Returning to the Scene

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© Guyspencer 2013                                                   

  
                                                      Returning to the Scene

Given the times (1950's) and given where she lived (USA deep south) Julie’s parents weren’t particularly strict with her.  Neither were the spankings her father gave her particularly remarkable.  At least, they weren’t remarkable compared to the hidings that virtually all of her friends received on a fairly regular basis.

Julie’s parents had wanted more children, but somehow it had never happened.  So for better or worse, Julie was the recipient of her parent’s full attention.  That meant that she really couldn’t get away with much mischief.  That didn’t matter as much as it might have, because Julie was basically a good girl.  Still, as is normal for any teen growing up, she did occasionally find herself in her parent’s bad graces.  When that happened, her parent’s usual response was corporal in nature and done according to a predictable family routine.

Her parents made no secret that they occasionally spanked their daughter.  In the correct company, they would even freely admit that they exclusively did so on her bare bottom, and often with implements!  After all, they wanted others to see them as good parents, and spanking was seen as something that every good parent must do. 

The routine went like this: If it happened to be a school day, Julie’s mother would confront her as soon as she returned from school.  After a short but stern conversation, which was mostly intended to assure that the mother had the facts straight, Julie would be sent to her to her room to start her homework.

Eventually Julie would hear her father arrive from work.  Then all would go quiet as her parents discussed how to respond to this latest crisis.

Supper would be tense, but the parents normally wouldn’t directly mention Julie’s pending punishment.  Mother would ask how much more homework remained, and a time would be set for a “meeting”.  After supper, Julie would again be banished to her bedroom to finish her homework and to stew.

At the appointed time, Julie would appear in the living room.  It wasn’t required, but usually she would already be showered and in pajamas.  Often she would already be in tears.
Unwillingly, her eyes would check the spot next to her mother on the couch.  If she found a folded bath towel there, then she was almost surely in for a spanking.

The discussion would always start out lovingly, quietly, and respectfully.  Julie would always be given fair opportunity to explain her side of any story.  The parents were always firm and direct, but seldom resorted to yelling at their cherished offspring.  Finally the talk would morph into a discussion of her punishment.  Here, Julie was allowed to be heard, but the final decision was solely up to the parents.

In truth, the parents already would have discussed the situation and had already tentatively agreed on her punishment.  That was only likely to change if Julie supplied some new fact, or explained how they had their facts confused.  They were open to new information about the offense, but deaf to begging, bargaining, or any other attempt at manipulation by their daughter.

Often, the parent’s decision would involve corporal punishment.  In that case, shortly after  Julie was told that she was to be spanked, the father would excuse himself saying, “I’ll be waiting for you in the study.”  Even though he was about to spank his teenaged daughter’s bare bottom, he felt uncomfortable watching her being stripped.  So he would simply leave the room, leaving that task to the mother.  As he left, the girl would sob on her mother’s shoulder, but never begged to be let off because she knew that once a punishment was announced, her parents never backed down.

The mother would calm her daughter, and then make her stand before her.  And then she would bare Julie for her punishment.

Had there been other children in the household besides Julie, a more modest procedure would likely have evolved, but there was nobody besides her parents to see Julie naked, so her nudity was only a minor issue.  Sometimes the mother stripped every bit of clothing from her daughter, or sometimes only bared her from the waist down.  It depended on the offense, Julie’s attitude, and the mood of the parents.

Once bared, Julie would learn a bit about the severity of her coming punishment.  For lesser offenses, mother might send Julie empty-handed to the study for a simple hand spanking.  For more serious offenses, she would reach under the towel where she had previously secreted either a hairbrush or the “rod of correction”, which was actually an ancient hardwood yardstick. Julie would noticeably wilt when she saw the feared implement, but would obediently accept it from her mother.

Finally Mother would give Julie the towel, which would protect her modesty for the next few minutes.

Wrapped in the towel, she would take the long walk to her father’s study.

There, she would find the door open and her father waiting.  Reluctantly, she would enter the room, leaving the door open.

When Julie turned 8, her parents had decided that the father would take over spanking duties.  Still, they agreed that there would be no spanking unless they were both present to support each other’s authority and unless both had agreed to the spanking.  The mother preferred to not be in the study when the spanking happened, but that open door connected her to events there.  The open door was an acknowledgment that the spanking was more than a matter between father and daughter, it meant the mother was also involved and in agreement.

As Julie entered, the father would always greet her gently and almost apologetically.   If she were holding a spanking implement, he would gravely accept it and place it on his desk.  Having had a cry earlier, Julie would typically meet her father (and her corporal fate) with damp eyes, but without frank tears.

Regardless of any implement Julia brought into the study, her punishment always started with a serious hand spanking.  The father would pull a chair into the center of the room, seat himself and look at Julie expectantly.  Julie knew what she had to do.  It wouldn’t be quite time for the spanking, not quite yet.  First, she would have to stand in front of her father, look him in the eye, and explain what she had done to earn this punishment, and why it was wrong.  In a halting voice, she would give it her best shot.  Sometimes he asked for a point or two in amplification, or sometimes he would just nod his agreement.

When they finally got past that little ceremony, she would tearfully apologize one last time, move to his side, reluctantly relinquish the towel, and put herself into position across her father’s thighs with her bare bottom elevated by his right knee.

The father wasn’t overly harsh, but neither did he believe in token spankings.  The spanking that followed would be careful, calculated, and thorough.  Soon Julie would find herself doing a horizontal boogie as her firm buns and shapely thighs absorbed their full dose of parentally-prescribed correction whilst turning an appropriately bright shade of red..   Her pony tail would toss in time with the gradually increasing pace of her father’s corporal efforts.  First it would approximate an easy canter, and then a trot, and finally increase to gallop speed as the spanking progressed towards its natural conclusion.

Julie accepted her punishment as bravely as possible, but she made no attempt at stoicism.  Long ago, Julie had learned that there was no point in trying to take her punishment silently.  Her feeble, futile attempts at  silence would be taken as a challenge that would simply encourage her father to greater efforts.  So Julie “let it out”.  Her cries, pleas, squeals, shrieks and promises of future perfect behavior would resonate throughout the room and fly out the door to seek out every room of the house.   

Finally her hand spanking would end.  Father would hold her in place and rub her back as she gradually returned to sanity.  Then finally he would set the contrite girl on her feet, where she would be allowed to dance and rub.  By then, the modesty towel had long been forgotten, and the girl never noticed her father’s blush at her naked antics.  The towel would remain on the floor until mother later collected it.  

Often that lewd dance would mark the end of Julie’s punishment, but sometimes there would still be that feared implement waiting on father’s desk.

If there was more punishment to come, father would treat her kindly but firmly.  She would be allowed time to somewhat recover, but not enough delay to cool off her bottom.  If the hairbrush was on the desk, he would softly command her to fetch it and lay herself back into position.  He never drew out this part of the punishment.  He would pin her into position and then quickly brand her nether cheeks with that old wooden brush.  There was no particular number of spanks, but he always took less than a minute to turn a bright red bottom into a mildly bruised one.  Her screams would often carry to the neighbor’s house, and always brought a tear to her mother’s eye.

Rarely, and for only the worst offenses, would be the “rod of correction” be waiting on the desk.  This would be a slower, more drawn-out punishment.  While Julie was dancing from her hand spanking, father would sit at his desk and carefully clear off the top of his desk.  He always kept the upper left drawer empty for just this purpose.  First he would gather up any papers and stack them neatly in the bottom of the drawer.  Then he would gather all of the other items on the desk, such as pens & paperweights and dump them on top.  Finally he would place the leatherette cover over his ancient Underwood typewriter and, with a grunt, lower the heavy thing into the kneehole under the desk. 

Now the desktop would be clear except for the “rod of correction” which was an ancient hardwood yardstick from which the father had laboriously smoothed the sharp edges.

Teary eyed and nervous, poor Julie could only watch her father’s preparations.  Yes, he could have done that stuff in advance, but he pointedly didn’t.  It was a small matter of using theater to enhance her punishment without necessarily making it more physically severe.

And then Julie would find herself bent over her father’s desk.  With his left hand firmly between her shoulder blades, father would hold her down while that slim length of hardwood did its memorable work.  He never whipped her fast.  Instead he would take five minutes to do the same damage he could do with the hairbrush in less than one.  Julie never seemed to notice that the rod did no more damage to her bottom than the hairbrush.  To her, the rod was her most feared punishment.  She never held back on the noise.  The next morning, her throat would hurt almost as much as her bottom.

Then would come the part of the family’s correction ritual that Julie came to crave.  When her cries finally decayed to mere sobs, father would escort his chastised and forgiven darling back to the living room.  There would be a long 3-way hug, spiced with mutual apologies and reassurances of love.   Mother would produce a damp washcloth to wash the girl’s face.  Then all three would sit on the couch.  Snug between her parents, the still bare-bottomed girl would sit on her knees to spare her tender hind parts.
  
Julie was a good girl, a girl who honestly and deeply loved her parents.  But there are always barriers between parent and teen.  But the three had gradually learned that the catharsis of confrontation, punishment, tears and forgiveness temporarily wiped away those barriers of communication.  In the brief, magical absence of those barriers, parent and child could talk like at no other time.  The normally shy girl would sometimes get positively, albeit temporarily, loquacious.  Sometimes they would talk and hug for a whole hour before it finally came time to put the girl to bed.  There was never a time when the girl felt more wanted and more loved.

Finally mother would escort Julie to her bedroom, remove any remaining clothing, and put the bare, red-bottomed girl to bed.  Only when her body was covered by her single sheet would the father come into the room to kiss her goodnight.  This was the only time the girl slept without her nightclothes.  There was no particular reason for this, it was simply an unquestioned part of the family’s punishment ritual.

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Julie grew up and matured into an adult with no particular problems.  She left home for college, met a good man there, graduated, got married, and had her own children.  Their early married life was a randy, loving affair that included spankings for fun but occasionally also for her discipline.  When their first child got old enough to hear things in the night and to ask too many questions, the couple was obliged to pursue quieter intimacies.

Meanwhile, Julie’s parents served as doting grandparents as they aged in Julie’s childhood home. Eventually they aged a bit too much to continue living alone, so Julie reluctantly sold the home to pay for their last few years in a nice assisted living community.  In due course both were gone, having died within weeks of each other as devoted old couples sometimes do.

And then two momentous things happened in the same year; Julie’s last child left for college, and her husband reached retirement age.  It was time for the “empty nesters” to move out of the city and find a quieter, more private, less expensive lifestyle.  In their new privacy, the couple also agreed to “reignite” their intimate life.

Julie knew just the place.  Her childhood home had just come back on the market.

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Julie was naked, bent over the desk, red-bottomed and breathing hard.  She was in a situation that  was welcome and familiar, but not exactly the same as in her childhood.  It was the same study, but a different desk.  In the basement they had miraculously found the family’s old “rod of correction”.  The hand between her shoulder blades firmly holding her to the desk was male, but defiantly not her father’s.  This wasn’t a true punishment, so he wasn’t doing any real damage with the rod, but still her bottom stung enough to make her dance and sob.

Suddenly it stopped.  She grinned slightly as she recognized the soft sound of her husband’s pants hitting the floor.  She flooded with lubrication, knowing and craving what he had in mind, and the delightful coupling that was about to occur.  

Yes, Julie had truly “returned to the scene” of her childhood.  With the eager help of her husband she even enjoyed recreating some of her old memories.  But the loving couple recreated them in their own particular way, so they weren’t exactly the same as what happened in Julie’s childhood.

They were much better!

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© Guyspencer 2013

If Only...

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© Guyspencer 2013

If Only...

“Damn!” Eliza thought looking at the shambles she had just created, “If only all this hadn’t happened.”  After all it wasn’t really her fault that the Cable TV had died in the middle of her soap opera.  Now she wouldn’t know if David had really cheated on Olivia until her soap fan magazine arrived.

Feeling sorry for herself, she mentally moaned,“If only somebody had answered that 800 customer service line instead of letting me stew for 15 minutes, and if only the person who finally answered had spoken a bit of English, perhaps I wouldn’t have lost my temper and thrown the telephone!”

“And all I did was throw it at the wall, where it wouldn’t have hurt a thing.  That telephone is built like a tank!  How was I to know that the cord was wrapped around Albert’s precious vase?  And why did the vase have to break?   I always hated that ugly thing anyhow.  It reminds me of the hideous urn my Uncle Fred was buried in.  Albert cherished that thing, so now my ass will pay.”

“And if only that cord hadn’t deflected the phone before it snapped, then the window wouldn’t have been smashed. “

Carefully, hopefully, Eliza crept up to the smashed window and peered out.  Tears sprang to her eyes when she saw the heavy Bakelite telephone lying next to a parked car, her landlord’s newly dented parked car.   

If only Albert hadn’t insisted on the cheaper apartment on the higher floor, the phone wouldn’t have sailed as far as it fell, and would have missed the car.  Surely Albert would be able to understand that part?  “No,” she realized, it was she who had lost her temper and thrown the telephone, nobody else.  Her temper was well known to Albert.  In his words, “He was working on the problem.”

In despair, her buttocks squeezed in unhappy anticipation of their fate as she covered her face and sobbed.  She knew what he would expect her to do.  She shuffled into the bedroom.  It didn’t take her long to undress.  She needed only kick off her slippers, shrug out of her housedress, and remove her undies.   The shower cooled her off emotionally and physically.  Squeaky clean, but with fresh tears glistening, she put herself into the corner.  When Albert arrived home, he would quickly guess why she was there, and she had an excellent idea what would happen to her then.

Sometimes her relationship with Albert felt almost incestuous, because Albert filled two roles in her life.  He was her husband, but also he served as the firm father figure she needed but never had while being raised by her single mother.  In her youth, the male figures in her life had been a succession of her mother’s boyfriends.  They had all spoiled her whilst attempting to win their way into her mother’s bed.  When they finally witnessed her uncontrollable temper, most simply gave up on her...and also on her mother.

Eliza had been lucky to land a husband like Albert.  He was an enthusiastic lover and a loyal husband, but he also had the knack of firmly taking her in hand when necessary.  He had no desire to break her spirit, but her destructive temper tantrums had to go!  Over the last months he had been “working on the problem” with noticeable success.  Naturally, “working on the problem” involved spanking his young wife when necessary.

Remembering all this, her naked and shapely body shook with soft sobs.

 “If only...”

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Mr. Hopkins, the landlord, ran outside to investigate the strange noise.  A trail of broken glass lay between the building and his parked car.  He quickly discovered the dent in his car, along with the heavy black telephone that had obviously caused it.  It didn’t take a detective to figure out that the phone had sailed from the same fourth floor apartment that now sported a broken window.  It was Albert & Eliza’s apartment. 

Mr. Hopkins knew better than to approach the volatile Eliza, and he knew that Albert was at work, so he consulted his file and called Albert’s work number.  Albert was appropriately shocked and upset to hear of his wife’s behavior.  It was nearly quitting time, so he promised to quickly see Mr. Hopkins “to straighten this out.” 

Mr. Hopkins actually liked Albert and Eliza.  They were occasionally loud, but they always paid their rent on time.  He had run into Albert at a bar and shared a couple beers over talk, so he knew a bit about how Albert was trying to cure his young wife’s unfortunate habit of losing her temper.  A secret spanko, Mr. Hopkins had been greatly thrilled when Albert had indiscreetly hinted that he sometimes found it necessary to spank his young bride.

Also, he didn’t really mind the dent.  He had been thinking about getting a cheap paint job on the car and keeping it for a few more years, so now Albert would help finance that project.

As he waited for Albert to appear, spanking was very much on Mr. Hopkins’ mind.  As he pictured Eliza lying bare-bottomed across her husband’s lap, he had a very predictable physical reaction.  He opened the bottom drawer of his desk which held a few spanking magazines and the “genuine” riding crop he had purchased from an ad.  Did he dare broach the subject with Albert?   
    
Albert clocked out of work a half-hour early and rushed home, where he parked next to Mr. Hopkins’ car and sheepishly knocked on his office door.  

They discussed the situation over Mr. Hopkins’ terrible coffee.  Naturally, Albert was highly apologetic, and promised to pay all damages.  When he also promised that Eliza would be down to apologize “as soon as he was done with her,” he supplied the landlord with the opening he had been hoping for.

“Another red bottom for the little lady?” he asked slyly.

“It needs to be extra red this time,” Albert answered thoughtfully.  “I told her to expect something very special if anything like this ever happened again, but I don’t know what that’s going to be.”

Mr. Hopkins couldn’t believe his luck.  Slyly, he opened a drawer and produced the riding crop.  With a blush he handed it over.  “Perhaps something like this?  You could borrow it.”

Albert looked the object over, dubiously turning it in his hands.

“It’s genuine English Sterling Leather” Mr. Hopkins explained.  (At least, that’s what the ad in the spanking magazine had claimed.)

To Albert it looked cheaply made, probably of “genuine” imitation leather.  Still, it’s appearance would certainly get Eliza’s attention.  He was curious as to why Mr. Hopkins would keep a riding crop in his desk, but suspected that spanking held a special interest for his landlord.

“Yes,” Albert agreed, “That will do just fine.  I’d like to invite you up to witness, but Eliza won’t be, errr...decently covered for the event.”

Catching a disappointed look, Albert continued, “But you do have a right to know that she has been properly punished.  She and I have some talking to do, but if you happen to be standing in the parking lot in about 20 minutes, you will probably hear the whole thing through that broken window.  There will be a spanking first, and then I’ll test your riding crop.”

The landlord squirmed under his desk.  Albert stood to leave, but there was no way that Mr. Hopkins could do the same without displaying his condition.  They shook hands across the desk and Albert took his leave.

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As Albert climbed the steps toward his apartment, he mentally shifted to “father mode.”

If nothing else, Eliza was always contrite and obedient after one of her destructive temper tantrums.  Albert had expected to find her naked and waiting in a corner, and so she was.  Her eyes opened wide at the sight of the riding crop.

“Yes Eliza, Albert said ominously, I promised you something special if this ever happened again.  You will bend over for this, but first you get a nice hard spanking.”

But first she had to suffer through the lecture.  She was almost (but not quite) happy when it finally came time for her punishment.  Surprisingly, he never even mentioned the vase.  She had expected to be spanked in the bedroom as usual, but received an unwelcome surprise when Albert led her out to the living room and placed a kitchen chair near the broken window.    “As a further reminder, you will be spanked at the scene of the crime.”   

He looked around suspiciously for any shards of glass that might cut his darling’s feet.  The snapped phone cord lay next to the shattered vase.  He kicked the mess aside.  The vase was a family treasure, but now he was free of it.  The truest treasure in his life was Eliza herself.

Albert stuck his head out the window and slyly waved to Mr. Hopkins before he sat down and pulled his wife across his lap.  Her buttocks clenched and dimpled fetchingly.  After one last reminder of the reason for her punishment, he started to work.  Eliza’s firm bottom shook, jostled, and rippled as red hand prints merged into an even red hue.  As Eliza kicked and sobbed and begged and squealed, Albert carefully and deliberately delivered his hardest spanking ever.  But that was only the beginning!

He finally let her up, and patiently allowed his darling to dance and rub until she finally gained control.  Her sobs started anew when he picked up the riding crop, grabbed her upper arm, firmly led her to the back of the chair, and bent her into position. 

Albert was surprised at how effective that riding crop was!  It made an impressive “SNAP” as it dug into her right buttock.  She shrieked and stood. Calmly, he put her back into place, held her with his left arm, and then delivered several more blows.  As she absorbed her punishment, her top half stayed anchored to the chair, her feet danced on the floor, but her bottom only managed a bit of a jig, which served to nicely distribute the blows in a satisfyingly random pattern. 

It was then that Eliza got lucky.  After about a dozen strokes, that cheap riding crop snapped.  Albert cussed, but mostly because of the expense of replacing it. Still, Eliza was saved from a few strokes. 

Later Eliza worried that someone outside may have heard her disgrace, but she never knew of the arranged witness.

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Downstairs, Mr. Hopkins had wandered out into the parking lot as if to examine his damaged car again.  He arrived just moments before the start of Eliza’s spanking.  The sounds of her punishment thrilled him to the depths of his slightly perverted soul.  Her spanking seemed to go on forever, but finally there was a lengthy pause.  When he heard the snap as his own riding crop impacted against actual feminine buttflesh, the lonely man nearly had a messy accident in his pants.  He was thankful that nobody was there to watch him as he enjoyed listening to his pretty tenant’s hiding.  It was an experience he would never forget.

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Up in the apartment, Albert cuddled Eliza and whispered forgiving words into her ear.  Soon, her tears dwindled.  Mentally, Albert shifted back into “husband mode.”  It was time for reconciliation, which the couple invariably did in bed, repeatedly, athletically.

Two hours later found Eliza kissing and fondling Albert’s member in a vain attempt to resurrect it for an unprecedented fourth performance.  His spirit was willing, but the flesh was weak.

Eliza grumbled good-naturedly, “If only.”

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Awww Mommmm!

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© Guyspencer 2013

Awww Mommmm!

One cloudless day in 1970, two miles above the flat plains of Texas, George finally found himself alone. He howled into his oxygen mask in pure exultation.  His jet, a Convair F102 interceptor, was ancient as warplanes go.  But George didn’t mind.  It was a real jet fighter plane, and he was finally a real fighter pilot.  Never mind that he had graduated low in his class at flight school.  The only important thing was that he had graduated.  

Some say that George had only won his position in the Texas Air National Guard because his father happened to be an important Congressman.  For sure, he was a playboy and an unenthusiastic student.  But none of that mattered to George right now, because he was free!

For the first time, his commanding officer had allowed this new pilot to take a plane without a flight instructor, or a wingman, or even assigning him a specific task.  So he decided to try what many “young and dumb” pilots do early in their flying career, buzz his home.

He glanced at the chart clipped to his knee as he flew in the general direction of home.  From up there everything looked different, so he first looked for major landmarks.  He saw the lake with the town nestled next to it. 

He knew that little town, and many of the people in it.  He stared at the used car lot where he had carelessly purchased his very first car, an incurable lemon.  “I wish this plane had one o them-there nu-cle-ar weapons,” he mused, “That would show that bugger.”

Next he found the railroad track that pointed in the general direction of his parent’s ranch.  Finally oriented, he found the small blacktop road that led to a smaller dirt road.  Then he spotted the dot that was his parent’s ranch house.

Pushing the throttle to make the jet engine roar, he dived towards the ground.  His windscreen filled with Texas terrain, terrain scattered with objects that suddenly bloomed much larger.  One of those “objects” was the ranch house, which he centered in his view.    

The F102 was a marginally supersonic jet fighter designed in the early 1950s.  Among the most rigid rules that had been drummed into George at flight school was that you never allowed the plane to go supersonic near any inhabited area, lest the sonic boom cause damage.  With his fixation on the rapidly approaching home, George failed to notice the airspeed needle slipping into the red area.  As he zoomed over the ranch house, he cackled, “Hehehe”.    It was a chuckle that was to become known worldwide in future decades.

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The silver-haired lady jumped as the roar hit the house followed by a “Bang” that sounded like a cannon blast.  Portraits fell from the walls, crockery broke and the parlor picture window shattered.  “Bar’s” heart rate nearly tripled.”  Instantly her thoughts turned to her jet-pilot son.  “Oh God!” she thought, “George just crashed a plane in the yard.”  With her heart in her throat, she ran outside expecting to see smoke, fire and wreckage.  Instead, she saw a rapidly receding dot in the sky.  She shook her fist after the plane. “I’ll show you” she screamed.  

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Except for the huge grin that split his face, his return to base and landing were routine.  He even managed to land without blowing out any tires.  He left the plane with the ground crew and swaggered off.  In the headquarters building he signed his flight documents with a flourish.  The enlisted men had to service the airplanes and would be required to spend the night at headquarters.  But rank has its privileges!   George was an officer, albeit a very junior one, so he was allowed to leave as soon as his paperwork was complete.

Shortly later, still dressed in his flight suit, George jumped into his Mustang convertible and headed for the ranch.  As he drove, he cackled at the joke he had played on his mother.  His chest puffed out in pride.  It was as if he were the first pilot who had ever thought to buzz his house!  Of course, he was totally oblivious to the devastation he had caused.

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Back at the ranch, Maggie, the family’s loyal housekeeper came running to check on Mrs. Bar and to view the mess.  Thinking fast, she called some of the ranch hands to help clean up the broken glass and crockery, and to nail plywood in place of the shattered picture window.  As they worked, Mrs. Bar plotted her revenge.  Together they quickly cleaned up the house.  Seeing a family eruption brewing, the men quickly disappeared the moment the job was done.  Maggie prepared to do the same, but first she asked her employer if she needed anything else.  “Just one thing,” Bar said in a determined voice, “Find the bath brush and leave it on the coffee table.”  With a sly grin, Maggie obeyed the order before leaving for the day.

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In his new sporty red convertible, an appropriate car for a real fighter pilot, George retraced his way back to the family ranch.  Only now he had to follow roads rather than invent his own route as he had done in the airplane.  Finally he saw the big lake and the familiar little town.  He stopped for gas to allow the locals a chance to admire him, his flight suit, and his new car.  As the young gas station attendant filled his tank George asked in his most modest voice, “Did you notice that jet fighter a couple hours ago?  That was me.”

“Oh,” the kid said, “So it was you who tore up Mrs. Bar’s house?  You could hear the sonic boom from here.” 

“Sonic boom?” George asked, “There was no sonic boom.”  But suddenly he wasn’t so sure.  He got a familiar twinge in his gut.  He considered a strategic retreat, perhaps a night back at National Guard headquarters.  Finally, he decided to go home and face the music.

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Most folks called George’s mother “Bar” or “Mrs. Bar,” but George knew her as “Mom” or “The Enforcer.”   That second nickname was replete with true meaning to George.

As he neared the ranch house, he found himself driving slower and slower. Finally the inevitable happened, he arrived.  He was relieved to see that the only visible damage to the house was the plywood over the former picture window.  He flushed as he saw his mother framed in the front door, hands on hips.

He gulped as he parked and reluctantly emerged to face his mother.  “What were you thinking?” she hollered.  “Do you have any idea how many new pilots kill themselves in front of friends and family doing stupid buzz jobs?  When I heard that bang I thought you were dead!”  At that, a tiny crack appeared in the steel of her face.  A tear appeared in one eye.  She quickly blinked it away and grabbed her wayward son by the ear.

“Get that stupid flight suit off and stick your nose in that corner mister!”

“Awww Mommmm” he whined.  But after due reflection he also obeyed.  Financially speaking, George hadn’t yet found his way into the adult world.  He still depended on at least intermittent largess from his parents, so defying “The Enforcer” wasn’t in the cards.

Moments later, George stood with his nose in the corner dressed only in his white briefs.

Barr let him stew for several minutes before she walked up behind him with that potent bath brush in her hand.  She put the handle into the palm of his hand.  Immediately he knew what it was.  George was all too familiar with that brush. 

“Hold that brush over your head,” she ordered.   “Hold it with both hands!” 

“Awww Mommmm” he moaned, “I’m way too old for this sorta stuff now.  I’m a commissioned officer and everything.”

“I think your actions today indicate otherwise.” The lady spat out those words without the  slightest trace of compromise in her voice.

Seeing no alternative, George obeyed the order.  He raised the bath brush above his head and held it with both hands.  He knew from previous experience what would happen next.

With his hands safely out of the way, Bar grabbed George’s briefs and skinned them down past his knees.  They fell to the carpet.  The words escaped his lips one last time, “Awww Mommmm.”

In a much milder tone than before, the lady reassured her son, “I promise you that we’re alone in the house.  This is just between you and me.  I’m your mother so I’ve seen everything you have thousands of times before.  You know that you need and deserve this, so step out of those undies and let’s just get it done.  OK?”

There was a long silence as she waited for his answer.  Finally he sadly nodded.

Just a few minutes later, they were sharing a sturdy armless chair.  She sat, but he was in that time-honored position across the matriarchal lap.  His bottom quickly turned red as that horrid bath brush did its painful work.

Mrs. Bar’s objective was simply to spank some sense into her semi-wayward son.  Your idea of the success or failure of her endeavor likely depends on your own personal rear view of history.   


That said, it seems fair to allow George to speak for himself:
"We need to counter the shockwave of the evildoer by having individual rate cuts accelerated and by thinking about tax rebates." Oct. 4, 2001

"I can't tell you what it's like to be in Europe, for example, to be talking about the greatness of America. But the true greatness of America are the people."  July 2, 2001

"I didn't grow up in the ocean—as a matter of fact—near the ocean—I grew up in the desert. Therefore, it was a pleasant contrast to see the ocean. And I particularly like it when I'm fishing." Sept. 26, 2008

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Her Last Family Council

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© Guyspencer 2013

                                                     Her Last Family Council

Parents almost always remember “firsts”; such as their child’s first word, first day at school, first love affair, etc.  “Lasts” however, are much more difficult to detect, but can be even more precious.  “Lasts” can only be enjoyed in retrospect because you are seldom aware that something is happening for the last time.  By “lasts,” I mean events such as the last time a daddy carries his sleeping child to bed, the last time she needs to be dressed, or even perhaps that last diaper. 

Since you know this is a spanking story, you’ve probably already guessed that this is the story of a last spanking.  At least, this was the last spanking that Susan Parker received from her parents.  After that, who knows?

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They knew immediately that something was bothering Susan. When they noticed the dent in the car, they guessed at least part of the story.

Susan at first denied all knowledge of the damage.  That lie was her real mistake. She would face punishment for that.  The story got worse as they finally wormed it out of her.  It had been a parking misjudgement, and there had been another car involved.  From the paint smear on the fender, they knew it was a red car.  Susan had left the scene without even leaving a note.

They made Susan do the detective work to find the other car.  In their small town, it wasn’t difficult.  An apology and a promise to pay fixed that situation.  Their own car was old, so they decided just to live with the dent.  All in all, it wasn’t the end of the world, except that their 16 year-old daughter had told them a bare-faced lie.  

In the Parker family, there was a standard punishment for a deliberate lie, and Susan knew well what it was. 

The parents waited a couple days before having a quiet talk with their oldest daughter.  Susan was a good girl.  It had been more than a year since her last spanking, but she was due one now.  They emphasized that the reason for her punishment had nothing to do with the accident itself. Their concern was mostly about the lie, but also about her leaving the scene without notifying the owner of the other car.  She was told that she would be the subject of a “Family Council” that evening.  She knew what that would mean.

Susan received the news with tears, but she didn’t try to beg off.  She knew what she had done, knew she had no excuse, and had a clear idea what her punishment would be.  In the Parker family, punishments were never a secret, and were always considered a family matter.  Spankings were infrequent, but they were always given at a family council after the reasons had been clearly explained to all.

At supper that evening, the father solemnly announced that there would be a family council promptly at seven thirty.  Susan’s brother John (14) looked at his sister Betty (12).  They knew that neither of them were in trouble.  Since Susan was so rarely in trouble, they wrongly guessed that this particular family council had nothing to do with discipline.    The look on Susan’s face would have told them otherwise, but they missed it.

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The family council convened at the appointed time.  As normal, all three children wore their pajamas.  As normal, the parents sat alone side-by-side on the couch, with the mother on the father’s left.  The children pulled up various chairs and sat expectantly in a semicircle facing their parents.

It was the father who did the talking.  He explained the events that had landed Susan in trouble, emphasizing that she was not being spanked for her parking mishap, but only for her behavior afterwards, and especially for the deliberate lie.

Shocked, John and Betty looked at their big sister and saw tears freely flowing down her cheeks.

Since this was a family morality lesson as much as a punishment, he went on to discuss what a terrible habit lying is and the horrors it can lead to.

Mother spoke up, “Susan, it’s your turn to talk.  What do you have to say for yourself?”

Usually Susan hated this part of the family ritual, but this time she was angry, angry with herself, and determined to take her punishment with true contrition and as much dignity as possible.  “I can only say that what I did was wrong and stupid.  I can’t believe I acted that way.  It will never happen again.”

“I’m glad to hear that Susan,” mother replied, “That’s a very grownup attitude.”

Miserably, Susan nodded her acceptance.  Looking at her siblings she said, “I’m sorry if I ruined your evening, and don’t feel too sorry for me.  Lying is wrong.”

The Parkers lived in a modest two bedroom home.  Therefore, privacy for five people was a challenge.  Particularly in the single bathroom, privacy sometimes had to give way to practicality.  For example, it was an unwritten rule that when someone was in the shower, the rest of the bathroom was available to others.  If that resulted in some accidental flash of nakedness, nobody paid any attention.

Early on, the parents decided that the children would grow up comfortable with the sight of each other’s bodies.  As youngsters, they shared communal baths and a single bedroom.  At the first signs of puberty, they quietly stopped the communal baths and built a makeshift bedroom for John in the basement.  Still, the youngsters remained familiar with the sight of each other’s bodies.  One reason for that familiarity was that the family’s punishment ritual remained unchanged; pants-off, in the living room, on the couch, in front of the family council.

Looking at his nearly grown daughter, Mr. Parker was having second thoughts.  He suddenly wished that he had thought to discuss this matter with his wife.  He certainly didn’t wish to appear weak, but perhaps it was time to add a bit of modesty to their punishment routine? 

Had Susan asked, he probably would have weakened and at least waited until she was in place to bare her.  Instead, the contrite girl took matters into her own hands.

Susan stood and walked to her parents.  She hugged her mother and mumbled “Sorry mommy.”  Then she hugged her father saying, “I’m sorry daddy.  Do what you need to do.”  Then, not knowing that there might be another option, she automatically followed the procedure she had always known.  She stood and skinned off her pajama bottoms, stepping out of them to present herself nude from the waist down. Then she handed the pajama bottoms to her mother, who folded them neatly and placed them on her lap.

John and Betty watched avidly.  Oh yes, they noticed the new puff of hair at the apex of Susan’s coltish legs, but it wasn’t their sister’s body that held their main fascination.  Instead, they were absorbed in this rare family drama, their oldest sister actually misbehaving and getting spanked! 

Susan crawled up on the couch to her father’s right, and laid herself across his lap.  She pillowed her face in her mother’s lap, and stretched her feet along the couch.   Gently but firmly, mother pinioned her daughter’s arms.  She wouldn’t wear those pajama bottoms any more that evening, so her face was pillowed in the folded garment.  It would absorb her tears, her mucus, and even her drool as she reacted to her punishment. 

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Frederick Parker honestly hated to spank his children, but he also took his parental duties seriously and one of those was to deliver the occasional spanking.  The tradition of the “family council” came from his wife’s (Mary’s) family.  Fred favored the idea because he honestly believed that “sharing the lesson,” by insisting that all spankings be witnessed by the entire family, would mean that he would have to give fewer spankings overall. 

Also, he hated making spanking decisions almost as much as he hated spanking.  Both parents agreed that spankings should be rare but also memorable.   So Fred gave no mild spankings.  By having rigid rules and an unchanging procedure, there were usually no decisions to be made.  All knew what to expect, so the parents just had to “do their duty” whenever one of their children misbehaved. 

Also, since both Fred and Mary were always both present at any spanking, Fred was actually content to leave any judgement calls up to his wife, who seemed less reticent about spanking than he was.  The one big variable in their spanking routine involved the possible use of the hairbrush.  Fred was happy to leave that choice up to his wife.

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Fred looked down at his daughter’s rapidly maturing bottom and wished he were somewhere else, anywhere else.  Susan’s nether cheeks, perfectly positioned to receive correction, clenched and dimpled in unhappy anticipation.  Between the hold that her mother had on her arms, and her father’s firm restraining arm just above her waist, the girl was quite helpless.

Finally Fred started his grim project.  Using more fingertip than palm, he rained mild swats all over her buttocks, creating only the mildest of pink glows.  Seeing no reason to hurry the process, he paused to allow that to soak in.  Breathing hard, but not yet sobbing, Susan waited for the inevitable resumption, and for the inevitable escalation.

He finally started again, this time with slightly harder swats which each left a definite pink splotch.  This time he ranged freely and randomly above and below her sit spots, staking out his territory.  Susan bit her lip, but remained still and silent even though her tears already flowed freely.

Even though intellectually Susan knew better, she fooled herself momentarily into believing that perhaps she was finally “woman enough” to take her punishment stoically.  Of course, her father had barely begun!

After a second pause, he started again, this time landing moderately hard spanks that employed much more palm.  Susan tried to hold out, but she finally started to squirm.  Still fighting it, she locked her ankles together to keep her legs from kicking.  Finally, without her even realizing she was speaking.   “Owwwww” escaped her lips.  By now, her bottom displayed a distinctly red hue.

He paused again.  Susan sobbed quietly, she knew now that she had lost the battle before it had really began.

In Fred’s mind, the real spanking hadn’t even started yet, but it would soon!  He allowed Susan to squirm a few moments and then asked, “Will you ever lie to us again?”

“Nooo” wailed Susan.  “Never again. I’m sorry.”

“Good answer, but you’re about to be sorrier” he warned.  Then he resumed the spanking, only this time with a slow, relentless series of judicious, full-bodied spanks that seemed to go on forever.  As soon as she felt that first nearly full-strength spank, Susan knew that she could never hold out against one of her father’s spankings, and that it was silly to dream that it was possible.  Before she knew it, she was wailing apologies and unlikely promises of forever perfect behavior.  Quickly, her utterances degenerated into incoherence and embarrassingly loud screeches.   Her poor bottom bounced and rippled as spank after spank landed seemingly randomly all over her bottom and upper thighs.  Her legs fanned against the couch as if she were swimming, but the rest of her was held quite immobile.

This time there were no pauses.  The spanking would continue until the parents decided that she had been fully spanked. 

Even though both John and Betty had experienced and observed their share of spankings, Parker family spankings were always a sobering experience. The brother stared open-mouthed at the sight of his biggest sister crying and carrying on like someone half her age.  The little sister watched with a stricken look on her face and a tear in her eye.  Even though Susan had told them not to feel sorry for her, they both felt empathy for their big sister.

Finally it was over...except that it wasn’t!  When Susan began displaying all of the normal signs of a well-spanked girl, the mother silently jabbed the father in the ribs.  He nodded in agreement, and stopped.  They gave Susan a few moments to recover, but they never relinquished their hold on her.  It began to dawn on Susan that this spanking wasn’t quite over. 

Earlier, Susan could have asked her parents about the hairbrush, but she didn’t because she was afraid of the answer.  So Susan didn’t know that moments before the family council, Mrs. Parker had handed her husband the hairbrush.   As he had sat down on the couch, he had tucked it behind him.  Now it was time to put to use.

Looking down at his miserable livid-bottomed darling, he considered weakening and letting her off.  But then he thought of John and Betty.  What sort of message would that send to them?  It was thoughts of a possible confrontation with his wife that clinched the deal. She expected him to brand his daughter with the hairbrush, and so he would.

He reached behind and fished out the brush.  In a slightly choked voice he intoned, “Sorry Susan, but a lie is a very serious thing.  You will feel this for a few days to reinforce your lesson.”

He started by branding each sit spot with two hard swats.  Susan threw her head back and screamed.  Fred didn’t prolong it.  Alternating from right buttock to left, it took him little more than one minute to spank his way from the bottom of her buttocks to the top, and then spank his way back down to her sit spots.  Each stroke of the brush left it’s mark on her poor bottom.  Susan took it badly, but at least it was over quickly.

They spent a few minutes comforting the distraught girl before carefully helping her to her feet.  As she danced, rubbed, and sobbed quietly, the parents had a conversation with John and Betty to ensure that they understood the lesson involved and how to apply it to their own lives so that they need never suffer as their big sister had.  Then those two were dismissed.

Finally the parents led Susan to her bedroom, where they washed her face, hugged her, kissed her, put her to bed, and remained until she drifted off to sleep.

In an unofficial family tradition, Susan gave John and Betty a good look at her bottom the next day.  They were duly impressed by the damage, which only reinforced the parent’s lesson.

Susan's spanking seemed to be a great success.  For one thing, as the title of the story implies, that turned out to be Susan’s last childhood spanking.  More importantly, Susan seemed to grow up to value honesty and to insist on it with others.  Her siblings John and Betty also seemed to learn an important lesson, and did do painlessly. 

On the other hand, that wasn’t the last time Susan misbehaved, not by far!  Susan resolved to avoid future spankings, but that last spanking had impressed on her the value of planning ahead!  In short, Susan became a clever sneak.  Her last few years at home were a study in undetected crime! 

So that last spanking had a profound effect on the girl, just not precisely the effect that her parents would have wanted.   

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