Part four in a little consensual F/m series. This is pretty pure spanking fetish story with some anal discipline as an extra. Enjoy. All feedback super appreciated. :)
---------------
Emerson felt like he was falling in some kind of love. Not the kind where he wanted to kiss her. It was something else, stranger, maybe deeper. He didn't know the word for it and didn't know who to ask. When he lay in bed at eleven, trying his best to sleep as ordered, he thought about nothing else but what the word for it might be. The word came to him, and maybe it was the wrong word, but he thought it might be 'keep.' He wanted Ms. Hartford to keep him. Keep him in line, keep him a good boy, maybe just keep him in general.
He couldn't afford to see her as much as he wanted. University students aren't known for their wealth. He began to devise a plan. He had a name for that too: A work-spanking program. He'd ask when the time seemed right.
He saw her twice more before he asked about work on the second visit. The first visit was for a poor grade in physics, his hardest course. She took pity on him that day. "You did your best, I think," she had said. "And you did pass." He only got a recuperative, sensual, and long hand-spanking over her lap, no corner time, and a lot of cuddles afterwards. The desire to be kept was even stronger than before, even though she wasn't nearly as strict as usual.
The second spanking was for staying up past the bedtime she set for him. He nearly fell asleep in class the next day because of it. This time, she was having none of it. He got a long thirty minutes standing and waiting in the corner with his pants and underwear down, and then got soundly spanked with the hairbrush until he was bawling over her knees. Ms. Hartford was serious about her rules. He knew why; he really had been doing better in university ever since he began to follow them.
So after that, and an ever-intensifying type of submissive little crush, he wanted more. He asked right in her arms before the tears were fully dried from his face. His bottom was still burning hot under his jeans. "Ms. Hartford? Do you have any work for me? Here? Please, ma'am? I can clean and take out the trash. Whatever you need."
"I see," she said. He bit his lip, worried that a 'no' would surely follow.
"I'll work for the full cost of a session, even if it takes all day, and-"
She kissed his forehead and he melted into silence. "Shush, I understand. I don't have work here for you. But, I do happen to know someone who needs help. Do you have Saturdays free?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Good. I know someone who has been looking for a helper. Cleaning, tidying, yard work. My neighbour, Mrs. Anderson. Every Saturday, go from nine until five with an hour lunch. No slacking off. You will do whatever chores she tells you to do, and you will be polite and obedient at all times. She's a very old lady and will not lay a finger on you, but you will have to answer to me if she has any complaints. Or I do. Understood?"
He couldn't agree fast enough.
---------------
On his first Saturday, he cleaned Mrs. Anderson's entire house, top to bottom. Part of his job involved cleaning an entire cabinet of fine china. Every time he lifted something to wash, he pictured it shattering, Mrs. Anderson calling Ms. Hartford, and him being instantly bared and thrown over her knees. Right there in the dining room.
Maybe he wanted that, to be treated so carelessly, like a possession. To have his mistress have such little regard that she'd humiliate him like that. This entire time, working and knowing he had to be obedient at all times... it excited him. Not that he was constantly aroused, or ever while doing his cleaning, but it was the headspace. It was such menial labour and the threat of punishment constantly loomed over him. It was like Ms. Hartford was with him the whole time, and everything he cleaned and organized and polished was all for her. Thrilling.
His back and legs hurt a bit, and Mrs. Anderson seemed busy watching some soap operas. Just a little break. Who would notice? Emerson quickly lost track of time, playing a rather mindless puzzle game on his phone. But technically his work was done. The house was clean, every piece of fine china washed and dried and put back. Nothing broken. He earned this reward for finishing early. Didn't he?
He had no idea that Ms. Hartford would come to collect him herself. After five, Emerson thought he would go see her. And since he was so good at cleaning, he'd get a nice sensual maintenance spanking, erotic and not too painful. She might even turn him over, and gently stroke his-
A loud throat clear made him look up from his phone. Was it five o'clock already? She put a hand on his shoulder, leaned to his ear, and whispered, "I believe I said no slacking."
"But I finished, ma'am," he said.
"You were to work hard until five."
"I- I'm so sorry..."
"You've earned a very, very sound spanking, young man."
"But, please, please, check the house! I did my work! I-"
"Silence. Now," she said, her voice tight in her throat.
Mrs. Anderson had just walked into the kitchen when he blushed terribly red. Ms. Hartford wore a poker face, unlike Emerson. It was likely that her neighbour had absolutely no idea that he was about to be severely punished for slacking. She even complimented his work and politeness. Somehow, he doubted that would be enough to save his hide.
Once outside, she whispered a new rule to Emerson's ear. "When you walk with me in public, you stay a foot behind. Keep your head down. We are not equal and we do not walk beside each other."
"Yes, ma'am," he said. His upcoming punishment was reminder enough of that.
He was sure every car that passed contained people pointing and gawking. If only he could look up and see for himself.
The moment they went inside, Ms. Hartford only had one stern request.
"Give me your phone. Right now. Unlock it."
He handed it over, feeling his breath catching in his chest.
"What were you doing instead of working?"
"Um, uh," he stammered, flushing pink. "Playing a puzzle game."
"Oh my goodness. How long?"
"Just for a little while. But I finished all my chores!"
"Are you still bargaining? I said you'll work for her. If you had finished early she might have had something else you could have done. Clear the dishwasher, put in some laundry, take out the trash. She would have found you something. But you chose to slack off instead and decided you were done early."
"Yes ma'am. Sorry, ma'am."
He swallowed, looking at how adept Ms. Hartford was with a phone. She found his screen time for the day, and she did it so quickly that he squeezed his eyes shut. He knew what was coming before it happened. "Three HOURS?" she shouted.
He was struggling to speak without stuttering. "S-some of that was at my lunch br-break, ma'am."
His work-spanking program was not starting off like he'd expected. Or maybe it was. Emerson was often confused about what he needed and wanted. He did, though, deeply want to please her. And right now she looked so frustrated with him. He looked down at his feet, guilt spreading like a sinking sensation through every vein in his body. Oh God, oh God, she was so mad.
"Emerson, it won't just be a spanking today. You're getting something a little extra."
They had exchanged new emails recently. Ms. Hartford said that due to Emerson's low pain tolerance he would benefit from some pure humiliation as punishment. One of her suggestions was some light anal discipline. It was exciting, at the time, to agree. Now, here, and waiting - it gave him more anxiety than he'd thought.
"Now. You disobeyed my rule of no slacking, didn't you? Flagrantly, I might add."
"Yes, ma'am. I'm so sorry."
Then she asked something she'd never asked before. "What do you think you've earned?"
It was a tough question for someone like Emerson. His guilty conscience was enormous. "Worse than the hairbrush, ma'am."
His heart sank with dread when she agreed. She pointed to the corner of the living room. Without further instruction, Emerson walked over, head low, and faced the corner. She unbuttoned his fly and tugged his pants and underwear down to his ankles. "Arms behind your back. Keep that shirt up. You're going to get the spanking of your life so far and I want you to think about that."
He waited for his punishment spanking in total shame. Being on such display was as difficult as knowing his bottom was about to be soundly punished. He'd soon be bawling over her lap, but right now he was humiliatingly naked from the waist down in the living room, hands behind his back, facing the wall like a naughty boy on time out.
"Should we open the curtains? Let everyone see what happens to naughty boys in this house?"
His whimper escaped his throat before he could stop it. He'd die, right on the spot. He'd just die. "Please don't, ma'am! I will be good!"
"Quiet," she scolded him. "Corner time is quiet time. I'll open any curtains I want."
She didn't open the curtains, though. It was just a threat. Maybe even a joke. But she sometimes took a moment to scold him further.
"What silly puzzle game is even worth three hours of your time in one day? Do you think it will be worth the sound spanking you'll receive for it?"
Emerson now knew better than to reply to these criticisms. He just took it quietly, as instructed, and each scolding served to further increase his dread.
"Pull up your pants. Come here to my side."
She pulled the barstool out and sat on it, laying a big white pillow over her knees to raise him even higher from the floor. Now dressed and by her side, he swallowed, his throat suddenly dry from fear. He'd never been over the barstool without crying his eyes out.
"Hands out in front of you, cross them wrist over wrist."
A new instruction. He'd never had to do this before, but he was humbled enough to obey without the slightest question, now. He presented his wrists to her, head bowed down, a little nervous pout on his lips.
