SPANKED!

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                                                                     SPANKED!

SPANKED!  I'm going to get SPANKED!  And it was even my idea…at least sort of my idea...   My mind is just sorta numb, and I hope it stays that way or I am really going to get scared and nervous.  I am almost seventeen and a half, and the last time I was SPANKED I was 15, so I really thought my spanking days were over...until today.  It's amazing that I used to feel so smug when one of my two brothers or one of my friends got it, because I assumed that I was too old, or perhaps too good, to ever get it again myself.  Well I guess I was wrong, because soon I'm going to get SPANKED!

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Yesterday was the last day of school before spring break so the whole senior class was invited to a big “spring break kickoff” party at Becky’s house.   Dad and Mom let Randy drive me to the party because they knew that it was going to be supervised by Becky’s parents and the party would be over at 11 sharp, plus it was close.

Becky’s parents were watching way too closely for anyone to sneak beer inside, so the two six packs were outside behind a shrub.  I still don’t know who brought them, but word spread quickly and we sneaked out in ones and twos to partake.  Randy and I shared a whole 16-ounce can.  

We left the party a bit early so we could buy a pizza to hide the beer smell on our breath.  It turned out that half the party went to Tony’s pizza, so it was kinda like a second party.  Tony was behind on his pizza orders so it took a while to get our pizza.

Do I need to say it?  It was almost 1 AM when Randy dropped me off at the house.  The lights were still on bright.  I knew that the scene inside wouldn't be pretty, but I had no idea!

First I found myself alone in the kitchen with my mother and we were having the most embarrassing conversation of my life!  She wanted me to be “straight with her”.  Did Randy and I “do” anything?  Suddenly I realized what she was talking about and my face must have turned bright red!  Hell no we didn’t “do” anything! We were having way too much fun to be thinking about making out!  Finally I convinced her that we were at Tony’s Pizza the whole time after we left the party and she could kinda tell by looking at me that there was no hanky-panky.  You should have seen the look of relief on her face!  I hoped that would be the end and that I’d be off to bed; but then she said, “OK let’s go see your dad and face the music about you being late and about the beer”.   

Beer?  I had totally forgotten about the beer!  How did she know about the beer?

Well I soon found out!  A few of the others had been stupid enough to leave their empties on Becky’s lawn and her parents had a cow when they saw them.  They got right on the phone and started telling parents… and then Mom smelled it on my breath. Busted!

And then I made it ten times worse.

When they asked for “my side of the story,” I tried to sound all goody-goody by explaining that I only drank the beer because I didn’t want Randy to drink the whole can by himself.  And then my father asked “Well then who drove you home?”  Busted again!  I forgot the hard-and-fast “no alcohol and especially no alcohol combined with cars” rule.  The fact that it was only one beer made no difference at all.  To my parents, alcohol is alcohol and cars is cars, and the two must never mix.

My father is a large, easygoing man.  He can show anger, but when us kids are “really” in trouble, he has this way of being serious and calm, almost kind.  Now that the talk has turned to alcohol and cars, I suddenly notice that Daddy is acting very serious and calm...almost kind.

 When my father had probed enough to be 100% sure that he understood the whole story, the conversation shifted to “how disappointed” he and Mommy were with me.  Then I knew that I was really in trouble.

I couldn't believe my stupidity. 

Then the lecture started.  After the longest 15 minutes of my life, my parent’s tag-team scolding finally wound down.  They told me to go up and get ready for bed and then come back down and see them.  I was in serious trouble and they obviously wanted to talk privately about my punishment.  

Ten minutes later, I was back down in the living room wearing my PJs and trying to look as sorry and as cute as possible.  Dad came right out and told me that I was on three weeks strict restriction.  Wait a minute; my spring break is only two weeks long!  I starting bawling and tried to bargain a delay in my restriction until school started again.  No way!  I would be a prisoner through my entire senior spring break and then some! 

Then I blubbered something about how I would rather take a hard spanking than lose my spring break.  I don’t know if I really meant it at the time, but my parents greeted my suggestion by a long silence rather than the outright refusal I expected.  It's amazing how sometimes parents can have a whole conversation together and not say a word.  My mother looked at Dad sort of hopeful-like.  Clearly she didn’t relish being my jailer for the next three weeks.  And then my father gave her this sort of sad, resigned look.  (Obviously, he didn’t really want to be my executioner.)  Finally my father gave a little shrug like he had lost a bet and asked me, “Are you sure that's what you want Honey?  We're not talking about a little nursery school paddywacking here!  This would have to be a spanking that would substitute for a three-week restriction.”   

And then I suddenly stopped my blubbering and I got the funniest feeling in the pit of my stomach.  You know that feeling just before you top that first big hill on the roller coaster and you're about to plummet nearly straight down?  It felt just like that. 

I tried to stall and get a little more information; “Would it…would it be…would it be with…?”  My father stopped me before I could even form the question.  He said that he and Mommy hadn’t had time to discuss anything about a spanking yet and if I chose a spanking I would just have to take my chances and live with their decision.  He said I “should consider the full range possibilities, including the belt.”   I think he hoped to talk me out of it.

And then he said I had to make up my mind right then and there, and that I wouldn’t be allowed to change my decision.  Otherwise, he said, I would just torment myself with second guesses.

In the end it was an easy choice; a few minutes of hell compared to being a prisoner through my entire spring break.  A spanking, even a very hard spanking takes no more than ten or fifteen minutes; but three weeks of restriction takes three whole weeks!  I didn’t want my brothers to hear me get spanked, but either way they would soon know of my disgrace.  That’s the rule in our family; punishments are never a secret.  I gulped hard, and then it was like I was standing outside my body and someone else was talking.  I apologized as best I could and then asked my parents for a SPANKING!  My stomach churned and I could hear my heart hammering in my ears.  Half of me was afraid that Daddy would spank me right now, but the other half was afraid he would make me wait.

As it turned out, I had to wait.  Daddy wasn't about to spank his little girl at 1 AM, and besides, there was a sort of family ritual to follow:  Tomorrow evening there would be a family meeting where I would have to confess everything, and then I would be sent up to my room to wait for Dad to come in and actually “do the deed”.

We all went to bed, but the night was hell!  I was worried about my own bottom, but mostly I was worried because I had spilled the beans on Randy and doubtless my mother would call his mother.

By the time I got out of bed that morning, Daddy had already left for work.  It was a really weird day.  Mom said that even though I wasn’t officially on restriction, I should stay home until my punishment was over.   I didn’t argue because I didn’t really feel like going anywhere anyhow.  I didn’t ask, but doubtless my mother had already called Randy’s mother.  I was scared that he would be really pissed at me, but I finally screwed up my courage and called him. 

Fortunately, he was the person who answered the phone.  “Don’t worry,” he said, “Becky’s parents beat your parents to the punch.  Dad & Mom confronted me as soon as I got home and I confessed.  Next thing you know my pants were off, mom had confiscated my car keys and dad had my own belt folded up in his hands.  I’m sure you can guess what happened after that!” 

I hadn’t intended to confess to him that I was going to get spanked, but under the circumstances, how could I not?  After that, he supplied a few other details:  He had ended up “getting it” bent naked across an easy chair in the living room.  His plan had been to take it quietly so as to not wake up his sister, but that plan dissolved into loud howls after only three swats with that belt.  His sister ended up watching the last part of his spanking from the top of the stairs.  She even saw the aftermath where he was dancing around still naked.  Poor guy!

Sometimes that day seemed to go too fast and sometimes it seemed to crawl, but anyhow, it went.  I tried to pump Mom about my coming spanking, but got nowhere.  Just like last night, she simply said that she and Daddy hadn’t talked yet, but I had to accept whatever they decided I deserved.  About this time I started to get really nervous!  Daddy is a mechanic and he’s a big guy with thick arms and very strong hands.  There's no paddle in our house.  When he spanks us, his hands are his implements of choice.  Unfortunately, he also makes it known that the wide belt that holds up his work pants has another potential use.  You can guess what that is!  I've never felt that belt myself, (though I once heard my brother’s get it) but I’m terribly afraid that today is the day!

Another thing that I’m afraid of is my panties.  Specifically, I’m afraid of being separated from them.  I am almost 18 and, if I do say so myself, I look like a woman.  So I shouldn’t be displaying myself to my father.  I tried to make Mom see my side of this, but she just brushed it off.  Dad occasionally spanks us over our underwear, but usually he pulls them down in back and spanks our bare butt.  Unfortunately, for the very worst spankings, he makes us take them off altogether.  This hasn’t happened to me since I was nine, but today?  Who knows!     

Daddy got home at the usual time.  I tried to hide in my room, but he knocked on my door to give me a hug to demonstrate that he wasn’t mad at me, and (I suppose) to see if I was OK.  “I’m sorry about tonight” he said, “but come on downstairs and be with the rest of the family, it’s not as if you are an outcast.”  As usual when he was just getting home from work, he smelled like transmission fluid or something, so he went to take his shower.  Usually he would emerge from his after-work shower with shorts or his gardening clothes on, but today he was wearing clean work pants.  My throat went dry at that sight.  That “dual purpose” belt was right there around his waist.  Surely this was no accident.  Tonight, when he visits my room to spank me, that belt will be with him!  

My parents made suppertime as normal as possible.  I think my brothers had been picking up vibes all day, but still didn’t know the score.  The only reference to my “situation” while we were eating supper was when my father told us all to stick around after supper.  “There’s going to be a family meeting later.”

After supper, I escaped to my room.  I was so nervous that I had to do something, so I dialed Emily.  She could tell that something was wrong and tried to pump me for details, but the most I told her was that I was “In trouble” over last night’s activity.

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It was about twenty minutes later when I heard a knock on the door.  I quickly said goodbye to Emily and yelled, “Come in”.  It was John, my youngest brother with a concerned look on his face.  He said that we all were to gather in the living room for the family meeting.  Naturally, I knew the meeting was about me.  By now, the boys knew that neither of them was in trouble, so that left me.    

In our family spankings are given in private, but never in secret.  A brief family meeting almost always precedes punishments.  The culprit is expected to explain to the whole family what he or she had done to earn the punishment.  The particulars of the punishment itself are not usually emphasized, but the walls of our house aren't thick enough to hide the sounds of a spanking.

I had butterflies in my stomach and felt like a condemned felon as I sat on the couch with my brothers.  Dad got right down to business; “Boys, there is going to be a spanking later tonight.  We want to be sure that you know the reason so that you two never make the same errors.  Kelly, go ahead and explain.” 

By now, I had tears in my eyes!  

Choking back sobs, I explained how I had been out two hours past curfew, had drank beer and, worst of all, had rode in Randy’s car after he had drank beer.  Mommy chimed in to reiterate the family rules against alcohol and the dangers of drinking and driving. 

“Listen carefully to Kelly’s spanking tonight” she warned, “I want all three of you to learn a good lesson so we never have this problem again!  This spanking is intended as a formal punishment for your sister, but also as a formal warning to you boys.  If there is ever a repeat of this, things will go much harder.”             

I was really glad when Dad reminded the boys that spankings were private family business not to be blabbed to their friends.  Then he sent them up to their rooms.  They left quickly and gratefully, leaving me alone with my parents to face my fate.  I was really nervous!  Normally I would be sent up to my room to be spanked, but “here and new” seemed a distinct possibility.

My parents asked me if I had anything to say.  That just made me start crying again but I managed to choke out some kind of an apology.   

“I’m glad you feel that way” Daddy replied, “because we have a big problem and we need your help.”  Dad went on to explain how the boys looked up to their big sister and copied the things that I did.  The “problem” was that my parents were afraid that the boys would see my drinking as a funny lark to copy later.  They might even see me as a sort of hero for enduring my spanking. 

Mommy asked: “You wouldn’t want to be responsible for your brothers putting themselves in danger because of something you had done would you?”

I got it!  I really got it!  Now I understood why my parents were so concerned.  They were worried about not just me, but they were worried that my brothers might copy me and get hurt. If that happened, it would sort of be my fault!  Boy!  Suddenly I felt as low as a worm.

“Only you can convince your brothers that what you did is uncool, dangerous, stupid and definitely something they shouldn’t emulate,” Daddy said, “are you willing to do that?”   I nodded vigorously.  “OK” Daddy said ominously, “We haven’t had time to discuss the particulars yet, but we'll do our part by making sure that they hear you get well-punished, but over the next few days we need you to ensure they really get the message.” 

Well, I agreed, but it wasn’t lost on me that I had also agreed that I needed to be “well-punished”.   Unavoidably, I found myself looking at Dad’s belt and wondering if I would be “well-punished” with that.

Daddy told me to go up to my room, take off my outer clothing, and wait for him. Daddy’s final words were surprisingly gentle; “Mom and I need a few minutes to decide the details of your spanking, and then I'll meet with you in your room to do it.”  I hugged them, and then padded up to my room.

Knowing I was just a few minutes from a very sore bottom, I obeyed Dad by taking off my top and my hip hugger jeans, leaving me in just my bra and panties.  After a look in the mirror, I replaced my tiny, lacy, pink panties with a white cotton pair that covered more of me. 

Then I sat down to wait.  It seemed to take forever!  My palms were sweaty, and my guts twisted every time I heard a noise in the house.  By now, I was sure to receive a hard spanking, but there were those two things that I was especially worried about; Daddy’s belt, being separated from my panties, and (a new thought) maybe even getting spanked and/or strapped totally naked.  Earlier this morning, my thoughts were 90% wanting to get my spanking over with, and 10% dreading the spanking itself.  Now suddenly that's reversed, 90% dread and 10% wanting to get it over.

Finally I heard footsteps coming up the stairs and down the hall!  To my surprise, the footsteps went right past my door.  I heard a knock at my brother’s bedroom door, and then I heard Mom talking to them in a low voice.  A minute later, I heard heavier footsteps coming up the stairs; that had to be Dad!  Suddenly dread was a physical thing, a monster that lived inside my belly and painfully twisted my guts and made my heart beat so hard that it thumped in my ears.

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The doorknob turned.  Thinking back later, I distinctly remember that Daddy’s image seemed to be blurred as his big form filled my bedroom door; it must have been a sudden gush of tears that caused that.  Anyhow, he came right in without knocking or anything.  Naturally, that belt came in with him.  Fortunately it was still around his waist, not in his hand.  I took that as a hopeful sign.  He pulled my desk chair into the middle of the room, sat down, and started talking, but it was a few seconds before I could seem to tune my ears to his words.  I said “Huh?” a couple times, but he was patient and finally we started communicating.  For someone who was about to beat my ass, he was being remarkably nice to me.  It was a bit confusing for me to mentally process that this patient, loving, protective man was about to hold me down and emphatically spank my bottom until I was beyond tears.  

Just in case you don’t know how things work in my family, let me stop for a word of explanation.  There was absolutely nothing I could say at this point that would change my punishment.  The way it works is that Mom and Dad hash out the details of an imminent spanking, and then Dad goes upstairs and “does the deed”.  Once he and Mom agree on a punishment for one of us kids, it is like a pact between them; he knows exactly what he is going to do and he won’t change anything.  At that point, we can scream, beg, cry, bargain, make promises, but nothing matters except “the plan”.  Our punishment has been discussed and decided and Daddy is there to lovingly but very firmly apply it.  We kids are just expected to take it as gracefully as possible.

Daddy said that he wished he could avoid this, and would have preferred the detention over spanking me.  However, “Under the circumstances” he must “do a very good job”.  Further, he would have to “treat me just like he would one of the boys.”  (On hearing that, I got this weird vision of my panties sprouting wings and flying off without me.)  This was just his gentle way of telling me that I wasn't done undressing for this spanking. 

Then he told me what was in store for me, “The only good news I have for you is that we narrowly decided against using the belt.  Other than that, you should expect the very maximum punishment”. He went on to tell me that my bedroom door would be open so the boys could hear everything as a warning to them.  (I was horrified of course, but this had happened once before when my oldest brother got spanked for shoplifting.) “Don’t worry,” he said, “Mom is in their bedroom, so there's no way they can peek in at us.”  Though I hated that “open door” part, there was no point in arguing.  

At that point, I just lost it!  My relief at not getting the belt, news that I was about to receive an open-door “maximum” spanking, the tension of this whole day of waiting for a spanking; it was all suddenly too much.  Everything just bubbled to the surface.  I found myself in Daddy’s lap blubbering onto his shoulder.  He held me patiently, somehow understanding that I would submit to my spanking as soon as I got control of myself.  It's strange! As Daddy held me, he felt more like my protector than someone who was about to spank my bottom.  I suspect that Daddy relished that tender moment, even though something unpleasant was about to happen.  After all, this is one of the few times he gets to hold me as if I were still his little girl.  I think even I liked it a bit. 

As I cried, I tried not to get snot on his clean shirt, but it happened anyhow.  Oh well, there will be a lot more of it after my spanking.  Besides, he didn’t seem to mind.  I was almost afraid to slow down my sobbing, because then Daddy will suggest that we “get it over with”.  That’s parent talk that means “let’s go ahead now and strip off your panties and spank your bare bottom until you cry and kick and scream.”       

Finally my sobbing slowed down a bit and he asked, “Do you feel better now?”  I guess I must have nodded a bit because (just like I knew he would) he asked, “Don’t you think we should get this over with?”  Reluctantly, with my face still buried in his shoulder, I nodded a bit.  I guess I did want to “get it over with”.

I should have known what the next question was going to be, but it embarrassed me to my toes!  “Do you have to go pee first?”

You see, when I was about nine, I lost control and soaked my father’s lap while being spanked.  Since then, he always asks before spanking any of us kids.  I always find that question embarrassing because it reminds me of that time when it happened, but I especially was embarrassed today because suddenly I realized that I really did have to pee!  I should have thought of that before, but I guess my anxiety made me forget.

Mortified, I nodded again into my father’s shoulder.  “OK” he said in a firm tone, “Go do it.  I want you back here in two minutes; just leave the bedroom door wide open.”

I walked out into the hallway, (leaving my door open as ordered) and wasn't surprised to see my brother’s door open also.  From inside, I could hear mother’s voice.  She was probably lecturing them about alcohol while they all waited to hear my spanking.  Fortunately, I didn't have to pass their open door to reach the bathroom.  They normally see me in bra and panties, but right now I somehow felt naked.

Sitting on the toilet with my panties down, I was momentarily tempted to just kick them off to get it over with.  But no, I would cling to them for every second I could!  I finished my business, wiped carefully, and lifted them back into place.

As I walked back into the bedroom, Daddy stood and gave be a crushing hug.  I could feel his heart thumping.  He sounded almost in tears as he said, “I love you honey, but I really need to do a good job.  Please don’t hate me for hurting your bottom.”  I almost lost it again, but I choked back and promised that I wouldn't hate him. 

“Thanks Honey,” he said.  After a last hug he released me then sat down purposely.  (He had earlier turned the chair to face the door.)  After an appraising look, he finally said, “You can keep the bra, but I need those panties out of the way.  Go ahead and step right out of them.”  I must have hesitated, probably just staring open-mouthed at him, so he encouraged me; “It’s OK honey, I’ve seen it all before.  Let’s just have this over.”   I guess I nodded, so he kinda relaxed.

This wasn't one of my better moments!  Not wanting to flash my bush at either Daddy or the open door, I turned sideways and reluctantly bared myself.  As I was trying to get my feet out of them, I got tangled and nearly fell.  Daddy caught me by the waist and held me as I kicked off my panties.  He didn’t let go, but just lifted me across his knees as if I were a rag doll.  I don’t think he even saw my front in the process!  I'm taller than I used to be, so he carefully adjusted me so that my toes were just barely off the ground.  Unfortunately, that made my head hang down so close to the floor that I had to support myself with my hands.  He took my right hand and trapped it behind me.  What a sight I must have been with my nearly 18 year-old bottom shining up at my bedroom ceiling!  Untouched by the sun, it was bright white, but only temporarily so.

Suddenly Daddy’s tone got firm and businesslike and loud enough to be heard in the next bedroom.  As is his usual habit, he insisted that I tell him why I was about to be spanked.  I started to croak out an answer, but he insisted, “Louder!”  I finally managed to choke out an answer that pleased him.  “Hold that thought,” he said.  My reward for that recitation was to feel my father’s left arm tighten like a vise around my waist and his big paw circle around my wrist.  Then I felt him lift his right hand off of my leg where it had been resting.         

Seconds later, my spanking was under way, and it was the hardest, loudest, longest, most exhausting, most embarrassing spanking of my life!  It hurt!  God did it hurt! 

I didn't know it, but my parents had plotted a nasty little surprise for me.  Normally, father starts with “warm-up” spanks.  That is, he starts a spanking with light little slaps and then gradually dials up the heat.  That sort of prepares your bottom for the worst part, and makes a hard spanking a bit easier to take.    I expected Daddy to start out that way.  I had figured that I could “tough out” at least that part of the spanking and display a few moments of cool before I faced the disgrace of bawling and screeching.

But without the slightest warning, Daddy started spanking me with full force!  At first it surprised me so much that it literally knocked the air out of me, but then I was finally able to gasp a couple breaths between spanks.  Only then did I manage to form a proper shriek.  And then things went downhill from there.  My parents wanted to deny me the opportunity to act brave or display the slightest “cool” to my brothers, and they succeeded!  I thrashed, I kicked, I squealed, and I screamed, but nothing did me the slightest good.  Daddy just held me in that iron grip and continued to calmly “do his fatherly duty” to my quickly reddening bare ass, exactly as he and Mommy had planned.

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The next day, my brothers helped me put together what happened after that, because I was so frantic that my memory can't be trusted.  Here is how it went:

For that first part, Daddy probably gave me only eight or ten hard spanks to each side of my butt.  They were hard and fast, and absolutely left Daddy in control. 

After those first spanks, he left me blubbering across his lap for a couple minutes before he started again.  This second part was just a “regular” very hard spanking.  He displayed his usual great technique by varying where and when the next spank fell.  That trick kept me totally off-balance.  This was the longest part of the spanking.  My brothers said that it seemed to go on forever.  To keep from spanking too much in one place, Daddy spread the spanks around; leaving marks in places that will keep me in long pants for weeks. 

Daddy didn't bother restraining my legs, but I actually wish that he had.  Since I was naked from the bra down, there were no pants around my legs to hold them together.  I really tried to keep my legs together, but they had a mind of their own.  I know that they must have splayed wide apart sometimes, because he was able to land some really painful spanks on my inner thighs.  In the process, I must have shown him parts of me that only my doctor should see. 

Although I mostly remember my burning bottom, it's amazing how uncomfortable my head was.  It was hanging almost upside down, and I was crying so hard that my face was soaked wet with a horrible combination of drool, sweat, snot and tears.  My nose was plugged, my eyes stung, and my throat hurt from my anguished vocalizations.  In my throes, I even managed to pull my own hair when it somehow got under that hand I was supporting myself with.  In short, I was a mess.

They said my crying and shrieking actually decreased over the last minute or two of my spanking.  I must have been getting tired and maybe a little numb, or perhaps I had finally gotten to the point where I could accept the punishment I deserved.

After what seemed like forever, the “main” part of my spanking was over. 

Then there was a really long pause.

Of course, it took me a while to “catch up” on my crying before I could even notice that nobody was beating on my bottom.  But finally it happened.  After that, it took just a few moments for me to notice that Daddy was still holding me down, so my punishment must not be over yet.  Finally, I looked back at Daddy with cow-eyes, so he knew I must have been coming back to my senses.  “Can you hear me OK?” he asked.  Still blubbering a bit, I nodded.  “We're not quite done,” he announced.  “You've had a good spanking and your bottom is bright red, but we need to go just a bit farther.” 

I don’t remember how I reacted to that news, but he explained in a sorrowful voice that he was about to leave marks on my bottom that I would feel for the next week or so.  “Every time you sit down and feel the soreness, I want it to reinforce this lesson…OK?” 

I really doubt that I did anything to indicate agreement, but he said, “OK, here goes” and then he planted a spank right in the middle of my left buttock with his full strength.  The blow was so hard and so surprising that I almost bumped my head on the floor!  Seeing my predicament, Daddy released my right hand and told me to put it down on the floor to steady myself.  By now, the fight was just about gone from me, so I guess he figured it was safe to release that hand.       

In the process, I looked up at Daddy and saw tears in his eyes.  I thought that perhaps he would soften just a bit, but the next spank, again delivered with full force to exactly the same place on my right ass-cheek ended that notion.   Normally, spanks with such force would have me screaming, but the best I could do just then was a pitiful meow.   Then he lowered his aim a bit to deliver two blows with the same devastating force right where my bottom meets my leg.  I know enough about getting spanked to know that I will be feeling THOSE for a long time.  Then he slid me out on his knee so that he could get a proper swing, and deliberately gave the left side of my bottom the same treatment, four devastating swats on two places.  There was a long, heart-pounding wait while he evaluated the results of those eight swats (which later turned into four nasty bruises).  I guess he found them sufficient, because just then I felt his left arm finally relax.  I was finally free.  I had been SPANKED!

“OK; you've been properly punished and now you are forgiven” he announced, “but don’t you ever, EVER do anything like that again.”  The next thing I knew, I was on my feet.  I was far too exhausted to do a proper “spanked kid” dance, but I instantly reached back with both hands in a reflexive (and stupid) attempt to sooth my burning buns.  The result of my frantic rub was new pain that almost equaled a fresh spanking. 

The new pain started me squalling again, so Daddy reached his arms out to me.  I scrambled up on his lap, found a position that didn’t put pressure on my bottom, and had myself another good cry into my father’s shoulder. 

While this was happening, Mommy came into my room and (thankfully) closed the door behind her.  She put a comforting arm on my shoulder, whispered something into my ear, and planted a kiss on my cheek.  The three of us stayed huddled together like that until I finally regained a bit of control.  Finally, Daddy carried me to my bed, and gently laid me face down.  There, Mommy doctored my bottom while Daddy wiped the tears, drool and snot from my face and distracted me with tender kisses.  Someone unhooked by bra, and then covered me with a single sheet.  I told them both again how sorry I was and how good I would be in the future.  Then I reached up and hugged Daddy to show that there were no hard feelings.  I suppose he must have seen my bare boobs when I did that, but just then I was beyond caring about modesty.

They turned out the lights and tiptoed out of my room.  My bottom hurt…hurt badly, but I finally cried myself to sleep. 

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The next day it hurt me some to walk, and hurt big time when I sat, but I did my best to get my life back to normal. 

It was kinda hard to do, but as soon as Daddy got home from work that afternoon, I got him by himself and actually thanked him for my spanking.  I got another crushing hug for my effort.  I’m glad he didn’t forget and pat me on the bottom like he sometimes does!

By the way, I kept my word by having a serious talk with my brothers and telling them that I had done a really dorky, stupid and dangerous thing and that they should learn from it.  Oh yes!  I don’t know if my parents would have approved, but I pulled down the back of my PJs and gave the boys a good look at the damage.  I figured that would impress them more than anything else. 

I'm writing this a week later and it still hurts to sit down.  Predictably and thankfully, my bottom is rapidly healing.  Even after getting SPANKED so hard, I still think I made the right choice.  That long restriction would have made me miserable, and inevitably, everyone around me would have been miserable.  Emotionally, getting SPANKED just felt to me like the right punishment for my crimes, even at my age.  I've promised my parents that I won't touch another drop of alcohol until I am at least 21, and even then there will be no drinking and driving.  I intend to keep that promise. 

It's amazing what can happen when you give a girl a fair choice of punishments.

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