Making a Scene by Anon


                                            Making a Scene by Anon

                                            (Anon / Rarity)

                                            M/F, paddle, stocks, juridical, bruises, non-consensual


                                            (23/04/2013)


                                            https://desuarchive.org/mlp/thread/10038518/#q10052502


                                            ---


                                            >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.