CAROLINE SPANKED

BY MASTER CHRIS

[ part 4 ]

From that fateful day when I was 11 that my spankings became naked spankings my parents knew that the power of humiliation was a much more significant element of my punishment that that of pain. I can still remember my father’s eyes narrowing as he realized how embarrassed I was to be completely naked in front of him even though it was years ago, just before I turned 12.

There were two elements to my punishments that were the most dreaded of all. The first would come into effect almost as soon as my punishments involved stripping completely. The second would start over a year later as I turned 13.

Each and every time I was either stripped or told to strip for a spanking was mortifying. I guess most pubescent girls are over-aware of the changes in their bodies when growing up. Although I was still young, I already had small conical breasts with pink nipples. Unlike a lot of my friends, my nipples were quite large and, despite my silent pleas, seemed to become erect at the least provocation. They were light pink, close to the color of my pale skin unlike some I’ve seen which are more brown. Further down, my pussy hair never really came in very fully. I had a tiny dusting of hair which didn’t cover my labia at all. Needless to say, having to expose either top or bottom was an awful experience.

It had only been a few short weeks since that fateful day when my father had dragged me from the pool, stripped down my bathing suit and given me my first completely naked spanking as an adolescent. Since then both of my parents had seen me naked several times. I used to get regular punishments about once per week and you would think that after a few weeks I would have gotten used to the new aspect of my punishment. I’m sorry to say that this never happened.

On this day, however, it was my father who introduced an element to my punishments that horribly continues to this day.

I had, as was common for me, been talking back; something neither parent appreciated. This time it had been to my Dad. You’d think I’d learn after the different punishments I’d had for the same thing and this time I think my father was looking to improve the impact of the spanking a little more. The spanking had started out as I had come to know by now.

“You’re in for a spanking, young lady,” my father announced.

Tears sprung to my eyes. An apology spilled out of my mouth as though pulled from deep inside me. My Dad was having none of it.

“Caroline if you really want to apologize, learn to not talk back over and over and over. It makes me think that spanking you isn’t enough punishment at all.”

This brought on a fresh sob.

“Now, get yourself into the living room and get those clothes off,” he said. “I expect your completely bare body to be standing in the corner when I get in there to try to teach you this lesson again.

With my head hanging down, I turned from the kitchen and headed to my least favorite room in the house. With no one there to watch, I undressed at a snail’s pace. Slowly pulling my t-shirt over my head and then prying off my running shoes, I was delaying the inevitable.

“I expect you to be ready in one more minute, Caroline,” my father called from the kitchen. I knew that not being ready might mean a ‘proper’ punishment with his strap and I was not going to risk that. I peeled off my shorts and panties together then pulled my bra over my head in an instant and literally ran to the corner of the room.

The waiting for punishment was, in some ways the worst part. There I was, 12 now but still just barely an adolescent and the thing that was most important to me was keeping my newfound body private. Here, in the corner of the room, I was completely naked, exposing myself, even if it was just my back and bottom, to anyone who would walk into the living room. Each and every time I was in the corner, I lived in terror of the doorbell ringing or the door opening and some stranger walking in to see me naked in the corner.

This time, I had only a few short minutes to wait. I could hear my father’s footsteps as he entered the living room and then sat in the easy chair that so often had been the location of my punishments.

He waited a full minute or two. I could feel his gaze, locked right on me. Looking at my long bare back, looking up from my bare feet along my tanned legs until the white space of my completely naked buttocks. I know the feeling of being looked at like that. Even though my entire viewpoint was the corner of the living room right in front of my eyes, I knew he was looking and I could feel the blush starting on my cheeks and then covering my entire face. The sheer embarrassment factor was extreme.

I was expecting him to call me over at any moment as I had become used to. Instead, he suddenly rose from his seat and left the room. I could hear him going up the stairs as though he’d forgotten something. For a moment I caught my breath, confused. Was he going to get his strap?! But no, the strap was in the hall closet. Where was he going?

A moment later, I could hear the sound of his footsteps heading down the stairs. He was back in the living room now and sitting once again in his seat.

“Alright Caroline,” he said firmly. “Get over here for your punishment.”

I turned and headed over to him. As I’d now been taught, I stood with my feet shoulder width apart and dragged my hands to the top of my head as though they were made of lead. It took everything I had to expose myself this way. I pulled my elbows back, which lifted my erect nipples higher as though they were beacons.

My father made me stand there for a full minute or maybe more. His eyes went slowly up from my feet to my head and then down and then all the way up again. He could see from my eyes how difficult it was to simply stand there bare naked as he looked at me.

Finally it was a relief when he pulled me over his knee to begin my spanking. As per usual, it was fast, furious and reduced me to tears in seconds. When I was crying so hard I couldn’t catch my breath, the spanking stopped. My bottom was ablaze with heat. Unusually, he kept me over my knee for a moment or two until my sobbing started to come under control. My Dad pulled me to my feet. He and my Mom always pulled me then right back to the same corner I’d started in but this time, I was pulled in the opposite direction. My father pulled me to the middle of the blank wall at the other end of the room.

“Hands back on your head, Caroline,” he told me.

After a spanking I’m always in a hurry to be obedient. This time there was no hesitation clasping my hands firmly on my head. He pulled me closer to the wall until I was facing it only a few inches away.

“Closer,” he said.

I inched closer until just the tips of my nipples were touching the cold surface.

“Feel apart now,” he said.

I spread my feet shoulder width apart.

“Wider,” he instructed. I spread them wider apart.

“Now, stand absolutely still,” he said.

Uncertainty breeds its own anxiety and my heart was pounding. I realized now that my father had left me over his knee a little longer deliberately so that I would be calm enough to experience this embarrassment when I stood up.

Here I was, spread-eagled and completely naked. I was facing away from him but I was still completely bare and the feeling of just my nipples touching the wall was weirdly troubling.

My father had been walking around behind me but had stopped moving.

The flash of a camera was so shocking that I turned in absolute surprise. My father was holding his digital camera and looking right at me.

“Did I tell you to turn around Caroline?” he asked.

I spun back to the wall. OhmyGod! He’d taken my picture. A picture of my bare spanked bottom! OhGod! I was naked in that picture. He’d taken a picture of me naked. A fresh burst of tears sprung from my eyes.

“Oh no Caroline,” he said firmly. “If you want to turn around, I think that will be fine. Turn and face me please.”

I looked over my shoulder in shock. Did he mean it?

He held out his hand and made a twirling motion with his finger. Yes, he expected me to turn around.

Slowly I did so. The camera in his hand was like a weapon. I was helpless to stop my hands from dropping from my head to cover myself.

“Caroline!” my father said.

I cried as my hands slowly lifted again to expose myself.

I couldn’t quite believe it. I couldn’t believe that a picture of my bare front was about to be taken.

My father got up close and snapped a picture of my face with the tears streaming down my cheeks. Then he stepped back and focused again.

A flash, and the picture of my completely bare body was immortalized.

“Alright, Caroline,” he said. “Into the corner. Twelve minutes.”

I ran back to my familiar corner across the room. I couldn’t believe what had just happened. What was going to happen with those pictures?

Twelve minutes later, my punishment was over. It would be a couple of days before I would find out what the pictures would be used for. My parents presented me with a new picture album at the dinner table a couple of nights later. It was a very large album with places for many pictures. Only the first page was filled. It was filled with three pictures of me. The first was a full body picture of Caroline’s back. She was standing with her hands on her head, her feet wide apart facing the wall. Her bottom was a beet red and the marks of her Dad’s hands could still be made out. The next picture was the reverse side. To Caroline’s horror, her full body was exposed. From this angle she could make out her hugely erect nipples and every part of her bare pussy lips, not at all covered by her sparse pussy hair.

The third picture was a close up of my face. I could clearly see the tears on my cheeks and my red blushing face.

The album was a good reminder of what was required for Caroline to be a good girl, her parents explained. It would be added to after each punishment.

I begged my parents to reconsider; pleaded for them to destroy the pictures. They weren’t buying.

The album would be filled as time went on. The history of my body growing up and working its way through adolescence would be stored in a week-by-week cycle. The album would record my breasts getting bigger and rounder, my nipples getting fatter and, longer (despite my prayers), my bottom rounding out and me getting taller. One thing was constant, my blushing humiliation at being spanked and photographed in the nude.

It was one of the most horrible aspects of my teenage years punishments but it was soon to be made almost intolerable by no longer being private. A month or two later, I would suffer the unbearable experience of watching my aunt and uncle thumbing through the album, seeing my everything.

They would both be well acquainted with every visible nuance of my body when a year later my uncle would participate for the first time in my punishments in what would become the absolutely most humiliating element of my teenage punishment sessions.