[Part 2] The Woodshed and the Switch, an Outdoor Punishment

Sofia_xx
Jun 5
3 min read

Updated: Jun 12

I really thought I was being quiet.

It had been two days since the paddle and the open window. My ass was finally healing, but the memory hadn’t faded one bit. Neither had the ache between my legs. He hadn’t touched me since the punishment—not even to kiss me goodbye when he went out for firewood that morning. I thought I’d be clever. Just a few fingers. Just enough to take the edge off. I was still half-naked, sprawled on the bed, when I heard the cabin door open.

And then his voice.

“Did you touch yourself without permission?”

I froze.

He didn’t wait for an answer. He didn’t need one.

“You’ve got five minutes to meet me at the woodshed. Naked. Bring a switch.”

I sat up, stunned, my heart pounding. A switch? I had never been made to cut one before. I didn't even know if he was serious. But something in his tone said I’d better believe it.

I rushed outside, skin prickling with cold and embarrassment. The cabin was surrounded by tall pines and low undergrowth. I walked barefoot through the brush, shaking with anticipation and dread. Every branch I passed suddenly looked like it could mark me. I finally chose one—thin, long, flexible.

Cutting it felt like confession.

When I reached the woodshed, he was already there. The small clearing behind the cabin was private, but not quiet. Anyone walking nearby could still hear. He was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, the chopping block positioned in front of him.

I handed him the switch with trembling hands.

“Bend over,” he said simply, taking it from me.

The block was rough and worn. I had to stretch across it, my toes barely touching the ground, my ass fully presented. The breeze kissed my skin, my shame settling deep in my stomach.

“I told you this wasn’t a game,” he said behind me.

Whisssssst—CRACK!

The first stroke landed across the tops of my thighs. I yelled, the sting sharp, searing, and completely unlike the paddle. This was thinner, faster—meaner.

“One!” I cried out.

He didn’t pause.

CRACK.

“Two…”

By the fifth, my thighs were shaking. The switch left white-hot lines that bloomed into deep, burning stripes. I clenched the wood beneath me, biting my lip.

“Six… Seven… Eight…”

I felt every single one. The sting lingered, wrapping around my skin in a way I couldn’t escape. He struck low, then high, then right across the curve of my bottom—punishment delivered with absolute control.

“Nine!” I gasped.

CRACK.

“Ten.”

And then nothing.

I stayed bent over, panting, unsure if we were done. My eyes were wet, and my skin throbbed with heat. But he didn’t speak. I felt him step closer.

“I should make you cut a second one,” he said. “For touching yourself twice.”

I whimpered.

“But instead—you’re going to thank me.”

He helped me to my knees, guiding me into position between the fallen pine needles. My cheeks were flushed, my body marked, but my mind was clear. I wasn’t just being punished. I was being claimed. Corrected.

Put back in my place.

And the sting of the switch stayed with me long after the woodshed had gone quiet.