The Night Light Spanking Stories

There’s just something about the holidays – even when you’re not super celebratory, you need a little something to pass the time, right? Especially in times like these, when we’re a little bit more starved for companionship and play. My dear (and prettiest) friend Gracie who runs The Night Light called on a bunch of peeps to share holiday themed spanking stories. They’re all wonderful – we’re lucky to call this group of wildly talented spankos friends. There’s some great bits including some hairbrush related trickery and mall nostalgia. And there’s one by yours truly about someone who stretched the holiday decoration budget a bit too far. I imagine this one to be in the same universe as this story, but from the top’s POV.

I could go on and on about all the gems there, including an embarrassing f/f nail biter about a woman who gets too competitive about a white elephant type game but you’re gonna have to read them all yourself.


A Little Romance, A Little Discipline

As someone who loves both romance and comedic situations, it’s insane to think there was a time I felt shame for liking romantic comedies. I could go on a whole rant about how entertainment directed towards women is always seen as less then, but if you’re reading this then you are a smart cookie and you already know that. 

Or you’re wondering if and how I’m going to connect this to spanking. Don’t worry, it’s coming. 

Romantic comedies involve jumping to conclusions and acting irrationally. Raise your hand if you’ve gotten spanked (or spanked someone) for this reason. I sometimes think about what life would be like if kink, particularly spanking, was just an accepted part of society for consenting adults. And I don’t mean in like a 50 Shades, still secret kinda way, I mean like what would you do if you watched a movie where the bright eyed protagonist was late for the third time that week because she was helping everyone but herself and her boss, (who she’s in love with but could never have eyes for her because she wears baggy sweaters and dances in the rain), reprimands her and decides she needs a spanking? 

So she’s embarrassed but later she tells her girlfriends at the bar and it just adds to the will they/won’t they plot. Would you watch this movie?

Yeah, me neither.*

Fortunately, we’re not there as a society. I’m okay with compartmentalizing; it’s character building. But I can, however reimagine some of my favorite movies with spankings 

Bridget Jones’ Diary 

I’m gonna be honest and just say I have a thing for Colin Firth. It’s the accent (British), the height (6’1), and the vibes (Daddy). That aside, Mark Darcy owed Bridget multiple spankings. Particularly in the sequel when she accused him of cheating with no concrete evidence and when she burst in during an important work meeting! Hugh Grant was in this too, but his character needed a spanking. 

While You Were Sleeping 

Bill Pullman just has a vibe about him in this one. Sandra Bullock’s Lucy saves a man from the subway tracks, he ends up in a coma, and in classic comedic hijinx, his family thinks she’s his fiancé and she goes along with it. Turns out she falls for Coma Dude’s brother instead. Wild! There’s something about Pullman in this movie that just makes me think of the “I want what’s best for you”vibes that we all like from tops. Also he’s apparently a really talented carpenter (there’s a weird subplot about him being able to make a chair, which means he can make paddles.)


It feels a little inappropriate to say that Cher should’ve been spanked, even in the context of a fictional character. But she’s not going to read this. Anyway! Between kissing her daughter’s kind of boyfriend and just all around flighty behavior, she could’ve used a spanking. Not like anything too serious, it’d probably be more on the flirtatious end. I don’t see her submitting. But it would’ve worked. Honestly maybe she was spanking her boyfriend too. They had good switch energy.

When Harry Met Sally

Just based off that scene of her faking an orgasm in the middle of a restaurant. Out of control.

Schitt’s Creek

So a dear friend of mine put me on to this show – which, if you haven’t watched before, watch it ASAP. Almost all of the character’s here behave egregiously, including the matriarch of the family. But I think the discipline is most needed for the daughter, Alexis, who has had a number of dangerous and wild adventures when her family was still well off, and the son, David. The weird thing about this show though is that David seems to get it – and once you get to season 4 you’ll see what I mean. 

New Girl

Instead of putting money in the douche jar, Schmidt should have been bending over some swats, preferably from his girlfriend Cece, or maybe his roommate and bff Nick. He would’ve been firm but fair. I can just tell. 

*yes I would. 


When We Get Home

You’re going to spank me when we get home. I know this because you have that same look on your face when someone cuts you off in traffic. You never curse in the car. You don’t yell or lose your temper the way that I do. I don’t even think expletives are in your vocabulary, although I’m not quite sure. I’d like to find out but now probably isn’t the best time to ask. 

When we get inside, you will gesture towards the corner. Before your mouth opens to say the words, I will protest. It isn’t fair. It was a mistake, it could happen to anyone, I’m too old. This hasn’t worked in the past, but it won’t stop me from trying. We both know this, I think. Sometimes you hesitate after giving me a direction. It’s like you know I need to let it out, and you need to reel me back in.

When you reel me back in, you undress me yourself. I can’t decide if it’s worse than me doing it while you watch. Jeans, leggings, shorts, a skirt, my panties – whatever it is I have on the bottom is pushed hastily out of the way, punctuated with a few warning swats before I’m sent to the corner. One time I mouthed off while wearing a romper. You didn’t understand how they worked, and I had to stifle a giggle. It was less amusing when I stood in the corner in just a bra and panties, shivering – not from the cold but from the loss of control. Tonight I am wearing a form fitting dress, which you will bunch up around my hips. 

You’re going to spank me when we get home, but you still allow me to explain myself. The waiter comes over to refill our glasses and I take a tentative sip of wine, mentally planning my argument. Yes, this was the third time I was late this week, but I have a valid excuse. Your eyes narrow. Reason! Not excuse. That sounds better. The book I’m reading is so good – no, really it is – and, well you remember one of my goals is to read more this year right? No I wasn’t reading instead of getting ready for work. Don’t be silly. I was just up kind of late. Yes, after ‘bedtime’ but I thought you were kidding about that. Will you just let me finish? 

You look the same way you do when I tell you wild stories from years ago. On our second date, I told you about the time I hitchhiked because I parked in the wrong place and my car got towed. I don’t think I’d ever seen my parents so mad. They still don’t know about the hitchhiking. I was in college then, I was an adult. I mean, yeah they had to pay the tow fees but – that’s not the point. Anyway when I told you about the hitchhiking you looked amused, worried, and annoyed at the same time. If you were mine…you said but you trailed off. I wondered what you meant, but I was trying so hard to be nonchalant. I understand now. I’ve seen that look many other times. Last week, I admitted that up until two months ago I routinely stole from our neighbor’s garden. (Peaches, her four year old German Shepard, always stops in front of our door and she never cleans up after him. I felt like we were even.) We’d both been drinking a lot that night, which is why I felt comfortable telling you.  I knew you wouldn’t do anything then. But I also knew what that initial look meant, even in your whiskey induced haze. It’s the same one you have now as I’m trying to explain myself. 

You’re charmed by my antics, but determined to punish me. 

Anyway. The book was so good and it covers a lot of relevant topics. Social justice, environmentalism, all that good stuff. And I was so engrossed in it that I stayed up a little late. And I kinda overslept this morning. My boss wasn’t even in today, and she doesn’t really care as long as I stay later. I mean, I know that staying late meant we almost missed our reservation but that’s the keyword there, isn’t it? Almost.

When we get home, after some time in the corner, you’re going to call my name and I will stand in front of you. I might look away every now and then, my eyes might glaze over. It’s not that I’m not listening, it’s just that I already know what I did wrong and I prefer to let sleeping dogs lie. Sometimes I get a little too disinterested, and you have to lift my chin with one finger, and look directly into my eyes. Every now and then I add a yes or a no when appropriate. One time I said “no” but you didn’t even ask me anything. It was just a long time since I last spoke and I thought maybe it was my turn. 

This won’t be one of those times. I’ve broken too many rules at once, more than I initially realized, and I’m nervous. 

After you finish lecturing me, you will tell me to bend over your knee. I hesitate, I always do, sometimes for too long. Under normal circumstances, you’re gentle when handling me, but here you are only capable of being harsh. I wonder if you ever get tired, and what it is you do to make your hands so heavy. You’ll rub my bottom just a bit, but not enough to make me too comfortable. One time I moaned really loud and you weren’t impressed with me. That was the first time I got the hairbrush. I didn’t even know why it was in the living room, I guess I left it there that morning. I suppose if I didn’t you would have sent me for that or another formidable opponent. The heavy wooden spoon, perhaps? 

When you finish with your hand, you will tell me to bend over the arm of the couch. I will hear metal jingling, and I will whimper and I bury my head into a pillow. You will take off your belt, and you will whip my bottom. I will cry, whine, and sob. I will apologize for things that I haven’t even done yet. I will kick my feet. I will get out of position. This grants me a short reprieve, but only for you to readjust me. You grab my hips and shift my body so that my bottom is sticking out further, and I’m at a better angle for you to swing. You growl in my ear that I had better not reach back or get out of place again; we are just getting started. This seems impossible because every inch of my backside is on fire. I’ve clearly been here for ages. 

Since this is a more serious offense, you will allow me time to compose myself. You thread your belt back through the loops. You rub my back, telling me how sorry you are that you have to do this. Have, not had –  so there’s more. You might send me to our room to wait, which means to sit on the bed, with the hairbrush at the ready. At some point we figured spankings, especially these ones, tend to wear us both out. Once the tears have dried and all is forgiven, we’ll be ready for bed. Well…you’ll be ready. A sore bottom wears me out in more ways than one, but I always wake up after an hour or two. Usually you’re fast asleep so I might sneak on my phone. If I’m feeling really brave, I’ll go downstairs and watch TV. At this hour, the only shows on are guilty pleasures, which feels appropriate for the occasion. You’re a heavy sleeper and I haven’t gotten caught yet. It’s not that I want to misbehave. I know these rules are for my own good, I do. I’m just sorta used to doing whatever I want. 

This time is different. This time after the belt, you tell me to stay right where I am. This time you return with a bathbrush, telling me that you’ve let some things slide for too long, that the sneaking around late at night is going to stop for good. Carelessness and disobedience will no longer be tolerated. You remind me that I got away with murder before we met. You didn’t want to be too controlling at first, you knew this was an adjustment for me. So you tried to let some things slide, but I’m not at my best when you gift me leniency. Of course I try to talk my way out of it, but before I know it I’m back over your knee and you’re blistering my bottom with the bathbrush. I kick and yell, annoyed at the surprise. I’m not ready to give in. But you target my thighs for two minutes straight, increasing the tempo when I kick so hard that I almost hit your face. I didn’t mean to!

Eventually, all the fight leaves my body, and I lay limp over your lap, sobbing, as the swats begin to slow down. You tell me you are putting an end to my childish antics, that I should expect a spanking every night for a week. That the next time I mouth off I will complete my corner time with a bar of soap in my mouth. I wonder how I will survive the next few days. I didn’t realize I was speaking aloud, but you say you’re going to be just fine, Gloria Gaynor. Normally I would be amused by this, but now I’m just annoyed that you’re using my love for 70s music against me. And you say I’m childish!

But you sit me up in your lap, stroking my hair and reassuring me. You tell me how much you love me, and that’s the only reason why you do this. You tell me what a brave girl I am. How you just want the best for me, and perhaps if someone did this years ago you wouldn’t have to now. At least, you say with a slight chuckle, not quite as much. So tomorrow night, and the next few nights after that, when we get home, you will bare my bottom and spank me hard. And I will deserve it. 


Weekend Interruptus

“Before you butcher the words to another song can we at least get in the car?” Amber laughed in the bathroom as she meticulously applied gold pigment to her inner eyelid.

Carrie sat on the kitchen counter, kicking her feet. She didn’t know the lyrics but that didn’t stop her from improvising in tune with the melody. It was date night, and this one was a special one. For starters, it was the kickoff to the weekend – the first in three months when neither woman had work or social obligations. Secondly, it was Carrie’s turn to choose the activity. The two women were on their way to a concert – or they would be as soon as Amber finished her makeup. Despite Amber being the one ‘in charge’, an hour for her to get ready compared to Carrie’s twenty minute routine was an adjustment for them both. She stifled a smile when she heard Amber’s heels click on the kitchen tile.

“Butcher?! I’ll have you know I’m very talented.”

“Of course you are, sweetheart. ”  Amber kissed her girlfriend’s forced pout. “Just let me get my purse and we can be on our way.”

Carrie opened her mouth, debating whether to argue further or harmonize another line. She stopped as the phone rang, hopping off the counter to answer it before – 

“Let it go to voicemail babe. We’re probably the last people on earth with a house phone, let’s take advantage of the answering machine.” Amber called out from the hall closet. 

Hi it’s Jenna from Frontmate Pharmacy for Carrie. Just calling to remind you to pick up your prescription! Tomorrow is the last day for pickup. See you soon.

Carrie reached for the receiver, only to feel a cool hand on her shoulder as another one swiped the phone from her hands. 

“We’ll discuss this in the morning. After we make a trip to the pharmacy.”  


“Seriously. I said two thousand times I would go first thing!” Carrie wasn’t sure if she was more irritated by not being able to control the radio, Amber’s indifference at her embarrassment, her impending spanking, or being denied caffeine. All four put her in a sour mood. 

“I’d believe that if you picked it up when you first said you were. You decided to be immature, so guess what?” Amber didn’t wait for a reply. “We’re handling this my way.”

Carrie rolled her eyes and kicked her foot against the front seat, not caring if Amber noticed. The kick was hard enough to express displeasure, but gentle enough so that the hairbrush on her lap didn’t slide to the floor. She wasn’t doing herself any favors, but tantrums allowed her a tiny semblance of control. She felt very much like a surly teenager as she sat in the backseat of Amber’s van, leggings pooled around her ankles and a wooden hairbrush on her bare thighs. For a moment, she considered throwing the offensive implement out the window. She shuddered, imagining the consequences. 

Carrie’s tantrum didn’t go unnoticed, but Amber kept quiet as she pulled into the parking lot. This was the third month in a row she neglected to pick up a prescription in a timely fashion, in spite of Amber’s gentle prodding and multiple phone calls. 

“It’s not like I’m going to die without it!” Carrie whispered urgently the previous night as they waited in line to enter the arena. “You are so dramatic sometimes!” Amber fought the urge to laugh, as her girlfriend, (who once attempted to get out of a spanking by offering to go mining for diamonds after borrowing Amber’s earrings without permission and losing one ) attempted her seventh defense of the night. Amber often considered keeping a written list of Carrie’s different excuses/get out of jail free attempts. Occasionally she would reference them during her lectures, but more often than not, she was just amused by her resilience. There were three excuses before they left the kitchen, two in the driveway, and two more in the car before Amber threatened to cancel their plans and punish her that night. 

Carrie’s Excuses: Kitchen.

  1. Roxy, their five year old Maine coon, ‘meowed really sad that morning’ and she was eager to get home because she thought Roxy had separation anxiety.
  2. The pharmacist sounded really cheerful on the answering machine so clearly it wasn’t that big of a deal.
  3. She was hungry and wanted to go home and enjoy her beautiful girlfriend’s delicious home cooking.

Carrie’s Excuses: Driveway.

  1. She never technically said she picked it up already, she said “it’s as good as done” when Amber reminded her that morning.
  2. They only called once, it wasn’t like that time they called every day for a week (Carrie forgot the time ‘they called every day for a week’ was the last time she got off with a warning – generous considering they resorted to leaving messages on Amber’s phone – her alternate contact number.)

Carrie’s Excuses: Car.

  1. It was a long day and she was ready to just get home already (after several offers of sexual favors and chore swapping she tried to inch more towards a realistic plea)
  2. Amber “forgets stuff literally all the damn time so what is the big deal” – Carrie said this one under her breath, before being warned that if she kept this up, she wouldn’t sit for a month.

Much to Amber’s relief, Carrie settled down and let herself relax the rest of the night. They were both eager to blow off some steam. Before bed she made a plan. She would get up early, go to the pharmacy, and maybe Amber would forget about the whole thing. She would be so well behaved the remainder of the weekend, it would surprise them both. But the next morning, Carrie woke up after Amber did, feeling boulders at the pit of her stomach. When she learned of Amber’s plans to drive her to the pharmacy instead of just letting her pick up the damn prescription herself, all future attempts at obedience started to fade. Amber insisted on taking the van, the bulky one from her old catering business, saying they needed to make a few stops along the way. Carrie closed her eyes for a brief mental pep talk, telling herself she could handle it. “It” being: The impending punishment (Amber informed her she was getting spanked as soon as they got home), the errands Carrie was being forced to join her for, Amber’s immediate “no” when asked if they would at least stop for coffee between errands, the way that Amber picked out Carrie’s outfit and swatted her hands away as she dressed her that morning, (“since you lack self control, I’ll be taking over for a while“)… 

She put her foot down when Amber buckled her in the back seat. 

“Okay you made your point. This is ridiculous! What if someone sees?”

“There’s nothing to see. Maybe they’ll think it’s a ride share. Maybe they’ll think you’re a naughty girl that needs to be chauffeured around to make sure she takes care of her responsibilities.”


“Either way, I’d be more worried about your bottom than what someone might see. Lift your hips, please.”


“Lift your hips.”


“We don’t have all morning. Either I can spank you right here in the backseat and you can ride to the store with your pants down and a sore bottom, or”

“Okay, okay!” Mortified, Carrie closed her eyes and lifted her hips as Amber yanked her leggings down to around her ankles. She felt the cool handle of the hairbrush pressed into her palm. 

“Hold this for me, please.” Before Carrie could protest any further, Amber kissed her forehead and went to the driver’s seat. They had a long day ahead of them. 


“Can you at least turn on the radio? Something?” Even with her panties around her ankles, a hair brush in her lap, and newly sore thighs (not sore enough, Amber thought to herself), Carrie still had quite the attitude. She hated listening to podcasts and the past thirty five minutes felt like torture enough. They just finished their second errand of the morning, a trip to the hardware store. Amber held back the urge to roll her eyes when the shop manager gave her a long winded explanation of which drills were the most popular, deciding that a little more waiting would do her girl some good. Apart from the occasional loud sigh, Carrie did her best not to draw attention to herself – especially since Amber insisted on holding her hand the entire time. She wished she’d just stayed in the car, but after leaving the pharmacy, Amber was even less open to suggestions.

When they pulled up to the pharmacy, Amber decided a time out would do her some good and she left a scowling Carrie in the backseat. The visit took less than ten minutes total, but that didn’t stop Carrie from protesting the minute she saw Amber making her way towards the car. 

“Okay babe. Point made.” Carrie, the youngest child of three, perfected the art of making her voice as loud as possible without technically yelling years ago. 

“I beg your pardon?” Amber lifted an eyebrow as she turned her key in the door.

“You’re right. I should’ve just picked it up in the first place. Can we go home now?”

Amber wanted nothing more than to go home. After telling her that it was all over, that she was proud of her. Carrie would murmur a sound of acknowledgment. Amber would curl up on the sofa with a glass of wine and watch a movie. Carrie snuggled up against her, heat radiating from her backside. She loved that feeling – they both did. But she knew how these things went, and it was going to be a long day, even longer if she ignored this. So she tossed the prescription bag on the front seat, closed the door, and slipped into the back.

Carrie stifled a shriek as she felt herself being lifted from her seat and over Amber’s lap.

“I’ve about had it with your attitude, young lady!” Amber wasted no time, applying rapid swats with the hairbrush to Carrie’s sit spots. She knew better than to mistake the initial shock and the silence that came from it for complete obedience. Nevertheless she enjoyed the respite from persistent complaints, concentrating on the satisfying noises of wood against bare skin.

“Ow, ow, I’m sorry! Please! Someone might see!” Carrie allowed herself thirty seconds to wonder how she found herself in this position. No matter how many times she got spanked, she never got used to it, and she especially wasn’t expecting Amber to spank her here! She thought that she was just bluffing, but maybe she took it too far this time…

The parking lot was otherwise empty, and Amber only needed two minutes to get her point across. She shifted her attention to the fullest part of Carrie’s bottom, pausing now and then to admire her handiwork – (and, if she was being honest with herself, her girlfriend’s bottom). Definitely not the way she would’ve chosen to spend their morning together, but Carrie decided for both of them. 

“Now. Am I going to have to do this at every stop, or are you going to behave the rest of the way?” 

“No ma’am! I mean – yes ma’am!” Carrie felt a stray teardrop slide down her cheek. Amber suspected she was more embarrassed than actually sorry, but she figured that was enough to hold her over until they got home. 


“Stick your nose in that corner, missy.” Amber punctuated her direction with a sharp swat. 

Carrie’s bottom felt twice its size. They made it through the rest of the trip without any incidents – mostly because, as Amber guessed – the potential embarrassment was too much for her to bear. (The residual soreness was an additional deterrent.) She found herself thankful for their busy street, as she was allowed to pull up her pants once they left the car. A nosy neighbor or wandering stranger would view their exit as unremarkable. That is, unless, they took notice of the ebony hairbrush in Carrie’s hand, with its worn back and perfect bristles. She gripped the handle so hard that it left a faint mark in her palm. Despite her soft whimpers and pleading eyes, Amber didn’t take back the brush until they were in the living room. She pulled down her leggings and panties without being told. 

Amber watched as Carrie slid her panties over her round bottom, trying and inevitably failing to avoid touching the sore spots. She purposely chose a snug fitting pair for her – appropriate for a girl who’d gotten too big for her britches. Between the hardware store, dry cleaners, and the pet supply, she needed a break – and she figured they both deserved some coffee, although Carrie’s would have to wait. She made her way into the kitchen and set a timer for ten minutes – just long enough for my naughty girl to wait, she thought – then busied herself putting on water to boil and scooping coffee beans into the grinder. The kettle went off earlier than the timer, giving her time to enjoy a few sips before she took care of business. 

“Alright. Come here, little girl.” Carrie shuffled over to the sofa. She made a half hearted attempted to preserve her modesty once she was closer, but Amber gripped her wrists and pulled her panties down further. 

“Step out of those completely, you won’t be needing them. And hands on your head.” Carrie squeezed her eyes shut as she complied. Amber didn’t say so, but she found this newfound shyness quite becoming on her. Being nude – or partially nude under ‘normal’ circumstances wouldn’t have fazed Carrie, even in the early stages of a relationship. But even after three years of dating, (three years of being spanked) she couldn’t get used to this. Amber had a distinct talent of making her feel small. Standing there with her hands on her head erased any semblance of control she had left. 

“Now. It is one thing to forget – but I reminded you multiple times. Thursday evening was the deadline. And you said to me ‘it’s as good as done!’ ” 

“I didn’t, I…I was going to do it. Soon! I technically still had time!” Carrie let out a small yelp as Amber snaked an arm around her waist and tipped her over her lap. I really did mean to go that afternoon, she argued in her head. But there were too many distractions. She didn’t have any appointments that day, so she was only in the office until lunchtime. She drove past the pharmacy, but the full parking lot guaranteed a long wait. Amber was still at work, which meant she could go home, take a long bubble bath, order food that Amber hated and hide the evidence, watch a trashy show, and take a nap before the concert…she zoned out, thinking of what a pleasant afternoon it was until a sharp smack got her attention. 

“I’m sorry, am I boring you?” Amber delivered ten consecutive swats to Carrie’s thighs.

“No! No! I’m sorry” Carrie whined. She shifted forward out of habit, but she only succeeded in making presenting a better target. 

Amber decided the lecture portion was over for the time being. She put the heavy wooden hairbrush to work, spanking the tops of her thighs, the fullest part of her bottom, and the delicate under curve of her cheeks. Once Carrie began to kick, Amber adjusted her right leg so that her legs were trapped. This furthered Carrie’s distress, and she began to cry in earnest – she was embarrassed, she was sore, but most of all, she felt guilty. 

“Deadlines are not suggestions, little girl. If you genuinely need more time, you can ask. But being dishonest isn’t fair to either of us. Not to mention, you had the entire afternoon to get it done.” Amber paused momentarily, giving both of them time to catch their breath. 

“I- I really am sorry,” Carrie sobbed. “I just didn’t want to wait and I really was going to go later.” Amber rubbed soothing circles on her lower back. Both women were thankful for the reprieve, despite knowing they weren’t quite done. After a minute, Amber started spanking her again, this time with slower, more deliberate swats. “You and I have had such a busy month. This weekend was supposed to be a break for both of us. All you did was take away precious time from us both.” 

Carrie was trying to stay in place, but the harder swats and the words behind them were unbearable. She squirmed and cried, clawing into the carpet, but the spanking seemed to continue for ages, until she stopped resisting, letting herself sink further into Amber’s lap. 

“Now.” Amber placed the brush on the end table. “We’re almost done here.” She paused, expecting an interjection, but she didn’t get one. “I want you to go get me the belt.”

Carrie righted herself carefully, wincing as she stood. She was expecting corner time, at most five minutes or so. Then they would have some coffee, cuddle, watch a movie, take a nap, and make up, and obviously she wouldn’t be allowed to cum but that wasn’t too big of a deal. Not another spanking!

“But Amberrrrr!” She stretched out the last letter of her name the way only she could (sometimes) get away with. “Why?”

Amber sighed. Mid way through the spanking, she started to reconsider since Carrie was being so compliant, but she knew better. “Your attitude the past two days – and now, for that matter, has been atrocious. I intend to fix that.”

Amber’s tone didn’t leave room for argument, so Carrie slumped her shoulders and went to grab the belt from the hall closet. The brown leather was soft and well worn. Amber bought it one day when the two were out thrifting and Carrie was being a little too sassy for her liking. She often wondered if the belt’s previous owner knew what it was being used for, perhaps that’s how it ended up in the donation bin! Careful not to get lost in her thoughts, she hurried back into the living room, holding the belt as if she thought it might bite her.

“Hand me that and bend over.” Carrie searched Amber’s face for a hint of sympathy. Unable to find one, she thrust herself over the arm of the sofa.

“What’s going to happen to you?” Amber brushed the heavy piece of leather across Carrie’s smooth thighs.



“Ugh. I’m going to get spanked, ma’am.”

“Mmhm. Do you deserve it?”

Did she deserve it? She wanted to say no, but she felt tears welling up in her eyes that indicated otherwise. “Yes ma’am.”

“I agree.” Amber started with light swings, finding her target before she began swinging in earnest. Carrie cried helpless protests into the pillow and did her best not to kick, especially since each one was met with a swat to her thigh. She could almost picture the welts rising on her backside, and she longed to go back in time, before she let her attitude get the best of her, before she couldn’t just take fifteen minutes out of her day. Amber delivered about forty swats in total before she let the belt fall to the ground. She helped Carrie to her feet, pulling her into her lap as she sat down on the sofa.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Carrie buried her head in her girlfriend’s shoulder, trying to settle her tears. Her bottom was throbbing after the hairbrush, and the sting of the belt only reignited the pain.

“Shh. It’s all forgiven, sweetheart.” Amber rubbed her back and smoothed her hair. The two women sat in silence for a few minutes, until Carrie remembered a pressing need. But Amber was, as always, two steps ahead of her.

“Why don’t you pick out a movie and I’ll get us some coffee?”

Carrie was happy to oblige.


Post Quarantine Wishlist


I spent so much of this time last year falling in love. This time I’m so conscious of its absence, like the phantom feeling you get when you’re not wearing a ring.

I am grateful to have many people in my life to love just as I am grateful for that falling feeling, I miss it, the way that it absorbs you. It’s almost, almost disappointing when you get what you want because it’s like – whats next? 

During the summer of 2020 there were a lot of (justified) public criticisms towards celebrities. Mostly direct towards their tone deaf responses to a global pandemic and social injustice. Oddly enough, this summer felt like the first time I paid proper attention to celebrities. I learned names and allowed myself multiple crushes on people who I would likely never meet. Because I was horny and tired of being indoors. 

But you know what? It’s nice. The unattainability.  And I don’t mean because of staving off potential heartbreak, this isn’t one of those essays. It’s because they will ever know the filthy things I think about. 

It’s hard not to feel my heart swell when I walk down beautiful paths, surrounded by changing colors. Everything seems so hopeful. Honestly 10/10 would recommend falling for someone around this time of year. It’s very picturesque. I want to hold hands and sing – not anything too sappy, I’m a modern girl -so my perfect partner would have to rap with me.  

But the scenery not as thrilling as having a cock buried deep in me while I scream orgasm or having my head buried in between a beautiful girl’s legs. And oh my god don’t even get me started on spanking. 

I actually feel scared to think too hard about this, what if I’m at a movie premiere and find myself face to face with {redacted}? And they can somehow read my mind?? I’m sure they probably get used to seeing complete strangers play out entire sex scenes but this…me draped over their lap, my bottom swollen and sore, sobbing so hard that my tears ricochet from their shoes to the floor? 

Well that’s just not right. 

Anyway. It looks like there’s hope of a vaccine soon, and I look forward to having all the sex I can handle in 2021. And…maybe a little hand holding – what can I say? I’m a hopeless romantic.


Hit me baby one more time

I first became familiar with the power of schoolgirl imagery when I saw the Baby One More Time music video. I knew it was scandalous, that my parents would not approve, but I was enthralled. It was where I wanted to be. I consumed whatever media I could find that brought all of my unrealistic school fantasies to life. Books that took place at strict boarding schools, tv shows where everyone dressed the same and students would tap their pencils and dig their heels in, afraid that they would burst from the mundanity.

There’s an untapped theatre nerd in me. Cheeky has made me appreciate aspects of school roleplay I never thought about. Maybe I can appreciate being such a shy kid that I never got into drama club and my acting passions are being realized in other ways – a young secretary that is somehow having an affair with a student, engaged to a senior staff member and making more than her boss, an no nonsense dean that knows she is still subject to corporal punishment if her performance isn’t up to par. Creating such a rich world not just for myself but for others too (ask me about Cheeky Prep’s backstories) has been so enriching.

But what is it about school settings?

It’s different from domestic scenes where a parental/guardian type has this power. There, it is part of the family structure and therefore cannot be questioned or otherwise challenged. But in school, we can push boundaries, question the status quo.

Recently* I watched Spring Awakening with a friend. I was motivated by a crush on of the actors BUT the story was captivating. And it felt very relevant – particularly for someone with a spanking fetish. (Spoiler alert: there is a spanking in the play.) But that wasn’t the only thing that got to me. The rock musical explores sexual repression, longing and some good ole fashioned rebellion against school authority.

There isn’t a single thing about spanking parties that I’m not excited to return to. But. If I had to single it out, it would be school roleplay. Everything that I’ve ever identified with, or wanted to embody – Wendla’s innocence, Melchior’s rebelliousness, Moritz’s horniness – comes to light in these scenes.

When you play under the pretense that you and your partner have an obligation to take care of each other, your scenes are more powerful.

I often tell people that I’m not a 50/50 switch – bottoming is much more familiar and personal to me than topping. But I don’t think I could ever choose At least, I would never want to. I like to experience vulnerability from different angles. There is a mutual responsibility, but it’s naive to say that being the bottom doesn’t afford you a degree of helplessness. Even when you go off script, it lies on the top to redirect, to put you back on course.

In our scenes we’re not solely reliant upon on reassurance of authority and power. The key element is in the title of our kink – power exchange. It doesn’t work without intuition, without imagination, without desire. But it’s an important factor. In the mindset of a student I want to push against something – just because I can. Because it feels right and I’m trying to explore what the stakes are. This manifests itself differently when I’m topping – I know what is at stake, but the push and the pull is what makes it work. I don’t spank harder just for the sake of it, just to say that I can swing for the fences. Even when the goal is to get your point across, austerity without intention isn’t satisfying. I try read body language, reactions – I hold people accountable for their actions – what did I say would happen if I see you in my office again; and why exactly didn’t you complete the assignment?

Sometimes it’s hard to ignore how funny the ‘students’ are. They’ve acknowledged the absurdity of it, and yet they can’t help but try to get away with it. That’s what makes us tick – we want this, we crave this but we can’t give in too much – it has to be taken. And I love taking. In real life, I am not driven by authority. I rely on my moral compass, on what is good rather than what the rules are. Yet I have no qualms about leaning into a persona where it is my job to enforce the rules. The students take too, just in a different way. They come in with the expectation that we are to be trusted, even when we don’t give them what they want (therein, giving them everything they wanted but couldn’t say.)

When we first started Cheeky, I wasn’t surprised by how much work there was to do. But I was taken aback at how natural it felt, how I couldn’t see myself doing anything else. I had to pull myself away from it. Every fall since 2017, I’ve harassed people about turning their registration forms in on time and fussed over our staff. I’ve met with the team in an office where spent at least three hours printing out fake report cards, posting teasers, and drinking just enough during our “executive planning sessions”.

This fall will be the first one in a while without a Cheeky Fall Session. Like most large events – kinky or otherwise, COVID has taken a hit on our plans. While some gatherings have managed a Zoom alternative, Cheeky virtual school just sounds like the ninth circle of hell. Too much realism with too little pay out. These days I’m saving up all my nostalgia and unrecognized fantasies. Taking note of ideas for future school parties (there’s A LOT) and thinking about how to make them even better. While I wish that these daydreams were currently in action, I’m so grateful for the ones that already came to life.

* recently is a subjective term in 2020 it can mean ” a few weeks ago” or “a few months ago”

From the archives: Cheeky Love Letters

(I decided to start sharing some posts from my old blog. I’m miss my friends and parties terribly, and I particularly miss everything about Cheeky, a spanking party that I run with three of my very good friends. My next blog post makes a lot of references to Cheeky, so I thought I’d shamelessly self promote us and share this here!)


I’ve come to realize that there isn’t a single part of organizing an event that I don’t (on some level) enjoy. Even the mishaps that happen during the day are fine with me.

Forgot a pack of pencils? On it. Here are the three nearest stores. Someone wants to register the day of the deadline? I know all their references and can contact them immediately. Not enough chairs? We can improvise.

I’m thriving, especially when I’m on. I like helping people feel welcome, like they’ve found a place where they can fit. Sometimes I worry that they know I need it too much, that their happy is secretly mine too. Perhaps this is why no one ever believes my introvert leanings, but here it is. I don’t need people to energize, but I feel energized by making people happy.

I never really grew out of being shy – it’s not something you ever get rid of. I just talk louder than I used to, and it throws people off. Small talk terrifies me. Not in that pseudo intellectual, “I’m so deep” way, but I hate filling up empty spaces just for the sake of it.

And I’m scared of running out of things to say until it’s too late. I worried for a long time that I accidentally cultivated this image of myself as this flighty, ditzy, malleable thing. Young enough to be decent to look at, different enough to come play with a second or third time. People have justified and refuted my fears, but I’ve been trying to shift my focus. So instead of changing people’s minds, I ignore them as much as I can. There are bigger things more worth my energy.

And…I like when people tell me their stories.

I like being able to create a space where, simply put, people can be themselves. So many of us spent enough time with the shame/fear that comes along with the territory of having a fetish. Compounded with the worry that no one would ever quite “get it”, creates this narrative where you’re always wondering. I remember my first party. I didn’t know what to expect, but I left knowing I had possibilities.

I never considered that one of the possibilities that came from attending my first party would be…creating one. All of the parties we throw together for Cheeky are so special to me, but the school events are personal. As someone who has a fetish in ritualistic school discipline, there isn’t a thing I don’t think about. I love that the people I work with are the same way. When someone shares your energy, your passion – even when you don’t always agree – it’s a recipe for something incredible.

It’s been a little over a accomplished. I can’t wait to see what we come up with next.


I wonder if she remembers what she said. At one of my earlier parties, I attempted to introduce myself to a woman and she said “I know who you are, you’re the calmer one of the two black girls”. At the time, I didn’t know a lot of other black people in the scene, especially women. The other woman she was referring to was close to me in age, and often outspoken about injustices. I’ll also note that she has a darker complexion so the whole “I’m the calmer one” still sticks with me. As a black woman who is lighter skinned, the implications were two fold. I don’t really know how much most white people know about colorism, but it would’ve been upsetting even if my complexion was darker.

I laughed awkwardly because I didn’t know what to do. I’ve harbored a fetish before I even knew what sex was. I can’t even really comment about it being dominated by white people because that is the case with a lot of fetishes, including my adjacent ones.

Most people of color have felt I know have said something to me that I would qualify as a microagression. There’s the people who asked me why there weren’t more black people in the scene (wish Id said “because they don’t like you), people who told there other white friend with them (” I love the way ‘their’ skin marks,” went on to say tomething about “bringing my friends”).

I find myself reflecting the most on the person I was close to for years, until I realized that, amongst other things our politics were too different. I say ‘politics’ because that’s how I had it in my head for so long. But him ridiculing the BLM movement wasn’t just politics. It felt personal. You can claim love, but if you don’t support a movement that is structured around my right to live then…

I tried to comfort myself with the knowledge that he wasn’t a Trump supporter. Truly that means nothing. Not liking him isn’t radical or meaningful. And you can boil things down to conversations about politics if you like, but I don’t frame things like this in this context anymore because people are quick to diminish the “political”. This is about my existence, which in turn is about my mother, my father, my brothers, my entire family. But even if it wasn’t about me, it would still be important.

They probably don’t remember what they said, but I still think about it. I find that people will often scoff at the past being brought up. “Why now?” But what about the people they hurt? I’m happy to say that I would never tolerate that now, but it pains me to think that I’m struggling to forgive myself for inaction when they probably don’t remember.

I cringe about not being more vocal about those instances at the time. To be fair to myself, I wasn’t vocal about a lot of mistreatment I endured during this period of my life. Every time, I told myself I was taking the high road. I’m not a person that is drawn towards conflict. Conversely I find it draining. I also warn people they they will only ever regret truly having an argument with me because I do not back down. It’s true. When I summon up the energy to have a difficult interaction, I sometimes put all of my energy into it, exhausting myself until I have nothing left. For a while, the cycle was – ignore, ignore, ignore, IMPLODE, drain. Rinse, repeat. I’m happy to say that I’ve grown from that. But it’s not easy either way. When you’re surrounded by white people, you’re conscious not only of the way you respond to conflict, but the way that people respond to you.

I remember when a writer, who is out in the spanking community posted on twitter about how she was tired of her readers talking about how they wish they could be out when “anyone could be out, they just choose not to be”. I responded and told her that she was coming from a great place of privilege, specifically being a conventionally attractive white woman, who doesn’t have kids – that not everyone would be received the same way, considering other factors at hand: race, their jobs, class, whether or not they had kids, etc.

I wasn’t the only person who disagreed. She then brushed my comments off and turned them into a personal attack. A few months later, I posted about being kinky didn’t make someone part of a marginalized group. Didn’t name anyone, just shared my thoughts on the topic. (A good expansion of my opinion on this topic – not written by me – here.)

Her boyfriend responded to me and defended his girlfriend, saying how her job is dangerous for her as a woman who is open about her sexuality and travels to foreign countries where it might not be well received, and went on to say that if I “mentioned any oppression olympics” stuff he would Godwin’s law me so fast my head would spin”.

To this day, I don’t know what the fuck that had to do with me. But really, I bring this up because why are my experiences being invalidated? I have the same fetish as they do. As a black, bisexual woman, I know firsthand how our we aren’t granted the same social permissions to openly explore our sexuality without criticism, let alone profit off of it. Opening up about a fetish isn’t easy for anyone, and at the end of the day, I think it’s great that people are speaking up. Reading blogs from people in the spanko community made me want to explore. So I can only imagine the impact you make being featured in a newspaper. But if you think that your race doesn’t play a role in making your voice more palatable for editors to publish, if it doesn’t give you a platform that other people might not have available then…maybe you’re not as ‘woke’ as you think.

Most recently, a spanking producer shared promo for a new movie on his website. The premise of the movie was a girl who was detained at the border under the suspicion of having drugs, who is strip searched, detained, and spanked by a border patrol officer. The top in the video is white, the bottom is black/latinx. My friend Alex, who is both a spanking model and producer, publicly criticized the video for it being culturally insensitive, and bordering along the lines of race play, especially considering the number of injustices black and brown women face from ICE. He doubled down and said that it was fiction, that the person performing was his girlfriend, etc. I backed up her comments, noting that even if this video were released during a time where these issues weren’t a topic of conversation, they would still be inappropriate.

He later messaged Alex to see if they could come to some sort of a common ground, but blocked me. I don’t really care about being blocked, I’ve blocked people online for way less. But I do have a problem with the fact that:

a) he chose to eliminate contact with a person of color, who is more likely to be mistreated at the hands of law enforcement


b) publicly doubled down but went on to attempt to “have a conversation” with someone who was white and initially called it out

Sometimes it feels foolish having these conversations online. And people will tell you that it is and honestly sometimes it doesn’t feel worth the effort. Considering the amount of time we spend on social media, it’s natural that the forum for the conversations would migrate. But even the “tired of politics” crowd see these conversations and form opinions, even when they’re annoyed about their kink scrolling getting disrupted.

I’m so tired of holding my tongue because I don’t want to be accused of “playing the race card”.

I’m trying to have grace with myself, because being one of the few black people makes it difficult and awkward to speak out.

Everything feels harder now because I’m so isolated with quarantine and most of life being restricted. I’m incredibly grateful for my other black friends in the scene – there aren’t many of us, but we’re here. I wish we were sharing more mutual joy rather than exhaustion.

And I delight some – I delight knowing that there are some triumphs being made, however small, thanks to people protesting for days on end. When I started this writing, I was mentally preparing to go out and march.

I can’t help but think people will be ready to drop this once media coverage declines, when protests decline. I’ve had a few awkward conversations with white friends who were unsure of what to say, have seen people express jokes on social media about the current situations and awkward calls for equality. My twitter is barely about kink these days (not that it really was much before) and I’ve watched followers drop off but I feel free.

Years ago I held a discussion group for people of color in kink and it was incredible. I intend to do that again, and furthermore, I want to attend more events. I want to, when I have the emotional bandwidth, have longer conversations about people of color and sexuality, specifically black people who identify as women. I’ve said it before that I have never regretted speaking up, even when it was hard. I resent all the times I stayed silent, but I’m not the new girl anymore. I’m much more comfortable speaking up now than I was years ago.

I love my community. It’s impacted my life for the greater good. I’ve developed meaningful relationships that I wouldn’t have otherwise. I’ve learned how to be a better partner, a better friend. I’ve learned how practicing compassion can be painful. And because I love my community, I don’t know how to just shut out every negative feeling in the world.

Because much like the people that want to keep kink separate from “drama/politics/negativity,” I want to feel carefree when I’m here. I deserve it. And I get it – people want the opportunity to shut their brains off, to have a ‘safe space’ from the outside world, and enjoy their kink utopia. But some of us don’t have the privilege to shut down during the harder conversations and be apolitical. Why does our community get to a safe space for some people and not others?

To me, loving a community means wanting it to be better. So I’m going to continue to align myself with the people that support improvement and do everything in my power to make change happen. Because along with the pain I hold right now, I still have more hope than I know what to do with.

Letter to past me

Hello, past me. I’m sure you’re disappointed to be reading this, because you think things like this are cringey. They are, and I’m REALLY sorry but we’re in quarantine and you don’t have anything better to do.


Congratulations! You finally stopped lurking and joined the scene! Here’s what you should know.

⁃ First of all, spankings DO hurt. Like people aren’t just faking it. You’ll get used to it, but not too used to it where it’s not surprising anymore.

⁃ Yeah on that note sometimes they’re gonna kinda suck? You’ll get ones that you don’t enjoy in the traditional sense, like they hurt and you feel awful as early as the scolding but when they end, you feel refreshed, clearer.

– Ahh, this is a big one. You’re not just a sub. Honestly still kind of surprised at this because your (our?) behavior is kind of appalling. But you’re actually a switch. Weird, I know.

⁃ Parties do actually start at the time they’re listed. When they say 7-10, they mean it.

⁃ It’s okay to say no! You will have plenty of chances to play. You can say no even if you’ve said yes before, even if you don’t have a reason, if your friends like them – the list goes on.

⁃ Even when you think you’ve experienced all you want – people, and things surprise you. That being said, there will be things you feel obligated to like/indulge in order to appease people.

⁃ Re: above – I know that’s embarrassing (btw you – we really like being embarrassed. Not this way, though) because we’re supposed to be above this but it happens. Sometimes you will conflate submission with passiveness.

⁃ However, you will only grow more self aware as the years go by. Wait til you see current us. We’re resilient as hell.

⁃ I really hate that you did this, but we had a different name for a while that didn’t suit us. Which is fine but you weren’t even using it right. You were saying one name while our name tag said something else. Truly upsetting. But this brings me to the next point:

⁃ You’re not going to live a double life. You will meet a decent amount of people that become incredible friends, not just people you see at parties.

⁃ You’re gonna get really good at voicing your opinions and talking about feelings, even when it’s uncomfortable. not perfect though. Sometimes you can be hasty and sometimes you’ll wait or not say anything at all. But you’re getting better at balancing.

⁃ Not all parties are created equal. In the beginning you’ll go to a lot of these alone. Your first big one is going to be incredible.

⁃ Oh my god! Speaking of parties, you’re gonna start organizing them! Isn’t that fun?! Yeah it’s going to be you and three of your friends. I still can’t believe it either. This is a wild departure from your “this is just going to be this weird thing I do once a month that no one knows about” plan (which, by the way is just not a good idea for safety reasons. However you will meet other scene people who are just as reckless, if not more, because apparently that is a rite of passage.)

– And…there’s gonna be some not so pleasant times throughout. I’m not going into specifics though because I don’t know if you’re going to try to do some Back to the Future type shit and attempt to change things around. Everything turns out fine, I promise. You come out on the other side – smarter, braver than you thought was possible. You won’t regret speaking about what you believe in, but you’ll regret the times you stayed silent.


So. I know, this is a lot to take in. But I thought it was worth sharing because you were so unsure when you finally made that leap but…wasn’t it refreshing? Like you had a story you’ve been wanting to tell for years and you finally got the chance to share. It turns out this wasn’t just a phase or an itch you needed to scratch and you’re gonna be in this thing for a long haul. Buckle up. It only gets better from here.

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