♥ Site recommended story ♥
Red hot new spanking fiction by very special guest author Sukemnsee. This story is currently exclusive to The Canery! All the characters are 18 or older. WARNING: ADULTS ONLY!
The House Sitter Is Reluctant To Sit Down by sukemnsee.
Like most people, I do not realise when I am onto a good thing until I am brought to earth with a jolt! I secured a useful arrangement some years back where I would house sit for a friend who spends most of the year abroad in sunnier climes. This considerably reduces my living costs and I have a pleasant bedroom of my own as part of the arrangement.
The trouble is I am innately untidy whereas my friend is obsessively spartan and abhors clutter. He knows of some of my proclivities, but not all. Often he acts as my conscience. He also very possessive of his own space when we are both in residence. The one thing I do get away with generally is keeping the kitchen well-stocked as he is less inclined to cook for himself and I increasingly rely on tasty home-cooked food which I readily share.
I should not have been lax about the return date. I knew it was early in the month but did not endorse the calendar. I expected a reminder a few days before and then I would see if it was to my convenience to meet him and assist after long flight or just to have a comforting meal awaiting on return. I had no prior warning.
I got home late evening and was struggling to feel the door unlock until I realised it was not locked. How foolish could I have been to not have locked it securely? I shut it firmly behind me. Then I saw the suitcase in the hall and on looking into his room saw he was fast asleep. Oh no! I had not been ready. I went to bed quietly.
The next evening when I got home I could hardly see my double bed as there was so much stuff piled on; from the recent washing left on the airer to my many plants, seedlings, kitchen ingredients and multiple gadgets and appliances that had been steadily encroaching on all kitchen worktop space, books, magazines, shoes, bags, in short a veritable mountain of my stuff that I had conveniently spread out in his absence. I dreaded the forthcoming encounter as I knew he would be irate.
The kitchen looked bare and I saw he was finishing a ready meal from the local convenience store. This was not good at all! Why was he was reluctant to eat my food? I wasn’t late home, but I prepared my own meal and the following day lunch, in silence. Ominous silence. Waiting for the storm to break. I made tea, received with a grunt. Oh well, I thought, better get started in my room trying to get some of the detritus in rightful places. I was halted as I made for my room.
The lecture was long and repetitive and not unexpected. I had, among other things, abused his hospitality. He said that I was fortunate to be in the situation I was in (despite the fact I recognised with advancing years I would end up with more care responsibilities). He suggested that I should be thrown out, given hours to quit and arrange a new place or storage for items. I did try to listen and give appropriate responses at key moments. In reality I did feel bad for my errors, particularly for not arranging some sort of escort from airport. Then we entered reality with a jolt. I had been summoned to bend over the arm of the sofa for the first of many punishments. I was taken aback as this was unexpected, even if he was obviously riled. I was told I was as irresponsible as a teenager and should be treated as such. Meanwhile he had extracted his old large worn leather belt from his jeans. The belting I was to receive would remind me to behave better for all time. There would be no alternative, my way or highway etc. I had also better hope that none of his friends would have a cane available to borrow, or a later day in the week might be incredibly painful indeed.
This was a dilemma as I had never thought he would adopt this approach. Surely he did not know that being punished was a favourite role play I indulged in? Indeed, it was one of my special interests, and often connected to sexual arousal. Did I want him to know that? I suddenly found this hard to process. This would not be the same as things I indulged in, though. I knew this person in a different way and he obviously did not know me as well as he had thought. Could I react in the right way, being abject and apologetic without betraying any excitement?
I considered all of this over the course of a few seconds as I obeyed and bent over the arm of the sofa. He laid it on. The first couple of swipes of the belt were a little clumsy but he adapted very quickly. I felt the next few in ways I had never done before when at play, even when I was angling for severe treatment. Each one of these hurt my bottom and my pride. I think he stopped after twelve. He was tired and I was in real pain and shame. I got up when allowed and fled to my room with the words echoing that there would be more the next day and everyday until he thought I had learned a suitable lesson! I cried myself out in my room. I did not get any satisfaction from feeling my naked bottom once undressed. I was remorseful.
The next day when I returned home I was told as soon as I had made a cup of tea for both of us that it was time for the second day’s punishment. I dreaded this. I did as I was told though, and this time undid my trousers so I was bending over in my white underpants. It was another twelve. I felt these incredibly painfully as there was still tenderness from the day before and without the layer of trousers each blow was far more fierce than the day before. I was crying out towards the end but felt unable to walk away from what I was due. He seemed satisfied though and I sensed that the overall atmosphere was improved. I went off to skulk in my room, face down and naked, knowing I had a reprieve the next day but that I should “look forward” to a final lesson the day after.
And that day came all too quickly. As I half expected, I was bent over the arm with a bare bottom. I so hated this. For sure there had been odd moments of nudity in the house over the years, but for him to be staring at me like this was weird. Why was it I could adopt this position for a relative stranger or regular playmate at certain play venues but I could not stomach this from my friend? Also, I just hated the idea that he might at this time discover I could be sexually charged up by punishment. Suddenly, he produced a cane, which he had borrowed from a friend. He informed me that he had been practising on a large cushion for hours. I would only get six, but he told me that I would remember these anytime I was tempted to misbehave, like I had before his return.
I gritted my teeth as I heard the familiar sound of a cane through air. Then I felt the first impact. He must have practiced long and hard as this was a well-laid stroke that produced an instant line of fire. I gasped. The second and third were not long coming, and were just as firmly applied. I wanted to scream to relieve that surge of pain, and the next two strokes almost had me snivelling. Each one was well-applied. The cane moved fast. I heard it, I felt its contact and then I could feel the pain. I may even have drummed my feet a little. My reactions were as if I had taken a much longer caning, one that I might have enjoyed in other circumstances. At least there was nothing sexual for him to notice. Well, perhaps if he had really focused he may have noticed that my small testicles got tighter. I waited hoping desperately that the next stroke would be the last one. He was old enough to think in terms of the traditional six of the best, I hoped. It was indeed the last stroke, but what a stroke it was! It seemed to be lifting me and it did catch my lower bottom just at that painful part I would feel when standing. It was agonisingly sore and when he said for me to get up, I blurted that I was sorry and ran to my room.
I laid on my bed for an hour, feeling the pain, tracing the ridges of the red lines I could see in the mirror. There was no afterglow sensation of enjoyment or endorphins racing, no erection to deal with. Just a sense of shame and feeling chastised. Miserable!
Over the next weeks until his departure the atmosphere improved and I did not get into further trouble. I took far more notice of the date of his next expected return. I did wonder whether to warn my overseas housemate of what had happened to me. It crossed my mind that there was always the possibility of a repeat discipline session, and my housemate was not habitually tidy either. I did not mention it in the end, as it would reveal things I did not want him to know about. I did consider pumping him for information at a future time, in case something similar had happened before.
I also went for my usual indulgences once the coast was clear and I could once again endure a decent session with plenty of gratification. I just knew that I had to behave in future or face a miserable reluctance to sit down again.
D I S C L A I M E R
All characters appearing in this story are over 18 and are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.