by Louis Woodley
Nineteen-year-old Danielle Henderson was tall, slim, blond, and currently nervously pacing around in her bedroom. She'd just completed her first semester of college several days earlier and was now back at home until January with her mother, Debbie, her younger sister Whitney, and her stepfather, Alan Johnstone. He'd been the one to dismiss her to her room to await his arrival several minutes earlier.
While she had grown to care for him over the past couple of years there had been plenty of times when both girls had considered him the devil incarnate because of the way he'd turned their world upside down. And, if she was being totally honest, there had been a few occasions where Debbie had questioned getting involved with him and remaining so.
He was a stickler for discipline. He was also nothing if not consistent, treating each of the three women in his life equally. And that had been part of the rub for Debbie. She was his wife yet there were times when he made her feel like an awkward schoolgirl facing an unhappy father, just like Danielle and Whitney had felt on many occasions.
It had been an eye-opening experience for the sisters to discover that their stepfather meant business and would no longer tolerate their bratty behavior. It had been even more eye-opening to discover that their mother had been held accountable for their behavior before they were called on the carpet for the first time. Alan had held her accountable for not providing them with sufficient guidance and discipline, allowing them to become teenage brats. And to express his displeasure, and encourage future improved performance, he had bared her bottom and made her howl until tears flew. Then once the girls returned home they discovered that there was a new sheriff in town.
And he'd made it clear to them that night that he was laying down the law and from then on would serve as judge, jury, and executioner whenever their behavior was called into question. And his word was final; there was no appealing their sentences. He'd developed and administered the penal code, so some issues might be thought of as equivalent to misdemeanors while others were more similar to felonies.
In general the latter category included offenses such as lying, stealing and being rude and/or disrespectful, whereas more garden variety offenses like failing to do their chores didn't typically merit as harsh a sentence. But there were any number of ways that each of them could go wrong, and since he judged each case on its individual merits, it was pointless to count on prior rulings as a gauge of how things might turn out.
Sentence was sometimes carried out immediately, while on other occasions the miscreant was given time to think about their choices first. Sometimes matters were handled behind closed doors, while in other instances the full family would witness it for their own edification. But there were also occasions where all three were involved because they all shared responsibility for whatever had happened.
And things were not confined to the sanctity of their home either. He wasn't averse to carrying lickings out wherever they were at the time. Or, if circumstances didn't allow a full punishment at the time, he'd deliver a warm-up to remind the unlucky family member what awaited them at home.
As you might surmise, what awaited them was a red bottom and often matching red thighs. For lesser offenses, the punishment could be considered more attention-grabbing than a thrashing. But if they'd stepped off the deep end then they could count on an exceedingly painful posterior, one that would make them cry out in pain and remorse, shed tears down their faces, and left tenderized flesh that insured that no skimpy bikinis would be worn the next day. They were also left wishing for an ice bath to plunge their burning backsides into. And in the early days there had been many such occasions.
He believed in offering a variety of experiences for the women in his life. While the end result was the same there were a number of ways to reach the conclusion. The single consistency was that her backside was bared. Her undies might be off altogether, tangled around her ankles, or pulled down just far enough to allow access, but they wouldn't provide a modicum of protection to her cheeks. This rule had caused a great deal of consternation when it was announced, but they'd complained and begged to no avail.
They claimed that it was inappropriate for him to see them naked. But he'd replied that it was in their own best interests for him to be able to view his handiwork and determine how quickly their backsides were reddening. They still weren't convinced, but when Whitney had tried to resist he'd demonstrated that the subject was non-negotiable, and any attempts at non-compliance would only result in more spanks being applied. Danielle had wisely dropped the argument when her turn came, and neither of them had broached the subject since. It seemed pointless, particularly given that their mother received no special favors in that regard from him either.
Part of the variety was choosing the location: both master and girls' bedrooms, bathrooms, den, kitchen, garage, and the back yard picnic table offered opportunities for a backside to be bared and turned from white to maroon. He'd also gotten creative and used the back seat of the car, a deserted hallway, an interstate rest stop, and the dressing room of a crowded mall store when the situation presented itself. So all the women were forewarned that just because they weren't at home at the moment was no guarantee that their butts wouldn't be set on fire. He'd set the time and place and expect them to be waiting for him without complaint (no matter what they might be actually thinking at the moment).
Once there it was a matter of positioning. In the bedroom they might be made to lie across the end or side, sometimes elevating their buttocks on pillows, or else lay flat with arms and legs splayed out. Likewise, in the den they might rest across the arm of the sofa, or lay flat on it, or kneel on the cushions facing the wall. Chairs and an ottoman in the room offered other positional opportunities. They could also brace their hands against the wall or simply grab their ankles and hold on for dear life. A lot of it had to do with which implement had been chosen to administer their punishment.
For lesser offenses he'd typically just use his hand, a bedroom slipper or their own personal plywood paddles. But for bigger screw-ups, in addition to a lengthy hand spanking, their bottoms could be reddened by his belt, a bath brush, or a spatula from the kitchen. All three women knew where each was stored and were generally instructed to retrieve them and have them waiting at punishment time.
What all of them hated was being instructed to go outside and cut and prep a selection of switches. Not only was it time-consuming, Alan insisted on delivering the switching in the great outdoors bent over the picnic table. Even though their neighbors weren't close and there was a fence around the back yard it always felt like someone could be watching them getting their butts and legs slashed with little red lines until they were dancing in place.
But sometimes, instead of choosing the implement of their doom himself he would foist that decision upon them, making them select it. Then they'd be forced to weigh the relative merits of the bath brush versus his belt versus the kitchen spoon. So it was a true Hobson's Choice for the three women; no matter what their choice their bottoms would lose, badly.
As a result, Debbie, Danielle, and Whitney were now well aware that actions had consequences, and that was what was worrying the older sister now. In her case, it was inactions that were about to have grave consequences for Danielle's derriere. Specifically, it was failing to live up to promises made at Thanksgiving about the state of her grades.
She'd been awarded a college scholarship that covered a significant amount of her expenses, but required that her overall GPA had to be at a minimum of 3.25 at the end of the first year and stay there in order to be renewed. Her parents had pointed out the importance of getting off to a good start, because once the baseline was set it became more difficult to pull the average up as her overall number of hours increased. That had equated to making four 'B's and an 'A', which had seemed easily manageable at the time.
She'd started out with good intentions, but being free from paternal supervision had allowed that to fall by the wayside. College was a time to expand her horizons after all, and that went far beyond the classroom. Unlike high school, no one was leaning over her shoulder making certain that she went to class every day, which was certainly a blessing given that they insisted on scheduling freshman classes starting at 8:00 every morning. Since no one was enforcing a 'lights- out' policy at midnight, the lights were only out in her dorm room at that time because she and her roommate weren't back yet. It was unrealistic that she could get by on four to five hours of sleep per night so something had to give.
Besides, she was used to pulling out all the stops in order to pull out a grade that would be deemed acceptable to her stepfather. So if she didn't feel up to staggering to class it was her choice.
But hubris had been her downfall; that, and bad luck on her sister's part. She'd gotten the parents' permission for her younger sister to come visit and stay with her on campus one weekend. However, the visit had come with caveats that they failed to live up to and Danielle was held primarily accountable.
When Debbie was going through her laundry a fake driver's license had been discovered in her jeans pocket. Confronted with the evidence, Whitney had quickly folded and admitted that her sister had procured it for her.
While Whitney's butt was being blistered, Debbie had called her to inform her that they were busted and she was coming home that following weekend to 'discuss' her mistakes. She'd given Whitney the fake ID as a present to match the one she'd procured for herself. Now both would be lost and she'd be out the money (and in deep trouble to boot). On top of that she realized that she'd been slack in her classwork, confident that she could pull her grades back up, but not anticipating that she'd have to discuss the subject with Alan so soon. Bringing home bad news could result in further damage to her poor backside, so she prayed that her professors had been generous with their grades.
Unfortunately, those prayers were not answered. When she received the notification electronically she wanted to throw up. There wasn't an A in sight and only two Bs; how could she have three Cs?' This was only a 2.4 GPA! Alan was going to go ballistic, and he would no doubt hone in on missed classes, staying up late, and half-assed work.
A very long and sore weekend ensued, leading to promises that she'd straighten out her act immediately. And she'd come home for Thanksgiving assuring him that she was doing better and looking forward to the final exams as an opportunity to get her back in good stead.
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