Cameron To Candy

Candy rested in position, her hand planted on the chair, her painfully beautiful heart-shaped ass sticking out, awaiting the punishment she’d earned. The tawse hung from his hand, the short handle gripped firmly, while the leather strap fell loose beneath it. It was not wide like the paddle, or blunt like his hand. The strap was narrow and flexible, worn smooth with age, the leather darkened in places where it had clearly been used many times before.

Her stomach dropped hard enough that she actually felt a flicker of dizziness. She had seen one before. Everyone in Paddlewick had seen one at some point, even if only in passing, hanging on a wall or resting in a cabinet like a quiet threat that did not need explanation. She knew exactly what it was meant to do, and she knew it was not meant to leave dull aches or fading soreness. It was meant to sting and burn, and to leave something that lasted longer than a few hours.

She stared at it without blinking, her pulse beginning to climb in a way she could not control. The room suddenly felt smaller, tighter, like the walls had leaned inward while she was not paying attention. Candy swallowed, her mouth dry now, the familiar instinct to argue or mock or push back suddenly feeling useless. This was not routine. This was not maintenance; that had been the lie Marcus told Lennie so she’d not suspect anything. No, this was meant to be punishment.

She had not been struck with one since becoming Candy. That thought hit her harder than she expected. Everything about her body had changed since then. Her skin was softer, and more sensitive. The last time she had even seen one used had been years ago, long before the spell, long before this body, long before she had learned how differently pain settled into flesh that had been reshaped and refined.

Her hands felt unsteady, so she pressed them flat against her dress just to keep them still.

“You’re serious?” balked, trying to keep her voice steady and failing by just enough to notice.

Marcus did not rush to answer. He simply held the tawse at his side, letting the leather strap hang loose, swaying slightly as he shifted his grip. The small movement drew her attention again and again, her eyes tracking the curve of the strap despite herself. Candy hated that she was staring at it.

“I’m sorry, Candy,” he said at last. “I did request reconsideration, but no one granted it.”

Candy exhaled slowly, forcing herself to stay upright, forcing her shoulders not to hunch forward even though every instinct told her to step back. She did not move. She would not give him the satisfaction of seeing her retreat.

Still, her mind ran ahead of her, imagining what it would feel like, how sharp the strike would be, how different it would be from the dull, spreading ache of the paddle. The paddle bruised, but this? Well, this would cut through the nerves like fire and she knew it.

“That’s going to hurt,” she said finally, rubbing her bottom partially from the hand spanking warm up and partially as a reflex to the thought of what was coming.

It was not a question. Marcus did not pretend otherwise. “Yes,” he said calmly.

Candy let out a slow breath she had not realized she was holding. The sound came out quieter than she liked, carrying just enough tension to betray what she was feeling beneath the surface.

For once, there was no sarcasm waiting on her tongue, no clever remark to soften the moment, nor an insult sharp enough to push the fear aside. She hated that feeling more than anything else, the creeping realization that this was not something she could bluff her way through.

Her gaze dropped to the tawse again despite her better judgment. The leather straps hung still now, perfectly motionless, like they were waiting for her. She rubbed her palms against the sides of her skirt, trying to dry the faint dampness that had formed there. Her pulse continued to pound steadily in her ears, louder than the silence in the room.

She forced herself to look up at Marcus again, refusing to look away even though the tension sitting in her stomach had hardened into something dangerously close to fear. And that, more than anything else, made her realize that this was not going to feel like the usual routine she had come to dread. This was going to hurt in a way she had not yet experienced in this body, and for the first time since becoming Candy, she felt genuinely unsure of how well she would handle what came next.

Candy stepped forward and placed her palms flat on the seat. She bent forward carefully, adjusting her stance until both feet were planted solidly behind her. That was the way; hands flat, feet straight, bottom prominently out.

The mirror still caught everything. Marcus was standing behind her. Her own face staring back, tight and wary. Her arms stretched slightly from the height difference. Shoulders tense. Balance deliberate. She shifted until she was stable. She couldn’t risk slipping, which would lead to the stroke being repeated.

Marcus flexed the tawse once.

Snap.

The sound alone made her shoulders tighten.

Of every implement she’d faced, this one was one of the worst, at least of the household non-magical varieties. Sure, there were whips that were worse, or magic wands that cracked with magic energy that sparked against ones skin when contact was made, but that was rare in the home.

But the taswe was compact and just shy of being too heavy to be used in the home. It wasn’t crushing, but it was sharp in a way that lingered. And not in the fun warm bottom way a paddle might cause that men, women and others in Bellefemme liked, or that the women at the bathhouse said made them glow all night afterward. No, this was different…

“Please remember to count,” Marcus reminded, interrupting her thoughts of dread. She grunted an acknowledgement.

The first stroke landed.

Crack.

Candy jolted.

“One Sir!!!”

Her fingers dug into the chair. The taweses split leather straps bounced off her plump feminized arse like it had springs in it. It had almost stolen her breath.

Crack.

“Two Sir!”

Crack.

“Three Sir! Oh gods!”

Each one snapped quickly and cleanly, the sting building fast. By five, her breathing had changed.

“Five Sir!”

Crack.

“Six Sir!”

Marcus paused for a moment to look at her bottom and where the welts were already forming. He was usually very careful to follow the zone protocol, ensuring no portion of her bottom was overworked. Candy waited, her breath catching up with her as she panted in her bent-over position. When Marcus was confident, he knew where to place the next strokes he began again.

“Okay Candy, this will be number seven. Hang in there.” All she could do was nod and grunt slightly. Marcus took that to mean she was ready for more.

Crack.

“Seven Sir!” she yelled, as she squirmed her legs and bottom around, still careful not to break her hands contact with the chair.

Crack!

Another landed, covering the lower curve of her right cheek, where the sting lingered longest. She cried out just slightly, scrunching her face in pain. A second later she managed to spit out the count.

Crack!

“Nine Sir.” Her knuckles whitened against the chair seat.

Crack!

“Te, Ten! Sir!”

She shifted again, almost lifting one foot.

“Whoa, hey. Stay planted,” Marcus warned. She forced her foot flat. When she’d settled, he lifted the taswe again. Paddlewick men were all trained on implements such as this, though some had more expertise than others. Marcus was on the upper side of average, taken all together. He had some natural talent, the public education, and of course, a bit of extra tutoring his parents (mostly his dad) had felt he’d need.

Crack!

“Eleven!” Candy cried. Marcus waited a moment, then gave a little cough. Candy looked up at the mirror and studied his face, “What?” She asked. No reply came. “What? I… oh, shyte! Uh, uh Sir. Eleven SIr!” Marcus nodded and began repositioning himself for the next strike. In a situation like that it was to the man's discretion. He’d prompted her indirectly, and she’d corrected herself. That shouldn’t warrant redoing the stroke, to his mind.

Crack!

“Twelve Sir!” From behind her she could hear Marcus setting back up. She looked up into the mirror and met his eyes. Her voice was higher now. “Kazoo! Kazoo!” Marcus lowered the taswe instantly.

“Are you okay?!” he asked earnestly as he shifted position so he was in her field of vision.

“Yeah!” she huffed. “Yes. I just, uh, just need a minute. That’s all.” Marcus’ face scrunched up in worry, but he nodded and stood back so as not to pressure her.

“You can break position if you need to,” he told her. “It’s your break.” She nodded, vaguely considering. She shifted her hands and feet to better brace, but didn’t want to stand up. It would be too hard to bend back down again if she did. After a moment of steady breathing, she nodded to Marcus.

“Okay, just go ahead. Do the rest.”

He nodded back. “Alright, you were at twelve,” he reminded as he returned to behind her and…

Crack!

“Ugh! Thirteen! … Sir!”

Crack!

“Fourteen Sir! Gods!” she yelled.

Crack!

“Fifteen!” Candy exhaled hard and huffed for a moment, catching her breath. “Fifteen… Sir.”

"Ok Candy, five more, then you're all done. I can get you some nice tea, some chocolate, run you a bath, whatever you need. Just hang in there," Marcus reassured her the best he could, but at that point, her blood was pumping so hard his voice was coming in muffled to her. He eyed the red welts already beginning to form on her soft, plump cheeks

Five lashes later and Candy managed to spit out a "Twenty Sir!" as she wiggled her bottom around involuntarily. The final Ministry required stroke had landed sharp and precise. The room grew quite save for her breathing. She stayed bent for half a second. Waiting. Marcus was supposed to tell her to get up. She let out a breath.

“Done,” she muttered.

She started to push herself upright, then Marcus’ hand pressed down firmly against the small of her back, holding her in place.

Before she could react…

Smack

She yelped.

“Sixteen!” She screamed out of habit.

Marcus had given her an extra swap with his hand. He never did that. She twisted halfway around, furious.

“What the hells was that?! You promised you'd never do more than required! Don't demean me!"

Marcus threw the tawse into the corner.

“That,” he answered quickly and with far less confidence than he'd hoped to project, “was because you're not learning your lesson, and you won't listen to me if I’m not dramatic in some way!”

Candy glared at him through the mirror. “What lesson? I wasn’t doing anything! And let me up!”

Marcus removed his hand quickly. “Right. Uh, rise,” he granted awkwardly.

“Damn right I rise! So what the—”

“Shhh. Lennie will hear.” That stopped her a moment. She lowered her voice.

“What, the, hells?”

"Look, I'm not trying to demean you. I do my best to empower you with as much personal agency as our situation allows."

"Wh.. huh?" Candy was stuned out of her rage. Those words were technically in the Paddlewician lexicon, but she'd never heard them applied like this. She wouldn't have even guessed that Marcus knew them. Where the hells was he getting this? ¹Marcus had actually bought a book written by a woman he’d met once years earlier while escorting Penny in Cleavendale; a Listener by the name of Kasey Bustleton. So far he’d only read the preface but he’d memorized several words in the hopes of sounding supportive. She rallied, though, getting her face back into anger mode.

"We just got through the Greg situation,” Marcus said hurriedly, hands up, leaning back into his usual defensive mode. Candy’s anger faltered slightly this time. “And now,” Marcus continued, “you’re about to risk tipping off Lennie.”

“What? No I’m not.”

Marcus stared at her steadily.

“Think about it.”

She frowned.

“I wasn’t going to do anything with Lennie. I mean, I literally can’t! Even if her chastity spell was down you know I can’t… physically…”

“That’s not the problem.”

Candy crossed her arms awkwardly, still bent forward.

“Then what is?”

Marcus spoke evenly.

“You still have your bacon and eggs down there.”

Candy froze.

“Yeah I know, but like I said, I can’t do anything there. No blood flow and no one can penetrate any of her holes!”

“Ok, first of all ew!” Marcus objected, hands waiving. “Second, what would you do if you sleep in the same bed as Lennie and she rolls against you in the night?” Candy stared at the mirror. “You don’t think there’s a chance of her noticing? I just spanked you I know what size your bits are. They’ve shrunk but… but not enough.”

Candy stared off with no answer to give. Marcus didn’t let up.

“What happens when she panics? We'd have to tell her, then she’s your second slot, and then what happens when she tries to keep the secret?”

Candy groaned quietly. “She won’t,” she muttered weakly.

Marcus shook his head. “I mean, she’ll try,” he went on, “then she’ll tell Penny,” Candy winced hard. “Either on purpose or, my bet, on accident, but either way you know it’ll happen. And Penny,” Marcus continued, “will tell one Gaggle member. Just one will do it," he said, raising a finger as he talked with his hands. Candy muttered a curse under her breath. “The next thing you know, the whole Cone finds out and the Ministry disappears us!”

Candy sucked in a breath, staring away from Marcus. He was right. It was a bit alarmist, but the stakes here were higher than she had given them credit for.

“Gludge. I hate how... logical that sounds,” she muttered. “You, you really thought a lot about this,” she conceded, the anger over the extra swat temporarily forgotten. Marcus let out a breath.

“Look—” From the hallway through the door, a voice floated in.

“Candy?” Lennie’s voice called nervously. “Are you alright?”

Candy froze. Marcus closed his eyes briefly. Candy forced her voice steady.

“I survived!”

“Oh good!” Lennie called. There was a pause. Then, brightly: “I can put balm on your bottom for you if you want!” Candy gawked.

Marcus immediately said, “No. I will handle that.”

Candy turned and stared at him.

From the hallway, “Are you sure you’re okay?” Lennie asked.

Candy sighed. “I’m fine! Goodnight!” As Lennie's footsteps could be heard moving back to the guest room, Marcus picked up the balm tin. Candy folded her arms. “Hells no!" She hissed. "Just give me the damn thing, I’ll do it myself.”