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.
The first eight SSC-2007 stories are on this page and the last eight are at SSC 2007 – Part 2/2.
Day at the Zoo
It was a perfect day for the Zoo. The plan was for Dad to take us – my kid brother, Jeffery (twelve) and me (fourteen) – for some father/son/male bonding. Mom made all the expected speeches and practically pushed us out the door – after we all promised to behave properly. It was to be an all-day excursion for we loved the zoo and it was very rare that Dad could take us.
It was but three hours later that we returned. Mom was immediately all questions: anyone sick? Hurt? Zoo closed? And on and on. As soon as she got a "No." there was another question. Finally, she hit on the right one: "Misbehavior?"
"We got ejected for feeding the animals and teasing the monkeys…" I said. "…and a written warning, too."© YLeeCoyote
She turned to Jeffery and gave him 'that look'. "It was not I, Mother." said my brother truthfully.
Mother sighed. She reached into the cupboard and took out the dreaded strap and handed it to me. "Son, go have that man-to-man talk with your dad." I tried to explain but she wouldn't let me say a word. "Now!" What could I do, but to obey? Dad and I went to his bedroom. Mom kept Jeffery from tailing along. Although Mom let us manage "men's business" she made sure that we had the necessary "business meetings". Discipline was definitely men's business.
We all knew the rules. This called for ten cuts on the bare while bent over the chair. There was not anything to discuss. If Mother did not hear the strap on bare butt skin, she would insist that it happen and probably even have Jeffery watch to give a cut by cut report. She fully expected that us men would do what was right and proper.
Dad put the chair in the proper place. Belt and trousers were undone. Trousers and boxers lowered. The miscreant bent over presenting his butt. The strap kissed the target ten times. The usual thanks, forgiveness and hugs were exchanged after fair discipline. We returned to the kitchen and Mom had a snack ready for us. There was a cushion on my chair. Mom is thoughtful about these things.
When I sat down, I shifted the cushion to Dad's chair but not as discretely as I thought. Mom saw and asked exactly what had happened at the zoo. Dad confessed that he had tossed some food into the cages and acted silly for the monkeys. A guard had noticed his repeated transgressions and ejected us with a warning notice.
Mom lectured him and told him that he should be ashamed of himself for acting like a baby. Dad just stared at his coffee cup, looking contrite while she talked.
Jeffery and I knew enough to keep silent when our parents talked. I just wondered if I would have further opportunities to strap my dad and if this meant he would not strap me anymore.
© Copyright A.I.L. July 17, 2007
Justice Without Delay
Tom and Jodi had just gotten home from school and were examining Mom's car in the driveway when their dad drove up and joined them. "Not good, Thomas, not good at all." Tom had had his licence only a few months. "What happened?"
"Looks like the brakes failed." said Jodi. The driveway had a sharp curve immediately after the turn-in from the street. The car had tried to go through a tree and had a crushed fender.
"Not likely because of the skid marks; looks like speeding. We did talk about this, Tom?"© YLeeCoyote
"And about driving on school days?"
"Oh, Yes, Sir."
Dad put out his hand and snarled: "The keys." Tom leaned into the car, retrieved them and handed them to his father.
"Get the strap."
"Yes, Sir." They all went into the house. Both kids were remembering what Dad had promised – a strapping for speeding into the garage.
When the entire family was together, just three minutes later, Dad spoke again. "Thomas, I'm very disappointed. I promised a strapping for speeding in the driveway. Is there any reason why I shouldn't make good?"
"No, Sir." Tom handed his father the strap and sat down.
His dad looked at him with that look that said: you are tying my patience, boy, especially since you are already in big trouble. "Get into position, immediately, young man."
"I was not the driver, Father." Tom said softy. Their mother gasped and held her head in her hands.
"WHAT?" Tom repeated what he had just said. "Why didn't you say so before?"
"You did not ask, Sir. Since I'm not allowed to drive on a school day without special permission, I did not think you would have thought I had been driving."
Dad was perplexed. This was not the way things should be. He was too rigid to change course. There had been a crime and the perpetrator must be punished. "Get up here, Sylvia." he snapped.
The teens watched their mother slowly obey their most angry father. "Bend over the chair."
When she had done so, he lifted her skirt exposing her modest panties and tucked it into her collar. Then he grabbed the panties and yanked them down, exposing her buttocks. Tom and Jodi looked at each other most amazed. The kids watched silently as Dad got into position and swung the strap at their mother's bare behind. They cringed at the report. They watched their mother's bottom turn bright red and listened to her cries. They each empathized easily with their mother's pain. The strapping over, Father went to his den.
Tom quickly lowered his Mom's dress. Then two teens helped their mother to her feet and to her bedroom to rest. Tom told Jodi to try to comfort her. He returned a couple of minutes later with some anti-pain cream. "Put some of this on her, er, bottom, Sis." while I get some ice.
It was very quiet at dinner that evening.
© Copyright A.I.L. July 20, 2007
Conversation with Mr. BB
Edger Barnhill stood for some time in the middle school locker room instead of being in his study hall. He was staring at the paddle hanging on the wall by the coach's office. He had turned fourteen a few months ago and in another month would move on to high school. Now, three times a week for 116 weeks, he had passed this spot and had seen the coach's butt buster. Several times he had heard the discussions that it had with other boys. It always said the same thing: "WHACK!" It had a tendency to stutter. The responses were variations of yelps that a kicked cur makes. Edger never had a discussion with Mr. BB.
For almost a year now, Edger had considered how it would be if he was sent to the coach for a discussion with Mr. BB. How he would have to take IT off the wall, knock on the office door and enter. The coach would, naturally, know why he was there as soon as he saw IT in his hand. There wouldn't be any need for discussion. Rumor had it that unless one had a great reason and got out of being paddled completely, discussion was definitely counterproductive. Would he be a man or a baby?
Suddenly he dashed for the john and emptied his bladder for the second time in the hour. Pulling up his jockstrap, like a warrior girding up one's loins, gave him the courage to actually do what he decided he had to. He rushed back, grabbed Mr. BB and knocked on the door of doom.© YLeeCoyote
He had heard what the proper protocol was many times although he had never been standing in the coach's office with Mr. BB in his hand. "Sir, I reported doing six laps to Mr. Patzer when I only did five for track practice yesterday." The penalty was listed in the chart – six pops.
"Any explanation or excuse?"
"No, Sir." Edgar responded offering the paddle to the coach.
The coach, wise in the ways of fourteen-year-old males knew what the youth was thinking, said: "Position, Barnhill." The boy complied. He stood on the painted footprints, dropped his gym shorts and bent over.
Mr. BB spoke in its usual staccato with six sharp pops on Edgar's butt. Edgar tried to be silent but lost more of his resolve with each pop until he howled for the last. He was glad that his classmates were not in the locker room listening. He was the first on the field that day. The track was still soaked from the rain two days before so he knew he had goofed.
After practice there was the distinctive colored slip taped to his locker so everyone knew of his paddling. In the showers, Edgar proudly showed off his still rosy butt to his admiring classmates. He boasted how he had remained silent through the ordeal.
For the rest of his life, he wondered if the coach had known he had lied.
© Copyright A.I.L. July 20, 2007
Sacrifice for a Blood Brother
Derek and I have been blood brothers since we were eight – almost half a life time ago. I'll remember the day we mixed our blood until I die. It was a wonderful summer's day and we went to the back of the yard like we usually did except I had taken a kitchen knife from the drawer.
We cut our wrists and mingled our blood. We made solemn and fearsome vows. We neither cared about nor noticed the blood on our clothes but Mom did and went ballistic. Soon our wrists were bandaged. Derek's mom rushed over. They lectured us for hours (or so it seemed). Then to prove that they loved us they pulled our pants down and spanked and spanked and spanked us until our bottoms were red-hot and we were bawling. Our wrists recovered long before our bottoms.
Over the years, we frequently got into trouble together and got spanked together. It did not matter whose house we were at – his parents or mine would spank us. We got lectured and then we dropped our pants and got over the parental lap and the parental hand turned our butts red hot. The spankings hurt but we each got a thrill watching our blood brother get it. It was a rare event when only one of us was spanked. Then the dynamics changed greatly – watching was still a thrill but being watched made it worse. We were told: "Stay and watch; you'll learn a lesson also."© YLeeCoyote
When we were thirteen, we were promoted to the strap. Our fathers agreed that we were now young men who shouldn't be treated like little boys.
We were together in Derek's room when his father came in. He had a report and Derek confessed to his crime. This was to be the first time with the strap for either of us. I so wanted to stay and watch Derek's butt turn red from the strap; to see how he took it; to know the pain without actually feeling it. But I made the sacrifice and walked out. Derek's dad said that I could stay but I refused. He surely understood why. I made it easier for Derek. If only I could have done both! Somehow to watch without being seen; if I only had Harry Potter's cloak of invisibility.
"I'll see you later, Derek." I said and left. I waited on the back porch and heard the strap's kisses and Derek's yells. I imagined what was happening. I had to adjust my jeans. I sat there long after it got quiet.
Derek's dad called me, gave me an ice pack and told me to go up. Derek was crying on his bed. I put the ice pack on his fiery butt and consoled him. He really appreciated that.
That night and many others I jerked off imagining how the strap made red stripe after red stripe on my blood brother's ass.
It wasn't long before we saw those stripes form on each other's tails.
© Copyright A.I.L. June 22, 2007
5: We all know that thing happen differently at Hogwarts. I wonder if this could happen. The Harry Potter/Hogwarts universe is copyright by J. K. Rowling and I'm using it under the parody exception to copyright.
The Cane Acts at Hogwarts
It was prep at Hogwarts and several in the Gryffindor common room were worried. There had been some minor disturbance at dinner; suffice it to say a lot of comestibles on the walls and floor had to be dealt with by the house elves. All knew that Dumbledore was not smiling after McGonagall got a custard pie in the face. Several young gentlemen had good reason to be worried for they had been warned about such things.
The dreaded tapping was heard. It was a gentle tapping like that of a swagger stick of a new lieutenant knocking on a general's door. Immediately, the room was deadly silent for each pupil knew what it portended and feared what might happen to him/her.
Each and every eye stared intently at The Cane, the whipping cane, the enchanted whipping cane, as it floated off its rack. "Who would it select?" was the question on everyone's mind along with the prayer that it would be someone else. Its cuts were notoriously most vicious.© YLeeCoyote
The Cane sailed past everyone and started circling the room again. It was known to do this and just return to its position. The Inquisition called this 'the showing of the instruments'. The result was as good as if it had been used. Every eye was watching it to see. Hearts were racing and many brows and axillae were in need of mopping.
The Cane stopped. A shoulder was tapped. The protocol was known. The Cane neither spoke nor listened so there was but one thing for the tapped pupil to do. He went to the front of the room. He removed his gown, opened his belt and trousers letting them drop. He paused before dropping his pants but The Cane tapped the desk impatiently and he did it, blushing all over. He bent over, tightly grasping the far side of the table, presenting his bum for The Cane. The Cane lifted his shirt tail away from his bum. All knew exactly what was coming.
There was a SWISH as The Cane moved for the first cut. It was one of the best – as all were The Cane's cuts. An angry tram line appeared almost immediately. The lad gasped at the pain. The others just watched, several with engorged crotches even though they could be next.
There were five more cuts; each as horrendous as the first. Five perfectly straight and parallel tracks with one perfect diagonal. The lad was not quite crying but his cheeks were wet. He wished that he knew a healing spell even though they were strictly prohibited.
The Cane returned to its upright position and every pupil again locked his eyes on it. The Cane glided back to its rack. There was a collective sigh of relief. The lad quickly pulled up his pants and trousers. By the time he returned to his place the punishment chit was there; Snape had been displeased in Potions class once again.
Leaving, Ginny whispered: "You got the cutest bum, Harry."
© Copyright A.I.L. July 25, 2007
6: This was inspired by the picture of the room vent grill (https://asssville.asslr.org/2007/pictures/grille.jpg). Now haven't you wondered about the noises you have heard in a motel?
Motel Room #7
The motel was a dump but I was exhausted and the next town was more than an hour away. I brushed my teeth, peed and fell into bed. I was seconds from crashing into a restless sleep when a door slammed and there was a light on the side of the bed. It was coming through the air vent from the next room. A deep male voice was yelling with great fury.
"I've had it up to here!"
"I've told you what would happen if you did not mend your ways."
"Now get those clothes off and lay on the bed."© YLeeCoyote
Then there was another voice. This was higher in pitch – a woman's or girl's or a youth's pleading.
"Please, I'm sorry but it was an accident."
"Not the belt, please."
"It won't happen again. Ever!"
It must have been a belt or a strap hitting the dresser. I sat up. I was alert. The lamp shook from the cut.
"HURRY UP!" snapped the man angrily.
I heard shoes thump against the wall and then drop to the carpet quietly. Should I call the police? There wasn't a phone in the room. The office was closed as the clerk had left after giving me the key.
"HOLD TIGHT! Don't move."
Then another WHACK! and a yell of pain. I was mesmerized. «One.» I counted automatically.
Over and over the belt connected with its target. Each time with a loud WHACK followed by a cry of pain.
I kept count. «Two, Three, …, Ten, …, Twenty, …, Thirty, Thirty-one, Thirty-two. Thirty-three. » Then the belt stopped.
A new order. "Get me wet unless you want it dry."
Just a few seconds later I heard. "That's it. Suck it good." There was a slight pause. "Get it good and wet."
"On the bed."
"No! On your knees with your hot ass up."
There was a yelp as the brute rammed into some hole. Was it a cunt or an asshole? A girl or a boy?
I could not tell. He was rough and pounded hard for the other kept whining. He was done in just three minutes with a loud yell about coming.
They each used the bathroom for there were two flushes – one after a big man pissing loudly in the bowl and the other after some painful grunts.
"Get dressed. I want to get home."
A couple of minutes later the light went out and the door slammed. It was quiet. They had left. I had shot without touching myself. I dropped off into sleep. In the morning I continued my trip.
Now, almost four decades later it is my most intense memory. I still wonder if it was a man and woman – wife or mistress or whore; or man and man – partner or hustler or twink?
But I still get off on it; fantasizing being in Motel Room #7 on November 26, 1969 rather than in Room #5. Sometimes I am the brute and sometimes the woman and sometimes the youth.
© Copyright A.I.L. July 27, 2007
7: The picture of the old school room was the inspiration (https://asssville.asslr.org/2007/pictures/desks.jpg).
Unusual School Day
I did not know where or when I was. Everything was so strange; not like the 2007 that I knew. Almost everything was made of wood – there were some metal doodads about but nothing of plastic or other twenty-first century materials. The room had a mess of double school desks and chairs from a century ago matching the wooden plank floor. There was even ink in the inkwells. A hurricane lantern was on the teacher's desk at the front of the room. There was a dunce cap on a stool in the corner. The flag had only forty-six stars.
A bell rang and a batch of kids came in. They were in old style clothes. It was then that I realized that I was also. The teacher called for order. Everyone sat absolutely still with their hands clasped on their desks. I quickly did the same. The teacher was pacing in the front of the room. The stick he was swinging made me fearful although I didn't know why.
The teacher started to quiz the class. He went sequentially down each file asking a question of each pupil. A wrong answer got prompt punishment. The errant boy (the girls all had the correct answers) was summoned to the front and had to drop his trousers and bend over. Since none of them wore drawers, they were bare. The girls hid their giggles behind their hands. The fearful stick was used twice or thrice on each of the unfortunate lads. It left fearful marks. Each cut made me flinch.© YLeeCoyote
A nurse came into the room for a height and weight check. I had not noticed before but there was a scale at the back of the room. The nurse carefully recorded everyone's height and weight on a set of charts. "Everyone has done very well. You all are now within your proper weight range for your ages and heights." She paused. "All save one!" I knew that one was me. I was very overweight. "Not only did Turan not lose the ten pounds as scheduled but he GAINED three pounds."
I was summoned to the front. I dropped my trousers and bent over. I wondered why I was not wearing any underpants. I screamed at the first cut and jumped up. Two boys were directed to hold me in place. The teacher started again. I yelled for each cut as it seared my flesh. I cried in the corner. I had to stand there for hours until school was over showing the angry track marks.
As I left, the others taunted me: "Fatso got it again." They ran circles around me and slapped my sore ass. They were far too nimble for me to catch.
The bell was ringing again. Mother was shaking me. "Billy, getup and shower. Your Weight Watchers® meeting is in an hour." I groaned. "Now move it unless you want a spanking." I ran to the bathroom.
© Copyright A.I.L. July 27, 2007
8: When one is obsessed and addicted, one is lead to desperate actions. I've expanded this story and the long version is at Spankaholic.html.
My name is Pete and I … am … a … spank…a…holic. I failed this week. I've relapsed. I've had a spanking!
"Would you tell us about it, please Pete."
Last Tuesday was an ordinary day at work. I was going home when it happened. I first saw him heading into the subway. I should have waited but he had the most beautiful butt in tight jeans; I had to watch it. It got worse at the turnstile. His fare card failed so he got caught by the bar. His top half kept going so he bent over and flaunted the most spankable ass I had seen in days.© YLeeCoyote
<murmurs of disapproval>
I managed NOT to give him a spank even though I was right behind him. It was very difficult. I slapped the turnstile instead. I know I shouldn't be physical but at least I did not hit that perfect butt. I regained control and rushed through the next turnstile. It was extra crowded for the train was late. I was pushed in and couldn't move. A minute later we were stopped in the tunnel on a switchover. The lights were out in my car as we waited.
"You came close but you were doing OK." interjected the facilitator.
"You're one of them." whispered a voice in my ear. I turned my head and couldn't believe that it was the young man; my shoulder was bumping his chest. You're a spankaholic! I'm sure he could see me turn pale. Was he fuzz? He laughed evilly in my ear. Then I felt his hand. It was concave and pressed up against my butt. I was trapped. I couldn't move. I didn't dare yell for he would denounce me. He could not really swing his hand so he pressed hard and backed off. My heart was racing was we pulled into the next station.
"COME!" he commanded.
I obeyed. I was scared to and even scareder [sic] not to. He led me to a dark alley. In the back; he sat on a box and pulled me over his lap. He was an expert. He got one of my arms in a hammerlock. His spanking hand was as hard as a paddle. He was strong. Even through my trousers his spanks hurt. He made me cry. Just a young man of eighteen.
He pushed me off his lap. I was afraid of what he would do.
He dropped a business card. It showed a well-spanked butt and a phone number: I-SPANK-U.
He disappeared as I studied the card, mesmerized. I stayed until I stopped crying. Eventually I found the subway and went home. My butt hurt for days. I felt so great.
The worst part is I can't get him out of my mind. I try to be pure but every night I'm compelled to pick up my slipper and whack my tail – fantasizing that it is him doing it.
Help me. Please help me. Please stop me from calling I-SPANK-U.
© Copyright A.I.L. August 8, 2007
© Copyright A.I.L., Summer, 2007
The URL for this page is: https://yleecoyote.asslr.org/SSC2007.html
Last updated: September 15, 2023