You can't neglect your responsibilities as a disciplinarian

Julia slips out as you pick up the thick, two inch wide belt-like leather strap that is Helen's implement and have her lean over the arm of the sofa. Her lacy undies match her chemise and you pull them to the floor with a single motion, to expose a pale, thin and flat rump bearing half a dozen narrow red ridges indicating that a mild caning was applied three or four days ago. You run your finger gently over an almost-healed stripe and Helen draws a shaky breath.

"I made a mistake at work, sir."

"I see. And now you've made a mistake at home."

"Yes, sir."

"How often do you lie around like that instead of adopting the proper posture? Don't lie, because your sister won't if I ask her."

"I do it a lot, sir, but only when it's just the two of us."

"Not when you lived at home with your parents?"

"Oh, no, they wouldn't allow it."

"And does Julia also sprawl like a beached octopus?"

"N-no…actually, she never does. And she used to tell me off, but eventually gave up."

"But she never spanked you?"

"No way, I'm not one of her students! I only have to let old men spank me."

"Well, since your sister is clearly more responsible than you, as long as you live under her roof, you are to allow her to spank you whenever she decides you deserve it, or you'll have to answer to me. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir." She may not know what answering to you will entail, but she is about to find out.

"How long have you lived here?"

"Er, three and a half years, about."

"And I bet you've neglected your posture at least a couple of times a day, so let's call it two and a half thousand offences. Three stripes per offence, say, adds up to seven and a half thousand…I think we may need more than one session to address this."

Helen lies over the arm of the sofa in stunned silence, not knowing whether you're serious about this ridiculous number of lashes. You are.

"I'll make a start today and if you get anyone else to give you a share of the punishment before I see you again, keep a record. Assuming you don't earn any more, you'll probably be finished in another three years or so."

With a grin, you brandish the strap and swish it rapidly left and right, slapping the outer sides of Helen's buttocks alternately, working your way from the top to the bottom and back again. The lashes are individually much less severe than if you were giving a full follow-through to each one, but you are laying on so many that her cheeks are quickly heating up from pink to fiery red, to deep purple.

Helen begins to whimper and wail, twisting her hips and squirming her legs unattractively.

"Hold still or I'll start over," you admonish, sternly.

"Oh!" The blonde freezes, plainly unused to such self control being required of her. "Sorry!"

You resume and for a while, Helen manages to hold steady, shoulders wracked by her first sobs. As you begin to work your way back down her bottom for the third time, she is overcome and lifts one foot from the ground. Immediately, you grab the offending limb and bend it upwards, exposing her sole so that you can lash the strap down onto her instep, once, twice, thrice. The blows are much harder than the ones on her bottom and her foot writhes around, **** to avoid further chastisement.

"Keep—" *SWISH* "—your—" *SWISH* "—feet—" *SWISH* "—on—" *SWISH* "—the—" *SWISH* "—floor!"

"Yes, I will, I promise, sir, I'll keep them on the floor, I swear, sir, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'll be good…"

Helen babbles on incoherently even after you release her ankle and return your attention to her backside, which is starting to bruise and abrade. You are amazed at how inexperienced she seems to be at receiving discipline; any one of the freshers you spanked today could have taken this long but fairly gentle strapping without half as much fuss. Still, your arm is tiring, as are Helen's cheeks, so you should think about stopping, or at least changing targets.