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When she’d first started getting spanked, it had been a little weird. Not a bad weird, not at all, but she wasn’t sure of it. She enjoyed it, but there was a small quirk of her mind that told her she shouldn’t, that the feelings she was enjoying weren’t meant to be, that there was some crossed wire in her chemistry somewhere that enabled her to enjoy the pain. Her body had been so sore after the first session, and she felt a deep guilt, down to her core, that she’d done something taboo, somehow.

But she’d come back for another one. And after that one, she noticed that her bottom stayed swollen, not just a little bit from the bruising, but got bigger, adapted, was stronger. Not only that, but it felt better. She kept asking for more, and every time she got bigger, and it felt better, and soon that feeling of taboo got much quieter. She enjoyed this, she wanted this. Before long, she’d beg her girlfriend to do it, and if she couldn’t see her, she could slap her own bottom, and squeeze and fondle until she felt the release she needed. Before long, she was buying new clothes, kinky clothes, clothes that fit her inside and out. She wore her new stockings and her barely-there panties under regular clothes, longing for when she could cut loose and enjoy herself. Before long, she left that sense of shame behind entirely, and now here she was, bent over, twice the size she’d been a year ago, begging for another.

“Please keep going, please–” she stopped, gasping, mid-sentence as she felt another sharp slap. “–Please, baby, make me burst these straps off, please–” Gasp, moan, another. “–Please, I love you so much, make me bigger, make my fat ass–” Slap! “–Grow, baby, please, please…”