Guiding Anna: Part 1

Anna lingered in the driveway, her black hair glinting in the April dusk, her blue eyes scanning the familiar brick of her childhood home. At 22, she felt like a wreck, dragged back by chaos. Her thin frame shivered in a tight tank top—no bra, a reckless choice from that frantic morning—her 34B breasts straining against it, big nipples jutting out, stiff and shameless in the cool air. Jeans molded to her firm, full bubble butt, every curve begging notice, and her suitcase sagged in her hand, a battered relic of her college collapse. She’d blown through her savings on booze-soaked nights and parties, racking up $3,000 in credit card debt she couldn’t pay.

Last week’s pregnancy scare—a late period after hookups with guys she barely remembered—had her sobbing in a dorm bathroom, the test shaking in her hand, unsure who the father would be, terrified of judgment if it was positive. Relief flooded her when it blinked negative, but the shame clung like damp rot. She’d stumbled back to her dorm, the test still clutched tight, only to find an eviction notice pinned to her door—rent unpaid, no cash left. Packing took an hour, her hands trembling as she stuffed clothes into the suitcase, knowing home was her only shot. She’d shaved herself bare that morning, her smooth slit a desperate grasp at control, wondering if it’d mean anything here.

With a shaky breath, she stepped forward, craving absolution, her body tingling with forbidden want. Her mind flickered to her last real spanking at 16—bare-bottomed over Chris’s knee, his hand scorching her naked ass for sneaking out, not the playful swats from college boys she’d slept with, who’d giggle and grope.

Inside, Chelsea’s lavender candles mingled with Chris’s rugged cologne, whispering safety and stirring something primal. Chelsea swept her into a hug, her slender body a softer mirror of Anna’s, blonde hair brushing her cheek. “Sweetie, it’s so good to have you home,” she said, her voice warm but worried. Chris loomed in the living room doorway, his broad shoulders commanding, dark eyes raking over Anna, snagging on her hard nipples with raw heat. She’d called him “Daddy” as a kid, “Chris” as a teen, and now, “sir” danced on her tongue, sultry and heavy.

“Hey, Chris,” she murmured, her voice catching, chest thrust out unconsciously.

“Anna,” he rumbled, steady, devouring her curves. “Good to have you back, babygirl.”

Dinner was tense, forks scraping in brittle silence. Anna picked at her lasagna, her stomach knotted, her braless state a beacon under Chris’s hungry glances. She’d rehearsed this—her confession, her plea—through the drive, broke and terrified, the suitcase rattling in the trunk. Her fork trembled, the lasagna blurring as tears pricked her eyes. Drinking had spiraled into blackouts, parties into hookups—faceless guys pounding her, a girl’s tongue once, all empty, leaving her with debt and that scare. Her mouth had turned filthy, cursing the world. Now, her thighs clenched, slick heat blooming as Chris’s eyes lingered on her chest, her nipples aching for his touch. She needed them to break her, remake her.

“I need to say something,” she burst out, her fork clattering. Chelsea’s hazel eyes softened; Chris’s sharpened, pinning her like prey. Her heart hammered, her body buzzing with dread and desire. “I screwed up at college. Drinking, partying, fu—messing around—I was a mess. Blew all my money, got $3,000 in credit card debt, and had a pregnancy scare last week. Sat there shaking, test in hand, praying it’d be negative, no clue who it’d be, terrified you’d hate me if it wasn’t. It was negative, but I’ve let you down. I want my life back, but I can’t do it alone.”

Chelsea’s hand found hers, her eyes wide with shock and pity. “Oh, honey, we’re here for you—we’d never hate you.”

Anna’s gaze locked on Chris, his silence thick, stripping her bare. She imagined him knowing—her bent over a dorm desk, legs splayed, moaning curses—then flashed to that spanking at 16, her bare ass quivering, his hand unrelenting. “I need more,” she whispered, trembling. “Discipline—strict discipline, like when I was little, but harder, dirtier. I want you to take charge, set rules, punish me if I mess up—for as long as I’m here.”

The room froze. Chelsea’s grip tightened, her breath hitching. Chris leaned back, his jaw clenching, a spark in his eyes—authority, lust—as he clocked her nipples, imagining them pinched. Anna’s center pulsed, her cheeks flaming. Asking was insane, humiliating, yet her body screamed for his firm hand to erase the shame.

“Discipline,” Chris growled, his voice a thrum licking her spine. “You’re begging us to own you, enforce rules with consequences?”

“Yes, Daddy,” she purred, raw and vulnerable, dripping with submission. “I need it. I consent to whatever you need, or want to do to me.”

Chelsea’s eyes widened. “Anna, that’s… huge. Are you sure?”

“I am,” Anna said, firming despite the wet ache. “I’ve obsessed over it. I need structure, boundaries—someone to tame me after all that. I trust you and Chris.”

Chris’s gaze seared her, flicking to her chest. “This won’t be gentle, Anna,” he said, a dark promise. “If we agree, it’s firm, fierce—rules ironclad, punishments raw: spankings, corner time, whatever we crave. You’d obey, no exceptions.”

Chelsea glanced at Chris. “Maybe we should talk this over first?”

He nodded, his eyes on Anna’s nipples. “Go unpack, Anna. We’ll sort it.”

She fled upstairs, her legs shaky, body a live wire. The stairs groaned, and in her room, she heard their voices—low, urgent. On the bed, suitcase ignored, her mind spun with fear and filthy fantasy—Chris’s hand, her naked ass, the sting. She craved it, loathed the pulsing need.

In the living room, Chelsea sat rigid, her hands twisting, blonde hair aglow. Chris paced, his mind a storm of duty and lust. “She’s dead serious,” he said, meeting Chelsea’s gaze. “She’s not a kid, but she’s begging us to treat her like one—stricter, deeper.”

Chelsea nodded, her lips pursed. “I see it. Debt, a scare—she’s lost. But strict? Severe? What’s that look like?”

He sat, his hand on her knee. “Spankings, always bare-bottomed: hands, spoons, paddles, straps, belts, switches, canes we’ll order, striping that sweet ass red. Corner time, chores, mouth soaping if she swears. Nudity, nipple clamps twisting her, butt plugs stretching her tight, enemas cleaning her deep, ginger root burning her good. Little girl stuff—rectal temps up her, pull-ups, pacifiers if she’s bratty.” He paused, his voice thick, cock hardening as he pictured Anna bare, squirming, ass welted, nipples clamped, plug buried. “We spanked ‘em all ‘til their early teens—thought they’d learn without it. Kelly’s 19 strap was for stealing, Josh’s 17 belt for fighting, Anna’s 16 for sneaking out. I’d go hard, you’d paddle quick and firm—figured they’d grow up.”

Chelsea sighed, recalling her style. “Yeah, I paddled Josh at 13, kept it short and sharp—Anna’s 16 spanking was the last. Thought she’d straightened up.” She hesitated, her brow furrowing. “But that consent—‘whatever we need or want’? That’s… wide open.”

Chris grunted, his eyes darkening. “Yeah, she’s handing us everything. Need’s about fixing her—pulling her out of this hole. Want’s trickier—could mean anything we crave, long as it’s discipline. Gotta keep it tight, focused on her good, not just…” He trailed off, shifting, his jeans tight.

Chelsea’s flush deepened, her voice soft. “Not just what we crave for us. I get it—she needs the structure, but that ‘want?' It’s a line we’ll have to watch.”

Chris nodded, his jaw tight. “Damn right. We’ll need it strict, but the want—hell, that’s a fire we’ll tame together.”

Chelsea caught his adjustment, flushing. “We were wrong about her growing out of it.”

“Chris,” she murmured, her hand over his, “it’s okay if this… gets you hard. She’s grown, gorgeous—those nipples, no bra. I feel it too, the control.”

He grinned, rough. “Hell, she’s your kid—your curves, that ass. Can’t not notice.” He squeezed her knee, heat flaring. “But it’s about helping her, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Chelsea said, breathy, arousal flickering. “She needs us. Maybe we need this.” She pressed against him, a bond tightening.

Chris nodded, lust simmering. “Then we’re in. She gets the full deal—rules, punishments, no outs.”

“Agreed,” Chelsea said, resolute. She stood, and Chris followed, swatting her ass—firm, playful. She yelped, laughing. “Call her?”

“Anna!” Chris hollered, grinning. “Down here, babygirl!”

Anna jolted at Chris’s call, her heart leaping. Sprawled on her bed, suitcase untouched, her mind tangled dread and pulsing want. His voice stroked her like a lash. She smoothed her jeans, soaked through, and hurried down, her nipples straining, begging notice.

Chelsea and Chris sat united, their faces stern yet warm. Anna sank opposite, trembling, her body an open book. “We’ve talked,” Chris began, firm, his eyes raking her. “We’ll do it—your discipline routine, babygirl. Strict rules, loving but fierce punishments—spankings from me or Chelsea, always bare-bottomed with hands, paddles, or canes, striping your tender ass; corner time tied down, ropes holding you firm; mouth soaping ‘til you’re pure; nudity baring your soul; clamps squeezing those nipples; plugs filling your tight hole; enemas washing you clean; ginger root stinging deep inside. No bathing alone—we’ll watch you scrub—or closed bathroom doors, all open to us. Grounding, lines ‘til your hand aches. Witnesses—best case, Josh, Kelly, Bryan, little Bella, friends, cousins, neighbors hear your cries; most likely, they watch every welt, every plugged curve; worst case, they join in—Josh or Kelly might spank you if we’re out, babysittin’ under our rules, they’ve seen it done; Bryan could hold you, he knows the drill; neighbors like Mrs. Jenkins might spank you if you sass ‘em here, she’s old-school, always said kids need it. Agree, and privacy’s gone—your body’s ours, babygirl, ‘til we say.”

Anna’s breath caught. Her pussy clenched. Bare-bottomed canes? Plugs? Tied down, Bryan pinning her, Bella gawking, Josh spanking? She flashed to Kelly at 19, bare over Chris’s knee, strap cracking—Anna peeking, wet; Josh at 17, belt lashing his ass, her squirming. Her nipples throbbed, soaking need pulsing. “That’s… f-friggin’ intense,” she rasped, catching herself, her arms crossing uselessly. “Canes? That’s… gonna hurt bad, right?” Her ass clenched, recalling 16.

Chris nodded. “Real bad, babygirl. Keeps you straight.”

“Nipple clamps?” she squeaked, picturing the bite, her center flaring despite herself. Awful—I deserve it for being such a slut, but… God, it’s hot.

Chelsea smiled, firm. “For when you push us, sweetie—sharp, but loving. Can’t skip ‘em.”

“And… pull-ups and diapers?” Anna’s voice shrank, humiliated yet tingling. “I’d have to use them?”

Chelsea’s eyes softened, stern. “Yes, sweetie. Pull-ups mean you ask permission to use the potty—number one stays in them, and we’ll likely say no. Diapers mean you use them for everything—number one and number two, no exceptions.”

Anna gulped, her pussy tightening. “Even… Josh or Kelly spanking me? Mrs. Jenkins?”

Chris grinned, darkly. “Yeah—babysittin’ means Josh or Kelly’d tan your hide under our rules; they’ve seen it done. Neighbors might spank you if you mouth off when they’re over—we’d allow it; Mrs. J’s just mean.”

“Bra rule?” she ventured, her voice small, my breasts spanked?. “Can’t we ease that?”

Chris shook his head. “No, babygirl—keeps you modest outside.”

Her mind spun—Josh’s teasing smirk, he’d love the power; Kelly’s judgy stare, she’d preach; the family watching her naked ass redden. Dread sank in, yet a twisted thrill bloomed—being the center, disciplined, exposed. “I… I need it. I consent.”

Chelsea leaned in. “Certain, sweetie? This is ironclad—you trust us?”

“Yes, Mom,” Anna said, firming, her thighs slick. “I trust you and Dad.”

Chris’s eyes flared at “Dad,” his cock twitching as he clocked her nipples. “Then we set rules,” he said, his voice a growl. “Now.”

They crafted the list, tension electric, Anna’s thoughts racing:

No drinking or drugs—could mean a bare-bottomed cane spanking, bare corner time. Canes—God, that’ll sting worse than 16.

No cursing—might earn soap, pacifier gagging her. Soap again? Tasted it at 12.

Finances—all job money into an account, allowance only, or face grounding. No more debt, but no control either.

Chris continued, his voice steady:

Daily chores—skipping could lead to lines, bare-bottomed paddle whacks. Paddle’s new—ow.

Curfew: 10 p.m.—breaking might bring bare-bottomed belt stripes, lost privileges. Belt like Josh got?

Honesty—lies could trigger nudity, clamps, rectal temp-taking. Naked… thermometer up me?

Chelsea took over, her tone firm:

Respect—brattiness might mean pull-ups, swift bare-bottomed strap licks, diapers. Pull-ups—seriously?

No sex or masturbation without approval—caught could lead to groove strap on her butt crack or pussy, forced witnessed masturbation. Groove strap—down there? Should fight it…

Obedience—defiance might unleash bare-bottomed switches, plugs, public ruin. Plugs? That’s… intense.

Chris finished, his eyes locked on hers:

Always wear a bra outside—he paused, eyeing her. “Like today, Anna—no bra, nipples begging. House is free—strut bare if you want—but outside, wear one or beg permission, or it’s the bare-bottomed spoon, maybe your little breasts spanked, strapped, or spooned raw.” My breasts? Shit—ow.

Stay clean-shaven—“You’re our little girl,” he added. “Keep that pussy exposed, or we’ll shave it.” Naked for them… always?

Anna scribbled, flushing, her pussy throbbing, muttering “shit” under her breath at “clamps.” Chris’s eyes narrowed. “That’s a warning, babygirl—next time, soap.” She froze. One slip already? I’m screwed.

“I… I’m already shaved,” she said, small, proof they’ll see it all.

Chris smirked, dark. “Prove it. Jeans down, show that bald slit.”

Her eyes widened. “Now?” Already? She squirmed, her pulse racing, then hesitated, tugging her jeans and panties down just an inch, barely showing the top of her smooth mound. “Like this?”

Chris scowled, his voice sharp. “No, babygirl, that’s not how we do it. Hands on your head—now.” Anna flinched, her breath hitching, and obeyed, lacing her fingers atop her head, elbows out, feeling exposed even clothed. Chris dropped to one knee before her, his broad frame looming close, and gripped her jeans and panties. With a firm tug, he yanked them to her ankles, cool air hitting her bare skin. Her smooth, glistening pussy lay fully exposed, inches from his face.

He leaned in, inspecting her closely—his breath warm against her thighs, eyes tracing every inch of her shaved slit, checking for stubble. “Good,” he grunted, satisfied, lingering a moment longer, his gaze heavy with approval and hunger. Anna’s face burned. Her legs trembled as his breath grazed her, humiliation warring with heat. She wanted to hide, but his eyes pinned her, owned her. Her center throbbed under his scrutiny.

Chelsea nodded, soft but firm. “Good girl.” Her hand on Anna’s pulled her back, grounding her as she yanked her jeans up with shaky hands.

Chris rose, towering over her, his cock straining as he met her eyes. “Keep it bare, babygirl, or I’ll plug you while we razor it.”

Chelsea squeezed her hand tighter. “We love you, Anna. This is for you.”

“I know,” Anna said thickly, exposed and owned. “Thank you.”

Chelsea stood, pulling Anna into a tight hug, her warmth a lifeline. “You’ve got a long road ahead, sweetie,” she murmured, her voice soft with pride. “But we’re so proud you’re taking this step.” Chris joined, his big arms enveloping them, his scent wrapping Anna in a rough embrace.

“Yeah, babygirl,” he rumbled, pulling back to meet her eyes. “It’s tough, but you’re strong. We’re proud as hell.” He grinned, then landed a firm swat on her jeans-clad ass, the sting sparking heat. “Now, upstairs—and be ready tomorrow. It starts early.”

Anna yelped, rubbing her butt as she fled, the rules a roaring fire in her mind. Chris and Chelsea watched her go, then exchanged a glance. Chelsea grabbed her laptop from the coffee table, Chris pulling his from the armrest. “We’ll need supplies,” Chelsea said, her fingers tapping as she opened a browser. “Canes, straps, clamps—pull-ups and diapers too. Next-day delivery.”

Chris nodded, his screen glowing as he scrolled. “Spoons, belts, plugs—ginger root’s tricky, but we’ll find it. Gotta be ready.” They worked in silence, the faint clicks of their keyboards filling the room, ordering the tools of Anna’s discipline with methodical care. The order confirmation pinged—delivery set for tomorrow morning.

The house settled into quiet, the weight of their decision hanging in the air. Dawn would bring the first test—for Anna, for them all.

Anna’s Reflection: Alone in her room, Anna sank onto the bed, her heart pounding. The rules loomed—bare-bottomed canes, groove strap on her pussy, Chelsea’s quick paddles, Chris’s belt, her breasts strapped, her naked ass for Josh, Kelly, Bryan, Bella, even neighbors to spank. No privacy, her body theirs—Chris’s grip inspecting her, Chelsea’s stare, Kelly’s smirk from that spanking at 19, Josh’s grunts at 17. Her pussy ached, her nipples tight, dread sinking at Josh’s inevitable taunts—“Crybaby Anna, bare again!”—yet a shameful thrill twisted her, center stage, ass red, all eyes on her surrender. The scare—relief hit, but shame stuck, twisting into this sick need to be punished, owned. The swat burned, a taste of more, and she shivered, lost in dread and dirty want.

She curled her knees to her chest, replaying Chris’s breath on her skin, her legs shaking as he owned her with his eyes. Could she handle this—Josh’s mocking laugh, Kelly’s perfect-mom judgment, the sting of a cane? She’d begged for it, needed it to erase the chaos, but the heat it sparked terrified her—a dark mirror to her shame, pulling her deeper into their control.

Chris’s Reflection: Chris leaned back on the couch, Chelsea beside him, his cock still half-hard. Anna’s surrender—those nipples, that bare slit he’d inspected—lit a fire he couldn’t douse. He’d stripe her bare ass, strap her little tits, plug her—Chelsea too dishing it out—all with love, but damn, the power stiffened him. Her trust, her trembling consent after that scare, was a gift he’d wield fiercely—Josh or Kelly spanking under his rules, he’d keep ‘em in line. And Chelsea—could she use a firm hand? Hell, maybe he could too, bent over, craving the sting. He shifted, wrestling hunger and duty.

He rubbed his jaw, picturing Anna’s quivering thighs, the slick shine he’d seen up close. She’d said “need or want”—need was her salvation, want was his craving: her bare flesh under his hands, her whimpers in his ears. He’d meant to help her, guide her back, but her submission stirred something raw—pride, yes, but a need to claim, to mark. Josh might push too far, Kelly might judge—hell, he’d have to watch ‘em close. And Chelsea’s spark—could he bend for her, feel the strap himself? The thought tightened his gut, a mix of want and unease.

Chelsea’s Reflection: Chelsea sipped tea, her mind whirling. Anna’s choice stunned her—brave, raw, baring all after debt and a scare. The punishments—bare-bottomed canes, breast strapping, groove strap below, no doors—felt harsh, yet her need shone. She’d spank her too, quick and firm like Josh at 13, a flicker of heat stirring as Chris inspected her, his arousal echoing her own quiet thrill. Josh’s yelps at 17, Kelly’s sobs at 19—she’d seen it work. But her own chaos—could she use discipline, a paddle to her ass? And Chris, so strong—maybe he’d bend for her, both tamed. She smiled, proud, unsettled by the intimacy.

Her fingers tightened on the mug, replaying Anna’s confession: the scare, the debt, the plea. “Need or want”—need was clear, Anna’s lifeline; want was murkier, a door to their desires, her own pulse quickening at the thought of Anna bare, trembling. She’d paddled kids before, but this was different—deeper, darker. Josh’s smirk, Kelly’s stare—could she manage them spanking her girl? And her own edges frayed—maybe a strap on her own ass would steady her. Chris too—his hunger mirrored hers; could they both surrender, find balance in the sting? She exhaled, torn between love and the pull of control.