Drive to Destiny
[spanking] [F/f] [domestic discipline] [corner time]
The minivan's engine hummed steadily beneath me as I navigated the familiar route out of our quiet suburb, the winter sun glinting off the frost-laced windshields of parked cars, each one a reminder of the vanilla lives ticking along behind curtained windows. It was 9:35 AM, and I was ahead of schedule - as always, punctuality woven into my DNA like the threats of my nice sweater, a soft cashmere blend in light grey that draped over my curves with casual elegance, paired with fitted jeans that hugged my hips and my ass in that way I'd caught the soccer dads admiring more than once.
But today, those jeans felt like armour I wasn't sure I wanted, a barrier between the world and the vulnerability simmering beneath. My patent nude heels - chosen after much deliberation, their glossy shine catching the light on the pedals - creaked softly as I adjusted my foot, the nude nylon stockings whispering against my skin with every shift, a subtle tease that heightened the electric hum building in my core.
I'd opted for the heels thinking of Mistress Andrea's commanding presence and overall aesthetic, even when not in leather. Would she punish me for showing up in flats or runners, deeming them too casual to be in her presence? The thought sent a shiver down my spine, my stomach twisting with that sick swirl of butterflies, a nauseous flutter that made my hands grip the wheel tighter, knuckles pulsing against the leather.
What would my best friends think if they knew, my Sunday mimosa crew?
Nicole, with her endless Zumba classes and wine nights, or Kate, the one who organized our book club where we dissected smut novels over charcuterie - would they laugh, or stare in shock, knowing I'm taking a "personal day" off work, about to become the smut! Fabricating a migraine to my boss, only to drive here, paying good money to be spanked over the knee like a naughty child, by a woman I'd never met?
The absurdity of it hit me in waves, tears pricking the corners of my hazel eyes as I merged onto the highway, the minivan's tires humming over the asphalt like a countdown. They'd think I was crazy, a freak - pretty Heather, the soccer mom with the perfect life, the one who volunteered for bake sales and coordinated carpool schedules, secretly craving the sting of a hand or paddle on her bare ass, sobbing for forgiveness from guilts she couldn't voice.
But that's what drew me - the therapeutic release, the catharsis of a real spanking, not the playful swats in bed I'd never dared ask for. My pussy told a different story, though - a warm, insistent ache blooming between my thighs, my sensible panties and jeans suddenly feeling too constrictive against my swelling lips, a dampness seeping into the gusset as fantasies flashed in my mind: Andrea's blue eyes piercing mine, her voice scolding my domestic transgressions, yanking down my jeans, her hand descending in sharp, unrelenting smacks until tears washed me clean.
The industrial park loomed ahead, nondescript warehouses blending into the grey sky, and I pulled up to the Facility at 9:48, twelve minutes early, my heart pounding like a war drum in my chest, echoing in my ears as I killed the engine. Trembling, I sat there a moment, hands shaking on the wheel, mouth dry as cotton, the butterflies now a raging storm in my tummy that left me nauseous yet electrified, my nipples tight peaks against the sweater, pussy throbbing with a mix of terror and arousal that made me clench my thighs.
What was I doing?
Paying to be punished, to possibly cry like a naughty little girl under a stranger's hand? The fear was paralyzing, but the pull was stronger - the promise of surrender, of being seen and absolved, or having my reset button pressed, a line like a mantra, that I remember from Andrea's website.
Summoning every ounce of courage I had let, I grabbed my purse and phone, stepping out into the crisp air, heels clicking on the pavement as I approached the doors, heart pounding, mouth dry...ready...ready for what became a life-changing moment.
Yours truly,
Heather
Continued in: Warm Reception
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