I now return you to your narrative of misbehavior and its consequences…
Whipping girl for everyone on the island? Goddamn. As sore and miserable as you are, that paints a hell of a picture. Grisham’s harsh words echo in your ears as she stands over you, casting a shadow over your red bottomed form.
“Toxic dump? It makes this place sound bad when you say it that way,” you mumble.
There’s a pause and you risk a glance over your shoulder. Grisham is trying not to laugh, you can see it in the way her cheek twitches.
“You’re a fucking smart ass,” she snorts. “But it’s only going to get you in a world of hurt. Now get your nose back in that corner already before I start over with you.”
You get good results 🙂 As promised, here’s the non-canon alternative outcome to PT 62 of the tale.
“Yes, ma’am, I understand.” You stammer the words, snapped out of your stressed out rebellion by her intensity. Grisham is nobody to mess with. You get the distinct impression that she will take things as far as they need to go in order to get your obedience, and you don’t want to play that game of chicken with your ass – or any other part of your body.
Your democratically elected discipline session begins now… (alternative version for those capable of behaving themselves in polls still to come.)
“No, I don’t understand, that’s the whole damn problem!” You yell the words at her, throwing caution to the wind.
Grisham’s brow lifts with a hint of incredulity. “You’re really going to push this, huh? Okay, little girl,” she says. “Let me help you understand.”
Your feet hit the ground and her hands go from holding your shirt, to pulling it open. Buttons pop off and fly across the room as she tugs the garment from your arms and then goes to work on your pants.
“What the hell!? What are you doing?” Your squeak of protest hits a new register. Continue reading
I don’t know about you all, but I’m really enjoying the current series here on SB. Writing in the second person isn’t exactly common for most kinds of stories, but this is based on the choose your adventure tales I loved reading when I was younger. To make this work and add some choice for the readers, I’ve added regular polls, some of which direct the outcome of a scene, some of which represent a turning point in the story, and others of which are like that extra switch in the spare room that you have no idea what it does.
Watching the voting on the polls is always fun for me, and it’s no surprise that there’s a certain amount of rebellion and bratitude on most of ’em. It’s fun, but I’m starting to feel a little bad for the people who consistently vote for options that won’t lead to stern punishments and never really end up getting to see their options played out. (Except when I write a little clemency in of my own accord.)
So for the next post, following on from PT 62, I’ll be doing two options, one for the marginalized 30% whose desires will forever be unattended to in our current semi-democratic process, and one for the 70% who are in deep, deep trouble now. (Seriously, you lot, so much trouble. Don’t say you weren’t warned.)
“You’re scaring me,” you say, squirming off Grisham’s lap. “What are you trying to say? What’s happening?”
“I don’t know what’s happening,” she replies in pseudo-calming tones as she stands up. “I’m just wanting to take precautions in case something does happen. I’ll talk to Surnow and we’ll decide if we need to take any other measures. For now, let’s get you into a less obviously out of place uniform.”
You’re exhausted, but you want to see the fort and you figure you’ve got time before Grisham comes back. There’s a not so little voice at the back of your head telling you that this isn’t a good idea, but you’re getting so used to ignoring that voice that you barely notice it at all.
As you emerge into the fort, you understand why Grisham spent so much time straightening you up. Everyone moves with precision and purpose. Their uniforms are spotless, perfectly pressed and presented with total pride. There is an atmosphere on the base that you find simultaneously intimidating and kind of awe inspiring. There must be over a thousand people here, but they all know their jobs and they’re all doing them.
Your haircut proceeds without any real drama, aside from the constant squirming you can’t help because your butt is aching so much from Grisham’s spanking. She stands in the corner of the room, chatting with the woman clipping your hair into a short, tidy bob and both of them do you the favor of pretending they don’t notice how you wince and wriggle.
“Very good,” Grisham says when you’re done. “You’re capable of behaving yourself for five minutes.” She looks pleased with you, which makes you feel pleased in spite of yourself. You could have kicked up more of a fuss, but you don’t doubt she’d have strapped your butt and then strapped you into the chair if she had to. Grisham doesn’t really seem to have limits when it comes to ensuring obedience, but your bottom has limits to what it can take.
“I don’t know,” you shake your head as your hands go back to rub your aching behind. “That was… you really went in on me.”
“I haven’t started to go in on you,” Grisham says. “That was nothing.”
You screw up your face as your butt throbs. “That was definitely something.”
She chuckles and runs her hand through your hair. “Time to get this cut,” she says. “Not too short though,” she adds as her fingers curl in your locks and her dark eyes narrow into a smile which makes you quiver. “I want to be able to get a good grip on you.”
“That’s not fair,” you half-moan.
“I’m not that innocent,” you say. “I was in a cell, remember?”
“Mhm,” she says. “That’s not the kind of innocence I’m talking about.” She shakes her head at you and pulls you into a hug which leaves you pressed against her body, hard and yet soft at the same time. Grisham is so confusing. She has the capacity to simultaneously be one of the scariest people you’ve ever met, but she’s also given you more comfort than anyone else in this confusing time.
“You probably need as many of these as you need spankings,” she says, tapping your butt as she releases you and straightens your collar again. “We’ll start with the hair cut,” she says, her eyes running over you again with that critical gaze which makes you feel prickly and hot.
Double update! I just love Grisham <3
You wake up to the strong smell of brew presented beneath your nose and sit up, blearily wiping sleep from your eyes as Grisham puts the mug next to the bed on a little woven coaster apparently set out for the purpose. You look up into her warm dark eyes while the sleep has yet to fall from yours and for a second, you can’t remember who this large, handsome woman is, or why you’re in her bed – then the whole embarrassing night comes flooding back. Being chased around Surnow’s office, getting caught… Terra leaving you in the clutches of Grisham, who is looking at you with a wry smile. Continue reading
You escape to the bathroom and take a shower. It feels amazing, the best shower you’ve had in recent memory. The hot water relaxes your muscles and soothes a lot of your stress away. When you emerge, you’re glad to slip into something clean, even though it is Grisham’s oversized shirt.
When you leave the bathroom, Grisham is sitting on the bed, her legs spread, her hands clasped between her long thighs. She gives you a look that leaves you feeling flushed and confused.
“C’mere,” she says, crooking her finger at you.
You let out a whimper, but you’re too tired to disobey and start another fight, and you know Grisham could catch you easily. You walk toward her slowly, hoping that your night isn’t going to take yet another turn for the worse. The moment you’re in range, she reaches out, takes you by the hand and draws you between her legs. She’s so much taller than you, and so much stronger and both those facts are very apparent now more than ever as you stand vulnerable, naked under the shirt.
You can’t believe Terra has left you with these women. Guard Grisham was about to beat you with a cane, and Terra thinks its fine to just leave you with her!? You’re stunned into something like obedience, going limp in Grisham’s hands. You don’t even bother to fight when she turns you around and lands a hard slap across your bottom, her hand spanning the center of your cheeks and your resulting yelp is a miserable whimper. She repeats the slap and even though the second one is harder than the first and makes your butt blaze, you barely manage a squeak.
Surnow and Grisham exchange looks as Grisham turns you around and looks at you. “Lost your nerve, academy brat?”