Tag: spanking

*peeks around the corner shyly* Yeahhhhh…I’m that anon. I really have been trying to wait because I know you are busy. I only put it in so many times because I figure you get a billion asks like so many all the time that mine would get buried underneath all the others. Sorry for the trouble. đŸ˜…đŸ˜…đŸ˜…

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Sadie: Not a problem at all, anon…oh, and we really don’t get that many messages here; we’re not popular. 😛

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“Stay right here and pick up your toys, muffin. Greg’ll be back in a minute.”

Now, is there anywhere in that sentence, subtext or otherwise, that sounds like  “Please, overgrown toddler man-child, disappear while the person who’s supposed to be watching you goes for a quick wee in the five free minutes he has before getting dinner started.”

No, you say? Nothing like that at all?

Yeah, that’s what Greg had thought, too. So, needless to say, that when he came back out of the loo to find toys and lego’s and puzzle pieces still all over the floor and no little detective to be had picking them up, Greg had to stop and question himself if he’d actually said what he thought he’d said.

…And then came a clatter from the kitchen.

Dammit.

Greg quick-stepped to the kitchen in record time, but once he turned the corner, he froze.

Now, I ask you one more time…does “Stay right here and pick up your toys, muffin,” sound anything, anything like “Please go into the kitchen without me, turn on the stove, and then climb onto the counter directly next to the stove with your bare leg pants-shittingly close to the glowing hot eye”?!?

No? Still not the same?

That’s what Greg thought.

Seeing Sherlock’s nappied bum up on his knees on the counter, his bare calf within inches of the glowing red burner, Greg’s heart seized in his chest…and then he acted. He was across the room before he realised it himself and grabbed Sherlock ‘round the waist, then spun him off the cabinet before he could even cry out in surprise. 

It was only when Sherlock’s feet were safely on the floor, that Greg felt his heart start beating again…three times as fast as it was supposed to, mind, but at least it was still working. “What,” he wheezed, more than little out-of-breath after the marathon he’d just run, “were you doing?!”

Sherlock’a little surprised ‘o’ of a mouth split into a wide grin. “I was hel’bing!”

Greg just stared at him, mouth hanging open. “...What!?”

“Hel’bing ma’ge dinner!”

Greg was having a hard time processing this. Sure, he heard the words, he could see Sherlock saying them, but they just weren’t connecting or his synapses weren’t firing right or something, because this still wasn’t making any sense. “You are not–!” he stuttered, “You know you’re not…you are not to touch the stove!”

Sherlock’s face faltered. G’eg didn’t seem as pleased as he thought he’d be. “I wa’ss bein’ care’bul…”

“Not careful enough, little man!” Greg still had Sherlock by the shoulders, and now spun him around and landed two sharp swats in quick succession to the pair of chubby cheeks peeking out from the bottom of the little detective’s nappy.

Caught off guard, Sherlock did little more than gasp and go up on his toes, then stared at Greg, mouth hanging open in shock.

Greg could only stare back…Sherlock hadn’t been the only one taken by surprise. Greg was not the one to practice physical discipline with the boys…he usually left that to Mycroft.

So the fact that he was holding the baby, palm still poised for a smack, was not…it was not good; not to him.

Sherlock had been too surprised at first to react much, but now…well, now the sting was starting to set in. He stared at Greg, his breath coming in quick huffs as his eyes watered and vision blurred…

Then, while Greg could do nothing but watch, Sherlock’s face crumbled, and he began to cry.

Greg felt his heart crumble the same way. “Oh, muffin,” he sighed, and wrapped Sherlock in a tight hug. “I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

Sherlock laid his head on Greg’s shoulder and wept. “S-ss-sss’aw-aw’rrrreeee,” he stammered.

Greg felt like crying, too. “C’mere, sweetheart. Come sit with Greg for a second,” he said, pulling away from Sherlock (which was hard enough, even if the baby hadn’t been clutching the back of his shirt) and leading him to one of the chairs around the table with an arm around his waist.

Greg sat down first, and guided Sherlock into his lap. The tyke leaned against him, still sniffling and rubbing his hand over his cheeks and nose.

Greg cuddled him close and kissed his temple. “I’m very sorry I spanked you,” he said, starting with that first and foremost. “I just got spooked.”

“S-spoo’ged?”

“Yeah…see, you were awfully close to burning yourself up there, and that scared Greg.”

Sherlock laid his head on Greg’s shoulder. “Bu’d I wa’ss care’bul…”

“Your leg was really, really close to getting burnt, muffin. Like, that close,” Greg added, holding his fingers less than an inch apart to show him.

Sherlock stuck his thumb in his mouth, and curled his fingers over the bridge of his nose. “Tha’ds c’yose,” he said.

“Too close,” Greg agreed, and started to rub Sherlock’s back. “That’s why Mycroft and I don’t let you around the oven when it’s on. We don’t want you getting hurt.”

Sherlock was quiet for a moment. “…Span’gs hur’d,” he finally mumbled.

Despite himself, the corner of Greg’s mouth twitched up. “Yeah, and I apologized for that. But at least a spanking won’t cause third degree burns and a trip to the A&E.”

Sherlock only looked up at him, and raised his eyebrow.

Greg barked out a laugh. “Har-har, very funny,” he chuckled, and kissed Sherlock’s cheek. “Promise you won’t touch the oven again?”

Sherlock nuzzled into the crook of Greg’s neck. “Mm-hmm.”

“Good boy.” Greg stopped rubbing and patted the back of Sherlock’s nappy. “Would you still like to help with dinner?”

Sherlock sat up. “I c’ahn?”

“Sure. Just not around the oven.”

“Wha’d I do?”

“Well, first you’re gonna go pick up your toys, or Mycroft’s gonna spank the both of us.”

Sherlock giggled and wiped the last of his tears off his cheeks. ‘G’eg in t’ouble.”

“It’s not that funny. D’you want to help butter rolls?”

“Yeeeeeeeeeee’sh.”

“Alight, that’s your job. Roll-Butter’er. Right after Toy-Picker-Upper’er.”

alexxphoenix42:

 

SPANKING
SHERLOCK – DOMESTIC DISCIPLINE

***

I had a nonny
request a list of spanking fics that were nonsexual containing domestic
discipline and aftercare. Their example to match was: Guiding Hand by seaholly. I hope something
on this list might fit the bill – it was hard to find spanking that wasn’t part
of a BDSM relationship!!

***

Aubade by archea2, 221 words, teen. Lestrade has found a perfect way to wake Sherlock.

Suddenly by NixxieFic 1k, teen, How would it go if suddenly,
brilliantly, Lestrade finds out that promising to smack Sherlock’s lovely
backside is the best incentive to keep him clean. It’s a win-win situation!

Nana To the Rescue by
sadistically_sweet
– age play, Could you honestly tell me that you’d say ‘no’ to a tearful,
sleepy little detective as he clutched his beloved stuffed puppy dog ?…Yeah,
I didn’t think so. Me either. Spanking. (Part of a series The Adventures of ‘Little’
Sherlock and ‘Daddy’ John.)

The Experiment by Ttime42, 2
k, teen. Mrs. Hudson paddles Sherlock for being naughty.

You did What? by Lizie1498, 3 k, teen. One shots of Sherlock getting disciplined.

Spoon of Doom by embalmer56, princessladybug, 2 k teen, age play, baby Sherlock and Daddy Watson and discipline. (Part of a
series: The Adventures of
Baby Sherlock and Daddy Watson.)

Issues by WholockHobbit88, 3 k teen, age play with little Sherlock and Daddy John, spanking. (Part of a
series:   Little Sherlock and John)

The Consequences of Your
Actions by Sherlock1110,
1.5 k, teen. For the prompt; Spanking please? Sherlock being spanked by
somebody (Watson, Mycroft, Lestrade) with aftercare. The aftercare is
important.  So Sherlock stole Mycroft’s
ID to get into Baskerville, what did Mycroft have to say about that?

Regulation by cyphernaut,
10 k, teen, Response to the following prompt:
When Mary moves in, she and John become Sherlock’s disciplinarians. In a
completely nonsexual way, and not mean. They do it in a caring way, like
parents. So spankings, early bedtimes, time-out, the works. Bonus for having
Mary spank Sherlock.

A lesson learned by Pepperxx, 1.8 k, teen. Sherlock decides to use drugs when John goes on a date with his
boring new girlfriend. John gives him a good reason not to. (Part of a series – Sherlock spanking stories)

But behaving’s boring! by greenstone, 1.8 k not rated. “You’re a very, very bad boy, Sherlock Holmes, and you
deserve a good, hard punishment, don’t you?” Looks very domestic
discipline. (Part of a series Spanking
Sherlock)

Cry It Out by spankingsherlock,
500 words, mature. Sometimes Sherlock cries after.

grumpydevon:

squeakpigsrevenge:

caramel-and-me:

grumpydevon:

bookstorebaby:

thepaddedpunk:

Not the way I use it.

@thepaddedprofessional you’re gonna get it!

@sadieandmo Cruelty free means it is a no-spanking brush! :p

😮 I din’t know such a thing essisted!

Lol. We bought @crashageplay this same brush. Spanks isn’t cruel if they’s deserved 😜😜😜😜

Fibbbbs! Spankings are never deserved. :p

Sadie: “
Spankings are never deserved.”

How about little Sherlock makes a major mess with an experiment and gets a good smacking? Perhaps the wooden spoon comes out again! Been a while since John used it, I think. Thanks for considering my prompt!

Sadie: Gah, it takes me too long to get to these, but I always enjoy getting them!

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“What. The Hell. Is That.”

“I don’t…” Sherlock paused, “…honestly know.”

John gagged and covered his mouth and nose with his sleeve and turned away before his breakfast could be revisited all over the lino, and wondered how something like…like that, could even exist.

‘That’, being the bright orange, sickly sweet and vaguely tarty-smelling mould that had taken over the second shelf in their refrigerator, and was creeping it’s wretched way up the back wall.

Christ, it was just…yeah, he hadn’t had a need to open the fridge in awhile (more like the past week…maybe closer to two weeks) what with never being home long enough to have a proper meal other than take-away, but still! How was it even possible for something like ‘that’ to grow that much in that amount of time?!

Sherlock was still bent over with his head stuck in the fridge, examining it. John didn’t know how he managed to not retch at the smell. “Clean it up, NOW.”

Sherlock glared at him over his shoulder.”Why me?!”

“Because I’m not the one always growing ‘experiments’ in there.”

Sherlock sneered; “You don’t have to say it like that.”

“I don’t care. You know the drill. Bucket. Hot, soapy water. Scrub brush. Now.”

“It’s not mine.” Sherlock turned back and leaned in further, looking for the source of the…growth. “It’s coming from underneath this pile of foil; I don’t wrap mine in fo-OW!”

A sharp rap against his bent-over backside cut him off, and as an awful burning sensation began to radiate from the point of impact, the detective shot straight up and reached back to cover his arse as he whipped around to face a very dangerous-looking John, who was still brandishing a long-handled, equally dangerous-looking wooden spoon.

“You…are going to clean that up,” John said, pointing the spoon at Sherlock’s face.

“But it’s not my–ah!!” Sherlock cried out again as the spoon lashed out again, faster than his eye could see, and cracked against the back of his thigh. He took a step back, keeping his targeted area out of John’s range. “It’s not mine!” he said again, the pitch of his voice becoming strained…damn, that thing hurt!

John took another step forward and, before Sherlock could retreat any further, snagged Sherlock’s elbow in an iron-tight grip. “No! More! Excusese!” he said, punctuating each word with a solid whap against Sherlock’s bum, wherever his hands weren’t covering. Sherlock yelped and danced around in a frantic circle, desperate to get away, but unable to pull out of John’s grip. “I didn’ do’it!!!” he wailed, tears stinging his eyes.

Around and around they went, with sharp cracks from the spoon and howl’s of protest, with Sherlock leading them in a rather painful parody of a Maypole dance as he hopped from foot-to-foot with each searing whack.

Not even Ms. Hudson, as familiar with her boy’s antics as she was, could ignore the heartbreaking pleas for mercy…especially considering they’d conveniently left their door open for her and the whole bloody neighborhood to hear. “What is going on?!?” she shouted as she ascended the steps and happened upon the arduous scene.

John landed another punishing smack the Sherlock’s bum and stopped, mildly out of breath and breathing hard while he held fast to the little detective’s arm. “Take a look in the refrigerator and see for yourself; maybe you can get a better answer out of this one than I can,” he huffed, glowering up at Sherlock.

Now that the assault against the delicate portion of his person had paused, Sherlock rubbed his backside like a madman and was near in hysterics while he pleaded at his Nana. “I-I-I d-did’n, d-did-dn’ d-do it,” he blubbered, tears coursing down his cheeks.

Ms. Hudson raised her eyebrow and went over to the refrigerator to see what all the fuss was about. She opened the door, and stared for a moment. “John…”

John swatted Sherlock again, causing a high-pitched shriek. “Don’t you worry,” he said, keeping his eye squarely on his little troublemaker. “This one’s going to clean up his mess, whether or not he can sit down to do it!…”

“JOHN.”

John finally turned to look at her. “What!?”

“…That’s the half a pineapple I gave you, three weeks ago.”

Everything went quiet. Even Sherlock stopped his sobbing, but continued to sniffle. “…It is?” John asked, uncertainty taking the edge off his voice. 

Ms. Hudson turned to face them, her hands on her hips. “It is.”

“Oh.”

Sherlock pulled his elbow out of John’s grip again, and this time, John let him. “T-tol’ you,” he sniffled sullenly, sticking out his bottom lip and pouting at him.

John looked away and gave a sheepish laugh; “Guess I, uh, owe you an apology,” he said, and coughed.

Sherlock kept glaring and rubbing his backside.

Shit. He’d really stepped in it this time. “Sherlock, love, I’m sor–OW!”

Quick as a flash that defied her years, Ms. Hudson, Nana, had slipped up behind John, jerked the spoon from his hand, and cracked him across the arse with it. John whirled around, eyes wide, mouth gaping. “Oi!…”

“ ‘Oi’, nothing!” Ms. Hudson brandished the spoon in his face, a mere fraction of an inch from his nose, making him go cross-eyed. “You go clean your mess, before you can’t sit!”

“But I–yeeeow!” John squealed as five more rapid swats met the crease of his thigh, and he darted away. “Alright, alright, sorrysorrysorry!”

Nana stood and gave his the evil-eye as he scurried away to fetch all the cleaning supplies, then turned to the detective, who was now looking smug but tearful, and took his hand. “You come with me, dear…I was just setting up for tea.”

Sherlock took her hand and toddled along after his Nana and, just as they were leaving through the door, looked back to see John carrying a bucket with several rags and bottles of cleanser in it. He waited until he caught John’s eye, smiled…then stuck out his tongue and made a great, big ‘PTHHHHHBBBBT!’-noise at him before following his Nana down the stairs for tea and biscuits.

John glared after him, cheeks burning, then sighed and started to fill the bucket with hot water.

Why did these things always happen to him?