[Part 3] Naked and Waiting: The Final Spanking with Paddle
- Sofia_xx
- Jun 12
- 4 min read
Updated: Jun 15
It was our last night at the cabin. I thought the worst was over. I’d been paddled, left on display, made to cut my own switch and cry out in the woodshed. I was sore, marked, and quiet. Obedient. Or so I thought. But he wasn’t satisfied.
I thought maybe, just maybe, the punishments were over. But he barely looked at me all evening. No softness. No lingering touches. Not even a smirk. That silence said more than anything.
I was still being watched. Still being judged.
And then, after dinner, he stood without a word and disappeared into the bedroom. A few minutes later, I heard his voice—calm, quiet, deadly clear. “You’re not done.”
My stomach dropped.
“Strip. Kneel by the fire. You’ll wait there until I decide what happens next. And bring the paddle.” That was all. No yelling. No scolding. Just calm authority that left no room for negotiation.
I swallowed hard and undressed in the silence. Every item of clothing I folded felt heavier. More exposing. I’d been naked in front of him countless times, but this felt different. This was ritual. Correction. Control.
I placed the paddle beside the hearth. The fire’s heat danced along my bare skin as I knelt on the wooden floor. My knees pressed into the worn rug, hands behind my back, posture perfect. The paddle sat beside me like a promise.
And then I waited.
At first, it was just quiet. A few deep breaths. The sounds of the fire. But then the weight of the position set in. The way my thighs trembled slightly from the lingering soreness of the switch. The way every minute dragged like a test I hadn’t studied for.
Five minutes passed. Then ten. I didn’t dare look at the clock. My body was stiff, but my mind was louder.
What if he forgot me?
What if he never came?
The waiting wasn’t just uncomfortable. It was psychological. Humbling. My exposed body was a symbol of submission—but the stillness? That was obedience in its rawest form.
At one point, I shifted slightly, just to ease my knees—and instantly, his voice rang out from the shadows of the hallway.
“Still.”
I froze. He’d been watching.
Of course he had.
More time passed. I lost track. The fire dimmed slightly. I shivered—but not from cold.
Eventually, I heard his footsteps. Calm. Measured.
He moved around me slowly. I felt the weight of his gaze on every inch of my body—naked, kneeling, completely at his mercy. His fingers brushed my shoulder, then traced a line down my spine. I didn’t move.
“Tell me why you’re here,” he said.
“For being disrespectful. And careless,” I whispered.
“And?”
“For needing to be reminded who I belong to.”
“Good girl.”
He picked up the paddle.
“Over the ottoman. Now.”
I rose carefully, every movement deliberate. I bent over, arms outstretched, hips high, toes planted. The cool air kissed my sore bottom. My dress was long gone. I was completely bare, firelight flickering over every curve.
“You’ll count twenty,” he said, “since it seems ten never sticks.”
The first crack of the paddle hit like thunder. The thud vibrated through me, grounding and brutal.
“One,” I gasped.
WHACK.
“Two…”
He didn’t rush. Each swat landed with force, but also with intention. The sting was deep, a pulsing ache layered over the fading marks of the switch and paddle from earlier.
By five, my breath was catching. By eight, my hands clenched tight around the sides of the ottoman. My voice started trembling.
“Ten…” I whispered, the halfway point feeling impossible.
He paused only long enough to stroke the curve of my ass—his palm warm, grounding, letting the pain settle.
“Keep going.”
WHACK.
“Eleven!”
Twelve was sharp and low. Thirteen had me biting the cushion. Fourteen made my thighs twitch. By fifteen, my voice cracked—and so did my pride.
Tears slid down my cheeks.
But I kept counting.
“Sixteen…”
I was blushing, sobbing, trembling—and still, I wanted to take it. I needed to.
Seventeen. Eighteen. Nineteen.
The last one came down slow and hard, a clean strike across both cheeks.
“Twenty.”
I collapsed against the ottoman, breath ragged, tears streaking my face, my bottom absolutely on fire.
He didn’t speak at first. Just rubbed my back. Stroked my hair.
“You’re finished now,” he said, voice low, quiet. “You’ve taken every punishment I had for you. And you took them beautifully.”
He pulled me up into his arms. Held me on his lap, my naked body curled against his shirt. His hands were warm. His lips soft on my forehead.
“I’m proud of you.”
I melted into him.
And for the first time since arriving at the cabin—I felt completely at peace.
Not just because the spanking was over.
Because I’d been stripped down, held accountable, corrected, and—most importantly—owned.
More Hard Discipline, Spanking with Paddle and Punishment? Read part 2
Tags
Spanking Story, Paddle, Paddling, Paddle Punishment, Humiliating spanking, Adult Discipline Story, BDSM Spanking, Switch Spanking, Outdoor Punishment, Discipline, Real Punishment, Submissive Correction, Domestic Discipline, Hardcore Spanking, BDSM punishment, Obedient Submissive
