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Posts posted by Spanks4f

  1. Emily walked quietly down the darkened faculty office hall. She had been honored to be pledged by the Omega Tau Kappa sorority, even though a lot of the activities she had been compelled to take part in didn’t thrill her much. Having to eat her meals standing while the sisters ate sitting in the dining hall made her feel uncomfortably conspicuous, as did having to carry the sisters’ trays to the conveyor line and salute them as they went through the dishwasher window.

    But this assignment made her nervous—to slip into Professor Ross’ office and steal a copy of the midterm exam for the sorority files! Her stomach felt all knotted as she looked this way and that, sure someone would discover her. She tried to comfort herself by thinking how grand it would be to be one of the sisters at last. "Here’s the door," she breathed to herself, and slipped in. She pulled out the little penlight the pledge mistress had given her and began looking about the desk for the exam. But Professor Ross seemed to be one of those clean desk people. So she began looking in the drawers, pulling them out as quietly as possible, her heart racing at every little scrape. The exam wasn’t in the main drawer or the ones on the left side, so she began looking in the ones on the right.

    The light coming on froze her where she stood. "Well, Emily," Professor Ross rumbled, "fancy seeing you here!" "She looks just like a deer caught in the headlights," he mused, "as most of these sorority pledges do when they’re caught; I really ought to get in the habit of locking my door."

    "P-P-Professor Ross!" she squeaked. The knot in her stomach felt like a softball. "Now I’ve done it!" she thought. Stepping forward, he put his hands on the desktop and smiled. "It may be some small comfort to know that you aren’t the only young lady I’ve caught trying to steal an exam paper, Emily—or it may not. Either way, here you are!" he said, quietly but sternly, and added, "which sorority sent you here?"

    "O-O-Omega Tau Kappa, sir," she whispered, barely daring to breathe. "I should have known," he muttered, half to himself, "that one accounts for a lot of this sort of thing." Speaking a bit louder, he added, "By the way, thank you for not wasting my time by vainly trying to deny what you were doing." He reached for the telephone on his desk. "You realize what this means, of course. Cheating, or helping others to cheat, is an automatic expulsion offense from this university, and it will go on your record. Any other university sending for your records will be notified of it, and will probably decline to enroll you. This little sorority stunt will be the cause of your forfeiting your further education."

    The look on her face when he switched on the light was nothing compared to her present expression—she was almost literally as pale as a sheet of paper now. Her eyes looked as if they would pop from their sockets, as well. He knew what she would be thinking, and what she would probably say next. He was not disappointed. "B-but sir! Isn’t there some other way?" she moaned. She could see her parents’ faces, the anger, the disappointment, and the frustration with her, and she knew she couldn’t face that. Anything but that!

    "You realize, of course, that no school can tolerate this type of behavior, Emily," said Professor Ross. "We cannot allow this sort of activity to go unpunished." "Y-yes, sir, I know, but isn’t there something else, some other way than my being expelled?" Emily gasped. Professor Ross fought to keep a half-smile from showing on his face. "You remember that I just said a little while ago that you are not the first young lady I’ve caught doing this?" he said. "Yes, sir," she answered, nervously. "Well, after the first few, I’ve developed an…alternate way to handle this kind of situation," he responded. "One which, while much less than pleasant, has the advantage of remaining anonymous and keeping the student in school. One question—have you reached your eighteenth birthday yet?"

    "Yes sir," she whispered. "About a month ago." "Good, " he continued, "You need to be of legal age for this to be a valid choice." He reached into a file that she had not seen and pulled out a form. Her eyes darted nervously back and forth between the paper and his face. Secretly, he relished that look. "This is, as I said, an alternative to the usual procedure, which would be that I would report this incident to the Dean of Students." She licked her lips before responding, "yes, sir, I remember you said that." Her whole insides felt as if they were knotted. What could it be that he had in mind? Whatever it was, she knew she’d have to go through with it—she couldn’t bear the thought of being dismissed from school! "You’re wondering what I have in mind, aren’t you?" he said, watching her face. She nodded, her face a portrait of worry and fear. "It’s something of which I’ve come to feel many of our students have been very much deprived. To put it bluntly, I’m speaking of corporal punishment—specifically, paddling."

    Her mouth formed the O he knew would result. "Sir! Surely, you can’t be serious! A paddling? At my age?" "Yes, Emily, I am serious," he responded. "That is your choice—either I turn your name over to the Dean, or you take this other punishment instead. If you do, then that will be the end of it. If not, you go home in disgrace." Emily’s face flushed. She knew she had no choice.

    "All right, sir, I’ll take it." He reached to the shelf behind him and took down a paddle, about half an inch thick, with a striking surface about eight inches long by five inches wide. Her eyes widened at the sight of it. She had never been spanked at home, not even when she was little! Professor Ross placed the paddle on the desk, then picked up the form which he had retrieved from the drawer.

    "As I said earlier, Emily, the fact that you are eighteen is important, since you are able at that age to enter into binding legal contracts and to give your consent." He placed the form and a pen in front of her. "Please read it aloud and then sign it." She licked her dry lips and began to read in a shaky voice. "I have been caught stealing an exam paper. This is an act of cheating, and I acknowledge that this act will, if reported, lead to my expulsion. I have been offered the alternative of reporting to Professor Ross for a total of three sessions, during which I will be paddled as my punishment. The time and place of these sessions, as well as the duration and intensity of my paddlings, are completely at Professor Ross’ discretion. I surrender of my own free will, without duress, to this punishment. Should I fail to complete the terms of this agreement, Professor Ross will be at liberty to report my misconduct and see that I am expelled. I agree not to bring any charges against him, civil or criminal, for what I will be enduring. He agrees to destroy all records of this affair upon the successful completion of my punishment."

     Emily finished reading, raised her eyes to the professor’s face, then took the pen and signed the document. She was almost successful in keeping her hand from shaking. "Thank you, Emily," said Professor Ross as he took the form from her. He put the form into a folder in the drawer and closed it. "You will report for your first session at 9 o’clock Saturday morning here in this office."

    Professor Ross stood behind the desk on Saturday morning, a little before 9 o’clock. He picked up the paddle and tapped it against his palm. A soft knock on the door caused him to turn to face it. "Come in, Emily." Emily walked through the door, wearing a sweatshirt, blue jeans, and sneakers. What immediately caught Professor Ross’ attention was her expression. For someone about to undergo such an ordeal—and an ordeal it would certainly be, he mused—her face seemed strangely calm. Professor Ross walked around the desk with the paddle in his hand, taking hold of the back of a chair. He pulled it in front of his desk, then sat down. He indicated his lap with a wave of his hand. "Please assume the position, Emily."

    As she draped herself over his knee, he spied it immediately. "And just what is the meaning of THIS?" he snapped. Emily’s heart seemed caught in her throat. She had been so sure that the magazine she had tucked into her jeans wouldn’t show! "Get up, Emily," he said, sternly. "Did you think I’ve never seen such a trick before? For this, you will take all your paddlings on your bare buttocks! Now pull your jeans off, along with your panties!" "Please, NOOO! " she cried, her face crimson with embarrassment. "Are you refusing to live up to our agreement?" he hissed. "N-n-no, sir," she stammered. "Then do as I say, and be quick about it!"

    Crying with shame as well as fear, she untied and removed her shoes, then her jeans, then her panties. As she lay over his knee, she tried to cover herself in front with her hands, desperate to save some shred of modesty. She could hardly believe that he was chuckling! "I’m sorry, Emily, but the irony is just too much," he smiled. "Wh-what do you mean, sir?" she whispered. "Why, the name of your sorority, of course—Omega Tau Kappa, or, in other words, OTK— over the knee! And here your are, over the knee!"

    With her hands on the floor and her hair falling all around her face, she cursed the day she had even heard of Omega Tau Kappa! She no longer cared if she made it through or not! Suddenly, she was aware of the paddle resting lightly on her firm little bottom. WHACK!!! She fought for self-control, fought to keep from screaming at the pain! The sting of the blow soon became searing heat on her right buttock. WHACK!!! She sucked her breath in through gritted teeth, moaning. as her left buttock erupted in pain. WHACK!!! She breathed hard; the pain seemed to get worse every time, even though he had not hit the same spot twice. WHACK!!! Her self-control melted. Kicking and squirming, she no longer worried about whether or not she was exposed. She arched her back and screamed! The blows seemed to flow into one another, in a world that was the burning pain in and on her buttocks; she screamed, she sobbed, she blubbered like a small child. All her supposed adult behavior lay in a heap, just like her clothing on the floor. She had no idea a few minutes could take so long; it seemed like hours. Suddenly, Professor Ross was letting her up. She jumped up and down, holding her burning bottom and continuing to sob and blubber for a few minutes. As she regained her composure, she stood, rubbing her bottom, hardly daring to look at him. "Get dressed, Emily," he said quietly. "See you next Saturday."

    Emily headed straight for her dorm room, thankful that her roommate had gone home for the weekend, so that she would not have to face her until tomorrow night. Locking the door, she quickly dropped her jeans and panties again, and looked at the reflection in the full length mirror behind the door. She gasped at the sight. Not only was her bottom a dark, angry red, but black and blue marks were already visible. She winced as she explored them with her fingertips. She could still feel the heat, as well. She reached for the aloe vera gel in the medicine cabinet over the sink and gingerly spread it over the area; then, pulling on her clothes again, she headed to the student canteen for breakfast. 

    She picked up her tray and looked for an empty booth; the last thing she wanted right now was conversation! But by now, most of the tables and booths were filled, except for one in the corner. Laurie, one of her fellow Omega Tau Kappa pledges, was well into a plate of scrambled eggs and grits. Sighing, Emily crossed over to the booth and slid in opposite Laurie, trying not to wince as she carefully sat down. Laurie looked up and grinned. "Hey, Em!" she smiled. "Whatcha doin’?" Emily hoped she could sound nonchalant. "Oh, breakfast, just like you!" She kept her eyes down on her food and began to eat. But Laurie stared at her. "Em, have you been cryin’?" Emily looked up, her lower lip trembling. "Well, you see, I, I…" Laurie’s eyes went wide. "You have been cryin’! What happened?"

    Of all the pledges, she liked Emily the best—the humiliating activities of Pledge Week had bonded them together. "Wanna talk about it?" Emily sighed. "You remember what the Pledge Mistress told me to do the other night?" Laurie nodded. "Well, it didn’t work out so well." She proceeded to tell Laurie the whole story, hesitantly, but finally reaching the conclusion. Laurie’s eyes and mouth both went wide. "He PADDLED you?" she gasped. "Why did you let him?" Emily rolled her eyes. " I didn’t have much of a choice, remember?" she snapped. "It was that or get expelled! And there’s no way that I could face the folks with that! They’re really counting on me to do well here!"

    She could feel the tears rolling down her cheeks again, and wondered how she had any left to cry after her ordeal. "Sorry," Laurie whispered, her head down. "And you say that you have to go back the next two Saturdays for more?" She shuddered at the thought. "I just wish I could do something to help!" Emily did her best to smile. "I’m just so glad to have someone to tell it to," she said, "it does make it a little better to get it off my chest!" "Wish I could get it off somewhere else," she groaned inwardly.

    Laurie got up, came around, and hugged her tight. "Call me if you need me," she smiled, then picked up her trash, dumped it in the can, and went out the door. The next week went by all too fast. Emily cut all her Monday classes; she was still too sore to think about sitting in those hard chairs so long! She lay on her stomach on the bed with a bag of ice on her bruised bottom that Laurie had been so sweet to bring to her. She tried to keep her attention on the soap opera, but finally turned it off and put on some music instead.

     Tuesday through Friday seemed to fly by. The Pledge Mistress wasn’t exactly the picture of sisterly sympathy. "So Professor Ross caught ya, huh?" she grinned. "Shoulda been more careful!" "Am I still in?" Emily said, not sure if she really cared now. "Umm, okay," the Pledge Mistress grinned, popping her gum. "Guess you really couldn’t help it, couldja? We’ll get that test paper some other time!" Emily sighed, thanked her, and turned to leave. She hoped sisterhood would be worth all this…

    Saturday dawned early, and found Emily tossing and turning, too nervous to sleep. She got up, dressed, and headed for Professor Ross’ office, her stomach in knots again. The bruises were almost completely gone, and she finally could sit comfortably—but not for long, she thought miserably. As she rounded the corner, she gasped. There was Laurie standing by Professor Ross’ door! Laurie smiled as she caught her eye. "Been thinkin’ about it, Em; you don’t need to go through this all alone! I wanna be there for ya." As relieved as Emily was, she couldn’t help being worried. "You think he’ll go for this?" she whispered. "What if he goes and turns me in?" Laurie pursed her lips. "Sounds to me as if he’s got his own butt covered with that contract he made ya sign, and you are here for your paddling, so I think it’ll be all right."

    As they opened the door, they saw Professor Ross sitting on the edge of his desk with the paddle in his hand. "What’s this, Emily?" he muttered through gritted teeth. "This isn’t in our agreement!" "I, I know, sir," Emily began, but Laurie cut her off. "It’s my idea, Professor Ross," she explained. "Em’s my friend, and I told her just now that I needed to be here for her." "Oh, do you indeed?" smiled Professor Ross; Emily quailed at the sight of his expression. "Be here for her," he continued, with a slight hint of mockery in his voice. "What an interesting way to put it. I suppose she’s told you that she has one more paddling coming after this?" "Yes, sir," Laurie said, looking him straight in the eye. "And you want to help her, correct?" Professor Ross said, looking for a sign of fear in her face, a little disappointed at not finding any.

    "That’s right, sir," Laurie said. "Then I suppose that you would be willing to take her third paddling for her while she takes her second?" Professor Ross grinned, with an evil gleam in his eye. Emily gasped and looked at Laurie. "No, Laurie, you can’t, you mustn’t!" she said, horrified. Laurie turned, hands on her hips, and looked at Emily. "Relax, Em, she smiled, "unlike you, my folks have used a strap, or a paddle, or a hairbrush on me most of my life, and not a week goes by that my boyfriend doesn’t have me over his knee on some flimsy excuse or another. So I’m pretty used to it, to tell you the truth."

    "Well, " smiled Professor Ross, "it sounds as if we’re agreed. Emily did tell you, Laurie, that she is to be paddled on the bare, didn’t she?" "Yes, sir," Laurie said, still looking him in the eye. Professor Ross walked over to a short conference table in the corner. "Then would you two young ladies come over here, please?" Emily and Laurie walked slowly over to the table, and stood facing Professor Ross. Emily’s heart was racing, and she could feel the blood rushing to her face. She tried not to look at Professor Ross, but looked out the corner of her eye at her friend, who still showed no sign of fear.

    "You will both please prepare yourselves for your punishment," said Professor Ross, "by unfastening your jeans and lowering them, with your panties, to your ankles." Both girls complied, and stood there awkwardly. "Each of you will stand on one side of this table, bend over it, and clasp the other girl’s wrists," continued Professor Ross, "and be quick about it!" he snapped.

    Emily waddled to the opposite side of the table and did as she was told, taking hold of Laurie’s wrists as Laurie took hold of hers. She hoped her face wasn’t as red as she knew her rear end was going to be. She forced herself not to hold her breath, breathing in deep gasps as she laid Her forehead on the table. WHACK! Emily yelped as the first blow struck home and her right cheek flattened under the paddle. She could hear Laurie suck in her breath as she squeezed her wrists in reaction to the pain. She laid her head down, tensely waiting for the next blow. WHACK!

    But it was Laurie who said, "OW!" this time, and Emily who winced, as Laurie’s nails dug into her wrists. Professor Ross was crossing from one side of the table to the other, alternating spanks with the paddle from girl to girl and from cheek to cheek. "Nothing like a bit of exercise," he mused. Now, he had the pleasure of watching two pair of female buttocks grow hot, red, and sore at one time while jiggling under his blows. He kept a lively pace, and soon both girls were sobbing and dancing from one foot to the other to try to handle the burning pain.

    WHACK… WHACK… WHACK… WHACK...WHACK …WHACK…..WHACK…WHACK… WHACK…WHACK… After what seemed a long time, he stopped. "Emily, your obligation is over. I will put it in writing, sign it, and you may attach it to your copy." Turning to Laurie, he smiled and said, "I hope Emily appreciates your sacrifice, young lady. I know few people who display that kind of friendship. Now both of you get dressed and be on your way." Emily and Laurie looked at each other through tear-stained eyes. "Thanks, Laurie," Emily whispered. "’S ok," said Laurie, "wanna go to the canteen for breakfast?" As they walked out, Emily thought, "Whether or not I make it in Omega Tau Kappa, I’ve already got one good sister!"

    • Like 1
  2. Some girls seem to live their lives cautiously, perhaps sometimes too much so. They always check to see that the door is locked, that the alarm system is on, and that they park under bright lights. They are the kind of girl who walks about with her arms tightly folder across her chest, as if she’s a castle with the drawbridge up, the portcullis dropped, and the defenses on the ramparts; indeed, as if she’s wearing a sign saying, “Not interested, go away.”

    Then there are girls like Keira. Keira grew up the kind of girl who takes chances almost as a man does—a reckless, foolish man. One of her worst habits was hitchhiking. If she wanted or needed a ride, there she would be on the side of the road, her thumb up, a naïve grin plastered on her face. Her parents tried to dissuade her, and so did her friends. But she just wouldn’t listen. Keira hitchhiked through high school, and even into college, where she met Alan, the star defensive lineman on the school football team. They were quite a couple to see—Alan, 6’5” and 275 rock-hard pounds, and Keira, 5’ tall and not more than 105 pounds soaking wet with rocks in her pockets. Their friends called them “Mutt and Jeff”—not to their faces, of course; they wouldn’t have hurt them for the world.

    Alan and Keira finished college and married. Alan was no dumb jock—he had graduated with a finance degree, and soon he was moving up in the business world, and able to give Keira a very comfortable living. Because of this, Keira didn’t have to hitchhike, as she had her own car and a top of the line cell phone, besides. Alan knew about Keira and hitchhiking, but it seemed that she had left it behind, especially after he made it quite clear—or at least it would have been to most people—that under no circumstances was she to think of doing such a thing.

    Everything seemed to go well until the day that Alan was to go out of town on a business trip. Keira drove him to the airport, and as he got out, Alan noticed that her fuel gauge was quite low. “Keira,” he said, “you’d better fill up as soon as you can.” “Of course, honey,” she replied as she reached up (and he reached down) for a good-bye kiss. “Call me when you land!” Keira, although a bit reckless, wasn’t stupid. She was, however, somewhat absent-minded. So, it was no great surprise, when she went into a restaurant on the way home and ran into one of her college friends, that she spent hours catching up and chatting, until it was quite dark. She finally left, and Alan’s instructions about filling up were quite forgotten.

     A few miles down the road, the car began hesitating, and then stopped. It was only after several tries to restart the car that she thought to look at the gas gauge, which was all the way on empty. She then remembered that she had passed a convenience store a few miles back, and that there wouldn’t be an open one for a few miles further ahead. She checked her cell phone: it read, “No Service”. “Oh, man!” she fumed. Putting her cell phone back in her purse, she got out and checked the trunk for a gas can. There wasn’t one, of course.

    “Okay, time to hitch a ride, then,” she thought to herself. She began walking up the road, hoping for a friendly passerby. She kept walking for a mile or so, but there were no cars coming by on that rural highway. Suddenly, she saw headlights coming her way. Brightening, she stepped to the shoulder and put her thumb out. As the car approached, blue lights began to flash from the top of the windshield, and when it stopped, a state trooper stepped out.

    Her hopes were dashed as soon as he began to speak. “Young lady,” the trooper began sternly, “don’t you know it’s illegal to hitchhike in this state? I’m afraid you’ll have to come with me.” Keira started to protest, tried to explain, but to no avail. She soon found herself in the back seat of an unmarked vehicle. “Officer!” she wailed. “This is all a mistake!” He shook his head. “No mistake, ma’am, the law is very clear, and the fine is $200.” She sank back in dread; what would Alan say? It didn’t take her long to find out, when she made her one phone call.

    “Keira,” Alan said, quietly, but with an unmistakable edge, “I can’t leave until tomorrow. I’ll get you out when I return. I’ll rent a car and come get you, and we’ll get the car back. Then we’ll have to discuss this.” Keira’s heart sank. That meant a night in jail, with loud drunks and other such people nearby! And what would “discuss this” mean? It took her a long time to get to sleep, and she hardly seemed to have slept at all when she heard the door open and the sergeant said, “You’re free to go, ma’am.”

    Keira got up and followed the sergeant to the front desk, where Alan was waiting after he had paid the fine. She quailed at the look on his face. Alan didn’t say a word as he drove home, then phoned AAA for a tow truck to bring Keira’s car in. After signing the paperwork for the driver, he shut the door, then turned to face Keira. “Keira,” he began, “didn’t I make it clear to you a long time ago that you were no longer to engage in hitchhiking?”

    “Well, yes, honey,” she said softly, “but I was out of gas, a long way from a convenience store, and my cell didn’t work.” Alan sat and looked her in the eye. “Yes, all that’s true. It’s also true that I told you to fuel up the car before I got on the plane, isn’t it?”

     Keira dropped her gaze. “Yes, Alan, you did.” “And you didn’t, did you?” “No,” she whispered. “Look at me, Keira,” Alan continued. “As a result of not following my instructions, you ran out of gas in an isolated area. You compounded that mistake by not remaining in your car until a state trooper came by. Not only was that a dangerous, risky thing to do, but you got yourself arrested. I had to pay to rent a car, which I shouldn’t have had to do, and I also had to pay to get you out of jail. Do you remember what the fine was?” “T-t-two hundred dollars,” Keira squeaked.

    “That’s right,” Alan answered. “You’ve behaved like a foolish girl, and you’re going to be punished accordingly.” At the word, “punished,” Keira looked up with alarm. “What do you mean, Alan?” Alan stood up, took Keira by the arm, and pulled her to her feet. “I mean, Keira, that I am going to spank you. Maybe that will teach you what other people have tried and failed to do.”

    “Nooo!” Keira wailed, and tried to pull loose from his grasp. She might as well have tried to pick up the refrigerator. Alan’s big, meaty hand held her as securely as a set of handcuffs would have done. That didn’t keep her from pulling, as futile as it was. Alan grabbed a side chair from the dining table, sat down, and pulled his petite wife over his knee without a sign of effort. Holding her down firmly, he grasped the waistband of her pants and pulled them, along with her panties, down to her knees. Keira kicked, pleaded, and even swore, but it was no use. She was trapped, and she knew it.

    “It’s time you started acting like a grown, responsible woman, Keira,” Alan growled. “You could have been kidnapped, even raped or murdered doing what you did.” With that, Alan brought his big right hand down on her right buttock. He was holding back; he knew he had to. But to a small woman like Keira, it was still devastating. She arched her back and howled as his hand left an angry red spot. “OWWW!” “Next time I tell you to do something, you’d better pay some heed!” Alan continued, and brought his hand down onto her left buttock.

    For the next twenty minutes, he kept scolding and spanking, scolding and spanking. After a while, she quit trying to squirm away—it was useless. She was sobbing and wailing after only a couple of minutes, and eventually just went limp where she was.

    Finally, Alan let her up. She stood, slowly, holding her hot, sore, aching bottom and still crying uncontrollably. After a few minutes, she looked up at her husband and sobbed, “I-II’m so s-s-s-sorry, Alan! P-please t-tell me you f-forgive me!” The bear of a man who had just given her the hardest spanking she had ever experienced gently took her in his arms. “Of course I forgive you, Keira. It’s not the money that all this cost—it’s my wanting you to be safe, and to think about what you’re doing.” Still clutching her burning backside, Keira nodded. “I-I kn-know, Alan, but it hurts!"

     “Am I ever going to have to do this again, Keira? Are you going to hitchhike, ever again?” Wiping her eyes and nose, Keira shook her head. “N-no!” “When I tell you to do something, are you going to do it?” “Y-yes!” she wailed. “Good,” he smiled. “Now come up to the bedroom.”

    Hesitantly, she obeyed. When she got there, Alan had her lie on her stomach while he lightly rubbed aloe gel on her scarlet bottom. As the pain subsided, Keira raised herself on her elbows, pulled Alan down, and kissed him. “What was that for?” he smiled. Grinning weakly, she said, “For being my big strong man, and for loving me enough to correct me.”

    • Like 5
  3. “…and she said to me, ‘You must really be a masochist!’” Colleen paused a bit before continuing, “I do have a high pain tolerance, you know.”

    This was not the first unusual thing I’d heard Colleen say. She had once asked me how she could lose some weight. I said, jokingly, “I could make you get your exercise by chasing you with a paddle.” She answered softly, “I might not run.” But this latest comment made me pull into a parking lot, turn off the engine, and turn to her. “All right, Colleen, out with it.” I already knew, or was pretty sure I knew, how her answer was going to go.

    She had already told me about her past, and some of the things she’d done. As a result, she was filled with guilt, and her self-esteem was really low. A tear made its way down her cheek, and she bowed her head in silence. “Okay, then,” I said. “I think I know exactly what it is. You want me to spank you, don’t you?” At the word “spank,” she lifted her head, looked me straight in the eye, and nodded. I took her hand in mine. “I thought so,” I said softly.

    “I think this is something you’ve been wanting for a very long time, isn’t it?” She nodded again, then dropped her head and let out a sob. I knew I couldn’t let her go on this way; it was tearing her apart.

    “Look at me, Colleen,” I told her. She raised her head again, her lip quivering. I touched her cheek gently. “Then I will.” At those words, her eyes widened, and a faint hint of a smile played at the corner of her mouth. “But there are some things you need to understand, young lady.”

    She looked at me steadily, but with a questioning air. “The first thing is that I will be in complete charge. I will determine everything, and you will do exactly what I tell you.” She nodded and whispered, “Yes.” I cleared my throat and continued. “The second thing is that once we start, we go to the end. There will be no changing your mind or backing out.” Colleen swallowed hard and said, “I agree.” “The last thing is that I will have the right to spank you in the future when and as I see fit. By taking it the first time, you agree to take it always.” Her mouth dropped for a second, and then she lowered her head again and nodded. “I accept your conditions, Jim.”

     I knew I needed two things: an implement, and a place. I pulled into a drugstore parking lot and went back to the hair-care aisle, where I found a lightweight but wide hairbrush. I smacked it lightly into my palm a couple of times. Perfect. I went back to the car where Colleen was waiting. I pulled the brush out of the bag and showed it to her, then placed it on the seat between us. I saw her fingering the back of it as I put the car in gear and drove out.

    I drove out into the country, out to the century-old house where my mother and my two uncles had grown up, and where both my grandmother and my aunt had run a little one-chair beauty shop. I went across the road to my aunt’s house and borrowed the shop keys, telling her I had to check on something in there. I went back across the road and opened Colleen’s door; she handed me the hairbrush before getting out. I opened the door and stepped in first, pulling the cord on the light switch.

    There was the sink and the chair, the hairdryer chair, and a vinyl covered love seat. I sat down in the middle of the love seat and beckoned to Colleen. She stepped over, slowly and hesitantly. Pointing to her slacks, I said, “Take them down.” “Take them down?” she whispered, blushing. “Yes, Colleen, take them down. I’m in charge of this, remember?” Slowly, she pulled her pants down and stepped out of them, standing there, obviously embarrassed, in her panties and blouse. I took her arm in my left hand and helped her arrange herself over my knee. Then I picked up the brush.

    “Why am I doing this, Colleen?” She swallowed hard before replying. “Because of those terrible things I did, Jim.” “That’s right, Colleen, because of those things you did. You deserve this spanking, don’t you?” “Y-yes, yes I do, Jim.” “I agree. So I want you to ask me for it.” She turned her head to look up at me. “Please, Jim, spank me. I’ve done bad things, and I deserve to have you spank me, long and hard. Please spank me now.”

    I hooked my thumb under the waistband of her panties. “Raise your hips, Colleen.” She pushed herself up a little off my lap, and I slid her panties down her hips and down to her knees. I placed the hairbrush on her right buttock. “This is going to hurt, Colleen. It’s going to hurt a lot. I intend for it to hurt, so you’ll remember that you’ve been punished for the things you did. You can beg, plead, say you’re sorry, or whatever else you want, but you’re getting spanked until I think you’ve had enough, young lady. Understand?” “Y-y-yes,” she whispered hoarsely. “All right then.”

     I raised the hairbrush high and brought it down hard on her right buttock. An angry red spot erupted immediately, and she sucked in her breath loudly. “You told me you had high pain tolerance. I’m going to put that to the test, Colleen.” With that, I began raining a flurry of spanks onto her reddening cheeks. Colleen’s grunts and air-sucking noises began to give way to small cries and then to ever louder ones. Soon she was crying like a baby and wriggling on my lap. I held her down tighter and continued to spank, working my way down to her “sit spots” and then to her upper thighs. Her cries increased in volume as her bottom turned deeper shades of red under the relentless onslaught. I could almost feel the heat radiating from her blistered cheeks. She could no longer beg or plead; her cries were practically incoherent. I could see that she would have some bruises that would remind her of this spanking for the next few days every time she tried to sit down.

    I put the brush down, reached for a bottle of aloe gel, and began rubbing it gently into the hot, sore skin. She gasped at my touch, then composed herself with an effort. “There, now, Colleen. It’s over.” She looked at me and nodded through eyes full of tears. “Th-thank you, Jim.” I helped her to her feet, and she clutched me tightly, still bawling. I held her, patted her back, and made shushing sounds, as I imagined her father might have done. In a few minutes, she got enough self-control back to look up at me and smile. “I do mean it, Jim. Thanks for doing that for me. No one else has cared enough to do it.” I took her face in my hands and looked her in the eye. “I do care, Colleen. Enough to have done it just then, and enough to do it again any time I think you need it—or any time you do.” She looked up at me again, then smiled, nodded, and lowered her head.

    I took her outside and opened the door for her. Instead of sitting in the seat, she knelt in the floorboard and put her elbows on the seat. She looked up at me, and I nodded. “I think you’re right there, Colleen.” I returned the keys to my aunt, glad she hadn’t heard anything, and returned to the car. I placed the brush in the glove compartment and drove Colleen home. Two weeks later, I took Colleen to a Chinese restaurant for dinner. After we finished, I opened her door for her, and then went around to my side. The hairbrush was lying on the seat between us. Our eyes met, and no more needed to be said.

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  4. Six months after the inauguration, the nation was still not used to the fact of a woman president. The press made much of her, the television cameras were always on her, and her every word and action was the matter of discussion and debate. Of course, her looks didn’t hurt all this. Tall, slender, with fair skin and shoulder length red hair, Patricia Shane looked much younger than her 45 years, almost as if she were still the coed she had once been.

    And yet the presidency is a wearing, stressful job, with responsibility to match the power of the office. Scarcely anyone, Patricia thought, seemed to keep that in mind. One July afternoon, Robert Bolton, one of the many unseen and unnoticed civil servants in Washington, answered his phone—and then his eyes went wide. The caller explained that he was from the White House, and that President Shane wanted to see him the next day.

    Bolton hung up, and let a long breath out through pursed lips. The White House! He couldn’t imagine why President Shane wanted to see him, of all people! Bolton woke early the next morning, shaved and dressed with a bit more than the usual care, and caught a taxi to 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, submitted to the usual security screening that had become all too necessary, given the world situation, and waited to be escorted to the Oval Office.

    Within a few minutes, he was ushered in to see the President, trying hard not to stare at his surroundings like some gawking tourist. President Shane entered through another door, with a word of thanks to the Secret Service agent posted there. She entered, smiling slightly, and sat behind one of the most famous desks in the world. “Mr. Bolton. Thank you for coming. Please have a seat.” He sat nervously—trying not to look it, of course—and attempted to control his breathing. “Thank you for asking me, Madam President.”

    President Shane opened a file on her desk and scanned it for a moment. “I see you’ve been with the government for a number of years, Mr. Bolton, and most of it fairly satisfactorily— until recently.” She looked up over her reading glasses and made direct eye contact. Bolton swallowed. “Yes, ma’am.” “To be specific,” she continued, “you’ve been given oral warnings, and now a couple of written ones, regarding your use of the Internet on the job, using government computers.” He could feel his face getting redder. “Yes, that’s true, Madam President, but—“ 

    She raised her hand, and he stopped. “Mr. Bolton, although I am the top law enforcement person in the country, I didn’t call you here to call you on the carpet about a violation of policy. I am interested, however, in just what you were looking at,” she said, with just a hint of a smile. Bolton licked his lips, and swallowed. “Where was this going?” he wondered. He knew all too well what had to be in that file. President Shane rested her elbows on the desk and templed her long, slender fingers. She rested her face on her hands for a moment, then looked up.

    “You’ve been visiting spanking websites, Mr. Bolton! What about that? Is this an interest of yours?” Looking down at his lap, Bolton nodded. What else could he say? She had him dead to rights. Raising his head, he said softly, “Yes, Madam President, for a long time now.” “I thought so, Mr. Bolton. And that’s why you’re here, at my request.”

    Staring at her in astonishment, he blurted, “What do you mean?” President Shane stood, leaning forward on the desk. “Do you have any idea of how much I carry as president, Mr. Bolton? How much power I have, and with it how much responsibility?” “It must be an awesome amount, Madam President.” “That,” she said softly, “is an understatement. It is enormous power, really more than one person should ever have, but I have it—it’s part of the job. And you may not believe this, Mr. Bolton, but there’s more than a little guilt that goes with it. I’m a woman, like any other woman, but I have people hanging on my every word, carrying out my every whim, bowing and scraping—and it gnaws at me, it gnaws every day, and that’s where I need your help.”

    He was so surprised that he couldn’t speak for a moment. “Me, Madam President? How can I possibly help?” “Mr. Bolton,” she began, “ I need for someone else to have the power for a short while— power over me, over my very person, in a way that helps me deal with this guilt I carry. And since you have this interest, as we’ve just covered, you’re ideally suited.” It took a few moments for this to register.

    “You mean—you mean—“ he sputtered. “Yes, Mr. Bolton,” she smiled. “I’ve been pondering this for a long time, and what I need, two or three times a week, is to be on the receiving end of a good, long, hard spanking—to be in a position of submission, even for a short while. And that’s why I want you to join my staff.” “Your staff?”

     “Yes, my staff. You’ll come on as one of my assistants, for public purposes. And let me be very clear, Mr. Bolton. This whole arrangement calls for the utmost confidentiality and discretion. If even a hint of this matter ever became public, my presidency would be seriously crippled. And you would be sorrier than I have words to express. Have I made this sufficiently clear?” Somewhere in the jumble that his thoughts had become, Bolton had the presence of mind to answer, “Absolutely, Madam President.”

    A few days later, the change had become official. Robert Bolton became the latest addition to President Shane’s staff, with a desk, several file cabinets, and impressive stacks of paperwork, even by Washington standards. So much so, that working evenings was soon routine, and so when President Shane asked him to bring some files over to the East Wing, no one took notice.

    Bolton walked beside the Secret Service agent who was his escort. He wore the usual government navy blue suit, the usual earpiece—and the usual large caliber handgun under his coat, Bolton mused. He definitely looked all business. They stopped at the door of the private residence, where the agent knocked on the door. “Madam President?” he murmured.

    The door opened, and she quietly said, “Show him in, Johnson.” Agent Johnson took him through the door, then withdrew, quietly closing it behind him. Bolton looked at the door, then turned—and there she was, in a simple dress, as pretty as a coed, with her hands clasped in front of her. “Shall we begin?” she said softly.

    The ground rules, of course, had already been laid. There was to be no attempt at sexual touching—this was to be a spanking, pure and simple. She wanted him only to use his hand, and Bolton knew that Johnson would be at the door—if he stepped over the line, a word from her would bring him in. But he was free to say what he liked, and the position and the state of her dress, or undress, was his option.

    “Yes, I think we’d better begin, young lady,” he growled softly. “I’ve been watching you on the newscasts, so poised, so confident. Everyone thinks you’re pretty hot stuff, don’t they?” “Y-yes, I suppose they do,” she whispered. “But in reality, you’re just a woman who won an election over some pretty good opponents. So you don’t belong on any high horse, do you?” “No, I don’t,” she said, eyes downward.

    “Well, I think you need a good reminder of that,” he said, warming to the role he was picked to play. Stepping over to a couch, he sat in the middle and beckoned to her. She slowly walked over and stood beside him. There was something in her presence, standing so close; he could feel his pulse quickening, and his breathing seemed shallow. Taking her wrist, he pulled her, with no resistance, over his lap. As her hands touched the floor, he pulled her dress hem up to her waist and had his first sight of what he’d been thinking about for days. Long, shapely legs came up and joined to one of the most well-curved bottoms he’d ever seen. Only a thin layer of cotton knit was between him and the cheeks of the most powerful woman in the world. They were perfect—not too large, not too flat, not the least bit of flab.

    She turned her head to look back at him, her brilliant red hair falling free. “Is anything wrong?” “No, young lady, nothing’s wrong, so you’d just better get ready for what you’re about to get.” As he hooked his fingers in the waistband of her panties, she raised her hips slightly so that he could pull them halfway down her thighs. “It’s the First Bottom,” he thought, “and I’m the First Spanker.”

    With his left hand on her back, he raised his right hand and brought it down smartly on the right side. He had to admire her self-control—a small “umph!” was her only reaction. So he felt free to continue what he’d started. He continued spanking her, landing blows alternately between left and right, covering the whole area, from the top of the cleft to the “sit spots” at the junction of the buttocks and the thighs. Her small grunts and moans were getting louder. He was glad that Johnson had been thoroughly briefed for this.

    As he spanked, he continued scolding her, telling her that this was what she deserved for thinking herself above the rest, for her pride, for her insolence. “Yes, you’re right, I do deserve it!” she hissed between her teeth, as his hand turned her buttocks first pink, then increasing shades of red. She was wiggling now on his lap, kicking, her feet beating a rhythm on the carpet, her hands clawing at that same carpet. Those earlier grunts and moans were now almost screams, and he was glad that the other staff had been cleared from the area. The skin on those perfect cheeks was now very hot and very red, and he was sure he’d seen tears in her eyes.

    He didn’t want to stop. He’d fantasized for so long about having a woman over his knee, spanking her, over and over, and to have this woman over his knee was beyond anything he’d ever imagined. But he knew this had to come to an end. She only had so much time for things like this on her schedule, and a crisis might erupt any moment. So he stopped. She lay over his knees, sobbing, limp, no longer moving. Taking a small tube of cream from his pocket, he began to rub it into her toasted buns, and slowly she began to catch control of her breathing.

    As he continued to rub, he could almost imagine that he heard her—purring? “Bolton, I think I can get up now.” He released her, and she stood, only a little shakily, using her hands to push up off his lap. She pulled up her panties, wincing a little as the waistband scraped over her sore tush, then smoothed the dress back down as it had been before. He was right—there were tears in her eyes, but she smiled through the tears.

    “You did really well, Bolton. I feel a lot better, for a little while, anyway. Thank you.” He rose, grinning—he just couldn’t help it. “You’re welcome, Madam President. Anytime.” Gently rubbing, she grinned back. “I think we’d better give it a few days before we do this again. But thanks again.”

    As they walked toward the door, she gave his hand an unexpected squeeze. “Take care, Bolton.” Johnson, looking as if nothing had happened at all, escorted Bolton to a waiting cab. “Gotta admire professionalism,” Bolton chuckled to himself.

    The next night, Bolton met a couple of friends at a nearby bar, and, as the beers arrived, he caught sight of a newscast showing President Shane at a diplomatic conference. As he looked at his boss, he noticed—wondering if anyone else did—that she seemed to be squirming, just ever so slightly, in her chair. “That’s my girl,” he chuckled to himself, as he raised the mug to his lips.

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