The family dinner‏

They’d sat at dinner, the family group, on Christmas Day. He wondered whether his beloved’s parents disapproved of him: a second-year student seeing a member of the academic staff was, to say the least, a little controversial.

All had gone well until the Christmas pudding. An unusually sharp exchange between his girlfriend and her mum; barbed words; escalation. “You won’t speak to your mother like that,” her dad had said.

She’d not stopped, though, by now too deep in the fray to back off. Until, that is, her father stood up: “Upstairs! Now! You’re not too old, young lady…”

A stunned silence descended across the table, as they realised what he’d said – and what it meant, historically. “I said ‘now’. And I mean it.”

They’d been gone a few minutes before the remaining diners heard it: the unmistakable sound of spanking. The repeated retort of hand punishing bottom – and, eventually, the faint murmur of her sobbing.

They returned not long after – his girl red-faced, avoiding the others’ eyes as she shifted painfully on her seat at the table during coffee.

They’d not spoken of it in the car home, either, although he’d held her hand as comfort. But when they got back to his house, when he’d undressed her… He pushed her forward over the end of the bed, and ran his fingers over her raised, reddened skin. “You won’t show me up like that again. Ever.”

“No, sir.”

“Your father punished you for speaking so rudely to your mother. And I now need to deal with you for behaving like that with me there.”

“Please… I couldn’t take any more.”

“Spanking, no. But there are other ways of punishing a girl, aren’t there?”

“Please, no…”

“Tell me how a girl gets punished if she’s not spanked?”

“Sir… Sir… She… She gets fucked up the arse, sir…”

“Indeed.” And indeed she was: hard, mercilessly, until she begged him to stop. Until long after. Until he was finished. Until he could pull her onto the bed and curl up with her in his arms…

—

I do hope you’re all enjoying the festive season!