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"No Giggling"

by No Name

Copyright on this story text belongs at all times to the original author only, whether stated explicitly in the text or not. The original date of posting to the MMSA was: 10 Apr 2018


No giggling, he said.The giggling stopped. He felt the switch brush across the skin of his ass. Then it tapped three times, lightly, preparatory to the first slashing blow. Building the tension. He closed his eyes and tried to transport himself to a different world. He raised his bottom, as he might imagine he was told to do. He braced for the pain. But... . he heard the annoying sound again. Tee hee.

PLEASE don’t giggle.

She was trying. She didn’t want to giggle. But Mark, it’s just that you look so... She was going to say silly, but she caught herself in time. Cute, she finished up, with your bare butt sticking up like that.

Grr, he growled in frustration. He shifted his weight and looked back at her. Midge, he said. We’ve talked about this.

Yes they had. After over six months of dating, Mark had finally gotten the nerve to tell Midge about his spanking fantasy. And he had made it very clear. The fantasy does not work if she doesn’t take her role seriously. There were lots of possibilities and she could choose. She could be the stern disciplinarian, reluctantly punishing him for his own good, to make him behave. She could be the sexual sadist, taking a sick pleasure in inflicting pain and humiliation on his naked body. She could play the teacher, the aunt, the angry girlfriend, the wicked nurse, the babysitter, the winner of a bet, the prison guard, the stepmother, the princess, the pledgemaster, the school principal. She could be angry. She could be triumphant. She could be cruelly lascivious. She could be censorious. She could lecture him about his behavior, make fun of his humiliating nudity, lord it over him, force him into embarrassing position, tie him up, make him cry. But whatever approach she might choose, she had to take it seriously. She must not giggle.

Okay, okay, I’ll try. Let’s start over. Pull up your pants. I’ll sit behind that desk. I’ll be the principal. You are a schoolboy and you have been sent to me with a note from your teacher asking that you be paddled.

That sounded promising. Mark gathered himself up and left the room, closing the door carefully behind him. He stood outside for a moment, then knocked.

Enter, came the female voice. He entered. The female sat behind her desk, concentrating on some papers. He stood respectfully until she recognized his presence. After what seemed like an interminable period but was really only about fifteen seconds, she looked up.

Yes? she said. State your business. He handed her a scrap of paper he had hastily torn from a notebook, explaining that it was from his algebra teacher. Midge scanned the scrap and said: You’ve been a very bad boy. He hung his head in shame. Mentally, he WAS just a bad schoolboy who had been sent to the principal for a well-deserved thrashing.

Yes, ma’am, he said.

Take everything out of your pockets and bend over my desk.

He removed his wallet. Do I have to drop my jeans? he asked, sounding as reluctant as humanly possible.

Mark had told Midge he wanted these scenarios to be realistic. That raised questions in her mind. She was skeptical that kids got paddled in school these days, but maybe they were pretending it was some time in the past: the 50s, maybe. She was also skeptical that a female principal would paddle a male student. But she wouldn’t let that get in the way; obviously Mark’s fantasies required a measure of poetic license. But she was certain that in real life, a female principal paddling a male student would not require him to bare his butt. So she gave the realistic answer: Certainly not.

Can’t she take a hint? Mark thought, but he did not argue with her. A schoolboy in this situation would never argue that he SHOULD be forced to drop his jeans. It would always be the opposite. Thank you, ma’am, he said. I was worried you’d make me bare my butt. He was hoping that the implied statement of willingness to comply would influence his disciplinarian, but it did not.

He bent over the desk, thrusting his butt out as conspicuously as he could. The principal tapped the paddle against his ass three times, and then gave it a swat. If you could call it a swat. He barely felt it. Then she gave him a second, no harder than the first.

Um, Midge, he said.

I thought you said you had to call me ma’am, Midge said.

Yeah, well, I am talking to you, not to your persona. I, uh, well, Midge dear, I can barely feel those taps. You’ve got to put more muscle into it.

She shook her head in disbelief. This was truly crazy. She simply could not imagine why anyone would want to feel pain in their backside. But that is what he asked, so she tried to put more muscle into the next one. SWAT! She waited for a reaction, and got an encouraging ummphff. She let fly with another: SWAT! Mark got his head back into role. He was a schoolboy taking punishment swats from the lady principal. Ouch! he said. That’s what the schoolboy would probably say.

Oh, Mark, was that too hard? Midge put the paddle on the desk. She sounded concerned.

No, of course not. You can hit a lot harder than that.

But you let out a cry of pain! I don’t want to HURT you.

Spankings are supposed to hurt. He straightened up and looked her in the eye. Listen, I will let you know if you’re doing it too hard. I’ll think of some way to communicate that without spoiling the scene.

Oh, Mark, did I spoil the scene? I’m sorry. I really am. Here, just bend back over and let me try again.

He bent over, but the scene was so thoroughly spoiled that it was no fun. Midge swatted his behind two more times. The swats hurt somewhat more this time, but he could not get back into the schoolboy mindset. The point of this activity was not to get his butt burned; it was to experience the whole spanking fantasy. It just doesn’t work when he has to ASK to be hit harder, and his so-called disciplinarian apologizes for hitting him too hard, or not hard enough, or whatever. He stood up, smoothed the seat of his jeans, recovered his wallet, and thanked Midge for trying.

Maybe another time.

* * * * *

Mark and Midge decided to try again, a few days later. Midge wanted him to tell her what scene he had in mind. Mark wanted her to choose. The whole thing was better if she made all the decisions and he just did what he was told. Following orders is part of the fantasy. But she insisted. Mark, you obviously have something in your mind that you want. Don’t make me guess. This isn’t for me. It’s for you.

Already, talk like that was pouring cold water on his fun. He was not supposed to initiate the disciplinary scene. She was. His role was to submit. The punishment wasn’t supposed to be done for him. It was supposed to be done to him. Against his will. But Midge was probably right: He’d be more likely to get a good scene if he gave her some guidance. Let’s do the wicked nurse, he said. Midge was okay with the nurse idea, but wanted to know what a medical check-up had to do with spanking. She thought his thing was about spanking.

At some point, he explained, I will refuse to do what you tell me, and you give me a hard spanking, until I apologize and do what you say.

Midge thought she could play that role – though she harbored doubts that real nurses, even wicked ones – would ever spank grown-up patients, even disobedient ones. Mark suggested they stop off at a costume store to get some props. They picked out a nurse’s white coat and one of those funny nurse hats, a play stethoscope, some fearsome-looking needles, a reflex hammer, and odds and ends. Surreptitiously, Mark added to their pile of purchases an imitation rectal thermometer with lubricant. He paid for the whole collection.

Back home, Mark went into the examination room first, to get ready and wait for the nurse to arrive. He would have preferred to be told to strip while the nurse watched him, but Midge had not thought of that on her own, and he did not want to ASK Midge to REQUIRE him to do it. When Midge went to the doctor, she appreciated the way they respected her privacy. A nurse would NEVER watch her undress. Nurses allow patients to remain fully dressed whenever possible, and leave the room if any undressing is required. They wait outside until the patient is properly gowned if that is necessary, and knock politely at the door when they think it is time. Midge assumed that was the way her nurse persona would treat a patient. If he left it to her, he’d probably still be in his jeans and a tee shirt, long into the examination. So he just pretended that the nurse had told him to get down to his underpants. Like any teenager wearing nothing but underpants, waiting for a female nurse, Mark felt intimidated and embarrassed.

When the nurse came in, wearing her white coat and nurse hat, she acted brisk and authoritative. She made him hop up on the imaginary scales, took his blood pressure, and checked his reflexes. Without being prompted, she felt his abdomen and even made a comment about how boys sometimes didn’t wear clean underwear to their examinations. Her performance was good enough to allow his imagination to sink deep into the fantasy. It is SO EMBARRASSING for a teenage boy to be examined this way by a pretty young nurse, who has no respect for his privacy.

The nurse asked him if he was having any medical problems he wanted her to check out. He said he wasn’t sure, but he might be experiencing a slight fever. Well, then, let’s take your temperature, she said chirpily. They were moving toward the denouement. He would refuse to let her take his temperature back there. She would spank him for defiance. When he had been spanked enough he would give up and she would stick the thing up his ass. This scenario promised the Big Three: Pain, Exposure, Humiliation. He got a frisson of erotic trepidation.

The nurse retrieved the thermometer from her medical bag. Open wide, Markey, she said, jabbing it toward his mouth.

TOWARD HIS MOUTH???

Um, Midge, he said.

You are not to call me by my first name, she responded crisply, remembering one of the things Mark had coached her about. You may call me Nurse. Or Miss, if you prefer.

Um, well, I have something I have to say to you, Midge – to YOU, Midge. He gulped, unsure exactly how to explain the problem. Um, Midge, that’s not an oral thermometer. You don’t use it in the mouth. Mark was embarrassed to say out-and-out that he had purchased a rectal thermometer for her to stick up his asshole. He assumed that telling her it was not an oral thermometer was enough to get his point across.

Midge had never heard of a rectal thermometer, so she didn’t pick up on what he was saying. What do you mean, honey? If you don’t use it in the mouth, where DO you use it?

Mark suggested she read the directions. Midge read them, wide-eyed. She looked at her patient in amazement and disgust. Her boyfriend. Mark, do you... do you want... are you asking me to . . . to... um, FOLLOW THESE DIRECTIONS?

Were all guys this way? Did they all want to... have these things DONE to them? She just didn’t understand men.

I don’t know, Mark. Can’t we just do it the normal way?

The mood was shattered. The scenario would not work if Mark had to PERSUADE her to stick the instrument up his butt. His persona, the embarrassed teenage boy, did not WANT it stuck up his butt. The nurse was supposed to insist, and he was supposed to resist, and then she was supposed to spank him for resisting. Now, somehow, he had been put in the position of trying to persuade her to do it. How did things get so turned around?

* * * * *

Mark and Midge were hanging around her place, which was pretty common, when she had to make a trip to the ladies’ room, leaving him alone for five minutes. When she got back, she was SHOCKED. Mark had her purse in his hands. As she reentered the room, he looked up, startled, and dropped the purse to the floor. In his fingers were two $20 bills. She had caught him pilfering money from her purse!

He had a totally guilty look on his face, and immediately started offering ridiculous excuses. Midge was having none of it. She ordered him out of the house and said she never wanted to see him again. You’re lucky I don’t call the police and have you arrested! she exclaimed.

My, she was cute when she was mad.

No, not the police! Mark cried with a tone of desperation. Not that! Please, miss, won’t you punish me... a different way? He even grabbed his butt with both hands, to make his meaning clear. When into a role, Mark could be quite the thespian.

Midge was not quick on the uptake. Punish you a different way? she repeated, in a puzzled voice. What on earth are you talking about?

The young man looked shamefaced at the floor and shifted his weight from right to left. His lower lip quivered. Well, um, miss, I don’t rightly know. But don’t call the police! Maybe you should just, I don’t know, well... spank me instead. He was the picture of reluctance, but also of contrition and submission to authority.

Midge was not in the mood for Mark’s silly spanking fantasies. She stamped her foot. Mark, forget it, she said. This is theft. It is not one of your stupid fantasies. I am SERIOUS.

Mark raised his eyes sheepishly. Than maybe you should give me a serious spanking, he said hopefully. No, make that apologetically. Abjectly. He had been caught red-handed. He was ready to face the music. As long as the music was played out on his backside.

I am not about to spank your bottom when I am angry. Besides, you’d enjoy it. It wouldn’t really be punishment. I caught you stealing money from my purse. I am appalled. I am disappointed. I am furious. I want you out of the house, right now, and don’t come back!

The light dawned. Mark ceased giving his performance of the boy caught doing something naughty, and looked Midge in the face. Midge, dear... he started out.

Don’t Midge, dear me! the irate young woman interrupted. You can’t sweet talk me into ignoring something this important.

No, Midge, listen. Wasn’t it obvious? I wasn’t really stealing money from you. That’s unthinkable! I was just, well, you know how we’ve been trying... I was just giving you a reason to, um, well, give me a, well, a spanking. I was just setting up one of our scenarios.

Midge slapped her forehead with her right hand. Of course! What an idiot she had been! She should have known Mark would never steal from her purse – and certainly that he would not do it so clumsily, putting on that show of dropping the purse just as she came in the room. It was one of his spanking fantasy things. She should have seen that from the first. Well, now that she realized what was going on, she would try to play along.

Yes, young man, you deserve a spanking. That’s what you deserve and that’s what I am going to give you. Then she hesitated. She wanted this to be good for him, and she did not have a good instinct about exactly what to do. What do you want, Mark? To go over my knee for a hand spanking? Or to bend over for a paddling. Or something else?

This was not working out. It is up to you, miss. You are the one punishing me. It has to be your decision.

Oh but Mark, I want to do it the way you want. I’m sorry I missed your signal before, but now I want to make it up to you. Just tell me what kind of spanking you want and I will give it to you.

But Midge, you don’t understand. If I tell you want kind of spanking I want, it’ll ruin the effect. He tried to explain – again – that a spanking isn’t a spanking if you ask for it; it has to be against your will.

But it ISN’T against your will, Mark. I would never hit someone against their will. That would be like an assault!

He tried again to explain the psychology of the thing, but he kept tripping up. It sounded self-contradictory. He wanted it but couldn’t want it. He was consenting to it, but it had to be forced on him. It was his idea, but it had to be her idea. The explanations did not make much sense even to him, let alone to Midge. She giggled. Mark, the whole thing is crazy, in my opinion, but I am willing to go along for your sake. If you want pain to your butt, well, it makes no sense, but I suppose I can supply it.