Spank-Me-Service from Miss Jennifer, a professional Disciplinarian


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PRIZE:  A Session with Miss Jennifer




****To make sure I do not favor anyone in the story contest there will be a total of 3 judges****

One of my favorite naughty boys who gave me this wonderful idea! 

Thank you Paul!




You are only allowed to enter no more than 1 time.


You must be between the ages 18-21 and currently in college.


If you ever decide to enter the contest another time…you are not allowed to use the same story.


When emailing your story, please put your first name, age, email address and your city/state.

You will be completely anonymous. I will only post your story and the city/state you are from.


You are entered in the contest if:

 the story has been EMAILED to me (

I have sent you an email confirming that I have received your story and you have been entered.


I will post all stories on my website for all of us to read.

This is exciting!!!!

I can’t wait to read your stories!!!


For the prize winner….Session will be held in USA

You will pick one of the cities I travel to that is on my schedule or will be on my schedule.

You will have 6 months to redeem your prize from the day the winner is announced.

After 6 months it will no longer be valid.

Only the winner can use the prize.  You cannot sell, trade or give as a gift to another.


 The story must be PG-13


The story must have a title.


The story must NOT be more than 5,000 words!


The story must be about Miss Jennifer and you as a naughty boy/girl.

I can be as myself, a teacher, aunt, mommy, principal, boss, employee, babysitter, neighbor, girlfriend, wife, friend, older sister…etc




In the story there must be NO SEX, GS, Spat, any type of body worship, ass worship, leg worship, foot worship, face sitting, fire, wax play, blood, any type of anal play, toilet training, medical play, hand job, foot job, T&D, anything that deals with animals or children, enemas, strap-on, heavy bondage, needles or knife play, and spitting in the story.




The story must be 100% original.


By entering this contest, author agrees that all submissions becomes the property of the owner of the contest and submissions maybe modified, published, or used by the owner for commercial purposes without renumeration or authors permission being further required. Author warrants that the submission is an original work and it has not been previously published or submitted for   publication.  Miss Jennifer






"Torn", frederick thought.  That was the only word for it.  "Torn".  Torn in two utterly polar and opposite directions.  Two attitudes diametrically opposed.


On the one hand, frederick felt nothing but defiance.  Willful, almost adolescent defiance.  Like a teenage boy denied a popular party, or forced to rake up heavy leaves.  Standing in front of the office door at # 50 Professional Plaza, frederick's burning sense of defiance screamed within, "No!  I am not going to do it.  I do not have to be here.  She cannot make me do it.  Not anymore!"


But no sooner was that thought fully formed and frederick was about to pull away from the door, when another, more powerful and completely overwhelming compulsion engulfed him.  "Dammit!", frederick thought, though he knew She would reprove his language, even in unspoken thought.  "Why, why why?  Why am I this way?  Why does She have so much power over me.  Even when I don't want to do something.  Why do I feel like I have to obey Her?"


But even though it had been years now, years since he had last reported to Her, when frederick thought of Her...when he thought of Ms. Louise...his earlier sense of defiance melted away without a trace.  The adolescent attitude disappeared completely, fully displaced by a deep and profound sense of submissive obedience.  Of compliance and resignation.  A warm and oddly comforting demeanor of utter acceptance of Feminine Authority dispelled frederick's earlier boyish fury.


Or did it?  That, apparently, was the question.  Because, as was stated, frederick felt truly torn.  Torn between obediently knocking on the door of the office in front of him.  Or, in defiance, turning and willfully walking away.  He could, after all.  He did not HAVE to be here.  He did not really even want to be here.  So why in the heck WAS he here, anyhow?  "I ought to leave, he thought.  I ought to just leave now...and maybe I will be able to explain later."


But just as frederick was thinking this mutinous thought and was about to turn away, the door opened smoothly in front of him. 


"Please come in, frederick", he heard.  The voice was smooth and cool, the articulation precise and free of emotion.  A calm, confident, cultured and feminine..yes, feminine voice.  Standing there utterly befuddled on the doorstep, frederick seemed as if struck dumb.  "I said, please come in, frederick.  I do not enjoy having to repeat myself."  Again, the voice was calm and free of emotion.  But the tone conveyed a light frost and an unmistakable sense of authority.


With all previous thoughts of revolt and escape having evaporated with the unexpected opening of the door, frederick's fleeting sense of masculine imperatives seemed irretrievably lost.  Quickly coming to his senses and somehow knowing intuitively that he did not want Miss Jennifer to have to repeat herself again, frederick stepped forward.  Little did he know then the manner in which his fate was sealed.


Out of the corner of his eye, Frederick watched the door, marked Miss Jennifer S. – Behavioral Therapist, close firmly behind him.  Without looking at him, Miss Jennifer, or he assumed it was Miss Jennifer as there was no receptionist or other person present, strode briskly towards an inner office door.  “Please come in, Frederick.  We will get started right away.”


As he followed behind her, Frederick felt his masculine arrogance beginning to grow within him once again.  Especially as he lasciviously noticed the fine shape of Miss Jennifer when viewed from behind.  Slender, lovely legs, confident and stylish high heels and very appealing rear view in her tight, professional skirt & blouse.  Thinking that he might be able to quickly get past the “professional” reason for his visit, frederick’s thoughts began to wander inappropriately.


He was very quickly snapped out of his little reverie, however, once Miss Jennifer directed him to have a seat.  She stepped confidently behind her desk, sat down and fixed Frederick with an unflinching, somewhat bemused stare.  Taken aback both by the look, as well as by the four legged stool which was the only place left for him to sit, Frederick rather awkwardly settled himself upon the hard wooden seat.


Suddenly, the assertiveness he had so briefly started to feel only moments ago, was once again vaporized by the unusual seating arrangement.  Sitting there on a hard stool, in the tastefully and professionally appointed office, Frederick looked around uncomfortably.  Miss Jennifer, he noted, was a very attractive, very confident and obviously assertive and capable young lady.  Her professional elegance, her calm and composed demeanor and the psychological manipulation she so easily achieved with the crude wooden stool situated before her expansive and stylish desk, made Frederick very apprehensive.  He was not even certain why.


Calmly appraising her new client, Miss Jennifer, for her part, seemed utterly content to simply let the awkward tension and discomfort elevate.  She gazed at Frederick with cool calculation, saying nothing for several long minutes.


Finally, with slow and graceful motions, she opened her desk drawer and withdrew a single sheet of paper.  She laid it face down on the completely empty surface of the desk and situated it very neatly in front of her.


“Why are you here today, Frederick?,” she asked.  Her tone was neutral and composed.  Unhurried and professional. 


Apparently startled by this frank and no-nonsense opening to their meeting, Frederick appeared to blush hotly and made some kind of stammering, “ummm…well…” response.  But then, gathering himself somewhat, he replied, “Well, Miss Jennifer, I was actually referred to you by a friend who suggested I might benefit from meeting with you.”


“Is that so?”, Miss Jennifer inquired, her voice conveying both amusement and cool detachment.  “I see.  Well then, please tell me about this “friend” of yours and why they suggested you should come see me.”


“Ummm…well…you see, Miss Jennifer, this friend of mine is a psychologist and I have known her for a very long time”, Frederick began.


“Oh, Miss Jennifer injected, this “friend” of yours is a woman?”


“Ummm…well…yes”, Miss Jennifer.


“And this psychologist woman friend of yours suggested that you come see me, is that it?  Tell me, please, was this woman a “romantic” friend of yours or a “professional” friend of yours?  Was she treating you in her professional capacity?”


This quick barrage of questions caused Frederick to squirm a little in his awkward perch on the hard stool.  In addition, his previously flushed face deepened and his ears flamed a bright red now, too.


“Oh…no, no, Miss Jennifer.  Not romantic, I mean, she was not my girlfriend or anything like that, no.”


“Well then,” Miss Jennifer said, “were you seeing her professionally, this woman psychologist “friend” of yours?


“Ummm…well…kinda,” Frederick stammered.  “In a manner of speaking, I suppose.”


“In a manner of speaking, Frederick?” Inquired Miss Jennifer.  “Just what exactly does that mean?  Were you a patient of this “friend” then?”


“Not really,” he replied.  “More like a client, I guess you might say.”


“OK, Frederick, let me get this straight now.  You have a friend, a woman.  She is a clinical psychologist.  She was not your girlfriend.  You were not her patient.  Yet you were a client of this…”friend”, as you call her?”


Appraising Frederick now with a very stern gaze, Miss Jennifer said, this time with a distinct note of expectation in her voice…”Let me ask you again, Frederick.  And I want a straight answer.  No more of this meandering bullshit of yours.  Why are you here today?”


Frederick was shocked by the mild profanity coming from this petite and professional lady.  He was also quite taken aback by the authoritative tone of confident expectation with which she re-posed her original question.


“Well, Frederick,” she intoned briskly, “Are you going to make me repeat myself again, or are you going to answer my question?”


The change from calm and composed demeanor to her new posture of authoritative expectation made Frederick squirm uncomfortably on the hard stool.  But he knew from the turn the conversation had taken that he better answer or the whole interview would quickly become unbearably awkward.


“Ummm…you see, Miss Jennifer, my friend…”


“Excuse me, Frederick, just what is this “friends” name that you seem so determined to talk about?”, Miss Jennifer interrupted.


“Her name is Miss D, Miss Jennifer”, Frederick quickly replied.  “She suggested that I come here to speak with you about a little problem I have…”


“Very good, Frederick, now we are finally getting somewhere”, Miss Jennifer replied.  Somehow, Miss Jennifer had taken complete control of the conversation.  Her small compliment made Frederick feel like a little school boy, sitting there on his dunce stool, seeking approval from a stern teacher.  Miss Jennifer gave an amused smile from behind her large, imposing desk as she looked knowingly at her uncomfortable visitor on his hard stool.


“But let’s go back a little bit now, Frederick”, she said.  “You stated that Miss D was not treating you as a patient.  Yet you also said that you were her client.  I want you to explain this to me.  Now.  In precisely what way were you her client?”


Squirming visibly now, on his little perch, Frederick nonetheless began, “Well, you see, Miss Jennifer, that’s, I guess, what I came here to talk to you about.  Its embarrassing though and,…ummm…well…might be a little shocking to a Lady like you.”


“That’s OK, Frederick”, Miss Jennifer replied gently.  Anything you say to me will be held in strictest professional confidence.  Also, you would be surprised at the things I hear in this office.  I doubt you will be able to shock with whatever you may have to say.”  Then, with the frosty tone returning to her voice, Miss Jennifer said, “Now tell me why you are here today, Frederick.”


“Yes, Ma’am, Frederick said quickly, knowing that he could delay no longer and noticing the deference that had come into his own voice when he called her “Ma’am” for the first time.  He wondered how he had been made to feel so meek by this woman, but figured it was because he always seemed to feel that way towards authoritative women.  Especially when Miss D was part of the conversation.


Steeling his courage in order to summon the ability to reveal his naughty secret to this woman he had just met, Frederick almost blurted it out insensibly.  Such was his rush now to get it over with.


“MissDwasmyDisciplinarian and she told me to come talk to you about myneedfordisciplineandwhyihave not done anythingaboutitinsolong.”


“Whoa, whoa, slow down there, boy”, Miss Jennifer said, holding up both hands in a gentle stopping gesture.  “Slow down.”  Then she continued, “Now that was not so hard, was it, Frederick?  Now I want you to calm down and repeat what you just said.  Slowly and clearly and articulating each word.  This is very important Frederick so please follow my instructions closely.  In fact, you would do well to follow ALL of my instructions very closely from now on, do you understand?”


Frederick slowly nodded his head as he suddenly felt a distinct change in the tenor of this conversation.


“You will answer my questions verbally from now on, Frederick.  No more nods or gestures.  I will let that one slip as you do not yet know my rules.  But now, repeat for me what you just said a moment ago.  And remember to speak slowly and clearly.”


“Yes, Ma’am”, Frederick replied, feeling deep apprehension now at Miss Jennifer’s words and tone.


“I said, Miss D was my Disciplinarian, Ma’am.  She told me to come talk to you about my need for discipline and about why I have not done anything about it in so long.”


“Good boy, Frederick”, Miss Jennifer said sweetly.  Now we have the proper basis for further discussion, don’t we?”


“Ummm…well…yes, I guess so, Miss Jennifer”, Frederick answered faintly.


“However, Frederick, I can’t imagine why you might think I would be shocked to hear such a thing, Miss Jennifer replied.  Didn’t you see my door when you came in here?  What did it say on the door?”


Feeling as though here he might be on solid ground, as he had looked at her door for several long moments while torn between knocking and leaving, Frederick replied confidently.  “It says, Miss Jennifer S. – Behavioral Therapist.”


“Exactly, Frederick.  And just what do you think the “S” is for and what do you think being a “Behavioral Therapist” might entail?”, she asked.


With foolish temerity, starting to feel a bit cocky again after his correct answer to the previous question, Frederick replied, “Well I have no idea what the “S” is for, Miss Jennifer.  But I figured a Behavioral Therapist was some kind of counselor or something.  You know, a consultant kind of like some of Miss D’s other professional friends.  I mean, she did tell me to come to you about my…ummm…little problem, right?”


“Yes she did, Frederick”, and with this Miss Jennifer slowly turned over the single sheet of paper she had previously withdrawn from the desk drawer.  Frederick could not see what it contained from his silly perch on the wooden stool, but without looking down at the paper, Miss Jennifer began…


“The “S” in my name is for spanks, Frederick.  As in, Miss Jennifer Spanks.  Do you get it, yet?  My role as behavioral therapist means I spank people like you, Frederick.  I discipline boys like you.  I punish boys like you for bad attitudes and behaviors.  In short, Frederick, I am a Professional Disciplinarian.  Perhaps not unlike your friend, Miss D.”


As Miss Jennifer spoke, Frederick felt an unspeakable dread flood through his entire being.  Oh my God, he thought.  No!  It couldn’t be.  That’s why Miss D had told him to come here?  Oh no!  She had mentioned that she felt he needed regular discipline and that she was concerned he wasn’t getting it.  But…but…she sent him to a Female Disciplinarian…like herself?  Oh God, he thought, I hope not.  I don’t want to be disciplined today.  I don’t even know this woman!  Aggghhh!


With these and other apprehensive thoughts screaming inside his head, Frederick almost missed what Miss Jennifer was now saying.  Something about the piece of paper on her desk??


“Yes, Frederick, as you can clearly see from this note here, Miss D specifically requests that I punish you quite strictly today.  In order to make up for lost opportunities due to your personal negligence in this regard…”


Yet Frederick hardly heard what Miss Jennifer was saying.  His mind was howling…Miss D sent this woman a note?  A note about punishing me?  Oh no.  This can NOT be happening.  I won’t let it happen.  I’ll just get up and leave right now.  What’s to stop me?  This petite little woman?  Hardly!  That’s it, I just get up and leave.  No way I am going to be punished by this woman.


As these thoughts of escape swirled through his little brain, Frederick suddenly re-focused on what Miss Jennifer was saying to him…


“…The inner door to my office is a very solid security door complete with biometric security features and can only be opened from within using my thumbprint and that retinal scanner you see there, Frederick.  So unless you are the kind of boy who is going to be violent and psychotic and try to push my hand and eyeball up against the scanners, you will not be going anywhere until I am done with you.  Miss D assured me in her note that you are not that kind of boy.  Are you, Frederick, are you that kind of boy?”


OMG, thought Frederick.  How in the heck did she know what I was thinking?  Retinal scanner, biometric security?  What is hell had he gotten himself into?  OMG…I can’t escape.  This woman is going to punish me and there is nothing I can do about it…  OH, Miss D…how could you?


But Frederick knew very well how Miss D could and had…she had always known how to get Her way with him.  Oh no!


As if deep in a cave, Frederick heard Miss Jennifer saying, “Now stand up and remove your clothes, Frederick.  That’s right, everything.  Miss D specifically asked me to punish you in the nude and it suits my preference for a naughty boy like you, too.  So fold everything neatly and place your clothes and shoes in the foot locker over there by the wall.  While you are undressing, I will just fetch my implements from the punishment closet here…”


Implements?  Punish in the nude?  Punishment closet?  Oooooh…this is really happening, thought poor Frederick.  What could he do?  He obviously was NOT the type to violently resist.  Certainly not with a petite, attractive young woman like Miss Jennifer.


“I would obey quickly now, Frederick, unless you want it to go much harder on you than it already will”, Miss Jennifer was saying.


Dazed and intimidated by this dreadful turn of events and the inescapable predicament he now found himself in, Frederick did finally realize that he had better do as Miss Jennifer instructed.  Resigning himself now to the inevitable and wanting to give a good account of himself lest poor report make it back to Miss D, Frederick quickly stripped himself completely naked.  He neatly folded his clothes and placed them, along with his shoes, in the indicated foot locker.


Miss Jennifer, who had retrieved from her closet a well-worn leather strap, a hard wooden paddle and a wicked looking little hairbrush, arranged these items neatly on her large desk.  Then she pulled a key from a chain around her neck and very purposefully locked the foot locker containing all of Frederick’s clothes.


Now completely stark naked, the beginnings of an utterly inappropriate erection making itself evident, Frederick heard Miss Jennifer say with dreadful authority…”Now we can get started on your long overdue punishment, Frederick.  Let’s just see how well you can behave for your new Female Disciplinarian.  Bend over that stool.  Now, you naughty boy, you!”



The Tutor – 2,967 words


            That was never going to be good enough. Sure, for me, in Algebra, it was something of a minor miracle, but it wasn’t going to be anything other than disappointing to my tutor. And I really didn’t want to disappoint her. She had worked hard to help me, to get me ready for the test, and all I could do was come in at just above average.

            I wandered around campus for about an hour that brisk fall afternoon, wondering if I could come up with a clever enough excuse to avoid the tutoring session I had scheduled at 4:00. But I had never been a convincing liar, and if she suspected something was wrong she probably would have called my mother, who was paying for the sessions. That would’ve resulted in a cut to my monthly entertainment budget, and I was already behind my quota on college beers and parties. The best thing, I decided, was to just get it over with quickly. To promise to do better, to actually do better, and get that B+ minimum on my semester final.

            It was not a far walk to the off-campus apartment where Jennifer lived and conducted tutoring sessions. Miss Jennifer (as she preferred to be called) was in her last year at the university, compared to my status as a Freshman, and earned extra money by tutoring students such as myself. The sky was bright as I crunched across the leaf-strewn sidewalks and up the wooden staircase to her second floor apartment. I hesitated before knocking on the door, trying to think of some convincing way to postpone this moment and not disappoint Miss Jennifer. I couldn’t, so I knocked.

            Miss Jennifer pulled open the door a few seconds later. “C______,” she greeted me with a smile, the kind of bright intoxicating smile that probably made every one of her pupils, male and female, fall in love with her. She was dressed as always in nice skirt and blouse. I had never seen her in anything like jeans or a sweatshirt. Today her skirt was a deep blue, almost black and the blouse was white and somewhat sheer. The clothing was just tight enough to enhance the generous curves of her five-foot frame. She was unnecessarily distracting as a math tutor, but that was totally one of the reasons that I kept coming back. “Oh come in, I’ve been looking forward to seeing your grade.” I stepped inside her apartment and pulled the test paper out of my jacket. The apartment seemed different; she’d moved the beige couch from the far wall under the window, to a spot below a large painting of a garden. The bookcases lining the opposite wall remained the same, and the dining room table was still tucked away in the small alcove off to the side.

            “I like the new arrangement,” I said, still trying to avoid the inevitable.

            “I had to move the couch,” she explained. “One of my pupils accidentally kicked that bookcase and knocked the vase off the top.” As explanations go, that didn’t make a lot of sense to me. What did the location of the couch have to do with someone kicking the bookcase?

            “How did that happen?”

            “I told you I sometimes use special motivational techniques,” she said. “The reactions can be unpredictable at times. Let me see your paper.” She pulled the test out of my hand while I was still wondering what she meant by special motivational techniques. The look on her face told me she was disappointed. “A C+?” she asked. “All the tutoring I’ve provided and the best you can do is a C+.” She started to flip through the pages, reviewing the problems and my answers.

            “I know I should have done better,” I reply. “But you know how hard this stuff is for me. That’s one of the best grades I’ve ever received in a math course.”

            “X equals five,” she pointed to one of the equations I missed. “How does x equal five here? We went over this kind of equation more than a dozen times.”

            “I know. I guess I just don’t get it.”

            “Oh, don’t give me that. I know this stuff is a little tough for you, but you’re not stupid. Did you do the extra study problems I gave you last week?”

            “Uh, yeah, I did most of them,” now she was glaring at me, her dark eyes shining with anger.

            “Let me see,” she commanded.

            “I, uh, don’t have them with me.”

            “But if you were to go and get them and bring them back they would be completed?”

            “Some of them.”

            “Don’t you dare lie to me about this, C______, because I will require you to show me that you worked on those problems.”

            “I know I worked on at least one or two,” I answered. I knew I had started on at least one, so that wasn’t a lie.

            “So, I gave you 15 problems to specifically help you in preparing for your test, by covering areas where you are particularly weak and, to you, working on one or two qualifies as doing most of them. Even you aren’t that bad at math.”

            “I guess I didn’t do most of them.”

            “No,” she agreed. “You failed to do most them, and as a result did significantly poorer on your test than you should have. Then you lied to me about why you were so poorly prepared. For any of my pupils who make an effort studying for a test I would never consider using of my special motivational techniques for an honestly earned C+. But because you failed to make such an effort, and then lied to me about it, I think such techniques are called for. Don’t you agree?”

            “I don’t know, what techniques are you talking about?”

            “Well,” she started, “I’m going to take you over to the couch, I’m going to pull down your pants, place you across my lap and give you a good hard spanking on your bare bottom.” She said that as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

            “No,” I said, my voice was shaking, “I don’t think so.”

            “Yes,” she said. “Take off your jacket.” I didn’t move, but she stepped across the room to her desk, opened a drawer and pulled out an 18-inch wooden ruler.

            “I’m not going to do that,” I stammered.

            “Then you’ll have to try and find yourself a new tutor, and I’ll put the word out in the math department that you are a difficult student. Then I’ll tell your mother why I dropped you, and based on what you’ve told me she’ll cut off your spending money.” Now I could have probably lived with a little less spending money, and I didn’t give a damn and a half what the math department thought of me, but the idea of losing Miss Jennifer as a tutor really disturbed me.

            “Isn’t there some other way to deal with this?” I asked. “Can’t you give me another chance to do better?”

            “I am giving you another chance to do better,” she pointed the ruler at me and walked over to the couch. “But the only way to earn that chance is to get over here and take your punishment.”

            “C’mon,” I begged, “I’m not some kid you can just spank for being bad. You don’t really do this to your other pupils do you?”

            “But you are, and I can and I do. You acted exactly like an irresponsible kid when you failed to complete those study problems that I gave you and you acted like a naughty one when you lied to me about it. And all of my pupils who require such measures are subject to them if they wish for me to continue as their tutor. Over 80 percent of them take the spanking. The rest I have nothing more to do with.”

            “But that can’t be legal.”

            “What’s not legal?” she asked. “I am by no means forcing you to get over my knee for a spanking, you are doing so of your own free will, because YOU recognize the need for discipline and motivation in your life.” She settled down onto the center of the couch. “In fact, at this point you need to request that I spank you in order for me to even consider doing so. You can come over here and respectfully ask me to spank you or leave now and never come back.”

            Suddenly my mind shifted from being afraid that Miss Jennifer would spank me to being terrified that she wouldn’t. I took off my jacket and laid it across a chair and started walking very slowly over to the couch, her intense dark eyes watching as I moved. Each step forward I contemplated running away, thinking about how insane all of this was. But halfway to the couch I knew that I was going to go through with it. Miss Jennifer was right. I had wasted her efforts by not studying as hard as I should have, by not taking advantage of every opportunity she had given me. And then I lied to her, what seemed like such a little lie at the time, but she asked me a question that had a simple answer and I choose not to tell her the truth. By the time I reached the couch I was convinced that she was right. I did deserve a spanking. “Please, Miss Jennifer,” I started, “please give me a spanking.”

            “That’s a good start,” her gaze, though still stern, had softened some. “Ask again and tell me why you deserve a spanking.”

            “Please, Miss Jennifer, please give me a spanking for being lazy and not completing my studies and for being dishonest and lying about it.”

            “It will be my pleasure,” she reached over and unbuckled my belt, unzipped my pants and pushed them down past my thighs. “Get across my lap,” she ordered, guiding me slowly into position, my shoulders resting against the couch cushion, my hips pushed up across her lean thighs. I felt her reach into the waistband of my boxer-briefs before peeling them slowly away from my bottom. The air was very cool against my suddenly bare skin and her hand started out soft and delicate as she quickly explored the curves of my cheeks. A shiver went up my spine as I waited for her to start.

            A loud SMACK broke the silence as she slapped her palm into the center of my left cheek, the sound of the impact as much a shock to me as the sting of the hit. It was followed very rapidly with a series of loud SMACKS, each one a fresh revelation of pain as her small, delicate palm became an instrument of pure torment. I pushed against the couch as to make my escape. “Stay still,” she commanded, her free hand pressing me back against the cushions. Yes, she was somewhat stronger than she appeared, but I don’t think her hand held me down as much as the sheer force of her will. I had already surrendered. It had probably been no more than an eternal first minute, but my skin was blazing with the stings of several dozen hard slaps. Miss Jennifer had only begun. Each new slap seemed harder than the last, and the torrent of them seemed unbearable. I was struggling to endure them, to not cry out in pain, but every time I thought I had found a way to do so, Miss Jennifer upped her game, finding a new tender spot of flesh or an angle of attack that brought a fresh sting to my burning skin. “This is no less than you deserve,” she lectured.

            “OW,” I answered, “I know, but it hurts.”

            “It’s supposed to hurt,” she punctuated her statement with a fresh series of hard loud slaps. “That’s how I know it’s working.” My bottom was throbbing with pain; I could feel the heat of the spanking and easily imagined that it was already glowing red.

            “I know I was wrong to neglect my studies,” I choked out between a series of brutal smacks, “but I think I’ve learned my lesson.”

            “And I think,” she slapped a fresh volley of fierce swats across my upper thighs, “that I will be the judge of what you deserve and what you’ve learned, young man.” I wiggled uncontrollably across her firm thighs as her palm lit fire after fire across my bottom and thighs. Every few dozen smacks she would switch hands, bringing fresh strength to the hard spanks that followed. “Hold still,” she commanded harshly, “and take your punishment like a man.” My hands were digging into the couch cushion as I tried better to hold still for her, mostly because I hoped that it would end my torment sooner, but also because I didn’t want to disappoint her by failing to take what she dished out.

            Then, as suddenly as she had started, the spanking stopped. My bottom throbbed in pain, but there were no more violent slaps against my tender flesh or loud sounds of her hand smacking against my butt. “Your bottom is really red,” she said, her palm gently caressing my skin, “and very hot.” My whole body relaxed at the thought that the spanking was over. “Too bad I’m not done with you yet.”

            “Oh why,” I begged, “I took your spanking.”

            “Yes, you did,” she agreed, “and not too badly. But that was only the spanking you deserved for not working as hard as promised in preparing for your test. You still deserve something for that lie you told me earlier.” She held the wooden ruler out far enough for me to see it. “And I think that this is just the little tool to teach you to not lie to me.”

            “But that’s going to hurt,” I whined the obvious.

            “Yes,” she agreed, “it is.” She placed the ruler across the center of my burning bottom, the smooth, cool wood feeling rather soothing against my hot skin. But she was only lining up her first shot. A second later she whipped the thin piece of wood down across my butt, a loud CRACK echoing through the room as it hit. The fresh pain was like an epiphany and I jerked up and cried out. “Be still,” she said, taking little time to scold me before a fresh series of loud CRACKs filled my ears. It felt as if the ruler was tearing each nerve ending out of my skin as she repeatedly whipped the thing against my poor tender bottom. My hands were again clenched into tight fists around portions of the couch cushion as I tried to endure each brutal blow. At every moment that I thought I was getting a handle on the pain, Miss Jennifer would find a new spot of flesh to torment. “Now I expect that after this you will know better than to ever lie to me again.”

            “Yes, Miss Jennifer,” I was close to crying by now, “I’m sorry, Miss Jennifer. I’ll never lie, never again.” My apology and promise did nothing to lessen the force with which Miss Jennifer spanked that ruler against my bottom and thighs. If anything she seemed to hit me all the harder and faster. None of the stinging fires she lit across my tender flesh had even a remote chance to fade away before a fresh one was lit, and the sound of the wood CRACKing against my skin filled the room like a string of exploding firecrackers. “Oh, please, please stop,” I begged.

            “I will stop when you have learned your lesson,” she replied casually. I wanted to protest further, but through the fog of pain I came to realize that she indeed would be the best judge of when I had learned my lesson, so I gritted my teeth and tried to endure the dozens of harsh blows that followed. Miss Jennifer continued her relentless assault on my sore bottom for a longer time than I would have imagined possible, measuring with a hard CRACK every square inch of my flesh. It was more agony then I had ever experienced before.

            Then there was silence. The constant torrent of fresh pain against bare skin had come to an end, and now there was only the burning heat and tingling soreness of my well punished behind. Her hand was soft again as she caressed the tortured flesh briefly, inspecting her own work as if to determine whether or not she had finished the job. To my relief she must have decided that she had. “Okay, get up,” she ordered. I obeyed, reaching to pull my underwear back up as I stood. “No, no,” she said. “I’ll tell you when to pull those up. Come with me.” She rose gracefully from the couch and strolled across to the dining room table. I half pulled up my pants and hobbled after her. She pulled out one of the wooden chairs, and I panicked for a moment, thinking she was just putting me in a new punishment position. “Take a seat and we’ll go over these test problems.”

            “Yes, Miss Jennifer,” I replied, settling my burning bare bottom down against the hard, cold surface of the chair. She sat in the chair next to me and placed the test on the table.

            “Let’s see if we can figure out where you went wrong here,” she smiled.

            I finished our session that day with a greater understanding of Algebra, a hug of forgiveness for my laziness and deceit, and a promise that special motivational techniques would be a regular part of my lessons from now on.








I may have the most boring job in the world.  I process maintenance renewals for a copier company.  I spend my day alternating between staring at my computer screen, my cube wall, and the clock.


It is a decent living but only enough to pay the bills, the rest of my life is often just as unexciting. I am good looking, in shape, good personality, all of those supposedly desirable things but I am lacking all of the other accomplishments I thought I would have at this stage in my life.  I am still young though – I just need to turn the proverbial “corner” – for one thing I have been lacking any sort of discipline and order in my life.  I have been needing something or someone to get me going in the right direction.


My work life was painfully boring but needless to say when our new Vice President Ms. Jennifer was hired - it changed my entire day, my entire outlook. 


This was an exceptional woman from day one in her position – she immediately earned the respect of her peers and her subordinates.  She knew her stuff and within a few weeks she had turned the division completely around. It was amazing to see the impact on people she had in a short amount of time. Her demeanor was strict and direct, but she was also immensely caring and knowledgeable about the tasks that had to be done.


As much professional and personal respect that I had for her I had difficulty subduing my desires for her.  Every time that she walked by, every time I saw her I tried to steal a glance before she noticed.  I couldn't help myself.  I am a single man, I have urges.  Seeing the curve of her breast or her beautiful legs made me blush uncontrollably.  If I had any hope of maintaining myself I had to try and look away. 


I did not want to lose my job.


I worked hard every day and every day I worked late.  This is one thing we had in common, we were both often the last two people to leave the office.  


It was a Friday around 7pm and everyone had gone home for the weekend.  I had been in the copier room and I think Ms. Jennifer thought she was alone in the office.  I was walking back to my desk when I looked down the hall and saw her office door still a few inches open.  As I looked closer I could see that Ms. Jennifer changing her clothes. It was probably a date she was getting ready for; she was very private about her personal life.  She was still in her bra and panties and was removing one of her high-heeled shoes.  My first instinct was to flee – I was scared of the possibility of her seeing me and I truly respected her – but my other instincts took over.  I stopped and I took a few steps closer.  Before long I was only a few feet away, entranced. 


She was unzipping her skirt - she must have sensed me being there and she locked right into my staring eyes.


I tried to bolt out of her view but her voice stopped me dead in my tracks.  “STOP!”


The air gushed out of me - “I'm sorry-- I thought--”


“What the hell are you doing – were you spying on me? 


Get in here right now... NOW.” 


My heart stopped for several seconds but I managed to stumble over, into her office.


“I'm so sorry.. I...”


She cut me off.  “Stop!..... stop.  Get in here now.” 


“How would you like if I saw you naked?” Ms. Jennifer was in her bra and panties but quickly put on her jacket.


I had only a mumbled reply.


“What do you think you're doing. Do you want your job?? You know I could fire you today and no one would ever know you ever existed.  Do you want your job?”


I was in a total state of shock.


There was an uncomfortable silence – me standing there with my hands at my sides and staring at the floor.


“I can't believe this.  I don't want to fire you, why are you are you putting me in this position.  We have to settle this now.'


Another pause.


“Take off your clothes.  Right now.  If you want your job you are going to accept my punishment and you are not going to let this happen again.”




“If you don't get completely naked right now I will report you to Human Resources.  Your choice.”


Still in shock -I started to take off my clothes.  First my shirt which I tossed to the side.


“I should fire you – I should fire you right now.”


I slipped off my shoes, pulled down my khaki pants and dropped them on the floor.  I was embarassed for Ms. Jennifer  to see my penis – I was mentally aroused in a scared, personal way but not physically – I was completely scared and humbled.


She walked toward me and put her palm around the back of my neck, guiding me.


“Bend over the desk and put your hands to the sides.”


I quickly bent over and put my face side down on the desk, gripping both sides.


“Please.. I didn't mean to...”


Immediately I felt a very hard slap on my ass – her hand stayed in place on my ass cheek and she leaned in very close and whispered in my ear.


And you will refer to me as MISS Jennifer .  This is only the beginning. You will accept this punishment.  And we will never speak of this ever again.”


I stayed in position as she slapped my ass with her hand several times, harder each time. With each slap I exhaled..  There was silence between us and then a long pause.


She walked over to the wall in her office – I had noticed it before but it hadn't completely crossed my mind until now.  She was an equestrian – champion horse rider -  she had several whips on display along with her trophies.


I heard a whip come off of the hinges – my face was still on the desk. 


“You are going to get 10 hard lashes from this whip –  then another 10 from my paddle.”


She took a key from her pocket and unlocked a file drawer and she pulled it out, a large leather paddle and put it on the desk.


“When I am finished you will put on your clothes and you will go home.  On Monday you will look at me only professionally, if I suspect anything more, if you can't keep this between us then I will explain it to HR in a way that won't work out well for you.” 


She picked up the long riding crop off of the rack, the whip –  a stiff leather whip about 24 inches long with a square double-thick ending.


“Arch your back...”  


I complied.



Thwhhaaattt!   The first stroke hit my ass square in the middle, perpendicular and leaving an immediate red mark. I could feel the welt rising...





I was embarrassed – standing here with my ass in the air – what is happening?!?!




It was almost 4-5 seconds between whippings, I wanted to cry.  I started to wiggle but Miss Jennifer  held me back in place:



I began to groan louder to no avail-





Miss Jennifer  gently touched the side of my bottom -  I was breathing heavily, my ass was red hot, welts in all directions.


Staring at the wall – scared but exhilarated.  She let almost a full minute pass in silence.  She touched her fingers gently on the redness of my ass.  I tensed up, in pain but knowing I deserved more.


Miss Jennifer picked up the leather paddle.


She patiently asked me again. “Arch your back.”


This time she reached back and came back with everything she had with the force of the leather paddle:






“Do not forget this.”








She waited, almost forever, while my ass was in the air.  I was still so embarrassed but the pain took my mind away from it. 




“This is almost over.”




Miss Jennifer  ran her fingers around the raised welts on my ass.




Another pause and silence like an eternity.... again she was observing her handiwork.




the 10th stroke of the leather paddle was the hardest – my head arched back in the air with a loud gasp of pure pain – and pleasure..


She put her hand on my ass, now against the multiple welts and the redness. She didn't display it but I could feel the tenderness of her heart....


“Miss Jennifer – I'm so sorry-”


“Be quiet – don't say another word.  Now or ever unless I speak to you again directly. You will do your job, you will be the best at what you do. If not we will be here again.”


Miss Jennifer walked over to her side desk.  She put on her earrings and  adjusted her bracelets.  She took the jacket off of the hook and gave me one last glance as she put it on.  Before I knew it  she walked out of the doorway.


I kept my position on the desk with my fingers still grasping the edges, my ass on absolute fire...


Arched over the desk I watched her walk down the hallway.


“See you tomorrow.  Don't be late.”


She walked out of view.



Caught – Red Handed!


Auntie Jennifer is taking care of me while my Mom is out of town. She is strict and has lots of rules so I’m trying to be on my best behavior, but today my curiosity got the best of me. Auntie always dresses so nicely, skirts and low cut silk blouses with elegant high heeled shoes or thigh high boots. One thing that one never does is disobey Auntie Jennifer.  It’s just not done in my family.

Soft silky things seem to draw me to them like a moth to flame so I don’t really remember exactly how I got there but there I was standing in Auntie Jennifer’s room, the fading light of the day fending off the deepening shadows enough for me to see the handles of the top dresser drawer which I slowly began to ease open.  I pulled evenly on both handles, ever so slowly, not making but a whisper of sound barely audible. Standing on my tip-toes so I could see the silky prizes nestled inside. My adolescent body was quivering with the excitement of the moment.  Still on tip-toes I reached up and grasped a shiny silky red pair of Aunties panties. Shaking with increasing excitement I felt the cool smooth silk on my fingers and held the panties up to my face. I was completely lost in pleasure, eyes closed, as the cool silky fabric slid over the excitement warm skin of my face.

‘CLICK’ My darkness acclimated eyes were suddenly blinded by bright light, the forgotten panties falling from fear numbed fingers. Trying to get the stolen panties under my slippers and hide my excited state at the same time, blinking rapidly to adjust my vision, turning towards the door that was now flung wide open. My vision clearing, finally focuses eye level on Auntie Jennifer’s midsection. Slowly I pan up to see a very stern looking Auntie Jennifer, hands on hips, high heeled foot tapping. Before I can even begin to stammer out any excuses Auntie Jennifer pinches the top of my ear firmly between her thumb and forefinger and it’s all I can do to keep from being dragged along over to the bed where Auntie unceremoniously deposits me. 

Her stern look withers me, “What are my rules regarding my room?” Auntie Jennifer asks me.

“I’m not allowed in your room without explicit permission” I stammer.

“My panty drawer is open too young man. You do realize there will be severe consequences for these infractions?” Auntie Jennifer states as she reaches out and grabs my ear again, pulling me up.  Auntie slowly walks around me, her heels clicking on the hard wood floor. She makes that’ tsking’ sound as she notices my still excited state. “Perhaps I need to have a chat with your mother too and tell her how very naughty you really are?”

“No, no please Auntie Jennifer, no!” I shout. She bends over to retrieve the panties from the floor and I can’t help but notice the excellent view of her perfectly formed posterior. My cheeks heat up in a furious blush as I’m caught in the peek.

“Eyes down naughty boy! Do not look up unless I give you permission!” Auntie Jennifer commands, “You are in so much trouble with me and it hasn’t even been 2 hours since your mother left! What were you doing in my panty drawer anyway? Do you like panties?” she said waving the panties in front of my face. My eyes can’t help but follow the panties back and forth as she waves them.  “I think some extended discipline is called for and you WILL obey me unless you want me to tell your mother!” says Auntie Jennifer.

“No, please don’t tell Auntie Jennifer! I’ll obey!” I quickly reply.

“You had better …” Auntie Jennifer tells me.

She pulls my pants and underwear down to my ankles and instructs “March over to my chair and prepare for you punishment naughty boy.” I struggle to walk normally which is impossible with my pants and underwear pulled down. I can see the amusement in Auntie’s eyes as she follows my progress across the room. She takes 3 swift strides to the chair, her long dark pony tail swishing from side to side and smoothly seats herself in the solid oak straight backed chair. She grabs my wrist and pulls me up onto her lap. Kicking legs, partially restrained at the ankles by the pants and underwear, dangling well above the ground. I struggle for balance as I feel the warmth of Auntie Jennifer’s silk stocking encased thighs. Auntie leans forward her mouth right next to my ear, “You will be thoroughly punished for your infractions young man, “she promises.

Auntie Jennifer begins to spank my exposed upturned bottom with her bare hand, alternately on each cheek. I’m startled by the amazingly loud and somewhat erotic sounds her spanks are making reverberating off the walls of the room. I involuntarily squeak in protest and surprise. The initial sting results in tears springing from my eyes and rolling slowly down my face. 

“Be quiet and stop squirming or it will be worse, “Auntie Jennifer instructs.  A deft movement of her well toned leg traps both of my legs under her one leg. “Open up, “she says and through my tear blurred eyes I can see her holding the panties from the drawer in a beautiful silky wad in front of my mouth. I clamp my mouth tighter, but Auntie merely pinches my nose closed with her other hand and when I open up to take a breath she quickly stuffs them deep enough into my mouth where I can still breathe, mostly through my nose, but not easily spit them out. She begins the hand spanking again with more vigor, my feeble cries muffled by the panties, the sound of her hand spanking me seems deafening, my poor bottom on fire and goes on for a long while before it suddenly stops and I am pushed off her lap. Auntie Jennifer gently removes the panty wad from my mouth.

“Go stand in the corner and don’t move a muscle. I want you to be thinking about what you’ve done mister, “Auntie Jennifer says. I shuffle to the corner, quickly glancing behind me.

“Move in closer to the wall and stop squirming!” She admonishes, nudging me in so my face is only about an inch from the wall. I hear Auntie Jennifer opening and closing drawers rummaging through one, but I don’t dare turn again. I can’t help but reach back and rub my burning bottom. The movement sets me slightly off balance as my feet catch a bit on the pants and underwear still around my ankles. “Stand still and put you arms at your sides, I didn’t tell you to move.” Auntie says.

After a while I sense Auntie Jennifer’s presence towering above me from behind as well as her body blocking the light from the lamp deepening the shadow of the corner.  She bends down and I feel her soft hands rub some kind of lotion onto my hot spanked cheeks, cooling them somewhat. Briefly I wonder at the softness of her hands that had so recently felt so dense and hard when she was spanking me. “Back over my lap naughty one, we’re not done by a long shot.” Auntie says. As I turn my eyes widen in fright as I glimpse the huge wooden paddle Auntie Jennifer is wielding. She smacks the paddle into the palm of her free hand testing its balance, a stern gleam in her eye.  As I open my mouth to protest Auntie pops the wadded panties back into my mouth. “Hush, over my lap.” She says.

As I obediently climb up Auntie pulls the pants and underwear off my dangling legs. I see the shadow of her paddle rise into the air on the far wall and hear the whoosh of air as it descends onto both cheeks and the loud smack as my punishment resumes. With each smack of Auntie’s punishment paddle across my burning cheeks I can’t help but to continually squirm in her warm lap. I can hear my own cries muffled through the panties stuffed in my mouth and I turn my head slightly and glimpse the mirror on the dresser and see myself across Auntie Jennifer’s lap. Her polished solid oak punishment paddle whistling down in slow motion, compressing my bright red cheeks underneath it on each painful swat.  The paddling continues and I cannot stop looking in the mirror, the paddle catching light from the lamp as it goes up and down tirelessly in Auntie Jennifer’s strong hand and arm. My tears are flowing freely now, the swats are not quite as loud as the hand spanks, but definitely more painful. Finally Auntie stops momentarily.

“I hope you are learning your lesson young man” she says. “You will be spanked every day until your mother returns and if I hear one word about it I WILL tell her everything!” Auntie promises. “Now stand up and go look at your bottom in the mirror.” I stand up whimpering and turn my bottom towards the mirror, looking over my shoulder. I can’t believe how bright red it is! When I turn back to look at Auntie Jennifer she is standing next to me. She reaches up and removes the panties from my mouth. I hear the front door open and I look askance at Auntie, but she does not immediately react. “You know I’m punishing you because I love you my naughty little boy.” Auntie says as she ruffles the hair on my head.

“Now since you like my panties so much you’re going to put a pair on and march out into the living room.” Auntie announces, handing me a fresh pair, pale green and made of a soft stretchy material. Not daring to do anything else I obediently don the panties. When I hesitate at the bedroom door Auntie gently pushes me forward and we walk out into the living room. Still sniffling back tears I see Auntie Jennifer’s best friend Miss Brooke, tall, blond, willowy with a statuesque beauty standing in the living room holding a small well worn black leather paddle, hip cocked to one side. She giggles at my comical appearance in Auntie Jennifer’s panties which are obviously too big for me and sliding down slightly revealing my well spanked bottom. 

“Such a naughty boy! You were caught red handed in the panty drawer weren’t you? Naughty boys like you always need discipline and punishment.” Miss Brooke says, smiling down at me.

“Miss Brooke is going to assist me with your punishment for the duration of your mother’s absence and if you know what’s good for you, you will obey her implicitly.” Auntie Jennifer tells me. Miss Brooke hands Auntie Jennifer the paddle, sits down on the couch and motions me over to her lap. Accepting my fate I climb over Miss Brooke’s lap crosswise, my arm and legs supported by the couch. Auntie Jennifer begins to walk around me and Miss Brooke whispers to me, “Naughty boys get punished and spanked.”

“SWAT” Auntie Jennifer expertly delivers a stinging spank with paddle across my panty clad bottom.

“SWAT” “You must be very obedient” Miss Brooke soothingly whispers.

“SWAT” My face is pressed into the couch cushions with the force of spanks, muffling my whimpers.

“SWAT” I begin to struggle and Miss Brooke holds me in place effortlessly.

“SWAT” I try to put my hands over my bottom to block Auntie Jennifer’s next spank, but Miss Brooke restrains both of my wrists in one hand. “It’s for your own good naughty boy” she whispers gently.

“Pull his panties down” Auntie Jennifer tells Miss Brooke. She crooks her forefinger into the waistband and pulls the panties down so the elastic rests against the bottoms of my now very red and well spanked cheeks.

“SWAT, SWAT, SWAT, SWAT, SWAT, SWAT” Auntie Jennifer alternates cheeks as Miss Brooke holds me firmly in place over her lap and just when I think I can take no more the spanking ends. I’m placed on my feet between my two Disciplinarians. Miss Brooke removes the panties and Auntie Jennifer applies more soothing lotion onto my stinging bottom. When Auntie is satisfied with the lotion she hands me fresh pajamas and instructs me to put them on.

“Now young man, you will be spanked daily to make sure you are well behaved while I’m here” Auntie Jennifer tells me. “Miss Brooke will pick you up from school each day and bring you home and prepare you. You will listen to her and impress me by being very obedient. Miss Brooke will have you strip down, put you in panties for 30 minutes of corner time until I arrive. Then I will administer your spanking while Miss Brooke observes. We will help you with your homework, then we will have dinner. Is that understood?” I nod meekly without speaking. “Very good” Auntie says visibly pleased.

Miss Brooke and Auntie Jennifer walk me to my bedroom, turn down my covers and tuck me in. Standing on either side of the bed they both bend down at the same time and kiss me goodnight.





A Long Time Comin'


Essentially, I was in time travel. 


Nagging guilt from a schoolboy transgression, one which hurt my mother terribly, built the pressure to fuel the trip. 


I already told Miss Jennifer about the email I had typed to a friend in the seventh grade. I told her how my good 'friend' had printed that email off and left it for the teacher to find. I told her how my mother had cried when I brought the note home for her to read and sign. My mother held her head in her hands and sobbed. She was so hurt she didn't have the heart to tell my father. I told Miss Jennifer I had gone unpunished. 


Everything was in place. I was 14 again, coming home from school. I had the note in my pocket. 


Miss Jennifer met me at the door.


"Hi mom."


"Hello, son. How was school?" Mother smiled and retreated to the kitchen, pulling a jug of lemonade from the fridge. "Well, how was school? Did you get to try out the emailing in Mr. Gustav's class? Did you learn how to do it?"


Mom stopped pouring lemonade and turned around. 


"What's wrong?" 


She walked toward me. 


"Mom, I have this note." 


I pulled the note out of my pocket. Mother put her hands on her hips for a second. She sighed and grabbed the note, unfolding it to read."


I tried to swallow. The half-full glass of lemonade sat on the counter nearby. 


Mother frowned deeply, her eyes darting back and forth on the paper. Finally she looked up. I shrunk.


"Listen, Aaron. I can tell you one thing right off the bat here. I am going to spank your bare butt for this." 


Mother took three powerful strides to pull a dining room chair out into the center of the kitchen. 


"Come here."


I furrowed my brow and peered up at her.




I walked over to her just as she sat down on the chair. She pulled me by the wrist, guided me to her side. Her hands were fast. She pulled open my jeans and yanked down my pants and underwear with one swift, sure motion. The stark cool of my nakedness shocked me. 


"We know one thing right now," mother began. "You are going to get a spanking on your bare butt and it will be one you will not forget. But first you and I are going to have a little chat about what you wrote in that email today. Since you know, regardless of how the conversation goes, you will be going over my knee with your pants down, we are going to have the chat with your pants down. Maybe this will help the message sink in."


My penis bobbed a little. I knew the years of excitement over the thought of spanking was the cause of this stirring. I looked at Miss Jennifer. She had not even glanced at my privates. From the moment she yanked my pants down she had ignored that area as if it didn't even exist. This brought me deeper into the time travel I was experiencing. I was her little boy. I knew her focus was on punishing me, and the fear of this impending punishment was now flashing through my belly like white lightning. 


Mother pulled the note open again.


"So your going to 'go to the lake this weekend and drinks some beers and f some girls up the butt?"


I looked down as she quoted my email. It embarrassing to hear my mother say those words. 


"Answer me!"


"No mom, it was just a joke. I was joking and stupid Shane printed it and made sure the teacher read it!"


"Young man, I don't care what excuses you may have for this. What you have written hear is unacceptable. It is degrading to women and ..."


"But mom, it was a joke!", I interrupted.


Mother stood up and slapped my mouth. I was stunned. Then she took my wrist again and sat down while pulling me forward over her lap. I noticed the wooden spoon and as my balance was disturbed a profound fear gripped me. I found myself over mother's lap, my bottom bare, my senses open to what was happening. 


The first spank closed that acceptance. The sting of the spoon spread quickly. I breathed out hard and reached back only to have my hand forced away by mom as she swung the spoon again, harder. I didn't want to be there anymore. Five searing spanks later I the mental denial was pushed out by unfathomable pain and I went limp over mothers knees, crying out to her. My hot tears and the consistent swats of the spoon brought me further into my fourteen-year old psyche. Contrary to the pain, a comforting notion gripped the back of my mind, barely evident: I was in the right place. 


It didn't change the discomfort of the severe spanking mother was giving me. 


I knew I was in the right place but I was in great pain. I kicked my legs involuntarily and mother handled me. I tried to twist my hips to avoid the stinging spanks and mother handled me, spanking the whole time. She painted my bare butt bright red with that spoon. 


Then she stopped. 


She helped me up and I was sobbing and hiccuping. I reached for my bottom but mother's strong grip took my arm and steered me to the corner. 


"You are not done young man. You will stand in this corner while I get your father's belt."


The kitchen was quiet. I peered over at the lemonade. The glass was sweating. I imagined if I had not written the email. I pictured me sitting with mother laughing about the day and sipping the cool drink. I heard mom walking back into the kitchen and I cried softly. 


"Aaron, I am very upset. I know that you will learn your lesson today. I want you to bend over the chair now. I am going to give you a lickin'. If you try to block the belt or try to get up you will be a very sorry young man. I suggest you take this punishment. You deserve it."


I whimpered but complied. The chair felt much colder than mother's lap as I leaned over it. My pants were bunched up at my sneakers along with my underwear. 


"I am going to sign that note, Aaron. But there had better not be any more behavior like this. Ever."


The belt whistled through the air and stung across my crack with a pesky bite. I lurched my hips forward and crinkled my face. I was crying in earnest before the second lick layered on a repetitious burn.   

Each whip of the belt grew ever-stinging fire. I could barely breathe as the incredible sound of the belt filled my ears and the intense pain swam over my naked rear. 


Mother's soft hand grasped my arm once more, stranding me up. As she sat in the chair again I lost it.


"Please mommy ..."


"We're done now, Aaron."


She pulled me down to a seated position on her lap, comforting me. 


My bare rear was numb on the outside, and encased deep in my bottom was an assuring warmth, an extension of the burning spanking mother had given me. The radiance of it was so bright. My guilt was outshone by a beautiful light. 


I looked into mother's eyes. 


"Thank you."


Mom looked into my eyes as earnestly as she had when she first yanked down my pants. 


"Your welcome."




Playing with Fire



I spent a few months saving most of the allowance Miss Jennifer gives me and gathering information on ski resorts.  I wanted to take her on a vacation.  She does a great job taking care of and putting up with me.  She definitely deserves this.  When I presented this, I explained what I had done and why I wanted to do this for her.  Miss Jennifer loved the idea.  After a couple weeks she made her decision as to where we would go and when:  Aspen, CO in February.  She added that she already took care of everything.


The morning we were to leave, Miss Jennifer got up early and woke me up.  Since everything I was taking was packed, I figured I could sleep for another hour or two.  She came back in 15 minutes later and saw me sound asleep.  Pulling back the covers, she delivered a very hard swat with her bath brush causing me to grab my butt and sit on the edge of the bed.  I tried to convince her I was up, but she wouldn’t have any of it.  I had 2 choices:  bend over the end of the bed and take what I have coming or argue and have a very uncomfortable flight.  I stood up, dropped my boxers and bent over the end of the bed.  Saying “Good boy”, Miss Jennifer delivered 20 hard swats per cheek. 


After telling me to stand, she bent down to pull up my boxers.  Once I was sitting on the end of the bed, I gave Miss Jennifer a hug and kiss apologized for disobeying her and thanked her for spanking me.  She told me all was forgiven.  Grabbing my chin and waving the brush in my face, she told me “this brush will be coming with us in case I have any ideas on misbehaving,”


The rest of the morning passed uneventfully.  During our flight to Colorado, I noticed the resort has paintball during the summer, so I pointed this out to Miss Jennifer.  She didn’t see any humor in that.  She grabbed my ear, pulled a small paddle from her purse and said “any more comments like that or misbehavior in general and I will put you over my knee and blister your bare butt right here”.  Knowing Miss Jennifer is not one to issue idle threats, I was on my best behavior.  Well, at least until we got to our cabin.


Miss Jennifer did an exceptional job with the details.  This came as no surprise, she always does.  She found a beautiful cabin for us to stay with a western motif.  It had a 2 bedroom, a small kitchen, and a large brick fireplace.  There was some firewood with more wood outside if we needed it, but we (or should I say I) would have to chop it. We would be within walking distance of the lifts and village.  This was perfect. 


After unloading everything we went into the village to look around and get a bite to eat.  Everyone was so friendly and there were many nice shops I knew Miss Jennifer would be visiting later.  I saw one club advertising a Super Bowl Party.  I knew Miss Jennifer would say no, so I didn’t say anything.  But I would find a way to be there. 


After eating, we went back to our cabin.  Sitting on the couch, with Miss Jennifer curled up on my lap; we talked and enjoyed the view of the village, mountains, and stars.  I could have stayed like this all night.  However, Miss Jennifer uttered her favorite phrase:  “Paulie, my hand itches”, and slid off my lap to the center of the couch.  Just like Pavlov’s dog, I knew what was coming except I wasn’t getting any food.  With a “Yes Ma’am”, I got up and stood before Miss Jennifer with my hands behind my back.


With a glimmer in her eyes and a big smile on her face, Miss Jennifer sat there rubbing her hands together.  She looked like a little girl on Christmas morning, about to open the present she wanted more than anything else.  Before her, stood her boy, wondering why she can’t scratch an itch like everyone else.  She reached up, unbuckled my belt, and slowly lowered my pants.  Folding them neatly, she set them aside.  Running her fingernails up and down my legs, concentrating on the back of my knees, she teased me about what was coming. She can be so cruel.  With a playful swat to my butt, she lowered my briefs, folded them and set them with my pants.


Sitting back on the couch, she waited for me to take my position.  Knowing exactly what to do, I placed myself across her lap, making sure my bare bottom was perched high, making a nice target.  I never know how long these spankings will last.  I do know she gets so much enjoyment out of them; it could go on all night.  Running her fingers through my hair, she leans down and whispers in my ear “you can be such a good by when you want”.  With a kiss on my cheek, she begins.


I know this is her version of playful spanking, but boy does her hand sting.  That spanking with her bath brush that morning isn’t helping.  I try to keep still, but can’t help squirming some.  She is relentless.  Her tempo constantly changes.  The intensity constantly changes.  She covers my entire bottom and the back of my thighs, concentrating on her favorite spot, the sit spot.  The spanks keep falling, the sting keeps building, and I can hear Miss Jennifer giggling.  When she finally stops, my butt feels like it is on fire.  I slide off her lap, kiss her hand, and thank her for the spanking.  Miss Jennifer takes me upstairs, where I fall asleep, in her arms.


The next morning, we stopped off for a light breakfast on our way to the lifts.  She just had to tease me when she saw me flinch as I sat and squirm in my seat throughout breakfast.  After breakfast, since it has been a while since either of us has skied, we started off with some lessons.  While the lessons were helpful to me, it quickly became evident it was going to be a rough day. 


Miss Jennifer did extremely well, not having any problems and rarely falling.  She always seemed to be smiling and looked like she was having a wonderful time.  I on the other hand was struggling.  While I was having fun, I was spending too much time on my butt.  After the spanking the previous day, a butt that was in no condition for this.  Maybe that was why she was smiling so much.


The middle of the afternoon, we decided to stop for the day.  We spent a couple hours looking in various shops and then Miss Jennifer sent me back to our cabin, with her purchases, to chop some wood and build a fire.


While changing, I opened a drawer and was horrified with what I saw:  big paddle, small paddle, bath brush, hair brush, and a couple spoons.  With my inability to ski and plans on sneaking off to watch the Super Bowl the next day, the last thing I need to deal with is those implements.  I know the smart thing would be to behave, but I had a better idea.  Collecting her implements, I took them outside and chopped them up for kindling wood. 


When Miss Jennifer arrived, she had dinner and another bag.  After dinner, we sat on the couch enjoying the fire and talking.  She commented on how beautiful the fire was; if she only knew.  I knew my butt was going to feel like I sat on those coals when Miss Jennifer found out what I did.  But that was a beautiful fire.


A short time later, Miss Jennifer excused herself and went to our bedroom.  She came back out carrying a large rubber spatula I hadn’t seen before, saying she found it in the village.  I should have known if there was a store selling something like that she would find it.  When asked, I told her I didn’t know where her wooden implements were, but she wasn’t buying it.  Grabbing my ear, she slapped my face hard a couple times saying “You know I have no tolerance for lying.”  I told her again I didn’t do anything with them.  She stood me up, lowered my pants, and bent me over the arm of the couch.


It only took 6 or 7 hard swats and I was trying to get her to stop so I could tell her.  She just told me to be quiet.  I already had a chance to tell her but wouldn’t do it.  Another 4 or 5 swats and I was trying again.  Miss Jennifer just walked away.  When she came back, she put a bar of soap in my mouth.  After telling me it was for lying to her and I had better keep it in my mouth and not drool on the couch, she started spanking again.


I couldn’t believe how hard she was spanking.  And she doesn’t even know what I have done yet.   She was covering every inch of my bottom and the tops of my thighs.  Laying there, with tears running down my cheeks and a bar of soap in my mouth, staring at the fireplace I thought “that fire wasn’t as beautiful as I once thought.  After a couple more horrible minutes, Miss Jennifer grabbed my arm and led me to the bathroom to remove the soap and allow me to rinse out my mouth.  Once complete she took me to our bedroom and sat me on the end of the bed.


Miss Jennifer again asked what I had done with her implements, warning me not to lie again.  It took a couple minutes to get the courage, but with head hanging, I told her I put them in the fire.  She grabbed my chin, jerked my head up, and asked me to repeat that.  When I did, she started asking why I would do that and slapping my face.  I tried to apologize and promise her I would make it up to her, but I could never get it out before another blow would land. 


When she finally stopped, it was only to send me to the corner so she could calm down.  I have done some stupid things to Miss Jennifer, but this is the first time she delayed my punishment so she could calm down.  This was not going to be good.  Coming back into the room about 30 minutes later, she told me to turn around.  When I did, sitting on the bed were a couple switches, tawse, and leather rug beater. 


Grabbing the tawse, she told me to come over by the bed and hold my hands out.  Miss Jennifer told me that this is for taking things that don’t belong to me and I will be getting a dozen per hand.  With that, she began.  After spending most of my life working outside, I thought it wouldn’t be too bad.  Boy was I wrong.  It stung so badly.  When I moved my hand to avoid a blow, she rewarded me with 5 across my bare butt and told me she would start over if I did that again.  I was determined to make it through this, but after 6 on each hand, I wasn’t sure if I could.  With arms trembling, I made it through the next 12 and the marks from that tawse were clearly visible.  After the last one, I dropped my hands and tried rubbing that awful sting away.


 Miss Jennifer told me that knowing she likes to bake; I should know when she says dozen that she means baker’s dozen.  Since I moved my hands before she was finished, she is starting from the beginning.  With tears beginning to roll down my face, I pleaded with her not to.  Nothing would deter her from doing exactly what she said she would.   There was nothing stoic with my performance for round two.  Long before she was finished, I was openly crying, apologizing, and begging her to stop.


When Miss Jennifer was done and said I could move, I dropped to my knees and put my arms around her.  She held me close as I cried and told her how sorry I was.  After a few minutes, when I calmed down, Miss Jennifer told me to get up and bend over the end of the bed.  I begged and pleaded for her not to.  I thought I was punished enough.  I promised her everything I could think of if she would stop.  When she had enough, she slapped my face a few times telling me to do as she said.  Laying over the end of the bed, with my bare bottom high in the air, I tried to prepare myself for whatever she had in mind.


What she had in mind was the worst whipping she has ever given me.  One switch at a time, she covered my butt and thighs with welts.  When one switch was reduced to a bunch of pieces on the floor, she would grab the next one.  I tried to keep still, but the pain was unbearable.  It felt like a swarm of angry hornets were stinging my butt.  Miss Jennifer wouldn’t stop.  I grabbed a pillow to scream and cry into, but it didn’t help.  When she finally stopped, my butt was red, bruised, covered with welts, and a few spots of blood where the end broke the skin. 


Lying next to me, Miss Jennifer put her arms around me and told me how much she cares for me.  She would rub my head and back.  Occasionally, she would reach down and give my butt a squeeze.  When she would see me wince, a smile would come to her face.  Telling me to stay put, Miss Jennifer left, saying she needed to get something.  I began to relax, thing she was going to get some lotion and spend the rest of the night comforting me. 


Miss Jennifer came back with a small bowl and set in on the floor.  Grabbing the leather rug beater, she landed a hard swat on my butt and told me to clean up the mess I made.  I was doing the best I could, but it was hard to see with my eyes filled with tears.  That leather rug beater made it hard to concentrate on the task at hand.  She didn’t stop until every piece was picked up.  When I was done, Miss Jennifer put me to bed, holding me in her arms until I fell asleep.


The next morning my butt was a mess and it was painful to sit.  I asked Miss Jennifer if I could spend the day in our cabin.  My butt couldn’t handle another day of ski lifts and falling.  That request was denied.  We came here to ski and that is what we were going to do.  The day went pretty well, though somewhat painful.  I know she intentally knocked me down a few times just to see the look on my face.


Later that evening, I asked Miss Jennifer if I could go watch the Super Bowl, but she said no.  After the whipping the previous night, I wasn’t going to disobey her.  Curled up on the couch together, I hear it again:  “Paulie, my hand itches”.  I just bow my head and whisper Yes Ma’am.  With the condition of my butt, she knows I don’t want to, but I do what I always do:  stand before her and take her spanking the best I can.




Crushing the Bricks


One needs to look no further than the bravado of the “alpha male” to see how humans are really not so far removed from animals as we are to believe. Remove the filter of 21st century life with spirits and the average man is no more than a dog in the summer. Objectives become simple: discover and conquest. And this is the average man. The hormonal being of the young, 20-something professional, high off of news of a significant promotion, is bound to hit the nightlife with the subtlety of a thrown brick. That night, I was the brick; and the high society women of the city’s swankiest spot were my window panes.


Seating myself in an inviting spot—not too close to the stage but well within what light was available in the club—it took no longer than one drink order before my crosshairs found their mark. She was stunning; silky black hair flowing just below her shoulders. She was dressed as if she wrapped herself in pure elegance before stepping out for the evening. But it was her eyes that grabbed me. They were mysterious stars in a crowded room.


I told my waitress to order her a drink on my tab. “Make sure she knows who bought it.” I cringe every time I remember saying that. From my seat, I had a perfect view of her reaction. She looked at the waitress, then at me, then back to the waitress. She shook her head. I didn’t need to hear her to know what she said, “No, thanks.”


If I hadn’t yet stooped to that of an animal yet, I was at least at Neanderthal-level as I stood up to approach her. Chest out, peacock posture; hands in my pockets to appear nonchalant. In my mind’s eye, I was out to win her over with my bullish attitude. I planned not to take no for an answer.


Nothing could have been further from the truth. I was a bunny walking into the hawk’s backyard. If you’ve ever played poker, odds are you know what it feels like to be the fish at the table. You swear someone somewhere is telling the world what’s in your hand. You feel helpless. As you throw away the last of your chips, you almost feel publically defiled. Such was my short conversation along the bar rail with Miss Jennifer.


It must have been a solid five minutes standing right next to her before she finally even looked at me. She gave me the once over and looked straight back at her drink. She made me nervous. I was in the hallway of my high school all over again. She made me feel inferior without even saying a word. A smarter man would have walked away but I stayed. She finally had enough of my cocky badgering and spoke directly to me for the first time.


“You must think I, and all other women by association, are very stupid, don’t you? Do you really think I don’t know what you’re after? I see your type in every bar, in every town. You may think those shoes, that shirt and your watch make you stand out, but I am looking straight at the epitome of boring. Not a thing about you is interesting, and the worst part is you don’t even know it. I feel sorry for people like you.” Her eyes were on fire. It was the most amazing thing I had ever seen.


Of course, I had nothing witty to say back. I was frozen. I could only look back at her in a catatonic stare. Then she proceeded to shock my senses even further.


“Did you drive here?”


“Yes,” I somehow managed to say.


“Good. Then you’re driving me home right now.”


She stood up and began to walk to the door. I still couldn’t move. What was happening? This was truly a bizarre turn of events.


“Are you coming or what?” she said with an almost disgusted sneer.


Miss Jennifer looked at me like I was a misbehaving child. We walked in silence to my car. With the exception of her step-by-step directions, the car ride was equally silent. This allowed my simple mind to race. She clearly hates me but she’s taking me to her house. Am I going to get lucky after all? Yeah, that must be it. I feel like reaching back into the story to pat myself on the head for having been such a simpleton. Poor little guy. You have no idea what is about to happen to you.


We arrived at her place and she invited me in. I was sure this was it. My mind began to soil itself with dirty thoughts. We entered and walked straight into her living room.


“Sit on the couch and wait for me. I’ll be right back,” She said without looking. Miss Jennifer walked back into what I assumed was her bedroom. I thought nothing of the direct disobedience I had exhibited by getting up and walking around the living room to look at the miscellaneous framed pictures. She startled me when she returned.


“What did I say?” she scolded. In her hand was a long canvas bag. “I thought I told you to sit on the couch and wait for me? Do you think you can come into my house and not obey my rules?”


“I … I didn’t think it was that big of a deal,” I stuttered. I wasn’t winning any awards for my judgment that evening.


“Well it IS a BIG deal!” She stared at me for a couple seconds then said, “Strip down to your underwear. NOW!”


I thought you’d never ask. My clothes were off in record time when I said this little gem, “What about your clothes?”


“My clothes stay on. And from now on you will refer to me as Miss Jennifer, got that?” How someone so little could yell so loud, I had no idea.


“OK, Miss Jennifer.” This whole thing was still a little funny to me; astrange night getting even more bizarre by the minute. In the improved lighting of her living room, it was now that I realized Miss Jennifer’s beauty tenfold. I felt incredibly lucky to be with her in that moment.


“Now, get down on your hands and knees,” she ordered in a stern yet calm voice. I did as I was told. I heard the bag unzip. Normally, I would be curious to see what was happening but my ignorant male ego was too busy basking in the false knowledge that I was soon to be intimate with the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. Miss Jennifer walked over to me. I felt her hand on the waistband of my underwear. She was pulling them down. YES! She stopped when my butt was completely exposed. Just as soon as I felt the cool air on my bare skin…What the…




A wooden hairbrush made an audible WOOSH through the air before contacting my left cheek with a force that took the breath from my lungs. I yelled and jumped to my feet.


“Get back down her right now!” Miss Jennifer yelled. “You deserve to be punished for the way you acted tonight and that’s exactly what’s going to happen. Now get back down here now!”


Everything in my being told me to just run out of there, but I didn’t. I won’t go so far as to say I was in a trance, but I would put it this way: I had been bested. The alpha male in me had come face to face with an alpha female, superior to me in every possible way. Miss Jennifer had control of me. I got back down on my knees. As afraid as I was to feel that pain again I was more eager to please her by following her rules and taking what she had to give me.


She punished me with hard blows to each cheek, alternating sides and increasing her pace and force with each blow. I bit my lip to stay quiet but it was to no avail. I could no longer bare it and let out a yell. I had never heard my voice make a sound like that before.


“You’re squirming a little too much for my liking. Put yourself over the arm of the couch,” Miss Jennifer said with a distinct sunshine in her voice. She was enjoying herself very much.




“OK, what?”


“OK, Miss Jennifer.”


“Very good.”


I did as I was told. My backside was now a much better target and I had less leverage to squirm away from contact. I noticed that Miss Jennifer had placed the brush back into the bag without removing a new item. The open-handed spanking was next.


I initially thought her hands would be less painful than her brush, but I was dead wrong. Her bare hand spanking was too much for me to handle. I wailed with the pain and felt myself break out into an uncontrollable sweat. Her hands hurt me so badly that I could have sworn she was hitting my backside with a closed fist. I felt like I was sitting in a camp fire. I kept thinking that she had to stop at some point, but the end never came. Not only did the spanking continue, but it unbelievably grew in intensity. I couldn’t stop myself; my hands flew backward to shield my very red bottom. Miss Jennifer finally stopped.


“I just can’t trust you now, can I?” she asked rhetorically. “We’ll just have to try something else.”


Miss Jennifer removed a long, thick strand of rope from her canvas bag. “Put your hands behind your back.” I did as I was told and she tied my hands together at the wrists in an incredibly secured knot. She returned to her bag and brought out a transparent, Lexan paddle. I swallowed hard on the lump in my throat. “Now, where were we?”


The spanking continued right where it had left off: cheek to cheek, picking up steam and power along the way. I was sure the Lexan had opened my skin. My arms strained again to shield the blows but I no longer had their mobility. I could do nothing but yell, so that’s what I did. Sometimes it was a growl, sometimes it was a high pinched wail. The sounds I made had no effect on what was happening. The spanking continued and never seemed to end.


“STOP! PLEASE! STOP!” I yelled. Miss Jennifer said nothing. She continued to batter my bottom with the paddle. The pace of the blows had subsided, but only because her wind up was starting further and further away from my body before coming through with unbelievable force. My eyes were welling up with tears as I buried my face in the couch cushion. “Please! Stop!” was the muffled mantra I cursed into the suede fabric.


Mercifully, Miss Jennifer finally stopped. My voice emitted an audible sob with every strained exhaling breath.


“Shhhh, it’s almost over,” she soothed. “In fact, I’m going to give you a choice.” Miss Jennifer returned to her canvas bag and pulled out two more objects. She brought them over to the couch and sat down in front of me. She then placed the two objects in front of my face. “Your last spanking can be with either this one,” she pointed to a very large paddle; the type you would find on the wall of a frat house, “Or this one,” she pointed to a long bamboo cane with a rubber handle, “Or these.”


Miss Jennifer placed her lovely, manicured hands in front of my face. The powerful female hands of a true lioness, accented with merlot nail polish. I strained my neck to look up at her. As I did, she smiled at me for the first time that entire evening. And though I was in the midst of the most pain I had ever felt, I smiled back. To be in the warm glow of her presence was enough for me. It was clear what I had chosen.


Miss Jennifer’s beautiful bare hands spanked my broken backside on and off for the next 20 minutes. The grand finale was an eight minute marathon that left me a sobbing puddle of exhaustion. I kept hoping and praying my bottom would either go completely numb or Miss Jennifer would tire out. Neither occurred. I leaned my body forward and began to kick my legs like a toddler. Something had to give; surely I could not take any more of this pain.


Eventually the punishment was over. Miss Jennifer sat beside my head again and stroked my hair. She said nothing; she didn’t have to. Eventually, I had calmed down enough for her to untie the rope and help me to my feet. I put my clothes back on as she left the room with the canvas bag in hand. She returned and stood before me once more, radiating beauty and speaking the truest of words.


“I know you will come away from this experience a changed person—a more humble person. Maybe not tonight and maybe not tomorrow, even. But, eventually, you will see that what I offered you this evening is an important and necessary service. If we don’t take the time to purge ourselves of our guilt for the bad things we do, we lose the plot entirely. Here’s my number. I know you’ll need this.”


And with that, Miss Jennifer gave me a motherly hug and sent me on my way. I knew exactly what she meant. I had barely made it to adulthood and already I felt as if the world and everyone in it owed me something. The following week and a half of gingerly take my seat at the office was enough of a reminder that I needed to work on cultivating an important quality missing from my life: to humble myself.


I’m not perfect. While my intentions are in a better place than they had previously been, I still manage to throw the brick around from time to time. I’m not always able to catch myself before it’s too late and the old habits creep back up on me. Sometimes the shame of knowing you’re wrong just isn’t enough.


Fortunately, I know just who to call for help. 







Senior Picture



Why can’t Aunt Jennifer understand me?  I am simply a typical 18 year old boy with the same interests, needs, and desires of most boys.   Our two main areas of conflict:  girls and sports. 


Aunt Jennifer has made it perfectly clear how I am to treat and behave around any girls I have gone out with.  Any deviation from this earns me a trip over her knee.  It doesn’t matter if that girl, or anyone else, is present.  Regardless of where we are, when Aunt Jennifer determines I need a spanking, I get my bare bottom spanked.  She always keeps a small paddle in her purse for these occasions too.


Aunt Jennifer has no tolerance for drugs, alcohol, and the abuse or disrespect of women.  She has no use for men who do such things.  While it may not be fair to put all athletes into the same group, there are far too many headlines reporting such incidents.  As Aunt Jennifer says “I will not allow you to waste your time watching or supporting such things.  There are more important activities to aid in my development to a proper young man”


 Tonight, I want to watch a football game, but I know she won’t let me. Instead, I ask her if I can go out with a couple friends.  She probes for details so I name friends I know she likes and pick a movie she would approve of.  Of course, I get the answer I was expecting:  Yes.  This seemed too easy.  So here I sit, in a very stimulating environment with a beer in one hand, scantily clad women dancing all around, and sports on all the TVs.  That’s right, our local strip club. 


I’ve had a couple beers and a few lap dances when an exotic looking woman appears on stage.  She is perfect:  petite, long dark hair, beautiful feet, and an incredible figure.  Needing a closer look, I take a seat by the stage.  She is so captivating, I find myself willingly slipping money in her garter.  In between her performances, I attract her attention and get a number of lap dances.  During her next performance, I feel an excruciating pain in my ear.  Turning around, I see Aunt Jennifer and she is none too happy.  How did she find out where I was?


She viciously slaps my face and suddenly all eyes are on us.  She still has a firm hold on my ear and begins to lecture.  Very calmly and coolly she lets her displeasure be known.   I feel a little relief when the owner comes over to interfere, but Aunt Jennifer is having none of it.  She explains the situation, particularly my age.  Upon hearing that, the owner steps back and takes a seat.  I can’t help but wonder if there is a man any where willing to stand up to this woman. 


Aunt Jennifer stands me up and pulls down my jeans and boxers.  She states “By the time finish, the devil inside you isn’t going to be able to withstand the heat from your butt.”  With that she pulls a very heavy tawse out of her purse and bends me over the stage.  Most of the patrons have gathered around.  All the dancers have gathered on stage with my favorite sitting right in front of me.  I see Aunt Jennifer point the tawse at two dancers and tell them to get back and cover up before they find themselves lying next to me.  In a soft voice, they mutter “Yes Ma’am and scamper back stage.  With that, Aunt Jennifer takes her position to my left. 


My legs kicked out when the first unbearable stroke landed across the middle of my butt.  Aunt Jennifer landed the second on the back of my legs while telling me to keep my legs down.  Tears were welling up in my eyes, bruises were forming, and the audience was amazed at the severity with which the woman could deliver a whipping.  If they only knew, strip clubs embody everything Aunt Jennifer despises:  alcohol, tobacco, women selling their body, and men debasing women.  If she had her way, every person there would be taking a turn over the stage.  But Aunt Jennifer remained on task as she methodically delivered what would be the worst whipping I have ever received.


After about 20 strokes, Aunt Jennifer took a short break to get some answers.  She wanted to know where I got the money I was spending here.  With some encouragement from her tawse, I gave in and with tears running down my face; I told her “Some was from the money you gave me for my pictures”.  Then she wanted to know what I meant by “some” and where the rest of the money came from.  I took $60 from your purse before I left, I told her.  There was an audible gasp from the patrons as the room fell silent.


Aunt Jennifer leans over me, grabs my ear and says “You take the money I gave you for pictures.  You steal money from my purse and spend it here.  After everything I have done for you, this is the way you repay me.”  She doesn’t wait for a response.  When I think I have taken Aunt Jennifer’s best, she picks it up a notch.  I can’t hold still.  My legs are kicking.  I am trying to squirm away. 


Aunt Jennifer has the owner hold my legs and my favorite dancer hold my arms and then she continues.  Blows land all over my butt and thighs.  I am sobbing and screaming as a puddle of tears forms by my face.  When Aunt Jennifer finally stops, my butt is red, purple, and covered with welts where the tip of that tawse landed.  When I reach back to rub, she lands one last blow across the back of my hands asking “Did I give you permission to rub your butt?” 


I stand so Aunt Jennifer can pull my pants up.  I apologize to the owner for jeopardizing his club.  With that, Aunt Jennifer leads me outside and takes me home, promising we are not through.  Once home I am told to get inside, take off my pants and wait for her in the corner.


About 30 minutes later, Aunt Jennifer tells me to come out of the corner and bend over the back of the couch.  When I turn around, I see her holding a small bundle of switches.  Slowly walking toward her, I beg her not to use those.  I will do anything she says.  I will never do anything so stupid again.  Aunt Jennifer just points to the back of the couch and I take my position.


Aunt Jennifer says “You are getting 1 for each dollar you took from my purse.  Count them.”  With that she begins.  The pain is horrible.  It feels as though ripping the skin off my butt and thighs.  When I finally make it to 60, I collapse, openly sobbing.  I am exhausted.  I have no energy left to fight or resist.  I am just glad it is over.  Aunt Jennifer sits next to me, rubbing my back and head.  She tells me how much she loves me and how proud she is of me.  She hopes she doesn’t have to discipline me like this again.


Once I calm down, Aunt Jennifer tells me “no spanking is complete without this”, and produces her bath brush.  She tells me I am getting 10.  She starts with 10 on one cheek, all on the same spot, right where I sit.  (Why can’t she count like everyone else?)  These may not have been as hard as the rest of the spanking, but after everything that was done, it feels as though she is branding me.  Then I get 10 on the other cheek.  When she is finished, she stands me up, playfully slaps my butt and sends me to the corner.


Six months later, I receive the rest of my punishment.  When I pick up my yearbook, I see the picture Aunt Jennifer submitted:  the after photo from that horrible night.  It is in color and 4 times the size of everyone else’s picture.  You can clearly see all the colors, welts, and bruises.  Below my name, she added “This is what happens to naughty boys who disobey Aunt Jennifer”




The Gift



Oh what a beautiful day this started out to be.  This is my favorite time of the year.  Autumn brings cool crisp mornings, the leaves changing color, fresh apple cider, and college football.  After a long, busy week at work, there is no better way for me to relax and there is a big game I have been looking forward to all week.  But how quickly can plans change.


After breakfast, my lovely wife, Miss Jennifer, hands me a list of chores she want completed today:  pulling weeds, cleaning the gutters, mowing the grass, and raking leaves.  There is no way I am going to be able to do this and watch the big game.  Maybe if I work hard, she will allow me to watch the game while she is at a baby shower.  Since she isn’t a sport fan, she has blocked all sporting events and web sites.  I have yet to figure out that stupid pass code.


After working hard all morning, I head inside to see if Miss Jennifer will allow me to watch the game.  In a very calm but authoritative voice she tells me of her displeasure with my behavior this week and she will not reward this type of behavior by allowing me to watch a game.  How is this fair?  I am stuck at home working while she is out playing around.  My frustration reaches a head and I tell my wife “if you don’t let me watch the game here, I am heading down the street to our local Hooters and watch it there”.  As soon as those words left my mouth, I knew I went too far but I couldn’t stop myself and continued “and there is nothing you can do to stop me”.


It took Miss Jennifer all of 2 seconds to cross the room and deliver a vicious slap across the face that left me dazed and staggering.  Before I could recover, she had my jeans and boxers around my ankles and was dragging me by the ear to the end of the bed.  And over her knee I went.  It always amazes me how much a hand spanking from a petite woman can hurt so much.  Normally she would spank my entire butt.  Not this time.  She concentrated every spank on the sit spot and the back of my thighs.  She gave no lecture and asked no questions.  She just delivered one ferocious spank after another.


 Typically, I can endure Miss Jennifer’s hand spanking.  Not this time.  The pain was excruciating.  Within a couple minutes tears were rolling down my cheeks and the spanking continued.  A few minutes later I was openly sobbing and begging and pleading for her to stop.  To my surprise, she did.  She grabbed my ear, pinching very hard, and told me she has heard enough of my mouth and to keep quiet.  And the spanking commenced again.  I did my best to obey but this was unbearable and so humiliating.  Here I am, a grown man, over my wife’s knee being spanked like a child.  Somehow, I made it through the remainder of this spanking.


When Miss Jennifer dumped me on the floor my hands immediately went to my butt.  It hurt so much and felt like it was on fire.  I know rubbing my butt is forbidden without permission, but I can’t help it.  She grabbed my ear, marched me to the corner, spanking me along the way.  There I stood hands behind my back, pants around my ankles, tears rolling down my face, with a red and very sore bottom on display.  With one final smack, she warned me about getting out of position.  Then she was off to finish getting dressed.


When she emerged, she sat at the end of the bad and called me over.  There sat the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.  She looked radiant.  I’ll never know how I managed to marry such a special woman.  As I stood in front of her, she lectured on how she will not tolerate my behavior.  Then she pulled up my boxers and jeans and sent me back to work and left for the baby shower.


I had every intention of behaving and doing exactly as Miss Jennifer said.  But I grew more upset as I thought about missing the game.  As I tried to think of a way to get even, it hits me:  A very stupid idea.  I know I shouldn’t.  I know I will pay dearly.  But I can’t help it and began to set my trap.


Here I sit behind an open window with the paintball gun Miss Jennifer got me this past Christmas.  When I see Miss Jennifer pull up, I carefully take aim.  When she is within range, I start shooting, making sure I don’t come close to her face.  She makes a run for the door, but I manage to land a few more shots.  When I hear a scream, I know she tripped the wire to dump a pail of water on her head.  To say she was upset would be a gross understatement.


As Miss Jennifer comes toward me I start apologizing, promising to behave and do anything she wants to make it up to her.  When she reaches me, while telling me to be quiet, she slaps my face and grabs my ear.  I keep telling her how sorry I am and that she is hurting my ear and she just keeps smacking me until I do as I am told.  Once quiet, she orders me to drop my jeans and boxers and then leads me toward the kitchen. 


I hate our kitchen with all the wooden spoons and spatulas of all shapes and sizes.  I swear every time she goes shopping she buys another.  The first thing she does when she gets home is to try it out on my bare bottom.  I would bet most of her spoons and spatulas have never been used for cooking, only to spank me.  To my horror, instead of grabbing a spoon or spatula, she gets a fly swatter out of the closet.


For what seemed like an eternity, Miss Jennifer went after my butt and the back of my thighs with a vengeance.  That fly swatter looks so flimsy but stings so much.  It feels as though hundreds of angry hornets are stinging me.  If it wasn’t for Miss Jennifer keeping a firm grasp on my ear, I would have been out the back door.  As it was, I spent the next five minutes dancing around the kitchen, begging for her to stop, trying to protect my butt.  When she let go of my ear, I collapsed on the floor, crying and trying to rub that awful sting away.  A few more hard swats with the fly swatter landed for rubbing my butt without permission.  Why ask, she has never given me permission anyway.


Once I calmed down, Miss Jennifer stood me up and led me to her den.  Placing me in the corner, telling me to stay put while she changes.  There I stood feeling sorry for myself, wondering why I get myself into these situations, and of course rubbing my bottom.  What could it hurt, Miss Jennifer can’t see. 


About an hour later I almost jump through the wall when a couple extremely hard swats land from Miss Jennifer’s favorite bath brush.  I never heard her approaching and was caught rubbing my bottom.  She turns me and asks why I can’t keep my hands off my butt.  I answer “because you won’t keep your hands off my butt and now it really hurts”, and my face gets slapped again.  If I don’t learn soon to keep my smart mouth shut, I’m going to have a permanent imprint of Miss Jennifer’s hand on my face.


Miss Jennifer stands me in front of her desk and takes a seat.  She doesn’t say anything, just looks at me.  I feel so guilty.  I know I deserved everything she has and is about to give me.  As much as her spankings hurt, this is the worst part.  She tells me how much I have disappointed her and let her down.  I don’t mean to, I guess sometimes the little boy in me gets the best of me. 


When I try to explain myself, I tell her I just wanted to show her how much I enjoyed her gift.  This attempt at humor earns me another hard slap across the face.  I then try to explain that I know what I did was dangerous and very immature and I would do anything I can for her.  I was just upset she wouldn’t let me watch a football game.  Besides, I don’t ask very often.  Miss Jennifer tells me that she understands my point but will never condone my behavior. 


Miss Jennifer lays out a few of her favorite implements:  bath brush, large wooden paddle, and an evil leather rug beater.  Sitting on the end of the desk, she tells me since I hit her at least 15 times; I will receive 15 swats with each.  Grabbing her bath brush, she stands to my left and simply says “over”, adding a swat.  Once she is satisfied with my position, two hard swats land, then a pause then 2 more.  Miss Jennifer adds that when I decide to start counting, we can begin.  This is so unfair.


I start to relax when I reach 15, thinking I am about to get a break.  When Miss Jennifer lands a very hard number 16, I jump up, grab my butt, and turn to face her.  I tell her that was more than she said.  She replies “You should know by now that’s per cheek.  And since you got out of position, we will start over”.  I say “Yes Ma’am” and start to turn back around.  Out of the corner of my eye, I see a smile come to her face. 


Once we reach 30, I stay in position.  Miss Jennifer tells me to stand and face her.  Wiping the tears from my eyes, she asks if I am learning my lesson.  I promise her that I have learned and apologize for my behavior.  She playfully slaps my butt and sends me to the corner. After about 10 minutes; she calls me back to her desk.  When I turn around, I see her standing there holding her paddle. 


Bent back over the desk, I nervously await for the first one.  The paddling isn’t as bad as I thought it would be.  I make it through all 15, without losing count and remaining in position.  Maybe it’s the condition of my butt, maybe it’s because she can tell how very sorry I am, or maybe it’s because she can tell I just can’t take much more.  Whatever the reason, I know she is being merciful.  She is capable of much worse. 


When I finish another 10 minutes, Miss Jennifer is waiting with her leather rug beater in hand.  At least this is the end, or so I hope.  Back over the desk, the first lands across the back of my legs.  This is quickly followed by 4 more.  The pain is excruciating and I just can’t take any more.  On my knees, with tears streaming down my face, I hold Miss Jennifer’s hands and beg and plead for her to stop.


Miss Jennifer gives me a break.  Sitting in a chair, she puts my head in her lap and holds me, telling me how much she loves and cares for me.  Also that she doesn’t want to punish me so severely, but will do so again if necessary.  I continue to tell her how sorry I am and I will never do anything like that in the future.


Later that evening, as we lay in bed, Miss Jennifer asks if I am going to start behaving myself and do as I am told.  With a kiss on her forehead, I say “Yes Ma’am”.  After a short pause and with a somewhat playful smack to her bottom, I tell her the next time she has me build a fire, I am using her paddles and brushes as kindling.  (But that is another story)


You have got to love women that make it so much fun to misbehave.
















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