As promised, a short story to give you a feel for what a directed (self-) punishment spanking would be like. Obviously this is only one way, of many, that this could be done, but I did think it would be nice to give you a kind of template for you to use if you decided to incorporate this kind of punishment into your relationship.
You don’t really need to read the other posts to follow this since it’s a story, but you may want to look them up if you are interested in real life relationship information rather than just fiction.
She sat on the edge of her bed, chewing on her bottom lip and staring at the digital clock on the nightstand. She was wearing just a t-shirt and panties, next to her a hairbrush was sat there looking innocent and not at all like something to be dreaded.
At exactly 8:15 she sighed and got off the bed, dragging her feet all the way to the corner where she tucked up her t-shirt, lowered her panties to mid-thigh, and waited. She wasn’t allowed to take a device with her or look around to see the time, but she knew when it was 8:30 because the phone rang. It was his special ring tone.
The dread amplified and her tummy did a little flip as she left the corner, without pulling up her panties, of course, to answer the phone. There was no need for pleasantries, and he got right to the point, giving her the order to lie on the bed, his voice stern and uncompromising. She knew better to argue or whine; it would only make things worse, but she couldn’t help it.
“I’m sorry, Sir. Honest. I didn’t mean to snap at you like that. It’s just been a long week and I was missing you,” she said in an anxious, trembling voice.
“That doesn’t mean you get to take it out on me, young lady. This is the second time this week I’ve had to remind you of that so it’s clear you need more than a warning.”
And she couldn’t really argue that. She’d been feeling out of sorts for weeks and trying to avoid the inevitable was pointless now. She stretched out on the bed, picking up the hairbrush hesitantly and rubbed the cool wood across the back of her thigh while she thought about what was going to happen. It wasn’t going to feel cool in a minute.
“I’m sorry,” she repeated.
“Have I been gone so long that you forgot whose sub you are?” he asked in a quietly disappointed tone.
Her bottom lip trembled. Work had him traveling all over the country normally, but lately it seemed the trips were lasting longer and longer. He’d been gone almost a month this time and she didn’t like it.
“No Sir. I just…I lose my temper sometimes, when I get upset.” Not much of an excuse but it was true enough. After that there wasn’t much more to be said.
He started her off with a warm-up, telling her to spank her bottom just hard enough to sting. There were no numbers given; he would decide when she’d had enough, but occasionally he would tell her to spank harder, or slow down. She couldn’t help watching the clock and wondering how long this part would go on.
A few minutes of brisk spanking and her breathing was getting slightly ragged. There were a few tiny sounds of pain, which were mostly for dramatics since it didn’t hurt all that much, yet. Each smack stung a little, but the build-up was slow, at least at first. By the time he told her to stop at five minutes, her bottom lip was trembling, and her eyes were getting itchy though.
He began to lecture her about her attitude, but also, he took care to remind her that she was his, his property, his submissive.
She felt both guilty about her behavior and reassured at the same time—but then he told her to pick up the hairbrush again. The warm-up spanking was always very specific. They used a pain scale of 1-10, and by now she was familiar enough with the routine that he didn’t even needed to give numbers for that part. It always started at about a two and generally by the time he stopped she’d have rated her sore and stingy seat at about a five.
But now they were moving on to the main punishment and it could vary unpredictably. She really had no idea what to expect.
“Ten on each cheek at a seven. Don’t alternate,” he said.
Not alternating meant ten hard smacks on the exact same spot, ten times in a row. Those were always harder because the sting built so quickly.
She closed her eyes, took a deep breath and snapped the hairbrush down on her left cheek. As much as it stung, she always had to hold herself back from rushing through them. He wanted her to savor each one and let the pain build for a few seconds between strikes. Slapping the same place was difficult, but it wasn’t unheard of for him to make her start over at one if he thought they weren’t hard enough, or the right speed and she didn’t want that.
He did several cycles of this, occasionally telling her to go up a notch, or slow down, and then he told her to move to her thighs. She hated the thighs and she always ended up having to repeat them because it just stung so much. By the time he’d heated up the back of her legs she was starting to sniffle and kick her feet a little with each smack. “Please, I’m sorry,” she said, when he told her to do another set of ten.
It didn’t even occur to her that she could stop; it never did. He was in control here. He was the one giving her orders and by this point in the punishment it no longer even felt like she was the one doing the spanking.
“I know you are, babygirl, but we’re not done yet. Another ten on each. Unless you want me to add some more.” It wasn’t quite a threat, but the meaning was clear, and she dutifully brought the brush down hard on the center of her right thigh with a crisp smack that brought tears to her eyes.
Nine more, and then another ten on the other thigh before he let her stop. She got a brief respite then while they talked about ways, she could deal with stress without taking it out on him. Well, mostly he talked, and she listened and said ‘Yes Sir’ a lot. She tried to drag that part out as long as possible because after would probably be the finale and she wasn’t looking forward to that.
During the first part things had gotten harder gradually, in slow increments, but the last ones… those were always the hardest. He had her turn on her side and pull one knee up towards her chest to stretch the skin at the top of her thighs. Normally somewhat protected by her cheeks, now her sit-spot was fully vulnerable—just the way he liked it.
“Right up at the top of your thighs and base of your cheeks; I want these fast, young lady—and no stopping.”
“How many?” she asked nervously.
“Until I tell you to stop. You can aim for a level five.” It sounded generous after the sevens and eights, but it wasn’t. The sit spots were very tender, especially stretched like that and rapid-fire swats like he wanted were going to burn like crazy.
She took a deep breath, eyes squinting in preparation for the burn that she knew was coming, then she began to spank. Snapping the hairbrush down, over and over without stopping. Dozens of swats went by, but the exact count was lost in the flurry. It must have gone on for a while because she’d begun to sniffle and occasionally “please!” would slip out in a frantic miserable tone.
Her shoulder and arm started to ache, and when they did, she switched sides so she could use her other arm for a while. Tears started to leak from the corner of her eyes and her breathing became ragged and unsteady as the pain built. A quick look at the clock said only several minutes had gone by, and not the hour it felt like, but the spanks were starting to land a little slower.
She wasn’t slowing deliberately, but she could only keep up the quick tempo for so long, and when it got to the point where there was actually a pause that lasted a few seconds his voice snapped through the phone, “Did I say stop?” he demanded.
She quickly picked up the pace again, trying to keep it just at an acceptable speed and varying her aim to try to find spots that weren’t already throbbing and sore. Just when it seemed like it was too much, he suddenly told her to stop—but there wasn’t any break coming.
“Five at a level ten on the back of each thigh and count them,” he said.
It was pointless to argue, and she knew it. She could safeword, but they both knew she wasn’t anywhere close to her limits, and he would be spanking her a lot harder if he was there. It was only that it was hard to make herself continue when everything was already on fire. She hesitated, sniffling a little bit louder than necessary in hopes that he’d take pity on her—but no.
“Right now, unless you want to start over from the beginning,” he said calmly with a note of steel in his voice. He would do it. He had done it before and that was the last thing she wanted.
She forced herself to land the first smack, with a full-arm swing that cracked down solidly on her flank and made her gasp. The second one didn’t land quite right. It stung but barely made a sound and was definitely not at a level ten. She repeated it without being told before counting “Two!” in a shaky voice.
“Good girl,” he said approvingly, and even in the midst of all of it she appreciated the praise.
She continued; each one was harder to do than the one before but knowing that it would end at ten helped and she was careful to make sure each one counted so there were no more repeats. After the final swat she waited, trembling and hopeful.
There was a long pause and she continued to wait while the tension built. Would this be the end or would there be more?
“Good girl, you can put the brush down,” he said finally.
She let out the breath she’d been holding and dropped it like the handle was burning her hand. “Thank you, Sir,” she said promptly, and tried to sound grateful among the sniffles. She hadn’t cried much during the spanking, just a few stray tears, but he began to talk to her in a low soothing voice, telling her she was a good girl and that he knew she’d try harder to keep her attitude in check—and that was what brought on the tears.
The physical pain could make her eyes water, could make her cheeks wet from a few tears escaping, but with spankings like this it was hard for her to let go. Hard to stay strong enough to use the hairbrush on herself and let go of her emotions enough to cry. So after—after during the forgiveness when she could picture snuggling up against him and being held close—that was when the tears came.
She began to sob quietly, and all the while his calm voice was there reminding her that she was his and that he loved her. Keeping her tethered to him no matter how far apart they were physically. She’d rather have had the spanking from his hand in person, even though she knew it would have been a lot worse, but when that wasn’t possible this was—this helped.
It helped to remind her of her place with him—and the sting and burn was something to hold onto until he came home again. Now that it was over, she almost wished it had been longer so it would last until he was back, but for now her backside still throbbed and the pain would remain a while making her feel safe and loved.
***Author’s note: The picture that goes with this post, like 99% of the pictures I use here, is mine. These are some of the implements I have that are good for this kind of discipline. There’s a lot of variety for sensation and pain level between them, and all of them are about the same length except for the hairbrush. They are the length that’s easiest for me to use.
In general you want to use things that are a little longer than your hand at a minimum. The brush is longer than it looks and works fine, but a bit longer is easier. Anything more than 18inches tends to be awkward for the opposite reason.
It can take a bit of experimenting to get the hang of this and if in-person visits are possible, it might be nice to experiment together. Perhaps with your Top watching so they can see how you do it and make sure you’re doing it how they want it done. They need to be familiar with the implements you own so they know what their choices are and the effect each will have too.