Feet

(***, M/f, Severe, non-consensual paddling, switching, foot whipping)

When she doesn't cooperate, a girl gets her feet whipped. (Approximately 843 words. Originally published 2020-05.)

Katie was sixteen and still spanked. Whipped was more like it. When she'd done something deserving punishment, which happened every few weeks, she'd be sent to her room. There she had to take off all her clothes and lie face down on the bed.

After a while her father would come in with the oak paddle and leather crop. He'd lecture her first, to ensure she knew why she was being punished, and then he'd begin with the paddle.

Already Katie had a broad rump. It was thick and meaty and thrust up high even when she was lying flat. The board was long and covered both cheeks. The blows were firm, the stinging amazing. Katie was always in tears within a minute.

She did her best to keep herself obediently still, but it was so difficult. Her every instinct was to cover her bottom and that impulse grew the hotter her ass burned. She was good about keeping her hands away, gripping the metal railings of her headboard, but her feet had a mind of their own. She usually wasn't even aware her heels had folded forward over her bottom until she heard her father utter the count.

This wasn't the count of strokes he'd given her, but the number of violations she'd committed. Each time her heels came up and interfered with her spanking, he added to the count. Typically she only got a few during the paddling, but it varied, and if it was a longer paddling she might have as many as a dozen faults.

After the paddling she got a break. She always thought this was as much for her father as for her, but she wasn't complaining. The only thing that made it bad was that she knew she had the switch to come and that instrument truly terrified her.

It was about two feet long, a thin fiberglass core with leather wrapped around it. This made it flexible and tough and heavy, a deadly combination. A single swipe across her bare buttocks lit them on fire as though she'd been doused with lava. It was almost impossible to not bring her heels back to prevent a subsequent strike, so during the whipping she earned a lot more faults.

Her father didn't increase the number of lashes he'd planned on giving her, which was good, but the growing count of her violations was terrifying. Each of those represented a lash to the soles of her feet. Worse, her father counted each foot separately, so a penalty of ten, for instance, meant ten strikes to each sole.

Just one burning brand to a foot was agony. A dozen was unspeakably bad, and Katie often got three dozen. There was no way she could have borne the foot whipping without some sort of restraint, but it was a simple matter to slip each angle between the railings of her footboard. The opening was narrow enough that she couldn't easily get her feet out, so the rails effectively worked like an ankle stock. Katie was still stretched out naked on the bed, this time with her feet held, and her father would dutifully and ruthlessly flog her naked soles.

Katie hated this portion of her whipping more than anything. She'd rather have the whole bottom spanking again than brave the foot punishment, but she had no voice in the matter. Every time she vowed that next time she'd take her spanking without moving, but every time she failed.

She begged her father to let her lock her ankles in the foot railing for the main spanking, as that would prevent her heels from blocking her butt, but he wouldn't hear of it.

"The whole point of the spanking is for you to show maturity and acceptance of the discipline. If you're restrained, there's no will involved. I want you to resist the temptation to protect your bottom and take your paddling and switching obediently. If you can't, then your feet will pay the price."

Katie sobbed in dismay and had to lie angled on the bed with her legs free, and when the paddle began to burn her bottom she was soon in such agony she couldn't help but bring her feet up to try and stop the wicked board from applying more steaming pain.

This is the way her spankings were always done. She tried to behave, she really did, but she was a teenage girl and it was impossible. Every few weeks she did something stupid: talk back to her mother, violate her curfew, tank a test at school, or disobey in myriad ways that concluded with her howling in her bedroom and her butt bright red and striped and her feet swollen and sore.

Each time she promised herself it would be the last, but that was a foolish fantasy. In no time at all she was naked on her bed waiting for her father, her heart breaking with dispair as she thought of how much the paddle and switch were going to hurt.

The End