This is a F/F discipline story featuring a cold bath as the primary punishment, and also a spanking. I consider my characters to be in a negotiated and consensual relationship and disciplinary dynamic.
As always, my story is just that – a story. My stories are not necessarily reflective of how I think real life should play out.
Lengthy forward, as usual:
Recently, I have been taking cold baths. Why? Maybe I’m just a masochist. But I tell myself it’s because I’m trying to improve my cold-acclimatation. And apparently, they’re good for health, or something.
Also, they’re terrible.
Like, really terrible. I hate the cold, and I almost want to cry from them even though I’m doing it to myself in a totally non-discipline related scenario.
This would make a great/horrible punishment – That’s what I think to myself, as I try to force myself to enter the water. The funniest thing is, part of me is like “no that would be too horrible, I think it would be a hard limit for me” – even as I continue to voluntarily subject myself to it anyway.
I’ve actually written about cold water as punishment, or in a discipline situation in my stories before. Part 6 of Sandra and Janet sees Sandra give Janet a cold bath. I’ve also got a cold-shower thing somewhere in the Nicola and Hattie series (though… spoiler alert – I’m not sure I’ve posted that one yet! Whoops).
Anyway, I hope you enjoy this story.
You sit on the cold lid of the toilet seat, undressed and shivering, goosebumps already rising on the skin of your bare arms as you hug yourself.
You make yourself small now as you huddle, watching the water pound out of the tap to fill the tub. Your mouth trembles and then you look up at me with wide eyes; your expression somewhere between fear and pleading.
This wasn’t your demeanor barely 15 minutes ago. Arms flung wide as you shouted at me, and called me names, because I said no, you may not stay out late at a party the night before I know you have an important presentation in the morning. You can go, I said, but you need to leave early and come home before your regular bedtime.
That wasn’t good enough. You wanted to have your way. You tried negotiating, bargaining, whining. I said if you kept it up, you’d not be going at all.
Then you lost your temper. Now it’s time to cool off.
“You’re getting that cold bath now,” I said.
You froze on the spot, mouth hanging open. Like you couldn’t believe I would really do this to you.
I warned you, but you ignored me. Normally, the mere threat of a cold bath is enough to stop you in your tracks. So, it doesn’t happen often. But we’ve done it before, and you know what to expect.
The tub is full.
I reach over to turn the tap off.
“Get in, please.”
You stand, then stiffly put one hand on the side of the bath. There, you pause.
You’re almost whispering. You don’t want to risk extra time in the cold water for arguing, but it’s difficult for you to make yourself obey. I know you hate the cold. That’s why this is so effective.
I raise my eyebrows at you, ever so slightly. You earned this, and you know it. I don’t need to say it. Still, you hesitate.
“Five,” I say.
A countdown will get you moving. You know If I get to zero you’ll be in more trouble than you can handle.
Screwing your face up, you lift one foot over the side of the bath and place it in the water. Something between a sigh and a gasp escapes between your lips, and you continue to wince as you carefully step onto that leg and place your other foot so you’re standing in the water, shin deep.
“I can’t,” you plead, trembling. I think it’s the fear of the cold, more than the cold itself.
“Four.” I continue my count.
You sink quickly to your knees, letting out a pained sound as you kneel upright in the water, and then a squeal as you lower yourself so you’re kneeling down. The water is up to your lower stomach now, and you’re whimpering and clutching yourself.
“Sit down,” I repeat.
Stiffly, you maneuver in the tub so you’re sitting on your bare bottom, with your legs out in front. This is when you begin to cry.
It’s not heaving sobs; just a trickle of tears from your eyes as you take a few deep breaths, trying to adjust to the freezing water.
It’s a November evening. I know how cold and painful this must feel.
I’ve taken cold baths myself, in the past. It was recommended when I was training heavily, and I took them after long distance runs, submerging only my legs. It would feel as though a thousand pins were sticking into my skin, everywhere the water touched. Sharp and cold, and making my breath want to come rapidly. Even with just my lower body in the water, the coldness seemed to consume me completely.
Then, my skin would seem almost to adjust, as long as I held still and didn’t move in the water. I would lie back in the tub sometimes, just to see if I could, wincing and gasping from the shock of it – I admit I am a bit of a masochist.
“Lie back,” I say. “I want your shoulders under the water.”
“Please…” you whisper, but that’s all. You see my expression and know it’s no use. Your eyes beg me to release you, but you do as you’re told.
Your hands grip the sides of the tub so tightly your knuckles are white – or is that just from the cold too?
Inch by inch, you lower yourself backwards, wincing and whimpering as the freezing surface of the water creeps up your back, and engulfs your upper body. The last little bit you do all at once; screwing your face up and almost shoving yourself back, so your shoulders are submerged.
If not for your expression and stiff posture, it looks almost as though you could be having a relaxing hot bath right now. This is probably the position you’d be in.
Except for you hands that hang onto the sides, as if for dear life. As if you’re terrified of slipping under the water if you should relax your death grip even a little.
“And your arms,” I say.
You release the sides of the tub and plunge them into the water too.
“I’m sorry,” you say, speaking stiffly as if in great pain. “Please ma’am, I’m sorry.”
“I know,” I say. “But you know a temper tantrum is not the way to get what you want, so here we are. And you were clearly warned, weren’t you?”
“Yes ma’am,” you agree. “I’m sorry. I’ll be good now.”
Your words sound strained and I can see you’re struggling. Last time we did this, I took a jug and poured the water over your head. That was because you wouldn’t cooperate. This time, you’ve done as you’ve been told.
I pause for a few moments, watching you mentally struggle in the freezing water. I don’t wait long – It’s probably less than a minute I keep you there. It will feel like a eternity to you, of course.
“Ok, stand up,” I say. “Get out.”
“Thank you!” you gasp, hands flying out of the water to grip the sides again, and yanking yourself up sharply.
“Steady,” I reprimand you, as you surge out of the water, and stand, dripping, the water churning about your shins. “Don’t slip.”
“Yes, sorry,” you say hastily, and take the hand I offer you to help you step from the tub. Your hand feels like ice.
You’re shaking, and your skin is slightly red everywhere where it was submerged by the water. There’s a line just below your neck, where the change in colour happens.
You wait, expectedly, for any further instruction. I didn’t give you a towel, and you hug yourself tightly as you watch me.
“Would you like a spanking?” I say.
“Yes,” you reply at once, almost with relief. “Please. Ma’am,” you tack on.
Finally, I hand you a towel. “Dry off,” I tell you. “And put your nightdress on, no bottoms or panties. You can wear a jumper too.”
“Thank you,” you manage, fumbling with the towel and clutching it tightly around you. I reach out with my thumb to wipe the tears from your cheeks.
“I’ll meet you in the bedroom,” I say. “Wait for me in the corner.”
While you get yourself ready, I go to the kitchen and fill the electric kettle with enough for two mugs, flicking it to boil. I give you the length of time it takes to make two hot chocolates to be ready for me, and then enter the bedroom with them.
As I asked, you’ve got your nose in the corner. Your pink cotton nightdress hangs out below the fluffy purple jumper you put over it. I didn’t ask you to, but you’ve put your hands on your head.
You must have heard me come in – the door creaks – but you know better than to move or look round.
Quietly, I place the hot chocolates on the bedside table on the far side of the bed from you – my side. Then, I take a seat on the edge of your side.
“Come here, little one.”
I’m speaking kindly to you now, and you almost rush to me. I put you over my lap as soon as you’re in reach, and ignore your slight squirminess as I lift your nightdress up out of the way. You clutch at my leg, as if for comfort.
I rub you bottom. The skin still feels cold.
“Am I going to have any more temper tantrums from you any time soon?” I ask.
“No ma’am,” you answer me quickly.
“Good girl,” I say.
I spank steadily and sharply with my hand, and you let loose a few squeals at the sting of it – it must hurt more on your cold bottom.
I pause now and again to rub, and see the colour begin to return to your cheeks. I don’t scold or lecture – we both know why we’re here, and the spanking isn’t the punishment anyway – not really. But I know it’s what you both want and need to close this incident, and put it behind us.
Once your bottom is warm to the touch, I lean over to scoop up the ebony hairbrush which is just in my reach, on your bedside table.
You let out a whimper, but no form of protest, and alternate between holding yourself tensely, and trying to relax.
Going to bed with a sore bottom will help you feel forgiven.
Without prelude, I bring it down in a hard splat against one cheek, then the other. I spank you as thoroughly as I ever do, while you kick your legs, gasp, and whimper from it. But you don’t try to escape. I can see that takes willpower at first.
But then you find it easier to accept, and you cry softly over my lap, murmuring wet apologies through your tears. I think it’s from relief more than anything else.
“Thank you,” you say, as I help you up into a cuddle. You wrap your arms tightly around me, and bury your face into my neck. I hold you for a few moments, and then untangle myself from you so I can shuffle across the bed and reach for one of the mugs of hot chocolate.
Your face lights up in delight as you take it from me. It’s still warm – but cool enough now you can take a mouthful, rather than the careful sips that would normally be needed at first. You drink it gratefully, finished before I’m halfway done with mine, and snuggle gently against me.
“An early bedtime tonight, I think,” I tell you.
“Yeah ok,” you say, resigned.
“Pardon?” I make my voice stern. That’s not how to address me, and you know it.
“Yes ma’am,” you correct yourself, blushing faintly.
We do our bedtime routines – brush teeth, use the loo, brush hair. You sit cross legged on the bed, watching me as I change into my pyjamas. You look like you’re working your way up to asking me something.
“Spit it out then,” I say, finally, after you open your mouth to speak and close it again for perhaps the fifth time. I don’t say it harshly, but you flush a little all the same.
“Can I still go to that party?” you ask a little faintly. “If I leave and come home early?” You look hopeful, but unlikely to argue if I say no.
“Don’t push it,” I say.
You just nod, accepting my answer.
“But I’ll think about it,” I add, coming to join you on the bed. “If you’re good.” I pull the cover back for you. “Scoot down.”
I can see you trying to hide your pleased smile as you snuggle under the covers and receive a goodnight kiss from me. You know I’ll probably let you go, unless you get in serious trouble between now and then.
And I know you’ll come home early.
You may have your moments – but you’re still my good girl.