The kitchen was dim, the only light coming from the yellow glow above the sink. I stood by the trash can, heart pounding with a mix of excitement and guilt. With a defiant grin, I tipped the can over, sending a cascade of crumpled paper, apple cores, and candy wrappers tumbling across the linoleum. The sharp scent of orange peels and old milk filled the air. For a moment, I just stared at the mess, adrenaline buzzing in my veins.
Loriane’s footsteps thundered down the hallway, her shadow stretching long and thin across the floor. She burst into the kitchen, eyes wide with disbelief. “That’s it, young man!” she hissed, her voice low but trembling with anger. I could see the flush rising in her cheeks, her jaw set in determination. “I may not be your parents, Michael, but maybe it’s time I acted like I was!”
Before I could react, she strode across the kitchen and seized my elbow in a firm grip. Her fingers were strong, and I felt a jolt of fear shoot through me. “Hey!” I protested, my voice cracking. But she was relentless, pulling me through the house, past the living room where my toys lay abandoned, into the dining room where the air felt heavier, more serious.
Loriane yanked out a dining chair, the legs scraping harshly against the floor. She sat down with a determined thud, then pulled me over her lap in one swift motion. My face burned with embarrassment and dread. The world seemed to shrink to the circle of light above the table, the faint ticking of the wall clock, and the pounding of my heart in my ears.
“Hey!” I yelped again, panic rising as I realized what was about to happen. “You can’t spank me!” My voice was small, desperate. But Loriane’s grip was unyielding. “Oh yes I can, Michael,” she growled, and with a sharp smack, her palm landed on my backside. The sting was immediate, a hot, shocking pain that made me wriggle and gasp. She yanked me upright for a moment, her eyes flashing.
“Do you want to wriggle around while I spank you, young man?” she demanded, her voice steely. I tried to twist away, but she held me fast, delivering several more hard smacks that echoed in the quiet room. Each one sent a jolt of pain through me, and I felt tears prick at the corners of my eyes.
Before I could even catch my breath, she pulled me back down over her knee, her arm like an iron bar across my back. She grabbed my hands and pinned them behind me, her grip unbreakable. The world narrowed to the sensation of her palm striking my bottom, again and again, each smack sharper than the last. The heat built quickly, my skin burning, my pride crumbling.
“This is what happens to naughty boys when they misbehave!” Loriane declared, her voice ringing with authority. “They get a spanking on their bottoms!” Smack, smack, smack! The sound filled the room, mingling with my cries. “Do you understand, young man?” she demanded, her words punctuated by more stinging blows. My cheeks were wet with tears, my body trembling with pain and humiliation.
“Yes!” I sobbed, my voice hoarse. “I’ll be a good boy!” But Loriane was determined to make her lesson stick. The spanking continued, each slap a fiery reminder of my mischief. My legs kicked helplessly, but she pinned me in place, her own leg trapping mine. The pain was overwhelming, but so was the shame—I had never felt so small, so powerless.
“Stop spanking me!” I wailed, my voice echoing off the walls. “Ow ow ow!” Loriane paused only long enough to ask, “Have you learned your lesson, young man?” Her tone was stern, but I could hear a hint of concern beneath it. She delivered another half dozen spanks, waiting for my answer. “Yes!” I howled, tears streaming down my face. “I’ll be a good boy!”
At last, Loriane’s hand stilled. My bottom throbbed, a deep, aching heat radiating through me. She leaned in close, her voice low and serious. “If I have to take you over my knee again, Michael, I will use the hairbrush from my purse to give you such a spanking you won’t sit down all night! Do you understand me, young man?” I nodded, sniffling, my whole body shaking with the aftershocks of the ordeal.
She helped me to my feet, her hands gentle now, and pointed to the corner of the room. “Go and stand there until your parents come home. They’ll see what a naughty boy you’ve been.” I shuffled to the corner, my face burning with shame, my bottom still stinging. The wallpaper seemed to close in around me, and I could hear Loriane cleaning up the kitchen, her movements brisk but not unkind.
As I stood there, the minutes dragging by, I replayed the incident over and over in my mind. The pain was fading, but the lesson lingered. I realized how much I longed for kindness, for understanding, and how my mischief had only brought me further from what I truly wanted. When my parents finally returned, I was quiet, subdued, and Loriane’s stern glance was enough to remind me of the consequences of my actions.
After that unforgettable night I made sure to behave whenever Loriane was around. The memory of her firm hand, the sting of discipline, and the ache of regret stayed with me for a long, long time.
