Each summer there is a Short Story Contest in the newsgroup soc.sexuality.spanking. It is only a contest in the general sense since the only strict rules are a limit of 500 words and that the stories are related to spanking. Sometimes there are categories but with such brief stories it is not very significant.
All my stories are fiction and are spanking related. If such subject is offensive, uninteresting or if you are a minor (i.e., child) please leave now.
These works are copyright by the author and commercial use is prohibited without permission. Personal/private copies are permitted only if complete including the copyright notice.
The author would appreciate your comments – pro and con, including constructive criticism, and suggestions. Please take a moment to email.
Eleven of my SSC-2001 stories are on this page.
- Edge (edge, parental, androgynous, spank)
- The End of the Feud (edge, adult, parody, humor, paddle, machine)
- The SSC, El Greco and The Coyote's Problem (edge, nospank)
- Tokyo Lesson (M/M, edge, cane, public)
- A Doctor of the Third Kind (child, M/b, spank)
- The Letter (child, paddle)
- Shipwreck (first line, strap)
- Apocalypse (edge, cat)
- First Customer (M/F, public, spank)
- First Date (m/f, teen, spank)
- School Disco Date (adult, cane)
The twelfth story "Playing House" was expanded to full story and is separately posted.
1: A 100 word quickly for my first SSC-2001 entry. Why this story is edgy is very clear and I will note that Rule #8 permits, nay, encourages, this sort of creative thinking. (Rule 8: "Spanking should be taken seriously <g>. This contest shouldn't.")
Pat loved going to the high meadow. It always was so much fun. Pat was running after the ball when there was the parental bellowing to stop. "STOP, PAT, STOP!!"
It was just seconds later that Sam grabbed Pat and sat on the thick clover. Pat's shorts and underwear came down quickly and Pat was over the parental lap getting spanked.
SPANK!! SPANK!! SPANK!! SPANK!! SPANK!!© YLeeCoyote
"How many times have I told you!"
SPANK!! SPANK!! SPANK!! SPANK!! SPANK!!
Pat was howling.
"When will you learn not to go near the cliff edge?"
© Copyright A.I.L. May 28, 2001
2: This is another effort to push the edge of the SSC envelope. This is a triple entry. I wrote one beginning and middle but three endings. Rather than post them individually, I have put them together so that I don't have repeat the common part. Each ending plus the common part is under the 500 words SSC limit. CJ is Chuck Jones the creator of the characters. Think of this as the description of the story board for a razzle-dazzle animated cartoon rather than just a story and in your minds eye see the action.
The End of the Feud
YLC looked at the calendar – it was almost Memorial Day. That was always traumatic because there were zillions of vehicles on the highway which made chasing the RR that much harder not to mention premature setting off of traps. Maybe there was a solution hidden in the Bible, he thought. YLC reached for The ACME General Merchandise Catalog and started to study it.
"I'm a GENIUS!!" he cried in triumph stating the obvious. "This is just what I need." 'This' was a sand canoe with power paddle, jet-assist and back-up manual paddle in case everything failed (not a chance with an ACME product!). And since he would not need it for several days he could order it with regular third-day ground shipping rather than by hyperspace instant shipping and save a bundle.
It was Monday morning and YLC got an early start. He carefully stowed the emergency paddle under the seat and started the motor of his supper-duper new canoe. The power paddle wheel, which looked like a cross between a fan and part of a Mississippi side-wheeler, started to drive the craft forward. He scanned the desert for the RR and spotted him. He gave chase immediately. RR slipped ahead but YLC was not concerned. He was even glad that he turned onto a quiet road away from the obstructing tourists. As the grade increased YLC pressed the jet power assist button. The rocket roared. The canoe shot forward. The RR went over the crest of the hill and YLC followed. He released the assist button but the jet assist unit continued on full. The road turned. The RR turned. The canoe with YLC kept going straight – straight over the cliff. Moments later YLC was wedged in the rocks at the base of the cliff, the paddle on the ground beside him, and the canoe a few feet above.
Version 1: Standard ending according to CJ's rules.
YLC extracts himself from the rocks somewhat mangled. He limps home doing his best accordion imitation.
Version 2: Ending if CJ was a spanko.
YLC struggled to get lose but in vain. While the RR continued on the road and minutes later pulled up beside him. He picked up the paddle and gave it a few practice swings while admiring YLC's upturned rump. RR stepped forward and raised the paddle.
"No. NO. NO!" he said, that would be against the rules. He flipped the paddle aside and dashed off with a beep-beep.
The paddle hit the canoe which slid down. The motor had never stopped. The paddle wheel was now in perfect position. YLC yelled.
The paddle wheel kept turning. YLC yelled again.
The paddle wheel kept turning. YLC yelled again.
Version 3: Ending if there were no rules.
The RR continued along the road and soon came to where the YLC was stuck in the rocks. He could not resist and picked up the paddle. He raised it high and swung at YLC's helpless rump with all his strength. YLC howled as he was driven into the rocks even tighter.
The delicate balance of the rock fall was disturbed and there was secondary landside which trapped the RR. The canoe slid down. The paddle wheel was still turning and with each turn the RR received a WHACK!! The whack was hard enough that the canoe was driven up the hill until gravity caused it to slide down and repeat the action.
By the time that YLC extracted himself from the rock, RR was past caring. Sadly, YLC stopped the motor and dug his nemesis out of the rocks. He was crying as he laid him in the canoe and returned to his den.
There was but one thing to do and he did it.
They would be one for the rest of eternity.
© Copyright A.I.L. May 29, 2001
The SSC, El Greco and The Coyote's Problem
I was at the El Greco: Themes and variations exhibition at The Frick Collection today. It is a small exhibit of just seven paintings on two themes. The interesting theme is "The Purification of the Temple" by JC. In all four he is holding a three tailed scourge raised and ready to strike. Surely, I thought, there must be a tale here that would be great for the SSC.
But, alas, nothing. If only El Greco had painted the scene a few moments later when the scourge was striking or at least with the tails straightened out by centrifugal force as they approached their target – the strong muscular back of a man facing away from JC. Or even a little later when, perhaps, there would be a tale about the three crimson lines showing where the cat had scratched that smooth muscular back. In that beautiful purple-red that is frequently seen in his painting and filling the paintings of St. Jerome in the same gallery. But, as I already said, nada; zilch.
Perhaps the money changers had been struck with the scourge. There is the upset table of one with scales and coins on the floor. But, alas, the probable targets have already fled and are not there to inspire me.© YLeeCoyote
Perhaps if El Greco had painted the scene even earlier before the money changers had fled. I can imagine the son of a fat money changer, surely a young teen hunk, trying to stand up to this crazy mad rabbi as testosterone charged youths are wont to do. The lean hard and half naked youth standing defiantly between JC and his father, who the Lord has commanded him to honor, in a protective stance. His left forearm is already marked from the whip where he has already fended off a blow to his torso. Could he have slipped and now be on all fours and his back unprotected from the angry driven one and his scourge? But that is not there either.
Perhaps the men of the tribe of Levi who are the priests of Israel and serve in the Temple responded to the disturbance with the Temple guards. Or, even potentially more exciting, some ill-tempered Roman solders. Who can guess what blows would be struck while restoring order. Not even the tiniest of hints.
Maybe there could have been one of the prostitutes being flogged with her poor garment ripped from her back. The scourge making hot red marks on her bare back and, maybe, catching the side of her heavy breast. (I'll bet that would turn on a lot of the ladies – and men – in this group!) Alas, no such luck. The only other naked ones are little cherubs – certainly not a target in this situation.
I feel like I'm stuck in the old joke about 'write about elephants'. The professor gets back papers like: "The Wonder of the Elephant". The joke is that a philosophy student hands in one entitled: "The Elephant and the Jewish problem".
© Copyright A.I.L. June 1, 2001
Some images may be found on the web but, regrettably, the displayed images are but shadows of the originals.
I was thrilled to be in Tokyo. It was so different than home. Oh, the traffic was as bad as anywhere in the West but it was so exciting. I was dashing from one thrilling place to another like a decapitated chicken. It was most intoxicating and I was planing to relish every delicious second.
I had just gotten my ticket to the temple complex when I spied the little food shop across the street. I dashed between the cars, got some snacks and was back at the temple complex pronto. I was munching as I wandered about in amazement. It was like being in the sixteenth century Edo for some people were in period costumes.© YLeeCoyote
Seconds later there were two big guys blocking my way. They looked like Samurai that had escaped from Kurosawa's "The Seven Samurai" – complete with the two swords in their belts. "You need to be taught some manners – Western boy." sneered one of them in English. Then before I could move they picked me up and carried me to the temple courtyard, pausing on the steps to put on their sandals. There I was dumped on the ground. When I tried to get up, one of them forced me back down with his foot.
"We are the EDO DISCIPLINE GROUP ECHELON. You have endangered others by crossing the street away from the zebra. You have dishonored the Gods by not removing your shoes in the Temple. You have been rude by eating as you walk."
As I lay there stunned, the other added: "You will be punished; here and now."
They pulled me to my feet and pulled down my pants. Quickly I was bent over a railing and then beaten with some sort of stick that hurt like a western cane. I got twelve very hard cuts. I felt like an English schoolboy whose Headmaster had just canned him.
"You will stay like that for an hour."
"You will behave properly in the future or…" he never finished the warning.
I stayed on exhibit for sometime with lots of people looking. Some had seen me lose much 'face' and others just admired my beaten butt. Eventually, I was told to get up and leave. I was given the sign that they had put by me explaining why my hot red bare butt had been on display for a souvenir.
This one is being punished for endangered us by crossing the street away from the zebra; for dishonoring the Gods by not removing his shoes in the Temple and for being rude by eating as he walked.
It was dated and signed: E.D.G.E.
© Copyright A.I.L. June 5, 2001
5: In Leave It to Beaver episode "The New Doctor" the Beaver fakes being sick in order to get the great attention and gifts that Wally got the previous day when he was really sick. Not only does he not fake it very well (he is only eight) but it is the wrong day in several ways. When his friends come over, early because it was a half day at school, they only bring him his homework. His regular doctor, a pill type, is away for the day and there is a substitute. They talk about that there are two kinds of doctors – those with pills and those with needles – and wonder what kind the new doctor is.
A Doctor of the Third Kind
The Beaver was a bit apprehensive when the new doctor came into the room. It was not just because he was faking being sick but he did not know it the doctor was the good kind who prescribed pills or the bad kind who made one rollover, pull down one's pj's bottom so that he could stick a huge, fat needle deep into one's behind and fill it with a burning liquid.
The Beaver cooperated as the doctor peered into his ears, nose and throat, listened and thumped his chest. The doctor's then stared directly into the Beaver's eyes. "You're not really sick are you."
The Beaver looked away, "No, Sir."© YLeeCoyote
"But I know exactly what treatment you need." said the doctor reaching into his bag. "Please turn over and pull down your pajama bottom." The Beaver was visibly worried as he followed the doctor's orders. Then doctor stood by the side of the bed, pulled down the covers exposing the Beaver's bottom. He placed his left on the small of the Beaver's back and raised his right hand.
When the paddle struck with a loud WHACK!! the Beaver howled. He continued to howl with each WHACK. When the doctor left, the Beaver pulled up his pj's and the blanket. He lay prone, thinking.
The doctor explained to his parents that the Beaver had a case of hooky-itis but he had vaccinated Beaver.
The Beaver now knew that there are three kinds of doctors – pill doctors, shot doctors and, the worst kind of all, spanking doctors.
© Copyright A.I.L. June 28, 2001
6: The following story is fiction about a girl, her stepfather and a school report. Living up to the concept of the Coyote being the "Trickster" in native American folklore I made this story girl/father rather than boy/father.
Helen was very worried as she walked home from school. What if there was the letter from school waiting in the mailbox. Such a letter would mean exactly one thing – a bad grade. And a bad grade meant a paddling. Granddad's big heavy fraternity paddle would be taken off the wall in the family room and used to pound some sense into the errant student's bottom. With her year older brother away at college and mom off at her sister's for the week, it would be only her and her stepfather. Helen so dearly wished that there would not be a letter but that if there was a letter that it would not come until mom was home.
The flag on the mailbox was up like a red cape in front of a bull. Helen had a terrible feeling that neither of her wishes were to be granted. With trembling hands she opened the mailbox and there was a single letter waiting. The dreaded letter from school with the bad tidings. Gingerly she removed the letter from the mailbox. It would be just dad and her then. Before she could think about hiding the letter until mom returned, dad drove up the driveway.
"I wish mom was home." she said handing him the letter.© YLeeCoyote
"Me too, Pumpkin." Then he paused as he looked closely at the letter. "I guess we better get this over right away."
In the family room, Helen took down the 'board of education' and gave it a couple of trial swings. It was as heavy as she remembered from past times. This was not going to be fun.
A belt was opened and jeans dropped to the floor quicky followed by undies. The failing student assumed the position. The paddle was swung.
The letter from the Adult Education Department fluttered to the floor.
© Copyright A.I.L. July 2, 2001
7: After having the pleasure of hearing the chilling tale "Make Westing" (1911) by Jack London, which can be found at https://www.prosperosisle.org/spip.php?article1016#Westing and other places, I was inspired to write this little tale.
It was a dark and stormy night. It was always a dark and stormy night. It was never other than a dark and stormy night.
His mind went back to when it started. The mate was dead and he had charge of the starboard watch. The wind was hard and steady from the east and the ship was making good progress through the Strait of Magellan when the wind changed. A violent storm roared in from the west. By two bells westward progress was but a dream. By four bells the masts had snapped. By six bells even the hope of returning east was gone as the huge waves drove them helplessly to the rocky shore. As eight bells was being struck, the ship splintered on Tierra del Fuego. He fell into the raging sea to drown and feed the sharks.
He knew not where he was now. It was even worse than on the worse ship he had known – something he did not think was possible. It was always a dark and stormy night. He was always wet, cold and hungry. It always started at eight bells. He was before the Captain. The very angry captain and sentenced to be strapped through the watch. They led him to the deck and stripped him. He was strapped over the cannon. The bos'n was laughing as he played with the strap. A heavy piece of leather a hand wide and half a fathom long.© YLeeCoyote
At one bell, he got one stroke in unison with the ship's bell. At two, two more. Even though the ship was in trouble, he remained strapped over the cannon when the bos'n matched the bongs of the ship's bell again. The bos'n did not care that the mast snapped as he counted four. Or five. The rocky shore was of no interest as six bells was struck both on the bell and his ass. Or seven.
At eight the bos'n was just as eager. As they fell into the water the bos'n got the eight strokes on target before everything went dark as he sank in the raging sea – for the zillionth midnight.
Then he was before the captain again. Not quite like the preacher had predicted but close enough: this was really Tierra del Fuego.
© Copyright A.I.L. July 9, 2001
Apollyon was a weary traveler. He had been on the road for days, fortunately managing to avoid highwaymen. Now he could see the city and thought of the security that it could bring – if he managed to make it before the city gates were closed at dusk. Megiddo glowed in the setting sun and having been built and destroyed many times it rose high above the Plain of Esdraelon like a mountain. He had to sprint the last fifty cubits in order to gain entry before the gates closed for the night.
Exhausted and famished, Apollyon followed the first ragtag boy that appeared proclaiming 'My father has the best inn in Megiddo'. Even before he stepped inside he could see that it was, to be generous, a dump. But he was far to exhausted and hungry to look for better. That would wait for tomorrow.
The food was worse that he had imagined possible – the meat rotten, the bread stale and the wine watered. The serving wench was ugly and her rotten teeth stank. She was the better of the two daughters of the innkeeper. The other was a brazen hussy – who grabbed at his privates like this was a whore house. After he was in bed (lumpy and filthy) she came into his room and he had to drive her away.© YLeeCoyote
In the morning he tried to leave early and find another place but during the night his purse was stolen. They called the authorities and Apollyon was hauled before the tribunal. Not only was he convicted of theft but also for making improper advances on a maiden. He was sentenced to be flogged at high noon and thrown out of the City. His meager belongings were to be sold to pay the innkeeper and the excessive fine.
Apollyon cursed the City and warned them of terrible consequences of their injustice. He was laughed at.
At noon he was tied to the whipping post in just a loin cloth. The cat was raised and brought down on his bare back with great vigor. He screamed. The Earth shook. All the residents trembled. Dark clouds covered the sun. Flames could be seen in the chasms which were belching dark smoke.
Again the cat was raised and brought down on Apollyon's back. He screamed a cry as never before heard in Samaria. The smell of brimstone filled the air as the chasms opened wider.
Even the flogger stopped and watched as great warriors in black battle armor on giant black stallions rose forth from the depths of the Earth brandishing fiery swords. They rode into the city; all those who did not flee before them were cut down screaming. Apollyon was cut free and there was a steed for him. Apollyon mounted and trampled the flogger.
As he rode out to conquer the world the Earth shook again. The city collapsed into rubble. Har-Megiddo, in Greek Armageddon, was ready to be built on once again.
© Copyright A.I.L. July 11, 2001
Yes, Armageddon is the Greek for Mount Megiddo. Although a mountain is not known, Megiddo is a real place with no less than twenty layers of cities built on previous ones.
Jen was thrilled. I'm the first o-one. The first o-one to enter through the new entrance.
"Good morning, young lady. How may we help you?" said the sales assistant smiling broadly, "You are our very first client."© YLeeCoyote
All Jen could do was stand speechless for she was so thrilled.
"I guess that you just want our standard service. Because you're our first customer, there won't be any charge." said the sales assistant. "Please step into Booth #1; Mr. Clause will provide all that you require. Just give him this card."
Still dumbfounded Jen entered the brightly lit booth. Mr. Clause was a handsome gentleman in his thirty's. He glanced at the card; "standard treatment" was checked. He sat down on the straight back chair and pulled Jen in front of him. Quickly he reached under her skirt and yanked down her panties. Then, even before she could object, he pulled her over his lap. Lifting up her skirt, he held it up when he gripped her waist with his left hand.
He patted her cute butt with his right hand. Then he began to spank her. He spanked her long and hard and soon she was bawling like a little five year old.
The crowd in the Assville Mall watched appreciatively as the young lady's derriere turned bright crimson red in the brightly lit display window. Mothers threatened their children; spouses their mates with similar rewards.
After what seem to be an eternity he stopped spanking Jen. Lifting her up he led her to the corner and pinned her skirt up. "You just stay there young lady if you know what's good for you."
It was almost an hour after she entered that Jen left the shop. She joined the crowed watching a young man in a window being spanked. She empathized with him as she watched Mr. Clause and the small paddle turn his butt bright red. Then she realized that she had also been on display.
Then she first saw the OPEN FOR SERVICE. sign taped to the window and then, for the very first time, saw the name on the window: BRAT SPANK – We Get to the Seat of the Problem.
© Copyright A.I.L. July 12, 2001
It took Jay three whole days to convince Bob to call Jen. He had told Bob how great Jen was – slim but not anorexic, pretty as in cute, intelligent but not stuck up and with the most beautiful buns in all the world. This was most important since Bob was an "ass man".
The week before Jay's friend, Sally, had been doing the equivalent hard sell to Jen to allow Jay to give Bob her phone number. Sally had talked herself blue convincing Jen to agree. Eventually, Jen consented and Bob made the call. The blind date was set for 7 pm.
At exactly 6:58 Bob rang the bell. Jen's father then spent an hour talking with him for his daughter was late – again. The hour was not as awful as one might have expected. Jen's father did not grill Bob on his plans for the next fifty years nor instruct him that he must take good care of his "princess" and return her, unviolated, by 10:30. Instead he lamented how she was just like her mother and constantly late. How he had tried for years to teach her punctuality but had failed. In fact, he had regretted stopping spanking her when she was in high school for all manner of transgressions.© YLeeCoyote
Jen certainly would have been on time had she know what her date and father had been talking about. Well, not on time but certainly not a full hour and half late either. Actually, Jen regretted being that late for Bob actually was attractive. By the time that Jen came down, Bob was waiting alone for her dad had gone to pick up her mother. Bob was delighted as he watched Jen's checks flex in her spray-on jeans as she walked out to the kitchen to get the glass of water he requested. He was so delighted that his jeans got tighter.
Bob had to chuck the plans for dinner and a movie as they were too late. At first Jen was totally thrilled with Bob's strong arm about her at they sat on the couch but as he turned the conversation to her misconduct she got worried. Suddenly she felt like she was a little girl being lectured by her father.
When Bob stood her up and opened her jeans she was unresisting as if in a trance. She stayed that way as he yanked them down and pulled her over his lap. His strong left hand gripped her waist so that she could not move as his right hand pulled down her panties. He whistled at the beauty of her bottom and caressed it. He raised his hand and brought it down hard.
A hand print formed. When he stoped after many hard SPANKS her buns were bright red and she was crying. Bob had made an impression that Jen would never forget. She was still standing in the corner when her parents returned.
They agreed that Bob had surely given her just what she needed.
© Copyright A.I.L. July 16, 2001
School Disco Date
Kevin was excited as he rang Sue's bell for their first date – a blind date arranged by his flatmate, Tim. Like all young men he was hoping that she would go all the way with him. Yet, he knew that was not likely. After all she was from a "good family" and from the nice part of town. Certainly she would not be a slut.
She was an absolutely stunning bird. She knew how to dress for the latest fad – school disco. The short skirt showed off her magnificent thighs and buns; the tight blouse her firm superstructure. As they walked down the street to the Underground they looked just like a pair of school kids from the 1970's on a date. Of course, in reality they were both twenty-somethings escaping from the pressures of the financial market.
Hours later, both exhausted from dancing, they left the disco. They easily could have afforded a taxi but that would have spoiled the mood so they sat on the top of a double decker bus for the slow trip halfway across London since the Underground was now closed. They hugged and kissed, glad that the guard stayed downstairs. Their hands roamed over each other just as they would have done as teens. He could feel how damp her crotch was; how hard her nipples; how sensitive her clit. She felt how his hard muscles; how hard he was and the damp spot. Their pheromones excited all of London.© YLeeCoyote
Eventually, they reached the closest stop and walked the ten minutes to her flat holding hands and giggling. Kevin was thinking that he was going to be lucky and she would go all the way with him.
Soon they were on her doorstep. They embraced once again. Their tongues dueled. He held her close; tightly. She could feel his shaft through his shorts and her skirt pressing on her clit. His hand reached under her skirt and cupped (and squeezed) her buns pulling her to him. He felt, no, knew that she was as anxious as he was.
After a long time they broke for air. She found her latchkey and slipped it into the slot. "Sorry, Kevin, my flatmate is in so you can not come in; next time perhaps." Quickly she slipped inside and closed the door.
Disappointed Kevin started for home. He was so close. Next time for certain. He had to remind himself that she was a good girl and not a slut. The next time, he would spank her, for sure.
Back at his own flat, he had to wait ten minutes for Tim to get home from his own date. As soon as the door closed he snapped into his prefect mode. "Smith, come into my study immediately." he barked as he flexed the cane.
"Yes, Sir." said the other also dressed in school disco.
"I've have a report that you were insubordinate to Mr. Clerk. Drop your shorts and bend over for six of the best."
Thirty seconds later the cane crashed into Tim's buns.
© Copyright A.I.L. July 17, 2001
The End of the Collection
© Copyright A.I.L., Summer, 2001
The URL for this page is: https://yleecoyote.asslr.org/SSC2001.html
Last updated: September 15, 2023