by Frank Martinet
"Are you Bobby?"
The strange girl marched inside past me without even waiting for an answer. She was not my type at all: high school age, an open-mouthed noisy gum-chewer, arrogant and snotty, and had a bizarre silver nose ring.
"I thought you were supposed to be in college," she was saying, and I realized she'd been talking non-stop. I vaguely understood she'd been critiquing the cheap standard-issue furnishings of the condo, wrinkling her nose at the abstract painting my mom had done, and brazenly flipping through the items in our mail basket.
"Excuse me? Who are you?" I was about to get stern when she threw off the large overcoat she was wearing - though it was close to 80 degrees out it was raining - and I was presented with a completely different girl. This girl was slim and feminine with the skimpiest short-shorts I had ever seen. They were glued to her ass as though they'd been sprayed on. And what an ass it was! Totally scrumptious, tight and round and springy, twin balls of quivering blubber that thrust outward at me impudently, demanding the same reaction, which they received in spades. In a second I was hard, my erection painful I was so aroused.
I hadn't yet come to terms with this beautiful creature suddenly emerging from her raincoat like a butterfly from a cocoon, when she turned to face me, her chest poking out at me impressively, straining the tight T-shirt she barely wore. Her belly was bare and I could see she was an "innie" and for some reason that turned me on.
But even as my brain struggled to process all this information, more data was rapidly supplied. The girl must have been holding it inside her coat because I hadn't noticed it before: a narrow yellow stick about a yard long.
"Name's Amy Madigan," she said through her gum. "Live next door. My mom knows your mom, I guess. Told me to come over. Said I need my ass caned and you could do it."
Without another word of preamble she casually handed me the rod and turned and bent at the waist. She moved lithely, like an athlete. She touched her toes perfectly, her legs utterly straight. It was a practiced move, with no effort. Her ass quivered and hung in the air, taunting me with its saucy goodness. I had a tremendous urge to rip the shorts off those cheeks and thrust my hard cock into the warm valley between, but I resisted.
"Well? Are you going to take all day?"
She was looking up at me over her shoulder, her eyes huge and round and - I now realized - beautiful. She was striking. My first impression had been all nose ring and snotty attitude and bulky raincoat, but seeing her like this I was enraptured.
"Uh, Amy?"
The perfect buns twitched sending a slight shudder through the taut flesh. "Come on, don't make me wait for it. You know that makes it worse."
"I don't understand."
Slowly she rose up, her back hinging, her buttocks tightening into a ball as she stood upright. She stared at me blankly. "Are you a retard? Brain dead? For a college boy, you ain't got much going on upstairs!"
Her jarring personality was annoying and I frowned. "Look, you just waltz in here without even asking and you hand me this stick as though I'm supposed to know what to do with it and now you're acting as though I'm the crazy one!"
I broke off at her laughing. She grinned at me, shaking her head. "You're kinda cute when you're mad," she said. "You've got the whole nerd thing going on, but I'd fuck you."
It was a good thing my jaw was attached or it would have hit the floor. But the shocks kept coming. She pointed at the stick and spoke in a child-like sing-song voice.
"That a cane. You hit my bottom with cane. Twelve times. I bad girl. You spank. Got it?"
No, I didn't have it. I mean, I understood the words and the concept, but not the reality. Surely she was joking or insane or this was some weird day-dream. This could not be happening, not on an ordinary summer day in the suburbs.
But the girl was bent over again, calmly presenting that glorious ass. I could see the pale blue short-shorts riding up deep into the cleft between the cheeks. How did she wear them like that? Surely that had to be uncomfortable, I thought.
"You'd better make them hard," she was saying. Had she been quiet for more than two seconds since I'd met her? "My dad's gonna check the marks and if they aren't nice thick welts he's gonna fry my ass himself, so make sure you do it right. There's no point in me getting thrashed twice for the same thing."
I guess the blood started flowing to my brain because her comment sparked something in me. "What did you do?" I asked.
"Huh? Oh, what does it matter? Daddy thinks I deserve a beating, so that's what I get, right? I mean, you can't fight city hall."
"Uh, right," I agreed, though I had absolutely no idea what she was talking about.
"Are you gonna do this or just ogle my ass all day?" She wiggled the anatomy in discussion and my dick practically poked a hole through my pants. I blushed furiously, totally mortified but unable to tear my eyes away. That butt just sucked me in like a black hole. I was powerless to resist it.
"Come on! I'm missing my soap for this. I don't wanna be here all day. Just whack my ass and let me go home."
I found my voice and it was thin and high-pitched and sounded like someone else's. "You want me to hit your bottom with this stick?"
"Uh, yeah. That's like what a caning is, doofus. Were you raised by wolves? You never used a cane before?"
"No, I haven't."
"Oh fuck, an amateur! I should have known. It's gonna take you forever to get up to speed. You'd better give me two dozen, just to make sure. I need those marks."
"Two dozen?" I gasped.
"If you haven't done this before at least half will be too soft," she explained. "I gotta have at least a dozen good welts to show my dad."
She was still bent in perfect posture, that rump arched out at me tantalizingly close. The slender stick in my hand was long and lithe, and it trembled when I shook it. It was like a living thing, vibrating with passion. I gently swished it through the air making a faint humming sound.
"You gotta do it harder than that!"
I swished harder, making the cane sing and then hiss. Amy nodded. "Better. Much better. Now you've just got to worry about hitting the target. Think you can do that?"
With a target that inviting I'll have no problem at all, I thought grimly, but I didn't say it out loud. Instead I said, "Are you sure about this? It seems like this will really hurt."
"No shit, Sherlock! God, you're dumb. That's kinda the whole point, Einstein. You're punishing me, remember? I've been a bad girl?"
Angered by her words and tone, I pulled the cane back and swung. It was awkward and much too tentative. I nearly bailed out at the last moment. The result was a poor connection, a glancing blow that skimmed off the upper right cheek and produced scoffing laughter from the girl.
"Shit! My baby sister could hit harder than that. Come on, college boy. Put some meat into it."
Gritting my teeth in irritation, I struck again, and then again. Each time I hit harder, and after the third solid thunk the girl seemed to feel it.
"Ah, that's better. That one stung slightly."
I drove the next deep into her fat, loving the way the stick would sink into her flesh and spring back and the way her ass would quiver and shake as it rebounded from the blow.
The sound each strike made was loud, too. It sounded like a twig snapping, or maybe a distant rifle shot. It sounded like it hurt a lot. I was wincing. But Amy didn't seem bothered at all.
"Ah, nice one, very low. That's the sulcus, you know, that join between buttock and thigh. That's the worst place you can hit - which means, of course, that's where you should try to hit. The skin's ridiculously sensitive there, and I'll feel it every time I try to sit down tomorrow. That's the sit spot."
I hit her a few more times, relaxing as I realized it wasn't damaging her, and relishing the way it made her bottom dance. She was feeling it now - up on tiptoes at times, gasping lightly, even the occasional hiss.
Suddenly I paused. I realized with horror that I had totally forgotten to count. I had counted the first few but then gotten distracted and lost and now I had no idea. It could have been five or six, though it felt like more, and it could have just as easily been ten or twenty. I had absolutely no freaking idea!
"How many was that?" I asked.
"Shit if I know. I thought you were keeping track," she said.
"I thought you were."
"Oh fuck!" There was a pause. "Well, you'll just have to start over, I suppose."
"From the beginning? But I've given you quite a few. They've got to count for something."
"Those love taps? Hardly felt a thing, probably didn't even leave a mark. Better be safe and just start over."
I was surprised at how happy those words made me. I had already been anticipating the end of the beating and had been growing sad. Now I had a whole twenty-four more strokes to go! How awesome was that?
Even better, I wouldn't waste any this time. My arm was in and I was striking her efficiently now. She was writhing at every stroke, her buttocks doing absolutely fantastic things for me as they shuddered and jiggled and squeezed and relaxed. Her bum's antics made me want to beat her harder, my stiff cock urging me on frantically. I caned harder and harder, drawing forth a strangled cry of pain from deep in her throat.
"Arrggg," she gasped. "Oh God, that fucking hurt!"
"That was only nine," I said, pleased. "Fifteen more to go!"
"Shit!"
"You need to watch your language, young lady," I scolded sternly, and cracked the cane down across her haunches again. The rod seared into the middle of her butt, bouncing off the firm flesh like it was a trampoline. She gave a little high-pitched cry.
Not so smart now, I thought grimly. It pleased me greatly to whip the lip out of her, and I caned her more viciously as I thought of how rude and arrogant she'd been since barging into my house.
"Oh! Oh fuck me mama! God! Not so hard, okay? Jeez you're a fast learner!"
"Six left," I said cheerfully. I noticed that for the first time she was out of position: her right leg was bent slightly at the knee as she struggled to absorb the pain.
"Please, let me off the six," she begged. "There's gotta be enough marks now!"
But I had no interest in stopping. "We agreed on twenty-four and that's what you're going to get. Now shut up and take them or I'll give you extras!"
I had no idea where that had come from, but it seemed appropriate and it shut the bitch up right quick. She whimpered and fell silent as I lined up the next strike. I tapped her lower rump with the cane in preparation and enjoyed the shiver of nervous fear that passed through her.
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