Spanking My University Tenant

I lived alone in a large house near the university, a place I had called home for many years. I was 65 years old, a widower with no children, and over time the quiet had grown heavier than I expected. After thinking about it for a long while, I decided to rent out one of the spare rooms. I told myself it was partly to help with expenses, but the truth was simpler: I didn’t want the house to feel so empty anymore.

After some hesitation, I placed a small advertisement in the local newspaper. It was brief and practical, nothing personal, just a room for rent in a quiet house near the university. I didn’t expect much response. Almost a week passed in silence, and I had nearly forgotten about it when the phone rang one evening. On the other end was a young woman’s voice, polite and slightly uncertain, asking about the room. That was the first time I heard Caroline speak.

Caroline was nineteen and came from a small town near Avignon, in the south of France. She told me that much early on. She had finished high school there and decided to leave to become a nurse. Opportunities in France were limited, so she chose Berlin for its strong nursing program at Alice Salomon University of Applied Sciences, plus the chance for independence in a bigger city. Beyond that, she didn’t explain much. Whatever pushed her to cross borders so young, she kept mostly to herself.

I still remember the first time I met Caroline.

She wore a fitted black short sleeved top, simple and practical, with a small silver heart shaped pendant resting at her chest. Her blue jeans fit her comfortably, nothing flashy or deliberate. From where I stood, she just looked at ease, moving naturally, as if she hadn’t given much thought to how she came across. There was something ordinary and genuine about her appearance, and that was what made her stand out to me in a quiet way.

She wore a fitted black short sleeved top, simple and unassuming, with a silver heart shaped pendant resting lightly at her chest. Her blue jeans fit her perfectly, snug without looking forced, and as she moved, my eyes were drawn to the round, firm shape they traced, the denim outlining her figure in a way that felt almost impossible to ignore. It was nothing she seemed aware of, or at least nothing she acknowledged, but it made a quiet impression all the same.

I thought she was anything but shy. From the start, she spoke easily, her words flowing without hesitation, answering my questions with confidence and even asking a few of her own. She met my eyes without discomfort, a faint, relaxed smile appearing now and then. She handed me the rent matter of factly, thanked me, and chatted lightly as I helped her carry her things upstairs. Most of it was light, a couple of bags and a small suitcase, and the task was over quickly. Instead of retreating to her room, she spent part of the afternoon moving around the house, exploring, commenting on small details, clearly making herself at home. I did not mind at all. In fact, I found her energy reassuring. Her openness, her ease in the space, gave the house a liveliness it had been missing and made my decision to rent the room feel immediately justified.

As time passed, we grew unexpectedly close. Evenings became our quiet routine. We would sit together at night, talking about our days, her stories from the university, my own small routines, the simple things that fill ordinary lives. Little by little, she began to cook in the evenings simple meals at first and I took care of buying the food. Sharing those dinners brought us closer than I had ever planned, turning the house into something that finally felt like family.

Unfortunately, nothing lasts forever. As the months passed, Caroline began spending more and more time at the university. At first, the change was subtle, almost imperceptible. She took longer to reply to my messages, and when she did, her answers were brief, stripped of the warmth they once carried. She started coming home later and later, sometimes well past midnight. I would hear the soft creak of the door and her careful footsteps as she tried not to wake me, and I understood, without either of us saying it aloud, that something between us was quietly shifting.

One night, everything changed. She came home very late, much later than usual, and the moment I saw her, I knew something was wrong. Her movements were slow, her eyes unfocused, and there was a faint, unmistakable smell of alcohol clinging to her clothes. She tried to slip past me quietly, avoiding my gaze, as if hoping I wouldn’t notice. I stepped aside to block her path.

Seeing her like that unsettled me more than I expected. What I felt wasn’t control or habit—it was worry, mixed with a sharp, unfamiliar disappointment.

Before I had time to reconsider, I spoke.

“Caroline… where have you been?”

She stopped. For a brief moment, her face tightened, as if she were deciding whether to explain herself or not. Then her expression hardened. She crossed her arms and lifted her chin slightly.

“That’s none of your business,” she said flatly. “I’m an adult.”

That answer hit me harder than I expected. The dismissive tone, the look in her eyes—something in me snapped. My patience gave way to anger, sharp and sudden.

“An adult?” I shouted back, my voice echoing through the hallway. “Then start acting like one. You walk into this house in that state and think you owe no explanation at all? This is not how things work under my roof.”

She laughed bitterly, a harsh edge in her voice.

“Seriously? You think you get to boss me around? I do what I want. You’re not my parent, and I don’t owe you a damn thing.”

“What’s wrong with you? Who do you think you are?”

I grabbed her arm tightly. I stared at her for a few seconds and started leading her toward the bedroom, dragging her along without letting go.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?”

“You think you can stumble in here at all hours of the night, clearly out of it, and there won’t be consequences?”

“I’m not… I’m not drunk.”

She mumbled, avoiding my gaze, tugging harder to free herself. I wasn't buying it. Her red eyes, the way her words stumbled over each other, it was obvious.

“You're not going to lie to me, Caroline.”

I said, my voice low and serious.

“And you’re not going to keep putting yourself in danger like this. Tonight, you’re going to learn two things: one, you don’t lie to me, and two, you’re never doing this again.”

I cared about her too much to let her spiral like this. Before she could protest further, I scooped her up, her small frame light in my arms, and carried her to my bed. She squirmed and giggled, clearly not grasping the gravity of the situation.

“ARE YOU CRAZY?”

“I'm doing what your parents should've done a long time ago.”

I said, my tone stern as I laid her across my lap on the edge of the bed. Two firm spanks over the seat of her tight blue jeans. The denim offered some protection, but the impact still made her jolt.

“You're not coming home like this again, understood?”

I said, pulling her closer and giving her three more sharp spanks across the denim covered backside. She yelped, squirming in my lap.

“What's wrong with you? Stop it!”

She cried, her voice rising as I unbuttoned her jeans and tugged them down to her knees, revealing a black thong that caught me completely off guard. For someone so naive and in need of guidance, it felt wildly inappropriate and it only fueled my frustration.

The first smack landed hard, my palm flat across both cheeks. The sound cracked through the room like a gunshot. She exploded.

“No! Wait, please! I'm too old for this!” she wailed, kicking her trapped legs frantically, the jeans flapping ridiculously around her ankles now. “I swear I'll never do it again, never, never, please stop!”

Another sharp slap, harder this time, right across the thin strip of black fabric that barely covered anything. She bucked wildly, hips grinding against the bed, her hands clawing at the sheets.

“I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!”

She cried, voice breaking into frantic, breathless sobs. Her whole body was moving frenetically now, writhing, twisting, thighs clenching and unclenching as she tried to escape and somehow rub herself against something at the same time. Every smack made her jolt forward, then immediately push her ass back up for the next one, like she couldn't decide if she was running away or begging for more.

I didn't stop. I kept going until her pleas turned into desperate, wet little sobs, until the black thong was soaked through and clinging transparently to her, until she was trembling so hard she could barely hold herself up. Only then did I pause, my hand resting possessively on the burning, crimson skin I'd just marked. She stayed bent over, panting, shaking, utterly undone.

“I'm sorry! I swear, I'm sorry! I won't do it again, just stop!”

She pleaded, her voice cracking as tears welled up in her big brown eyes.

“Do you promise?”

I asked, delivering ten more hard spanks, each one making her squirm and cry out louder. Her legs kicked wildly, the jeans bunched at her knees restricting her movement as her small body writhed and she gripped the bedsheets.

I stepped back for a moment, then reached down and finished what I'd started: I hooked my fingers under the waistband of her soaked black thong and slid it down her thighs along with the jeans, letting both pool at her ankles before kicking them aside. She was left completely bare from the waist down, only her black top still on, its hem brushing just above her red, swollen cheeks.

I gave her a couple more slaps on her bare ass and took her firmly by the arm and guided her to the corner, positioning her facing the wall. I pulled out my phone, framed the shot—her vulnerable figure, the rumpled top, her marked ass on full display. The flash made her whimper softly, but she didn't dare move.

I pocketed the phone and leaned in close, my voice low and steady near her ear.

“You need to understand this is for your own good. You're going to stand here for exactly fifteen minutes, bottom bare. No complaints, no fidgeting, no words unless I ask you something. Understood?”

She swallowed hard, her voice a trembling whisper.

“Yes… I understand.”