Era of Accountability

[spanking] [F/ff] [age regression] [otk] [humiliation] [cornertime]

Continued from: From Fantasy to Reality

OMG, you guys, this is Jessika again and I’m shaking just typing this. Mistress Andrea took my hand so gently — like a mom guiding her little girl — and led me into that side room. Brandy was already back on the couch sniffling, and the second that door clicked shut behind us everything felt… heavier. The room was small, softly lit, two comfy chairs facing each other, a box of tissues on the little table between them. No whips, no cuffs, no scary stuff. Just Andrea and me.

She sat down first, patted the chair opposite her, and smiled that warm-mom smile that somehow made my knees weak.

“First things first, sweetheart. We always start with safety. Tell me your safeword — the one word that stops everything instantly, no questions asked.”

I swallowed hard. “Um… ‘red’?”

“Good girl. And if you need to slow down but not stop?”

“Yellow.”

“Perfect. We’ll check in often. You can say either at any time and I will stop immediately. This is still your choice, Jessika. Always.”

I nodded, but my heart was already hammering. She leaned forward, elbows on her knees, voice soft but serious.

“Now… I want to talk about something else before we begin. How old are you, sweetheart?”

“Twenty-four.”

She cuts in gently, but firm. “And how old were you when COVID hit? Eighteen? Nineteen? Big dreams—college, maybe a career in something creative? Then the isolation, the quarantine… it left you both in a slump you never really climbed out of. And you still live at home with your parents?”

My face went hot. “Y-yes.”

“No job?”

“I… I do OnlyFans. Feet and hosiery, socks. It pays for my gaming and anime stuff.”

She didn’t flinch. Just looked at me with those kind, steady eyes.

“Then the world shut down. Isolation, screens, no real-life milestones. A lot of you got stuck. Brandy too, she and I just established that a moment ago.”

I felt my throat tighten. She wasn’t yelling. She was just… telling the truth. And it hit hard because yeah, during COVID I was all set for post-secondary—online school at first, sure, but I had plans. Like, big ones: community college for graphic design, maybe move out with Brandy, start our own little content studio for graphic design and broadcasting. But quarantine? It wrecked me. Days blurred into nights staring at screens, no motivation to log into classes, just endless Animal Crossing islands and Netflix binges. I got lazy—super lazy. Skipped assignments, dropped out quietly, told my parents it was “too hard online.” No boyfriends either; who dates during lockdown? Turned to online attention-seeking instead—started the OnlyFans on a whim, selling pics of my feet in socks or in rope bondage ‘cause some random DM said they’d pay. It snowballed, easy money without leaving my room. But now? I’m still here, 24, living off likes and subscribers, no real job, no plans. Stuck... like I'm still the one in the mask. 

“The post-COVID era is over, Jessika, do you hear me? This is the era of accountability and responsibility. And right now, I’m holding you accountable. Because you are bright. You are beautiful. You are talented. And you are throwing your life away behind gaming screens and fishing for likes and subscribers.”

The first tear slipped out before I could stop it.

“You have so much more potential than this, sweetheart. And I’m disappointed in where you are right now.”

That word — disappointed — cracked something open inside me. I started bawling, ugly, shoulder-shaking sobs. Everything she said was true. I knew it. Brandy knew it. That’s why she came out crying. Someone finally said the quiet part out loud instead of letting me stay stuck in this rut.

Andrea just waited, patient, until my sobs slowed to hiccups. Then she stood, offered her hand again.

“Come on, love. Time to begin.”

She walked me back out to the living-room space. Brandy was still on the couch, eyes red, cheeks wet, looking small and sorry in her low-rise jeans. Mistress guided me to sit beside her, then stepped back, voice suddenly firm and calm.

“Both of you — stand up. Hands at your sides.”

The session had started.

And oh my god… it was WAY more real than I could ever have imagined.

***********************************

I don’t even know where to start with what happened next. Brandy and I were positioned in this empty corner of the room, shoulder to shoulder, our heads bowed like we were little kids in timeout. Tears were already flowing freely down my cheeks, and I could hear Brandy sobbing softly beside me—we hadn’t even been touched yet! It was so childish and humiliating, standing there in our outfits, noses practically touching the wall, feeling like naughty girls waiting for punishment. 

The point was clear: to make us feel small, exposed, that build-up of shame twisting in my gut. We whispered to each other super quietly, our voices all shaky and sniffly. “This is way more real than I pictured,” I murmured. “Yeah,” she whispered back, “I feel so… ashamed of myself." But omg, the terror was real—my stomach flipping, that cold fear making me tremble—but mixed with this weird arousal, my satin panties all slick and clingy under my sundress. I hated how turned on I was, imagining what was coming, but I loved it too. Humiliating heaven, right?

Mistress Andrea clicked around behind us, those heels echoing on the floor like a countdown, preparing… something. The fear of the unknown had me frozen—I didn’t dare turn around or peek, even though every fiber of me wanted to. We were in enough trouble as is; that much was clear from the “truth room” talks. The silence stretched forever, broken only by our sniffles and the occasional drip from somewhere in the Facility. My mind raced: What if it’s too much? What if I safeword out? But no, I wanted this—the real sting, the real shame.

Finally, the silence shattered when Andrea dragged a sturdy dining chair over near the corner— that scrape of wood on floor making me jump. “Jessika,” she said in that maternal voice, calm but firm, “come to my side.” My legs felt like jelly as I turned, wiping my tears, seeing her seated there like a disappointed mom. Then to Brandy: “Pull your jeans and underpants down to your ankles and remain facing the wall.” Brandy let out a little whimper but did it, her low-rise jeans and panties bunching at her feet, her bare bum exposed to the room. She started crying harder, shoulders shaking—omg, seeing my bestie like that, humiliated and waiting, made my own tears flow faster.

Without even being prompted—‘cause I was already in that headspace, feeling so small and sorry—I reached up under my sundress and pulled down my satin panties, letting them drop to my ankles. The cool air hit my skin, making me shiver, that exposure hitting like a wave. Andrea patted her lap maternally, and I lifted the back of my dress, draping myself over her knees like a naughty little girl. Nothing was said—it had already been said in that room. Just her hand coming down rapid and deliberate, smacking my bare bum over and over. The sting built fast—sharp at first, then burning, each slap echoing in the room. I cried out, kicking my legs a bit in those childish sandals, apologies tumbling from my lips: “I’m sorry! I’ll do better, I promise!” Brandy’s sobs from the corner mixed with mine, that shared humiliation making it all so real, so intense. After a lengthy warm-up—god, it felt like forever, my cheeks on fire—Andrea helped me to my feet, steadying me as I sniffled.

“Strip bare naked, Jessika,” she said softly. I did, hands trembling as I slipped off the sundress, unhooked my bra, stepping out of my panties and sandals until I was fully exposed, vulnerable, tears streaming. Then to Brandy: “You too, sweetheart—strip bare naked and keep facing the corner, hands on your head and just listen for now.” Brandy’s cries got louder as she obeyed, and I stood there, naked and shaking, the reality sinking in deeper than any fantasy.

Mistress swapped out her dining chair for this high kitchen stool, dragging it over with a scrape that made my stomach flip. She explained super calmly, like it was no big deal, that I needed to climb up and drape myself over her knee. 

“It’ll make you feel absolutely helpless, sweetheart—legs and arms dangling in mid-air, your red ass thrust up high and exposed, those little bare feet kicking uselessly.” Omg, she planned it all so delicately, but it was evil genius— to put me in the most childish and humiliating position imaginable. 

I climbed up, my toes barely touching the rung, and lay over her lap, my body all off-balance, arms hanging down one side, legs the other. My bum was up so high, everything on display— no hiding, no control. Terror hit hard— what if I fell? What if it hurt too much? But arousal? Ugh, it flooded me, my pussy aching with that love-hate rush. So vulnerable, like a little girl over Mommy’s knee.

Andrea started another round of spanking with her hand—rapid, deliberate smacks that built from stingy tingles to a burning fire across my cheeks. I cried out right away, kicking my dangling feet, tears streaming as apologies tumbled from my lips: “I’m sorry! I’ll do better, I promise! No more wasting time!” It went on forever, each slap echoing that truth-room talk, making me sob harder. Finally, she helped me down, my legs wobbly, bum throbbing like crazy. She kissed me gently on the forehead— so maternal, it made me cry more— and sent me to the corner to take Brandy’s place. I stood there sobbing, nose to the wall, naked and ashamed, that childish position humiliating me all over again.

Then I heard the same instructions for Brandy: “Climb up and get over my knee, sweetheart.” Omg, picturing her— those longer, more slender legs of hers dangling, her bigger and skinnier feet flailing and kicking the air as the smacks started. She began apologizing and promising right away, her voice all broken: “I’m sorry! I’ll change, I swear!” The sounds of her spanking filled the room—sharp slaps, her cries mixing with mine from the corner. It seemed to go on forever, that rhythmic smack-smack making me flinch each time, tears streaming down my face. The humiliation of listening to my bestie get thrashed like that, knowing she’d heard me… so childish, so real. 

Finally, silence—then Brandy was placed back in the corner beside me, shoulder to shoulder, both of us naked and sobbing. We stood there like that for the next 20 minutes, heads bowed, thinking about what just happened—the spankings, the truth—and the changes we needed to make in our lives. No talking, just quiet reflection, our bare bums throbbing as reminders. Omg, it was intense—and little did I know, it was the beginning of my life, Brandy's life, changing forever. 

Brandy and Jessika

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