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GreyWolf's story #15. This one is reminiscences of young college freshmen about spanking experiences while growing up. Punctuality This story recounts one of my memories of discussing spanking experiences, both my own and or others. It was my first year of college, and I was hanging out with new friends late one night in the dorm lounge, and we were enjoying our freedom to set our own schedule. The conversation meandered quite a bit until it settled on how we were all punished by our parents at home — I think we got there when one of us noted the lack of discipline we were exhibiting staying up to all hours. After some nibbling around the edges of the subject, it was soon clear that spanking had been part of our upbringing. “Well,” asked Danni, “what was your worst?” Sue and I looked at each other and hesitated. “Well,” said Sue, “I definitely know the worst one I had.” We were all ears. “It was when I was 16, on a hot August weekend. My folks were headed out for the afternoon antiquing, and left me with strict instructions not to go anywhere or have anyone over. I objected, asking if I could just have my best friend Monica over. They replied ‘OK, just Monica, and only if her folks drop here off.’” Sue continued, “In any case, my folks came home earlier that we expected (no good finds, I guess) to find a full blown pool party in the back yard. Monica and I had invited just a few more friends, but a few of them brought boy friends, and from there thing spiraled out of control, I guess. After clothes had been gathered (thankfully by then missing swimwear had been recovered and quickly put in place) and everyone had been dispersed, with parents duly notified, my mother turned to me and said ‘You! Upstairs to your room now!’” “I was still in my bikini, and a bit damp, sitting on my bed, when she burst in holding her hairbrush. I’d been spanked mostly by hand growing up, and once or twice with a spoon, but never anything like that. She didn’t say anything but marched strait to me, grabbed my wrist, and pulled me over her lap as she sat down on the bed. My suit bottoms were immediately yanked down, and in a split second the first swat hit. They continued to rain down as rapidly and hard as she could, and she started lecturing me, but I didn’t hear a thing over the rushing sound in my ears. That thing really hurt! I was bawling like a 2 year old before she was done, and even though it probably lasted less than a minute, she landed dozens on my poor rear.” “The next morning we had a calmer talk about the risks and dangers, and some of the bad things that could have happened. I think I had bruises for a couple of days. After that I was grounded for awhile, I guess — don’t really remember. But I do remember that spanking, and vividly,” said Sue, finishing her tale. Looking at Danni and then me, she said “OK, who’s next?” Danni looked at me, and said with a slight grin “I can go. It’s simple, really. I’ve never been spanked. My parents don’t believe in it.” Sue and I looked at one another, and with that I understood a bit better some things about my new friend Danni. Live and learn — or not — I thought. Sooner or later everyone learns life's lessons, as I've come to realize. After a somewhat awkward silence, both of them looked at me. I knew from the start which was at least my most memorable, if not the worst, and decided I had to tell. Taking a deep breath, I launched in. “It was only last year, when I was seventeen. I’d been driving for a year then, and was feeling pretty comfortable in having the family’s second car at my disposal. Being the oldest, it was handy for my folks to send me on errands, and I was more than happy to oblige. I guess I was getting a little too comfortable with having the car. After a few episodes of my staying out longer than I’d planned, and even taking it briefly without asking, things finally came to a head one weekend. I’d gotten permission to take the car in the morning to do a few errands and then have burgers with a friend. As I ran out the door my mother said ‘Be sure to be back by 1:00 — I have a club event in the afternoon.’ I said ‘of course, bye, love ya’ over my shoulder as I ran out the door.” “Sally and I had just started lunch when couple of friends from school joined us, and we had a grand time recounting the past year. We were just starting our senior year, and quite full of ourselves. After that, I completely forgot about my commitment to be back by 1:00, and several of us decided to do some serious back-to-school shopping at the mall. It was only as I got into the car to head home that I remembered about Mom and her event. It was going on 4:00.” “Sure enough when I entered the front hallway, there she was, hands on hips and with a look that could kill. All she said was ‘This has gone far enough — I’m going to let your father handle it.’ My father was at work that day, as he still put in weekend shifts sometimes. I had a sense that this was not going to work out well. When he got home my mother took him into his office and they talked for awhile. Dinner was tense, but then there was dishes and homework, and then off to bed, for which I was more than willing. Could it have blown over? Things seemed normal the next day over breakfast, but after cleaning up he looked at me and said simply ‘you and I need to chat.’ With that, he turned and headed toward his office, with me glumly following.” “His office, by the way, is really more of a den, though it did have a big old desk which he uses sometimes to do paperwork from the plant. He sat down behind it and I sat in adjacent chair. After a quick recount of the prior days events as I’ve told you, he pushed his chair back and said, ‘you need to learn to honor your commitments, and be be where you say you will when you say you will.’ Then as he reached down to a lower drawer I found a chill running up my neck. I knew that’s where he kept the paddle. I’d only felt it once, when I was 13, and that was once more than I ever wanted.” “Indeed it was the paddle, and it made a bit of a clunk as he set it on the desk between us. ‘Let’s see if you can learn to be punctual,’ he continued. ‘You were 3 hours late, causing your mother to completely miss her event. It’s 12:45 right now. From 1:00 to 4:00 we are going to work on your punctuality.’ With that he placed his digital desk clock with the large blue numerals in the center of his desk, turning it to face me. ‘I want you here and ready over the desk facing the clock between minute 0 and 1 of every 10 minutes. And by ready I mean bare. That’s six times each hour — 1:00, 1:10, 1:20 .. until 4:00. For every minute you are late there will be 2 additional swats. At all other times you are confined to your room.’ And with that I was dismissed.” “I went upstairs and sat on my bed for 5 minutes, lost in thought. Every 10 minutes for 3 hours came to 18 times! How much would he dole out even if I were on time? I suddenly realized I’d better put something comfortable on. At 5 minutes before 1:00 I headed downstairs, wearing a knit shirt and sweatpants. Keep it simple I thought. I knocked and entered, and he didn’t even look up. The paddle was right where he had left it. I went over to the desk, hesitated, then pulled down my sweats and bent over the it. A glimpse of the clock showed 2 minutes to go. When the clock turned over to 1:00 he got up and came around the desk, paddle in hand, and immediately said, ‘I said bare...’ which I took to mean ‘pull them down’, which I did, and quickly. His only other comment was ‘you’re on time! That’ a good start’. Then POP! POP! there were two solid smacks on my now bare rear, one on each side, promptly taking my breath away. As I grimaced and braced for more, he immediately returned to his chair, saying ‘OK back to your room.’ I pulled up my sweats from where they had fallen to the floor and headed back upstairs.” “You got it bare from your father?” interrupted Danni. “What kind of a paddle was it?” Looking quizzically at her, I said “Well later I had a closer look at it once when my folks were out. It was a bit unique, just a round plywood disk about the size of a DVD, sanded very smooth and painted black, with a rod about 6 inches long connecting it to a wooden handle. It could only reach one side at a time, but it did it very well.” I then continued “Any way, after the burn settled down a bit, I found myself thinking ‘this might not be so bad.’ Each time the routine was the same — just 2 firm smacks and then right back to my room. I'd changed into terry cloth shorts, skipping the underwear, thinking that would be more comfortable. I was doing OK, but the third time downstairs when I looked up at the clock it said 1:21, not 1:20. After pointing that out, he promptly gave me 4, saying ‘punctuality, remember punctuality.’ After that I used the alarm on my cell phone to give me at least one minute head start. And each time, he let me lay over his desk, fully exposed, until the exact correct time. Around 2:30 I was really beginning to feel the cumulative effects of that paddle. It burned when I walked, it burned when I sat. By 3:00 I was cringing when my cell buzzed. It seemed to buzz the moment I finally got a bit comfortable.” “When the 4:00 appointment finally arrived, he came around the desk but hesitated and asked me if I thought I could be punctual — and I was in no position to say anything but YES.” With that he gave me 6 whacks and said ‘OK, lesson learned, right? If something like this happens again we’ll be doing this every 5 minutes.’ I nodded vigorously through welling tears and headed upstairs to change, though was not sure what into. A look in the mirror did not reveal any great damage. Sure it was red, but not terribly so. I decided to take a shower, to see if that would cool the rawness, but the shower only ignited it further. It was a couple of days until I could no longer feel it, even though there was no visible evidence after a couple of hours. I guess my bottom has a long memory!” With the story ended, Danni and Sue just sat there, mouths open. Then coming to her senses, Sue said “Wow, that was as long as mine was short! I don’t know which was worse! I assume you never got the 5 minute version?” I nodded, but what I didn't say was that it wasn’t my most recent spanking experience. Danni looked at us both with doubt in her face, saying “I don’t believe you guys..” Sue and I looked at each other and I saw a slight knowing smile creep across her face. But that's another tale.

GreyWolf's story #12. Greek life and discovery. Icebreaker It was the third week of the semester, and Lori had decided to pledge the Alpha Gamma Delta Sorority. She had been hesitant to join Greek life, but with her mother’s encouragement she agreed to give it a try. The first event was a meet and greet social in the afternoon, with introductions and some very informal interviews. Tonight was the second event, something called the Icebreaker, which sounded intriguing. This was an evening event and was co-ed, as the members of the neighboring Delta Sigma Phi fraternity would be their guests. About an hour into the festivities, Lori had met several members as well as a few of the new pledges. Although she was a bit shy, she was able to mix with the fraternity boys as well and found herself having a good time. Suddenly, and the top of the hour, the music suddenly went silent, and the Sorority President, Sue Borland, called for everyone’s attention. Standing on a chair, Sue hushed the crowd of about 30 or so, and continued with “Welcome to the Icebreaker. This event is a long standing tradition we have here at Alpha House to welcome our new pledges — with the kind help of our visiting brothers from Delta. Please have a good time and do get to know everyone.” Then holding up a rather large, old fashioned hair brush she continued. “This is the House brush, and has been with us for many decades. It has multiple uses throughout the year, but tonight is has one task, which is to bring our initiates one step closer to membership! The Alpha pledges will now draw straws to see who gets the first round.” With that, the five pledges all nervously gathered around as she held up the straws, saying “shortest goes now.” Lori drew second, and was relieved to see it was as long as the first drawn. The forth one, drawn by a girl name Charlie, was noticeably shorter, and her luck was cemented by the fifth draw being the same as the first three. Handing Charlie the brush, Sue said “Our first of the night is Charlie! The rules are that the selected one must hand the brush to a brother of her choosing. He then escorts her to the room and administers the initiation.” Charlie was not particularly shy, and perhaps having had one or 2 beverages, scanned the room and immediately strode over to Mark and handed him the brush. Mark, who was one of the better looking guys, blushed visibly as he took the brush. With that the crowd parted way, leaving a path to the House Mother’s bedroom, which was just off the main room. Just as they reached the door with Charlie in the lead, Sue spoke up, and they turned to face her. “Oh, did I forget to mention? It’s got to be real and it’s got to be on the bare.” This time it was Charlie’s turn to blush a bit, but she promptly turned, opened the door and stepped in. Mark followed her and with hesitation, closed the door behind. As soon as the door clicked shut, the entire group outside shuffled as close as they could around it, and then went silent. They could hear exchanges between Charlie and Mark, but the words were not distinguishable through the thick door and walls of the century old house. Then after about 30 seconds of total silence, they began to hear the well muffled slap, slap, slap. From her place at the back of the crowd Lori thought it did sound like a brush on a bare bottom, and that was soon confirmed by Charlie’s increasingly vocal response. This went on for about a minute, at which point a loud exclamation put a halt to it. Then after a few more curt verbal exchanges, it began again, along with her objections. This lasted for another minute or so, then there was silence. The chapter vice-president, Gale, leaned over and whispered in Sue’s ear, and Lori thought she heard “45 — not bad.” After another minute of silence, the door creaked open, and Mark stepped out, followed by a somewhat red faced and bleary eyed Charlie. With that the crowd burst into applause and the older sorority members gathered around Charlie hugging her and giving their congratulations. As the music started up again, people returned to mixing, dancing, but at a notably more energetic pace. Five minutes later a side glance at Charlie showed her to be back in the crowd as though nothing had happened. “I hope I handle it that well” Lori thought. Lori was having a really good time, and after dancing with a couple of the guys — Jake, and another whose name she did not catch. She was just chatting with another pledge when the music suddenly stopped, and Sue called out “OK people, time for round 2!” Again straws were drawn (excluding Charlie of course) and this time Lori found herself holding the short one. As Sue handed her the brush her vision seemed to narrow and distort as she looked at it, and then scanned the room for her selection. She spotted Jake, and decided in a moment that he was the one. He was cute, of a slight and pleasant build, and had been very graceful when they had danced. Walking to him holding out the brush, she noted the weight. It was larger than modern brushes, with a dense bed of natural bristles, and the dark wood was lacquered to a smooth sheen. With a large flat back it was easy to see why it was employed in this role. Without a word she strode to where Jake was standing and handed him the brush, while trying her best to maintain a neutral expression. She then turned toward the bedroom, leaving him to sheepishly follow, looking first at the brush and then at the crowd which dutifully parted to let them through. Closing the door behind him, Jake turned to Lori and immediately saw the distress in her eyes. “I didn’t really think I was signing up for this” she almost hissed. “I’m sorry he replied…” as she reluctantly reached under her skirt and began to lower her panties. He started to speak quietly saying “how about if you spank me instead?” At first Lori was so focused on her predicament that it did not register. He continued, a little more assertively “they’re listening outside, but they can’t tell who’s getting it. How about we switch?” For a moment Lori looked even more distressed, but then paused and slowly returned her undergarment and smoothed her skirt. “Are you sure?” Jake simply moved toward Lori until they stood face to face, and then unbuckled his jeans and lowered them as he looked into her eyes. Lori was frozen, not sure what to do, but Jake gently grasped her shoulders and sat her on the bed, saying “you have to give me a lap to go over.” After he positioning himself he reminded Lori that this was supposed to be on the bare. Lori grasped the elastic of his boxers and drew them down. After several moments of hesitation, Lori placed the brush against his bottom and then gave it a swing. The pop it made echoed slightly from the plaster walls but left no signs on Jake’s bottom. After a couple of seconds, she repeated on the other side. Jake did not react, but promptly offered that she could do more than that. After a several more vigorous swats he said “you need to really pick it up. They’re listening outside and have expectations.” With that Lori took a deep breath and delivered a good dozen, during which Jake whispered “and you should probably be the one to be vocal.” She stopped only for a moment to grasp that request, still looking at Jake’s now pink bottom. Lori started again, this time with more vigor. Jake’s rather attractive butt was now showing the effectiveness of that brush, and he was beginning to make some low quiet sounds. That snapped Lori into action, and she began to emit yelps of increasing pitch and duration throughout the rest of the spanking. After a couple of dozen good smacks, she stopped and whispered “think that’s enough?” “No, you should probably do more, and really yelp” he replied. After another dozen she stopped, but continued to whimper, having gotten into the swing of it. Sensing that that had been sufficient, Jake rose from her lap, raising his boxers and jeans as he did. His eyes betrayed only a little, and left him daubing them a bit. “You’d better give that to me, and put some water in your eyes” he said pointing to the door to the side. Looking in the bathroom mirror Lori found her face to be red enough to support the ruse as she splashed them to complete the lie. When they emerged Lori received the same reception as Charlie, and she noticed that Jake was getting plenty of back clapping from his fellows. Thus the evening continued, until the last round, where the remaining “winner” of the previous rounds sighed to her fate the moment the music stopped and made her choice. There were 5 sore bottoms as the evening ended — the ice had definitely been broken! An hour later, after everyone had cleaned up, Lori had just emerged from the shower when Sue marched into her room, announcing “all right, it’s inspection time.” Joined by Gale and another sorority officer, Elaine, Sue asked the other 2 girls in the room to leave, while Gale and Elaine each grasped one of Lori’s arms. Once the door was closed, Sue went around them and grasped Lori’s PJ bottoms, yanking them down to her ankles. “Well,” she exclaimed “this just won’t do!” looking at Lori’s rather pristine bottom. Gale and Elaine were looking around Lori as they held her, and nodded in concurrence. “Funny that Charlie and the other girls still show strong evidence of their spanking, but you show none.” Scowling, Sue then pronounced “I think we can make this right,” turned and left the room. When she returned with the brush, Gale and Elaine then hauled Lori over the end of the bed, PJ’s around her ankles and Sue got to work. The sting took her breath away, and when it returned she hear Gale counting them out … 11, 12, 13 … splat splat splat! Soon Lori began to yelp and finally to wail … 49 and 50! And then as quickly as they had arrived, they were gone, leaving a sobbing Lori checking and rubbing her now very red bottom. Stumbling into the bathroom, Lori wondered how that compared to what the other girls had gotten. And then she wondered how hard she had been on Jake. But he had encouraged her, right? As she washed her face, this time for real, she heard the other girls return. They had clearly heard the commotion from just outside the room. At first she spurned their questions about what had actually happened with Jake, but eventually she left it that Jake had been “chivalrous.” After they finally tired of peppering her with questions, all went to bed. Before falling asleep, Lori’s thoughts returned to Jake, and she found the combination of her still burning rear end and the image of his body quite stimulating. “Maybe he’ll ask me out, or even I’ll ask him out — that might give me a chance to make it up to him” she thought, “Hmmmm … this Greek life might be what she was looking for after all” as she faded to sleep.

GreyWolf's story #10. This one is a bit older, from the spring of 2019. The Real Thing It was one of those wonderful early autumn days, still warm but with a crispness to it, as Claire trotted up the front stairs to her home and in through the front door. She headed strait to the kitchen for a snack, briefly noticing a letter as she passed the dining room table. As she settled at the kitchen table with a cookie, her Aunt Mabel came in through the back from gardening, and after a quick hi added “There’s a letter for you from the college — it’s on the dining table.” With that, the light streaming in through the kitchen window seemed to darken a bit. Going into the dining room, Claire picked up the letter, and with some trepidation opened it. After a quick scan, the light seemed to dim further, at least in her eyes. Her Aunt appeared at the kitchen door with an expectant look on her face, as Claire’s expression turned sour. With a deep sigh, she handed it to her Aunt, knowing that her intransigence would come to light eventually. The letter basically said she was failing at her first semester, and in danger of flunking out at the mid-terms of her freshman fall semester. Her Aunt Mabel was her mother’s older sister, who had agreed to stay with her while her parents were on sabbatical in France that year. Claire’s parents were both professors at the college, and had a great opportunity to both take their sabbatical that year. Claire had been accepted by the school, and rather than go with them it was decided that with her Aunt staying with her, it would work for her to stay State-side and start school. After a brief read, Aunt Mable looked up and declared “I’m hungry, let’s get dinner on — this can wait until after.” A meal was soon in front of them, and though there was some light exchange over daily events, the conversation soon faded. Claire was relived when it was time to do the dishes, though her thoughts were scatter-shot throughout the task. After finishing the cleanup, she went into the living room and settled on the couch to read, but her thoughts were completely on her problem, and wondering what to do. She did not have long to wonder, as Aunt Mabel came in holding the letter. “Claire, what have you been doing to be so far behind in your courses? You’ve always been an able student — what have you been doing?” Claire looked down at the carpet, and found she had no answer. I guess after years of close monitoring in high school and prior, the freedom (though not the responsibility) granted to a college student had gone to her head. Her blooming relationship with Charlie, who was from out of state, had only accelerated the process. “Your parents will be hugely disappointed in you, and there is a good chance they will feel responsible and return to try to rectify this situation.” she continued. With that, Claire looked up with almost a pleading in her eyes, as though anything would be preferable to ruining a long dreamed of goal of her parents. How had she let this happen? “I know I need to fix this, but I’m not sure I have the will,” Claire said, looking down again. Seeing the look in her eyes, Aunt Mable got up and left the room, but returned shortly to say “Claire, when your parents left you in my trust they gave me full discretion in guiding you for the year they were to be gone. They were clear that it included my approach to discipline, and I do believe that there was forethought in that. Let’s see if you can find that will.” Looking up, Claire saw that she was holding a wooden paddle. It was light colored wood with a shiny finish, about 16 inches long and 4 wide, with several rows of neatly spaced smallish holes over most of the surface, at least 2 dozen of them. The handle was large and wrapped with white tape in neat spirals, just the way wooden baseball bats used to be. Claire opened her mouth to object, but nothing came out. Continuing, Aunt Mabel said “You are 18, and can choose not to allow this. If you do I will simply contact your parents, indicating that I cannot continue to care for you, and I assure you that they will return, and will be none too happy about the premature end to the sabbatical. It’s your choice.” As she was speaking, her Aunt had put the paddle down on the heavy table at the end of the couch, and was pulling it away, leaving a 12 inch gap to the heavily padded arm. Turning, she said “Claire, I’ll take you’re still being here as a decision. Take off your jeans and panties, and slip in that space facing the couch.” Claire looked alarmed and started to object, but the stern expression on her Aunt’s face brought her up short. With that, Claire complied, removing her ballet-slipper like shoes, then her jeans, and with a rueful glance her pink lace panties as well. Stepping into the gap and she found herself suddenly concerned that her earlier copulation with Charlie might be all too obvious. That joy was a distant memory now, as she felt a firm hand pushing her over the arm of the couch. Her neat white knit pullover with the athletic numbers on the back did nothing to cover her now fully exposed bottom, and the table was now obviously positioned to restrain her heels from interfering with the coming process. Anticipation changed to surprise when next Claire felt a cool touch to which her aunt said “Best to take good care of your skin ahead of time.” With that Claire noticed the strong smell of camphor, and then connected it with the object she’d hardly noticed in her Aunt’s hand opposite the paddle — a blue jar of facial cleansing cream. After a liberal application of the aromatic cream Aunt Mable returned the jar to the table, and there was a slight clatter as she retrieved the paddle. With her left arm she pushed Claire over the arm, holding her down so her forehead was on the cushion. After only a moment there was a surprisingly loud whooshing sound and a loud — CRACK — as the paddle landed squarely across Claire’s fully exposed bottom. That first swat was like an explosion, and suddenly signs of recent sexual activities were the last thing on her mind. After the second and third hearty full-arc swings — CRACK — CRACK — Claire pushed up off the couch with both hands and yelled at the top of her lungs “That’s way too ****** hard!” “Claire, this is not you playing patty-pat games with your boyfriend! This is the real thing!” Her Aunt then grabbed Claire’s left wrist firmly, turning it deftly behind her back and pushing her back in place over the end of the couch. She then shifted her position to place her thigh against Claire’s shoulder, pinning her right arm against the back of the couch, all to avoid any further interruptions. Raising the paddle again over her head she continued. She alternated sides, and the end of the paddle extended the impact several inches down each leg, adding significantly to the effect it had. It was unlikely Claire would be wearing that bikini anymore this season. And again there was that whoosh… and again… and again… and again! Nothing other than the whoosh even began to cut through the pain in her backside, not the sound of impact, not her banging her heels on the underside of that heavy stone topped table, and not even her own loud yells. There was only one thing, and it kept coming without end, it seemed. In fact it was awhile after the last loud smack echoed from the far wall that she realized it had stopped. Her bawling and yelling continued well past that point, finally tapering to long moan. As her Aunt left the room to replace the paddle, there was only silence and Claire’s continued sobbing. Slowly she extracted herself from her position over the couch, and stumbled around to curl up on the seat. After a few minutes like that, her Aunt returned saying “Pull yourself together and go get cleaned up and head to bed.” As Claire got up to head up the stairs, she realized how hard she had been kicking by the tender bruising on both heels. That, however, was nothing compared to her backside. Her shoes, jeans, and panties lay completely forgotten next to the end table. Once in her bedroom, a look in the mirror showed red everywhere, with black and blue mottling from all those holes — it would be awhile before fun-and-games with Charlie were fun. The burn seemed to continue without diminishing, as she realized how effective that facial cream was. Her Aunt was quite adept at the whole process, and she realized now what was behind some of her older cousin’s expressions when trading tales of misdeeds. Though only tepid, the stream of water in the shower re-animated the searing pain to the point where she stood to the side and washed up quickly, rinsed and dried. Even running a terry towel over it made her face flush again, and a quick look in the mirror showed a pair of very red and puffy eyes looking back. Back in her bedroom, Claire turned the lights out and crawled into bed, and to her surprise was asleep rather quickly. The next morning, while she found sitting for breakfast difficult, Claire also found the resolve to solve her school problem. It wasn’t easy, but with concentration and effort she managed to pull her courses back from the brink. At the end of the semester her grades were not as good as they should have been but she got the credits she had signed up for (minus having to drop Chemistry) and it enabled her to continue in school. If she had any moments of temptation, she found that thinking about that couch arm quickly banished them. She also found that her relationship with Charlie, though a bit rocky for awhile, was in the end more to her liking. By the weekend the soreness had faded to only slightly noticeable, like a light sunburn. Claire’s curiosity got the better of her, and she went into her Aunt’s room to have a closer look at that paddle. Finding it in the bottom dresser drawer, she was surprised at how light and thin it was, made of a very finely layered plywood. The holes had been very carefully and cleanly drilled, with little or no beveling of the edges, and then well sealed with several thin layers of lacquer. This explained how effective it was in producing that intense burn, but without any real deep bruising. The facial cream on top of that made it all very effective and gave it real staying power! Years later Claire asked her Aunt how long that paddling was, and the answer surprised her — it was only about 20 swats, and that it was over within a minute. I guess time really does stands still, particularly when it’s the real thing!

GreyWolf's story #8. Another from December 2020. This one came together in just a day or two. Soccer Mom You could cut the silence with a knife. As Rachel’s SUV descended the ramp onto the freeway, Sarah broke it saying “You’re way too intense about it Mom, and you deserved that red card.” “I said I was sorry,” replied Rachel, “but that referee was wrong! Your tackle was perfectly legal.” “But it was so embarrassing to see you yelling and even walking well onto the field! Even coach trying to pull you back was not enough, and the referee finally carded you. You did know that he can do that, didn’t you?” Silence signified admission. “Well I was the one who had to spend the rest of the game in the car” was Rachel’s only response. “It’s all about you, isn’t it” muttered Sarah. “What was that?” exclaimed Rachel. Sarah spoke up saying “Mom, please think about how that made me look. Most of my team thinks your a nut job!” The rest of the ride was silent, and after pulling into the drive Sarah jumped out in stocking feet and walked quickly into the house, with Rachel a good 10 yards behind. Her muddy cleats were dropped outside the door, and “Mother!” was her response to her grandmother’s question, “what’s wrong?” She then turned and headed upstairs, her footsteps thumping on the carpet as she ascended, followed by her bedroom door closing with some force. As Helen stood by speechless, Rachel simply went into the kitchen, retrieved a soda from the refrigerator, and sat down at the nook table. Following her Helen asked “what was that all about?” “Well, there was an incident in the game. Sarah made a really good tackle, but the referee blew the whistle. It was a tough tackle, but fair! And then the ref gave her a yellow card! The team protested, but this gave the other team a free kick in a very good position, and they scored.” “And …” asked Helen, in response to the silence. “I guess I got a bit out of control. It ended up with me getting a red card,” continued Rachel. “What do those cards mean again?” asked Helen. “Yellow means a warning, but red is an ejection.” “They can do that to someone on the sideline?” asked Helen. “Yes — I had to spend the rest of the game sitting in the car.” With that, Helen turned and headed upstairs. Rachel heard her knock on Sarah’s door, followed by voices which faded as the door closed behind them. After 10 minutes or so, she heard the door open again, but her mother did not come back down the stairs immediately. When she did, she came back into the kitchen and said “This is really hurting Sarah. It’s to the point where she’s considering quitting.” With that said nothing, continuing to look at her soda, but realized how far out on a limb she was. Her mother’s tone changed from inquisitive and supportive to firm and commanding, saying “This has been building for some time, and I can no longer ignore it.” Rachel saw her standing in the doorway, holding something that brought chills in her right hand. Looking back at her mother’s face, the usual twinkle in her eye was gone, and her mouth was set hard. “Rachel, I know you’re a grown woman now,” Helen continued, “but when you’re living in my house you’ll live by my rules. I know it’s been tough for you and Sarah since your divorce, and I’m glad to help you out while you get your life put back together. However your attitude and behavior lately is not something I will tolerate. We’ve talked about it, but to no end. Would your behavior be acceptable when you were Sarah’s age, to say nothing of when you’re a grown woman?” With that, she held up the paddle, which had Rachel’s name in large black block lettering. Initially Rachel did not respond, then threw her chin forward a bit, slumped in the chair. She opened her mouth to complain, just as she might have in her teens, but nothing came out. Looking at the floor, she began to tear a bit, and then said “But Mom, you can’t!” Returning her eyes to Helen, she saw that look in her face, and knew there was only one path forward. “Rachel, get up, lower your jeans, and bend over the table.” came Helen’s brisk response as she strode into the room. Rachel stood, unbuttoned her jeans, and lowered them to her knees, careful to not slide her underwear down as well. Turning to the table, she had a brief look at the window, grateful that the curtains were drawn. A quick look over her shoulder gave her some confidence that there was no open view from that direction either. With that, she bent her body over the table, grasping the far edge in anticipation. The table was a solid 4 leg type, so thankfully it was not likely to tip. Helen immediately took her place to Rachel’s side, and started with a lecture, followed by 3 sharp swats full across her daughter’s thinly clad bottom. “Rachel, sports are an important part of growing up, and soccer is very important to Sarah.” WHAP, WHAP, WHAP! “… aaah …” was Rachel’s response. “One of the most important parts of it is teaching sportsmanship” Helen continued. WHAP, WHAP, WHAP! “… uuuuhh …” “What would you say if the coaches behaved that way?” she questioned. WHAP, WHAP, WHAP! “… aaaeee …” After a brief pause she continued “You have been making Sarah miserable through your behavior!” WHAP, WHAP, WHAP! “… groan …” “You have made it about you, instead of encouraging Sarah and helping her learn.” WHAP, WHAP, WHAP! “… ggaaah …” “Sarah is your daughter, not your sister. You need to be her mother.” WHAP, WHAP, WHAP! “… yeowww …” “Sarah is now 13, and you two have precious few years to form a good relationship. You’ve been failing her.” WHAP, WHAP, WHAP! “… nnnnggg …” “I’ve been hoping you would see this and correct, but it’s gotten worse.” WHAP, WHAP, WHAP! “… arrrg …” Pausing for a moment Helen said “OK, I’m done lecturing, but I’m not finished.” She then tucked the paddle under her arm, and grasped her daughter’s underwear to lower them. Rachel’s hand shot back and she cried “No …!” as she tried to stand. Helen quickly placed her hand on Rachel’s back, pushing her firmly back down to the table, and grasped the panties with her free hand, yanking them down to the jeans at her knees. Doing so, the paddle slipped from her arm and clattered to the floor. Helen picked up the paddle. It was fairly thin, and only about 15 inches long and 3 inches wide. It was a very simple rectangular design, with only slightly rounded edges and a carved handle, but made from a solid piece of maple giving it heft. Certainly enough to do that job, she realized, looking at the bulls-eye shapes on her daughter’s now exposed cheeks. “As I was saying” Helen continued “the lecture is over, but the paddling is not. I need to help you really understand the gravity of this.” And with that she applied a final flurry. SPLAT! - SPLAT! - SPLAT! - SPLAT! - SPLAT! - SPLAT! - SPLAT! - SPLAT! - SPLAT! - SPLAT! - SPLAT! - SPLAT! - SPLAT! The full sequence, delivered at least as hard as the previous ones, had the intended effect. The bulls-eyes were now fully formed, particularly on the right side which met the outer arc of the paddle. When she finally allowed Rachel up there were tears flowing down her cheeks, and she clutched her rear and stood massaging for at least 30 seconds. Then realizing her exposure, she reached down and yanked her panties and jeans up in rapid succession. In the mean time Helen had placed the paddle down on the table, and turned to the kitchen to prepare lunch, and to give Rachel a few more minutes to compose herself. Rachel sat down, looked at the paddle, and picked it up. She tried to remember the last time it had been used, but could only conclude that it was probably in the 9th or 10th grade, and she could not even remember why. Emerging from behind the counter with 3 plates holding a sandwich and a pickle each, Helen sat down at the table and looked across at her daughter. “Are you better now?” “I guess I really deserved that” responded Rachel. “I’d say you really needed that” Helen replied. “There’s a difference, you know.” Rachel looked at the paddle again, and then her mother, and said “I’d come to think spanking was not right, and had no intentions of ever using myself. Now, looking at myself in the mirror, I’m not so sure. Sarah was right to be angry with me today, but sometimes she is really wrong, and I’m at a loss in getting through to her. Should I be?” Helen’s response was simple and direct “I’m your mother, and you’re Sarah’s mother.” It’s something every mother needs to decide for themselves. Picking up the paddle and handing to Rachel, Helen continued “Why don’t you put this somewhere you can find it in case it’s needed again. And after you and give Sarah a real apology, we can all sit down for lunch.”