by John Chard
We were in South Carolina driving east on Hwy 17, a two lane affair that winds its way though scenic country side until it finally reaches Charleston on the coast. We had in fact just passed the sign that put Charleston ten miles down the road. I glanced over at my beloved Kelly-Ann. She had her bare feet propped up on the dashboard, as was her habit during long car trips, and her nose buried in one of those romance novels women like. This one had something to do with pirates, but then it seemed like they all had something to do with pirates.
"Almost there, Honey," I informed her. Charleston wasn't our actual destination. We were going to near by James Island where a friend had graciously loaned us the use of his beach house for a week.
"Yeah, vacation," she said. "I can't wait to lie on the beach."
"We have a beach at home," I reminded her. We live in South Florida near Fort Lauderdale.
"Which we never go to," she countered. It was true. Getting all the stuff together, finding a place to park, fighting the crowds; it was a hassle. We were lucky to get there four or five times a year.
"Well, we'll get to this one," I assured her. "It'll be right outside the back door."
"Yep, and remember we're going to go out every night too. You promised, Tom. No sitting in front of the TV."
"I have every intention of keeping my promise, sweetheart," I assured her.
"You better, mister. I don't want to have to take those britches down," she warned sternly. She was being sarcastic of course. Those of you who have heard me speak of Kelly-Ann before know that it is she who routinely has her britches taken down.
Yes, it turns out the love of my life has herself a little spanking fetish. I was in my mid thirties when we met and I'd been around the block a few times. I fancied myself to be pretty savvy about the fairer sex, but Kelly-Ann was my first, and to date only, spanko. I have to admit I was quite surprised when she confessed this dark little secret to me. I was also more than a little intrigued. Still, it was a pretty sharp learning curve for me those first several months, but I must admit I've come to enjoy tanning her plump little fanny cheeks.
I took the turn off for James Island. "Speaking of britches coming down, I'm afraid we're going to have to have a little discussion when we get to the house," I informed her.
"No way!" she said. "What for?"
"For that spit ball fight in the Stucky's restaurant in Georgia," I reminded her, giving her my best stern look.
"What? He started it."
"He was a twelve-year-old boy. You're supposed to know better."
"But ... but ... he got spit balls in my hair."
"He wasn't even aiming at you. He was aiming at that slack-jawed kid in the booth behind us."
"Well, he hit me and I wasn't going to take that lying down. I was just defending myself."
"You were being a big brat in a public place."
"It wasn't that big a deal," she insisted.
"It was a big enough deal that the manager came over to our table to scold you."
"Oh you're just sore because he thought you were my dad," she said. Sadly that part was true. I could understand his mistake though. I think I'm reasonably well preserved, but my hair is beginning to go gray. Kelly-Ann, on the other hand, at thirty still qualifies as baby-faced. She's routinely carded when we go out on the town and she loves to tease me about it. On this particular occasion, her road trip ensemble was adding considerable weight to the illusion of youth, garbed as she was in flip-flops, little denim cutoffs, a pink tank-top with the Power Puff Girls on the front, and a Miami Hurricanes ball cap. Her mane of red hair was in a pony tail sticking out the back of the cap. She certainly looked the part of the errant sixteen-year-old.
"That's beside the point," I told her. "You made a big embarrassing scene in public. You know we've talked about that before, young lady."
"Have not! You only said I couldn't brat you in public. You never said I couldn't brat other brats."
"The point, Kelly-Ann, is that you are not to embarrass me in public," I said. "Having a restaurant manager come to my table and ask me to please get my daughter under control was very embarrassing."
"You're just being an old fuddy duddy. You really need to lighten up."
"Watch it, young lady," I warned.
"Lady Foggbottom has the same problem with her fiancé, the Duke of Lancaster," she continued brazenly, indicating her book. "That's why she's falling for John Dulac, the dashing French privateer who kidnapped her."
"Christ, a Frenchman! He'll wet his pants and hand her over the first time some stout-hearted British Tar sticks a musket in his face. Then the Duke can haul her back to England and give her a jolly good caning for being such a disloyal brat." Having no better response, Kelly-Ann stuck her tongue out at me. I gave her the look. "You're getting a spanking, young lady. I wouldn't make it any worse if I were you."
"But, Tom," she whined, "we're on vacation."
"What does that have to do with it?"
"Cause bratting's like calories; it doesn't count if you're on vacation," she offered hopefully.
"I'm afraid you were misinformed about that. In fact I'm giving serious thought to using the hairbrush. This isn't your first offense you know."
"Um, about the hairbrush ..." she started nervously.
"What about it?"
"I mighta, sorta, kinda forgot to pack it," she said, biting her lower lip.
"No, you definitely forgot to pack it," I said. "Fortunately I didn't."
"Really?"
"Really. And it's the strangest thing. Somehow last night it migrated from its usual place on your vanity to the bottom drawer of your dresser."
"It did?" she asked innocently.
"Yes it did. It got all the way under your sweaters. How do you suppose that happened?"
"Damn those sneaky poltergeists! Always trying to get me in trouble."
"You've never needed any help from the supernatural to do that."
"Tom, please not the brush. At least wait till we get home. I won't argue at all, I promise, but please not while we're on vacation."
I let her squirm for a moment while I deliberated her fate. "I'll let you off with a hand spanking ... this time," I said finally. "But you're getting it the minute we get there, just like I said, and you better believe it's going to be a good one, young lady. Is that clear?"
"Yes, sir," she said, still pouting.
Minutes later we pulled into the driveway of the beach house. I got out, popped the trunk and started to unload the luggage while Kelly-Ann stretched.
"Um, I can smell the ocean," she said. "I can't wait to get out there."
"You and I have some business to tend to first, young lady," I reminded her.
"You're a big meany, spanking me on vacation." She pouted.
"You're getting off real easy with a hand spanking, Missy. I wouldn't push it if I were you," I warned her as I opened the door to the house.
"Yes, sir. Do you want me to help with the bags?" she asked diplomatically.
"No, I've got them. What I want you to do is take one of those chairs from the kitchen table, put it in the middle of the living room here, drop your shorts and panties and wait for me."
"Yes, sir," she said as she walked off to get the chair. "Can't believe we just got here and I have to get a stupid spankin' already. I haven't even seen the beach yet," I heard her grumbling as I carried the bags to the bedroom. I decided to take a little time to unpack a few things. Mostly so Kelly-Ann would have a chance to get good and nervous about what was coming.
Now a lot of you are probably thinking I'm some kind of Ogre for spanking her over this. After all it was just a little harmless horse-play; all perfectly innocent, right? Well, don't you believe it. I've learned that girls like Kelly-Ann love to test the limits, to see just how far they can push you before they end up over your knee. She knew exactly what she was doing in that restaurant and if I failed to respond with a very firm hand I'd lose some respect in her eyes. That didn't necessarily mean she was looking forward to this spanking. She knows me well enough to know that public bratting is one thing that will earn her a very meaningful fanny blistering. Yes, her trepidation in the car was probably quite sincere. It's just that she'd rather get that sound spanking than feel like she could break the rules I'd laid down for her with impunity. Well, she wasn't going to be disappointed. I'd die before I disappointed my Kelly-Ann. No, she was going to be spanked and spanked quite soundly.
I walked back to the living room wondering if Kelly-Ann had followed my instructions or decided to push further with some outright defiance. That was rare, but it did happen from time to time when she was in a particularly ornery frame of mind.
I needn't have worried though. She was positioned exactly as I had instructed. The armless kitchen chair was in the center of the room and Kelly-Ann was standing to the right of it. She was quite a forlorn sight. Her shorts and panties were in a puddle at her feet, her arms were folded across her ample chest and her bottom lip was stuck out just about as far as it would go. She was also blushing furiously. This is a rather peculiar aspect of Kelly-Ann's psyche which I have never fully understood. She parades around naked in front of me all the time at home without a care, but for some reason having to take her pants down for a spanking always makes her blush like a school girl.
I approached the chair. I usually like to roll up my sleeve at this point, but I was wearing a short-sleeved polo shirt so I had to forgo that particular part of the ritual. I simply seated myself, took Kelly-Ann by the arm and firmly hauled her over my lap. She landed with a delightful little squeak then spent a few seconds squirming around to get more comfortable. I never tire of seeing her in this position.
You see Kelly-Ann's two fleshiest assets, her buns and her boobs are perhaps just a little too big for her frame. She frets about this endlessly, as self-conscious as any woman about her body image, but I've always found the effect quite pleasing to the eye. Positioned as she was, her bountiful breasts were hanging just over the side of my left leg and her full round fanny cheeks were nicely plumped up over my right thigh, looking very ripe for a sound smacking. I wrapped my left arm around her ribcage to keep her steady and gave her cheeks a little rub and squeeze. In spite of their fullness they are quite firm. Kelly-Ann gets to the gym at least three days a week and it shows.
"All right, young lady," I started. "Do you understand why you're getting this spanking?"
"Because you're a big poo head?" she said.
SMACK! SMACK! I brought my hand down hard on the base of each chubby cheek. I enjoyed the way they bounced.
"Oh! Ow!" she squealed.
"Wrong answer, young lady. Would you like me to go get the brush and start over?"
Not to be reposted, reproduced or distributed, in part or whole.