Friday, July 28, 2006
Once Upon A Spanking, Part The Third
I believe it was Forest Gump's mom who said, "Stupid is as stupid does." Or perhaps not. In any event, here continues my story of what happened when I did something truly stupid.
Upon entering the house, I discovered, to my disappointment, that the ladies of the house were now more modestly attired. One of the ladies was leafing through the phone book. “What is the number for the police?” she asked.
One of her housemates replied, “Nine one one. Duh!” Such loving friends.
“Um,” I started, “there is no reason to involve the authorities. I’m sure they’ll just yell at me a bit and then release me when I promise to behave more civilly.”
“No way,” replied gun girl. “I’m gonna have you arrested. Perverts like you should be locked up.” Although I had frequently been called worse, being called a pervert still made me wince.
“Well, there was lots of screaming and yelling coming from the house. If I told the officers that I thought someone might be in trouble and I was just making sure no one was being molested, I doubt they would arrest me.” Desperation allowed my brain and mouth to start reconnecting.
Gun girl, who appeared to have something is a leadership role of the house, continued to glare at me. “I don’t know,” she said. “It’s perverts like you who molest people like us.”
I was beginning to worry, both because this person was appearing to be rather intractable, and because she was still carrying the shotgun. I had to think fast. I decided to throw myself at the mercy of the court.
“I’ll tell you what,” I began. “How about, first, setting aside that rather scary looking weapon. I don’t wish to harm anyone. I’ll admit that I was in the wrong. Rather than calling the police, and having to answer a lot of questions, fill out forms, maybe go to court, let’s just settle this right here. I’ll plead guilty right now and you can decide my punishment.”
The ladies looked to one another. The former topless one spoke first. “Put that stupid gun down, Angela,” she said. It is ironic that gun girl had the same name as my future spouse. Gun girl started to say something, then cracked the gun open, removed the shells within, and carried it to another room. My bladder felt much better.
“Well, what should we do to him?” another lady asked. They began to discuss a number of possible punishments, some of which involved heavy, blunt instruments striking me in my testicle region. I started wondering of the police might have been a better option after all.
The now gun-less Angela returned and added her suggestions, which were mostly not plausible since they involved removal of internal organs or removal if certain external ones. Finally, one of the ladies, a very lovely but somewhat silly looking blonde, blurted out, “Why don’t we paddle his bare ass!”
Okay, perhaps she wasn’t so silly after all. It seemed like a very sensible suggestion to me. However, rather than appear too enthusiastic, I opted to remain silent.
Gunless girl was now studying me. “I think,” she said, with a mischievous grin, “we might have struck his weak spot.” If only she knew that I was a spanko. Then again, if she know I was a spanko, we would likely return to shotguns, perverts, and police. I maintained my silence and tried to look uncomfortable.
“Yeah,“ replied blonde girl. “Look, he’s starting to squirm.” Taking the hint, I tried to look like I was squirming.
“Looks more like he’s shitting his pants,” commented another of the ladies. Apparently, my squirming was not terribly convincing. The other cuties issued forth a heartfelt “Ewwwww!”
“That settles it, ladies,” announced gunless girl, “go get your paddles!”
Please stay tuned for part four, when we find out what the ladies did with their paddles.
Upon entering the house, I discovered, to my disappointment, that the ladies of the house were now more modestly attired. One of the ladies was leafing through the phone book. “What is the number for the police?” she asked.
One of her housemates replied, “Nine one one. Duh!” Such loving friends.
“Um,” I started, “there is no reason to involve the authorities. I’m sure they’ll just yell at me a bit and then release me when I promise to behave more civilly.”
“No way,” replied gun girl. “I’m gonna have you arrested. Perverts like you should be locked up.” Although I had frequently been called worse, being called a pervert still made me wince.
“Well, there was lots of screaming and yelling coming from the house. If I told the officers that I thought someone might be in trouble and I was just making sure no one was being molested, I doubt they would arrest me.” Desperation allowed my brain and mouth to start reconnecting.
Gun girl, who appeared to have something is a leadership role of the house, continued to glare at me. “I don’t know,” she said. “It’s perverts like you who molest people like us.”
I was beginning to worry, both because this person was appearing to be rather intractable, and because she was still carrying the shotgun. I had to think fast. I decided to throw myself at the mercy of the court.
“I’ll tell you what,” I began. “How about, first, setting aside that rather scary looking weapon. I don’t wish to harm anyone. I’ll admit that I was in the wrong. Rather than calling the police, and having to answer a lot of questions, fill out forms, maybe go to court, let’s just settle this right here. I’ll plead guilty right now and you can decide my punishment.”
The ladies looked to one another. The former topless one spoke first. “Put that stupid gun down, Angela,” she said. It is ironic that gun girl had the same name as my future spouse. Gun girl started to say something, then cracked the gun open, removed the shells within, and carried it to another room. My bladder felt much better.
“Well, what should we do to him?” another lady asked. They began to discuss a number of possible punishments, some of which involved heavy, blunt instruments striking me in my testicle region. I started wondering of the police might have been a better option after all.
The now gun-less Angela returned and added her suggestions, which were mostly not plausible since they involved removal of internal organs or removal if certain external ones. Finally, one of the ladies, a very lovely but somewhat silly looking blonde, blurted out, “Why don’t we paddle his bare ass!”
Okay, perhaps she wasn’t so silly after all. It seemed like a very sensible suggestion to me. However, rather than appear too enthusiastic, I opted to remain silent.
Gunless girl was now studying me. “I think,” she said, with a mischievous grin, “we might have struck his weak spot.” If only she knew that I was a spanko. Then again, if she know I was a spanko, we would likely return to shotguns, perverts, and police. I maintained my silence and tried to look uncomfortable.
“Yeah,“ replied blonde girl. “Look, he’s starting to squirm.” Taking the hint, I tried to look like I was squirming.
“Looks more like he’s shitting his pants,” commented another of the ladies. Apparently, my squirming was not terribly convincing. The other cuties issued forth a heartfelt “Ewwwww!”
“That settles it, ladies,” announced gunless girl, “go get your paddles!”
Please stay tuned for part four, when we find out what the ladies did with their paddles.
