Cornered

Passing her friend in the hallway between classes, Maddy blurted “Chill at my house after?”

“Meet you at your locker,” replied Kara. No further conversation was possible in the rush of students.

They met after last period and strolled to Maddy’s house, both girls nursing a certain excitement at their interpretation of “Chill.”

Maddy burst through the unlocked front door with her friend Kara close behind. “Mom I’m home!” she yelled, and a muffled answer from far away apparently acknowledged.

Kara stopped suddenly. “Um, Mad?” she asked, gesturing with a tilted head. In the corner of the living room stood a girl, facing the walls, naked, arms folded behind her back, displaying a bottom marked in colors and patterns indicative of a painful ordeal.

“That’s my sister Holly,” Maddy said.

Kara took a few steps closer. “She got spanked?”

“Yeah. By my mom, looks like.”

“How can you tell?” Kara asked, mesmerized by the statue-still girl in the corner.

“Those are spoon marks,” Maddy said, coming closer and pointing. “Wooden kitchen spoon. Only my mom uses that. Here, come and see.”

Kara drew close and bent down. “Those look awful,” she said.

“You can touch her,” Maddy offered, “Or smack her ass, if you want. She’s not allowed to move.”

A close observer might have seen Kara’s nipples respond to the invitation.

“Really?”

“Sure.”

Kara knelt for a closer look; after a minute’s inspection, she put a hand on Holly’s bottom. A hiss of indrawn breath was Holly’s only reaction.

“It’s actually hot,” said Kara, glancing up at Maddy. She gave the tender bun a firm squeeze, provoking another gasp from above. “I can spank her, you said?”

“Sure,” Maddy replied. “Corner time is fair game.”

Kara got to her feet, took a half step back, and swung. Smack!

“Owww!” Holly yelled at the fresh stab of pain.

“Huh. Pretty cool,” Kara observed. “How long does she have to stand there?”

“Depends what Mom told her. Probably half an hour, unless whatever got her in trouble is really bad. Then she’ll have to wait until Dad gets home. His spankings make Mom’s feel like a kiss. Hey, if my dad spanks her, we can watch if you want.”

“Really?”

“Holly will hate it, but my dad won’t mind.”

Kara took one last appraising look, then reached for Maddy’s hand. “C’mon,” she whispered. “Let’s go to your room and make out. My pussy’s already creamy.”

The schoolgirls raced up the stairs.

In her corner, quietly, Holly began to sob.

— Frenulum

Job Opportunities

The four Summer interns hadn’t met before their first day, but quickly found similarities to encourage friendship. All were girls, all recent high school graduates, either 17 or 18 years old, all with a common if somewhat fuzzy view of the careers that interested them. They did not notice that they were each particularly attractive: beautiful girls are used to having beautiful girls around them, so it wasn’t remarkable.

There had been no mention of an office dress code, but each one had, on the day of her interview, picked up on the general tone of the place. On their first day, then, three wore a professional-looking skirt and blouse combination, with hair pulled back, subtle makeup, and modest heels. The fourth chose a dress but otherwise fell in line.

The “big boss,” as they thought of him, gathered them together and said some welcoming words. They were then turned over to their immediate supervisors for work assignments, and got busy to the best of their understanding and talents.

The second day was much the same for three of the four interns. But as for the fourth…

Her hair fell loose around her shoulders. Her makeup was night-club ready. Her push-up bra displayed her breasts to great advantage, her cleavage decorated with delicate lace. She wore a skirt that almost failed to cover her ass, so tight that every curve was temptingly spankable, slit in back for greater provocation. Thigh-high stockings wrapped her long legs but fell short of the skirt’s hem, leaving an eye-catching expanse of bare thigh between. As a final decoration after the long span of delicious, silky curvature, fuck-me heels tilted her feet and fastened around her ankles, as if to promise that they would stay in place no matter how hard the pounding.

Three girls were aghast. How could you…? What on earth did you…? You look like a…! What happened to…?

The fourth calmly said, “Didn’t you listen yesterday? Only one of us is going to be hired at the end of the summer.”

On the third day…

— Frenulum

Company

I was cooking for the party with an eye on the clock, growing more anxious by the minute. All the guests were friends, and if something went wrong or wasn’t quite ready in time, nobody would care — except for me. I wanted everything to be perfect. I was stressed and getting a little bit frantic.

My husband was helping, fetching ingredients for me or putting them away, cleaning up as I worked so we wouldn’t have a huge mess to deal with later. Since he can’t read my mind, I suppose it wasn’t really surprising when he put away the butter before I was done with it.

What was surprising is that I lost my temper, and sort of yelled at him. Well, not really “sort of.” I shouted. Ranted. I think I used the word “stupid” once or twice. When all I needed to do was to ask him to get the butter out again, or fetch it myself.

He just took it. He didn’t say anything. He kept on helping. But I knew the look in his eyes. I knew what I had just earned.

When the last dish went into the oven, he surveyed the kitchen and asked me to confirm that everything was either ready or in progress. It was, and I did.

He led my by the hand into the living room, and sat in the middle of the sofa. All he said was, “Now.”

I took my clothes off. Everything but my panties. Once I was stretched across his lap, he pulled them down to my knees.

When it was over, and my bottom was on fire and covered in dark red splotches, and my face was wet with tears, he helped me up and led me to face the usual corner.

It wasn’t until then that I realized… Oh, no! Corner time is always thirty minutes. The guests would arrive in ten.

There was absolutely no point in pleading.

— Frenulum