Judge, Jury and Executioner

[F/f] [judicial spanking] [public humiliation] [jail] [punishment] [bondage] 

Continued from: Locked and Longing

God, here we go—I’m back to being fully bare naked, my skin all goosebumpy in the cool air of this punishment room, and for the first time in like an hour, those heavy metal shackles are off my wrists and ankles. It feels weird, almost freeing for a split second, like I could bolt if I wanted, but nah, that’s not why I’m here. I need this, deserve it for being such a dumbass with Daddy’s Porsche, for making him miss work, for all that guilt I’ve been lugging around like a designer bag that’s way too heavy. Officer Andrea’s right there, her hands steady as she helps me up onto this padded apparatus, and before I can even catch my breath, she’s cinching down these thick leather belts—one by one, snugging them around my ankles, calves, thighs, lower back, forearms, and wrists. Click, snap, they’re locked in tight, rendering me completely immobile, totally vulnerable, like I couldn’t twitch if my life depended on it. And then she adds these brass padlocks to every single bondage point—god, they’re probably just for show, psychological mindfuck, but they work, creating this environment of complete helplessness that makes my stomach flip.

The position’s got me up high on my tip toes, comfy enough but definitely for aesthetics, so my flawless bare soles are all visible, my bum and legs flexed just right, like I’m in packaging, on display. There’s this bolster at my tummy pushing my ass out ever so slightly, presenting it perfectly for that mechanized paddle lurking behind me. I’m almost standing upright, gravity doing its thing, keeping my naked bum cheeks loose and fleshy, all cushioned and ready to take the heavy wood without getting wrecked—better than being bent over super tight, which could actually hurt bad. As she clicks the final padlocks and tugs the belts one last time, everything hits me at once: all this drawn-out perfection in the session planning, the nervous anticipation that’s been building forever, the fear knotting my guts, and yeah, that sneaky arousal pulsing between my legs. It boils over, emotions exploding like I can’t hold them back anymore. That’s exactly why Andrea designed it this way—she’s a freaking genius at this, engineering the perfect breakdown.

I start sobbing, real tears streaming down my face, apologies spilling out like I can’t stop them. “I’m so sorry,” I choke out, my voice all shaky and small. “For the speeding, for taking the Porsche, for making Daddy miss work… I caused so much trouble, emotional anguish like the charges said. I promise I’ll be a better person, a better daughter—I swear, no more stupid risks, no more being a spoiled brat.” It’s like absolution’s starting, this deep remorse washing over me, accepting accountability for real, and I haven’t even been spanked yet. My chest heaves with the cries, guilt finally cracking open, and it feels… good? Scary good, like the lesson’s already sinking in.

Andrea doesn’t rush; she just quietly lets me sob, then gently starts applying this warm baby oil to my bare bum and the backs of my thighs, her hands smooth and inspecting every inch, preparing the area like it’s art. 

“Such a perky, beautiful bum,” she comments softly, almost admiring, and it makes me flush even harder, a weird mix of pride and shame. Then she moves the paddle arm into place— I can hear it whirring faintly behind me—and twists this deliberately large digital dial clockwise, numbers rattling up from 1 to 28.5 in a flash. A glowing green button pops up on a screen: “Start Punishment.” Oh fuck, I’m trembling now, full-body shakes from the fear, adrenaline pumping like crazy through my veins, natural chemicals making me hyper-aware of everything. But between my legs? My pussy’s fucking me over again, that traitorous heat building, and I can feel my inner thighs glistening with juice, slick and obvious even though I’m strapped down.

I cry some more, deeper sobs wracking me, apologies pouring out raw. “I’m sorry, so so sorry… this is what I deserve, I know it. I’ll be a good girl from now on, I promise— no more flirting with trouble, no more letting everyone down.” The words feel true, the remorse hitting peak, and with that button waiting to be pressed, the machine ready to teach me that long, hard lesson, I’m equal parts terrified and ready. 

Oh fuck, the second that green “Start Punishment” button gets pressed, the machine whirs to life behind me, this low hum that makes my whole body tense up even more in those leather belts. I’m strapped in so tight, naked as the day I was born, my bum sticking out just right for whatever’s coming, and my tip toes are already aching from the position. The first volley hits—god, it’s almost gentle, like if Mommy was running the back of her hairbrush over my naughty bare bum, just testing the weight before really letting me have it. Not hard at all, but it startles me, these light taps landing one after another, rhythmic and frequent, like a warm-up that’s teasing me more than hurting. The timer kicks in, glowing red numbers starting their countdown from 28.5, ticking down slow as hell, and I can feel my breath catching, that mix of fear and the guilt still churning in my gut.

Officer Andrea’s standing right there, supervising with this smirk on her face, clearly amused at how devious this thing is—it’s like the machine’s got a mind of its own, programmed to drag out every second of my lesson. After about a minute, the rhythmic spanking stops, the paddle arm drawing back further, and then—whack—it starts delivering these sharper, very deliberate swats right to my sit spots and the backs of my thighs. Still not overly hard, nothing that bites too deep, but oh man, it’s the utter humiliation that’s punishing me the most. Buckled into a freaking machine, fully naked, getting spanked by a robot arm while I’m helpless? My face burns hotter than my ass, that shame mixing with the arousal I can’t shake, even now. I squirm a little, testing the belts, but they’re locked solid with those brass padlocks, no give at all, just me on display, taking it, crying out from embarrassment and humiliation alone.

That phase ends after another minute, and the machine switches back to those rapid taps, lighter but nonstop, and all the while, my bum’s starting to warm up, this fuzzy numbness spreading over my cheeks from the repeated impacts. It’s weird— the numbness actually lessens the pain, like my skin’s going all tingly and protective, making it bearable even as the heat builds. Andrea watches for a bit, nodding like she’s content that the two different methods are cycling just right, then she just… leaves the cell, her heels clicking away, door shutting with a clang. Alone. Just me, the machine’s steady smacks, and that timer mocking me as it counts down. God, the suspense is killer, every cycle reminding me why I’m here— for being a spoiled brat, for the speeding, the impound, Daddy’s missed work. I deserve this long lesson, I really do, to feel that remorse sink in deep.

By the ten-minute mark, I’m feeling perspiration trickling at the small of my back, beading up under the belts, and each time the machine cycles through—light taps to sharper swats—it resumes just a little harder, ramping up sneaky-like. The numbness in my bum helps, keeping it from hurting too bad, but it’s building, that warmth turning into a steady burn. With five minutes left, though? Oh shit, it’s getting real challenging now—I’m pulling against the restraints, yanking my wrists and ankles to no avail, curling my toes hard against the padded base, openly crying out with each smack. “Ow! Please…” I whimper, tears starting up again, the machine not caring, just whacking away at my loose, fleshy cheeks, the sound echoing in the room. It’s tough, pushing me, but that’s the point—teaching me to be better, to stop the stupid risks.

Then I hear her heels clicking back in—Andrea’s here to supervise the end, her voice calm but firm. “Remember why you’re being punished, Alexis—for those traffic violations, the emotional anguish you caused your family. You need this, to learn your lesson, to be a good girl.” She rubs my shoulder gently, that touch grounding me through the sobs, telling me it’s almost over. And then it is—the machine noise stops, the smacking ends, timer hitting zero with a soft beep. All that’s left is me, sniffling, tears and snot running all over my beautiful face as I sob openly, the fire in my ass raging, knowing I’ll feel it for a week, every sit-down a reminder.

“Good girl,” Mistress says, her voice all proud and soft as she starts unbuckling me from the machine, padlocks clicking open one by one. “I’m very proud of you.” And god, hearing that? It hits different, like the remorse is finally easing, the lesson stuck. I'm not a disappointment to Daddy anymore. I did it—I took it for real.

Alexis Gianna DiPaulo

Continued in: Sassy Bitch

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