When Beth’s doorbell rang, she rose with a grunt and shuffled off to answer it, one hand supporting her lower back, and a slight grimace on her face.
Assuming it was her kindly next-door neighbor, stopping in to check on her after work, she opened the door without even bothering to glance through the peephole first. And that was why she had so little time to get control over her emotions when she found Jeremy Hess standing on her front stoop.
Jeremy Hess. All six foot, four inches of him, with those lean muscles and that tumble of dark hair, those knowing hazel eyes. And that thunderous expression...
“H-hi!” she squeaked, forcing herself to make eye contact despite his intimidating stare. “What... what are you doing here, Jeremy?”
His gaze bored into hers. “Well,” he drawled, “I figured since you couldn’t find your way in to see me for your therapy sessions, that I’d come by here and bring them to you.” His gaze slipped to where her hand still rested on her lower back and his eyes narrowed. “I can see you’re still having problems.”
Beth felt her face flush. “Yeah,” she admitted. “I stayed home from work today, actually.”
“That would explain why I didn’t see you,” he agreed. Beth and Jeremy both worked for the same hospital, though for different departments. “I couldn’t be sure if you were there or not, though, as I’ve noticed lately that you’ve been avoiding me.”
Beth found herself looking at her bare toes like a naughty child. “I wouldn’t use the word ‘avoiding,’ exactly,” she murmured.
“What word would you use, then?” he demanded. Oh boy, he was pissed! “Because avoiding seems pretty damn close to the mark, if you ask me.” He began ticking the evidence off on his fingers. “You’ve missed two weeks of appointments, even though you’re obviously still in need of therapy. Every time I catch a glimpse of you in the halls, you limp as fast as you can in the opposite direction. You haven’t returned my phone calls.” He dropped his hand back to his side and speared her with a challenging look and a raised eyebrow. “What does that sound like to you?”
Instead of answering him, Beth took a step back. “Why don’t you come in?” she invited, as if their whole conversation hadn’t just taken place.
He looked at her as though she was loony, but followed her inside. As she closed the door behind him, he turned back to her and said, “You’re not slipping past me that easily, you know. I’m not leaving here tonight without an explanation from you. And don’t even try any bullshit with me. I know it wasn’t a work conflict that made you miss those appointments, and you have no insurance copay.”
“You’re right, it wasn’t anything like that.” She tried an evasion tactic. “I don’t understand what the big deal is, though. I called and canceled with plenty of notice.”
“I don’t give a shit about notice, Beth. I want to see you getting better.” He gestured to her. “And obviously, that isn’t happening. You need to come to the sessions to see improvement. You need to keep up with it. Tell me you’ve at least been doing the exercises here at home.”
When Beth’s gaze slid instantly away from Jeremy’s face, he snorted. “I’ll take that as a no.” From the corner of her eye, she saw him shake his head. “I ought to walk right back out that door and leave you to your own devices. You’ll be a candidate for surgery within three years, maybe less. Is that what you want, Beth?”
Squeezing her eyes shut, she slowly shook her head.
“Then, damn it, why are you fighting me? I’m trying to help you.”
She hesitated, and then tried offering him part of the truth. “It hurts. After I do the exercises.”
“I told you. It will for a little while. You have to work through that. Be careful not to overdo it, but grit your teeth and get through those first few times. It gets better. It will get better, if you don’t give up.” He sized her up for a moment, studying her with an unnerving intensity. “Is that it? That’s the only reason why you’ve been canceling your therapy appointments and avoiding me?” When she only shrugged and began to turn away from him, he shook his head. “No, I didn’t think it was that simple. But that’s okay, Beth. Keep your secret for now. By the time I leave here tonight, you’ll be begging me to let you spill your guts.”
That got her attention. Her head spun in his direction so fast that it was a wonder she didn’t get whiplash. Jeremy chuckled.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” she demanded, trying to sound strong and fearless, but hearing the edge of nerves in her voice.
“You’ll see,” he promised. “Though, maybe a little example right now might speed the process along.” He appeared to consider the possibilities of whatever evil plan he had cooked up in his head. Then, apparently approving of it, he reached out a hand towards her. “Come here.”
Beth regarded him warily. He’d never hurt her before, had always been beyond gentle in the physical therapy gym, and had never made an inappropriate move on her (even though she’d wished for him to do just that). Even so, she couldn’t help but wonder if this time, something was different.
Hesitantly, she placed her hand into his. And was then immediately pulled to the nearest wall and pushed up against it, her hands pinned together above her head, held tight in one of his massive mitts. While she struggled futilely against his hold, bucking against the way he had her imprisoned, facing the wall like a student about to be disciplined, he spoke very softly, almost seductively, into her ear. “This is what I mean, Beth.”
And then, just like that, he spanked her. Hard.
Beth gasped out loud and attempted to whirl around in confrontation, but he held her securely in place.
“You just... just...” she sputtered in rage, glaring at him over her shoulder.
He grinned slowly, and his beautiful hazel eyes twinkled at her. “I just spanked your deserving little ass.”
Her gaze narrowed, and she stomped her foot. “Let me go, Jeremy,” she demanded.
He shrugged casually and dropped his hand, freeing her wrists. She immediately spun around to face him, rubbing at her wrists as if they’d been in tight handcuffs instead of in his inescapable hold. He watched her, a fading grin on his face. His mouth kicked up again in a cockeyed smile, and chuckled when she reached back to rub her violated backside.
“Don’t you laugh at me!” She folded her arms over her chest, deciding she didn’t care how much that one spank stung, she wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of watching her soothe her bottom. “I think you’d better just leave!”
“Sorry, honey, but no chance. I told you already – you wouldn’t come to your therapy sessions, so I’m bringing them to you. And today, we’re doing them my way.”
Oh, boy. She didn’t like the sound of that.
“What’s that supposed to mean? Your way?”
He folded his arms over his wide chest, mirroring her own stance. “It means that we go through the exercises – all of them – and in between, you get a little extra special physical therapy. To help you remember to keep up with the training when I’m not around.”
Her eyes widened. “Do you mean you’re... you’re going to... to do that... again?”
He chuckled at her distress. “If you’re trying to choke out the word ‘spank,’ then the answer is yes. That’s exactly the kind of physical therapy that I have in mind.”
“Get out of my house,” she ordered. But even Beth could hear the uncertain note in her voice. Despite everything Jeremy was telling her, despite the fact that she would normally be running from her own house, if it meant saving her butt, she couldn’t exactly convince herself that she didn’t want him there anymore. That she didn’t want him anymore, period. He was Jeremy freakin’ Hess, for crying out loud! Ninety percent of the female hospital staff – and probably one hundred percent of his female patients – would give anything to be in her shoes right now, spanking or not. And although she might not relish that part of the equation, there was a part of her deep down inside that had to admit, at least to herself, that she maybe deserved to be punished for not doing what she was supposed to do.
“I’m not going anywhere, honey. And you may as well get used to that fact.”
He made it sound as if he was referring to more than just this afternoon of spanking and physical therapy. Or maybe that was just Beth hearing what she wanted to hear.
“Hmph. Don’t call me ‘honey.’”
That sexy – no, annoying – grin was back. “Okay, brat. Is that better?”
She chose to ignore his taunt. Sticking her nose up in the air, she said, “Well, let’s get on with it. The sooner we get this over with, the sooner you can leave.” His gaze seared her with heat so blistering that Beth had to glance away from him for a moment. “So, uh, what’s first?”
“Well, first, is you over my knee. For all those appointments we had, and you stood me up.”
“They weren’t dates, you know. You don’t have to take it so personally.”
His eyes were hard and unblinking on her face. “I do, though. I take it very personally. Where you’re concerned, at least.” He reached out with one hand. “Now quit stalling, and come over here.”
It was as simple and as complicated as that. When she was face to face with him, there was just no way she could resist him, no matter what it was that he was asking of her. She gave him her hand with hardly a blink and allowed him to tug her over to the sofa.
He sat down immediately and pulled her over his lap in one fluid movement. The next thing Beth knew, her bottom was up in the air, and a split second later, Jeremy’s hard, flat hand was connecting sharply with it.
Over and over again.
At first, it didn’t really hurt. Not with the extra padding of her sweatpants and underwear. But after the first dozen or so, the heat from the swats began to build. She hung in there, and her fingers twisted in the old afghan she’d left on the sofa earlier. Jeremy seemed tireless, delivering crack after crack of his palm, with enough vigor and strength behind each smack to jiggle her bottom and make it bounce beneath his punishment.
Beth was really gritting her teeth by the time he reached twenty smacks. Small sounds of distress managed to escape her lips; little gasps and moans. She screwed her eyes shut tight after the twenty-fourth swat, waiting for more.
But he had stopped.
“All right,” he said after a few moments had passed, and she was still stretched out over his knees, waiting for the spanking to start anew. “You can get up now. That’s it.” He watched her scramble to her feet, staring at him with wide eyes. “For now, that’s it,” he amended. When she reached behind herself with both hands to rub her bottom, he took her wrists in his hands and pulled them back around. “No rubbing.”
Beth didn’t argue with him. She wasn’t about to risk her reprieve.
He gestured to the room. “That was round one of my own personal type of physical therapy. You’re the first lucky young lady to receive it. Doesn’t that make you feel special?” When she only stood there mutely glaring at him, he continued with a shrug. “Now you need to work a little on the exercises I assigned you for your back and neck.” He gave her a meaningful look. She nodded quickly in response, still not wanting to risk losing her spanking break. “All right, let’s start with something easy. Give me two sets of backward bends, ten each.”
“Okay.” Watching him warily, Beth set her feet at about a shoulder-width apart, put her hands on her hips and gently arched backward, making the hollow of her lower back deeper. She held the position for two seconds and then straightened.
“Very good,” he murmured.
A surge of ridiculous pride seized her heart and she blushed. She repeated the exercise, counting the repetitions silently in her head. While she worked, Jeremy circled around her once, then stood leaning against the arm of the couch, watching her. Feeling his gaze, she began to hurry, holding the position for less time than she was supposed to.
She was so wrapped up in her own self-consciousness, she never even knew he’d come up behind her until he smacked her bottom. Beth jumped about a mile in the air and cried out in alarm.
He leaned close enough that she got a whiff of his spicy cologne. “Don’t rush through them,” he whispered. “Nice and slow. Remember?”
She nodded her head jerkily. “Right. Slow. Sorry. I forgot.”
He nodded. “It’s okay. Keep going.”
Of course, now she’d lost count. With a sigh, she began again, guessing at what number she’d been up to, and continuing from there, hoping he hadn’t been keeping his own count. For all she knew, she might be about to get spanked again for skipping one or two.
When she finished, Beth turned to him, not sure what to do next. He studied her for a moment, as if he was thinking himself of what came next. “That was good,” he finally said. “Now, bend forward and touch your toes.”
Beth’s breath hitched in her throat and she felt her eyes round on his face. He stood there passively, waiting calmly for her to obey him. As if there was simply no possibility that she wouldn’t do what he asked.
Because, after all, there really wasn’t. He might make her so mad she wanted to spit, but there was really nothing she wouldn’t do for him, if by doing it she could please him.
And so, slowly, she did as he’d told her to, feeling her control slipping further away as, degree by degree she bent at the waist and reached forward with her arms until her fingertips grazed her toes.
“Very nice,” he praised and again she felt the thrill of having pleased him, even with something so simple. He stepped up beside her and rested his hand on her lower back. And then his free hand appeared at the back waistband of her old sweatpants. Without a single word, he hooked his fingers under the waistband and tugged the pants down past her hips. When he finished, they lay in a messy pool of cotton around her ankles.
Other than a small gasp, Beth didn’t made a sound during her undressing. Her legs were shaky, though, and her eyes were squeezed tightly closed.
He helped her to step out of the sweatpants, then tossed them aside, and stood looking her over. She now wore only a pair of plain, pink cotton briefs from the waist down.
“A nice shade,” Jeremy remarked, smoothing a hand over the cotton where it covered the full curve of her bottom. “But I dare say I could do better.”
And then he started spanking her again.
Although it didn’t seem as if he was swatting her any harder than he had earlier, Beth certainly felt the sting and heat much more, now that the sweatpants had been removed. The claps of his hand on her pantied bottom were loud in the otherwise still room, like firecrackers going off. The position he expected her to maintain was difficult and uncomfortable, and Beth found herself struggling to stay in place. She wanted to please him, and to do as he’d instructed, but she couldn’t help but sway away from his hand, as the pain from the spanking began to build.
When two dozen smacks had been delivered, she was out of breath, literally panting from the fight to stay in control of her body and emotions. She hung with her head low and her fingers still grazing her toes, her throbbing bottom still pointed skyward. She waited for his direction, even as she silently wondered at her own behavior. Was she really so hungry for his attention that she would submit to this treatment without any fight at all? But she already knew the answer to that question. She would. She would do anything this man asked of her.
“Okay. You can stand up. Now, I want you to give me two sets of lumbar rotations.”
And so it went on from there. Jeremy would give her a set of new exercises – policing her throughout the workout with well-placed slaps on her backside anytime he felt his guidance was needed. And then, once she was through, she had to go back over his lap, or the arm of the sofa, or the back of the dining room chair to get her fanny freshly warmed.
She’d always been self-conscious about her body when exercising with him. There was no escaping the fact that many of the positions she had to be in were rather embarrassing. But she’d never noticed before how much the positions lent themselves to having her bottom smacked. There was one movement, for example, where she lay flat on her stomach with her arms folded out at the sides of her head. She then pushed her torso upward, keeping her hips in contact with the floor and her lower back and buttocks relaxed. She was supposed to hold that stretch for three seconds. Naturally, this position left her all too vulnerable to Jeremy’s ready hand. When he saw her going through the difficult movements without pausing long enough to hold the stretches, he knelt beside her and grabbed a fistful of her underwear at the top, pulling the cotton tight and causing the cloth covering her cheeks to disappear into the crevice between her buttocks. Now her bottom was basically bare, and he began to spank her rapidly.
“I shouldn’t have to tell you this again,” he said, slapping her buttocks as punctuation for his words, “Slow down! If I do have to tell you again, these panties are coming completely off.”
Then as fast as he’d started the spanking, he stopped. But Beth was still embarrassingly spread out across the floor, with her reddened bottom, now nearly completely on display while she – very slowly – finished her repetitions. And naturally, when she stood up afterwards, he wouldn’t let her pull out the wedgie he’d given her. So the next bout of spanking she received was on her bare cheeks.
Finally – finally, all the lower back exercises were completed, and they moved on to the neck ones. The first required Beth to stand in the corner of the room, place both arms on the walls beside her, and slowly press into the corner until a gentle stretch was felt in the chest. It was supposed to help her with flexibility in the cervical spine. Having her back to Jeremy was disconcerting, as it left her bottom at his easy mercy for more spanks. It became even more unnerving when he muttered a dry comment about how she looked very much at home standing in the corner like a naughty little girl.
Apparently, that was all it took to mess her up. Because she stopped paying attention to counting the seconds she was supposed to be holding each position, and the next thing she knew, Jeremy was at her side – a moment later, the panties were rucked down her legs, leaving her bare.
A searing blush lit up her face and she pressed her eyes closed, biting her lower lip.
“Step out of them,” he ordered gruffly.
The stain of shame on her face deepened as she wordlessly did as he instructed.
“I warned you,” he reminded her in a low tone. He leaned close to her ear and spoke in a whisper. “Am I getting through to you at all, here?”
Beth forced her gaze to meet his. She nodded and he grasped her chin in his hand, turning her face back into the corner. He smacked her bare bottom slowly, five resounding times, and then murmured, “Finish up. We’re not done yet.”
When the corner stretches were finished, it was time to go back over Jeremy’s lap. Being bare like that, knowing what he could now see so freely while he spanked her, made Beth’s embarrassment keener. She was fighting tears now, both from embarrassment and from the pain of the spanking.
“How many more sessions of therapy are you scheduled for?” he asked her as he paddled her bottom.
Beth grit her teeth. The jerk! If anyone knew how much longer she had left, it was him!
“Three more weeks,” she answered stiffly.
He dealt her a meaty smack. “Think you’ll stand me up again after today?”
“No,” she answered coolly.
“What about doing your homework exercises?” CRACK!
“I’ll do them.” She winced at the next spank. “I promise.”
“Good.” He helped her up from his lap, smiling gently at the way she carefully tugged her tee shirt down in front to cover her privates. He indicated the dining room chair he’d purloined earlier for her to lean over and accept her swats. “Sit down and do your neck stretches.”
He watched as she sat down on her bare bottom, wincing as her well-spanked skin made contact with the hard wood. Then he stood in front of her with his arms folded as she ran through the neck exercises, nodding her head slowly forward, backward, side to side and then in slow circles. It was a wonder, with him watching so closely, that she didn’t rush through the motions and land herself in even worse trouble than she was already. But somehow she made it through without messing up, and then she was facing him again, knowing what was coming next.
But instead of spanking her, he had her stretch out on her back on the recliner end of her sectional sofa. And that was when she remembered they still had one part of her therapy left – the traction on her neck.
This was the part that Beth both hated and loved. She hated it because it was always so hard for her to relax into the exercise the way she was supposed to, but she loved it because it felt so good when she did.
She scooted to the end of the lounge as Jeremy grabbed the kitchen chair and sat down in it. When she lay back, her head hanging over the edge, Jeremy was there to catch the base of her skull in his hands.
“Just relax now,” he said, which was what he always instructed her to do, as if it was just that simple. “Let your muscles go soft.”
It took a few minutes of him talking to her like that, but eventually she managed to do what he was asking. Once he felt her relax, he began the traction, applying a very gentle pull along the muscles in her neck.
“Doesn’t that feel nice?” he whispered.
“Now, why wouldn’t you want to come see me, when I treat you like this at the end of every session, huh?” He paused in his ministrations. “No, now don’t get all tense on me again. Relax, Beth.”
Her eyes fluttered open, and she looked up at him. “I... I get nervous around you,” she admitted softly. “That’s why... that’s why I stopped coming to therapy.”
Jeremy nodded. “I thought it might be something like that.” He turned his attention to his work, and she wondered briefly what he was thinking. “Lord, woman, you carry a lot of tension in your neck and shoulders.”
Beth wasn’t surprised by that, at least not today. There had been a lot of stress this afternoon, ever since he’d shown up, in fact.
“You need a way to de-stress, sweetheart,” he murmured. “Exercise. Meditation. Yoga.”
“Sex?” The question just popped out of her mouth, being the first thing that she thought of to reduce stress – maybe because it had been so damn long since she’d had any. An immediate blush fanned out across her face and Jeremy threw back his head and laughed.
“Uh, yeah, sex, too. That’s an excellent stress reliever.” His knowing hazel eyes danced and smoldered as he looked down at her. “Are you saying you’d like to add that to your therapy regimen?”
He was teasing her, of course. But from somewhere inside, Beth found the nerve to slowly nod her head, which was still held in his expert hands.
He didn’t laugh this time – not even a light chuckle. Instead, he leaned over and kissed her.
It was weird being kissed upside down like that, with her head still hanging off the chaise lounge, held in his hands. But despite that, there was no hiding what a great kiss it was. Never before had a simple kiss made her nipples harden and her sex grow heavy in anticipation.
When their lips parted, they were still as stone for long moments, just looking into one another’s eyes. Then she suddenly sat up, nearly knocking heads with him in the process. She carefully crawled into his lap, wrapping her legs around his waist shamelessly, and he grinned, helping her stay in place by folding his hands together beneath her bare behind.
“Do it again,” she whispered. “Kiss me like that again. So I know it wasn’t just some fluke.”
He was only too willing to fulfill her request. And, if anything, this kiss – plundering and wet, their tongues mating and dancing together – was even better.
When they broke apart, Beth was grinning. “What was it you were saying a few minutes ago about... sex... as part of my physical therapy?”
Jeremy gave her a warning look. “I don’t know about that, Beth. I was joking, really. I mean, don’t you think that it would be too soon?”
She shook her head, and her hair flipped across his face as she did so. She giggled and touched him gently with her fingertips where the strands had caressed his cheeks. “I’ve been waiting for what seems like forever. I didn’t think you saw me in the same way that I see you.”
“Hmm.” He tugged her into his arms, snuggling her against him. “You crazy girl. How could I not see you as a desirable, beautiful woman? Huh?”
She shrugged and tucked her face into the crook of his neck. He stroked her hair with one hand while the other again cupped her bottom cheek.
“So, you’re really not going to make love to me?” Beth asked after a few moments had passed.
“Not today, love,” he said softly. “Remember what I’ve been stressing to you all day? To take things slowly? I don’t believe in rushing into anything.”
She wanted to pout, but she didn’t. She was still in his arms, after all. “Old fashioned kind of guy, huh?”
He patted her bottom softly. “You ought to know that, after today.”
She peeked up at him playfully. “Is that... going to happen very often?”
“The spanking?” He chuckled at her when she blushed at the word and quickly looked away. He tipped her chin back up, so she had to meet his eyes. “It might. What do you think about that?”
She considered it briefly. “I think I can live with it. But I won’t know for sure until I have lived with it for a little while.” She made a face. “Does that make any sense?”
He nodded, a smile tugging his mouth. “Yes, it does. And thank you for being honest. So, I guess we’ll give it a try, then. And see what happens?”
She grinned. “I’d like that very much.”
“Good. Me, too.” He pinched her bottom lightly, playfully. “Enough serious talk. Get on over here and give me another kiss...”
Donald Trump will win the election defeating Hilary Clinton.
If Ms Clinton wins I lose the bet and settle with the appropriate strokes - 50 strokes on each butt cheek, hand, thigh, shoulder blade(back), or foot with an instrument or instruments of your choice. I will choose a list of items that are particularly easy to wield in self-discipline because unfortunately I don't think spankablebutt will be making a return trip this year so to collect the winner will have
to accept a self-discipline video.
If Mr. Trump wins you have the option: 1) no penalty, 2) find someone willing to provide a similar settlement - 50 strokes on each butt cheek, hand, thigh, shoulder blade (back), or foot with an instrument or instruments of your choice. or 3) you provide yourself with self-discipline of 50 strokes on each butt cheek, hand, thigh, shoulder blade (back), or foot with an instrument or instruments of
And of course preferably you’ll put it on video and post it on ST.
The evening started with being told to spend the rest of the evening naked.i was there to please Master, serve him with whatever he desired.
Eventually he told me to go upstairs and get the CPS and Giant Devil out.
I wish I never bought this bloody CPS now.
My hands were cuffed to the bed rail in such an awkward position but I was not allowed to complain as Mr G started with the CPS.
After last week, i didn't think it could get worse, but shitting hell that hurt.
I kept throwing myself to the side so my ankles got strapped to the bed harness, legs wide open.
I've no idea how many swats I got, he alternated between strap and paddle, telling me off for arguing, making him phone me when he was away to tell me off,
I liked the telling off bit, just not the punishment
At one point, I musta changed position a bit as I got full force across the back of my leg and pussy. I screeched out and clawed at the cuffs, ( only soft Velcro sort, ) and got my hand free, for what I don't know as my legs were stuck.
Being told off again, told if I move he would just start over again I was cuffed, ass out, sobbing into my arms.
At some point he asked how much blood did I expect to see for this punishment !
Now seeing blood doesn't bother me anymore, the paddle and CPS are both nasty vicious toys so it's to be expected when used hard to see blood.
I said only a little bit, I wasn't that naughty. I'm just a brat.
That seemed to give him the opportunity to ensure there was a little blood on my cheeks.
I've never had such a punishment where it hurts to even walk, laying in bed was painful and now it's morning, it's not eased a bit.
I was not looking forward to my morning spanking on top of these bruises.
But I think I've actually learnt from it. I'm going to try very hard not to argue again, might be difficult but I'd much rather have enjoyable spankings than a repeat of that punishment.
So I'm sorry for arguing Master and I will try much harder to stop doing it.
I love you and know you only want the best for me.
yes ive been drinkin again ... when no onerea lly cars what ur doin it just seems the thing to do ...im the type to like to brat for attention nget a playful spankin butialso know I need serious guidance..ihave manyissues I know I need help in ... I let good peop le get away from me n idont try to get themback cause I feel they r better off witho uttme.. tight this very minute ifeel like getting in my van n drivin offsom somewhere even tho thers no reason fo rme to n I slsoknow I'm notfit todrive right now so .. iwouldt even carifi crashed n died but id not wanna hurt anyone else....I hate my life.. I hate myself.... smh
Nicole's adventures in punishment conclude:
The woods were quiet. They were a true suburban forest, probably stretching for miles around the edge of the school. The went a few hundred feet deep, walking until the reached a large fallen log, probably four feet in diameter. Mr. Sanders took off his coat and laid it over the log. Then he walked a little ways off to a smaller tree and tore a green branch off of it. He stripped the loose leaves and stems off of it and whipped it through the air experimentally. It whistled as it moved, and he seemed satisfied. He fixed her with the look again. “Strip,” he said.
Slowly, Nicole complied. First her shoes and stockings, then her skirt, folded neatly and placed on the log. She pulled her sweater and button down shirt over her head, separated them, and folded them neatly as well, laying them on top of the skirt. In her black lace underwear and bra, she turned back to Mr. Sanders.
“And the rest.”
She paused a moment. Then slowly brought her hands behind her back and unfastened her bra, letting her breasts fall out into the cool night air. Her underwear soon joined it, and they both were piled on top of the rest of her clothes. Naked, she turned to face him again. The night air was cool, and her nipples hardened as the breeze touched them. Self consciously, she crossed her arms over her breasts. Mr. Sanders stepped forward and grabbed her, bringing her over to the log where he’d laid his coat, and gently laid her over the top. The log was big enough around that her feet were of the ground. She couldn’t roll too far to the left or right because of how long it was. She suddenly felt very exposed as the cool night air now snuck up between her legs as she adjusted herself. The bark was rough on her hands and feet, but Mr. Sanders’s coat covered enough of the log that her breasts and hips rested against it instead of wood. It wasn’t unbearably uncomfortable, and she became aware of the fact that all she could smell was pine, and the smell of Mr. Sanders off of his jacket.
He tapped the switch lightly on her ass, and she obediently stopped squirming, bracing herself to be thrashed.
“Are you ready to be punished?”
She shivered again, but it wasn’t fear. “Yes.”
She had never been thrashed before. Her father had stuck to his hand, or her mother’s hairbrush in cases requiring harder discipline. The college used the strap. This was unlike anything she had felt. The switch whipped against her ass leaving a sharp sting that was intense but faded quickly. At least at first. A minute into it and she was writhing in pain on top of the log. But unlike the desk, it braced her whole body, and she had no where to go. Again, and again, he whipped the switch across her ass, leaving thin red welts where it made contact. At some point, she realized she started to cry, and her face flushed deep red with embarrassment, and with the effort of crying. Finally, Mr. Sanders whipped her once across the top of her thighs, and she yelled. “Owwwwww!” arching her back and raising her body up, before sinking back down onto the log and sobbing softly. She waited for the next stroke, but it didn’t come. Then she felt arms under her hips as she was lifted for a moment in the air, and set down on her feet. Still crying a little, she turned into Mr. Sanders' arms, and hugged him, holding him until the sobbing went away. Suddenly self conscious again, she started to pull away.
Her hand brushed the front of his slacks and she felt something. She looked up into his eyes, and he was looking at her again with that look. Her face flushed again, and something came over her. The flush spread between her legs, and she stepped back, naked, but unable to meet his eyes. After a moment, she moved back to him, and her hands groped clumsily at his pants. She finally unzipped them, and was surprised as she went to her knees, taking his member in her hands. She was even more surprised when after another moment, she brought her face up to his waist and put his cock in her mouth. Mr. Sanders closed his eyes, leaned his head back, and placed his hand gently on her shoulder. She scooted into a better position, taking his cock deeper into her throat, unmindful of how dirty her knees were. She had never done this. But she kissed and licked, and sucked, and was even more surprised when he exploded in her mouth, powerfully sweet and salty at the same time. She started to cough, and his eyes opened in concern. He picked her up off the ground and stood her up again, patting her on the back. She recovered quickly, though, and wiping her mouth off, met his eyes for the first time.
They said nothing.
Then, as if by silent agreement, she backed towards the log again, this time, sitting on his jacket. She reached her arms out as he got down on his knees, and brought his tongue, searching between her legs.
A few minutes later, she was surprised a third time. Throwing her head back in a wordless scream that seemed to last forever while the blood pounded in her head and pleasure shook her body. The both lay back, panting, him on the forest floor, she propping herself up on her elbows on the massive log.
They stood up together, a short time later.
“I hope you learned your lesson,” he said.
She looked at him, then glanced around on the ground until she found what she was looking for. She picked up the switch and handed it to him.
“I don’t think I did.”
Turning, Nicole stretched herself over the log again, smelling a new smell, her sex on Mr. Sanders’s coat. She spread her legs and pulled her stomach muscles in so her ass rocked up and back, presenting a pleasing target to him.
She closed her eyes.
“Teach me again,” she said.
The continuing experiences of Nicole Morrison:
Afterwards, she left quickly. She was only sniffling, not really crying, but she wanted to go into the bathroom and compose herself before going back to class. She ducked inside the ladies room right outside the office, and splashed cold water on her face. She looked at herself in the mirror, then glanced around. No one was in any of the stalls. Fishing a mirror out of her bag, she raised her skirt.
Seeing her reflection in the mirror, she didn’t need to pull down her underwear again to see that her ass was very red. But she slid her panties down around her thighs and pressed a finger against her tender cheeks, pulling it away to watch it turn from white to red very quickly. Still looking in the mirror, she slowly bent forward until she was as close to assuming the position as she could be, and tried to see what the view from behind was like. She squirmed and twisted a bit, trying to get in a position that would let her see what Mr. Sanders saw. The sound of the outer door opening caused her to drop her mirror and hastily yank her panties up and smooth her skirt as best she could before one of the other girls came into the restroom. She smiled at Nicole, and headed for one of the stalls. Nicole flashed a wordless smile back, then gathered up her mirror from where it had fallen on the bathroom counter and left.
Nicole was distracted all day, and by the end of classes, disappointed. She found herself wishing that she’d stayed just a minute longer to see if Mr. Sanders would’ve helped her pull up her underwear, maybe accidentally brushing against her in the process, instead of hastily grabbing her bags and practically running out of the room. She stayed after class in the library, trying to do her reading and homework for math class, but found herself too distracted. At about five o’clock, she gave up, packed up and left.
The path from the library to the student parking lot overlooked the staff parking lot, and on the edge of the woods that marked the unofficial boundary of the school, she could see one car was left in the lot. As she kept walking, a figure left the front of the school, and started walking towards the car. Her heart beat a little faster. She turned away from the student lot and started walking briskly down the sidewalk towards the figure. As she got closer she could see it was indeed Mr. Sanders, a leather satchel slung over his shoulder and his car keys in his hand. As she approached, he stopped and called out.
She stopped. “Yes?”
“ I was actually meaning to speak to you. Care to walk for a minute?”
She nodded, and turned to fall in step with him as he walked out towards his car.
“Ms. Morrison. I wanted to speak to you about earlier today. This is not the first girl’s school I’ve worked at.” He looked at her again, the pointed look that made her stomach flutter and her knees weak. “I find your conduct during your spanking today a little...inappropriate. That was not the first time I’ve given a young lady a spanking administratively, and not the first time that it was required to be administered over your bare behind… But it was the first time that I’ve seen a girl remove her underwear. Do you think that was appropriate?”
Nicole’s eyes fell to the ground. “No.”
“I don’t think so either. I want you to report to Ms. Henderson again tomorrow, explain your actions to her, and receive correction.”
“Yes sir,” Nicole mumbled, eyes still on the ground.
“I feel your father might be interested to know about this as well.”
She looked up quickly. “Oh no sir, I… I’m sorry. I made a bad decision.”
Nicole looked around. The parking lot was empty. “Maybe, you should, um, correct my behavior. I’m sorry, and I deserve to be punished.”
Mr. Sanders gave her the look again. “Ms. Morrison, the campus is closed and locked for the evening.”
“I know, but, look, there must be something I can do. Please don’t tell my father.”
Mr. Sanders looked around. His gaze settled on the woods. “When I was a boy, and had been naughty, the yard behind the house was all the privacy I got. I think that will suffice for you as well.”
Nicole’s heart beat much faster. It was getting dark, and they were all alone. There’d be no doubt though, that whatever Mr. Sanders did to punish her would most likely be audible to anyone walking by . She made her mind up. “Okay,” she said quietly. Mr. Sanders nodded and, taking her by the arm, took her into the woods.
Repost of a story I wrote on Fetlife a few years back - enjoy!
Nicole sat in the outer room of the dean’s office picking at her skirt while she waited to be called in. Across the high ledge of the reception desk, the secretary tapped away at her typewriter, filling out paperwork of some kind. Above the woman on the wall, a clock ticked softly above the clatter of the keys. Nicole’s gaze dropped down to her lap. She held a green tardy slip in her hand, which she’d received for coming back late after curfew with her friends the night before. It was her third of the week. That meant an automatic spanking in the dean’s office and phone call back home from Ms. Henderson. Inland Preparatory College liked to discourage the minor offenses its young ladies might commit with corporal punishment, and as dean, Ms. Henderson administered to all offenders with a leather strap she kept in her desk. She felt she owed it to the families who entrusted the continuing education of their daughters to her care to ensure discipline and good behavior were taught as ardently as literature and science.
The phone rang at the secretary’s desk. The woman stopped pecking away at her typewriter, answered it and spoke into it a few seconds before hanging up and turning to Nicole.
“You can go in now.”
Nicole nodded, and gathered up her bag and purse before heading through the double doors.
She stepped into Ms. Henderson’s office. It was very much the model of what the office of the head of a wealthy private school should look like. Dark wood finish on everything, a black leather easy chair in one corner under a tasteful tall floor lamp. A broad wooden desk stood at the end of the room, the right few feet of it always kept clear so that naughty students like Nicole could be bent over it and be disciplined. The only thing missing from the room was Ms. Henderson herself. Nicole put down her bag and sat in one of the wooden chairs in front of the desk to wait.
After a few seconds she heard the click of the door closing and turned around expecting to see Ms. Henderson’s imposing bulk move into the room. To her surprise, she found herself looking at Mr. Sanders, the assistant dean. Mr. Sanders was much younger than Ms. Henderson, and his passing usually left behind a trail of whispering and giggling girls in his wake. He moved behind the desk and sat down.
“What can I do for you, Ms. Morrison?”
“Um,” she thought a minute, then handed over the tardy slip. “Where’s Ms. Henderson?”
“She had a family emergency, so I’ll be taking over her duties. Just for today.” Mr. Sanders took the slip and pulled open a filling cabinet at the back of the room and started flipping through files, looking for the appropriate. The word “duties” echoed in Nicole’s head and she shivered a little as she considered that. She looked back up to see Mr. Sanders holding the file and the slip, looking at her pointedly.
“You know this is your third this week.”
“Um, yes. I know.”
He closed the file and put it down on the desk. “Well, you can take your spanking tomorrow when Ms. Henderson gets back, but I have to call your parents.” He started to pick up the phone.
“Uh, wait a sec,” Nicole’s mind raced. The thought of getting it from Mr. Sanders was something that made Nicole’s stomach a little fluttery. “Can’t you, um, punish me today?”
Mr. Sanders looked at her closely. Then he thought for a minute. “If that’s what you want, I suppose that can happen. You wouldn’t rather wait for Ms. Henderson.”
Nicole made up her mind. “No. I’m ready.”
Mr. Sanders nodded and pulled the strap out of the drawer. About the length of a doubled over belt, and two inches wide, it was good for leaving a lasting impression with a girl after only short time. He came around in front of Nicole and patted the cleared part of the desk. Obligingly she got up and bent over the edge of the desk, placing her hands on the desk and spreading her legs slightly.
“First five or last five,” asked Mr. Sanders.
Nicole’s heart stopped for second. She’d forgotten that five of the fifteen strokes with the strap were to be given without her underwear to protect her bottom. Her face started to heat as she realized that even as she tugged her underwear up to bare her ass, she’d be giving Mr. Sanders quite a view. But she’d gone too far now to back out. “Last five,” she managed to say through a dry mouth.
She felt his hands on her hips as he lifted her skirt and her face reddened even further. She’d worn lacy underwear today, which was good on a day that you were getting a spanking, but maybe a little fancy to be showing off to a man who, she admitted, was not that much older. Her mind was refocused by the feel of the cold leather resting against her butt as Mr. Sanders patted her twice for aim. She raised her bottom by getting up on her toes a bit and readied herself.
Crack! Nicole jumped as the first stroke made contact with her ass. Mr. Sanders swung much harder than Ms. Henderson, and while she tended to focus on getting each stroke on one cheek, a technique that was easier for the subject to handle because it gave a moment of “rest” to each side, Mr. Sanders spanked her fully across her ass. She reset herself on the desk and raised her ass again.
Crack! She jumped again, and her eyes started to water. Usually she only got this way when her father took her mother’s hairbrush to her after she’d done something really naughty. She gulped and repositioned herself.
Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack! The next five came quickly in succession. By the second, Nicole was jumping again, and by the fifth, she was squirming on the desk, trying to stay out of the way of the strap, but trying to stay in position to take her punishment at the same time. Her eyes watered more, and she took a deep breath to steady herself.
Crack! The eighth, whether because it was the hardest, or because her bottom was steadily starting to redden to match her face earlier and was sore, was the hardest to take. She gasped, and her knees bent, dropping her hips onto the desk.
Crack! Braced against the desk, a whimper escaped Nicole’s lips. Her body was relaxed now, and the tenth would probably not hurt as bad.
Crack! She felt the impact, but her bottom had started to numb and she felt more a general stinging as the last stroke made contact. Instinctively she moved her hands off the desk, and standing up a bit, rubbed her ass, feeling the heat from the spanking radiating off her sore cheeks. Mr. Sanders put a hand on the small of her back and gently bent her over the desk again.
“Bare your bottom.”
Nicole felt a thrill run through her body again, and the tone of command in Mr. Sanders’s voice made her aware of a slight dampness starting to spread between her legs. She moved her hands back to her underwear…and stopped with her fingers hooked in the waistband. Usually at this point, Ms. Henderson would come up behind the girl and yank her panties up hard, causing the cloth to slide free of the bottom and leaving it unprotected. But Mr. Sanders had never witnessed a school spanking before, Nicole thought. An idea jumped suddenly into her mind. An idea that made her stomach more fluttery, and her brain even more acutely aware of the spreading warmth below the area being punished.
She made her decision, and in one quick motion, pulled her underwear down and bent over again. She blushed furiously as she bent over and raised her bottom again, wondering what Mr. Sanders thought of her display, or if he could even see anything. A flitting thought about the feel of his fingertips lightly caressing her lips was quickly squashed as she felt the strap tap her ass again. She repositioned herself, and waited.
(originally written ca. 1998 for the Yahoo group "I Was Spanked Growing Up")
North Carolina's mid-summer heat and humidity were more oppressive than usual that Friday as I drove to the Dixie Mart to fetch a few groceries my mom needed for supper.
Stopping at the pumps, I ran seven bucks worth of gas into my Monte Carlo and then ran inside where the air conditioning and chilly tile floor proved a welcome relief from the muggy air and sunbaked asphalt outside.
After going to the dairy case and bread rack, I padded up to the checkout. I was wearing faded Wrangler cutoffs and a white Pepsi Cola T-shirt as well as a light nylon windbreaker I had retrieved from the back seat of the car and thrown on before coming into the store.
As I stood in line behind a young mom and her two small kids and a couple of guys around my age, I felt around in the pocket of my windbreaker for the bills and change mom had given me. Quickly counting it, I realized that even combined with my own meager funds I wouldn't have enough money to buy a pack of cigarettes. This was a definite bummer, as they say, because my last pack was running low and, despite the promise I'd made to mom to quit smoking, I still did when out with friends and occasionally sneaked a puff in my room.
When it came my turn to check out, I placed mom's stuff on the counter and told Mr. Mulroy, the store manager, that I owed for the gas, too. Mr. Mulroy knew me and my parents and siblings from the church we all attended and where his wife taught Sunday School. The phone jangled just then and he asked me nicely to "hold on just a second" as he turned to answer it.
The "second" dragged into a couple of minutes as I listened to one side of Mr. Mulroy's protracted conversation with someone I gathered would be making a delivery later that afternoon. Bored, my eyes wandered around the brilliantly lit interior and through the plate glass windows to the steaming July day outside. Standing there, I idly wondered whether there just might be sufficient loose change in the Monte's glove compartment or under the front seat to cover the price of a pack of smokes. I decided there probably wasn't.
It was at that moment, with Mr. Mulroy's back to me, that I looked towards the cash register and saw the aluminum cigarette rack mere inches to its right.
Temptation reared its ugly head.
It would be SO easy, I mused, and who would know....? "NO, WAIT!" a little voice shouted inside me. "You weren't raised to be a thief ! And what if you get caught?" I shifted my weight from one foot to the other, wishing Mr. Mulroy would hurry. Another voice, a much smoother one, snickered: "Oh, go ahead! It'll be just this one time! It isn't really stealing, anyway. Everyone does it!"
Mr. Mulroy was still occupied on the phone. Glancing furtively around, saw there were no other customers in the store. I succumbed in a heartbeat. My hand darted over the counter and grabbed two packs of Marlboro 100's that I quickly shoved deep into the windbreaker's pocket.
My God ! What had I just done? My heart was pounding like a jackhammer. Trying to look innocent, I felt disbelief and sick fear welling up inside. I had the crazy thought that I was about a feel a heavy hand on my shoulder and turn to see a grim faced policeman ready to haul my sorry fanny off to jail. I had been a criminal only 15 seconds and already my conscience was tormenting me.
Mr. Mulroy hung up the phone and stepped back to the counter. "Gosh, Meg, I'm sorry that took so long, but we've been havin' some problems gettin' stuff delivered durin' the week" he laughed, ringing up my purchases and taking my crumpled Dollar bills. "No problem" I said, my knees weak. "I'm in no hurry." We passed a couple of minutes talking about Bob Hardy, our local high school football star who would play for UNC that autumn, and then I told him I had better get going. "Say hi to your folks, Megan" he said as I picked up the brown paper sack from the counter and turned to leave.
I pushed open the door and the air hit me like a blast furnace, but I felt wierdly cold and a million butterflies were fluttering in my tummy as I scampered to the car. "YEAH! OKAY! I GOT AWAY WITH IT" I congratulated myself, giddy and almost light headed with relief. "But never again, NEVER again!" Slipping off my windbreaker, I tossed it through the window onto the back seat and then slid in behind the wheel.
As I started the motor and leaned over to adjust the AM/FM to a country and light rock station in Smithfield, I heard Mr. Mulroy's voice at the window. "Megan?" My head snapped around with a start. "I have to talk to you a minute. Would ya please shut the car off?" Suppressing panic, I twisted the igniton key and heard the motor die.
"What?" I asked, looking up at him.
"I think you know what. Did you take something out of the store without payin' for it?"
"Me? No WAY!" I lied, trying to sound indignant.
"Look, my stockboy Ricky just told me he saw you pocket some cigarettes. Did you?" Frowning, I shook my head and prayed he didn't notice me trembling.
Mr. Mulroy reached through the window and grabbed my windbreaker from where I'd carelessly tossed it. "Hey!" I yelled, trying to snatch it back. It was no use. Feeling around, he took out the two damning packs of Marlboros and stared hard at me. "I...I bought those over at Walmart" I stammered, angry now and confused. "Well, it's easy enough to find out. All we have to do is run these over the scanner. You wanna come inside while I do that? I mean, if you're tellin' the truth, if ya bought these out at Wally World, I'll sure hell make Ricky apologize to ya big time."
Tightly gripping the steering wheel, I stared silently at a lamp post across the road. "Megan, how about it?" He tossed my windbreaker back inside the car. Suddenly breathless and on the verge of tears, I understood I was busted. I bit my lip.
"I...I don't know what happened. I just...I don't know..."
"Oh, I know what happened" he curtly interrupted. "You tried the Five Finger Discount and I caught you at it. What's not to know?"
Mr. Mulroy's demeanor was nasty and authoritarian. I swallowed hard. "Do...do you have to call the cops?" Taking my eyes from the lamp post I looked up at him imploringly, hoping against hope he'd give me a break just once. "No, I guess not. Not this time" Mr. Mulroy answered. "Oh god, alright, thanks" I sighed, having had the terrifying thought of being handcuffed in the back of a deputy's car enroute to the Sheriff's Office and an appearance in juvenile court.
"I, uh, I won't ever do anything like this again..." I murmured, prickling with shame. "You BETTER not ever pull anything like this again. Next time I ain't gonna be so nice about it" Mr. Mulroy threatened. "I promise you I won't. Can I get goin' now?" An enormous gasoline transport, its turn indicators flashing orange, rumbled to a stop behind the Monte Carlo with a sharp whoosh of air brakes. Mr. Mulroy waved up to the driver with a sweaty smile and had to raise his voice to be heard above the racket of the semi's heavy Diesel motor. He leaned down and nodded. "Yeah, you can take off. I'm gonna be callin' your folks about this, though." I winced. Damn it! Why couldn't he just let it go? Because he'd let me off easy by not calling the police I figured it was pretty hopeless to argue him out of phoning mom. I started the car and turned onto 421, headed home.
As Peter Paul and Mary belted out "If I Had a Hammer," my mind went into overdrive for an excuse, explanation or alibi to offer mom. Parking in the driveway, I walked across the dry, tickly grass toward the back porch. I was coming up the steps when mom opened the kitchen door and glared out. The anger and disappointment on her face told me everything: I was in trouble. I handed her the Dixie Mart bag and walked into the kitchen.
"WHAT do you have to say about this?" Mom demanded, arms crossed.
"I...I'm sorry. I just don't know why it happened."
Blushing, I stared down at the linoleum floor. At five foot six and 119 pounds, I felt exactly like a misbehaving little brat of eight.
"It's not that big a deal..."
CRACK! "OUCH" I yelped, stunned, as mom's open palm slapped my face. "Don't!" The slap hurt but I resisted rubbing my cheek.
"I want you to go up to your room. I'll come up in a few minutes."
"Go upstairs? What for?"
"What for? 'Cuz you haven't had a good tanning lately and you're gonna get one now."
We stared at each other a good ten seconds. "Whaddya mean?" Mom couldn't REALLY intend to spank me...could she? "I 'mean' ", Mom answered with a note of sarcasm, "that you can either get punished now, I'll do it, or you can wait for daddy when he gets home from work. Up to you, but I don't think you want dad to use the belt, do you?"
"Hey, I am seventeen years old. I don't have to let....."
"Megan, I SAID to go up to your room right NOW!" She snapped her fingers and pointed towards the stairs, looking more ornery than I'd ever seen her before. Pouting and red faced, I tried to talk my way out of the mess I'd made. "Mom, please..it's just that I....."
CRACK! Mom's hand delivered another hot, humiliating slap to my face. "MOVE IT, MEG!" Head down, I walked quickly through the living room and upstairs, boiling with frustration. Sitting dejectedly on the edge of my bed, I hated mom, I hated myself for the nightmare I'd created and I hated the whole world. What was I gonna do? Would my mom really come in here and...? At seventeen, I saw myself as a grown woman. My last spanking had been at least a year before and the idea of suffering another had seemed pretty remote. Now, suddenly, a tanning was a chillingly real possibility.
What if I wouldn't let her? Would she actually tell daddy? I thought back to when I was thirteen and one of my older sisters back sassed him over breaking her curfew. I had felt dread in the pit of my stomach overhearing her wails and screams punctuated by a dozen fast, snapping cracks with his heavy leather belt across the seat of her jeans. Kimberly lay on her bed crying her eyes out for the better part of an hour. I hadn't been spanked by dad since I was fifteen. That punishment had consisted of just three or four extremely painful swats with his brown cowhide belt across the bottom of jogging shorts, but I was certain that if he had to do the job now I'd be in for the same as my sis, if not worse. Needless to say I didn't want that.
The same little voice of conscience I'd ignored 20 minutes ago suddenly piped up: "Hey, girl, that was one stupid thing to do" it whispered vindictively. "Ain't ya sorry now?" Oh, yeah, I was. Sorrier than I'd ever been about anything in my whole life. If only I could relive this last half hour, I'd give anything, I thought, just to undo it . . .
My bedroom door opened and mom walked in, the heavy old maple hairbrush in her right hand. I hadn't felt its sting for over a year and didn't want to now. I glanced away from it and up at her.
"Megan Elizabeth" she said. Mom didn't sound angry anymore. I shrugged, wishing to appear cool and uncaring.
"C'mon, hon." Mom reached down and took my left wrist. I stood, not resisting but scared, and came with her two steps to the end of the bed where she sat down. She looked me in the eyes, nodded, and patted her lap. "Oh no, just like I was some little five year old!" I realized sickly. I rolled my eyes and gave a sigh of exasperation, hoping to make her think I saw all of this as silly and no real punishment at all. With my mind in a fog of disbelief, I got across mom's lap while thinking those faded cutoff Wranglers and skimpy cotton panties wouldn't offer much protection against what was coming.
Feeling small, vulnerable and ashamed, I adjusted myself while that little voice screamed at me again: "YOU'RE JUST A KID AND YOU WERE BAD...YOU'RE GONNA GET A SPANKIN'! YEAH MEG, A SPANKIN'!" Mom's tummy was warm against my side. She took my right wrist and held it tightly against the small of my back. My left palm was against the floor. My brain concentrated on the happy summertime sounds of the little kids across the county road giggling as they ran through the lawn sprinkler......
SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!
Fast, hard and scalding, mom slapped the heavy brush down, alternating from left to right. Wanting not to cry, I tensed my muscles and squirmed. Mom hadn't tanned my ass in about fourteen months and that's a long time, long enough to forget how badly this really hurt.
WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!
"Ouch!" I gasped, "Mom, no!" Please God, I thought, let this be all of it, no more. Yet the spanks kept raining down, right to left with some across my crack as my misbehaving little teenage tush began to burn as if I'd sat in steaming water.
THWACK! SMACK! CRACK! WHACK!
Hot salty tears started to flow in earnest, the sizzling in my rear far more intense than I could ever remember. As the hardwood brush stoked up the hellfire raging in my reddening butt cheeks. I let out one powerful scream. Mom finished with five hard WHACKS! at the same spot on my right cheek, then five more at one spot on my left. Writhing and struggling across her lap, dirty feet kicking furiously, the spanking seared away all my adult pretensions as I dissolved into tears of shame and whining squeals of well-earned pain.
After fifty or sixty hard slaps, mom stopped. She helped me up and I stood before her, no longer a sassy mouthed teen but a well chastised and sobbing little girl suffering the blistering sting of a spankin.' Mom laid the brush on my dresser and drew me close, rubbing my shoulders.
"Don't cry, honey. It's all right" mom soothed as I whimpered. She gave me a light kiss and patted my back. "Meg, go brush your teeth and get right to bed" mom said in a gentle voice. "You're goin' without supper tonight. I don't wanna see you downstairs until mornin,' got that?" With a sad look on her face she left the room and quietly shut the door.
That long evening I lay on my bed with my face buried in the pillow, sometimes reaching back to gingerly massage my throbbing backside. With no air conditioning and only a table fan to stir the humid air, my bedroom was like a cauldron. Bright sunlight streamed in the windows. I was hot, hungry and in aching pain. Way more than that, however, I felt simmering resentment towards Mom: how DARE she do this? How DARE she be such a bitch? I just wanted nightfall to come and to get some shuteye. Around ten I drifted off into sweaty, restless sleep...
KAA - - - BOOM!
I woke with a start. My bedroom was lit by a flash of lightning as a clap of thunder roared from nearby. Suddenly, at that instant, I understood it all: I had very seriously screwed up and had deserved very serious consequences. Those "consequences" left my fanny sore and stinging hours later, but punishment had balanced the scales. My mom's lickin' had made me suffer and atone for my guilt and stupid - truly stupid - behavior. Now it was okay. Now I was forgiven and it was over and done with. In my heart I knew Mom spanking me was, really and truly, an act of love. Rain pattered on the live oak outside my window. A deliciously refreshing wind stirred the curtains and cooled the air. I pulled up the sheet and fell into deep, peaceful slumber.
At seven Saturday morning I came downstairs. Mom was having some Earl Grey tea before starting breakfast. Recovered somewhat, I sat down across the table from her. "Uh, I'm sorry, Mom" I began, "this won't happen again..."
"I know it won't Megan. You just made a mistake, that's all. I guess everybody does sometimes."
"Uh, did you tell Daddy what happened?" Mom shook her head. "Nah, you feel bad enough as it is without dad scolding and yelling at you. We don't have to say anything. I just told him a little white lie. I said you'd gone up to bed 'cuz you had a bad headache." This was a huge relief. I knew daddy wouldn't spank me again, but he might possibly ground me...until I was about 35.
"You won't ever have to do this again, either."
"I hope not, Honey. You don't know how much I hated that yesterday."
"You don't know how much I hated that yesterday!" I managed a weak smile and mom laughed. She offered me a Pepsi and we didn't talk about it anymore.
That was the last spankin' mom ever had to give me, and one I'll always remember. The twang and soreness served as a three day reminder that it was time to grow up, time to stop acting like a kid and time to stop getting into the kind of trouble that would mean getting my ass slapped like a kid. Having to sleep on my tummy for a few nights really drove that message home.
The next night, as the Great Love of My Life and I held hands and watched a three quarter moon rise over White Lake, I 'fessed up what I'd done and what had happened when I'd gotten home. At first he didn't believe it.
"What now? She actually SMACKED your BACKSIDE?"
"Oh, right, right. No WAY!" he laughed.
"YES way ! Hell, d'ya think I'd make this UP?"
My Love took a bit of convincing that I was telling the truth. After I let him see the evidence to prove I wasn't fibbing, he reflected silently for a moment then said "Good God, Sweetie. I'd say you've gotten off rather easily. What if...well, you might have finished up like Carla !"
Yes, I might have "finished up like Carla", a black thought I'd had during Mr. Mulroy's interrogation. The previous year my pal Carla D., my age and a classmate, had been caught in a store the first day of summer vacation trying to rip off two expensive watches and a bracelet. Our county back in those days had a perfect bitch of a juvenile judge who committed her to the Department of Youth Corrections for 75 days. I had been deeply angered by what I'd heard about Carla's removal from the hearing room, bawling and looking back towards her mother and a married sister who were in tears. She was actually granted an early release that August, and on returning admitted to sobbing out "Please, I wanna go home" after Lights Out that first night in a dormitory with about twenty other girls. A fat matron sharply ordered her to "hush up and go to sleep" as one or two other inmates joined her in crying.
Stretched out on the sand that evening, I had a thought: had mom remembered Carla's awful experience? Was my extra hard spanking her effort to spare me from the same shameful thing? I think so.
My Love shook his head at the thought of mom whacking my fanny. For some damn reason he found the whole story just real amusing. He was particularly "amused" by learning she'd told daddy I'd gone to my room with a headache when, quote, "it was the opposite part of your anatomy that was aching, Dear Heart!" That's a guy for you. Anyway, the mental image of his almost-of-legal-age girlfriend over her mom's knee getting her derriere tanned elicited his sympathy. He tenderly "comforted" me and made it all better. (grin)
It was Spring, 1993, and I was an eighteen year old high school senior in the Sandhills region of North Carolina. Our school district issued a parent/student handbook each fall containing some rather vague references to corporal punishment but with nothing too clearly spelled out beyond its availability as "a disciplinary option." A few years before, the county school board had voted for some modifications in paddling policies, largely in response to an incident in a neighboring town where three girls were severely paddled, some would say excessively, by a male assistant principal. That affair led to a lawsuit against the district which, though thrown out of court in one day, focused a good deal of unwanted media attention on the paddling issue. One significant change to come about, however, was the imposition of a same gender rule, i.e., that girls were to receive licks only from a female administrator or, at least, that girls' paddlings be witnessed by a lady staff member if given by a man. Our school district still authorizes corporal punishment, but I recently learned its current policy (as of the 1998-99 academic year) no longer makes reference to a same sex requirement.
Although I was well aware licks were authorized, having many times seen the "evidence" in the showers after p.e. class as well as hearing from my friends about their own experiences, I had never received corporal punishment in school. During 10th, 11th and 12th grades I had some disciplinary infractions which I could have resolved with either three or five licks, but always opted out for after school detention or, on one occasion, three days of i.s.s. On one occasion in middle school, however, Yours Truly came close to being mixed up in a group paddling for being an active combatant in what certain of my classmates humorously (and otherwise) called "The Great Food Fight of 1989."
This messy affair was sparked by ill will between two opposing student cliques, and began with verbal taunts in the lunch line. It rapidly escalated into all-out confrontation during which I fired off a paper cup of applesauce. The gooey projectile failed to strike its intended target and sailed through the double doors into the hallway, where it splattered against the lockers just as Principal Beasley was hurrying down the corridor. While several belligerents were rounded up and marched away to face the summary justice of three licks outside the principal's office, my role remained undetected as none of my pals squealed on me. Still, that afternoon I passed three of the most anxious hours of my fourteen years until the bell mercifully rang at 3:20, dreading from moment to moment that the intercom would buzz with the order to report to Mr. Beasley on-the-double. It didn't, for which I was sincerely grateful to whatever kindly providence spared my backside.
Paddling was a subject discussed now and then around school, particularly when a person who was well liked got one. Some of the guys who had been paddled tried weakly to laugh it off as a joke. "Licks" "pops" or "swats", whichever term one preferred, were a fairly frequent occurrence, with probably two or three students paddled every week. At the time, it seemed to me that it was largely us working-class or "Blue Collar Redneck" kids who took licks, seldom the rich kids. However, the use of corporal punishment in our local elementary school, our middle school and high school appeared to enjoy the support of most parents and of our community at large.
I began smoking around age 16, an admittedly bad habit I picked up from my friend Amanda. While my mom never actually forbade me to smoke, she disliked it and missed no opportunity to say so. Mom was a lifelong nonsmoker and was equally disapproving of my dad's pipe. So, wearying of her maternal admonitions against the evils of tobacco, I let her believe I had quit when in truth I hadn't . I continued to smoke when out with friends, and occasionally sneaked a puff in my room.
On a Wednesday in May we were enjoying very warm spring weather, and during lunch period everybody congregated outside on the lawn or in the parking lot. Amanda and I were sitting at a picnic table on the west side of the building when she made the gesture of pulling on a cigarette and exhaling. She nodded towards the building, and I understood her to mean we should go to an upstairs washroom for a quick smoke, something we'd done many times before. I didn't refuse, although a couple of weeks previously I'd served 120 minutes detention for smoking in the parking lot.
Amanda and I went through the doors and up the staircase. The 2nd floor washroom was just to the left as you came up, and we were glad to find the corridor entirely empty. Marlboro 100's were my brand of choice, and I had a pack with three cigarettes rolled up in my pocket. We hung out for 15 minutes before it was time to head back downstairs. As luck would have it, just as we were going an old hag art teacher, Mrs. Gilly, pushed open the door and confronted us: "Are you girls SMOKING in here?" Busted ! There was no way to deny what we were up to because, first, the smell made it obvious, second, a blue wisp of smoke hung in the air catching the sunlight, and third - most damning of all - the red and white Marlboro pack was conspicuously in my right hand. She confiscated this contraband and marched us down to the Assistant Principal's office.
Entering the school's main office, off the central corridor, to the far left there was a door marked "Assistant Principal." Through this door was a small waiting room with a window to your right and a few office chairs. Directly in front of you was the door to the A.P.'s inner office which the three of us entered. Amanda and I plopped down on chairs in front of the A. P.'s desk. She was a lady in her mid 30's named Jessica Dodd, a few years into her administrator job, having once taught Math. Twice before, as a sophomore and a junior, Mrs. Dodd had offered me a choice between licks or detention. She listened to what Mrs. Gilly had to say and took my incriminating Marlboro pack from her, so I lost a perfectly good cigarette on top of everything else. Once Mrs. Gilly left the office, Mrs. Dodd asked to hear our side of it. With adolescent monosyllables like "um" and "yea" we effectively conceded our guilt.
Ms. Dodd lectured us on smoking: "Don't you realize it's bad for your health?" and "Didn't you know this campus is smoke free?" (We couldn't plead ignorance on No.2 - the student handbook clearly stated this, and No Smoking signs were prominently displayed beside every entrance.) Neither Amanda or I offered much in reply. Mrs. Dodd stood up from her desk and went to the grey metal filing cabinet in the corner. Taking out two manila folders, our disciplinary files, she returned to the desk and began reading through their contents. Finally laying them to one side, she looked at us and said she saw from our records that this was the third violation that quarter for us both.
Unfortunately for Amanda and me, that was right.
As mentioned before, I'd been nabbed smoking in the parking lot and had also played hookey in mid April. Amanda had skipped with me that day, and she also had another violation that I don't recall. Mrs. Dodd explained a policy long ago enacted by the county school board, that a third infraction in any given quarter entailed corporal punishment, while suspension for the duration of the quarter with failing grades was automatic for anybody who refused to take their licks. That rule had never been clearly explained to me, verbally or in the student handbook, and she caught me off guard. Was Mrs. Dodd saying this meant actual suspension - with failing grades - or having to take licks? Amanda glanced at me with an angry expression, then quickly looked away. I had a hundred questions to ask, but the situation was moving way too fast and I was tongue tied. What Mrs. Dodd said next gave me an electric charge in the pit of my stomach: "I think both you ladies could benefit from paddling. Sorry, but I really do. Sometimes I've got to get tough."
Opening her desk drawer, Mrs. Dodd tore two orange slips of paper from a pad. These were Parental Consent Forms whose use was mandated by the Board ten or twelve years before. She handed one to each of us, said to have our moms or daddies sign them, and to report back to her office at 7:30 Thursday morning. Today, parents here sign a single document at the start of each school year permitting or refusing paddling in all disciplinary situations that may arise over the course of the following nine months. One huge advantage of the current system is that if a kid has got to be paddled, it will happen right off the bat. However, the rule in 1993 was that parents had to indicate by checking a form and signing it as to whether corporal punishment could or couldn't be dished out for each individual violation. Even when a student was ready and willing to opt out for licks and take them right away, he or she was stuck with a miserable overnight delay to think about, and dread, what was going to happen. In most cases, in-school-suspension or after school detention was assigned if parental consent for licks was denied. For Amanda and me, however, having gotten into this "three-violations-in-a-quarter" fiasco, it would mean being suspended - with failing grades - two and a half weeks prior to graduation.
Mrs. Dodd stood and told us to get ready for our next class at 12:45 and we walked out into the corridor. Once out of her office, Amanda was nonchalant "Don't worry about it. I got it in 9th and it wasn't too bad." I assured her I was not worried at all because "My mom will *never* let this happen." While I hoped that was true, I knew full well my parents had allowed both my older sisters, Kim and Laurie, to take licks instead of after school detention the few occasions one or the other got into hot water.
Mom was bitchy and unsympathetic when, at 4:00 that afternoon, I 'fessed up about what happened. We engaged in verbal sparring for the better part of an hour. Mom was irritated. She was upset at more trouble in school when I'd just pulled detention for skipping, plus the revelation of my having also served detention for a previous smoking infraction, something she hadn't known. Mom also felt I'd lied to her, having led her to think I'd quit smoking when I hadn't. To cut to the chase, Mom said she'd give her permission for me to get licks because suspension would probably delay graduating on time and leave me stuck in summer school. I didn't want that either and gave up arguing with her. She took the orange paper, made a large check mark on the line reading "I GIVE permission for corporal punishment," signed it "Jan Lowry" and wrote the date: May 12th, 1993.
That evening I had some English homework on The Merchant of Venice and I remember the movie I was half watching when my boyfriend Jeff stopped over around 7:30. The flick starred Johnny Cash as a sheriff in the 1940's and Andy Griffith as a guy who'd killed a hired hand for stealing a cow. It was probably an okay movie, but my mind was distracted and I was growing more and more apprehensive. Jeff asked if something was wrong. I lied and said no. Out of sheer embarrassment, I intimated nothing to him then about what had happened that afternoon and what I was now trying to accept would happen next morning. After Jeff left, I called Amanda. I had the idea that if her dad had refused to sign her Permission Form, my mom might recant. Part of our conversation went something like this:
"Your Daddy didn't really okay that, did he?"
"Hell yeah he did! Hey, I'm not gonna miss graduation."
I understood that this close to graduating, getting kicked out was not a cool option. I was trying to maintain a respectable g.p.a. as was Amanda. By the time I hung up I was still pissed off, but resigned to take my licks.
I went to bed around 10:00 and had no trouble falling asleep. My alarm went off all too soon, and I got up to get ready for school. I put on jeans and plain white cotton panties, with a Pepsi Cola t-shirt and sneakers, no socks. I wore a bracelet on my left wrist, a gift the previous Christmas from Jeff. Mom had piled my books and stuff on the kitchen counter. Protruding from between the pages of one, where I couldn't fail to see it, was the orange consent form. Had I known she'd really give her permission, I might have forged her signature and left her in the dark. I have no memory of breakfast, only that I had no appetite. I left without the usual Good Byes, giving the door a slam - but not as hard as I'd have liked to.
My wheels took the form of a 1975 Monte Carlo my dad had found for me in Fayetteville, one of those with a radical long hood, light blue with white vinyl roof. With eight blocks to drive to school, I drove through the Stop-and-Go lights down the block and switched on the radio to WDKS-FM. The morning D.J. was playing The Alan Parsons Project "Eye in the Sky" as I turned into the parking lot and pulled up in my usual spot. Needless to say, hearing that song today always sends me right back to that time and place.
I walked into the building and went to my locker to grab a chemistry book I'd need for Second Period. Almost blushing with self consciousness, I went through the main office where, thankfully, no one paid any attention. I was happy to see only one school secretary and no other kids hanging around at that early hour. Two desks had been dragged into the waiting area since yesterday, and Amanda was seated at one, writing on some lined paper. I said hi, and she said "hi" back in a barely audible voice, nothing more. Her emotions were in sync with mine: fear, anger and embarrassment.
Amanda was wearing white Levis and a red pullover with the school logo in yellow. She was a member of our high school's danceline troupe that performed at games, Homecoming and so on. Mrs. Dodd stepped out of her office and demanded the consent form which I had folded up small in my hand - very small, that is, not wanting anyone I might encounter to suspect what was happening. She scanned it, then handed me some lined paper. "Megan, I want you to write these sentences fifty times. 'I was paddled for smoking on school property. I will not commit this offense again.' When you're done, just sign it at the bottom, understand?" I understood. I sat down and began scribbling these words of wisdom.
Amanda had been at it awhile and was halfway through her sentences. I made an effort to stimulate conversation but she had nothing to say and remained intently focused on her writing. For just a moment she put her head down on her arms and I thought she would start crying. Thankfully, she didn't. I desperately wanted to say something to my friend that might help, but could think of nothing at all. Amanda put down her pen and ran her finger down one side of the paper and then the other, making certain she'd completed all fifty sentences. She stood up quickly and walked into the office, her whole demeanor seeming to say "OK, FINE, LET'S GET THIS OVER WITH NOW." I overheard Jessica Dodd click the intercom and say something about "come down now..." She was summoning another faculty member to act as witness, a precaution required by North Carolina law in the event Amanda or I would claim our punishments were excessive or abusive.
The witness knew what she was coming for, but hadn't been told who was involved. The door from the main office opened a minute later and she walked in. Her name was Andrea Kelly, somewhere in her mid 20's, an English teacher who was also in charge of the drama club. I knew Ms. Kelly but never had one of her classes. "Oh, hi Megan" she chirped, just like she'd run into me at the mall or somewhere. "What are you doing in here?" I told her quickly what had happened, hoping maybe she would or could do something to get us out of our predicament. No such luck. She arched her eyebrows in a somewhat concerned look, said "Hmm, well...." and shrugged. Then Ms. Kelly went into the office and shut the door behind her.
Sitting alone at the desk, cheery spring sunshine beaming in the windows, my stomach doing flip flops and feelings of anxiety heightening by the second, I emphatically did not find the notion of being paddled to be a joke casually laughed off. The situation was truly intimidating. I was worried I'd cry when getting spanked and hoped I'd be able to hold it back and not show any emotions. I feared if Amanda cried, I'd be more likely to when feeling the sting of the paddle a few minutes later. I reasoned if I could survive the licks without tears, Mrs. Dodd - and Ms. Kelly - would think it hadn't much hurt and I could save face. I was not a happy camper, as they used to say, but I was acutely aware we were being punished for willful infractions of the school rules and that punishment isn't meant for fun.
From inside the office I could hear voices, the words unintelligible through the heavy door. Then suddenly there came a loud and startling *CRACK!* followed by complete silence. I was thankful Amanda hadn't screamed. I was as nervous as the proverbial long tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs, so if Amanda had screamed so would I. A few seconds later came Amanda's second lick *CRACK!* followed a few seconds later by her third, again followed by that unnerving silence. Amanda was doing okay with it until, that is, she got her fourth lick, answered with a sharp yelp of "OUCH GOLLY !" Seconds later was her fifth and final one, at which she seemed to gasp and sob in the same breath. Apart from this I heard nothing, and felt a certain relief that Amanda's paddling hadn't seemed quite as severe an ordeal as I'd feared.
A minute later Amanda came out, her face flushed and eyes moist, appearing pouty and sullen as she brushed her hair back with one hand. Looking at her I stammered "Did it hurt?" (Dumb question, huh?) Amanda shot back, "My GOD, Megan! Do you HAVE to be such a BABY about EVERYTHING ?" She rolled her eyes, grabbed her shoulder bag from beside the chair and stormed out.
Jessica Dodd came to the door, telling me to "hurry up and finish writing." Done at last, I forced myself away from the desk and entered her office. For the sake of drama I wish it were possible for me to write that I was replaying in my mind the "Last Mile" scene from some corny Jimmy Cagney movie, but I wasn't. All I was thinking is that I wanted this over and done with, and right now.
Mrs. Dodd shut the door. She took the paper from me, and I was ordered to "sit down for just a minute" while she and Ms. Kelly tinkered with a FAX machine on a small table. Sitting in the exact same spot as the day before, on a cheap office chair in front of her desk, it occurred to me it was still within my power to stop this. Nobody could prevent me from simply walking out, firing up the Monte and driving home. But, to avoid being punished by leaving would have brought about what I knew was a worse punishment: academic consequences I could not afford. I stayed put.
My eyes darted all over the room with its tacky aqua carpeting and walls painted off white. There was a window behind the large mahogany desk, its venetian blinds drawn closed but swaying in a warm breeze. As I sat there, a semi or heavy Diesel truck rumbled past on the street and its driver for some reason gave a blast on its deep air horn. Why this sticks in my memory I can't say. I looked around for the paddle, but it was nowhere to be seen. At my high school a paddle was humorously called a "Board of Education." They were made downstairs in the woodworking shop, and rumor had it they were retired from active duty once fully covered with kids' signatures. Uncomfortable and hot, anxious and edgy, I felt like screaming at Mrs. Dodd and Ms. Kelly "CAN WE PLEASE DO THIS AND GET IT OVER WITH, DAMN YOU ?! " Of course, I said nothing.
Whatever the problem was with the FAX, the two of them got it resolved. Mrs. Dodd told me to stand up, and Andrea Kelly walked over and shoved my chair to the left and up against the wall. Mrs. Dodd asked if there was anything in my back pockets, and I removed a pocket comb and my car keys and laid them on the desk. Mrs. Dodd walked over to the same filing cabinet that held our records, reached in beside it and removed the paddle from a hook on the wall. Seeing it gave me a start. I had seen the paddles used by our p.e. coaches, but this one was a lot more intimidating. About 24" long and 3 1/2" wide, it looked to be about a quarter inch thick. It was made of light colored wood and appeared heavy. One end was beveled on both sides to form the handle which was wrapped in black tape. My sister Laurie and boyfriend Jeff later told me this is done to provide a better grip. Four or five round holes, perhaps 3/4" in diameter, had been drilled down the center of the paddle to allow for a faster descent and more painful slaps.
Mrs. Dodd stood by the filing cabinet. "Okay Megan, the sooner we do this the sooner it's done with. I need you to just bend way over my desk now and poke your seat out." She spoke in a surprisingly gentle tone of voice. The usual clutter, including a letter holder and a rotary telephone, had been pushed to one side. Being out of options I did as ordered, reaching across and grabbing the edge of the desktop's other side. As I bent down the first bell rang, and from out in the hallway filtered in the sound of kids running back and forth, locker doors slamming and all the mundane noises of the start of the school day. The faded blue denim of my jeans stretched tightly across my upturned backside and was suddenly uncomfortable. The psychology of “Assuming - the - Position” is, in itself, punishing: I'd offended against the Rules of Authority and now had to - quite literally - bow down before that Authority's representative to receive my correction. The truth of this simple proposition struck me with jarring abruptness at that moment like a lightning jolt to my spirit. My emotions were a confusing jumble of fear, self-pity, anger and blushing shame.
Wide eyed, I watched as Jessica Dodd walked away from the filing cabinets and to my left and a little ways behind. Andrea Kelly stood to my right, near the door to the waiting room, arms folded and staring at the floor. She didn't seem happy at being there. Turning my head to see what Ms. Dodd was doing, I saw she had the paddle in her right hand and was tapping it against her leg. We had a moment's eye contact when she said to position my feet a little further apart and "Get ready." I was still looking back when she took the paddle in both hands and touched it to the seat of my jeans. I remember that spooky pressure only too well. "Look straight ahead, Meg. You're not to turn around. Got it ?" I swallowed, nodded, and quietly answered "Yes, Ma'am." Her paddle felt hard, solid and cold. There was no pain yet, but the sick thought that mere heartbeats from now it would burn like hellfire raced through my mind.
Mrs. Dodd tapped the paddle against my bottom, aligning it to take aim. Jeff, ever a fountainhead of information, would tell me this is done as a precaution in order to avert striking the lower back or legs. I sensed it when Jessica Dodd swung the paddle far back to her right. I stared forward and concentrated on the venetian blinds. I tensed up, clenching the muscles in my butt, clenching my toes, clenching my teeth and telling myself "OKAY HERE IT IS AND IT ISN'T GOING TO BE SO BAD......"
*CRACK!* The sound and the sensation were like a firecracker exploding. And *HURT* ? It scalded as if I'd just sat on a waffle iron. I swallowed hard, determined this wouldn't make me cry. A couple of seconds passed. Jessica Dodd again lined up the paddle against my fanny and delivered the second lick. With buttocks already hot and throbbing, the second *CRACK!* scorched across my bottom with such intensity that I quite literally saw stars. I kid you not, as Bogart says in The Caine Mutiny. She whacked me with enough force to knock me forward a little and up onto my toes. Struggling to stay in control, I steeled myself and concentrated on not breaking down. The Assistant Principal repeated the routine, again lining up the paddle on my now badly hurting backside for a few seconds, and *CRACKED!* me a third time. On top of the accumulated pain of two slaps within less than ten seconds, the sting was sharper than I'd anticipated. Salty tears began to well up in my eyes. And, just like my pal Amanda, my self control couldn't endure the fourth *CRACK!* I squealed "YEOW!" and jumped up from the desk, placing both hands on my bottom. With a hot tear dripping down one cheek, I half sobbed and half whispered "Mrs Dodd I just can't take another one..."
Andrea Kelly walked over and asked, very quietly, if I was all right. I bit my lip and nodded, afraid my voice would crack if I answered aloud. Mrs. Dodd said I was required to take all five licks "or none of this counts" but added "it's okay if you need a second to get ready." Ms. Kelly handed me a Kleenex. I got a hold of myself because, more than anything, I had to avoid breaking down completely. I stood there about 15 seconds, my bottom feeling like I was sitting on sunbaked asphalt, and I burned inside with a kind of shame and humiliation I'd never felt in my entire life.
Andrea Kelly came over and placed her hand on my arm. With a sad face and in that quiet little voice, she said "Meg, it would be better if you took the last one while you're still numb" and gave me a wink. Avoiding eye contact with the Assistant Principal, I quickly bent over. After two or three more light taps, Jessica Dodd gave the last lick *VERY* hard. I winced and gasped but, thank God, managed to stifle a cry. "That's all, Meg. Stand up" she told me. Ms. Dodd laid the paddle on her desk, offered a pen and said I should sign it as this was a "school tradition." Taking her felt tip Bic I wrote "M.E. Lowry", thinking it was a stupid tradition. A couple of dozen signatures were scrawled across the hardwood surface, and someone had drawn a "Smiley Face" in red. Ms. Dodd, unexpectedly, extended her right hand and I took it lamely. She shook it twice, nodded and said "Okay. Head on down to homeroom now."
The paddle had a small hole and a string loop at the end of its handle. I saw Ms. Dodd return it to that hook beside the filing cabinet as I picked up my comb and car keys and walked into the waiting area to grab my books. I thought to myself "Why does she hide it back there like that ? Is the bitch ashamed of it ?" A twenty-something secretary named Jane Shaw and a couple of student office helpers stood behind the counter in the office area. Two turned away with grins on their faces as though sharing a private joke, and one looked directly at me with a tiny smirk. They'd obviously overheard Amanda and me being punished and found the whole thing funny.
Andrea Kelly followed me out into the wide main corridor. She put her arm around my back and asked "Hey, Meg ? You ever get a spankin' before now ?" I admitted to Ms. Kelly that, yes, sometimes I was spanked by Mother or Daddy, but not even once before here in school. She slowly shook her head. "Well, I think y'all took it like a pretty good sport, anyway. I'm sure this'll be the only time, hon." By our community's standards Andrea Kelly was something of a rebel. An Alabama native, her car bore a N.O.W. bumper sticker and she'd alienated some folks locally, especially my family's Baptist pastor, with a strongly worded letter to the editor of The Daily Record in defense of Roe versus Wade. Although popular with her male peers and once engaged to a local pharmacist, she was rumored to have a girlfriend, a female attorney, upstate in New Bern. I had a distinct impression Ms. Kelly did not approve one iota of what she'd just seen happen and perhaps wished to say more, although she didn't. She quit teaching at our high school the end of that year.
I walked to the washroom, splashed cold water on my face, combed my hair and went to homeroom at 8:30. The intense sting wore off in a half hour, but I was sweaty and headachy all day and sitting on those hard desk chairs added to my discomfort. For the remainder of that Thursday the sensation in my nether regions was like a bad sunburn. My jeans felt tight and they chaffed. The paddle had raised a welt that rubbed against the cotton fabric of my panties with a nasty itching that hurt like a boil. When I returned home that afternoon and walked in the back door, mom gave me a hug and asked if everything was all right. "Yeah I'm fine, Mom" I told her and went on upstairs to shower and check for damage in the bathroom mirror. My bottom was still reddish to dark pink with some major bruising on the right cheek and lesser black and blue marks on the left one. After toweling off and getting dressed I lay on my bed sobbing into the pillow for a good ten minutes. Seething with embarrassment and anger, the tears I'd mostly held back before now flowed. My bruises lasted a few days, but the redness was largely faded by the next night. For a while I experienced an annoying "twang" of discomfort when sitting on a hard surface or moving in just the wrong way. The most irritating part was the welt which, as it healed, continued to itch.
At the time, I had a part time job on Thursday and some Friday evenings at Food Lion, working at the courtesy counter from 5:00 to 8:00 PM. So there I was, a young woman old enough to vote or marry, drive and hold employment, conversant with the facts of life and mature in most ways, yet at my job with sore buttocks because of being spanked like a little eight year old a few hours before. The irony was not lost on me, not then and not now. Legal adult ? Heck, the lingering heat and soreness throughout that long evening served as an unpleasant but pretty effective reminder that I was still just a kid.
For awhile after taking licks I carried around feelings of having been treated unfairly. You might say the paddle had stung my pride more than my 18 year old backside, and perhaps that's true. Yet to take licks, and for it to be known you'd managed to take them without too much fussing, could earn you a degree of respect from friends and peers who had themselves been on the receiving end. It was a sign of being tough, so to speak, with the realization that no matter how tough you were, the hardwood paddle swung by that particular Assistant Principal was going to mean real pain and a tear or two. Those thoughts, articulated to me by another girl and a couple of the guys, made my memory of the whole ordeal much easier to bear.
That Sunday after church I told this whole story to both my older sisters, Kimberly and Laurie. They were sympathetic to the pain and to the emotions caused by taking licks, but not to the behavior that caused it. Laurie helped me place it in clearer perspective when she said, "Yeah, I know it sucked big time but now it's over and done with. It's not that big a deal and it's sure nothing to blame Mom over, Megan." She told me that, everything considered, "It's probably for the best that Mom said OK to it." Laurie believed the smartest thing would be to simply regard the whole incident as nothing more than one small part of growing up. My Sis offered me some wise advice that day. I stopped being mad at our Mom and started getting ready for finals.
Amanda and I were dear friends since elementary school and remain so today. For a short time I harbored feelings of angry resentment towards her. After all, wasn't it she who suggested we sneak upstairs to smoke? I also resented her attitude in calling me a "baby" during those stressful few minutes the next morning. In reflecting on it, however, she hadn't forced me to accompany her to the washroom and light up, and her bitter words were spoken in an ugly moment of severe pain and blushing shame. The following Wednesday evening Jeff and I stopped at the Blue Light Drive In and saw Amanda and her future husband eating at an outdoor table. After a few minutes of icy quiet we began talking. When Amanda reached in her purse, withdrew a Pall Mall and lit up, I couldn't stop myself asking "Are you sure you need that? You've already GOT a smoldering butt!" Forty five minutes later Amanda and I parted company with a small laugh and a big hug, pals again. Fifteen months later I was one of her bridesmaids. Should my friend ever think back to the events of May 13th, 1993, it's a sure thing she'd wholeheartedly agree with my sister's opinion: it was all nothing more than one small part of growing up.
(_|_) (|||||||||||)==O The End