Dropseat

Julie examined herself in the mirror and expressed her ire as best she could. It didn’t work, and almost sent her into a fit of giggles. No one could possibly look serious or indignant in these things, which was probably precisely the point. Damn him, she thought, stamping her foot in anger, a gesture that only seemed to enhance her childish appearance.

When her husband had mentioned that she should have special spanking pyjamas, something to help her get into the proper frame of mind, this wasn’t at all what she had in mind. She had pictured something cute and sexy, brief and lacy, something that left a certain portion of her anatomy readily accessible but yet would easily entice him into other activities later.

She had certainly not expected Matt to come home with the bright pink dropseat onesie that she had donned this evening.

She didn’t feel sexy at all, just silly. And hot. And itchy. Damn him, she thought again and tried to think of ways that she might still distract him from the promised punishment.

Punishment. The word itself made her shudder. They had dabbled with the disciplinary side of spanking before, though she had always managed to shift the mood into something more romantic before long. The spankings had been for poor attitude, and she had changed her attitude each time as they became intimate, so where was the harm in that? Sure, the change didn’t last too long, but it was. . .fun. She stamped her foot again, and this time couldn’t stop a small giggle from surfacing. This whole situation was ridiculous.

“Julie!” she heard Matt call from downstairs. “You must be ready by now, and you don’t want to keep me waiting.”

Julie sighed, no longer amused at her appearance. Matt’s voice had set her heart aflutter as it always had, but this time it induced a similar sensation in her stomach. He was irritated, his tone made that much clear, and she knew that in her current attire she had little chance of redirecting that sort of emotional energy. Probably for the best, she thought. She had to admit, at least silently, that he had become more and more irritated recently. Her usual tactics hadn’t helped. She wasn’t ready to admit that they had done any harm, but perhaps she should have known better. Perhaps she was just a teensy bit at fault. Perhaps this wasn’t entirely undeserved.

Julie shook herself of the horrid feeling and drifted to the bedroom door. Best get this over with, she reasoned as she allowed her legs to carry her rather mechanically downstairs to meet her husband.

She found him in his favourite seat on the sofa, seemingly engrossed in his newspaper. He peered over the top edge at her as she entered the room, shuffling her feet on the carpet through the built-in booties.

“This feels ridiculous. And it’s itchy. Wouldn’t you rather have me in something else?” she nearly spat at him in a sudden fit of indignation.

Matt set aside the paper and continued to gaze at her humorlessly. “Well, at least that’s a change in attitude,” he stated dryly. “Not quite the change I intended, but we seem to be getting somewhere. Nothing a spanking couldn’t help with, don’t you think?”

Julie wanted to protest, but her argument died in her throat. She didn’t want to admit that he was right, but also knew that fighting him at this point was futile. There was no point in resisting when at least part of her knew that she deserved what was to come.

Besides, it wasn’t as though she could run anywhere while so attired.

Taking her silence for the consent that it was, Matt shifted himself over to the center of the sofa and beckoned to her. Julie trudged over and flopped herself unceremoniously onto his lap. No point in trying to entice him in this thing, she figured, not that she had ever quite mastered the art of gracefully placing herself over his knee in the first place. Her typical attempts usually involved a bit of a stumble at the end, though Matt was too polite to ever comment.

Regardless of how she got there, regardless of what awaited her, she always felt cozy over his lap. There was something particularly intimate about this position, even though it did limit the activities that might follow.

The coziness was suddenly pierced by a cool draft on her behind as she felt Matt unbutton and lower the flap. She shivered as she was exposed, somehow feeling more nude now with less than a square foot of exposed skin than when she had been in this position entirely nude.

Her thoughts were jolted off that train when Matt began her spanking with a sharp swat. Julie flinched; this was no tender love pat. He meant business, she realised, as she began to understand what Matt had intended when they had discussed her discipline when he had presented her with the pyjamas.

“I want no mistaking of my intentions,” he had told that day, the garment folded on the table between them. “This will be for punishment, not play. I know we’ve tried similar things before, but the line was never very distinct. I think this will help, if you are willing.”

Julie had remained remarkably quiet throughout the conversation, answering only in murmurs and nods, and only when absolutely required. Matt had ended the conversation with a tender kiss and an offer to help with dinner, an offer that Julie was only too willing to accept as it provided both a convenient distraction and welcome assistance in the kitchen.

Julie had hardly thought of the garment since that night, purposely dancing around the subject in her mind. It was always there, hoving as a dark cloud, but never examined directly.

Not until now. As Matt continued her spanking with the same gusto with which he had begun, she couldn’t help but consider his words. There was no doubt about it, this was certainly not play, there was nothing at all enjoyable about this spanking, she thought as she flinched from a particularly vicious blow to her upper thigh. At least this garment limited the amount of thigh he had accessible to spank, she thought with grim satisfaction as he returned to her bottom. Surely he must be finished soon, she tried to console herself.

Soon came and went, and she had to rethink her assumption as the pain in her behind became intolerable. She twitched and squirmed as he continued to spank, though never truly tried to escape. She had placed herself here, after all. She had been warned, she knew what was to come. She had dressed herself thus and presented herself for the punishment. Matt had given her plenty of opportunity to refuse, and yet here she was. She felt tears trickle down her nose as the spanking continued. She had done this to herself, all by herself. She had earned this. She began to sob in earnest.

Matt soon stopped the spanking and gently helped his wife off his lap, holding her close as she cried. “That was different, wasn’t it?” he asked her gently. She nodded into his shoulder, unsure of how to otherwise respond.

“Do you want to have to do this again?” he asked.

“No!” Julie replied, this time sure of herself. This had been the single most unpleasant experience she had ever had with Matt, and she was determined to never ever earn another.

Matt shushed her gently and continued to hold her. “We don’t have to,” he assured her, “though we always can whenever you need it. Let’s try to make the next several spankings fun ones though, alright?” Julie nodded her assent again and settled into his embrace, a calm sleepiness beginning to overtake her.

“I know you hate this thing, would you like to change?” Matt offered.

“No,” Julie said with a yawn, as she snuggled deeper into his arms.

2 thoughts on “Dropseat

  1. Like the above story expresses, Clothes, at times, makes the *child*.
    I know from many long talks with a young lady who, by court order was forced to move back home with her mother (who has become a born again christian due to her stepfather) and become a *a ward* of hers once again.
    She was taken shopping by her mother and several purchases were made (of her mother’s selection) that were used in an effort to control her behavior. She said, that if she acted *immature* in her mother’s estimation, she was made to dress the part of the *child* she act like.
    I of course asked, why do you do it? She said (and quite unabashedly), Because I like sitting down. You still get spanked at your age, I choked out? Get spanked! I even had to pick out the hairbrush she beats me with! If I do something really bad like lie or not tell her where I’ll be, I loose my *big girl* privileges and have to put on the *bad girl panties* and I’m on restriction, after of course, she makes sitting down kind of hard for a long time! Did you ever try arguing with someone, who has the right and the ability to beat your ass, that you’re too big, especially when you look and feel like a junior high schooler! It only makes you look silly and makes her even madder.
    Sounds kinda kinky and sexy to me, I slyly joked, with eyes and hearts fluttering. You would, she admonished. you’re so male. But you wouldn’t think this butt was that sexy after my mom got through with it. She sometimes makes me do time out in the corner showing off my Barney panties. It’s sooo embarrassing! I suppose you find that sexy as well?
    I found out that her mother was a former fashion model (that only enhances the imagined) and is now a licensed psychologist. I wonder what school of psychology she subscribes to?

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