by Frank Martinet
The room was tiny, a cramped attic shitbox that would be freezing in the winter and stifling in the summer. The bed was a twin with a mattress ten years past its prime, the dresser cheap pressboard, and there was no closet or other furniture. The microscopic bathroom, though it did have a petite shower, would have been at home on an airplane, and it was down a flight of stairs and not private. The only thing remotely good about the place was the porthole-style window bringing in a circle of cheerful sun.
The landlady, a Mrs. Joan King, made sure I knew it had a great view.
"That's my youngest daughter, Ronni," she said, as we looked out over the enclosed back yard. The curvaceous figure spread out facedown on the towel on the lawn wore only a thong, nothing else. From this perspective, I suddenly understood why bare bottoms are called moons. Hers was glorious, round and full with firm, upstanding cheeks. They weren't that white, for she was a smooth tawny tan all over, but the metaphor was still apt.
"I hope she won't offend you. She likes to sunbathe practically nude when the weather's nice like this. I've tried to dissuade her, but you know kids." Joan sighed loudly at her burden.
"Sounds like the girl needs discipline," I said.
"That she does," laughed Joan. "She hasn't had any since her father ran out on us eight years ago when she was ten."
"That's no excuse. If her father's not around, you should have done it. Instead, you wanted to be her friend, didn't you?"
Joan looked startled. She blushed and looked away shyly, and I knew my words had hit home. Though she was past forty and worse for the wear, she was quite attractive. She had big hair and bigger hips. She'd been beautiful once, perhaps stunning. Now she looked worn and ordinary, carrying extra weight behind and bags under her eyes. But there was still a woman there, warm and exciting, with a deep bosom and a delightfully plump behind.
"Sounds like you could use some discipline yourself," I whispered softly, dangerously. She flushed a deeper shade of red and looked adorable, and at least ten years younger in her embarrassment.
"Didn't I see a sorority board hanging in the kitchen downstairs?"
Amazingly, the blush grew even more red, as though Joan had just swallowed a hot pepper whole. Since she had trouble meeting my eyes, I put a finger under her chin and drew it up so she was looking at me. I stared right into her soul.
"You have fond memories of that thing, don't you?" I said sternly.
She gasped. "How-"
"One doesn't keep a thing like that out so prominently just as a memento," I said. "Certainly not in a personal space like the kitchen. No, it means something special to you. Plus, imagining what you looked like in college, there's no way your sisters could have neglected a big, beautiful behind like yours. I bet they gave it to you good, didn't they."
It wasn't a question, but Joan's frantic blush answered it anyway. I gripped her chin so she couldn't turn away.
"Your husband, too? Before he ran off?"
There was the briefest nod, her eyes full of awe as she stared at me.
"So it's been eight years?"
"Yes," she squeaked.
"You need it bad... you bad girl."
"Yes," she squeaked again.
"And that daughter of yours. You've sorely neglected her. I bet she's a slut and a tease. She looks like a sweetheart, but is a real bitch, isn't she?"
Joan nodded, her eyes wide.
"I'll take the room. How much did you say it was?"
I knew she hadn't named a price. She'd been reserving that little detail until she'd gauged my interest. When she said it now, it was three times the going rate of a nice place. I could have gotten a private apartment for that much.
But without the view.
I followed Joan down the creaking, rickety stairs. The big bottom in tight jeans swayed back and forth excitingly as we descended.
In the kitchen, I took the paddle off the wall. It was a large slab of wood, thick and heavy, over twenty inches long. Giant Greek letters had been branded into the wood on one side and there were dozens of feminine signatures on the other, each appended with a graduating class year.
With Joan watching me with terror, I pulled up a chair. I put the board in my lap like a miniature table. I used it as a surface to write my check. I made it out for first and last and a $100 cleaning deposit which I didn't expect to get back. There's always some excuse not to return it. I didn't care.
"Nicolas Reeves," said the landlady, gazing at my name on the check. "Do you go by Nick?"
"Nicolas."
"Very well, Nicolas. Welcome. You can call me Joan. My daughter's Ronni, if I didn't mention that. Her big sister Molly also lives here. She's at work now. A receptionist. She's twenty-one."
"Ronni is in school?"
Joan shook her head. "She's 'undecided.' That means she doesn't know what she wants to do in life, so she's living here with me until she figures it out."
"Seems like a charming girl," I said, though I'd only seen her ass from above. I wondered what Molly looked like. Did plush bottoms run in the family?
The sliding glass door onto the back deck opened and in stepped a vision. She was dreadfully young, looking more like sixteen than eighteen in some ways, but that body was mature beyond her years. She'd put on her bikini top - a sweet little light blue number - and her full breasts were putting a serious strain on the strings.
Her face was practically angelic. Lovely dark eyes matching her long wavy hair, and delicate lips with exaggerated curves as though drawn by an artist. She smiled at me broadly, revealing gorgeously white even teeth.
"Hello," she said warmly.
She turned to close the door behind her, taking her time, and presenting me with a delectable view of that stunning rump. It was even better up close than from the attic window. Absolutely flawless, the skin smooth and creamy, the cheeks heavy and solid and so round they looked like they were about to pop.
She faced me again, her pink tongue darting across those perfect lips. "Are you here about the room? I'm Ronni."
"Nicolas has already agreed to take it," said Joan hastily, holding up my check and waving it.
Ronni ignored her mother, stepping closer to me. "So you'll be living upstairs? It'll be so nice having a man around to protect us little women."
Suddenly the girl stopped, a puzzled expression on her face. She was looking at the big paddle which I still held in my hands. She looked to her mother and then back at me, her confusion evident.
"Your mother was telling me she's had a hard time disciplining you," I said with a warm smile of my own. I hefted the board. "Since I'm a strong man, she suggested I handle it."
Ronni's face went pale. She took a step back, faltering. "Uh, Mom?"
"I hear you've got eight years of spankings to make up," I said, patting the smooth wood against my palm. Even lightly it made a delightful thumping sound.
"This is some kind of joke, right? Mom?"
But Mrs. Joan King was speechless. My warning glare told her volumes. It was her ass or her daughter's, and she was clearly not volunteering. She shrugged helplessly and looked away.
Ronni turned back to me. "Now wait just a minute-"
"At least you're already dressed for it," I said smoothly. "No need to take down your panties. That bikini leaves your bottom nice and bare."
I took advantage of her stunned mind to swoop in and spin her around so she was facing the kitchen island. I pushed her hands onto it and sternly ordered her to keep them there, and I leaned her forward.
"Up on your toes. Come on, heels up!"
I was so forceful she obeyed before she realized it, and the slightly bent position perfectly presented her bottom. The full cheeks jutted out, their smooth curves begging for spanking. I didn't mess around or wait - I just delivered a sharp, loud, solid wallop to both buns that had to have sizzled.
Ronni gave a cry of pain and protest. Her bottom bounced, her hips twisted, and her heels hit the floor as she turned. Her hands flashed back to protect and comfort her burning ass. "Owww!"
"Hands back on the table!" I snapped. "Heels up. On your toes. Higher! That one doesn't count, so if you want extras, just keep disobeying."
Again she obeyed without thinking about it, my will stronger than hers. Once she was in position I smacked her ass again with the board. The sound was loud in the kitchen, which undoubtedly made the spank seem even worse.
"Oooh!" she howled, dancing around. Her hands wavered, moving away from the table and then hastily returning. She was in a quandary, not wanting extra spanks, but not wanting to cooperate with her spanking either. "You can't do this. Stop!"
"You're just getting ten now, a mere introduction. Stay still and stop wiggling and whining so much. Ten is nothing."
I slammed down the paddle three times in a row, bang-bang-bang, and Ronni was so stunned she could only wail. I took advantage of that to give her two more spanks. By now her butt was looking gorgeously pink, and her writhing and wiggling just made the succulent flesh bob and bounce and look even more exciting.
"Mom! Please, make him stop!" Ronni shrieked as I gave her the eighth. That pleased me, because it clearly showed she regarded me as unconquerable. I was much bigger and stronger than her, and if her mom didn't save her, she was doomed.
"Your mom can't help you. It's her turn next," I said, shocking both women into silence. I used the distraction for two more licks, nice hard ones. As Ronni gasped and wiggled, I warned her that there was just one left. "Get those heels up high. Stick out that pretty butt. Come on, you can do better than that!"
Trembling and sobbing, but cooperative because of my announcement that this was the last spank, Ronni obeyed. She stuck out that shapely rear end and held her breath. I made the final blow the hardest of all, of course, a real scorcher. Tears glittered in the teen's eyes as she glared at me, turning away and grabbing her blazing ass with both hands.
"Uh oh. Doesn't count if you get out of position or rub. I have to repeat that."
"God no! Please!" begged Ronni desperately. "I can't take any more. You've no idea how much that paddle hurts!"
"You've always been curious about that, haven't you?" I said, leaning close to her as I encouraged her body back into spanking position. "You've seen this paddle on the wall since you were a little girl, and you've always wondered what it felt like. Isn't that right? Answer me!"
"Yes," sobbed the teen. "But I don't want it any more. It hurts too much!"
"It's just one little swat you have left. If you'd stayed in position, we would have been done. So you earned this."
She looked ashamed and seemed to buy into my theory that she deserved this - confirming to me that she was a bad girl with a conflicted good girl's heart inside - and I repeated the previous swat with a tad more verve. She took it well, gasping and shaking, but staying on tiptoe and not moving her hands until I gave her permission.
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