Corner time in Public, Spanking in private

Sofia_xx
6 days ago
4 min read

It started long before we stepped outside. I’d been snappy all morning, brushing him off, interrupting him, making small comments I knew were unnecessary but said anyway. He warned me twice. I ignored him twice.

By the time we left the apartment to walk down to the market, I could feel his patience thinning, but I didn’t stop. I pushed again; rolled my eyes at something he said, muttered under my breath, then walked ahead as if he didn’t matter.

That was the final straw.

He caught my wrist, not harshly, just firmly enough to halt me. “Stop.” One word, spoken quietly, but it cut straight through the noise of the street. I turned, already feeling heat rise in my face. People were everywhere; a couple walking their dog, a man checking his phone, two teenagers laughing as they passed, and I suddenly wished I had kept my mouth shut.

He stepped closer, his voice low enough for only me to hear. “You’ve been testing every boundary this morning. Every one. And we are not taking another step until this is dealt with.”

My pulse kicked hard. “Not here…”

His eyebrows lifted, and that alone made my stomach twist. “No? Because you don’t seem to care where we are when you push me.” He glanced around, not to make a scene, just taking in the surroundings with quiet authority. “We’re going over there.”

He guided me toward a side street; not empty, not private, just slightly out of the main flow. People could absolutely walk by. They could absolutely see. The humiliation of that possibility crawled up my spine.

He stopped beside a brick wall, the afternoon sun casting long shadows. “Face me.”

I did, slowly. My chest felt tight.

“You got warnings today,” he said. “Clear ones. You ignored all of them.”

“I didn’t mean to —”

“You did. And you need reminding of what happens when you don’t listen.”

I felt the air leave my lungs. “Please, not here…”

His voice stayed calm, firm, and absolutely unshakeable. “You’re not getting spanked on this street. But you are going to be held accountable in public before we go home and finish it.”

He took my wrist again, turned me gently but decisively, and placed his other hand on my shoulder to guide me to the brick wall. “Hands at your sides. You stand still. You stay quiet. And you let every bit of embarrassment sink in.”

I froze. “People will see me.”

“Yes,” he said simply. “That’s the point.”

I stood against the wall, exposed by posture alone. I wasn’t half-naked; I wasn’t touched. But the intention was unmistakable. The stillness, the position, his calm presence beside me; anyone who walked by would know I was being held there on purpose. And that was humiliating enough to make my skin prickle.

A few people passed. A man glanced once, then again, understanding flickering in his eyes before he pretended not to look. A woman walking her dog slowed just slightly, then continued on. I wanted the ground to swallow me whole.

After a full minute; a long, thick, suffocating minute — he finally spoke. “Turn around.”

My breath shook as I did. He looked at me, not angry, just steady. “We’re going home. And when we get there, you’re going over my knee immediately. No discussion.”

I nodded quickly. “I’m sorry—”

“You will be,” he said, and his tone left no doubt.

The walk back felt endless. The tension pressed against my chest with every step. The scolding didn’t continue; he didn’t say another word. That silence was worse than anything he could have said.

When we entered the apartment, he closed the door behind us and pointed to the living room. “Chair. Now.”

My heart pounded as I moved. He sat, pulled me firmly across his lap, and positioned me without hesitation. His arm settled across my waist, anchoring me. I braced, palms pressed to the floor, knowing the public humiliation outside had only been the beginning.

“This,” he said, adjusting his grip, “is what your attitude earned.” He pulled down my pants and panties without any warning, I tried to move, but his arms were too strong.

The first smack landed with a sharp crack, heat blooming instantly. Another followed, harder, then another. He didn’t rush. He didn’t soften. His hand fell with steady, controlled force, each swat a clear statement about every boundary I had ignored.

“You will not speak to me the way you did today,” he said, punctuating his words with two harder smacks that made me gasp. “And you will not behave like that in public again.”

The rhythm intensified, each strike deeper, hotter, building into a sting that made my legs tense and my breath catch. He kept me firmly in place, his arm unyielding as I squirmed. The spanking didn’t stop until my resolve melted and the weight of the morning finally hit me.

When he lifted me up, my knees were unsteady. He pointed to the corner of the room. “Bend over, hands on the wall.”

I moved quickly, humiliation still burning in my chest. The corner felt colder than the street had.

Then I heard him undo his belt. My heart stopped. A few seconds later I felt the leather of the belt hitting my bare bottom. It hurt, but I knew I deserved it. "You get 10," he said, "count out loud."

"Yes, Sir" - not even a second later the belt hit my bottom again.

"One, thank you Sir"...

"Two -"

He hit me hard and sternly, it was incredibly painful and the sharp smacks marked my bottom good. I squirmed but tried to stay as still as possible. Tears in my eyes, my breath shaking...

"Good girl." he said, after the 10. "Now stay still and let me enjoy the view."

He let me stay there long enough for the lesson to settle fully. I felt incredibly embarrassed, my bottom hurt so bad. I cried softly.

When he finally spoke, his voice was calm but final. “Next time you think about testing me in public, remember exactly how today felt — outside and in here.”

I nodded, cheeks hot, understanding sinking deep.

I wouldn’t forget.Not for a long time.