Late Again!

How to improve a girlfriend’s timekeeping

By Joanna Jones

I glanced at my watch for the umpteenth time, and wondered whether to keep waiting. It was a cold March evening and standing outside Holborn tube station was not my idea of how to spend my evening. At least this time it was not raining.

My girlfriend, an American lass called Geri who I had met at an early December Christmas party, was late again. Indeed she was almost always late. On our first date it had been only five minutes, and on the dates running up to Christmas and New Year it had been typically around ten. Since January we had really become an item, but the delays for her to arrive seemed to have just gotten progressively longer, more like quarter of an hour or more. On both the previous two she had been around twenty minutes delayed. This time she was thirty minutes late and counting.

Ten minutes later, and I was just about to leave when she rushed up, all in a fluster, apologising for being so late with some half hearted excuse of having lost track of the time. While I often worked a bit late, I knew she usually went for drink with the girls on a Friday evening. Of course, there was no way to contact each other. Neither of us had the huge bricks that represented the first generation of mobile phones in the 1980s.

Grumpily, I returned the peck on the cheek and made our way to the restaurant I had booked, only to find that our table had just been given away due to us being more than half an hour late.

Inwardly seething, I made my way back into the cold London air with her following. We started to look for somewhere else to eat. Geri was very apologetic as we tried place after place, before finding an Indian restaurant a few streets away.

Fortunately the food was remarkably good and it helped that Geri too liked a good curry, which marginally mollified me. Furthermore, my girlfriend was also clearly highly sensitive to my less than happy state.

After a bit of chit-chat about our respective weeks, I decided that she needed to know I was not keen on continually waiting outside cold tube stations wondering if she was going to arrive or not, and if so when.

“You know, every date so far you’ve been late. I could understand it if something came up at work and you phoned, but you just plain forgot the time. I always really look forward to our dates, and really look forward to seeing you, but maybe you don’t seem that bothered.”

She rather gulped at that, and immediately denied a lack of being bothered. She strongly said she enjoyed our dates, and looked forward to seeing me too. It was just that she too easily forgot the time. Tonight she had gone for a drink with a friend, and she had been having boyfriend problems, so it had been difficult to get away. Or so she said.

I had met her friend that she talked about at the same party as I had first met Geri, and was not surprised she was having ‘boyfriend problems’, but kept those rather unsympathetic thoughts to myself.

“Okay, but by turning up late, Geri, then perhaps you have your own ‘boyfriend problem’ brewing.”

“Don’t say that,” she pleaded. “I am really sorry. I will try to be on time in future.” She replied.

“Yeah, you said that last time too.” I replied resignedly. “Perhaps you should pay for the dinner if you are late in future.”

She gave rather a cute little pout at that. “Oh come on, John, you know I get paid a pittance as an intern, compared to you.”

That was true. Although only a couple of years older I got paid very well as a market analyst, compared to those on a graduate intern programme.

“Yes, well, all the more encouragement to be on time then, unless you could think of a better way.”

She looked pensive, and in rather serious thought, as I gazed over the table at her face, very lightly made up, with her blonde hair permed in a form that was very fashionable at the time, though would now mark any photo taken of her as being from that period.

For a moment I had a fleeting pang of worry she was going to storm out, but then she took a breath and said: “Maybe you should do the same as my pa would do.”

For some reason I felt a heart flutter, even though I had at that point no idea what she really meant.

I asked the obvious question. “And what exactly would your father do?”

She blushed rather red as she paused and replied: “If I misbehaved then, in his words, he would ‘set my tush on fire.'” She paused for a moment, then whispered, as much to herself as to me: “And he always did.”

My heart flutter became a heart thump as I took in what she said.

“Your father spanked you?” I asked rather surprised. This was not a topic we had really discussed before.

“Yep! Still would if I stepped out of line at home. Last time was in the summer back home.”

I stared at her in disbelief as I imagined her only six months or so ago, aged twenty-two, being told by her father that she was going to get a thrashing. I wondered what she had done to get…

“Curfew violation,” Geri replied, as if in cue to my unspoken question, before continuing: “Made it clear that I am subject to house rules until I am totally financially independent.” She shrugged.

I took a breath and said, “So what exactly are you suggesting if you are late again.”

Staring at her curry for a moment, she said: “Well my father uses the thick leather belt he wears with his jeans. Usually he bends me over a chair in the kitchen and whoops my ass until he thinks I have learned my lesson. I am always bawling at the end.”

She looked nervously up at me, her cute eyes glistening sweetly under her eyelashes. Truth was, I could not imagine hitting anyone, let alone her like that.

“I am not sure I could do that to someone I like as much as you.” I replied.

There was a rueful smile at my compliment. “It was you who asked for the alternative to me paying for the date.” Was her riposte. “If that is too much then maybe you could just put me over your knee or use a wooden spoon like my mother, or something.”

I stared at her for a long time, wondering on the wisdom of what she was suggesting, then decided: “Alright, next time you are late I will give you the choice; pay for the date, or you get a spanking.”

She nodded and said: “Ok. Agreed. So, so can I ask how are you going to do it?”

After a bit of back and forth it was agreed that if she was late again, allowing for a five minute grace period, she would at least go over my knee for a hand spanking, but it could be much more. I really needed time to think about all she was proposing, and suggested she did too. I was scared I might be too hard on her and I did not want to lose her as a result of something that she ultimately found over the top. Ironically it was me doing all the worrying and her who was trying to put me up to harsher punishments, claiming it unlikely I could be as firm as her father, and a few token spanks was, given her experiences on the receiving end, was not really going to be sufficient deterrent for her.

The rest of the evening was a bit of a discussion about our experiences of corporal punishment in our youth. She was fascinated by my account of my one experience of the cane at school, on my trousers with my shirt tails out. However, my limited experiences seemed to pale as she regaled me with stories of licks with the paddle at school and some rather hard spankings from her parents. While my parents had used a slipper to good effect when I was young, that had effectively stopped when I became a teenager, apart from once, very memorably, to my fifteen year old backside for smoking in my bedroom. It seemed rather tame compared to the thrashings that her ‘traditional’ upbringing had given her.

As expected at the tube station, she chose to return to my flat rather than her own. Maybe it was all the discussion, but we both certainly had a good evening and night. The following morning we both went our separate ways, as she had a long standing arrangement to meet some friends.

As she left I asked: “Would you like to meet up again tomorrow? There is an exhibition on at the Victoria & Albert Museum on 1960s pop culture. We could meet at South Kensington around 2.00 pm?”

“Sounds good,” was the reply.

I was wondering if she was going to be on time as I walked to my local tube station after a late brunch on Sunday, and if not, what to do about it. Certainly the prospect of spanking her as a naughty girl attracted me at some level. However, I was not so keen about being associated with either her parents’ styles of punishment. On the other hand, if she was telling the truth about her experiences, a simple hand spanking was, as she had indicated, unlikely to have much deterrent effect.

It was then I remembered the shop round the back of the station nearest my flat. I had never been inside it, but knew enough to know what it must contain. Perhaps there would be something suitable in there.

A quick detour found it to be open on a Sunday, and one first visit inside later my suspicions were confirmed. In addition to the array of videos and various ‘toys’, there was a selection of ‘leather goods’ that were clearly designed for one purpose. I decided there and then that if she was late she would accompany me back here.

As I suspected, it was clear our chat on Friday evening had had only marginal impact. She was exactly fourteen minutes late. She looked very attractive in a pair of tight fitting jeans and fashionable woollen top, the latter peeking out from her coat against the cold weather. Of course, out came all the usual apologies. Apparently it had been a long night with ‘the girls’ and she had struggled to get up in time.

My reply was simple. “I don’t want to hear about your reasons. We are going to enjoy the afternoon and leave discussion of your lateness till later. Don’t even think of mentioning it until I raise it. Okay?”

She bit her lip in a nervous pensive way that I found rather attractive and replied oddly: “Yes, sir.”

We did indeed have a great afternoon and a rather good early meal into the bargain, availing ourselves of a ‘theatre menu’. The conversation revolved around various things, including the differences in 1960s fashion, when we were children, and that of our youth, the 1970s. I had noted on a few occasions that she looked tentatively at me and clearly was desperate to ask what I planned to do about her lateness. As far as that was concerned, I let her stew.

It was after the meal I finally asked: “So, remind me how late you were again.”

He smile faltered slightly and she replied: “I think you said fourteen minutes.”

“So I have thought about what to do with you and I have a plan, assuming you are prepared to come back to my place to be dealt with. Or have you decided to pay for dinner after all?”

She bit her lip before replying: “I’ll go back to your place I think,” then paused before saying: “So, so what are you going to do with me?”

I smiled enigmatically. “That is for you to find out.”

About ten minutes later I gave her bottom a not too gentle slap as we left the restaurant. A slap that got me a small, shocked, embarrassed glare from Geri and indeed caused our well-tipped waitress to raise her eyebrows then smirk mischievously at me. We travelled together to her flat first to pick up some work clothes to take to my flat, before getting back on the tube to my station. The two journeys were remarkably quiet. I was happy just to watch her struggle with her nerves as she considered what she had, in essence, arranged for herself.

I walked round the corner from the tube station in a slightly different direction from that I would normally take to my flat, which puzzled her. That puzzlement increased when I stopped outside the sex shop.

“I am going to let you choose a present.” I said with a smile.

That got her a little worried, I noted, but I overrode any response she might have considered.

“Since you suggested I spank you if you were late, I have wondered what the best way to do it is. To be honest, I don’t want to use something that your parents do, and it was then I remembered this shop, which I went into for the first time this morning. It has a wide selection of leather paddles to warm that lovely bottom of yours. The question is, which one is best.”

I noticed her rather panicked look relax to a more pensive worry as I continued. “I am going to give you one hard spank for every minute you were late. What I want you to do is decide which of the leather paddles will best help you remember to be on time.”

With that, I held the door open for her and, when she hesitated, propelled her through with another firm slap to her jeans.

She gave me another little glare as she realised the man behind the desk had heard her yelp. I merely smiled and pointed to the corner where the spanking implements were, giving her another playful spank to help her on her way.

It took her some time to look at the selection, but eventually she had it down to two in the mid-range of severity. After looking at them and at me, she chose the slightly larger firmer one, which had an oval of about 10 inches by six inches of thick dark leather attached to a six inch long handle, made of dark polished wood.

As I took it from her nervous hands, her eyes alighted again on a basket of canes in the corner.

“Is that what they beat you with at school?” She asked rather quietly.

I nodded and went across to it. A quick rake around and I found one with a crook handle that looked rather like the one I remember my Headmaster using on me about 10 years previously. I bent it slightly and it was clearly wickedly flexible.

Geri could hardly take her eyes off it.

I noticed that, compared to the leather paddle, it was remarkably cheap, and made a decision. “Shall we take this too, just in case the paddle is not enough?”

She had a rather horror-struck look on her face, but did not object, instead giving a reluctant nod. Soon she was walking the ten minutes to my flat, carrying both implements in a bag. She had rather cringed when I told her in front of the shopkeeper that she could carry them to remind her what was coming when we got home.

“Are you really going to cane me too?” She asked nervously as we walked along the road.

“Maybe, maybe not.” I evaded. “But you’re certainly going to get that paddle you chose.”

After a pause to reflect I continued. “Maybe we should keep the cane in case you fail to do as you are told.”

I noticed a very thoughtful expression on the young lady next to me, and for the first time the thought that she might be wanting this, rather than merely accepting it as a way to encourage her timekeeping, crossed my mind.

I was oddly in two minds about the spanking I had promised. On the one hand, there was a genuine reluctance to hurt someone I genuinely liked, and a worry I might do something to sour our relationship permanently. On the other, she was the one proposing things, and there was an excitement running through me that I already felt guilty about. And then there was the simple fact I was getting rather tired of waiting for her at cold tube station entrances.

Finally we climbed the stairs and I let her into the flat. I was glad the building was old, with walls that very effectively muffled the sound from my neighbours.

Geri looked at me nervously as I held the door open for her. As I closed it behind us she gave me a ‘butter wouldn’t melt in my mouth’ look and said: “Look, I’m really sorry I was late. Can’t you let me off just this time?”

Her hands were moving round me invitingly, and the smell of her as her face nuzzled up towards mine caused me to waver as my body started to consider other activities my girlfriend and I could indulge in. My cool head won. Gently I took her hands from around me and held them.

“Sorry Geri, but I am too tired of freezing outside stations wondering if and when you are coming. You’ve been a naughty girl once too often, now take your coat and shoes off, then go stand over there with your hands on your head.

I saw the seductive look fall to be replaced with a nervous pout. However, after a pleading pause during which she kicked her shoes off and put her coat on a hook, she slowly made her way along the hall and stood facing the corner between the kitchen and living room doors that I had pointed to. Even more reluctantly she put her hands to her head.

I left her there and took her bag to our bedroom, then examined the leather paddle and cane I had just acquired.

“Have a good think about what is going to happen, Geri Kennedy, while I have another coffee.” I called back at her.

I did not expect a reply, but was surprised by the rather emotional sniff that escaped her and the whisper of: “Yes, sir.”

As I sipped my coffee in the living room, I could watch Geri sort of side on, nose in the corner, just outside the door. The jumper was tailored in at the waist, and the curve of her back outwards towards her bottom was quite delightful.

I decided to improve the view and stood up, causing her to tremble slightly, though she maintained enough composure not to take her eyes of her allotted corner.

I walked to the doorway and said: “Turn and face me, young lady!”

Chewing her lip, she did as she was told.

“Keep you hands on that head!” I demanded as they started to move from her hair.

She gulped and flinched slightly before getting hold of herself as my hands went to the belt of her jeans. I gave her a look to gauge her emotions as I then undid the top button and the other three to reveal the dark fabric of her knickers, knickers that soon revealed themselves to be a black g-string (though everybody now would call it a thong, I suppose) as my hands gently prised the tight fitting trousers over her bottom and down to her ankles.

A few seconds later and the g-string had been gently prised downwards too, to a small shiver of nervous anticipation as she closed her eyes in embarrassment as the skimpy cotton garment slid down her beautifully smooth legs, revealing a perfect triangle of darkish brown hair.

After a moment to admire her semi-nakedness from the front, I ordered her back to consider the wall, allowing me to consider her bottom.

Returning to the living room, I slowly sipped my coffee, and left Geri to fully appreciate the predicament she was in.

As I stood, she jumped expectantly, but I ignored that and washed out the mug before pulling the paddle out of the bag. It was of remarkably thick leather and fairly stiff.

It was short enough to comfortably be used over the knee, so I sat down on the middle of the sofa and put the paddle next to me.

“Right, young lady, let’s have you over my lap then.” I called.

She nervously came over, clearly unsure if her hands needed to be kept on her head, and deciding to play it safe.

Seconds later she was sprawled at an angle over my knee, face into a cushion and legs still on the floor.

I gave her bottom a light rub, causing an anticipatory flinch in her, which for some reason made my pants tighten that little bit more.

“I think I promised you at least a hand spanking, so let’s start with that, before we get to the real business, and don’t dare put you hand back, unless you want to bend over for that cane!”

“Y-yes sir,” Geri stammered by way of response.

With that, I finally raised my hand and brought it sharply down on her bottom’s nearer left cheek. The only sound was that of the slap.

She took the next blow to the right equally stoically. Setting a rhythm, I methodically spanked her maybe a dozen times before there was the beginning of some gasps, and after a few more I stopped. My hand was mildly red, and her bottom a very pretty uniform shade of pink.

“Right, now how late were you young lady?” I asked as I grabbed the new paddle.

“Fourteen?” She asked in response.

“Yes, fourteen cold minutes waiting. Think of that carefully, and you can count them out! Don’t dare move until I say you can get up!”

Splat!

Given her resilience I did not hold back on that first spank, and it landed low on her right cheek.

“One.” She said stoutly.

The responses were no less resolute as I whacked the next eight strokes, trying in each case to put in that bit extra to get some form of reaction to the pain that I knew I must be imparting. On the tenth, she finally gave a gasp before giving the number.

On the twelfth and thirteenth, I was rewarded with a couple of wails and her legs lifted somewhat as she lay over my lap with her bottom now glowing bright red as it faced upwards.

Aiming right at the base of her bottom I whacked down the last blow as hard as I could, being rewarded with a distinct squeal before she gasped out: “Fourteen.”

She struggled to her feet.

“I don’t recall giving you permission to get up, Geri Kennedy!”

“Oh, oh, please, David.” She begged as she rubbed her well chastised rear. A rear that clearly now needed further chastisement.

“Don’t ‘please’ me. You’ve just earned yourself a caning, but I’ll let you off with just two this time.”

I stood as I gave the order for her to bend over and grab her ankles.

“Please, can’t you let me off this time?” She wheedled.

Despite her flushed face, I was sure she was not in any serious sign of distress, and had taken her spanking far better that I had expected. As a result I was not inclined to lenience.

“When I am disciplining you I expect total obedience.” Was my angry reply. “You’re now up to three and I suggest you grab your ankles now unless you want even more.”

Capitulating, she finally turned and did as she was told, muttering darkly under her breath, as I picked up the cane from where it had been left next to the bag on the floor.

Unfortunately, the final word of her mutterings carried.

“You were the one who proposed this punishment, Miss Kennedy, and therefore to call me a ‘bastard’ is not at all acceptable. You have just earned yourself a true six of the best!”

“Oh! Please, I am sorry,” she pleaded, and for the first time her voice sounded as if it might break.

I ignored the plea. “Hold still and this time, no moving until I give you permission.”

I looked coolly at the target, now a dark shade of red, with two large circular blotches, one on each cheek, as a result of the worst of the paddling she had already had.

There was a sniff as I gently touched the target with the rod, a sniff that did nothing for me, given the epithet she had just employed about me.

Thus it was with a healthy whistle and firm thwack that her bottom experienced the cane for the first time.

She screamed in shock and stood gripping her bottom.

“I warned you to stay in place, Geraldine Sarah Kennedy! If you stand again you will get extra, now grab those ankles now as you have five still to go.”

The anger in my voice was unmistakable and, to my surprise, her face was beginning to flush, as if a tear was about to escape.”

“I-I’m s-sorry, so sore!” She squeaked, then slowly managed to bend and grab her ankles.

Thwack!

The second blow landed hard across her tender rump.

There was a desperate squawk, then a sniff. Something told me the tears had started.

Tears that became sobs and wails as I gave the remaining four strokes, the last low, causing the tip to impale itself on what, till then, had been unpunished flesh. Despite the sobbed screech, she held on gamely to her ankles.

Originally it had been my intention to give her some more corner-time, but her miserable sobs were pulling at me. Thus instead I went over and gently raised her up.

“There, it’s over now, darling. You can stand now.”

Slowly she pulled herself up on me, her eyes glistening. Then suddenly she was holding me, apologising, seeking reassurance it was over, that she was forgiven.

I do not know how long the embrace lasted, nor really how we ended up in my bedroom. The next thing I do recall is looking at the clock and wondering where two hours had gone, as Geri lay curled like a baby in my arms.

I knew then that she would never leave me, nor I her.

And we are still together today, and yes we still have both that paddle and cane, although the latter is rather old and is just kept safe now, with a newer one always available to be applied when needed.

The End

© Joanna Jones 2017


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