A Collection of Short Stories
|by Y Lee Coyote|
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: 26 Oct 2006
I have been struggling with the problem of posting a batch of short (500 word) stories. If I only had a couple, then there would not be a problem but to flood the archive with a twenty of them seemed improper. I decided to post them as a set like last year.
Each summer there is a Short Story Contest <http://socsexualityspanking.org/ssc/2006/index.html> in the newsgroup soc.sexuality.spanking. It is only a contest in the general sense since the only strict rules are a limit of 500 words and that the stories are related to spanking. I have selected some of mine as appropriate for this archive. Need I state that they are all on my own site.
These are of course all fiction.
These works are copyright by the author and commercial use is prohibited without permission. Personal/private copies are permitted only if complete including the copyright notice.
Several of these stories have been inspired by pictures although the images are not truly significant except at an initial stimulus. They maybe found at: http://socsexualityspanking.org/ssc/2006/pics/
I don't usually come up with edge stories that are not pushing the meaning of the word but this time I did. It was inspired by a picture I saw but cannot post because I don't know who to ask for permission.
Crime and Punishment
Mike had tossed his shirt on the porch when he got home and played catch with his best friend in the warm afternoon until he was called for dinner. Just as he entered the house from the yard, his father entered from the front. Seconds later there was an explosion; a human explosion as his father passed the living room.
"Get to your room immediately, Michael Thomas Jones. That vase you broke was a wedding present."
Mike knew what vase for there was only one, but this was the first that he knew of the damaged condition. "I did not...." was all that he could say before his father roared again and his mother joined in. He ran to his room and dropped across his bed. Michael waited in great dread, his pert little ass upward lying over a pillow. Two things he knew! First, he did NOT break the vase. Second, father was furious and would use the strap.
Golly, he had not even been in the house since he left for school in the morning so he couldn't have broken it. How to tell his father in his furious state?
Mike vividly remembered the last time his father as been so very mad.
He had been made to wait more than a half hour until his father came up.
Then the yelling about the crime. The loud ranting that did not make sense.
Then his father pulling his belt open and out of his pants. That thick, wide, heavy, stiff leather belt.
Then the belt raised up and coming down swiftly and hard on his little bottom. The loud WHACK of contact and the terrible pain that caused him to scream. And it was repeated until he was bawling and in agony. How he could not sit conformably for days afterwards.
His father would have continued except his mother had stopped him. But today mother was just as angry as father.
The beating would be worse. Much worse!
He wanted to cry, but father would beat him even more did that.
Then there was the dreaded footsteps on the stairs. Only one set – so mother would not be here to stop him. «I must be strong. I must be brave.» he thought to himself. He heard his brother come in and yell "Hello" over the slamming door.
His father was coming closer. Mike wished he had used the toilet but now was too late.
His father began his screaming about the vase and his carelessness and disobedience and disrespect and ... and ... and ... and how he was going to get it.
Then he heard his mother give a yell.
Then his brother bounding up the stairs.
Then his brother running into his room.
Then his brother yelling: "DAD STOP! Mike did NOT break the vase. The maid did and told me. I was late coming back."
Mike smiled at his brother as their father stormed out.
For the record, the picture showed a shirtless boy lying prone with his most spankable bottom in jeans and turning with a smile to match the ending.
This is a mini-saga which is limited to fifty words. A quick little reprise.
"You again, Rowen; slip."
Rowen dropped his shorts and pants, and bent over the desk.
"SWISH!" "SWISH!" "SWISH!" "SWISH!" "SWISH!" "SWISH!"
"You may go now, Rowen"
"Yes, sir; Thank you, sir."
Rowen could only look forward to being the centre of attraction in PE later.
The challenge for this story was to be inspired by a picture portending to be of school lockers.
Thaddeus Throckmorton's Day Off
Thaddeus Throckmorton was almost to his goal. It had taken him twenty minutes to get this far but now he could see the light at the end of the tunnel. From the crowded fourth floor hall he had managed to slip into the teachers' stairwell and get to the unused fifth floor. There he took the service stairs to the basement. He had to hide while the janitor finished hauling the ashcans out, but then he slipped up the stairs to the main floor.
Turning the corner he could see the bright light of the day – a day not to be wasted in a stuffy school – down this last corridor lined with the staff lockers. He would be at the door – and freedom – in less than a minute.
Great! Nobody was at the lockers. He started down the hall. He listened carefully at the staff lunchroom. It was quiet so he peeked and quickly stepped past it.
Just another few steps across the empty back hall and the vestibule to the DOOR to freedom. He pushed it open and stepped through. He was free! Even the air smelt better here.
Then there was a bellow.
It was a bellow from Eckel; vice-principal Eckel; ex-drill sergeant Eckel, mean paddling Eckel.
"Thaddeus Throckmorton STOP RIGHT THERE!"
TT froze in his tracks. His heart seemed to jump into his throat. His balls tried to hide in his abdominal cavity. There wasn't any point to run. He was busted and he knew it.
"Good morning, Mr. Eckel." he stammered.
Docilely he followed the VP to his office. The office where the dreaded paddle hung on the wall.
"Any explanation, mister?"
"No, Sir." It was well known that trying to weasel out with Eckel made things worse. Sometimes even extras! It was best to just take the pops like a warrior.
TT stepped over to the wall and took down the paddle. His hand trembled as he handed it to Eckel. He had been through this before. Eckel had a wry smile on his ugly face as he accepted the torture device.
"Drop 'em and bend over, Throckmorton." He knew the routine; he knew it all to well after three years in this school. He slowly undid his jeans and pushed them to his knees and bent over leaning his hands on the wooden side chair. His tighty-whites were new and clung to his buttocks like they were sprayed on. He was glad that they held his package tightly and safely out of range.
Eckel got into position and tapped TT's butt with the heavy, dense, fraternity paddle. Then he drew it back and swung. He swung hard.
TT yelled. It fuckin' hurt! It was worse than the dentist. He held his position.
The pain was numbing.
Halfway. It was agony.
TT was not numb enough.
"Get dressed, mister."
TT pulled up his jeans and headed for class; slowly for his ass was on fire.
I saw a boy with a T-shirt described and was inspired.
The Annoying Boy
"Being annoying is only one of my many talents" is what his t-shirt proclaimed. I can not speak of his other talents, but he certainly was extremely good at being annoying. He hung out all the time at the mall, mostly in the food court and the arcade, managing to harass everyone about. It was not that he was really bad but such a major pest.
He had been brought to my office a half dozen times the first month of summer vacation and I lectured him. It did not do any good. Even when he was with his mom, he was a vexation. Then one day I saw him with his father (the non-custodial parent). He was an angel. I had a chat with the man. The boy did not like what his dad authorized. I even got it on paper.
He was good for almost two weeks and then reverted back to his old habits. It was not long before he was in my office again. He was surprised that his father had left a letter for him directing him to cooperate with me or suffer much greater consequences. He stood docilely in front of me as I opened his jeans and pulled them and his boxers down to his ankles. It was clear that he was familiar with the procedure as I pulled him over my lap. He was surprised that I did not use my hand but a short leather strap. After some thirty cuts, his bottom was nice and red and his face was wet. I parked him in the corner where I could admire my handiwork for a while.
I told him it would be worse for him the next time and he promised to behave properly.
He almost made it through the rest of the summer, but on one of the most crowded days, he got into trouble. Perhaps it was peer pressure or he just reached his limit but it happened. The guard was holding him on the little stage in the gallery. That was enough to get the kids gathered about.
It was only when I got on the stage with the chair, that he realized I was going to spank him there – publically. He turned white with fear and shame and then red in embarrassment. He quickly begged me not to do it there but in the privacy of my office. "You were a vexation out here, so here it shall be!" I told him. After I sat, I told him to get into position. He cooperated as soon as he realized it was going to happen. He opened his jeans and quickly shoved them down and flopped over my lap. I turned his butt red with the strap. At the end I got a great big round of applause.
He dashed away as soon as he pulled up his jeans – followed by a lot of the other kids. I got complimented on my t-shirt: "SPANKING annoying boys is only one of my many talents"
An empty box can be an inspiration. The era of this story could be past, present or future.
Filling the Box
The allotment was just a cubic foot – one small box. That's all I could take – just that one box. There were not any other restrictions and they would supply everything else – food, clothing, tools, shelter – everything. I would go on board – naked – with only memories and the sealed box to take to my new world. I was amazed at how fast the box filled up. The State had supplied a thick packet of official information about my ancestors and me – medical and social. I had some photos of my parents (may they rest in peace), their wedding rings and father's watch as keepsakes. The old coin that grandpa had given me when I was six slipped into a crack.
I wanted some stuff of my life. That very first trophy I got in school. It is a cheap thing (chipped and dented) but mother was ever so proud of me for getting it. I still feel her happiness every time I see it even though it is from half a life ago. My very first jock strap. I can still hear dad saying: "You're no longer a little boy now, Son." as I handed the clerk the cash (Dad had given me before) to pay for it. We were so proud together. A happy loving family.
But most important is the strap. The thick, wide black leather strap. The strap that dad used to blister my tail several times after he got me the jock and before his death. The strap that made me cry. The strap that made me think. The strap that made me grow up. The strap that continues to make me grow as I remember how dad used it on me and, more important, why. The strap that turned my butt into a fiery painful mess and left me crying like a little kid. The strap that I should have felt tanning my rear several more times except that there was not anyone I could trust to do it.
In morning I showered. My aunt and uncle had left a cold note: "Goodbye". No matter, I did not like them either. The box and I went to the departure point. They sealed my box. I stripped and walked up the gangplank carrying just THE BOX. There was a sharp gust of a frigid wind. The sleet hit my ass like a doctor's slap at birth. I was reborn. My new life had begun.
This story uses the characters from the Leave It to Beaver TV show that premiered almost fifty years ago in 1957 and ran through 1963. The story is about The Beaver (Theodore) who was stuck in the third grade a long time, had an older brother, Wallace (Wally) and very standard parents in a standard little town. It is still shown on TVLand cable channel. Their description is at www.tvland.com/shows/litbeaver and other info can be found on the web. Here you might think of them as nine and thirteen years old.
Need I say that I'm using these copyright characters under the parody rule for fair use.
A Day Alone
The dinner discussion on Friday was a reprise of Thursday's except this time Ward and June acquiesced. The boys both promised to be GOOD and Beaver understood that Wallace was in charge. They thought that their parents were excessively concerned as they were going to be gone only from early morning to midnight.
The boys were really good – getting their homework and chores done by lunch. Afterwards, Beaver went to the movies with Gilbert and Richard while Wally took Mary Ellen Rogers to the park. All seemed idyllic to Wally as he headed home for dinner with his brother. He was particularly anxious that all go well as their parents were planning a weekend trip soon and having a babysitter would be most embarrassing now that Wally was in highschool. He was delighted to see Beaver heading home right on-time for he knew that Gilbert and Richard often led Beaver astray. The rest of the evening should be a breeze.
Beaver was soaking wet!
From ten feet away, Wally could tell that Beaver stank like a swamp. There was not any question that he had not only been to Miller's Pond but had been IN it.
"THEODORE CLEAVER!" yelled Wally as he gave Beaver a tongue lashing. "You're a VERY NAUGHTY BOY who BROKE HIS PROMISES not to mention going off-limits." Wally stripped him at the backdoor, to avoid messing up the house, and ordered him to take a hot bath. Beaver was quite surprised at how strict his big brother was being.
Over dinner Beaver tried to explain how his friends had dragged him to the pond; it hadn't been planned and that he was really, really very, very sorry. "And do we really have to tell mom and dad?"
"Well, for one, your clothes stink."
"We can wash 'em." He ran out to the porch and then put them into the washing machine.
Wally, fortunately, beat him to the soap and only put in a little. As the washer did its thing, Wally continued.
"Beaver, you know that you are strictly forbidden to go to Miller's Pond and you need to be punished for that. You could have DROWNED today."
A crestfallen Beaver stared at the floor but suddenly brightened up. "You could punish me, Wally. Dad said you were in FULL CHARGE. Then we wouldn't have to tell them."
"Interesting, Beaver, but I can't stop your desserts, allowance or ground you."
Beaver paused again. "Well...you...could...spank...me...like grandpa spanked dad."
"It will hurt."
A few minutes later, Wally lowered Beaver's jeans and tighty-whities prior to pulling his naughty brother over his lap. Wally held him securely in place with one arm and contemplated the target. He gave it a pat and then a good hard SPANK.
Wally spanked his brother until his bottom was bright red all over and he was crying.
When lifted up Beaver hugged his brother as he continued to cry. Eventually, he whispered: "I love you, Wally. You don't have to tell now."
A bit of fantasy with roots in old folk stories.
The child was a problem for he refused to conform to society's norms. He was warned, repeatedly, that extreme measures would be taken. Finally, he was swapped for a human spawn. They picked a good family which did not abuse their children but were extremely strict. The fairies moved on. The exchange was permanent.
Moirean, now Simon, wanted to run away but he couldn't because of the spell that had been cast on him for the exchange. Not only was he trapped in human society but in this particular family. He made the best of it hoping to break the spell someday and take revenge on his tribe.
The humans, of course, knew nothing of the swap so they expected their 'new' Simon to behave like the 'old' one. The father consulted the elders for guidance about his suddenly extremely willful and rebellious son. The boy was warned several times but failed to change his errant ways so he was taken to the woodshed. Simon's britches were removed and he was bent over for several hard cuts with the heavy strap. This wasn't the punishment and pain he had experienced in the fairy world. He cried for sometime. He hurt, resentfully, for days.
It was but two days later that the schoolmaster had his go. In front of the class, Simon lost his britches again and learnt what a schoolmaster's rod could do. Again he cried. The welts lasted more than a week; the resentment far longer.
Simon got spanked almost twice a week although with time, great effort and some fairy magic he got to tolerate the punishment better. He managed not to cry and minimized the pain. This kept his sprit unbroken but stimulated harsher beatings.
* * * * * * * * * *
Moirean, as the human youth was now called, was amazed at the transformations. He missed his own world – except for the beatings – but the fairy world was fascinating. He found magic both enchanting and addictive. By the time he understood the initial lies, he no longer wished to return. It was a happier life than he had known.
It started without warning. There was a pain in his bottom – like he was being strapped. He yelled and there was another and another. He lost count at ten although his butt was on fire and he was crying. Then just as suddenly, the phantom blows stopped although the pain continued. Spells failed to remove the pain although ice and soothing cream alleviated it some. Two days later a similar event although this time there were tracks rather than a general fire. It felt like the schoolmaster's rod.
When the problem continued and even the elders could neither explain nor stop it, Moirean was taken to the Great Wizard. The wizard listened and questioned; thought and consulted many ancient tomes of wisdom and spells before explaining. "This is sympatric magic between the two that were swapped. It will continue while both live as Changelings. There is but one solution – swap them back."
Recently I heard a reading of the great short story The Veldt (1951) by Ray Bradbury. It gave me an idea. If you don't know the story, you should go read it before mine which is not nearly as good and assumes you know its universe. It can be found at www.veddma.com/veddma/Veldt.htm
A quick reminder that the parents are George and Lydia Hadley and their ten-year-old children are Wendy and Peter. David McClean is a psychologist. The nursery is a play room that is much like the StarTrek's holodeck.
Not the Veldt
Just an hour after David McClean had examined the nursery the technician had reprogrammed it with enhanced security features. Whatever the children had done to turn the nursery into an unhealthy place was erased. The children were in for a surprise that afternoon.
Wendy and Peter went to the nursery as soon as they got home. It did not become the veldt as expected nor even the green, lovely forest. It was, although the children did not know it, a rural one room schoolhouse with a mean schoolmaster of a time past. They were caught up by other children rushing not to be tardy. "Hurry! He swings a mean rod." they warned. Wendy and Peter joined them. A new adventure would surely be fun.
They quickly leant that this was a school and that the master was fond of beating the students. Because it was new, they found it interesting although the lack of technical devices was quite puzzling. It became fascinating when Jedediah displeased the master. They had never imagined such a thing! The lad docilely went to the front of the room, unhooked the strap that held up his coveralls which just fell to the floor. Essentially naked, he bent over and got four hard cuts from the schoolmaster's rod that left red tracks on his buttchecks. They both were sure that he was in pain as he stood in the corner, exposed.
At recess Wendy and Peter talked. They had both tried to take control of the nursery. They would have left but they couldn't find the door. They were upset as spoiled brats can be. "What if..." they worried "...that monster wants to beat us?"
An hour later Peter displeased the schoolmaster and got summoned. He wanted to run but couldn't and he certainly wouldn't leave his sister. His mind was in overdrive trying to take control of the nursery and Wendy was helping. Perhaps it was the two of them working in concert or the great fear that drove Peter's psi power to increase, but, finally, there was a change. Peter tried to make the schoolhouse vanish but couldn't although he was able to hold it frozen in time. He gave Wendy control. Although he was not potent enough to delete the school program he could modify it. He created a new character with a mission.
He had faith in the nursery and continued forward. He let his pants down and bent over the desk just as Jedediah had done. The schoolmaster pickup his rod and stepped into position.
The door slammed into the wall as the RoboJusticeEnforcer pushed it hard. "STOP!" Everyone, even the schoolmaster, was shocked and stared in amazement at the large, intimidating form. RoboJusticeEnforcer took the rod from the schoolmaster and recited a long passage from the law finishing with "...and the penalty is ten strokes."
RoboJusticeEnforcer shredded the schoolmaster's pants and pushed him across the desk. Peter accepted the rod and administered justice.
"This could be fun like the veldt, Wendy." Peter said as they left.
A teddy bear is a wondrous friend.
There you are Mr. Bear. I'm sorry that you have been hidden in my toy chest for several years and I'm now glad that mom made me keep you although I had to hide you from my friends. You know that now I'm a BIG boy in the third grade. They would make fun of me if they saw such a babyish toy in my room. Although I got all sorts of big boys' toys now to play with I really need you tonight, Mr. Bear, in bed with me. I know that you remember that you promised not to tell anyone the secrets I tell you. It feels so good to hold you so very tightly as I lay on my side. I know that you can see that I'm still crying – just a little – because dad just spanked me. He spanked me very, very hard and for a very, very long time. Even though I'm nine years old I cried just like I did when I was a little boy. And my bottom HURTS a lot and is very, very red. Daddy was very, very mad at me. It really was an ax-i-dent that I knocked little Susie down. I was running after Kevin and did not see her. She wasn't hurt at all. Daddy knows that because he picked her up and she said so but he was still very, very mad. He sent Kevin home and made me stand in the corner until dinner. Right after I ate – and I was very, very good cleaning my plate and even eating all the, ugh, veggies but BEFORE DESSERT – he sent me to bathe and brush my teeth and wait for my spanking just sitting on my bed. When Daddy came up, he lectured me for a very, very long time about being careful and considerate and everything. He did not want to hear that it was an ax-i-dent but said I must be careful – very, very careful not to hurt my little sister ever; never ever! I promised that I wouldn't even without daddy telling me to but he SPANKED me anyway. Daddy sat in the wooden chair like he always does and stripped off my pj's and even my superman briefs. Then he pulled me over his lap and held me tightly about the waist. He raised his SPANKING HAND and gave me the first SPANK. It was very, very hard and I yelled. He kept SPANKING me very, very hard even after I was bawling like a little baby; like I did years ago when I was just a little boy. It hurt very, very much. Daddy held me a long time while I cried. When I stopped he gave me an extra hug and a kiss and told me he loved me. He left and I got you, Mr. Bear, from the toy chest to sleep with. You understand me and never ever want to spank me. I luv you, Mr. Bear.
An old rustic cabin probably in disrepair since neither the cabin nor the picket fence is painted is the inspiration for this chilling tale. I will warn my readers that this gets a bit edgy.
Cabin of Horrors
I had to pass the Cabin every day. Mother and I lived on the edge of town and whenever I went to school, Wilk's general store (where I worked after school) or even church, I had to pass the Cabin. Each and every time I got chills and rushed past it. No, it wasn't ghosts but Old Man Reckanagel who lived there. He wasn't that old – maybe fifty – but he was strong. After my father died, mother arranged with him that he would deal with me when I was bad, naughty, fresh, uppity or whatever, like a father does with his son.
When I 'did not know my place' some self-righteous adult – the schoolmaster, the minister, Wilks and many others – would write a note which I would have to take to Mr. Reckanagel who would deal with me. He knew only one way; that was to beat me!
Until I was ten, he would just spank me. Looking back that was comparatively gentle but I did not think so at the time. He would look at the note and say: "You earned yourself a spanking, boy." Never, not even once did he ask me for my side of the story. Then he would strip me completely and haul me over his lap. He held me in place tightly so that no matter how much I wiggled and squirmed I would stay put while his big hard hand spanked my ass. I always cried and usually bawled and hurt for days afterwards. When he had decided it was enough, he would push me off his lap, tell me: "Pick up your clothes and GIT, boy." I dressed outside his gate – rain or shine – hot or cold – worried about people coming by.
After I was ten, I 'graduated' to the strap. All the procedures were the same except that I had to bend over a bench (which he thoughtfully provided) once I was naked. He had this leather strap – a quarter of an inch thick, two inches wide and five feet long. He would fold it double and have a great time turning my butt into a seared hunk of meat. You can bet that I really howled. I'm sure that he loved that. After all, that's what a brutal sadist like their victims to do.
But I won't get any more chills when I go that way again. The town buried Reckanagel today – just three days after the fire. It was a great tragedy that during the blizzard, on the coldest night of the year, when no one was out, that his house burnt down. The sheriff said: "He must have slipped when he got up to put some wood on the fire in the middle of the night and knocked the stove over. Many a time I told him that a broken leg on the stove was dangerous."
I know better than to question an important adult like the sheriff. After all, Reckanagel taught me to know my place and to keep quiet.
The picture is a closeup of traditional schoolroom slate blackboard wooden chalk rail on which rest an eraser and a piece of chalk. The story is set prior to 1950 in the USA.
Privileges, Responsibilities and Consequences
Rank has it privileges. I am the board monitor and the privilege that position has is to be able throw the loaded eraser at my classmates. I had just finished cleaning the board when I got the urge and targeted Ernie. I got him right on the back of his jacket and left a great chalk mark.
Rank also has it responsibilities. In this case the responsibility was not to be caught. No one would tell under pain of total and complete ostracization. Unfortunately, Hutcherson stepped into the room early and saw the mushroom cloud. He was most displeased.
He barked. I picked up the eraser and placed it on the chalk rail next to a piece of chalk.
Now he is going on about all this but I'm not listening. I'm worried about the consequences.
I stare at the chalk next to the eraser. Perhaps I will have to write on the board "I will never throw the eraser again" a hundred times and then re-clean the board with the eraser.
Perhaps I will have to spend an hour or two in detention. That would mean not playing with my friends and teasing Ernie.
Perhaps it will be a chat with The Board. The Board of Education is a standard frat paddle that packs quite a wallop. It will probably be four pops if I get that. I'll have to drop my pants along with my briefs and then bend over his desk with the whole class watching. The sun might never shine on my butthole, but many in the class will see it because I''ll have to spread my legs. And, even worse, my stuff will be hanging down and will also be on display. The girls love this part even more than the actual pops. The guys have seen it all before in gym so they will watch carefully as Hutcherson paddles my vulnerable tail. They'll listen carefully both for the WHACKS and whatever noise I make. They will cherish any yells and cries along with my butt turning red. They won't let me forget it if I yell like a baby. It would not be so bad if it was private but it isn't. It's doubly humiliating to yell as well as to be forced to moon the class. «Oh, Lord, please help me take it like a man in silence and not like a crybaby. Please.»
My thoughts are interrupted. Mr. Hutcherson has taken out the 'judge'. It is a simple device – a board with a pointer. I must assist fate to choose my punishment. I spin the pointer. It goes around and around and gradually slows down. I watch the fields as it slows down – 'Board', 'Lines', 'Detention'. It stops on ... 'Pass'.
I sigh with relief. I escaped. My classmates also sigh but for a different reason – they wanted for me to get paddled. They will have to wait. Maybe next week someone else will be caught and get it.
Now that I would enjoy.
This is set in seventeenth century England.
Not a Good Day
Stefan was worried. It was Saturday which was the best day. There had been two hangings in the town square at noon. It was the big market day.
But it had been a bad day for him.
Even with all that activity all he had managed was to find a couple of coppers and then he had to dig them out from under the donkey turds that fell on them. Yes, he got two purses but they were both light. The better of them had only one small silver coin.
At least the knife was sharp and he hadn't been caught.
The butcher and his boy had been most diligent safeguarding the meat so he had not been able to snatch even a scrawny chicken.
It was his worst day in months.
He had not even seen a watch to try for.
He had to be extra careful and wary because the local Lord was in town with his guards and the Sheriff had all his men out. Many eyes were watching.
Maybe if he had gotten a ring or hairpin, it would have made up for the lack of other swag.
He knew what his father would say. He knew what his father would do was worse.
The market was closing and he hung about in hopes of getting some third rate produce a serf didn't want to lug back home. It was just more wasted time.
The Lord and his entourage had long left. The Sheriff's men seemed to be watching him more closely.
It was best to go before they nicked him.
* * * * * * * * * *
It was a league back to their wagon. The sun had set by the time he got there. He gave his father all the pitiful swag, apologized for his failures and begged forgiveness. His father was not understanding at all. "Two hangings and Saturday market should yield a lot more, boy. If you think that you will get even gruel for dinner, you are sadly mistaken." he growled angrily.
Stefan was not worried about missing dinner. He was used to that. He had expected that which is why he scoffed several apples that he had managed to pick along the road. It was what was next that he feared.
He went quietly as his father took him inside the wagon. He quickly lost his britches and leaned over the bed. His father removed his belt. Stefan braced himself for the assault. He did not have to wait more than a few seconds. The heavy leather belt was raised and brought down hard on his exposed butt at least a dozen times. Stefan lost count. He wanted to scream in pain but long ago he had learnt that earned painful extras. He bit his tongue to keep from screaming. At last it was over.
He was thankful for the thin blanket he could wrap himself in as he tried to sleep in his corner of the wagon.
It had not been a good day at all. Maybe tomorrow would be better.
An image of an intense redhead. What is she about?
On the Job Training
Molly Clyburn was a very intense woman. She stared intently at the activity taking place in front of her. It was her first day and Mr. Lakeman was demonstrating how to deal with his ten-year-old son when he misbehaved.
It was clear that the lad was not happy being dealt with especially in front of Molly. The father had confronted his son with the report of his misdeed and given him a chance to respond. He had admitted his guilt. Then he acceded that a spanking was appropriate although he certainly did not look happy about it. Mr. Lakeman was explaining every step as he went along. Willy obviously knew them also. Fairness was most important and the boy must have the opportunity to contest the accusation and moderate the punishment.
Without another word, the man proceeded to undress his son. Shirt and undershirt, shoes and socks and jeans were quickly removed. Only when the man reached for the boy's briefs, did he say anything. "Please, father, please don't remove my briefs in front of Ms. Clyburn." She marveled at how controlled the boy and his father both were.
The man actually paused. "So, you don't want me to remove your briefs?" The boy swiftly agreed. He quickly realized he had made a tactical mistake for his father cooly said: "Ms. Clyburn, please do the honors." The boy blushed all over but he neither spoke nor moved. It was clear that he was expected to live up to some code and he would do so as best he could. Molly wondered about the penalties for failing to do so. It was an easy task to remove his briefs. The boy was mortified at being exposed but accepted his fate stoically.
He quickly got over his father's lap without another word. The first spank caused a hand print to form on the boy's bottom. This quickly became a uniform red after a dozen spanks. "Please give him a couple of spanks, Ms. Clyburn." Molly gave the boy a spank. She could hear that the impact was much less.
"Was that a valid spank?" he asked his son.
She tried again much harder.
"You had better use the brush." She picked up the hairbrush from the dresser and gave the boy a WHACK.
The boy yowled.
The spanking was over.
The boy immediately went to the corner when he was lifted up.
* * * * * * * * * *
A week later the boy again misbehaved. Molly confronted him and he concurred that a spanking was the appropriate punishment. He stood still as she undressed him, pleading with his eyes when she reached for his briefs. He got into position. She held him tightly as she applied the hairbrush vigorously to his bottom which quickly turned bright red. Toward to end he was whimpering so she knew that she was being effective. The boy immediately went to the corner when the spanking was done.
But why, she wondered, did she dream of spanking Mr. Lakeman in the same way?
There comes a time when a boy decides he is grown up.
A New Protocol
It was past midnight and Sebastian Rey was pacing the floor. It was hours past his son's curfew and he was fuming. Then he heard the key in the lock and Santiago breezed in. "Are you OK, son?" he asked anxiously.
"Sure pop. I had a great time."
The man could not restrain his love for his son and he quickly embraced him in a bear hug. "I was so worried." he cried, "and so was your mother. She had to take several pills."
The boy knew what that meant so, still returning the hug, he said: "I'm sorry. I...."
"Sorry doesn't cut it, Santiago. You were most irresponsible. I'll have to punish you."
The youth thought a bit and said softy: "Yes, father." It was only when they disengaged that he added: "I deserve it."
The man sat on the couch and started to open his son's belt.
"I'm too old to be spanked like a little kid, father." the youth said stepping back.
"Should I ground you? Cut your allowance?"
Those were not things the youth wanted even mentioned. "You told me what grandfather did when you were my age." There was not any need to finish the thought.
"It will hurt, son. A lot more than a spanking."
"Yes, father, I believe it is supposed to. And I'm not a little boy anymore – I'm fourteen (almost)." As his father watched, Santiago pulled his heavy leather belt out of his jeans and handed it to his father. Then he lowered his jeans and briefs and bent over the end of the couch just like his father had told him he had done years earlier at his father's directions. "I'm ready, father." he said bravely although the tremor in his voice betrayed him.
Mr. Ray sized up the situation. It really was not what he wanted to do, but not all parts of parenting are nice. He found the proper position. "Ready, son?"
"Yes, father." The youth gritted his teeth and grasped the cushion tightly. He knew that this would hurt.
He was neither wrong nor disappointed. It hurt a lot and it was all he could do not to yell like a little sissy. He so wanted to prove to his father that he was becoming a man. It was only that thought that kept him from screaming and bawling. After a half dozen cuts, his father said: "That's it son."
He stood up and gave his red hot butt a rub and then as he hugged his father said: "I'm really sorry. Thank you, father." and went off to bed.
* * * * * * * * * *
It was a very reserved Santiago that came down for breakfast in the morning. He kissed his mother (a rare act) and told her how very sorry he was for making her worry.
His father noted how carefully he sat down and that he did not fidget as he usually did.
Perhaps it was great to spend the summer with your cousin's family in a small town when you were little but for a high school senior – used to the activities of the big city – it is just not the same. This is set back in the 60's before the internet but after TV. A letter to a buddy back home tells how it was.
I'm sure that you are expecting still another letter telling you how awful it is having to spend the summer here in Podunk, a.k.a. Dullsville, with my uncle and family. Yes, my cousin is great fun but the local movie house is showing what we saw back in January. But this letter is going to be different; very different.
I'm sure that you can imagine how I felt when I was told that the big event for Saturday night was going to be an amateur night in the school auditorium. Yes, a gong show. You know how awful they are on TV so I expected even worse here.
I WAS WRONG!
There, I said it. Well, most of it stank worse than a garbage truck in summer but one act was different; very different.
Well, I'll spare you the nauseating details and skip to the good part. The last group was called: The One Hand Clappers. When the MC invited a warm welcome, they dashed out onto the stage dressed in tight T's and short-shorts. All four had just graduated. The first chick had been the head cheerleader and the second was just drop dead gorgeous. The guys were winners also. The first had been the drummer from the school band and a swimmer and the other a football jock. Definitely the stuff of very wet dreams! <woof, woof>
Not only am I salivating but I am drooling. But it gets even better. Open your pants and get the lube, buddy.
The Anvil Chorus is announced. I sink in my seat. Opera I don't need to spoil the beauty in front of me. The chicks strip down to G-strings and Bikini tops and my jeans suddenly shirk. They have great figures. I stare at their pert tits until...
The guys sit down and the chicks get over their laps. Just like we did when our dads spanked us. I'm no longer slouching but am sitting up straight. [Pun intended!!] Let me assure you that they had asses to die for! And then they start to play. The hammers are the guys' hands and the anvils those gals' sweet, sweet asses. Those beautiful anvils quickly turn pink and the red and deep red as the piece progresses. If they had been playing the Bolero I surely would have cum in my jeans.
See, I told you to get the lube.
But there is more.
When it's over there is thunderous two-handed clapping. They are the obvious winners. They get to do an encore.
The guys strip to their jocks and get over the chicks' laps. The chicks play one of Sousa's marches on four hard cheeks. Lots of rhythm and I watch these two hunks get red butts.
Yes, a night to remember.
Your best bud,
Change the POV and feelings change.
Spanking Is Fun
Gareth and his best friend, Logan, were watching TV in the family room one Monday afternoon, when Gareth's mother came home. She acknowledged their grunts that passed for "hellos" as she flipped through the mail. Suddenly, she ripped open one envelope and yelled: "Gareth Garey, what is the meaning of this?"
The two boys got up and took a look. Gareth turned pale as he read the letter from his school asking about his absences.
"So you played hooky, young man!" said his mother not asking. She knew that if he had any explanation, he would have said so. "Your father will spank you when gets home Friday." It had been several years since such spankings had been declared "men's business". She did not have to add that he was also grounded until then.
Both boys were most unhappy since they had tickets for the Wednesday night game. Tickets that they had saved up for a long time and had special dispensation for a school night.
Logan thought carefully about all these details and then spoke. "Mrs. Garey, it will be very difficult for Gareth to have to wait all week for his spanking. It will distract him from his school work. I could spank him for you." Gareth and his mother were both surprised.
The mother recovered first. "An excellent idea, Logan. Gareth, get the hairbrush, NOW." While the fetching was being done, Logan got into position. "Boys, I shall watch to be sure a proper job is done." declared the angry mother.
Logan pulled his friend over his lap and got the first maternal objection. "Not on his jeans." Logan lowered his buddy's jeans and started again. Again, she interrupted: "On the bare, boys!" After lowering the briefs he started again. He was quickly instructed to hit harder overriding his thought of going easy on his friend. The hairbrush quickly turned Gareth's bottom red and then deep crimson red. Every time Logan tried to stop he was ordered to spank more. Eventually, Gareth started to cry and soon afterwards Mrs. Garey was satisfied.
The boys retreated to Gareth's room. There Logan easily got Gareth to relieve the great stress that had arisen from the spanking. "I'm sorry I had to do it so hard but at least we'll be able to go to the game together now."
It was only on the way home that Logan had a terrible thought: his parents might also get a letter from school. He had no doubt they had when his father bellowed at him as soon as he got home. A few minutes later he was over his father's lap, bare bottom up awaiting a long hard spanking.
He only had to wait a few seconds until he felt his father's large, hard hand slam down on his tender butt. A few minutes later he was crying with a dark red behind.
That night Logan had spanking on his mind – but not his own – but how much fun it had been to spank his buddy.
We all done them but with great fear.
Blind Date Disaster
Just a few minutes after he arrived to pick her up, high school senior Nikita knew that she had made a mistake agreeing to date Logan. He had scared her ten-year-old kid brother, Marky, for just being friendly by threatening to spank him. He was a lousy driver – almost getting into two accidents on the way to the multiplex. To prove he was a BIG COLLEGE MAN he got tickets for a R-rated movie she did not want to see. Perhaps just as well since he was all hands requiring that she concentrate on fending them off. She had a 'headache' after the movie and insisted that he take her home immediately.
Things got worse there. He forced his way in and soon they were both on the couch. It was even harder to fend him off here. To make matters worse, he even managed to get his trousers open. She was yelling loudly but that only excited him more. "You think that your kid brother is going to help you?" he laughed. She regretted letting him know her folks were away. She was not able to answer since he was pressing his lips against hers.
"YES! SHE DOES THINK HER KID BROTHER IS GOING TO HELP HER." roared a deep male voice as the lights came on. "AND SHE'S ABSOLUTELY RIGHT!"
Logan was surprised when a strong hand grabbed him and yanked him to his feet. His trousers fell to his ankles.
"Oh, Rick, I'm so glad you were home." Rick was her fifteen-year-old kid brother.
"This cretin needs to be taught a lesson." snarled Rick. "How disgusting – he lost his pants."
"Let me go! Now!" yelled Logan. Rick laughed and twisted his captive's arm painfully.
"The little college punk doesn't have anything in his briefs. Look at that little bump and it's already hard. Marky's got more." Nikita joined him in laughing as Logan blushed in shame.
"Logan you have been a very naughty boy. Here naughty little boys get spanked."
Rick sat on the side chair and hauled Logan over his lap. Being a wrestler and weightlifter meant that he had lots of strong muscles. A quick yank and the briefs were down about his ankles.
"Spank him real good, Ricky. He wanted to spank me before." encouraged Marky.
Logan could not believe how he was being controlled by this kid. A few seconds later he howled as Rick gave him that first spank. Before the echo stopped there was a second just as hard. The spanks rained down hard, fast and heavy. Logan had never been spanked and he was in agony. Rick, furious, was very protective of his big sister. The spanking went on for a long time. Logan kicked a lot but all that did was to cause his pants to fly off. The crybaby never noticed Marky using his camera.
They threw Logan, his wallet and keys out. Half-naked he returned to his dorm. He never ordered any photos so they were posted on the web.
A retelling of a story from about 3800 years ago.
Rampage in the Shop
It was not the first time that the man left his eldest son in charge of the shop while he went to discuss an order with an important client. The youth was old enough to deal with a customer who happened to drop into the shop. Had he not been his first born, he certainly would have been an apprentice to someone already. He was feeling good as he returned to his shop for he had secured a large order for some twenty idols including four jumbo size ones. He even had some items in stock so he could make an immediate delivery and get some prompt payment before the upcoming festival.
Never in all his years did the man experience a shock as he got when he entered his shop. It was a disaster area. Everywhere he looked there were smashed idols. Months of hard labor were now reduced to firewood. Only one was undamaged and it held a large axe. The man was absolutely furious.
Only when the first shock passed did he wonder about his first born and called. He implored the one remaining idol that his son was safe and not broken like the stock or kidnaped to be enslaved. That would be a terrible crime in Ur, the greatest city in the world.
His heart was uplifted when he heard: "Father, I'm here."
The man embraced his son after giving thanks to the great idol he had begged just moments before. Then came the obvious question.
"Father, mother made a fine feast for the idols and I brought it to them. But when the smaller ones tried to get their share, the great one got enraged and picked up the axe and broke them; each and every one."
"Do you take me for a fool, boy? The idols cannot do anything like that." the man yelled. "You have gone mad." With that he grabbed his disrespectful, mad son and dragged him over to the bench and sat down.
"Father, please . . . " the boy yelled. But his father was not listening. He was intent on teaching his son right from wrong. Many years of hard work carving idols and carrying the heavy logs had made him strong. The boy was helpless in his grip. The man pulled him over his lap and lifted up his robe. Quickly, he moved it under the arm holding the lad. He was too young to have any underwear on so his bottom was now exposed.
"You will regret this terrible deed for a very long time. You have taken the food from your mother's mouth; your father's mouth; from your little brothers Nahor and Haran's mouths and even your own! Do you want to starve?" With that he raised up his hand and brought it down hard on his son's bare bottom. The boy yelled as naughty boys do when walloped hard by their fathers.
Terah stopped only when Abram's bottom was dark red and he was bawling out of control.
Based on several comments about this story, I get the feeling that many people did not recognize the original story. Here are two references:
Some routine high school shenanigans led to a paddling.
A Fair Catch
Vice-principal Elrod was watching the hall monitors from his office. It was after 4 and club hour was over. The few students still in the building should have been heading for the exits. But he noticed Rumble and Steakley heading the wrong way. He knew these two troublemakers far to well. They were the two oldest and biggest sophomores in the school and they had Bierly between them. Bierly was the youngest and smallest freshman in the school. This was not a good sign at all.
Moments later he was in the hall and spotted Rumble and Steakley heading for the exit. The route they had used only had locked classrooms and students' lockers – freshmen's lockers. He smelled trouble!
"Mr. Rumble; Mr. Steakley there been a report that Mr. Bierly is missing. Have you seen him?"
"No Sir. He's just a freshman."
"Would you help me look for him, please?" The two looked at each other, hesitated before agreeing. They felt trapped but refusal would not be taken well. They checked that the classroom doors were all locked and peeked through the windows. Then the banging on the locker door could be heard. Young, small Mr. Bierly was greatly relieved to be freed. He had horrid thoughts of spending the entire night imprisoned in his locker.
"Thanks guys, I was really afraid that you were going to leave me there all night." he said before noticing the VP. Although small, Bierly was not stupid.
"Let discuss this in my office, gentlemen." and he led them there. Once there he took out the punishment book and the paddle and placed them on his desk. "Do you have anything to say before we continue?" The criminals and the victim remained silent. "Very well, you know the procedure. Get into position."
Rumble and Steakley stood, opened their jeans, slipped them and their briefs down and bent over leaning on the desk as Elrod wrote in the book. Bierly sat there watching intently.
The VP picked up the paddle and got into position. These two really deserved this. He was smiling as he raised the paddle and swung it down hard on Rumbles' bare tail with a most satisfactory WHACK. Then he gave Steakley two in rapid succession. They sounded even better. Rumble got the next two. The following one, on Steakley's butt, was the half way point.
Bierly was thrilled with the show. His hand was fondling the hard bulge in his pants.
The second half proceeded in the same way except that Steakley was first. There was a wet spot on Bierly's pants by the time that the miscreants' pants were raised.
Four signatures finished the book entries. Elrod told Bierly to go and held the others for a few minutes.
In the cafeteria the next day Bierly was invited to join Rumble and Steakley. He was, not surprisingly, nervous. They told him he was a pretty cool guy. If anyone bothered him, just tell them and they'll deal with it. Bierly nearly choked on his food.
Sometimes guards do their job very well.
The Temple Guardians
Curt and Cory were identical twins. They were so identical that they got into mischief constantly and together. They were on vacation in a distant land but instead of staying in their hotel room they snuck out to have some fun.
Just a short distance down the road was the ancient temple. The place was not locked and guarding the gate there was only a pair of fierce tiger-like creatures. They sneered at the great stone carvings and even hit them. Inside the temple precincts they entered many buildings tracking in mud for they did not remove their boots. When they encountered the temple proper, they laughed at the fiercely carved-wooden, human-like creatures that flanked the entrance.
"These may scare sprits but not us." they agreed while they taunted them with slaps. Then they entered the temple and continued their desecration. Then as they left they heard a voice commanding them to stop. They did not see anybody but the voice seemed to surround them. They looked at each other and laughed as they continued down the great entrance stairs. The voice continued to reverberate inside their heads.
They reached the ground and the wooden temple guardians moved in front of them. Neither could recover before great hands grabbed them. They were held as securely as if they had been chained. «How could idols move?» they wondered. They each were draped over a bar and held in place by one wooden hand while a second ripped the seat of their trousers open shredding their underpants simultaneously.
They had known nothing about spanking but they learnt a great deal that night as the Temple Guardians spanked them – each long, hard and to tears. During the spankings, the voice was lecturing them about behaving properly. Released, they ran out of the temple precincts and back to the hotel.
They were going to report this great assault, but they decided that they would not be believed. Wooden statues just don't move. The next day, their parents noticed that they were strangely quiet especially when they toured the temple.
Back home they were good for a few more days and then the memories of the spanking faded and they reverted to their old ways. They decided that the new boy at school was a nerd and thus should be locked in his locker. They each grabbed an arm and forced the unfortunate lad in and slammed the door.
They felt that powerful grip once again. The Temple Guardians were here! They were bent over the bench and their pants once again shredded. The powerful, hard hands spanked them again. They were bawling when the VP came by. They hadn't any choice but to tell that Temple Guardians had attacked them. Everyone else said that suddenly they lay over the bench, their pants parted and the sound of spanks filled the air along with their cries. Without any apparent reason their butts turned red and they cried. Nobody touched them.
Eventually, they learnt to be good so that they could sit.
© Copyright A.I.L., Summer, 2006
Your comments are appreciated.
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