We Interrupt Our Regularly Scheduled Program

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Hi!

It’s me, your friendly neighbor spanko. I wanted to share something exciting! I’ve decided to start a story account with patreon.

You can find that here.

My current plan is to offer early access to patrons, as well as additional mini-stories in addition to my regular posts.  All of these will eventually be public, but I don’t have a timeline for when.  Half of them feature Paul and Edith, two regular characters. The other half are completely random people and circumstances. All of them are exactly 200 words. There is, in fact, a full length Paul and Edith story waiting for you there right now!

I fully support people charging for their work, but for now I think this is the best option for me. If I can get enough support, I can prioritize writing more, which means I can continue putting out quality stories involving TTWD, as well as listen to readers more and explore some ideas and requests you have for the blog.

SO. If you have enjoyed what I’m doing here and would like to contribute, please check out my page and think about subscribing. I sure would appreciate it.

And stay tuned for a mini-story preview!

Worth It?

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She touches my bruises lightly as I lie belly-down on her bed, pajamas and underwear pulled halfway down my thighs. My head is propped up on my hand, watching her. She’s being tender, but even the soft pads of her fingers hurt. I don’t show it on my face.

“The belt? Just for being on your phone?”

I shrug my shoulders. “He says he makes rules to be followed. And he says he doesn’t like using his belt, so when he does he makes it count.” I let a wince slip through then, caught in the memory of the spanking I’d just gotten. Dad didn’t monitor the content of my devices, but he wanted me off of it after eleven and he got alerts when I hit a certain amount of screen time. I’d argued with him as much as I could over it, told him it wasn’t fair and I was too old for that kind of surveillance, but he said as long as he paid the bills, he made the rules. I couldn’t afford a phone as nice as the one he agreed to get me, so eventually I’d taken the deal. I’d hit my screen time threshold at a very inopportune moment tonight, so he’d gotten pinged that I was over and knew I was on it late. Two strikes for the price of one.

“I guess my mom wouldn’t be thrilled if I was on my phone after lights out. She never checks on me though and I just keep it on silent. You shouldn’t have snuck over here,” she says, frowning at the end, but I just flash her a reassuring grin.

“Well I couldn’t text you once he took the phone, and I had to say goodnight to my girl.”

She smiles, blushes. She’s right, of course, but easy to distract at least. Her expression becomes concerned, a bit bashful, and she asks, “Was it bad?”

“Nah, it wasn’t too bad,” I lie. He’d walked in without knocking, and there I was, lounging on my bed with a stupid grin on my face under the glow of my fancy new phone. I felt like I’d been punched in the gut when I saw him, hands going to his hips and mouth taut.

I wouldn’t figure out how he’d known I was up until later, and he didn’t pause to explain. Once he’d seen me, there was no defending myself anyway. He’d begun to undo his belt while I was still scrambling up. “Dad, wait!” I’d said uselessly.

“You know the rules,” he had replied unsympathetically. “And you know what happens when they get broken in this house.”

My mouth had opened, then slowly shut again. He was right about that one. I was suddenly resigned. “Yes, sir,” I’d replied miserably, putting my phone down on the nightstand, knowing he would take it before he left.

“Will you tell me about it?” she asks hesitantly, concentrating on her survey of the damage done instead of looking at my face, and now it’s my turn to blush a little.

“Not much to tell, really.”

“All right,” she says with a hint of a pout, which makes the corner of my mouth tug up. Everything she says and does feels precious to me.

“Why are you so curious? No one ever spanked you with a belt before?” I tease her gently.

“No!” she answers emphatically, eyes widening. “Of course not.”

“Of course not,” I repeat, grinning at her again as if we don’t both know her to be a world-class mischief-maker. “Well, I have encountered the belt more times than I would like to recall, and never once has it been fun.”

She bites her lip, but stays quiet, listening.

“I had to take these down,” I tell her, gesturing at my currently lowered clothing and bare bottom, “and bend over the bed, and behind me I could hear him folding it in half, and it’s almost worse than the actual spanking, hearing that and knowing what’s coming.”

“Only almost?” she asks.

“Only almost,” I confirm. “He lit me up like a Christmas tree tonight. It hurts and it’s loud and I have to stay in place.”

She looks at me so tenderly that I forget what I was saying for a second, and then there is a voice in the hallway.

“Honey, who are you talking to?”

She claps a hand to her mouth and her eyes go wide with panic. Her mom. We thought she was asleep. I feel a little panic too but I make myself squeeze her hand reassuringly before I slip off and under the bed. I barely have time to pull my pants back up before she knocks, then enters without pause.

“Mom!”

“I heard you talking,” her mother says, and just beneath the duster I can see her slippered feet. She walks slowly across the room, opens and closes the closet door, then makes her way toward the bed. We’re so screwed.

“Mom! I just… I was… on my phone. I’m sorry.”

“I see,” her mother replies, stopping in her tracks, and I breathe a sigh of relief. It is short-lived, as her tone shifts from vague suspicion to decidedly stern. “I’m going to get the hairbrush. You get yourself ready.”

“Mom, please! It was just for a minute and I—”

“You know how I feel about you being on that thing late at night, and I told you what would happen if I caught you at it.”

“But Mom I just—”

“Get ready, please.”

“Please, Mom… I don’t want… can’t you just…” she sounds so lost and I want so badly to crawl out from under the bed, but it would only make it worse for both of us.

“Right now,” her mother says firmly, and I watch her feet leave the room. I hear my girlfriend groan pitifully, and now it is her feet I see slip from the bed to the floor right in front of me, bare except for the polish on her toes. Seconds later, a pair of white underwear descends, pooling around her ankles before she steps out of them, and then her mother is back.

“We had an agreement, young lady, and as long as you live under this roof, there will be consequences for your bad behavior. That phone is a privilege and it comes with strings attached.”

She sits on the bed as she lectures, and it sinks just the tiniest bit above me. My face is inches from the back of her ankles, but I am too afraid to move away. There is another small moan of distress, and then my girlfriend’s feet disappear, leaving her underwear crumpled in front of me.

I wish I could disappear, but instead I am trapped under this bed, my own bottom still throbbing with my heavy heartbeat. There is one more small, “Please, Mom,” and then the spanking begins.

I thought most of her panic was about me being here to listen, but I realize pretty quickly that there is no circumstance where someone would willingly take this spanking. As best I can tell, her mom is only using her hand, but the swats are forceful, and even muffled by the mattress above, I can hear my girlfriend’s gasps and whimpers.

And it goes on forever! I keep losing track of the number, but I know it’s a lot. Her mom only pauses once, and even though I can’t see it, I know it is to pick up the hairbrush. She has only landed a few before the whimpers turn into apologies.

“I’m sorry! Momma, please! It won’t happen again. I swear, I’m so sorry! Please!”

The only thing I hear her mother say is, “Keep your feet down.”

She is equally thorough with the hairbrush, and by the time she winds down, I am sure we will have matching bruises. My poor girl is sobbing at the end, when she is allowed up and I see her standing on tiptoe and hear her soft “ow ow ow” as she hops around the room.

Her mother gives her a moment before she herself stands and turns. I have to shove my hand in my mouth to keep from making a sound; I’m somehow sure she is about to bend down and look under the bed. Instead, she must have pulled back the covers because the next thing she says is, “Time for bed, young lady.”

I hear a shuddery intake of breath, and then the mattress sinks slightly again as she climbs in. Her mother says goodnight, turning off the light as she leaves and closing the door behind her.

I lie in the dark listening to the soft crying above me for a full count of sixty before I slide out from under the bed and crawl under the blanket with her. She doesn’t turn, but scoots back against me and grabs for my arm, wrapping it around her desperately. I think we’re both too nervous to even whisper, so instead we just lie together, her bare bottom radiating heat that leeches through the thin cotton of my pajama pants. I lean up to kiss her temple, and her face is just as warm and I feel her tear tracks on my lips.

I put my head on the pillow and nuzzle my face in her hair, and we take a deep unplanned breath together. I wonder if she is suddenly weary, as I am.

I should really get up before I fall asleep; we’re both phoneless now, so I can’t set my usual 3am alarm. But it’s so comfortable, wrapped up together like this, and it has been such a long night. I decide to lie still for just a few more minutes.

Come On In

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“I’m in the kitchen! Come on in!”

Quincy closed his eyes, took a deep unnecessary breath, and leaned his head against the door jamb. “Joanna…” he called a second later as he stepped inside. “What have I told you?”

“Sorry, Quincy! I knew it was you though!”

The voice came from the kitchen, and belonged to a bouncy young woman in an apron who was pulling a load of bread off the rack as Quincy walked in.

“What have I told you, Joanna?” he repeated again firmly as she set the pan down. She turned, her oven-mitted hands falling behind her back, and looked up at him with wide eyes. “I’m not supposed to ask just anyone in here any more without testing them. I just forget sometimes.”

“Sometimes?” Now another woman walked in, somehow already looking bored by the conversation despite having just arrived. She was strikingly beautiful, as was Quincy, and both moved with an elegance that felt out of place in the small mobile home where Joanna lived. “I asked for a cup of sugar,” the woman continued, “and she invited me right in just an hour ago.”

Joanna scowled at the new arrival as she took off her mitts and began to tidy the kitchen. “I was just trying to be nice! I didn’t expect you to trick me!”

“Of course you should expect me to trick you, darling,” the vampire said condescendingly. “It is what we do. It is how we survive.”

“Adrienne,” Quincy interrupted, “why did you come here in the first place?”

“Oh, I just thought I would check on your little pet. Turns out she is very naughty…” Her voice rose in the end as she teased the girl, and Joanna blushed. Quincy continued before she could muster a retort, looking for confirmation from the human.

“Joanna, you invited her in, too? After I told you how important it was that you be on guard?”

“She said she had just moved into the neighborhood!” Joanna replied defensively.

Quincy pinched the bridge of his nose, exasperated. “Adrienne, I need to have a talk with Joanna.”

“Please, by all means,” Adrienne said, looking delighted. “Pretend I am not even here.”

Quincy’s eyebrows shot up. “Privately. And she is going to revoke your privileges once you leave.”

“Well I find that to be terribly rude,” Adrienne said, though she did not actually appear affronted or surprised. Quincy placed a firm hand on the small of her back as he showed her toward the hallway into the living room. When she stepped over the threshold, he turned to Joanna.

“Repeat after me, please. ‘You are no longer welcome here.’”

Joanna smiled and did as she was told, looking up at the lovely creature just outside her door, still mesmerizing under the yellow light of the porch lamp. “You are no longer welcome here.”

“‘Now excuse me, it is time for my spanking.’”

“Now excuse me, it– wait! Quincy!” Joanna was suddenly slack-jawed as she watched Adrienne smirk, and then the front door was shut and she was alone with her supernatural friend.

“I’m afraid so, Joanna,” he said, taking a hold of her forearm. “I need to impress upon you how serious I am about this.”

“Quincy wait!” she said uselessly, pulling back against his strong grip. Of course, she was no match for his strength, and in a matter of moment he was settled on the couch in her living room and hauling her easily across his lap. “You can’t do this!”

“It appears quite obvious to me that I can,” Quincy said above her as he pulled her dress up and tugged her tights and underwear down. “And it feels obvious to me that I must. I don’t know how else to imprint upon you the danger you are in if you do not take some very simple precautions.”

“Quincy I understand! I really do!” Joanna whined, still struggling against his hold. She froze as his hand came down on her bottom, and then wailed desperately, “Quincy!!!”

“I am sorry to have to do this,” he said, his hand falling steadily now, “but I would be much sorrier if one of my less benevolent cousins came to call here someday.”

“You call that woman benevolent?!” Joanna said as she kicked her feet and attempted to cover her bottom. Quincy trapped her delicate wrists easily in the long fingers of his left hand and continued to spank her.

“I am not concerned with Adrienne,” Quincy answered, concentrating his efforts on the creases between her thighs and bottom. “I am concerned with you. It is one thing not to be aware of the supernatural, Joanna. Most humans are not, and that is how we would prefer it.”

“I wish I didn’t know you existed right now!” the girl yelled. Her bottom was beginning to show signs of the very thorough spanking she was receiving, but her friend was not slowing down.

“Well that I cannot fix,” Quincy replied. He eyed the girl’s round bottom, making sure to cover every inch with his cold hands. He held great affection for the breakable girl across his lap, who should not have been able to see him at all. But she had seen him, had approached him with fearless curiosity even, and she reminded him of a little sister that had long since grown old and been buried. He had guarded her as well.

“Quincy,” she said again, a bit of beg in her voice now, “you can stop. I’m not going to let anyone else in.”

“I’m happy to hear it,” he said, refocusing on the task at hand. “I should be very sad to hear if anything happened to you, especially on my account.”

“But nothing is going to happen!” she squealed, even as her pitch shifted at a particularly hard swat.

“Vampires are… unpredictable, Joanna. And right now the days are short and the nights are long. I want you to be safe.”

“Ow.. ah, Quincy… please…” Joanna’s bottom ached and her legs were tired from kicking, but he continued spanking her, waiting for the apology and the promise he needed.

“Quincy I’m sorry!” she eventually wailed, and he smiled grimly to himself. He began to wrap up the spanking, delivering even harder swats as he spoke now, voice slightly raised so she could hear.

“I want your word that you will be more cautious. Please.”

“I promise, Quincy! I will be, I promise,” she said desperately. Satisfied, he slowed and then stopped spanking her, resting his long cold fingers on her hot sore bottom.

“Very good. Thank you,” he said, rubbing her back with his other hand for a moment before lifting her in his arms and repositioning her in his lap. The mismatch of his thin arms to his supernatural strength usually startled her, but she was preoccupied tonight and let herself be easily handled. “Thank you,” he said again, holding her.

Joanna leaned her head against his chest, sniffling, and he wondered briefly if the absence of a heartbeat would make her jump back up. She was unflappable, though, and he smiled as he rested his chin atop her head.

She played with the buttons of his shirt for a moment, then said poutily, “I guess I’m not allowed to revoke your privileges.”

Quincy laughed, startled at her quiet boldness, and said, “No, you most certainly are not.”

She smiled against him; he felt it rather than saw it, and he squeezed her gently, deciding right then that he would see her have a long and full life under his ageless watchful eye.

Piano Lesson

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“Again,” she barks, and I move my hands back to starting position. She has begun to suspect what I already know: today’s lesson will be fruitless.

I’m barely through the opening chords when she says, “Enough. Stand up.”

My shoulders sag. I am not in the mood for a lecture. I slide my thighs across the smooth wood of the piano bench, then stand and face her.

“I meant to…” I start halfheartedly, but she cuts me off.

“No more excuses. You’ve exhausted my patience and now I plan to deal with you the same way I have been dealing with lazy students my entire career. You have earned a spanking.”

My heart stops and I try to swallow but my throat won’t work. Coming from anyone else I might think this was a weird joke, but it is immediately apparent to me that she is serious. In fact, she is pulling a beautiful ebony brush from the sideboard drawer. I try to swallow again.

“I’m sure you are familiar with the idea, though I highly doubt you have experienced such a thing before. Perhaps if someone had taken the time to apply a hairbrush to your bottom, you wouldn’t be standing in front of me now with such clumsy fingers. As it is, today you will leave this lesson quite familiar with what it is to receive a proper spanking.”

Despite my dry mouth, I manage to say, “I’m too old for a spanking,” and my voice only shakes a little at the end.

“You’re too old to be lying to your piano teacher about practicing between your lessons,” she says as she sits on the bench herself, facing away from the keys. “Now, over my knee.”

She speaks with such authority that I have complied before I’ve really considered what is happening, and what is happening is her hand is landing sharply on my now upturned bottom and it hurts. My first impulse is to struggle, but I grit my teeth and stare at my taut knuckles where the tips of my fingers are pressing into the floor. It isn’t intolerable but the stinging builds rapidly. I find myself holding my breath and counting the swats, trying to see how many I can bear before I exhale suddenly. I keep losing track.

“Up up,” she says abruptly, and I am up up and back down again before I can let out the breath I was holding. Except now I am significantly less clothed, and her hand striking my bottom hurts significantly more! There is just the thin cloth of my underwear between her palm and my skin, and it is taking a bit more effort to be still. “I understand,” I say quickly between gasps, feeling my left leg twitch as she targets the lower curve of that cheek for a good long minute. “I’ll practice more.”

“Yes, I’m sure you will,” she says firmly above me, her concentration on my poor backside never wavering. “Not a single student in all my years has disappointed me by the end of our lessons. I do not intend you to be the first.”

I swear her pace quickens as she scolds me, and then she stops spanking abruptly. It is only to yank my underwear down. My hands rush to my face out of pure reflex, and I feel the pressure on my stomach increase as she bears more of my weight. I’m not a particularly modest person but this is so terribly intimate, and my face burns with embarrassment.

“Don’t!” I say uselessly after the fact, but her hand is already making contact with my bare skin and I didn’t realize that thin piece of fabric made such a big difference. My feet kick at the floor now, and my attention is focused on keeping my hands out of the way: a futile effort. I do manage until she picks up the hairbrush, but the moment it makes contact with my already tender bare skin, my hand shoots back like a snake. She makes a derisive sound before grabbing my wrist and securing it to the small of my back. It’s the smallest of pauses before the onslaught continues, steady and stingy and so very painful. I think about every stupid thing I did last week, every minute wasted because I was lazy and unmotivated. I feel motivated now, with my backside on fire and the firm pressure of her grip around me. “I’m sorry,” I say desperately, “I’m so sorry!”

“Sorry is good, but there are still consequences for your actions,” she says evenly, “or in this case, inactions.”

“I’m going to practice,” I squeal, “I swear, please.”

“I expect that you will,” she replies, but nothing about her tone or her pace indicates that she is at all finished with me yet. She doesn’t stop until I am certain that my bruises have bruises and unshed tears have filled my eyes. My backside throbs and a simple time signature begins to form in my head around the painful beat. I hear her reach behind me to set the hairbrush on the top of the piano, and I fear it may live there when it comes to my time here. “Up now,” she says after a moment, and I scramble up with a quick swipe of my wrist under my nose. I begin to tug at my underwear, my other hand rubbing my swollen cheeks gently, but she clucks at me sharply.

“You will find yourself in the corner until the end of your lesson today, as we cannot do much with the piano until you have practiced what we studied last lesson,” she says, pointing to the far corner of the room. There is a large plant beside it and a curtained window to the right, but the corner itself is empty.

“Yes, ma’am,” I answer quietly, and slowly I shuffle that way. I push my nose against the joint and slip my hands behind me to again attempt the comfort of tender fingers on punished skin, but she doesn’t allow it.

“Hands on your head,” she says from across the room, and I obey with no show of the reluctance I feel. “Bottom out,” comes the next command, and I obey that one as well. I have never felt so small and embarrassed, and the thing I hate the most is how right she is, because I will never, not ever, show up without having practiced again.

It’s Ridiculous

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“Ollie it’s already full!” Sunny shouted from the relative safety of the pool in their living room. She stood next to Jessica, both knee deep in the middle of a round inflatable pool that sat where the coffee table would usually be.  There were luau decorations all over the house and an orange cooler full of beer next to the couch. The hose from outside snaked through the living room door and was curled up on the carpet.

“Where did you even get this?” Oliver asked, eyes wide as he tried to process what was happening. Ben stood behind him, mouth open as he did the same thing.

“Amazon,” Jessica said helpfully. “And we aren’t breaking any rules! Not technically.”

“Not technically,” Oliver repeated, turning to look again at his sisters. “Not technically? What has gotten into you two?”

“You said we couldn’t leave the house and we didn’t! Mom and Dad aren’t here and we moved everything breakable and we’ll clean up after,” Sunny said, crossing her arms. She wore a floppy white sunhat with a huge blue flower on it, large sunglasses, and a yellow bikini with strings dangling from the ties at her hips.  Jessica was similarly summered, in a trendy green one piece and her own large glasses, though she slipped them off now and set them on a nearby shelf.

“You filled up a pool in the middle of the house! What were you thinking?” Oliver asked, still having trouble absorbing everything.

“It’s such a good idea! No one wants summer to end and it’s too cold outside but still pretty so we’re just going to have the party here,” Sunny said smugly. “We’ll clean up before Mom and Dad get home Monday.”

“Sunny,” Oliver said, focusing his gaze on her, “How are you going to get the water out of the pool?”

“I… ” she began confidently, but she didn’t know how to finish the sentence. “We…”

“Shit,” Ben said behind him.

“Shit,” Sunny repeated.

“Watch your mouth,” Oliver said to her sharply, and she gave him an incredulous look and gestured at Ben. Jessica elbowed her as discreetly as she could, and the youngest sibling looked at their brother’s face. He was moving past his shock.

“I want you out of the pool. Right now.”

The girls both took a step back as if on cue. “Oliver, come on, just think about it for a minute!” Sunny said, taking off her sunglasses. “It’s funny! And we didn’t hurt anything or break any rules!”

“You are both grounded! Throwing a party is breaking the rules! And this is insane, Sunny.”

“It was just on a list of creative back-to-school party ideas and we—“

Without any broadcast of his intentions, Oliver walked over and caught Sunny’s wrist before she could step farther back. She shrieked and pulled away, but with a swift jerk she was off balance and flailing to catch herself over the three foot inflatable edge of the pool. Her hat flopped. Oliver caught her around the middle and took some of her weight on his side, ignoring her hat as it fell to the ground. Jessica let out a small shriek of her own as her sister kicked up a bit of water and it splashed her middle. Oliver delivered half a dozen swats to her mostly exposed bottom; Jessica watched in shock from her front row seat as the color bloomed across Sunny’s skin.

Her hands flew to her bottom when he pulled her back up, glaring up at him as she tucked her chin against her chest. Oliver took a beach towel from the basket on a nearby chair, one which currently sported a small “Surf’s Up” banner, and tossed it on the floor. “Get out,” he said, then grabbed another towel and turned his attention to Jessica. “You…”

He walked around the living room, paying no attention as Sunny finally obeyed him, then stopped outside the pool by his other sister and dropped the second towel. “Come here, please,” he said calmly as she stayed just out of his reach.

“Ollie,” she said pleadingly, hating the thought of having to step into his grasp. He started to come around the pool, and she jumped away, then blushed. Her skittishness embarrassed her so much that she acquiesced, covering her face with one hand and stepping forward. Oliver pulled her to his side just as unceremoniously as he had Sunny, yanking her arm and then rapidly turning her bottom rosy. Her suit covered almost as little as Sunny’s, and her brother’s hand prints were clearly visible across her bottom as she stepped out of the pool seconds later.

Both of them pouted at him, but he paid no mind. “Dry off,” he ordered as he walked into the kitchen. He retrieved the familiar wooden spoon from its coffee tin and the largest pot he could find. When he walked back into the living room, he handed it to Jessica. “You can start emptying the pool.”

She looked like she wanted to protest, but didn’t have anything to say, so she took it with a pout and turned quickly around, dipping it furiously into the pool. Oliver turned to Ben, sucking in a lungful of air. “I’m so sorry, this is not what I was expecting to walk into. Obviously. Do you wanna go–”

“Anywhere. I want to go literally anywhere,” Ben said, looking relieved.

Oliver nodded, grabbing the car key from his pocket and tossing it to his boyfriend. “I’ll text you.”

Ben blew him a kiss, glanced regretfully at the girls, and turned to leave. Oliver turned to Sunny, who was still standing on her towel with her arms crossed and a pout across her face. When she saw him looking at her, she threw her arms down and began her defense. “This isn’t fair! We didn’t do anything that bad!”

“There is water everywhere, young lady. And that is just from filling it up,” Oliver said as he walked over to the cooler and sat down on the white lid. “Get over here, Sunny.”

“Ollie!” she huffed, but she did as she was told this time, closing the short gap between them and finding herself quickly positioned over his lap. He briefly contemplated taking down her swimsuit, but just as quickly dismissed the idea. It wouldn’t be necessary, though he doubted she would want to be in this suit for any reason for the next few days. Not after he was finished.

He brought his hand down hard on her bottom, soon covering any remaining fingerprints from the flurry of swats he’d given her earlier. She kicked at the floor as he spanked her, but he ignored her as always. In the meantime Jessica trudged back and forth from the living room to kitchen, dumping water out little by little and trying to ignore her sister’s spanking.

“There was a complete lack of forethought here. No one gave you permission to have people over, much less to throw a party. Even if you had the okay, this ridiculous pool scheme would have been vetoed.”

“It isn’t ridiculous!” Sunny yelled, kicking and reaching back, trying to block Oliver’s hand. Used to her antics, he pinned it easily, then reached for the wooden spoon.

“It’s ridiculous, Sunny,” he said as he brought the round end down hard on her bottom. “And delusional to think things wouldn’t get out of hand tonight. Do you know how much damage it would do if that thing leaked? Or even if just someone fell over the edge and dumped some of the water out?”

He paused the lecture and the spanking to adjust her body, moving her over one knee so his other leg could keep her flailing limbs out of the way. Low to the ground as he was on the big cooler, she was bent nearly in half as he resumed spanking her quickly heating bottom.

Her legs bucked up against his and she gasped. “Okay, Ollie, okay it was. I’m sorry,” she said, fingers stretching desperately toward her bottom but unable to reach because of Oliver’s hand around her wrist. He ignored her, knowing that it took more than a few swats to break through to his hard-headed little sister. He had not spared her thighs with his hand and was equally thorough with the spoon. Eventually the tone of her apologies changed, becoming higher and more urgent.

When he finally let her up, she dropped immediately to her knees and threw her arms around his stomach, burying her face there. Tears swam in her eyes and fell on his t-shirt.

He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her head, spoon still in his hand. He didn’t allow her to rest there long. “Go trade places with Jessica,” he said after only a minute.

Sunny flung her head back so her long black hair trailed down her back as she looked up at him with wide reproachful eyes, but he made unrelenting eye contact and furrowed his brow at her. He put the spoon down as she stood, then rested his forearms on his knees and turned to watch their exchange. Everything still seemed wildly surreal as he watched Jessica give over the pan and Sunny accept it as her free hand sneaked down to rub her swollen bottom, all surrounded by leis and coconuts and cardboard parrots.. She bent over the edge of the pool, wincing, and set about her task.

Jessica’s mouth was turned prettily down as she shuffled over to her brother’s waiting lap. She might not squirm as much as Sunny, but her bottom didn’t fare any better under Oliver’s steady hand.

“Every time I think you girls have turned a corner, you pull something like this,” he scolded as he spanked her round behind. He paused to scoot the edges of her bathing suit out of the way, ignoring her squeal of protest. “You’d think you’d be finished sitting on a sore bottom by now.”

“Ow, I am Oliver, I am,” she said, her grip on her tongue loosening as he picked up the spoon. She sucked in a breath through her teeth, but he only increased the force of his swats.

“Well you better stop telling me and start showing me,” he said. “If you were sure this would be okay, you would have mentioned it. I am so tired of surprises.”

With that he finished up her spanking, snapping the spoon down relentlessly, until her bottom was as clearly and thoroughly punished as Sunny’s. Oliver held her for a moment after, hugging her tight and kissing the top of her head, right on the part between her two round buns. Then he sent her with a swat toward the kitchen, where she retrieved their second largest pan.

~   ~   ~

By the time the pool was empty, both girls had sore arms as well as sore bottoms. He hadn’t let them change out of their suits until every decoration had been cleaned up and the pool had been dragged outside and deflated. They had been quick about that part, terrified the wondering eye of a neighbor was going to catch them clearly spanked and in their bathing suits as they desperately waited for the pump to finish. Then at last he watched them march their sore bottoms upstairs, where they changed into their pajamas and sent a few quick texts to friends, making sure the word spread: The party was canceled.

They came back down much subdued, and if they cast any gloomy looks, they wiped their faces clean of them when Oliver seemed to notice.

It was still early, and when Ben came back it was with bags of fast food and several half pints of ice cream. He hadn’t wasted his time away. Oliver smiled affectionately at him, not even pretending to be irritated or surprised that he now wanted to spoil his punished sisters. They canceled their evening plans, opting to stay at the house until later, and rented a movie with the girls instead.

Train Travel

Standard

The optics are strange.

The scenery whizzes past us, lots of nothing at this point in our cross-country journey, and here we are walking against it. Perhaps it was all the nothing out the windows that drove you to behave so poorly today. I’m not sure, nor am I quite sure what you expected to gain by making me chase you all the way to the back of the train.

“Chase” is a strong word, but it’s close enough. You stay just out of my reach, light on your toes and hurling explanations at me as you backwards walk. None of them make a lick of sense, and I keep following you, steadily eating up the inches as we pass from car to car. I see the way you glance around as we slip through each set of sliding metal doors, considering that perhaps we will not be finding an empty car before we have reached the caboose. All of your glances seem to end at the hairbrush I am carrying, slipped from my bag when you decided to delay your punishment with this game.

And of course we reach the end without the golden car you are wishing for. People like their space, and so even on a train as empty as this one, the last car still has a few people spread out in it. “Please, you don’t have to,” you say, still a few steps ahead as the last set of doors clanks shut behind me. There is a man to the left reading a paper he must have grabbed at our last stop; he doesn’t even glance up from the little four seat cubicle.

“Seriously, I didn’t mean it and I’ll be better,” you say, passing a couple of sullen looking teenagers on the right, or maybe they are college kids. They look up immediately, bored of their phones and ready for something, anything to happen.

When your back hits the doors to the outside, you don’t say anything. You just cover your face with your hands, and I hear a small moan escape through your fingers. There is a woman curled up to my left, the only passenger facing frontward, reading a book but distracted by our presence. I notice her glance at the brush and then we make quick eye contact as her pupils go round. She has nothing to worry about from me, though. You, on the other hand…

“I did not follow you the entire length of this train to change my mind now,” I say calmly, taking the last few steps. “You can apologize to the other passengers for the disruption once we’re finished.”

I reach up and take your left wrist with my left hand; your right one drops and your shoulders sag but you don’t resist otherwise. I slide into the seat on the left, then yank you down across my lap. The armrest was up already, and so you fold your arms sulkily in the other chair. I set the brush down across from me, then grab the waistband of your comfy pants and pull them right down to your ankles. I catch a glimpse of our fellow travelers in the back window reflection. The students are engrossed in our situation, and the reader is peeking around the edge of her seat to watch.

Your legs dangle helplessly into the aisle, twitching when I pat your bottom. You have plenty of room to kick your feet here, which will come in handy soon enough. A few more pats, and then I lift my hand high and begin to speak as I bring it down hard on your bottom.

“I don’t know why you thought it was a good idea to poke me for entertainment, but I need it to be very clear that I don’t approve.”

“It’s clear, it’s clear already!” you say. It strikes a nerve that you are still trying to get out of this punishment, even though you deserve every bit of it. I pause to slide your underwear down to your knees. I hear a small gasp from someone behind us.

“Wait, please!” you say, though your bottom was fully bare before your brain caught up enough to get the words out. I smile humorlessly as my palm makes contact with your skin. There is a note of panic in your voice now that was missing seconds ago, and the swats ring out sharp in the confined space. I am eager to pick up the hairbrush, but make myself wait. Instead I concentrate on turning my hand into the fiercest implement it can be, paddling your bottom thoroughly and paying attention to your sit-spots.

It’s not that I don’t have empathy for your cabin fever; I do. I’m also ready for the next leg of our journey to begin. But you have pushed me well beyond the limits of my patience with your behavior today, and now I want you to feel every joint in the rails from here to the coast. It occurs to me that I should be saying some of this aloud.

“You do not get to act like a spoiled child because you are bored and feeling antsy. Especially when you have ignored me at every turn.”

“But I didn’t want to take a nap,” you say, voice muffled. I look to see that your arms are now bent beside you and your face is buried in your palms, hiding.

“Even though you are clearly tired,” I finish for you. “And you weren’t hungry when I went to the dining car, but you were thirty minutes later. And then you didn’t feel like going by yourself. And on and on it has been today.”

Now feels like a good time to pick up the brush. I do so unceremoniously, catching a glance of the window when I reach for it. The reader has her hand over her mouth as she tracks the wooden implement’s journey from the pilled gray and blue seat cushion to your quickly reddening bottom. You growl when I tap it against your behind, then shriek when I bring it down with more intention. I don’t expect to make this sort of spectacle twice on one journey without getting kicked off the train, so I intend to make this spanking count.

It isn’t long before you have kicked your pants off, and your underwear don’t look far behind.  Your hand comes back for the third or fourth time, and I finally decide that I will hold onto your wrist for safekeeping. The tops of your thighs are visibly swollen, and your round red bottom doesn’t look much better. There is the passing impulse of sympathy, but it vanishes quickly. You made an entire series of poor choices that landed you here across my knee, and you deserve every bit of this spanking.

You’ll deserve every wiggle from here on out, too, and I am sure there will be plenty. I land a few more hard swats on your sit-spots, just to be sure, and then rest the brush against your backside. “Are you ready to return to our seats?” I ask.

“Yes,” you whisper, and I release your arm, then reach down to grab your undies. Once they are pulled up, you slide to your knees and bury your face in my lap while you reach blindly back to retrieve your pants. In the window, I make eye contact with the students and raise my eyebrows. They all sit up straighter. The moment my gaze slides to the reader, her head disappears behind the seat.  The man with the newspaper turns the page loudly.

After a moment, I have you stand so we can get you dressed again.  I’m sure you’d like to follow me as we find our seats, but I’m not having that. I plant myself firmly behind you, slip an arm around your middle, and press myself against your back in a protective embrace. I say into your ear, “Apologize, please.”

You try to turn, no doubt desperate to hide your face already, but I hold you tight. “Nope. Time to get this done and go take that nap you’ve been avoiding.”

I feel you lean back against me, and I take some of your weight for a second as you gather yourself. Then you stand up straight and say, “I’m sorry for disturbing you.”

That will work. I nudge you gently forward as I release you, and you start to walk. We have a lot of people to pass before we get to our seats. We can see into the next car, where several passengers are brazenly peering into this one. Entertainment is all relative, I suppose. This certainly broke up the journey. I put an encouraging hand on your shoulder as the doors slide open.

Dear Diary

Standard

09/12/00

Hey diary!

Saturday is going to be AWESOME. You know Tara, my babysitter from when I was a kid? She’s basically just my friend now that I’m basically an adult and we hang out all the time. Her band is playing close by this weekend and I’m going to surprise her! I asked her about going and she said it was a 21 and up show, but she doesn’t know I have a fake. She might care a little at first but I think she’ll be so stoked to see me that she’ll get over it. I can’t wait! She plays the guitar and they’re actually pretty good!!!


09/15/00

Dear diary,

Not much to report for this week! But the show is tomorrow night and I’m so excited! I had some friends who were supposed to come but they all bailed. No big deal, I’m still gonna have fun. I told the parents I’m crashing at Mariah’s house, but I’m gonna see if I can just stay with Tara. She and the drummer are roommates so it’s probably pretty chill there. =]


09/17/00

Well, this weekend sucked.


09/18/00

Dear diary,

I guess it’s time to tell you about everything that happened on Saturday. The concert was probably great but I didn’t get to see almost any of it. I spent basically the whole time backstage stuck in what was basically a closet, and that was probably the best part of the whole night. When Tara saw me in the audience, she flipped out and NOT in a good way. As soon as the song ended she grabbed her mic and said my FULL NAME and told me to go back to the lobby IMMEDIATELY. I wanted to die but I just went back through the crowd which basically parted in front of me the whole way. It was MORTIFYING.

She showed up after a minute and asked how I got in, and when I showed her my fake id she took it. I thought she was going to be cool about it because she probably had one when she was my age but I guess not. Then she yelled at the bouncer for like ten minutes and he said he was sorry like a million times.

Anyway, she barely talked to me and then put me in what was the green room I guess but there wasn’t a lot of room just like a couch and a water jug and a mini-fridge with like two cokes in it. Then she had to get back onstage. I thought when it was over she would at least introduce me to the rest of the band, but they barely acknowledged me, except I noticed the other guitarist looking at me kinda like she felt bad for me.

I was getting madder and madder though, because I was just trying to surprise her and be like a good friend. I can’t even tell you what happened once we got to her place, because it’s too embarrassing.  Maybe later if I feel like it. >.<


09/20/00

Okay, diary.  Here goes…

Tara basically yelled at me the whole way back to her apartment, even though Ted– that’s the drummer’s name I found out– was in the car. I just stared out the window and tried not to listen. Maybe once I ACCIDENTALLY kicked the back of her seat, but it wasn’t even hard. She stopped talking after that but then it was just awkwardly silent the rest of the way.

She gave me her key and pointed upstairs when we got there, like I hadn’t been to her apartment a million times. She and Ted had some stuff to unload so I just stood awkwardly in the living room petting Miles. He meowed every time I stopped touching him until they came back inside, then he ran into Tara’s room.

Sigh. This is where things got really bad. She didn’t even wait for Ted to leave the room before she started yelling at me again. Not like yelling yelling but like making me feel bad. THEN before I knew what was happening, she sat down on the futon and pulled me down with her and she started spanking me over my jeans! I couldn’t even move at first because I was so shocked, but when I snapped out of it, I started kicking my legs and trying to tell her she couldn’t spank me and you can guess how well that went.

At first I thought she was listening actually because she pulled me up so fast that I had to catch my balance. But she just unsnapped my jeans and pulled them down to my knees, then basically I tripped over them trying to get away and just ended up back over her lap. >.<

It. Was. Terrible.

I guess her arms must get a work out moving all that equipment around. I couldn’t stop moving but she is like stronger than anyone I’ve ever met and it didn’t matter how much I tried to get up, I couldn’t! Then I tried to block her hand but she just grabbed my wrist and kept going, and then when I kept moving she swatted my thighs and that was even WORSE so I tried to stop moving as much. She still got them pretty good by the end though.

The biggest thing was when I stopped moving so much, I had to pay attention to her talking plus what was happening to my poor defenseless butt at the same time! She didn’t think it was okay for me to be at the bar AT ALL, and she didn’t like my “attitude.” And THEN she decided to take down my underwear which was like the most embarrassing thing of the whole embarrassing night! And for some reason it reminded me that Ted was in his room and he could hear EVERYTHING, and that’s when I burst into tears. ;_;

I was still kicking my feet I guess but I wasn’t fighting her any more and I didn’t realize it but I started telling her I was sorry over and over again and telling her I would be good. It was probably pathetic but I basically didn’t have a choice and I did sorta feel bad at that point I guess because I know she loves me more than anyone (besides like my parents and maybe my grandma). She kept spanking me forever after that though, until when she finally did stop I didn’t even realize it for a second.

The weirdest thing is that even though I wanted to be mad at her, I also hugged her like tighter than you can imagine when she let me get up, and I told her I was sorry even more and even though now I’m a little mad about it all, I’m still sorry, too. I slept on her futon and Miles came out later and slept with me all night.

She made me call Mom and Dad first thing in the morning so guess what, I’m also grounded. BUT there is some good news because her band has another show coming up in a couple weeks that is all ages and she said I can be VIP and it’s a nicer place than the bar, so that is cool and Mariah said she’s gonna come with me.


P.S. I couldn’t even sit comfortably until YESTERDAY.


P.P.S. I hope they find a new drummer. >:[

State Fair

Standard

Well you have finally done it. I don’t know what possessed you, but you went and found my very last nerve. Right before the young man behind the counter starts to scoop your ice cream into the cone.

“Wait! Never mind, sorry, I need to cancel the order. We’re going to have a spanking instead.”

Your mouth falls into a perfect circle as you gasp, but I have had it. The college kid behind the counter doesn’t seem phased at all; I think he might even approve. Of course, he saw the way you were acting in line. If he knew you had been acting this way all day, he might even have applauded.

As it is, he grabs the five I throw on the counter for his trouble and nods his thanks, then moves on to the next customers. I grab your forearm and move on to my new task: finding a place to deliver on this spanking.

“Wait,” you hiss, resisting my tugging a bit as we exit the shop and the shock wears off, “you can’t–”

I stop, transferring your captured arm into my left hand and then planting five hard swats on your bottom, even as you try to hop away. Your yelp attracts more attention than anything, but by the time most people have turned in our direction, I am already in your ear.

“If you didn’t want a spanking, you should have behaved yourself. This was supposed to be a nice day at the fair, but you have been a brat since we got here and it’s past time I did something about it. Now, you can walk with me to the restroom, or I can put you over my knee at the next available bench.”

I step back to look at your face; your mouth is a hard line and you don’t respond. Good enough. I’d rather you say nothing than get yourself in more trouble with a smart response. In no time we are in the large family stall; by some miracle we have caught it right after the midday cleaning and with no one in line. I lock the door and hang my backpack on the hook, then dig around for my hairbrush. It was an afterthought as I grabbed us waters and sunscreen. I sure am glad to have it right now.

“Turn around and grab the bar,” I tell you, gesturing at the wall.

“You don’t have to…” you say, voice trailing as your eyes find the implement. I finally see a hint of remorse in your eye, but it only irritates me further and your hesitation inspires me to skip ahead.

“Actually, go ahead and take your shorts down. Then grab the bar.”

Your mouth goes hard again and you look affronted; somehow you manage to do as you’re told in a jerky defiant manner that reassures me that I am doing exactly the right thing. When you are bent over, I come up behind you and slide your underwear down in one swift motion. You let out a squeak and reach back to grab them, catching yourself before you quite get them and returning your hand to the bar. It isn’t out of respect for me– you just don’t want me to think you care at all about what I’m going to do.

You are going to care in just a second, though. I encircle your waist with my left arm and then tap the hairbrush on your bare bottom with my free hand. Tap, tap, tap and then splat, and it is the most satisfying sound in the world. It’s only going to take me a couple of minutes to change the entire course of your day. I plant the wooden rectangle over and over again on your bottom, steadying you when you start to wiggle and gasp.

“Don’t you let those hands loose or I’ll spank your thighs, too,” I tell you right before I flick my wrist a little harder. The pop of the brush remains steady and your yelps grow louder. With every passing minute, I spank you harder, until I finally lend all of my concentration to making sure you feel this well into tomorrow. “I’m sorry,” you finally say, twisting your hips back and forth, “Really. Ow. I am. I’ll behave. Please.”

Your sentences are choppy and punctuated with the many inarticulate noises you make under the falling brush. “You’re damn right you are going to behave. I don’t want any more complaints about the heat or the lines or whatever else you’ve decided is going to ruin your day. You aren’t hotter than anyone else and no one here is skipping the line on roller coasters.” I’m not letting up with the brush as I fuss at you, and your bottom is showing signs of the damage. Good. I hope your attitude is undergoing a similar transformation.

“Please,” you eek out, and I can see sweat marks on the metal where your hands have shifted under your death grip. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry enough to behave yourself when we’re finished here?” I say unsympathetically.

“Yes!” you cry out. Good. That is what I wanted to hear. I deliver a few more blistering swats, then stop and pull your underwear up. The moment they encase your now swollen bottom, you pop up, jumping in place as you desperately try to rub the sting out. I cross my arms, brush still in hand, and watch you dance in place. When you catch my eye, you stop hopping and look sheepish. “I’m sorry,” you say, and I believe you.

“I should hope so,” I say aloud. “I can put this away now?” I ask, gesturing with my hairbrush. You flinch like I’m holding a snake, then nod pitifully. “Pull your shorts up,” I tell you as I turn to put it in my backpack, which I then take down and put on.

When I turn around again, you are just finished buttoning. I open my arms and you shuffle over into the hug. I rub your back during the embrace, but we don’t stay that way for long. I think we have monopolized the bathroom for our fair share of time, and sure enough as we exit, a line has formed. Not one person looks irritated, though. In fact, I watch several of them scan our faces, always landing on you before the sympathy shows. Glancing at your hangdog expression, I suppose it is obvious who did what to whom in there.

“Still want ice cream?” I say, absentmindedly rubbing your back as we meander around the grounds. You nod meekly, and I smile. I should have done this the moment we got here. Next time, I’ll know better. Next time, we both will.