A Houseboy's Repentance

This is another cerebral, short and sweet, pure F/m spanking story. Ratings and feedback always appreciated. All characters over eighteen.

***

Finley knew he wouldn't feel right until he was bawling with a burning hot bottom, and yet he was still trembling from the fear of it. This was a sensation he'd always known well, the trepidation and relief of repentance. It was something that he felt just as strongly as the very first time he stood facing this exact wall, with his hands folded neatly over his head.

The first time this happened was only a week after he'd taken the job at the manor house. The lady of the house, Miss Calderwood, stood over the porcelain remains of a priceless handmade vase. She asked him, her voice steady and calm, "How are we going to deal with this, Finley?"

He blushed and shook his head, trying to indicate that the choice was her own. All he could think to say was that he was sorry, and he'd already said that a hundred times on the way to show her the shattered mess.

"Shall I take the sum from your wages until it's paid?"

He froze in place, his heart nearly joining his stiffened arms and legs. With just his eyes, he begged. He'd never see any money again if she did this. It would take his whole life to pay for something like that.

"Shall I send you off to seek a new employer?"

This was even worse than her first suggestion. At least here he had a warm bed and three meals a day. He apologized for the hundred-and-first time, as if this time it might heal the anguish in his heart.

"Shall I let your bottom pay the more traditional price for your carelessness?"

It might have been a joke to lighten the dire mood. She was a kindhearted mistress, all things considered. And anyway the corporal punishment of household servants was largely unheard of since the time of Queen Victoria.

But Finley in that moment felt that it was the only possible answer to the question of how he'd ever rid his stomach of this sinking guilt. So he looked to her and nodded slightly. "Please, ma'am."

She seemed surprised. A blush crept back over his cheeks as he realized it had been a joke indeed. Her new silence soon joined the guilt in eating him away.

"Please..." he tried again.

Miss Calderwood regained her composure. "I was going to warn you to watch your step next time. Will you?"

"Will I?" he swallowed.

"Watch your step from now on?"

The look Finley gave her must have been something rather alarming, because her eyes widened at the sight of him. A warning wouldn't be enough. His blood felt brackish. He could not handle this priceless vase being nothing but shards and dust at his feet.

"Oh dear," she said quietly. Her hand cupped his cheek, gentle fingers prodding his face to tilt upwards. Tears glistened on the surface of his eyes, but dared not fall.

"Please," he whispered, his anxiety cracking straight through the word.

At last, bless her, Miss Calderwood understood him all the way down into the lowest chambers of his heart. Her face tightened with resolve and her voice was strong and decisive. "Face the wall, Finley. There you go. Hands on your head. One over the other. Just like that."

She made him wait right on the very first day, just as he waited now. This part of the punishment was perhaps originally intended to be a lengthy bout of boredom, but Finley was anything but bored. His heart beat a mile a minute and his mind raced alongside, hopping from one fragmented worry to the next. How would she do it? Could he actually take it? Did his mind just convince him he needed something that he could in no way handle?

That very first day, no one walked past him in his shameful stance. The two others under Miss Calderwood's employ had other places to be, so it was just Finley and the wall and all his building anticipation. Sometimes he heard shoes clicking against the wooden floors, so he'd straighten up his posture and his hands would shake over his hair.

Even after a good twenty minutes against the wall, or so it felt, Finley wasn't quite prepared for the order to turn around. Especially not that very first day. He feared his trembles were all visible as his eyes met hers.

"Are you ready, young man?" she asked.

It seemed like she was checking with him. Did he really agree? Truly? Finley's head nodded despite some strong protestations of the brain inside it.

Miss Calderwood didn't take him to an office, or her bedroom, or his own. Instead, she escorted him into the formal dining room. It was cleaned far more than it was used, as she preferred to eat in a smaller nook just outside the kitchen.

Though she was too young a woman to have ever witnessed a servant in her father's manor being chastised in this way, the concept of corporal punishment was far from foreign. No laws even yet directly forbade it. Heads would certainly turn these days, and laughter might be suppressed behind hands, but no witness in his or her right mind would bother to alert the authorities. This was largely why Miss Calderwood left all the curtains open, Finley guessed.

A wooden ruler, twelve inches in length, lay on the table. Miss Calderwood collected it then. She tried to bend it between her hands, and found the thick implement offered little in the way of flexibility. "Hold out your hands. Palm up."

It was shockingly embarrassing to offer his palms to her for discipline, to keep them steady as she tapped the ruler against the fleshiest part of his hand. Even with all his clothes covering him, Finley felt his ears go hot.

Crack!

The ruler struck him hard enough to elicit a grunt. His palm went pink and his eyes shut into a wince. Still, Finley kept his hands out, knowing he'd earned this today.

Crack!

"Ooh! Ow!"

Crack!

"Ah!"

"Steady, Finley. Steady yourself."

He'd been shifting from foot to foot without realizing it. So, with a grimace, he took a deep breath and composed himself, standing up straight and obediently. The ruler now tapped his right hand, and he winced before it even drew back.

Crack!

"I'm sorry!"

Crack!

"Eeee!" he squealed.

Crack!

"Oooh!"

It seemed like she was improving her aim and efficacy with each new swat. His palms burned hot, and he desperately wanted to wave them around in the air to try and assuage the sting. Even more, he wanted to keep some of his remaining dignity. So he stayed still. It was not a good sign, all told. Finley hadn't quite been punished firmly enough.

"Have you learned to be more careful?"

He looked away when he shrugged. He'd be careful, of course, but the guilt remained largely untouched.

"I see. Alright. I was hoping to spare you the shame, but it seems you aren't learning any other way. Bend over the table. Hold on to the other side."

"Yes, ma'am," he agreed.

His weight rested on the table now, his torso stretched across its width. Finley clutched the other end tightly, his fingers still burning hot.

It was humiliating, being bent at this obscene angle, offering his entire backside up for punishment. He worried his old trousers would leave little to the imagination. Miss Calderwood took aim against the seat of his pants, tapping the ruler against him, warning him of his impending fate.

The first whack was more bark than bite. It sounded like a firecracker in the echoing old room, but barely registered at all. Finley didn't even wince. She struck him harder, the length of the ruler reaching across both his cheeks at once. His clothes seemed to take great care in protecting his flesh, stopping the ruler's impact an inch before its target. Again, he didn't make a sound. The third time his trousers gave way to allow a solid sting, but it required so much force that it broke the ruler clean in half.

Finley gasped right along with his employer, his knuckles white.

"Stand up. It seems fate isn't on your side today, Finley. I'm afraid I now have no choice but to spank you the old fashioned way. Right on your bare bottom."

He stood, just about blushing from head to toe, and waited as she arranged her skirt over her knees. The shame was practically drowning him now, the utter humiliation of feeling her fingers now unbuttoning his pants. His manhood, just inches away, began to stir and rise, as though attempting to meet her touch. Thankfully, Miss Calderwood was faster, tugging his pants and underpants to his ankles before it was too noticeable.

"All the way over. Hands on the ground. Push forward a little. There you go."

It felt strange to be in a position like this, a grown man in his twenties. His legs were just about straight behind him, and his palms balanced the upper part of his body. The table was embarrassing enough, but now he was mortified, laying right over her lap. His shirt had pulled away from his bottom, so the air caressed his naked skin, helping to ensure he couldn't forget his exact state of undress.

The time to protest and let her know the cracks against his palms settled the score had long passed. She'd given him the opportunity the very moment she sentenced him to this childish chastisement. He could have subtly shaken his head and that would have been enough. Yet all he did was blush and fully accept his consequences.

"Finley," she said. Her hand lay right over his cheeks as she spoke. "You are a good boy. An obedient boy. But I need you to be a more careful boy from now on. Do you understand?"

"Yes, ma'am!" he choked out the words. When he agreed to this punishment earlier that afternoon, his feeble imagination didn't show him the true scope of the potential for humiliation. In no recent memory had he been in a more vulnerable position. His pants bunched around his ankles, his stinging palms pressed into the wooden floorboards, and his bottom fully bared and presented high up to his mistress for discipline. Finley cursed the brief moment in time when he backed into that little end table, setting off this entire chain of events.

Spank! Spank! Spank! Spank! Spank!

She didn't hold back. Just as he feared might happen, her hand was such a familiar instrument that she found no reason to restrain herself. Each new spank that cracked against his bottom caused some slight reaction, whether a grunt or wince or his feet kicking back off the floor.

"Oooh!" cried Finley at last.

Spank! Spank! Spank! Spank! Spank!

"I'll be careful! I'll be good! Ahh! Please!"

She'd hardly begun. He knew that in his heart, but still he tried to bargain and plead and make his little promises. His feet went from slight tips back to kicking wildly behind him, as the burden of his weight shifted over to his palms.

"Think about what you've done with your carelessness!" she scolded him.

Spank! Spank! Spank! Spank! Spank!

His bottom burned even worse than his palms earlier. Both cheeks were hot and smarting as the relentless spanks rained down. The heaviness of his guilt that had earlier pooled in his heart now began to pool at the bottoms of his eyes. His yelps and cries now sounded squeaky as his throat tightened.

"I'm very, very sorry, Miss Calderwood!"

That was his final attempt at sounding his own age, before he knew the dam would break. She simply said, "I'm sure you are," and her hand continued its sound assault.

A hiccupping sound turned into a low wail, which in turn became a sob. Finley felt his face twist and contort as the guilt surfaced there at last, tears escaping his eyes and falling with little splatters to the wooden floor just an inch away from his hanging head. The young man who hadn't cried in over ten years now wept and sputtered. All his little gasping inhales shook with their intensity.

All out of words, the deeply repentant houseboy just sobbed and kicked through the remainder of his spanking. Soon he was out of kicks too, as his legs fell limp behind him. His arms gave way next, until the top of his head was pressed to the floor as he wept, the majority of his weight now held steady by Miss Calderwood's lap and her arm tucked around his middle.

He didn't even realize, until he was up and his back was patted kindly and his pants replaced over his sore bottom, that he no longer felt tarnished and awful. She whispered, "It's just a vase, just a vase," while dabbing just under his eyes with a tissue. Finally, he understood too. Just a vase. His sound punishment buried his guilt at last.

"Thank you, ma'am," he said without prompting.

So that was how Finley was punished from that point forward. When he'd done wrong (a deed he truly avoided as best he could) he was told to stand against the nearest wall, and he knew to expect a very sore bottom soon enough.

Eventually the secret got out. A few months and two spankings later, Finley was found in that very position by another employee of the manor house. He just barely managed to not turn away from the wall as he heard the woman's footsteps. The young lady, Abigail, gawked rather openly. "Finley?" she'd practically shouted. "Are you being punished?"

The shame brought forth a whimper before his quiet, "Yes."

"Don't worry, Abigail," said Miss Calderwood in passing. "Consequences like these are just for him and no one else."

Abigail was interested enough to stay nearby, taking forever to dust all the pictures that lined the hallway walls. So when it came time for his punishment, Finley knew Abigail had eavesdropped the entire ordeal. She heard his trousers being undone, and the order to bend over, and the sound of a firm hand smacking his bare flesh soundly. Soon enough she'd have also heard his cries and squeals and sobs.

So by now, a year later, it was no secret how the houseboy was punished. Finley was against the front living room wall this time, and trembling over the spanking he dreaded (and badly needed.) This time he'd forgotten to head into town to pick up a cake for a party that evening. It was already after closing and too late to fix his mistake.

Enjoying the relatively rare sight, Abigail took the time to tease him. "Oh, Finley. Not again. Don't you ever learn?"

He sighed, trying to keep the shameful stance exactly as his mistress had requested - both hands up and folded over his hair. He already felt sick over his mistake today. Miss Calderwood had been planning this soiree for a month.

"Come here, Finley," said Miss Calderwood. There was a wooden bath brush in her hand, and he very nearly felt relieved. It was exactly what he deserved.

Abigail was shooed out of the room before his trousers and underwear were lowered. Humiliating as it was, he had learned that positioning himself over Miss Calderwood's lap came with a small, immediate sense of peace. This was the start of safety and care and healing. It would soon be over and all forgiven.

"Why did you forget the cake?"

"I forgot to write it down," he said.

"And you won't do that again."

"No, ma'am. I won't do that again."

"It's a good thing my sister is close friends with the baker's wife."

Finley ventured a look over his shoulder, but she towered over him like this. He couldn't see if she was smiling. He returned his eyes to the floor.

"The cake will be delivered in time for the party. No thanks to your absentmindedness."

It was good news indeed, but Finley still felt contaminated with sin. He'd been a lazy, thoughtless boy. A better houseboy wouldn't have even needed the written reminder. So he stayed right where he was, over his mistress' lap.

She raised her hand and began a sound spanking that had her houseboy squirming and yelping in seconds. She'd gotten incredibly skilled at disciplining him over the past year, even though he'd needed it only infrequently. His legs were thrashing and kicking behind him before she'd even rubbed the smooth side of the bath brush against his backside.

These swats were delivered much like the doubled over belt had been about three months ago, soundly and slowly. Each crack of the brush drew a sharp little scream, his body jolting, tightening, and shuddering. He'd take a long while to loosen up, unclench his cheeks, and accept his next dose.

Crack!

"AAAHH! Ahhh! Noooo!"

A full thirty seconds would go by before the next crack jolted him forward against her thighs.

Finley stayed in the humbling position, fully accepting his entire punishment. Even as his bottom burned to an unbearable level, and a deep ache grew in the centre of both his cheeks, he forced himself to stay down. It was the only way forward. At least twenty whacks seared into his flesh before the tears came, freeing him, ridding him of the awful burden of helpless regret.

Crack!.... Crack!.... Crack!.... Crack!

Those final four swats were all to the same place, in the centre of his bottom, right above his thighs. It stung like the devil, making him scream through his sobs. By the final one, he was broken and limp, which was how he liked it best. Now he was pure, and free, and his debts truly felt paid.

Miss Calderwood let him cry a while over her legs, rubbing his back. This time when she dabbed a tissue under his eyes, she said, "It's just cake, dear boy. It's only cake."

Then he was escorted gently back to the wall. It was an addition to his punishments that began not long after Abigail had discovered the way Finley was disciplined. His pants were kept down and his sore bottom surely contrasted well against the stark white walls. It was a final humiliation that he found helpful, just in case any excess remorse remained.

Finley usually finished his crying here, back where it had begun. He sniffled back the last of his tears and calmed himself slowly, trying to ignore the occasional footsteps behind him, or through the hallways.

The baker delivered the package that started this whole ordeal today, and Finley was still bare-bottomed with his nose to the wall. He cringed, attempting to hide his face inside himself like a turtle. It was too late.

"I don't suppose he'll do

that

again," said the baker.

Finley's face grew hot over that, but his heart was right again. He'd sleep well tonight, on his stomach no doubt, but well.