking of the clock would become deafening. But there was no clock. I glanced at my watch again. Quarter 'til. I considered cutting the corner time short, then decided against it. I picked up my book again. My mind continued to wander, after re-reading the same paragraph the fourth time I set the book down once more. I glanced down at my apparel. I carefully smoothed the tight skirt over my thighs. My skin was soft and smooth after my long shower and careful application of silky lotion. My blouse tucked in neatly, buttoned up but for the very top button. I could feel the silver chain, warm against my skin, and the delicate charm hanging from it, resting lightly on my chest, just above my breasts. The subtle fragrance of lilac lingered on my skin. The soft scent of flowers was in my hair.
I glanced at my watch once more. Five more minutes. I bent down to pick up the wooden hairbrush which was sitting on the floor near my feet. My hair fell forward across my face, and I rose, tossing my head back. I ran my hand over the back of the brush. The large wooden oval was varnished to an elegant sheen, emphasizing the grain of the honey-gold wood. I turned it over in my hands, brushing my palm over the soft, light bristles.
I checked my watch again. Seven o'clock. My heart began to pound as I set the brush off to my left. I put the book on the side table, and straightened my skirt again nervously. "Alright," I said. My voice sounding strange to my ears after the yawning silence. "Pull up your pants and come over here." He stepped back, and pulled his clothing up, buttoning his pants as he turned and shuffled toward me. His eyes darted up quickly towards my face, then back to the floor. I was shivering, and struggled to keep my voice steady. "Step forward," I montioned him closer, and reached out, unbuttoning his trousers, and pulling them down to his knees. He flushed slightly, quickly trying to cover himself with his hands. "Hands at your sides, now." He complied hesitantly, and I swiftly pulled his briefs down as well. His face was quite red now, and his hands were moving slightly as he struggled to keep from covering himself from my view.
I slid forward to the edge of the couch, and pulled him to my right side. I patted my right thigh. "Over my lap, now."
"Do we really have to do this?" he whined plaitively. Speaking for the first time since going to the corner. I felt a small surge of anger, he knew that I hated it when he said that. I reached behind him and delivered a sharp smack to his bare bottom. It wasn't hard enough to hurt alot, the angle was bad. But he reacted. "Oww," his hands flew back, clutching his bottom, and he pushed his lower lip forward in a pout.
"Now, are you going to get over my lap, or am I going to get the paddle?"
"Nooo," he cried, a hint of desperation in his voice.
"Over. Now." Still pouting, he slowly crawled over my lap. I felt things falling into the familiar patterns, and the knots in my gut eased somewhat. I looked down at his upturned bottom, contemplating my options. I took a deep breath. I rested my left hand on the small of his back, and with the right, I lightly stroked the waiting target. Then, without a word, I lifted my hand high, and delivered two swats, as hard as I could, one to each cheek. He gasped as the first one fell then exhaled sharply through his teeth at the second. "Why are you getting spanked now?" I asked, giving another two spanks. Firm, but not as hard as the first two.
"Because I was rude, and disrespectful, Ma'am," he said quickly.
Two more swats, my hand was beginning to sting. "And?"
"And because I argued about my punishment." Another hard smack. "Ma'am!" He remembered quickly.
"That's right. And what happens to naughty boys who are rude and disrespectful?"
"They get spanked." I could hear his humiliation in his voice. I gave another volley of swats.
"That's right. And what happens to naughty boys who argue about their punishments?"
He hesitated for a moment, struggling with the hated routine. "They get an extra spanking... Ma'am."
"Very good." I spanked him for a minute, watching his bottom turn bright pink under my hand, he began to squirm slightly. Then I stopped, resting my hand on his reddening skin. I could feel the warmth coming off of it. "Alright," I said, "I think that's enough of a warm-up, lets get started."
"Yes, Ma'am..." he replied, his tone resigned.
I began to spank again, peppering his entire bottom and upper thighs with sharp spanks. As I reddened his backside, I continued to speak, varying the pattern and tempo of the swats with my words. "I will not tolerate you treating anyone in such a rude and disrespectful manner." (smack smack smack smack smack smack) "Least of all me!" (smack! smack! smack!) You are in for a very long, hard spanking, young man. (smack smack smack smack smack) It will end when and only when I decide you've had enough. (smack smack smack smack smack) And I can guarantee you that I won't think you've had enough until I hear real crying from you, so for your sake, don't even try to be brave. (smack smack smack smack smack smack smack smack smack) "And when I think that you've learned a good lesson in manners," (smack smack smack smack smack! smack! smack!) "then we can address the little issue of arguing when you're to be punished." (SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK)
By the time I finished lecturing, he was squirming considerably over my lap. "I'm sorry, I won't do it again I promise... owww.. noo please... no more... oww it hurts..." I knew that I was starting to get to him, and redoubled my efforts, spanking hard and fast, ignoring the throbbing sting in my hand. His pleas became more deperate, and his struggling more earnest. I stopped for a moment and reached over for the brush. He looked up, and began to wail protests and promises. "Nooo not that, I'll be good, I promise, I learned my lesson, I'll never be rude again, pleeease..." Turning a deaf ear to his cries, I lifted the brush and began to spank his already red bottom to an even darker shade. I heard his voice breaking as the tears began, he knew it was hopeless. The brush smacked down again and again, I carefully painted both cheeks a dark crimson, even planting a few stinging swats to his upper thighs. At one point he reached back to protect his blazing backside. Delivering four hard swats to the underside of his bottom, I said, "Either you get your hands out of the way and keep them that way, or you will get a paddling after your spanking is over. Understood?" He sobbed, and pulled his hand back away from his bottom. I finished the spanking with twenty more hard swats, often delivering several in the same spot. He was crying hard when I stopped. I let him cry for a few moments before helping him to his feet. "Back to the corner now. And think about this: your spanking would be over by now if you hadn't decided to argue with me. You have five minutes to contemplate that, then you will go fetch the belt."
"Noooo, Julieee..." Tears were still streaming down his face, and he was holding his bottom protectively. "Please.... no belt...."
I nearly faltered, but swallowed hard, and stiffened my resolve. "Are you arguing with me again?" I asked sternly.
He looked at the floor. "No, Ma'am," he said miserably.
"Back to the corner." He shuffled back to the corner, sniffling, and rubbing his bottom. "Hands at your sides," I ordered, and he slowly complied.
I sat back on the couch, examining my work as he stood in the corner, head bowed. I sighed, the tension was gone from my body. After all the months of talking online, and on the phone, actually meeting face to face became an issue of great anticipation. And this spanking. We both knew it was coming, from the second he stepped into the terminal at the airport, my stomach began to tighten. But now, my hand still hot and tingling, gazing at his bare bottom, glowing from my attentions, I felt at home. "Alright," I said. He lifted his head, turning towards me. "Go get the belt." He opened his mouth, and I knew he was on the verge of another plea for mercy. I gave him a hard look, and he closed his mouth again. He stumbled out of the corner, pulling up his pants enough that he could walk. I heard his footsteps as he moved down the hallway into the bedroom. There was silence for a moment, then his shuffling footsteps came back down the hallway. I stood, waiting. He came around the corner, the old belt in his hand, tears already beginning again in his eyes. He handed me the belt, looking at my face, waiting for instructions. I motioned towards the armchair. "Bend over the arm."
He blinked back tears. And whispered softly "yes ma'am," as he slowly lowered himself into position. I lowered his pants to his ankles, and wrapped the worn leather around my hand a few times, then grabbed the other end, doubling the belt over. I put one hand on the small of his back, and swung the belt down across his cheeks with a loud crack. He yelped, and threw his hands back to protect his bottom. "You just earned six swats with the paddle when we're through. Move your hands, NOW!" He was sobbing again as he pulled his hands under his body, begging and pleading with me to forgive him, not to paddle him. I took a deep breath and steeled myself against his pitieous cries. I gave eleven more strokes with the belt, leaving him sobbing inconsolably, pounding his feet against the floor.
I left him in position, and went to get the paddle myself. I was beginning to get nervous, the spanking seemed to be increasing out of control. But I kept reminding myself, as I pulled the wooden paddle down off of its shelf, he wants it this way, he wants me to be firm, to be strict. I hefted the paddle, it was an old frat paddle, his nemesis all the months we'd conducted his discipline by phone. Setting my jaw, I carried it into the living room. He hadn't moved, his crying had softened to light sobs and gasps. "Ok, baby," I said, letting my voice soften for the first time that evening. "Six swats with the paddle and then its all over. Don't earn any more. Keep your hands out of the way, stay in position, and it will be all over in six swats." He just cried into the cushions. I stepped back from him, measuring the distance to his bottom with the paddle. I let the wood rest gently against his battered skin, then pulled back and swung hard, the paddle sounded like a gunshot against his backside, and he jumped, crying loudly, but keeping his hands beneath his chest. I timed the swats slowly, giving him a few moments to recover between each one. He was still crying hard by the time it ended. Like a well-spanked little boy. I helped him to his feet, and pulled up his pants. "Go to your room now, and think about why you got into this mess." He went down the hallway, coughing and sniffling. I heard the door shut to his bedroom, and I flopped down on the couch. I checked my watch. Eight-fifteen.
I gave him five minutes to himself before rising and straightening my clothing. I walked slowly down the hall, and quietly opened the door to his bedroom. He had pulled his pants down off of his bottom, and was lying, face-down, on the bed. His face was turned away from me. I grabbed a bottle of aloe vera from the dresser as I came into the room, and sat down next to him on the bed. I squeezed some of it into my hand, and gently touched his red bottom. He flinched, but didn't pull away. Carefully, I rubbed the cream over his skin, over each cheek, down his thighs. When I'd rubbed it all in. I set the lotion aside, and shifted my position so I could lie down beside him. I gently brushed his hair away from his face, and kissed his cheek softly. Then let my hand move down his back, as I settled down beside him. I put my arm around him, and held him for a while in silence.
Then he turned his head towards me, turning onto his side, and whispered, "thank you." I smiled, and held him closer, as he snuggled against me, and drifted into sleep.
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