Fun write up attached below 👉🏽👈🏽
The worst part wasn’t even the sting—though god, that was bad enough—it was the *sound*. The sharp, echoing *crack* of her hand against my bare skin in the cramped bathroom, bouncing off the tiles like some awful applause. At nineteen, I should’ve been worrying about midterms, not bracing myself over the tub with my bare butt and lady parts exposed.
And then, like clockwork: the soap. Ivory, because she swore it was the purest, which somehow made it worse. The second she reached for that white bar, my stomach dropped. "Open," she’d say, and I’d shake my head, which just meant more swats until my mouth was forced wide, the bitter lather scraping my tongue.
I’d gag, tears blurring my reflection in the mirror—some pathetic, soapy-mouthed college student with a red backside. The humiliation burned worse than the taste. Next time, I swore, I’d remember to text her when I got home. Next time, I’d lie better.
But there’d *always* be a next time.
I’m a trove of true stories and spanking fun:)