Saturday morning broke crisp and quiet, a delivery truck’s hum cutting through the silence. Anna jolted awake in her childhood bed, heart lurching as the doorbell rang, sharp and insistent. Her phone flashed 9:30 a.m., damn it, my breakfast prep chore is an hour late. Dread tightened her chest as she pulled on sweatpants, no panties, and a t-shirt, rushing downstairs.
Chris stood at the door, signing for packages, his broad frame dominating the entryway. Chelsea lingered nearby, her hazel eyes catching Anna’s disheveled state. “Morning, babygirl,” Chris said, his voice low and edged, “you’re late.” Anna stammered an apology, her cheeks burning as she faced their steady gazes.
“Chores by 8,” Chelsea said firmly, her tone carrying the weight of past discipline.
Chris set the boxes down and patted his knee. “Unpack later, first, your lesson,” he said, his eyes locking onto hers with quiet authority.
Anna’s breath caught. She tensed as she recalled his hand from years ago. “Can’t it wait?” she mumbled.
But Chris shook his head. “You asked for this, babygirl, you need to be punished,” he said, gesturing to her sweats. “You asked us to punish you, to do whatever we need or want.”
Her hands trembled as she shoved the sweatpants to her knees, bare underneath, and draped herself over his lap. Chris grunted, “No panties? Oughta be ashamed,” his hand resting warm and heavy on her ass. Humiliation surged through her, they will see everything, her pussy pulsing despite the shame.
Chris’s hand hovered, spreading her cheeks slightly, his calloused palm grazing her skin. “Two minutes, maybe three, hard swats, last ten you count,” he said, voice steady. Chelsea stood close, timing on her phone, watching Anna’s bare ass, tight butthole winking, arousal seeping, her gaze sharp and unyielding.
The first swat landed, CRACK, a searing jolt across her left cheek, the sound echoing like a whip. The second hit her right, CRACK, her flesh rippling, a sharp sting blooming that made her gasp. By ten seconds, her ass blazed, CRACK CRACK CRACK, Anna’s fingers clawing the couch, her breath hitching, it burns. Chelsea’s eyes narrowed, noting Anna’s trembling thighs, as sweat beaded on her skin. She is fighting it.
Thirty seconds in, CRACK, Anna squirmed, kicking, “Please, stop!”
Chris paused, his hand still raised, “Remember, you asked for this, babygirl.”
Anna’s voice trembled, “Yes, sir,” and he resumed, CRACK, his hand relentless, each swat landing with precision that left her quivering. At one minute, CRACK, her ass throbbed, her kicks frantic, tears pricking her eyes.
Two minutes, CRACK, her sobs grew louder, CRACK, Chelsea’s gaze steady, a flicker of arousal in her tightening lips. At two and a half, Chris growled, “Last ten, count them, say ‘sir.’” He reared back, CRACK.
“One, sir,” Anna choked, tears streaming, CRACK, “Two, sir,” her legs flailed, CRACK, “Three, sir,” voice cracking, CRACK, “Four,” she gasped, forgetting.
Chris paused, “No ‘sir’, back to one.”
CRACK, “One, sir,” she wailed, pain exploding, CRACK, “Two, sir,” her body bucked, CRACK, “Three, sir,” sobs shaking her, CRACK, “Four, sir,” voice hoarse, CRACK, “Five, sir,” kicks weakening, CRACK, “Six, sir,” her ass raw, CRACK, “Seven, sir,” his hardness pressed her thigh, he is turned on, CRACK, “Eight, sir,” her cries ragged, CRACK, “Nine, sir,” body trembling, CRACK, “Ten, sir,” she collapsed.
“Done,” Chris grunted, hand lingering on her welted skin.
“Corner,” Chelsea said, pointing. “Fifteen minutes, nose to the wall, sweats down.” Anna shuffled over, legs shaky. I asked for this, her red cheeks exposed as she pressed her face to the cold wall, shame thick in her throat.
Chelsea stepped closer. “Feet apart, sweetie, no slouching,” she said, her voice firm yet laced with care. Chris passed by, his glance searing, and the clock’s ticks dragged, sweat beaded on Anna’s brow, her legs quivering under Chelsea’s gaze. The silence pressed, until Chelsea’s voice cut through, “Corner’s done, upstairs, now.” Anna pulled her sweats up; it stung, and she followed, her heart pounding.
Chris grabbed a screwdriver to take off her bedroom door. “No privacy now,” he said, removing the hinges. Anna’s chest tightened; they can watch me whenever they want. Her room lay exposed, a zero-privacy zone; I’m 22, they will see me change, sleep, everything, vulnerability crashing, no escape.
Chelsea added, “Rules mean you’re ours, sweetie,” her tone unyielding.
Downstairs, Chris handed her a broom. “Kitchen’s yours, catch up,” he said, pocketing her phone. “Approved times only, an hour at night if you earn it,” he added. Anna swept, the sting in her ass a constant reminder.
Saturday afternoon crawled by as Anna scrubbed counters while Chris and Chelsea unpacked supplies, pull-ups, paddles, butt plugs, describing each item calmly. “Hairbrush stings sharp,” Chelsea noted, her words twisting Anna’s stomach. She worked in silence, the weight of their control settling in.
Later, she hesitated. “Can I shower, Mom?”
Chelsea nodded, “Door stays unlocked.”
And Chris added, “Stay sharp, babygirl.” Anna trudged upstairs, they could walk in, sweats rubbing her tender ass.
In the bathroom, Anna stripped, leaving the door ajar so that they could come in. Steam rose as she showered, water stung her welted skin, I’m theirs. After drying off, she twisted in front of the mirror, inspecting her butt, red, no marks yet, welts or bruises are coming, it’s inevitable. Shame and dread mixed, as she dressed, how bad would it get?
Evening arrived, and an ache gnawed at Anna; she faced them, voice small. “Can I use my hands at bedtime, Mom?”
Chelsea tilted her head, “Good girl for asking, you can tonight, but not always.”
Chris leaned forward, “Would you like us to order a couple of vibrators for you, babygirl?” Anna flushed, nodding, “Yes, please.”
“Cuddle first, sweetie,” Chelsea said, pulling Anna onto the couch between them. Their warmth brought her fleeting comfort. Chelsea kissed her forehead, “Time for bed.” Anna headed to her doorless room, where they would see everything, ready to touch.
Night pressed in as Anna slipped under her covers, her hands roaming, nipples, then clit, moans escaping. Chris and Chelsea appeared at her doorway. “You’re so pretty, babygirl,” Chris said softly, and Chelsea smiled, “We’re happy you’re home, sweetie,” before turning away.
Anna’s fingers moved faster, they knew, as sounds erupted next door, Chelsea’s voice purred, “Shirt off, handsome.” CRACK, Chris swatted her ass, Chelsea gasped, “Harder!”, CRACK, another swat as he peeled her jeans, her skin flushing under his hands.
“Fuck, Chelsea,” he growled, CRACK, a third swat, her moan sharp, you love it.
Chelsea unzipped him, “God, your thick cock, always so big,” her voice thick, CRACK, Chris swatting mid-thrust, more. “You’d look good clean-shaven,” he rumbled, CRACK. Chelsea laughed, “You too, let’s do it,” CRACK, her breath hitching.
“Her ass red over your knee, fuck, Chris,” Chelsea moaned, CRACK, Chris growling, “Squirming, bare, needed that.” Their rhythm surged, CRACK, skin slapping, Chelsea’s cries peaking, harder!, their climax shuddering, Anna’s release crashing, ohhh!, pussy clenching, they will know.
Sunday morning dawned gray; Anna was up at 7:55 to prepare breakfast on time. Chris nodded in approval, and Chelsea set plates, the quiet one heavy with expectation. The afternoon brought a FaceTime call, and Chris set up the laptop, with Chelsea beside him and Anna perched nervously.
Josh, Kelly, Bryan, and Bella appeared on-screen. Chris spoke first. “Anna’s under strict discipline, bare spankings, pull-ups, corner time, the full reset she asked for after college,” he said, his tone matter-of-fact.
Kelly frowned, leaning forward, This is weird, her skepticism clear. “Why’d she ask for that? What happened?”
Chelsea leaned in. “She came home broke, scared, couldn’t hold a job, missed rent, begged us for structure,” she explained.
Anna nodded, voice shaky. “I needed it. After college, I lost my apartment and my car.” Bryan shifted, Anna naked over his knee, his pulse quickening, arousal stirring; she is vulnerable.
Josh tilted his head. “What’s she done so far?”
Chris recounted, “Late yesterday, hand spanking, two minutes plus, corner time after.”
Kelly’s brow furrowed, her voice sharp. “Pull-ups? Bella’s three and just out of them, Anna’s 22, why backtrack?”
Chelsea clarified, “It’s her choice, consented fully, part of the rules she set with us.”
Josh grinned. She’s still a kid. “Masturbating too? Did she cry during the spanking?” Anna flushed as Chris nodded, “Allowed it last night, with permission.”
Kelly sighed, glancing at Bryan. “This is intense.”
“She needs it, I guess, but pull-ups? That’s a lot.” Bryan cut in, his voice low, her bare ass, red and squirming, arousal tightening his grip. “How’s it enforced?” Chris answered, “Daily chores, punishments as needed, yesterday was her first, won’t be the last.”
Josh smirked. “Crybaby’s back at it, huh? Bet she bawled.”
Chris’s eyes narrowed. “Watch it, Josh, you took the belt at 17, and we’re still paying your college,” he said, shutting down the jab.
Kelly grinned at Josh; he’s still a punk. “Might be fun to see your tiny cock spanked again, fair’s fair,” she teased, her laugh biting. Bryan shot her a look, enough, his thoughts lingering, Anna spanked bare, helpless, his arousal growing, stop it.
Anna spoke up, voice trembling, “I messed up after college, this is my way back.”
Bella babbled in the background, oblivious, as Josh pressed, “What’s next, diapers full-time?”
Chelsea shook her head; he’s pushing too far. “Only if she earns it, right now, it’s about accountability.”
Chris added, “She’s rebuilding, strict rules, family oversight, and we’ll check in weekly.”
Kelly raised an eyebrow. Weekly calls? “That’s a lot,” she said.
But Chelsea shrugged. “Her trust, her terms.” Bryan nodded slowly, Anna’s bare, sobbing, fuck, his arousal a quiet pulse, she is rebuilding. The call ended, laptop closing with a snap, leaving the room heavy with silence.
Chris turned to Anna, his voice steady. “Starting next Sunday, after every FaceTime, you’ll get a reminder session, things we choose, not just what you need, but what we want, what we enjoy, even what turns us on.”
Chelsea leaned in, her tone soft but firm. “We’ll include punishments we crave, sweetie, spankings, clamps, maybe straps, things that excite us, to keep you grounded and please us.”
Anna’s throat tightened. What does that mean? Her mind raced. “Why every Sunday?” she asked, voice low.
Chris leaned back, “It’s a reset, discipline we design, like a paddle or pull-ups, to shape you and satisfy our desires.”
Chelsea touched her shoulder, “You gave us control, Anna, we’ll push you, blending what you need with what we find arousing, to guide you.”
Anna swallowed, their desires, the weight of their words sinking in. “It’ll vary, some days a strap, others something else, things we find thrilling,” Chris said, his eyes steady.
Chelsea nodded, “It’s trust, you wanted this, and we’ll make it ours too, with punishments we enjoy.” The house fell quiet, Anna’s breath steadying, the week ahead looming, job hunting, rules, and that Sunday shadow.
