Monday, March 31, 2014


© Guyspencer 2014

If you were lucky enough to grow up in a normal family with a full set of parents, you probably remember that your father’s wallet was seldom a temptation.  All day long, that wallet likely followed him around attached to his left buttock like a huge wart.  At night it probably wasn’t far from his bed.  Therefore, you never had a chance to be tempted by its contents. 

Your mother’s purse was likely a different matter.  The moment your mother entered the house, she likely dropped it in some favorite spot.  There, it would sit unguarded and forgotten for hours at a time.  Therefore, your mother’s purse was likely available to you.  Since it probably contained at least a trifle of money, it couldn’t help but be a temptation.


Debra Foster, a beautiful sixteen-year-old, watched carefully as her mother went downstairs to the laundry.  She peeked around the corner to assure herself that her mother was folding clothes, a job that would take her several minutes.  Then she went to the little table in the hallway where her mother’s purse always lived. 

She told herself that it was really a trifling matter.  Debby had already spent her allowance for the week, but the department store had gotten a new lipstick shade in that she “needed”.  Debby told herself that it was just a loan.  Her mother would never miss ten dollars anyhow! 

The money was in her hand, and she had just replaced her mother’s wallet into the purse when Troy, her brother, appeared with a triumphant look on his face, “Caught you!  I’ll bet you have been doing this all along!”  Debby opened her mouth to deny that she was stealing money, but the green bill in her hand made any such attempt ludicrous.

Troy was only one year younger than Debby.  Usually they got along, but he seemed to have changed lately, and not in a good way.  Some call it “teenage angst”, but mother just called it “growing pains”.

To her shame, Debby next found herself in Troy’s bedroom attempting to negotiate his silence. 

“It’s like this,” he said, “Simply take your punishment from me and mother need never know that you’re a thief.  Plus you get to keep the money!” 

She actually considered allowing him to spank her, except that he insisted on doing it “like Mommy would do it”, meaning bare bottom.  Very bare bottom! 

Both Debby and Troy were still subject to occasional spankings, but because of their age, spankings were always done in private and always by the like-gender parent.  However, one thing hadn’t changed since their early childhood; spankings were given bare bottom.  If not naked, then totally bare from the waist down.    

Debby just couldn’t bring herself to let Troy see her bare.  She even offered to let him do it over her panties, but he was adamant. Finally, tearfully and bitterly she gave up.  At first Troy misinterpreted her tears, taking them for surrender.  But her next words changed everything!

“OK Troy, you win.  You won’t even need to tattle on me. I’m going downstairs to confess.” 

Troy suddenly realized that he might have overplayed his hand.  “You’re, you’re not going to tell her about this conversation are you?

“What do you think?” Debby sniffed.  “Your attempted blackmail made me realize how wrong I was.  How could I ever think about stealing?  Especially from my own mother!  And how could I ever lower myself enough to negotiate with a blackmailer? ”

Realizing that the situation had turned about,  and that Debby was suddenly in the driver’s seat, Troy backpedaled wildly, offering first to “forget everything” and finally offering to take a spanking himself!  Debby knew that any such agreement she made with Troy could literally “bite her in the ass” if he changed his mind and talked or if it was discovered by her parents.  Wisely, she refused.

Troy’s final gambit was a threat to deny everything.  Debby had an easy answer to that, “Go ahead and try it!  Everybody knows that you’re a terrible liar, and now we’ve just discovered that you’re a lousy blackmailer also.  Mother will see through you instantly!”
By now, Debby had realized that confessing was not only the right thing to do, it would instantly free her from Troy’s blackmail.  Steeling herself, she marched from the room without a backward glance.


In his room, Troy listened to silence, silence that seemed to last forever.  There was nothing that he could do except to hope that either Debby had changed her mind about confessing, or would confess without implicating him, or that mother would focus on Debby’s theft and forget about him!  Considering these three possible “outs” from his situation, he found a desperate hope. 

There was one thing that he conceded though; Troy knew that he was a terrible liar.  He would never be able to lie his way out of this!

Finally Troy heard footsteps outside his door.  After a perfunctory knock, mother stuck her head in his bedroom.  “Troy, is what I just heard correct?  Did you try to blackmail your sister?”

Troy now knew that all was lost.  Trying to lie or minimize what he had done would only make things worse.

“Yes mom,” he croaked, “I don’t know what I was thinking.”  

“You really thought that giving your sister a bare bottom spanking was a good idea?”

Tears formed in Troy’s eyes, “I’m sorry mom.  I was stupid.”

“OK,” she said heavily, “At least you admitted it.  Honestly, I’m in shock.  I’ll need your father’s help to decide what to do about you, so just stay in your bedroom for now.”

“Yes mom.  I’m sorry mom.”

Knowing he was in serious trouble, Troy morosely waited in his bedroom and suffered through another period of silence.  Eventually the silence was broken by the sound of a spanking.  He knew the sounds must be coming from Debby’s bedroom.  He heard several spanks before he heard Debby’s voice start to respond.  At first she loudly exclaimed and offered loud but futile apologies and promises of perfect future behavior.  Gradually the spanks became louder, but Debby’s voice became louder still, more shrill and less coherent.  Occasionally he could hear his mother’s loud voice, scolding or asking some rhetorical question the way parents do at times like this.

Then things finally got quiet again.  The spanking seemed to stop, but he could still hear his sister sobbing, and hear his mother’s voice.  Mother’s voice was softer now, but with a determined undertone that he knew and feared.

For perhaps two entire minutes he heard nothing.  Just when he had allowed himself to hope it was over, he heard, “No mommy, NO!”

Seconds later, he heard the distinct sound of the back of the family hairbrush impacting taut teenage buttflesh, followed almost immediately by Debby’s agonized shriek.  He clapped his hands over his ears, but it didn’t help.   The paddling was longer than any he had ever heard.  When it finally ended, Debby’s voice was hoarse and she was obviously worn out.

It took a long time for Debby to stop crying, but finally the house again became silent.  Troy waited, knowing that he would somehow be next.  Without warning, his mother’s head again popped into his bedroom, “Did you hear that Troy?”

Soberly he nodded.

“You are in for that and more young man.  Honestly Troy, I’m disgusted by your behavior.  I’ve already talked to your father.  He’ll be home at the usual time.”

Sadly and lamely, Troy responded, “Yes mom.  I’m sorry mom.”


When father arrived, he promptly disappeared into the bedroom with mother.  They talked for a long time.  Given their horror at their son’s dishonest and (frankly) creepy behavior, they came to a decision that previously would have been unthinkable in their family. 

With the decision made, but not yet “chiseled in stone”, father went to confront Troy.  He started by carefully listening to Troy’s side of the story, then he asked a few questions.  To his credit, Troy was truthful to his father, even though he assumed that his father was there to spank him. 

Sure enough, Troy saw that special serious-but-sad pre-spanking look on his father’s face.  Father hugged his son and said, “This isn’t the end of the world Troy.  You seem to be honestly sorry, and you’ve been honest with me.  You’ll be punished, punished hard I’m afraid, but then you’ll be forgiven so life can go back to normal OK?” 

Troy could do little but agree.

Then father surprised and puzzled Troy by ordering him to remove everything but his underpants, after which he abruptly left the room.  

Their decision now firm, they visited Debby in her bedroom to explain their plans for Troy’s punishment. 

They found her dressed in her pajamas, and outwardly recovered from her punishment.  Father started by saying that he was disappointed with Debby’s theft, but that she had been punished and forgiven, so that was the end of it. 

Then followed a careful conversation about the punishment they had planned for Troy and why they had decided on it.  They explained to Debby what she would definitely see, and frankly warned her about what she might see.  They reminded her that she wasn’t far from being an adult and that what she saw shouldn’t come as any shock to her.  Finally, they stressed family privacy.  She must not discuss this with anyone outside the family.

Mother took Debby downstairs, while father went to Troy’s bedroom.  Troy stood, expecting to lose his underpants and then be paddled by his father.  But that wasn’t what happened!  Father pointed to the door “OK Troy, your punishment will be downstairs, so let’s go.”  When he realized what his father was saying, Troy was horrified.  He opened his mouth to protest, but nothing came out.  Ultimately, he meekly followed father downstairs.


Wearing only his briefs, Troy entered the living room to find his mother and Debby already sitting on the couch.  Debby gave him a sad look.  Father sat next to his wife, but nobody offered Troy a chair. 

He stood uncomfortably and endured a lecture about the evils of blackmail.  They pointed out that blackmail is really just a sort of theft, but a particularly bad kind of theft because it can ruin lives.  Naturally, he was so afraid of his imminent punishment that he remembered little of the lecture, but one point that his father made hit home.  “Sometimes we make heros out of criminals.  We probably shouldn’t, but we do.  From history or literature can you name a thief who was thought of as a hero?” 

Troy thought for a moment. “Robin Hood?”

“Yes, that’s a good answer,” agreed father, “Now name a beloved blackmailer!”

Of course, Troy couldn’t think of one.

“That because nobody loves a blackmailer,” father explained.  He saw Troy’s face crumble, so quickly added, “But we love you Troy, so we must ensure that you never try blackmail again.  That brings us to your punishment!”

Miserably, Troy nodded.       

Father continued, “First, don’t associate your punishment with Debby.  This punishment comes from us, not her.  I believe Debby would prefer not to be here, but we think her presence is important.  What is about to happen would have been unthinkable yesterday, but yesterday my son hadn’t tried to blackmail my daughter into disrobing to take a bare bottom spanking.”

“I know daddy,” sobbed Troy, “and I think I know what’s going to happen.”

“You are likely correct.  What’s about to happen is turnabout,” father said firmly, “You tried to blackmail Debby into taking off her clothes for a spanking, so it makes perfect sense that the same should happen to you.”

Mother spoke up, “Yes Troy, you’re in for an embarrassing few minutes, and a very hard spanking.  But just like any other spanking, when it’s over you’ll be forgiven and the incident will be behind us.”

Troy spoke hopefully, “Is it possible that Debby could forgive me too?  I haven’t been a very good friend to her lately.  I want to change that.”

Everybody looked at Debby.  She hesitated, but tears sprang to her eyes.  She stood, went to her brother, and hugged him.  “There’s your answer,” she said.

There was a long silence as everyone in the room choked back their emotions.

Troy looked at his father with sad expectancy in his eyes.

Father decided that the time for talking was past, “OK.  This is your punishment for trying to blackmail your sister, trying to spank her without authority, and for trying to bully her into removing her clothing.  You may remove your underpants son.  You may not cover yourself up.”

Shyly and sadly, Troy obeyed.  Blushing furiously, he lowered his underpants and then stepped out of them, leaving them on the floor.  Debby’s eyes widened a bit at the view, but her face betrayed no special happiness or triumph at her brother’s predicament.

Troy’s desperate fear of an erection and the cool air in the room conspired to betray him.  He groaned in mortification.  Debby had been prepared for that event, and had been reminded that Troy had no direct control over his erectile state. 

Troy stood in front of his family, awaiting the next command.  It came from father, “I will need a spanking chair.  Bring me an armless dining room chair.”  Troy retreated from the room, his white buttocks shining behind him.  He returned moments later with a chair.  Everyone noticed that the chair had been strategically placed to hide his bobbing erection, but father decided to let it pass.

Next, father considered how to angle the chair.  Should the ladies see Troy’s face or an intimate view of his bottom?  He decided on a compromise.  He pointed the chair straight towards them to provide a side view.


Things were progressing much too rapidly for Troy.  The situation reminded him of strange dreams he vaguely remembered where he had found himself naked in public.  But this was no dream!  He was mortified to be naked in front of his mother and sister, especially considering that his erection wouldn’t go away!  His face was red, blushed in both embarrassment and frustration.  Making him fetch the chair after removing his underpants had been a dirty trick, but no worse than he knew he deserved.

One thing was heartening, he had looked carefully around the room and saw no hairbrush.  This gave him reason to hope, against the odds, that this would only be a hand spanking.

He watched his father position the chair and then sit down purposely.  Obviously, the next order of business would be for him to assume the traditional position.  Troy had mixed feelings about this.  It would hide his erection, a good thing, but then he would get spanked, and that was bad!    
Regardless of Troy’s feelings, he soon found himself across his father’s lap, and his spanking was obviously about to start.

At times like this, Troy usually had trouble concentrating on what was being said to him.  Now was no exception!  He heard his father warn him about something, but he had to rerun his father’s words inside his head to make sense of them.  It was something about, “This is the first half of your spanking”.

Then Troy was suddenly busy, busy being spanked!


In spite of herself, and in spite of her parent’s careful preparation, Debby had been a bit scandalized at the sight before her eyes.  She hadn’t seen Troy nude since early childhood, and there had been lots of changes since then!  Debby liked to imagine herself as a “woman of the world,” but she was actually refreshingly virgin.  In fact, the male anatomy she had just viewed was something she had only seen in pictures before.

Debby would really have preferred to be somewhere else, yet she couldn’t tear her eyes from the sight of her brother’s exposure and spanking. 

There had been a delay as Troy had fetched his own chair, and then father gotten himself settled into it.  Just as father got Troy across his lap, Debby heard him say something strange.  “When I let you back up, your spanking will only be half over.” 

Still unable to look away, Debby settled down to watch her brother’s spanking.  She and Troy had been spanked separately for so long, she couldn’t remember ever witnessing a spanking before.  Having been spanked herself so recently, she felt empathy for her brother.

Troy bucked as he absorbed his father’s first quick onslaught of spanks.  Debby was surprised at how much he kicked and how he tried to twist.  He yelled out, and almost immediately started bawling.  Her sharp eyes saw white handprints on his bottom almost immediately turn red, and then merge together into one big red splotch.     

Debby was quick to notice that her father and mother had very different spanking styles.  Mother believed in a warmup for starters, but her father preferred a “big start” to very quickly get Troy bawling and squalling.  She had to agree, it worked!  The spanking wasn’t even one minute old, but poor Troy was already a red-bottomed blubbering mess!

Once Troy had totally “lost it”, Debby noticed that father slowed down.  He still spanked plenty hard enough to keep Troy bawling, but he had settled in for the “long haul”.  Now he became a very careful spanker, making sure that he didn’t miss a square inch of the boy’s bottom and thighs.  At one point he even made him spread his legs so he could spank Troy’s inner thighs.

Debby was glad that mother never did that to her!

Also he paused occasionally to pepper Troy with questions, apparently intended to keep the boy focused on the reason for his punishment.  The spanking continued for nearly fifteen minutes before father finally ended it with a final quick volley of extra hard spanks.  By now, Troy was so exhausted that father had no trouble holding him in place. 

By then, Debby thought that Troy had suffered a very thorough and very hard spanking, but it didn’t yet equal the one that mother had given her, because it was only a hand spanking.

Troy went through the usual post spanking process, bawling while still laying across his father’s lap, finally being helped up, and then performing a typical “dance & rub”. 

As soon as he was on his feet, Debby noticed one significant change.  His penis was much smaller now, which made his scrotum seem that much larger.  As he danced, Troy’s manhood did its own little dance, but Troy had apparently forgotten any concept of modesty.

It was then that Debby remembered father’s earlier warning about the spanking only being “half over” when he let Troy back on his feet.  She gasped.  Poor Troy wasn’t done yet!

The same thought finally occurred to Troy when he noticed the solemn way his parents were looking at him.  He finally stopped dancing and faced his father sadly, waiting for whatever was next.

In a flat voice, father delivered the verdict, “The hairbrush is on my dresser Troy.  Bring it to me.”    


It took a moment for Troy to process the command.  His eyes widened as the full realization hit him.  There was little for him to do but obey.  For the second time, the family viewed Troy’s bare bottom as it retreated from the room.  This time, his bottom was a different color than before!

He was gone perhaps two minutes before he crept back into the room holding the feared hairbrush.  Reluctantly, he handed it to his father.  Even more reluctantly, he obeyed father’s gestured command to resume his position across his lap.

Troy sobbed openly as father carefully positioned him, his legs pinned, his right arm safely restrained in the small of his back.  As Troy sensed father preparing to deliver the first swat, his gluteal muscles tensed in unhappy anticipation.

Father quickly applied several hard strokes of the hairbrush.  Troy bucked and kicked futilely  as his sobs turned into bellows.  It was another of father’s trademark “big starts”.   

Father would likely never admit it, but this was when Troy finally received some parental mercy.  Father had planned on a prolonged paddling, but Troy had been so cooperative and had exhibited so much remorse, that father changed his plan.  Instead, he delivered only the minimum credible paddling to Troy’s already-spanked bottom.  He finished off with the deliberate application of painful marks on the summit of each buttock, and similar marks on each sit-spot. They would take several days to fade, but it could have been far worse.

And then Troy’s punishment was finally over.

Troy was a bit large to cuddle in his father’s lap.  After helping the bawling boy to his feet, father stood and wrapped his arms around him.  

Not only had Debby had been allowed to see her brother’s spanking, she was also included in the ‘after care”.  For a few minutes the entire family huddled to envelop Troy in a huge hug until his crying slowed to mere sobs.  At her mother’s suggestion, Debby ran for a damp washcloth to clean up his face.  Once his face was washed, they escorted the still-nude boy to his bedroom.

Carrying the washcloth and Troy’s underpants, which she had thoughtfully picked up from the floor, Debby followed the procession into Troy’s bedroom.

Debby sat at the head of Troy’s bed.  She held his hand as she watched her parents cover his nakedness and then comfort him.  Eventually they turned to go, but Debby asked if she could stay for a few minutes.

They agreed, and then left the siblings alone.

His face still wet with tears, Troy looked up at his big sister, “I’m sorry sis, really sorry.”

“Don’t worry,” Debby replied, “We both screwed up today, and we’ve both been punished for it.  It’s over, and hopefully we’re both smarter now.”

“Can we be friends now?” Troy asked hopefully.

“Yes,” Debby said, “I would like that.”

Troy smiled and squeezed her hand.

“One more thing,” Debby said mischievously, “I wonder which of us got it worse.  Tomorrow, let’s compare bottoms.”

Through his tears, Troy smiled again.

 Guyspencer Home Page
© Guyspencer 2014

Monday, March 24, 2014


© Guyspencer 2014

It was a hardscrabble day, a hardscrabble time, and a hardscrabble place.  It was the depth of the depression in rural North Carolina.  The mill was old and run down, orders were increasingly scarce.  Prices, and therefore wages, were low.  The night shift was a thing of the past, and the evening shift was in danger.  The workers were under constant pressure to produce more, and to work for less.  In particular, the “stretch-out” system doubled the looms each worker was responsible for, while at the same time reducing wages.  Union talk was dangerous.  It could get you instantly fired.  If a worker lost his job, he also lost his mill-owned cottage, putting his family on the street.  The “blacklist” could condemn any worker to permanent unemployment.  If necessary, mill owners had been known to hire thugs to shut down any worker organization.

Sited alongside the south fork of the Catawba river, the Springs Shoals mill and its surroundings were entirely owned by an absentee owner, Rufus McAden.  That means everything, the worker’s homes, the company store, and even the church were all wholly owned by Mr. McAden.  Therefore, should that evening shift be eliminated, some cottages will go empty because their occupants will be too poor to rent them.


The day was hot.  Hand in hand, a woman and her daughter walked past the mill towards the company store.  They both wore long shabby dresses.  Their bare feet kicked up dust from the unpaved road.  The woman was slim.  Her daughter was 15.  Hidden under her dress, the girl’s body was rapidly ripening, swelling in all the correct places with fresh reproductive promise.  A truck drove by, forcing the two to walk through a cloud of dust.  The dust settled on the mother’s face.  A rivulet of sweat washed away a streak of dust.  The girl didn’t seem to sweat, so her dusty face wasn’t so obvious.

In the store, the daughter wandered around while her mother ordered a few groceries.  She ordered carefully.  Because this was a company story, most purchases were deducted straight from her husband’s pay.  Unlike certain legends, the store didn’t allow debt, so she had to choose frugally.  Today’s meal would be pinto beans and cornbread, augmented with a few collard greens from their dusty little garden.  Meat was something they could afford only occasionally.

Neither the store clerk nor the mother paid the girl any attention as they did their business.


The mother and the girl retraced their steps back to their home.  As they passed the mill town’s little church, the Pastor waved from the front porch, “Hi Mrs. Rankin, Hi Millie.”  The mother waved back with all the cheerfulness she could muster, but the daughter looked away to hide the guilty look on her face.

As they walked, they could see the Superintendent’s house up on the hill.  Samuel Grisdale and family lived in that house.  Millie knew that the Grisdale’s had three children, but she saw little of them.  The oldest, a boy, was always away at school.  There he was being groomed to join the next generation of mill superintendents. The girl was kept aloof, for fear that she might consort with the local boys, who were of too lowly a class for her.  The youngest Grisdale child was a toddler who was tended by an English nanny whom Millie saw only in church.            

Millie couldn’t know, but the high and mighty Grisdales sprang from poor workers in English textile mills only two generations ago.  Luckily for them, Mr. Grisdale’s grandfather had brought his expertise to America just when it was needed for the burgeoning textile industry there.  From then on, the Grisdale clan prospered.   


Finally home, Millie halfheartedly helped her mother prepare supper.  The beans needed to be soaked on the stove, the collards needed washing, and the cornbread needed mixing.  As soon as possible Millie asked to be excused. 

Millie disappeared into her bedroom.  She was lucky to have a bedroom of her own.  Most of the cottages had a single bedroom, regardless of the size of the family that occupied them.  Millie’s father, Joe Rankin, was the day shift supervisor.  That meant that Millie’s cottage was larger than the others.  It was located “front and center” directly across from the mill entrance.  It even had a private outhouse.  Other cottages shared communal facilities.  So as poor as Millie’s family was, they were better off than other workers.  Her mother was among the few who didn’t work alongside their husbands in the mill.

With no electricity, no radio and certainly no TV, it could get very quiet in these cottages.  The loudest machine in the cottage was the generations-old clock that ticked high on a shelf.  The walls were thin, cheaply built.  Perhaps that’s why Millie’s mother heard an unusual rattle of crinkly paper in Millie’s room.  More curious than suspicious, she opened the door.  Seeing her bedroom door unexpectedly open, Millie stood frozen.  She was caught with half a Hershey bar in her hand and a classically guilty look on her face.     

Since mother knew that Millie didn’t have a penny to her name, the candy bar was a surprise.  It only took her a moment to remember Millie wandering around the company store by herself.  Moments later, she had Millie’s confession.


Mother sat at the kitchen table to think.  Millie sat in her bedroom, crying loudly. 

What to do?

Dealing with the remains of the candy bar was an easy choice.  No food was ever thrown away in this house, so it went into the ice box for possible inclusion in a cake.  But what to do about the theft?  Mother had to balance several things in her mind.  First, simply ignoring the stolen candy bar was impossible.  The clerk at the store would miss it.  Worse, it would come out of his pay!  He wouldn’t be able to prove who did it, but Millie would forever be marked as a suspected thief.

Foremost on mother’s mind was a poor person’s rigid pride.  The Rankins might be poor, but they weren’t trash, and they sure as hell weren’t thieves!       

Naturally, her religion wasn’t far from her thoughts.  “Thou shalt not steal” were words this family lived by.

Also, what was best for Millie?  Simply hiding her theft would leave her guilty and confused.  That would never do!  Also, what about her standing in the community?  If they did nothing, Millie would be a suspected thief.  Better that she confess,  and then let everybody know that she had been seriously punished!  That way, people would simply view her as a punished child who would be unlikely to repeat that particular mistake. 

“Yes, that’s what I’ll do,” mother decided.  Make her confess and apologize.  After that, Millie must be punished in the most public way possible so everyone knew that she wasn’t coddled and would never steal again!

There was one final thought on mother’s mind.  She wanted to protect Millie from the possibly dangerous wrath of her father.  Joe Rankine was a good man, a churchgoer, and a loving father.  But he also was uneducated, rough-cut and had a quick Irish temper.  He would take this as a blow to his considerable family pride.  So mother had to finish Millie’s punishment before Joe returned from his shift at the mill, leaving nothing for Joe to do.  For Millie’s own good, she had to mark her daughter’s bottom so severely that her father wouldn’t dare add more punishment.

Mother had a bit of pin money in the kitchen, less than a dollar.  They didn’t have much credit left at the store, so she fished out a nickel to pay for the candy bar.  Along with the nickle, she placed an old pocket knife in her pocket.

Hand-in-hand, mother and Millie walked back to the company store.  A solemn bit of theater ensued wherein Millie tearfully confessed to the store clerk and offered her abject apology.  Mother paid for the candy bar and assured the man, “You can tell anyone who wants to know, that us Rankins ain’t no thieves.  Millie is goin’ up the hill to that willow tree in the Grisdale’s yard to cut herself some switches.  When I get her home, she’s in for the whippin of her life!  You can be sure, after she gets that whippin, she ain’t ever goin’ to steal agin!”

Millie had already guessed her punishment, but hearing that announcement induced a new torrent of tears.

When they left the store, Millie’s vision swam with tears.  However, she could see well enough to tell that the Pastor wasn’t still sitting on the church porch.  She was relieved, sure that her mother would have made her confess to him.

She wasn’t so lucky at the Grisdale house.  They knocked at the back door.  Mabel, the Grisdale’s housekeeper and a distant cousin of the Rankins, answered the door.   Millie was made to request permission to cut herself some switches.  She tried, but her mother wouldn’t let her get away without confessing to Mabel why she was to be whipped.

Using her mother’s pocket knife, Millie tearfully selected three switches.  Mother rejected two of them, so the dejected girl had to find two larger ones.  Two boys watched from a distance.  From personal experience, they knew the purpose of those switches.  They wanted to razz Millie, but a dark look from her mother made them decide otherwise.

With Millie holding the switches and hoping that nobody noticed them, they walked back down the hill towards their cottage.


They approached their cottage from the rear.  As they passed the outhouse, mother suggested that Millie use the facilities.  No stranger to whippings in her own girlhood, mother knew that they were best taken with an empty bladder.  She waited for Millie to emerge from the odiferous hut, and then escorted her into their cottage.  Millie handed over the switches, “I’m sorry mommy.”

Mother looked up at the clock, then spoke sadly as she unbuttoned the back of Millie’s dress, “I’m ‘fraid you’re about to be a lot sorrier Honey.  I must do a good ‘nuf job on your bottom so your father won’t add any with his belt.  Now go in your room and take off your dress and panties.  You think ‘bout why you’re about to get whupped.  The instant you hear the shift change bell, you come out here.”

Millie’s eyes bugged.  Until now she had seemed resigned to her punishment, “No Mommy, not that!  Everybody will hear.  Please Mommy!  Whup me now!”    

“Someday you’ll understand why I must do it that way,” mother said firmly as she turned Millie and propelled her towards her room.


Inside her plain closet-like bedroom, Millie cried loudly as she stripped off her long, slightly threadbare dress.  Her baggy old cotton panties came off next.  They had once been white, and once without holes.  That left her wearing only a plain, yellowing hand-me-down bra.

Mother fussed with supper preparations, trying to distract herself from thoughts of Millie’s imminent whipping.  Still, she wasn’t able to stop herself from stealing frequent glimpses at that loud old clock.  Except for the bedrooms, the cottage was all one room.  It was simple and plain, but it was always kept clean and neat.  “Clean and neat ‘cause the Rankins ain’t trash,” mother thought to herself with a bit of satisfaction.  The kitchen featured a small wood range, an ice box, and a basin under a hand pump.  A small table sat near the range with four chairs around it.  The table was bare except for those three waiting switches.  She moved the chairs away from the sturdy old table.  The windows were already open for ventilation.  Mother pulled down the tattered window shades.  There was little breeze, so they would provide sufficient privacy.    

Checking the clock again, mother sighed.  She had little enthusiasm for the job ahead of her.

Operated by water power, the mill had no steam plant to operate a whistle, so a church-style bell served to regulate its schedule.  Fifteen minutes before the end of the day shift, the bell rang to summon the evening shift.  Because of the central location of the Rankin’s cottage, nearly every worker on that shift would soon be streaming by.

Naked save for her bra, her hands concealing her lowest curls, and with tears streaming down her cheeks, Millie hesitantly crept into the room.  Unaccustomed to nakedness, both mother and daughter blushed.  Millie saw the shades blowing in the languid breeze and begged, “At least close the windows.”

Mother ignored her entreaties.  Her mouth set into a firm line, she picked up the heaviest switch before pointing Millie to the table.   By now, male and female voices could clearly be heard outside.  Talking and joking, the first members of the evening shift walked towards the mill entrance, passing within a few feet of the cottage’s blind-covered open windows.       

Automatically, but not without an audible sob, Millie bent over the table and took a white-knuckled grip of the far side.  With her left hand firmly pining Millie’s torso into place, mother swallowed hard, cleared her throat, and then raised the switch high.

Outside, conversation suddenly stopped when the workers heard Mrs. Rankin’s voice announce loudly, “Rankins ain’t trash, and they ain’t thieves!”

The younger workers, those whose ears hadn’t yet been ruined by the loud clatter of the mill’s looms, clearly heard the impact of a switch against flesh.  They heard only a few of those sharp “Thwick” sounds before they heard the first feminine shriek, followed by a shrill apology.  If they hadn’t already guessed, they now knew that it was young Millie on the receiving end of a serious whipping from her mother.  Thanks to Mrs. Rankin’s loud scolding as she delivered that whipping, they also knew the reason for Millie’s punishment.

Everybody at least unconsciously slowed down to listen.  Most walked on, saying something like “Judging from those sounds, we know that Millie will never do THAT again.”  But one young man, Richard Cramer, stopped open-mouthed and gaped at the open window, accurately picturing the scene behind that ragged paper blind.  He had seen Millie many times, but this was the first time that he had seriously thought about her bare bottom.  As he stood there transfixed, his heavy work pants developed a bulge.

An older coworker came along and jarred Richard back to reality with a friendly slap on the back.  “Let’s give Millie a bit of privacy huh?”

Blushing, Richard resumed his trip into the mill.  For the rest of his days, he would remain obsessed with Millie’s bottom.       


Those people outside didn’t know it, but Mrs Rankin had just recruited them as messengers.  There were two messages.  The first was to her husband.  As she had intended, several people from the oncoming shift told him that his daughter was “Getting it good.” and that apparently she had stolen something.  Joe turned red with fury and embarrassment!  Rankins ain’t thieves!

“Don’t worry,” one man told him, “Your wife is taking care of things.  When she gets done you won’t need to worry about that young lady!”  That was exactly the message that Mrs. Rankin wanted her husband to get, that his daughter had already been well-punished and had no need of further fatherly punishment.   

Mrs, Rankin’s second message was to the entire community.  It was simply that her daughter had made a childish error and had been properly punished for it.  Therefore, she was unlikely to repeat that bad behavior.   The news spread through the village at the speed of gossip.  Within ten minutes, the store clerk knew for sure that Millie’s thievery had been corrected. 

Soon, all would be forgotten.  Tomorrow, some other mill child would be whipped for some other childish crime and Millie’s thievery would be old news.

Despite that severe and public whipping, Mrs. Rankin had done her daughter a huge favor.  She had preserved Millie’s bottom from the harshness of her father’s belt, and her openness had preserved Millie’s reputation in the community.  Even here in this rough community, children were allowed to make mistakes, providing that they were properly corrected!


In the house, Mrs. Rankin had finally finished her grim duty.  It hadn’t been a pretty sight!  Mrs Rankin had started with the heaviest switch to quickly break down Millie’s defenses.  As soon as she had Millie shrieking in full voice, she had changed to a lighter, but still painful stick. 

She had held Millie’s torso down to the table, but that didn’t stopped the girl’s bottom half from performing a lewd dance as the switch tattooed crisscrossed welts onto her bottom and legs.  As her feet kicked, she displayed her rapidly-maturing innermost feminine secrets to her mother. 

At times like this, a mother thinks many thoughts, usually all at once.  Girls married young in those days, so her daughter’s physical maturity made Mrs. Rankin realize that Millie wouldn’t be living at home much longer.  Also, the sight made her doubly thankful for her decision to punish Millie herself.  No father could comfortably see his own daughter displayed like this.

She hadn’t rushed the whipping.  As she worked, she continued her loud scolding, more for the benefit of her unseen audience than for Millie.  Before she was finished, every square inch of Millie’s bottom was covered in welts, from the top of her bottom crack almost down to the backs of her knees.  Millie’s bottom would have no unmarked spots to invite her father’s belt. 

By the time the last of the evening shift straggled by, it was finally over.  Poor Millie lay across the table; limp, exhausted, hurting, and still sobbing loud enough to be clearly heard outside.

After carefully checking her work, mother helped Millie to her feet.  She positioned her facing the wall next to her bedroom door, her striped bottom on display.  The girl sobbed, danced in place, and gingerly explored her bottom with her fingertips.

She had less than ten minutes to wait before her father came bustling into the house.  As mother had intended, his temper had been given time to run its course.  Embarrassed by Millie’s display, but seeing that his wife indeed had done a good job on Millie’s bottom, he satisfied himself with  giving her a loud but perfunctory scolding.  Still, Millie shook in fear, afraid that her father would remove his belt to use on her.  In the end, Joe ordered her into her room with orders to dress herself.  Exactly as her mother had planned, Millie sidled into her room without showing her front.    

Millie remained in her bedroom in disgrace while her Mother and father ate supper quietly.  By mutual but unspoken agreement, they left plenty in the pot for Millie to eat later.  As usual,  father left at dusk to sit on the company store porch, where he would smoke and exchange stories with his cronies.   


Sure enough, by the end of the week virtually everyone in the town had forgotten Millie’s thievery and whipping.  Richard Cramer was a notable exception.  He would never forget the mental image of Millie’s whipping, nor would he outgrow his sudden obsession with her body.

The next Saturday evening, Richard appeared at the Rankin’s doorstep.  He wore his cleanest clothes, his hair was slicked back with water.  He was sweating, terrified of rejection and ridicule, yet drawn irresistibly to Millie . 

Awkwardly, he stuttered his rehearsed line, “Could I p-please escort Millie to church tomorrow morning?” 

Trying not to look too excited, Millie looked pleadingly at her parents.  In return, her parents tried not to smirk as they pretended to reluctantly consider Richard’s request.  “Yes,” they finally decided.

For Richard, it was the beginning of a determined but uncertain courting campaign.  He wasn’t the only eligible bachelor in the mill town, so there would be competition.

For Millie’s parents, it was the beginning of a process that would eventually cost them their daughter, but give them cherished grandchildren.

For the mill, it was the genesis of a new generation of cheap labor.

For Millie?  Millie still had much to learn!  Unfortunately, lessons could be painful in the narrow hardscrabble world of the depression-era North Carolina mill town.

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Monday, March 17, 2014

Thief in the Night

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                                                                Thief in the Night

They were a gracious, dignified old couple.  Mildred was an imposing, bosomy woman with a high hairdo.  Roger was a retired banker and looked the part.  He was a tall man with greying temples, horn-rimmed glasses, and hearing aids that he futilely hoped were invisible.

Roger and Mildred were the sort of folk that you might elect to the board of your church, or would see at a charity luncheon. They certainly weren’t the sort of couple that you would likely picture cavorting naked in their bedroom!  But the truth was, they had been married forever and they were still very much in love.  Even at their advanced age, their love was no platonic affair.

Unfortunately in those pre-Viagra days, Roger’s body wasn’t quite in tune with the couple’s desires.  Although he was still very attentive to Mildred and remained quite handy with his hands, fingers and tongue, that other male appendage only functioned when Roger received some sort of extraordinary erotic inspiration.   

But still, the couple loved to “play” and made the best of what they had.


Being old, Roger was quite set in his ways and habits.  Since their bedroom tended to be cold in the morning, Roger faithfully laid out his clothes next to his bed every evening.  That way, he could quickly dress in the morning before he caught a chill.

He did it that way for years, but one morning he couldn’t find his socks.  That time he shook his head with bemusement, assuming that he had simply forgotten to lay them out.

When he arose the next morning to find his T-shirt missing, he began to get suspicious.  The third day, his boxer shorts were missing. 

After several days of this, he finally confronted Mildred, “It’s a fun little game you’re playing,  but you’re not going to convince me I’m going crazy.”

Mildred looked at him as if he HAD gone crazy!  She had no idea what he was talking about.  Perhaps she should have asked more questions, but instead she humored him and went about her business.  

When Roger awoke the next morning to find all of his underwear missing, he decided to take action!  He roared at Mildred, telling her he had “had enough” of her midnight thievery. 

A woman Mildred’s age must take her thrills where she can find them, so she choked back her automatic protest against this injustice.  Since she wasn’t afraid of Roger, she decided to simply play along, thinking this might make for an interesting morning!  Oh yes, she would likely end up spanked, but that sounded good to her.  Her last good spanking had been much too long ago. 

Spankings were hardly new to the couple, so she knew that they usually ended up in bed for an “after care & make up” finale.  Those occasions had resulted in some of the couple’s best sex.  To Mildred, the possible romantic aftermath of a spanking sounded even better than the spanking itself.  Why had it been so long since the last time? 

Mildred was thinking of one other reason to play along with this “injustice”.  Sooner or later, Roger would figure out where his clothes were really disappearing to.  When that happened,  justice would finally prevail.  Not only would Roger need to apologize, he would owe her big time!  There could be some new jewelry in this for Mildred, perhaps even a cruise!

Briskly, Roger divested Mildred of her pajamas before putting his naked wife in the corner to “Think about what she had done.”

Just as she had hoped, a few minutes later he led her to the bed, pulled her across his knee, and started spanking her ample nether cheeks.  Fortunately for Mildred, Roger only had a fraction of his former strength, and so was capable of little more than imparting a pleasant sting into his wife’s bottom whilst coloring her buttocks to a charming pink.  Mildred played along, kicking, squirming, and screeching appropriately.   

For Roger, the sight of Mildred’s rippling, twisting, bucking, and reddening bottom was just as exciting as it always had been.  Her horizontal naked body danced in his lap, causing a predictable, albeit increasingly rare, male reaction.  Roger was so enthralled that he barely noticed the pain caused by Mildred’s weight against his suddenly unyielding manhood.   

When she felt that lump rise under her belly, Mildred knew that she was on the right track!  She smiled inwardly and increased her antics.  Simultaneously though, she also felt a mutual response in a deeply feminine place. 

All too soon Mildred’s spanking was over.  Roger’s “readiness” tended to be brief, so Mildred wasted little time.  Shortly after he released her, she scrambled to her feet and then into Roger’s lap.  There Mildred shed a few crocodile tears whilst allowing him to briefly “comfort” her.  The whole time, she kept up a constant friction to keep him stimulated. Soon they found themselves naked on the bed.  As she received a rare carnal “seeing to” from her loving husband, she reflected that her instincts had been right; this truly had turned into an interesting morning!

Luxuriating in their unaccustomed afterglow, they nuzzled, kissed, and petted.  Exhausted, they finally napped.  He managed to sleep with one hand cupping each of her sweet buttocks.  Breakfast was two hours late, but neither of them complained.


Down in the shadows under the basement stairway, Bandit, Roger’s cat, lay on her new nest as she felt her first labor pains.  The nest was soft and deep.  It smelt like a fresh laundry basket and vaguely of her master.  She was proud of that nest and protective of it.  After all, she had made it herself!

When adopting young Bandit, Roger had been assured that “he” was a male.  Despite increasing evidence to the contrary, he still insisted on referring to Bandit as “him”.  Roger had totally forgotten that evening nine weeks ago when he had absentmindedly allowed Bandit to escape for the evening.  “After all” Roger had said at the time, “Bandit came home all by himself the next morning, so no harm done.  Right?”    

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Thursday, March 13, 2014

The Albatross Panties

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The Albatross Panties

Ed was a typical 13 year-old boy who lived in a typical neighborhood.  He was an only child.  His next-door neighbors, the Sandersons, had two children.  Debra, a beautiful 15 year-old, was far more interesting to Ed than her 11 year-old brother Stephen.

Like most 13 year-old boys, Ed was awash in strange feelings and urges caused by his sexual awakening.  These feelings were a matter of great concern and guilt to him.  Naturally, he assumed that he was the only person this had ever happened to!     

At the tender age of 13, a two-year age difference can be a huge social barrier.  So Ed wasn’t terribly interested in spending time with Stephen.  By the same token, Debra, a high school student, had no time for a mere middle school student like Ed.

Naturally, Ed was obsessed with Debra, who in turn seemed to barely notice Ed’s existence.  Her bedroom was directly opposite Ed’s, so peeking in her bedroom window was a natural temptation to Ed.  Unfortunately for Ed, Debra’s parents weren’t stupid.  They had applied an obscuring film to her windows to make peeking in virtually impossible.  Still, Ed watched the intriguing play of shadows on that window, sometimes imagining that he could make out a bit of her feminine form or see the color of her skin. 

From the attic window, Ed could peek down into the Sanderson’s backyard.  Here he did occasionally see Debra sunbathing, but he saw no more skin that he would see at the beach, and that from far away.  Their laundry might have been of great interest to him, but they unfortunately used a drier.  Only rarely did anything appear on their clothesline, and never the delicate, filmy things he dreamed about.

Everything changed one Saturday when Ed was so bored that he allowed himself to be convinced to play with Stephen’s new train set.  Ed almost changed his mind when Stephen led him down to their damp basement where the train was set up.  But something in that cluttered basement grabbed Ed’s attention!  He saw a laundry chute leading from upstairs.  Under it was a half-full laundry basket.     

His chance came a few minutes later when Stephen excused himself to run upstairs to the bathroom.  Hurriedly, he inspected the contents of the laundry basket.  Mrs. Sanderson was a large lady, so it was easy to distinguish Debra’s tiny panties from those that belonged to her mother.  His heart beating madly, Ed selected a wispy pair of Debra’s panties from the pile of soiled laundry and jammed them in his pocket.   

Just has he did, he heard a footstep on the stairway.  Ed jumped away from the laundry basket as if it were on fire and rushed back towards the train set.  Had it been Debra or her mother coming down, Ed probably would have had a heart attack!   Fortunately, it was only Stephen returning.

Red faced and guilty, Ed made a flimsy excuse and fled home.  As he ran, he was sure that the whole world could see that lump in his right hip pocket and know exactly what it was!

Trying to look as if everything were perfectly normal (but likely failing) Ed went straight up to his bedroom.  After carefully locking the door behind him, he excitably examined the stolen panties.  They seemed so tiny, that it was hard to imagine them fitting on any human being.  Taking a whiff of them removed all doubt at to their authenticity.  Debra had brushed past him enough times that he instantly recognized her scent!  He looked at the gusset and imagined the wonderful place where it had once nestled.  As he sniffed the part that had concealed that most feminine part of part of Debra, a primitive part of Ed’s brain recognized female pheromones and immediately alerted his penis to prepare for mating.
Given that Ed was a teenage boy in a private place, we needn’t be surprised at how he dealt with that problem!      

Ed spent the rest of the weekend in a masturbatory haze, which is to say that he did little thinking of any kind.  His parents barely noticed the change.  After all, he was a 13 year-old boy!

It was the next Monday morning while he was dressing for school that his mind finally turned to the practical matter of where to stash the panties while he was at school.  Leaving them anywhere in his bedroom was unthinkable.  His mother’s hobby was keeping their entire home neat and clean.  On one hand, that meant that Ed wasn’t responsible for cleaning his own bedroom.  On the other hand, it meant that nowhere in his bedroom was safe from her attentions!  Chancing his mother finding the stolen panties was unthinkable!

Finally, after much panicked thinking, he left for school with the panties in his pocket.

At school, he was briefly tempted to display the panties to a trusted friend or three, but for all his faults, Ed wasn’t an idiot.  Word would get around!  He was terribly afraid that he might absentmindedly reach into his pocket and then accidentally draw out the panties.  His solution was to hide in a toilet stall while he carefully folded the panties to make them small and then put them in his left pocket.  Everything else went into his right pocket.   He carefully reminded himself to only use his right pocket.  Still, perhaps a thousand times that day, he patted that left pocket to ensure those panties were secure and out of sight.

This went on for an entire week while Ed gradually became a nervous wreck!  Every evening he slept with those panties under his pillow, but every morning he had to remember to stash them in that day’s pants.  Forgetting even one time would lead to discovery!

Of course, none of that stopped Ed from enjoying the panties!  At least daily, he would sniff his stolen prize and then fantasize undressing the girl who had worn them. 

As much as he enjoyed having them, Ed decided that eventually something embarrassing would happen, so he considered various methods of disposal.  Simply dropping them in the trash can at home was unthinkable.  His mother was the person who carried out the trash.  If she saw them, she would surely know they weren’t hers!          

His second idea was to use a trash can at school, but here is where he began to have paranoid thoughts.  What if somebody saw him drop them in the trash can?  The more he thought of it, the more he realized that there may be secret security systems at school.         

But what about using a public trash can on the street?  At first this seemed like the best plan, but then his brain started working overtime, inventing fantastically improbable things that might go wrong.  Perhaps some sanitation worker would discover them and bring them to the attention of the police?  Might there be hidden surveillance cameras that could finger him as the culprit?  Could DNA analysis identify their owner?  He even imagined himself and the panties being featured on the front page of the newspaper!

How could he rid himself of these panties? 

While working on this problem, Ed kept the panties for another week, each morning hiding them in the left hip pocket of his pants.  By this time, he at least had gotten into the habit of only reaching into his right hip pocket, so the panties were a bit safer than before.

In the mean time, Ed’s fear didn’t stop him from enjoying those panties!  Each night he would sniff them and then allow his fantasies (and his hand) a free reign.  Part of him hated himself for both the theft and for the “dirty” things he was doing, but another part of him remained in an auto-erotic heaven.

It was about then that Ed’s Literature class read a Samuel Coleridge poem titled “The Rime of the Ancient Mariner”.  It didn’t take a great leap of insight for Ed to identify with that poor mariner who had an albatross tied around his neck.  Ed realized immediately that those filmy little panties represented his own personal albatross!  In that moment of clarity, Ed guiltily realized panty disposal wasn’t his real problem.  He was addicted to those panties!

Ed had to do something!

He finally came up with the perfect plan.  He would simply reverse the steps that he took to steal them!  It was a simple matter to suggest to Stephen that another session with his train set would be a good idea “someday”.  Ten minutes later, he and Stephen were back down in the Sanderson’s basement.  As bored as a paranoid thirteen-year-old can possibly be, he stayed down there for over an hour, but Stephen never mentioned going to the bathroom.  Finally, Ed suggested that drinks would be good.  Stephen immediately took the suggestion, but got them bottles of soda from the family’s spare downstairs refrigerator!  Unable to get the 30 seconds of privacy he needed to return the panties to the laundry basket, poor Ed finally gave up in defeat.  He thanked Stephen for sharing his train set and went home. 

However, part of Ed was relieved to still have the panties.       

But he had to do something!


Tonight was the night.  Ed had crept up to his room early.  His parents didn’t seem to care.  Ed knew that Stephen’s parents were taking him to a special event at school.  Debra would be home all alone.  He would “gird his loins”, he would “take the bull by the horns”.  This evening, he would simply deliver the stolen panties back to their owner, apologize, and take whatever consequences came from that action.  Whatever happened, he would finally be free of those panties!

Watching out the window of his bedroom, he saw the Sanderson’s car leave the driveway.  Like in a dream, he grasped the panties in his fist and crept out the back door of his house.  He seemed to glide across to the Sanderson’s front door.  He didn’t remember knocking, but their front door opened and he found himself looking at Diane.  Beautiful, beautiful Diane!  As usual, she looked right through him.  When he wordlessly held out the panties to her, her eyes widened in recognition. 

“Bad boy,” she spat, “Bad bad boy”.

Guilty, ashamed and unable to meet her strict gaze, he looked down.

She spun around and walked away.  Somehow he knew he was supposed to follow.  Closing the front door behind him, he hurried to catch up with her.  The panties still in his fist, he followed her up the staircase, his eyes not missing one movement of her tightly skirted bottom.   

She opened her bedroom door, then stood aside to let him enter.  He looked in wonder at the window he had tried to see through so many times.  She held out her hand for the panties, Ed gave them up.  Finally he was rid of them!

"Bad boy!" She scolded.

“I’m sorry Debra, really sorry”

She sat on the edge of her bed and looked at him expectantly.  Somehow, he knew just what to do.  He stood in front of her, his hands at his sides.  It seemed perfectly natural for her to undo his belt, unbutton his pants, and then pull them down together with his underpants.  His pants puddled at his ankles.  

His penis popped up and looked at the girl expectantly.  Debra looked down at it, “Bad boy”.

She pulled up her skirt to bare her thighs, inadvertently giving Ed a brief glimpse of heaven.  Then she pulled the unresisting boy across her lap.  We don’t know where Debra learned to spank so well, but using only her bare hand she soon had Ed kicking and wailing.  As he did a horizontal lap dance, the skin-to-skin friction had a predictable effect, nearly finishing the boy.

She took her time, thoroughly reddening his bottom and upper thighs.  She continued until both her and Ed were breathless.  Finally she stopped, but still held the writhing boy across her lap.  When the time seemed right, she helped the still-bawling Ed to his feet.  Rather than let him free to dance and rub, she pulled him up into her lap and held him close.  He had his last cry into her bosom.   Even though his nose was quite plugged, her sweet aroma still nearly overpowered him, making him even more rigid.

That feminine hand that had seemed so hard just a moment ago, snaked down to find his low hanging fruit.  First she gently cupped his scrotum, then she explored the extent of his hardness.  Miraculously, that hand which only moments ago had been punishing him, now felt lotion soft.  Obligingly, she stroked in a rhythm as old as humanity.  Ed was in heaven!  That treatment brought quick results.  She didn’t seem upset when the inevitable happened. 

She only cooed, “Bad boy”.  


His heart beating madly, Ed awoke to a familiar mess.  He clenched his buttocks.  They felt perfectly normal, unspanked.  His albatross lay on the bed next to him.  He pulled the panties out of sight just in case his parents looked in on him.

Perhaps tomorrow he would summon the courage rid himself of them. 

Perhaps not.

Like Coleridge’s Ancient Mariner, Ed would remain attached to his own personal albatross until  fair winds finally blew for him.

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Thursday, March 06, 2014

The Girl’s Coming-Of-Age Ceremony

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                                         The Girl’s Coming-Of-Age Ceremony

Immediately after the regular Sunday morning church service, the entire congregation of Faith Temple filed downstairs to the fellowship hall for a social and a potluck dinner.  Lots of churches occasionally have similar social affairs, so a visitor wouldn’t immediately notice anything odd.   Nothing odd that is, except for those three young ladies who are dressed in the white robes. 

Our imaginary visitor would quickly notice the congregation paying special attention to these girls.  Eventually, our visitor will surmise that the gathering is in their honor.  The girls are hugged, they get kissed on the cheek, they get congratulated and complimented, and they get offered unwanted advice from the older congregation members as the meal continues.  The girls look happy, but happy in a nervous, giddy, embarrassed, blushing-bride sort of way. 

If our visitor were to look at any of the young ladies directly, she would be liable to blush and turn away.  Our visitor has no way of knowing that the girls are embarrassed because they aren’t wearing panties under their robes, ...or anything else!

Potluck dinners are a wonderful invention.  It goes without saying that everybody enjoyed the meal, except that our visitor might notice that the girls in the white robes barely touched their food. 

By now, having received sufficient vibes that this is no normal church social, our intrepid yet fictional visitor will have his mental antennas fully extended.  Unfortunately, he won’t be allowed to satisfy his growing curiosity.  Once the dinner is over, he and any other non-members, will be politely invited to leave.

Our visitor has no way of knowing that the long-established tradition behind today’s ceremony is based on one simple unchallenged notion, the idea that a person should enter adulthood the same way he or she entered the world, naked and crying!   


The girl’s robes are of opaque material.  They are intended to hide the girl’s flowering curves, but don’t always manage to do so.  They open down the front, but are securely closed by many buttons.  Some robes are bright and new; other robes, generations-old family heirlooms, are slightly yellowed.  That’s because some families cling to a charming tradition of using the same robe time and again as a special connection between generations. 

Faith Temple has one of these “coming-of-age” ceremonies once every three months to mark the passage of the congregation’s eligible offspring from childhood to adulthood.  The celebrations alternate.  Three months ago there was a similar celebration for boys, but today’s celebration is only for girls.  When the boys have their own coming-of-age service, they wear a similar robe.    

For these church potluck affairs the ladies try to outdo each other, each vying to bring the most delicious, the most talked-abut dish to the celebration.  The deserts are especially amazing.  When it’s over, there will be enough excess food to feed an army.  Later, the church ladies will serve it at the county old-age home, where the residents and even the staff will attack it like locusts.    

Finally, after everybody is stuffed and all have had their chance to greet the girls and offer their congratulations, the Pastor stood and tapped his spoon on a glass for attention, “My thanks and congratulations to the ladies for this wonderful feast.  We don’t want to keep these beautiful young ladies waiting, so let’s go upstairs for their coming-of-age ceremony.”

Then he politely dismissed the few non-member visitors who happened to be there.

Everybody left the fellowship hall, except for those three girls and one matronly lady who was left in charge of them.


Upstairs, the members found that preparations had been completed in their absence.  The Pastor’s lectern had been moved aside, and everything cleared from the platform except for one solid armless chair.  The shades had been drawn for privacy.  The light was dim in the sanctuary, save for spotlights that lit the area around the chair.

All of the children gathered in the rear of the sanctuary, where they sat on the floor.  They would be allowed to watch only from that remote vantage.  Two mothers had been detailed to supervise them.

The rear rows of pews were filled with the congregation’s teens and pre-teens.  They would all be ardent observers.  Their interest came from obvious reasons, but also because they each would someday get their own chance to wear a white robe in front of the congregation.  Each of them dreamed of the day they too would become adults in the eyes of the church, yet dreaded the painful and embarrassing “coming-of-age” ceremony that makes that happen.

The girl’s immediate families sat in the front row of pews, with the adult members of the congregation filling the many rows of pews between them and the teenagers.  By unspoken agreement, unmarried men sat near the rear of that group to minimize the girl’s embarrassment.

Four dignified ushers started at the front of the church.  With one on each window aisle, and two in the center aisle, they slowly walked towards the rear of the sanctuary as they scanned every face in the audience to see that everybody belonged, and that everybody was sitting in their proper place.  Then they carefully checked that the foyer area was empty before securely locking the front doors to the church.  Finally two of them walked downstairs to see that all is secure, and to signal Sister Stewart to bring the first girl.


Today those three girls will officially become adults.  They have been nervously waiting downstairs with Sister Stewart, the congregation’s unofficial matriarch.  Each girl had either recently turned 18, or was only weeks from her 18th birthday.  Each had been prepared over the last several months by attending a special “confirmation” Sunday school class which is taught by Pastor Chronister himself.

Nerves had an understandable effect on the girls.  All of them had to visit the lady’s room.  Two of them went to pee, but the other girl had to throw up! 

All about the same age, the girls were rather diverse in body type.  Nancy was a classic dark-haired beauty, tall, slim, regal and with a perfect face.  Susan was shorter and blond-haired, but best described as voluptuous and curvy.  Betty was red-haired and somewhat overweight, but was an otherwise beautiful girl with a delightful bubbly personality.

Earlier, Sister Stewart had asked the girls if they wanted to decide the order of their “inductions” themselves, or if they would like to draw lots.  The three girls conferred, managing to decide the issue among themselves with surprising ease.  It seemed that Susan desperately wanted to go first to “get it over with”, yet Nancy wanted to put off the inevitable as long as possible.  So that left Betty in the middle.

Leaving one of the ushers in charge of the other two girls, Sister Stewart took Susan by the arm and escorted her up the stairs to the foyer.  Peeking into the sanctuary, they saw the entire congregation on their feet, all watching for their appearance.  Sister Jones was the piano player that day.  When she saw them, she quickly sat down to play a slow march.  Sister Stewart and Susan slowly walked up the aisle.  The effect was much like a wedding march, but not so formal.  Their walk was unhurried.  As Susan passed the teens at the rear of the church, many managed to momentarily clasp her hand or pat her on the back encouragingly.  As she passed the adults, some aunts, uncles, and friends stepped into the aisle to offer a quick hug or a peck on the cheek. 

Finally they reached the head of the aisle, where Susan’s parents waited.  When Susan saw the tears in her mother’s eyes, she broke down too.  The music stopped and the congregation sat down to respect this poignant moment, played out in front of the entire church family.  Leaving Susan with her parents, Sister Stewart returned downstairs to her remaining two charges.

By now tearful himself, Susan’s father gave her one last squeeze and then sat down.  Susan’s mother took her by the hand.  The music played for a few bars as the mother led her daughter up the few stairs to the platform, and then to the waiting Pastor.  Then she stepped back several paces, leaving Susan and the Pastor standing together under the lights, and in front of the waiting chair.

Taking Susan’s hand but addressing the entire congregation, Pastor Chronister explained the purpose of the ceremony; as if the congregation didn’t already know!  “Before any of us joined our God-given natural family, we first had to go face the birth ordeal.  We entered the world naked and likely crying.  We can’t remember it happening, but the experience was probably as frightening and painful as it was momentous. Being reborn as an adult and being accepted into the church family is also a momentous event.  So we mark that important moment with this ‘coming-of-age’ ceremony.  Each inductee will arrive before you as a child, and then will be symbolically reborn as an adult and as a respected and cherished full member of our congregation.  Just as on the day of their first birth, they will arrive into their new status naked and with real tears in their eyes.”

He turned to Susan, “Susan, you needn’t feel overly embarrassed about appearing naked before your church family.  Modesty normally prevails here in church just as it does in your home, but we are all family here!  So an occasional glimpse of somebody’s God-given body is no sin and no disgrace.  Also the spanking you are about to receive has a purpose beyond its ‘rebirth’ symbolism.  It deals with all of the unpunished deeds and sins from your childhood and allows you to enter adulthood with a clean slate.”

Nervously, Susan nodded her understanding.

Then the Pastor wrapped an arm around Susan’s shoulder and began to talk to the congregation about her.  He shared a couple funny/embarrassing stories about her childhood, and then went on to talk about her accomplishments, her plans for her life, and her positive personality traits.  As he went on, Susan found herself relaxing.

Finally he asked in a formal voice, “Susan, do you wish to join the church family here at Faith Temple?”

In a shaky voice, Susan replied “Yes Sir, I do”.

He addressed the congregation, “Are you all willing to accept Susan as a member?”

The entire congregation responded, “YES!”

Then to Susan he said, “Then you may prepare yourself.”

Susan fumbled at the buttons of her robe.  Her mother stepped from the side, and started undoing her lower buttons as Susan started at the top and worked her way down.  Susan was slow, so they met somewhere above Susan’s navel.  Reluctantly, Susan shrugged off the robe and handed it to her mother.  Mother folded it over her arm and stepped back, leaving her daughter standing naked under the floodlights.

In the teen’s pews, virtually every boy found reason to lay something on his lap.  Not fooled, the girls smirked at each other.  On the floor behind the teens, the children had become totally quiet, awed by the unusual spectacle. The few unattached men could all be found open-mouthed with their hymnals or Sunday school literature strategically placed.  Even among the older married men, squirming and covered laps could be found.  The men’s wives looked at them sideways, but secretly expected to later reap certain carnal rewards from their husband’s stimulation.  

At Faith Temple, it wasn’t unusual for the maturing offspring of the members to date and to eventually marry.  Therefore, it was very possible that among that group of unmarried men, or among the older teens, Susan’s future husband was seeing her naked for the very first time!

As he waited for Susan to remove her robe, Pastor Chronister sat in his chair to watch the girl’s unveiling.  His first glimpse of the undraped girl confirmed what he had already known, Susan was a beautiful young lady!  Susan was large-bosomed, but her uncovered breasts stoutly defied gravity.  Although curvy in all of the correct places, Susan’s belly was relatively flat, and decorated right in the middle by a shallow bellybutton.  This led his eyes down to her lowest tresses, which he noted had been neatly trimmed.  Apparently the young lady liked to wear bikinis.         

Wrapped in a protective mental fog, this all seemed like a dream to Susan.  She just kept repeating to herself, “This isn’t really happening. This isn’t really happening”.  Objectively, she knew that everybody before her had survived the experience, so she would too.  She just had to get through it!

At a gesture from the Pastor, Susan obediently put herself across his lap.  As usual, he had turned the chair so that her bottom was pointed directly at the congregation.  Under the floodlights, Susan’s perfect bottom sparkled like a huge bifurcated jewel.  In the audience, over one hundred male mouths went dry.

Pastor Chronister wrapped his right arm around Susan’s narrow waist to restrain her, raised his right hand high, and then the sounds of the first spanks rang through the sanctuary.  Susan bucked and kicked, but the Pastor expertly kept her locked on his lap as his hand continued its relentless tattoo on her rapidly coloring bottom. 

Susan’s bottom was no longer a static work of art.  Individually, her nether globes rippled and flattened with each spank, only to pop back into their original delectable shape. As a pair, those same globes frantically wriggled in a desperate, albeit futile attempt to somehow escape the next blow.  In another dimension of change, her bottom rapidly changed color, reflecting the beam from those floodlights in fetchingly artful and ever-changing ways.

Susan’s tears came rapidly, there was no reason to hold them back.  She had vowed not to beg, but she saw nothing shameful in tears, or even in loud sobs or frank bawling. 

Susan had also made another silent vow, but this one didn’t turn out so well for her!  She had vowed to keep her feet down and her thighs tightly together.  But unfortunately her legs had other ideas.  So halfway through her spanking, poor Susan’s thighs flew wide apart, displaying her most personal charms to the rapt congregation.

When Pastor Chronister felt the moment was right, he increased both the force and the tempo of his spanks.  Susan’s sobs turned to loud bawling.  Then the Pastor finished the job by applying a quick coda of ten full-strength spanks to each cheek.  Susan’s bawling quickly escalated to a frantic wail, which easily filled the entire sanctuary and even penetrated downstairs to the fellowship hall, where it was easily heard by the two white-robed girls who were nervously and uneasily awaiting their own turns across the Pastor’s lap. 

Be it a male or female inductee across his lap, Pastor Chronister’s goal for these rite-of-passage spankings was always the same.  He always spanked until he felt that he had received a “total surrender”.  That meant, at minimum, genuine and complete loss of composure along with an impressively red bottom. 

On one hand the pastor was never fooled by “alligator tears’, but on the other hand, nobody had ever held out against him long enough to claim to have taken their “rite-of-passage” spanking stoically.
Although some boys and even the occasional girl had tried, Pastor Chronister had never been bested; his spankings always produced tears.  It was a matter of pride to him that he only spanked with his hand, never with an implement.  His spanking prowess earned the old man considerable respect among the congregation’s young people.          

In the case of Susan, the Pastor had no problems accomplishing his aim.   To be fair, it wasn’t a severe spanking, just enough to do the job.  The spanking over, he held the girl in place just long enough for her to regain a modicum of composure, if not dignity.  When he felt it safe, he helped her to her feet.  Still crying loudly, she danced and rubbed her bottom until she suddenly remembered where she was.  Then, embarrassed and rubbing the tears from her eyes, she quickly calmed down.

The Pastor stood, gently hugged her, and then turned her to face the congregation, “Faith Temple congregation, I want to present you with our newest adult and our newest esteemed member, Susan Parker.”

Susan blushed and smiled shyly as the entire congregation stood to applaud.

Susan’s mother reappeared to help her into her robe, and to escort her down to her family’s pew, where a pillow had mysteriously appeared to cushion her bottom.

Susan had made it.  She was now an adult!  Now she could date without restrictions, even marry, and was entitled to otherwise enjoy the freedoms that come with adulthood.

Downstairs, the two remaining girls heard the applause, and knew its meaning.   Suddenly Betty’s heart rate accelerated.  She could hear her pulse in her ears!  Sister Stewart said something to her, but it just sounded like gibberish to the nervous girl.  The lady took Betty by the arm, and the girl meekly (perhaps numbly) allowed herself to be escorted upstairs to the foyer, and ultimately down the sanctuary’s center aisle to her oh-so-public fate.     

The procedure with Betty was exactly the same as with Susan, except that the Pastor left out the “explanation”.  He simply wrapped an arm around her and launched into to his talk about Betty’s childhood, her accomplishments, talents, aspirations, and positive qualities.  Then came her unveiling and her spanking.

At first Betty had seemed less responsive than Susan.  Pastor Chronister even had a fleeting fear that she might be the first inductee to balk in the middle of the ceremony.  In the end, she actually took her spanking better than Susan, even though it took extra spanks to bring her more commodious bottom to a proper all-over hue.

After a flesh-jiggling spank dance, the well-spanked girl’s tears had mostly stopped by the time she shyly accepted her applause from the congregation.   Her body again modestly covered, the new adult was escorted off the platform by her mother.

Now it was Nancy’s turn to be escorted to the platform.  Nancy responded quickly but rather mechanically to the usual routine until she was safely across the Pastor’s lap.  Then, compared to the other two, she took her spanking rather badly.  She shrieked, begged, and twisted enough to make Pastor Chronister pause the spanking to reposition her.  After her spanking, it took her noticeably longer than the others to regain her composure.   In fact, she was still sobbing as her mother took her down off the platform to join her family on the pew.

Later, Nancy would say that asking to go last had been a huge mistake.  By the time her turn had come, her reservoir of courage had been seriously depleted, and her nerves were frazzled.

Pastor Chronister purposely drew out his final prayer and the benediction to allow Nancy a bit of extra time to recover.

Finally, the congregation came to the last, most joyful, part of the church’s “coming-of-age” tradition, the greeting of the new inductees!  The congregation gathered around the three girls congratulating them, hugging them, and kissing them.  In their joy and relief, the girls soon forgot their sore bottoms.  Each girl received several envelopes with cash gifts and job offers to help smooth their transition to adult life.    


Still standing on the platform, Pastor Chronister looked benevolently down on his congregation as they joyfully and loudly milled around the girls.  Church attendance was sometimes a problem for Faith Temple, sometimes dipping near 50% in the summer months.  Yet here it was a Sunday in July, and there had been nearly 100% attendance!

Charitably, the Pastor decided that the attraction must have been the pot luck dinner.
© Guyspencer 2014