Standing in the corner, she wriggles whilst remaining still.
It’s quite a trick.
Her hips sway, the curve of her cheeks moving like a metronome. Sheer mesh panties reveal the blushing of her bottom, the consequence of a palm landing repetitively across her flesh, which was the consequence of something else.
“Stand still, please.”
The order comes softly. There is no need to speak loudly, not when the penitent has already obediently slipped into the corner.
Her hips still for a moment. The ticking of a clock can be heard.
Three seconds are all she can manage before the wriggle returns, propelled by the stinging of her sensitive seat. Palm prints still burn across her bottom and the soft skin between her upper thighs where a few seemingly stray but ever so intentional swats landed.
The eyes of the spanker are on her. She feels the gaze. Knowing that she is observed in her chastened state causes the stinging and tingling to grow stronger. She blushes the full length of her body, fresh blood flow enhancing the afterglow.
The spanker draws close.
She takes a deep breath and stills herself, closing her eyes as if to ward against the possibility of more punishment.
The disciplinary hand returns, fingers curling to cup her bottom. The touch is firm, but soothing, transforming from proprietary grasp to a slow rubbing as spanker becomes soother.
She arches her back, abandoning herself to the moment as fingers travel across the crown of her cheeks then dip into the crevice between her thighs. There they find the real reason she can’t stand still. There they find heat. There they find soft, moist fabric lubricated by her desire.
The squirm returns.