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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.  Usually 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.

My first twelve SSC-2006 stories are on this page and the last twelve are at SSC 2006 – Part 2/2

  1. Crime and Punishment  Edge
  2. Return Visit  Mini-saga
  3. Thaddeus Throckmorton's Day Off  Picture
  4. The Annoying Boy  Child
  5. Filling the Box  Picture
  6. A Day Alone  Fanfiction
  7. Changeling  Sci-fi/fantasy
  8. Not the Veldt  Mystery
  9. Company Punishment  Picture
  10. Guy Talk  Picture
  11. Cabin of Horrors  Picture
  12. Privileges, Responsibilities and Consequences  Picture

Several of these stories have been inspired by pictures although the images are not truly significant except as an initial stimulus.

Short Story Contest Entries for 2006 – Part 1/2


1:  I don't usually come up with edge stories that are not pushing the meaning of the word but this time I did.  It was inspired by a picture I saw but cannot post because I don't know who to ask for permission.

Crime and Punishment

Mike had tossed his shirt on the porch when he got home and played catch with his best friend in the warm afternoon until he was called for dinner.  Just as he entered the house from the yard, his father entered from the front.  Seconds later there was an explosion; a human explosion as his father passed the living room.

"Get to your room immediately, Michael Thomas Jones.  That vase you broke was a wedding present."

Mike knew what vase for there was only one, but this was the first that he knew of the damaged condition.  "I did not…" was all that he could say before his father roared again and his mother joined in.  He ran to his room and dropped across his bed.  Michael waited in great dread, his pert little ass upward lying over a pillow.  Two things he knew!  First, he did NOT break the vase.  Second, father was furious and would use the strap.© YLeeCoyote

Golly, he had not even been in the house since he left for school in the morning so he couldn't have broken it.  How to tell his father in his furious state?

Mike vividly remembered the last time his father as been so very mad.

He had been made to wait more than a half hour until his father came up.

Then the yelling about the crime.  The loud ranting that did not make sense.

Then his father pulling his belt open and out of his pants.  That thick, wide, heavy, stiff leather belt.

Then the belt raised up and coming down swiftly and hard on his little bottom.  The loud WHACK of contact and the terrible pain that caused him to scream.  And it was repeated until he was bawling and in agony.  How he could not sit conformably for days afterwards.

His father would have continued except his mother had stopped him.  But today mother was just as angry as father.

The beating would be worse.  Much worse!

He wanted to cry, but father would beat him even more did that.

Then there was the dreaded footsteps on the stairs.  Only one set – so mother would not be here to stop him.  «I must be strong.  I must be brave.» he thought to himself.  He heard his brother come in and yell "Hello" over the slamming door.

His father was coming closer.  Mike wished he had used the toilet but now was too late.

His father began his screaming about the vase and his carelessness and disobedience and disrespect and … and … and … and how he was going to get it.

Then he heard his mother give a yell.

Then his brother bounding up the stairs.

Then his brother running into his room.

Then his brother yelling: "DAD STOP!  Mike did NOT break the vase.  The maid did and told me.  I was late coming back."

Mike smiled at his brother as their father stormed out.

The End

For the record, the picture showed a shirtless boy lying prone with his most spankable bottom in jeans and turning with a smile to match the ending.

2:  This is a mini-saga which is limited to fifty words.  A quick little reprise.

Return Visit



"You again, Rowen; slip."© YLeeCoyote

"Yes, Sir."


Rowen dropped his shorts and pants, and bent over the desk.


"You may go now, Rowen"

"Yes, sir; Thank you, sir."

Rowen could only look forward to being the centre of attraction in PE later.

The End

 School Lockers

3:  The challenge for this story was to be inspired by a picture portending to be of school lockers (

Thaddeus Throckmorton's Day Off

Thaddeus Throckmorton was almost to his goal.  It had taken him twenty minutes to get this far but now he could see the light at the end of the tunnel.  From the crowded fourth floor hall he had managed to slip into the teachers' stairwell and get to the unused fifth floor.  There he took the service stairs to the basement.  He had to hide while the janitor finished hauling the ashcans out, but then he slipped up the stairs to the main floor.

Turning the corner he could see the bright light of the day – a day not to be wasted in a stuffy school – down this last corridor lined with the staff lockers.  He would be at the door – and freedom – in less than a minute.

Great!  Nobody was at the lockers.  He started down the hall.  He listened carefully at the staff lunchroom.  It was quiet so he peeked and quickly stepped past it.

Just another few steps across the empty back hall and the vestibule to the DOOR to freedom.  He pushed it open and stepped through.  He was free!  Even the air smelt better here.© YLeeCoyote

Then there was a bellow.

It was a bellow from Eckel; vice-principal Eckel; ex-drill sergeant Eckel, mean paddling Eckel.

"Thaddeus Throckmorton STOP RIGHT THERE!"

TT froze in his tracks.  His heart seemed to jump into his throat.  His balls tried to hide in his abdominal cavity.  There wasn't any point to run.  He was busted and he knew it.

"Good morning, Mr. Eckel." he stammered.

Docilely he followed the VP to his office.  The office where the dreaded paddle hung on the wall.

"Any explanation, mister?"

"No, Sir."  It was well known that trying to weasel out with Eckel made things worse.  Sometimes even extras!  It was best to just take the pops like a warrior.

TT stepped over to the wall and took down the paddle.  His hand trembled as he handed it to Eckel.  He had been through this before.  Eckel had a wry smile on his ugly face as he accepted the torture device.

"Drop 'em and bend over, Throckmorton."  He knew the routine; he knew it all to well after three years in this school.  He slowly undid his jeans and pushed them to his knees and bent over leaning his hands on the wooden side chair.  His tighty-whites were new and clung to his buttocks like they were sprayed on.  He was glad that they held his package tightly and safely out of range.

Eckel got into position and tapped TT's butt with the heavy, dense, fraternity paddle.  Then he drew it back and swung.  He swung hard.


TT yelled.  It fuckin' hurt!  It was worse than the dentist.  He held his position.


The pain was numbing.


Halfway.  It was agony.



TT was not numb enough.


"Get dressed, mister."

TT pulled up his jeans and headed for class; slowly for his ass was on fire.

The End

4:  I saw a boy with as T-shirt described and was inspired.

The Annoying Boy

"Being annoying is only one of my many talents" is what his t-shirt proclaimed.  I can not speak of his other talents, but he certainly was extremely good at being annoying.  He hung out all the time at the mall, mostly in the food court and the arcade, managing to harass everyone about.  It was not that he was really bad but such a major pest.

He had been brought to my office a half dozen times the first month of summer vacation and I lectured him.  It did not do any good.  Even when he was with his mom, he was a vexation.  Then one day I saw him with his father (the non-custodial parent).  He was an angel.  I had a chat with the man.  The boy did not like what his dad authorized.  I even got it on paper.

He was good for almost two weeks and then reverted back to his old habits.  It was not long before he was in my office again.  He was surprised that his father had left a letter for him directing him to cooperate with me or suffer much greater consequences.  He stood docilely in front of me as I opened his jeans and pulled them and his boxers down to his ankles.  It was clear that he was familiar with the procedure as I pulled him over my lap.  He was surprised that I did not use my hand but a short leather strap.  After some thirty cuts, his bottom was nice and red and his face was wet.  I parked him in the corner where I could admire my handiwork for a while.

I told him it would be worse for him the next time and he promised to behave properly.© YLeeCoyote

He almost made it through the rest of the summer, but on one of the most crowded days, he got into trouble.  Perhaps it was peer pressure or he just reached his limit but it happened.  The guard was holding him on the little stage in the gallery.  That was enough to get the kids gathered about.

It was only when I got on the stage with the chair, that he realized I was going to spank him there – publicly.  He turned white with fear and shame and then red in embarrassment.  He quickly begged me not to do it there but in the privacy of my office.  "You were a vexation out here, so here it shall be!" I told him.  After I sat, I told him to get into position.  He cooperated as soon as he realized it was going to happen.  He opened his jeans and quickly shoved them down and flopped over my lap.  I turned his butt red with the strap.  At the end I got a great big round of applause.

He dashed away as soon as he pulled up his jeans – followed by a lot of the other kids.  I got complimented on my t-shirt: "SPANKING annoying boys is only one of my many talents"

The End

 Empty box

5:  An empty box can be an inspiration.  The era of this story could be past, present or future

Filling the Box

The allotment was just a cubic foot – one small box.  That's all I could take – just that one box.  There were not any other restrictions and they would supply everything else – food, clothing, tools, shelter – everything.  I would go on board – naked – with only memories and the sealed box to take to my new world.  I was amazed at how fast the box filled up.  The State had supplied a thick packet of official information about my ancestors and me – medical and social.  I had some photos of my parents (may they rest in peace), their wedding rings and father's watch as keepsakes.  The old coin that grandpa had given me when I was six slipped into a crack.

I wanted some stuff of my life.  That very first trophy I got in school.  It is a cheap thing (chipped and dented) but mother was ever so proud of me for getting it.  I still feel her happiness every time I see it even though it is from half a life ago.  My very first jock strap.  I can still hear dad saying: "You're no longer a little boy now, Son." as I handed the clerk the cash (Dad had given me before) to pay for it.  We were so proud together.  A happy loving family.

But most important is the strap.  The thick, wide black leather strap.  The strap that dad used to blister my tail several times after he got me the jock and before his death.  The strap that made me cry.  The strap that made me think.  The strap that made me grow up.  The strap that continues to make me grow as I remember how dad used it on me and, more important, why.  The strap that turned my butt into a fiery painful mess and left me crying like a little kid.  The strap that I should have felt tanning my rear several more times except that there was not anyone I could trust to do it.

In morning I showered.  My aunt and uncle had left a cold note: "Goodbye".  No matter, I did not like them either.  The box and I went to the departure point.  They sealed my box.  I stripped and walked up the gangplank carrying just THE BOX.  There was a sharp gust of a frigid wind.  The sleet hit my ass like a doctor's slap at birth.  I was reborn.  My new life had begun.© YLeeCoyote

The End

6:  This story uses the characters from the Leave It to Beaver TV show that premiered almost fifty years ago in 1957 and ran through 1963.  The story is about The Beaver (Theodore) who was stuck in the third grade a long time, had an older brother, Wallace (Wally) and very standard parents in a standard little town.  Info can be found on the web.  Here you might think of them as nine and thirteen years old.

Need I say that I'm using these copyright characters under the parody rule for fair use.

A Day Alone

The dinner discussion on Friday was a reprise of Thursday's except this time Ward and June acquiesced.  The boys both promised to be GOOD and Beaver understood that Wallace was in charge.  They thought that their parents were excessively concerned as they were going to be gone only from early morning to midnight.

The boys were really good – getting their homework and chores done by lunch.  Afterwards, Beaver went to the movies with Gilbert and Richard while Wally took Mary Ellen Rogers to the park.  All seemed idyllic to Wally as he headed home for dinner with his brother.  He was particularly anxious that all go well as their parents were planning a weekend trip soon and having a babysitter would be most embarrassing now that Wally was in high school.  He was delighted to see Beaver heading home right on-time for he knew that Gilbert and Richard often led Beaver astray.  The rest of the evening should be a breeze.

But!© YLeeCoyote

Beaver was soaking wet!

From ten feet away, Wally could tell that Beaver stank like a swamp.  There was not any question that he had not only been to Miller's Pond but had been IN it.

"THEODORE CLEAVER!" yelled Wally as he gave Beaver a tongue lashing.  "You're a VERY NAUGHTY BOY who BROKE HIS PROMISES not to mention going off-limits."  Wally stripped him at the backdoor, to avoid messing up the house, and ordered him to take a hot bath.  Beaver was quite surprised at how strict his big brother was being.

Over dinner Beaver tried to explain how his friends had dragged him to the pond; it hadn't been planned and that he was really, really very, very sorry.  "And do we really have to tell mom and dad?"

"Well, for one, your clothes stink."

"We can wash 'em."  He ran out to the porch and then put them into the washing machine.

Wally, fortunately, beat him to the soap and only put in a little.  As the washer did its thing, Wally continued.

"Beaver, you know that you are strictly forbidden to go to Miller's Pond and you need to be punished for that.  You could have DROWNED today."

A crestfallen Beaver stared at the floor but suddenly brightened up.  "You could punish me, Wally.  Dad said you were in FULL CHARGE.  Then we wouldn't have to tell them."

"Interesting, Beaver, but I can't stop your desserts, allowance or ground you."

Beaver paused again.  "Well…you…could…spank…me…like Grandpa spanked Dad."

"It will hurt."

A few minutes later, Wally lowered Beaver's jeans and tighty-whities prior to pulling his naughty brother over his lap.  Wally held him securely in place with one arm and contemplated the target.  He gave it a pat and then a good hard SPANK.

Beaver yelled.

Wally spanked his brother until his bottom was bright red all over and he was crying.

When lifted up Beaver hugged his brother as he continued to cry.  Eventually, he whispered: "I love you, Wally.  You don't have to tell now."

The End

7:  A bit of fantasy with roots in old folk stories.


The child was a problem for he refused to conform to society's norms.  He was warned, repeatedly, that extreme measures would be taken.  Finally, he was swapped for a human spawn.  They picked a good family which did not abuse their children but were extremely strict.  The fairies moved on.  The exchange was permanent.

Moirean, now Simon, wanted to run away but he couldn't because of the spell that had been cast on him for the exchange.  Not only was he trapped in human society but in this particular family.  He made the best of it hoping to break the spell someday and take revenge on his tribe.

The humans, of course, knew nothing of the swap so they expected their 'new' Simon to behave like the 'old' one.  The father consulted the elders for guidance about his suddenly extremely willful and rebellious son.  The boy was warned several times but failed to change his errant ways so he was taken to the woodshed.  Simon's britches were removed and he was bent over for several hard cuts with the heavy strap.  This wasn't the punishment and pain he had experienced in the fairy world.  He cried for sometime.  He hurt, resentfully, for days.

It was but two days later that the schoolmaster had his go.  In front of the class, Simon lost his britches again and learnt what a schoolmaster's rod could do.  Again he cried.  The welts lasted more than a week; the resentment far longer.© YLeeCoyote

Simon got spanked almost twice a week although with time, great effort and some fairy magic he got to tolerate the punishment better.  He managed not to cry and minimized the pain.  This kept his sprit unbroken but stimulated harsher beatings.

* * * * * * * * * *

Moirean, as the human youth was now called, was amazed at the transformations.  He missed his own world – except for the beatings – but the fairy world was fascinating.  He found magic both enchanting and addictive.  By the time he understood the initial lies, he no longer wished to return.  It was a happier life than he had known.

It started without warning.  There was a pain in his bottom – like he was being strapped.  He yelled and there was another and another.  He lost count at ten although his butt was on fire and he was crying.  Then just as suddenly, the phantom blows stopped although the pain continued.  Spells failed to remove the pain although ice and soothing cream alleviated it some.  Two days later a similar event although this time there were tracks rather than a general fire.  It felt like the schoolmaster's rod.

When the problem continued and even the elders could neither explain nor stop it, Moirean was taken to the Great Wizard.  The wizard listened and questioned;  thought and consulted many ancient tomes of wisdom and spells before explaining.  "This is sympatric magic between the two that were swapped.  It will continue while both live as Changelings.  There is but one solution – swap them back."

The End

8:  Recently I heard a reading of the great short story The Veldt (1951) by Ray Bradbury.  It gave me an idea.  If you don't know the story, you should go read it before mine which is not nearly as good and assumes you know its universe.  It can be found at

A quick reminder that the parents are George and Lydia Hadley and their ten-year-old children are Wendy and Peter.  David McClean is a psychologist.  The nursery is a play room that is much like the Star Trek's holodeck.

Not the Veldt

Just an hour after David McClean had examined the nursery the technician had reprogrammed it with enhanced security features.  Whatever the children had done to turn the nursery into an unhealthy place was erased.  The children were in for a surprise that afternoon.

Wendy and Peter went to the nursery as soon as they got home.  It did not become the veldt as expected nor even the green, lovely forest.  It was, although the children did not know it, a rural one room schoolhouse with a mean schoolmaster of a time past.  They were caught up by other children rushing not to be tardy.  "Hurry!  He swings a mean rod." they warned.  Wendy and Peter joined them.  A new adventure would surely be fun.

They quickly leant that this was a school and that the master was fond of beating the students.  Because it was new, they found it interesting although the lack of technical devices was quite puzzling.  It became fascinating when Jedediah displeased the master.  They had never imagined such a thing!  The lad docilely went to the front of the room, unhooked the strap that held up his coveralls which just fell to the floor.  Essentially naked, he bent over and got four hard cuts from the schoolmaster's rod that left red tracks on his buttchecks.  They both were sure that he was in pain as he stood in the corner, exposed.© YLeeCoyote

At recess Wendy and Peter talked.  They had both tried to take control of the nursery.  They would have left but they couldn't find the door.  They were upset as spoiled brats can be.  "What if…" they worried "…that monster wants to beat us?"

An hour later Peter displeased the schoolmaster and got summoned.  He wanted to run but couldn't and he certainly wouldn't leave his sister.  His mind was in overdrive trying to take control of the nursery and Wendy was helping.  Perhaps it was the two of them working in concert or the great fear that drove Peter's psi power to increase, but, finally, there was a change.  Peter tried to make the schoolhouse vanish but couldn't although he was able to hold it frozen in time.  He gave Wendy control.  Although he was not potent enough to delete the school program he could modify it.  He created a new character with a mission.

He had faith in the nursery and continued forward.  He let his pants down and bent over the desk just as Jedediah had done.  The schoolmaster picked up his rod and stepped into position.

The door slammed into the wall as the Robo Justice Enforcer pushed it hard.  "STOP!"  Everyone, even the schoolmaster, was shocked and stared in amazement at the large, intimidating form.  Robo Justice Enforcer took the rod from the schoolmaster and recited a long passage from the law finishing with "…and the penalty is ten strokes."

Robo Justice Enforcer shredded the schoolmaster's pants and pushed him across the desk.  Peter accepted the rod and administered justice.

"This could be fun like the veldt, Wendy." Peter said as they left.

The End

WAC private

9:  A portrait of WAC private in Class-A uniform, circa 1942-1946 is the inspiration for this story.  (  It is, of course, fiction designed for Assville since corporal punishment has been illegal even back during WWII.

Company Punishment

Private Mellissa Penelope Gravestock stood rigidly at attention.  She was petrified with shock.  She hadn't even had the time to sew her PFC stripe on before she had her first weekend pass at the end of boot camp.  Now she was up on charges before her CO, Captain Zurawski, for Company punishment under the Articles of War.  She would never say so but she thought the captain was a mean, hard-assed bitch.  She had horrid feelings that her army career was about to end before it even got started; before she could help crush the Axis.

* * * * * * * * * *

The weekend had started out great.  She had gotten to town and then to the USO hall where she called home and had some decent food.  She couldn't resist the free movie ticket since her favorite hunk was starring in it.  The problems started in the bar after the movie.

Several solders had made passes at her and her buddies.  The situation got messy.  The MP's were suddenly there and she slipped trying to run away.  She was arrested although her buddies got away.  She had to spend the rest of the weekend confined to her quarters which was better than being confined to the stockade.© YLeeCoyote

She didn't quite understand all the charges or the procedures but her sergeant told her this was far better than a court marshal.  She was declared culpable and the captain was just finishing announcing the punishment:  "… ten strokes with the tawse.  What's next, sergeant?"

* * * * * * * * * *

Private Gravestock was still in a daze when they took her to the parade ground just before the daily formation.  There was a wooden horse on the reviewing stand.  Before she was marched up she had to remove her underpants.  Once on the stand she had to face the entire company as her offence and punishment were read to all.  She was bent over the horse.  Her derriere was completely exposed when her Class-A uniform skirt was flipped up.  Her fear level rose when she saw the evil grin that Sergeant Knupp was sporting as she took her place to the side with the heavy tawse.

THACK! went the tawse and Private Mellissa Penelope Gravestock knew she was being punished.  She no longer cared that her ass and even her pussy were exposed.  It was the searing pain that completely consumed her – mind, body and soul.

Some PFC called out: "First of ten cuts."  The bright red stripe that formed across her ass was seen by all.  Again and again the sergeant raised the tawse and brought it down hard on her bottom.  It seemed like an eternity before the PFC called out: "Tenth of ten cuts."

She was in agony.  This was not the spanking that she had gotten from her father years ago.  Her rump was on fire like never before.  She did not put on her underpants as she returned to the barracks.

It was a week before she could sit comfortably.

The End

Teddy Bear

10:  A teddy bear is a wondrous friend (

Guy Talk

There you are Mr. Bear.  I'm sorry that you have been hidden in my toy chest for several years and I'm now glad that mom made me keep you although I had to hide you from my friends.  You know that now I'm a BIG boy in the third grade.  They would make fun of me if they saw such a babyish toy in my room.  Although I got all sorts of big boys' toys now to play with I really need you tonight, Mr. Bear, in bed with me.  I know that you remember that you promised not to tell anyone the secrets I tell you.  It feels so good to hold you so very tightly as I lay on my side.  I know that you can see that I'm still crying – just a little – because dad just spanked me.  He spanked me very, very hard and for a very, very long time.  Even though I'm nine-years-old I cried just like I did when I was a little boy.  And my bottom HURTS a lot and is very, very red.  Daddy was very, very mad at me.  It really was an ax-i-dent that I knocked little Susie down.  I was running after Kevin and did not see her.  She wasn't hurt at all.  Daddy knows that because he picked her up and she said so but he was still very, very mad.  He sent Kevin home and made me stand in the corner until dinner.  Right after I ate – and I was very, very good cleaning my plate and even eating all the, ugh, veggies but BEFORE DESSERT – he sent me to bathe and brush my teeth and wait for my spanking just sitting on my bed.  When Daddy came up, he lectured me for a very, very long time about being careful and considerate and everything.  He did not want to hear that it was an ax-i-dent but said I must be careful – very, very careful not to hurt my little sister ever; never ever!  I promised that I wouldn't even without daddy telling me to but he SPANKED me anyway.  Daddy sat in the wooden chair like he always does and stripped off my pj's and even my superman briefs.  Then he pulled me over his lap and held me tightly about the waist.  He raised his SPANKING HAND  and gave me the first SPANK.  It was very, very hard and I yelled.  He kept SPANKING me very, very hard even after I was bawling like a little baby; like I did years ago when I was just a little boy.  It hurt very, very much.  Daddy held me a long time while I cried.  When I stopped he gave me an extra hug and a kiss and told me he loved me.  He left and I got you, Mr. Bear, from the toy chest to sleep with.  You understand me and never ever want to spank me.  I luv you, Mr. Bear.

The End

 Rustic Cabin

11:  An old rustic cabin probably in disrepair since neither the cabin nor the picket fence is painted is the inspiration for this chilling tale.  (  I will warn my readers that this gets a bit edgy.

Cabin of Horrors© YLeeCoyote

I had to pass the Cabin every day.  Mother and I lived on the edge of town and whenever I went to school, Wilk's general store (where I worked after school) or even church, I had to pass the Cabin.  Each and every time I got chills and rushed past it.  No, it wasn't ghosts but Old Man Reckanagel who lived there.  He wasn't that old – maybe fifty – but he was strong.  After my father died, mother arranged with him that he would deal with me when I was bad, naughty, fresh, uppity or whatever, like a father does with his son.

When I 'did not know my place' some self-righteous adult – the schoolmaster, the minister, Wilks and many others – would write a note which I would have to take to Mr. Reckanagel who would deal with me.  He knew only one way and that was to beat me!

Until I was ten, he would just spank me.  Looking back that was comparatively gentle but I did not think so at the time.  He would look at the note and say: "You earned yourself a spanking, boy." Never, not even once did he ask me for my side of the story.  Then he would strip me completely and haul me over his lap.  He held me in place tightly so that no matter how much I wiggled and squirmed I would stay put while his big hard hand spanked my ass.  I always cried and usually bawled and hurt for days afterwards.  When he had decided it was enough, he would push me off his lap, tell me: "Pick up your clothes and GIT, boy."  I dressed outside his gate – rain or shine – hot or cold – worried about people coming by.

After I was ten, I 'graduated' to the strap.  All the procedures were the same except that I had to bend over a bench (which he thoughtfully provided) once I was naked.  He had this leather strap – a quarter of an inch thick, two inches wide and five feet long.  He would fold it double and have a great time turning my butt into a seared hunk of meat.  You can bet that I really howled.  I'm sure that he loved that.  After all, that's what a brutal sadist like their victims to do.

But I won't get any more chills when I go that way again.  The town buried Reckanagel today – just three days after the fire.  It was a great tragedy that during the blizzard, on the coldest night of the year, when no one was out, that his house burnt down.  The sheriff said: "He must have slipped when he got up to put some wood on the fire in the middle of the night and knocked the stove over.  Many a time I told him that a broken leg on the stove was dangerous."

I know better than to question an important adult like the sheriff.  After all, Reckanagel taught me to know my place and to keep quiet.

 Chalk and Eraser

12:  The picture is a close up of traditional schoolroom slate blackboard wooden chalk rail on which rest an eraser and a piece of chalk.  (  The story is set prior to 1950 in the USA.

Privileges, Responsibilities and Consequences

Rank has it privileges.  I am the board monitor and the privilege that position has is to be able throw the loaded eraser at my classmates.  I had just finished cleaning the board when I got the urge and targeted Ernie.  I got him right on the back of his jacket and left a great chalk mark.

Rank also has it responsibilities.  In this case the responsibility was not to be caught.  No one would tell under pain of total and complete ostracization.  Unfortunately, Hutcherson stepped into the room early and saw the mushroom cloud.  He was most displeased.

He barked.  I picked up the eraser and placed it on the chalk rail next to a piece of chalk.

Now he is going on about all this but I'm not listening.  I'm worried about the consequences.

I stare at the chalk next to the eraser.  Perhaps I will have to write on the board "I will never throw the eraser again" a hundred times and then re-clean the board with the eraser.

Perhaps I will have to spend an hour or two in detention.  That would mean not playing with my friends and teasing Ernie.

Perhaps it will be a chat with The Board.  The Board of Education is a standard frat paddle that packs quite a wallop.  It will probably be four pops if I get that.  I'll have to drop my pants along with my briefs and then bend over his desk with the whole class watching.  The sun might never shine on my butt hole, but many in the class will see it because I'll have to spread my legs.  And, even worse, my stuff will be hanging down and will also be on display.  The girls love this part even more than the actual pops.  The guys have seen it all before in gym so they will watch carefully as Hutcherson paddles my vulnerable tail.  They'll listen carefully both for the WHACKS and whatever noise I make.  They will cherish any yells and cries along with my butt turning red.  They won't let me forget it if I yell like a baby.  It would not be so bad if it was private but it isn't.  It's doubly humiliating to yell as well as to be forced to moon the class.  «Oh, Lord, please help me take it like a man in silence and not like a crybaby.  Please.»

My thoughts are interrupted.  Mr. Hutcherson has taken out the 'judge'.  It is a simple device – a board with a pointer.  I must assist fate to choose my punishment.  I spin the pointer.  It goes around and around and gradually slows down.  I watch the fields as it slows down – 'Board', 'Lines', 'Detention'.  It stops on … 'Pass'.

I sigh with relief.  I escaped.  My classmates also sigh but for a different reason – they wanted for me to get paddled.  They will have to wait.  Maybe next week someone else will be caught and get it.

Now that I would enjoy.

The End

Collection Continues in Part 2

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