The Slipper and the Cane

(****, M/F, Severe, semi-consensual slippering, caning)

A man must discipline the delightfully bratty Alicia. (Approximately 1,609 words. Originally published 2020-05.)

It was time for Alicia's spanking. She'd been a real brat, lately, and I'd promised her. My heart was heavy with the duty, but I couldn't break a promise.

Naturally, she wasn't happy about leaving the cool water of the pool and even more annoyed at my purpose. To lighten the mood I said to her, "Would you rather have the slipper or the cane?"

"Neither," she snapped in a snotty tone.

Fury flowed through me. "Fine then. You can have both!"

She glanced at me, worried, and saw I was serious. Immediately her attitude changed 180 degrees. She began to plead and apologize, but it was too late.

"You're being punished for being a brat all week and even the promise of a slippering isn't enough to quell that attitude, so maybe a dose of the cane after your slippering will finally teach you some manners," I said sternly. "Go get them both right now. Any delay will cost you."

I left this last vague and ominous and she shivered. Alicia was a pretty girl, with the face of a 14-year-old and the breasts of a Page Six starlet. She flounced out of the room, her much-too-small bikini swimsuit, still damp from the pool, clinging to the chubby rounds of her pert little bum. The cheeks seem to bound in the opposite directs of the suit, revealing pale honey-colored flesh that I'd soon redden.

She was back quickly, sensing my irritated mood and hoping to earn some mercy by being prompt. The slipper was just the leather sole of a huge old plimsole I'd bought at a thrift store for cheap and sabotaged for its new disciplinary purpose. It stung like blazes and was an effective behavioral modifier, at least when Alicia wasn't in a mood.

The cane was a meter-long punishment rod, as thin as an excuse and just as flexible. Six with it was sizable punishment, especially on a bottom freshly heated with the sole, but I had sterner measures in mind. Alicia's cheekiness clearly called for extreme measures.

"Off with that thing," I said, meaning her bikini bottoms, but she assumed I meant the entire swimsuit. Suddenly those melon breasts were bare and dangling, and then I was seeing the well-groomed peach fuzz guarding her most private person. She kicked off the swimsuit bottoms disdainfully and shuffled to where I sat on the sofa, slipper in hand.

When she flopped across my legs I once again marveled at her beauty. She was adorable, slim and petite, and yet as voluptuous as a London whore. Her body was a wild mix of child and adult. Her skin was smooth and flawless, her curves graceful and supple. Yet her attitude clearly sucked, petulant and ungrateful. She needed this spanking like I needed a new car.

I took a moment to admire the pristine state of her bum. It was gorgeous, round and cheeky, the flesh rich with jiggle as she lay quivering across my legs. The crevice between the mounds was dark and deep, a slender dividing line that twitched and wiggled in anticipation. The smooth skin begged me to begin and after I final memorization of the perfection, I did.

The sole snapped down hard on the far cheek. Alicia gasped. I knew that first slap was always a shock, like plunging into icy water. It seemed to hurt more than it did. By the time I'd mirrored the spank on the left buttock and added half a dozen more spread between the globes, Alicia was settling down into minor moans.

The spanking didn't hurt yet, not really. This was just preparation, setting the table for what was to come. For the next five minutes I warmed that flesh, reddening it with a myriad of smacks that had it glowing.

Halfway through the shuddering bottom began to rock and shift, seeking to escape the correction. The action built into desperation, then became frantic. Alicia's voice rose to a howl and slowly the tears began to drip. I spanked on, knowing this was exactly what the brat needed.

Soon she was begging me to slow down, to have mercy, and promising perfect behavior. I ignore everything and concentrated on making that bum throb. She kicked her toes like she was swimming, her arms bracing herself against the carpet. I spanked on and on and on.

Finally I stopped. Alicia was sobbing. I let her cry for a minute before pointing out that we had the cane to come. This provoked fresh tears and apologies.

"Oh please, not the cane!"

"Stand up and touch your toes. If you cooperate, you're only getting six in this position."

Reluctantly, she obeyed. Her form was perfect, legs straight, arms reaching for her feet. She looked like a teenage goddess. The twin globes of her bum jutted out like ripe cherries, a deep pinkish-red from her slippering.

I lined up the lean wand of the cane and touched the bottom of her bottom. She flinched. "Don't move," I reminded her, and I then I swished the rod hard across those rounds.

The snap of the rattan was like a bone breaking. It was chilling. A bright red line blossomed in the center of Alicia's pert rump. She shuddered, her pretty face screwed up in pain, but remained in position. I waited a few dreadful seconds for the agony to seep into her being and then added a second, even more forceful blow.

"Ahh! Ow!" she grunted. Her hips wagged and she bent her knees for a second, but she didn't move her feet or her hands. She was technically still within the guidelines, so I didn't call her on it.

But I was determined to see her earn extras, so I beat her hard. I gave her little time to recover and I swished the wicked cane in hard and low. She suffered bravely through the fourth, but the fifth was almost across her thighs and she jerked one hand up as though tempted to comfort her blazing rear end. She corrected herself immediately, but it was too late. I'd seen.

"That one doesn't count and you just earned an extra stroke," I said. She shuddered, but didn't complain. She knew I was looking for any chance to escalate her punishment.

I repeated five and quickly tacked on six. She wasn't expecting it so soon and groaned at the fierce sting. That gave me tine to get the final stroke ready. It, naturally, had to be worst, and it was, a sharp cut low into the groove between buttock and thigh and it drove in deep and hard.

Alicia was still weeping as she spread out naked on the low bench. With her flat, her bottom still thrust up, the rounded curves blessed with a series of eight distinct tramlines, each swollen and red.

I caned around these, seeking fresh unclaimed territory. The rod, with gravity to aid in its descent, scarcely needed my encouragement, but I gave it anyway. The stick struck with all the ferocity of a cobra bite. Alicia squealed.

Stripe after stripe was planted and grew across those shaking buttocks. Alicia moaned, tears flowing, but she stayed obediently in position. She took six, and then all the way to twelve. I could sense her dismay when I continued. She'd naturally hoped that a dozen was enough, especially considering she'd been slipper first.

The final six were all sharp and as hard as I could make them. I held nothing back. I worked the meatiest areas of her rear. By then there was some overlapping of weals. That's what happens with a smaller bottom. The last two were low, almost on top of each other, and Alicia's groans sounded like she was dying from mortal wounds.

I'd whipped Alicia's legs as much as her butt so that when I finished she was well-striped from the top of her crack to the back of her knees. She'd gotten two dozen, plus the repeat and extra, and I'd used the sole to warm the flesh first. It was a good thrashing, one of my best, and she knew it. She was meek and cowed, standing quietly in the corner after, her flogged cheeks quivering, her hands on her head well away from the temptation to comfort that throbbing bottom.

Finally I forgave her with a kiss. She melted into me and apologized, her tears sincere. I felt her hot, lined bottom and marveled at her stoicism and endurance. You'd think she'd learn, but she loves being a brat. It's the dare, the risk. Knowing her bottom is on the line, she pushes right up against the limits and goes a little bit further to see what she can get away with. It never works. It always earns her a sore bottom, but she always tries. I knew that within a week we'd be in this situation again. Alicia was incorrigible.

Of course, that's why I married her. That and her fine adult-child body. After all, what's the point of having such a wonderful bottom if she's never naughty enough to spank? Alicia always gives me plenty of excuses to tan her hide, and I enjoy every sweet minute of it.

I squeezed her rump hard and she moaned, tears glittering in her eyes. But her body was wet and hungry for me, the pain arousing her like nothing else can. I enveloped her and carried her off to our bedroom for additional pleasurable activities. There's nothing quite like a lazy Sunday afternoon with nothing on the agenda but spanking and fucking your lovely wife.

The End