Letting Emma Down

Letting Emma Down

Fiction by Lisa

(Bare, Hair brush, Disappointment, Discipline, Hand, M/F)

I knew I had messed up the moment Emma texted me asking if everything was okay. I had promised—clearly and confidently—that I would help her with the community fundraiser planning that afternoon. Instead, I let the day drift, convincing myself I’d get to it “in a bit.” By the time I finally checked my phone, the silence felt loud. My stomach dropped. I had disappointed a friend who didn’t deserve it.

That night, I told Tom everything. I didn’t soften it or offer excuses. I admitted that lately I had been careless with commitments, not just this one. Tom listened without interrupting, his expression steady but serious. When I finished, he reminded me that our structure wasn’t just about our marriage—it was about how my choices affected others too.

After a long pause, Tom said that since Emma and Jack were directly impacted, it might be appropriate for Jack to handle the correction this time—if Jack was willing, and only with Tom’s permission and clear boundaries. Hearing that made my chest tighten. This felt heavier than anything we’d done before. More exposed. More real.

Tom called Jack the next morning. Later, Tom told me Jack had been hesitant, even uncomfortable at first. He asked questions, clarified expectations, and made Tom repeat himself more than once. That actually steadied me. Jack wasn’t eager—he was careful.

That afternoon, Emma invited me over to “wrap things up.” She hugged me when I arrived, warm and kind, which only sharpened my guilt. After a little while, she excused herself to run an errand, giving me a look that told me she knew exactly what was happening and trusted it anyway.

Jack spoke quietly but firmly. He told me he had Tom’s permission, and that he would not be doing this otherwise. He reminded me that this wasn’t about embarrassment or anger, but responsibility. Then he directed me where to stand and how to position myself, his voice calm and deliberate, leaving no room for uncertainty.

Jack didn’t start right away. Instead, he told me to sit down while he remained standing in front of me, his posture calm but unmistakably authoritative. That contrast alone made my throat tighten. He folded his arms and looked down at me—not angrily, but seriously—and said my name in a way that made me straighten instinctively. He told me this lecture mattered just as much as what would follow, and that I was expected to listen without interrupting.

He spoke about responsibility and integrity, about how adults don’t get to decide which commitments count based on convenience. He reminded me that Emma had trusted me—not just as a friend, but as someone dependable. Standing there, he explained that my carelessness didn’t just waste time; it created doubt. He asked me directly if I understood why Tom had given permission for him to handle this, and when I nodded, he waited until I could answer clearly and calmly before continuing. Only then did he tell me to stand and prepare myself, making it clear that the spanking was a direct response to everything he had just said.

I stood and he took a seat where I had been seated. He reached out and pulled me in front of him with his fingers inside the front of my waistband. He then took both hands and unbuttoned my shorts and slid them down. As my shorts was pulled over my bottom it pulled my panties down slightly. Then he hooks his thumbs into my waistband and pulls them down till they meet my shorts at my ankles. 

My cheeks flushed and my hands went over my eyes to hide my shame. But he reaches up and grabs my wrist pulling me over his lap. As I land on his lap, I start crying. Jack says, “Save those tears for the spanking missy.” I blubber, “Yes sir!” With that he starts spanking my bottom with his hand alternating cheeks until I am squealing, “Please it hurts” He replied, “It hurts when you disappoint Emma!” That statement stabbed my heart and I did not beg any more. 

After about 5 min with his hand, he reached and grabbed the hair brush. I gripped his leg tightly as the brush landed on my poor bottom. 10 more minutes with the hair brush left me blubbering and legs kicking like a little girl. Then he stopped and I sobbed over his lap. 

When it was finished, he didn’t rush me. He made sure I was steady, told me to take a breath, and reminded me that this correction came with an expectation—that I would do better, not just apologize. He told me he would call Tom and give him an honest account of everything.

When I got home, Tom was waiting. He held me while I cried again, this time with relief mixed in. He told me he was proud of me for accepting correction, and grateful that Jack had handled it with respect and restraint. He reminded me that allowing someone else to step in didn’t weaken our marriage—it reinforced it.

A few days later, Emma and I met for coffee. There was no awkwardness. She thanked me for owning my mistake and following through afterward. As I drove home, I realized that accountability doesn’t always come from the most comfortable places—but sometimes from the most loving ones.