Friday, July 27, 2007
The Latest News On The Spanko Front
One of the criteria that I use when I list a blog in the Frank’s Faves section of the sidebar on Fantastic Spanking is that I like to see new entries added more often than once per week.
Based on that, it seems that I may have to remove my own blog from the list.
Yes, sad to say, I have not been keeping up with my writing duties. However, fear not, dear readers. It is not my plan to allow my little piece of the internet to go the way of Monty Python’s ever-popular parrot. Instead, I am intending to get off of my imaginary butt and return to my previous prodigious rate of publishing a new entry every … umm … well … let’s say more often than once per week.
Moving right along, Angela, my loving and beautiful wife, has quit her job. We were discussing the family financial picture and it seems that we are not completely broke. For the past 12 years, most of Angela’s income, that which she didn’t spend on clothes, has gone towards two things: paying our ridiculously high mortgage payment and saving for a college education for our two wonderful daughters. As luck would have it, Maribel has been on scholarship due to her skills on the basketball court. So we have been saving for two sets of tuition, but will only be on the hook for one. Therefore, I believe that we have saved enough to send Colette to the college of her choice, unless she wishes to attend an institution such as Yale, in which case she had best start quickly picking up Maribel’s athletic prowess.
Angela has what her doctor refers to as a “fucked up back.” The doctor insists this diagnosis is contained in the DSM IV, although I have not been able to find it. Irregardless, Angela finds it excruciatingly painful to sit in your basic office chair for 40 hours plus a week. Throw in an hour or so behind the wheel for her commute and her “fucked up back” protests most vehemently. My darling had discussed converting to a part-time employee. Her employer balked at first, then realized that he would be seriously handicapped if he lost her altogether. However, after seeing the paltry compensation package that he had offered Angela to stay on, Angela told her employer that she could make almost as much money doing something that she actually enjoyed. Her employer basically told her to take it or leave it.
Angela left it.
I have never seen her happier, at least since our youngest daughter was born.
So now Angela is looking for that perfect job and undergoing intensive therapy to relieve “fucked up back.” She has also informed me that she is planning a vacation, although she will not even give me a clue of where she would like to go. Finally, she has promised, since I work from home, once the girls are back at school, daily spankings.
Never has the coming of fall looked so good to me. Daily spankings? What can I say to that, except …….. Fantastic!
Based on that, it seems that I may have to remove my own blog from the list.
Yes, sad to say, I have not been keeping up with my writing duties. However, fear not, dear readers. It is not my plan to allow my little piece of the internet to go the way of Monty Python’s ever-popular parrot. Instead, I am intending to get off of my imaginary butt and return to my previous prodigious rate of publishing a new entry every … umm … well … let’s say more often than once per week.Moving right along, Angela, my loving and beautiful wife, has quit her job. We were discussing the family financial picture and it seems that we are not completely broke. For the past 12 years, most of Angela’s income, that which she didn’t spend on clothes, has gone towards two things: paying our ridiculously high mortgage payment and saving for a college education for our two wonderful daughters. As luck would have it, Maribel has been on scholarship due to her skills on the basketball court. So we have been saving for two sets of tuition, but will only be on the hook for one. Therefore, I believe that we have saved enough to send Colette to the college of her choice, unless she wishes to attend an institution such as Yale, in which case she had best start quickly picking up Maribel’s athletic prowess.
Angela has what her doctor refers to as a “fucked up back.” The doctor insists this diagnosis is contained in the DSM IV, although I have not been able to find it. Irregardless, Angela finds it excruciatingly painful to sit in your basic office chair for 40 hours plus a week. Throw in an hour or so behind the wheel for her commute and her “fucked up back” protests most vehemently. My darling had discussed converting to a part-time employee. Her employer balked at first, then realized that he would be seriously handicapped if he lost her altogether. However, after seeing the paltry compensation package that he had offered Angela to stay on, Angela told her employer that she could make almost as much money doing something that she actually enjoyed. Her employer basically told her to take it or leave it.
Angela left it.
I have never seen her happier, at least since our youngest daughter was born.
So now Angela is looking for that perfect job and undergoing intensive therapy to relieve “fucked up back.” She has also informed me that she is planning a vacation, although she will not even give me a clue of where she would like to go. Finally, she has promised, since I work from home, once the girls are back at school, daily spankings.
Never has the coming of fall looked so good to me. Daily spankings? What can I say to that, except …….. Fantastic!
Saturday, July 21, 2007
Seven Wonders Of The Spanko World
While trying not to melt, and while much of the local flora shrivels up and turns to dust due to a lack of precipitation, I happened to read about a group of scholars who have chosen the Seven Wonders of the Modern World. This is, as I’m sure you know (since all of my readers are highly intellectual), a compliment to the Seven Wonders of the Ancient World, which consist of the Great Pyramid of Giza and six other things which no longer exist.
It appears that Seven Wonders may now becoming a trend. I’m sure it will not be long before we see the Seven Wonders of TV, movies, and other, mundane things.Therefore, I began to ponder. In our world, the great world of all things spanking, what is truly wonderful? What stands out as amazing, colossal things to those of us with spanko tendencies?
I therefore present to you, my loyal readers, in no particular order, the Seven Wonders of the Spanko World:
1. The Internet – Thru Al Gore’s greatest invention, Spanko’s across this great planet have discovered two things: That they are not along, and how to make contact with others who share the same interest. The internet has also provided an endless steam of entertainment, from pictures to videos to stories to blogs.
2. The Human Tushie – If it wasn’t for this most exquisite part of the human anatomy, we’d have nothing to spank.
3. Schoolgirls – The schoolgirl fantasy has occupied the imagination of many a spanko. The British seem to have a special place in their hearts for the schoolgirl, in her traditional uniform, being taken over the headmaster desk for a caning or house mistress’ lap for a dose of the hairbrush. Curiously, despite the fact that, in my part of the world in my formative years schoolgirls were never spanked, the school boy generally does not evoke the same thoughts.
4. The Hairbrush and the Belt – While there are many household implements which work quite nicely for spanking, these two items are by far the most popular and evoke the most feelings, whether of excitement or fear.
5. The School Paddle and the Cane – You might think that these two implements belong with the previous, however I feel that they deserve a place of their own. The Paddle and the Cane are generally used for more formal, and often more severe, spankings. They are also the primary methods of spanking used by schools, the Paddle in the States and the Cane in the British Isles. Finally, unlike the hairbrush and belt, which have more common uses, the primary purpose of Canes and, especially, Paddles, is for striking the poor miscreant across their posterior.
6. Fraternities – Gentlemen, how many of us have wanted to take part in a Fraternity initiation primarily for the paddling? For many a spanko, the spanking tradition is perhaps the most exciting part of joining one of these collegiate organizations. The Fraternity spanking has given use some memorable movie moments, also, such as the initiation scene from “Animal House.”
7. Imagination – Spankos have fertile imaginations. I have always felt that. The advent of internet spanking newsgroups, websites, and blog has only strengthened that belief. The average, every day spanko often has a plethora of fine fiction that they are kind enough to share. Often, without a willing partner, or any partner at all, a spanko must depend on their imagination as the only way to give or get a decent spanking.
This really just goes to prove what is indeed the point of this little piece of the internet, and that is that being spanko is fantastic.
Thursday, July 12, 2007
My Buns Are Hot Enough
It’s been a rather quiet summer here at Fantastic Spanking. Spankings have been a rare occurrence at the Spanko household, although there is a perfectly good reason for that.
It has been hot. Really, really hot.
And, at least for dumpy, middle-aged like me, it is hard to be interested in getting a hot butt when the sheer warmth of the atmosphere has already made my butt, as well as the rest of my anatomy, quite hot enough. It has been so hot (ahh, I caught you saying “How hot was it?”) that, if I were to have my tushie swatted, I believe that I would not feel it.
As a result, I have allowed my thoughts to wander to different aspects of our collective favorite pastime. The following item that I am about to relate was inspired by several fellow chroniclers who have opined on women whom they feel deserve a spanking. Most of these have discussed the misadventures of some of our young, female celebrities, such as Paris Hilton, Nicole Richie, and Brittany Spears. My story involves an encounter with a young lady at a local retail establishment.
This occurred last weekend. I had wandered off to our local Lord and Taylors store, an upscale department store-type establishment of some repute known primarily for their trendy, expensive clothing. I am, by nature and by heredity, a cheapskate when it comes to clothing. Fortunately, about this time of the year, Lord and Taylors lowers the price of summer sports shirts to practically nothing so they can make room for their winter lines, which will come out next week, when the temperatures will still probably be in the nineties. As I was trying on a pair of short pants, which were also priced quite low, I noticed a young boy of perhaps three or four sitting quietly by the next set of changing rooms, which were in the ladies clothing department. The youngster was busying himself perusing a book of pictures.
As I was checking out, I again chanced upon said young man, accompanied by his mother. The mother was slender, blonde, shapely, and nicely tanned. She was, in a word, extremely gorgeous. Okay, that was two words. She was purchasing several articles of clothing by choice designers, none of which were on sale. None of her purchases were for the boy. She was continuously telling the boy to stop falling behind her, even though the poor fellow was close to a trot trying to keep up.
We both concluded our transactions at about the same time. The lady and her son reached the exit a few steps before me. The lady hurried through the door first, followed by the boy. As the boy crossed the threshold, he glanced back and saw me. To my delight, he stopped and held the door open for me.
So pleased was I that I made it a point to thank him profusely for being so polite and thoughtful, and I reciprocated as we reached the second set of doors. He then thanked me most graciously. What a fine person this was, I thought. He must be well raised.
As we reached the sidewalk, the boy’s mother, who was well ahead of us by this point, turned back to check on her son. When she saw him a few steps behind, she became most frustrated. “Hurry up,” she said to him. “I’m getting tired of always waiting for you.”
I normally do not intercede in affairs between parents and children. It can be dangerous to disturb a family dynamic. However, this time I felt that I must defend the poor child.
“My dear,” I began, “The fault is mine. You see, this fine, young gentleman was kind enough to hold the door open for me as I was leaving the store. I was so impressed by his impeccable manners that I felt obliged to return the favor.”
I was hoping that the woman would be pleased with my compliment of her boy, especially since they were sincere and quite accurate. Instead, the lady gave me a look of disgust, like I had just tried to present her with a handful of steaming, runny, stinky dung. Not sure what I had said wrong, I tried to diffuse the situation.
I smiled and said, “This boy must have a fine mother.”
“Ew!” was how this woman responded. Just like that. Not drawn out, or spat out. Just simply stated. I checked my hand to make sure that it did not contain the afore-mentioned dung. It did not.
The woman grabbed the boy’s hand, spun around with just the right amount of hair toss, and strode off without saying another word, leaving me wondering what I had done to cause that particular response.
When I got to my vehicle and climbed inside, before heading off I checked in the mirror to make sure that I didn’t have anything gross adhering to my teeth or smeared on my face. I saw nothing. When I got home, I asked Angela if anything was amiss in my appearance. She indicated that I looked fine.
I was left to conclude only one thing.
That poor lady was definitely in need of a spanking.
That’s okay. Come to think of it, so am I. Perhaps when the weather breaks.
It has been hot. Really, really hot.
And, at least for dumpy, middle-aged like me, it is hard to be interested in getting a hot butt when the sheer warmth of the atmosphere has already made my butt, as well as the rest of my anatomy, quite hot enough. It has been so hot (ahh, I caught you saying “How hot was it?”) that, if I were to have my tushie swatted, I believe that I would not feel it.
As a result, I have allowed my thoughts to wander to different aspects of our collective favorite pastime. The following item that I am about to relate was inspired by several fellow chroniclers who have opined on women whom they feel deserve a spanking. Most of these have discussed the misadventures of some of our young, female celebrities, such as Paris Hilton, Nicole Richie, and Brittany Spears. My story involves an encounter with a young lady at a local retail establishment.
This occurred last weekend. I had wandered off to our local Lord and Taylors store, an upscale department store-type establishment of some repute known primarily for their trendy, expensive clothing. I am, by nature and by heredity, a cheapskate when it comes to clothing. Fortunately, about this time of the year, Lord and Taylors lowers the price of summer sports shirts to practically nothing so they can make room for their winter lines, which will come out next week, when the temperatures will still probably be in the nineties. As I was trying on a pair of short pants, which were also priced quite low, I noticed a young boy of perhaps three or four sitting quietly by the next set of changing rooms, which were in the ladies clothing department. The youngster was busying himself perusing a book of pictures.
As I was checking out, I again chanced upon said young man, accompanied by his mother. The mother was slender, blonde, shapely, and nicely tanned. She was, in a word, extremely gorgeous. Okay, that was two words. She was purchasing several articles of clothing by choice designers, none of which were on sale. None of her purchases were for the boy. She was continuously telling the boy to stop falling behind her, even though the poor fellow was close to a trot trying to keep up.
We both concluded our transactions at about the same time. The lady and her son reached the exit a few steps before me. The lady hurried through the door first, followed by the boy. As the boy crossed the threshold, he glanced back and saw me. To my delight, he stopped and held the door open for me.
So pleased was I that I made it a point to thank him profusely for being so polite and thoughtful, and I reciprocated as we reached the second set of doors. He then thanked me most graciously. What a fine person this was, I thought. He must be well raised.
As we reached the sidewalk, the boy’s mother, who was well ahead of us by this point, turned back to check on her son. When she saw him a few steps behind, she became most frustrated. “Hurry up,” she said to him. “I’m getting tired of always waiting for you.”
I normally do not intercede in affairs between parents and children. It can be dangerous to disturb a family dynamic. However, this time I felt that I must defend the poor child.
“My dear,” I began, “The fault is mine. You see, this fine, young gentleman was kind enough to hold the door open for me as I was leaving the store. I was so impressed by his impeccable manners that I felt obliged to return the favor.”
I was hoping that the woman would be pleased with my compliment of her boy, especially since they were sincere and quite accurate. Instead, the lady gave me a look of disgust, like I had just tried to present her with a handful of steaming, runny, stinky dung. Not sure what I had said wrong, I tried to diffuse the situation.
I smiled and said, “This boy must have a fine mother.”
“Ew!” was how this woman responded. Just like that. Not drawn out, or spat out. Just simply stated. I checked my hand to make sure that it did not contain the afore-mentioned dung. It did not.
The woman grabbed the boy’s hand, spun around with just the right amount of hair toss, and strode off without saying another word, leaving me wondering what I had done to cause that particular response.
When I got to my vehicle and climbed inside, before heading off I checked in the mirror to make sure that I didn’t have anything gross adhering to my teeth or smeared on my face. I saw nothing. When I got home, I asked Angela if anything was amiss in my appearance. She indicated that I looked fine.
I was left to conclude only one thing.
That poor lady was definitely in need of a spanking.
That’s okay. Come to think of it, so am I. Perhaps when the weather breaks.
Wednesday, July 04, 2007
The Tutor, Epilogue
Click Here to read Part Five
Dear readers, having just read the story of The Tutor over the last few installments here, I’m sure that you are all wondering whether or not my student, the afore-mentioned Peggy, learned from her spanking. Did she finish the semester well, or did she revert back to her bad habits and fare poorly?
The simple answer is that, yes, she performed well. She did not miss any more tutoring sessions, she excelled in her class work, she passed all of her remaining tests with very high scores, and she even performed some extra-credit work to bring her grades up.
I wish that I could report that, after taking and acing her finals, she returned to my place of residence where we celebrated with an evening of champagne and exquisite love-making. Alas, even though I live in an imaginary world, it is still not a perfect world.
In truth, I did not see Peggy at all during or immediately after finals week. With the end of the school year came the end of the project that the university was paying me to work on. However, thanks to the experience, I had secured full-time employment somewhat closer to my hometown. Therefore, like the students, I was preparing to make my departure.
It was a warm, May Saturday afternoon. I was packing up some of my less essential belongings in preparation for moving to a new city. I had music blaring from my stereo, as did a number of other houses on the block. I had taken a break to sit down and consume my favorite beverage, beer. I heard a car pull up in the driveway and was surprised to see Peggy get out of it, followed by her parents.
Peggy was very excited. She informed me of her academic success, and then proudly introduced me to her parents as the person who had helped make it possible. Her parents greeted me warmly.
After the introductions, her father took me aside and said to me, “I want to thank you for working with our daughter. She’s really quite smart (something that I already knew), but isn’t always interested in applying herself. Every once and a while she needs a whack on the butt to get her attention back where it ought to be. I’m glad that she found someone to provide that whack.” I began to think that Peggy had told her folks exactly what I had done to refocus her, but then I remembered that she had said that she’d never been struck as a child and realized that her father was speaking figuratively.
Her father’s satisfaction was not figurative, however, as he slipped me a one-hundred dollar bill as his way of saying thank-you.
The four of us chatted briefly, then, as they prepared to leave, Peggy blessed me with another friendly hug. She then surprised me by saying that she would be not be returning to this school but rather transferring to a smaller, more specialized private school. I wished her luck in her future and then watched, somewhat wistfully, as she climbed into her parents car and disappeared from my life.
I had the good fortune to run into Peggy recently while I was attending a technical conference. It turned out that Peggy was catering the event. I discovered that she was married with two children. Her husband’s parents had lived in a big, old, country house which Peggy and her husband were able to refurbish and turn into a bed-and-breakfast. The establishment had done so well that Peggy was able to repeat the process with a number of other old houses and thus had parlayed that into a thriving business that ran a string of country inns as well as doing some catering. She seemed very happy and very successful. As we had agreed, I did not bring up the spanking incident that had occurred so many years previously. It seemed like ancient history, anyway.
I was proud of my protégé. She had turned out well. I must confess that there were times not long after our tutoring sessions had ended that I wished I had tried for a more involved relationship with Peggy. I thought that we would have made a great couple. Of course, later I met Angela, and she turned out to be the perfect wife for me because she spanks me. So, I guess, I turned out okay, too. All in all, I’d say that, for both Peggy and I, things had turned out fantastic.
Dear readers, having just read the story of The Tutor over the last few installments here, I’m sure that you are all wondering whether or not my student, the afore-mentioned Peggy, learned from her spanking. Did she finish the semester well, or did she revert back to her bad habits and fare poorly?
The simple answer is that, yes, she performed well. She did not miss any more tutoring sessions, she excelled in her class work, she passed all of her remaining tests with very high scores, and she even performed some extra-credit work to bring her grades up.
I wish that I could report that, after taking and acing her finals, she returned to my place of residence where we celebrated with an evening of champagne and exquisite love-making. Alas, even though I live in an imaginary world, it is still not a perfect world.
In truth, I did not see Peggy at all during or immediately after finals week. With the end of the school year came the end of the project that the university was paying me to work on. However, thanks to the experience, I had secured full-time employment somewhat closer to my hometown. Therefore, like the students, I was preparing to make my departure.
It was a warm, May Saturday afternoon. I was packing up some of my less essential belongings in preparation for moving to a new city. I had music blaring from my stereo, as did a number of other houses on the block. I had taken a break to sit down and consume my favorite beverage, beer. I heard a car pull up in the driveway and was surprised to see Peggy get out of it, followed by her parents.
Peggy was very excited. She informed me of her academic success, and then proudly introduced me to her parents as the person who had helped make it possible. Her parents greeted me warmly.
After the introductions, her father took me aside and said to me, “I want to thank you for working with our daughter. She’s really quite smart (something that I already knew), but isn’t always interested in applying herself. Every once and a while she needs a whack on the butt to get her attention back where it ought to be. I’m glad that she found someone to provide that whack.” I began to think that Peggy had told her folks exactly what I had done to refocus her, but then I remembered that she had said that she’d never been struck as a child and realized that her father was speaking figuratively.
Her father’s satisfaction was not figurative, however, as he slipped me a one-hundred dollar bill as his way of saying thank-you.
The four of us chatted briefly, then, as they prepared to leave, Peggy blessed me with another friendly hug. She then surprised me by saying that she would be not be returning to this school but rather transferring to a smaller, more specialized private school. I wished her luck in her future and then watched, somewhat wistfully, as she climbed into her parents car and disappeared from my life.
I had the good fortune to run into Peggy recently while I was attending a technical conference. It turned out that Peggy was catering the event. I discovered that she was married with two children. Her husband’s parents had lived in a big, old, country house which Peggy and her husband were able to refurbish and turn into a bed-and-breakfast. The establishment had done so well that Peggy was able to repeat the process with a number of other old houses and thus had parlayed that into a thriving business that ran a string of country inns as well as doing some catering. She seemed very happy and very successful. As we had agreed, I did not bring up the spanking incident that had occurred so many years previously. It seemed like ancient history, anyway.
I was proud of my protégé. She had turned out well. I must confess that there were times not long after our tutoring sessions had ended that I wished I had tried for a more involved relationship with Peggy. I thought that we would have made a great couple. Of course, later I met Angela, and she turned out to be the perfect wife for me because she spanks me. So, I guess, I turned out okay, too. All in all, I’d say that, for both Peggy and I, things had turned out fantastic.
Tuesday, July 03, 2007
The Tutor, Fifth and Final Installment
Go to Part Four
What follows in the conclusion of the punishment of my recalcitrant student, and her repentence.
Peggy’s butt had turned a much deeper shade of red. There was some slight puffiness, which meant that the results of this spanking would be with her for a while. I sent her back to the corner, knowing that when she sat on the little stool, she would experience some discomfort. I watched her as she carefully made her way to the corner. She looked very cute and contrite, wearing only a school t-shirt that hung just to her waist, framing her fiery-red bottom nicely.
I disappeared into my spare bedroom, allowing her to be alone with her thoughts. I was planning on one more round of swats to her bare posterior, nice and hard. I figured that would be enough to remember this evening for quite a while, or at least for as long as she could feel the pain in her fanny. I hoped that next time I would see her, the seat of her pants would still be a little achy.
I returned to my living room, and felt like drawing the final sequence out a bit. “Does you butt hurt sitting on that stool?” I asked.
“Yes, sir,” she responded.
“Good. Now, this will be your final paddling,” I told her, “but it is going to be the hardest one yet. I’m going to give you twenty whacks. I’m going to be strict with you this time. If you don’t hold your position, I’m going to award you an additional whack. And I want you to count each one. If you forget to count or give the wrong number, you’ll get another whack. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir,” she said again.
“All right. Now get back over here and bend over the chair, and get ready for your butt to be seriously sore.”
Over she came, and over she bent. But, abruptly, she stood up again.
“Wait,” she said before I could ask what she was doing. “There’s something I need to do before you spank me.” To my great surprise, she began to remove her t-shirt.
I quickly stopped her. “I’m not doing this so that I can sleep with you or anything like that,” I told her, angrily.
“I know,” she responded. “I never thought you were. The fact that you’ve been tutoring me for the better part of six months and haven’t made a move on me says that you’re a professional.” In fact, I hadn’t made a move on her because I wasn’t really very good at that sort of thing, and she had played a major role in my active fantasy life at the time. Of course, I didn’t tell her that.
She continued. “Part of any punishment is an element of shame. I’m ashamed at how I’ve treated you, and with my grades. So, nothing is more shameful than being naked while having to submit to someone in authority so that they can punish you. I need to do this.”
As I said, this girl was smart. I considered. “Please?” she begged. If she felt that removing the remainder of her clothing wound enhance the effectiveness of her spanking, who was I to refuse. I consented, and her t-shirt and bra were discarded.
Peggy was now completely nude. I tried to ignore the fact that her body was nearly perfect, and that this exact picture had pervaded my dirty thoughts numerous times since I had first met her. However, she thought that I acted professional, so I was determined to do so. She took a couple of deep breaths, then stepped up to the chair and, one final time, she bent over. “And I’m going to make sure that you don’t have to give me any extra whacks,” she said.
“Let’s hope not,” I told her.
I needn’t describe what next took place. I needn’t, but I shall, because I am, after all, a spanko, and you are, after all, reading this because you like to read about spanking.
I reminded her to count. Then I tried to judge just how hard I should swing. I wanted these to be hard swats, and I didn’t mind leaving a few bruises. I did not, however, want to do any serious damage, or to push her beyond her limits. Since paddles don’t exactly come with power gauges, I made my best guess and let her have it.
“One!” she cried as my paddle made contact with her rump. I saw her knees buckle slightly, but she held her position admirably. I brought my paddle down again, and got a resounding “Two!” as a result. She rose up on her toes, which just caused me to have a better path to her butt with my paddle. I hit her again.
“Three!” she said, now clearly in discomfort. I decided that I was using appropriate force, and so continued the paddling thusly. She kept the count accurately, although her voice was beginning to rise in pitch as the pain built. I did not stop after the fifth swat, but continued spanking in a regular cadence, which I think surprised her somewhat, but she stayed down and kept counting. I knew that she was correct in predicting that I would not need to give her any extra swats. I think, for the first time in her life, she was actually taking responsibility for her actions.
While I had begun to admire her attitude and her endurance, I was determined to show no mercy. I methodically kept up the final assault on her bare backside. I could hear the strain in her voice as she kept count, but she never made a mistake. I took my time, not going very fast but not giving her much time to recover in between swats. Her butt continued to get darker and darker, a very angry red that was clearly searing every inch of that very nice but very deserving posterior.
At ten I paused very briefly to take a deep breath. “Ten more to go,” I said to her. “Yes, sir,” she responded through clenched teeth. One final time I resumed paddling, intending to finish her punishment with a last set of good, hard spanks. Peggy elicited several cries and grunts as I made sure each swat was very, very painful. In trying to ease the pain, she would shake her hips, as if she was shaking off water cascading down her back.
I paused again before the final swat. “Just one more to go,” I said to her. “I think this one should be the hardest one you’ve taken. Because of that, I’m going to remove the no standing and rubbing rules. Since this is the last whack, and you’ve behaved yourself admirably, and because you seem to be actually learning a lesson, and because this swat is going to be especially hard, you deserve to be able to have some release. Is that fair?”
“Yes, sir,” she responded again. “Just make sure this last one is one to remember.”
I obliged her. I brought the paddle up head high, and allowed it’s momentum to send the board flying towards her naked, defenseless, and very sore hindquarters. At the last instant before contact, I snapped my wrist forward. The paddle cracked her ass excellently, and she leaped up and tightly grabbed her cheeks with both hands. “Twenty!” she shouted as she jumped around, trying to douse the flames on her backside. I let her jump around a little more, and rub herself rapidly. It was a pleasant sight. When she stopped rubbing, I sent her back to the corner for a final bit of contemplation. “If you want, you can stand in the corner if sitting hurts too much,” I told her.
She opted for standing, while doing a little more butt rubbing. I would have been happy to handle the rubbing for her, but that would have been ungentlemanly. While she finished her exile, I want into my bedroom and grabbed a bathrobe, then went in to the kitchen and filled a plastic bag with ice. I took them both to Peggy.
As she turned around, her eyes were red and I could see some tears starting, but she was not sobbing. “Put this bathrobe on and go into the bedroom,” I told her. “Lay down on the bed, face down, and put this ice bag on your butt for about 15 minutes. That will help ease the bruising. When you get back to your room, rub some lotion into your fanny so the skin doesn’t get too dry.” Peggy smiled and took the robe and ice, thankfully, and scurried off.
While she was recovering, I gathered her clothes and folded them into a neat pile. I set them on the sofa and went back to the kitchen, where I opened the fridge, took out a beer, and downed it in two swigs. I was earnestly hoping that she would not become amorous, as I did not think that I would have the resolve to resist any sexual advance.
Fortunately, there were none. After the allotted time, I delivered her clothes to her. She was sitting on the edge of the bed, although the ice bag was still beneath her seat. When I took it from her, I was slightly surprised to see that the ice had not completely melted.
After she had dressed and composed herself, she came out. “Thank-you,” she said. “You always know what I need.”
“You’re welcome,” I responded. “One more thing. As far as I’m concerned, this little episode is resolved. I will hold none of your previous transgressions against you, nor will I suggest spanking you again. If you wish that this spanking never be spoken of again, that is all right with me. Now, when do you want me to start tutoring again?”
“Sunday, if that is okay,” she replied. “I’ll start catching up on my reading on Saturday and gather all my assignments. Then we can go over all of them to see what I need to work on first and if I need help on anything.” It sounded like she was getting back to good habits already.
Peggy started to leave, but then turned back and came up to me. She gave me a hug and a quick kiss on the cheek. I could see the tears again. She left quickly and headed back to her dorm room.
I watched her go, and then I got myself another beer. I sat down in the chair that Peggy had so recently been bending over to reflect. It seemed right, that I had chosen to spank her. She really did seem like she would get serious about her studies. I was certain that she could bring her grades up to satisfactory levels.
I was also amazed that I had just had a naked, pretty, 20-year-old woman in my little, rented house, whom I had just spanked, and yet I hadn’t slept with her. That also felt right, although the hormonal parts of me would occasionally regret that during my impending sexual dry spell. I smiled to myself. If she succeeded in her classes, I could take satisfaction in setting her onto a better path. If she failed, I could take satisfaction in having spanked her. To me, that would be more than enough.
Fear not, dear readers. Shortly, I shall pass along to you whether or not Peggy actually did improve her grades, as well as a brief description of our last meeting.
What follows in the conclusion of the punishment of my recalcitrant student, and her repentence.
Peggy’s butt had turned a much deeper shade of red. There was some slight puffiness, which meant that the results of this spanking would be with her for a while. I sent her back to the corner, knowing that when she sat on the little stool, she would experience some discomfort. I watched her as she carefully made her way to the corner. She looked very cute and contrite, wearing only a school t-shirt that hung just to her waist, framing her fiery-red bottom nicely.
I disappeared into my spare bedroom, allowing her to be alone with her thoughts. I was planning on one more round of swats to her bare posterior, nice and hard. I figured that would be enough to remember this evening for quite a while, or at least for as long as she could feel the pain in her fanny. I hoped that next time I would see her, the seat of her pants would still be a little achy.
I returned to my living room, and felt like drawing the final sequence out a bit. “Does you butt hurt sitting on that stool?” I asked.
“Yes, sir,” she responded.
“Good. Now, this will be your final paddling,” I told her, “but it is going to be the hardest one yet. I’m going to give you twenty whacks. I’m going to be strict with you this time. If you don’t hold your position, I’m going to award you an additional whack. And I want you to count each one. If you forget to count or give the wrong number, you’ll get another whack. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir,” she said again.
“All right. Now get back over here and bend over the chair, and get ready for your butt to be seriously sore.”
Over she came, and over she bent. But, abruptly, she stood up again.
“Wait,” she said before I could ask what she was doing. “There’s something I need to do before you spank me.” To my great surprise, she began to remove her t-shirt.
I quickly stopped her. “I’m not doing this so that I can sleep with you or anything like that,” I told her, angrily.
“I know,” she responded. “I never thought you were. The fact that you’ve been tutoring me for the better part of six months and haven’t made a move on me says that you’re a professional.” In fact, I hadn’t made a move on her because I wasn’t really very good at that sort of thing, and she had played a major role in my active fantasy life at the time. Of course, I didn’t tell her that.
She continued. “Part of any punishment is an element of shame. I’m ashamed at how I’ve treated you, and with my grades. So, nothing is more shameful than being naked while having to submit to someone in authority so that they can punish you. I need to do this.”
As I said, this girl was smart. I considered. “Please?” she begged. If she felt that removing the remainder of her clothing wound enhance the effectiveness of her spanking, who was I to refuse. I consented, and her t-shirt and bra were discarded.
Peggy was now completely nude. I tried to ignore the fact that her body was nearly perfect, and that this exact picture had pervaded my dirty thoughts numerous times since I had first met her. However, she thought that I acted professional, so I was determined to do so. She took a couple of deep breaths, then stepped up to the chair and, one final time, she bent over. “And I’m going to make sure that you don’t have to give me any extra whacks,” she said.
“Let’s hope not,” I told her.
I needn’t describe what next took place. I needn’t, but I shall, because I am, after all, a spanko, and you are, after all, reading this because you like to read about spanking.
I reminded her to count. Then I tried to judge just how hard I should swing. I wanted these to be hard swats, and I didn’t mind leaving a few bruises. I did not, however, want to do any serious damage, or to push her beyond her limits. Since paddles don’t exactly come with power gauges, I made my best guess and let her have it.“One!” she cried as my paddle made contact with her rump. I saw her knees buckle slightly, but she held her position admirably. I brought my paddle down again, and got a resounding “Two!” as a result. She rose up on her toes, which just caused me to have a better path to her butt with my paddle. I hit her again.
“Three!” she said, now clearly in discomfort. I decided that I was using appropriate force, and so continued the paddling thusly. She kept the count accurately, although her voice was beginning to rise in pitch as the pain built. I did not stop after the fifth swat, but continued spanking in a regular cadence, which I think surprised her somewhat, but she stayed down and kept counting. I knew that she was correct in predicting that I would not need to give her any extra swats. I think, for the first time in her life, she was actually taking responsibility for her actions.
While I had begun to admire her attitude and her endurance, I was determined to show no mercy. I methodically kept up the final assault on her bare backside. I could hear the strain in her voice as she kept count, but she never made a mistake. I took my time, not going very fast but not giving her much time to recover in between swats. Her butt continued to get darker and darker, a very angry red that was clearly searing every inch of that very nice but very deserving posterior.
At ten I paused very briefly to take a deep breath. “Ten more to go,” I said to her. “Yes, sir,” she responded through clenched teeth. One final time I resumed paddling, intending to finish her punishment with a last set of good, hard spanks. Peggy elicited several cries and grunts as I made sure each swat was very, very painful. In trying to ease the pain, she would shake her hips, as if she was shaking off water cascading down her back.
I paused again before the final swat. “Just one more to go,” I said to her. “I think this one should be the hardest one you’ve taken. Because of that, I’m going to remove the no standing and rubbing rules. Since this is the last whack, and you’ve behaved yourself admirably, and because you seem to be actually learning a lesson, and because this swat is going to be especially hard, you deserve to be able to have some release. Is that fair?”
“Yes, sir,” she responded again. “Just make sure this last one is one to remember.”
I obliged her. I brought the paddle up head high, and allowed it’s momentum to send the board flying towards her naked, defenseless, and very sore hindquarters. At the last instant before contact, I snapped my wrist forward. The paddle cracked her ass excellently, and she leaped up and tightly grabbed her cheeks with both hands. “Twenty!” she shouted as she jumped around, trying to douse the flames on her backside. I let her jump around a little more, and rub herself rapidly. It was a pleasant sight. When she stopped rubbing, I sent her back to the corner for a final bit of contemplation. “If you want, you can stand in the corner if sitting hurts too much,” I told her.
She opted for standing, while doing a little more butt rubbing. I would have been happy to handle the rubbing for her, but that would have been ungentlemanly. While she finished her exile, I want into my bedroom and grabbed a bathrobe, then went in to the kitchen and filled a plastic bag with ice. I took them both to Peggy.
As she turned around, her eyes were red and I could see some tears starting, but she was not sobbing. “Put this bathrobe on and go into the bedroom,” I told her. “Lay down on the bed, face down, and put this ice bag on your butt for about 15 minutes. That will help ease the bruising. When you get back to your room, rub some lotion into your fanny so the skin doesn’t get too dry.” Peggy smiled and took the robe and ice, thankfully, and scurried off.
While she was recovering, I gathered her clothes and folded them into a neat pile. I set them on the sofa and went back to the kitchen, where I opened the fridge, took out a beer, and downed it in two swigs. I was earnestly hoping that she would not become amorous, as I did not think that I would have the resolve to resist any sexual advance.
Fortunately, there were none. After the allotted time, I delivered her clothes to her. She was sitting on the edge of the bed, although the ice bag was still beneath her seat. When I took it from her, I was slightly surprised to see that the ice had not completely melted.
After she had dressed and composed herself, she came out. “Thank-you,” she said. “You always know what I need.”
“You’re welcome,” I responded. “One more thing. As far as I’m concerned, this little episode is resolved. I will hold none of your previous transgressions against you, nor will I suggest spanking you again. If you wish that this spanking never be spoken of again, that is all right with me. Now, when do you want me to start tutoring again?”
“Sunday, if that is okay,” she replied. “I’ll start catching up on my reading on Saturday and gather all my assignments. Then we can go over all of them to see what I need to work on first and if I need help on anything.” It sounded like she was getting back to good habits already.
Peggy started to leave, but then turned back and came up to me. She gave me a hug and a quick kiss on the cheek. I could see the tears again. She left quickly and headed back to her dorm room.
I watched her go, and then I got myself another beer. I sat down in the chair that Peggy had so recently been bending over to reflect. It seemed right, that I had chosen to spank her. She really did seem like she would get serious about her studies. I was certain that she could bring her grades up to satisfactory levels.
I was also amazed that I had just had a naked, pretty, 20-year-old woman in my little, rented house, whom I had just spanked, and yet I hadn’t slept with her. That also felt right, although the hormonal parts of me would occasionally regret that during my impending sexual dry spell. I smiled to myself. If she succeeded in her classes, I could take satisfaction in setting her onto a better path. If she failed, I could take satisfaction in having spanked her. To me, that would be more than enough.
Fear not, dear readers. Shortly, I shall pass along to you whether or not Peggy actually did improve her grades, as well as a brief description of our last meeting.
