by Carlton Kristain
This story is in memory of my first erotic spanking, and is set in the early 1980's.
As soon as Paul Royalton entered his cousin Miriam's apartment, he realized that his fate was sealed. Two low-backed straight chairs were set back to back in the living room, and ‘over the chair backs’ was Miriam's favorite position for paddling his bare behind - that the plump, pretty blonde gripped an oversized wooden spoon in her hand also indicated her intent.
"I see you made it," she remarked calmly as he set down his tennis equipment. "Before we go to the courts, I have something to discuss, Paul. So get across the chair backs, pants down, so I can get your full attention."
“Yuh-you have my attention now," Paul stammered.
Smack!! The spoon's wooden back slapped against Miriam's left palm. "No arguing," she instructed firmly. "In position - immediately!"
"Yes, ma'am." Paul quickly climbed onto the nearest chair's padded seat, then lowered his tennis shorts to his knees before bending way forward to grasp the edge of the second chair's seat. He was wearing an athletic supporter, which left his muscular buttocks temptingly exposed.
"Now to assure your full attention," Miriam smilingly positioned herself perpendicular to her cousin on his left, then she raised the solid spanking spoon. "it was going to be three dozen, but your arguing's made it four."
SMACK!! WHACK!! WHAP!! SMACK!!
Alternating the wooden spoon's stinging swats to her cousin's firm bare buttcheeks, Miriam delivered her blistering wallops about four seconds apart. The effect on Paul was predictably emphatic, and his initial gasps became yelps and then wailing sobs. After forty-eight soundly-applied ‘stingers,’ his bare bottom was a glowing-hot crimson hue and trickling tears were forming.
"Ready to answer some questions, young man?" Miriam inquired coolly.
"Uh. Yuh-Yes, ma'am," Paul blubbered softly.
"Stay in position, so I can 'encourage' you to answer if necessary." The spoon's hard back touched his right buttock warningly.
Paul winced apprehensively. "Yuh-yes, ma'am."
"I know you're very fond of Brittany, Paul - you've been dating her this past month." Miriam raised the wooden spoon. "So why won't you let her spank you when you deserve it?"
"Why sh-should I?" he asked, then yelped as WHACK!! WHACK!! each naked buttock received a stinging spoon-spank.
"Because she's your girlfriend, and she knows what's best for you," his cousin replied, "just like I do. You let me paddle you when you deserve it..."
"Because I t-trust you, Miriam." Paul hesitated, then continued. "You care about me, and you seem ... um... older, even though you're not..."
"That's maturity, Paul, something most men lack. You're like little boys, adorable but childlike, so you need female guidance and loving discipline."
"But it's so hard to trust Brittany that way -" SMACK!! SMACK!! The punishment spoon cracked against each bright red asscheek, and he wailed.
"It isn't easy, but it's necessary!" Miriam declared sharply. "Brittany's upset that won't accept her spanking you - do you want to break up with her?"
"Nuh-No, muh-ma'am," Paul sniffled. "Nuh-not at all..."
Miriam nodded. "I thought not. You were rude and hurtful to her yesterday. Are you prepared to accept her chastisement for that behavior, little brat?"
Paul sighed. "Yes, ma'am ... From now on, ma'am."
Miriam smiled benignly. "It's for your own good ... But since your misbehavior forced me to intervene, you've got to be chastised by me too - another four dozen bare-bottom smacks should do it. Honestly, you're so immature ..."
SMACK!! WHACK!! The wooden spoon resumed its steady spanking.
This story's setting is the U.S.A. in the early 1980's.
"So did Miriam just talk to you, or was she ... more direct?" Brittany smiled up at me, her pretty face beaming with anticipation. Although I was standing and she was sitting, there was no doubt about who was in control.
"Quite ... uh ... direct," I half-mumbled. "Along with talking..."
"Your bare buns got smacked," she accurately surmised. "She put you over the chair backs and applied her big wooden spoon, that's my guess."
I looked at the floor, aware that my light-complexioned face was flushed. "Uhhh ... that's about right, Brittie."
"So you're undoubtedly still pretty sore, huh?" Brittany's tone was light, but with a serious undertone. "That doesn't change anything - in fact, it makes it worse since Miriam shouldn't have been involved."
"Then why did you tell her ...?" I began sullenly, looking down into her soft brown eyes.
"She thinks we belong together, Paul, and so do I." She reached out and took my right hand, holding it between both of hers. "I didn't ask her to do anything, I just explained why our relationship wasn't working - she had the right to know that, I think. Miriam really cares about your happiness, Paul ..."
I gulped, feeling slightly ashamed. "Yes ... I know that."
"So do you trust her?" Brittany demanded pointedly. "Just as important, do you trust me?"
"Yes, and ... yes again." Biting my lip, I met her eyes fleetingly. "It's hard to let you ... I mean, to co-operate when ..."
"When I decide you need a good bare-bottom paddling?" she asked directly, her eyes sparkling.
"Uhhh ... right, Brittie." I couldn't help glancing at the table, on which the wooden racquetball paddle - her favorite spanking implement - was lying.
Letting go of my hand, Brittany rose to her feet and faced me with an expression that was confrontational yet affectionate.
"That's right, Paul - your trust is going to be tested right now, along with your commitment to me." Her voice was soft but determined. "You recognize Miriam's right to administer corporal punishment to you when she decides that you deserve it, don't you?"
"Sh-she's my cousin, we-we're close," I stammered uncertainly, feeling myself backed into a corner, or more accurately, put across Brittany's lap.
"Absolutely, Paul." Brittany smiled sweetly, and I felt an overwhelming attraction as she gently touched my face. "But if we're going to have a real relationship, you have to be just as close to me, romantically, of course - and that means trusting my judgment in disciplinary situations. Do you understand me, Paul?"
Vainly, I tried to formulate arguments, but it was hopeless, she was so attractive, so loving and ultimately so correct. If we were going to have any chance at a long-term relationship, she would have to spank me soundly and regularly to control my sometimes inconsiderate behavior.
"Yes ... ma'am." I nodded nervously as my girlfriend - might as well start using the term, I conceded - sat back down on the straight-backed chair.
"Prove it," she challenged. "I'll give you fifteen seconds ..."
Fourteen seconds later I lay upended across her firm feminine thighs, bare-bottomed with my tennis shorts tangled at my knees. Brittany smugly pressed the paddle's hard striking surface against my trembling exposed posterior, then she raised it high in her right hand.
"Now I'll prove how much I care for you, Paul darling - I think sixty swats should make my point ..."
SMACK!! SMACK!! Brittany began making her point ... and loving it.
This story's setting is mid-November of 1980 at the apartment of Miriam Palace in the U.S.A.
"Hi, Brittie," Miriam Palace greeted her red-cheeked friend. "Wintry out there, huh?"
Brittany Sinclair shucked off her fleece-lined jacket. "Extremely autumnish, anyway. So what's up?"
The dishwater blonde shrugged. "Just following up on yesterday's ... disciplinary activities. What happened after your mother finished strapping Paul?"
The pretty brunette grinned. "He went bare-assed into the corner while we relaxed, then he came out for a really long walloping from me."
"Using the Fanny-Whacker?" Miriam asked rhetorically, recalling that she herself had supplied that blisteringly-effective wooden implement for energetic application to her cousin's defenseless derriere.
Her guest chuckled. "That Spencer paddle must've hurt his bare buns something awful, landing on top of those strap-marks, I had my forehand stroke swinging so sweetly - I wish I could consistently smack a tennis ball like that."
The blonde nodded. "You both made him cry?"
Brittany smirked. "He bawled like a baby - shamelessly. At bedtime I took my hardwood hairbrush to his naked buttcheeks, until he was squalling pitifully over my lap, even though his fanny was already so sore."
"Better late than never, anyway." Her hostess smiled. "No problem, Paul's posterior is extremely resilient and designed to absorb extensive punishment; each tear he sheds is beneficial to your relationship, Brittie."
"Great, because he cried me a river yesterday." It didn't seem strange to be talking about her boyfriend, who was physically strong, rather athletic and hardly unmanly, openly weeping while being corporally corrected by her - Miriam somehow made everything seem quite acceptable, both Brittany's authority to soundly spank Paul and his childlike reaction to that bare-bottomed discipline.
"'He deserved to," Miriam noted, "but we haven't dealt with the other issue involved."
The brunette frowned. "Other issue?"
"You’re treating him with emotional coldness after failing to chastise him properly in the first place," her mentor explained. "Both of which were irresponsible of you - I shouldn't have been forced to get involved, but I was drawn into the situation because you failed to act responsibly and Paul suffered from that emotionally. You have some payment of your own due now, Brittie, and I'm going to collect it with swats applied to your naked fanny."
Brittany blanched. "You can't mean -"
"Jeans and panties down," the older woman instructed, "then lie across my lap. I'm going to reinforce the concept that you need to take charge of your relationship with Paul; he needs to know that you can always be counted on to discipline him strictly to keep him on the straight and narrow."
"I suppose you're right, I should've blistered his bare buns right off," the brunette agreed somberly, then she began tugging at her tight-fitting blue jeans and yellow cotton panties.
Miriam administered her friend's panties-down paddling via a fairly light plastic hairbrush, but its smooth back stung the brunette's tight gluteal globes effectively enough to produce steady sobs and trickling teardrops by the conclusion of the five-minute fanny-whacking.
Brittany ruefully rubbed her well-reddened rump while sniffling. "Duh-Does Paul hah-have to know ahh-about this?" she remonstrated.
The blonde chortled. "He already does, Brittie. You'd better pull up your pants to cover those rosy bum-cheeks ..." She waited six seconds before calling out, "Okay, Paul!"
Paul Royalton entered via the bedroom door just as his girlfriend's blue jeans slid over her hips.
"Cute caboose," he commented cheerily. “Did somebody just get a good bare-assed spanking?"
"Brittie did," Miriam affirmed, "for failing in her responsibility to discipline you when necessary." She paused meaningfully. "However, she wasn't the only one to shirk her relationship duty."
Her cousin's brows furrowed. "Huh?"
"It was your responsibility to insist that she chastise you, Paul," the blonde explained, "so now you'll be going bare-bottom-up across my lap."
His expression was dumbfounded. "You mean that I was supposed to demand that she ... punish me?"
"Exactly." She nodded. "You complained to me about Brittie's being cool and distant to you, but you hadn't confronted her directly about that - or about her failure to burn up your disrespectful derriere like she should have. The warmth and forgiveness come after your rump's been thoroughly reddened first, you know that much." Her left palm patted her skirt-covered thighs. "Pants down, over you go - your briefs will be lowered in the back once you're properly in position for your paddling."
Brittany gleefully produced her oaken hairbrush. "Here, Miriam, make it long and hard but use this - Paul's buns are too solid for that plastic thing to hurt him nearly enough, even on the bare, but this spanking brush can really make him squirm, kick and howl like a bawling baby."
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