Wednesday, January 27, 2010

Caught Cheating (F/m, M/m) NEW!

GuySpencer Home Page
© Guyspencer 2010

NOTE: This story starts from a kernel of truth. Something like this incident actually happened to the writer. Also, the places and the characters are quite real (albeit nameless). That said, the writer has not allowed reality to get in the way of a good spanking story. For that reason, this should be considered fiction. This story contains no sex, but does involve the spanking of a minor in a manner that might actually have happened in the 50’s and 60’s in the United States. As always, this is fiction, not parenting advice.

“Caught Cheating”

I am an honest boy and I really didn’t mean for it to happen.

My seat was at the very front and center of my class. On my right sat Ritchie, who was my best friend, my neighbor, and my study partner. We were both sitting directly in front of our teacher, so when he looked up at the class, he tended to see us first. Momentarily baffled by a math problem and just like we both did dozens of times each day, I looked over at Ritchie’s paper to compare notes. Bad idea! I had forgotten that we were in the middle if a math test.

Since I really hadn’t meant to cheat and this was actually a momentary lapse, I hadn’t bothered to notice that Mr. Haling, our teacher, was staring right at me the whole time. Naturally, from Mr. Haling’s point of view, he had just witnessed a case of flagrant cheating. He quietly hissed for me to bring him my paper. As soon as I was in range, he snatched my test paper from my hand and wrote a big “zero” at the top. I was screwed!

Mr. Haling is usually a reasonable guy, and I was quite taken aback by his anger. Since, he had just seen me cheat on a test with his own eyes; he gave me no chance to explain myself. Red-faced, but still in that whispery, hissing voice, he said a few words about what he “would never tolerate in his class” and dashed off a quick note. He folded the note, sealed it in an envelope, and told me to deliver it immediately “to the office.”

Our school’s administrative office featured a long counter that was presided over by the school secretary. Behind the counter was her desk, which guarded the doors that led to the private offices of the Principal and her Assistant. Two minutes after being exiled from my class, a tearful me was standing across the counter from the school secretary, a plain lady who always had her hair in a bun, and often stored pencils in her hair. She read the note, making little “tut-tut” sounds and shaking her head disapprovingly. The next thing I knew, she was directing me to come around to her side of the counter. All business, she sat me down in a chair just outside the Principal’s door and demanded my shoes. (I suppose that was standard procedure to be sure that I didn’t bolt) She disappeared into the Principal’s office with my shoes and the note, returning moments later empty handed. Ignoring me for the moment, she went to a file cabinet, searched through two different drawers and finally extracted a manila file folder. The folder featured my name on the side, printed in neat block letters. My stomach did a sad flip. Whatever happened next was going to soil my “permanent record” forever and would probably hurt like hell.

The secretary delivered my file to the Principal and then sat at her desk, seeming to forget about me. I sat there numb. Minutes earlier, I had been a normal student sitting happily in class next to my best friend. Now suddenly I was an outcast, a criminal in the eyes of the school.

It seemed like hours, but probably it was minutes, when I heard the Principal call my name. Timidly, I stood and padded into her office.

The conversation that followed is something I still replay in my mind. I could have stood up for myself so much better! Sadly, life had not yet prepared me to be a lawyer on my own behalf. Perhaps if I had been sophisticated enough to know the phrase “mental lapse” and had used it to describe what really happened. Perhaps if I had thought to point out that what my teacher described as “flagrant” was actually a complete lack of stealth since I had no conscious intent to cheat. Heck, I didn’t even point out what should have already been obvious to her; I had a totally clean record.

What I actually said (well, actually blubbered) to the Principal was something like, “I am so sorry, Mrs. K, I didn’t mean to cheat.” Naturally, the lady took my poorly chosen words as a complete confession! Her subsequent lecture easily succeeded in convincing me that I was totally guilty. Even today, as an adult, I remain conflicted; am I guilty or innocent? I honestly don’t remember ever intending to cheat, but clearly I was guilty of taking more than a casual glance at Ritchie’s paper in the middle of that math test.

Judging from the Principal’s lecture, cheating “erodes the very educational foundations of our school” and it was something that she must “nip in the bud”. I had heard my parents use that “nip in the bud” phrase before, and I knew exactly what it meant; it meant that I was going to get a spanking! With my knees shaking, I waited for the lecture to end. Finally it did, with an admonition about how I “should be ashamed of myself”, and how my parents and classmates and teachers “would be ashamed of me”.

As I stood there totally immersed in shame, the Principal stood, ordered me to “not move a muscle” until she returned, and then glided imperiously out of her office.

After the first two minutes of waiting, the room seemed to sway and spin as I stood in the middle of the small office and concentrated on literally “not moving a muscle”. Finally I heard the sounds of feet walking back into the office. I quickly realized that it was both the Principal and the secretary. They talked between themselves in low voices as they prepared the room for my correction. The secretary placed a wooden paddle on the desk in front of me, blinds were lowered, the desk was cleared, and chairs were noisily moved. Finally the Principal seemed to notice me again.

Speaking in firm tones, she informed me that I would be getting the school’s maximum allowed punishment “and then some”. Although this was the first time I had been paddled at this school, I knew that six strokes with that nasty weapon was the most that school regulations allowed. What could she mean by “and then some”? This had turned into my worst nightmare!

Gently, almost kindly, the Principal led me to her desk and showed me the position I would be expected to assume and hold for my punishment. She solemnly warned me not to reach back; emphasizing the damage the paddle could do to an errant hand. To help control my hands, I was to firmly grip the far edge of the desk

Then, just as I thought that my ordeal was about to start, things suddenly got worse! You are wearing underwear right?” the lady asked. Puzzled, I managed to stutter an answer; “Un…un…underpants Maam, but no undershirt”. “Good” she said, “I want to be sure that you remain decent, after all, there are ladies in the room.” Just as I was trying to make sense of that statement, she dropped a bombshell: “You may lower your britches to your knees.” I gaped at the lady as if a bird had just flown out of her mouth! I had never heard of anyone being required to remove clothing for a paddling and I suspected that it was not normally allowed.

“Do it now” she insisted firmly. Having no negotiating position, and being in complete shock, I meekly complied, and then I complied with her next order by putting myself into position across her desk.

Next I felt her restraining hand press firmly on my back, and I felt the pressure of the paddle rubbing directly on the back of my underpants. Then suddenly the paddle was gone! I took a quick nervous breath, which was knocked out of me by the force of the first blow. I howled and bucked, but her hand kept me firmly in place. “It’s OK to cry” she said, “but try to stay in position for your punishment”. I did my best, really I did! By the third swat, I was crying loudly and unashamedly. I was vaguely aware that my pants had fallen all the way to my ankles. After the fourth swat, my knees gave way and I started to slip to the floor. I desperately tried to get back into position but my pants hobbled my feet and I could not seem to get them back under me.

The Principal quickly laid down the paddle and assisted me back into position. I don’t remember what she said, but her words were firm yet not terribly reassuring. With me back in position, she quickly applied the last two swats, and they were easily the hardest of all! I am afraid that I screamed, and I know that I was a complete mess for several minutes.

When I came back to my senses, the secretary had already signed the “witness” line on the “Discipline Record” form in my permanent file and left the room. I don’t remember if I pulled my own pants up or if the Principal did it for me, but somehow I was fully dressed again.

As my sobs finally decayed to mere sniffles, the Principal gave me a little pep talk about “all is now forgiven” and how I now had a chance to “make a new beginning”. Of course, all was definitely NOT forgiven. Not only was my record permanently smudged, I still had my parents to deal with.

The rest of the school day went as well as could be expected. Since there was only one hour of school left, the Principal allowed me to stay with the school nurse, and even sent a messenger for my books so I wouldn’t have to face my class. Soon the last bell rang and I was free to walk home.

Ashamed, I hung behind the main crowd all the way home, purposely avoiding anyone I knew, especially Ritchie. All too soon, I was home. As usual, I walked through the side door, directly into the kitchen, but today I also walked directly into the hard gaze of my mother. Looking at her face, I knew immediately that she already knew everything. “How could you?” she asked, “I can’t believe that a child of mine could stoop to cheating in class.” Immediately, I had new tears dripping from my cheeks.

By now, I was quite convinced that I was guilty as sin and besides, just getting paddled at school served as prima facie proof to my parents that I was guilty of some serious crime. My parent’s rule was clear; any punishment earned at school will be repeated much worse at home!

Mother explained that the Principal had called before my punishment to tell her what had I had done, and to request permission to lower my pants for my paddling. That permission had been quickly granted! This explained my five-minute wait alone in the Principal’s office. Further, Mom had already called Dad at work, and she expected him home early to “deal with me”. She pointed me to the nearest empty corner to await justice.

Justice was not long in coming. I was only in the corner for a few minutes when I heard the sound of the family car pulling into the drive. I heard my father walk into the room, noisily kiss my mother, and then I felt a presence next to me and felt a comforting arm around my shoulder. “I love you son but cheating in school is bad business, we are going to have to nip this in the bud right now”. It was the second time that day that I had heard “nip in the bud”. Clearly, the outlook for my bottom was grim.

Father and Mother left the room for a private chat, and then returned together. Moments later, we were all seated around the dinette table and we were having “the talk”. Naturally, both of my parents took turns soundly scolding and shaming me for cheating. Finally “the talk” seemed to wind down and my parents were just looking at me appraisingly. Finally Daddy spoke. “You remember the rule about getting punished at school right?” My still-sore buttocks cringed as I gave the required answer; “I…I get it worse at home?”

“Yes son,” he confirmed, “you get it much worse at home.”

His hands moved under the table for a moment, and then I heard a strangely familiar “snicking” sound. Looking me straight in the eye, Daddy placed his belt on the table. Tears squirted and my head spun as the implication immediately struck home; I was not about to be merely spanked. Instead of a spanking, I was about to get my second whipping ever. I put my head down on the table and sobbed. My father patiently waited a couple of minutes for me to regain control and then explained; “The Principal thought that this was serious enough to give you the most severe punishment in her “toolbox”, so as your parent I feel that I must support her by doing the same thing, and a whipping is this family’s most severe punishment…understand?” Miserably, I nodded my understanding (if not agreement).

Just then, Mother touched my father’s arm and gently reminded him, “what about his bottom? Is it in any shape to take a whipping today after already getting paddled over his underpants?” Daddy looked startled and suddenly snapped his fingers, “Thanks for thinking about that. I guess we will just have to check.”

I immediately knew what would be required. Moments later, I was blushingly lowering my trousers and underpants so my parents could inspect the damage to my bottom. My father whistled; “Wow, that really looks like a professional job! It is still quite red but she hardly caused any bruising at all. Does it still hurt son?”

“A little” I admitted. At this point I had very mixed emotions. I was really afraid of that belt waiting for me on the table, and any delay would undeniably be a temporary relief…but then waiting for my whipping would be hell!

My father pronounced judgment: “Well, you surely won’t need a warm-up spanking, but with that unbruised bottom I don’t see why a good whipping would cause you any problems.” Except for a quiet sniffle, I accepted my sentence stoically and pulled my pants back into place. He took me by the shoulders and looked straight into my eyes, “You are getting bigger now. Can we go somewhere private and do this ‘man-to-man’? …Or would you feel better having your mother in the room when it happens?” I knew that I would have to strip naked for my whipping, so the choice was easy: “Man-to-man please sir” I managed to say. Still looking in my eyes for any sign of weakness, he made himself very clear; “It is going to hurt like hell. If we are going to do it man-to-man I am going to insist on your best cooperation”. I looked at him unblinkingly, “I will do my best Daddy, honest!” My father held me for a long moment. Finally he asked, “Should we get it over with right now? Before supper?” I gulped and nodded. Suddenly unable to keep my stare, I looked down, but unfortunately found myself staring right at the belt that was shortly to be the instrument of my correction. Daddy followed my gaze, picked up the belt, and offered it to me. I flinched back, but then recovered and gingerly accepted the feared weapon.

“Your room or mine?” Daddy asked without irony. I thought quickly, I didn’t want Ritchey to hear the evidence of my disgrace, and my parent’s room was on the opposite side of the house from Ritchey’s house. “Y…y…your room sir,” I stammered. “OK” he said, “Hug your mom, use the bathroom, and then take the belt to our bedroom and get yourself ready for your punishment. You have been whipped one time before, so surely you remember that I will expect to find you naked.” I shivered unhappily at the thought and finally managed to say, “Yes sir”.

With the belt still in my hand, I hugged my mother and mumbled yet another apology. With tears in her eyes she told me, “You need this punishment, so please learn from it so we won’t have to repeat it. I know Daddy hates to spank you, but I also know that he will do a very good job on you. Go and get it over with so we can forgive you and get your life back to normal”.

Five minutes later, I had folded my clothes in a neat pile and placed them on the vanity table next to my parent’s bed. Those white underpants that I had so reluctantly displayed to the Principal now topped the pile. I was sitting naked on my parent’s bed, listening hard for the footsteps I knew would be coming soon. Daddy’s belt was waiting in my lap and I was painfully aware that there was nothing between my skin and that nasty strip of leather. My father had been wearing that same belt to work for as long as I could remember. It was about 1.5 inches wide, made of supple leather, and kept well oiled. I remembered well from the only other time that my daddy had whipped me with it; it hurt like fire. I knew that in moments I would be crying and screaming my way through a whipping that promised to dwarf that previous one.

Sooner than I really wanted, the door opened and Daddy was there. I was trying to be brave, but as usual, my tears betrayed me. I stood and offered him his belt. Daddy gave me a quick hug, and then firmly turned me around to face the bed. He positioned me carefully on the edge of the bed with a rolled-up pillow under my hips to raise my bottom to receive the belt, and thoughtfully allowed me to bury my face in another to muffle the shameful noises I would soon be uttering. Daddy instructed me to wrap my arms around the pillow and clasp my hands together to keep from reaching back.

There isn’t much to say about the actual whipping, except that it was pure hell and it seemed to last forever. I felt leather tap my bottom a couple of times as Daddy got the range. After those taps, he must have started off with a roundhouse swing because the pain of that first swat was astounding. The ones after that were worse. I know that I totally "lost it" after the first swat.

Daddy says that I took it bravely, but that is not the way I remember it. I screamed, I howled, I begged, and I made all kinds of shameful noises. Several times Daddy had to stop when I got out of position. Each time he patiently repositioned me, and each time I resolved anew to hold my bare bottom in place for that terrible belt’s repeated visits. The very worst was when Daddy aimed low and hit places that hadn’t been previously prepared by the Principal’s paddle.

As always, Daddy was methodical, conscientious, and thorough in discharging his fatherly duties. When it was finally over, my poor bottom was crisscrossed with angry stripes and speckled by numerous little bruises that exactly matched the tip of Daddy’s belt. The damage began just below my waist and extended halfway down the backs of my upper legs. His duty done, Daddy dropped the belt and Mommy appeared as if by magic. I needed her! Suddenly it didn’t matter that she was seeing me naked as a jaybird. I don’t know how long it took, but finally they managed to slow down my bawling, and I became aware that both of my parents were holding me. Finally, Mommy laid me facedown on the bed and began to apply a soothing salve to my bottom. Daddy hovered until Mommy sent him to find me a pair of pajamas to cover my nakedness.

At last I was allowed to retreat to my own room while my parents prepared supper. When they called me down to eat, no reference was made to my crime and punishment, except I found a pillow sitting on my dinette chair to pad my sore bottom. Dinner was a quiet affair, but my parents took pains to put me at ease and to welcome me back into their good graces.

Back at school, I was the talk of my class for a few days. It didn’t help that there was no way I could hide my marked bottom in the boy’s locker room at gym class. I thought that my disgrace would last forever, but it was mostly forgotten in a week’s time, replaced by other events at the busy school. I am sure that I learned some kind of a lesson from getting into the worst trouble of my school years, but looking back, I am still not sure what it was supposed to be.

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Monday, January 25, 2010

8 PM (M/f F/m M/m) NEW!

GuySpencer Home Page
© Guyspencer 2010

Introduction: I am a child of the 40's and 50's, and this story is set in that time. Imagine yourself in a working-class neighborhood in a southeastern small town in early September. The house lots are small and the streets are narrow by today's standards. Air conditioning is still something found only in downtown department stores, so evening finds most windows and doors wide open. Sounds travel easily from house-to-house and house-to-neighbor's yard. Television is not yet common and much more evening and leisure time was spent in the relative cool outside the house, the parents lounging on porches and patios and the children playing. On a still evening, the sounds of a "private" parental spanking could carry the distance of several homes. In that respect, we enjoyed little privacy.

Societal attitudes towards spanking were quite different then. Firm corporal punishment tended to automatically be considered a sign of good parenting. Given that attitude, and unlike today, there was little reason for a parent to be circumspect about such matters. 

Disclaimer: This is a fictional story written around a real-life historical setting involving the spanking of teenage children. The writer does not advocate the spanking of children and does not wish to trigger or participate in conversation about it. If you find this subject disturbing, this may not be the story for you. This story is not suitable for Minors.

Prologue: They were a nice, loving family in a nice home in a nice neighborhood of a nice American small town. The father was a respected professional, well-known in this small Virginia town in the 1950's. The mother had a college education, but as was common for the times, chose to remain a housewife. The two children, Bob and Jan, were bright, well-adjusted, high-spirited, and entirely normal. In the future, Bob would become a local high-school football legend and then live an obscure life; Jan would follow her mother's tracks to college and a good marriage.

This is a spanking story, so we know right away that this was a STRICT family, but not excessively strict given the societal norms of 1950's small-town southern America. Like virtually all of their friends, both Jan and Bob grew up getting regular butt-warmings from their parents. The teens were aware that their mother's bottom also was not immune from a trip over their father's lap, but, like their sex life, the parents kept that aspect of family life strictly to themselves, behind the master bedroom door. Again, given the times and the locale, none of this was seen as unusual. Although modesty prevailed in the home, Bob and Jan normally witnessed each other's spankings. In spite of the embarrassment, the parents felt that it was kinder for both kids to "share the lesson" so they would ultimately need fewer spankings. Since spankings were usually on the bare bottom, both children grew up knowing what each other's bodies looked like and saw this as no big deal. As the children matured, and better learned how to live within the rules of the house, their spankings grew less and less frequent, but given the increasing responsibility that goes with increasing age, the possibility increased that the spankings they DID receive could be quite severe by today's standards. For this reason, the father gradually became the sole dispenser of corporal punishment for the house.

A rather unusual procedure gradually evolved in this home that effectively made the children directly responsible for their own behavior; when they broke a rule of the house, they were expected to go to their parents, confess, and request the appropriate punishment. Because there is a normal human tendency to delay punishment, there evolved a specific time for such confessions. It was 8 PM every day.  It is not as if they held a family court; at 8 PM the miscreant simply found the father wherever he happened to be and asked for an appropriate punishment. If the "appropriate" punishment happened to be a spanking, it was invariably given in the middle of the living room, OTK, with the father seated on the traditional straight-back chair. Depending on the seriousness or repetition of the infraction, spankings were delivered with the hand, hairbrush, and on rare occasions for the most serious offenses, with a belt.

"Cheating" on this system was risky indeed. If one of the teens misbehaved and did not request punishment the next time the clock reached 8 PM, then the punishment was automatically increased to a hard strapping. Additionally, after a few days of healing, there would be a second, identical strapping for "not telling the truth". As it turned out, only Bob was ever careless enough to ever get caught testing this system; the resulting punishments, witnessed by Jan as per the usual family custom, were sufficient to convince both of the siblings that honesty was truly the best policy. In fact, they learned it was best to report the slightest, most theoretical infractions and throw themselves on the very reasonable, loving mercy of their parents so they could never be accused of attempting to avoid punishment.

Strangely, this family culture of self-policing led to an unusual atmosphere of domestic tranquility. Arguments and parental commiseration were rarely necessary. Perhaps a specific example would help to explain how this is: At the end of her sophomore school year, Jan, the oldest child, was granted very limited group dating privileges coupled with a strict 10 PM curfew. Twice previously, she had lost track of time and returned home less than an hour late. The first time earned her a hand spanking (at 8 PM the next evening), but the second time resulted in a vigorous session with the hairbrush that all involved thought would be quite sufficient to calibrate her internal homing mechanism. Given her past performance, the parents were not altogether alarmed when Jan failed to return at 10 PM on her last outing of the summer. Sure enough, Jan appeared, flying through the door at 10:45 very upset with herself for again being late. In many families this would have resulted in an ugly scene, but these parents simply welcomed her with a hug, calmed her down, and then all went gratefully to bed.

The following day, without being told, Jan stayed home and contemplated her pending punishment. Mindful that the upcoming punishment was intended as much as a lesson for himself as for Jan, Bob stayed close all day so he could lend moral support to his older sister. The entire house seemed extra quiet, yet a supreme calm prevailed. Jan ate a light lunch, but did not show up for supper. At 8 PM, both parents were waiting expectantly in the living room when Jan tearfully entered the room with her brother solicitously at her elbow. She stood directly in front of her father and said "I am so sorry I broke my curfew last night, I have no excuse; will you please punish me?" (It should be said here that begging for mercy and offering vague excuses were specifically not allowed, one point of this procedure was to train the children to take responsibility for their actions) "What punishment do you expect?" the father asked mildly. She sobbed deeply and drew her hand from behind her back, showing him the belt folded in her hand. "I...I...I...think I need to be spanked real hard with this" she managed to choke out. "Yes" the father said, "that was my idea also, I love you very much but I think my job tonight is clear". "Put the spanking chair in place so I can give you a good warm up spanking and I guess you know how to arrange your clothing". Bob went for the chair, but father stopped him, "I'm glad you want to help your sister, but this is Jan's punishment". Mechanically, she went to the edge of the room, retrieved the waiting chair and placed it exactly in the center of the living room, facing the couch where her parents were seated. Mother jumped up, closed the windows and pulled the curtains, what was about to happen was only for the family to see and hear.

Father sat down in the chair and looked at Jan expectantly. Jan turned for her brother to unzip the back of her dress; she had to remind him to undo the little metal hook at the top. She reached down for the hem of her dress, pulled it up over her head, and handed it to her mother to fold up. (Her mother took the opportunity to ask her quietly if she needed to go to the bathroom, Jan blushed prettily and said that she had already thought of that.) Next, Jan unhooked and stepped out of her slip, which Mother also neatly folded. Mother and Bob took their places on the couch, scant feet from the spanking that was about to take place. Turning her back on her brother to preserve her modesty for a few more seconds, Jan reached for the thin elastic band at her tiny waist. The elastic strained briefly as it stretched past the swell of her thighs and buttocks. Bending over gracefully, she pushed the panties down to her bare ankles and stepped out of them, (inadvertently giving her flustered brother a close-up view that most of the local males would have happily crawled many miles in the hot sun to see). The panties lay forgotten in a tiny pink heap on the floor. In this familial setting, Jan did not seem compelled to cover her mound, her mind was apparently less involved with her modesty and more involved with what was about to happen to her bottom. Already barefoot and clad only in her training bra, a tearful Jan forced herself to look directly at her father, who patted his lap meaningfully. Making a sound that was a cross between a groan and a deep sob; Jan walked to her father's right side and draped her nearly nude body over his lap, assuming the traditional position for her lesson in responsibility. "Tell us exactly why you are being punished" Father commanded. "Because I disobeyed you and Mom by being late, even though you have punished me twice before for doing the same thing and I promised to never do it again" she said, (a very satisfactory speech, delivered all in one breath, that she had obviously mentally rehearsed). "That is exactly right" Father said, "I am going to give you a very good warm-up spanking to get your bottom bright red and ready for the belt." He then proceeded with his customary pre-spanking speech; "You may make any noise you need to, but try not to fight me. Everyone in this room loves you very much, so let's do a real good job for you and get this unpleasant business over. Please accept this punishment, and learn from it so we never have to go through this again. Now I want you to keep your legs wide apart for this part of your punishment so I can reach everywhere you are supposed to get spanked. Hold on to the chair legs and don't let go!"

The spanking proceeded exactly according to script. Father first expertly reddened Jan's perfectly-formed buttcheeks without missing the smallest spot. As usual, Jan resolved to lay still and take her punishment quietly; and as usual, she was not able to manage that feat for long. As the spanks gradually got harder and harder and the sting began to build to intolerable levels, her butt gradually started moving from side-to-side on it own volition in a futile, mindless attempt to avoid the spanks. Her initial silence gave way to sobs, which gave way to begging and improbable promises of future obedience, which gave way to pure incoherence. Her long legs easily reached the floor, and as she lost control her toes dug into the carpet and her feet did a dance that added a vertical dimension to the increasingly energetic movement of her bottom. This excessive bare-butt-wriggling caused both of the teen siblings physical pain; Jan because her father had to repeat spanks as he repeatedly missed some of the less-red spots and Bob because the view triggered a massive and unwelcome erection straining against his briefs and jeans. Bob flushed guiltily as he squirmed in pain, held prisoner by his own hormones. (30 years later, he would remember this as the moment he started down the road to becoming a spanko.) In spite of her resolution, Jan's hands came off of the chair legs and moved back to defend her bottom. The left hand encountered her father's torso and was not a factor, but her right hand almost made it to her bottom before her father deftly caught her wrist and gently trapped it in the small of her back. Two times, Jan managed to stop the spanking briefly when she bent her knees, covering her butt with her legs. Both times her father harshly ordered her back into position.

Finally, with Jan's buttocks a satisfactorily even shade of bright red, Father turned his attentions down to her waiting legs and thighs. As he was planning on limiting the coming strapping to Jan's buttocks, Father gave Jan's legs, outer thighs, and inner thighs special attention. "Open your legs wider and keep them there!" he ordered. As he spanked her inner thighs; she howled in protest. When her "warm up" spanking was finally over, her bottom was a bright red and her legs and thighs even more so, with the hint of a few future bruises. He finished the spanking by sliding her far out on his lap so he could land a last few spanks on the area of her left thigh that had been protected by his waist.

He allowed the chastised girl up off of his lap, but would give her no time to dance or rub her bottom, thinking it kinder to get her punishment over quickly. He ordered her over the arm of an overstuffed chair for the balance of her punishment. Blubbering and stammering and weak-kneed, she stumbled into the proper position. Her mother came to hold her arms in place as Father picked up the belt and moved to her left side purposely. Father had announced no particular number of strokes because he was not terribly experienced with the belt and wanted the flexibility to simply do a good job. He started the whipping, raising his belt-wielding hand high. Five times the belt whistled down on her right buttock in an even, relentless tempo, five times the end curled around to make an angry mark on her right thigh and five times she wailed in protest. With firm pressure, Mother kept Jan's torso in place on the chair, though her legs danced somewhat against the floor. Father moved to her left side and changed hands. Five times more the belt fell; these left-handed strokes painted marks on her left cheek that were not quite as neatly placed as the five on the right, but were otherwise satisfactory. Her wails morphed into shrieks. Again he moved to the left side and placed five more strokes significantly harder than the previous strokes, but this time landing evenly across both mounds. Jan reacted with even greater vigor to the whistling, snapping belt, but Mother managed to hold her in place. After waiting a moment for her movements to decrease, Father again changed sides and delivered five more strokes, again aimed to fall across both buttocks, but trending significantly lower on her rump than the previous five; she roared and bucked all five times.

Now Father turned around and backed up beside Jan so that he was looking straight down at her stripped butt and her nervously-prancing feet. After a dramatic pause, he brought the belt straight down in a vertical stroke intended to cut across all of the other belt marks on the fullest part of her right asscheek. Jan must have flinched to the right, because rather than landing on the center of her cheek as planned, the belt landed directly on the center of her butt-crack, with the tip curling up into a private region that neither parent would purposely target. Sorry for this accident, Father would have ended the strapping then and there, (he was nearly done anyhow) but Jan roared with pain and managed to break loose from her mother's hold. She stood in front of the chair dancing, rubbing, and howling. Not wanting to allow Jan to end her punishment by getting out of position, both parents insisted that Jan bend back over the chair and she was given one more vertical welt on each buttock as a more fitting end to her strapping.

After a moment, a much smarter and very well-chastised girl was allowed up off of the chair and on to her feet. She threw herself into in father's arms sobbing and blubbering incoherent apologies. Unmindful of her state of undress, her father held her tight and long with Mother joining the hug and Bob hovering protectively at his sister's shoulder. Mother led the still-undressed girl to her bedroom, forgetting her clothing.

Although this whole process had seemed to the family to take forever, by 8:30 a thoroughly-spanked and now forgiven Jan was lying on her bed gently sobbing into her pillow while her parents applied an icepack and then lotion to her well-chastised bottom. (Meanwhile; Bob was in his bathroom, furtively risking repetitive-motion injury. In his hormone-fueled fantasy, his sister's twitching, bucking red bottom had somehow ended up on his girlfriend, Cindy's body.) For perhaps the last time in her life, Jan's parents tucked her into bed, kissed her goodnight, and turned out the lights as if she were still their little girl.

Life quickly returned to normal in the household. The following morning, a Sunday, Jan ate breakfast with her family as usual. Jan was moving somewhat stiffly, and sitting down very carefully, but otherwise all was fine. No matter how severe the punishment, when it was over, it was truly over and there seemed to be no residual hard feelings. If anything, the days after a spanking seemed to foster a climate of relief and renewed family tranquility.

Monday morning brought the start of the new school year. Jan excitedly took her place in the junior class, and Bob enrolled in the same high school as a freshman. For the first week of class, Jan was reminded of her painful lesson every time she sat in one of the hard school desks. She was especially glad that she did not have gym that semester, because everyone would have known that she had been recently spanked. Over the following two weeks, her pain and the belt-marks gradually faded, but the lesson did not; Jan was known for her punctuality for the rest of her life.

CHAPTER 2; Bob:  It was nearly six weeks before one of the two siblings again had To seek out Father at 8 PM, and this time the culprit was Bob. That particular day, Bob slinked quietly home from school over an hour late. He had no doubt that his butt was in serious trouble. He shared his predicament with his sister, making sure that she was expecting no friends over that evening, but otherwise kept to himself until suppertime. At supper, Mother noticed that something was clearly bothering Bob but she did not ask, correctly guessing that it was an "8 PM thing". After supper, Bob retired to his room and nervously watched the clock; simultaneously willing the clock to stop while also wishing the clock would "hurry up and get it over with".

At 7:58, Bob took a deep breath and, heart beating madly inside his chest, went to seek his father. Not finding him in the living room, he made a quick pass through the house and finally noticed a light in the garage. Sure enough, he found his dad out there in the process of painting a piece of furniture. Tears welled up in his eyes as he waited for his father to notice him. The father finally glanced up at his son; one look at his son's wet cheeks left no doubt what was coming. "I think you need to spank me dad" the boy managed to croak, handing him a form from the school Principal. "I am sure that can be arranged" the father said, "Before I read this form perhaps you had better tell me more". "I...I...I got detention at school" the boy said. The father carefully folded the form unread and set it aside, "keep talking" he commanded as he continued painting. Bob told him the entire story, finally trailing to a lame ending. Father continued painting, obviously deep in thought. Finally he spoke: "I have about five minutes of work before I finish this coat of paint. I want you to get Jan and your mother and set up the chair in the living room, I will be in as soon as I can".

Sobbing, ashamed, and understandably dreading his imminent lesson, Bob stumbled into the house, and found his mother and sister finishing the dishes in the kitchen. "We all need to go into the living room" he choked out. Understanding immediately, Mother gave him a long hug, wiped the tears from his eyes, and followed him to the living room with Jan bringing up the rear. Bob went directly to the open windows in the living room. Looking out, he could see directly into the living room of the house across the street, which happened to be the home of his girlfriend, Cindy. He did not want anybody outside his family to see him getting his bare butt spanked (least of all Cindy), and he particularly did not want anyone outside to hear him bawling like a toddler; which is exactly what he was afraid would be happening in a few minutes. Bob carefully closed the living room windows and pulled the curtains tight. Then he picked up the dreaded straight-back chair and placed it exactly in the center of the living room facing the couch where his mother and sister were uncomfortably sitting.

Mother never did bother to ask what this was all about, perhaps Jan had already clued her in; in any case, she would find out in a few moments. Seeing Bob standing there awkwardly waiting for his father to appear, she took the opportunity to ask the motherly, embarrassing "bathroom" question. Bob was startled to realize that he urgently needed to pee. He quickly disappeared into the bath that was only five steps away in the hallway. Emerging moments later, he found that his father still hadn't appeared. After fidgeting for a few more moments, he decided to do something useful and kicked off his shoes. After a little more thought and a shrug, he loosened his belt, unbuttoned, unzipped, and pealed off his jeans. When his father finally walked into the room, smelling strongly of turpentine, Bob was standing uneasily, dressed only in white briefs, socks, and T-shirt, fretfully awaiting his fate. Without a word, dad sat down in the straight-backed chair with that damning letter from the Principal in his hand.

"OK, tell us your entire story" Father said. Bob did, trying to leave nothing out. He had been involved in an altercation in the schoolyard. It had not come to blows, but the jerk had hit Bob's hot-button by insulting his girlfriend Cindy. When the assistant principal had happened by, Bob was seen and heard busily yelling obscenities at an innocent-looking fellow student.

There was a long silence.

Finally, Father uttered the dreaded words, "what should your punishment be?" Bob's knees literally knocked together as he answered,"Uh...the hairbrush sir?"

Another long silence; incredibly, Bob felt like he could pee again.

"I was kind of thinking about the belt" Father finally said thoughtfully. (Since neither of the kids had ever gotten detention before, there was no established punishment. The belt was exactly the punishment that Bob was afraid of; he considered it to be far worse than the hairbrush.) Immediately, Bob felt a painful cramping in his gut and he had to clamp his buttocks tight to keep from having the ultimate embarrassing accident right there in front of his entire family; Father had just brought up exactly the subject that Bob had been worried about all afternoon, Bob was terribly frightened that he was going to get the belt! Fortunately, having thought about this beforehand, Bob now desperately delivered a defense that he had been working on for the last two hours 'just in case'; "but you always save the belt for when we do something bad more than once, except for lying, and I am telling you the exact truth." Bob saw his mother nod at his father and he knew that, against the odds, he had scored. "OK, you get the hairbrush," Father said, "How hard should your spanking be on a scale of one to ten?" This was not an idle question; Bob was expecting it, it required a reasoned answer, and the only logical answer would condemn his bottom to a very serious spanking. His intestines cramped again, new tears appeared, and he spoke through a sniffle; "A t-t-ten sir, I have no excuse for using bad words in school". (Any other answer would have required some facts in his defense and there were none.) "I agree" Father said, "you may go get the hairbrush; you know where to find it."

"D-d-dad?" "Yes son?" father asked kindly. Can...can I go to the bathroom first?" "But you just went" Mother pointed out. (Mothers keep track of these things.) "It's the OTHER now, I gotta go bad!" Bob said desperately. "OK" Father decided, "Just do what you must do very quickly and then bring the hairbrush so we can get this business over with." "Yes sir" Bob said over his shoulder, hurrying to the bathroom with that special walk that convinced the adults that Bob was not simply delaying his spanking.

While Bob was sitting on the pot "doing his business" and trying To decide if he should simply kick his underpants off while they were Down or pull them back up for the walk back into the living room, his Parents took the opportunity to discuss the situation for the first time. After a quick conversation, being especially careful what they said because Jan could hear every word, they decided to make a slight one-time alteration in the family's punishment routine. Mother and Jan changed places on the couch so that Jan was on her mother's left; leaving the field clear for the job Mother had just been given; the temporary conversion of a swelled-head teenage boy into a bawling, mommy-spanked child. Meanwhile, modesty won out and Bob decided it best to emerge from the bathroom with his underpants properly in place, it just did not seem right to run around the house barebottom. He completed his "business", replaced his briefs, fetched the "special" hairbrush from his parent's bedroom and returned to the living room, offering the feared tool to his father.

"Bobbie" Father started (deliberately switching to the long-unused diminutive form of Bob's name), "your mother and I have started to see a disturbing change in your attitude since you started high school and we want to remind you that you will still be our child for several years to come; lots of exciting things are going to happen to you over the next few years, but your mother and I will remain your parents." "To remind you of your mother's authority, I have asked her to give you your warm-up spanking before I spank your bare bottom with this hairbrush." "Go to your mother, apologize to her for getting in trouble at school, and ask her for a very good warm-up spanking." Wordlessly, Bob nodded and padded over to his mother.

As ordered, Bob apologized and requested his spanking. At first, this change in procedure seemed like a good deal to Bob because he assumed that his mother could not spank as hard as his father. He was soon to discover that his mother could do just fine! Just as he was wondering if his mother was going to make him take his underpants off or simply allow him to lower them, he got a bit of a surprise; she reached out and whisked them down herself. He stared dumbly at her, his briefs puddled around his ankles. She sat back and regarded her boy, purposely letting him squirm. His T-shirt hung entirely too low for the business at hand, covering most of his butt and virtually all of his rapidly-blooming pubic hair; but it did not hang so low as to hide the fact that her little boy was rapidly becoming a man; the undisputable evidence was hanging right in front of her face! "Raise your arms" she ordered. She had to stand to complete the job, but she grabbed the hem of his shirt and whisked it over his head and arms. Bobby was standing naked except for his socks; undressed by his mommy for the first time in several years.

She left him waiting nervously for several moments while she Looked him up and down, trying to hide her motherly pride in a purposeful frown. Football drill was already sculpting his young body, adding muscle to his shoulders and subtracting baby fat at his abdomen. He squirmed...waiting for the inventible. Watching from the rear, Bobbie's father noted that the tan lines caused from the combination of Bobbie's gym shorts and the hours of sunny football practice sun caused his buttocks to look paper white. They would not stay that way for long!

Finally Mother patted her lap, and the boy almost gratefully shook the briefs off of his ankles and assumed the traditional position. He was on a bit of an angle, his feet on the floor but his torso on the couch, head pillowed next to his sister. Instinctively, Jan held her brother's hands, seeking mutual comfort. Without further delay, the spanking started.

To Bobby's surprise and consternation, Mother did not start out with the usual slowly-increasing pattern of a warm-up spanking. Rather, She began with several resoundingly hard swats right to the meatiest part of Bobby's right buttock, leaving an overlapping pattern of red handprints. Bobby had no chance to demonstrate his manliness by remaining stoic for his warm-up spanking; he was instantly crying and begging for respite, his pale, bare bottom frantically moving up, down, and sideways in a futile attempt to dodge the spanks. He started to reach back to shield his tush, but his sister did him the tremendous kindness of holding his hands in a grip of steel so the spanking could continue more quickly to its conclusion. His ineffectual kicking gradually became a leg curl which his mother countered by throwing a leg over his calves. Mother did not spank with the precision of Father; Bobby never knew where the next blow was going to fall. Bobby would be remembering this "warm-up" for a long time to come!

When Bobby's bottom had finally attained a proper, even, shade of bright red, Mother paused for a moment to release his legs, uncovering virgin, spankable flesh that had been shielded by her leg and then resumed her parental duty with a new vigor. Bobby's movements and vocalizations achieved a new fervor as Mother peppered his tender leg-skin with painful spanks. After just a minute or two of diligent work, this new area exactly matched the shade of his buttocks.

The spanking stopped, it took Bobby a full minute to notice, and then another 30 seconds before he looked tearfully back at his mother to see what was next. Open your legs so I can properly spank your thighs" she ordered sternly. Bobby started to blubber and beg; "You know better than that Bobby", she said sternly, "Open them now"! Reluctantly, Bobby's legs opened. "Wider!" Whimpering, Bobby finally spread his legs enough to placate his mother, leaving one up against the back of the couch and the other dangling down to the floor. Unbelievable pain erupted in his inner thighs as Mother gave them her full attention, spanking fast and hard. Bobby howled, but managed to hold his position long enough for his mother to finish this especially painful part of his punishment. The spanking slowed down as Mother closely inspected her work and added the odd "touch up" spank. Finally, Mother decided that her portion of  Bobby's punishment was complete. After giving Bobby a few moments to calm down, she allowed him up. As soon as Jan released Bobby's hands, they flew down to his scorched bottom; Mother caught them and reminded him that his punishment was only half over. This brought a fresh torrent of tears. She rose from the couch and led the sobbing, mama-spanked boy to his father for the next part of his punishment.

Father positioned the boy, still naked except for his socks, directly in front of him and pinioned him there with his gaze and his silence. Finally he spoke; "tell us all why you are being punished" he commanded. "Because I broke the rules at school by saying curse words and got detention" Bobbie said shakily. "Yes, that is right" Father said, "and I want you to keep that in mind while you are over my lap"; "tell us what is going to happen now". Again Bobbie responded correctly, though the words were filtered through fresh tears; "I am going to get a hard spanking on my bare bottom with the hairbrush".  "Correct again" Father said, "you will be feeling a little bit of this spanking every time you sit down for the next week or two; every time that happens, I want you to remember this lesson so you never forget it for the rest of your life". Father's voice suddenly got gentle and somewhat choked; "you know we love you and we feel that you really need this lesson?" Bobby nodded tearfully and then, at his father's signal, obediently draped himself over the parental lap, his beet-red buttcheeks poised for the painful continuation of his lesson on proper behavior.

Father turned to Jan, gently complemented her on being kind enough to hold her brother's hands during his first spanking and asked her if she would please come over and help Bobby again. Jan got up, walked the two steps over to her softly-sobbing brother, sat down on the floor and took his hands in a comforting, yet very firm, grip; a job that her mother had always done before. Bobby felt his father lean forward and pick up the hairbrush from the floor; he knew he would not have long to wait before that instrument would add a further color change to his buttflesh. Father threw one leg over Bobby's legs, and placed his left arm firmly around Bobby's bare waist. Held in place by both his sister and his father, Bobby squirmed uneasily, his bare butt totally helpless and fully exposed to the impending fall of the waiting hairbrush.

The spanking started without further ceremony, with Father Spanking hard, demonstrating his usual precision, unrelenting cadence and maddeningly-predictable pattern. SPANK! SPANK! SPANK! The hairbrush landed three times in exactly the same place, the top of Bobby's left buttock. After a short, measured, pause Father moved down exactly one-half of the width of the brush and applied three more. SPANK! SPANK! SPANK! There was never any question of stoicism, Bobby lost control immediately, bawling, squalling, begging, hiccupping; none of which had the slightest effect on the mechanical-like movement of that hairbrush. In spite of the tightly closed-windows, a pedestrian on the sidewalk outside could not have helped but to hear the piercing collision of hard plastic with firm, young, buttflesh and the resulting strident, mostly-incoherent vocalizations from the owner of that particular bottom. Under the loving but firm restraint of his father and sister, Bobby was unable to move enough to avoid any spanks or even spoil his father's precise aim; the most movement that he was able to muster was a twisting of his torso and (naturally) a distinct bouncing motion of his butt as the hairbrush did its efficient work.

Father's spanking technique seemed to multiply the effects of what was already a very hard spanking. There was never any doubt where the next blow was going to fall; the inevitability of the timing and the location each spank was maddening to Bobby; exactly the effect his father intended. Father worked his way all the way down the left side of Bobby's twitching bottom, well past the line of demarcation where buttock becomes leg. Finally, the brush crossed over to the right leg and then began working unhurriedly up the right side. The computer-like cadence of the hairbrush did not vary until the final set of three spanks was delivered at the tip-top of Bobby's right tushcheek; then the spanking was suddenly over. Father's technique, that big "U" that started at the top of Bobbie's left buttock, down to the thighs, across, and back up to the top of the right buttcheek, had caused every square inch of Bobby's backside to receive exactly six blows with the hairbrush, converting a merely bright red bottom to a considerably marked bottom. Because of Bobby's helpless situation, the entire job had taken well less than five minutes. Father inspected his work closely and leisurely, found it flawless, and signaled to Jan to release her anguished brother's hands. Back on his feet, Bobby's hands were finally allowed to shoot back to his bottom and he was allowed a brief spanked-brat dance as he continued to squall and hold his pained bottom, oblivious to his state of undress. Father, Mother and Jan gently formed a circle around the stricken boy to offer their love and to calm him with a long collective hug and murmured words of assurance and love.

As they had done weeks before with Jan, the parents led the still-weeping bare-bottomed boy to his bedroom for first-aid to his bottom and to be gratefully and lovingly tucked into bed, still naked,belly-down, and covered only with a light sheet. Indeed, Bobby had learned a lesson for life, exactly as his parents had intended. The parents then returned to the living room to erase the scene, opening windows and curtains to the cool night air, replacing the straight-backed chair, picking up underpants and other clothing, and returning the hairbrush to its place of honor on their dresser.

Epilogue: The next few days were not as bad for Bob as they could have been. The other boys on the football team could not help but notice Bob's marked bottom. Even if his bare-red bottom had somehow been missed in their communal shower and locker room, his marks continued well below his gym shorts and were there for all to see. But in these times a bruised bottom was not an unusual sight, especially among this group of high-spirited testosterone-charged young men. Any of them could end up with a similar sore bottom from their parents, from the school Principal, or from the often-busy paddle in the coach's office.

Cindy, Bob's girlfriend, was also no problem. Bob told her the day after his punishment the unlikely story that he had "really got it" but that it really hadn't hurt him that much. He fervently hoped that she hadn't heard him squalling all the way across the street! If she had, she was nice enough to never mention it, but that did not stop her From asking several probing questions and offering her own spanking experiences which were not totally unlike Bob's. Bob found this strangely exciting, as did Cindy. Cindy suggested that she would like to see the marks on Bob's bottom, but Bob had an unpleasant idea of what might result the following evening at 8 PM, and decided that his bottom was not yet ready for another parental "lesson". Although sorely tempted by her invitation; he kept his pants tightly fastened around his waist.

Just as his parents intended, Bob had very good reason to remember his recent spanking every time he sat down for the next several days. Healthy young specimen that he was, his pain started fading after only a week, the marks similarly fading after another week.

Bob had learned a lesson for life, never again spouting profanity in an inappropriate place. Bob's attitude also improved, although he did still need the occasional parental reminder to bring him back to earth after his football successes.

Jan and Bob still had about four years each of occasional parental spankings ahead of them. Jan was subject to them for longer than her younger brother because she decided to go through college and thus, remained dependent on her parents and subject to their discipline. For her college years Jan's 8 PM routine had to be modified somewhat; when her parents received a phone call at exactly 8 PM, they knew that she was calling about an "8 PM thing", such as a breach of school rules, or perhaps a bad grade. If a spanking was in order, then Jan came home for the weekend and for her 8 PM Saturday-night spanking. The hardest phone call for the parents to receive was in Jan's senior year when she tearfully and haltingly called to confess a sexual indiscretion. The following Saturday night, Jan, although legally and physically and adult, insisted that her parents not hold back on her punishment. She need not have worried! The belt was retired after that night, but not until after a strenuous session where it thoroughly brightened Jan's bottom one last time. Shortly after her college graduation, Jan was wed to a fellow graduate. They lived a good life in a nearby town in a nice home; the bedroom of which occasionally resounded with the sounds of a punishment spanking vigorously but lovingly applied to the young bride's bare bottom by her husband.

Bob finished high school, moved out into the job force and quickly ended up married to Cindy, the girl across the street. Well before their nuptials, there had been several red bottoms, both his and hers,Most had led to several thoroughly satisfying lovemaking sessions. Everyone said that theirs was a match "made in heaven"; few realized that it was actually spanko heaven.

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