+++
title = "Making a Scene"
names = ["Anon"]
date = "2014-02-19 12:09:07"
tags = ["M/F", "paddle", "stocks", "juridical", "bruises", "non-consensual"]
spankers = ["Anon"]
spankees = ["Rarity"]
posts = [""]
+++

>Equestrian law is weird.
>Turns out that causing a scene is punishable by law.
>And Rarity made a SCENE.
>That waitress will need a psychiatrist to handle that PTSD.
>After a showing like that, you feel like fifty smacks isn’t enough.

>You knew she’d want to do it privately, being spanked publicly would have been THE worst thing
Anon, be a dear and, ah, handle this for me, will you?
>You nearly choked on your tongue when she asked you to handle the spanking yourself
>You love her to death, but she can be a super bitch.
>You had been suppressing your anger at her for along.
>And now was your chance to vent it.

>You arrive late on punishment day.
>This spanking needs to be done right and that takes time.
>”It’s about time you got here, Anon,” the mayor huffs as she thrusts the paddle into your hands
>”Do you have anything you want to say to the condemned,” she says.
>You shake your head.
>It’ll be best if you remain silent.
>”Alright. You can begin when you’re ready.”
>You put your earbuds in and adjust your tie.
>The tacky polyester one from your programing job that Rarity hates so much.
>Then you hit play on your iPod and wait. 

>Rarity begins to get fidgety and turns as much as the stockade allows her to.
>Anon, dear, what…
Back up in your ass with the resurrection.
>You strike as the line begins.
>And go at a solid pace of a hit every three seconds.
>Your focused on the music and task, but you notice when Rarity gives up on appearances and starts crying
>You continue methodically until the 25th stroke, when you take a breather.
>Rarity, always so poised, is a complete mess.
>Her make-up, why in the name of Celestia would you where make-up to a spanking, is running down her face, along with tears and snot.
>She almost looks like she’ll pull herself together during the brief respite, but it isn’t enough.
Step to face, I’ll break your ass in two.
>You say the line out loud as you hit her, your hardest strike yet.
>You slow down for the last 24 strokes, 6 a second.
>Just long enough to finish the song.

>You stand and contemplate your handy work.
>Rarity’s ass, usually marshmellowy white, is bright red with black around the edges.
>Not a bad look, you think.
This is ghetto boys for life.
>Your reverie is disturbed by the Mayor saying something.
Huh?
>”I said, ‘What was that, Anon?’”
Could you get the guards to disperse the gawkers, Mayor.
>You release a dazed Rarity from the stockade and help her stand.
>I believe that may have been THE worst thing, Anon. Rarity sniffles.
>You give her a comforting smile as you pick her up and begin to walk out he door.
I’m just relieved that it’s over
>Rarity gives a tired nod, rubbing her head along your chest.
>Oh, Anon, you know I hate this tie.
>Your jaw pops and you give a wistful look toward the paddle as you walk out the door.

End.