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GreyWolf's story #2. This was written in mid 2020, and is one of my more compact stories, coming in at under 1000 words. Old School Erin was careful to not let the screen door bang closed behind her, mindful of all the times as a girl her mother had chided her for doing so as she bounded down the front steps on her way to school. Her husband Andrew, waiting at the foot of the steps, was somewhat surprised to see her wearing a tartan skirt and a simple blouse. As she approached him she thrust a dark object into his hand, and he knew immediately to slide it into his front trousers pocket. She smiled coyly and they joined hands for their evening walk, something they had started in the first year of marriage. It was a great way to really share their day without electronic distractions. They had been married for two years now, and this trip to her home town was the first where Andrew could relax and get to know her family. There was still some chill in the April air, and the moon was low in the sky but offered some light by which to walk and talk. Erin said “Let’s go by my old elementary school. It’s a short walk, and I haven’t seen it in years.” Answering in the affirmative, Andrew began to understand as he fingered the object in his pocket. It was a smooth oblong about 8 inches long, very much in the spirit of a hair brush without bristles, and stained very dark with smooth polished finish. Erin has insisted on bringing it this trip, promising its use would be discrete. As they approached the old brick school Erin stopped and looked up at what was once an imposing structure to her. Now the century old building somehow seemed smaller, and quaint compared to her memories. Looking about she lead Andrew around the side, where there was a gate leading to the schoolyard in the back. Giving the latch a try, she was grateful to find it unlocked. Looking around once more they entered, quietly closing it behind. Heading around the back of the building, Erin saw that while much was new — the playground equipment, a well padded playing surface and the like — much had not changed at all. The fence around the back with the hedges and vines covering it more thoroughly than she remembered, the cornices and other protrusions on the building, and of course the concrete steps leading up to the double back doors all brought a flood of memories. Tonight she had one particular recollection in mind, something she had recounted to Andrew about the fourth grade. She had gotten into a fight with another girl, and just when she had the upper hand she found herself in the grips of one of the Sisters who ran the school. The punishment was immediate, with several swats from a ruler delivered right there in the schoolyard. That was the start of a long awakening for Erin. “Where did it happen?” inquired Andrew. Returning to the present from the fog of the past, Erin pointed to the side of the steps. Recalling the Sister pulling her off the other girl “She lead me by the arm over to the right side of the stairs.” Taking Erin’s arm, Andrew then lead her to the spot. “I had to lean way over with my arms out and hands on the steps” as she then demonstrated, looking over her shoulder at Andrew. Andrew glanced around again, his heart racing has he reached out and grasped the hem of Erin’s skirt, carefully raising onto her back. He reached into his pocket and withdrew the ebony paddle, looking again over his shoulder to be sure they were alone. Returning his eyes to his wife he noted both her very high cut underwear, and the fact that she was no schoolgirl! Erin now felt the cool evening chill on her exposed rear, and with it came a flood of fear and excitement. The moon was coming more into view now, and its light would illuminate her soft skin well enough to see what was coming. The first swat was somewhat tentative, but the second sent a chill up her back. The sound was surprisingly low, more like a footstep on a hard floor than the crack one heard inside. Andrew paused to look around one more time, before applying the paddle again, this time with increasing impact. As this continued, Erin’s rear began to bob and weave a bit. After another dozen he stopped for a moment and listened, but there was nothing but silence and Erin’s breathing. Commencing with the spanking he applied at least another dozen before she let him know her limit and he immediately stopped, slipping the paddle back into his trousers pocket. Erin turned to him and flung her arms around his neck. As she pressed her head against the side of his he felt just a bit of tearing on his cheek. Her skirt had fallen back in place, but he reached behind her and raising it rubbed her now hot cheeks with both hands. At that she hugged him even tighter and he pulled her hips toward his. No words were exchanged as hand in hand they continued walking about the schoolyard and back out the way they had entered. The moon had now risen quite a bit more, and the streets seemed brightly lit as they continued on their walk, with the world none the wiser, but their bond ever stronger.
GreyWolf's story #1. This was written in mid 2019, and is fairly typical of my writing. Hope you all like it. I have a significant backlog of stories which I intend to post here, probably at a pace of about 1 per week. Like (click) As Myra lay awake that morning she recalled the conversation with Mark the previous day. It had started with her complaint about work, discussions with team members, and her feeling that she was not taken seriously. While she held that it was her gender and perhaps age, after awhile Mark pointed gently to some of her manner of speech, in particular the “like” word. She took it in stride, aware that she did use it, “like that way.” Mark replied that as with many in her generation (and his, by the way) she was unaware of how habitual and pervasive it was in her conversation. The net of this conversation had been that she agreed it would be a good habit to break. Moreover, she agreed to Mark keeping track, and to apply spanking to try to make her aware and motivate her to change. As they got up for the day, Mark made no mention of the prior day’s agreement, but as they sat down to breakfast he brought out his old inventory clicker from working nights in a grocery store. This was a simple mechanical counter with a drum dial like the odometer found in older cars — when the count button was pushed there was an audible click, and the counter incremented by one. There was a reset which required sliding a recessed lever and pressing the button at the same time. After demonstrating its operation, Mark reset it, and announced that it would be a click per “like” and at an appropriate time of his choosing, a swat per count to get the reset. And with that he placed a ping-pong paddle on the table. She had forgotten about that paddle, left over from his college days, when he had gotten into the game quite a bit. It had some heft, and was covered with smooth, somewhat soft green rubber surfaces designed to give the ball spin. Myra was silent for a moment, staring intently at that paddle, and after a sigh said “OK, I agreed to it. If it’s as frequent as you say, I really need to change.” Through the rest of breakfast Myra was hesitant in her speech, but by concentrating a bit before speaking she found she could avoid the dread word. This was Saturday morning, and as was their habit they lingered over the meal, exchanging events of the week and plans for the weekend. However, as Myra recounted an exchange with a girl friend at work, she suddenly became aware of occasional “clicks”. Now fully aware, she exclaimed “Like you can’t use that (click) — like that’s not fair (click) — I’m like saying the way it was (click).” With a little pout she fell silent and stopped relating the story. The rest of breakfast followed by doing the dishes (well, loading the dishwasher) together was done in complete silence. With the kitchen clean they had the rest of the day to dedicate to leisure. At that moment Mark pulled out the clicker, and turned it toward Myra. It showed 11. Not hesitating, Mark took Myra by one wrist and lead her toward the living room, picking up the paddle on the way. Reaching the couch he dropped the paddle on it and turned toward her. Grasping her shorts by the waist band, he deftly unbuttoned them and pulled them down. Myra started to complain, but thought better of it. He then sat down, pulled her over his lap, and grasping the waist band of her panties, drew them down to fully expose her. With that, Myra exclaimed “Like no, Mark!” Mark’s only response was “I’ll let that one go, as it’s not the clicker I have in my hand.” With that, he began to deliver on his part of the bargain. With each delivery, he counted down, at a regular cadence, just like an old fashion launch sequence. POP! 11 … POP! 10 … SPLAT! 9 … “Mark no! That hurts! Please Mark!” At that point he did have to hold her and grasp her free hand to avoid interference. POP! 6 … WHAP! 5 … SPLAT! 4 … Mark finished at the same pace he had started with POP! 2 … WHAP! 1 … done.. Upon reaching 1 Myra jumped up, and rubbed her butt, scowled, but said nothing. Mark couldn’t help but look at the state of her rear — it was noticeably pink, but he concluded he’d calibrated about right. After some silence, and getting her panties and shorts back in place, Myra said only “Ouch, I’m going to try to be more careful. That thing stings!” As was their habit on Saturdays, Mark started catching up with his leisure reading, while Myra put on some laundry and checked her work email. Around 11:00 she answered her cell, and plopped down on the living room couch for a call from a friend. It was one of the long “catching up” sessions and as they chatted away, Mark continued reading but not at all out of earshot. When the call finally wound down, and Myra had finally disengaged, she looked at the phone and realizing it needed a charge, walked past Mark to connect it to one of the cords in their device charging ghetto on the entertainment center. As she returned, she caught Mark’s inquisitive look, and paused to ask what it was about. “Well,” said Mark, hesitating, and pulling out the clicker, “it looks like this needs immediate attention.” Turning the device so that Myra could read it, he continued, “78.” As she stood a bit stunned, he took a few steps toward their bedroom and turning, wagged his finger saying “I think you need to follow me.” Myra followed him, where reaching the bedroom he took the paddle from the dresser drawer, and turned to put and arm around her. Gently turning her around he unbuttoned her jeans and slid them down over her hips. As he lowered them further he turned her back toward him and proceeded to pull her over his knee on the bed. At that moment she found her voice and began to object, insisting that it didn’t matter with a friend, and that it would not effect her professional life. Mark ignored her plea and pulled her once again over his knee, sliding her panties down below her knees as he did so. Mark followed the same path as he had that morning, but started at 78, as Myra plead “no Mark, I can’t” … POP! 78 … PLOP! 77 … POP! 76 … As the count reached 60 Myra began to wriggle side to side with every descent of the paddle. POP! 59 … POP! 58 … POP! 57 … When Mark announced 50 she was getting rather vocal, and it did not include the “like” word, in either a proper or improper context. POP! 48 … POP! 47 … POP! 46 … As the progression of spanks reached 45 Mark noticed the color of her lovely rear was turning from deep pinkness to a real red, but he soldiered on. By 35 she needed to be held firmly in place, and there was a continuous stream of pleading and promises. WHAP! 23 … WHAP! 22 … WHAP! 21 … By the time he reached 15 Mark realized his arm was getting a bit tired, and wondered briefly wondered what would give out first — his arm or Myra’s “like” habit. WHAP! 3 … WHAP! 2 … WHAP! 1 … and then silence, all but for Myra’s sobs. After a moment’s stillness, Mark helped Myra off his lap and she curled up on the bed, still sobbing, where she gingerly pulled up her panties, burying her head in a pillow. Her jeans lay in a heap across the room where her flailing legs had delivered them. He quietly left her there to commiserate, and returned the paddle to its place on his way out of the room. About an hour later, when Myra emerged from the bedroom, she immediately announced “I don’t want to do this anymore.” In return Mark pointed out that she had promised to stick to it for at least one day. With that she reluctantly agreed, and turned toward the kitchen. She had not had any lunch yet, and being close to 2:00 no doubt was a bit hungry. They spent the rest of the afternoon in a combination of incidental chores and relaxation, though the mood was certainly somber. Myra went out to do a few errands, while Mark cleaned the outdoor grill. By dinner time things were back to normal as they enjoyed cooking on the grill, and then sat down to a pleasant dinner. Afterward they watched a bit of TV, but gave it up as there was not much on that was even close to watchable, including ’80s BBC comedies on PBS. It was early summer, when the days are longest, and the sun was just now setting and the cool evening breeze began to flow through the open windows. After getting up and turning off the TV, Myra tuned suddenly and said “OK, how many?” Looking down Mark replied 12. Myra breathed a sigh of relief, saying “well that’s progress … to be honest I recall 3 more while talking to a store clerk while I was out.” With that Mark said “Nothing on the tube — I guess it’s time for bed.” They headed to their bedroom where Mark changed into his PJ’s and pulled the covers down and fluffed the pillows. Myra excused herself to the bathroom to prepare for bed, and returning took Mark’s hand. Looking over to the paddle where it lay ready on the bed, he lead her over saying “you know the drill.” Once over his lap, Mark realized that the very brief teddy Myra was wearing made further apparel removal totally unnecessary. As much as he wanted to, there was no need to bare her further. “OK, that was 15, right?” “Yes, came the rather meek reply.” Myra’s rear still showed some duress from earlier that day, but Mark went to his task without hesitation. After the last report echoed from the walls he continued to hold her, and unhooking that teddy, did his best to comfort her. No doubt even that smaller number was decidedly more difficult after the two “clicker resets” earlier that day. As he rubbed Myra as only a lover can, she reached back and grasped his PJ sleeve, pulling him over her where she lay on the bed. He had no doubt her intent. After she was asleep he staggered up just long enough to reset the clicker, and then fell fast asleep himself. Much to Mark’s surprise, the next day at breakfast Myra was the first to bring up the subject. “You know I still feel it this morning … that really did hurt!” Mark then asked if she had decided to end the arrangement. She bit her lip, thought for a bit, and then said “No, I think I can lick this.” Mark continued to keep the paddle in his top dresser drawer, although he kept the clicker on the dresser top. Myra took to checking it late in a day to see what bedtime would hold. And Mark never failed her. For the most part she managed to keep it under 10, and then at one point after 3 days in a row of 0, she said “you know, you don’t really need to count now.” And with that the paddle stayed in Mark’s drawer and was deployed when they both had a sense for it, while the clicker was relegated back to storage.