The Naughtiest Thing

12 min read

A spanking story

We — my closest, most intimate friends and I — have a little New Year’s Eve tradition.

Whilst others gather at loud, gaudy parties, we assemble for a quiet night in. Just us, no partners. As midnight approaches, we dim the lights and take turns to tell stories. It began when we were still at school, as a simple retelling of the most enjoyable experiences of our past twelve months. But as we’ve all become more worldly-wise, the salaciousness of our ritual has escalated, until now it’s a time to confess to each other The Naughtiest Thing we did last year.

We play for higher stakes now too. We four friends sit pantyless in a circle, holding our favourite dildos beneath our best party frocks, drawing lots to determine the order of when we tell our stories. The jeopardy is simple: if any of our stories make any one of our friends climax, the storyteller earns the right to demand the offender pays a forfeit. Traditionally, spankings have been popular forfeits, the loser seeing in the new year naked, facing the wall with their pink bottom on display. But we’re getting increasingly creative too.

This year, the topic is more provocative still.

What’s The Naughtiest Thing you’ve ever done?

And now, it’s my turn to speak.

The Naughtiest Thing I’ve ever done… I announce solemnly, my gaze roving across my friends’ expectant eyes… was when I was 19, and I brought my first boyfriend home.

I paused for effect, letting assumptions paint themselves within my audience’s minds. Scenes assembled from the palettes of their own experiences. I knew each and every one had all been just as naughty as me.

Though actually, as it happened, my tale did not take place in my childhood home. My dad’s eldest sister lived closer to where my boyfriend and I went to university, and so I decided we’d visit and stay for the weekend. My aunt is quite a presence, I think he was quite intimidated when I introduced them both, when she looked him right in the eyes and told him in no uncertain terms, that she hoped he’d behave himself in her home. He looked at his shoes and stammered like a guilty little boy. And inside, I giggled.

The next day, as my aunt attended to domestic chores, I led my boy out into the large garden. It was a beautifully warm late Spring day, and I led the way to the sun terrace, hidden from the house by a tunnel of overgrown pergolas. Shall we bask in the sun? I asked him, before lifting my dress to reveal my skimpiest bikini underneath. His eyes widened even more dramatically when I asked him if he’d like to put his hand inside and feel my breasts. He nodded vigorously, but I made him take off his own clothes first, stripping down to his own underwear.

I let him cup me with his right hand, then asked if he’d like me to take everything off. When he said yes, I insisted he went first. He pulled down his boxer shorts and I followed suit, so we were now standing in front of each other naked.

It was so thrilling, so illicit. My slit was so tingly and wet, I couldn’t keep my eyes off his rapidly swelling cock. His hands slipped down my body, as if pulled by a magnet hidden in my crotch. I felt his hot fingers cup my cunt. I felt the world around me fade into irrelevance, like everything around us was a rather mediocre memory.

But no matter how wonderful the experience, one must always remember it is simply a bubble in a world that moves to its own rules. When you’re distracted, others make their own moves, and sometimes your little sanctuary is interrupted. Moments later, as he massaged my moistening lips with his fingertips, my aunt caught us…

My aunt’s initial expression was one of extreme surprise, before her familiar strict mask dropped down her face. From that fleeting moment of shock, her sternest frown emerged.

You know what happens to naughty girls in this house, she told me.

For one horrible moment, I feared her statement meant that I alone was being held culpable, that all my careful planning had been for nothing. But then we were both told to go to The Room, and wait there “for punishment”. We weren’t even allowed to gather up our clothes, so had to hurry into the house still naked.

What kind of punishment? he whispered plaintively as we climbed the stairs, his cock now flaccid, his hands shyly covering his crotch.

Why a spanking, of course, I told him. On our bare bottoms. We’re each going to get a good hard spanking on our bare bottoms until they’re pink and sore. That’s what happens to naughty girls and boys here. He looked at me with mouth agape, waiting for me to say, only joking! Except I wasn’t.

I led the way to one of the guest bedrooms, which was innocuous enough that I could see the anxiety in my boyfriend’s eyes transform into smirking expectation as soon as he saw the double bed that occupied the centre of the room. As if my aunt’s threat was suddenly forgotten, and the actual reality was that he was being led (naked) by his (also completely naked) girlfriend towards a big soft bed. Where she would clearly lie back and spread her legs wide, and beg him to put his big hard dick into her juicy cunt.

That was because he didn’t know what happened here. I’d been punished here several times, usually alone, but a couple of times I’d had my sister for company. Auntie would sit on the bed, and put us across her knee. And had we just waited, that would have been our fate. But I had something much more radical in mind.

The large bed here was at first glance, rather ordinary. It was covered with a plump ivory duvet, with matching pillows near the wooden beams that comprised its headboard. But on closer examination, unusual features revealed themselves; for a start, it wasn’t pushed against any of the walls, meaning you could walk all the way around it.

Then there were the silvery bedknobs glinting in each corner of the frame: four egg-shaped stainless steel protrusions. They were a late addition to what had been a simple unadorned short-posted bedstead. They were buttplugs, with holes drilled in their bases, which had allowed them to be screwed firmly into the wooden posts beneath. That was what I admired about my aunt, she was the kind of lady who’d think: you know what this bed could really do with? Buttplugs in each corner. And then get the tools out and do it.

I fetched the pot of lube that was sitting brazenly on the shelf, another sign this room wasn’t quite what it seemed, and began applying it to the two knobs at the bottom of the bedstead.

I took my boy’s hand and led him to a corner of the bed, telling him to rise up on his tiptoes and straddle the knob. I guided him so the tip of the knob rested against his cute little bum hole, and warned him to stay there, before encouraging him to sink down until it began to enter his bottom. I must confess, watching his tight little hole stretch was quite thrilling. When he was properly impaled, I straddled the knob beside him, and allowed myself to sink down too. Soon it was stretching my bum open too.

As we stood there waiting, I told him my aunt would be inspecting us when she arrived, and so he should pull his foreskin back so she could conduct a proper examination of his penis. With his bottom filled, he was much more compliant, and he did as he was told. Soon his cute dick had stiffened to the point where his helmet bulged. My aunt wasn’t really going to inspect him, I was just curious, and wanted to see every detail of his cock close up for myself.

The combination of the bedknob in his bum and his foreskin pulled back made him very hard indeed. I could see its veins bulge, and a clear fluid dripping from the tip. I gave my own swollen clit a few hard rubs before instructing him to follow my lead as I put my hands upon my head. Then we waited in nervous silence for Hurricane Auntie to blow in, and punish us.

Eventually, we heard approaching footsteps. My aunt appeared with a thick leather tawse, split at the tip into two sawtooth strips. Her purposeful stride halted immediately when she saw us straddling the bedknobs. I’m sure I saw a little smile flash across her face. But she said nothing, she didn’t even lecture us. Instead she just took up a position between us, feet spread apart in a classic power stance, and ran the fronds of the strap down our bare cheeks, just to check we were both in range.

My aunt twisted at her hips, swivelling her arm backwards before swinging back in one fluid motion to deliver a stinging whack to my boyfriend’s bottom, one so loud it made my ears ring and my pussy tremble. He yelped with the pain, I doubt he’d ever been spanked before.

She twisted and whacked him five more times with her forehand swing, covering his poor bottom with pink splotches. Then without moving her feet, she swivelled her hips to address me, giving me six smacks with her backhand. Auntie was an excellent tennis player, self-disciplined, focussed, strong-wristed and unerringly accurate. I always loved watching Wimbledon, imagining what an expert spanker each player would make, how each might lift my skimpy white skirt, tug my snow white panties down, and demonstrate their exceptional timing and technique.

Her leather strap imparted a terrible sting, each whack echoing deep inside me through the knob I’d so disgracefully impaled myself on. But I was so aroused, I barely felt the pain.

My aunt turned to face my boy again and resumed her forehand swipes. She had only delivered three more when he emitted a deep moan and came, ejaculating a long stream of creamy mess on the bedsheet in front of us. He got a scolding for his troubles, but no respite, and I think the poor boy felt every subsequent whack even more keenly after he’d spent himself. If I’m honest, I was rather disappointed by his lack of self control.

We got thirty-six whacks each, six sets of six, by the end of which I could feel my own sticky excitement dripping down the inside of my thighs. My aunt then took a few minutes to carefully examine the marks she’d inflicted, and tug our sore cheeks open to see how our bottoms had been stretched by the bedknobs.

She whispered two words into my ear before she left. Clever girl. Praise that made my clit throb. Before informing us both that we could stay mounted where we were for half an hour. Then she left us on the bedposts to contemplate our misdemeanours.

When I was sure she’d gone downstairs, I whispered conspiratorially to my partner in crime. Do you want to see me come?

He nodded eagerly. I’d never masturbated in front of anyone before, but I’d always fantasised about it, having an audience sitting in respectful silence, like in music recital, whilst I performed for them, skillfully manipulating my instrument, dancing, gyrating and writhing with pleasure.

I reached down and began rubbing my clit, which by now was swollen and throbbing with an almost uncomfortable intensity. My performance was more of a minuet than a concerto, I was so aroused, it only took a few firm rubs until I was bucking wildly on the bedpost, as my bottom clenched and quivered around it.

But girls, that wasn’t The Naughtiest Thing I’ve Ever Done.

The Naughtiest Thing was that I’d planned it all.

I had invited my poor boy here, knowing full well what would happen to us. I had dressed up in my bikini, and had encouraged him to undress with me, in the very place I knew my aunt would come to find us. I knew she’d send us to the punishment room and spank us both. I planned it all because I wanted to see him get spanked, I wanted to see how big and thick his cock got, I wanted to see if he could control himself or lose it and spurt. But I wanted to see it from a safe distance, I didn’t want things to get out of hand, and for his glistening heat-seeking erection to somehow find itself within my hot needy crevice.

So I had contrived everything about our encounter at my aunt’s house. Timing it meticulously to ensure we were caught. But I could only be sure of how she’d react because I knew all about my aunt’s kinky secrets…

A few years earlier, when I was a brash wilful teenager, I’d once spent a dismal rainy afternoon in my aunt’s house when she’d left me alone for the day. My boredom prompted me to roam, and my insatiable curiosity soon drew me to her grand bedroom. I’m embarrassed to say I had little respect for her privacy, and after examining the contents of her lingerie drawer, made the intriguing discovery that only one of her bedside drawers was locked. So I began to search for the key. I soon found that under the mattress.

Now I could begin rummaging through her most personal possessions. At the top was a pile of colourful magazines. My heart almost jumped out of my chest when I flicked through them. The pattern was always the same, a photo of a pouting young woman (or sometimes more), each being told off by a stern female authority figure. A headmistress, a nurse, a policewoman, a nun, a mother, an aunt or even a grandmother.

Some images had text beside them, which I read in rapt fascination as they described how the young protagonist had been caught doing The Naughtiest Thing. And in this particular fantasy world, they would, of course, have to be severely punished.

My eyes drank in pages and pages of intoxicating imagery. Frowny, pouting girls being led by the hand, bending over to have their skirts lifted and their panties pulled down. And then, punishment was delivered — and it was always a good hard spanking, always administered on a pretty pert bare bottom.

Absolutely no detail was was spared. The beautiful colour photographs showed the pink blushes on the miscreants’ cheeks, at both ends of their bodies. As the sequence continued, their bottoms got pinker, and their expressions more pained and contrite. I could read the writhing in their body language, even though every picture was still, as if my mind could interpolate the absent frames, intuitively knowing just what was missing. Finally, by the end of each sequence, justice had been done, and all was forgiven. Although she still might be pouting as she was sent to stand in the corner with her hands on her head.

I could barely believe my eyes. I laid on my aunt’s big soft bed, eagerly consuming the illicit stories I’d found. It didn’t take long for my hands to wander into my jeans, and then for my jeans to be pulled down completely. I stacked pillows beneath my hips, raising my bottom into the cool air, imagining I’d been caught red-handed by my aunt’s unexpectedly sudden return, and immediately dragged across her knee.

But the magazines weren’t all I found. I found what I later realised were dildos, strap-on harnesses and butt plugs. And several straps and paddles.

I rubbed my throbbing clit as I fantasised about her spanking me, then reached over to pick up one of her paddles, now eager to experience what a smack on the bottom actually felt like.

I reached back and spanked myself firmly; it didn’t hurt, it just felt warm and tingly, as if I’d just sat down heavily onto a hot radiator. So I tried a harder smack, then a harder one, until the heat began to be accompanied by a stinging sensation. And I liked it, I could feel the echo of each smack in my pussy. I began to wonder why anyone would consider this sensation a punishment, why there wasn’t a queue of girls outside the headmistress’ office, her best-behaved girls, each waiting their turn for this special treat.

Before the afternoon was out I was a spanking convert. I had stumbled across an incredible discovery, a true treasure trove — and one, I realised later, that might also explain the absence of boyfriends in my aunt’s life. This had always puzzled me, my aunt was pretty, and seemed to have such an active social life, always surrounded by a cadre of beautiful, elegant friends. It seemed she just preferred the company of women, and liked putting them across her knee too.

Further investigations revealed several adult-sized school uniforms in the wardrobe, what looked like a black headmistress’ gown, a cane, and surely more slippers than any one individual could hope to wear.

I had stumbled my aunt’s thrilling little secret, that she liked spanking naughty girls. That was what planted the seed, when I started thinking: what was The Naughtiest Thing I could do to provoke her into smacking my bottom?

Slowly, in the subsequent months, a plan formed in my mind. I would lure my boyfriend here, and I would ensure we were caught naked, ideally with his fingers deep in my pussy. Then it wouldn’t just be me getting spanked, he would too, and I would get to watch everything.

Positioning ourselves on top of the bedposts was a gamble, but one I thought my aunt would greatly appreciate, especially given what I’d discovered of her penchant for anal discipline.

Was that so naughty of me?

I looked around for an answer. But my three friends clearly had other things on their minds, they already had their toys beneath their posh frocks. I could hear the squelches amid their hurried gasps.

I hoped they would remember the stakes we were playing for. Very high stakes indeed.

But my story was too strong to resist, too resonant with my friends’ own desires. One by one. They came for me.

I think that means I’ve won our little new year game.

Well, girls. That means I get to choose your forfeits.

So, you’ll all going to accompany me on my next visit to my lovely strict aunt.

I know what you’re thinking. Yes, she still has the bed. I rode it again on my last visit, the perfectly carved bedknob stretching and filling my hungry cunt. I made such a mess as I came, but didn’t wipe it clean. I left my creamy residue for her to discover. Next time we meet, I want her to deal with me. I want her to be so strict with us.

I’m sure she’d just love to meet you all, and then escort us all to her punishment room. I expect she’ll want to undress us all with her own hands, bend each of us all, and rub a slippy lube all around our bottom holes. Then she’ll lead each of us into position, so we’re all on our tiptoes straddling a bedknob, its cold round tip teasing our tight little rings. How she’ll delight in hearing the gasps and pleas from your pretty faces.

Yes, girls. Put your sticky dildos against your bottom holes now. I know you’re eager to discover just how that will feel. How as your calves tire, you’ll sink deeper onto your bedknob. Each slip making our poor bottoms stretch. That’s it, keep pushing, slow and deep.

But that will only be the start of our ordeal. My aunt will fetch her wicked strap, and tell us to place our hands on top of our heads. Then she’ll begin to dander slowly around the bed, smacking every bottom that she passes, forehand and backhand, on our buttocks and thighs.

She does like to stop and inspect, be prepared for her to spread your slit apart and scrutinise the slick pink flesh within. She likes to tell those who are dripping to pull back their hoods and expose their little glistening bumps. As all the while your sore smacked bottom stings and throbs.

Yes, that’s it, girls. Tug your little hoods back for Miss.

Are you going to come again, girls?

Tsk. Tsk.

Without permission?

Don’t dare come until my dear auntie says, unless you all want to go home with the burning heat of a ginger root in your bum, and the marks of her school cane striping your cheeks.

Oh! I’m so glad you’re looking forward to our little visit, girls.

I promise, it will be The Naughtiest Thing




@spankingtheatre 2018

Originally posted at

You’re welcome to repost and share.

Leave a Reply