At the Top of the Stairs

I am shy. Especially now in this tight black dress, the tops of my thigh-high stockings left visible by its shortness, my heels rendering me vulnerable and, somehow, powerful at the same time...

When you bid me, "Come here," I take only a few steps closer. Then you fix your gaze on me, stern yet comforting -- you point firmly to the ground right next to your feet, and repeat, "Here."

I am close to you now, yet cannot meet your eyes. Because, yes, I do know what is going to happen to me now -- I do know that you are going to spank me, that you are going to lift the back of my dress, as you are doing right now, and remind me of the reason I came to meet you.

"Look at you in your cute little black panties," the grin in your voice is unmistakable.

Your palm, warm, larger than my own, rests there over my panties, your fingers on my skin -- your voice in my ear telling me what naughty girls deserve... It's a wonder that I can even remain standing upright. : )

That's when you motion to the stair railing, and instruct me to bend over, "all the way," with the rail positioned perfectly under my hips. I have a view of the entire front foyer from here, at the very top of the stairs.

Only a moment passes for me to take in my predicament, however, before your hand drives my body forward, and my mind backward -- it's happening now, again and again -- my upturned bottom is vulnerable, my dress is too short to cover anything in this position, and you are standing there right behind me, spanking me.

My fingers can curl no tighter around the railing posts, my hips can turn no further upward nor press any more firmly against the wooden banister, and still you spank me, the sound of it echoing down the stairs and through the hall, right to the front door.

If anyone happened to walk in at this moment, cheeks red from the winter chill, they would be greeted with the sight of an equally red-faced naughty girl, being punished over the railing at the top of the stairs.

Suddenly, you order me up, and against the wall nearby.

Head and shoulders on the wall, back arched, hips out and up. Hips out -- up more, little girl.

Now, when you spank me, I don't have a railing to rely on -- I have to hold position myself. Your left arm around my waist lends me strength, while at the same time exacerbating my sense of exposure -- reminding me of your intense focus on one particular area of my body. With my hips up like this, each spank reaches me in a deeper place. I can feel my legs inching slowly further and further apart, as if acting with a mind of their own.

Then your pace slows, and you release your grip. I know better than to move out of position, though, and sure enough, only a few breaths later, your fingers move to your belt buckle.

A small sound escapes my throat as the SWOOSH of leather through belt loops fills the air, and I watch over my shoulder as you wind the belt around your hand.

"You're going to count out 20 -- is that clear?"

"Yes, Sir," my voice leaks out, barely more than a whisper.

"I didn't hear you, little girl..."

I steel my lungs to fill up, my vocal chords to pulse with life: "Yes, Sir." A little louder this time. My heart beat quickens -- I can see you reaching back...

SMACK!
The strength of the first catches me by surprise, even though I saw it coming. "One, thank you, Sir!"

SMACK!

"Two, thank you, Sir." Mmm I am remembering how much I love the feeling of heavy leather...

By 18, however, I am doing my best not to writhe against the wall with each stinging stroke of your belt on my skin.

SMACK!
"Nnn... 19... thank you, Sir..." I know I've made it through now, but I also know that this is the last one -- the hardest. My whole body is tensed, my nerves on edge, my skin tingling in anticipation.

SMACK!!!
"Ohh! Nnn twenty... Thank you... Sir."

Your warm hand on my red bottom immediately rubs some of the sting away, and I begin to breathe relaxation back into my body.

You move to some distance behind me, and give me permission to rub. With the side of my face still pressed gratefully against the cold white wall, I allow my hands to venture back, to curl around my sit-spot and soak up the heat now radiating from my skin.


"Now, over here -- we're nowhere near through yet. No -- did I tell you that you could pull your dress down? Leave it right where it is." The light in your eyes reminds me how much you are enjoying yourself -- hopefully my blush communicates the same to you.

You instruct me to move down three steps and to turn around. As I watch, you position yourself on the top step, your left foot on the second step down, knee turned outward.

I realize where this is going even before you direct me forward over your knee, my torso on the landing, my legs suspended in the air down the steps.

You are spanking me now over your knee at the top of the stairs -- my bottom framed by your arm around my waist, made vulnerable by my hips' angle over your single thigh, exposed to the whole vast space of the stairway and sprawling hall below.

Just when I think there can be no greater embarrassment to this situation, your fingers find the waist-band of my panties, and begin to pull. "You've been a very naughty girl, haven't you? Yes you have. Daddy has to pull down your panties and spank you properly -- on your bare bottom..."


This is a moment that I will find myself replaying over and over again in my memory. : )

I am now bare, utterly exposed not only to you, but also to the expanse of stairs stretching out below us, and being spanked over your knee like a naughty little girl. I can only imagine what somebody standing down there would be able to see, looking up here.

In fact, my imagination is running wild by this point, as my mind and body begin drifting into that elusive, euphoric space, where pain becomes pleasure, and a naughty, well-spanked girl becomes the best kind of girl in the world.

Second photo featuring Abigail Whittaker of Firm Hand Spanking
Third photo from NylonDivas.com
Second-to-last photo courtesy of Miss Jules via Pandora Blake