Wednesday, February 03, 2010

The Hysteria Treatment

© Guyspencer 2010
 The Hysteria Treatment

Author’s note: “Female Hysteria” was once a commonly diagnosed condition among ladies. Accepted treatment was a massage-induced “paroxysm” (orgasm) applied by a physician or midwife.

I was lucky to grow up to maidenhood in a moderately wealthy neighborhood in a huge, wonderful old Victorian home. Actually, it was more than just a home; it was also my father’s place of business. There was even an elegantly-lettered sign on the front of the house. It read: “Dr. DA Albertson MD”. Smaller letters explained: “Practice Limited to the Treatment of Female Hysteria”.

Obviously, the room was originally intended to be a parlor. After all, it was the nicest room in the house. The walls were of rich wood, which contrasted perfectly with the rich red carpet. As a modern touch, the fireplace was converted with a coal stove. The room had elegant furniture that I was never allowed to sit on. From the fireplace mantle hung tools of my father’s particular profession, including what I recognized as a school cane. In one corner was the only medical-looking equipment in the room, a treatment table and basin. Over the treatment table, my father’s diplomas resided in ornate frames. A sign outside the door read: “Treatment Room”. I was never allowed in the treatment room. I had to satisfy myself with fleeting peeks as others went in or out.

Father was a qualified physician, a good one by all accounts. I didn’t learn this until my adulthood, but early in my father’s career the local ladies discovered that he had a rare talent for the difficult art of vulvular massage, the accepted treatment for female hysteria. Further, he pioneered a second method of inducing healing paroxysms in his patients; by robust stimulation of the buttock area. For more difficult cases, he became adept in administering both treatment modalities simultaneously.

Word got around. The local female aristocracy literally stood in line for his treatments. Most demanded his special “dual” treatment, even though his “buttock stimulation” treatments could leave a lady’s nether regions red, tender and tingling for several days. In the process, he discovered that treating female hysteria was the perfect specialty for a handsome young male doctor. Since none of his patients were in the slightest danger of dying from the malady, and since there was no cure, his patients continually returned for “treatment”. Some even had standing weekly appointments. Judging from the expensive schools my parents sent me to, and the fortune they left behind, treating “female hysteria” paid well. But of course, I wasn’t allowed to know any of this as a child.

Father’s home-office routine went like this. A lady would knock on the door. Mother, wearing a white medical outfit and with her hair in a severe bun, would answer the door. If father were busy with another patient, she might seat the lady in the receiving room and offer a cup of tea. When the treatment room became available, father would disappear while mother escorted the lady into the room. She would shut the door and remain with the lady for several minutes. Finally she would tiptoe out, leaving the patient alone. Presently father would emerge from his private office and let himself into the treatment room. I would hear the door close and the key turn from inside.

Early on, I noticed things about my father’s patients. First, even though they were being treated for “hysteria”, none seemed to be even a little hysterical when they arrived for treatment. However, inside the treatment room they often made a variety of loud noises that may have been hysteria, but sounded to me more like variations on pain and ecstasy. Finally, they all seemed to leave calm and happy. Most had flushed faces, many had smiles, though some walked stiffly.

My bedroom was on the second floor, directly over the treatment room. Over the years, I learned that I could hear some of what happened down there by pressing my ear to the floor. Mostly the sounds meant nothing to me, but like any child of my time, I knew the sounds of spanking and caning when I heard them! In my younger years, my governess caught me several times with my ear to the floor. I was warned once. She spanked my pudgy little bottom the next two times. The fourth time, she grabbed me by the ear and marched me downstairs to my parents. Mother made me wait in the receiving room until the patient left, then told my father. He marched me into the kitchen, bent me over a chair, lifted my skirts, yanked down my bloomers, and spanked my bare bottom with a wooden spoon that he snatched from the hand of our astounded cook. That temporarily cured my curiosity about the treatment room! It would be several years before my father spanked me again…

Assuming the effects of my spanking would only be temporary; my parents decided to send me to boarding school. Naturally, they picked one that was far away. After that, they only had to control my curiosity on holidays and over the summer break.

For a few years I contented myself with whatever glimpses I could sneak when the treatment room door was open. Surely, whatever happened in that room was no secret to the local women? If they had let me stay in school here in the city, I probably would have learned something from rumors and gossip, but the far-away boarding school kept me isolated. As a result, my curiosity remained unresolved about the happenings in that room. I had to know!

I was 13 years old and on summer break when I finally decided to risk everything. The windows to the treatment room were fitted with heavy wooden blinds, but father kept the slats open to admit sunlight because it was just too hot to burn the gaslights. My parents watched me closely, but one day I managed to sneak outside when they thought I was reading in my room. The bushes kept me mostly hidden. To be safe I chose a window that was in shadow.

I crouched behind the bushes as one of our regular patients knocked at our front door. Today was the day! Soon there would be something to see.

I plastered my face to the window and peeked between the slats. Mother and the lady entered the room & closed the door. Mother helped the lady remove her starched skirts and other outer garments. After carefully hanging up the garments, mother left the lady to deal with her own undergarments. Alone, the lady removed her bodice, chemise, garter, stockings, and finally her bloomers. Naked, she shivered as if in anticipation, then covered herself with a sheet that mother had provided. She pulled the bell rope.

Father entered the room. They exchanged a few words, but I could hear nothing. Then he led her to the end of the treatment table. She automatically bent over, resting her torso on the table, her feet wide apart on the floor. Father flipped up the sheet so that the lady’s bare bottom shockingly jutted out at him, yet her head was covered. Perhaps she pretended that if she couldn’t see the doctor, the doctor couldn’t see her?

Father lubricated his left hand and put it… Oh my word! He was touching the lady in that same place where we girls aren’t allowed to touch ourselves! His hand started working. For several minutes nothing seemed to happen, and then the lady’s bottom gradually started bouncing and moving almost like she was dancing. That’s when father started spanking the lady with his other hand! The light was dim in the room, but my young eyes could see her bum change color. Even through the closed window, I could hear the lady’s groans and sobs. Her movement became almost frantic. Finally, father picked up a light cane I hadn’t noticed before. He gave the lady several medium swats with the cane while she continued to grind herself into father’s left hand. I could see red stripes appear on the lady’s increasingly kinetic bottom. Finally the lady squealed and her bottom started pumping like a steam engine as she shrieked loud exultations. Moment’s later, she nearly collapsed but father expertly reached under her arms and helped her to a couch, her sheet falling unnoticed to the floor.

I had watched the entire performance uncomprehending. Oh sure, I knew what spankings and canings were all about. I was no angel at school, so they happened to me. But in these prudish times, all sexual knowledge was carefully hidden, particularly from young girls. I had never heard the word “climax” and wouldn’t until years after my marriage.

The lady was plainly crying, and suddenly I felt guilty to be peeking. All I had wanted was to discover what was happening in my own house, but now I felt like an evil interloper.

Acting with a practiced combination of tenderness and professional detachment, father gave the lady a hanky then favored her with a comforting squeeze as she shook with sobs. Father finally picked up the sheet and gently draped the lady, restoring her modesty. Quieting, she blew her nose.

It was at that very moment that my father inexplicitly turned his head and looked straight at me. His eyes widened in surprise, and then I saw lightning and thunder on his face as he recognized me and guessed what I was doing. I will never forget that fluttery feeling deep in the pit of my stomach as I realized that I was suddenly in big trouble.

I could have run, but that would have made things worse. Rather, I guiltily slinked to the door of the house. My father came huffing out the door and instantly spotted me. “I can’t believe you!” he hissed, “You’ve just terribly violated that nice lady’s privacy. It’s a good thing she didn’t notice.” With that, he took me by the arm and dragged me into the house. He deposited me firmly in a chair and told me to “keep quiet and not move a muscle”. I scrunched my bottom unhappily and felt the same pressure deep in my bowels as if I were waiting outside the head’s office at school.

Just a few moments later, mother and the lady emerged from the treatment room. My parents solicitously arranged the lady’s next appointment and saw her out the front door. I watched with trepidation as father told mother of my spying. It was mother who sealed my fate:”Since she’s so interested in the treatment room, I think we should take her in there and let you deal with her.” “Yes” father agreed looking at me as if he were measuring me for a cane, “She needs a good lesson. Get her ready, then put her over the arm of the couch.”

I barely remember what the room looked like, but I was in there, the same place that lady had been only minutes ago! This time, it was I whom mother was helping undress. When my dress, skirts and slip were off, she demanded my bloomers. Blushing furiously, I complied. Now I was shamefully bare from the waist down. None too gently, mother bent me over the padded arm of the couch. Just then, father walked in. Father stalked to the fireplace mantle and snatched his school cane. He told mother to remain in the room. Somehow that made things worse, she would witness my disgrace. He swished the cane around a few times, probably for effect. Then he applied it where it would do me the most good. Needless to say, my next few minutes in that room were horribly unpleasant and distinctly memorable. My father was basically a gentle man, but this time, he didn’t hold back. I’ll never forget the feeling of those raised marks on my bottom.

Damn it, they never did give me a proper tour of that room.

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© Guyspencer 2010

Copyright Guyspencer 2010

Daytona Beach Correction (M/F)

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Daytona Beach Correction (M/F)

The tanned old widower was taking his daily walk along the beach when he suddenly stopped and cocked his head. His left ear registered the Atlantic surf, but his right ear caught a faint sound that triggered old memories. Like a dog searching for a faint scent, the man turned his head to the right and left, wondering if the sound was real or just wishful imagination.

Wait! There it was again! Yes! He distinctly heard the unmistakable sound of repeated slaps of a hand against bared buttocks. At first barely audible, the sounds grew stronger as the spanker delivered firmer swats. Verification came in the form of a female voice which began to grunt, complain, and then exclaim after each spank. The lady’s shrill entreaties informed the old man that the spanker’s name was “Sam”, that the lady was very “sorreeey”, and that she would “never lie again”.

As he listened, the man felt a rare and delicious stirring in his loins. The sounds of the lady’s correction made delightful visions dance through his head, reminding him of the many times his own dear wife had made similar sounds whilst her naked, shapely, kinetic form was draped across his lap.

Because the beachfront was lined with dozens of hotels, it was impossible to tell which of hundreds of rooms the sounds were coming from, so the couple’s privacy was safe. Besides, nobody but the old man seemed to pay any attention to the sounds. Perhaps his ears were particularly tuned to spanking sounds?

Finally the spanks stopped. The lady’s voice faded, drowned out by the surf and the varied sounds of busy Daytona Beach. With a wistful smile, the man had started to totter on, when he suddenly heard a series of much sharper sounds, sounds that he recognized as the sounds of wood meeting buttflesh. The lady’s voice suddenly reappeared, this time louder, shriller, and more urgent. A clear picture appeared in his head; the lady was naked, across her husband’s lap, her wrists gently but firmly pinned into the small of her back by his left hand, her legs restrained by one of his legs, and her heaving bottom quickly acquiring a deep but splotchy red patina. The old man looked around guiltily, assuming that everyone on the beach must notice his inappropriate bulge. Though he hated to leave the one spot where the spanking sounds seemed to be audible, the man quickly stumbled across the sand to the nearest bench so he could sit, hide his erection, and luxuriate in old erotic memories and sensations.

The couple (Sam and Mary) had been married two years. Still childless, they had used birth control through their financially-tough first year, but were now trying to become parents. The couple enjoyed a robust sex life that included “fun” spankings, but Mary also received an occasional true punishment spanking. Her punishment spankings were part of an explicit agreement that the couple negotiated before their marriage.

The idea of a “second honeymoon” summer vacation at the beach was originally Sam’s, but Mary quickly fell in love with the notion. Two weeks in a hotel room would be a financial strain, but both understood the need to take time out together. There was also a growing, mutual longing to become parents. After two “false alarms” in the last year, they dared hope that two weeks of rest and daily sex might be just the thing to finally get Mary pregnant. If nothing else, the vacation would be refreshing and fulfilling for both of them, and a tonic for their marriage.

Perhaps this is what Mary was daydreaming about when she ran that stop sign, nearly causing an accident. Unfortunately for Mary, a police officer saw the whole thing. The ticket was for running the stop sign and for reckless driving.

This would be a much simpler story if Mary had simply faced Sam and “fessed up” rather than hiding the ticket. This story might also be different if Mary had picked a better hiding spot for the ticket.


Two weeks later, Mary had nearly forgotten the ticket when Sam called her name. Her stomach turned a flip when she saw that pink slip of paper in his hand. “Please explain this to me” he requested ominously. There was, of course, little to explain; save an admission of the sordid facts. He listened patiently before asking the main question smoldering on his mind; “When were you planning to tell me?” “I’m not sure” she finally answered honestly. “Never?” he asked. Again she answered, honestly but in a tiny voice: “Maybe”. In a gentle voice he said, “You realize that we are dealing with a lie here, right?” She looked up with a start, but then realized he was right. She nodded miserably. It was in their agreement, so they both knew the agreed punishment for lying. It involved a wooden ruler and Mary’s bare bottom.

After further somber discussion, Sam pronounced sentence: Two spankings, one for the ticket, and one for the lie. Mary was at first apprehensive at the prospect of two punishment spankings in one day, but then she learned Sam’s real intent. “Strip right now for your first spanking” he ordered, “It will be the one for the ticket; just a hand spanking. For the lie you get the ruler; but not today. To let you properly anticipate your punishment, you will wait the same two weeks that I waited to see this ticket.”

Mary had mixed emotions; happy for only one punishment today, yet apprehensive about waiting two weeks for her worst punishment spanking ever. Anyhow, there was little time for her to contemplate the situation. In a bit of a daze, she found herself undressing for her husband who waited expectantly in an armless chair. The spanking that followed was heartfelt, noisy, and painfully memorable. When it was over, Sam led his bawling wife to the bedroom where he comforted her and cooled her livid bottom with lotion. One thing quickly led to another. Before they knew what was happening, they were making mind-blowing love.

Mary did not fully realize her predicament until the following day. When Sam came home from work, she sat him down to talk. “We have a little problem” she began. “Oh?” Sam asked with raised eyebrows. “It’s about my ‘other’ spanking. You said ‘two weeks’, but that puts it right in the middle of our Daytona vacation.” “I know,” Sam said with finality, “be sure to pack our spanking ruler, we will need it.”

“But…but,” she stuttered

“No buts,” Sam insisted, “you lied and that is the punishment we agreed on for lying. I think that the timing is perfectly fair under the circumstances.”

Fair but firm, Sam would allow no further discussion. Mary packed for their trip, obediently including the dreaded spanking ruler. They left Saturday morning for Daytona.

They had reserved a nice top floor room with a beachside balcony at one the many hotels that lined the beach. They soon fell into a routine. In the morning, a pre-breakfast swim on the nearly deserted beach. Then back to their room for breakfast on their balcony. By then, hoards of beach venders would be setting up for the day. Later they would be treated to a Daytona Beach tradition, the strange sight of hundreds of cars driving along the beach. Soon the beach would be jammed with the chairs and umbrellas of sun-worshipers. After another brief swim, the couple would dress and prowl the boardwalk while avoiding the day’s hottest sun. Here, they would usually buy lunch. Then back to the hotel for an afternoon of sex, snuggling and snoozing. Later, the sun would cool enough for their afternoon swim. Evenings were spent in the city’s nightlife or sitting naked on their darkened balcony sharing a bottle of wine and feeling the velvet touch of the evening sea breeze caress their most intimate body parts as their souls and bodies melted together.

For the first week, nothing had been said about Mary’s spanking, so she began to entertain hopes that Sam was mellowing. Clinging to the tiny chance that he had forgotten, Mary never brought up the subject.

It happened on Tuesday of their second week at their dawn swim. They were standing in waist high water when Sam pulled Mary into a tight, buttock-cupping hug. “I hate to bring this up,” he said, “but I have a duty to perform after lunch today.” Immediately catching his meaning, Mary bravely returned the hug and murmured, “I was hoping you had forgotten.” Determined to maintain a brave front, Mary was fortunate that the surf spray concealed her tears.

After their usual morning routine, they walked the boardwalk and shopped a bit. Mary remarked that wearing her bikini in public would be a problem after her spanking. After a moment’s thought, Sam agreed, an addition to her beach wardrobe would be needed. In a cluttered boardwalk shop they found the perfect thing, loose terry pants to cover the marks that would soon decorate Mary’s bottom. Mary blushed, hoping that the clerk could not guess the reason for her purchase.

Hand-in-hand, they strolled down the boardwalk, window shopping and people-watching until lunchtime. They found a picnic table in the arcade, and shared lunch while they watched children skylark, chatter and play games. Their conversation soon turned to dreams of the day they would bring their own children here. Realizing they were both delaying the inevitable, Sam suggested they return to their room. Mary reluctantly agreed.

They were only a half-block from the hotel when Sam found a shaded park bench in a private spot where they could have their pre-spanking talk in the most neutral setting possible. The talk was short, but Sam made sure that it really was a “talk” and not a “lecture”. He asked Mary questions to keep her engaged rather than just passive. After a few more minutes, they mutually decided to go to the room and “get it over”.

Once in the room, Sam helped Mary out of her bikini, and sent her to use the toilet and shower while he prepared for her spanking.

Sam had chosen their room carefully for maximum privacy. It was the end unit on the top floor. That meant only one neighboring room, fortunately usually vacant. He chose the afternoon for Mary’s correction because the hotel staff was normally scarce after lunch. Just to be sure, Sam walked out on the balcony and surveyed the situation. All was clear. His original plan was to turn up the television to hide the sounds, but he was surprised how much noise was drifting up from the beach. The room was filled with the sounds of surf, Harley Davidson motorcycles, competing radios, and squealing children. Perfect! There were so many people on the beach, making so much noise, that the couple had perfect privacy.

Sam walked back in; leaving the balcony door wide open to let the beach sounds and the surf air permeate the room. He found the ruler and moved a chair from their tiny dinette into the bedroom. Just then, he heard Mary turn off the shower. Beach towel in hand, Sam strode into the bath to meet his nude wife exiting the shower.

Seeing the towel, Mary naturally expected Sam to dry her off, so she was surprised when he took her hand and led her into the bedroom still dripping wet. Sam sat on the chair, folded the towel over his lap and looked at his beautiful wife expectantly. “I read somewhere that it hurts more on a wet bottom,” he explained reasonably.

“Let’s get this over,” he said, guiding her into place.

So now you know what the old man heard. Of course, the widower didn’t get to see the damage to Mary’s bottom after Sam was finally done with that ruler, and he didn’t get to see Mary’s lewd “spanked brat dance” after Sam allowed her up from his lap. Nobody saw Sam tenderly kiss the tears from his wife’s face nor heard him mumble those calming, forgiving words into her ear. And only Sam saw Mary spread-eagled facedown on the bed still sobbing a few last tears into her pillow as he tenderly applied soothing aloe cream to her throbbing bottom.

As usual, one thing led to another, and the couple expressed their mutual forgiveness in their favorite manner. With Mary’s eager help, Sam’s clothes vanished. Working together, they found a position that spared Mary’s tender bottom. Soon, Mary’s few remaining tears dissolved into sweat as her passion soared.

Down on the beach, the man sat and surreptitiously touched himself. Had anyone bothered to notice, they would have thought him “a dirty old man”. But actually his thoughts were pure…purely of his own late wife; his one great love. His mind framed a younger, idealized image of her in soft bedroom lighting. She was quite naked, and yes, she had a very red bottom. Still lost to the world around him, the man smiled distantly.

That old man was clearly in the closing chapters of his life. Sadly, this would be his last summer vacation on the beach. But nature has a way of compensating for these things! Up in the top floor of that beach hotel, Sam & Mary’s passion had just sparked a brand new life into existence. In due time, the sand would see a fresh set of tiny footprints.

That’s how it goes; even on summer vacation, the circle of life continues.

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Copyright Guyspencer 2010

The Great Escape (MF/ffffffff)

Guyspencer Home Page
© Guyspencer 2010

Chapter 1 "The Escape & the Price"
Chapter 2 "The Procedure"
Chapter 3 "Christy"
Chapter 4 "Becky and Sara"
Chapter 5 "Similarities and Differences"
Chapter 6 "Ann and Brenda"
Chapter 7 "Susan"
Chapter 8 "Susan and the Strap"

Chapter 1 (The "Escape" & the Price)
All seventeen girls looked at me somberly. They all knew the Berkshire School’s rules and knew full well that they had broken them. Further, they all knew that the school’s rigid set of rules gave me no choice. Under the circumstances, the rules demanded that each girl receive a bare-bottom spanking, and as Principal it was to be my job to deliver them. The only discretion that the rules allowed me would be to decide the implement and the severity. Though I carefully kept a stern expression on my face for their benefit, an inward smile greeted the old cliché that popped into my head unbidden, “it’s a tough job, but someone has to do it.”

The Berkshire Girls School of Dance can be described as a tiny, highly-selective, private, fully-accredited upper-level girl’s residential high school of the arts. I am its Principal. Mrs. Amanda Miller was the founder and chief benefactor of the Berkshire Foundation, which finances and runs the school. She conceived the idea of forming what would become the nation’s most prestigious residential dance program for high school age girls. She named our school after the magnificent green New England hills that surround the school’s large private campus. Mrs. Miller lived long enough to see her vision succeed beyond her dreams. Berkshire school’s alumni are well known throughout the dance community. Virtually all of them end up being accepted into Juilliard and other top-level college conservatory dance programs. Many even go on to become famous. I could name names, but we are getting away from the story... Suffice it to say that Mrs. Miller hired me and personally trained me before her death. Now I feel obligated to continue the program’s “disciplined environment” exactly how she visualized and established it

The 2-year high school program enrolls only ten juniors (11th graders) each year, most of them stay on for a full two years and graduate with a high school diploma. Because of normal attrition, the school body typically consists of around 17 or 18 girls. Competition for those few slots is fierce, so we get to choose our girls from the “best of the best”. One of my jobs is to evaluate hundreds of applications and to sit through dozens of auditions for each of those 10 annual openings. As a result, all of our girls arrive as already very accomplished dancers and in near-perfect physical condition. Our job is to make them even better.

From each graduating class, we choose one student to return the next year to be the leader of our student body and to be sort of a “graduate student”. Called the “lead student” she sleeps in the dorm with the other students and serves as dorm leader, as a junior counselor, and as our “eyes and ears” in the student body. Considered a student and still subject to all school rules like any other student, the Lead Student is expected to continue her dance training at the school and to take certain courses through a local Community College. This year’s Lead Student is Susan Wilcox. .

I imagine that today’s incident will be described in the school’s future lore as “the great escape”, because that is exactly what happened. Our campus security is excellent, but the girls somehow found a chink in our armor. All but two of them snuck out last night and walked all the way to town. The remaining two girls, Ann & Brenda, stayed behind to act as lookouts and rear guards.

The call from the police had bounced us out of bed at 11:30 PM. The Police Sergeant said that no law was being broken, but they thought I should know that there were suddenly a lot of young girls in town. They guessed correctly that they were from Berkshire. My next phone call was to the dorm, Brenda answered the phone.

“No” she said with a slight quaver in her voice, “everything is normal here”. Not satisfied, I asked to talk to Susan, but was told that she was “in the shower”.

Since I and my wife Martha live on campus, it was just a few minutes before we were dressed and knocking on the dorm door. Finally Ann cracked the door. Her protests did little good; we pushed our way in, and soon confirmed that we had 15 girls missing. When their miserable attempt at deception failed, Ann & Brenda fell back on false loyalty to their fellow students and clammed up totally. We put the two in the custody of a staff member and drove the school’s van to town. It is a small town, so we had little problem finding our escaped charges. 15 sets of eyes got large as we walked into the loud, crowded, tavern. Knowing immediately that the game was up, the girls quickly extracted themselves from the crowd and meekly piled into the van. Little was said on the way back to the campus.

I told Susan, “Get everyone to bed young lady! I expect you all up, showered and dressed at the regular time in the morning. We will have our usual breakfast and Saturday training session, and then we will all have a long talk about this”. She nodded guiltily, and obeyed.

All too soon, it was Saturday morning and 17 young ladies were waiting for my verdict. I stood in front of the group with my wife & Assistant, Martha, by my side: “This was an incredibly stupid thing to do”, I started. “Did you really expect that you could do this without at least one of 17 girls letting the truth slip out? Even if we did not hear about you from the police, there is no way you could have gotten away with this”.

Susan answered for the group, “I guess we just didn’t think Mr. Daniels”.

“OK”, I said, “this is what is going to happen; there will shortly be 17 sore bottoms connected to 17 very sorry girls. You are all familiar with the Berkshire rules, you have all read them, had them explained to you, and signed them. You know that if you violate a red-letter rule, you WILL be spanked; right?”

I saw a few tears, and heard a sniffle or two, but 17 heads finally nodded in agreement. “…And you all know your unauthorized absence from your dorm violates a red-letter rule right?” Again, 17 heads nodded. “…And Ann & Brenda, you know that a deliberate lie is also on the red-letter list right?” Two faces blushed scarlet, looked at the ground, and then nodded their reluctant agreement. “…So it looks like your Principal is going to be a busy guy today right?” All 17 girls shuffled, looked down, and generally appeared miserable.

I went on to explain to them that 14 of them would be getting very energetic hand spankings, (actually about the minimum punishment that the girls could hope for under the circumstances.) Then I dropped the hammer on the other three; “Ann & Brenda, you probably think that you are in less trouble because you did not leave the campus, but you are wrong. You deliberately lied, and then you both withheld information that could have helped us get your friends back to safety quicker. For that, you two will be getting the full treatment with the hairbrush. Both girls gaped in speechless horror.

“Susan,” I continued, “you are guilty of the gravest misconduct of anyone here. First of all, you are the person whom I left in charge, and you betrayed that trust by leading all of your classmates right into trouble. You, of all people, should have known better!” Susan looked at her feet, tears starting to flow. “Susan, you will be getting the same hand spanking as the other 14 girls who followed you to town.” She looked up in surprise, but then I continued… “That will prepare your bottom for the strapping you will then receive.” The girl seemed to wilt, but managed to accept her fate with grace. Finally she found her voice, “Are…are you going to fire me as Lead Student?” she managed to ask.

“We will discuss your future with the school when you come to the office to receive your punishment” I responded. “Until then, you will still act as Lead Student.. For the next several hours, you will keep your girls busy in the gym or doing homework. As we call for them, you will send them one-by-one to my office for their spankings. Take volunteers first, and then the decision who to send is totally up to you, except that you will be last, and Ann & Brenda will receive their punishments just before you.”

Chapter 2 (The "Procedure")

Susan seemed to gather herself, nodded forlornly, and then turned to sadly address the group; “I’m really sorry I got you girls into this. Anyone wish to get it over with first?” Three hands popped up, but Christy, a first-year girl seemed to be the quickest. Susan made a quick decision; “OK Christy, you’re first, and then Becky, and then Sara. When Sara goes I will ask for the next batch of volunteers.”

And so it was decided. We walked young Christy back to our office. By the time we got there, her initial bravery had dissolved and she was a mess.

I know that none of you readers want to increase Christy’s mental anguish by delaying her spanking, but I really do need to stop this story for a bit to explain our spanking procedure:

Mrs. Miller taught us herself. Even though she is gone now, Martha and I feel bound to follow her discipline procedure exactly. Besides being my wife, Martha serves as the school’s nurse, dietitian, and Assistant Principal. To avoid any whiff of scandal or suspicion, (even though it is not uncommon for me to see my girls in all stages of undress), I never allow myself behind closed doors with any student without a witness present. When one of our girls needs a spanking, (as typically happens once or twice a week) Martha normally serves as my witness. In my absence, Martha has the appropriate skills and authority to deliver a creditable spanking. In that case, she chooses a female staff member to witness.

Before Martha and I were hired, Mrs. Miller herself served as the school’s Dean, personally dealing with all discipline issues, including all spankings. By the time Martha and I came into the picture, she had become an indisputably expert spanker. She had me observe her technique for several months before allowing me to take over those duties. Before that day, she insisted that Martha and I have recent knowledge of what a spanking really feels like. That’s right! She made both of us go through the entire procedure as if we were students. One at a time she took us across her lap and hand spanked our bare bottoms red! Before it was over, I had real tears in my eyes, and Martha openly bawled. In later weeks, Mrs. Miller also treated my bared bottom to a full measure of the school’s two authorized spanking implements, the hairbrush and the strap. It took my bottom several days to recover from each “lesson”. It was an excruciating experience, and I will admit that I was not entirely brave about the whole thing. I think that Mrs. Miller’s reason for doing so was to ensure that I understood just how severe a punishment anything beyond a hand spanking can be. It was her way to be sure that I would only use the hairbrush and the strap when absolutely necessary. Her strategy worked. Months go by between uses of that hairbrush on any of my girls, and sometimes years go by without any use of the school’s strap. While that unpleasant experience with the hairbrush and strap was mandatory for me, Martha wisely chose to decline those two “lessons”, and so she is authorized to deliver only plain hand spankings.

The school’s regulations are very clear about spankings. All spankings are delivered to the bare bottom with shoes, pants, and panties totally removed. The girls have the right to receive all spankings in private, (except for the required witness), though the particulars of any girl’s “crime” and punishment are announced to the student body.

Mrs. Miller stressed that a proper punishment must always be a three-step procedure.
First, we get the girl in our office, where she gets our undivided attention. She then must correctly point out the rule(s) that she violated and explain exactly how she violated the rule and what she should have done differently. Having done that, the girl is entitled to one last hearing. She is free to offer any explanations for her behavior or ask any questions, (though there is no recorded case of any girl successfully talking her way out of a spanking at that point.). Here we never lecture; we find it best to make the girl do most of the talking.

That done, we instruct the girl to remove everything below her waist to prepare for the second part of the procedure; the spanking itself. Except for the rare strapping, spankings are always delivered in the traditional OTK position. In the case of a strapping, the girl is often also required to remove her top, but not her bra. Our spankings tend to use more spanks, rather than harder spanks. Our goal is to stimulate every possible nerve ending so that the girl’s bottom feels like it is literally on fire, but to do so without causing muscle trauma that may hamper the girl’s dancing practice.

The third part of the procedure, the aftermath, is actually the most important and can take the longest time. Since we have “torn the girl down” we must now calm her down, dry her tears, and build her back up. We must be sure that she has learned the proper lesson from her punishment, but we must also assure that she leaves the room with her self-esteem and self-confidence intact. Timid people seldom make great artists.

An entire punishment “doorknob to doorknob” seldom takes less than 30 minutes. As Martha and I walked Christy towards our office, I did the math and realized that this was going to be a long day.

Chapter 3 "Christy"

We unlocked the door to the office, and escorted the frightened young girl inside. While I pulled the girl’s file and purposefully placed a chair in the middle of the room, Martha assumed her nurse role and quietly & efficiently quizzed the girl in case she needed a bathroom visit or had any other physical issues.

My Principal’s office is a comfortable place that was originally built for Mrs. Miller. She had tastefully, but expensively, decorated it with her own funds before she retired and installed me in her place. Among other amenities, it sports a large leather-covered desk, a private bath, a leather couch against one wall, and two sturdy armless chairs that are just as good for delivering spankings as they are for seating guests. Early in my employ, I painfully discovered that when you bend over the arm of that couch, your bottom is presented at exactly the right height and angle for a good strapping. Today, I would make use of the armless chairs as well as that couch arm.

I didn’t remember ever spanking Christy before, and a quick look at her file validated my memory. Noting Christy’s unease, a suspicion formed in my mind: “Christy,” I asked, “How often were you spanked at home?”

“Never “the girl blubbered miserably “this is my first time.”

I turned to the copy of the school’s rules in Christy’s file. Sure enough, the document had been signed by Christy and both of her parents. “Well” I replied, “Your parents don’t seem to have anything against spanking, this document explains our disciplinary procedure; they signed it, as did you.”

“Yes sir” the girl explained with a tremor in her voice, “they signed it because I begged them to. I really wanted to learn dance here…I still do”

With that cleared up, I explained to Christy that she was not the first girl who had received her first spanking in this room. I assured her that all of them had left with sore bottoms, but all had easily survived the experience and were better people for it. Her eyes wet with tears, the girl nodded her understanding. “Don’t expect me to go easy on you just because this is your first spanking” I warned, “that wouldn’t be fair to the other girls, but under the circumstances I will be a bit more patient with you.” Grasping at that tiny straw, the girl favored me with a look of trusting gratitude.

It only took a minute to conclude the formality of her explaining to me what she had done wrong, and what she should have done differently. As required, she pointed out the applicable rule that she had broken. Sure enough, that particular rule was printed in red type…a “red letter” rule that required a spanking as punishment.

“OK Christy” I said in a businesslike manner, “It is time to prepare yourself for your spanking.”

She blushed. “You mean?” she stammered.

“Yes Christy” I replied firmly, “Remove your shoes, your pants, and your panties so we can have this over.” The girls often practice quick costume changes for their performances, so Christy’s shoes and the school-uniform sweatpants came off fairly automatically, but the panties seemed to present a mental obstacle to the girl. Having already vowed to be patient, I simply waited her out. After searching my eyes for any reprieve and seeing none, she finally groaned, turned her back to me, lowered her cotton panties, and stepped out. When she turned around, she had both hands pulling down the bottom hem of her top, but she did not quite succeed in hiding the lower part of her pubis. Doubtless many would disagree, but Mrs. Miller had instructed us to ignore this when it happened. With her usual logic she had told us “It’s a spanking, not a peep show! If our girls want to show a bit of modesty by covering their private parts, who are we to stop them?”

I sat down in the straight-back chair that I had previously placed in the middle of the room, crooked my finger at the girl, and directed her to stand at my right side. Again there was a delay, but finally the girl obeyed. “Lift the hem of your top up above your bellybutton, and bend over my lap” I ordered. I politely turned my head away so that I would not be staring at the girl’s privates, and helped her into position when I felt the pressure of her leaning on my right leg. With just a bit of guidance, she found exactly the right position, her left hand on the floor, her bare bottom up high and her feet just off the floor. After carefully folding the back of her top out of the way, I reached for her right arm and trapped it in the small of her back.

Moments later, she was wailing and bucking as I lit a fire in her bottom. Taking my time and doing a careful job, I spanked her dual mounds to a perfect shade of red, and then extended the blush around her right side, almost to her hip, and then down both legs, almost to the backs of her knees. I even pushed her farther out on my knee to expose that little bit of her left bun that had been protected against my stomach. I was determined to not leave a single square inch of her bottom unspanked.

Then I paused to evaluate my work.

I am not made of stone! I am way too professional, and way too much in love with my wife to ever touch one of my students improperly, but I am both a human and a male heterosexual, so I would be lying if I claimed to be totally immune to my student’s charms. Like it or not, spanking these girls always stimulates certain hard-wired, primitive, areas of my male brain. There is simply no avoiding the sight, the feel and even the fragrance of these nubile young creatures as they lay bare-assed across my lap for correction.. That is just the way things are!

As I pause, Christy continued to writhe in my lap, causing me to guiltily notice the beginnings of a familiar tingle in my groin. I concentrated for a moment, struggling to fill my brain with images of something…anything… anything that involves neither this nearly naked girl nor my groin. Fortunately the moment passed and the potentially embarrassing inflation seemed to abate. It has not always been so. Sometimes I have been trapped in my spanking chair after a spanking, unable to stand up without showing myself. Understanding as she is, Martha always smoothly takes charge at moments like that, comforting the sobbing freshly-spanked student and helping her get dressed, but she never does so without leering at me behind the student’s back.

It took several seconds for Christy to calm down enough to notice that she was no longer being spanked. Finally she looked back hopefully. “We have just gotten a good start here young lady” I informed her. “I need to change your position a bit so that I can continue. Open up your legs!” Doubtless, the poor girl had heard enough spanking stories from the other girls so that she knew what was about to happen. She started crying loudly, but did spread her legs slightly. “Much wider” I ordered. This time she finally obeyed, spreading her legs wide enough to expose her tender inner thighs for chastisement.

Without delay, and trying to avoid the view of Christy’s inner delights, I went right to work spanking her inner thighs red. The girl showed her appreciation of my efforts with a lusty wail. As usual, I colored the unfortunate left thigh to a nice even hue, but it is very awkward to do a really good job on the right one. I just did the best I could. Twice, her legs started to close, but I ordered them back open. Reluctantly, she always obeyed.

Now came one last pause. After allowing Christy to close her legs, I took a moment to evaluate my handiwork. In a low voice, I reminded Christy exactly why she was being spanked while punctuating my remarks with moderate swats to a few pale areas.

Often I end the spanking here, but I intended today’s punishments to be especially memorable, so I informed Christy that we were not quite through. “OK Christy” I said, “You’re doing fine so far, but this last part is really intended to sting so that this lesson will really stick with you”. I tightened my grip on her wrist and pushed town a bit to keep her safely pinned in place, and unleashed a volley of perhaps 12 hard spanks to the fullest part of her buttcheeks, She kicked and shrieked “NOOOOOOO” before dissolving into total incoherency. I completed the spanking by shifting to lighter, but still stinging spanks and spending the next 60 seconds re-spanking every place I had visited before, except for her inner thighs. This final bit increased the redness of her bottom by at least two shades. I looked up at Martha and received a nod of approval.

I held Christy in place across my lap for perhaps two minutes to give her a chance to return to reality, and then I helped the still-bawling girl back up to her feet, holding her shoulders until I was sure that she would be steady on her feet. Both of her hands shot back to her bottom and she performed a lewd “spanked brat” dance right in front of me, her modesty long forgotten.

Working together, it took us about ten minutes to get Christy calmed down, hugged, and finally dressed, and then a few minutes after that to reassure her that all girls occasionally do “dumb” things like what got her spanked today. The important thing was to learn from her mistakes. Finally the girl, relieved that her punishment was behind her, was allowed to go back to the dorm, where the other girls would doubtless want to know the details of her punishment, and would want to view the “damage” to get some idea what they were in for themselves.

Chapter 4 "Becky and Sara"

As I picked up the phone and dialed the 4-digit number for the dorm, I looked at my watch. Christy’s punishment had taken over 40 minutes! A bit of math told me that my current plan wouldn’t work, I would be spanking girls well into the night before I got the job done!

Susan answered the phone on the third ring, and surprised me by offering an unsolicited solution to my problem. “Several of the girls seem to want to pair up to face their punishment together with a friend. Is that possible Mr. Daniels? …because that way the rest of us won’t have to wait all day for our spankings.” she explained hopefully and a bit breathlessly.

I instantly saw the possibilities; we could deal with two girls at once, with Martha doing half of the spanking. “I suppose that would be OK” I said (as if I were doing some sort of favor) “but don’t force anyone into that arrangement; everyone still has the right to a private punishment unless they freely choose otherwise.”

“OK, I will be sure to remind them about that, but everyone seems to like the two-by-two idea,” she assured me.

“OK” I instructed, send the first two now, and in exactly 20 minutes send two more with instructions to wait in the outer office. That way we can take them in just as soon as we are ready for them.

“Yes sir” Susan replied, “Becky and Sara are on their way, and I will have two more waiting in 20 minutes”.

60 seconds later, just as I had filled Martha in on the new plan, we heard a timid knock on the office door. I opened the door and allowed two somber girls into the office. This was not entirely a new procedure. Occasionally, when two friends get into trouble at the same time, we would offer them the option of simultaneous spankings. Usually they agree, perhaps for mutual support through their punishment, or perhaps just because it gets their punishment over with quicker, I have never figured it out.

Becky and Sara were both second-year students. Like most second year students, they both had already accumulated a few entries in their punishment records, so they were no strangers to our punishment procedure. In just a few minutes, the preliminaries were accomplished, and I had instructed the girls to remove their shoes, sweatpants, and panties. They stood before us shivering just a bit, their clothes in two little piles near a wall. Martha and I sat on two straight-back chairs about four feet apart. I pointed Becky to Martha’s lap and crooked a finger at Sara. Soon the room rang with the sounds of two vigorous spankings.

It was quickly clear that the girl’s previous spankings had given their bottoms no special immunity. Both girls were soon kicking and squalling with impressive urgency. Martha and I both followed the pattern I set earlier with Christy’s spanking, turning their entire bottoms crimson red, but trying to leave little or no bruising., then the thigh spanking, followed by particularly vigorous volley of spanks to the fullness of their bottoms, followed by a few minutes of lighter “touch-up” spanks. Vowing not to get careless and not to rush things, we gave both girls’ bottoms a full measure of attention.

Just a few minutes later, the job was done. Martha continued on for a bit after I was done with Sara, giving Becky an extra ten or twenty spanks. Martha did not want the students to assume that they were going to get an easier spanking just because they ended up over her lap rather than mine, so she always gave a bit extra.. Since Sara and Becky were both second-year students and veterans of Berkshire’s discipline procedures, you would think that getting them calmed down and dressed would be an easy job, but that was not to be. Of course, both girls did the usual post-spanking “dance”, but Sara turned out to be a bit of a drama queen, needing much more comforting than I would have thought necessary before we got her tears dried and her clothes back on her.

By the time we were able to send those two chastened girls back to their dorm, the next two girls had been waiting outside for over 20 minutes. We found them both already in tears, probably because they had heard the worst of Sara and Becky’s punishments, and now knew exactly what they were in for. It must have been hell for them, knowing that they were next.

Chapter 5 "Similarities and Differences"

Even though we were careful to give each girl her full due, I must admit that there is no way that I can remember the details of each of the hand spankings that Martha and I delivered over the next few hours. Besides, a full account of each of 17 spankings would make for a boring story. That said, there are several interesting similarities and differences that we can discuss in general:

First, because of Berkshire’s requirements and selection procedure, all of our students tend to have remarkable similarities. Of course, they are all girls, and since we are a 2-year senior high school program, their ages tend to be tightly grouped; mostly 15, 16 & 17 years old. They are all dancers of near-professional quality, so it stands to reason that we tend to get girls with petite, bouncy, slim, & muscular frames. As usual, they were all outwardly dressed the same in the school’s special logo sweat suits that we use as a sort of school uniform. These suits, comfortable as pajamas and sporting the school’s colors & logo, turned out to be a surprise hit for us, we sell them by the thousands to hopeful young girls through the school’s web store, bringing the school welcome income.

Of course, regardless of outward similarities, each one of our students is an individual and, in her own way, an artist. One small way we allow our girls to express their individuality is by leaving the small detail of undergarments to the discretion of each girl (and presumably, her parents.) Because athletic training is a regular part of their day, white microfiber athletic style panties are popular, but many of the girls prefer panties that are much briefer, daintier, and sometimes more lacy. This can make for interesting viewing back stage at costume change time, but today it made little difference because all panties came right off.

Since it was early spring and there was a definite chill in the air, a few of the girls showed up wearing their fleecy school-logo hooded jackets over their sweats. Two girls that hail from a warmer climate even sported long underwear. Of course, all of that extra stuff came off.

It was no surprise that Martha found all of the girls in good enough health to take their spankings. Three of the girls happened to be wearing feminine pads that day, which obviously made removing their panties questionable. Martha made a quick detour into our private lavatory with each of those girls, and always emerged moments later with the problem solved. I would never ask Martha what she did, but I assume that in each case she either determined that the girl’s condition was sufficiently light to forgo the pad long enough to receive her spanking, or they substituted a tampon for the pad. These intimate details were kept private, just between the females. For many-many reasons, Martha is indispensible to me and to the efficient operation of the school.

Of course, the girls tend to vary widely in how they react to their pending punishment. Most of the girls accepted their fate as gracefully as possible, but some actually argued on various grounds that they should not be spanked. Others tried to buck the odds by begging for a reprieve or bargaining for a lesser punishment. Of course, their efforts were just wasted time, but it is our firm policy to allow them to “speak their piece” before their punishment. To some, the loss of their panties seemed no big deal, but others made a considerable drama over their final unveiling. Before their spankings, most girls tried to cover their nakedness either with their hands or by pulling down the hems of their tops, but strangely, none of them thought to cover themselves in those first tearful moments after their spankings.

Of course, there was a big difference in the way the girls responded to the spanking itself. While nobody made it through their spanking without serious tears, some fought tears and barely sobbed, others bawled freely and apparently without shame; and inevitably, we had several screamers. At the same time, some were able to stay in place with little or no help, while others kicked and twisted with amazing strength. In the end, all the girls came for their punishment when told to do so, and then with little or no drama prepared themselves and then put themselves into position for their spanking. Under the circumstances, I could hardly have asked for more.

You would think that Martha and I would be worn out after all of those hours of spankings, but remember that we were only doing actual spankings for a few minutes at a time with plenty of opportunity to catch our breath in between. After dealing with several more pairs of girls, we finally, had only had three more punishments to go, but those would be a bit different!

Chapter 6 "Ann and Brenda")

Remember when I told you that my boss (before she died and left the school her millions) made sure that my own bottom received a good (actually, bad) taste of both her hairbrush and the school’s strap. I have never had anything hurt so much in my life! As a result, I only occasionally use the hairbrush on my students, and almost never resort to the strap. Today is unprecedented; I have never before used the hairbrush more than once in the same week, yet today I have to do it twice. What those two “lookouts”, Ann & Brenda, did was clearly willful. Most of the other girls just succumbed to peer pressure and “followed the crowd” into trouble, but those two girls who stayed behind acted willfully and flagrantly. They lied to our faces, and then made things worse my refusing to say what they clearly knew. Usually I only resort to the hairbrush in cases of repeated disobedience, but in this case I felt that I had to choose a punishment for these two girls that clearly contrasted with the punishment I gave the rest of the group. So today for the first time ever, I will deliver two hairbrush spankings in one session.

As we opened the door to let the last two hand-spanked girls out of the office, Ann & Brenda were waiting outside, both wearing appropriately apprehensive expressions on their faces. I waved them in, and turned to extract their files from the drawer. A quick glance told me that I had spanked both of them before, but only hand spankings. Today would be different.

As usual, Martha assumed her nurse role, and asked the girls a few quiet questions. Then my detail-oriented wife/assistant called for a slight delay in the proceedings for a minor detail I hadn’t thought of. She said, “Before we get started, I need to have these girls help me make up some cold packs. In just a bit, we will have three bruised bottoms to treat.” Martha took the girls to her tiny infirmary next to the office. It must have been a sobering experience for the girls, preparing first-aid for their own (soon-to-be) spanked bottoms, but at this point they seemed to have little to say.

Finally, we resumed our usual pre-spanking procedure. When we got to the part when I asked if they had anything to say for themselves, Ann took a deep breath, looked at her partner-in-crime, and launched into a defense that the two had obviously been rehearsing. Her main point was that her and Brenda had not left the school grounds, and therefore were less guilty than the rest, so a hairbrush spanking would be excessive and unfair. While I try to avoid pre-spanking lectures on the theory that the student is unlikely to be listening, I seized the opportunity to tell them how I felt about students who willfully lie to school staff, and who disobey orders. I tried to keep the emotion out of my voice and stick to the bare facts, but when I was done, both girls were sobbing. They had apparently come into the room with high hopes of at least having their punishment reduced to a hand spanking, but now they knew why their argument (well reasoned as it was) would not carry the day.

Now that the girls fully understood why they were had earned the hairbrush, it was time to get on with the job. Walking to my desk, I opened the lower right drawer and produced the hairbrush. Two sets of eyes got big. “Get yourselves ready girls” I said, “you know what to do”. There was a bit of sniffling, but both girls did as they were told, removing their shoes, sweat pants, and finally their panties. They stood before us wearing nothing but their bras and tops.

Martha spoke up, her voice firm: “Before we get started ladies remember that you both can plan on sore bottoms for the next few days, but that won’t excuse you from any school activities. It will hurt a bit, but we expect to see you both at physical training tomorrow morning. Don’t even think about coming to me to for a medical excuse!” Both girls nodded solemnly, they already knew the school’s rules in that regard.

There was one more detail to be worked out; “We only have one hairbrush” I said, “Do I have a volunteer to be first?” With perfect timing, both girls hesitated momentarily to think through the possibilities, and then both raised their right hands in unison. I pulled a coin from my pocket, “OK, heads it’s Ann, tails its Brenda; fair enough?” Both heads nodded unenthusiastically. I flipped the coin and let it drop to the floor in front of them. Both girls looked down anxiously to read the coin’s decision

I could tell by the look on Brenda’s face that it had landed tales-up.

I sat in my chair, laid the hairbrush on the floor and waved Brenda onto my side. Ann looked on awkwardly. “Ann” I said, I don’t think you want to stand there and watch your friend get spanked, so go lay across Mrs. Daniel’s lap. She will give you your warm-up spanking, and then, when I am done with Brenda, I will finish your punishment with the hairbrush” With an obvious lack of enthusiasm for the idea, Ann walked over and obediently stood next to Martha’s right hip.

Without further instructions, Brenda raised the front of her top and lowered herself into position. As I had done with all the other girls, I folded the back of her top up out of the way, adjusted her bare bottom to just the right position, then immobilized her right hand in the small of her back. A quick glance showed me that Martha was giving Ann the same treatment.

What we proceeded to give the girls over the next few minutes was really a lot more than a mere “warm-up spanking”, it was really the same hand spanking that we had given to the other girls, less the hardest, final “finishing” spanks to the center of their buttocks and “sit spots”. Of course, we gave their inner thighs, (which I don’t touch with the hairbrush) a full measure of attention. As expected, the girls wailed their appreciation.

It turned out to be good that I was the one who had gotten Brenda, because she was a handful, squirming and trying to twist her bottom out of range. Some girls just have a lower tolerance for pain, and perhaps a bit less natural self-control, so I didn’t believe that her struggles were willful. Several times I paused to use a gruff voice to order her back into position, and each time she seemed to comply with the best of her ability.

Finally I paused, picked up the hairbrush, and trapped Brenda’s two legs with my right leg. I wanted this to be a lesson to last her a lifetime, so I made sure that I had her full attention. It took less than a minute for the girl to quiet down, sniffle a bit, and finally look back. I had already put a powerful burn in her butt with my hand, so she never really did stop squirming. “Tell me why you are being punished.” I ordered. The girl managed to choke out something about “lying and disobeying”. I decided that was a good enough explanation, so I instructed her to “hold that thought in her head” while I completed her punishment. By now, the girl had finally realized what was coming, because she started to bawl anew.

The whole job with the hairbrush took less than two minutes. Brenda’s bottom bounced and wriggled as that formidable tool did its work. Naturally, the girl shrieked at the top of her lungs as her bottom and sit spots quickly turned a sort of mottled crimson. Even though she was probably struggling with her full strength, I kept her legs well pinned down, and there was really nothing she could do to get her bare bottom out of range. By now, the poor girl was obviously a mess, crying and sort of coughing at the same time. Just having your head upside-down for that length of time is very uncomfortable for some people, adding tears and a runny nose to that mixture just make things worse. I felt sorry for Brenda, but I had a job to do and it was not quite done.

Martha had purposely lagged behind on Ann’s warm-up spanking, not wanting to finish before I did, so as I worked on Brenda’s bottom, I also became dimly aware of increased action and noise from that direction. I stopped to evaluate my work just as Martha was giving Ann’s bottom the last few finishing touches.

It took at least 30 seconds for the color of the girl’s bottom to stabilize so that I could properly evaluate the damage. There was, of course, no broken skin, but I could tell from the dark and mottled coloring of her bottom that there would be light bruising and moderate lingering pain that would reinforce the intended lesson for several days to come. Further, the sight of those marks was sure to impress Brenda’s dorm mates and serve as an object lesson for the entire student body.

After a few words to Brenda reminding her of the reason for her punishment, I ended her ordeal with four last deliberate strokes of the hairbrush; one to the center of each buttock, and one to each sit spot. The girl howled anew, and then clearly exhausted, quickly settled down to a heavy sob, though still writhing a bit from the sting in her bottom. Carefully I released the girl and spoke a few words to her, telling her that her punishment was over and she was forgiven, When I finally began receiving coherent replies, I asked her if she was ready to get up.

Still blubbering, she nodded and started to push herself off my lap. I cautiously supported her until I was sure that she would be steady on her feet. It looked like she might be OK, then the girl reached back with both hands in an ill-conceived attempt to extinguish the fire in her bottom. This action just served to re-irritate thousands of nerve ends, and cause the girl to nearly collapse in renewed tears. I grabbed her in what was intended to be both a comforting hug and a steadying support to keep her from falling. As I did, I looked past her and saw Ann. She was now up off of Martha’s lap, and was rubbing her stinging bottom and doing an unhappy little prance as she awaited her turn across my lap.

Reminded that my duties for the day were not yet over, I handed Brenda over to Martha and sat back down in my chair, picking up the hairbrush purposely. As if in a trance, Ann took the three steps that put her next to my right knee. As I had done with Brenda earlier, I tried to talk Ann through the reasons for her spanking, but I couldn’t really make any progress. The girl was so nervous and fearful that her teeth were actually chattering. She looked at that hairbrush I was holding like a trapped mouse looks at a snake. After two fruitless attempts at getting her to talk, I finally gave up. I simply guided her between my legs and then bent her over my left leg, using my right leg to trap her calves into place.

Even that did not go well. As Ann bent over my leg, she had forgotten to raise her top. So much of it was trapped under her that it stubbornly covered the top 1/3 of her bottom. This would not do! I tugged at it a bit, but finally put her up on her feet for a moment, raised the hem of her top almost up to her bra, and then urged the girl back into her former position. A quick glance at the nice even pink color over Ann’s two mounds and the much deeper color in the places I would not touch with the hairbrush told me that Martha had done a great job preparing Ann for the hairbrush.

I demanded Ann’s right hand, and pinned it firmly it in the small of her back where it would be safe from the hairbrush. Next, in a loud, firm voice I briefly reiterated the reason for the punishment (just in case the girl happened to be listening). Then there was nothing to do but raise the brush and start my work.

The hairbrush spanking was a carbon copy of the one I had just given Brenda. It probably took less than three minutes for me to do the whole job, though it probably seemed like hours to Ann. Ann did not struggle quite as strongly as Brenda, but perhaps Martha had already spanked some of the fight out of her. It did seem that Ann managed to be significantly louder than Brenda had. I was glad that my work was done with the hairbrush, but that just meant that is was almost time to administer a much worse punishment to Susan. I wondered if Susan was already waiting outside the office, and if she had been treated to the sounds of Ann’s spanking. I was not really looking forward to my next task. There is a reason why the strap is the worse punishment in my arsenal; it is not pretty what that bit of leather does to a girl’s bottom. I admit that purposely bruising a girl’s bared bottom makes me feel a bit like a bully, but that is an unavoidable part of my job, and you certainly can’t argue with the school’s 15 years of continuous success.

We got the two girls properly calmed down, and hugged, and comforted, but didn’t bother getting them dressed because Martha wanted to take them to her dispensary for a bit of first-aid. Our dispensary is only 20 feet down the hall, so Martha walked through the outer office and stuck her head out the door to ensure that the hallway was deserted. Except for Susan who was waiting nervously for her turn, the hallway was clear.

Chapter 7 "Susan"

As we escorted the two still-sobbing and semi-nude girls out of the office, I spied Susan. I told her to help Martha with the two girls. With Susan’s help, Martha took the two girls into our little dispensary. They put one girl face-down on the treatment table, and another on the cot, gave them pillows to sob into, and applied the cold packs to their bottoms. The idea of the cold packs is to reduce any soft tissue muscle inflammation so the girl’s training regimen would be less interrupted by the results of their punishment. I am not sure this step is necessary, but the school’s nurse, Martha, insists it is.

While Martha and the girls were busy in the dispensary, I sat down at my desk and pulled Susan’s folder to refresh my memory of her past discipline issues and punishments. Susan’s first few weeks as a first-year student had not started out well. She had a problem with authority and ended up getting three spankings in as many weeks. It took a dose of the hairbrush to set her straight, and then she went on to be a model student. She was not always the perfectly behaved little girl, but she did seem to earn fewer spankings than her peers. This certainly helped her win the coveted position of Lead Student and a rare third year at Berkshire.

She had an uneven start in her third year. Susan initially seemed a bit disorganized, which showed itself as excessive tardiness for her classes at the Community College. This little problem earned her two spankings before it was solved. This did not overly worry me; it is unusual for any student, even a lead student, to make it completely through a school year without having some disciplinary problem to be solved across my lap. That said, today would be the first time I had ever punished a Lead Student with anything more than a hand spanking. I guess there can be a first time for anything!

As I was reading Susan’s rather thick file, Martha and Susan had left Ann and Brenda recuperating in the dispensary, and came into the office. I motioned for Susan to stand in front of my desk.

Susan is a graceful, compact, athletic girl with long blond hair that seems to flow when she dances. Like all the other girls, she was dressed in the school’s sweat suit. Barely 18, she is the oldest student, and those extra months seemed to show in the ripening curves of her young body. My eyes told me that biologically Susan was a woman, but her actions of last night told me that inside, she is still very much a child.

With tears streaming down her cheeks, the girl waited for me to speak, but finally she seemed to be able to hold back no longer: “Mr. Daniels” she blurted, “I can’t believe that I did something so stupid. I suppose you will have to spank me more than once to punish me for what I did, and that’s OK; but PLEASE give me another chance! Don’t kick me out of school!”

Multiple punishments was a concept that I hadn’t considered before, and under the circumstances it actually made a bit of sense, but Martha and I had discussed the situation at length, so I decided it was pest to stick to our plan. We had certainly considered removing Susan from her position, but doing so would have caused several new problems that would need solutions. It didn’t makes any sense to keep Susan on as a “graduate” student if she did not have her position as Lead Student, and removing her would leave us the problem of either recruiting another Lead Student in the middle of the school year or perhaps hiring a dorm matron at great expense. In the end, we decided the best course of action was to give Susan a maximum punishment, forgive her, and then give her another chance.

“Susan”, I said “Firing you as Lead student and expelling you from Berkshire was something we seriously considered, but in the end we have decided to give you another chance. Also, I don’t think that there will be any need for multiple punishment sessions.” The girl seemed to wilt with relief. “Don’t be too happy” I warned. “You are about to receive the worst whipping I have ever given any student and then you can consider yourself on probation for the rest of the semester. Furthermore, I expect your full cooperation with your punishment.”

Wide eyed, the girl nodded her agreement: “Thank you Mr. and Mrs. Daniels” she responded, “You won’t be sorry you gave me another chance”.

“Don’t thank me too much Susan” I said, “I am about to give you the worst punishment I have ever given any student”. New tears suddenly forming in her eyes, the girl nodded soberly. “OK” I ordered, “you know the procedure, let’s get on with this”. With that, just as I had done with all the other girls, I removed the signed copy of the school rules from Susan’s file folder and turned it around on my desk so that she could point out the rules that she had broken.

With the paperwork done, I got up from my desk, walked to the padded couch that sat against one wall, and pulled one end of it away from the wall. Susan looked at me warily, but with a question mark in her eyes. As she watched, I placed a pillow near the center of the couch. “OK Susan” I said, “I am going to show you the position you will assume for the strap. Bend over the arm of the couch and wrap your arms around that pillow.” She obeyed, and I made an adjustment or two to put her bottom at the perfect angle. “Remember that position” I warned, “and it will be your responsibility to stay in position while you are being punished. It will be very different from being spanked across someone’s lap because there will be nobody to hold you down or restrain your hands. I know it will be hard, but the way to get your punishment over the quickest is to do your very best to stay in position.”

She managed to croak the obvious question; “What…what happens if I can’t?”

“Two or three things can happen” I replied mildly. “I understand that anyone might have trouble staying in position, but each time I have to stop to put you back into position, the next swat or two will be extra hard. Also, it is especially important that you not reach back. The full force of the strap could injure your hand! If you do reach back, I will sting your hand with the strap until you but it back where it belongs.. Of course, those stings won’t count as strokes. Finally, if I get the impression that you are not doing your best, I can add extra strokes, but that is seldom necessary.

“Speaking of strokes” I continued, the usual policy is two swats per year of your age. I believe that you just turned 18…right?”

The girl nodded soberly.

“Then you can do the math as well as me. For what it’s worth, that will be another Berkshire record. I don’t believe any 18 year-old has ever been strapped before, so nobody else has ever gotten 36 swats.”

“That’s a record I won’t be proud of” Susan said with feeling.

There was just a bit more that Susan needed to know about her imminent punishment; “I will first take you across my lap and give you a hard spanking just like the other girls got, and then I will let you up. We will be patient, and allow you a couple minutes to regain your composure and even to rub a bit if you must, but then we expect you to hand me the strap and then put yourself over the end of the couch just like you are now. For your own sake, do it sooner rather than later so your bottom stays warmed up for the strap; OK?

“Y-y-yes sir” the girl replied.

“OK, get up off the couch and get yourself ready for your punishment”. The girl obeyed without drama, pushing herself up off the couch, kicking off her shoes, lowering and stepping out of her sweat pants, and then doing the same with her tiny panties. Since the last two girls had left their clothes behind, there were now three piles of clothes on the office floor. With a noticeable quiver in her lips, the girl stood straight and looked at me for her next order.

Suddenly I noticed a problem: “Turn around Susan”. The view from the rear confirmed my fears. Hanging on the girl’s petit frame, the hem of her top hung down much too far, covering most of her buttocks.

“Sorry Susan” I said, “but that top is hanging way too low. I need you to take it off.”

The girl stood there rigid as if she had not heard.

Swallowing my impatience, I explained in a reasonable voice; “It will not be a problem when you are across my lap because I can fold it up and keep it from dropping back down, but the trouble will come in when you bend over for your strapping, it is almost sure to fall down and get in the way. Once we start that strapping you will be much better off if we get it done without delay.”

Susan tried to talk, but couldn’t seem to vocalize anything coherent, “I, I, I …err…don’t…”

It was Martha who finally figured out the problem and spoke up, “You’re not wearing a bra are you Susan?”

“N, no Maam.” The girl stammered.

“You’ve had all day to put one on” Martha exclaimed.

“I…I guess I had other things on my mind, and I’ve never had to take my top off for a punishment before” Susan said, somewhat lamely.

We had been aware that some of the girls went braless on days when costume changes weren’t likely. We had considered saying something about that, but decided to stick with our “no rules about underwear” policy.

Considering that she was already bare from the waist down, neither Martha nor I saw the exposure of her breasts as a big problem, but somehow it posed a mental barrier for Susan. I found myself recalling the words that the school’s founder had told me on my first day there;”we don’t bare our girls to humiliate them, we bare them because that it the best and safest way for us to administer their punishment.”

Martha spoke up in a gentle voice” This is a private place, we are parents of grown girls and we certainly know what girl’s bodies look like. You promised to cooperate with your punishment, so let’s move on and get it over with”.

Susan nodded miserably, reached for the hem of her top, and pulled it over her head. She dropped the garment on her pile of clothes and stood before us, wearing only her athletic socks. Her hands fluttered as if she were drying do decide if it were more important to hide her breasts or her groin. Finally she shrugged a bit, wiped at her tears and just dropped them to her sides. Susan suddenly shivered. She was standing close enough that we could hardly miss a sudden change in the texture of her areolas. Simultaneously, both Martha and I realized that the evening chill was invading our office. Mumbling a quick apology, Martha jumped up and adjusted the thermostat for more heat.

Her punishment obviously imminent, the naked girl looked at us with a mixture of fear and expectation in her eyes.

Susan was only a year older than the other students, but that one year made a huge difference in the womanly blossoming of her body. Her waist was every bit as tiny as I expected, but in spite of her lean, nearly athletic build, her hips had a soft, curvy quality that would do justice to a centerfold. I had already noted that her bottom was just a bit fuller that those of the other students. I could instantly tell why she sometimes didn’t bother with bras, her perky breasts defied gravity. They had no apparent need of artificial support.

I pulled out the lower-right drawer of my desk and replaced the hairbrush in its normal spot. From the same drawer I retrieved the long-unused strap and laid it conspicuously in the middle of my desk. Susan winced noticeably and her mouth made an “O” when she realized what it was.

It wasn’t just any ‘ole strip of leather either! It was the strap that Mrs. Miller had left behind, the same one that she had once used on my own bare hiney, and later carefully trained me in its use. She once told me that it was a genuine regulation Irish school strap, the same kind that had been used on her in her younger years in the country of her birth. Somehow, Mrs. Miller had found a supplier in Ireland and purchased this one at considerable expense. At her insistence, I learned to maintain it by giving it a treatment with Neatsfoot oil at the beginning of every semester to keep the leather soft and pliable.

An Irish school strap is actually part strap and part paddle. Short as straps go, it is made of two layers of fine leather sewed together at the edges. One end is handle-shaped. The “business end” is wonderfully smooth at the edges, and the corners have been rounded to reduce the possibility of skin abrasion. The shortness of the strap makes it highly accurate. In short, it is the perfect implement to deliver a severe, but relatively safe punishment.

My thoughts turned back to Susan. I had considered asking Martha to deliver the first part of Susan’s punishment, but ultimately decided that this issue was sort of personal between Susan and me. So I would do the entire job. Leaving the strap on my desk, I stood, took Susan by the elbow, and led her to the spanking chair. I sat. Without prompting, but with a definite groan, the girl started to place herself across my lap, but I stopped her.

“Not yet Susan” I said, “stand in front of me and look me in the eye. Let’s review why you are about to be punished. It was bad enough that you snuck out of the campus, which alone is enough to earn you a spanking. The worse part is that you betrayed my trust by leading almost the entire school body into potential danger. Your job is to protect them!”

New tears sprouting in her eyes, Susan nodded, “I know Mr. Daniels, I was entirely wrong.”

Relentlessly I continued: “And now 16 of those girls have been spanked; spankings that are partly your fault.”

Susan’s knees buckled, “I’ve been sick about that all day Mr. Daniels.”

“OK,” I said, “now you will feel what they felt. You may put yourself across my lap.”

She actually seemed relieved to finally put herself into position, and obeyed without delay. At my urging, she scrunched up high, with her toes barely touching the floor. She steadied herself by placing her left palm on the floor, and automatically offered me her right hand to immobilize in the small of her back.

Normally my first spanks are sort of tentative to allow the girl a few seconds to adjust to the reality of her punishment, but this time I started with a flurry of nearly full-force spanks right to the meatiest part of her bottom. Susan shrieked and bucked like a wild thing, splaying and scissoring her legs.

Lying in the infirmary, Brenda and Ann could clearly hear the sounds of Susan’s spanking. The fire in their own bottoms temporarily forgotten, the girls looked at each other with big eyes as they heard the anguished sounds explode from their student leader.

Having completed that first flurry of spanks, I reverted to the pattern that I had used today on all the other girls, but I took a bit more time, making sure that I did a good job, not missing a square inch of her bottom, the back of her legs, or her inner thighs. Finally I stopped and just watched the bawling girl. After inspecting my work closely, I decided this first part of Susan’s correction was complete. Normally, I would begin comforting a girl at this point, but Susan’s punishment was just starting!

Chapter 8 "Susan and the Strap")

When I felt it safe, I released the girl and helped her to her feet. She did a short but impressive spank-dance, and then seemed to suddenly remember what was next. She looked at the waiting couch arm, and then at the strap lying on my desk, and then gave me a wide-eyed “trapped rabbit” look. I took that as my cue, “You know we still have business Susan”, I said firmly, “So when you are ready, you may pick up that strap and hand it to me. The sooner we start, the sooner it will be over”.

At first, she seemed not to hear, but finally, obviously in a fog, the girl made her way to the desk. Picking up the strap seemed to be an effort for her, as if she had been asked to pick up a deadly snake. She snatched her hand away twice before finally managing to close her fingers around the dreaded object and actually pick it up. Once she finally had it in her hand, she didn’t seem to want to give it up; obviously knowing that action would place her one step closer to her imminent whipping. Not wanting to drag things out, I encouraged her by wrapping my right arm comfortingly around her shoulders and reaching out my left for the strap. Reluctantly, she handed it to me.

With my arm still around her shoulders, I led her to the end of the couch. Reluctantly, she bent over, her still-crimson bottom elevated by the couch’s arm. I gave her the pillow to hug, reminding her to keep her arms under her. I don’t know if she was still listening, but I reminded her that it would be her responsibility to stay in position. The better she managed, the sooner her ordeal could be over.

I honestly hate to use the strap on any of my students, but feel that on those rare occasions when it can’t be avoided that I should do a very good job. It is exactly the knowledge of the severity of the punishment that helps deter students from mischief so that I will need to use the strap even less!

My plan for this punishment was simple. The first four swats and the last four swats would be “scorchers”; the other swats would be only moderate as long as Susan cooperated. Martha would watch proceedings closely to be sure that the punishment, though severe, remained safe for Susan.

I lightly popped Susan’s bottom twice with the strap to find the proper range, and then slashed it down for the first real swat. I am always shocked at how much noise the strap makes when it lands! Susan shrieked, but held her position. Over the next 30 seconds, I delivered 3 more very hard swats. Susan howled with each one. Her bottom clenched and unclenched with the first two swats and then after the third, her feet levitated, and her legs scissored wide. In the process, she presented me with a view of her most private places; a view that is normally reserved for fortunate young husbands and the occasional medical practitioner.

As I said before, I am human. Normally an unexpected view like this would be a secret, guilty pleasure for me. But just then I was a bit numb from a full day of spanking. I had been dreading delivering this strapping all day, and now I just wanted to do a good job and have it over.

After the fourth swat, I could see that Susan’s determination to stay in position was wearing thin. She twisted her bottom away from me, but then quickly put it back into position.. She looked back at me apprehensively, perhaps wondering if that lapse would be enough to earn her an extra hard swat.

In the infirmary, Brenda and Ann held hands and sobbed as they heard the unmistakable sounds of their lead student’s strapping. They could clearly hear the “POP” each time leather met buttflesh, but the sounds of Susan’s anguish were even clearer. The hairbrush had been bad enough, but both girls silently vowed to never earn a taste of that fearsome strap.

Now I started delivering swats that were slightly less powerful, but more rapid. That short Irish school strap gives me wonderful control. I can precisely target the landing area for each swat. Right cheek, left cheek, sit spots; I can easily spread my swats around so there is less chance of abrasion from overlapping belt marks. There is also much less need to swap sides and take left-handed strokes as is necessary when using a longer belt.

These faster swats actually seemed to give Susan more trouble than the slower, harder swats. She was bouncing and howling at the top of her lungs, and her cries had a new edge of desperation to them. I knew that she would not be able to hold position much longer. After the twelfth stroke, her hands fluttered out from under her tummy. Two strokes later, those hands started drifting towards her bottom. I warned her loudly. She did not acknowledge, but the errant hands edged back towards her tummy.

Right after stroke 18, her left hand shot out and covered her bottom. As I warned her would happen, I carefully stung her hand with the strap. The hand disappeared back underneath the bawling girl. I took a moment before landing stroke 19, but it was much harder than the previous few strokes had been.

“OK Susan” I said loudly, speaking over her cries, “We are past the halfway point. Keep in position and we can be done in two minutes.” To my surprise, her cries quieted to a mere blubbering, and she actually nodded her understanding.. I did some quick math and formed a plan to finish this. I had 17 swats to go, but the last 4 were to be slow, very hard and deliberate. So I needed 13 more swats to get us to that point. I decided to change tactics. I decided to do her a big favor by speeding up her punishment; but she probably wouldn’t see it as a favor until much later...

I put my left hand in the small of Susan’s back and pushed down hard, pinning her in place. “Bury your face in the pillow and hug it hard” I ordered. She obeyed, “Hug it harder!” I ordered. As she was processing that last order, I started slashing down with the strap. She squirmed, she kicked, she drew a mighty breath and screamed “Noooooooo”, but she was so surprised by the sudden onslaught that there was little else she could manage. I got all of those 13 swats delivered in perhaps 10 seconds.

Now only four to go!

That sudden volley of strokes left her in a terrible state, so I gave her a moment to calm down. She was showing signs of exhaustion. Clearly, both of us were ready for this strapping to end. “OK Susan” I said, only four more strokes to go. Expect these to be extra hard, and remember what this is all about. You are never going to lead your classmates into trouble again…right?”

“Yes sir…No! I mean No sir” she stammered.

“Here we go; the last part of your strapping, then you will be forgiven and we will start all over” I promised.

I delivered the last four swats slowly. They were the hardest of all. I landed one swat to the fullness of each butt cheek and one to each sit spot. She bucked and wailed, but at this point she was too tired to do much other than simply absorb her punishment.. It took no more than a minute to deliver those last four devastating swats, but she would be feeling them for the next several days.

I looked at Martha; she smiled grimly and nodded her approval. Susan’s punishment was finally over, and our duties for today were nearly done.

When Susan calmed down just a bit, I let her up. Still sobbing, she reached back and tenderly touched her bottom with just the tips of her fingers. I sat down on the couch, and Susan instantly flew into my arms, blubbering a near-incoherent apology into my shoulder. I found myself hugging her, but quickly became uncomfortable with the fact that I was hugging a naked student. I motioned Martha over. She joined in sort of a three-way hug, and then I eased off the couch, leaving Martha to comfort Susan. She suggested that I take Brenda & Ann’s clothes into the infirmary and tell them it is OK for them to get dressed and return to the dorm. After the two girls got dressed, I took them into the outer office for a short post-spanking talk before releasing them. I returned to the office to find Susan face-down on the couch with a cold pack on her bottom.

Suddenly I realized that Martha and I had worked right through lunch, and it was now a bit past supper time. Unfortunately, supper would have to wait another hour. We still had to do wait for the cold pack to have its effect, and then have a serious post-punishment talk with Susan.

For better or worse, a Berkshire School legend was born that day that would live on for many generations of students, but no class was ever collectively brave (or irrational) enough to try to duplicate the “great escape”.

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Their First Punishment Spanking (M/F) NEW!

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© Guyspencer 2010

“Just another pleasant end to another work day” thought Pete as he parked his Prius next to his wife’s red sports car. Both Pete and Sara usually got off work at the same time but Sara worked closer to home and, to Pete’s constant frustration, drove much faster. As a result, Sara usually had supper preparations well underway by the time Pete arrived home. This time of day, Pete would take the side door directly into the kitchen where his nostrils would normally be pleasantly assaulted by the aromas of their evening meal complemented by the feminine scents of his young wife. He never got tired of that combination!

But today turned out a bit differently; today, Pete found no supper and no Sara waiting in the kitchen. Since Sara would occasionally delay supper in favor of an erotic surprise, Pete’s next destination was the bedroom. At first the dimly-lighted room seemed empty, but Pete quickly found his lover standing in a corner, her skirt off, her panties at half-mast. By a wonderful accident of nature, a single beam of sunlight from a gap in the curtains fell exactly on her creamy white bottom; lighting up a perfect bottom which was wonderfully framed at the top by her white blouse and at the bottom by her bunched pink panties. Sara’s skirt was lying on the bed, along with the couple’s “special” hairbrush.

Pete’s face lit up in a part-grin, part-leer. “Spanking games” was his immediate thought as he felt a sudden pleasant swelling sensation below his belt. In a playful mock-stern voice Pete asked “have we been a bad girl today?” Sara’s answer turned out to be a complete surprise. In a sad, ironic voice she replied, “ummm, actually…yes.” as she handed him an official-looking form over her shoulder.

A quick glance told Pete that the form was a traffic citation; a second glance revealed that it was not only a speeding ticket, but she had also been charged with reckless driving. Then he remembered what they both had agreed would happen to her the next time she got a ticket. They had agreed that Sara would receive a punishment spanking; not one of those little “play spankings” that they often enjoy that merely left Sara with a pink bottom, (and a very damp you-know-what) not even one of those rare “tension release” spankings where Pete would use the hairbrush to light up her bottom just enough to push her over the edge into true tears. No, this would be a true punishment spanking, a spanking delivered with the hairbrush on the bare bottom and intended to really hurt, really leave marks, and really change Sara’s behavior.

Pete and Sara were a lucky couple. Lucky to have accidently found each other, lucky to have formed such a deep connection, lucky to have fallen so deeply in love, and lucky enough to have no special problems in their lives. In lots of ways, they were opposites; perhaps that’s why they got along together so well. Pete, a CPA, was the cautious and conservative type, while Sara was a flamboyant young attorney. They were both just starting out in their careers, yet their combined income was already more than sufficient to give them a comfortable life. Both wanted children in their future, but these first few years were reserved just for the two of them.

The couple had met in their last year of college. Looking for a few last easy credits for graduation, they both ended up in the same drama class. They started out as study partners, but the relationship soon blossomed far beyond that! They discovered later that both were interested in spanking, but both had been afraid to mention it to the other for fear of seeming “weird”. Fortunately, Pete had gotten a bit carried away one evening while practicing a family scene for their drama class and had put her across his knee and patted her shapely bottom. Moments later, their “scene” was forgotten as one thing led to another until the two started fumbling at buttons and zippers! That was the sweet moment that the two of them became a couple. From that beginning, spanking was frequently part of their sex play. Like that beginning day, their spanking games often involved “scenes” where Pete was a school Principal, parent, boss, or some other authority figure, and Sara played a girl in need of a spanking..

But today’s spanking would be no game!

“I know you must do it honey,” she said sadly, “and I will keep my part of our bargain and cooperate as best I can. But can we please get it over with?”

Characteristically, Pete took a moment to think before answering. “No, I don’t think so Sara. Not here and not right now. First, this is a bit too much like one of our little spanking scenes, plus I just don’t think that our bedroom is the right place. Our bedroom is for loving and sleeping, not punishing. Also, you don’t get to have any control over your spanking. That’s my job. Don’t worry, you will get your spanking just like we agreed; just not right now.”

Sara’s shoulders slumped, and she pouted just a bit before finally agreeing, “Yes, I guess you are right”. She turned and favored him with a long hug and a lingering kiss.

A plan finally crystallized in Pete’s mind. With Sara still in his arms, he reached down and pulled her panties back into place, taking the opportunity to lovingly rub her bottom in the process. “OK honey, put on a pair of pants and some walking shoes. We are going out for a stroll and a talk.”

As they walked outside hand-in-hand, the first thing that caught Pete’s eye was their two cars, his staid Prius, and her flamboyant red two-seater. “Let me get this straight” he began, “You already got one speeding ticket this year which was three points, and you will get six more points from today’s fiasco for a total of nine points…right?” Solemnly, she agreed. “And that means that if you get any more tickets this year you lose your license for six months…right?

“Yes,” she agreed, “but I could ask for a jury trial and then use delaying tactics to probably get around that.”

“Nope” insisted Pete, “There will be no legal trickery. If you do the crime, you do the time. Laws are there for a reason and they are there for everyone, even for beautiful young lawyers.” Sara looked at the ground, but then finally agreed.

Next Pete pointed to their cars. “For your own protection, we need to make some changes. That car of yours is not only a huge temptation to you, it is a cop magnet. For the rest of the year, we switch cars.”

Instantly, the pout returned to her face, “But we agreed that the spanking was going to be my punishment for getting a ticket,” she protested.

“First of all,” Pete explained, “swapping cars is not really a punishment, it is something we need to do to help you get through the year without losing your driver’s license. Second, if you insist on considering it a punishment, then remember that you technically got two tickets, not just one.” Sara thought it over and reluctantly agreed.

Pete took her by the hand and started briskly walking. Sara asked where they were going, but he didn’t respond. After several blocks, Sara finally figured out that they were walking to her office. Forty minutes later, they were standing outside of Sara’s legal office. Finally Pete spoke; “Now we need to talk about what your life will be like should you lose your driver’s license. Every morning you will walk to work, I will pick you up in the afternoon. Is that fair enough?” Reluctantly, Sara agreed.

Then Pete led them back in the general direction of home. “Tonight, I intend to spank you as hard and as long as I ever plan on spanking you.” Pete explained, “It will really hurt your bottom, and it will really hurt me to do it, but I intend to teach you a lesson and to make you never want to repeat the experience. Is that clear?”

“Yes Honey” she replied soberly, “That was our agreement and I plan to keep my part. I promise to cooperate as best I can and I promise to only blame myself for my sore bottom.”

“OK”, Pete said, “That is settled, now we need to talk about what happens to your bottom if you get another ticket this year.”

“I guess you just spank me harder?” Sara suggested.

“Nope,” Pete replied, “I already said that I will be spanking you plenty hard tonight. Spanking you harder might not be safe.”

Plainly puzzled, Sara asked, “Then what do you suggest?”

Pete had his answer ready; “A spanking on the day you get the ticket and another on your court date when you hand in your driver’s license.” Sara gasped, but Pete wasn’t quite done; “…and a reminder spanking on the day you finally get your license back”.

“Are you crazy?” Sara flared, “Three spankings? …all with the hairbrush?”

“No I am not crazy,” Pete retorted, “I aim to make it unthinkable for you to get another ticket. You promised me last time that it wouldn’t happen again, yet here we are today.” Mollified, Sara finally agreed. Solemnly, they shook hands. “Same deal as today,” Pete cautioned, “I promise not to wimp out, you will really get three hard spankings, and you promise to only blame yourself for your sore bottom.” Solemnly, she agreed. They shook hands again.

Their next destination reached, Pete led his wife into a small Chinese restaurant where they lingered over a quiet supper and shared a bottle of wine.

As they left the restaurant and headed for home, Sara asked “What did I do to deserve the wine?”

“I am glad you asked,” Pete replied, I want to ask you a few questions that you may consider sort of delicate. The wine was to loosen your tongue”

“Shoot” said Sara.

“Tell me about the last couple of times you got spanked at home.”

There was a long silence. “Well,” Sara finally admitted, “I guess history is repeating itself. They both had to do with driving.”

“Why am I not surprised?” Pete asked.

“Is that it?” Sara asked hopefully.

“No, I need you to tell me about those spankings, I mean everything, from start to finish.”

“Oh” said Sara, “Now I understand why you thought I might need the wine. OK, here goes. First of all, it was only Dad who actually spanked me at that age, but Mom was always right there when it happened. The first of those two spankings was hard enough, but Dad only used his hand. That spanking worked for almost a year, and then I got another speeding ticket. The last spanking was the same except Dad used the hairbrush, that same hairbrush that’s waiting on our bed.”

“Go on,” Pete urged, “there is a lot more I need to know.”

She grinned impishly and asked, “When are you going to tell me all about when your parents spanked you?” “Another night perhaps,” Pete replied seriously, “But right now I really need to hear this stuff, it tells us both what to expect and it gives me ideas about how to handle tonight.”

Sara drew in a nervous breath; “OK, I guess I understand here goes. It always happened in the living room. I was an only child, so privacy was not an issue. They always started by sitting me down for a long “discussion”. It was never a lecture; they would keep asking me open-ended questions so I had to do a lot of the talking. By the time it was over, they always really made me understand why I was being punished. They usually even got me agree with them that I should be spanked”

“Then they would give me a chance to use the bathroom.”

“Then I sometimes had to fetch the hairbrush.”

“Then I had to fetch a dining room chair and place it in the middle of the living room. By then, Mom would already have the living room windows and curtains shut, so the neighbors couldn’t see or hear”

“Then I had to kick off my shoes and take off my pants or skirt, and usually take off my blouse too. So now I am wearing only my panties, bra, and stockings.”

“Then Dad would sit down on the chair and motion for me to get across his lap.”

“Before the spanking started, Dad would tell me to lift my bottom. While it was up in the air, Mom would pull my panties all the way down to my knees. Then it was OK for me to lower my bottom again, but now, of course, it would be bare.”

“And then the spanking started. Daddy didn’t give any easy spankings, they were all hell! He said that was a kindness because I would want fewer spankings if I knew that they would always be hard. Perhaps he was right.”

“Naturally, I would buck and twist and kick and cry and howl and promise eternal goodness if only Daddy would please stop spanking me. As always, Daddy paid no attention until he thought that my lesson had been thoroughly learned, and then he would spank me a bit more just to be sure!”

“Finally, my spanking would be over. He would hold me across his knee for two or three minutes until my squalling finally slowed down, then he would finally let me up. I would dance and howl and rub my bottom, but I never seemed to remember to pull up my panties. By that time, I would be beyond all worries about modesty, but my father wasn’t! He would always blush bright red! When I had finally calmed down enough, Mommy would pull up my panties for me, which always seemed to relieve Daddy.”

“Then all three of us would cuddle on the couch until my tears stopped; then all was forgiven. Usually my spankings were in the evening, so mom would walk me into my bedroom, help me get into my pajamas and then tuck me into bed as if I were a little kid. I never seemed to hate my parents for spanking me. They always gave me plenty of fair warning, so there was never anyone to blame but me.”

“I suppose you want to know how long he spanked me or how many swats he gave me, but I just don’t know. He didn’t count spanks and every spanking seemed to go on forever. If I got a hand spanking my bottom would still be a little sore and red the next morning. If I got it with the hairbrush things were much worse. He always left marks right where I sit. I would feel those marks every time I sat down for the next few days.”

As Sara’s voice trailed off, Pete acknowledged Sara’s awkward description of her former punishments by simply squeezing her hand. The couple walked on silently. By then, they were only two blocks from home and both were lost in their individual thoughts about what must happen when they got home.

A few minutes later, they were inside their home, sitting on the couch, and discussing Sara’s driving habits. Sara honestly admitted how addicted she was to fast driving, and Pete talked about how sad life would be if he ever lost her to a traffic accident. Perhaps both of them were delaying the spanking, or perhaps they had a real breakthrough, only time could truly tell. At least they both agreed that a real change was necessary. Finally they both fell silent.

“I think it’s time for you to visit the bathroom, and then bring me that hairbrush.” Pete finally said. Sara nodded, genuine tears finally flooding her eyes. Obediently, she stumbled out of the room. She returned moments later and handed Pete the hairbrush. “Dining room chair?” she asked. With a lump in his throat, Pete simply nodded. Sara walked into the dining room and returned with an armless chair, which she placed in the middle of the living room.

Still sitting on the couch, Pete crooked a finger at her. Obediently, she crossed the room and stood in front of him. “You are my wife, not my daughter, so this part will be slightly different” Pete explained. He reached down and untied her shoes, and then held them as she pulled her feet free of them. Next Pete removed her socks. Then he started at Sara’s other end, removing her blouse and bra before moving on to her pants and panties. A wet-faced Sara stood before her husband naked.

On several levels, Pete was struggling. He honestly did not want to hurt his wonderful wife, but that was the deal they both made. Besides, he was desperate to do something about her dangerous driving habits. Incidentally, he was feeling a bit guilty at being so sexually “turned on”. There was simply no way that Pete could separate the concept of “sex” from the concept of “Sara”, so now he had a massive erection. He had no idea if sex was even going to be a possibility tonight, and he knew that having Sara bouncing across his lap, and thus, on his erection would be a painful experience. “Sometimes it sucks being the guy” he thought ruefully.

Sara’s head was also filled with a mass of conflicting emotions. Their “talk” had left her feeling foolish, selfish and ashamed about her driving habits. Dread at her imminent spanking sat in her belly like a hot poker. The routine of being sent to fetch the hairbrush and the chair awakened many issues from her childhood. When Pete had started undressing her, she at first felt very childish, but then was shocked to feel a familiar wetness between her legs. In spite of everything, she was more than a little turned on! Of course, Pete’s condition was obvious, but under the conditions she could hardly blame him.

His bulge showing prominently, Pete stood, picked up the hairbrush and led his tearful wife to the waiting chair. After one last hug and kiss, he sat down and guided his lover into position across his lap.

What can you say about a spanking? Sara was there to receive a hard spanking, and Pete was there to deliver it. Pete intended this to be a truly unpleasant experience for Sara, so she did not get the benefit of any “warm-up” spanks. In fact, Pete just boldly started out with a flurry of full-force spanks that alternated from the fullness of one of Sara’s nether cheeks to the other. Painfully surprised at the sternness of Pete’s first spanks, Sara filled her lungs and shrieked!

Now that he had Sara’s full attention, Pete became more deliberate, using slightly lighter, but carefully placed spanks calculated to deliver the most sting without (yet) causing bruising. Sara’s shapely bottom was a study in motion. She bucked, twisted, writhed, kicked and splayed her legs in response to the blows from that heirloom hardwood hairbrush. The color changes on her bare bottom were a sight to behold.

The pressure of his kinetic wife’s torso against Pete’s unwanted, but rock-hard erection was every bit as painful as Peter feared it would be. If the sight of this beautiful naked lady across his lap was not enough to keep him hard, then Sara’s scent was enough to push him over the edge. It was not just the delicate mixture of her subtle perfume combined with the scent of the soap and other womanly products Sara wore, but it was other, more earthy, odors that especially appealed to the “cave man” part of Pete’s brain. It was her sweat, it was the scent from her womanly body parts, it was the sum of the bouquet of her very essence. Even in the middle of performing this stern duty to his wife, there was simply no way that Pete could completely divorce himself from his sexual connection to Sara.

Towards the end of the spanking, Pete paused to carefully evaluate his target area. By now, Sara seemed almost worn out. She was making less noise and her movements were much less violent, thankfully making it far easier for Pete to hold her in position. While Pete had spanked Sara many times before, this was the first time he had ever delivered a true punishment spanking. Pete wanted to be sure that he did a memorable job, but wanted to do so without any danger of injuring Sara. Fortunately there was no reason to rush the process, so Pete carefully considered his next move. .

Finding no fault in his handiwork so far, Pete decided that it was time to add the finishing touches. “Are you listening Sara?” he asked. He accepted a slight change in her sobs as an affirmative response. “We are not quite done Sara. I want to be sure that you remember this so we never have to do this again so there is a bit more coming…OK?” Sara nodded, but the suddenly increasing fervor of her sobs revealed disappointment that her spanking was not already done.

Pete then landed a flurry of mild strokes all over her bottom. These were calculated to reawaken every already-inflamed nerve ending on her bottom. Then he finished by placing five full-strength scorchers on each sit spot. Sara shrieked anew and splayed her legs. These would make the bruises for her to feel every time she sat down for several days to come. They would serve as reminders to reinforce the lesson behind her spanking.

The spanking finally over, Pete gently rubbed Sara’s back as he told her she was forgiven and whispered loving, calming words to the hurting woman. Finally, he gently helped her back to her feet. When she seemed stable enough to walk, he led her back to the couch. They cuddled together as she began to cry anew. Although Pete’s “inner cave man” was still crying out for sex, he was careful to not make advances that may be unwelcome given Sara’s state of mind. As his wife gradually returned to her senses, and the tears finally began to dissolve, Pete was careful to keep his embraces fatherly. If there was to be any erotic activity tonight, he was determined to let Sara make the first move.

“Wow’ she finally said ruefully, “you said you intended to do a good job, and you certainly did. I never want to feel that again.”

“Good” replied Pete, “that’s just the effect I was going for.” Then is a careful voice he asked the question uppermost in his mind, “Are you mad at me?”

She answered with a deep kiss. Finally they came up for air, “No silly,” she said, “I am just mad at myself.”

“I’m really glad you feel that way sweetheart” Pete replied with real relief in his voice. “Let’s hope your sore bottom has the desired effect, and lets move on with our lives. Now let’s get your pajamas on and get you tucked into bed. You must be really beat.”

“Bed sounds really good,” Sara allowed, “but first I really need a shower.” Pete jumped slightly as he felt her hand gently trace a certain hardness within his pants. She looked up at her man with an inviting grin, “Care to join me in the shower?”

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