A F/m consensual spanking story. Part of a series. No sex this chapter. All characters over 18. All feedback appreciated greatly! Enjoy!
Finals Week
It was the same delightful pattern for six whole weeks. Emerson would ring Ms. Hartford's doorbell every Saturday morning. He'd announce that he was there for his spanking with a little pink flush around his cheeks. Saying it aloud never became easy for the boy who was shy about discussing even platonic topics. Then he'd be escorted inside, swiftly bared, and bent over her lap.
"Will you be a good boy at work today?" Ms. Hartford would ask, rubbing his bottom.
"I will be, ma'am," promised Emerson every time.
"Let me remind you what happens to naughty boys."
He would be spanked just soundly enough for the memory to linger through his workday. Then he'd clean Mrs. Anderson's house, obediently help with any other chores she suggested, and get a review from Ms. Hartford. He'd be punished no matter how he did, but the severity varied. Doing perfectly and getting a simple maintenance spanking with some extra features of his choosing was the most desirable outcome.
That's what was happening today. Emerson lay completely naked over his disciplinarian's lap, his bottom hot and pink. His wrists were snugly bound in a stretch of rope behind him. A wide piece of duct tape covered his mouth. Under him, his erection lay comfortably over her clothed thigh.
They were on the couch and she was really taking her time. Emerson would let out a grunting sigh with each stinging slap to his bottom, but these types of spankings didn't cause tears. They would usually let him drift deep into a submissive state, allowing him to give full control over to Ms. Hartford. The bound wrists and gag were helping tremendously with that.
Sometimes during these maintenance spankings he would close his eyes and fantasize forbidden or impossible things. Being spanked in front of all his classmates in the lecture hall. That was a big one lately. Or that Ms. Hartford bought him and owned him and would use him any way she wanted in front of anyone present. Or that hot female police officers found a new way to handle jaywalking.
Today he imagined he'd been kidnapped by a gang of very sexy ladies. He pictured he was stripped, tied up, and gagged by his adversaries as he struggled helplessly. Then when his frightened whimpering and struggling became too annoying, given a hand-spanking from each kidnapper in turn.
He tested the rope that bound him, attempting to pull his wrists apart. They stayed tightly pressed together, not even an ounce of slack. Perfect. Then he tried to cry out under his duct tape gag, and it just came out like
mmmmph
. These enhancements to his spanking today made him squirm a little in delightful pleasure.
If it got to be too much, he was meant to say
mm-mm-mm
like three staccato protests in a row. It came across better in person. Ms. Hartford made him practice before she bound up his wrists, and when he did well with it, she called him a good boy. He loved when she did that.
Ms. Hartford adjusted him over her lap, getting a better angle. Spankings like these seemed to go on for a long, long while. His disciplinarian would let his mind drift so he could sink away into his happy place. She knew what he was doing even before he confessed a few weeks ago. After all, she had a lot more experience with this type of thing.
Once his bottom was sufficiently punished, Ms. Hartford talked to her very captive audience. "Emerson?"
"Mmph?"
"The week after next is finals week."
"Mmph," he said behind the duct tape, a pout of a word.
"I want you to do well. I know you've had difficulty before with final projects and exams. So you're not going to do anything but eat, sleep and study - with occasional short breaks for your sanity."
"Mmph!" He squirmed in protest over her knees, but it was easy for her to keep him in line. She held him down and gave him a few sharp spanks.
"I mean it. You need to focus for the next two weeks. I'm going to check on you frequently over text and you'd better respond honestly. You need this - especially for physics."
He knew he needed to work on physics. It was just so overwhelming that he usually avoided it. A terrible solution to the problem that only a twenty-year-old would find reasonable.
"You've earned enough from your weekly cleaning jobs that I can do this for you. Don't clean at all next Saturday. Just study and then come see me at five."
"Mmph, mmph," he said, agreeing. Ms. Hartford pat his bottom gently before sending him to the corner.
He went to his knees instead of his feet. It just seemed more in line with the current fantasy, and Ms. Hartford didn't mind. He was now back in the clutches of his cruel kidnappers, cowering in fear in the corner, scared of another round of spankings for too much muffled whimpering.
After a long and exciting ten minutes, Ms. Hartford came to collect him. After untying his wrists, she tried to gently pull the duct tape off, but it still smarted rather terribly. He winced and rubbed at his lips and jaw. Still worth it, all told.
"What was it that time?" she checked.
"I was kidnapped, ma'am."
"Very exciting," she said. "Taken for a steep ransom from your wealthy parents I assume?"
He looked up at her in surprise before climbing to his feet. Yes, that was more or less the story behind his fantasy. But how did she know his parents were wealthy?
She laughed a little at his wide eyes. "You attend a very expensive university, you majored in art, and you're named after a nineteenth century poet, Emerson. Not a leap to guess you come from money. Alright. Starting tomorrow morning, you know what to do."
"Yes, ma'am. I'll study."
---
He did mean to study. For the first few days he did study too, everything but physics anyway. So when Ms. Hartford checked on him, he could answer honestly.
I'm working on my final English paper
he would tell her. Or he'd type
I'm in my room studying for Art History.
When she finally asked directly about physics, he fibbed a little. That was how he put it anyway.
It's coming along
he said to that.
But by Friday Emerson felt he deserved a break. His English paper was done a week early. He'd also just finished a major art project. And he'd even sometimes opened his physics notebook to squint at the pages with confusion before immediately shutting it again.
He was about to play some video games for several hours straight before his roommate, who was well aware of his intense introversion, invited him to have dinner and see a movie with a few other friends of his. Though Emerson barely said much during dinner, it was still a good time - until he got a text early on in the movie. Ms. Hartford said,
Just checking in...
He bent over in the darkened theatre to reply hastily.
I'm at the library working on physics.
Ten minutes later, his phone buzzed again. What he saw made him gulp.
The library closed an hour ago.
Emerson looked up to see a side character in the movie trip and fall down an entire flight of stairs. He found this more relatable than he might have a few seconds ago. He cursed under his breath. He knew he signed up for this kind of treatment, but sometimes past-him made choices for future-him that present-him found to be a bit much. Ms. Hartford's punishment spankings were no joke. The last time he'd been punished under her hand, he bawled like a baby.
His phone buzzed again. A little friendly reminder.
