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"The Green Mile"

Well, the countdown has begun, I have started to mentally prepare myself for my impending doom! In 7 days I will be meeting you in person, meeting my "Excecutioner" so to speek. My transition to the "Other Side" rests with you. You have the responsibility of making it smooth or "Very,Very" hard........ I'm starting to think that maybe I have made a mistake in taunting you a bit. I hope that you will take into consideration my lack of experience, and give me credit for "Really Really" being a good boy...... I have been thinking about my "Last" meal on Saturday night and have decided that something plain and lite would be best, as I will undoubtedly have a nervous stomach.......I've so looked forward to my last meal and joked about it many times, 3 eggs over medium, a New York strip medium, crispy hash browns, sliced tomatoes, and dry sourdough toast. I would have coffee with lots of sugar,and cream, and a large glass of OJ. I would also need some apricot preserves, tobasco sauce,and some worchestershire sauce and a toothpick.......See I have thought about it!....... but after careful considerations I think I need to go light....... As I make my "Last"phone call, and I hear "COME TO ROOM ???" I 'll be glad of the choice I made.........I hope as I look down the long, dark, lonely corridor..... "The Green Mile" that leads to your room, that my knees don't buckle, or I break down....... that I can "take it like a man"....... sorry.. boy! That I can suck it up and knock,knock,knock on that door... Please be gentle..... oh administrator of my destiny...........he,he,he.




Oh gosh
Its raining  super super hard here.
Lightning n thundering.
Its suddenly dark n gloomy.

Pink  bottoms
Red bottoms
Beefy red bottoms
Bruised bottoms
Rainbow bottoms
Black n blue bottoms
Is nice to see n it does not scare me one bit.
It only makes me happy with satisfaction but thunder and lightening scare the crap out of me.

Thank u for sharing :))

Miss J



This story did happen in the Fall of 1980.   I was in 6th grade.  


Corporal punishment in school is an interesting topic.   Obviously, for those of us who attended those schools, there is a shared experience.   For most of us, it was just " the way it was" and I honestly don't know anyone who thought, at the time, that it was wrong or unfair.   We were told by our parents to behave in school and that a teacher better not ever have to call home to report some misdeed.  If so, we would have been lucky to dodge a spanking.    In regard to getting paddled at school, it was simple.   If you did not want to get spanked at school, don't be a knucklehead.  


But, for those who did not attend those schools, particularly for people younger, it can be hard to believe this was ever the way it was.   I can tell you that it most definitely was...


Now, it should be said that when I was coming along, things were already changing.   There were new limits on number of swats, a witness had to be present( usually), the paddles at many schools no longer had holes.   That sort of thing.   You, dear reader,may laugh,but, those changes were for the better.   I was told many stories from older cousins, friends older brothers or sisters, babysitters etc....we had it MUCH better than they did!   In fact, it was also eliminated at the high school in town before my crowd got there.   That was big news when that headline appeared.    Eventually, it was abolished for all grades in my area probably 10-12 years after I graduated high school.


But, it remained in elementary and middle school for our crowd.   I am aware of several that happened in elementary school, but, it was not nearly as common there as it was at middle school.    First of all, it should be said, the ages of 11-14 are not that easy and many kids have trouble behaving during that time.  Starting middle school as a 6th grader, I can remember being amazed how brazen and disrespectful the 7th and 8th graders could be.   It was different.   And, I have to admit, sort of impressive.    


As you might expect, the middle school teachers knew this was coming.   Some handled it more the way teachers might nowadays.    But, many, would paddle quickly for shows of blatant disrespect.   There were certain teachers.   You just could not screw with them.   And, we all knew who they were.   Those events are definitely worth a read but I will save those for another time.


What many people find fascinating today, when looking back, is that certain misdeeds automatically would result in a paddling.   Did not matter who you were or how well behaved otherwise.    I understand that can be hard to "get" in a 2014 way of thinking.    But, times were different.  


The offense that could snare pretty much anybody was fighting.   First, it did not take much.   Any sort of disagreement that turned the slightest amount physical could be deemed fighting.   And, there was a lot of tension. 


Please understand, I grew up in a state that had desegregated schools 5 years before I started school.     I was in the 5th kindergarten class post that event.  So, while I was not in school during the really crazy time of change, MANY things still were being worked out.    It is crazy to think that those administrators/teachers all handled those changes perfectly or the same way they would have years later.   Everyone was learning.


You see, what gets historical attention is the impact on the students.    But, consider the teachers/ administrators.   There were African American teachers/principals who had spent 15-20 years at an all black school.  Now, they were having to deal with the racial issues.   The white students were different.   Their attitudes and experiences were different. Their parents were different.   The exact same was true for the white teachers/principals.   They were now having to deal with the racial issues.   The black students were different.   Their attitudes and experiences were different.   Their parents were different.


When you consider that few things can raise a temper quicker than racial conflict and/or issues involving a person's child, you can see those folks were all in a tough spot.   


So, this brings us to the subject of fighting.   It does not take a rocket scientist to question the strange lesson being taught when physical violence is punished with more physical violence.   That question is logical thinking and it has thankfully made its way into the school way of looking at these things.   But, back then, spanking was just part of life.   I don't know anyone that I grew up with who was not spanked as a child.  My wife and I are the same age and she grew up in a town 100 miles away.   She does not know anyone she grew up with who was not spanked as a child.  


The attitude at the schools reflected that.  So, what do you do with a problem that HAD to be gotten under control?  There were too many fights.   Not all racial, but enough were.   How as an administrator could you "judge" who was to blame?   How would YOU do that, dear reader?   Try to figure out who started it?   Define that.   Try to punish who punched the hardest?  Define that.    Ask the other students?   Impossible.   Support too often went straight down racial lines without any regard for the truth.   


A white teacher could not be seen as "blaming" a black student.    The black teachers could not be seen as "blaming" a white student.   And, if either "blamed" the kid of their same race they likely had an entire set of new problems.  


So, the policy that was adopted was "zero tolerance".   Don't fight.   We were all told repeatedly.    The first day of school.   And, again other times.   We all knew what the rule was.   You get caught fighting, you will be paddled.


The event below remains burned in my brain for several reasons, most of which will become clear as you read.   But, also, because this is the FIRST event like the below that I ever experienced.    We had just started 6th grade, probably been there a month, 6 weeks tops.   For us, this meant we were now at the middle school with the 7th and 8th graders.   It also meant that we were meeting a bunch of new friends for the first time as there were two other elementary schools that fed into the same middle school.


Barbara Cole was in my 6th grade class with Miss Graves.   Miss Graves was in her mid 50s and still lived with her mother.   She was fat.   Not healthy at all.   She was so pale it appeared that she might keel over at any moment.   Some kids would refer to her as "soon to be in" or "heading toward" as a fun way of poking fun at her health and unfortunate last name.   As a teacher, she was pretty good and our class was actually a "tiered" group of kids, which meant we were all pretty smart.   As a result, we did not have the discipline problems that were obviously happening in many of the other classes.   Middle school was clearly different from the very beginning.   


Now, we still had fun.   Miss Graves was an easy target and the more brazen of us pushed her from the beginning.   Barbara Cole was one of those kids.   I had never met anyone like her.    She had come from one of the other elementary schools.   She had pretty blonde hair.   Her face was not beautiful,but, she had a very cute personality which made her seem pretty cute.   Great smile.   And, she wore Jordache jeans almost every day.   Let's just say it was one of the first times I remember noticing the kind of jeans a person was wearing.   We all noticed.   Even the other girls.   Soon enough, they were also wearing Jordache jeans.   


Miss Graves and Barbara had tension from the beginning.    Or, Miss Graves did.    She was always calling Barbara down for talking and/or telling her to get to her seat.   Most of us would respond to that sort of reprimand with a blushed face and quickly following the instructions.    Not Barbara.   She would just smile right back at Miss Graves and all of us too.   It was a trip.   I had never seen a girl so openly defiant.   But, she was not ugly about it.   So, she never really got in any serious trouble, initially.   I am guessing the happy demeanor played a part.


Still, Miss Graves clearly did not consider Barbara one of her favorites.   Pretty quickly, she started to get more nasty with her verbal sparring with Barbara.    This was long before political correctness or not embarrassing a child.   Teachers could and would embarrass you very quickly if you gave them a chance.   This was also long before tattoos or piercings on various parts of the body.  Therefore, Barbara's tight Jordache jeans and "unladylike" attitude were " pushing the envelope" as far as Miss Graves was concerned.   Again, she was probably 55 going on 75 in regard to her thinking of the world.    One time and, again, this was very early in the school year,  she told Barbara to sit down or she would take her paddle to "those tight jeans you are wearing."   I was shocked.   I did not even know it was realistic for a girl to get paddled at school (there were none at my elementary school) and had never really heard it threatened that way in front of everyone (did not happen in elementary but I later learned happened all the time in middle school).   The reference to a spanking on tight jeans was also sort of a PG thing in my, to that point, G rated world.   But, Barbara again just laughed it off.   She looked right at me and smiled and I thought she was possibly the coolest girl I had ever met.     She happily took the long way back to her seat.   She eventually sat and the crisis was averted.


One of the reasons middle school kids often found themselves in the sort of trouble that led to paddlings was that we were given more freedom.   Elementary school had been very rigid.   No freedom.   In 6th grade, we did NOT change classes like the 7th and 8th graders did.   But, we did have lockers.    This, of course, was the first time.    So, each of us had this tiny little area of real estate that was "ours" and we could keep our stuff.   So, there was a tendency to get a bit territorial.  


We could check our lockers before class, before and after lunch, and then one more time middle part of the afternoon which was brilliantly known as "locker break".    As you might expect, even though locker break was no more than 5 minutes, most kids would instead use that time to congregate with friends and just pretend to either put something away or get something out of the locker.   


Sure enough, for me and a lot of the other boys, I had an incredibly hard time even remembering my combination.    I just did not use it enough.   Like many boys, I was not very organized, did not want to be, and so the value of a locker was almost completely lost on me at that age.


Barbara, on the other hand, had essentially created a little house.    She is probably an interior decorator today, out there in the world somewhere.    Our lockers were across the hall from each other as these things tended to be decided alphabetically.   She had areas, there were dividers.   She had pretty ribbons.  She had little stuffed animals in there.   She had a hair band seemingly for every day of the month.   She had created her own little space and very much liked having it.


Torri Graham was an African American girl I had known since kindergarten.    She was really big and strong.   I was one of the fastest kids at my elementary school, but, Torri would win our races half the time.   I liked her and she liked me.   But, she did not like a lot of people.   Torri was not in our class with Miss Graves.    And, her locker was not near mine and Barbara's.    


However, one day as we went to locker break, I noticed that Torri and two of her friends were sort of in a circle around the area of Barbara's locker.   I did not pay it much mind as I was probably focused on trying to remember my locker combination.   As I fiddled with the lock, I heard some tension behind me.   I saw that Barbara could not get to her locker because of how Torri and her friends were congregating.  I heard Barbara say something like "let me by" and I very clearly heard Torri say "that she was talking" and that Barbara would "have to wait".   That was not necessarily Barbara's personality, and, I heard her say louder to "get out of the way".  Torri turned and looked down on Barbara (Torri was really big) and told her very aggressively to wait "like I told you to."


Now, here, was where Barbara was supposed to cower down, go get the teacher, and essentially tattle on Torri.    That was how the rules at the time would have liked her to have resolved this.   It was clear that Barbara did not want to fight with Torri and it was also clear that it might happen.  Instead of leaving the scene, Barbara sort of aggressively put her face toward the other two girls and told THEM that they should move or she would report them to the teacher.


This was a mistake.


Tattletales were never high on the respect ladder and certainly not ones that had threatened to play that card in a scene that was already tense.   Torri took her open hand and flat out walloped Barbara across the head.   It was the hardest punch I had seen at that point of my life.   Barbara sort of fell back toward the lockers and Torri connected with the other hand.   Barbara's books came sliding across the hall toward my locker and one of her sandals actually fell off to as she slid toward floor.   If she had stayed down, it probably would have ended there, but, she tried to get up and grabbed hold of Torri's shirt.  Torri was still wildly swinging and connected again.  As Barbara tried to get fully back to her feet, her tight grip ripped Torri's shirt, exposing her bra.   Which was a BIG deal at the time .   As Mr. Jennings (Torri's teacher from across the hall) came along to break it up, he saw both girls engaged and that Barbara still had part of Torri's shirt in her hand.   


Mr Jennings separated both girls.   He ordered all of us back to our classes as he turned to talk to Torri (his student).   Barbara turned and followed us back into Miss Graves classroom and we all sat.    The entire room was abuzz and I remember just sitting there, looking at Barbara, and being amazed by the whole thing.  


Now, my desk was the first one beside the hallway door.     As I said earlier, many things in our school were done alphabetically.   As a result, I often was assigned that desk.   So, I could not SEE anything happening in the hallway.    But, with the door open, I could HEAR most anything.   


Miss Graves had missed the fight but was now aware that something had happened.   She went out into the hall and I could hear she and Mr. Jennings talking.   I did not hear Torri but my guess is she was still there.   Shortly, Miss Graves quickly came back in the class. I noticed right away that her face had color and she seemed angry.   She looked right at Barbara and said, "Miss Cole, I will see you out in the hall!".    Barbara did not smile this time as she rose and headed toward the hall.   Her face started to redden and it turned a completely darker shade as we all saw Miss Graves open a cabinet and retrieve her paddle.


Barbara exited the room into the hallway and Miss Graves followed behind with a white wooden paddle in her hand.    Who knows why it was painted, but, it clearly was.    I could hear them talking but could not make out everything.   I do remember that there was no time given for "sides of the story".    It was also clear that Miss Graves was in no way going to support Barbara.    It seemed clear  to me that she was making this last action out to just be another in a list of misbehavior.   And, that she thought Barbara deserved a paddling. 


I guess it was due to Miss Graves lack of physical prowess.   But, Mr. Jennings paddled both girls with Miss Graves as the witness.    Torri went first.   I could hear him tell her something about standing on a line, bending over, and touching the wall.   Quickly enough, the silence was interrupted by a loud smack.   All eyes in our classroom virtually popped out of our skulls.   You see, all wooden paddle spankings at our elementary school had been done in private.   Principals office or teachers study.   The sound happening a few feet from us was very surprising and amazing.    The acoustics in the school hallway doing nothing but making the sound louder and clearer.   Torri took swat 2 quietly from what I could tell but I definitely heard a whimper and followed by an "owwww" that she seemed trying hard to suppress as the final swat stung her bottom.  

Mr Jennings then told Barbara to get in the same position.   She definitely resisted because I clearly heard Miss Graves tell her "not to pull that crap, this is going to happen".   Then, Mr. Jennings (he had a deep voice so it was easier to hear what he was saying) told her to step out of her sandles.   They were a flat wood on the bottom, which was popular then.   I guess he did not want her sliding around on the linoleum hallway floors as he was trying to whack her fanny.


I guess she complied because there was again silence, then " smaaaack".    Barbara instantly cried out in a very high pitched voice squealing "owwwww!"    The second swat was instant and sounder louder, and then when the 3rd one blistered into her butt Barbara made a shocked sound like she had burned herself and then collapsed into tears.   


There was another minute or two lecture, with Miss Graves doing the talking.   I could not hear much of that.    I could still hear Barbara crying and really felt very sorry for her.    Pretty quickly, Miss Graves came back in the class with her paddle in hand and a satisfied look on her face.   She returned it to the cabinet home.    Barbara followed a few seconds behind, trying to stifle tears.    Her face was beet red and her hair was stuck to her face from tears.   She had one hand unashamedly grabbing her behind and one hand out like it seemed to be steadying her from falling.   Her breathing was heavy as  she passed me.   Once she reached her seat, she put her head down and softly cried into her desk with her hair creating an umbrella of protection from the curious eyes.  


Barbara did finish that school year with us.   And, she did give Miss Graves far less grief.   She did not get in ANY more trouble that I remember.    I don't think it was related, but, Barbara's family moved out of town the following summer.   I never heard from her again.


To her credit, it did seem that the spanking allowed Miss Graves to "wipe the slate clean" where Barbara was concerned.   She held no grudge, never embarrassed her about it, and it seemed like she may have even liked her a bit better from that point forward. 


  We never saw Miss Graves' white paddle again the remainder of that year.   



But, we heard Mr. Jennings use his paddle many times on our peers.

Story by Kevin...."6th Grade"




Thanks for sharing Kevin!

Miss J





This happened in the early 80s, in the Upstate of South Carolina.   School paddling was still common at that time.   These days, it is not allowed at the schools I attended.    In fact, it was in "decline" when I was in school.   So, yes, we had it better than our older brothers/sisters/aunts/uncles etc. as change was happening, it was not as common, and the spankings were not quite as severe.    Still, it happened.   And, it was always fascinating and intense.


I was a good student.   I liked school.   When I got in trouble, it was usually just for talking.    And, I seemed to know when to stop.     Still, I was threatened with a paddling many times, as many of us were.   What some folks forget is that threatening a paddling can be very effective discipline.   However, for a threat to be effective it means somebody has to actually get it.


Paddling during that era at my school was similar to what I have read about and learned of other places.   It is true that it seemed to usually be the same kids, over and over.   Not interested in school, hyper, the "bad seeds".   Many in this group experienced swats a couple of times a year.


However, the "others" were not immune.   Just less common.   It was always big news when a "good kid" got it.    Yes, girls were "eligible" to get it at my school.   But, it was rare.   And, when a girl got paddled it was usually for committing one of the "automatic" offenses.   Those were fighting, smoking, and skipping class.    It was huge news if a "good girl" got paddled.


By the time I graduated, I had 11 good friends.    We were very much a group.   All of us came from good families.   All of us were pretty smart and went on to graduate from college; we now have pretty wives and nice families.  We were pretty good kids and liked to have fun.    But, out of that 12, all but one of us endured the wooden paddle at school, at least once during our schooling.   So, it could happen to good kids.   Especially boys.  


Out of that group, I was the last one to get it.   I had made it all the way to the Spring of my 7th grade year.   Warnings, yes, but nothing more.   In our area, a recent big news event was that corporal punishment had been removed at the high school.    As a result, I was almost "through the gauntlet" so to speak.   But, I did not quite make it.


The principal at our school was a lady by the name of Grace Clarkston.   She was probably mid to upper 50s.   Very slender, very serious, very Southern.   She had actually been my Principal at elementary school too.  Her hair was blondish then but was now full gray.  She had left, I believe, when I was in 4th grade to go to the middle school, the same one I attended two years later.     So, by the time I had finished 8th grade (the next year) she had been my principal all but 2 years of my schooling.  


In our area, a female principal was still a "new thing".    This was before the Susan B Anthony coin.    Mrs. Clarkston got her job at my elementary school before Sandra Day O'Connor's appointment and Margaret Thatcher's time in power.   She was a small part of the change that was happening in our world at that time.  


One reason females were not considered for leadership positions in our area at that time, is that it was believed they would be "too emotional".   Far better for a man to be in charge as he would be able to dispense wisdom without emotion, or so that was the bs thinking of the time.   Looking back, it is clear that this warped thinking was not news to Mrs. Clarkston.    And, she was far too qualified to allow some sexist bs stand in her way.    So, she was essentially a robot when interacting with us.   She intentionally avoided pleasantries and/or anything "touchy/feely".   When we were kids, we thought she was just "mean".    Looking back, it makes much more sense.   She had to be that way.


I did, however, have more of a relationship with her than most.    Not to say that we were close.   Just that she had been my principal for so long.   In addition, in elementary school I had been asked to be part of a special project with a few other kids when I was in 3rd grade.   We were able to leave the general class once a week and go into this little room and work on presentations and things that were ultimately part of a school performance later in the year.   Our "teacher" for this group was Mrs. Clarkston.   So, I did have many interactions with her in a small group.   She certainly knew me pretty well.   Knew I was a good student.  Probably liked me ok back then.   But, of course, you never knew with her.


One of the most memorable events with Mrs. Clarkston was the annual speech she gave, and she gave it to each grade, at the beginning of the year once we got to middle school.   We always sat in the bleachers in the gym.   She always stood in the same exact spot on the gym floor.   I heard her give pretty much this exact same speech 3 times (6th, 7th, and 8th grades).   She would welcome everyone in.   Robotically state that she hoped we had a good summer.   But, "now it was on to business".  She would mention some of the things that were planned for the year.   In the case of a cool field trip on the schedule, she might even appear to get excited for a brief moment.   However, the excitement quickly passed.


She ended each speech the same way.   Each year.   "We take discipline very seriously here.   Know this.   If you fight at my school (she said "fight" with such a southern accent that it almost sounded like she was saying "fat") you will get a spankin'.    If you smoke at this school, you will get a spankin'.   If you cut class at this school, you will get a spankin'.   Any questions??"


There never were.   With that, the new school year would begin...


So,in our middle school, she was definitely seen as the detached, maternal leader of our school.    Although we knew she was involved with discipline, at times, it was very much the assistant principal's primary role.    Mr. Stanbach was someone everybody wanted to avoid.    He was a well-built black man.  He wore glasses, his hair slightly graying at the temples.   He had played a sport in college, but I don't remember which one.    He was far more engaged than Mrs. Clark, but, I would not say that made him any more approachable, certainly not in my eyes.  He would talk to you, would joke around, on occasion.   However, he very quickly would change back into his "administrator" role.   Too quickly, it seemed, at times.   His common statement was "do what u sposed to do".   Said it all the time.    And, he very quickly would remind anyone that a trip to his office would not end up well.   The offender would be "fired up" quickly.   You see, I am sure Mr. Stanbach was intelligent and qualified.  I am sure he did other things.    But, to us, his sole purpose in life seemed to be to tear up a tender rear end.  Nobody, and certainly not me, had any interest in getting a paddling from Mr. Stanbach.


But, they most definitely happened.   The rumors and gossip were there.    But, when a kid was sent to the office there was really no way for certain to know what had happened to them.   That, of course, was very different from when teachers would spank a student.    That would be done in the hallway, right outside the class.   Everyone knew who was getting it, heard them getting it, and saw them slowly make their way back to class afterward with an impossibly red face.  Those experiences were certainly fascinating.  


However, I never had that experience.    Many of my friends did.   I was in class several times when a peer was escorted to the hall for 3 good swats.   I am sure it was no fun.


As bad as that had to have been, however, the office was the real fear.   Primarily, because it was almost certain that Mr. Stanbach would be administering the discipline.     The truth is that some of the teachers were not in terribly good shape, not that athletic, and so it was possible to get "swats" from one of them that would not be too bad.  There was no chance of that with Mr. Stanbach.


During the year in question, I actually became somewhat of an expert on "happenings" in the office.   During 7th grade, we were required to take Home Economics.    I hated it.   As I said, I actually liked the normal school subjects as I could see a later practical purpose.   I saw no such future with what we "learned" in Home Economics.    The school administrators must have also known.   Evidence was in a "privilege" that myself and other students had earned that year.    If one had good grades and good conduct marks, you could be nominated to be an "office assistant" for one 9 week period.   This meant two things.   First, you went to be the office assistant INSTEAD of going to Home Economics during that class period.   That was pretty big.   But, you also were now "inside the castle walls" so the speak.   


So, I was the "office assistant" during the second quarter of my 7th grade year.   So, that would have been Fall, the Christmas period, and the first part of January or so.  It was a lot of fun.   First, I was not in class.   Second, I got to know the secretaries and other office personnel pretty well.   I learned their husband's names, what their kids were doing, hometowns etc.    At the time, it seemed like special knowledge for a 7th grader to have.  In turn, they knew things about me.   My favorite sports teams, my sister's name.   My girlfriend at the time.  


One person in particular was especially cool.   Miss Lawson must have been a grad student.   I am embarrassed to say that I don't know exactly what her purpose was.    She was very young compared to everyone else there (probably 22-24).   And so, even though she was probably 10 years or so older than me, we were much closer in age than the others.   Noone else would have been less than 40.  She liked the same music as me, we pulled for the same college in sports.  She lived not far from where I had previously lived and she knew some of my former babysitters pretty well.   We talked a lot.   I very much enjoyed seeing Miss Lawson when I was there.   I don't think it was a crush, necessarily.  She was attractive but was no knockout.   Still, I definitely liked her.    She had a great laugh.   And, for some reason I was able to make her laugh.   That was a pretty cool thing for a 7th grade boy.


One of the best parts about this job was that I suddenly had all of this freedom.    At that age, freedoms are gradually being given.   But, we were still very much under the eye of teachers most of the time.   However, being the "office assistant" also meant I was their errand boy.   I would be sent to fetch a kid when his parents were there to pick him up early.   Or, to get a message to a teacher about something.  


The freedom was intoxicating.   Free to roam the halls, go see what your friends were doing.   It was very cool.


Now, one of the things that I now find interesting about that era is the premise of a "hall pass".   Yes, in order to be out in the halls when class was in session, you needed to have a "hall pass" to prove you had permission.    As the office assistant, I had a badge which served as my "pass".   But, most teachers actually used their paddle as the hall pass.   So, it was not unusual to see kids walking down the hall with a paddle that said "Mrs. White Hall Pass" on it.   Using the paddle as the pass had two purposes.   One, the dual purpose meant there was one less thing to keep up with.   Two, and perhaps most important, the student with the "hall pass" and "freedom" that came along with it, had a very tangible reminder in his or her hand of what abuse of that freedom could lead to…..


The daily drama in the office was very interesting.   Yes, there was gossip.   Tons of it.  Yes, I learned for the first time just how silly adults could be about that sort of thing.   But, the most dramatic events would be the office paddlings.  


It was probably 2 times a week.   I would say maybe 15-20 total over the 9 weeks I was in there.    You could always tell.    If a teacher brought them to the office, you could usually tell by the expressions of both student and teacher.   On 3 occasions, I was actually sent to get a student out of class for them to report to the office for an immediate paddling.  That walk down the hallway back to the office was always silent and I could very much sense the tension building in my classmate on his way to justice.  


They would go down a little hallway back to Mr. Stanbach's office.   The experience was usually pretty brief.   We would hear the door close, and then there would be 2-3 minutes of silence.   I was really surprised how much the secretaries would talk about it, at times, and other times seemed to not even think about or be aware of what was getting ready to happen.  I guess they just got busy.


Almost always the main secretary (Mrs Williams or Willingham, I can't remember) would be called back as a witness.


 Back in the office lobby, there were times when comments would be made about the offender's family.   References to older siblings who either were just as bad a few years before or were much better behaved, and thus it a complete shock that "John Doe" was there to be spanked.   Occasionally, the secretaries seemed to slightly enjoy it because the kid "had it coming".   Other times there was obvious sadness when a usually pretty well behaved kid was in for it.  Especially if they were 6th graders or particularly fragile looking.   Mr. Stanbach did not seem to go easy on anyone and only the toughest kids came out of his office without a tear stained face or openly crying.  


    No matter how much chatter had been going on, all activity stopped during the 10-15 seconds when a student was being paddled.   The "smack" was just so loud. There was some curiosity in regard to how many and how the kid would handle it.   I rarely actually heard any yelps or cries.   But, the sound of wooden paddle slapping a misbehaving backside was clear and unmistakeable.


After, we in the office would try to pretend like we were not looking toward the student who was now hurriedly leaving the office.   The student's face was always SO red with humiliation and usually had evidence of some crying.   We would all shuffle papers and look away.  But, we all pretty much looked back toward the scene out of the corner of our eyes as well.  It was just too interesting.   As the freshly paddled would exit the office, it almost seemed that you could see burning bottom glowing with heat through their jeans as they turned to leave.


Even though I did a pretty good job as office assistant, I still never really had any sort of meaningful conversation with Mr. Stanbach or Mrs. Clarkston.   I had no interest in talking with Mr. Stanbach, I just thought he was a jerk.   I sort of thought I might talk to Mrs. Clarkston more than I did.   We had known each other so long I felt like she would have been more cordial.   But, I just don't think it was her way.   These days, my kids have female principals.   They are able to be tough and lead.  But, they also hug the kids and get excited about cool things the students do.   Mrs. Clarkston was nothing like that.  No emotion.  Ever.  


All too soon, my office assistant period was over.   I was bummed to be headed back to Home Economics.   And, I especially missed my conversations with Miss Lawson.   I distinctly remember trying to figure out a way to talk to her again.   I had no way of knowing that we would be seeing each other again very soon.


So, PE during 7th grade was also an interesting time.   I was pretty good at all sports, so I liked PE.   But, 7th grade had brought a new dimension.   We had to "dress out" for PE.   So, for many of us, this was the first time undressing in front of people.    Showers were not required, thank God, but getting down to undies was still quite the experience.    We all had to wear the same thing for PE.  School issued blue T shirt and light gray shorts.   The school colors.   As you might imagine, the garments were very thin to save money.


One reason for the mental trauma in the locker room was that a lot of physical development is happening during this time.    But, not at the same pace for everyone.    So, not only was there potential embarrassment due to undressing, but there also was the very real evidence that you might still be a little boy or girl when others were becoming much more grown up.   It was a significant source of tension.   In our case, the 7th and 8th graders would be dressing at the same time.   So, that meant the room was very crowded.  It meant there was a lot of bawdy talk in the room.   And, it meant that there was even some "showing off" of body parts going on.


For me, this was very uncool.   I had NOTHING going on physically at this point.   No growth spurt.   No evidence of hair anywhere (not even that peach fuzz thing above the lip).   I always tried to dress as quickly as possible.


One day, a kid named Randy Milbrook was making the rounds, running his mouth.   I never liked Randy.   Still don't.  He was always in trouble, not a very good student.   He came from wrong side of town.   He was known to have been paddled many times and probably very much deserved every one of them.   In fact, I was pretty sure he had been paddled in that PE class by Mrs. Garrison earlier in the year.


So, anyway, Randy did have more going on physically than many in our grade.   He was bigger, did have that peach fuzz thing going on, and his voice had changed.  


On the day in question, he was seeking out a friend of mine.   John and I were in a similar spot.   We were both pretty small at that time and neither of us were maturing yet.   John was even smaller than me.  We hung out in the locker room and tried to keep our distance from all of the debauchery going on elsewhere.  


One day after PE, we had returned to the locker room and were about to change back into our regular clothes.   Randy starts giving John the business about this or that, I don't really remember.  But, it was teasing, it was embarrassing, and it was very annoying.   After a minute or so, I just lost my cool and said to John, "don't listen to anything he says, everyone knows he's a dumbass."


So, while I had not said anything directly to Randy, I HAD said what I said loud enough for much of the locker room to hear.   Immediately, the cat calls and "woooooooo" sounds started to come from all corners.   Randy had been called out, everyone was now watching, and he had to respond.


I can still see him take an aggressive step toward me.  He was bigger and I probably would not have had much of a chance in the ring.   But, I quickly made a decision and tagged him across his left cheek.  It was not a terribly hard blow, but, it had connected and felt pretty good to me.   He quickly pounded me back across the top of the head which did not feel as good to me.  We then grabbed each other and fell over a bench that was there.   That fall actually hurt much more than the punch from Randy.   Quickly, I could hear voices and feel myself being pulled upward.   It was Mrs. Garrison, she had me by the arm and was grabbing ahold of Randy too.  


The "fight" was over.   Anyone who has ever been in a fight knows that there is this period when you hear or think about nothing, but, then quickly it all comes back to you.    I remember standing there with my knee bleeding from the fall and my arm pretty uncomfortable from the iron grip Mrs. Garrision had on my arm.   As my faculties returned, it dawned on me that I probably had just earned my first school paddling.  


My thoughts were swirling.   As the seconds ticked by, and as my brain better processed what had just transpired, it became clearer to me that I was in big trouble.  


Mrs. Garrison now had hold of both of us.   We started walking toward her office which was where she administered her spankings.   However, for some unknown (at the time) reason, she announced to the rest of the class, "get dressed and get to your next class, I have to take these boys to the office!"


"The OFFICE?"   I remember instantly being terrified.    It was all happening very quickly, too quickly.   I had still been processing the likelihood of a paddling from Mrs. Garrison.   She was a PE teacher and was certainly athletic.   I am sure it would have hurt quite a bit.  But, in my mind, the OFFICE meant only one thing.   It meant Mr. Stanbach.   Why couldn't she just do it??   Why the office??   Why??  My first school paddling was going to be from the one person I had most wanted to avoid.   There was no doubt he was going to tear my little lily white fanny up and I started to feel tears well up in my eyes.   


Randy was trying to talk to Mrs. Garrrison, but I did not hear much of anything.   As we took the "walk of shame" down the hallway with her still tightly holding onto us, we passed peers.   One was Angie, a girl I had kissed on the lips (no open mouth) one time the previous year at a school dance.   She must have been able to tell we were in big trouble, the look on her face seemed scared and empathetic, and her expression made me even more fearful of my current predicament.  


I was scared.   But, as I could see the office ahead in the hallway, I suddenly was overcome with an emotion that trumped the fear.   An intense burn of humiliation started to saturate my body as it became clear what was looming.    The secretaries!!!   They all thought so much of me.   What would they think now??   Miss Lawson!!!???    I felt like all of the liquid in my body instantly dried up as it occurred to me that she was likely there in the office.   My mouth was so dry. 


Too quickly, we entered the office.   I tried very hard not to make eye contact with anyone and, sure enough, I can't say for sure who was there when we first arrived.  However, I did hear Mrs. Garrison when she said the words I had feared were coming, "These boys need to have a meeting with Mr. Stanbach.   I need to get back to class."


And there it was.   I almost started openly crying right then.   I remember feeling it coming on but somehow I kept it at bay.   NO idea how.  It just seemed so unfair.    My first school paddling was getting ready to happen.   And, Mr. Stanton seemed certain to make quite an impression. 


Quickly, however, "Sorry Mrs. Garrison, he had a doctor's appointment, but Mrs. Clarkston is back there."


Thoughts swirled again.   No Mr. Stanbach, which was VERY good news.   But, Mrs. Clarkston?



I kept my eyes toward the floor as I tried to somehow not be noticed by the office personnel.   We directly made our way down the hallway, but not quite as far.   Mrs. Clarkston's office was the first one on the left.


We were instructed to sit in two chairs that were facing her desk.    Without acknowledging us, she joined Mrs. Garrison right outside her office.   They whispered for a minute or two as it was clear that Mrs. Garrison was giving her the details.    She quickly returned to her desk seat and Mrs. Garrison escaped the tense scene to get ready for her next class.  


For a few seconds, Mrs. Clarkston did not say anything.   She seemed to be thinking about something and her eyes peered over her glasses toward us.   But, it was clear that she was not seeing us at that point.    I remember getting a brief hope that maybe things would work out.   I was certainly hoping Mr. Stanbach would not return and I also thought it possible that Mrs. Clarkston really did like me enough to give me a pass.  


As those thoughts were circulating, she spoke…


"Mrs Garrison tells me you boys were fighting in class today.   Is that true?"


"Yes ma'am" was all we could mutter.


"She also tells me that both of you threw a punch in this fight.  Is that so?


"Yes ma'am".


"Do you boys remember the speech I gave at the beginning of the year?   The one when I clearly listed behaviors that would not be tolerated at my school."


We knew what this meant and said nothing.


"Well, you were told."


With that, her door was still open so she called out to the main secretary.    I knew this was potentially very bad news as I knew that she was often asked to be the "witness" to the office paddlings.  


However, things quickly got worse as, instead, Miss Lawson popped her perky little head around the door and said, "sorry Mrs. Clarkston, she is in the Ladies room."


I could feel my face burn as I looked down at the floor.   I hoped that somehow she had not seen it was me that was in trouble.


That thought quickly turned useless as Mrs. Clarkston uttered the most intense words I had ever heard at that point in my life, "OK, well, come on in and close the door behind you.   I need a witness.   These boys need a spankin'"


With that, my sentence had been delivered.   I was finally going to get it.   I was scared.  But, MUCH MORE humiliated and embarrassed.   I could not believe that Miss Lawson was going to witness me getting my bottom worn out by the principal.    There is no doubt that my thoughts for that first 30 seconds or so were far more about the presence of the witness than the soon to be application of wooden board to my butt.   I had been spanked at home with a paddle.   Not often, only two times.   Once in 4th grade and once in 5th.   Those were the only two spankings I got from my father.   Well deserved, I might add.   3 swats each time.   Thus, I knew what it was going to feel like, for the most part, and knew it was going to suck and burn like hell.   But, I had NEVER had someone, anyone, witness me getting spanked…..


Mrs. Clarkston remained all business.    She stood and turned her back to us, opening a metal file cabinet behind her chair.    It made a loud creaking noise as she opened the drawer.    She reached in and retrieved her paddle.   It was a light colored wood, looked very solid.   The surface area was plenty large enough to whack across both cheeks of a deserving kid's backside, but narrow enough to focus the unbearable sting on the lowest part of soft butt cheeks.       My heart sank as the visual now made my immediate future much clearer.   Remaining all business, Mrs. Clarkston uttered instructions as if she had done this many, many times before.   With her back still turned, she said  "Ok, if you have anything in your back pockets, take it out now."    This, of course, was probably what she said every time before beating a kid's tail.     However, it was also ridiculous.   We still had on the school issued gym shorts and so we had no pockets.   The thin shorts now became another of my concerns.


As she turned, she looked straight through me.   Pointing the paddle at my chair, she flatly stated, "stand up".   She came to my side of the desk and then turned my chair 90 degrees from how it had been.    Pointing the paddle at the legs of the chair, she said "now put each foot on the outside of the legs of the chair.   Then, bend over and place your hands on the other side of the chair.   Do it now."


Hearing those words brought me back to the fear side again.   I was still so humiliated that Miss Lawson was in there to see me get spanked.   But, now the actual paddling was about to begin.  I just remember telling myself over and over, "Don't cry, Don't cry, Don't cry"…..


With that, she tapped the paddle against my bottom one light time and then said, "keep your hands where they are, don't move.  This will be real quick."


And, she did not lie.   As I looked at my hands tightly gripping the other side of the chair, I gritted my teeth as she blistered my fanny firmly and quickly.   I got 3 good, hard swats.    The first, as always, was shocking.   The second swat connecting in the same spot was when the burn became intolerable and I truthfully did not need the 3rd lick for my lesson to have been well learned.   But, it most definitely came anyway.


Mrs. Clarkston fried my butt.  


It was all over in 10 seconds, if that.   I don't believe I made any noise but I really don't know.   My ass was on fire but I also quickly noticed that the inside of my mouth was bleeding.  I could taste blood.   I wore braces at the time and I must have gritted my teeth so hard that the braces cut the inside of my mouth as I bore down.   This might have been to my benefit as it temporarily focused my attention away from the fact that I had just been spanked by the principal.  I did NOT cry, but my eyes were very watery.   AND, I was not in the clear yet.   As she told me to stand up and move over, I had to step away from the "scene".   This brought Miss Lawson into my field of vision.   My eyes blurry with tears, I did not let them fall and they also shielded me from her.   Still, the humiliation burned deeper as multiple sensations jostled for my attention.   My buttocks felt as if I had sat bare bottom on a stove burner and it was still getting worse.   It took a lot not to put both hands on it and rub furiously.   That is exactly what I had done after I got paddled by my Dad at home.   Both times, and had cried my eyes out.   But, that would not have been cool and I was trying SO hard to keep my cool.   At the same time, I could taste blood and the spot in my mouth really hurt as well.   More than anything, I just wanted to leave that office, have some privacy, and not have anyone looking at my face or my bottom.   As I focused all of my energy on keeping it together and not giving in to the tears and/or burn, I began to realize that more visual stimuli was developing in front of me.   Coming out of my fog, I saw Randy bend over in the same way I had.   I had not heard much really since "this will be real quick" had been uttered by Mrs. Clarkston.   My senses had understandably been elsewhere.   But, as my brain came back into balance, I took in the scene in front of me.   Just as I had never been spanked in front of someone before, I had actually never SEEN anyone get spanked before.   I had HEARD plenty.   With the 5 alarm fire still building in my backside, I tried to focus on the scene.   As I did, I heard Mrs. Clarkston announce that Randy would be getting 5 swats.    This was because Randy had already been paddled earlier that year by Mrs. Garrison.   As I said earlier, corporal punishment policies were changing while we were in school.    One that had already changed was that teachers could no longer give more than 3 licks during one spanking.   However, administrators could.   I later learned that while teachers COULD give 3 swats again to the same student for a second infraction, most opted to let the office take care of the second round knowing that the punishment could be more severe.   In my case, that was the reason my paddling had happened in the office instead of from Mrs. Garrison.   Since Randy had "qualified" for the main office's attention, Mrs. Garrison apparently felt like it would make more sense just to have us both dealt with there.    An example of how arbitrarily some of these corporal punishment decisions were made.   And, another reason for my hatred of Randy.


As Mrs Clarkston addressed Randy's backside with her paddle, I saw her tap it lightly as she had with me.    I could see his butt respond lazily to the tap.   From my vantage point, I could see Randy's butt seemingly trying to pop out of those thin gray shorts as he bent, but I could also see a side view of his face.   Over his shoulder, I could see Mrs Clarkston addressing her target with a stern look of determination.   And, over her shoulder, I could see that Miss Lawson was intently fulfilling her duty as witness.   Her eyes were directly focused on Randy's butt.    This, of course, meant the same had been true when I was getting swatted.   I was probably embarrassed again but so many sensory activities were happening at the same time.   It was tough to focus.   Meanwhile, my butt continued to sting like hell and the inside of my mouth was still bleeding.   


Suddenly, my senses were focused as the first paddle swat banged into Randy.   His mouth opened wide as did his eyes.   As with me, Mrs Clarkston delivered swats two and three immediately.   Randy's face contorted horribly and it appeared that he may have moved his hands and his ass.   Mrs Clarkston paused, perhaps because of the movement.   Or, maybe to emphasize that part 2 of his paddling was coming and that it was due to repeated poor behavior.   Regardless, my eyes were on Mrs. Clarkston and I definitely saw swat 4 coming, it clearly seemed to me that she gave something extra to swat 4 and 5.    Her facial expression changed slightly as her wrist flicked the surface area of her paddle across the width of Randy's bottom.   Randy reacted to the increase in intensity and definitely emitted a weak sounding yelp.   I remember thinking that would be helpful for my purposes down the road.   I really did not like Randy.    I did see the last lick connect with his butt and remember being surprised by how much his ass shuddered from the spank.    Randy seemed to muffle tears and could not resist the urge to stand, reach back, and aggressively squeeze and rub his butt with both hands.    Mrs. Clarkston firmly told him to bend back over and return his hands to the chair, which he quickly did.   After a few seconds, she told him to stand.    


And, that was it.   No lecture.   Nothing else.   She simply handed us a note for our next teacher and told us to go back to the locker room and then quickly to our next class.   As we left, I did sneak a peek at Miss Lawson out of the corner of my eye.   As red as my face felt and as red as I could see Randy's was, hers might have been more so.   She did not look comfortable with what had just happened in front of her.    I quickly looked away and tried so hard to avoid any eye contact with anyone on the way through the office.   I don't remember any eye contact but I could feel how hot and red my face was.   It was terribly embarrassing walking back through that office, with my behind burning, knowing that the entire room had just heard me getting punished.    I focused straight ahead and walked as quickly as I could through the door.


Looking back now as an adult, I find it surprising that they just let us go back to the locker room.   After all, we had scrapped a few minutes before.   But, sure enough, Randy walked down the corridor 10 steps or so ahead of me.   Just the two of us.   Of course, fighting again was the last thing on my mind.   As I walked, I was still trying to process the intense scene I had just endured.    My brain was unable to settle on any one part of it.    I just walked the best I could with my freshly spanked rear end.   Head down.   We passed some 8th grade girls.   They sort of giggled.  Of course, it could have been for any reason, but in my mind they somehow knew we had just received a paddling.   I am sure our faces looked the part as I could still feel mine burning with the deep humiliation.   


When we returned to the locker room, we were fortunate that the next class had already dressed out and left for that days activities.  Randy had arrived before me and was now locked in a bathroom stall.   I could not hear any crying but he stayed in there.   At this point, I did not care any more.   I was far more worried about me.   As my embarrassment returned, I got it in my mind that if I dressed quickly and moved on to my next class, maybe it would not be so obvious to my peers what had transpired.   Certainly, the entire ordeal had taken no more than 15 minutes.   So, it seemed possible.   As I let my gym shorts fall to the floor, I did take a quick rub and squeeze of my punished skin under my "tighty whities".    Still very hot.    Realizing I did not wish to get caught doing that, I quickly stepped into my pants and finished dressing.    I washed my face quickly to erase any evidence of tears and to see if I could get my normal color to return.   I then walked quickly but pretty uncomfortably to Mrs. Coby's class.   


When I got there, I made no eye contact, just handed her the note.    There was no writing on the note indicating that I has been paddled, but there were some boxes checked.    I used every once of energy to avoid eye contact, but, I could feel the eyes of my classmates on me.   I sat down gingerly on the wooden seat of my desk.    My bottom very much had the feel of a sunburn as I sat.    I could feel my face begin to blush again.    I opened a book and pretended to be fascinated with the text.   I never took my eyes off that text for the remainder of class.   I don't even think I turned the page.


Once the bell rung, I got out of there quickly.   Lost in the sea of kids changing classes, I felt blissfully anonymous for the first time in an hour.   


As it turned out, my effort to hurry to the next class did help in regard to keeping the word from spreading.    For awhile.  But, later that afternoon, as the details of my "battle" with Randy started to circulate, it eventually became known what had happened that morning.   Especially since Mrs. Clarkston had paddled us.   That added an additional element to it, as she was not known to paddle very much anymore.   Once the word was out, I did get asked incessant questions about the experience and I did not enjoy that at all.    I just wanted to go home.


Once there, I did examine my "wounds" from the day.   My butt was very pink and I was surprised by how low the swats had been delivered.   I did not have any bruises, then or after a few days.    However, I was very sensitive when sitting for the next day or two.   Again, it felt like a sunburn that gradually improves.   My knee was already trying to scab over as I had skinned it up pretty good during the fight. It was right on the bend part of the knee.   So, it was very stiff and sore.  Actually, for longer than my bottom was.   My mouth actually hurt the most that afternoon/evening.   I had bit down pretty hard while being spanked and the entire left side of the inside of my mouth felt like it was an open wound.    And, I did have a small lump on top of my head where Randy had connected.


I did not want my family to know and was worried that Mrs. Clarkston would call.   So, when it was announced that we were going to dinner in order to celebrate my sister's birthday( it was not actually her birthday, either the day before or after, I don't remember.   But, I do remember that there was some other conflict on her actual birthday) I was initially pleased.    These were the days long before cell phones and our family did not yet have an answering machine.   So, even if she did call, we might would be out and miss the call.  Strategically, it was all I had.


When my sister announced she wanted to go to Morris Hill Cafe, my mood darkened again.    We all enjoyed the food there.   The problem was that so did much of the town.   There were no good restaurants in my hometown back then (no liquor by the drink) so diners were what we had.   Morris Hill only had 10 booths or so.   Always packed.    And, it was the sort of place you were likely to see a school teacher or a parent of a classmate eager to share the day's gossip.


My problem, of course, was that I WAS the days gossip.   I will never forget sitting in the hard wooden booth.   My behind still very uncomfortable from the day's main event.   My knee was killing me.    My mouth was so sore all I wanted to order was Macaroni and Cheese.   I reasoned I could just use the right side of my mouth and let it slide on down.   As we ate, I kept an eagle eye on the door.   Incredibly, NOONE from school came in.   I still cannot believe how lucky that was.


My parents never found out.   Many years later, we were at a birthday party for my sister and my wife  brought it up in effort to tease me about it.   So, my sister does know.   Until then, she did not know that mid April was not just all about her birthday.   It also serves as the anniversary of my one and only school paddling.


Speaking of my wife.   We grew up about 100 miles apart.   Met in college, we graduated high school the same year.   Incredibly, she also was swatted one time in school.   Also in April of her 7th grade year......


There is no way to know if it was the same day.    But, we have fun with it.......


Mrs. Womack’s Blazing Paddle


Spanking was not permitted in the schools I attended from kindergarten through second grade, although my first grade teacher did pretend to spank us on our birthday. We would be called to the front of the class, bent over the teacher’s knee, and “spanked” with a ruler. It was all in fun, and not disciplinary. It created a “charge” although I had no idea what that “charge” was.


We moved to the Southern part of the USA for the third grade. I was quickly introduced to the concept that paddles could be used in schools. Shortly after the year began, my teacher (Mrs. Womack) made it clear that she would paddle, and paddle quite effectively. I still got a “charge” from seeing other's paddled. I still had no idea why it was so exciting, or why it was fun to tease the poor spankee.


About midway through the year, my perspective changed. My “turn” had arrived. Just as I pretended to kick a friend, Mrs. Womack turned around. She pointed directly at me and said, “Go back to the room. You’ll get it when I return.” The only reason I wasn’t paddled on the spot is that she had failed to bring the dreaded implement with her.


I managed to make it back to the room with only one query from another teacher as to why I was alone in the hall during class time. I mumbled something about Mrs. Womack sending me to do something. The teacher nodded, said OK, and sort of smiled. How did they all know what was going on?


As I sat in the room, dreading my fate, I thought about running away. That idea was quickly dispensed with as I fretted a trip to the office in addition to Mrs. Womack’s knee. I had never been to the office, but rumor was that the principal (Mrs. McGee) had a razor strap and a “big” paddle. I decided this was not the time to test the rumors. So, I sat with crocodile tears and waited. Why were they taking so long – geeeez, let’s get it over with.


They finally returned, and everyone looked toward me – some snickering. Mrs. Womack went directly to her desk, placed her books down, opened the drawer, and pulled out the paddle. It was a fraternity style implement with holes drilled in it, and probably 1/4″ thick. From watching prior paddlings, I knew it made a sharp cracking sound on impact that must have stung ferociously. As Mrs. Womack walked toward me, I couldn’t take my eyes off this “board of education.” I had a genuine fear of it.


Mrs. Womack believed in paddling in the classroom – no private sessions. She instructed me to stand up which I did on shaky legs. Being the nice lady she was, Mrs. Womack helped me with the shakiness by propping her foot on the book shelf below my desk and bending me over her leg/knee. When she braced one arm on my back, I stopped shaking and was adequately immobilized for her to begin. Mrs. Womack’s style was not to give a few swats. Rather, she preferred to paddle fast and hard and long. I must have received 15-20 rapid strokes. I distinctly remember thinking as the first one hit that “this wasn’t so bad.” I felt the outline of the paddle and just a bit of sting through my jeans. As these rapidly landing strokes continued to explode on my bottom, I quickly realized that “this was horrible.” I was in tears by the 4th or 5th stroke, and felt the sting and burn for quite some time after it ended. I sat tenderly for the rest of that day, and felt the effects well into the evening. Thank goodness bare bottom wasn’t permitted (as far as I knew).


During the balance of the year, I looked on in glee as others were paddled – the charge was always there. But, I never again taunted anyone after they got it. The pain and humiliation of being disciplined this way was certainly enough for anybody. In the long run, it didn’t truly hurt me despite my recollection. It is interesting that I can remember virtually every element leading up to the paddling and the first several strokes of the punishment, but that things blurred after that as the sting and pain built. My only thought must have been to get it over with or to get away, but Mrs. Womack had assured that getting away was not an option.

Thank you Mitch for the story!

1000 part 2

In this paradise, great value is placed on character, and honor, being such a small nation it has helped to strengthen the resolve of it's people, those in the lowlands, and those who live inland in the higher elevations all share in the responsibility of keeping their world as it has been  for generations. Their shared traditions with their Asian cousins are many, but a few are unique to the island and go back to the time even before Cook came to the island. History records and credits him with it's discovery, but since they weren't lost, what did he discover? They knew where they were and were happy before him....... Probably what we would think of as a strange and unexeptable tradition is that if you gave insult or injury to someone, the injured party had the right to speek their greivances in public and seek compensation in the form of goods or services to resolve those issues. In the case of insult, the injured party could ask for the punishment of the person who gave the unsult. Now understand, as was tradition, that once the punishment was over both parties would come together and agree the matter was closed, and it was wrong to ever mention it again. In this form of meeting the rules of punishment, both parties would feel no guilt as the debt had been resolved and paid in full. Traditionally the person had the right to choose someone to administer the alloted punishment or administer it themselves. This tradition was of such importance to these people, rules has been put down in the bylaws of this simple government. The elders years before had set up guidelines and recomendations for the implementation of the punishment. The number of swats or strikes, the impliments, and the settings all had been thought out, and the guidelines had been set. Now in certain circumstances, the parties involved could come together with an unbiassed third party and come to an agreement as to the specifics and how the punishment could be resolved to the satisfaction of both parties, as honor was at the forefront of these peoples values these rules were what made their society so special....... At this negotiating session the location, time, implements, and number of strokes would be determined and agreed to by both parties. Any special circumstances would also be resolved..........Princess Jennifer loved the traditions of her homeland, probably because she didn't have to abide by the rules or traditions, she was the princess and in her snobbish, spoiled, little world, she was the center of attention, subconciosly, she thought the world existed to meet her every whim (she is soooo spoiled) because of her status, she could insult anyone and no one would call her on it, this is probably the reason she had become the evil acting little demon that she was, Imagine having your own set of rules that you can change as you go along........Princess was a shopaholic, actually she would usually just buy it and decide if she really liked it later. her father had made a terrible mistake in raising her, and because her mother had died when she was six she had pretty much done anything she wanted. Now that her father was in such bad health, and was going to have to leave his little country in the hands of his daughter, he had many regrets, all he could hope for was that she might grow into a Queen that would shift her center of attention from herself to her country, he hoped that she could understand that her powers would not be in place for her use, but for their country. As little Princess had always won or gotten what she wanted, and did whatever she wished, and inner circle, her "posse" were her only friends, and in some perverted sense she really did love them. They loved her too, remembering what a sweet, loving person she had been before her accident........The Princess always took Lacey and SlimD on her little buying sprees, mainly to carry her purchases, They liked going with her because they got to see the world and with the exception of getting there bottoms blistered on a regular bases thought it was great fun.( I think they actually like the spankings as they are somewhat perverted also) So in there perfect little world, all was good...... One day the little Princess decided she wanted some boots, so she decided to fly half way around the world to Dallas, Texas to buy some, just because that's where she thought boots came from, not caring they probably were from Italy (sorry Miss J they really are good looking boots and I don't know where there from, just taking a little literary freedom here) they also ate some cupcakes. On the way back she decided to stop in Hawaii to eat some Sushi, ( she is sooooo spoiled) The girls always go with her, but the guys she usually leaves at home except Cupcake.They are usually alright with this as is gives their bottoms a break and gives them a little healing time. Luckily she has a large stable of boys to rein here wrath on. It seems as though she can't get through a day without someone having to endure one of her "sessions" sometimes if she's in a bad mood maybe 3 or 4 will get it ( she really likes these days, sick, sick, sick) When the girls got back home, Princess decided she wanted to go inland to an open air market that she liked to get some fresh fruit. Cupcake was usually the designated driver on these little outings and he enjoyed driving the girls around, he enjoyed being seen with three beauties, and it didn't hurt that one of them was the Princess, He was also trained as a security guard for the Princess, this responsibility he took very seriosly and with great pride, He would give his life for the princess if need be. He had as usual accompanied the girls on there Dallas trip. On arriving at the market the Princess started making her purchases of fruits and nuts that she had come for when she noticed SlimD and Lacey had fallen behind and were whispering and giggling about something (ugh oh) Princess stopped and when the girls saw her there hearts sank, as she snapped her fingers and pointed to the ground next her, they quickly responded and hurried up to her. She asked them what that was all about, they both looked at the ground, Lacey crossing her legs and rocking them back and forth like a schoolgirl she had put her hands behind her back and had rubbed her bottom, knowing what was about to happen, SlimD's eyes were tearing up and she had a pittiful look about her, her body language spoke volumes about the predicament they had put themselves in. Princess looked around for someplace to sit down, then she saw the fountain with a small bench surrounding it, she looked at the fidgiting girls and pointed to the bench, and snapping her finger. Cupcake had his usual smile on his face, as he loved it when these two were in trouble, he loved the way these two responded to a spanking, both kicked and squealed like little girls, the Princess also enjoyed these reactions.... opening up her purse she got out the little beast, a wooden paddle Cupcake had made for her, it was small enough to carry in any of her plethora of hand bags although the little paddle was small it had a wicked bite, and Princess new how to make it sing. In one continual motion she sat down pulling Lacey down iver her lap, no fanfare no scolding, and no warmup, she tore into Lacey's bottom, she seemed extra invigerateded in this quicky spanking, for after about 15 licks Lacey had already began to cry, tensing up her buttocks as if it would lessen the pain, she was wrong as it only made Princess pop her harder and faster. Finally it was over her bottom was beet red and stinging as if a hornets nest had out inside her panties, Princess pushed her off of her lap making her fall on the course pavers that made up the walking area in the square, this added some more pain to her already abused bottom........ Cupcake was standing guard watching the events, his eyes seemed as though they were open larger than usual, a small drop of drool was starting to run down his chin ( I told you he was a sick perverted bastard) As soon as she rudely pushed Lacey off her lap she looked at SlimD who was already crying (she's such a baby) without being told she huridly scampered over to the Princess who as she came into range, grabbed her and yanked her over her knee, telling her she was now going to get something to cry about. As she started in on her,SlimD lost it, and started screaming as the licks were reining down at a terrific pace and were excepionally hard, she tried to move away, but the Princess just said No You Don't lady at the same time wrapping her beautifully   proportioned perfect little leg over the back of SlimD's legs, pinning her in place, taking the paddle and tapping her in the back of the head SlimD looked back at the Princess, who said, that was a big mistake you know better than that, having said that she tore into SlimD again this time faster and harder, almost to the point of being unbearable. She knew she better take it as the Princess carried a roll of pink duct tape in her purse and if she thought she needed it, she would tape up the hands and feet of whoever she was working on as to give her more control. Finally it was over, SlimD had quit screaming and struggling and was broken down to just sobbing, as she got up she stumbled an feel back on the Princess, Who told her to get a grip....Princess finished buying her fruit as if nothing had happened ( cold, cold, heart) and they made there way back to the palace, Just another day in the little Princess's life!!!!!     to be continued....

Miss Jennifer Haiku

Miss Jennifer Haiku


Traveling the world

Dispensing her medicine

Miss Jennifer Spanks!


Great conversation

Putting each spankee at ease

Loves to talk and share.


So petite and thin

Keeping the beat to music

Masking out the sounds.


Brushes, paddles, belts

Strict disciplinarian

She knows what you need.


Stroke after hard stroke

The pillow is my best friend

Tears are coming now.


Oh, when will it end?

Backsides keep getting hotter!

Miss J is in charge.


Finally, it’s done

Catch my breath, and aftercare

What a trip it was!


Thank you and Good Bye

And until we meet again

Safe travels to you.

HICKORY DICKORY DOCK hotcheeks version

Hickory dickory dock
Should I dodge, or maybe just block.
Her brush smacks my bum,
Oh why didn't I run?
Hickory dickory dock

Hickory dickory dock
That spoon strikes me too hot.
I can't take the force of each swat.
Spanked to a tune, on both cheeks of my moon.
Hickory dickory dock.

Hickory dickory dock
Dear God Not the SJAMBOK !
Bottoms hard as a rock,
Miss Jennifer stop!
Hickory dickory dock 

Hickory dickory dock
Good God, I think I'm in shock
Where is that damn clock?
Mommy Jennifer, will you please stop,
Stop hitting that very same spot!
Hickory dickory dock 

Hickory dickory dock 
If your good, she finally might stop.
Watch your P's and your Q's,
And follow sweet Jennifer's rules.
Hickory dickory dock 

Mother's Day - Written By Paul

I just got home after taking finals to end my junior year and was looking forward to going out with friends before starting my internship on Monday.  But of course there was one problem, Mom.  She wasn't letting me go anywhere until I answered all her questions.  I know how much she hates lying, but if I told her the truth, she wouldn't let me  go.  So I told her I was just meeting a couple friends to see a movie and get a pizza.  I would be home by 11 so I could easily get up early with her to go to church with her on Mothers Day.  Actually, I was going to pick up a keg and Jack Daniels and meet a group of friends (some of which she doesn't approve of) at the beach for a bon fire, drinking and skinny dipping.  I'll just have to make sure I have enough fun to make it worth the whippin I'll get if she finds out.


Well, I end up getting home a little after midnight.  When I walk through the door and see Mom sitting there, and she is none too pleased.  I try telling her the movie lasted longer than I thought and the restaurant was busy, but she isn't buying any of it.  She can tell I was drinking, which is confirmed when she gets close enough to smell the alcohol.  I tell her I only had a couple with the pizza, but no luck.  I end up telling her the truth.  


To say she is extremely pissed is an understatement.  Getting home later than I told her without a phone call, lying, drinking and driving, more lying, she asks what do I have to say for myself.  Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was my smarts mouth, but I tell her HAPPY MOTHERS DAY.  Before I know what is happening she slaps me across the face as hard as she can, knocking me to the floor.  She reaches down grabbing my earned lets me know what she thinks:


"I expect better form you"  SLAP, I am extremely disappointed in you" SLAP "You know how much I hate liars" SLAP SLAP, "You know better than to drink and drive"  SLAP SLAP SLAP.  She pulls me up by the earned tells me to get to my room, get ready for bed, and stand in the corner and wait for her.  With a few hard smacks to the butt, I am on my way.


Well, I want nothing to do with the whippin I know is coming, so I try hiding under my desk.  I see her enter the room carrying her most evil implements:  cane, paddle, bath brush, little rubber hose, and an extension cord.  CRAP CRAP CRAP, I am freakin dead.  I keep trying to hide, but when she yells my name, I jump and hit my head on the desk.  


She throws her implements on the bed and comes over and tells me to get out from under there.  Infuriating her even more, I say "NO, I do not want a whippin and am too old for one".  She doesn't agree with my logic and says "I don't care how old you are.  I will whip the crap out of you when you are  60, if you deserve it".  And then I hear it, 5  (I am not moving)  4  (she can't make me)  3  (still going no where)  2  (you don't scare me)  1  (well, maybe a little).  With my mouth way ahead of my brain, I say "So What Are You Going To Do Now, Count More?"  She reaches under the desk, grabs me by the ear and drags me over to the bed.  


Putting me on my back, she unbuckles my belt and pulls it from the loops.  Wrapping the buckle end around her hand, she begins whipping my butt and the backs of my legs.  "Why weren't you in the corner?"  "Why aren't you ready for bed?"  Grabbing my ear again, she pulls me to my feet.  "GET THOSE CLOTHES NOW"  A normally simple task is so simple when you have an angry mom has ahold of your ear and is whipping your butt while you are trying to complete the task.


Once I am down to my boxers and t-shirt, she bends me over the bed, and with a few more licks of my belt, warns me to to stay put.  She drops the belt with her other implements and disappears to the bathroom, where I hear the water running.  When she comes back, she grabs my ear and tells me to open my mouth.  When I do she shoves a bar of Ivory Soap in, telling me "this is for my smart mouth and lies.  AND YOU HAD BETTER NOT SPIT IT OUT BEFORE I SAY TO"


She stands up and informs me that I am now grounded for the rest of the month.  Along with that I will receive 100 swats with her favorite paddle each night before bed.  She yanks down my boxers.  I feel her lean across me and see her reaching towards her implements.  She grabs the ......................

"Boss Lady"

Thank you for the story Stan:)


Hi Jennifer,


In response to your blog invitation for stories and photos, here’s something you may enjoy reading and sharing.  I saw this story online back when spankos used to share stuff on a service called Usenet.  It still exists, but it’s not as popular anymore since it’s mostly text, and today’s internet browsers let us watch live video if we want to.


Anyway, here’s just a tiny excerpt (but it’s the good stuff) from the 1st chapter of a story called "Boss Lady."  In it, our hero Ken is a young man who just finished school and is working as a junior associate with his first employer.  He’s well-intentioned and polite, but a little unsure of himself due to a recent change at home.  His mom disciplined him whenever he needed it all the way through college, but recently stopped for no given reason.  He’s feeling a little confused about things, and he’s nervous with the new job and his very impressive but intimidating female boss, Carolyn.  One day she invites him to lunch …




In her car, Carolyn turned to Ken and said, "Tell me about yourself." He

looked surprised for a moment, almost threatened, and then began with his

education and qualifications. Carolyn laughed gaily, saying, "No, no, this

isn't a job interview..., I want to know about YOU, the person inside

that shy, polite exterior.” 


Embarrassed, Ken paused for what seemed to him an uncomfortably long 

time, and then began with where he grew up, his mom,

his interests. As he spoke, the words started flowing more easily. For

whatever reason, he began feeling more at ease with Carolyn. Perhaps

because the vision in his mind, which still kept reappearing at intervals,

established a familiar relationship. Although painful on the surface, it

was warm and snug, a caring ritual with supportive and cleansing effect.

Carolyn was a good listener, asking just the right questions to keep him

going, and making little comments now and then. He had her full attention,

and found himself completely enthralled by her.


Too soon, it seemed to

him, they were at the restaurant and the spell was broken. He held the

door for her, and they went inside, which was quiet, and softly lit. Ken

held Carolyn's chair for her as they sat at a corner table and began

perusing the menu. After a brief moment, Carolyn spoke, saying. "You know,

I'm very pleased by your performance, especially considering your lack of

experience." Ken blushed, breathing a deep sigh of relief at the

realization that she was not chewing him out, but complimenting his work.

She continued "There's always opportunity at our company for someone with

your work ethic and ability, and I wanted you to know that.” 


"I really appreciate that, er, Carolyn. Thanks for telling me." he said politely,

then in a relieved tone, "I was worried I had messed something up, and you

were going to chew me out." She laughed, a mellow sound that traveled like

electricity from the back of his neck to his toes. "It sounds to me like

you're accustomed to being punished when you do something wrong.”


Her lovely green eyes, made deeper by the dim lighting, held him captive for a

brief moment before he lowered his gaze, now blushing even harder. Carolyn

knew her instincts had been right, she smiled pensively as her image of

him being disciplined came back to her. Ken, completely unhinged by her

comment, had a king-sized flashback of his earlier vision, and then

thought about his mother's recent abstinence from spanking him. Part of

him fought mightily with the thought of admitting his disciplinary regimen

to Carolyn, but when he looked up momentarily into her cool, steady gaze,

the defensive walls cam crashing down. Almost like a little boy, he

confessed his mother's methods to the lovely woman who was his boss. With

her prompting and questions to help him, he described his mother's

reliance on the hairbrush and leather strap, when called for, to punish

bad behavior or poor attitude. Ken painted the picture which Carolyn had

intuitively imagined: a repentant young man across his mother's knees,

receiving justice at her loving hands.


Far from being surprised or

shocked, Carolyn listened with empathy, making supportive comments and

nodding in understanding as he talked. When everything had come out of him

in a flood, Carolyn sensed there was still something bothering him.

Waiting patiently, she held his eyes for almost thirty seconds, and then

it came out. He admitted that since he started working, his mother hadn't

spanked him at all, even though he had given her reason several times. It

had now been many weeks since his mother had done anything but speak

sharply to him, and he was at a loss for what to do.


Carolyn sensed the

same feeling she had experienced when she left home: a sense of loss, of

disorientation, and uncertainty. Reaching out, she put her hand over his,

gently. To Ken, it was like an electric shock, and then the coolness of

her palm and the sympathetic steadiness of her gaze swept over him like a

wave. He almost cried.


Carolyn began to explain why he felt as he did.

Regular discipline, she told him, in the loving hands of a parent or other

concerned party, acts like a compass. It brings you back pointing toward

true North when you get off course. "Your mother, like mine, has good

instincts," she commented, "because punishment needs to obtain acceptance

and surrender to be effective. A sound and thorough dose of the hairbrush

across your mother's knee achieves both of these conditions. Undressing

takes you back to the helplessness of youth; turning across her knee is

surrendering to her will and authority; and having your bare bottom stung

long and hard brings out final acceptance of her right and duty to punish

you. All without hard feelings, anger, or resentment.”


For the first time

in his life, Ken understood intellectually what he had always known

intuitively: even though there was considerable pain involved, his

mother's methods were based on love, caring, and good common sense.


"But why has she stopped?" Ken asked her, almost pleading. Carolyn

reflected for a moment, then replied "I'm not sure, Ken. Maybe it's

because you have a job with responsibilities and rules of its own.”


Ken thought about this briefly, and then admitted that he felt better when his

mother disciplined him, but he couldn't come right out and ask her to. The

moment that both of them had been secretly thinking about had arrived. The

tide had turned, and it was either take it, or lose the opportunity.

Carolyn thought seriously about what it meant. She could take this young

man's discipline into her own hands, and because he was a good boy, she

knew she could do the job justice. It was, however, a heavy

responsibility, not lightly taken.


Ken replayed the image of Carolyn

spanking him in his mind's eye, and found it both excited and scared the

daylights out of him. She was younger than his mom, and in very good

physical condition, and, she believed firmly in the need for soundness and

thoroughness when it came to spanking. He shivered a little, and squirmed

in his seat as the skin on his bottom prickled.


Carolyn took hold of his

hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. "If you want," she suggested, "I will

take your mother's place for a while, until she either resumes your

discipline, or explains why she has stopped." Her eyes bored into his, and

the power in them held him fast, even though he wanted to look away. In a

firm, even tone, Carolyn decreed "You must understand, though, that I will

be just as strict with you as she would be, maybe even more so. I'll need

your promise to do just exactly what I tell you, with no disobedience, is

that clear?”


Decision time. Ken's mind whirled crazily with the speed of

events, and he swallowed hard, trying to force the lump in his throat

away. "Yes, ma'am." he assented meekly, now lowering his gaze slightly.

"There! He'd done it!" he thought, his brain raging with the

possibilities. "Oh, God!" his mind continued, "I'm going to get spanked by

my boss!"


Carolyn smiled at his acceptance. She really liked this young man, and

would do everything she could to provide the discipline he so desperately

needed and wanted. "Maybe one of these days," she thought, "I can have a

talk with his mother, maybe help their relationship get back to normal.”


Putting a stern face on, she ordered in a low tone, "Look at me, young

man." He lifted his eyes to meet hers. There was caring and sympathy

behind the cool green stare, but an austere veil overlay the compassion as

she stated, "You know that it's been far too long since you were punished,

and there's no sense in putting it off any further.”


Ken wanted to look

away, but couldn't. His voice didn't seem to work at the moment, so he

just nodded. Carolyn continued, "After work tonight you will be coming home with me.” 

Ken's heart almost leaped from his chest as the sentence was pronounced. Carolyn went on, noting

that his eyes were starting to mist just a bit. "We'll have a brief talk

about your behavior in general, and what I will be expecting of you. These

will be my rules, for your benefit, and I'll hold you to them just as

rigidly  as your mother does." Pausing to let that sink in, she concluded,

"When we have the ground rules established, you'll get undressed and turn

over my knee for a very sound and thorough spanking on your bare bottom

with my hairbrush." His pulse was going berserk, and he knew she could

feel the trembling in his hand. "Good Lord," he thought, "I think I'm

really in for it!" Squeezing his hand gently, Carolyn asked, "Do you

understand, Ken?" His voice squeaked a little, now a half-octave higher

than it was as he answered, "Yes, Ma'am." "Fine." she said.


Their lunch was in tatters, half finished as it had been subordinated to more

important matters. All that needed to be said, had been said. Carolyn

called for the check, left a generous tip, and they left. The ride back

was fairly quiet, each of them deep in their own private thoughts, focused

on events to come, just hours away. As Carolyn left Ken at his work area,

she said simply, "Come to my office at five-thirty."




Credit where it’s due:

Article: 24757 of

From: (Kfr95)


Subject: Repost - Boss Lady I ( F/M sp)

Date: 12 Aug 1995 00:43:50 -0400



The story contains more graphic descriptions of the punishments, too, but I adore the way the author reveals the psychology of disciplinary relationships that are based in caring, development, and love. It’s the stuff I crave.




WHY I SENT MY HUSBAND TO MISS JENNIFER                                       by Avery S.

Some of you may have read a few posts I recently contributed to Miss Jennifer’s blog under Jen’s post titled “Happy Valentines!!” on February 14, naturally.  But for those who did not see any of that, I’ll repeat enough of the prior postings so that you have the beginning of the story, and that the whole thing set forth here will hopefully make sense.  Those of you who might have read some or all of the prior posts, please just skip ahead to the new stuff.  


My primary purpose in beginning my posts was to thank Jennifer for a great spanking experience.  No, not for me — although, for me, it was a great second-hand experience. For my husband (who I called my “Significant Sweetie” in the earlier posts, or “Sweetie” for short), it was first-hand and very much hands-on.  Miss Jennifer’s hands, specifically. 


As I said earlier, I have followed Jennifer’s web site and blog for about a year, with great fascination for her, as a woman, and her  amazing life. I suppose that's because I could never do what she does. But I really do admire the way she has taken the rather unusual thing she very obviously loves to do and made a very enjoyable career and life-style out of it.  At least, it looks that way to me, from afar, and I really hope for her that the appearances are true.  All the great places she gets to go, and all the interesting people she must meet! If only every woman had the opportunity to do something comparable to that, what a happy world!


As I set forth in those earlier posts, I am a wife who sent her husband to Miss Jennifer for a spanking session.  Well, in the earlier posts, I didn’t say “Sweetie” was my husband.  He was nervous about my writing anything about his experience, and I had to leave that detail out.  But we’ve talked it over and he’s OK with letting you know he’s really my husband.  My husband of a good many years and four grown kids, as a matter of fact.  I’ll go on calling him “Sweetie” in this story.  Works for me, I call him that all the time.  Among other things.    


At the time leading up to Sweetie’s spanking, I didn’t know if what I was doing was nuts, and I didn’t know how it would affect us, if at all.  But the fact is, it worked out great for us — both of us!  So I thought maybe others would find something useful in our story.  And, if not, maybe it will at least provide a few minutes’ worth of entertainment.  That’s always welcome, and sometimes useful too.


The main reason I have been following Jennifer is — as anyone might have guessed — that I have an interest in the subject of spanking.  My interest comes from the fact that I have known for a long time — since real soon after we started dating — that Sweetie would love for me to spank him.  


How did I know?  Well, I can’t claim to be a mind reader.  He just asked me to spank him, just after we began, um, living together before we were married.  I was, to say the least, surprised at such a request from a grown man six years older and way bigger than I was. Still, I was adventurous in those days, and certainly willing to fool around a little with this little notion of his.  But — and this is a really big “but” — Sweetie eventually made it clear to me that he didn’t want fooling around.  He wanted me to spank him real hard.  I just couldn’t do that — and still can't.  At first, to put him off, I told him I just wasn’t "into that," although, the truth is, the idea of giving him a good, hard occasional spanking was, I have to say, very intriguing — a bit of a “turn-on.”  But just the IDEA of it.  I could think about it, daydream about it, fantasize about it in my classes instead of paying attention — and I did.  But I could never actually DO it. 


I was still interested in spanking, but I pretty much just refused to seriously act on my latent interest for many years, until the last of our kids was out of the house and off to college.  On the trip back from the six-hour drive dropping him off at school, I  raised a subject that had been on my mind.  “Sweetie,” I said, “when the kids were home they were my project, and they took up just about all my energy with their school, their sports, their girlfriends and their everything.  But now they’re gone, so I need a new project.  You’re the only one left at home now, so you’re my new project.”


That got his attention, but not as much as my next statement:  “We need to improve our sex life.  That’s my project.”


He was really interested now.  What man would not be interested in an “improved” sex life?  What he didn’t know was that many of the “improvements” I had in mind might not have been the same as whatever it was he might have been thinking.)  But, I’m getting off-track here.  That’s not what this story is about.  Suffice it to say that, over time, we did “improve” our sex life, in some ways that Sweetie really liked, others, not so much.  But, hey, life moves on.  It’s been good.


No, the point of this story is that, one thing I had resolved to do was to explore in more depth this spanking  — thing? fetish? Whatever he had, I was determined to find out what it was all about.  I let him know that I really wanted to try getting into spanking him.  He was dubious.  He does know me, after all, so he knew I was not much of a spanker.  But hey, where there’s a will, there’s a way, right?  I told him I really wanted to try.  He said, “Sure, let’s try.”  Without a whole lot of conviction, I must say. 


And I did try.  I bought books about spanking and read them.  Good entertainment, but they didn’t help me.  I watched hours of spanking porn.  I focused myself on a genre called F/M.  That (as I learned) is where a dominant Female spanks a submissive, bare-assed Male.  There were all kinds of spankings going on, though, including some really jaw-dropping stuff.  F/M, M/F, two or more F’s on one M, gay spanking, self-spanking (no, really!), spanking machines, any type of bondage set-up you could possibly imagine.  Some F’s spanked more things than just M butt.  (It looked painful!)  And I won’t even try to describe the more extreme things you could find, involving what appeared to be bloody mayhem on both M and F butts.  I couldn’t even watch that; just a peek was more than enough.   


Well, I studied very carefully some of the F/M’s I thought were most relevant to my situation.  Inspired by what I saw, I went out and bought a good wooden hairbrush, just perfect for OTK.  It felt good — real good! — in my hand.  I could just feel, somehow, how a woman could really get into spanking her man.  On some gut level, it just made a lot of sense.  It could complement and reinforce other aspects of our married life.  It could, to be blunt, really strengthen my hand.  


I also bought a long-handled bath brush.  In the Bed Bath & Beyond, I held it, admired it, and (after looking around to see if anyone was watching) SMACKED it real hard against my thigh.  Ouch!  That mother of a spanking implement could satisfy anyone’s spanking fetish, and in a big hurry too!  In the kitchen, I was prone to drifting off into fantasies (I confess, not all of them involving Sweetie!) whenever I might pick up a wooden spoon, a spatula, even a small frying pan!  Whack!  the bottom of that iron pan could cover some poor imaginary victim’s entire backside!  More than once, I had to be careful not to let the dinner burn while I was re-imagining myself as some hard-core spanking dominatrix.


In the bedroom, I took Sweetie over my knee many times.  On my first serious attempt, trusty hairbrush in hand, his naked ass was just lying there, squirming and twitching a little in anticipation.  How he wanted it!  Just as much as I wanted to give it to him — really give it to him!  But all I could do was to take a delicate little swing at that inviting target on my lap.  The impact was hardly more than a little pitty-pat; it sounded like I was playing ping-pong.  “I’m just warming you up,” I would tell him, trying to sound stern, but probably falling way short.  


Finally, I said to myself, Avery, pull on your big-girl pants, it’s time to get this show on the road.  I raised the brush above my head, closed my eyes, and took the hardest swing I could.  It sounded scary!  That smack of solid wood against soft butt-flesh, the surprised “Uhhh!!” from Sweetie, clearly amazed that he had finally taken something resembling a real shot from me.  But while he may have been surprised, I was in near-shock;  I could hardly stop myself from blurting out, “Omigod, are you OK?”   At least I never wimped out to that extent.  A few middling swats with a hairbrush was all I could ever manage, though.   After that, I would say, “There! I hope you’ve learned your lesson,” and push him off my lap.  


After each of these pitiful attempts, Sweetie would typically just look at me with an amused half-smile.  But he never complained.  He knew I was trying, and doing my best, but that this was all I could manage.  I could give him a few slaps and pink up his butt a tiny bit, I could even manage a few hairbrush swats which momentarily produced a pretty nice brush-shaped impact mark, but I just never could do it in a way that gave him what he really needed.  My failure as a spanker left both of us feeling unsatisfied and frustrated. Well, he would never say that (he’d better not!), but a girl just knows, doesn’t she? I knew I was unhappy that I just couldn’t do it.  


Oh, and that bath brush?  Still have it, here’s a picture of it:


Poor thing, it never saw a human ass, except in the shower, where I consigned it and where it still resides.  It’s great for cleaning my feet, now I don’t have to bend over so far while balancing precariously on one foot.  At least I can tell myself I didn’t totally waste my money.  Except for the money spent on the spanking books.  Late one night, I went out and put a pile of them in my neighbors’ trash can.  If the garbagemen ever look at the things left for them to haul away, let them think the neighbors are the ones with kinky fetishes.


At some point in this journey, I learned (to my amazement) that there were such people as professional spankers.  A good many of them.  I came across the web sites of some who offered “couples” sessions.  As I suppose everyone into spanking but me knew, some of these spankers offer to teach women (dumb ones like me, I suppose) how to "discipline" their men. To me, it seemed worth a try, so I showed one of these sites — the most “reasonable” one I could find — to Sweetie.  It described how “Mistress” would first take the guy OTK, and provide a vigorous demonstration on his bare ass; then they would place the guy over both their laps at the same time, and Mistress would guide the pupil as to how she was to spank him; finally, the guy would get dressed so he and the student-spanker could play out a whole scene, beginning with something like “You drop those pants, buster, and get over my knee right now!”   It seemed silly, and made me wonder, shouldn't the novice wear a “Student Spanker” badge, like the “Student Driver” signs you see out on the road?  But, maybe, just maybe, I thought, Mistress could make a viable spanker out of me.     


So I showed this site to Sweetie.  No sale.  He was completely turned off and unwilling to get anywhere near that sort of scene. Can’t say I blame him; the guy in the site definitely did not look like he was having a real good time.  I wasn’t crazy about it myself, so I was happy to drop that subject. 


Then I found the “Miss Jennifer Spanks” site.  She offered a “Spank-Me-Service,” she said.  Reading it, I immediately thought her site was unique among all the spankers’ sites.  Clearly not professionally produced, and far more revealing than most sites, it featured Jennifer in her own words and her own photos, although, sadly, photos without her face.  She had what seemed like an endless number of “Testimonials.”  I read them all.  They appeared genuine.  Jen outlined her philosophy, and gave a very clear statement of her rules — and, boy, did she have a lot of rules!  It struck me that anyone who sought out Miss Jennifer’s services had to know knew exactly what he or she would be getting into.  She laid it out crystal clear.  There were even some “after” pictures, showing the effects of  Miss Jennifer’s talents on some bad boy or girl’s poor butt.  No doubt about it — this girl Jen can spank, and she takes pride in her work and in the results!  


There was one thing that really struck me personally, though.  I was astonished to see that she believed, very definitively, that you just can't teach someone how to spank -- you are either a born spanker-disciplinarian, or you are not.  As soon as I read that, I knew it was true, at least for me. I really am NOT one.  I can’t be taught to be one.  I had  been wasting my time exploring whether I could convincingly be someone I just wasn’t.


The more I looked at Miss Jen’s site, however, the more I thought, “Jennifer would be exactly the right person to spank my Sweetie.” I have to say, a big part of my being able to see that possibility  was Jennifer’s "no sex" policy, which you can be sure I read very closely again and again.  A lot of spanking sites seem to offer spankees, shall we say, "extra" services if they are desired.  Or, at least, that’s the hint — the “come-on.”   But Jen made it clear that there would be no “extra's," no sex in any way, shape or form, just spanking.  She says, “I’m not that kind of girl,” and you just know it's true.  She even took the trouble to list all the types of sex she would NOT have any part of.  There were a lot of them, some of which I had never even heard of.  A “happy ending?”  What could be wrong with that?  (Don’t worry, I googled it.  What a  classic euphemism that is.)  Jen has clearly heard many requests during her career as a spanker.  She’s probably heard it all.  


But her point was, as she says, “No sex means NO SEX!”  Guys, you can forget about all that stuff, you’re not getting it.  I assume it’s guys — mostly? —  do girls ever ask for a “happy ending” or other “extra?”   Well, never mind that.  All Jen promises you, whoever you are, is a good, hard spanking.  And, I thought,  as it relates to spanking, Miss Jennifer is just what Sweetie needs.  She’s the girl of his dreams — in regards to spanking.  But he sure doesn’t need to get any “extra’s” outside our home.


I somehow convinced myself this was a great idea.  So I took my great idea to Sweetie, and showed him Jennifer’s web site.  I suggested that he book a session, if he could get accepted for one.  Again, he was hesitant to go to a stranger for a bare-bottomed spanking.  Well, heck — I could understand that.  I would never do it; but in my heart I just KNEW (at least I was pretty sure) that Jen was right for him.  I told him to read everything in the web site.  We talked about it from time to time for weeks, maybe a whole month.  I just couldn’t get him to submit the application.  At least, he didn’t ever say no.  He just never said yes.


So -- and here comes what I called the “confession” part of my story in my prior blog posts -- last November, just before Thanksgiving week, I filled out the application for him and e-mailed it to Miss Jennifer.  Yes, shame on me, I did it.


And, let me tell you, that was some application!  (Hardest question:  “Tell me why I should approve your application.”  Wow!  how much of our prior many years shall I tell you about?)  I did try to answer all the questions exactly as I believed Sweetie himself would, but I didn't mention anywhere that it was me, not Sweetie, who had sent it, or why I was doing that. I am sorry I resorted to this dishonesty, but I was afraid that Jennifer would think it was all just a little too weird and reject the application.  After all, she offered a “Spank-Me-Service,” not a “Spank-Him-Not-Me-Service!”  And she put such a strong emphasis on the fact that she didn’t accept just anyone.  “I ONLY see people who I LIKE, who interest ME, and who I believe I WANT to spank, punish, discipline…etc…,”  she said.  Would I meet her standards if I came across as some scheming, manipulating, underhanded brat?  Which was exactly what I was, of course.  And I felt bad about that.  A little.


However, I was surprised -- and really delighted -- that Miss Jennifer  accepted “his” application almost immediately, replying “I like it!” to my e-mail.  Well, all right then!  I stopped feeling bad immediately.  In fact, I was very pleased with my clever, scheming little self for passing Miss Jennifer’s test.


But then Jen told me that the next available date on her travel schedule was only days away!  She told me the next steps to take to get “my” session.  I had a moment of terror — what had I done?  But I calmed myself down, and determined to go ahead with it.  To help make sure I wouldn’t chicken out, I immediately arranged for the gift certificate deposit.  Now I was really invested, financially as well as emotionally, in this craziness.  I e-mailed Jen and asked her to schedule times for the session and the pre-session phone call.  She confirmed the session for only four days in the future!  WTF!!  These spanking deals certainly move fast!


So — there I was.  Now I had to tell Sweetie what I had done.  As you might imagine, I was more than a little nervous about that.  So I fixed Sweetie his favorite dinner that evening, and even told him I would clean up in the kitchen, his usual chore.  He looked perplexed, gave me that raised-eyebrow look of his, but off he went and settled himself on the couch, nice and comfy.  Great, so far so good.  After I had finished the clean-up, I snuggled up next to him on the couch and decided to just go for it, and spring it on him all at once.  I said, "I have a confession," and showed him the application I had submitted and Jen’s acceptance of it.  I told him he just had to go see Miss Jennifer, or I knew we would both regret it forever.  I told him I would lose my deposit.  That almost backfired.  He just said, “Well, that’s just too bad for you, isn’t it?”  


It took a while for his shock at what I had done to wear off, but he didn’t reject the idea out of hand, so that was a little encouraging.  We talked about it for a couple hours, the rest of that evening.  I ended up just straight-out begging him to do it.  I even put on my sad face and brought myself close to tears.  It was quite a shameless performance.  At the end of the evening, he didn’t say yes or no.  But, after all that, I just  kinda knew that he was going to do it.  In bed, I snuggled up and whispered "I only did it because I love you."  And that’s about enough of what happened that evening.  You don’t need to know everything.  I’ll just say, I pulled out all the stops, left it all on the field — whatever cliche you prefer, I did it -- and then some.


Well, it took another day or so more to convince him, and it wasn't easy, and I’m still not sure how I did it, but I did.  I actually do think that it wasn’t really me.   Sweetie just decided, on his own (well, with a teeny-tiny, little push) that this was his best chance to really experience, for better or worse, what he thought he had always wanted.  And it was probably fortunate that the session had been scheduled so soon, as it forced him to decide one way or another right away.  Anyway, two days before the session was to take place, he told me he was going to go.  I was SO relieved!


So we immediately sat down and I did my best to prepare him for his pre-session phone call with Jennifer.  I knew I couldn’t do that for him!  When the time came to place the call, I was sitting next to him on the couch, trying my best to hear what Jen was saying.  Sweetie had put his foot down, and refused to let me get on an extension line.  So he was on his own.  I sat there, pushed up against him, listening to one side of a very surreal conversation, all about why and how and how hard he really wanted to get his butt beat by this other voice I could hardly hear.  I was hoping he wouldn't spill the beans and blow it; I could almost hear him say, “Hey, lady, this was all my wife’s idea!”  But he didn’t.  He did great.  My name never came up, and the session was on.  I could tell that talking with Jennifer had gotten him more comfortable with whatever was going to happen.  It must be an extraordinary skill she has, I thought.  A gift, actually.  There should be a Nobel Prize or something for spankers.


On the morning of the appointed day, just before he left for his session, I sat down and had a serious talk with Sweetie for about a half hour. I told him I knew, and wanted him to know, that he fully deserved what he was going to get.  I scolded him severely for all the things he had done recently that I had on my mind, and some things not so recent.  I told him he should, while he was actually getting his spanking, think about what I was telling him and understand that he was being punished for those reasons.  He said he was very sorry for everything, and that he would do that.  


Then, I presented him with — my hairbrush!  I was determined that it would finally get used for the purpose I had bought it for.  I told him I wanted him to give it to Miss Jennifer before his spanking, and ask her, very politely, to spank him with it.   Then, afterwards, I wanted him to ask her to autograph it, so he could bring it back to me.  If I couldn’t be there to witness the big event, at least my own hairbrush would be there in my stead!


I handed him the tribute, which I had all ready in its little white envelop, and told him exactly where to place it after he had entered Miss Jennifer’s lair.  And be sure to take off your shoes, I reminded him.  So — off he went.  I honestly thought there was still a good chance he wouldn’t show up.  I could envision getting a call from some bar, telling me, hey, this guy who says he’s your husband came in and spent all the money in this envelop he had, and now he's in no shape to drive home. 


But he did make it safely to Miss Jennifer’s hotel.  He called up to her room, right on time, and went straight up to face Miss Jennifer.  He even had time to text me before he went up:   “Spoke with Miss J., going up to her room now.”  Isn’t he a good boy?  He willingly went up to meet his fate, in the form of a woman who describes herself, on her web site, as an “attractive, petite woman” who is “dominant,” “controlling and a bit of a sadist,” and who, above all, “LOVES to spank” with really nasty-looking implements.  I have to say, I did not envy Sweetie in the least as I looked at the clock and realized he was already ten minutes into his one-on-one encounter with an admitted “bit of a sadist,” with a whole lot more time ahead of him.  (I had set Sweetie up for a 90-minute session.  I thought about having him do just an hour, but I figured, if he really does get to the session, let’s make it really memorable for him!)  I knew I could not do it.  But he went.  It was hard to believe, even after I knew it was really happening.  Well, like I said — what a good boy.


When he came home after his session, I gave him a big kiss and had him immediately drop the pants, right there in our living room, and show me what I had gotten for my money.  WOW!!  Very  impressive piece of work there, Jen!!  I didn't know a behind, or any other body part, could actually get that red, and this was a couple hours after the spanking!  Sweetie handed over my hairbrush, and I saw that it did indeed bear an inscription addressed to my husband, signed “Jennifer.”  Thanks, Jen, it’s on my nightstand, I’ll treasure it for sure!   Here the picture: 


Sweetie then showed me the beautiful portrait of his behind that Miss Jennifer had kindly taken on his phone.  It looked like he was mooning someone, except it looked more like the sun!  And here he is, in all his glory: 


I transferred it to my iPad, so I could hold it up and compare the larger image to the real-life version standing before me.  Yep, there’s that nice welt I can see in the photo, and the crooked ridge on the right cheek where the swelling begins, and there’s that darker blotch to the left of his crack, and there’s …. It was lots of fun.  I think I had him standing there, bare-assed, for almost a half-hour, while I inspected all the colorful shades on that poor, very swollen behind.  I had him spread his legs and bend over for me, so I could see everything.  I was a bit shocked to see that the coloration extended all the way inside his cheeks to his cute little — well, his you-know-what.   Absolutely every bit of that man’s ass was covered!  You are certainly thorough, Miss Jen!  All I can say is, I think I did get my money’s worth!


I got out my phone and took my own pictures of Sweetie’s puffed-up posterior from every angle and in all different lighting.  I even made a little movie of him walking across the room while I followed behind.  I really wanted to lay him across my lap so I could pat his ass and squeeze it, but Sweetie said, “No, no, Miss Jennifer told me not to touch it!”  Lol.  Well, OK, if that’s what she said, I told him, we have to follow Miss Jennifer’s orders, don’t we?  I think he just knew how painful it would be if I got my hands on it, let alone if I gave him even one gentle little pat with the same hairbrush just used by Miss Jennifer herself a short while ago.  So I relented on the touching, much to his relief. 


Instead, I had him tell me all about the session, in great detail.  Sweetie’s always a man of few words, so I must have asked him a hundred questions to drag it out of him.   First thing I wanted to know — is Jennifer as nice and as pretty and, uh, buxom as she appears in her web site?  She’s better, he said, a bit too convincingly.  (Hmmm..…too bad, I thought.  Don’t know if you’ll be going back to her, maybe I can find someone not so nice for you.)  What did you two talk about before the spanking?  How did you feel when you had to take your pants off — standing right in front of her?  What was it like to lay across her lap? did you do it willingly, or did she have to pull you down? and how did you feel when she took down your undies?  What were those first swats of her hand like?  (He said it made him realize right away that he was really in for it.  He was hoping for a “nice warm-up.”  Ha! so much for that!)  How hard was her hand spanking?  (Really indescribably  hard, he couldn’t believe it was just her hand.)  What spanking tools did she use, how did they feel?   (Sweetie was not very clear in his recollections of these details, because after the hand spanking everything seemed to blend together in his mind.  He remembered that Jen did let him know when she was about to start spanking him with his brush — my own brush.  He said it made him think of me, and my pre-session scolding.  Awww — damn!   How sweet.   


But I think that, at some point, he kinda “zoned out,” just turned his brain off and resigned himself to the fact that this girl was going to do her thing to him, no matter what.  I do know he could clearly remember one instrument in particular, a stingy little innocent-looking spatula.  He said Jen took a lot of pride in how she had learned to wield this simple little kitchen tool in a way that was close to unbearable for him.  She even demonstrated to him, while he was laying across her lap, the type of wrist action she had learned to use with the dreaded spatula-from-hell.  Lol, what an image!  Jen really knows how to leave an impression, both physical and mental on her clients!


I asked him, Sweetie, did you make a lot of noise while you were being spanked?  (Oh yeah, he sure did.  He didn’t want to but couldn’t help himself, he said.  He finally had to pull the pillow over his head to keep it down a bit.)  He talked about the musical accompaniment Jennifer uses, and the way she would take him to his limit again and again, only to back off and spank him with a “softer” implement or a lighter touch for a while — a very short while — just when he thought he couldn’t take any more.  


“Did you cry?” I asked.  I thought he would brush the question off as silly, or just say no, even if he had, which I thought was very unlikely anyway.  But he surprised me one more time.  He said, in all seriousness, that he had really felt close to tears, at one point, when his head was under the pillow, and he didn’t care if he did cry, it would have felt all right.  But, no, he didn’t cry.  Listening to him, it seemed to me that he had really wanted to.  I was touched.  I decided he had had enough of my questions. 


But, finally, I really had to ask him how he thought the whole experience affected him.  I wanted to know, because I so hoped it had been a good experience for him.  I knew he had wanted this for a long time, so I wanted to know if the spanking had lived up to his expectations, or hopes, or fantasies — whatever.  I have to admit, I was afraid to ask; it’s so hard to live up to a fantasy, especially such a long-running one as his.  Well, I did ask, and we talked about it for a while, and it was hard for him to put his feelings into words.  Not unusual for Sweetie.  But yes, it was good for him, that much clearly came through.  And  ultimately, I learned much more from his actions and attitude than I did from what he ever actually said.  But that’s a man for you, right?


This was, obviously, Sweetie’s very first real adult spanking, and he was so very, very nervous about it.  And, from his description, I knew that, during the actual spanking, he was both very nervous and very, well, shall we say, “excited,” at least at the beginning, before the heavy-duty paddling kicked in.  (I’ll spare you the details, Jen, I’m sure you’ve seen lots of it.  For what it’s worth, Sweetie said he was quite “embarrassed” by it.  I have my doubts.  He always seems quite proud of it.)  All I can say is, I was really thankful for the “no sex” policy when I figured out that this was one of the more remarkable and memorable effects of the session for him!  


Well, between Jennifer and me, Sweetie had clearly had a long and taxing day.  For going through all that and taking his “punishment” like he did, I told Sweetie that he was forgiven and all those bad things he had done that I had discussed with him were completely forgotten. I gave him a big, long hug.  I could tell, not so much from his words, but  from the way he talked about it, and especially the way he talked about Jen (he always referred to her as “MISS Jennifer”), that he truly was very moved by the whole experience.  But even more, I could tell by the way he acted.  His spanking session settled him and really put his head in the right place.  By that I mean, right for him — the place where he wants to be, by his very nature.  It’s hard to describe.


And he was so incredibly sweet to me after the session — for a while!  Nothing lasts forever, I guess.  But for a while, whatever I wanted, I had only to ask and he would do.  You can bet I took advantage of that for as long as I could!!


Ever since, I love to tease him about the experience.  For about a week after the session, I would make a big deal over the changing colors of his bruised butt.  (“Ooooh, that’s a lovely shade of magenta!  Could you buy me some panties in that color so we’ll match?”)  I could get a BIG reaction from him just by giving him a little slap on his sore behind.  Boy, would he jump!  That wore off, of course, but those bruises were there for a full week.  I took pictures every day, and play the slide show of them for him every now and then.  Here’s the day-after picture, showing those lovely new shades of purple that had developed overnight:  


Every now and then, I have some reason to tell Sweetie it might just be time for another session with Miss Jen.  He gets so embarrassed when I bring her up. I really don’t understand why, but it’s cute and lots of fun.  And I know that, whenever I do tell him he needs another session, he absolutely will not argue about it with me again.   


I know that because, in fact, I have told him!  About two months after his first Miss Jennifer experience, I saw she was visiting our area again in early February, so I told Sweetie it was time for another session.  He made a feeble little protest, of course.  He said he didn’t think he “needed” it again, so soon.  I said, “Well, what I think is that you need it, and you need a two-hour session!”  That’s all it took.  Sweetie said OK, but just for 90 minutes, that was all he thought he could take.  So I agreed to another 90 minutes of much-needed “attitude adjustment” by Miss Jen.   But this time, I told him, you are paying for it yourself!  And he did.  Maybe I can tell you more about that second visit later.  I know this story is already way too long.


I’ll end by saying thank you, Miss Jennifer. Thanks from me, and thanks on behalf of my Sweetie too.  You gave him exactly what he “deserved,” and you gave me the gift of feeling that I was responsible for finally, after all these years, getting him what he needed in the spanking department.   And thanks for giving me a place to tell folks our story;  I hope you keep this blog going.


You’ve really helped us.  We have finally been able to come to grips, a bit, with this mysterious spanking thing of his.  I’ll never fully understand it, but what does it matter?  It’s there, it’s not going away, I just have to deal with it as best I can.  And I have actually gotten a bit better at spanking him, now that I have seen just how much punishment Sweetie can take.  I bought a new hairbrush (don’t want to mess up the souvenir autographed brush) and I don’t hesitate to give him some hard whacks with it every now and then.  I’ll never be Miss Jen, but I can sure enough get his attention.


Again, I'm sorry I wasn't honest from the beginning, because I think it was unnecessary.  I now think she would have done the session even if she knew it was me who was pulling Sweetie’s strings.  For all I know, lots of women send, or even physically transport, their men to Miss Jennifer for appropriate disciplinary action.  They certainly should.  


Wait — Jen, do they???  Wow, what a thought.  Is it possible we are not as unique and kinky as I have been thinking?


In any event, I really hope you can forgive me, Jennifer.  I think this could be the start of a beautiful relationship.



© Avery S., 2016.  All Rights Reserved.

Spanking story from one of my Spankee who loves to be paddled/spanked Written by K

Hi, This story is mostly factual, i believe. It was told to me, and others, during one of those late night "chatter" sessions that seemed to happen in college. I believe the story I was told that night. The names are changed but the characters really endured or observed these experiences. The below events happened in Georgia. Once upon a time but not so long ago......

Isn't it funny how something as simple as an old song can take you back to a place in time? A simple 3-4 minute song. Hearing it suddenly takes your brain back. You remember clearly how you were, what you were feeling, even what you were wearing. Old friends are still there etc. For many, this feeling happens when hearing a song played at their wedding. Or, at the emotional funeral of a lost loved one. However, the more interesting experiences are when a simple song takes a person back to a day, to a time, that is quite personal. An event that may only be etched in his or her mind. Maybe a first kiss, maybe a simple enjoyable car ride with a loved, but now gone, relative. Certainly, Leigh had such a song. In her case, it was connected to the worst day at school in her youth.

The song was "The Tide is High", by Blondie. There was nothing particularly special about the song. She had not especially liked it. Yes, it was quite popular during that time. And, yes, it had played in the car that day on her way home. She figured that had to be the connection. Something about that monotonous, almost hypnotic, chorus always seemed to interrupt where her thoughts had been prior. She was, and still is to this day, immediately swept back in time. Like some sort of magical spell. "The tide is high but I'm moving on. I'm gonna be your number one. Nuuuuummmber one. Nuuuuuummmber one......"

For a young person growing up in Georgia during that period, there was nothing especially traumatic or unique about getting a spanking. It was just part of life. She had felt her parents frustration, on occasion, with open hand across her behind. One time a flyswatter on her bare bottom. One horrible time, her daddy's belt. But, she really was raised in a relatively progressive household on the subject. Certainly, on a relative basis to her peers. Her friends got spanked pretty frequently. Rarely, so did she.

She remembered the day that she realized just how widespread spankings were at the time. She was in Mrs. Younger's class, way back in Elementary School. The teachers certainly spanked during that era, and, Mrs. Younger had actually taken a couple of kids across her knee, right in front of the class, and administered 5-6 firm slaps for something as simple as not turning in homework. However, that was not always the consequence. So, it did seem "inconsistent" and served to keep all students on "alert" at all times. Leigh never forgot the expression on her classmate's faces, the shock and embarrassment of being punished that way in full view of the others. The spanks sounded and looked pretty firm, but, there never was a real reaction to the pain. It seemed clear that the embarrassment was, by far, the emotion that won out.

Leigh remembered that Mrs Younger was having a tough time keeping the class settled on one particular day. She clearly lost her temper and yelled for all to get quiet! Her eyes bulged with fury and frustration. Leigh remembered the uncomfortable silence as Mrs. Younger's glare made its way to each student in her class. "I am tempted to march each one of you up here, to my desk, and take you across my knee! I will not tolerate this behavior!" Her glare continued as an intense silence returned. Leigh's heart pounded in her chest as she absorbed Mrs. Younger's threat. She could feel her face flush, she could sense the palpable anxiety throughout the class. Leigh had heard rumors of entire classes being spanked for one reason or the other. It had never sounded very fair, and, she did not know anyone for certain that had endured the experience. So, she had always chalked that up to "urban legend". But, nevertheless, here was her teacher, issuing the threat. Mean old, fire engine red headed Mrs Younger, peering over her glasses at her chastised and suddenly silent pupils, clearly considering doing just that. And, Leigh's bottom would have been on the list. As her terror became more pronounced, Mrs Younger suddenly spoke, "with this behavior today, I have to wonder. I wonder how you kids are being raised. In fact, I have a question. Is there anyone in this class who has never been spanked?" The class remained in mortified silence, not sure where this line of questioning was going to lead. " I mean, ever. At home, church, school. I have to wonder. I am so disappointed and angry. I want to know. If you have NEVER been spanked, I want you to raise your hand right now."

If the embarrassment in that room could have been harvested, there was likely enough to be an alternative energy source for quite some time. Eyes bulged and the students cut glances across the room out of the corner of their eyes. A couple of girls up front started to cry. Leigh remembered being so mortified that her initial inclination was to raise her hand. Although her bottom had occasionally been burned at home, she initially saw no reason why the entire class had to know it. She knew her close friends, neighbors. She knew their answer. But, she was not sure about many of the other groups. But, as the seconds passed, she noticed the group of smart girls. Their hands were down and faces red. She glanced over toward a couple of minority pupils. Their hands were down too. All of the boys, including Roger Stephens, had their hands down and were nervously figiting in their chairs. Leigh had found Roger "interesting" from the first time they had met. Now, here was the realization that Roger got spanked at home too. Just like her. She was, at once, fascinated and oddly comforted that their childhoods were so similar in this regard. Even though, in some cases, the classmates seemed very different.

As the class of burning faces and lowered hands remained in her field of vision, she lowered her hand back down to her side. She had never actually raised it. But, she had come close and had started to do so. Quickly, her embarrassment and fear for what was next, returned.

Suddenly, a hand meekly was raised.. It was Ashley Oakley. A new student. She had just arrived from California at the beginning of the year. She had a confident, although somewhat confused, smile as her hand outstretched for all to see. Mrs Younger's eyes were as if she had seen Bigfoot. She stared at Ashley in silence, clearly trying to figure out if she was being lied to. Or, if this poor child's parents were truly that inept. "Really? And why do you think that is, Ashley?" Ashley, again confused by the question and likely the entire scene, merely smiled and shrugged her shoulders. Leigh noticed that many of her peers were already doubting this story, shaking their heads. Others clearly thought this was the final straw, and that each pupil was now destined for a uncomfortable trip across Mrs. Younger's knee. Leigh just stared at her. Could it be true? She had heard her uncle Charlie griping about those "wackos" in California before. Could this be what he meant? As Leigh's thoughts rummaged through her brain, she noticed a change in Mrs. Younger's demeanor. She had apparently been disarmed by the interaction with Ashley. Her purposeful eyes, so full of rage and intent only seconds before, now seemed cluttered by her own thoughts. Incredibly, she merely stated that this was a final warning and returned to the lesson.

The crisis had been averted! Over the next few days, Ashley was either a hero or some deranged liar. Pending on the student. Many felt she HAD to be lying. To them, it was just not POSSIBLE to be a kid and not get spanked!!! In fact, this was the majority. For Leigh, she had learned several things. First, everyone raised in Georgia in her class got spanked and seemed to feel the same way about it that she did. That was actually quite newsworthy, for her, at that age. Second, other seemingly normal people, did not. Was the difference really as simple as where you were from?

The reality was that the intense "near miss" in Mrs. Younger's class that day seemed to bring the classmates closer. Shared intense experiences can do that. And, while Mrs. Younger even managed to flip a couple of other young fellas across her knee later that year, her utilization of that method was actually very unique. Leigh had never seen, nor heard, another teacher at her school correcting disobedient bad boys or girls that way.

Now, the paddle was a different story. Everyone knew that Principal Worthing would paddle. And, seemingly every teacher had sizzled at least one behind. Either earlier that year to one of Leigh's peers, or, in a previous year (she had heard stories from her older brother Jimmy and his friends). Paddlings, however, were never done in front of the class. Usually, in the privacy of the main office or a teachers office. Occasionally, however, right outside in the hall. These could be quite intense experiences and were certainly fascinating for those not on the receiving end of the wood. While nothing could be seen, a good bit could be heard. Including, of course, the loud slaps with a wooden board to the unfortunate recipient's bottom. The acoustics in the school hallway could not have been much better. As the drama began, the class would excitedly murmur as the tension built in the room. The teacher and soon well-spanked student would slide out to the hall. The remaining students would look at each other with eyes wide open, some with smirks. A few brazen students would suddenly need to sharpen their pencil, hoping to somehow get a view of the proceedings out in the hall. Then the silence would suddenly be interrupted "smack! Smack! Smack". The student, freshly paddled, would have to immediately return to the class with an impossibly red and swollen face. Having been spanked at home but never paddled anywhere, Leigh usually sympathized and was always pretty fascinated by the proceedings. Everyone was. As Leigh now knew, pretty much everyone she knew had endured a "fire in the fanny" (as her Granddaddy used to call it).

The paddlings at her elementary school seemed, overwhelmingly, to happen to the same students. Over and over. Leigh, herself, had never even come close to getting in that sort of trouble. She had, however, been involved in one experience that ended that way. Steven Shorts was a cute, but, slightly annoying fellow in her class. They had known each other since Kindergarten. Leigh liked him. But, as they grew older, certain things started to change. Steven was the type who liked to tease. Leigh rarely minded as it was almost always directed at someone else. The teachers also seemed to usually give him a pass. He was smart, otherwise well behaved, and came from an influential family in town.

For some reason, he was unusually interested in Leigh and her friends on one particular day. More specifically, he was fascinated with their bottoms. It had started on the playground as he and some of his buddies had taken to getting in a pinch on the girls behinds. This was not terribly uncommon and was frankly just a silly way of getting out some energy. But, on this day, Steven just could not stop. Even after the return to class, he took the unnecessary risk of getting in a couple more pinched tushes. Later, as the class made its way to an assembly, Leigh bent over to take a sip of water from the water fountain. Steven snuck up on her and grabbed a good chunk of Leigh's bottom. Leigh had been taken by surprise, so, she squealed loudly. Also, while lifting her head up quickly in reaction,, she had popped her lip on the water fountain.

As her teacher came running over to see what the commotion was, Leigh angrily reacted due to the pain and sight of her own blood. She told on Steven, her usual buddy, and others confirmed her story. The teacher quickly wrote a note and ordered them BOTH to Principal Worthing's office.

Leigh was still angry about the pain. She now was also terrified. Why did she have to go to the office? Principal Worthing was not nice and had a fearsome reputation. She greeted the pupils businesslike, quickly, and ordered them to have a seat. She reviewed the note. Read it twice. Her gaze focused on Leigh. "This note states that Steven here pinched your bottom. And, that he did so while you were at the water fountain. Is that so"? Leigh nodded her head. "This note also states that Steven had done this both to you and other girls earlier in the day, on the playground. Is that so?"

Upon hearing this, Steven began to sniffle as his impending doom seemed to be clearer. Leigh also was starting to cool down, and, was actually starting to feel bad for Steven. But, she remained terrified of Principal Worthing most of all. She could not backtrack now as that could get HER in trouble. "Yes ma'am. That is what happened."

"Ok, Leigh, one more time", Principal Worthing stated, "you are stating that Steven pinched your behind today, causing you to be injured, and that he had been doing this activity earlier in the day. I really need you to understand that if you confirm that to be the case and if I feel it is appropriate, Steven is going to get a good paddling for his actions today."

With that, Steven again sniffled and looked terrified. Leigh was fairly certain he had never been paddled at school.

"Yes ma'am, that is what happened" Leigh said.

"Ok, Steven, you may apologize to Leigh for violating her privacy and personal space."

Steven looked terrified, yet, he managed to mumble an apology without making eye contact. Leigh now very much felt sorry for him.

"Ok, Leigh, you may be excused. Go out to see Ms Wiseman out front, she will give you a note to return to class. Also, tell her that I suggested you go by the nurse's office real quick to see if she wants to do anything about that busted lip."

Leigh left Steven to his fate. She went to Ms Wiseman's desk. But, she had to wait for a few minutes as Ms Wiseman was finishing up a call. As Ms Wiseman finished up the note and handed it to her, a loud "smack" came from the Principal's office. Leigh quickly grabbed the note and began to leave. The second "smack" came quickly and was followed by a muffled scream....

Leigh went off down the hall and never found out just how many swats Steven got that day.

Leigh had never really even considered that a paddling would come her way one day. Overwhelmingly, boys found themselves in that situation. Even when a girl did find her way to a school spanking, it was typically the same crowd. Sorta rough, not real interested in academics etc. That group. There were a few fights within that group over the years and those were legendary!! The fights were some of the best ever witnessed and the paddlings that followed shortly thereafter were equal in quality.

Leigh had developed into a quiet student. She never really caused trouble. Was not much of a leader. As her schooling progressed, she found herself at a new school. This was a larger school, and students there came from her elementary school (so she knew them) and two other schools in the area. This was exciting because so many new friends were made. Leigh quickly found Cameron M. to be a good friend. Cammie was everything Leigh was not. Very confident. Very willing to take a risk. Great sense of humor. She was big for a girl that age, while Leigh was cute and appropriately sized. Cammie was very athletic and played on all the school sport teams. Leigh had been asked to be a cheerleader but was not even sure she could go through with it. She was so shy.

Leigh really admired Cammie and found herself following her around quite a bit. They had become close quickly due to sharing the same 5th period class. At this school, 5th period was important because you not only had class together (in this case, Shop) but you also went to lunch together. So, essentially the students were together for twice as long as the normal class. And, lunch was always fun...

Shop was not nearly as fun as it sounded for a couple of girls. It was actually working with wood. There were saws and drills, that sort of thing. Leigh really did not like the class very much. Was not her thing.

The teacher for this class was a medium sized tank of a man named Coach Kelly. He was a football and baseball coach. He also coached girls basketball. So, he knew Cammie pretty well and they were always going back and forth, ribbing each other good naturedly about this or that. Leigh, however, was completely intimidated by Coach Kelly and barely said a word to him.

Coach Kelly was very popular. He had a great sense of humor and he was always making the class chuckle over something. He even joked about discipline. He reminded the students on the first day that he had plenty of wood at his fingertips. He would quickly "fire them up" if given a reason. He even joked later that he might assign them a project to make their own paddle for some future use. Coach Kelly was the kind of guy that could say something like that and the entire class chuckle obediently. Most thought he was far too cool to follow through without a good reason. So, most students playfully engaged in banter with him throughout the year.

Especially Cameron. Again, they spent time together outside of class. Sports can require that, after all. She had the perfect personality to give him just as hard a time as he gave the students. Their interactions were hilarious. At times, it seemed, they liked each other quite a bit.

Leigh enjoyed all of the conversation. But, she still really did not like the class. This was strange for her. She had always enjoyed school.

One day at lunch, Leigh was grumbling about returning to Shop after they were done. It was a beautiful Spring day and so Cammie suggested they "ditch" Shop and go hang outside in the sun for a bit. Leigh was very hesitant. She remained very timid and had never considered herself the "ditching" type. What if they got caught?? Cammie chuckled and said,"what's he gonna do? He does not care about this class. All he wants to do is Coach sports. Lets do it! "

Leigh was scared. She had never done anything like this before. But, she seemingly felt a strong need to gain Cammie's attention and approval. She succumbed to the peer pressure and agreed. They asked to be excused to go to the ladies room. Once free, they made their escape out to the bleachers by the football field.

For awhile, the world was great. It truly was a beautiful day. Both girls kicked their shoes off and laughingly wiggled their toes in the sun. Leigh was having so much fun. She had never done anything so daring. Most important, she was with Cammie and that was always fun.


Suddenly, "hey, what are you doing??!"

Coach Kelly came over the hill toward the girls and he looked to have left his sense of humor behind. He walked up to the girls and simply stated, "get up, you are coming with me."

Leigh reached for her socks and shoes but quickly realized that one had slipped and fell way down below the bleachers. In her confusion, she tried to find it. All of this delay was not helpful as Coach Kelly, now clearly very angry and different than either ever had seen him, said, "now! Get your butt off the bleachers and you are coming to my office!"

Both girls now trudged behind, saying nothing. Cammie's confidence was temporarily suspended and Leigh was paralyzed with fear. She looked down at her bare feet as she tried to keep up with Coach Kelly, who was stomping off at a brisk pace.


Once in his office, Cammie regained her composure. "Come on Coach, we missed the last 15 minutes of class. Like you have never done something like that? What's the big deal?"

Temporarily, Coach Kelly seemed to slide back into previous habits. He genuinely seemed tickled, for a second, about this girl's brazen attitude about apparently anything. "So, you don't think it is a big deal, huh?" And, he chuckled. That same familiar chuckle that Leigh had heard many times before in class. For a second, she hoped that Cammie's coolness and relationship with him were going to allow for some sort of escape.


Leigh, however, was still positively alabaster with fright. She had only one other time been in an office like this. And, that had ended with Steven Shorts getting his butt worn out.

As her thoughts raced, her eyes followed as Coach Kelly reach into his top drawer. He silently pulled out a black wooden paddle, with 8-10 tiny holes, and laid it on his desk.


Leigh nearly peed on herself. She could feel her face flush and her heart was about to explode. Her stomach plummeted to some unknown depth. Her palms were sweaty and she could feel her eyes beginning to build with the pressure of possible tears.

"And what are you planning to do with that?" Cammie retorted. She seemed to have no fear, even then. "That's not going to happen."


Coach Kelly, for the first time, ignored Cammie. He instead looked at Leigh. "Leigh, stand up. Bend over and grab your ankles!"

Leigh's pounding heart was now interrupting her ability to think. She watched as he came to her left side, wicked looking paddle in his muscular hand. He suddenly looked much stronger as his apparent anger was causing his muscles to tense under his short sleeve shirt. She initially did not move, as she was positively paralyzed with fear. She glanced quickly toward Cammie, hoping for some nugget of humor from her that could change things. Cammie just looked surprised and said nothing.


"Now! Leigh! I said stand up! Bend over! You girls are about to learn just how big a deal skipping my class is."


Leigh slowly rose and moved away from her chair. She felt tears in her eyes welling up as she made one last plaintive plea toward Coach Kelly.


His firm glare meant she was out of options. Her brain was spinning out of control. Having never been spanked in this manner before, she was not even sure what to do. She timidly leaned over slightly and looked back toward her teacher.

"Young lady, I said bend over! All the way. Also, I want your feet wider. Hold onto your ankles and do not let go!"


Shaking, and with a tear now definitely falling from her eye, Leigh obeyed. She had always been shy and timid. Presenting her bottom in this position for a spanking from a strange man, was absolutely the worst. Her heart sank deeper as she felt the paddle tap softly a couple of times. She could feel the tenderness of her fanny in this position as it lazily jiggled under her PE shorts to the slight contact from the board. Her long hair now fell into her eyes, blocking her view of the paddle, and she felt herself giving in to the tears. She began to softly cry even before the first swat.


SMAAAAACK! Leigh managed a sharp "AAAAH", like the sound one makes when accidentally touching a hot stove burner, and continued to softly cry in response to the first spank tearing across her bottom.


SMAAAAAACK!! The second paddle swat stung unlike anything she had ever felt. She could not stifle a short squeal. "Owwwwwwww!". Again, she was wearing gym shorts. They were a thin, warm weather material. So, not at all helpful for her current predicament.

Finally and quickly, the worst swat of all tore across her butt. It was lower and the paddle managed to connect with both her rear and the highest part of her thighs. The impact knocked her forward. She struggled to stay bent over, but did. She howled "Owwwwwwwwwwwww!!!!" and tears came rapidly. She lost all pride and shamefully sobbed, while still bent over obediently and holding on to her ankles.


Coach Kelly said, "alright, I imagine that will do, you may stand up".

As Leigh stood shakily, she quickly rubbed her burning bottom violently, in an apparent attempt to squeeze the burn away. Fortunately, her hair, now wet from her tears while bent, remain clinged to her face and allowed her some semblance of privacy.


As Leigh's sobs waned, she continued to caress her blistered fanny with no regard to her pride or the audience.


As her brain tried to refocus on the scene, she heard Coach Kelly order her to return to her seat. Still hiding her face behind her hair, she stumbled to the chair and tried to ease carefully into it. However, as her bottom met the hard, wooden seat she let out an audible "ooooh, awwwwooooow" and again hung her head and shamefully dissolved into tears.

She could hear Coach Kelly talking, he seemed to be frustrated. As her brain tried to ignore the flame in her spanked fanny, it began to process the situation. She could hear Coach Kelly "I said get up. Little Miss, do not make me come over there!"


"I will not. I told you that was not going to happen!" Leigh now clearly understood that Cammie was calmly, yet forcefully, refusing to submit to the spanking.


She saw Coach Kelly walk over toward them both and grab Cammie by the arm. He tried to lift her out of the chair. But Cammie was strong and kept her behind attached to the seat of the chair by holding her hands under the seat and holding on.

Still stunned by her own experience, Leigh was also shocked to see Cammie's resistance. It had never occurred to her to not allow herself to be paddled. Of course, it was too late now. Amazed, she stopped crying and watched the show.


"Girl, let go of that chair. I said get up!! This is not a joke. You have earned this! Do you want me to get the Principal???" Coach Kelly questioned.


Cammie simply said, "let go of my arm. Do what you need to do. You are not touching ME with that thing!"


Clearly frustrated, Coach Kelly walked back to his desk and sat down, allowing the paddle to clamor loudly as it settled onto his desk, The bell had rung a few minutes before and the girls were now late to the next class. He grabbed a note pad and scribbled. He looked toward Leigh and said , "here, you may be excused. Show this to your next teacher" as he handed her the note.

Leigh's hands were still shaking as she took the note. As she stood and turned to leave, her face seemed to flush hot again as she felt certain that 4 eyes were looking at her punished bottom.


As she left Coach Kelly's office and closed the door, she saw two students, a boy and girl, out in the hall for some reason. She quickly looked away but her embarrassment reached a new high as she figured they had heard her being spanked and crying. She rapidly made it to the bathroom in the locker room and washed her face. The burn in her bottom still seemed to be increasing. Praying for privacy, she lowered her pants and quickly placed both hands directly on her punished skin. The bathroom mirror was too high to really see the extent of the damage but she was shocked at how red her butt was. There was one spot, on her right side where her bottom and thigh connected, that felt like it could even be bleeding. She checked for blood but found none. Already, she could see 2-3 welts making their way into view. They formed a line from her crack all the way across her right butt cheek. "Must be from those holes" she thought. She cupped her bare bottom with each hand as she tried to transfer the heat from her behind to her hands. She again felt overcome with emotion and allowed herself one more cry. It had hurt so bad and, worse, she could not think of a more embarrassing event. A spanking? In front of a new friend,and then, she had bawled like a baby. Meanwhile, Cammie had stood up to him. This made Leigh even feel worse. She wondered briefly how things were going for Cammie. Turning her attention to the note, her face blushed hotly again as she read it.

"please admit. Kelly. Corporal punishment (3)"


Her despair deepened as she knew that Mrs. Cummings, her favorite teacher, would have to know that she was late due to getting a spanking. She gave each of her burning butt cheeks one more good rub, then pulled her shorts back in place and put herself back together. She quickly changed out of her gym clothes and slipped her favorite pair of jeans back on. She then headed to face the next round of embarrassment. Remembering she was still barefoot, she headed back to the bleachers, found her shoes, and then walked uncomfortably to Mrs. Cummings class.


Leigh recalled not saying a word the rest of that school day. She was still so upset that she was afraid others would hear her voice crack. Her bottom continued to command her attention, anyway, as her experience changed from a sharp, hot, stinging sensation to something more like a bad sunburn. That one spot on her right side now felt like she had sat on a nail. As her ride picked her up after school, she eased gingerly into the back seat and sat glumly looking out the window trying to avoid conversation and eye contact. She focused on the radio.


"The tide is high but I'm moving on. I'm gonna be your number one. Nuuuuuuummmber one.

Nummmmmber onnnnnnnnnnnne."

By the way, Leigh was too embarrassed to ever ask Cammie what happened. And, Cammie never offered. They remained friends but at some distance. Years later, they were college suite mates and finally were able to chuckle about that day as they told the author this story on a warm October evening.......


But, Cammie still would not say what happened.......


Only to your hand will my bottom I bare!

Only to your heart will my thoughts I share!

It's only you as true as blue!

It's only you, it's only you!


After seeing you, I never know,

How I will respond to what I was told

You spanked my bottom

You touched my soul,


You care so much about life and such,

I always will long to feel your touch,

Although stingy and such,

Its never, never enough,


When your through I'm always sad,

Swearing again to not make you mad!

I'm sorry Miss Jen I'll try to not be bad,

Then the thought of you, it makes me so glad!


If I should die,

Before the day,

I know in heaven,

The devil I'll pay.


With your wings all aflutter

I'll be a lot like melted butter

I'll be thankful, I'll be glad

And ill never again be sad,


Cause when your there

And all things are through,

I'll repeat the line

thank God for you!


Bless you Jen PP


Sing to the children's song," I'm a little teapot "

I'm a little demon, Big and stout' Hear me whimper See me pout!

If I'm crying, Or if I shout You'll know it's me Without a doubt!

If I kick and squeal You know it's real What will be will be Over miss Jenn's knee

No matter how hard I try No matter what I do I have to endure Until she gets through!

She gets the paddle Oh me oh my What happens next Is going to make me cry!

No matter what I say No matter what I do Ill have to endure Until she gets through!

Thank God I think It's finally over I hope I never have hear Get over hear know right know and just and bend over!

No matter what I've said No matter what I've done In my heart I know Miss Jenn still loves me!

See you tomorrow, and when your done! We'll have a cupcake HaHaHa I guess I won!

Love ya, Charlie..... Hehehe!

The Quintessence of Teenage Rebellion

Hey…I'ma dance on the clouds today...


The harmonious singing could easily be discerned throughout the silent train, the only other sound a slight whirring as it glided against the tracks. A young petite woman, slim in build and no older than nineteen, sat quietly as her music resounded from her headphones.


Hey…I'ma visit the sky today…


The singer's voice was siren-like; encompassing the girl with his enchanting drone.


One of those…nights…one of those…its gonna be one of those nights.


Nicole's deep brown eyes tentatively glanced up after realizing she was gazing intently at her hands for long minutes. Why did she constantly do this to herself?  This continual, never-ending spiral? She glanced to her side, scrutinizing the train's window. Nothing but a blur of sound and motion.


At last, the train came to a stop. Where was she anyway? It was almost one in the morning and she could've sworn the party would've been done by eleven! She felt worn out, exhausted, confused and in complete disarray. Her long dark hair was a bit tussled from the crisp, autumn air as she exited the station, a fleeting feeling coursing within her. She was high, the smell of marijuana apparent on her clothes.


Nicole often let herself get talked into these situations with her overzealous friends, friends whom often used her naiveté as a means of pressuring her into their illegal escapades.


"Come on, you're turning twenty in a week! We have to celebrate!" They would say.


"I..I can't. I really shouldn't. I have so much school work to finish and I promised mom--" She'd begin to state, only to be swiftly cut off with a,


"Relax Nicole. She isn't even your real mother! And besides, you're going to be twenty. You're an adult now!"


Twenty. An odd little number. Old enough to be seen as a young adult, and yet young enough to still be called 'kid'. A year after that, and she'd turn twenty-one. You know…the age where you could legally do what you've probably been doing already.


It is with her friends' constant prodding that led Nicole to a party, after convincing her mother this was just a simple outing and she'd be back by eleven. After all, she'd promised to come home early to work on her school work--work that she'd often procrastinate and set aside for more unwarranted activity.


Well, you can clearly see where this was headed!


'She's going to kill me.'


Nicole was taken in by Jennifer years ago as an orphaned adolescent, after meeting the woman as she stumbled ungracefully on a sidewalk with a few rebellious teens. The nineteen year old remembered the occurrence like it was almost yesterday….


"Watch where you're going lady!" Nicole slurred as she pushed past an equally petite brunette on the sidewalk. The mystery woman was adorned in a classy, ornate dress in which Nicole easily noted.


"Where are you headed? Church?"


Her friends stopped to jeer, which only prompted her drunken bravado. It was nice to feel acceptance…love…even in the wrong places.


"Pardon?" The woman stopped to turn, her brown eyes narrowing at the small group of insolent brats. "I do believe where I'm headed is none of your business. And as for you.." Her frown deepened as she gazed at Nicole. "I think the word you're looking for is 'excuse me'."


The small group turned to their small friend, a chorus of "oooo's" forming as they awaited her response. Nicole seemed surprised by the sudden authoritative tone, one she hadn't heard in quite some time. She had grown up an only child, a lonely child…never knowing her parents and spending most of her childhood with her grandmother. Tired of her radical behavior, her grandmother kicked her out, and it was with her hooligan friends she resided with.


All she really needed was to be saved…put back in the right direction…


"Well, you're not going to get an 'excuse me', so you better run off now or--"


"Or what?"


Nicole paused, slowly bridging the gap between them. She was at a loss of what to do, yet completely in shock at the dominance of this woman. It was admirable--but she couldn't look like a baby in front of her friends! For lack of a better comeback, knowing that the woman was older than she was, Nicole opened her mouth. "Listen grandma--"


"No, you listen." The fire in Jennifer's eyes seemed to ignite at the younger female's impudence. "I will not be disrespected by a child."


"I am not a child!"


"And if you keep this up, I will treat you like one. You'll get a good spanking right in front of your little friends. Do you understand?"


Quiet. The sound of silence seemed deafening in that moment as Nicole stared with wide, stunned eyes at the domineering woman before her. After a few seconds, Nicole turned on her heel. "L-Lets go…" Her naturally caramel face was becoming a tint of red as she instantly began to blush out of embarrassment. The only thing on her mind was to get out of that woman's way, period! She sincerely hoped she wouldn't run into such a woman again!


Much to her chagrin, she did run into Jennifer again. It turned out, the woman was the new principal at her school during the time. To make a long story short, despite a rocky beginning, the two slowly formed a friendly relationship which seemed to quickly turn maternal as she confided in Jennifer often. It took the woman quite some time to chisel away that hardened shell Nicole had created for herself, but once she did, she found a broken little girl hiding beneath it. Soon, after knowing her living situation, Nicole was even allowed to stay with Jennifer as she entered the realm of maturity and adulthood: College!


The pair had their ups and downs (and of course, her eventual first spanking with many to come after!) but Nicole really did look at Jennifer as a role model…a woman to teach her to be a lady, to be grounded and ambitious. A mother.


And like any child, despite their age, disappointing their mother was one of the worst feelings in the world.


Nicole winced as she moved hastily through the night, mentally kicking herself for not charging her phone. It had been dead for hours now, and she could only imagine just how worried her mother was! Finding her way back in her slightly intoxicated state was a tedious, nerve-wracking task, but she eventually found their comfortable home after a brisk walk.


Her heart beat seemed to quicken in pace as she fumbled for her house key, praying that Jennifer had gone to bed and all would be well!


Just as she had finally found it, just as she had finally placed it within the keyhole, the sound of a 'click' made her nearly jump out of her skin! The door was opened for her…and in it's wake stood a very stern, unhappy woman.


"Oh! H-hey! Mom, y-you…waited?"


"Get inside. Now."


After a good scolding about the importance of punctuality, Nicole promptly received another for her excessive partying!


"You know exactly how I feel about it and yet you deliberately continue?"


Nicole bit her lip, eyes gazing nervously at the floor. "N-no ma'am…I l-lost track of time and I..didn't mean to do any of that…"


Jennifer's finger gently, yet firmly grasped her chin, forcing the younger female to look directly at her eyes. "You will take a shower and wash off that awful smell. And then you will go right to bed. You will be soundly punished first thing tomorrow. Do you understand?"


Nicole felt her eyes beginning to tear, but she blinked them away. Why was she crying? Was it because she were to receive a spanking? Or was it the disappointment in her mother's eyes?


"Yes ma'am."


And off the girl went, showering until she were squeaky clean and left to dream about the inevitable punishment to come. To say she could hardly sleep would be an understatement.


Morning came faster than warranted, and Nicole was sure she didn't even remember closing her eyes! At first, she contemplated feigning illness, but knew all too well what lying would get her. An even harsher spanking! A soft knock made her glance up, and in walked her mother, hairbrush in hand.


It took only an inkling of a second to realize what she was in for, and immediately the pleading started, even though Nicole knew this would be inevitable.


"No, mom, please! Not the brush I--"


"Quiet, naughty girl! You know you richly deserve this! Now up, let's get this punishment over with, no stalling!"


A pout graced her lips as she hesitantly got out of the bed, wearing her comfortable, satin night dress. "Yes ma'am…" She sighed reluctantly, watching as Jennifer sat against her bed. This wasn't Nicole's first time over her mother's awaiting knees, so she stood readily at her side, even if her face was quite sour. Being small, it was very easy to maneuver the nineteen year old over mommy's lap. The cool air of the room met her bare legs and panty clad backside as her night dress was lifted.


"Now…I would like to know exactly why you're about to get punished."


Nicole bit her lip, big brown eyes staring apprehensively at the ground as her dark hair spilled over her bowed head.


"Um…for being late, and partying again when I should've been doing school work?"


Nicole expected a response, but instead, received a firm; SMACK.


"OW!" She whined, wincing at the first spank. They always seemed to be the worse! It wasn't like Nicole had much time to dwell on the dreaded first smack--because an onslaught of spanks soon followed! Left cheek, right cheek, up and down…her mother's hand beat a steady tattoo into her rippling, perky butt.


The nineteen year old bit her lip, trying her hardest to stay silent, but her mother always knew when she was trying to be stoic. It never lasted!


"That's right. SMACK And what does SMACK mommy say SMACK about being SMACK on time? SMACK SMACK."


Nicole grit her teeth, trying her hardest to keep her slender legs from kicking. There was nothing worse than a lecture during a spanking!


"I-Its expected o-of me!" She whimpered, trying her hardest to focus on her thoughts in order to form sentences! But gosh, it was becoming increasingly difficult when your mother was roasting your butt!


The spanks rained down fast and steady, the intensity getting harder and harder as seconds turned into minutes. It wasn't long before Nicole could no longer keep quiet, her toes curling and uncurling as the pain continued to build up. "Ow, please! Stop!"


"Did you just tell me to stop?" Jennifer's voice remained stern as she really let her rebellious daughter have it, each smack harder than the last. "You do not dictate when this spanking is over, little girl. Do I make myself clear?"


"OW! Y-yes ma'am!"


Was it really worth it to misbehave? Honestly…Nicole was doubting her ideas of 'fun' if this is what it warranted!


Nicole shut her eyes tightly as the hand spanking continued, each smack causing her round little bottom to bounce and quiver in anticipation of the next. Her legs were itching to kick and squirm, and her eyes were filling with tears.


Just when she was sure she'd had enough…the spanking had suddenly stopped. The girl breathed a shaky sigh of relief, slowly starting to get up. "T-thank you mom."


Jennifer's cool, yet commanding voice responded with a, "Bend over the bed."


"W-Whaaat?" Nicole whined, then realizing she had nearly forgotten about the hairbrush. She nearly would've cursed, but that would've made it even worse for her poor bottom!


"You've received a spanking for being late. Now this one is for partying and not keeping your word, or your priorities straight! Now over the bed, naughty girl, or you'll get double."


The younger female immediately got up, fighting the urge to rub her stinging backside as she hesitantly bent over the bed frame. Jennifer stepped behind her, grabbing a hold of her panties and pulling them up to reveal a reddening, brown backside. She touched the sore flesh, admiring her work with inquisitive eyes.






"I think we can make this a more prominent shade of red."


Nicole groaned, thankful for the lapse in punishment and yet dreading it…because there was more to come! The anticipation was easily eating away at her, and before long, she wished she was experiencing the break again! For once her mother started with the painful, wooden hairbrush, she didn't have plans of stopping until she was sure Nicole was soundly punished!




"Ah! AH!" Nicole gripped the bed for dear life, her body wishing to squirm away. With her panties pulled up and out of the way, she had no protection, and her butt was surely feeling it!


The hairbrush was always a formidable spanking weapon…hell, Nicole often hoped it would 'accidentally' be lost. But of course, her mother had more than one of those dreaded things, and bought them quite often! The brush beat a steady crescendo into Nicole's backside, wasting little time in equally searing both cheeks with it's bite.


"You've been a very bad girl, Nicole."


"I know! S-Sorry! P-Pleaaasee!"


The tears she had been blinking away were beginning to blur her vision, and slowly they cascaded down her flushed face. She had disappointed her mother. The woman who loved her the most. Who took care of her…who she wanted to be like one day.


She had disappointed her.


This thought coupled over with the spanking caused the nineteen year old to really beginning to cry, her chest heaving as sobs escaped her.


And still…Jennifer did not cease.


The woman was not cruel, but she knew what her daughter needed. She loved her dearly, and would give her exactly what she deserved--nothing more or less.














And then…it was over.


Jennifer's grip on her panties released, and the nineteen year old nearly collapsed on her knees. She felt released of her guilt, but she wanted comfort, and comfort she received. The brown haired woman placed the brush down, gently placing a hand on her daughter's shoulder. The two exchanged a look, one softened, and the other tear stricken…yet guilt free.


Her bottom was awfully sore, but she felt so much better.


"T-thank you…mom." She sniffed, wiping her eyes. "For everything."


She was the quintessence of teenage rebellion. And Jennifer would surely spank it out of her.

Story by a young girl named Nicole


"Torn", frederick thought.  That was the only word for it.  "Torn".  Torn in two utterly polar and opposite directions.  Two attitudes diametrically opposed.


On the one hand, frederick felt nothing but defiance.  Willful, almost adolescent defiance.  Like a teenage boy denied a popular party, or forced to rake up heavy leaves.  Standing in front of the office door at # 50 Professional Plaza, frederick's burning sense of defiance screamed within, "No!  I am not going to do it.  I do not have to be here.  She cannot make me do it.  Not anymore!"


But no sooner was that thought fully formed and frederick was about to pull away from the door, when another, more powerful and completely overwhelming compulsion engulfed him.  "Dammit!", frederick thought, though he knew She would reprove his language, even in unspoken thought.  "Why, why why?  Why am I this way?  Why does She have so much power over me.  Even when I don't want to do something.  Why do I feel like I have to obey Her?"


But even though it had been years now, years since he had last reported to Her, when frederick thought of Her...when he thought of Ms. Louise...his earlier sense of defiance melted away without a trace.  The adolescent attitude disappeared completely, fully displaced by a deep and profound sense of submissive obedience.  Of compliance and resignation.  A warm and oddly comforting demeanor of utter acceptance of Feminine Authority dispelled frederick's earlier boyish fury.


Or did it?  That, apparently, was the question.  Because, as was stated, frederick felt truly torn.  Torn between obediently knocking on the door of the office in front of him.  Or, in defiance, turning and willfully walking away.  He could, after all.  He did not HAVE to be here.  He did not really even want to be here.  So why in the heck WAS he here, anyhow?  "I ought to leave, he thought.  I ought to just leave now...and maybe I will be able to explain later."


But just as frederick was thinking this mutinous thought and was about to turn away, the door opened smoothly in front of him. 


"Please come in, frederick", he heard.  The voice was smooth and cool, the articulation precise and free of emotion.  A calm, confident, cultured and feminine..yes, feminine voice.  Standing there utterly befuddled on the doorstep, frederick seemed as if struck dumb.  "I said, please come in, frederick.  I do not enjoy having to repeat myself."  Again, the voice was calm and free of emotion.  But the tone conveyed a light frost and an unmistakable sense of authority.


With all previous thoughts of revolt and escape having evaporated with the unexpected opening of the door, frederick's fleeting sense of masculine imperatives seemed irretrievably lost.  Quickly coming to his senses and somehow knowing intuitively that he did not want Miss Jennifer to have to repeat herself again, frederick stepped forward.  Little did he know then the manner in which his fate was sealed.


Out of the corner of his eye, Frederick watched the door, marked Miss Jennifer S. – Behavioral Therapist, close firmly behind him.  Without looking at him, Miss Jennifer, or he assumed it was Miss Jennifer as there was no receptionist or other person present, strode briskly towards an inner office door.  “Please come in, Frederick.  We will get started right away.”


As he followed behind her, Frederick felt his masculine arrogance beginning to grow within him once again.  Especially as he lasciviously noticed the fine shape of Miss Jennifer when viewed from behind.  Slender, lovely legs, confident and stylish high heels and very appealing rear view in her tight, professional skirt & blouse.  Thinking that he might be able to quickly get past the “professional” reason for his visit, frederick’s thoughts began to wander inappropriately.


He was very quickly snapped out of his little reverie, however, once Miss Jennifer directed him to have a seat.  She stepped confidently behind her desk, sat down and fixed Frederick with an unflinching, somewhat bemused stare.  Taken aback both by the look, as well as by the four legged stool which was the only place left for him to sit, Frederick rather awkwardly settled himself upon the hard wooden seat.


Suddenly, the assertiveness he had so briefly started to feel only moments ago, was once again vaporized by the unusual seating arrangement.  Sitting there on a hard stool, in the tastefully and professionally appointed office, Frederick looked around uncomfortably.  Miss Jennifer, he noted, was a very attractive, very confident and obviously assertive and capable young lady.  Her professional elegance, her calm and composed demeanor and the psychological manipulation she so easily achieved with the crude wooden stool situated before her expansive and stylish desk, made Frederick very apprehensive.  He was not even certain why.


Calmly appraising her new client, Miss Jennifer, for her part, seemed utterly content to simply let the awkward tension and discomfort elevate.  She gazed at Frederick with cool calculation, saying nothing for several long minutes.


Finally, with slow and graceful motions, she opened her desk drawer and withdrew a single sheet of paper.  She laid it face down on the completely empty surface of the desk and situated it very neatly in front of her.


“Why are you here today, Frederick?,” she asked.  Her tone was neutral and composed.  Unhurried and professional. 


Apparently startled by this frank and no-nonsense opening to their meeting, Frederick appeared to blush hotly and made some kind of stammering, “ummm…well…” response.  But then, gathering himself somewhat, he replied, “Well, Miss Jennifer, I was actually referred to you by a friend who suggested I might benefit from meeting with you.”


“Is that so?”, Miss Jennifer inquired, her voice conveying both amusement and cool detachment.  “I see.  Well then, please tell me about this “friend” of yours and why they suggested you should come see me.”


“Ummm…well…you see, Miss Jennifer, this friend of mine is a psychologist and I have known her for a very long time”, Frederick began.


“Oh, Miss Jennifer injected, this “friend” of yours is a woman?”


“Ummm…well…yes”, Miss Jennifer.


“And this psychologist woman friend of yours suggested that you come see me, is that it?  Tell me, please, was this woman a “romantic” friend of yours or a “professional” friend of yours?  Was she treating you in her professional capacity?”


This quick barrage of questions caused Frederick to squirm a little in his awkward perch on the hard stool.  In addition, his previously flushed face deepened and his ears flamed a bright red now, too.


“Oh…no, no, Miss Jennifer.  Not romantic, I mean, she was not my girlfriend or anything like that, no.”


“Well then,” Miss Jennifer said, “were you seeing her professionally, this woman psychologist “friend” of yours?


“Ummm…well…kinda,” Frederick stammered.  “In a manner of speaking, I suppose.”


“In a manner of speaking, Frederick?” Inquired Miss Jennifer.  “Just what exactly does that mean?  Were you a patient of this “friend” then?”


“Not really,” he replied.  “More like a client, I guess you might say.”


“OK, Frederick, let me get this straight now.  You have a friend, a woman.  She is a clinical psychologist.  She was not your girlfriend.  You were not her patient.  Yet you were a client of this…”friend”, as you call her?”


Appraising Frederick now with a very stern gaze, Miss Jennifer said, this time with a distinct note of expectation in her voice…”Let me ask you again, Frederick.  And I want a straight answer.  No more of this meandering bullshit of yours.  Why are you here today?”


Frederick was shocked by the mild profanity coming from this petite and professional lady.  He was also quite taken aback by the authoritative tone of confident expectation with which she re-posed her original question.


“Well, Frederick,” she intoned briskly, “Are you going to make me repeat myself again, or are you going to answer my question?”


The change from calm and composed demeanor to her new posture of authoritative expectation made Frederick squirm uncomfortably on the hard stool.  But he knew from the turn the conversation had taken that he better answer or the whole interview would quickly become unbearably awkward.


“Ummm…you see, Miss Jennifer, my friend…”


“Excuse me, Frederick, just what is this “friends” name that you seem so determined to talk about?”, Miss Jennifer interrupted.


“Her name is Miss D, Miss Jennifer”, Frederick quickly replied.  “She suggested that I come here to speak with you about a little problem I have…”


“Very good, Frederick, now we are finally getting somewhere”, Miss Jennifer replied.  Somehow, Miss Jennifer had taken complete control of the conversation.  Her small compliment made Frederick feel like a little school boy, sitting there on his dunce stool, seeking approval from a stern teacher.  Miss Jennifer gave an amused smile from behind her large, imposing desk as she looked knowingly at her uncomfortable visitor on his hard stool.


“But let’s go back a little bit now, Frederick”, she said.  “You stated that Miss D was not treating you as a patient.  Yet you also said that you were her client.  I want you to explain this to me.  Now.  In precisely what way were you her client?”


Squirming visibly now, on his little perch, Frederick nonetheless began, “Well, you see, Miss Jennifer, that’s, I guess, what I came here to talk to you about.  Its embarrassing though and,…ummm…well…might be a little shocking to a Lady like you.”


“That’s OK, Frederick”, Miss Jennifer replied gently.  Anything you say to me will be held in strictest professional confidence.  Also, you would be surprised at the things I hear in this office.  I doubt you will be able to shock with whatever you may have to say.”  Then, with the frosty tone returning to her voice, Miss Jennifer said, “Now tell me why you are here today, Frederick.”


“Yes, Ma’am, Frederick said quickly, knowing that he could delay no longer and noticing the deference that had come into his own voice when he called her “Ma’am” for the first time.  He wondered how he had been made to feel so meek by this woman, but figured it was because he always seemed to feel that way towards authoritative women.  Especially when Miss D was part of the conversation.


Steeling his courage in order to summon the ability to reveal his naughty secret to this woman he had just met, Frederick almost blurted it out insensibly.  Such was his rush now to get it over with.


“MissDwasmyDisciplinarian and she told me to come talk to you about myneedfordisciplineandwhyihave not done anythingaboutitinsolong.”


“Whoa, whoa, slow down there, boy”, Miss Jennifer said, holding up both hands in a gentle stopping gesture.  “Slow down.”  Then she continued, “Now that was not so hard, was it, Frederick?  Now I want you to calm down and repeat what you just said.  Slowly and clearly and articulating each word.  This is very important Frederick so please follow my instructions closely.  In fact, you would do well to follow ALL of my instructions very closely from now on, do you understand?”


Frederick slowly nodded his head as he suddenly felt a distinct change in the tenor of this conversation.


“You will answer my questions verbally from now on, Frederick.  No more nods or gestures.  I will let that one slip as you do not yet know my rules.  But now, repeat for me what you just said a moment ago.  And remember to speak slowly and clearly.”


“Yes, Ma’am”, Frederick replied, feeling deep apprehension now at Miss Jennifer’s words and tone.


“I said, Miss D was my Disciplinarian, Ma’am.  She told me to come talk to you about my need for discipline and about why I have not done anything about it in so long.”


“Good boy, Frederick”, Miss Jennifer said sweetly.  Now we have the proper basis for further discussion, don’t we?”


“Ummm…well…yes, I guess so, Miss Jennifer”, Frederick answered faintly.


“However, Frederick, I can’t imagine why you might think I would be shocked to hear such a thing, Miss Jennifer replied.  Didn’t you see my door when you came in here?  What did it say on the door?”


Feeling as though here he might be on solid ground, as he had looked at her door for several long moments while torn between knocking and leaving, Frederick replied confidently.  “It says, Miss Jennifer S. – Behavioral Therapist.”


“Exactly, Frederick.  And just what do you think the “S” is for and what do you think being a “Behavioral Therapist” might entail?”, she asked.


With foolish temerity, starting to feel a bit cocky again after his correct answer to the previous question, Frederick replied, “Well I have no idea what the “S” is for, Miss Jennifer.  But I figured a Behavioral Therapist was some kind of counselor or something.  You know, a consultant kind of like some of Miss D’s other professional friends.  I mean, she did tell me to come to you about my…ummm…little problem, right?”


“Yes she did, Frederick”, and with this Miss Jennifer slowly turned over the single sheet of paper she had previously withdrawn from the desk drawer.  Frederick could not see what it contained from his silly perch on the wooden stool, but without looking down at the paper, Miss Jennifer began…


“The “S” in my name is for spanks, Frederick.  As in, Miss Jennifer Spanks.  Do you get it, yet?  My role as behavioral therapist means I spank people like you, Frederick.  I discipline boys like you.  I punish boys like you for bad attitudes and behaviors.  In short, Frederick, I am a Professional Disciplinarian.  Perhaps not unlike your friend, Miss D.”


As Miss Jennifer spoke, Frederick felt an unspeakable dread flood through his entire being.  Oh my God, he thought.  No!  It couldn’t be.  That’s why Miss D had told him to come here?  Oh no!  She had mentioned that she felt he needed regular discipline and that she was concerned he wasn’t getting it.  But…but…she sent him to a Female Disciplinarian…like herself?  Oh God, he thought, I hope not.  I don’t want to be disciplined today.  I don’t even know this woman!  Aggghhh!


With these and other apprehensive thoughts screaming inside his head, Frederick almost missed what Miss Jennifer was now saying.  Something about the piece of paper on her desk??


“Yes, Frederick, as you can clearly see from this note here, Miss D specifically requests that I punish you quite strictly today.  In order to make up for lost opportunities due to your personal negligence in this regard…”


Yet Frederick hardly heard what Miss Jennifer was saying.  His mind was howling…Miss D sent this woman a note?  A note about punishing me?  Oh no.  This can NOT be happening.  I won’t let it happen.  I’ll just get up and leave right now.  What’s to stop me?  This petite little woman?  Hardly!  That’s it, I just get up and leave.  No way I am going to be punished by this woman.


As these thoughts of escape swirled through his little brain, Frederick suddenly re-focused on what Miss Jennifer was saying to him…


“…The inner door to my office is a very solid security door complete with biometric security features and can only be opened from within using my thumbprint and that retinal scanner you see there, Frederick.  So unless you are the kind of boy who is going to be violent and psychotic and try to push my hand and eyeball up against the scanners, you will not be going anywhere until I am done with you.  Miss D assured me in her note that you are not that kind of boy.  Are you, Frederick, are you that kind of boy?”


OMG, thought Frederick.  How in the heck did she know what I was thinking?  Retinal scanner, biometric security?  What is hell had he gotten himself into?  OMG…I can’t escape.  This woman is going to punish me and there is nothing I can do about it…  OH, Miss D…how could you?


But Frederick knew very well how Miss D could and had…she had always known how to get Her way with him.  Oh no!


As if deep in a cave, Frederick heard Miss Jennifer saying, “Now stand up and remove your clothes, Frederick.  That’s right, everything.  Miss D specifically asked me to punish you in the nude and it suits my preference for a naughty boy like you, too.  So fold everything neatly and place your clothes and shoes in the foot locker over there by the wall.  While you are undressing, I will just fetch my implements from the punishment closet here…”


Implements?  Punish in the nude?  Punishment closet?  Oooooh…this is really happening, thought poor Frederick.  What could he do?  He obviously was NOT the type to violently resist.  Certainly not with a petite, attractive young woman like Miss Jennifer.


“I would obey quickly now, Frederick, unless you want it to go much harder on you than it already will”, Miss Jennifer was saying.


Dazed and intimidated by this dreadful turn of events and the inescapable predicament he now found himself in, Frederick did finally realize that he had better do as Miss Jennifer instructed.  Resigning himself now to the inevitable and wanting to give a good account of himself lest poor report make it back to Miss D, Frederick quickly stripped himself completely naked.  He neatly folded his clothes and placed them, along with his shoes, in the indicated foot locker.


Miss Jennifer, who had retrieved from her closet a well-worn leather strap, a hard wooden paddle and a wicked looking little hairbrush, arranged these items neatly on her large desk.  Then she pulled a key from a chain around her neck and very purposefully locked the foot locker containing all of Frederick’s clothes.


Now completely stark naked, the beginnings of an utterly inappropriate erection making itself evident, Frederick heard Miss Jennifer say with dreadful authority…”Now we can get started on your long overdue punishment, Frederick.  Let’s just see how well you can behave for your new Female Disciplinarian.  Bend over that stool.  Now, you naughty boy, you!”

The Tutor – 2,967 words


            That was never going to be good enough. Sure, for me, in Algebra, it was something of a minor miracle, but it wasn’t going to be anything other than disappointing to my tutor. And I really didn’t want to disappoint her. She had worked hard to help me, to get me ready for the test, and all I could do was come in at just above average.

            I wandered around campus for about an hour that brisk fall afternoon, wondering if I could come up with a clever enough excuse to avoid the tutoring session I had scheduled at 4:00. But I had never been a convincing liar, and if she suspected something was wrong she probably would have called my mother, who was paying for the sessions. That would’ve resulted in a cut to my monthly entertainment budget, and I was already behind my quota on college beers and parties. The best thing, I decided, was to just get it over with quickly. To promise to do better, to actually do better, and get that B+ minimum on my semester final.

            It was not a far walk to the off-campus apartment where Jennifer lived and conducted tutoring sessions. Miss Jennifer (as she preferred to be called) was in her last year at the university, compared to my status as a Freshman, and earned extra money by tutoring students such as myself. The sky was bright as I crunched across the leaf-strewn sidewalks and up the wooden staircase to her second floor apartment. I hesitated before knocking on the door, trying to think of some convincing way to postpone this moment and not disappoint Miss Jennifer. I couldn’t, so I knocked.

            Miss Jennifer pulled open the door a few seconds later. “C______,” she greeted me with a smile, the kind of bright intoxicating smile that probably made every one of her pupils, male and female, fall in love with her. She was dressed as always in nice skirt and blouse. I had never seen her in anything like jeans or a sweatshirt. Today her skirt was a deep blue, almost black and the blouse was white and somewhat sheer. The clothing was just tight enough to enhance the generous curves of her five-foot frame. She was unnecessarily distracting as a math tutor, but that was totally one of the reasons that I kept coming back. “Oh come in, I’ve been looking forward to seeing your grade.” I stepped inside her apartment and pulled the test paper out of my jacket. The apartment seemed different; she’d moved the beige couch from the far wall under the window, to a spot below a large painting of a garden. The bookcases lining the opposite wall remained the same, and the dining room table was still tucked away in the small alcove off to the side.

            “I like the new arrangement,” I said, still trying to avoid the inevitable.

            “I had to move the couch,” she explained. “One of my pupils accidentally kicked that bookcase and knocked the vase off the top.” As explanations go, that didn’t make a lot of sense to me. What did the location of the couch have to do with someone kicking the bookcase?

            “How did that happen?”

            “I told you I sometimes use special motivational techniques,” she said. “The reactions can be unpredictable at times. Let me see your paper.” She pulled the test out of my hand while I was still wondering what she meant by special motivational techniques. The look on her face told me she was disappointed. “A C+?” she asked. “All the tutoring I’ve provided and the best you can do is a C+.” She started to flip through the pages, reviewing the problems and my answers.

            “I know I should have done better,” I reply. “But you know how hard this stuff is for me. That’s one of the best grades I’ve ever received in a math course.”

            “X equals five,” she pointed to one of the equations I missed. “How does x equal five here? We went over this kind of equation more than a dozen times.”

            “I know. I guess I just don’t get it.”

            “Oh, don’t give me that. I know this stuff is a little tough for you, but you’re not stupid. Did you do the extra study problems I gave you last week?”

            “Uh, yeah, I did most of them,” now she was glaring at me, her dark eyes shining with anger.

            “Let me see,” she commanded.

            “I, uh, don’t have them with me.”

            “But if you were to go and get them and bring them back they would be completed?”

            “Some of them.”

            “Don’t you dare lie to me about this, C______, because I will require you to show me that you worked on those problems.”

            “I know I worked on at least one or two,” I answered. I knew I had started on at least one, so that wasn’t a lie.

            “So, I gave you 15 problems to specifically help you in preparing for your test, by covering areas where you are particularly weak and, to you, working on one or two qualifies as doing most of them. Even you aren’t that bad at math.”

            “I guess I didn’t do most of them.”

            “No,” she agreed. “You failed to do most them, and as a result did significantly poorer on your test than you should have. Then you lied to me about why you were so poorly prepared. For any of my pupils who make an effort studying for a test I would never consider using of my special motivational techniques for an honestly earned C+. But because you failed to make such an effort, and then lied to me about it, I think such techniques are called for. Don’t you agree?”

            “I don’t know, what techniques are you talking about?”

            “Well,” she started, “I’m going to take you over to the couch, I’m going to pull down your pants, place you across my lap and give you a good hard spanking on your bare bottom.” She said that as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

            “No,” I said, my voice was shaking, “I don’t think so.”

            “Yes,” she said. “Take off your jacket.” I didn’t move, but she stepped across the room to her desk, opened a drawer and pulled out an 18-inch wooden ruler.

            “I’m not going to do that,” I stammered.

            “Then you’ll have to try and find yourself a new tutor, and I’ll put the word out in the math department that you are a difficult student. Then I’ll tell your mother why I dropped you, and based on what you’ve told me she’ll cut off your spending money.” Now I could have probably lived with a little less spending money, and I didn’t give a damn and a half what the math department thought of me, but the idea of losing Miss Jennifer as a tutor really disturbed me.

            “Isn’t there some other way to deal with this?” I asked. “Can’t you give me another chance to do better?”

            “I am giving you another chance to do better,” she pointed the ruler at me and walked over to the couch. “But the only way to earn that chance is to get over here and take your punishment.”

            “C’mon,” I begged, “I’m not some kid you can just spank for being bad. You don’t really do this to your other pupils do you?”

            “But you are, and I can and I do. You acted exactly like an irresponsible kid when you failed to complete those study problems that I gave you and you acted like a naughty one when you lied to me about it. And all of my pupils who require such measures are subject to them if they wish for me to continue as their tutor. Over 80 percent of them take the spanking. The rest I have nothing more to do with.”

            “But that can’t be legal.”

            “What’s not legal?” she asked. “I am by no means forcing you to get over my knee for a spanking, you are doing so of your own free will, because YOU recognize the need for discipline and motivation in your life.” She settled down onto the center of the couch. “In fact, at this point you need to request that I spank you in order for me to even consider doing so. You can come over here and respectfully ask me to spank you or leave now and never come back.”

            Suddenly my mind shifted from being afraid that Miss Jennifer would spank me to being terrified that she wouldn’t. I took off my jacket and laid it across a chair and started walking very slowly over to the couch, her intense dark eyes watching as I moved. Each step forward I contemplated running away, thinking about how insane all of this was. But halfway to the couch I knew that I was going to go through with it. Miss Jennifer was right. I had wasted her efforts by not studying as hard as I should have, by not taking advantage of every opportunity she had given me. And then I lied to her, what seemed like such a little lie at the time, but she asked me a question that had a simple answer and I choose not to tell her the truth. By the time I reached the couch I was convinced that she was right. I did deserve a spanking. “Please, Miss Jennifer,” I started, “please give me a spanking.”

            “That’s a good start,” her gaze, though still stern, had softened some. “Ask again and tell me why you deserve a spanking.”

            “Please, Miss Jennifer, please give me a spanking for being lazy and not completing my studies and for being dishonest and lying about it.”

            “It will be my pleasure,” she reached over and unbuckled my belt, unzipped my pants and pushed them down past my thighs. “Get across my lap,” she ordered, guiding me slowly into position, my shoulders resting against the couch cushion, my hips pushed up across her lean thighs. I felt her reach into the waistband of my boxer-briefs before peeling them slowly away from my bottom. The air was very cool against my suddenly bare skin and her hand started out soft and delicate as she quickly explored the curves of my cheeks. A shiver went up my spine as I waited for her to start.

            A loud SMACK broke the silence as she slapped her palm into the center of my left cheek, the sound of the impact as much a shock to me as the sting of the hit. It was followed very rapidly with a series of loud SMACKS, each one a fresh revelation of pain as her small, delicate palm became an instrument of pure torment. I pushed against the couch as to make my escape. “Stay still,” she commanded, her free hand pressing me back against the cushions. Yes, she was somewhat stronger than she appeared, but I don’t think her hand held me down as much as the sheer force of her will. I had already surrendered. It had probably been no more than an eternal first minute, but my skin was blazing with the stings of several dozen hard slaps. Miss Jennifer had only begun. Each new slap seemed harder than the last, and the torrent of them seemed unbearable. I was struggling to endure them, to not cry out in pain, but every time I thought I had found a way to do so, Miss Jennifer upped her game, finding a new tender spot of flesh or an angle of attack that brought a fresh sting to my burning skin. “This is no less than you deserve,” she lectured.

            “OW,” I answered, “I know, but it hurts.”

            “It’s supposed to hurt,” she punctuated her statement with a fresh series of hard loud slaps. “That’s how I know it’s working.” My bottom was throbbing with pain; I could feel the heat of the spanking and easily imagined that it was already glowing red.

            “I know I was wrong to neglect my studies,” I choked out between a series of brutal smacks, “but I think I’ve learned my lesson.”

            “And I think,” she slapped a fresh volley of fierce swats across my upper thighs, “that I will be the judge of what you deserve and what you’ve learned, young man.” I wiggled uncontrollably across her firm thighs as her palm lit fire after fire across my bottom and thighs. Every few dozen smacks she would switch hands, bringing fresh strength to the hard spanks that followed. “Hold still,” she commanded harshly, “and take your punishment like a man.” My hands were digging into the couch cushion as I tried better to hold still for her, mostly because I hoped that it would end my torment sooner, but also because I didn’t want to disappoint her by failing to take what she dished out.

            Then, as suddenly as she had started, the spanking stopped. My bottom throbbed in pain, but there were no more violent slaps against my tender flesh or loud sounds of her hand smacking against my butt. “Your bottom is really red,” she said, her palm gently caressing my skin, “and very hot.” My whole body relaxed at the thought that the spanking was over. “Too bad I’m not done with you yet.”

            “Oh why,” I begged, “I took your spanking.”

            “Yes, you did,” she agreed, “and not too badly. But that was only the spanking you deserved for not working as hard as promised in preparing for your test. You still deserve something for that lie you told me earlier.” She held the wooden ruler out far enough for me to see it. “And I think that this is just the little tool to teach you to not lie to me.”

            “But that’s going to hurt,” I whined the obvious.

            “Yes,” she agreed, “it is.” She placed the ruler across the center of my burning bottom, the smooth, cool wood feeling rather soothing against my hot skin. But she was only lining up her first shot. A second later she whipped the thin piece of wood down across my butt, a loud CRACK echoing through the room as it hit. The fresh pain was like an epiphany and I jerked up and cried out. “Be still,” she said, taking little time to scold me before a fresh series of loud CRACKs filled my ears. It felt as if the ruler was tearing each nerve ending out of my skin as she repeatedly whipped the thing against my poor tender bottom. My hands were again clenched into tight fists around portions of the couch cushion as I tried to endure each brutal blow. At every moment that I thought I was getting a handle on the pain, Miss Jennifer would find a new spot of flesh to torment. “Now I expect that after this you will know better than to ever lie to me again.”

            “Yes, Miss Jennifer,” I was close to crying by now, “I’m sorry, Miss Jennifer. I’ll never lie, never again.” My apology and promise did nothing to lessen the force with which Miss Jennifer spanked that ruler against my bottom and thighs. If anything she seemed to hit me all the harder and faster. None of the stinging fires she lit across my tender flesh had even a remote chance to fade away before a fresh one was lit, and the sound of the wood CRACKing against my skin filled the room like a string of exploding firecrackers. “Oh, please, please stop,” I begged.

            “I will stop when you have learned your lesson,” she replied casually. I wanted to protest further, but through the fog of pain I came to realize that she indeed would be the best judge of when I had learned my lesson, so I gritted my teeth and tried to endure the dozens of harsh blows that followed. Miss Jennifer continued her relentless assault on my sore bottom for a longer time than I would have imagined possible, measuring with a hard CRACK every square inch of my flesh. It was more agony then I had ever experienced before.

            Then there was silence. The constant torrent of fresh pain against bare skin had come to an end, and now there was only the burning heat and tingling soreness of my well punished behind. Her hand was soft again as she caressed the tortured flesh briefly, inspecting her own work as if to determine whether or not she had finished the job. To my relief she must have decided that she had. “Okay, get up,” she ordered. I obeyed, reaching to pull my underwear back up as I stood. “No, no,” she said. “I’ll tell you when to pull those up. Come with me.” She rose gracefully from the couch and strolled across to the dining room table. I half pulled up my pants and hobbled after her. She pulled out one of the wooden chairs, and I panicked for a moment, thinking she was just putting me in a new punishment position. “Take a seat and we’ll go over these test problems.”

            “Yes, Miss Jennifer,” I replied, settling my burning bare bottom down against the hard, cold surface of the chair. She sat in the chair next to me and placed the test on the table.

            “Let’s see if we can figure out where you went wrong here,” she smiled.

            I finished our session that day with a greater understanding of Algebra, a hug of forgiveness for my laziness and deceit, and a promise that special motivational techniques would be a regular part of my lessons from now on.


I may have the most boring job in the world.  I process maintenance renewals for a copier company.  I spend my day alternating between staring at my computer screen, my cube wall, and the clock.


It is a decent living but only enough to pay the bills, the rest of my life is often just as unexciting. I am good looking, in shape, good personality, all of those supposedly desirable things but I am lacking all of the other accomplishments I thought I would have at this stage in my life.  I am still young though – I just need to turn the proverbial “corner” – for one thing I have been lacking any sort of discipline and order in my life.  I have been needing something or someone to get me going in the right direction.


My work life was painfully boring but needless to say when our new Vice President Ms. Jennifer was hired - it changed my entire day, my entire outlook. 


This was an exceptional woman from day one in her position – she immediately earned the respect of her peers and her subordinates.  She knew her stuff and within a few weeks she had turned the division completely around. It was amazing to see the impact on people she had in a short amount of time. Her demeanor was strict and direct, but she was also immensely caring and knowledgeable about the tasks that had to be done.


As much professional and personal respect that I had for her I had difficulty subduing my desires for her.  Every time that she walked by, every time I saw her I tried to steal a glance before she noticed.  I couldn't help myself.  I am a single man, I have urges.  Seeing the curve of her breast or her beautiful legs made me blush uncontrollably.  If I had any hope of maintaining myself I had to try and look away. 


I did not want to lose my job.


I worked hard every day and every day I worked late.  This is one thing we had in common, we were both often the last two people to leave the office. 


It was a Friday around 7pm and everyone had gone home for the weekend.  I had been in the copier room and I think Ms. Jennifer thought she was alone in the office.  I was walking back to my desk when I looked down the hall and saw her office door still a few inches open.  As I looked closer I could see that Ms. Jennifer changing her clothes. It was probably a date she was getting ready for; she was very private about her personal life.  She was still in her bra and panties and was removing one of her high-heeled shoes.  My first instinct was to flee – I was scared of the possibility of her seeing me and I truly respected her – but my other instincts took over.  I stopped and I took a few steps closer.  Before long I was only a few feet away, entranced. 


She was unzipping her skirt - she must have sensed me being there and she locked right into my staring eyes.


I tried to bolt out of her view but her voice stopped me dead in my tracks.  “STOP!”


The air gushed out of me - “I'm sorry-- I thought--”


“What the hell are you doing – were you spying on me? 


Get in here right now... NOW.” 


My heart stopped for several seconds but I managed to stumble over, into her office.


“I'm so sorry.. I...”


She cut me off.  “Stop!..... stop.  Get in here now.” 


“How would you like if I saw you naked?” Ms. Jennifer was in her bra and panties but quickly put on her jacket.


I had only a mumbled reply.


“What do you think you're doing. Do you want your job?? You know I could fire you today and no one would ever know you ever existed.  Do you want your job?”


I was in a total state of shock.


There was an uncomfortable silence – me standing there with my hands at my sides and staring at the floor.


“I can't believe this.  I don't want to fire you, why are you are you putting me in this position.  We have to settle this now.'


Another pause.


“Take off your clothes.  Right now.  If you want your job you are going to accept my punishment and you are not going to let this happen again.”




“If you don't get completely naked right now I will report you to Human Resources.  Your choice.”


Still in shock -I started to take off my clothes.  First my shirt which I tossed to the side.


“I should fire you – I should fire you right now.”


I slipped off my shoes, pulled down my khaki pants and dropped them on the floor.  I was embarassed for Ms. Jennifer  to see my penis – I was mentally aroused in a scared, personal way but not physically – I was completely scared and humbled.


She walked toward me and put her palm around the back of my neck, guiding me.


“Bend over the desk and put your hands to the sides.”


I quickly bent over and put my face side down on the desk, gripping both sides.


“Please.. I didn't mean to...”


Immediately I felt a very hard slap on my ass – her hand stayed in place on my ass cheek and she leaned in very close and whispered in my ear.


“And you will refer to me as MISS Jennifer .  This is only the beginning. You will accept this punishment.  And we will never speak of this ever again.”


I stayed in position as she slapped my ass with her hand several times, harder each time. With each slap I exhaled..  There was silence between us and then a long pause.


She walked over to the wall in her office – I had noticed it before but it hadn't completely crossed my mind until now.  She was an equestrian – champion horse rider -  she had several whips on display along with her trophies.


I heard a whip come off of the hinges – my face was still on the desk. 


“You are going to get 10 hard lashes from this whip –  then another 10 from my paddle.”


She took a key from her pocket and unlocked a file drawer and she pulled it out, a large leather paddle and put it on the desk.


“When I am finished you will put on your clothes and you will go home.  On Monday you will look at me only professionally, if I suspect anything more, if you can't keep this between us then I will explain it to HR in a way that won't work out well for you.” 


She picked up the long riding crop off of the rack, the whip –  a stiff leather whip about 24 inches long with a square double-thick ending.


“Arch your back...”  


I complied.



Thwhhaaattt!   The first stroke hit my ass square in the middle, perpendicular and leaving an immediate red mark. I could feel the welt rising...





I was embarrassed – standing here with my ass in the air – what is happening?!?!




It was almost 4-5 seconds between whippings, I wanted to cry.  I started to wiggle but Miss Jennifer  held me back in place:



I began to groan louder to no avail-





Miss Jennifer  gently touched the side of my bottom -  I was breathing heavily, my ass was red hot, welts in all directions.


Staring at the wall – scared but exhilarated.  She let almost a full minute pass in silence.  She touched her fingers gently on the redness of my ass.  I tensed up, in pain but knowing I deserved more.


Miss Jennifer picked up the leather paddle.


She patiently asked me again. “Arch your back.”


This time she reached back and came back with everything she had with the force of the leather paddle:






“Do not forget this.”








She waited, almost forever, while my ass was in the air.  I was still so embarrassed but the pain took my mind away from it. 




“This is almost over.”




Miss Jennifer  ran her fingers around the raised welts on my ass.




Another pause and silence like an eternity.... again she was observing her handiwork.




the 10th stroke of the leather paddle was the hardest – my head arched back in the air with a loud gasp of pure pain – and pleasure..


She put her hand on my ass, now against the multiple welts and the redness. She didn't display it but I could feel the tenderness of her heart....


“Miss Jennifer – I'm so sorry-”


“Be quiet – don't say another word.  Now or ever unless I speak to you again directly. You will do your job, you will be the best at what you do. If not we will be here again.”


Miss Jennifer walked over to her side desk.  She put on her earrings and  adjusted her bracelets.  She took the jacket off of the hook and gave me one last glance as she put it on.  Before I knew it  she walked out of the doorway.


I kept my position on the desk with my fingers still grasping the edges, my ass on absolute fire...


Arched over the desk I watched her walk down the hallway.


“See you tomorrow.  Don't be late.”


She walked out of view.

Caught – Red Handed!

Auntie Jennifer is taking care of me while my Mom is out of town. She is strict and has lots of rules so I’m trying to be on my best behavior, but today my curiosity got the best of me. Auntie always dresses so nicely, skirts and low cut silk blouses with elegant high heeled shoes or thigh high boots. One thing that one never does is disobey Auntie Jennifer.  It’s just not done in my family.

Soft silky things seem to draw me to them like a moth to flame so I don’t really remember exactly how I got there but there I was standing in Auntie Jennifer’s room, the fading light of the day fending off the deepening shadows enough for me to see the handles of the top dresser drawer which I slowly began to ease open.  I pulled evenly on both handles, ever so slowly, not making but a whisper of sound barely audible. Standing on my tip-toes so I could see the silky prizes nestled inside. My adolescent body was quivering with the excitement of the moment.  Still on tip-toes I reached up and grasped a shiny silky red pair of Aunties panties. Shaking with increasing excitement I felt the cool smooth silk on my fingers and held the panties up to my face. I was completely lost in pleasure, eyes closed, as the cool silky fabric slid over the excitement warm skin of my face.

‘CLICK’ My darkness acclimated eyes were suddenly blinded by bright light, the forgotten panties falling from fear numbed fingers. Trying to get the stolen panties under my slippers and hide my excited state at the same time, blinking rapidly to adjust my vision, turning towards the door that was now flung wide open. My vision clearing, finally focuses eye level on Auntie Jennifer’s midsection. Slowly I pan up to see a very stern looking Auntie Jennifer, hands on hips, high heeled foot tapping. Before I can even begin to stammer out any excuses Auntie Jennifer pinches the top of my ear firmly between her thumb and forefinger and it’s all I can do to keep from being dragged along over to the bed where Auntie unceremoniously deposits me. 

Her stern look withers me, “What are my rules regarding my room?” Auntie Jennifer asks me.

“I’m not allowed in your room without explicit permission” I stammer.

“My panty drawer is open too young man. You do realize there will be severe consequences for these infractions?” Auntie Jennifer states as she reaches out and grabs my ear again, pulling me up.  Auntie slowly walks around me, her heels clicking on the hard wood floor. She makes that’ tsking’ sound as she notices my still excited state. “Perhaps I need to have a chat with your mother too and tell her how very naughty you really are?”

“No, no please Auntie Jennifer, no!” I shout. She bends over to retrieve the panties from the floor and I can’t help but notice the excellent view of her perfectly formed posterior. My cheeks heat up in a furious blush as I’m caught in the peek.

“Eyes down naughty boy! Do not look up unless I give you permission!” Auntie Jennifer commands, “You are in so much trouble with me and it hasn’t even been 2 hours since your mother left! What were you doing in my panty drawer anyway? Do you like panties?” she said waving the panties in front of my face. My eyes can’t help but follow the panties back and forth as she waves them.  “I think some extended discipline is called for and you WILL obey me unless you want me to tell your mother!” says Auntie Jennifer.

“No, please don’t tell Auntie Jennifer! I’ll obey!” I quickly reply.

“You had better …” Auntie Jennifer tells me.

She pulls my pants and underwear down to my ankles and instructs “March over to my chair and prepare for you punishment naughty boy.” I struggle to walk normally which is impossible with my pants and underwear pulled down. I can see the amusement in Auntie’s eyes as she follows my progress across the room. She takes 3 swift strides to the chair, her long dark pony tail swishing from side to side and smoothly seats herself in the solid oak straight backed chair. She grabs my wrist and pulls me up onto her lap. Kicking legs, partially restrained at the ankles by the pants and underwear, dangling well above the ground. I struggle for balance as I feel the warmth of Auntie Jennifer’s silk stocking encased thighs. Auntie leans forward her mouth right next to my ear, “You will be thoroughly punished for your infractions young man, “she promises.

Auntie Jennifer begins to spank my exposed upturned bottom with her bare hand, alternately on each cheek. I’m startled by the amazingly loud and somewhat erotic sounds her spanks are making reverberating off the walls of the room. I involuntarily squeak in protest and surprise. The initial sting results in tears springing from my eyes and rolling slowly down my face. 

“Be quiet and stop squirming or it will be worse, “Auntie Jennifer instructs.  A deft movement of her well toned leg traps both of my legs under her one leg. “Open up, “she says and through my tear blurred eyes I can see her holding the panties from the drawer in a beautiful silky wad in front of my mouth. I clamp my mouth tighter, but Auntie merely pinches my nose closed with her other hand and when I open up to take a breath she quickly stuffs them deep enough into my mouth where I can still breathe, mostly through my nose, but not easily spit them out. She begins the hand spanking again with more vigor, my feeble cries muffled by the panties, the sound of her hand spanking me seems deafening, my poor bottom on fire and goes on for a long while before it suddenly stops and I am pushed off her lap. Auntie Jennifer gently removes the panty wad from my mouth.

“Go stand in the corner and don’t move a muscle. I want you to be thinking about what you’ve done mister, “Auntie Jennifer says. I shuffle to the corner, quickly glancing behind me.

“Move in closer to the wall and stop squirming!” She admonishes, nudging me in so my face is only about an inch from the wall. I hear Auntie Jennifer opening and closing drawers rummaging through one, but I don’t dare turn again. I can’t help but reach back and rub my burning bottom. The movement sets me slightly off balance as my feet catch a bit on the pants and underwear still around my ankles. “Stand still and put you arms at your sides, I didn’t tell you to move.” Auntie says.

After a while I sense Auntie Jennifer’s presence towering above me from behind as well as her body blocking the light from the lamp deepening the shadow of the corner.  She bends down and I feel her soft hands rub some kind of lotion onto my hot spanked cheeks, cooling them somewhat. Briefly I wonder at the softness of her hands that had so recently felt so dense and hard when she was spanking me. “Back over my lap naughty one, we’re not done by a long shot.” Auntie says. As I turn my eyes widen in fright as I glimpse the huge wooden paddle Auntie Jennifer is wielding. She smacks the paddle into the palm of her free hand testing its balance, a stern gleam in her eye.  As I open my mouth to protest Auntie pops the wadded panties back into my mouth. “Hush, over my lap.” She says.

As I obediently climb up Auntie pulls the pants and underwear off my dangling legs. I see the shadow of her paddle rise into the air on the far wall and hear the whoosh of air as it descends onto both cheeks and the loud smack as my punishment resumes. With each smack of Auntie’s punishment paddle across my burning cheeks I can’t help but to continually squirm in her warm lap. I can hear my own cries muffled through the panties stuffed in my mouth and I turn my head slightly and glimpse the mirror on the dresser and see myself across Auntie Jennifer’s lap. Her polished solid oak punishment paddle whistling down in slow motion, compressing my bright red cheeks underneath it on each painful swat.  The paddling continues and I cannot stop looking in the mirror, the paddle catching light from the lamp as it goes up and down tirelessly in Auntie Jennifer’s strong hand and arm. My tears are flowing freely now, the swats are not quite as loud as the hand spanks, but definitely more painful. Finally Auntie stops momentarily.

“I hope you are learning your lesson young man” she says. “You will be spanked every day until your mother returns and if I hear one word about it I WILL tell her everything!” Auntie promises. “Now stand up and go look at your bottom in the mirror.” I stand up whimpering and turn my bottom towards the mirror, looking over my shoulder. I can’t believe how bright red it is! When I turn back to look at Auntie Jennifer she is standing next to me. She reaches up and removes the panties from my mouth. I hear the front door open and I look askance at Auntie, but she does not immediately react. “You know I’m punishing you because I love you my naughty little boy.” Auntie says as she ruffles the hair on my head.

“Now since you like my panties so much you’re going to put a pair on and march out into the living room.” Auntie announces, handing me a fresh pair, pale green and made of a soft stretchy material. Not daring to do anything else I obediently don the panties. When I hesitate at the bedroom door Auntie gently pushes me forward and we walk out into the living room. Still sniffling back tears I see Auntie Jennifer’s best friend Miss Brooke, tall, blond, willowy with a statuesque beauty standing in the living room holding a small well worn black leather paddle, hip cocked to one side. She giggles at my comical appearance in Auntie Jennifer’s panties which are obviously too big for me and sliding down slightly revealing my well spanked bottom. 

“Such a naughty boy! You were caught red handed in the panty drawer weren’t you? Naughty boys like you always need discipline and punishment.” Miss Brooke says, smiling down at me.

“Miss Brooke is going to assist me with your punishment for the duration of your mother’s absence and if you know what’s good for you, you will obey her implicitly.” Auntie Jennifer tells me. Miss Brooke hands Auntie Jennifer the paddle, sits down on the couch and motions me over to her lap. Accepting my fate I climb over Miss Brooke’s lap crosswise, my arm and legs supported by the couch. Auntie Jennifer begins to walk around me and Miss Brooke whispers to me, “Naughty boys get punished and spanked.”

“SWAT” Auntie Jennifer expertly delivers a stinging spank with paddle across my panty clad bottom.

“SWAT” “You must be very obedient” Miss Brooke soothingly whispers.

“SWAT” My face is pressed into the couch cushions with the force of spanks, muffling my whimpers.

“SWAT” I begin to struggle and Miss Brooke holds me in place effortlessly.

“SWAT” I try to put my hands over my bottom to block Auntie Jennifer’s next spank, but Miss Brooke restrains both of my wrists in one hand. “It’s for your own good naughty boy” she whispers gently.

“Pull his panties down” Auntie Jennifer tells Miss Brooke. She crooks her forefinger into the waistband and pulls the panties down so the elastic rests against the bottoms of my now very red and well spanked cheeks.

“SWAT, SWAT, SWAT, SWAT, SWAT, SWAT” Auntie Jennifer alternates cheeks as Miss Brooke holds me firmly in place over her lap and just when I think I can take no more the spanking ends. I’m placed on my feet between my two Disciplinarians. Miss Brooke removes the panties and Auntie Jennifer applies more soothing lotion onto my stinging bottom. When Auntie is satisfied with the lotion she hands me fresh pajamas and instructs me to put them on.

“Now young man, you will be spanked daily to make sure you are well behaved while I’m here” Auntie Jennifer tells me. “Miss Brooke will pick you up from school each day and bring you home and prepare you. You will listen to her and impress me by being very obedient. Miss Brooke will have you strip down, put you in panties for 30 minutes of corner time until I arrive. Then I will administer your spanking while Miss Brooke observes. We will help you with your homework, then we will have dinner. Is that understood?” I nod meekly without speaking. “Very good” Auntie says visibly pleased.

Miss Brooke and Auntie Jennifer walk me to my bedroom, turn down my covers and tuck me in. Standing on either side of the bed they both bend down at the same time and kiss me goodnight.

A Long Time Comin'

Essentially, I was in time travel. 


Nagging guilt from a schoolboy transgression, one which hurt my mother terribly, built the pressure to fuel the trip. 


I already told Miss Jennifer about the email I had typed to a friend in the seventh grade. I told her how my good 'friend' had printed that email off and left it for the teacher to find. I told her how my mother had cried when I brought the note home for her to read and sign. My mother held her head in her hands and sobbed. She was so hurt she didn't have the heart to tell my father. I told Miss Jennifer I had gone unpunished. 


Everything was in place. I was 14 again, coming home from school. I had the note in my pocket. 


Miss Jennifer met me at the door.


"Hi mom."


"Hello, son. How was school?" Mother smiled and retreated to the kitchen, pulling a jug of lemonade from the fridge. "Well, how was school? Did you get to try out the emailing in Mr. Gustav's class? Did you learn how to do it?"


Mom stopped pouring lemonade and turned around. 


"What's wrong?" 


She walked toward me. 


"Mom, I have this note." 


I pulled the note out of my pocket. Mother put her hands on her hips for a second. She sighed and grabbed the note, unfolding it to read."


I tried to swallow. The half-full glass of lemonade sat on the counter nearby. 


Mother frowned deeply, her eyes darting back and forth on the paper. Finally she looked up. I shrunk.


"Listen, Aaron. I can tell you one thing right off the bat here. I am going to spank your bare butt for this." 


Mother took three powerful strides to pull a dining room chair out into the center of the kitchen. 


"Come here."


I furrowed my brow and peered up at her.




I walked over to her just as she sat down on the chair. She pulled me by the wrist, guided me to her side. Her hands were fast. She pulled open my jeans and yanked down my pants and underwear with one swift, sure motion. The stark cool of my nakedness shocked me. 


"We know one thing right now," mother began. "You are going to get a spanking on your bare butt and it will be one you will not forget. But first you and I are going to have a little chat about what you wrote in that email today. Since you know, regardless of how the conversation goes, you will be going over my knee with your pants down, we are going to have the chat with your pants down. Maybe this will help the message sink in."


My penis bobbed a little. I knew the years of excitement over the thought of spanking was the cause of this stirring. I looked at Miss Jennifer. She had not even glanced at my privates. From the moment she yanked my pants down she had ignored that area as if it didn't even exist. This brought me deeper into the time travel I was experiencing. I was her little boy. I knew her focus was on punishing me, and the fear of this impending punishment was now flashing through my belly like white lightning. 


Mother pulled the note open again.


"So your going to 'go to the lake this weekend and drinks some beers and f some girls up the butt?"


I looked down as she quoted my email. It embarrassing to hear my mother say those words. 


"Answer me!"


"No mom, it was just a joke. I was joking and stupid Shane printed it and made sure the teacher read it!"


"Young man, I don't care what excuses you may have for this. What you have written hear is unacceptable. It is degrading to women and ..."


"But mom, it was a joke!", I interrupted.


Mother stood up and slapped my mouth. I was stunned. Then she took my wrist again and sat down while pulling me forward over her lap. I noticed the wooden spoon and as my balance was disturbed a profound fear gripped me. I found myself over mother's lap, my bottom bare, my senses open to what was happening. 


The first spank closed that acceptance. The sting of the spoon spread quickly. I breathed out hard and reached back only to have my hand forced away by mom as she swung the spoon again, harder. I didn't want to be there anymore. Five searing spanks later I the mental denial was pushed out by unfathomable pain and I went limp over mothers knees, crying out to her. My hot tears and the consistent swats of the spoon brought me further into my fourteen-year old psyche. Contrary to the pain, a comforting notion gripped the back of my mind, barely evident: I was in the right place. 


It didn't change the discomfort of the severe spanking mother was giving me. 


I knew I was in the right place but I was in great pain. I kicked my legs involuntarily and mother handled me. I tried to twist my hips to avoid the stinging spanks and mother handled me, spanking the whole time. She painted my bare butt bright red with that spoon. 


Then she stopped. 


She helped me up and I was sobbing and hiccuping. I reached for my bottom but mother's strong grip took my arm and steered me to the corner. 


"You are not done young man. You will stand in this corner while I get your father's belt."


The kitchen was quiet. I peered over at the lemonade. The glass was sweating. I imagined if I had not written the email. I pictured me sitting with mother laughing about the day and sipping the cool drink. I heard mom walking back into the kitchen and I cried softly. 


"Aaron, I am very upset. I know that you will learn your lesson today. I want you to bend over the chair now. I am going to give you a lickin'. If you try to block the belt or try to get up you will be a very sorry young man. I suggest you take this punishment. You deserve it."


I whimpered but complied. The chair felt much colder than mother's lap as I leaned over it. My pants were bunched up at my sneakers along with my underwear. 


"I am going to sign that note, Aaron. But there had better not be any more behavior like this. Ever."


The belt whistled through the air and stung across my crack with a pesky bite. I lurched my hips forward and crinkled my face. I was crying in earnest before the second lick layered on a repetitious burn.   

Each whip of the belt grew ever-stinging fire. I could barely breathe as the incredible sound of the belt filled my ears and the intense pain swam over my naked rear. 


Mother's soft hand grasped my arm once more, stranding me up. As she sat in the chair again I lost it.


"Please mommy ..."


"We're done now, Aaron."


She pulled me down to a seated position on her lap, comforting me. 


My bare rear was numb on the outside, and encased deep in my bottom was an assuring warmth, an extension of the burning spanking mother had given me. The radiance of it was so bright. My guilt was outshone by a beautiful light. 


I looked into mother's eyes. 


"Thank you."


Mom looked into my eyes as earnestly as she had when she first yanked down my pants. 


"Your welcome."

Playing with Fire

I spent a few months saving most of the allowance Miss Jennifer gives me and gathering information on ski resorts.  I wanted to take her on a vacation.  She does a great job taking care of and putting up with me.  She definitely deserves this.  When I presented this, I explained what I had done and why I wanted to do this for her.  Miss Jennifer loved the idea.  After a couple weeks she made her decision as to where we would go and when:  Aspen, CO in February.  She added that she already took care of everything.


The morning we were to leave, Miss Jennifer got up early and woke me up.  Since everything I was taking was packed, I figured I could sleep for another hour or two.  She came back in 15 minutes later and saw me sound asleep.  Pulling back the covers, she delivered a very hard swat with her bath brush causing me to grab my butt and sit on the edge of the bed.  I tried to convince her I was up, but she wouldn’t have any of it.  I had 2 choices:  bend over the end of the bed and take what I have coming or argue and have a very uncomfortable flight.  I stood up, dropped my boxers and bent over the end of the bed.  Saying “Good boy”, Miss Jennifer delivered 20 hard swats per cheek. 


After telling me to stand, she bent down to pull up my boxers.  Once I was sitting on the end of the bed, I gave Miss Jennifer a hug and kiss apologized for disobeying her and thanked her for spanking me.  She told me all was forgiven.  Grabbing my chin and waving the brush in my face, she told me “this brush will be coming with us in case I have any ideas on misbehaving,”


The rest of the morning passed uneventfully.  During our flight to Colorado, I noticed the resort has paintball during the summer, so I pointed this out to Miss Jennifer.  She didn’t see any humor in that.  She grabbed my ear, pulled a small paddle from her purse and said “any more comments like that or misbehavior in general and I will put you over my knee and blister your bare butt right here”.  Knowing Miss Jennifer is not one to issue idle threats, I was on my best behavior.  Well, at least until we got to our cabin.


Miss Jennifer did an exceptional job with the details.  This came as no surprise, she always does.  She found a beautiful cabin for us to stay with a western motif.  It had a 2 bedroom, a small kitchen, and a large brick fireplace.  There was some firewood with more wood outside if we needed it, but we (or should I say I) would have to chop it. We would be within walking distance of the lifts and village.  This was perfect. 


After unloading everything we went into the village to look around and get a bite to eat.  Everyone was so friendly and there were many nice shops I knew Miss Jennifer would be visiting later.  I saw one club advertising a Super Bowl Party.  I knew Miss Jennifer would say no, so I didn’t say anything.  But I would find a way to be there. 


After eating, we went back to our cabin.  Sitting on the couch, with Miss Jennifer curled up on my lap; we talked and enjoyed the view of the village, mountains, and stars.  I could have stayed like this all night.  However, Miss Jennifer uttered her favorite phrase:  “Paulie, my hand itches”, and slid off my lap to the center of the couch.  Just like Pavlov’s dog, I knew what was coming except I wasn’t getting any food.  With a “Yes Ma’am”, I got up and stood before Miss Jennifer with my hands behind my back.


With a glimmer in her eyes and a big smile on her face, Miss Jennifer sat there rubbing her hands together.  She looked like a little girl on Christmas morning, about to open the present she wanted more than anything else.  Before her, stood her boy, wondering why she can’t scratch an itch like everyone else.  She reached up, unbuckled my belt, and slowly lowered my pants.  Folding them neatly, she set them aside.  Running her fingernails up and down my legs, concentrating on the back of my knees, she teased me about what was coming. She can be so cruel.  With a playful swat to my butt, she lowered my briefs, folded them and set them with my pants.


Sitting back on the couch, she waited for me to take my position.  Knowing exactly what to do, I placed myself across her lap, making sure my bare bottom was perched high, making a nice target.  I never know how long these spankings will last.  I do know she gets so much enjoyment out of them; it could go on all night.  Running her fingers through my hair, she leans down and whispers in my ear “you can be such a good by when you want”.  With a kiss on my cheek, she begins.


I know this is her version of playful spanking, but boy does her hand sting.  That spanking with her bath brush that morning isn’t helping.  I try to keep still, but can’t help squirming some.  She is relentless.  Her tempo constantly changes.  The intensity constantly changes.  She covers my entire bottom and the back of my thighs, concentrating on her favorite spot, the sit spot.  The spanks keep falling, the sting keeps building, and I can hear Miss Jennifer giggling.  When she finally stops, my butt feels like it is on fire.  I slide off her lap, kiss her hand, and thank her for the spanking.  Miss Jennifer takes me upstairs, where I fall asleep, in her arms.


The next morning, we stopped off for a light breakfast on our way to the lifts.  She just had to tease me when she saw me flinch as I sat and squirm in my seat throughout breakfast.  After breakfast, since it has been a while since either of us has skied, we started off with some lessons.  While the lessons were helpful to me, it quickly became evident it was going to be a rough day. 


Miss Jennifer did extremely well, not having any problems and rarely falling.  She always seemed to be smiling and looked like she was having a wonderful time.  I on the other hand was struggling.  While I was having fun, I was spending too much time on my butt.  After the spanking the previous day, a butt that was in no condition for this.  Maybe that was why she was smiling so much.


The middle of the afternoon, we decided to stop for the day.  We spent a couple hours looking in various shops and then Miss Jennifer sent me back to our cabin, with her purchases, to chop some wood and build a fire.


While changing, I opened a drawer and was horrified with what I saw:  big paddle, small paddle, bath brush, hair brush, and a couple spoons.  With my inability to ski and plans on sneaking off to watch the Super Bowl the next day, the last thing I need to deal with is those implements.  I know the smart thing would be to behave, but I had a better idea.  Collecting her implements, I took them outside and chopped them up for kindling wood. 


When Miss Jennifer arrived, she had dinner and another bag.  After dinner, we sat on the couch enjoying the fire and talking.  She commented on how beautiful the fire was; if she only knew.  I knew my butt was going to feel like I sat on those coals when Miss Jennifer found out what I did.  But that was a beautiful fire.


A short time later, Miss Jennifer excused herself and went to our bedroom.  She came back out carrying a large rubber spatula I hadn’t seen before, saying she found it in the village.  I should have known if there was a store selling something like that she would find it.  When asked, I told her I didn’t know where her wooden implements were, but she wasn’t buying it.  Grabbing my ear, she slapped my face hard a couple times saying “You know I have no tolerance for lying.”  I told her again I didn’t do anything with them.  She stood me up, lowered my pants, and bent me over the arm of the couch.


It only took 6 or 7 hard swats and I was trying to get her to stop so I could tell her.  She just told me to be quiet.  I already had a chance to tell her but wouldn’t do it.  Another 4 or 5 swats and I was trying again.  Miss Jennifer just walked away.  When she came back, she put a bar of soap in my mouth.  After telling me it was for lying to her and I had better keep it in my mouth and not drool on the couch, she started spanking again.


I couldn’t believe how hard she was spanking.  And she doesn’t even know what I have done yet.   She was covering every inch of my bottom and the tops of my thighs.  Laying there, with tears running down my cheeks and a bar of soap in my mouth, staring at the fireplace I thought “that fire wasn’t as beautiful as I once thought.  After a couple more horrible minutes, Miss Jennifer grabbed my arm and led me to the bathroom to remove the soap and allow me to rinse out my mouth.  Once complete she took me to our bedroom and sat me on the end of the bed.


Miss Jennifer again asked what I had done with her implements, warning me not to lie again.  It took a couple minutes to get the courage, but with head hanging, I told her I put them in the fire.  She grabbed my chin, jerked my head up, and asked me to repeat that.  When I did, she started asking why I would do that and slapping my face.  I tried to apologize and promise her I would make it up to her, but I could never get it out before another blow would land. 


When she finally stopped, it was only to send me to the corner so she could calm down.  I have done some stupid things to Miss Jennifer, but this is the first time she delayed my punishment so she could calm down.  This was not going to be good.  Coming back into the room about 30 minutes later, she told me to turn around.  When I did, sitting on the bed were a couple switches, tawse, and leather rug beater. 


Grabbing the tawse, she told me to come over by the bed and hold my hands out.  Miss Jennifer told me that this is for taking things that don’t belong to me and I will be getting a dozen per hand.  With that, she began.  After spending most of my life working outside, I thought it wouldn’t be too bad.  Boy was I wrong.  It stung so badly.  When I moved my hand to avoid a blow, she rewarded me with 5 across my bare butt and told me she would start over if I did that again.  I was determined to make it through this, but after 6 on each hand, I wasn’t sure if I could.  With arms trembling, I made it through the next 12 and the marks from that tawse were clearly visible.  After the last one, I dropped my hands and tried rubbing that awful sting away.


 Miss Jennifer told me that knowing she likes to bake; I should know when she says dozen that she means baker’s dozen.  Since I moved my hands before she was finished, she is starting from the beginning.  With tears beginning to roll down my face, I pleaded with her not to.  Nothing would deter her from doing exactly what she said she would.   There was nothing stoic with my performance for round two.  Long before she was finished, I was openly crying, apologizing, and begging her to stop.


When Miss Jennifer was done and said I could move, I dropped to my knees and put my arms around her.  She held me close as I cried and told her how sorry I was.  After a few minutes, when I calmed down, Miss Jennifer told me to get up and bend over the end of the bed.  I begged and pleaded for her not to.  I thought I was punished enough.  I promised her everything I could think of if she would stop.  When she had enough, she slapped my face a few times telling me to do as she said.  Laying over the end of the bed, with my bare bottom high in the air, I tried to prepare myself for whatever she had in mind.


What she had in mind was the worst whipping she has ever given me.  One switch at a time, she covered my butt and thighs with welts.  When one switch was reduced to a bunch of pieces on the floor, she would grab the next one.  I tried to keep still, but the pain was unbearable.  It felt like a swarm of angry hornets were stinging my butt.  Miss Jennifer wouldn’t stop.  I grabbed a pillow to scream and cry into, but it didn’t help.  When she finally stopped, my butt was red, bruised, covered with welts, and a few spots of blood where the end broke the skin. 


Lying next to me, Miss Jennifer put her arms around me and told me how much she cares for me.  She would rub my head and back.  Occasionally, she would reach down and give my butt a squeeze.  When she would see me wince, a smile would come to her face.  Telling me to stay put, Miss Jennifer left, saying she needed to get something.  I began to relax, thing she was going to get some lotion and spend the rest of the night comforting me. 


Miss Jennifer came back with a small bowl and set in on the floor.  Grabbing the leather rug beater, she landed a hard swat on my butt and told me to clean up the mess I made.  I was doing the best I could, but it was hard to see with my eyes filled with tears.  That leather rug beater made it hard to concentrate on the task at hand.  She didn’t stop until every piece was picked up.  When I was done, Miss Jennifer put me to bed, holding me in her arms until I fell asleep.


The next morning my butt was a mess and it was painful to sit.  I asked Miss Jennifer if I could spend the day in our cabin.  My butt couldn’t handle another day of ski lifts and falling.  That request was denied.  We came here to ski and that is what we were going to do.  The day went pretty well, though somewhat painful.  I know she intentally knocked me down a few times just to see the look on my face.


Later that evening, I asked Miss Jennifer if I could go watch the Super Bowl, but she said no.  After the whipping the previous night, I wasn’t going to disobey her.  Curled up on the couch together, I hear it again:  “Paulie, my hand itches”.  I just bow my head and whisper Yes Ma’am.  With the condition of my butt, she knows I don’t want to, but I do what I always do:  stand before her and take her spanking the best I can.

Crushing the Bricks

One needs to look no further than the bravado of the “alpha male” to see how humans are really not so far removed from animals as we are to believe. Remove the filter of 21st century life with spirits and the average man is no more than a dog in the summer. Objectives become simple: discover and conquest. And this is the average man. The hormonal being of the young, 20-something professional, high off of news of a significant promotion, is bound to hit the nightlife with the subtlety of a thrown brick. That night, I was the brick; and the high society women of the city’s swankiest spot were my window panes.


Seating myself in an inviting spot—not too close to the stage but well within what light was available in the club—it took no longer than one drink order before my crosshairs found their mark. She was stunning; silky black hair flowing just below her shoulders. She was dressed as if she wrapped herself in pure elegance before stepping out for the evening. But it was her eyes that grabbed me. They were mysterious stars in a crowded room.


I told my waitress to order her a drink on my tab. “Make sure she knows who bought it.” I cringe every time I remember saying that. From my seat, I had a perfect view of her reaction. She looked at the waitress, then at me, then back to the waitress. She shook her head. I didn’t need to hear her to know what she said, “No, thanks.”


If I hadn’t yet stooped to that of an animal yet, I was at least at Neanderthal-level as I stood up to approach her. Chest out, peacock posture; hands in my pockets to appear nonchalant. In my mind’s eye, I was out to win her over with my bullish attitude. I planned not to take no for an answer.


Nothing could have been further from the truth. I was a bunny walking into the hawk’s backyard. If you’ve ever played poker, odds are you know what it feels like to be the fish at the table. You swear someone somewhere is telling the world what’s in your hand. You feel helpless. As you throw away the last of your chips, you almost feel publically defiled. Such was my short conversation along the bar rail with Miss Jennifer.


It must have been a solid five minutes standing right next to her before she finally even looked at me. She gave me the once over and looked straight back at her drink. She made me nervous. I was in the hallway of my high school all over again. She made me feel inferior without even saying a word. A smarter man would have walked away but I stayed. She finally had enough of my cocky badgering and spoke directly to me for the first time.


“You must think I, and all other women by association, are very stupid, don’t you? Do you really think I don’t know what you’re after? I see your type in every bar, in every town. You may think those shoes, that shirt and your watch make you stand out, but I am looking straight at the epitome of boring. Not a thing about you is interesting, and the worst part is you don’t even know it. I feel sorry for people like you.” Her eyes were on fire. It was the most amazing thing I had ever seen.


Of course, I had nothing witty to say back. I was frozen. I could only look back at her in a catatonic stare. Then she proceeded to shock my senses even further.


“Did you drive here?”


“Yes,” I somehow managed to say.


“Good. Then you’re driving me home right now.”


She stood up and began to walk to the door. I still couldn’t move. What was happening? This was truly a bizarre turn of events.


“Are you coming or what?” she said with an almost disgusted sneer.


Miss Jennifer looked at me like I was a misbehaving child. We walked in silence to my car. With the exception of her step-by-step directions, the car ride was equally silent. This allowed my simple mind to race. She clearly hates me but she’s taking me to her house. Am I going to get lucky after all? Yeah, that must be it. I feel like reaching back into the story to pat myself on the head for having been such a simpleton. Poor little guy. You have no idea what is about to happen to you.


We arrived at her place and she invited me in. I was sure this was it. My mind began to soil itself with dirty thoughts. We entered and walked straight into her living room.


“Sit on the couch and wait for me. I’ll be right back,” She said without looking. Miss Jennifer walked back into what I assumed was her bedroom. I thought nothing of the direct disobedience I had exhibited by getting up and walking around the living room to look at the miscellaneous framed pictures. She startled me when she returned.


“What did I say?” she scolded. In her hand was a long canvas bag. “I thought I told you to sit on the couch and wait for me? Do you think you can come into my house and not obey my rules?”


“I … I didn’t think it was that big of a deal,” I stuttered. I wasn’t winning any awards for my judgment that evening.


“Well it IS a BIG deal!” She stared at me for a couple seconds then said, “Strip down to your underwear. NOW!”


I thought you’d never ask. My clothes were off in record time when I said this little gem, “What about your clothes?”


“My clothes stay on. And from now on you will refer to me as Miss Jennifer, got that?” How someone so little could yell so loud, I had no idea.


“OK, Miss Jennifer.” This whole thing was still a little funny to me; astrange night getting even more bizarre by the minute. In the improved lighting of her living room, it was now that I realized Miss Jennifer’s beauty tenfold. I felt incredibly lucky to be with her in that moment.


“Now, get down on your hands and knees,” she ordered in a stern yet calm voice. I did as I was told. I heard the bag unzip. Normally, I would be curious to see what was happening but my ignorant male ego was too busy basking in the false knowledge that I was soon to be intimate with the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. Miss Jennifer walked over to me. I felt her hand on the waistband of my underwear. She was pulling them down. YES! She stopped when my butt was completely exposed. Just as soon as I felt the cool air on my bare skin…What the…




A wooden hairbrush made an audible WOOSH through the air before contacting my left cheek with a force that took the breath from my lungs. I yelled and jumped to my feet.


“Get back down her right now!” Miss Jennifer yelled. “You deserve to be punished for the way you acted tonight and that’s exactly what’s going to happen. Now get back down here now!”


Everything in my being told me to just run out of there, but I didn’t. I won’t go so far as to say I was in a trance, but I would put it this way: I had been bested. The alpha male in me had come face to face with an alpha female, superior to me in every possible way. Miss Jennifer had control of me. I got back down on my knees. As afraid as I was to feel that pain again I was more eager to please her by following her rules and taking what she had to give me.


She punished me with hard blows to each cheek, alternating sides and increasing her pace and force with each blow. I bit my lip to stay quiet but it was to no avail. I could no longer bare it and let out a yell. I had never heard my voice make a sound like that before.


“You’re squirming a little too much for my liking. Put yourself over the arm of the couch,” Miss Jennifer said with a distinct sunshine in her voice. She was enjoying herself very much.




“OK, what?”


“OK, Miss Jennifer.”


“Very good.”


I did as I was told. My backside was now a much better target and I had less leverage to squirm away from contact. I noticed that Miss Jennifer had placed the brush back into the bag without removing a new item. The open-handed spanking was next.


I initially thought her hands would be less painful than her brush, but I was dead wrong. Her bare hand spanking was too much for me to handle. I wailed with the pain and felt myself break out into an uncontrollable sweat. Her hands hurt me so badly that I could have sworn she was hitting my backside with a closed fist. I felt like I was sitting in a camp fire. I kept thinking that she had to stop at some point, but the end never came. Not only did the spanking continue, but it unbelievably grew in intensity. I couldn’t stop myself; my hands flew backward to shield my very red bottom. Miss Jennifer finally stopped.


“I just can’t trust you now, can I?” she asked rhetorically. “We’ll just have to try something else.”


Miss Jennifer removed a long, thick strand of rope from her canvas bag. “Put your hands behind your back.” I did as I was told and she tied my hands together at the wrists in an incredibly secured knot. She returned to her bag and brought out a transparent, Lexan paddle. I swallowed hard on the lump in my throat. “Now, where were we?”


The spanking continued right where it had left off: cheek to cheek, picking up steam and power along the way. I was sure the Lexan had opened my skin. My arms strained again to shield the blows but I no longer had their mobility. I could do nothing but yell, so that’s what I did. Sometimes it was a growl, sometimes it was a high pinched wail. The sounds I made had no effect on what was happening. The spanking continued and never seemed to end.


“STOP! PLEASE! STOP!” I yelled. Miss Jennifer said nothing. She continued to batter my bottom with the paddle. The pace of the blows had subsided, but only because her wind up was starting further and further away from my body before coming through with unbelievable force. My eyes were welling up with tears as I buried my face in the couch cushion. “Please! Stop!” was the muffled mantra I cursed into the suede fabric.


Mercifully, Miss Jennifer finally stopped. My voice emitted an audible sob with every strained exhaling breath.


“Shhhh, it’s almost over,” she soothed. “In fact, I’m going to give you a choice.” Miss Jennifer returned to her canvas bag and pulled out two more objects. She brought them over to the couch and sat down in front of me. She then placed the two objects in front of my face. “Your last spanking can be with either this one,” she pointed to a very large paddle; the type you would find on the wall of a frat house, “Or this one,” she pointed to a long bamboo cane with a rubber handle, “Or these.”


Miss Jennifer placed her lovely, manicured hands in front of my face. The powerful female hands of a true lioness, accented with merlot nail polish. I strained my neck to look up at her. As I did, she smiled at me for the first time that entire evening. And though I was in the midst of the most pain I had ever felt, I smiled back. To be in the warm glow of her presence was enough for me. It was clear what I had chosen.


Miss Jennifer’s beautiful bare hands spanked my broken backside on and off for the next 20 minutes. The grand finale was an eight minute marathon that left me a sobbing puddle of exhaustion. I kept hoping and praying my bottom would either go completely numb or Miss Jennifer would tire out. Neither occurred. I leaned my body forward and began to kick my legs like a toddler. Something had to give; surely I could not take any more of this pain.


Eventually the punishment was over. Miss Jennifer sat beside my head again and stroked my hair. She said nothing; she didn’t have to. Eventually, I had calmed down enough for her to untie the rope and help me to my feet. I put my clothes back on as she left the room with the canvas bag in hand. She returned and stood before me once more, radiating beauty and speaking the truest of words.


“I know you will come away from this experience a changed person—a more humble person. Maybe not tonight and maybe not tomorrow, even. But, eventually, you will see that what I offered you this evening is an important and necessary service. If we don’t take the time to purge ourselves of our guilt for the bad things we do, we lose the plot entirely. Here’s my number. I know you’ll need this.”


And with that, Miss Jennifer gave me a motherly hug and sent me on my way. I knew exactly what she meant. I had barely made it to adulthood and already I felt as if the world and everyone in it owed me something. The following week and a half of gingerly take my seat at the office was enough of a reminder that I needed to work on cultivating an important quality missing from my life: to humble myself.


I’m not perfect. While my intentions are in a better place than they had previously been, I still manage to throw the brick around from time to time. I’m not always able to catch myself before it’s too late and the old habits creep back up on me. Sometimes the shame of knowing you’re wrong just isn’t enough.


Fortunately, I know just who to call for help. 

Senior Picture

Why can’t Aunt Jennifer understand me?  I am simply a typical 18 year old boy with the same interests, needs, and desires of most boys.   Our two main areas of conflict:  girls and sports. 


Aunt Jennifer has made it perfectly clear how I am to treat and behave around any girls I have gone out with.  Any deviation from this earns me a trip over her knee.  It doesn’t matter if that girl, or anyone else, is present.  Regardless of where we are, when Aunt Jennifer determines I need a spanking, I get my bare bottom spanked.  She always keeps a small paddle in her purse for these occasions too.


Aunt Jennifer has no tolerance for drugs, alcohol, and the abuse or disrespect of women.  She has no use for men who do such things.  While it may not be fair to put all athletes into the same group, there are far too many headlines reporting such incidents.  As Aunt Jennifer says “I will not allow you to waste your time watching or supporting such things.  There are more important activities to aid in my development to a proper young man”


 Tonight, I want to watch a football game, but I know she won’t let me. Instead, I ask her if I can go out with a couple friends.  She probes for details so I name friends I know she likes and pick a movie she would approve of.  Of course, I get the answer I was expecting:  Yes.  This seemed too easy.  So here I sit, in a very stimulating environment with a beer in one hand, scantily clad women dancing all around, and sports on all the TVs.  That’s right, our local strip club. 


I’ve had a couple beers and a few lap dances when an exotic looking woman appears on stage.  She is perfect:  petite, long dark hair, beautiful feet, and an incredible figure.  Needing a closer look, I take a seat by the stage.  She is so captivating, I find myself willingly slipping money in her garter.  In between her performances, I attract her attention and get a number of lap dances.  During her next performance, I feel an excruciating pain in my ear.  Turning around, I see Aunt Jennifer and she is none too happy.  How did she find out where I was?


She viciously slaps my face and suddenly all eyes are on us.  She still has a firm hold on my ear and begins to lecture.  Very calmly and coolly she lets her displeasure be known.   I feel a little relief when the owner comes over to interfere, but Aunt Jennifer is having none of it.  She explains the situation, particularly my age.  Upon hearing that, the owner steps back and takes a seat.  I can’t help but wonder if there is a man any where willing to stand up to this woman. 


Aunt Jennifer stands me up and pulls down my jeans and boxers.  She states “By the time finish, the devil inside you isn’t going to be able to withstand the heat from your butt.”  With that she pulls a very heavy tawse out of her purse and bends me over the stage.  Most of the patrons have gathered around.  All the dancers have gathered on stage with my favorite sitting right in front of me.  I see Aunt Jennifer point the tawse at two dancers and tell them to get back and cover up before they find themselves lying next to me.  In a soft voice, they mutter “Yes Ma’am and scamper back stage.  With that, Aunt Jennifer takes her position to my left. 


My legs kicked out when the first unbearable stroke landed across the middle of my butt.  Aunt Jennifer landed the second on the back of my legs while telling me to keep my legs down.  Tears were welling up in my eyes, bruises were forming, and the audience was amazed at the severity with which the woman could deliver a whipping.  If they only knew, strip clubs embody everything Aunt Jennifer despises:  alcohol, tobacco, women selling their body, and men debasing women.  If she had her way, every person there would be taking a turn over the stage.  But Aunt Jennifer remained on task as she methodically delivered what would be the worst whipping I have ever received.


After about 20 strokes, Aunt Jennifer took a short break to get some answers.  She wanted to know where I got the money I was spending here.  With some encouragement from her tawse, I gave in and with tears running down my face; I told her “Some was from the money you gave me for my pictures”.  Then she wanted to know what I meant by “some” and where the rest of the money came from.  I took $60 from your purse before I left, I told her.  There was an audible gasp from the patrons as the room fell silent.


Aunt Jennifer leans over me, grabs my ear and says “You take the money I gave you for pictures.  You steal money from my purse and spend it here.  After everything I have done for you, this is the way you repay me.”  She doesn’t wait for a response.  When I think I have taken Aunt Jennifer’s best, she picks it up a notch.  I can’t hold still.  My legs are kicking.  I am trying to squirm away. 


Aunt Jennifer has the owner hold my legs and my favorite dancer hold my arms and then she continues.  Blows land all over my butt and thighs.  I am sobbing and screaming as a puddle of tears forms by my face.  When Aunt Jennifer finally stops, my butt is red, purple, and covered with welts where the tip of that tawse landed.  When I reach back to rub, she lands one last blow across the back of my hands asking “Did I give you permission to rub your butt?” 


I stand so Aunt Jennifer can pull my pants up.  I apologize to the owner for jeopardizing his club.  With that, Aunt Jennifer leads me outside and takes me home, promising we are not through.  Once home I am told to get inside, take off my pants and wait for her in the corner.


About 30 minutes later, Aunt Jennifer tells me to come out of the corner and bend over the back of the couch.  When I turn around, I see her holding a small bundle of switches.  Slowly walking toward her, I beg her not to use those.  I will do anything she says.  I will never do anything so stupid again.  Aunt Jennifer just points to the back of the couch and I take my position.


Aunt Jennifer says “You are getting 1 for each dollar you took from my purse.  Count them.”  With that she begins.  The pain is horrible.  It feels as though ripping the skin off my butt and thighs.  When I finally make it to 60, I collapse, openly sobbing.  I am exhausted.  I have no energy left to fight or resist.  I am just glad it is over.  Aunt Jennifer sits next to me, rubbing my back and head.  She tells me how much she loves me and how proud she is of me.  She hopes she doesn’t have to discipline me like this again.


Once I calm down, Aunt Jennifer tells me “no spanking is complete without this”, and produces her bath brush.  She tells me I am getting 10.  She starts with 10 on one cheek, all on the same spot, right where I sit.  (Why can’t she count like everyone else?)  These may not have been as hard as the rest of the spanking, but after everything that was done, it feels as though she is branding me.  Then I get 10 on the other cheek.  When she is finished, she stands me up, playfully slaps my butt and sends me to the corner.


Six months later, I receive the rest of my punishment.  When I pick up my yearbook, I see the picture Aunt Jennifer submitted:  the after photo from that horrible night.  It is in color and 4 times the size of everyone else’s picture.  You can clearly see all the colors, welts, and bruises.  Below my name, she added “This is what happens to naughty boys who disobey Aunt Jennifer”

The Gift


Oh what a beautiful day this started out to be.  This is my favorite time of the year.  Autumn brings cool crisp mornings, the leaves changing color, fresh apple cider, and college football.  After a long, busy week at work, there is no better way for me to relax and there is a big game I have been looking forward to all week.  But how quickly can plans change.


After breakfast, my lovely wife, Miss Jennifer, hands me a list of chores she want completed today:  pulling weeds, cleaning the gutters, mowing the grass, and raking leaves.  There is no way I am going to be able to do this and watch the big game.  Maybe if I work hard, she will allow me to watch the game while she is at a baby shower.  Since she isn’t a sport fan, she has blocked all sporting events and web sites.  I have yet to figure out that stupid pass code.


After working hard all morning, I head inside to see if Miss Jennifer will allow me to watch the game.  In a very calm but authoritative voice she tells me of her displeasure with my behavior this week and she will not reward this type of behavior by allowing me to watch a game.  How is this fair?  I am stuck at home working while she is out playing around.  My frustration reaches a head and I tell my wife “if you don’t let me watch the game here, I am heading down the street to our local Hooters and watch it there”.  As soon as those words left my mouth, I knew I went too far but I couldn’t stop myself and continued “and there is nothing you can do to stop me”.


It took Miss Jennifer all of 2 seconds to cross the room and deliver a vicious slap across the face that left me dazed and staggering.  Before I could recover, she had my jeans and boxers around my ankles and was dragging me by the ear to the end of the bed.  And over her knee I went.  It always amazes me how much a hand spanking from a petite woman can hurt so much.  Normally she would spank my entire butt.  Not this time.  She concentrated every spank on the sit spot and the back of my thighs.  She gave no lecture and asked no questions.  She just delivered one ferocious spank after another.


 Typically, I can endure Miss Jennifer’s hand spanking.  Not this time.  The pain was excruciating.  Within a couple minutes tears were rolling down my cheeks and the spanking continued.  A few minutes later I was openly sobbing and begging and pleading for her to stop.  To my surprise, she did.  She grabbed my ear, pinching very hard, and told me she has heard enough of my mouth and to keep quiet.  And the spanking commenced again.  I did my best to obey but this was unbearable and so humiliating.  Here I am, a grown man, over my wife’s knee being spanked like a child.  Somehow, I made it through the remainder of this spanking.


When Miss Jennifer dumped me on the floor my hands immediately went to my butt.  It hurt so much and felt like it was on fire.  I know rubbing my butt is forbidden without permission, but I can’t help it.  She grabbed my ear, marched me to the corner, spanking me along the way.  There I stood hands behind my back, pants around my ankles, tears rolling down my face, with a red and very sore bottom on display.  With one final smack, she warned me about getting out of position.  Then she was off to finish getting dressed.


When she emerged, she sat at the end of the bad and called me over.  There sat the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.  She looked radiant.  I’ll never know how I managed to marry such a special woman.  As I stood in front of her, she lectured on how she will not tolerate my behavior.  Then she pulled up my boxers and jeans and sent me back to work and left for the baby shower.


I had every intention of behaving and doing exactly as Miss Jennifer said.  But I grew more upset as I thought about missing the game.  As I tried to think of a way to get even, it hits me:  A very stupid idea.  I know I shouldn’t.  I know I will pay dearly.  But I can’t help it and began to set my trap.


Here I sit behind an open window with the paintball gun Miss Jennifer got me this past Christmas.  When I see Miss Jennifer pull up, I carefully take aim.  When she is within range, I start shooting, making sure I don’t come close to her face.  She makes a run for the door, but I manage to land a few more shots.  When I hear a scream, I know she tripped the wire to dump a pail of water on her head.  To say she was upset would be a gross understatement.


As Miss Jennifer comes toward me I start apologizing, promising to behave and do anything she wants to make it up to her.  When she reaches me, while telling me to be quiet, she slaps my face and grabs my ear.  I keep telling her how sorry I am and that she is hurting my ear and she just keeps smacking me until I do as I am told.  Once quiet, she orders me to drop my jeans and boxers and then leads me toward the kitchen. 


I hate our kitchen with all the wooden spoons and spatulas of all shapes and sizes.  I swear every time she goes shopping she buys another.  The first thing she does when she gets home is to try it out on my bare bottom.  I would bet most of her spoons and spatulas have never been used for cooking, only to spank me.  To my horror, instead of grabbing a spoon or spatula, she gets a fly swatter out of the closet.


For what seemed like an eternity, Miss Jennifer went after my butt and the back of my thighs with a vengeance.  That fly swatter looks so flimsy but stings so much.  It feels as though hundreds of angry hornets are stinging me.  If it wasn’t for Miss Jennifer keeping a firm grasp on my ear, I would have been out the back door.  As it was, I spent the next five minutes dancing around the kitchen, begging for her to stop, trying to protect my butt.  When she let go of my ear, I collapsed on the floor, crying and trying to rub that awful sting away.  A few more hard swats with the fly swatter landed for rubbing my butt without permission.  Why ask, she has never given me permission anyway.


Once I calmed down, Miss Jennifer stood me up and led me to her den.  Placing me in the corner, telling me to stay put while she changes.  There I stood feeling sorry for myself, wondering why I get myself into these situations, and of course rubbing my bottom.  What could it hurt, Miss Jennifer can’t see. 


About an hour later I almost jump through the wall when a couple extremely hard swats land from Miss Jennifer’s favorite bath brush.  I never heard her approaching and was caught rubbing my bottom.  She turns me and asks why I can’t keep my hands off my butt.  I answer “because you won’t keep your hands off my butt and now it really hurts”, and my face gets slapped again.  If I don’t learn soon to keep my smart mouth shut, I’m going to have a permanent imprint of Miss Jennifer’s hand on my face.


Miss Jennifer stands me in front of her desk and takes a seat.  She doesn’t say anything, just looks at me.  I feel so guilty.  I know I deserved everything she has and is about to give me.  As much as her spankings hurt, this is the worst part.  She tells me how much I have disappointed her and let her down.  I don’t mean to, I guess sometimes the little boy in me gets the best of me. 


When I try to explain myself, I tell her I just wanted to show her how much I enjoyed her gift.  This attempt at humor earns me another hard slap across the face.  I then try to explain that I know what I did was dangerous and very immature and I would do anything I can for her.  I was just upset she wouldn’t let me watch a football game.  Besides, I don’t ask very often.  Miss Jennifer tells me that she understands my point but will never condone my behavior. 


Miss Jennifer lays out a few of her favorite implements:  bath brush, large wooden paddle, and an evil leather rug beater.  Sitting on the end of the desk, she tells me since I hit her at least 15 times; I will receive 15 swats with each.  Grabbing her bath brush, she stands to my left and simply says “over”, adding a swat.  Once she is satisfied with my position, two hard swats land, then a pause then 2 more.  Miss Jennifer adds that when I decide to start counting, we can begin.  This is so unfair.


I start to relax when I reach 15, thinking I am about to get a break.  When Miss Jennifer lands a very hard number 16, I jump up, grab my butt, and turn to face her.  I tell her that was more than she said.  She replies “You should know by now that’s per cheek.  And since you got out of position, we will start over”.  I say “Yes Ma’am” and start to turn back around.  Out of the corner of my eye, I see a smile come to her face. 


Once we reach 30, I stay in position.  Miss Jennifer tells me to stand and face her.  Wiping the tears from my eyes, she asks if I am learning my lesson.  I promise her that I have learned and apologize for my behavior.  She playfully slaps my butt and sends me to the corner. After about 10 minutes; she calls me back to her desk.  When I turn around, I see her standing there holding her paddle. 


Bent back over the desk, I nervously await for the first one.  The paddling isn’t as bad as I thought it would be.  I make it through all 15, without losing count and remaining in position.  Maybe it’s the condition of my butt, maybe it’s because she can tell how very sorry I am, or maybe it’s because she can tell I just can’t take much more.  Whatever the reason, I know she is being merciful.  She is capable of much worse. 


When I finish another 10 minutes, Miss Jennifer is waiting with her leather rug beater in hand.  At least this is the end, or so I hope.  Back over the desk, the first lands across the back of my legs.  This is quickly followed by 4 more.  The pain is excruciating and I just can’t take any more.  On my knees, with tears streaming down my face, I hold Miss Jennifer’s hands and beg and plead for her to stop.


Miss Jennifer gives me a break.  Sitting in a chair, she puts my head in her lap and holds me, telling me how much she loves and cares for me.  Also that she doesn’t want to punish me so severely, but will do so again if necessary.  I continue to tell her how sorry I am and I will never do anything like that in the future.


Later that evening, as we lay in bed, Miss Jennifer asks if I am going to start behaving myself and do as I am told.  With a kiss on her forehead, I say “Yes Ma’am”.  After a short pause and with a somewhat playful smack to her bottom, I tell her the next time she has me build a fire, I am using her paddles and brushes as kindling.  (But that is another story)


You have got to love women that make it so much fun to misbehave.

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