The Christmas holiday has always been a big deal for my Dad. He gets as much of the family together as he possibly can for the last two weeks of every year. This year was no different and the house was packed with Aunts, Uncles, and Cousins. And yes, of all the cousins I am the oldest. Without going into too much detail just imagine the rudest things you could possibly say to family, double the rudeness and up the volume and you begin to get the picture of how I was behaving. So, anyway here it was Christmas day. Christmas is a dress up day for us so, I put on this extremely inappropriate burgundy, strapless with matching heels. Mom took one look at me when I came downstairs and forcefully pulled me aside. She suggested, rather strongly, that I return to my room and dress more appropriately. I very impolitely let her know that I didn't care what her opinion was or what she wanted. We got into a heated exchange and everyone was trying to pretend they weren't listening. The argument ended when Mom called me a harlot and Dad grabbed my arm and pulled me into his private office.
Dad proceeded to verbally chastise me for 6 months worth of bad behavior. After that lecture I have no doubt my Dad has an elephant's memory, cause I don't think he missed anything. I tried to interrupt him several times but, he just talked right over me. He never gave me a chance to explain anything. I guess by that point he just didn't care. He finished his tirade and the last words I can still hear in my head, "I'm not just disappointed in you, I am ashamed to have to admit you're my daughter." I doubt there was anything he could have said that would have hurt me more than that did. My response was, "You f***ing A**hole!" That didn't go over well and I had planned to follow it up with a rant of my own but, I never got the chance. Dad slapped me so hard that the next thing I new I was literally lying flat on my back looking up at him wondering what had just happened. He then announced he intended to give me the "spanking of my life" and he didn't really care if I ever talked to him again. I'd like to say I protested but, I didn't. I fell into the familiar role of; I pushed Dad too far, now I have to deal with the consequences.
Now you may be wondering why I consider this so embarrassing beyond the obvious of being spanked by Dad. First, I don't think it would've happened if I hadn't accepted it. Why I accepted it and allowed it to happen is probably rooted in that paradox of wanting the fantasy despite knowing the reality isn't the same. However, I look at it, I know I allowed it to happen and probably wanted it to happen and its even possible I manipulated the entire situation. Many of the choices I was making that led into this were in opposition to my normal character. I think I may have been purposely setting up a scenario for my own sexual satisfaction. I didn't get the sexual satisfaction out of it but, I did get a tremendous emotional release that I probably needed more. Second, it was a complete package punishment just like if I had been 17 years old. That means that I wasn't just spanked. I used profanity so, my mouth was washed out with soap and I spent 15 minutes standing in a corner with that bar of soap firmly planted in my mouth. Additionally, I spent a bit of time in that corner waiting to be spanked and again afterwards. Even worse yet was my state of dress. Dad's rule was that anything below the waist came off for a spanking. Talk about embarrassing. Third, there was only one place in the house where spankings happened and it wasn't my Dad's private office.
I felt like everyone in the house was staring at me the second I stepped out of the office and into the kitchen. They probably were, as I'm certain it was a shock to everyone. I know I was hoping the ground would open up and swallow me whole. Standing in the middle of the kitchen with my hands on my head and asking my Mom for a bar of soap so that Dad could wash my mouth was much worse than previous moments like that in my memory. Probably something to do with the audience. Dad washed my mouth out very thoroughly. I had streams of soap and saliva dripping down the entire front of my body to the floor before he was finished. He let me spit once into the sink before he planted the bar right back in my mouth and made me bite down on it. My teeth had to be well into the bar before my Dad put me in the only open corner in the kitchen and set a timer for 15 minutes. After having your teeth in a bar of soap like that for 15 minutes, the taste doesn't go away for a couple of days. When the time was up I got to spit about 4 times into the sink and Mom wiped the soap off the front of me with a towel. Completely humiliated, I had to thank my Mom for the soap before being escorted to my corner in the living room to await my spanking.
It was, without any doubt, the worst spanking of my life. Dad used both the paddle and the belt on me and he made me retrieve them separately, making it all the more humiliating. When he stopped spanking me I was reduced to a blubbering, bawling baby. I'm not sure how long I was in the corner afterwards but, it was long enough for me to stop crying and start wishing I could rub my bottom. When I was finally released from the corner, I found out the eternity that I thought had passed had of course, not. It was still morning which left me with a very long humiliating day. Most of it suffering through ridiculous questions from my Cousins like, "Did it hurt?" (No, not one bit.) or "You still get spanked?" (Where were you this morning?) or the boys favorites, "Aren't you cold?" (Did you notice the snow on the ground outside?) and "I think that suit is more revealing than the dress you were wearing. Don't you?" (Perhaps you would like to try it on?) My actual responses were more along the lines of a barely audible, "Yes." but, my thoughts were much bolder.
So, everyone of my Aunts, Uncles, and Cousins were witnesses to what has since become known as my Dad's Christmas Miracle. I can not go home for Christmas without someone mentioning how much more conservative my dresses are or how much politer I am. I guess that's what they all think drove Dad to spank me. However you look at it though, it was a very embarrassing incident and not one that will be forgotten anytime soon
Sunday, July 19, 2009
Paying For It
This is a true story of a spanking I actually witnessed as a teenager. Its quite different to see someone else get spanked than to get spanked yourself. The spanking itself was quite severe and while I won’t describe the full details of just how severe in the story here I also don’t want you to think it was a few light swats either. My friend, Rachel, was sitting very carefully for a few days after this incident and there was no way she could hide the fact she had been spanked from our classmates.
A little background first as it sets the atmosphere for the spanking and helps you perceive it as I do. Rachel is a year older than me. The event about to be described takes place in what was my Junior year in high school and therefore her Senior year. While our friendship had started out on rocky ground, we both were after the same guy, we had at this time become best friends. Rachel was very smart and graduated as her class Valedictorian. She was also athletic enough to have been a track star and pretty enough to have been a cheerleader. She was neither because of choice. For details sake, she was five foot ten inches tall, reddish blonde shoulder length hair, thin frame weighing around 110 pounds, ample buttocks, small pert breasts (B-cup if you must know), light brown eyes, and a milky white skin covered with reddish freckles. Now on to the story.
It was a Wednesday afternoon and we had stayed after school to watch our boyfriends at football practice. We were far from alone. Most girls that dated one of the players stayed and watched them practice a few times a week, some every day. I know what your thinking, "Could we get anymore cliché?" Well it was actually quite entertaining and the coach encouraged us to come because he thought the guys practiced harder when we were watching. It was probably true considering male adolescents and their obsession with being "macho." Anyway, we got a lot of good laughs that afternoon. I think they were practicing some new plays because the guys kept running into each other and the coach was red in the face from yelling at them. The practice lasted from 3:30 to 4:30 and afterward we left with our boyfriends and stopped in the local diner for some hot cider and the guys ordered some hot apple pie which they shared with us.
We were kicked back in the diner until about 5:30 or so. Rachel and I needed to be back at her house by 6:00 and the guys had to get home too. It was a school night after all and the only reason I didn't have to be home was Rachel and I had a school project we were working on together and I had permission to have dinner with her family and be home by 8:00PM that night.
When we got back to her place it was immediately obvious her Dad was not happy with her. She clearly had no idea what was up. She should have, she just didn't know she had been caught. It was almost time for dinner, but her Dad wouldn't be put off so he told his wife to delay for a few moments while he dealt with Rachel. She was looking very worried by this point. Finally, her Dad revealed what he had learned.
Apparently, Rachel had been "borrowing" money from her Mom's purse. She was normally given $20 a month as an allowance and was supposed to ask if she needed more than that for something. Her parents would then decide if it was appropriate or if she should have to save up. Well, there was a particular dress she wanted for homecoming, which was coming up, and her Mom had decided it wasn't necessary. So, Rachel had slowly been helping herself to some extra money so that she could supplement what she had saved and buy the dress.
Her Dad announced she was in need of a "good spanking" and since the money hadn't been spent yet she was going to be "lucky" and only get paddled. When told, she went and got the money and gave it to her Dad and then he sent her to get the paddle which hung on a hook in the bathroom. Rachel was very reluctant and begged, "Please not with Kelly here, Daddy." Her Dad however, was relentless and slapped her across the face for even asking. His hand left a print on her left cheek and she started crying.
Without any more protest she went and retrieved the paddle. It was big. It was a dark cherry color and the surface of it was glossy. It reminded me of petrified wood I had seen on a family vacation in the Petrified Forest in Arizona. The paddle was solid and very intimidating to look at. It was easily six inches wide and probably two feet in length, end to end. It was more than a half inch thick but less than an inch thick so somewhere in between. I remember being very thankful that it wasn't my hind end about to converse with that paddle.
She handed it to her Dad without a word, but the pleading was obvious in her body language and eyes. He took the paddle from her hand and tapped it against his leg like he was waiting for something. Rachel bit her lower lip and then unfastened her skirt and removed it. She neatly laid it over the back of the couch and then lowered he panties to her knees and bent over the back of the couch herself, next to her discarded skirt.
Her Dad raised the paddle back over his head and slammed it down into her buttocks with a whoosh punctuated by a smack and Rachel's scream, "Oooooh, One!" He then raised the paddle high up again repeated the motion. Rachel screamed louder with each repeat visit of the paddle. I was amazed at how her bottom indented and wobbled with each impact. Her bottom never went through a pink stage instead it developed straight into a brilliant red and there was little doubt that she was getting bruised as well.. She counted each swat all the way up to twenty-five. By the last few it was hard to understand her count as she was crying so hard. The amazing part to me was that she never begged him to stop or made any promises to be good. If had been me I think I would have been begging and promising anything after the thirds swat or so. It was an incredible site and despite the fact I should have been appalled at how harshly she was spanked, I found myself quite excited by her bouncing bottom and her strained counting.
She remained bent over the couch after the paddling finished until her Dad told her she could get up and go stand in a corner. While she was standing in the corner still sniffling and bare bottomed, the rest of her family and I enjoyed dinner. I felt very sorry for her and wished I was anyplace, but there. I admit I enjoyed watching her get the paddle, I just felt guilty about enjoying it afterward and wanted to go home. She was still standing in the corner when after dinner her Dad drove me home.
The next day at school I approached her and asked if she was alright. She told me that was the worst spanking she had ever had. I eventually admitted to her that I enjoyed seeing it happen and her reply was a rueful smile that led me to believe she enjoyed me watching.
A little background first as it sets the atmosphere for the spanking and helps you perceive it as I do. Rachel is a year older than me. The event about to be described takes place in what was my Junior year in high school and therefore her Senior year. While our friendship had started out on rocky ground, we both were after the same guy, we had at this time become best friends. Rachel was very smart and graduated as her class Valedictorian. She was also athletic enough to have been a track star and pretty enough to have been a cheerleader. She was neither because of choice. For details sake, she was five foot ten inches tall, reddish blonde shoulder length hair, thin frame weighing around 110 pounds, ample buttocks, small pert breasts (B-cup if you must know), light brown eyes, and a milky white skin covered with reddish freckles. Now on to the story.
It was a Wednesday afternoon and we had stayed after school to watch our boyfriends at football practice. We were far from alone. Most girls that dated one of the players stayed and watched them practice a few times a week, some every day. I know what your thinking, "Could we get anymore cliché?" Well it was actually quite entertaining and the coach encouraged us to come because he thought the guys practiced harder when we were watching. It was probably true considering male adolescents and their obsession with being "macho." Anyway, we got a lot of good laughs that afternoon. I think they were practicing some new plays because the guys kept running into each other and the coach was red in the face from yelling at them. The practice lasted from 3:30 to 4:30 and afterward we left with our boyfriends and stopped in the local diner for some hot cider and the guys ordered some hot apple pie which they shared with us.
We were kicked back in the diner until about 5:30 or so. Rachel and I needed to be back at her house by 6:00 and the guys had to get home too. It was a school night after all and the only reason I didn't have to be home was Rachel and I had a school project we were working on together and I had permission to have dinner with her family and be home by 8:00PM that night.
When we got back to her place it was immediately obvious her Dad was not happy with her. She clearly had no idea what was up. She should have, she just didn't know she had been caught. It was almost time for dinner, but her Dad wouldn't be put off so he told his wife to delay for a few moments while he dealt with Rachel. She was looking very worried by this point. Finally, her Dad revealed what he had learned.
Apparently, Rachel had been "borrowing" money from her Mom's purse. She was normally given $20 a month as an allowance and was supposed to ask if she needed more than that for something. Her parents would then decide if it was appropriate or if she should have to save up. Well, there was a particular dress she wanted for homecoming, which was coming up, and her Mom had decided it wasn't necessary. So, Rachel had slowly been helping herself to some extra money so that she could supplement what she had saved and buy the dress.
Her Dad announced she was in need of a "good spanking" and since the money hadn't been spent yet she was going to be "lucky" and only get paddled. When told, she went and got the money and gave it to her Dad and then he sent her to get the paddle which hung on a hook in the bathroom. Rachel was very reluctant and begged, "Please not with Kelly here, Daddy." Her Dad however, was relentless and slapped her across the face for even asking. His hand left a print on her left cheek and she started crying.
Without any more protest she went and retrieved the paddle. It was big. It was a dark cherry color and the surface of it was glossy. It reminded me of petrified wood I had seen on a family vacation in the Petrified Forest in Arizona. The paddle was solid and very intimidating to look at. It was easily six inches wide and probably two feet in length, end to end. It was more than a half inch thick but less than an inch thick so somewhere in between. I remember being very thankful that it wasn't my hind end about to converse with that paddle.
She handed it to her Dad without a word, but the pleading was obvious in her body language and eyes. He took the paddle from her hand and tapped it against his leg like he was waiting for something. Rachel bit her lower lip and then unfastened her skirt and removed it. She neatly laid it over the back of the couch and then lowered he panties to her knees and bent over the back of the couch herself, next to her discarded skirt.
Her Dad raised the paddle back over his head and slammed it down into her buttocks with a whoosh punctuated by a smack and Rachel's scream, "Oooooh, One!" He then raised the paddle high up again repeated the motion. Rachel screamed louder with each repeat visit of the paddle. I was amazed at how her bottom indented and wobbled with each impact. Her bottom never went through a pink stage instead it developed straight into a brilliant red and there was little doubt that she was getting bruised as well.. She counted each swat all the way up to twenty-five. By the last few it was hard to understand her count as she was crying so hard. The amazing part to me was that she never begged him to stop or made any promises to be good. If had been me I think I would have been begging and promising anything after the thirds swat or so. It was an incredible site and despite the fact I should have been appalled at how harshly she was spanked, I found myself quite excited by her bouncing bottom and her strained counting.
She remained bent over the couch after the paddling finished until her Dad told her she could get up and go stand in a corner. While she was standing in the corner still sniffling and bare bottomed, the rest of her family and I enjoyed dinner. I felt very sorry for her and wished I was anyplace, but there. I admit I enjoyed watching her get the paddle, I just felt guilty about enjoying it afterward and wanted to go home. She was still standing in the corner when after dinner her Dad drove me home.
The next day at school I approached her and asked if she was alright. She told me that was the worst spanking she had ever had. I eventually admitted to her that I enjoyed seeing it happen and her reply was a rueful smile that led me to believe she enjoyed me watching.
Maid For A Spanking
I was a sophomore in high school at the time and had a major crush on a boy named Aaron. He was a year older than me and had his eye on Rachel Lange. Rachel was a junior like Aaron and a little on the nerdy side. Don't misunderstand, when she took her glasses off she was without a doubt one of the prettiest and most well developed girls in the school. She was just sort of a bookworm and hell bent on getting out of the backwater place we called our hometown. I wasn't exactly a goof-off myself. I shared an advanced math class with Rachel and Aaron but, Rachel had the best grades and highest test scores that anyone could remember in the history of our high school. So, naturally I was confused as to what this boy saw in her. At the time of the events I'm about to describe the two of us were passing friends. That is to say we knew each other and didn't have any negative feelings toward the other. By the end of that school year, Rachel was one of my closest friends. And that was in spite of the fact I had ended up with Aaron. The funny thing is, Rachel never left our hometown and yet I did largely because of her influence pushing me to go for a scholarship, and Aaron, falling for me for awhile, eventually ended up marrying Rachel, the real girl of his dreams. As you can see Rachel and I's relationship has had its ups and downs. In the end we both got what we really wanted even though we didn't have a clue back then.
It was right about Halloween. I would be more specific on the date but, I honestly don't recall if it was actually Halloween or just the closest school day to it. Whichever it was, it was the day we went to school wearing costumes. As an adult I can look back at those dress-up days and say, "What the hell was the school thinking?" Come on, a bunch of hormone raging, sexually curious teenagers and somebody thought it was a good idea that they be allowed to wear 'costumes'. I can't recall a single year when there weren't a few girls dressed as inappropriately as Rachel and I managed in this particular year. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out that a costume day is a perfect pretense for a repressed teenage girl to strut her stuff and make every boy in school take notice. That's exactly what Rachel and I were up to. Aaron clearly needed a push to get him out of the shy boy routine and around to asking somebody out.
I had plotted the outfit of the day for weeks. My usual school attire consisted of a small selection of modest dresses and long skirts with stiff white blouses. Not exactly the sort of stuff that's gonna cause whiplash. Today however would be different. Today I blushed when I saw myself in the mirror. Was I really going to go to school showing off this much skin? I adjust my boobs for a couple of minutes trying to get the right look. I had so much cleavage showing that it wouldn't take a whole lot of leaning over and I'd be showing the whole thing. To say the skirt was short is a bit like saying boiling water is warm. Not exactly a lie but, the reality is a little more extreme.
So, what costume possibility could possibly give me the excuse to leave my house like this? Let me describe it a little more for you. Essentially it was a very short, very shiny, black dress with white lace trim. It even had a little white lace apron that wrapped around the middle. Still can't figure it out? I was a 'French Maid' for the day. I almost chickened out that morning when I twirled around and saw that my panties were easily visible just walking. My better judgment lost out that day and there wouldn't be a story here if it hadn't.
I timed my escape from home just right so that Mom and Dad didn't get a look at my immodesty. The bus ride to school was no picnic. I certainly had the attention of every boy on board and truth be told most of the girls as well. Where the boys were grinning ridiculously, the girls were scowling. The ride did become a little more comfortable for me when Rachel got on. She was wearing a pink fairy costume that made me almost look modest. I was relieved that everyone wasn't staring at me anymore but, I wasn't thrilled that she had out done me. I mean when she first walked on the bus, I thought she naked with a couple of wings glued to her back.
My first class for the day was World History. I was starting to get comfortable with my outfit as I sat down in the classroom. It was fairly obvious most of the girls were disapproving even my girlfriends but, they were also a bit jealous. The boys on the other hand, well they never looked at me as the shy, quiet, smart girl again. A few minutes into the class, while the teacher's back was turned, one of the boys leaned over to me and asked if I would go to an upcoming dance with him. I was really starting to enjoy this. I decided I wouldn't turn him down but, put him off for a little bit. Kind of leave my options open thinking. As I leaned over to give him my response Mr. Hale turned around and caught me.
Mr. Hale was one of the teachers at the school that commonly exercised his right to give students swats. "Miss Dean, get the paddle and wait for me in the hall. I will not tolerate your disruptive behavior." "Yes, Mr. Hale. I'm sorry." No, that's not what I wanted to say but, it was the smart thing to say. My actual thoughts were along the lines of this pervert was just looking for any old excuse from the second he saw my outfit for the day. Probably a bit harsh but, I won't swear it wasn't true. I got up and went to the front of the class where the teacher's small wooden paddle hung on a nail. I was so flustered thinking about being paddled that I actually dropped the thing on the ground as soon as I got it off the nail. I knelt down very carefully to pick it up and at the same time realized just how horrible bending over for a paddling was going to be in this 'dress'. Mr. Hale kept me waiting in the hall for about 10 minutes before he came out.
Now I should probably pause a moment here and explain a couple of things. First, every teacher in school had the right to paddle students in their class. They were issued a small paddle that really looked a lot like a ping-pong paddle without the rubber coating. Most teachers in high school rarely if ever paddled students themselves, preferring to simply issue detentions or send us to the office. However, there were a few like Mr. Hale, who used the paddle frequently. There was never a week and hardly a day that went by without him paddling at least one student. Second, is that these teacher paddlings were never very severe. A paddling from Mr. Hale would sting for about an hour and then be forgotten. Teacher's actually could give more swats than the principal because their lightweight paddles really just weren't capable of hurting all that much. The maximum swats for a teacher was twenty and even for Mr. Hale, it was a rare day when that many were given. Usually it was more about the embarrassment than anything else and five to ten swats was more than enough to establish that.
So, when Mr. Hale came out into the hallway to tend to my bottom he started out with a lecture. I can't recall his exact words but, the general context was about how disappointed he was that after already paddling me several times previously I was still disrupting his class. He also commented on my attire for the day, no surprise there. Apparently, it was like my sixth trip out into the hall from him that semester. Clearly I wasn't learning not to disrupt his class. I remember thinking he was stating the obvious on a few things and couldn't we just get this over with.
Turned out he was building up to giving me a choice, either I could take a slip to the office that was going to request the principal give me 5 swats with his instrument of torture or I could take a full 20 from Mr. Hale. Not much of choice but, it was actually more than he had to do. I of course took the 20 from him and was grateful for them. It stung more than any of the others he had given me but I knew it was far better than going to the office. I was quite aware if I ended up in the Principal's office I would have gotten extra for my outfit and my Dad probably would have been called to bring a change of clothes for me which would have been real bad for going home later. That is if he didn't just bring his belt with him and let me have it at school.
I told Mr. Hale I would take his twenty swats and I don't think he was too surprised. Now while the spanking itself wasn't nearly as painful as what I would have gotten from the principal or my Dad it still hurt more than the usual from Mr. Hale. I suspect part of it was when I bent over the only protection my bottom had was my panties. The dress was just that short. The other really embarrassing part was that when I bent over touching my toes, my boobs literally came flopping out of the top of the dress. Not all the way but, enough to cause me to blush copiously. I was really hating my outfit at this point. The height of embarrassment came when the paddling was over and I stood up. Mr. Hale actually pointed at my chest and said, "You should probably fix that before we go back in." Yep, that's right I was giving my History teacher a nice look at one of my nipples. I'm not sure if it was the embarrassment or the twenty swats, probably a bit of both but, I was crying profusely.
No that's not the end. I still have a full school day ahead of me. I'll try not to bore you with details of every class though. That was not the only paddling I got at school for the day unfortunately. I was extra careful to be on my best behavior for the rest of the day, though. Mr. Hale had reminded me of something I had forgotten. Just how bad it would be if I had to go and see the principal in my little "French Maid" outfit.
By morning break news of my hallway paddling had made it around the entire campus. Fortunately, Rachel had also been paddled in the morning and her story was overshadowing mine. Rachel's paddling had come from being late to her PE class. I guess it took her a while to get out of her skin tight costume. PE paddlings were always the worst. They were the only teachers in school that could paddle your bare bottom and they always paddled bare bottom. The other problem was you didn't get to go out in a hallway you just got paddle bending over with your shorts and panties around your knees right in front of your class. Rachel had been late enough that her teacher had given her fifteen swats. Rachel wasn't used to getting spanked as much as I was so her reaction was a bit worse. She was apparently crying and jumping up and down so much that her shorts actually came all the way off. Worse yet, she spent so much time complaining about her sore backside through the class that the teacher decided she needed a full twenty at the end of the class. Her reaction to those was certainly not an improvement over the first fifteen either. She was reported as walking into the locker room carrying her shorts and panties instead of wearing them. An incident like that was going to be the talk of the school for a few days at least. I couldn't help but laugh when I first heard the story even though I was sporting a freshly reddened bottom myself. Rachel has always denied that things happened quite that way and knowing how stories get a life of their own I imagine the story was embellished a bit.
Now I could on and bore you with all the details of how many times some immature boy flipped the back of my skirt or the whistling and catcalls. However, I imagine you would be much more interested in my last class of the day. That was my math class and the one I shared with Aaron and Rachel. You see I knew that would perk you attention right up. Rachel and I bumped into each other in the hall a few feet from the classroom. Quite literally too. We were both very much aware of the others motivation for dressing like a slut for the day and the name calling began. By the time we reached the classroom door I doubt at there was a single person in that hallway that didn't know every derogatory term you could use to call a girl a whore. I also imagine they all knew that these two wonderfully revealing costumes were the result of one boy's appeal, Aaron.
Now as we turned into the doorway to get to our seats, we nearly ran right into Aaron. Shut us both up really fast. Rachel's face blushed to match her pink fairy costume and I can only imagine the beet red of my own face. Aaron was not amused with us. He said something along the lines of, "You two should be ashamed of yourselves. I've got half a mind to call both of your father's the minute I get home and tell them just what you've been up to today." He turned his back to us started towards his desk and then turned toward us again. "By the way I don't go for sluts."
Talk about a disappointment. Not only had we both been rejected by the boy we were trying to impress he had lectured us too. Our mutual public humiliation was a bit overwhelming at that point. We of course plumped ourselves down into our desks with attitude that would do a supermodel proud. Apparently I needed another spanking because I was throwing attitude at my teacher as though she were to blame for my bad day. At one point I was asked to solve a particular problem on the board and my response was, "Oh goody! I get to do your job and teach the class." If you can't hear the sarcasm dripping off those words your not trying hard enough. My teacher, Mrs. Robitaille, was not about to stand for that much open disrespect. She picked up her class paddle, she rarely used it, and called me to the front of the class.
I was in rare form, "Oh no! I'm gonna get paddled. Somebody save me!" Mocking the teacher that's just about to paddle you is probably not among the smartest things to do. I really didn't care. Now Mrs. Robitaille rarely used her paddle. In fact I am pretty sure that this particular day was the only time she used it that entire school year. Unlike most teachers who would send a student into the hall she believed in paddling in front of the class. It was a matter completely up to the teacher's discretion.
My march to the front of the class was not marred by trepidation. I was almost eager to be spanked right up there in front of my classmates. For the first time in my life I was feeling more thrill in the anticipation than fear. It was a very liberating experience and was undoubtedly my first step on the path to accepting my dark desires to be both spanked and humiliated. Upon reaching the front of the class I turned to Mrs. Robitaille and said, "Shall I touch my toes now or do you want my panties down too?" The class actually laughed at this point which I think was what I wanted. Mrs. Robitaille told me to bend over and as I did she started swinging with every bit of force she could muster. I said before that the teacher's were limited to 20 swats well She chose to interpret that as per offense on this occasion and I am pretty sure she gave me about 60 swats. I lost count around 25 and shortly thereafter was crying and begging for her to stop. Those lightweight paddles when used with that much fervor could actually hurt a bit more than I had previously thought.
When she finally allowed me to stand up I went to immediately to rubbing my very sore backside as I walked back to my desk. Every single person in that class was staring straight at me as I walked rather slowly. I was vaguely aware of some of the girls trying to get my attention but I was engrossed with massaging my bottom and trying to stop my tears. It wasn't until I sat down that I realized what the fuss was about. Just like earlier in the day when I was bent over my breasts had freed themselves from the confines of my dress. This time had been a bit worse than earlier probably because of the amount of bouncing around I had done. I had just given my entire math class an unobstructed view of my bare breasts. My earlier nonchalance was completely eradicated. My face was burning so hot I thought I could actually feel sweat on my forehead.
I quickly covered myself and re-situated things into my dress where they belonged. The rest of the class was something of a blur to me. I recall being humiliated beyond words and squirming uncomfortably in my seat but, that's about it. Mrs. Robitaille held me after the rest of the class left and gave me a one hour detention slip for the next day of school. I guess I was lucky she didn't send me to the principal. She had always seemed to like me so I imagine she cut me a break that day even though my backside would argue with that. The ride home on the school bus was intolerable. I don't even know how many times I was asked to pull them out and let everyone see. Kids can be so cruel sometimes.
The worst part of my day hadn't even arrived yet, although I was acutely aware that it was coming. You see, I had always known from the moment I had put this outfit on in the morning, I was in for a spanking from Dad. I was fairly certain I could get out of the house without being seen but, there was no way I could hope to get back in without my Mom seeing me. I figured a spanking from Dad was worth getting Aaron's attention but, I hadn't counted on Aaron's reaction. By the time I arrived home I was calling myself an idiot and wondering if everyone would have amnesia by the next day. When I walked through the front door I found not just my Mom but, Dad was home too. They stared at me for about 30 seconds and then came a storm of yelling. I got in a few "yes sir" and "no sir" responses but that was about all I could manage.
I was pretty much sobbing when they decided enough lecturing and it was time to paddle. I was told to prepare myself and bring the paddle to the living room. Preparing myself meant removing any clothing that went below my waist. While the "French Maid" costume barely went below my waist I knew better than to argue about its removal so it came off along with my panties, nylons, and shoes. What did that leave me wearing? Absolutely nothing. That's right I was totally naked for a spanking from my Dad. When Dad realized I hadn't been wearing a bra he decided I needed the belt instead of the paddle.
Dad took the belt from me and had me bend over and touch my toes. Seemed like the position of the day to me at this point. He then noticed that I had obviously been paddled and somewhat recently. He started swinging that belt full force. I could her it singing through the air almost constantly. Dad rarely yelled at me while he spanked but, he made an exception on this day. I found myself sobbing "Yes, sir." , "No, sir." , and "I'm sorry sir." over and over. I swear he swung that belt non-stop for 5 minutes at least. I was screaming and begging by the time he stopped. Immediately upon stopping he grabbed me by the back of my hair and thrust me into a corner. "Don't you dare move from there until I tell you or I'll more than double what I just gave you. Do you understand me little girl?" Dad barked as my nose met the wall. "Yes, sir" I squeaked between sobs.
I was left standing there wanting nothing more than to massage my very blistered buttocks for a very long time. Judging by the clock when I was finally sent to my room for the rest of the night it was around an hour. I went to sleep on my stomach still crying and didn't wake until the next morning. After I showered and dressed myself for the day I went to find my Dad out on the Ranch. He was of course already working by that time. When I found him he wasn't alone but, my pride had long sense taken a back seat. I begged his forgiveness for my horrid behavior and he gave it. He hugged me real tight and kissed my forehead. He told me he loved me and that we would of course have a long talk later in the day. I practically skipped backed to the house despite my still very sore backside. Dad had forgiven me, all was right in my world and I couldn't have been happier.
A few days after that the boy of my dreams, Aaron asked me out on my first date. Unfortunately I had to turn him down on account of being grounded but, he was a gentlemen and rescheduled for a time when I was available. Rachel remained angry with me for several months. She actually ended up dating one of Aaron's friends and it was on a double date when all was finally forgiven between us. Rachel's PE paddling and my Math class paddling became legend around the school. I learned to stop blushing when the subject came up and ask the boys if they jerked off thinking of me getting spanked like that. It usually quieted the boys right down, even made a few of them blush.
It was right about Halloween. I would be more specific on the date but, I honestly don't recall if it was actually Halloween or just the closest school day to it. Whichever it was, it was the day we went to school wearing costumes. As an adult I can look back at those dress-up days and say, "What the hell was the school thinking?" Come on, a bunch of hormone raging, sexually curious teenagers and somebody thought it was a good idea that they be allowed to wear 'costumes'. I can't recall a single year when there weren't a few girls dressed as inappropriately as Rachel and I managed in this particular year. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out that a costume day is a perfect pretense for a repressed teenage girl to strut her stuff and make every boy in school take notice. That's exactly what Rachel and I were up to. Aaron clearly needed a push to get him out of the shy boy routine and around to asking somebody out.
I had plotted the outfit of the day for weeks. My usual school attire consisted of a small selection of modest dresses and long skirts with stiff white blouses. Not exactly the sort of stuff that's gonna cause whiplash. Today however would be different. Today I blushed when I saw myself in the mirror. Was I really going to go to school showing off this much skin? I adjust my boobs for a couple of minutes trying to get the right look. I had so much cleavage showing that it wouldn't take a whole lot of leaning over and I'd be showing the whole thing. To say the skirt was short is a bit like saying boiling water is warm. Not exactly a lie but, the reality is a little more extreme.
So, what costume possibility could possibly give me the excuse to leave my house like this? Let me describe it a little more for you. Essentially it was a very short, very shiny, black dress with white lace trim. It even had a little white lace apron that wrapped around the middle. Still can't figure it out? I was a 'French Maid' for the day. I almost chickened out that morning when I twirled around and saw that my panties were easily visible just walking. My better judgment lost out that day and there wouldn't be a story here if it hadn't.
I timed my escape from home just right so that Mom and Dad didn't get a look at my immodesty. The bus ride to school was no picnic. I certainly had the attention of every boy on board and truth be told most of the girls as well. Where the boys were grinning ridiculously, the girls were scowling. The ride did become a little more comfortable for me when Rachel got on. She was wearing a pink fairy costume that made me almost look modest. I was relieved that everyone wasn't staring at me anymore but, I wasn't thrilled that she had out done me. I mean when she first walked on the bus, I thought she naked with a couple of wings glued to her back.
My first class for the day was World History. I was starting to get comfortable with my outfit as I sat down in the classroom. It was fairly obvious most of the girls were disapproving even my girlfriends but, they were also a bit jealous. The boys on the other hand, well they never looked at me as the shy, quiet, smart girl again. A few minutes into the class, while the teacher's back was turned, one of the boys leaned over to me and asked if I would go to an upcoming dance with him. I was really starting to enjoy this. I decided I wouldn't turn him down but, put him off for a little bit. Kind of leave my options open thinking. As I leaned over to give him my response Mr. Hale turned around and caught me.
Mr. Hale was one of the teachers at the school that commonly exercised his right to give students swats. "Miss Dean, get the paddle and wait for me in the hall. I will not tolerate your disruptive behavior." "Yes, Mr. Hale. I'm sorry." No, that's not what I wanted to say but, it was the smart thing to say. My actual thoughts were along the lines of this pervert was just looking for any old excuse from the second he saw my outfit for the day. Probably a bit harsh but, I won't swear it wasn't true. I got up and went to the front of the class where the teacher's small wooden paddle hung on a nail. I was so flustered thinking about being paddled that I actually dropped the thing on the ground as soon as I got it off the nail. I knelt down very carefully to pick it up and at the same time realized just how horrible bending over for a paddling was going to be in this 'dress'. Mr. Hale kept me waiting in the hall for about 10 minutes before he came out.
Now I should probably pause a moment here and explain a couple of things. First, every teacher in school had the right to paddle students in their class. They were issued a small paddle that really looked a lot like a ping-pong paddle without the rubber coating. Most teachers in high school rarely if ever paddled students themselves, preferring to simply issue detentions or send us to the office. However, there were a few like Mr. Hale, who used the paddle frequently. There was never a week and hardly a day that went by without him paddling at least one student. Second, is that these teacher paddlings were never very severe. A paddling from Mr. Hale would sting for about an hour and then be forgotten. Teacher's actually could give more swats than the principal because their lightweight paddles really just weren't capable of hurting all that much. The maximum swats for a teacher was twenty and even for Mr. Hale, it was a rare day when that many were given. Usually it was more about the embarrassment than anything else and five to ten swats was more than enough to establish that.
So, when Mr. Hale came out into the hallway to tend to my bottom he started out with a lecture. I can't recall his exact words but, the general context was about how disappointed he was that after already paddling me several times previously I was still disrupting his class. He also commented on my attire for the day, no surprise there. Apparently, it was like my sixth trip out into the hall from him that semester. Clearly I wasn't learning not to disrupt his class. I remember thinking he was stating the obvious on a few things and couldn't we just get this over with.
Turned out he was building up to giving me a choice, either I could take a slip to the office that was going to request the principal give me 5 swats with his instrument of torture or I could take a full 20 from Mr. Hale. Not much of choice but, it was actually more than he had to do. I of course took the 20 from him and was grateful for them. It stung more than any of the others he had given me but I knew it was far better than going to the office. I was quite aware if I ended up in the Principal's office I would have gotten extra for my outfit and my Dad probably would have been called to bring a change of clothes for me which would have been real bad for going home later. That is if he didn't just bring his belt with him and let me have it at school.
I told Mr. Hale I would take his twenty swats and I don't think he was too surprised. Now while the spanking itself wasn't nearly as painful as what I would have gotten from the principal or my Dad it still hurt more than the usual from Mr. Hale. I suspect part of it was when I bent over the only protection my bottom had was my panties. The dress was just that short. The other really embarrassing part was that when I bent over touching my toes, my boobs literally came flopping out of the top of the dress. Not all the way but, enough to cause me to blush copiously. I was really hating my outfit at this point. The height of embarrassment came when the paddling was over and I stood up. Mr. Hale actually pointed at my chest and said, "You should probably fix that before we go back in." Yep, that's right I was giving my History teacher a nice look at one of my nipples. I'm not sure if it was the embarrassment or the twenty swats, probably a bit of both but, I was crying profusely.
No that's not the end. I still have a full school day ahead of me. I'll try not to bore you with details of every class though. That was not the only paddling I got at school for the day unfortunately. I was extra careful to be on my best behavior for the rest of the day, though. Mr. Hale had reminded me of something I had forgotten. Just how bad it would be if I had to go and see the principal in my little "French Maid" outfit.
By morning break news of my hallway paddling had made it around the entire campus. Fortunately, Rachel had also been paddled in the morning and her story was overshadowing mine. Rachel's paddling had come from being late to her PE class. I guess it took her a while to get out of her skin tight costume. PE paddlings were always the worst. They were the only teachers in school that could paddle your bare bottom and they always paddled bare bottom. The other problem was you didn't get to go out in a hallway you just got paddle bending over with your shorts and panties around your knees right in front of your class. Rachel had been late enough that her teacher had given her fifteen swats. Rachel wasn't used to getting spanked as much as I was so her reaction was a bit worse. She was apparently crying and jumping up and down so much that her shorts actually came all the way off. Worse yet, she spent so much time complaining about her sore backside through the class that the teacher decided she needed a full twenty at the end of the class. Her reaction to those was certainly not an improvement over the first fifteen either. She was reported as walking into the locker room carrying her shorts and panties instead of wearing them. An incident like that was going to be the talk of the school for a few days at least. I couldn't help but laugh when I first heard the story even though I was sporting a freshly reddened bottom myself. Rachel has always denied that things happened quite that way and knowing how stories get a life of their own I imagine the story was embellished a bit.
Now I could on and bore you with all the details of how many times some immature boy flipped the back of my skirt or the whistling and catcalls. However, I imagine you would be much more interested in my last class of the day. That was my math class and the one I shared with Aaron and Rachel. You see I knew that would perk you attention right up. Rachel and I bumped into each other in the hall a few feet from the classroom. Quite literally too. We were both very much aware of the others motivation for dressing like a slut for the day and the name calling began. By the time we reached the classroom door I doubt at there was a single person in that hallway that didn't know every derogatory term you could use to call a girl a whore. I also imagine they all knew that these two wonderfully revealing costumes were the result of one boy's appeal, Aaron.
Now as we turned into the doorway to get to our seats, we nearly ran right into Aaron. Shut us both up really fast. Rachel's face blushed to match her pink fairy costume and I can only imagine the beet red of my own face. Aaron was not amused with us. He said something along the lines of, "You two should be ashamed of yourselves. I've got half a mind to call both of your father's the minute I get home and tell them just what you've been up to today." He turned his back to us started towards his desk and then turned toward us again. "By the way I don't go for sluts."
Talk about a disappointment. Not only had we both been rejected by the boy we were trying to impress he had lectured us too. Our mutual public humiliation was a bit overwhelming at that point. We of course plumped ourselves down into our desks with attitude that would do a supermodel proud. Apparently I needed another spanking because I was throwing attitude at my teacher as though she were to blame for my bad day. At one point I was asked to solve a particular problem on the board and my response was, "Oh goody! I get to do your job and teach the class." If you can't hear the sarcasm dripping off those words your not trying hard enough. My teacher, Mrs. Robitaille, was not about to stand for that much open disrespect. She picked up her class paddle, she rarely used it, and called me to the front of the class.
I was in rare form, "Oh no! I'm gonna get paddled. Somebody save me!" Mocking the teacher that's just about to paddle you is probably not among the smartest things to do. I really didn't care. Now Mrs. Robitaille rarely used her paddle. In fact I am pretty sure that this particular day was the only time she used it that entire school year. Unlike most teachers who would send a student into the hall she believed in paddling in front of the class. It was a matter completely up to the teacher's discretion.
My march to the front of the class was not marred by trepidation. I was almost eager to be spanked right up there in front of my classmates. For the first time in my life I was feeling more thrill in the anticipation than fear. It was a very liberating experience and was undoubtedly my first step on the path to accepting my dark desires to be both spanked and humiliated. Upon reaching the front of the class I turned to Mrs. Robitaille and said, "Shall I touch my toes now or do you want my panties down too?" The class actually laughed at this point which I think was what I wanted. Mrs. Robitaille told me to bend over and as I did she started swinging with every bit of force she could muster. I said before that the teacher's were limited to 20 swats well She chose to interpret that as per offense on this occasion and I am pretty sure she gave me about 60 swats. I lost count around 25 and shortly thereafter was crying and begging for her to stop. Those lightweight paddles when used with that much fervor could actually hurt a bit more than I had previously thought.
When she finally allowed me to stand up I went to immediately to rubbing my very sore backside as I walked back to my desk. Every single person in that class was staring straight at me as I walked rather slowly. I was vaguely aware of some of the girls trying to get my attention but I was engrossed with massaging my bottom and trying to stop my tears. It wasn't until I sat down that I realized what the fuss was about. Just like earlier in the day when I was bent over my breasts had freed themselves from the confines of my dress. This time had been a bit worse than earlier probably because of the amount of bouncing around I had done. I had just given my entire math class an unobstructed view of my bare breasts. My earlier nonchalance was completely eradicated. My face was burning so hot I thought I could actually feel sweat on my forehead.
I quickly covered myself and re-situated things into my dress where they belonged. The rest of the class was something of a blur to me. I recall being humiliated beyond words and squirming uncomfortably in my seat but, that's about it. Mrs. Robitaille held me after the rest of the class left and gave me a one hour detention slip for the next day of school. I guess I was lucky she didn't send me to the principal. She had always seemed to like me so I imagine she cut me a break that day even though my backside would argue with that. The ride home on the school bus was intolerable. I don't even know how many times I was asked to pull them out and let everyone see. Kids can be so cruel sometimes.
The worst part of my day hadn't even arrived yet, although I was acutely aware that it was coming. You see, I had always known from the moment I had put this outfit on in the morning, I was in for a spanking from Dad. I was fairly certain I could get out of the house without being seen but, there was no way I could hope to get back in without my Mom seeing me. I figured a spanking from Dad was worth getting Aaron's attention but, I hadn't counted on Aaron's reaction. By the time I arrived home I was calling myself an idiot and wondering if everyone would have amnesia by the next day. When I walked through the front door I found not just my Mom but, Dad was home too. They stared at me for about 30 seconds and then came a storm of yelling. I got in a few "yes sir" and "no sir" responses but that was about all I could manage.
I was pretty much sobbing when they decided enough lecturing and it was time to paddle. I was told to prepare myself and bring the paddle to the living room. Preparing myself meant removing any clothing that went below my waist. While the "French Maid" costume barely went below my waist I knew better than to argue about its removal so it came off along with my panties, nylons, and shoes. What did that leave me wearing? Absolutely nothing. That's right I was totally naked for a spanking from my Dad. When Dad realized I hadn't been wearing a bra he decided I needed the belt instead of the paddle.
Dad took the belt from me and had me bend over and touch my toes. Seemed like the position of the day to me at this point. He then noticed that I had obviously been paddled and somewhat recently. He started swinging that belt full force. I could her it singing through the air almost constantly. Dad rarely yelled at me while he spanked but, he made an exception on this day. I found myself sobbing "Yes, sir." , "No, sir." , and "I'm sorry sir." over and over. I swear he swung that belt non-stop for 5 minutes at least. I was screaming and begging by the time he stopped. Immediately upon stopping he grabbed me by the back of my hair and thrust me into a corner. "Don't you dare move from there until I tell you or I'll more than double what I just gave you. Do you understand me little girl?" Dad barked as my nose met the wall. "Yes, sir" I squeaked between sobs.
I was left standing there wanting nothing more than to massage my very blistered buttocks for a very long time. Judging by the clock when I was finally sent to my room for the rest of the night it was around an hour. I went to sleep on my stomach still crying and didn't wake until the next morning. After I showered and dressed myself for the day I went to find my Dad out on the Ranch. He was of course already working by that time. When I found him he wasn't alone but, my pride had long sense taken a back seat. I begged his forgiveness for my horrid behavior and he gave it. He hugged me real tight and kissed my forehead. He told me he loved me and that we would of course have a long talk later in the day. I practically skipped backed to the house despite my still very sore backside. Dad had forgiven me, all was right in my world and I couldn't have been happier.
A few days after that the boy of my dreams, Aaron asked me out on my first date. Unfortunately I had to turn him down on account of being grounded but, he was a gentlemen and rescheduled for a time when I was available. Rachel remained angry with me for several months. She actually ended up dating one of Aaron's friends and it was on a double date when all was finally forgiven between us. Rachel's PE paddling and my Math class paddling became legend around the school. I learned to stop blushing when the subject came up and ask the boys if they jerked off thinking of me getting spanked like that. It usually quieted the boys right down, even made a few of them blush.
Smoking
Texas High Schools hold their students up to high standards. Its really no surprise that the schools produce very polite and respectful adults if not well educated ones. The always present threat of a paddling form the Principal was never far from a mischievous students mind. I was sent to the principal's office 6 times throughout my 4 years of high school. I wasn't even considered to be close to a problem student either, just one that needed a painful reminder from time to time. There were others in my class that had been sent as many as 16 times. There were a few students that were never sent but, most felt the school paddle between 4 and 8 times during their time in high school.
The incident I'm about to describe occured in my junior year and is one of the reason I strongly oppose corporal punishment in the school environment. You see this is one of two paddling I
received at school that I did not deserve. The skeptics among you are probably saying to yourselves, "Every kid that gets a spanking thinks they didn't deserve it." Well I don't hold any grudges over spankings I've received and most of the ones I got growing up were more than deserved. This paticular event though opened my eyes to the problem that the school as an entity isn't always able to make accurate judgements. Parents are the only ones truly capable of knowing when or if their child is lying. Of course, they can make mistakes here too but, when they do it is usually with good reason. A school Principal isn't able to know each and every student to that degree and is faced with making difficult discipline decisions without that benefit. They do their best with facts and witnesses but more often than not they are jumping to conclusions based on their preconcieved ideas of the behavior of youths in general.
The first I found out I was in trouble was the arrival of a student aide during my History class. He brought a note to my teacher and a moment later I was told to the accompany the boy to the principal's office. The announcement was followed by a round of ooh's and snickering by my
classmates. Leaving the classroom with the office aide, who looked to be a sophmore, I was of course very concerned and my mind was racing trying to figure out what I had done.
As the two of us walked through the corridors to the office there was an awkward silence, probably more from my uncomfortablness than his. Just before we reached the office he stopped for a moment and talked to me. "Look, I don't know you and I'm sure you'd rather not know me. But, I would want to know if I was you so, here's the deal. They did a locker search today and found contraband in you locker. Principal's already called your folks and there on their way here. I gather that means your being suspended or even expelled. I uh, know its none of my business, I just thought you'd want to know before going in there." He shrugged at me looking a little afraid that I might be angry with him.
I admit I was confused and feeling a bit indignant. The only thought running through my head was, 'Contraband? What the hell? The only thing in my locker is a few extra pens and pencils. I hardly used the damn thing because it's impossible to get to between classes.' After a moment I realized I was scaring the boy and decided I better reassure him. "I'm not mad at you. Its just what you said doesn't make any sense at all they must have something mixed up. Thank you for telling me, that was a very cool thing to do."
Well at least the office aide felt a little better as we entered the office. I didn't have to wait at all once we got there. The principal had been waiting impatiently and took me into his office right away. He directed me to stand in front of his desk and closed his door. He didn't bother going behind his desk he just came straight over to me and started yelling with his face only a few inches from mine. He went on and on about what a disgusting habit smoking was and how it was illegal for someone my age to even have them not to mention to have them on a school campus. He told me I could be sent to juvenile detention facility or that my parents could be fined or even sent to jail. Not everything he was saying was true but, I didn't know that at the time. I was terrified. Each time I tried to explain that the cigarrettes couldn't possibly be mine, he would move a little closer to my face and yell, "SHUT UP!" or "SAVE YOUR LIES FOR YOUR PARENTS!" It was impossible to get him to listen he was so worked up. I was frustrated to the point of tears but I kept telling myself, 'Don't you let this bastard see you cry.'
Finally, he stepped back and told me he was going to give me 15 swats with the school paddle, the maximum allowed, and that I was suspended for 3 days. I couldn't believe what I was hearing, being paddled for something I didn't do was bad enough but, the suspension would seriously hurt my grades. I wasn't the top student in my class but, I was in the top ten. I had tests in nearly all of my classes the following day and being suspended meant I would recieve failing grades because students weren't allowed to make up work or tests missed because of being suspended. I was more forceful when I spoke up having realized all of this, "Don't believe me but, talk to my Dad! He'll tell you there is no way those cigarettes are mine! Please talk to my Dad!"
His response shocked me. "I've already spoke with your parents and they given me permission to
make this a bare bottom school paddling you'll never forget!" That was the end of discussion. He
made sure I knew it was over by picking up the paddle and pointing it at me as he told me tot ake off my skirt and lower my panties to my ankles. I was infuriated and of course I didn't want to comply. The problem is that it was engrained into me to do as I was told by adults with authority over me. I wanted to argue more or make him wait for my parents to get there but, I 'knew' better. You never forget surrendering yourself to a spanking that you don't feel you deserve. I was horrified to have to stand in front of this man with my privates on display and obey him as though he were my father.
He didn't make me stand there long. He had me bend over the side of his desk grabbing the far edge. This forced me to be rather stretched out. In fact, I had to push myself up on my tip-toes to reach the other side of the desk. It seemed like I waited there over his desk for at least five minutes before the first swat. The whole time I was waiting all I could think about was that fearsome paddle he was holding and how much it was going to hurt. The paddle itself was probably 24 inches in length, 6 inches wide, and a half inch thick. A single swat with it would leave two bruises, one on each buttock. The most I had ever had for any previous offense was 5 swats. The bruises from that had lasted about 4 days. I was simply terrified at the prospect of three times as many swats.
The paddling itself was slow and deliberate. It lasted a full fifteen minutes as each swat was delivered at one minute intervals. My vow to not cry was broken on the 3rd swat. By the 6th swat he was having to push me back down. I was screaming and kicking my legs wildly trying to get away. It seemed as soon as I was able to control myself enough to stay down it would be time for the next swat and I would be trying to bolt again. On the 12th swat all the fight left and I just laid there on the desk sobbing and crying out for my Daddy. After the final swat I was ordered to stand up and intelace my hands behind my head. I honestly no longer cared that I was bare. He lectured me for several minutes asking questions requiring answers of either yes or no sir. When he was satisfied I had learned from his paddle he told me to get dressed. In my struggles I had kicked my panties off and across the room. I rubbed my bottom as I walked over to them. I dressed rather quickly despite the burning in my backside.
He escorted me out of his office by the arm and delivered me to my parents who were waiting in the next room. It was obvious everyone in the office had heard my screams. The boy who had escorted me to the office looked as though he was fighting back tears himself. The principal wanted a few private words with my Dad. My Dad was so concerned about me though he told the principal it would have to wait. I walked with my parents to their car in complete silence. I could tell they were mad. What I didn't know then was they weren't mad at me. The instant I sat down in the car I couldn't help but cry out. The pain of sitting down resulted in a renewed burst of tears that I couldn't stop.
At home, Dad took me up to my room and helped me to lay face down on my bed. He sat down next to me and gently started stroking my hair. It was something he hadn't done in years. It took a few minutes for it to have the calming effect my Dad intended. Once I stopped crying he asked me just one question, "Were you holding those cigarrettes for someone?" My answer of course was, "No, sir. They weren't mine either Daddy. I swear I never saw them before." He just kissed my forehead and told me he knew that already. He left me to try and sleep some and he went straight back to the school to give the principal hell.
You see when I was a little girl my Mom used to smoke. Problem was it turned out I was highly allergic to cigarette smoke. Mom had to quit smoking because of that. My parents were still very
much aware of my allergy because not 6 months prior to that I had ended up in the emergency room
because I went out on a date with a boy who's parents were smokers. He was driving their car and
just the residual smoke in it was enough to cause me to collapse gasping for air. Scared the poor boy half to death. He called 911 and stayed with me all the way to the hospital, where he called my Dad. A very responsible young man and still a good friend of mine to this day.
Now you say if that's the case then why did they give the principal permission to paddle me in the first place? Well that's because the word contraband was used instead of cigarettes. My parents assumed the reference was to drugs and their immediate reaction to that was not only should I get paddled at school but, they were planning a follow-up dose of the belt upon getting me home. When they arrived at the school office my spanking was already in progress and they could hear me screaming and begging for my Daddy. The principal's secretary informed them that it was a normal reaction for 15 swats, a very severe punishment, and that I would most likely have bruises for 2 to 3 weeks. My parents started asking questions about the contraband. By this time my paddling had ended and my parents became furious finding out that contraband meant cigarettes. Apparently the pity I thought I was seeing on everyones face wasn't for me it was for the principal who was going to soon learn of the very large mistake he had made.
By the time my Dad left to go back to the school there was only about an hour half left in the school day. Still he managed to chew out the principal, get my suspension lifted, and bring about an investigation that revealed the boy who had 'snitched' about seeing me smoking had planted the cigarettes in my locker because he felt snubbed by me when I turned away his advances a couple of weeks prior.
Even though my suspension was lifted my Dad kept me home for the rest of the school week. He brought me my homework from my classes and made arrangements for me to make up the tests I had missed while I was out. When I did return to school I found my Dad and I had been the non-stop
topic of discussion with my classmates. I got lots of sympathy from my friends and none of them could say enough about how great my Dad was. Apparently he had made quite an impression taking on the school principal and although I'm sure the stories were exagerated, it was considered common knowledge that our fearsome school principal had cowered before my Dad.
The incident I'm about to describe occured in my junior year and is one of the reason I strongly oppose corporal punishment in the school environment. You see this is one of two paddling I
received at school that I did not deserve. The skeptics among you are probably saying to yourselves, "Every kid that gets a spanking thinks they didn't deserve it." Well I don't hold any grudges over spankings I've received and most of the ones I got growing up were more than deserved. This paticular event though opened my eyes to the problem that the school as an entity isn't always able to make accurate judgements. Parents are the only ones truly capable of knowing when or if their child is lying. Of course, they can make mistakes here too but, when they do it is usually with good reason. A school Principal isn't able to know each and every student to that degree and is faced with making difficult discipline decisions without that benefit. They do their best with facts and witnesses but more often than not they are jumping to conclusions based on their preconcieved ideas of the behavior of youths in general.
The first I found out I was in trouble was the arrival of a student aide during my History class. He brought a note to my teacher and a moment later I was told to the accompany the boy to the principal's office. The announcement was followed by a round of ooh's and snickering by my
classmates. Leaving the classroom with the office aide, who looked to be a sophmore, I was of course very concerned and my mind was racing trying to figure out what I had done.
As the two of us walked through the corridors to the office there was an awkward silence, probably more from my uncomfortablness than his. Just before we reached the office he stopped for a moment and talked to me. "Look, I don't know you and I'm sure you'd rather not know me. But, I would want to know if I was you so, here's the deal. They did a locker search today and found contraband in you locker. Principal's already called your folks and there on their way here. I gather that means your being suspended or even expelled. I uh, know its none of my business, I just thought you'd want to know before going in there." He shrugged at me looking a little afraid that I might be angry with him.
I admit I was confused and feeling a bit indignant. The only thought running through my head was, 'Contraband? What the hell? The only thing in my locker is a few extra pens and pencils. I hardly used the damn thing because it's impossible to get to between classes.' After a moment I realized I was scaring the boy and decided I better reassure him. "I'm not mad at you. Its just what you said doesn't make any sense at all they must have something mixed up. Thank you for telling me, that was a very cool thing to do."
Well at least the office aide felt a little better as we entered the office. I didn't have to wait at all once we got there. The principal had been waiting impatiently and took me into his office right away. He directed me to stand in front of his desk and closed his door. He didn't bother going behind his desk he just came straight over to me and started yelling with his face only a few inches from mine. He went on and on about what a disgusting habit smoking was and how it was illegal for someone my age to even have them not to mention to have them on a school campus. He told me I could be sent to juvenile detention facility or that my parents could be fined or even sent to jail. Not everything he was saying was true but, I didn't know that at the time. I was terrified. Each time I tried to explain that the cigarrettes couldn't possibly be mine, he would move a little closer to my face and yell, "SHUT UP!" or "SAVE YOUR LIES FOR YOUR PARENTS!" It was impossible to get him to listen he was so worked up. I was frustrated to the point of tears but I kept telling myself, 'Don't you let this bastard see you cry.'
Finally, he stepped back and told me he was going to give me 15 swats with the school paddle, the maximum allowed, and that I was suspended for 3 days. I couldn't believe what I was hearing, being paddled for something I didn't do was bad enough but, the suspension would seriously hurt my grades. I wasn't the top student in my class but, I was in the top ten. I had tests in nearly all of my classes the following day and being suspended meant I would recieve failing grades because students weren't allowed to make up work or tests missed because of being suspended. I was more forceful when I spoke up having realized all of this, "Don't believe me but, talk to my Dad! He'll tell you there is no way those cigarettes are mine! Please talk to my Dad!"
His response shocked me. "I've already spoke with your parents and they given me permission to
make this a bare bottom school paddling you'll never forget!" That was the end of discussion. He
made sure I knew it was over by picking up the paddle and pointing it at me as he told me tot ake off my skirt and lower my panties to my ankles. I was infuriated and of course I didn't want to comply. The problem is that it was engrained into me to do as I was told by adults with authority over me. I wanted to argue more or make him wait for my parents to get there but, I 'knew' better. You never forget surrendering yourself to a spanking that you don't feel you deserve. I was horrified to have to stand in front of this man with my privates on display and obey him as though he were my father.
He didn't make me stand there long. He had me bend over the side of his desk grabbing the far edge. This forced me to be rather stretched out. In fact, I had to push myself up on my tip-toes to reach the other side of the desk. It seemed like I waited there over his desk for at least five minutes before the first swat. The whole time I was waiting all I could think about was that fearsome paddle he was holding and how much it was going to hurt. The paddle itself was probably 24 inches in length, 6 inches wide, and a half inch thick. A single swat with it would leave two bruises, one on each buttock. The most I had ever had for any previous offense was 5 swats. The bruises from that had lasted about 4 days. I was simply terrified at the prospect of three times as many swats.
The paddling itself was slow and deliberate. It lasted a full fifteen minutes as each swat was delivered at one minute intervals. My vow to not cry was broken on the 3rd swat. By the 6th swat he was having to push me back down. I was screaming and kicking my legs wildly trying to get away. It seemed as soon as I was able to control myself enough to stay down it would be time for the next swat and I would be trying to bolt again. On the 12th swat all the fight left and I just laid there on the desk sobbing and crying out for my Daddy. After the final swat I was ordered to stand up and intelace my hands behind my head. I honestly no longer cared that I was bare. He lectured me for several minutes asking questions requiring answers of either yes or no sir. When he was satisfied I had learned from his paddle he told me to get dressed. In my struggles I had kicked my panties off and across the room. I rubbed my bottom as I walked over to them. I dressed rather quickly despite the burning in my backside.
He escorted me out of his office by the arm and delivered me to my parents who were waiting in the next room. It was obvious everyone in the office had heard my screams. The boy who had escorted me to the office looked as though he was fighting back tears himself. The principal wanted a few private words with my Dad. My Dad was so concerned about me though he told the principal it would have to wait. I walked with my parents to their car in complete silence. I could tell they were mad. What I didn't know then was they weren't mad at me. The instant I sat down in the car I couldn't help but cry out. The pain of sitting down resulted in a renewed burst of tears that I couldn't stop.
At home, Dad took me up to my room and helped me to lay face down on my bed. He sat down next to me and gently started stroking my hair. It was something he hadn't done in years. It took a few minutes for it to have the calming effect my Dad intended. Once I stopped crying he asked me just one question, "Were you holding those cigarrettes for someone?" My answer of course was, "No, sir. They weren't mine either Daddy. I swear I never saw them before." He just kissed my forehead and told me he knew that already. He left me to try and sleep some and he went straight back to the school to give the principal hell.
You see when I was a little girl my Mom used to smoke. Problem was it turned out I was highly allergic to cigarette smoke. Mom had to quit smoking because of that. My parents were still very
much aware of my allergy because not 6 months prior to that I had ended up in the emergency room
because I went out on a date with a boy who's parents were smokers. He was driving their car and
just the residual smoke in it was enough to cause me to collapse gasping for air. Scared the poor boy half to death. He called 911 and stayed with me all the way to the hospital, where he called my Dad. A very responsible young man and still a good friend of mine to this day.
Now you say if that's the case then why did they give the principal permission to paddle me in the first place? Well that's because the word contraband was used instead of cigarettes. My parents assumed the reference was to drugs and their immediate reaction to that was not only should I get paddled at school but, they were planning a follow-up dose of the belt upon getting me home. When they arrived at the school office my spanking was already in progress and they could hear me screaming and begging for my Daddy. The principal's secretary informed them that it was a normal reaction for 15 swats, a very severe punishment, and that I would most likely have bruises for 2 to 3 weeks. My parents started asking questions about the contraband. By this time my paddling had ended and my parents became furious finding out that contraband meant cigarettes. Apparently the pity I thought I was seeing on everyones face wasn't for me it was for the principal who was going to soon learn of the very large mistake he had made.
By the time my Dad left to go back to the school there was only about an hour half left in the school day. Still he managed to chew out the principal, get my suspension lifted, and bring about an investigation that revealed the boy who had 'snitched' about seeing me smoking had planted the cigarettes in my locker because he felt snubbed by me when I turned away his advances a couple of weeks prior.
Even though my suspension was lifted my Dad kept me home for the rest of the school week. He brought me my homework from my classes and made arrangements for me to make up the tests I had missed while I was out. When I did return to school I found my Dad and I had been the non-stop
topic of discussion with my classmates. I got lots of sympathy from my friends and none of them could say enough about how great my Dad was. Apparently he had made quite an impression taking on the school principal and although I'm sure the stories were exagerated, it was considered common knowledge that our fearsome school principal had cowered before my Dad.
A Lesson To Remember
You either love him or hate him. That is just the way of some people. You can’t escape having an opinion about them, their personality won’t allow for it. Mr. Edwards is such a person, evoking the best or worst in those around him. There is no middle ground to stand upon and I don’t think he would really have it any other way.
You can probably already tell, I’m not in the hate him camp. Mr. Edwards is my tenth grade chemistry teacher. Now, if I came to school to socialize or if I came unprepared, I might have established a different view. As an honor roll student however, I come to school to learn and my goals are long term success and not short term fun. Don’t get me wrong, I’m all for fun and having it, just not in the seven hours I spend in school classrooms five days a week.
Yes, I know I’m in the minority here. The high school environment is primarily a social one. It is the fortune of jocks and cheerleaders to be blessed with movie star like popularity. Everyone wants to know them, everyone wants to be them, everyone wants to be their friend. Well, everyone but me. No, I don’t hate them, I certainly don’t ignore them, how can you? They are the few, the proud, the elite. I however, cannot bring myself to worship them or the ground they walk upon.
I might as well face the truth, I do envy them. I have daydreamed of being on the cheerleading squad, of dating the quarterback or point guard. Reality always comes crashing back to me though and I’ll admit I find it hypocritically unfair that being driven to perform academically is not respected in equality with the drive that inspires performance on the sports field sidelines or the sports field itself. When Mr. Edwards proved so pointedly that he shared my view and toppled Trish O’Brian from her prized perch, all in one day, I was naturally drawn to respect and like him.
The day in question was a Friday. It was also game day and the jocks were running around in their jerseys while the cheerleaders were adorned in their gold and black uniforms. Mr. Edwards’ chemistry class was my first period of the day. I barely squeezed into my desk before the bell rang, an unfortunate side effect of slapping the snooze button on my alarm earlier. Mr. Edwards gave me a warning look as he took attendance which said he had noticed my near tardiness and would be watching me for the rest of the day.
Just as Mr. Edwards was announcing that our lesson for the day would include lab time, Trish waltzes into the classroom. Mr. Edwards turned and looked at her with a very disapproving frown and a question on his lips. Trish seemed oblivious and merely blinked her big, brown eyes with her best doe expression. Undoubtedly a tried and true manner of escaping negative consequences.
“Trish O’Brian. How nice of you to join us this morning.” Mr. Edwards paused as he spoke, almost as though he intended to deliberately humiliate her. He looked down at his attendance book and spoke again. “Seems this is your third tardy this year. See me after class for your detention slip. You can take your seat now, Miss O’Brian.”
“Uh huh, sure.” Trish replied with a shrug of gratuitous attitude as she flung her medium length brown hair over her shoulder and turned her back to Mr. Edwards.
Something about the ambivalence of her response and the way she was chomping on the bubble gum in her mouth made me think of a cow chewing its cud. Trish‘s books hit the desktop directly behind me with me a thud. Her exaggerated sigh as she slid into the plastic chair sent forth the unmistakable aroma of watermelon. I silently cursed her for reminding my empty stomach that I had been running late as well and had missed breakfast in favor of being on time for class.
Mr. Edwards returned to explaining our lab assignment for the day, paper chromatography. Not exactly the most complicated of experiments but it was interesting to think that FBI labs use a similar process to identify the origins of evidence from crime scenes, like identifying the manufacturer of the pen used to leave a ransom note or a serial killers taunting notes to detectives.
Trish and I happen to be lab partners. Most of the time I think of her as a total flake and she acts the part so I don’t feel bad about it, but when it comes down to lab, she’s not quite as useless as her reputation would suggest. The only real problem is she is never quite focused on the task at hand and this occasion was no different. While I set about organizing the materials and preparing my lab notes, Trish set about socializing.
I’m not sure what she was thinking seeing as she had already attracted to much attention from Mr. Edwards for one day. I paid less attention than usual to her ramblings as I felt certain I had also attracted more attention from him that I wanted to. I was having some difficulty getting the paper to stay were I needed it and not having a third arm I looked up to ask Trish for help.
I was somewhat surprised to see her talking with David Reed. He’s a nice guy and all, but he’s not the sort that Trish would normally associate herself with. He’s smart, funny, a little shy, and not at all into sports and then there was the fact that he was well over a foot taller than her and I’d wager his left arm probably weighs about as much as she does.
“Would you um like to uh go with me to the movies this weekend?” David stammered a little unsure of himself.
“Oh, your cute!” Trish responded and giggled a little as she batted her perfect eyelashes at him.
David blushed something fierce and then managed, “You’re not s-so bad yourself.”
“What would you do with me at the movies.” Trish asked standing as close as she could without touching him. Her doe brown eyes looking up at him with playful innocence.
“N-n-nothing”
“Too bad.” She turned around gracefully and wagged her tail as she walk away.
The classroom erupted in a brief stint of laughter curbed by Mr. Edwards as he neared the scene of the crime. “What’s going on here?” He asked David.
“Nothing, just paper chromatography.”
“Trish, why aren’t you wearing your goggles?” Mr. Edward asked suddenly turning his attention away from the humiliated David Reed.
“Oh, Mr. Edwards, we have a game tonight. They would ruin my hair.”
“Goggles on, now.” Mr. Edwards didn’t wait to be obeyed, but turned his back to her and made to continue his journey through the lab stations.
“As if.”
He stopped in his tracks and turned back around to face her. “What was that Miss O’Brian?”
“Nothing.”
“I am not deaf Miss O’Brian. It appears another you need a different kind of lesson today.” Mr. Edwards kept getting closer to Trish as he spoke.
Some of adults would have been angry, not Mr. Edwards though. He was calm and collected. When he grabbed Trish’s arm and started escorting her to the front of the classroom there was no undue force. He could not of been more gentle if she had been a sheep and he a shepherd.
When they reached the front, he sat on his stool and motioned for her to get over his lap. The look on Trish’s face right then was priceless, deer in the headlights. I wasn’t sure whether to laugh or feel sorry for her so I decided to just watch. I think the rest of the class made the same choice.
“Over my knee, young lady.”
“No, I didn’t do anything!”
“Over my knee, now!”
“No.”
Mr. Edwards tired of the argument and decided to end it. He stood and grabbed her by the arm, pulling her closer. A moment later he was seated again and Trish was laying bottom up on his lap. Her uniform skirt was flipped up and Mr. Edwards’ large hand began to smack her golden panties. His hands seemed gigantic in comparison to her tiny buttocks and every slap covered her entire bottom.
Trish kicked her legs to no effect and tried desperately to block the blows with her hands, but her tiny frame was no match for our science teacher. In proportion, Trish was almost like a doll. Her head and arms hanging down the left side of Mr. Edwards and her legs and feet on the other side, neither was long enough to reach the ground.
“No.” Trish uttered through tears.
“You can’t.”
“It’s not fair!”
“Stop it!”
“Stop!”
“No more!”
Trish’s disproportioned reaction to a few hand smacks was not doing her reputation any good. I took a moment to glance around the room and I noticed to my surprise that most of fellow students were sporting grins as they watched the drama unfold over Mr. Edwards’ lap. Mr. Edwards must of thought her reaction too much because he paused.
“Well now, maybe I’m spanking the little girl to hard. Let’s just take these down to make sure I don’t hurt her.” I’m not really sure who he was talking to but “these” were clearly her school colored panties that went smoothly down to her knees despite her protesting and kicking.
The evidence of her play acting was then exposed for all to see. He pert butt was barely pink from the spanking thus far. Mr. Edwards returned to spanking and Trish continued her tantrum, suspended over his knee. I must say though, I did start to feel sorry for her at this point. To have one’s bottomed bared and spanked in front of a class of your peers is a level of humiliation I would not wish on any. I think if it were me I’d have died on Mr. Edwards’ lap.
It did not require any great feat of observation to notice the bulges in every boy’s pants. The looks on their faces as they stared openly at one of the most attractive butts in the school was evidence enough of their physical excitement. I blushed just seeing this and how riveted they were to the scene. I knew without doubt they were hoping to get a glimpse of her most private and secret charms. I realized then as well, this scene would be even more unbearable for her than it could ever be for me. Trish was popular and pretty and everyone would know what had happened here within seconds of this class being over. If it were me on the other hand, no one would care and the matter would lay forgotten by the end of the day. Trish would not be so fortunate.
Finally, the spectacle was coming to an end. Mr. Edwards lifted a sobbing Trish off his lap and set her down on the floor in front of him. I and everyone else had a perfect view of her now cherry-red bottom. Even her uniform seemed to be conspiring against her as the back of her skirt remained flipped up in defiance of gravity and her modesty. Mr. Edwards was not done though.
“Are you going to behave in class from now on?”
“Maybe.”
“Honesty at least. Are you going to do as your told?”
“Only when I have to.”
“Do you think you are being funny, young lady?”
“You’re not.”
I think it is safe for me to assume I was not alone in being shocked at Trish’s audacity. I would have thought she would have been contrite or at least trying to appease the man in front of her. Then I realized this was again part of the difference between us. Trish had a reputation to defend and protect, I do not. Trish had now established strong support for telling everyone she had only acted as expected over his knee and that the spanking had never hurt. She was a master of spin control.
She might have known Mr. Edwards would not leave it at that. I would never have risked it. I would have been mortified to stand in the front of the room with my bare, red bottom on display. Trish seemed to be taking it as a challenge though and for his part so was Mr. Edwards.
“Right then. Go and fetch the paddle from the wall there.” Mr. Edwards pointed to the wall on his right where a small round paddle hung from a hook next to the door.
“Look, I’m sorry, okay?” Trish started to pull her panties up.
“Leave those where they are and get the paddle, NOW!” Mr. Edwards voice ended at a level of roaring I’d never heard from him before. It must have shaken Trish because she hobbled to the paddle with all the speed one could muster with their panties tangled around their knees. The scene evoked some audible laughing that was silenced by a cold glare form Mr. Edwards.
“Bend over the desk.” He ordered upon her return to him.
Trish was silent. She allowed Mr. Edwards to remove the paddle from her hand and did her best to lean over the desk as instructed. She wasn’t tall enough to bend over it at her waist so she ended up somewhat hunched over the desk. Mr. Edwards was not happy with the position, probably because her back was higher than her bottom. He picked her up at the waist and moved her forward.
“Grab the edge of the desk and don’t let go until I tell you.”
Mr. Edwards let go of her and Trish’s legs dangled with her feet a few inches from the ground. Her panties slid from her knees down to her ankles. Her reddened bottom was staring at the classroom and everyone was staring right back at it. Mr. Edwards positioned himself to her left and measured his swing with the paddle in his right hand.
An instant later he swung, fast, hard, and low. Trish squealed. Her legs kicked and the boys in the room got their wish. Her sex was revealed to them with all the delicacy of a head on collision. With each swat she kicked and screamed and exposed herself. After ten of these humiliating assaults, Mr. Edwards stopped. He left her hanging off the front of his desk for a moment as he rifled through a drawer.
“You can let go now.” He said.
Trish did so and immediately sent her hands to massage her tenderized cheeks. She was crying openly now and it was clear she was through smarting off for the moment. Mr. Edwards held up an orange tennis ball that he had found.
“For the rest of the period you will stand in the corner, hands on your head, and you can pin this ball to the corner with your nose. If it drops you get swats. Understood?”
Trish didn’t speak a word. She just nodded and let Mr. Edwards guide her to the corner. I couldn’t see the ball when he left her there. She was standing perfectly straight, her elbows were straight out to her sides and each touching a wall. Her hands were neatly folded on top of her and the only sound from her was sniffling. Trish’s round bottom was pulsing as she clenched and unclenched her reddened cheeks in a vain effort to ease the burning.
The ball dropped twice before class ended. The first time Mr. Edwards gave her three more swats right there in the corner. The second time her brought her back to the desk and gave her six very hard ones. After that she was a sobbing wreck and my heart truly went out to her. I can’t imagine how she must have felt on display and beaten as she was.
When the bell rang, Trish turned and ran from the classroom. She hadn’t bothered to even try to pull her panties back up until she was in the hallway. Students were already starting to stop and point as she struggled a few feet away to pull them up and get her skirt down. Mr. Edwards loud voice calling to her probably ensured that anyone who had not noticed, did.
“Miss O’Brian. You forgot your detention slip.” Mr. Edwards called after her.
Trish didn’t turn around. She finished fixing her uniform back in place and increased her pace, ignoring the voice behind her.
“That’s fine. I’ll just call your mother then.”
At the end of the day, Trish and I shared a school bus ride home. Normally, I sit alone somewhere in the middle of the bus and listen wistfully as the more popular students laugh and talk at the back of the bus. Trish’s voice and laugh, both very distinctive, often rules the noise. Not this time, not this ride. Trish sat silent and alone and at the very front of the bus. Despite myself I felt a twinge of sympathy for her on the long and solitary ride.
I live only two doors down the street from Trish. We exited the bus at the same stop and I couldn’t help but notice her slow pace toward he front door. The usual bouncing and bubbling personality was depressed and as I looked up to her house, I could see the clear reason. Her mother stood stiff and straight just outside the door. Her face was harsh and reminded me of my Mom’s own face when I myself was soon to be disciplined. The small, oval-shaped hairbrush gripped tightly in her right palm waved like a nagging finger toward Trish.
“Get in the house, right now young lady. Move it or I’ll blister you right here on the doorstep!”
Trish disappeared into the house and her mother followed immediately, slamming the front door closed behind her. I can only imagine the scene that played out inside and curious as I was I continued my walk home not even pausing to listen for the smacking sounds of wood to flesh.
Entering my own home, I found my Mom sitting in the living room. She had chosen the chair giving her the best view to the front door. The stern look on her face gave me pause. On the coffee table in front of her lay a white sheet of paper. It had clearly been crumpled and torn. The school’s letterhead was easily recognized even upside down to me as it was. The paddle resting on the table next to it left me little doubt as to what the page said and sure as I knew what was happening behind closed doors at the O’Brian house, I knew a similar fate was but moments away for me.
You can probably already tell, I’m not in the hate him camp. Mr. Edwards is my tenth grade chemistry teacher. Now, if I came to school to socialize or if I came unprepared, I might have established a different view. As an honor roll student however, I come to school to learn and my goals are long term success and not short term fun. Don’t get me wrong, I’m all for fun and having it, just not in the seven hours I spend in school classrooms five days a week.
Yes, I know I’m in the minority here. The high school environment is primarily a social one. It is the fortune of jocks and cheerleaders to be blessed with movie star like popularity. Everyone wants to know them, everyone wants to be them, everyone wants to be their friend. Well, everyone but me. No, I don’t hate them, I certainly don’t ignore them, how can you? They are the few, the proud, the elite. I however, cannot bring myself to worship them or the ground they walk upon.
I might as well face the truth, I do envy them. I have daydreamed of being on the cheerleading squad, of dating the quarterback or point guard. Reality always comes crashing back to me though and I’ll admit I find it hypocritically unfair that being driven to perform academically is not respected in equality with the drive that inspires performance on the sports field sidelines or the sports field itself. When Mr. Edwards proved so pointedly that he shared my view and toppled Trish O’Brian from her prized perch, all in one day, I was naturally drawn to respect and like him.
The day in question was a Friday. It was also game day and the jocks were running around in their jerseys while the cheerleaders were adorned in their gold and black uniforms. Mr. Edwards’ chemistry class was my first period of the day. I barely squeezed into my desk before the bell rang, an unfortunate side effect of slapping the snooze button on my alarm earlier. Mr. Edwards gave me a warning look as he took attendance which said he had noticed my near tardiness and would be watching me for the rest of the day.
Just as Mr. Edwards was announcing that our lesson for the day would include lab time, Trish waltzes into the classroom. Mr. Edwards turned and looked at her with a very disapproving frown and a question on his lips. Trish seemed oblivious and merely blinked her big, brown eyes with her best doe expression. Undoubtedly a tried and true manner of escaping negative consequences.
“Trish O’Brian. How nice of you to join us this morning.” Mr. Edwards paused as he spoke, almost as though he intended to deliberately humiliate her. He looked down at his attendance book and spoke again. “Seems this is your third tardy this year. See me after class for your detention slip. You can take your seat now, Miss O’Brian.”
“Uh huh, sure.” Trish replied with a shrug of gratuitous attitude as she flung her medium length brown hair over her shoulder and turned her back to Mr. Edwards.
Something about the ambivalence of her response and the way she was chomping on the bubble gum in her mouth made me think of a cow chewing its cud. Trish‘s books hit the desktop directly behind me with me a thud. Her exaggerated sigh as she slid into the plastic chair sent forth the unmistakable aroma of watermelon. I silently cursed her for reminding my empty stomach that I had been running late as well and had missed breakfast in favor of being on time for class.
Mr. Edwards returned to explaining our lab assignment for the day, paper chromatography. Not exactly the most complicated of experiments but it was interesting to think that FBI labs use a similar process to identify the origins of evidence from crime scenes, like identifying the manufacturer of the pen used to leave a ransom note or a serial killers taunting notes to detectives.
Trish and I happen to be lab partners. Most of the time I think of her as a total flake and she acts the part so I don’t feel bad about it, but when it comes down to lab, she’s not quite as useless as her reputation would suggest. The only real problem is she is never quite focused on the task at hand and this occasion was no different. While I set about organizing the materials and preparing my lab notes, Trish set about socializing.
I’m not sure what she was thinking seeing as she had already attracted to much attention from Mr. Edwards for one day. I paid less attention than usual to her ramblings as I felt certain I had also attracted more attention from him that I wanted to. I was having some difficulty getting the paper to stay were I needed it and not having a third arm I looked up to ask Trish for help.
I was somewhat surprised to see her talking with David Reed. He’s a nice guy and all, but he’s not the sort that Trish would normally associate herself with. He’s smart, funny, a little shy, and not at all into sports and then there was the fact that he was well over a foot taller than her and I’d wager his left arm probably weighs about as much as she does.
“Would you um like to uh go with me to the movies this weekend?” David stammered a little unsure of himself.
“Oh, your cute!” Trish responded and giggled a little as she batted her perfect eyelashes at him.
David blushed something fierce and then managed, “You’re not s-so bad yourself.”
“What would you do with me at the movies.” Trish asked standing as close as she could without touching him. Her doe brown eyes looking up at him with playful innocence.
“N-n-nothing”
“Too bad.” She turned around gracefully and wagged her tail as she walk away.
The classroom erupted in a brief stint of laughter curbed by Mr. Edwards as he neared the scene of the crime. “What’s going on here?” He asked David.
“Nothing, just paper chromatography.”
“Trish, why aren’t you wearing your goggles?” Mr. Edward asked suddenly turning his attention away from the humiliated David Reed.
“Oh, Mr. Edwards, we have a game tonight. They would ruin my hair.”
“Goggles on, now.” Mr. Edwards didn’t wait to be obeyed, but turned his back to her and made to continue his journey through the lab stations.
“As if.”
He stopped in his tracks and turned back around to face her. “What was that Miss O’Brian?”
“Nothing.”
“I am not deaf Miss O’Brian. It appears another you need a different kind of lesson today.” Mr. Edwards kept getting closer to Trish as he spoke.
Some of adults would have been angry, not Mr. Edwards though. He was calm and collected. When he grabbed Trish’s arm and started escorting her to the front of the classroom there was no undue force. He could not of been more gentle if she had been a sheep and he a shepherd.
When they reached the front, he sat on his stool and motioned for her to get over his lap. The look on Trish’s face right then was priceless, deer in the headlights. I wasn’t sure whether to laugh or feel sorry for her so I decided to just watch. I think the rest of the class made the same choice.
“Over my knee, young lady.”
“No, I didn’t do anything!”
“Over my knee, now!”
“No.”
Mr. Edwards tired of the argument and decided to end it. He stood and grabbed her by the arm, pulling her closer. A moment later he was seated again and Trish was laying bottom up on his lap. Her uniform skirt was flipped up and Mr. Edwards’ large hand began to smack her golden panties. His hands seemed gigantic in comparison to her tiny buttocks and every slap covered her entire bottom.
Trish kicked her legs to no effect and tried desperately to block the blows with her hands, but her tiny frame was no match for our science teacher. In proportion, Trish was almost like a doll. Her head and arms hanging down the left side of Mr. Edwards and her legs and feet on the other side, neither was long enough to reach the ground.
“No.” Trish uttered through tears.
“You can’t.”
“It’s not fair!”
“Stop it!”
“Stop!”
“No more!”
Trish’s disproportioned reaction to a few hand smacks was not doing her reputation any good. I took a moment to glance around the room and I noticed to my surprise that most of fellow students were sporting grins as they watched the drama unfold over Mr. Edwards’ lap. Mr. Edwards must of thought her reaction too much because he paused.
“Well now, maybe I’m spanking the little girl to hard. Let’s just take these down to make sure I don’t hurt her.” I’m not really sure who he was talking to but “these” were clearly her school colored panties that went smoothly down to her knees despite her protesting and kicking.
The evidence of her play acting was then exposed for all to see. He pert butt was barely pink from the spanking thus far. Mr. Edwards returned to spanking and Trish continued her tantrum, suspended over his knee. I must say though, I did start to feel sorry for her at this point. To have one’s bottomed bared and spanked in front of a class of your peers is a level of humiliation I would not wish on any. I think if it were me I’d have died on Mr. Edwards’ lap.
It did not require any great feat of observation to notice the bulges in every boy’s pants. The looks on their faces as they stared openly at one of the most attractive butts in the school was evidence enough of their physical excitement. I blushed just seeing this and how riveted they were to the scene. I knew without doubt they were hoping to get a glimpse of her most private and secret charms. I realized then as well, this scene would be even more unbearable for her than it could ever be for me. Trish was popular and pretty and everyone would know what had happened here within seconds of this class being over. If it were me on the other hand, no one would care and the matter would lay forgotten by the end of the day. Trish would not be so fortunate.
Finally, the spectacle was coming to an end. Mr. Edwards lifted a sobbing Trish off his lap and set her down on the floor in front of him. I and everyone else had a perfect view of her now cherry-red bottom. Even her uniform seemed to be conspiring against her as the back of her skirt remained flipped up in defiance of gravity and her modesty. Mr. Edwards was not done though.
“Are you going to behave in class from now on?”
“Maybe.”
“Honesty at least. Are you going to do as your told?”
“Only when I have to.”
“Do you think you are being funny, young lady?”
“You’re not.”
I think it is safe for me to assume I was not alone in being shocked at Trish’s audacity. I would have thought she would have been contrite or at least trying to appease the man in front of her. Then I realized this was again part of the difference between us. Trish had a reputation to defend and protect, I do not. Trish had now established strong support for telling everyone she had only acted as expected over his knee and that the spanking had never hurt. She was a master of spin control.
She might have known Mr. Edwards would not leave it at that. I would never have risked it. I would have been mortified to stand in the front of the room with my bare, red bottom on display. Trish seemed to be taking it as a challenge though and for his part so was Mr. Edwards.
“Right then. Go and fetch the paddle from the wall there.” Mr. Edwards pointed to the wall on his right where a small round paddle hung from a hook next to the door.
“Look, I’m sorry, okay?” Trish started to pull her panties up.
“Leave those where they are and get the paddle, NOW!” Mr. Edwards voice ended at a level of roaring I’d never heard from him before. It must have shaken Trish because she hobbled to the paddle with all the speed one could muster with their panties tangled around their knees. The scene evoked some audible laughing that was silenced by a cold glare form Mr. Edwards.
“Bend over the desk.” He ordered upon her return to him.
Trish was silent. She allowed Mr. Edwards to remove the paddle from her hand and did her best to lean over the desk as instructed. She wasn’t tall enough to bend over it at her waist so she ended up somewhat hunched over the desk. Mr. Edwards was not happy with the position, probably because her back was higher than her bottom. He picked her up at the waist and moved her forward.
“Grab the edge of the desk and don’t let go until I tell you.”
Mr. Edwards let go of her and Trish’s legs dangled with her feet a few inches from the ground. Her panties slid from her knees down to her ankles. Her reddened bottom was staring at the classroom and everyone was staring right back at it. Mr. Edwards positioned himself to her left and measured his swing with the paddle in his right hand.
An instant later he swung, fast, hard, and low. Trish squealed. Her legs kicked and the boys in the room got their wish. Her sex was revealed to them with all the delicacy of a head on collision. With each swat she kicked and screamed and exposed herself. After ten of these humiliating assaults, Mr. Edwards stopped. He left her hanging off the front of his desk for a moment as he rifled through a drawer.
“You can let go now.” He said.
Trish did so and immediately sent her hands to massage her tenderized cheeks. She was crying openly now and it was clear she was through smarting off for the moment. Mr. Edwards held up an orange tennis ball that he had found.
“For the rest of the period you will stand in the corner, hands on your head, and you can pin this ball to the corner with your nose. If it drops you get swats. Understood?”
Trish didn’t speak a word. She just nodded and let Mr. Edwards guide her to the corner. I couldn’t see the ball when he left her there. She was standing perfectly straight, her elbows were straight out to her sides and each touching a wall. Her hands were neatly folded on top of her and the only sound from her was sniffling. Trish’s round bottom was pulsing as she clenched and unclenched her reddened cheeks in a vain effort to ease the burning.
The ball dropped twice before class ended. The first time Mr. Edwards gave her three more swats right there in the corner. The second time her brought her back to the desk and gave her six very hard ones. After that she was a sobbing wreck and my heart truly went out to her. I can’t imagine how she must have felt on display and beaten as she was.
When the bell rang, Trish turned and ran from the classroom. She hadn’t bothered to even try to pull her panties back up until she was in the hallway. Students were already starting to stop and point as she struggled a few feet away to pull them up and get her skirt down. Mr. Edwards loud voice calling to her probably ensured that anyone who had not noticed, did.
“Miss O’Brian. You forgot your detention slip.” Mr. Edwards called after her.
Trish didn’t turn around. She finished fixing her uniform back in place and increased her pace, ignoring the voice behind her.
“That’s fine. I’ll just call your mother then.”
At the end of the day, Trish and I shared a school bus ride home. Normally, I sit alone somewhere in the middle of the bus and listen wistfully as the more popular students laugh and talk at the back of the bus. Trish’s voice and laugh, both very distinctive, often rules the noise. Not this time, not this ride. Trish sat silent and alone and at the very front of the bus. Despite myself I felt a twinge of sympathy for her on the long and solitary ride.
I live only two doors down the street from Trish. We exited the bus at the same stop and I couldn’t help but notice her slow pace toward he front door. The usual bouncing and bubbling personality was depressed and as I looked up to her house, I could see the clear reason. Her mother stood stiff and straight just outside the door. Her face was harsh and reminded me of my Mom’s own face when I myself was soon to be disciplined. The small, oval-shaped hairbrush gripped tightly in her right palm waved like a nagging finger toward Trish.
“Get in the house, right now young lady. Move it or I’ll blister you right here on the doorstep!”
Trish disappeared into the house and her mother followed immediately, slamming the front door closed behind her. I can only imagine the scene that played out inside and curious as I was I continued my walk home not even pausing to listen for the smacking sounds of wood to flesh.
Entering my own home, I found my Mom sitting in the living room. She had chosen the chair giving her the best view to the front door. The stern look on her face gave me pause. On the coffee table in front of her lay a white sheet of paper. It had clearly been crumpled and torn. The school’s letterhead was easily recognized even upside down to me as it was. The paddle resting on the table next to it left me little doubt as to what the page said and sure as I knew what was happening behind closed doors at the O’Brian house, I knew a similar fate was but moments away for me.
Never Think Never
If someone had asked me a few weeks ago, I’d have said I can’t wait to turn 16 or 18 or even 21. Now, though, I’m re-thinking that eagerness to get older. Instead I’m thinking it would be a lot better to just grow-up a little. Just the fact that I’m thinking that tells me I must have done some of the latter in the last few weeks. More than any of that, my faith in karma has been resurrected. Yes, sometimes life is more fair than I could I ever hope for.
I suppose it all began the day after Christmas. My know-it-all, get-away-with-it-all, sister was having a grand argument with Daddy over how she was going to spend New Year’s Eve. Our family has a bit of a tradition with the holidays and a big part of that is we spend it together as a family. So, while my sister was adamant about wanting to spend the night with her friends at a party, Daddy was equally adamant about her spending it with us.
“Come on Dad! I am old enough to vote I ought to be able to attend a modest New Year’s party.” Michelle had whined sounding more like a little kid begging for a new doll than a nineteen year old adult of supposed maturity.
“Mickey, it seems like we go through this every year anymore. The answer is still no. If you want to invite a friend over for the night I don’t have a problem with that, but you are not going to abandon your family.” Daddy had replied with a hint of annoyance creeping into his usual even tone although he still used his favored pet name for her.
“I’m not abandoning my family, it’s just one night. Every year I have to miss one of the best parties to stay home and what? Play a few stupid kiddy games and watch the ball drop in Times Square on TV an hour after it already happened? I doubt anyone would notice if I wasn’t here!” Michelle ranted back at Dad still whining, but now with noticeable sarcasm mingled into her tone.
“I’ve already told you no. This isn’t a negotiation, Michelle. I ask very little of you through the year and if for no other reason, you will spend New Year’s Eve here at home because I’m asking you to. Unless you’d like to test just how far you can push me, this conversation is over.” Dad had countered her tirade without effort and his even and commanding tone had returned despite the obvious annoyance and disappointment in his face.
“What’s the point in being an adult when nobody treats you like one?” Michelle asked the ceiling waving her hands in a motion of dismissal to Daddy before storming off to her bedroom and slamming her door.
Daddy had started to follow her down the hall with what was clearly anger in his eyes, but as usual when it comes to my sister, he stopped short and did nothing. Their argument had taken place in the living room and my brother Mark had been with me in the dining room which is directly adjacent to the living room. We had been working on my Math homework, well I was working on it and Mark was doing his best to explain the basic concepts of Algebra which I was struggling with. The scene in the next room had of course interrupted our efforts and after a few minutes of trying to ignore it we had surrendered and eavesdropped on the final parts.
When Daddy walked away after defeating his impulse to follow Michelle, Mark and I shared a knowing look. No words were necessary, but we both knew without any doubt that had we behaved anything like our older sister either one of us would have been sporting a sore backside at the very least. For me the reality of that difference resonated right then because it had not been so many weeks since a similar incident had ended with me squealing over Daddy’s knee and then spending a very long two weeks being grounded. The words, “It’s not fair!” don’t even begin to do justice to how I was feeling.
Needless to say my concentration for complex math equations was permanently destroyed for the day. Mark realized just that within a few minutes and suggested we adjourn for the day. I hastily agreed and after clearing away my books, I went and sulked in my room. Having only the company of my gloomy thoughts for the rest of the afternoon, it was no surprise that by dinner time I was in a soured mood. It took only a single word of warning from Daddy to clear that up, but it also seeded more dark thoughts as my older sister managed to avoid even those gentle reprimands despite her fake pleasantries at that same dinner.
The days between then and New Year’s Eve passed without further incident. I got over my frustrations and spent less time thinking about Michelle and more time thinking about me. Mark got me over my mental block on Algebraic equations and with nearly a full week before school started again, I had all my homework completed; a first for me. Michelle had of course been skulking around the house and complaining to Mark or I whenever she could about how unfair it was that we always had to spend New Year’s Eve together. Of course we both agreed with “unfair” but our context was slightly different. Still I mostly ignored her as I had come to realize Mark was a better role model for me anyway.
It was at the dinner table on New Year’s Eve when the world was first shattered. I can’t say for certain who at the table was more surprised as the events unfolded, but it was a memorable night for everyone. I guess Daddy had just had enough and that was that. I have known for ages that sulking at the dinner table is not a good idea. I thought all of us knew that. I thought Michelle was beyond reproach from Daddy. I thought a lot of things that I now know better.
Identifying the exact moment when Michelle pushed too far is impossible. It might have been when she slammed her bedroom door those few days before or maybe it was the way she cracked the spoon just a little too hard against her dinner plate, emptying it of mashed potatoes. Perhaps it was the way she rolled her eyes when Daddy asked what games we wanted to play after dinner or could it have been the sarcastic, “oh goody” when Mark suggested Clue®. Whichever it was, it was the ultimate insult, the straw that broke the camel’s back, the final harmonic chord that shattered our world.
Daddy glared at her through cold, harsh, black eyes. His face was drawn tight and his jaw trembled ever so slightly with what I imagine to be barely contained rage. Michelle didn’t notice at first, to be fair I don’t think any of us noticed at first. When Daddy spoke his voice was low and brusque and filled with a myriad of emotion I can only pretend to comprehend.
“Michelle Samantha Taylor!” Daddy paused allowing the weight of her full name to hang in the air with its unspoken significance. My eyes were glued to my sister as I watched her face blanche.
“Y-yes , sir.” Came the meek reply from my sister’s now quivering lips. Her eyes were focused only on Daddy with a pleading I was all too familiar with. This time there was nothing left to save her and surely as I always knew it to be a wasted attempt for myself, I knew it to be for Michelle this time, finally, she was no longer beyond reproach.
If I was a mature sister, I would have felt compassion for her. If I was wiser, I might have thought about how it could be me sitting in her place. True to myself though, I was neither. I sat forward on the edge of my chair, anticipating the climax of what I knew was coming. My breath caught short in my throat and I sat silent and willing to turn blue waiting for the inevitable justice to be served upon what I could only see as my more than deserving older sister. Am I evil to have felt like gloating?
“I have given you every opportunity. I have allowed you to stretch my patience to the breaking point and still you can not find the decency to give me just this one night of peace. Apparently I’m expecting too much for my nineteen year old daughter to behave like a respectable adult. I have obviously been far too lenient with you. Well, I’ve got news for you young lady, it ends tonight, right now. You want to sulk and pout and talk back like a little girl, then I’ll treat you just like one. Go and hide your face in the corner so the rest of us can finish our meal in peace.” Daddy didn’t shout but his voice was loud, his tone commanding and his expression was unflinching.
“Dad, I-I’m sorry. I wanted to be somewhere else tonight, I don’t--” Michelle was clearly trying to wheedle her way out of what she should have known was the inevitable consequences of her behavior.
Dad would have none of it though and he interrupted her excuses and made himself very clear. “Did I just tell you to go stand in the corner or was that my imagination?”
“Y-yes, sir.” Was all Michelle could manage as she choked back what I’m sure was real tears of remorse.
I should be ashamed to admit, I was overjoyed to watch my older sibling walk silently with her head down to stand in the corner. I have often stood in that solitary spot, so I know all too well the emotions and thoughts running their course. First there is simple embarrassment as you know everyone not only can see you but in fact they are all watching as you assume the customary position with your nose touching the corner your hands raised to rest on top of your head with your trembling fingers interlaced. Then time begins to slow down until it eventually does no more than crawl at a fraction of a snail’s pace. Your arms begin to feel unnaturally heavy, your back starts to ache, your nose begins to itch, and of course your eyes water. Time ticks by at an ever slower rate and your muscles begin to twitch and you imagine the eyes of your siblings focused only on you. It’s as though you can feel the eyes piercing your back and then every little noise feeds your over-sensitized imagination and before long the whole world seems to be staring at your back and saying with one collective voice, “look at the naughty little girl standing in the corner”. Your thoughts finally start to wander and you begin to surmise the extent of the trouble you are in and at the same time you yearn for the time in this hollow place to be over no matter what horrors shall follow.
I shouldn’t have been gleeful. I shouldn’t have been smiling. I shouldn’t have been imagining her kicking and screaming over Daddy’s knee. I shouldn’t have hoped for it to happen. I should have had compassion. I should have been a better sister. I should have been. Watching her stand silently there though, I took pleasure in every twitch of muscle as Michelle undoubtedly yearned to disappear into the white walls. I couldn’t help the smile that crept onto my face and I looked away from her to hide my shame finally, but not out of sympathy, it was only an instinctive choice. It would be best if Daddy didn’t see the smirk of my lips, the glow of justice soon to be served in my eyes.
Finishing the meal was no easy chore. Daddy had fallen silent and even he seemed uninterested in the meal in front of him. It was Mark who braved the silence and ended it. My brother, my ally, my friend, he always seemed to know just the right thing to do and in this case say. When I grow-up, I hope I’m a lot like him.
“Well Dad, do you still want to play games after dinner?” Mark asked with just the right tone and inflection to avoid sounding smug. The question on its surface was innocent enough, but after a momentary glance into Mark’s eyes I saw the same glint that I knew was in my own. Then I realized just what the real question he had asked was and I sat in silent amazement at my brother’s cleverness. And it seemed Daddy was taking too long to answer and I realized then that the unspoken question was as unanswered in his mind as it was in ours.
It was at this moment I began to understand, growing-up and getting older aren’t the same thing. Mark, calm, cool, collected, would never behave in a fashion resembling Michelle’s of late. He wasn’t older and he wasn’t more mature, but he was more grown-up, and perhaps more importantly, more respectful. He like me recognized that Michelle was long overdue for some parental discipline but unlike me he didn’t advocate it out of a sense of injustice or revenge, he advocated because he knew she needed it. For Mark it was about Michelle, for me it was about me. I didn’t understand all that at the time but it is when I began to.
When Daddy finally responded to Mark’s question it was clear he had considered the options to him and what consequences would follow. I wasn’t able to discern the answer to the unspoken question hovering in the room around us all and I wonder if either Mark or Michelle were able to. His response was simply, “We’re not going to let Michelle’s behavior problems ruin the evening.”
It was a fair response from him and one that had been used with each of us in that very corner at some point in time in the not-so-distant past. I suppose from a certain perspective that might have boded unwell for my older sibling, but Daddy was rarely predictable when it came to such statements. It could mean that he was satisfied to have her enjoy the spectacular view of the corner for the evening or it could be that spanking was in the near future for her, one that would undoubtedly hurt but not be long or involving enough to spoil the activities for the evening. I was aware it was even possible he might think it punishment for her to have to happily join the evenings fun and games despite a sore bottom and wounded pride which begged for privacy or at the very least pouting.
The remainder of the dinner meal seemed to stretch long even to me and I dare not imagine what incredible length it must have seemed to Michelle. For me it was the anticipation of what I hoped would follow the meal. I dreamed of seeing my big sister cast down from the pedestal which Daddy had placed her upon. I fantasized that she might never return to that special place in his eyes and that I might have the chance, however fleeting, to occupy that special place in his heart where I would know beyond any doubt that his love for me would transcend any wrong, any failing. Such was the way of their relation and my jealousy of it was driving my hopes high while Michelle suffered in silence.
Eternity did come to an end. The table was cleared and the dishes cleaned. Mark snagged me by the arm saying, “Come on let’s pick out the first game for the night.” His grip was tight enough that I knew something was up and he wasn’t going to take no for answer. So, despite my reluctance to leave Michelle and Daddy alone, a result of selfish fear that I might miss something, I went quietly with him down the hallway.
“What’s up?” I asked Mark when I was reasonable sure we were out of earshot.
“You need to lighten up on Michelle.” Mark replied with his steely, black eyes reminding me too much of Daddy.
“Why?” I asked allowing as much annoyance as I could muster to creep into my tone.
“Because there is more to punishment than just retribution for wrong doing. Once someone is punished you have to forgive them, you have to show them that you love them.” Mark seemed to be lecturing me.
“It’s up to Daddy to forgive, he’s the one punishing her. When she takes punishment from me then I’ll forgive her.” I thought I was being smart.
“We are family, when Dad punishes he does it on behalf of the family and that means we all forgive. I know you have your own reasons for wanting to see her like this and she’s the cause of that not you, but it’s going to be up to you to set things right now by having some compassion and showing Michelle that you can still love her even after she’s been so wrong. I can’t really explain it better than that, just trust me here, if you don’t forgive her now, someday you’ll regret it.” Mark sunk his head just a notch and looked right into my eyes as he finished speaking. His expression was what convinced me though. The soft look in his eyes, the brotherly love on his face, the inescapable truth that he would never guide me wrong, it was written all over him and like no other person in the world, he made me feel ashamed of myself.
For the next two hours we played game after game. As usual, Daddy won most of them. His luck was legendary amongst family and friends and he was often told that he should pay a visit to Vegas, to which Daddy always replied, “That’s about when my luck would run out and just as it should.” I won a couple of games, but I sincerely suspect that Daddy and Mark conspired to let me. As we played, I thought a lot about what Mark had said in the hall. I was torn.
During the games themselves I thought little of Michelle, still standing in the corner. During the breaks between games I tried to convince myself that I felt sorry for her, I knew that I should. Inside me though, was a hell-spawn demon and it was crying out for justice and revenge. I wanted her kicking and screaming and bawling like a baby over Daddy’s lap with her fancy panties tangle up at her ankles while Daddy smacked her bottom until it was glow-in-the-dark red. Only then could I forgive, only then could I love or so I believed.
Daddy stretched back from the table after the latest game and glanced forebodingly at Michelle’s back. She had not of course been forced to stand rigidly with hands on head the entire time. Daddy had dismissed her briefly to the bathroom and had allowed her to stand with her arms at her sides upon her prompt return. Her shame was evident in her down trodden face and slumped shoulders. She allowed her usually perfect, long blonde hair to fall across her face and hide the pink blush of embarrassment which surely must have adorned her freckled cheeks. She was but a fallen angel, cast from her pedestal and favored no more.
“Much as I’d like to play another game, I’m afraid I must attend to your sister now. The year will soon be at a close and I don’t want it said I made my child wait until a new year for a spanking.” Daddy said to Mark and I.
“We understand Dad. Jenny and I can just play another game and maybe when you’re finished the two of you can join us. Then we can still ring in the new year as a family.” Mark replied without giving me a chance to speak.
“Thank you, Mark, Jenny, you both have made me very proud tonight.” Daddy smiled at us and it seemed he was even more reluctant to leave the table than the moment before.
“Michelle,” He paused making sure he had her attention, “Go and fetch the paddle and bring it to me in the living room.”
Michelle turned and left the corner without a single word. Her head was still down and partially hidden by her hair but I could tell her lip was quivering. She must have had tears in her eyes or maybe they were already falling down her cheeks. I know the shame of that walk all to well. Heading down the hall your walk deliberate, your choices are none, your future is written and there is no escape. The walk back with paddle in hand is equally daunting. The knowledge that the tool you carry will soon be used to punish your backside serves only to reinforce the sad reality that you alone are responsible for what is to come.
I wasn’t able to see the punishment, but the all too familiar sounds were enough to satisfy my needs. Daddy’s routine is anything but a routine. He seems to always take the time to customize the punishment for the offender and the offense. In this way no two spankings are ever quite the same, but it is more than that as well because for Daddy a punishment is usually more than just a spanking. I hardly noticed the card game I was playing with Mark as I listened closely for as much detail as I could get. I like to think Mark was as distracted as I was since he didn’t say anything to me.
“How long has it been?” Daddy asked.
“I don’t know.” Michelle replied, her voice so low I strained to hear.
“Too long I think considering your behavior these past few weeks. I had thought---. I had hoped, that we had gone beyond the need for this. You’ve been acting worse than a three year old. I don’t understand what has gotten into you. You want to explain this regression to me?” Daddy’s voice was filled with ups and downs as he spoke ending on a high question. I could hear clearly the mixture of disappointment and frustration undulating in his usual even tone. I wonder if it is like that when he scolds me. I’ve never noticed if it is.
“No, sir.” Michelle answered succinctly.
“No? You don’t have an explanation?” Daddy quizzed incredulously.
“I mean, I don’t know. I guess I don’t feel like you treat me like an adult.” Michelle responded with hesitation as though she expected a firestorm from the words she spoke.
“I have news for you Michelle, if you don’t feel like your being treated as an adult it’s more likely because you aren’t acting like one. I’ve reasoned with you, I’ve let your temper tantrums slide, I’ve let you treat your family like dirt and I’ve put up with all of it hoping you’d see your way through what ever phase it is your going through, but enough is enough.” Daddy paused and I could almost see him shaking his head in disbelief. “Treat you like an adult? Damn right I won’t treat you like an adult when you act like a spoiled brat! This is pointless isn’t it? Just get over my knee.”
I could hear a touch of anger had crept in to his voice as he ordered into position for spanking. I stretched my hearing listening for protests, but I heard nothing only silence. I waited for the first smack to echo through the house. I waited. I waited some more and there was only silence. I looked up at Mark for the first time since we were left alone and saw the same puzzlement on his face that I knew to be on my own.
“OVER MY KNEE NOW, YOUNG LADY!” Daddy’s voice boomed into the silence.
I knew then that Michelle had been protesting, perhaps even backing away, or trying to escape. I couldn’t help but feel some satisfaction at knowing my big sister was just as afraid of being spanked as I. The sound of Michelle choking back a sob punctuated the moment and then there was the unmistakable rustle of child going over Daddy’s knee.
The thunderous clap of the first spank from the horrid paddle soon followed. A moment of silence and then the next swat hit its mark. Slow, methodical, steady. Swat after swat landed. Michelle must have braced herself. She was keeping remarkably quiet, but it was a silly effort. Daddy would reduce her to bawling and begging as he always does. Daddy would make her sorry.
I counted fifteen of those thunderous spanks before I heard Michelle gasp out and begin to freely cry and sob. Five more swats and she began to plead for him to stop between sobs and swats. Finally, she was reduced to nothing but sobbing and any words she tried to get out became lost in the reckless breathing of heavy tears. The paddling continued and I lost count after twenty-five. Eventually though, and not too long, Daddy stopped his relentless swinging.
“Am I getting through?” Daddy asked.
After a long pause Michelle strained to reply, “Yes, sir. I’m sorry.”
“Are you going to behave now?”
“Yes, I’ll be a good girl. I swear.”
“Alright, stand up.” There was a soft rustle as I assumed she did as she was told. I imagine she was quickly trying to rub the sting out of her bottom just as I would do.
“Let’s talk now about what’s going on with you, okay?” Daddy asked my remorseful sister.
“Okay.”
“You’ve been skirting your chores. Why?” Daddy asked bluntly.
“I don’t know.” I could hear Daddy sigh as Michelle responded, undoubtedly shrugging her shoulders as she spoke.
“You’ve been answering back to me worse than ever. Why?”
“I don’t know.” Once again I heard Daddy sigh at the response.
“You’ve broken several commitments to both Mark and Jenny. Why?”
“I don’t know.” This time there was only silence but I could imagine the frustration that must have been on Daddy’s face.
“You’re attitude is rebellious and careless. Why?”
“I don’t know.”
“I see, is there anything about your behavior that you do know?”
There was only silence. I imagine Michelle was looking hard at the floor and Daddy was likely staring just as hard into her face. For myself I couldn’t believe how stupid Michelle was being. She may be ashamed of her reasons, but telling Daddy she doesn’t know is akin to asking for more punishment. What on Earth was she thinking?
“Fine, it has obviously been too long since you had a proper punishment, but don’t worry young lady I’ll correct that right now. Get undressed, clothes in a neat stack on the table and don’t even think of arguing.” Daddy’s voice was filled with frustration.
“But Daddy!” Michelle exclaimed in protest. I was somewhat shocked myself, not at Daddy’s orders, but at Michelle’s sudden use of “Daddy” in place of her usual “Dad”.
“Apparently you either have a problem listening or doing as your told. I don’t really care which because I’m going to make sure you learn to do both tonight. One more unsolicited word out of your mouth and I will stick a bar of soap in it. Now get undressed and don’t make me repeat myself again!” Daddy interrupted any further complaint from Michelle as he spoke with a harshness he normally reserved for scolding me. I must interject that for once I wasn’t upset with having to share with my sister.
The living room fell very quiet for a moment and then there was the rustle of clothing being removed and folded. Soon I heard the distinctive sound of elastic snapping and a brief whimper from Michelle. I knew that all too clearly to be the sound that she had removed her final article, her bra, and she now stood in shame awaiting the next attack upon her already surrendered modesty.
“Bend over, hands flat on the table.” Daddy’s calm voice interrupted the breathless silence.
“Daddy please!, I’m sorry.” Michelle’s whiny voice answered back.
“Soap first then!” Daddy replied almost as though he had been silently hoping she would give him an excuse.
A moment later I caught my first glimpse of Michelle in her chastised state. My imagination had not quite done justice to the situation. She was naked from head to toe, even her jewelry was gone. Daddy had a firm hold of her left earlobe as he dragged her crying and protesting down the hallway toward the bathroom. Her butt was thoroughly reddened and showed the beginnings of horseshoe shaped bruises, one centered on each naked cheek.
Once they entered the bathroom I could no longer see again. The sound of water running in the sink bled out any conversation although from personal previous experiences there is rarely any conversation at that point anyway. How I would have loved to have seen my snotty sister’s face with the large bar of soap protruding from her lips. Better still perhaps, would have been the priceless expression as it was forcefully pushed in and out, lathering up suds on her tongue and filling her mouth with soapy drool that would shamefully drip from her quivering lips as tears spilled out of her disbelieving eyes.
The water stopped. Daddy’s voice was too quiet for me to make out the words, but I know without doubt he was scolding. Likely, Michelle was stood, hands on head, listening to her comeuppance served skillfully with words and shame. The bar of soap too, still protruding from her now sparkling clean mouth, would reinforce every word as each breath would provide the unpleasant reminder of the bars presence. It is these profound moments when one wishes for time to fly, that it creeps at its slowest pace and allows the scolding words to penetrate deep into the most personal of thoughts. These are the moments when the biggest lessons are learned, when even the most stubborn resistance falters and finally blame screams out its ugly name. Deafened as you might be, it is impossible then not to recognize the name as it is your very own.
The silence was broken, “Spit!” Daddy commanded.
Gagging and spitting sounds followed as expected. A half moment later Michelle was once again in full view being escorted up the hallway by earlobe. Her eyes were overflowing with tears and her usual expression of confidence was replaced by shyness. Her chin still showed evidence of the recent presence of soap and a single string of soapy slobber dripped down between her naked breasts.
As quickly as she had entered my view she was again gone from it. Into the living room they had gone again and this time the order to bend was followed by silence and then came the sound of paddle striking flesh. Michelle was sobbing from the start and began crying out soon after.
“Please stop!”
“No MORE!”
“I can’t TAKE it!”
“Daddy PLEASE!”
“I’ll BE GOOD!”
“I PROMISE!”
“DADDY”
“PLEASE”
“I’LL BE A GOOD GIRL”
And then it stopped. Michelle was no longer the proud and defiant woman. She was broken down, nothing more than a little girl with a spanked bottom. She was no better than me in this moment and I admit I rejoiced in the sound of her pleas and the rhythm of smacks falling despite them all. I should be ashamed, but I’m not.
“Stand up. Turn around and face me.”
“Don’t you dare rub, hands on your head young lady.”
“That’s right. No, don’t look at the ground, you look at me when I’m talking to you.”
“Now, let try this again, shall we? Why have you not been doing your chores?”
“I’ve had other things on my mind, I’m sorry. It won’t happen anymore.”
“What other things have been on your mind? Do you think it’s fair to make the rest of us pick up the slack because your too self-involved to do your share?”
“No sir. I’m sorry.”
“So, what other things are so important and time consuming?”
“School and stuff.”
“Do we need to go back into the bathroom, because I sure as hell know a lie when I hear one.”
“No, sir. I thought I might have been pregnant.”
Mark and I gasped. The living room was silent. I’m pretty sure the world stopped spinning and time stood still for a good five minutes. There were no words to express the shock of her words and I can only imagine the look of terror that must have been upon my Daddy’s face. The long quiet was sign enough that even he was speechless at this admission.
“That explains a lot.” Mark muttered to himself and when I looked quizzically at him, he waved me off refusing any further details.
“That requires some explaining, young lady.”
“Could we talk more privately ?”
“Alright, go to your room. I’ll be there in a minute and you’d best be telling me the truth from here on out.”
“Yes, sir.”
Michelle was once again in my view. She walked stiffly down the hallway still naked and clearly sore. Her bare buttocks were beyond red. The bruises were just starting to appear and from personal experience I knew those would be fearsome by morning. She entered her room and closed the door.
Daddy followed her a couple minutes later after a long stop in the kitchen and several refills to his glass. As he went down the hall I couldn’t help but notice the paddle in his hand and the sharp slaps he made with it against his leg. The door opened and closed again, shutting Mark and I out and leaving us hungry for knowledge.
It was some time later and almost the New Year when they emerged from her room. I noted that Michelle was no longer crying. Daddy was clearly angry and even the severe spanking he had delivered to her had not abated his disappointment. Michelle was also still nude. This was not unusual for me, I was often without my clothes for the remainder of the day after having my bottom spanked, but for Michelle this had not happened to her in years.
“As you’ve no doubt noticed Michelle is being punished. Her behavior around this house has been intolerable and her outburst tonight only served to prove to me that I must take corrective action. From this point forward there will be zero tolerance for backtalk, rudeness, neglecting to do chores, or any other sort of bad behavior. I hope I am making it clear that there will be no exceptions to this rule. Michelle is further grounded for the next week and while I will not often employ this means in grounding she will remain without clothes for that week. Do not test me by further aggravating or teasing Michelle about her state or punishment. Am I understood?”
“Yes, sir.” Our three voices sounded together in perfect harmony.
From there we adjourned to the living room and switched on the television to watch the ball drop in Times Square. The New Year arrived and I welcomed it in. It would be a New Year indeed if Daddy keeps to his resolution of no longer allowing Michelle a free hand. Only time would tell, but I admit even there in the evidence of Daddy’s commitment, I was skeptical of any long term adherence.
I suppose it all began the day after Christmas. My know-it-all, get-away-with-it-all, sister was having a grand argument with Daddy over how she was going to spend New Year’s Eve. Our family has a bit of a tradition with the holidays and a big part of that is we spend it together as a family. So, while my sister was adamant about wanting to spend the night with her friends at a party, Daddy was equally adamant about her spending it with us.
“Come on Dad! I am old enough to vote I ought to be able to attend a modest New Year’s party.” Michelle had whined sounding more like a little kid begging for a new doll than a nineteen year old adult of supposed maturity.
“Mickey, it seems like we go through this every year anymore. The answer is still no. If you want to invite a friend over for the night I don’t have a problem with that, but you are not going to abandon your family.” Daddy had replied with a hint of annoyance creeping into his usual even tone although he still used his favored pet name for her.
“I’m not abandoning my family, it’s just one night. Every year I have to miss one of the best parties to stay home and what? Play a few stupid kiddy games and watch the ball drop in Times Square on TV an hour after it already happened? I doubt anyone would notice if I wasn’t here!” Michelle ranted back at Dad still whining, but now with noticeable sarcasm mingled into her tone.
“I’ve already told you no. This isn’t a negotiation, Michelle. I ask very little of you through the year and if for no other reason, you will spend New Year’s Eve here at home because I’m asking you to. Unless you’d like to test just how far you can push me, this conversation is over.” Dad had countered her tirade without effort and his even and commanding tone had returned despite the obvious annoyance and disappointment in his face.
“What’s the point in being an adult when nobody treats you like one?” Michelle asked the ceiling waving her hands in a motion of dismissal to Daddy before storming off to her bedroom and slamming her door.
Daddy had started to follow her down the hall with what was clearly anger in his eyes, but as usual when it comes to my sister, he stopped short and did nothing. Their argument had taken place in the living room and my brother Mark had been with me in the dining room which is directly adjacent to the living room. We had been working on my Math homework, well I was working on it and Mark was doing his best to explain the basic concepts of Algebra which I was struggling with. The scene in the next room had of course interrupted our efforts and after a few minutes of trying to ignore it we had surrendered and eavesdropped on the final parts.
When Daddy walked away after defeating his impulse to follow Michelle, Mark and I shared a knowing look. No words were necessary, but we both knew without any doubt that had we behaved anything like our older sister either one of us would have been sporting a sore backside at the very least. For me the reality of that difference resonated right then because it had not been so many weeks since a similar incident had ended with me squealing over Daddy’s knee and then spending a very long two weeks being grounded. The words, “It’s not fair!” don’t even begin to do justice to how I was feeling.
Needless to say my concentration for complex math equations was permanently destroyed for the day. Mark realized just that within a few minutes and suggested we adjourn for the day. I hastily agreed and after clearing away my books, I went and sulked in my room. Having only the company of my gloomy thoughts for the rest of the afternoon, it was no surprise that by dinner time I was in a soured mood. It took only a single word of warning from Daddy to clear that up, but it also seeded more dark thoughts as my older sister managed to avoid even those gentle reprimands despite her fake pleasantries at that same dinner.
The days between then and New Year’s Eve passed without further incident. I got over my frustrations and spent less time thinking about Michelle and more time thinking about me. Mark got me over my mental block on Algebraic equations and with nearly a full week before school started again, I had all my homework completed; a first for me. Michelle had of course been skulking around the house and complaining to Mark or I whenever she could about how unfair it was that we always had to spend New Year’s Eve together. Of course we both agreed with “unfair” but our context was slightly different. Still I mostly ignored her as I had come to realize Mark was a better role model for me anyway.
It was at the dinner table on New Year’s Eve when the world was first shattered. I can’t say for certain who at the table was more surprised as the events unfolded, but it was a memorable night for everyone. I guess Daddy had just had enough and that was that. I have known for ages that sulking at the dinner table is not a good idea. I thought all of us knew that. I thought Michelle was beyond reproach from Daddy. I thought a lot of things that I now know better.
Identifying the exact moment when Michelle pushed too far is impossible. It might have been when she slammed her bedroom door those few days before or maybe it was the way she cracked the spoon just a little too hard against her dinner plate, emptying it of mashed potatoes. Perhaps it was the way she rolled her eyes when Daddy asked what games we wanted to play after dinner or could it have been the sarcastic, “oh goody” when Mark suggested Clue®. Whichever it was, it was the ultimate insult, the straw that broke the camel’s back, the final harmonic chord that shattered our world.
Daddy glared at her through cold, harsh, black eyes. His face was drawn tight and his jaw trembled ever so slightly with what I imagine to be barely contained rage. Michelle didn’t notice at first, to be fair I don’t think any of us noticed at first. When Daddy spoke his voice was low and brusque and filled with a myriad of emotion I can only pretend to comprehend.
“Michelle Samantha Taylor!” Daddy paused allowing the weight of her full name to hang in the air with its unspoken significance. My eyes were glued to my sister as I watched her face blanche.
“Y-yes , sir.” Came the meek reply from my sister’s now quivering lips. Her eyes were focused only on Daddy with a pleading I was all too familiar with. This time there was nothing left to save her and surely as I always knew it to be a wasted attempt for myself, I knew it to be for Michelle this time, finally, she was no longer beyond reproach.
If I was a mature sister, I would have felt compassion for her. If I was wiser, I might have thought about how it could be me sitting in her place. True to myself though, I was neither. I sat forward on the edge of my chair, anticipating the climax of what I knew was coming. My breath caught short in my throat and I sat silent and willing to turn blue waiting for the inevitable justice to be served upon what I could only see as my more than deserving older sister. Am I evil to have felt like gloating?
“I have given you every opportunity. I have allowed you to stretch my patience to the breaking point and still you can not find the decency to give me just this one night of peace. Apparently I’m expecting too much for my nineteen year old daughter to behave like a respectable adult. I have obviously been far too lenient with you. Well, I’ve got news for you young lady, it ends tonight, right now. You want to sulk and pout and talk back like a little girl, then I’ll treat you just like one. Go and hide your face in the corner so the rest of us can finish our meal in peace.” Daddy didn’t shout but his voice was loud, his tone commanding and his expression was unflinching.
“Dad, I-I’m sorry. I wanted to be somewhere else tonight, I don’t--” Michelle was clearly trying to wheedle her way out of what she should have known was the inevitable consequences of her behavior.
Dad would have none of it though and he interrupted her excuses and made himself very clear. “Did I just tell you to go stand in the corner or was that my imagination?”
“Y-yes, sir.” Was all Michelle could manage as she choked back what I’m sure was real tears of remorse.
I should be ashamed to admit, I was overjoyed to watch my older sibling walk silently with her head down to stand in the corner. I have often stood in that solitary spot, so I know all too well the emotions and thoughts running their course. First there is simple embarrassment as you know everyone not only can see you but in fact they are all watching as you assume the customary position with your nose touching the corner your hands raised to rest on top of your head with your trembling fingers interlaced. Then time begins to slow down until it eventually does no more than crawl at a fraction of a snail’s pace. Your arms begin to feel unnaturally heavy, your back starts to ache, your nose begins to itch, and of course your eyes water. Time ticks by at an ever slower rate and your muscles begin to twitch and you imagine the eyes of your siblings focused only on you. It’s as though you can feel the eyes piercing your back and then every little noise feeds your over-sensitized imagination and before long the whole world seems to be staring at your back and saying with one collective voice, “look at the naughty little girl standing in the corner”. Your thoughts finally start to wander and you begin to surmise the extent of the trouble you are in and at the same time you yearn for the time in this hollow place to be over no matter what horrors shall follow.
I shouldn’t have been gleeful. I shouldn’t have been smiling. I shouldn’t have been imagining her kicking and screaming over Daddy’s knee. I shouldn’t have hoped for it to happen. I should have had compassion. I should have been a better sister. I should have been. Watching her stand silently there though, I took pleasure in every twitch of muscle as Michelle undoubtedly yearned to disappear into the white walls. I couldn’t help the smile that crept onto my face and I looked away from her to hide my shame finally, but not out of sympathy, it was only an instinctive choice. It would be best if Daddy didn’t see the smirk of my lips, the glow of justice soon to be served in my eyes.
Finishing the meal was no easy chore. Daddy had fallen silent and even he seemed uninterested in the meal in front of him. It was Mark who braved the silence and ended it. My brother, my ally, my friend, he always seemed to know just the right thing to do and in this case say. When I grow-up, I hope I’m a lot like him.
“Well Dad, do you still want to play games after dinner?” Mark asked with just the right tone and inflection to avoid sounding smug. The question on its surface was innocent enough, but after a momentary glance into Mark’s eyes I saw the same glint that I knew was in my own. Then I realized just what the real question he had asked was and I sat in silent amazement at my brother’s cleverness. And it seemed Daddy was taking too long to answer and I realized then that the unspoken question was as unanswered in his mind as it was in ours.
It was at this moment I began to understand, growing-up and getting older aren’t the same thing. Mark, calm, cool, collected, would never behave in a fashion resembling Michelle’s of late. He wasn’t older and he wasn’t more mature, but he was more grown-up, and perhaps more importantly, more respectful. He like me recognized that Michelle was long overdue for some parental discipline but unlike me he didn’t advocate it out of a sense of injustice or revenge, he advocated because he knew she needed it. For Mark it was about Michelle, for me it was about me. I didn’t understand all that at the time but it is when I began to.
When Daddy finally responded to Mark’s question it was clear he had considered the options to him and what consequences would follow. I wasn’t able to discern the answer to the unspoken question hovering in the room around us all and I wonder if either Mark or Michelle were able to. His response was simply, “We’re not going to let Michelle’s behavior problems ruin the evening.”
It was a fair response from him and one that had been used with each of us in that very corner at some point in time in the not-so-distant past. I suppose from a certain perspective that might have boded unwell for my older sibling, but Daddy was rarely predictable when it came to such statements. It could mean that he was satisfied to have her enjoy the spectacular view of the corner for the evening or it could be that spanking was in the near future for her, one that would undoubtedly hurt but not be long or involving enough to spoil the activities for the evening. I was aware it was even possible he might think it punishment for her to have to happily join the evenings fun and games despite a sore bottom and wounded pride which begged for privacy or at the very least pouting.
The remainder of the dinner meal seemed to stretch long even to me and I dare not imagine what incredible length it must have seemed to Michelle. For me it was the anticipation of what I hoped would follow the meal. I dreamed of seeing my big sister cast down from the pedestal which Daddy had placed her upon. I fantasized that she might never return to that special place in his eyes and that I might have the chance, however fleeting, to occupy that special place in his heart where I would know beyond any doubt that his love for me would transcend any wrong, any failing. Such was the way of their relation and my jealousy of it was driving my hopes high while Michelle suffered in silence.
Eternity did come to an end. The table was cleared and the dishes cleaned. Mark snagged me by the arm saying, “Come on let’s pick out the first game for the night.” His grip was tight enough that I knew something was up and he wasn’t going to take no for answer. So, despite my reluctance to leave Michelle and Daddy alone, a result of selfish fear that I might miss something, I went quietly with him down the hallway.
“What’s up?” I asked Mark when I was reasonable sure we were out of earshot.
“You need to lighten up on Michelle.” Mark replied with his steely, black eyes reminding me too much of Daddy.
“Why?” I asked allowing as much annoyance as I could muster to creep into my tone.
“Because there is more to punishment than just retribution for wrong doing. Once someone is punished you have to forgive them, you have to show them that you love them.” Mark seemed to be lecturing me.
“It’s up to Daddy to forgive, he’s the one punishing her. When she takes punishment from me then I’ll forgive her.” I thought I was being smart.
“We are family, when Dad punishes he does it on behalf of the family and that means we all forgive. I know you have your own reasons for wanting to see her like this and she’s the cause of that not you, but it’s going to be up to you to set things right now by having some compassion and showing Michelle that you can still love her even after she’s been so wrong. I can’t really explain it better than that, just trust me here, if you don’t forgive her now, someday you’ll regret it.” Mark sunk his head just a notch and looked right into my eyes as he finished speaking. His expression was what convinced me though. The soft look in his eyes, the brotherly love on his face, the inescapable truth that he would never guide me wrong, it was written all over him and like no other person in the world, he made me feel ashamed of myself.
For the next two hours we played game after game. As usual, Daddy won most of them. His luck was legendary amongst family and friends and he was often told that he should pay a visit to Vegas, to which Daddy always replied, “That’s about when my luck would run out and just as it should.” I won a couple of games, but I sincerely suspect that Daddy and Mark conspired to let me. As we played, I thought a lot about what Mark had said in the hall. I was torn.
During the games themselves I thought little of Michelle, still standing in the corner. During the breaks between games I tried to convince myself that I felt sorry for her, I knew that I should. Inside me though, was a hell-spawn demon and it was crying out for justice and revenge. I wanted her kicking and screaming and bawling like a baby over Daddy’s lap with her fancy panties tangle up at her ankles while Daddy smacked her bottom until it was glow-in-the-dark red. Only then could I forgive, only then could I love or so I believed.
Daddy stretched back from the table after the latest game and glanced forebodingly at Michelle’s back. She had not of course been forced to stand rigidly with hands on head the entire time. Daddy had dismissed her briefly to the bathroom and had allowed her to stand with her arms at her sides upon her prompt return. Her shame was evident in her down trodden face and slumped shoulders. She allowed her usually perfect, long blonde hair to fall across her face and hide the pink blush of embarrassment which surely must have adorned her freckled cheeks. She was but a fallen angel, cast from her pedestal and favored no more.
“Much as I’d like to play another game, I’m afraid I must attend to your sister now. The year will soon be at a close and I don’t want it said I made my child wait until a new year for a spanking.” Daddy said to Mark and I.
“We understand Dad. Jenny and I can just play another game and maybe when you’re finished the two of you can join us. Then we can still ring in the new year as a family.” Mark replied without giving me a chance to speak.
“Thank you, Mark, Jenny, you both have made me very proud tonight.” Daddy smiled at us and it seemed he was even more reluctant to leave the table than the moment before.
“Michelle,” He paused making sure he had her attention, “Go and fetch the paddle and bring it to me in the living room.”
Michelle turned and left the corner without a single word. Her head was still down and partially hidden by her hair but I could tell her lip was quivering. She must have had tears in her eyes or maybe they were already falling down her cheeks. I know the shame of that walk all to well. Heading down the hall your walk deliberate, your choices are none, your future is written and there is no escape. The walk back with paddle in hand is equally daunting. The knowledge that the tool you carry will soon be used to punish your backside serves only to reinforce the sad reality that you alone are responsible for what is to come.
I wasn’t able to see the punishment, but the all too familiar sounds were enough to satisfy my needs. Daddy’s routine is anything but a routine. He seems to always take the time to customize the punishment for the offender and the offense. In this way no two spankings are ever quite the same, but it is more than that as well because for Daddy a punishment is usually more than just a spanking. I hardly noticed the card game I was playing with Mark as I listened closely for as much detail as I could get. I like to think Mark was as distracted as I was since he didn’t say anything to me.
“How long has it been?” Daddy asked.
“I don’t know.” Michelle replied, her voice so low I strained to hear.
“Too long I think considering your behavior these past few weeks. I had thought---. I had hoped, that we had gone beyond the need for this. You’ve been acting worse than a three year old. I don’t understand what has gotten into you. You want to explain this regression to me?” Daddy’s voice was filled with ups and downs as he spoke ending on a high question. I could hear clearly the mixture of disappointment and frustration undulating in his usual even tone. I wonder if it is like that when he scolds me. I’ve never noticed if it is.
“No, sir.” Michelle answered succinctly.
“No? You don’t have an explanation?” Daddy quizzed incredulously.
“I mean, I don’t know. I guess I don’t feel like you treat me like an adult.” Michelle responded with hesitation as though she expected a firestorm from the words she spoke.
“I have news for you Michelle, if you don’t feel like your being treated as an adult it’s more likely because you aren’t acting like one. I’ve reasoned with you, I’ve let your temper tantrums slide, I’ve let you treat your family like dirt and I’ve put up with all of it hoping you’d see your way through what ever phase it is your going through, but enough is enough.” Daddy paused and I could almost see him shaking his head in disbelief. “Treat you like an adult? Damn right I won’t treat you like an adult when you act like a spoiled brat! This is pointless isn’t it? Just get over my knee.”
I could hear a touch of anger had crept in to his voice as he ordered into position for spanking. I stretched my hearing listening for protests, but I heard nothing only silence. I waited for the first smack to echo through the house. I waited. I waited some more and there was only silence. I looked up at Mark for the first time since we were left alone and saw the same puzzlement on his face that I knew to be on my own.
“OVER MY KNEE NOW, YOUNG LADY!” Daddy’s voice boomed into the silence.
I knew then that Michelle had been protesting, perhaps even backing away, or trying to escape. I couldn’t help but feel some satisfaction at knowing my big sister was just as afraid of being spanked as I. The sound of Michelle choking back a sob punctuated the moment and then there was the unmistakable rustle of child going over Daddy’s knee.
The thunderous clap of the first spank from the horrid paddle soon followed. A moment of silence and then the next swat hit its mark. Slow, methodical, steady. Swat after swat landed. Michelle must have braced herself. She was keeping remarkably quiet, but it was a silly effort. Daddy would reduce her to bawling and begging as he always does. Daddy would make her sorry.
I counted fifteen of those thunderous spanks before I heard Michelle gasp out and begin to freely cry and sob. Five more swats and she began to plead for him to stop between sobs and swats. Finally, she was reduced to nothing but sobbing and any words she tried to get out became lost in the reckless breathing of heavy tears. The paddling continued and I lost count after twenty-five. Eventually though, and not too long, Daddy stopped his relentless swinging.
“Am I getting through?” Daddy asked.
After a long pause Michelle strained to reply, “Yes, sir. I’m sorry.”
“Are you going to behave now?”
“Yes, I’ll be a good girl. I swear.”
“Alright, stand up.” There was a soft rustle as I assumed she did as she was told. I imagine she was quickly trying to rub the sting out of her bottom just as I would do.
“Let’s talk now about what’s going on with you, okay?” Daddy asked my remorseful sister.
“Okay.”
“You’ve been skirting your chores. Why?” Daddy asked bluntly.
“I don’t know.” I could hear Daddy sigh as Michelle responded, undoubtedly shrugging her shoulders as she spoke.
“You’ve been answering back to me worse than ever. Why?”
“I don’t know.” Once again I heard Daddy sigh at the response.
“You’ve broken several commitments to both Mark and Jenny. Why?”
“I don’t know.” This time there was only silence but I could imagine the frustration that must have been on Daddy’s face.
“You’re attitude is rebellious and careless. Why?”
“I don’t know.”
“I see, is there anything about your behavior that you do know?”
There was only silence. I imagine Michelle was looking hard at the floor and Daddy was likely staring just as hard into her face. For myself I couldn’t believe how stupid Michelle was being. She may be ashamed of her reasons, but telling Daddy she doesn’t know is akin to asking for more punishment. What on Earth was she thinking?
“Fine, it has obviously been too long since you had a proper punishment, but don’t worry young lady I’ll correct that right now. Get undressed, clothes in a neat stack on the table and don’t even think of arguing.” Daddy’s voice was filled with frustration.
“But Daddy!” Michelle exclaimed in protest. I was somewhat shocked myself, not at Daddy’s orders, but at Michelle’s sudden use of “Daddy” in place of her usual “Dad”.
“Apparently you either have a problem listening or doing as your told. I don’t really care which because I’m going to make sure you learn to do both tonight. One more unsolicited word out of your mouth and I will stick a bar of soap in it. Now get undressed and don’t make me repeat myself again!” Daddy interrupted any further complaint from Michelle as he spoke with a harshness he normally reserved for scolding me. I must interject that for once I wasn’t upset with having to share with my sister.
The living room fell very quiet for a moment and then there was the rustle of clothing being removed and folded. Soon I heard the distinctive sound of elastic snapping and a brief whimper from Michelle. I knew that all too clearly to be the sound that she had removed her final article, her bra, and she now stood in shame awaiting the next attack upon her already surrendered modesty.
“Bend over, hands flat on the table.” Daddy’s calm voice interrupted the breathless silence.
“Daddy please!, I’m sorry.” Michelle’s whiny voice answered back.
“Soap first then!” Daddy replied almost as though he had been silently hoping she would give him an excuse.
A moment later I caught my first glimpse of Michelle in her chastised state. My imagination had not quite done justice to the situation. She was naked from head to toe, even her jewelry was gone. Daddy had a firm hold of her left earlobe as he dragged her crying and protesting down the hallway toward the bathroom. Her butt was thoroughly reddened and showed the beginnings of horseshoe shaped bruises, one centered on each naked cheek.
Once they entered the bathroom I could no longer see again. The sound of water running in the sink bled out any conversation although from personal previous experiences there is rarely any conversation at that point anyway. How I would have loved to have seen my snotty sister’s face with the large bar of soap protruding from her lips. Better still perhaps, would have been the priceless expression as it was forcefully pushed in and out, lathering up suds on her tongue and filling her mouth with soapy drool that would shamefully drip from her quivering lips as tears spilled out of her disbelieving eyes.
The water stopped. Daddy’s voice was too quiet for me to make out the words, but I know without doubt he was scolding. Likely, Michelle was stood, hands on head, listening to her comeuppance served skillfully with words and shame. The bar of soap too, still protruding from her now sparkling clean mouth, would reinforce every word as each breath would provide the unpleasant reminder of the bars presence. It is these profound moments when one wishes for time to fly, that it creeps at its slowest pace and allows the scolding words to penetrate deep into the most personal of thoughts. These are the moments when the biggest lessons are learned, when even the most stubborn resistance falters and finally blame screams out its ugly name. Deafened as you might be, it is impossible then not to recognize the name as it is your very own.
The silence was broken, “Spit!” Daddy commanded.
Gagging and spitting sounds followed as expected. A half moment later Michelle was once again in full view being escorted up the hallway by earlobe. Her eyes were overflowing with tears and her usual expression of confidence was replaced by shyness. Her chin still showed evidence of the recent presence of soap and a single string of soapy slobber dripped down between her naked breasts.
As quickly as she had entered my view she was again gone from it. Into the living room they had gone again and this time the order to bend was followed by silence and then came the sound of paddle striking flesh. Michelle was sobbing from the start and began crying out soon after.
“Please stop!”
“No MORE!”
“I can’t TAKE it!”
“Daddy PLEASE!”
“I’ll BE GOOD!”
“I PROMISE!”
“DADDY”
“PLEASE”
“I’LL BE A GOOD GIRL”
And then it stopped. Michelle was no longer the proud and defiant woman. She was broken down, nothing more than a little girl with a spanked bottom. She was no better than me in this moment and I admit I rejoiced in the sound of her pleas and the rhythm of smacks falling despite them all. I should be ashamed, but I’m not.
“Stand up. Turn around and face me.”
“Don’t you dare rub, hands on your head young lady.”
“That’s right. No, don’t look at the ground, you look at me when I’m talking to you.”
“Now, let try this again, shall we? Why have you not been doing your chores?”
“I’ve had other things on my mind, I’m sorry. It won’t happen anymore.”
“What other things have been on your mind? Do you think it’s fair to make the rest of us pick up the slack because your too self-involved to do your share?”
“No sir. I’m sorry.”
“So, what other things are so important and time consuming?”
“School and stuff.”
“Do we need to go back into the bathroom, because I sure as hell know a lie when I hear one.”
“No, sir. I thought I might have been pregnant.”
Mark and I gasped. The living room was silent. I’m pretty sure the world stopped spinning and time stood still for a good five minutes. There were no words to express the shock of her words and I can only imagine the look of terror that must have been upon my Daddy’s face. The long quiet was sign enough that even he was speechless at this admission.
“That explains a lot.” Mark muttered to himself and when I looked quizzically at him, he waved me off refusing any further details.
“That requires some explaining, young lady.”
“Could we talk more privately ?”
“Alright, go to your room. I’ll be there in a minute and you’d best be telling me the truth from here on out.”
“Yes, sir.”
Michelle was once again in my view. She walked stiffly down the hallway still naked and clearly sore. Her bare buttocks were beyond red. The bruises were just starting to appear and from personal experience I knew those would be fearsome by morning. She entered her room and closed the door.
Daddy followed her a couple minutes later after a long stop in the kitchen and several refills to his glass. As he went down the hall I couldn’t help but notice the paddle in his hand and the sharp slaps he made with it against his leg. The door opened and closed again, shutting Mark and I out and leaving us hungry for knowledge.
It was some time later and almost the New Year when they emerged from her room. I noted that Michelle was no longer crying. Daddy was clearly angry and even the severe spanking he had delivered to her had not abated his disappointment. Michelle was also still nude. This was not unusual for me, I was often without my clothes for the remainder of the day after having my bottom spanked, but for Michelle this had not happened to her in years.
“As you’ve no doubt noticed Michelle is being punished. Her behavior around this house has been intolerable and her outburst tonight only served to prove to me that I must take corrective action. From this point forward there will be zero tolerance for backtalk, rudeness, neglecting to do chores, or any other sort of bad behavior. I hope I am making it clear that there will be no exceptions to this rule. Michelle is further grounded for the next week and while I will not often employ this means in grounding she will remain without clothes for that week. Do not test me by further aggravating or teasing Michelle about her state or punishment. Am I understood?”
“Yes, sir.” Our three voices sounded together in perfect harmony.
From there we adjourned to the living room and switched on the television to watch the ball drop in Times Square. The New Year arrived and I welcomed it in. It would be a New Year indeed if Daddy keeps to his resolution of no longer allowing Michelle a free hand. Only time would tell, but I admit even there in the evidence of Daddy’s commitment, I was skeptical of any long term adherence.
Yosemite Falls
Half Dome reached its snowy white cap toward the rich blue sky. All around me was snow and ice. The air was crisp and cold, my breath floated in an icy mist in the gentle breeze of morning. Jeff slipped his warm gloved hand into mine and gently squeezed as we stood off to the side of the road, gazing in wondrous awe at the site of nature’s wonder before us. I pulled up my camera and snapped a few pictures, capturing a moment never to be repeated.
I was on vacation with my boyfriend in the month of February. We had taken a week long vacation to visit Yosemite during the majestic beauty of winter. As we drove farther into the park the sides of road became encased in two parallel white walls of snow at least twelve feet high. The road was clear though and the sky was the purest of blues without a cloud in sight. I was practically bouncing in my seat as Jeff steered our small car into a parking area.
We had arrived at our destination for the day’s activity, Mist trail. The name comes from the mist of Vernal Fall and Nevada Fall on the trail. However, the cold winter we were enjoying had caused the whole thing freeze and the view from the trail was rumored to be nothing short of spectacular with both falls frozen solid.
Jeff and I grabbed our backpacks out of the trunk and made sure we had our water supply and snacks along with a few emergency supplies. You can never be too careful when hiking at anytime of the year, but we had been warned that storms occasionally hit the area we were about to hike through with little or no warning. I had black leather hiking boots on and jeans covered by black sweat pants along with a hefty sweater and a crème colored winter jacket that was so puffed out I looked twice my normal size. My backpack was red and black and light enough to almost forget it was there. Jeff was outfitted in his typical black leather jacket with a blue and white flannel shirt underneath, blue jeans and brown hiking boots. His backpack was solid black and carrying all the water so it was clearly heavier than mine. Gear in place and supplies double-checked we were ready to hit the trail.
We headed out and down the trail dropping a notice with our names and basic info in a box for the ranger. We noticed the parking lot had one other car than ours in it so we knew to expect at least one other group on the trail, but never really expected to see them. We were surprised less than fifteen minutes later as we caught up with the family that most likely owned the silver SUV we had seen. We said hello to them and ended up walking with them for a time as we talked about the park.
Bobby and Julie were probably in their mid thirties and they had two daughters, Christy and Wendy. The girls seemed to require their parents’ constant attention so, Jeff and I moved ahead after politely excusing ourselves and wishing them all well. It seemed the girls kept wandering off from their parents and even when we couldn't see them, we heard their father yelling at them and eventually we heard the threat of a spanking if they didn't straighten up.
Jeff and I were in a healthy spanking relationship so naturally we found the threat intriguing and I think we were both developing ideas for that night in the hotel room based off what we had heard. I guess there is nothing quite like reality for creating fantastic fantasy.
We lost track of the family for about an hour as we explored more of the trail. I stopped often and snapped enough pictures that Jeff was starting to threaten to give me a hard spank for every picture I took. I laughed it off even though I knew he was very serious and slightly annoyed. When we reached the end of the trail, we found ourselves a couple of rocks to sit on and eat the sandwiches we brought with us.
Shortly after we finish the sandwiches Bobby and Julie came into the clearing with their girls and apparently didn't see us. We were under some trees a short distance away, but certainly not hiding. Bobby had the oldest girl, Wendy, by the arm as they came into the clearing. There was a fallen tree that was somewhat convenient to where they entered from and literally gave us a prime view. Bobby sat himself down on the log and started lecturing Wendy who was already crying and begging, "Daddy please don't! I swear I'll be good."
Jeff and I were watching very quietly and intently as it became obvious that Wendy’s pleas had been useless. A few moments later after he had given her an award winning scolding, he reached over and started to undo her jeans.
She backed away saying, "No Daddy!"
He grabbed hold of her and pulled her back to him with a loud swat of his hand to her bottom. He then unfastened her pants pulled them well down below her knees. Wasting no time, he pulled her over his lap and started smacking away. The loud sounds of her squealing and his smacking were echoing all around in the clearing and probably a good distance away as well. He spanked her for a good two minutes with his hand and when he stood her back up she was very red faced and crying. Considering it was in the low 40's that day I would bet she was freezing too with her pants pulled down and her pink panties on display.
Then it was the Christy’s turn and she got the exact same treatment. I felt sorry for the Wendy who was made to stand with her back to the scene and us with her pants still down. When he finished with Christy I assumed it was over and was hoping they would leave soon so we wouldn't be discovered as eavesdroppers.
Unfortunately for the girls it wasn't. He had both of them stand facing the log where he had been sitting and bend over and put their hands on it. He then took his belt off, folded it in half and walked up to the oldest one first and yanked her panties down and then he did the same to her sister. He gave them both 25 strokes. Each girl in turn was screaming and begging their Daddy for mercy. He didn’t seem to give any that I saw. Wendy was first and she was nothing short of hysterical when he finished and started on Christy. A few moments later Christy was in the same shape as her sister. The two girls were let up and the both started hopping around grabbing their very red bottoms apparently no longer concerned about the cold. I suppose you could say Bobby had warmed them right up.
A couple minutes later they pulled there pants back up at the insistence of Julie who was clearly not amused by their theatrics. Jeff and I were doing our best not to break into open laughter when we heard Julie threaten to spank the girls more if they didn’t pull their pants and panties up right away. I’m sure the humor of the situation was lost on all of them, but we were tickled by it. Moments later, Bobby and Julie headed back up the trail with two very contrite daughters.
Jeff and I waited there for another half hour before leaving. It could be rather embarrassing to run into them again we thought since there was only the one way out and if we passed them again they would have to know we had seen or at least heard the spanking. We thought we would give them a good head start. Unfortunately, it wasn't enough because about an hour and a half later we ended passing them again. The two girls still seemed quite subdued but there was no indication that they thought we had seen or heard anything. We exchanged a pleasant hello again with Bobby and Julie and then continued on ahead of them, relieved that the spanking didn‘t come up in our brief encounter. That was the last time we saw them as we reached the parking lot a short while later and headed off to drive through some other parts of the park before they climbed out.
Jeff and I enjoyed a very pleasant evening back at the hotel as I obediently played the part of both Christy and Wendy. I of course didn’t get my pants back up in time when I was threatened an additional dose of the belt. We got a few strange looks the next morning at the hotel breakfast. I can’t imagine why.
I was on vacation with my boyfriend in the month of February. We had taken a week long vacation to visit Yosemite during the majestic beauty of winter. As we drove farther into the park the sides of road became encased in two parallel white walls of snow at least twelve feet high. The road was clear though and the sky was the purest of blues without a cloud in sight. I was practically bouncing in my seat as Jeff steered our small car into a parking area.
We had arrived at our destination for the day’s activity, Mist trail. The name comes from the mist of Vernal Fall and Nevada Fall on the trail. However, the cold winter we were enjoying had caused the whole thing freeze and the view from the trail was rumored to be nothing short of spectacular with both falls frozen solid.
Jeff and I grabbed our backpacks out of the trunk and made sure we had our water supply and snacks along with a few emergency supplies. You can never be too careful when hiking at anytime of the year, but we had been warned that storms occasionally hit the area we were about to hike through with little or no warning. I had black leather hiking boots on and jeans covered by black sweat pants along with a hefty sweater and a crème colored winter jacket that was so puffed out I looked twice my normal size. My backpack was red and black and light enough to almost forget it was there. Jeff was outfitted in his typical black leather jacket with a blue and white flannel shirt underneath, blue jeans and brown hiking boots. His backpack was solid black and carrying all the water so it was clearly heavier than mine. Gear in place and supplies double-checked we were ready to hit the trail.
We headed out and down the trail dropping a notice with our names and basic info in a box for the ranger. We noticed the parking lot had one other car than ours in it so we knew to expect at least one other group on the trail, but never really expected to see them. We were surprised less than fifteen minutes later as we caught up with the family that most likely owned the silver SUV we had seen. We said hello to them and ended up walking with them for a time as we talked about the park.
Bobby and Julie were probably in their mid thirties and they had two daughters, Christy and Wendy. The girls seemed to require their parents’ constant attention so, Jeff and I moved ahead after politely excusing ourselves and wishing them all well. It seemed the girls kept wandering off from their parents and even when we couldn't see them, we heard their father yelling at them and eventually we heard the threat of a spanking if they didn't straighten up.
Jeff and I were in a healthy spanking relationship so naturally we found the threat intriguing and I think we were both developing ideas for that night in the hotel room based off what we had heard. I guess there is nothing quite like reality for creating fantastic fantasy.
We lost track of the family for about an hour as we explored more of the trail. I stopped often and snapped enough pictures that Jeff was starting to threaten to give me a hard spank for every picture I took. I laughed it off even though I knew he was very serious and slightly annoyed. When we reached the end of the trail, we found ourselves a couple of rocks to sit on and eat the sandwiches we brought with us.
Shortly after we finish the sandwiches Bobby and Julie came into the clearing with their girls and apparently didn't see us. We were under some trees a short distance away, but certainly not hiding. Bobby had the oldest girl, Wendy, by the arm as they came into the clearing. There was a fallen tree that was somewhat convenient to where they entered from and literally gave us a prime view. Bobby sat himself down on the log and started lecturing Wendy who was already crying and begging, "Daddy please don't! I swear I'll be good."
Jeff and I were watching very quietly and intently as it became obvious that Wendy’s pleas had been useless. A few moments later after he had given her an award winning scolding, he reached over and started to undo her jeans.
She backed away saying, "No Daddy!"
He grabbed hold of her and pulled her back to him with a loud swat of his hand to her bottom. He then unfastened her pants pulled them well down below her knees. Wasting no time, he pulled her over his lap and started smacking away. The loud sounds of her squealing and his smacking were echoing all around in the clearing and probably a good distance away as well. He spanked her for a good two minutes with his hand and when he stood her back up she was very red faced and crying. Considering it was in the low 40's that day I would bet she was freezing too with her pants pulled down and her pink panties on display.
Then it was the Christy’s turn and she got the exact same treatment. I felt sorry for the Wendy who was made to stand with her back to the scene and us with her pants still down. When he finished with Christy I assumed it was over and was hoping they would leave soon so we wouldn't be discovered as eavesdroppers.
Unfortunately for the girls it wasn't. He had both of them stand facing the log where he had been sitting and bend over and put their hands on it. He then took his belt off, folded it in half and walked up to the oldest one first and yanked her panties down and then he did the same to her sister. He gave them both 25 strokes. Each girl in turn was screaming and begging their Daddy for mercy. He didn’t seem to give any that I saw. Wendy was first and she was nothing short of hysterical when he finished and started on Christy. A few moments later Christy was in the same shape as her sister. The two girls were let up and the both started hopping around grabbing their very red bottoms apparently no longer concerned about the cold. I suppose you could say Bobby had warmed them right up.
A couple minutes later they pulled there pants back up at the insistence of Julie who was clearly not amused by their theatrics. Jeff and I were doing our best not to break into open laughter when we heard Julie threaten to spank the girls more if they didn’t pull their pants and panties up right away. I’m sure the humor of the situation was lost on all of them, but we were tickled by it. Moments later, Bobby and Julie headed back up the trail with two very contrite daughters.
Jeff and I waited there for another half hour before leaving. It could be rather embarrassing to run into them again we thought since there was only the one way out and if we passed them again they would have to know we had seen or at least heard the spanking. We thought we would give them a good head start. Unfortunately, it wasn't enough because about an hour and a half later we ended passing them again. The two girls still seemed quite subdued but there was no indication that they thought we had seen or heard anything. We exchanged a pleasant hello again with Bobby and Julie and then continued on ahead of them, relieved that the spanking didn‘t come up in our brief encounter. That was the last time we saw them as we reached the parking lot a short while later and headed off to drive through some other parts of the park before they climbed out.
Jeff and I enjoyed a very pleasant evening back at the hotel as I obediently played the part of both Christy and Wendy. I of course didn’t get my pants back up in time when I was threatened an additional dose of the belt. We got a few strange looks the next morning at the hotel breakfast. I can’t imagine why.
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