A Collection of Short Stories for 2010
|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: 12 Jul 2010
Each summer the newgroup soc.sexuality.spanking has a Short Story Contest where entities are limited to just five hundred words. This story was inspired by a picture of a lonely bicycle in the forest. Why is it there? What has happened? Did a fire-breathing dragon just have had dinner? Is the cyclist all wrapped up in the python he ran over? Well, not in this case. With a somewhat Rashomon-like approach, here are three reports that explain things. You can see the picture at http://socsexualityspanking.org/ssc/2010/pictures/lonely-bicycle-in-the-forest.jpg and at http://www.flickr.com/photos/planetcam/2935954656/
The following story is fiction about an judicial adult strapping. If this subject is offensive, uninteresting or if you are a minor (i.e., child) please leave now.
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The Hiker's Report
I'd been hiking all day. It was a day that surely was designed especially for that. I had seen more than a score of different birds and more a dozen kinds of other critters. I was less than a kilometer from the park entrance when I first heard the noise. It reminded me of a woodpecker banging on a tree in that it was rhythmic and percussive yet not quite that of hard sort of drumming sound as it was more muffled. I was thrilled at the prospect of adding a new species to my life list.
The sound seemed to be coming from straight ahead on the trail so I just ran ahead as I could cover a lot more ground on the path rather than bushwhacking. The sound got louder as I went and then I saw a bicycle standing in the path. Surely the cyclist had also heard this critter and left the trail to get closer. I ran to the bicycle figuring that would be the best place to leave the trail. The sound was loudest there and I cut into the woods.
It took me another minute to see what was causing the sound. It was quite a surprise. It was a park ranger and the biker rather than some woodland creatures.
The biker, riding shorts pulled down below the knees, was bent over a fallen tree and the ranger was standing to the side. In the ranger's hand was a folded belt. You know the sort that they wear – wide and thick brown leather to match their green uniforms.
My heart was racing as I watched in amazement as the belt was raised and lowered several more times. The biker's tail was bright crimson and a bit swollen already. That ass would not be able to sit on the saddle anymore today. The ranger stopped and stood the biker up who grabbed the hot red cheeks. "You will not pollute my park by urinating here. The toilets are only five minutes away." The biker said the appropriate things and dashed off as soon as permitted. The ranger then left. I remained hidden.
I made my way back to the park entrance. In the distance I could see the biker running – not riding – for the toilets.
I was happy that my camera has a silent mode. I got several great shots of a Glowing Red Cheeks Biker in full display. My fellow members in the Birders' Club will be positively green with envy when I show them these pics of such a rare species in the wild.
The Cyclist's Report
It was a beautiful day and I had been cycling all morning in the park. I was glad that I was getting close to the entrance since I had to pee badly. My thoughts had shifted from the beautiful trees and the lovely wildlife that lived in and about them to the most mundane task of not wetting my pants. Several times I had thought it would be just one more turn and then a straight run to parking lot with its comfort station and blessed relief.
That, alas, was the wrong thinking for it made me desperate. The pressure was building and I was ever more conscious of it. Of course, that made things even worse and I just pulled over to the side and dashed into the trees. I had just pulled down my shorts when I heard a whistle – loud like a traffic cop's and a shout.
"STOP! Don't you dare to that."
It was a park ranger. An angry park ranger. I was caught, literally, with my pants down.
"Don't you pollute my park by urinating here. The toilets are only five minutes away." was the loud shout.
When I could not produce any ID I was informed that I had a choice – summary punishment with the strap or arrest and taken before the magistrate in the morning. I chose the former not wishing to be a guest of the state for the night.
I turned around glad that the ranger's eyes were no longer inspecting my crotch and bent over as ordered. I heard the wide thick brown leather belt being pulled from the rangers' pants. "There will be extra if you get up before I tell you to. I heard the snap of the belt as the ranger straightened the folded weapon. And then the searing pain as it landed hard on my bare cheeks sending pain through my body. I yelled.
I yelled for each hard cut and soon my tail was a hot pain center that enveloped my entire being. Over and over the ranger raised the belt and brought it crashing down on my rump as if it was a hunk of meat to be tenderized. The pain was so great that I stopped thinking about peeing and concentrated on staying in position. I certainly did not want any extras.
After an eternity, the strapping stopped. The ranger made me stay in position for a while before telling to pull up my pants and never think about desecrating his forest again. I pulled them up wincing as the spandex rubbed my hot butt and rushed away. I grabbed my bike and ran (as best as I could, to the parking lot and the comfort station. There was not any way I could sit on the saddle again today. I walked slowly to the train station with my bike to ride home.
The Bike's Report
We've been out all day going through the forest. It was much nicer than being on the highway or the city streets where there are those big powerful bullies which can wreak both of us even when my powerpack is very careful. The forest floor is also much cooler and softer than the asphalt or cement pavement of roads and my tires don't get as hot. My powerpack has this strange habit for it constantly sucks water from a container we carry. It's a dangerous habit especially when the bullies are about zipping about. It also needs to drain the water it ingests several times a day. Generally, it goes into a special service facility so that the discharged waste fluid can be disposed of properly, rather than polluting the environment, but not always.
We were riding peacefully when my powerpack suddenly stopped and ran into the forest. I immediately had a bad feeling since it hadn't indicated that it had observed a forest critter to observe more closely. «It's going to foul the forest.» I thought. Then another powerpack ran up from the main path and followed my powerpack into the forest. This one yelled at mine who turned very deferential. Apparently, he was higher ranking and thus commanded respect and obedience. After a few exchanges, I heard the snap of the spandex faux-skin being removed. Then the sound of a belt striking real skin and my powerpack made lots of strange noises. Just about then another powerpack came running from deeper into woods and entered the woods to get closer. The strap was still being used on my powerpack. When that stopped, more words were exchanged.
My powerpack came out of the woods in obvious discomfort. The high ranking powerpack was immediately behind. It was threading that heavy wide belt back into its faux-skin. This confirmed that the higher ranking powrpack must have been striking mine with that belt. My powerpack grabbed me in haste and started to run. Fortunately, the ground was rough enough that my kick stand snapped back and I was not injured. In a few minutes we were at the service facility and my powerpack ran in.
When my powerpack came out, it walked us down the highway to the train station to return to our den. It was in great discomfort from what had happened in the forest and stood with me at the end of the car rather than sitting as usual. My powerpack was very down and kept rubbing its bottom on the ride. It was necessary to tell my fellow bikes what had happed so I would not be even more embarrassed should they think it was my fault that my powerpack was in pain.
© Copyright A.I.L. July 12, 2010
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