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 SSC-2011 stories are on this page.
1: At spanking time, a young man decides that being over his father's lap is not right and this chair can be used differently. You can see it at https://asssville.asslr.org/2011/pictures/dining_chair.jpg and at https://www.flickr.com/photos/andybutkaj/402173682
The Chair in the New House
The chair was the only item of furniture in the room. It had missed being loaded on the van with the rest of the furniture and so Dad and I brought it with us in the car. We were to go have dinner and check into the motel since the movers would not come until the morning but first there was some unpleasant business that had to be taken care of.
"I'm disappointed in you, son." said dad. "You are old enough not to run off in the rest stop when I told we did not have time. Fortunately, the realtor was in his office late to give us the keys." I nodded. I knew where Dad was heading and I did not like it.© YLeeCoyote
"I'm sorry, Father, but I was so restless after that long drive I had to run." Dad gave me one of those looks. He wasn't buying any of my crap. That meant exactly one thing. "Dad, this is the first time in our new house. Do you really have spank me this day of all days?"
Dad nodded. "We agreed on spanking, son." He was right – a few months ago we had agreed that spanking rather than grounding, early curfew, or docking of my allowance was to be the punishment method of choice.
It was an early adult decision I had made. I had also agreed not to fight it but "to take it like a man". There really was not anything more to discuss. I kicked off my sneakers and removed my T-shirt and jeans. Shucking my boxers and socks was easy.
I had to remind myself that I must be brave and keep my word or Dad would lose respect for me as I looked at him already standing by the chair. Then it hit me. An epiphany! I was too old to lay across my dad's lap to be spanked like a little boy. I was now a young man. I turned pulling my belt from my jeans and handed it to Dad. I relocated the chair and bent over it.
Dad smiled silently but did not keep me waiting. He quickly raised my heavy leather garrison belt and brought it down on my up turned tail. It stung like the blazes and I bit my lip to keep from howling. I gripped the chair tighter waiting for the second cut. I could feel the red stripe forming on my rear end.
Dad gave me six stingers. I did not go to the corner nor rub my butt when he told me to get up but I got dressed. "I'm really sorry, Father." I said.
Dad nodded and gave me a hug. "You're growing up, Pat." he said with a smile.
Even though my ass hurt as we went out to eat, I felt good. I could even laugh at Dad's lame joke about how we christened the new house.
© Copyright A.I.L. July 17, 2011
2: This story was inspired by a picture of a bedroom corner and the memories it holds. You can see it at https://asssville.asslr.org/2011/pictures/bedroom_corner.jpg and at https://www.flickr.com/photos/tinymine/3418913684/
My Bedroom Corner
That's the corner. It didn't always have that table and lamp there. They are new. I spend many long hours in that corner.
Oh, the blinds were always tightly closed so that I could not look out which would have defeated the purpose of my being in the corner.
Yes, there was a purpose of being in the corner. I was supposed to think about why I was in the corner with my tail ablaze. I didn't do that like I was supposed to. I thought and plotted about how I could have avoided being spanked by not being caught doing whatever I had been most recently caught doing.
I didn't like to think about not doing the fun things that got me spanked – when I had been caught. Nor did I like to think about the novas that were burning in my recently spanked red-hot seared butt.
All that was when I was living with my parents here at home – when I was a kid. Of course, once this all became mine, I redecorated it making sure to fill corner full horrid memories. Now I have to move stuff even to clean there. I like it that way.
Why are you removing the pictures? What are you moving the table and lamp for?
Oh, you want to see what it like. It takes a few minutes to get the feeling and it helps if your hands are on top of your head and your pants and undies are about your ankles.
Yes, like that along with the blinds closed.
You didn't stay there very long. I guess you didn't like it.
Hey! What are you doing? Let me go. Don't open my belt – and my pants?
No. NO. NO! Don't pull me across your lap. I'm not a kid anymore. Stop this immediately!
* * * * * * * * * *
What do you mean – get into the corner?
NO! No more spanking. … See I'm in the corner. My hands are on my head. My ass is afire. Satisfied?
* * * * * * * * * *
Yes. I'll do my chores. I promise – every day. Please don't spank me any more. Your spanking was worse than mom's spankings with her big wooden spoon and dad's with his huge hand.
It's not right that you spanked me. I'm not a little kid any more. I'm not a teenager any more either. I'm an adult.
I am not acting like a kid!
Well … yea I didn't do my chores. Yea, the garbage will stink for a week. I don't have clean clothes to wear. The dishes are piled to the ceiling But, it's not right what you did.
Er, …, er, … I guess that I didn't learn my lessons when I was a kid.
A second chance? I don't want a second chance. I want a butt that I can sit on – not one that's on fire.
Oh, all I have to do is behave like an adult and you won't roast my tail and park me in this corner anymore.
© Copyright A.I.L. July 17, 2011
Fully Insured, Fully Protected
Twelve-year-old Horace had learnt several lessons in the last couple of weeks. The first was the wonder of insurance. His dad had driven off the road and damaged a fence and his car. He was not upset at all for, as he said: "I have insurance and they will pay for the damage." Second, losing his glasses is most definitely a spankable offence.
After reporting the loss of his glasses, Horace knew that he must accept his spanking without any childish fussing or it would be worse. He went to his room and waited naked for his father. Then when he was ordered to he promptly got across the parental lap and where he was quickly reduced to a bawling little boy by the hard, forceful hand of his father connecting with his bottom.
With his tail still smarting from the second lesson, he made a decision when he got his new glasses and bought – with his own money – an insurance policy that FULLY PROTECTED again loss and damage as proclaimed on the sign on the optician's counter.
It was a few weeks later that he was throwing rocks at the apparently abandoned factory when the security guard pounced. The guard was pot-bellied and slow. Horace was sleek and young and he almost got cleanly away. However, because he had slipped the guard grabbed his glasses.
A few hours later, insurance policy in hand he told his parents he had lost the glasses in the woods and searched for a couple of hours without any success. "But, happily I'm insured and protected from loss just like Dad was when he drove into the fence." Insurance is a good investment. New glasses were ordered and he escaped spanking. He was most grateful for his insurance policy.
It was a few days later when the police came calling with the guard. "Yes, that's the boy!" he said. The glasses were registered because they were insured and he was found.
There was not any insurance coverage to pay for broken windows as that is a deliberate criminal act. Horace's father had to write a big check to pay for that damage.
That evening, in the garage, Horace undressed and bent over the repaired fender and got a long hard strapping for his extremely naughty behavior. Although it actually hurt more, Horace was able to resist the urge to cry to prove to his dad that he was no longer a little boy but a young man – almost a teenager. Additionally, Horace's allowance was reduced for a year so that he could pay back his father.
It was, however, nice to have an extra pair of glasses.
© Copyright A.I.L. July 27, 2011
I Need a Spanking
Young McDonald had a problem at the tender age of fifteen. It seemed like every adult told him what he needed.
His ailing mother wished that his father was still alive to give it to him as she could no long do it.
Several teachers at school wished that they could give him what he sorely needed. A couple of them even sent him to the VP who genuinely regretted that he could not help him out in his time of need. "One would do you a world of good, young man!" he added.
At every practice session the choir master at his church told him the same thing along with scriptural references.
Even his neighbor, kindly old Mr. Niven, had told that him several times.
Master McDonald was certainly in a quandary. How could he get what they all said he surely needed if none of them would help? Weren't adults suppose to help kids (even older kids like himself)? It was most perplexing and irritating.
When he went to the doctor for a vaccination, he spoke of it. The doctor agreed that he needed one but he could neither give him one nor even write a prescription to take to the pharmacy.
It was a day as gray as McDonald felt and he stood on the crosswalk absentmindedly thinking about his problem when his revery was interrupted by an unsure voice. "May I help you across the street, Sir?"
He turned and looked. It was a new tenderfoot boy scout. "Do I look like an old man in need of help?" he demanded of the lad.
"Well, … you missed three "Walk" cycles and I need to do some good deeds. Perhaps something else then."
"I've been told what I need but nobody wants to give one to me."
"I wish I had that problem. Dad gives those to my big brother and me all the time so I know how. I'll give you one. We can do it right here in the park. It will be my special good deed for the day." The little scout was beaming with a huge smile in anticipation.
They went to a quiet section of the park and started. "You have to listen and do exactly as I say or you could get injured. Now give me your belt and lower your jeans and underwear." McDonald hesitated and then obeyed. He bent over and gripped a bench tightly, presenting his naked butt to the helpful scout who energetically and enthusiastically applied the folded belt to the target just like his father did to his brother. The strapping turned McDonald's bottom a nice crimson red and he was almost sobbing. "OK, you may get up now."
"It's supposed to!"
"I don't feel any different."
The next week when the adults told him that he needed a spanking, he said he had one. "I don't see what good it did although it sure hurt."
© Copyright A.I.L. July 31, 2011
Misbehavior in the Museum
The exhibit in the museum was fascinating. Not only had Bruce enjoyed it a lot but he had also learnt a heap of great stuff in a fun way not like at boring school. He was truly grateful that Greg, his big brother, had taken him. He resolved to try not to annoy him as much – at least not intentionally for a while anyway.
As he told his father ALL! about it something extra slipped through along with the narration. Something that an observant father was able to pick up. Dad detected the distinct stink of guilt in his son. Guilt that meant he had done something he should not have. Something that probably rated a spanking. Dad shifted into his Sherlock mode and asked deeply probing questions. The reason for the guilty feelings was quickly exposed. "You know why you should never touch in the museum, Bruce?"
"Yes, Father, because over time it damages things. Even stone." Bruce replied softly repeating the lessons he had learnt.
"We have discussed this several times, son. What did I promise you last time?"
"A spanking, Father." Then Bruce realized that he had better give a full answer before he was asked again as his dad was already angry. "A hard spanking on the bare, Sir."
"Yes, indeed." Dad replied moving the chair into position. He did not have to tell his son what was expected as he sat down and patted his lap. Bruce walked over, got into position, opened his belt and jeans, lowered them and got over the parental lap. Seconds later the spanking commenced. In a few minutes, Bruce was a well-spanked lad, with a hot red ass and a teary face, shuffling into the corner.
A few minutes later Greg returned home from visiting his friend and was surprised to see that his little brother had been soundly spanked. He, too, was questioned although about why he had not prevented Bruce from touching the exhibits as he had confessed doing.
"Oh, Father, of course, Bruce touched stuff. So did I. Everyone did! It was an interactive exhibit and lots of stuff was designed to be touched. It was not the usual look but don't touch exhibit. Even so, Bruce had trouble touching – trouble pressing buttons that were made to be pressed, trouble turning knobs that were designed to turned, trouble pulling levers that were made to be pulled. He had conflicts because you taught him unconditionally to never touch in the museum. Even the docents had difficulty getting him to interact."
"Bruce, pull up your pants and come here." said his embarrassed father. "I'm sorry Bruce. I should not have spanked you. Greg explained how I misinterpreted things. Please forgive me, son."
Bruce was puzzled as his father hugged him tightly. "But I feel better now, Father."
Afterwards: I was recently at such an exhibit in the art museum. It felt deliciously naughty to whack buttons even though they were made to be whacked with all those "Please do not touch" signs nearby.
© Copyright A.I.L. August 2, 2011
They were driving together when suddenly there were the dreaded flashing red lights behind them and the staccato siren blasts signaling to pull over. Lars flipped on the turn signals and drove onto the shoulder. Nick sat silently in the passenger seat as the police officer examined papers and wrote the citation. Both father and son had discussed what would – must – happen for such a serious infraction in addition to the law's penalty. There would not be any need for a discussion of the offence since they both had witnessed it. Both knew all the details of the infraction, the resulting citation issued and the agreed penalties.
This was men's business so when they got home, they retreated to the basement away from wife and mother; away from daughter and sister. But the strap that hung on the wall was waiting patiently and more than ready to join their discussion. It would do all the talking required.
The Strap was taken from the wall and handed to Nick who gave it a flick to get the 'kinks' out. "Position, please." he said. Although he was not anxious to do this, delay was an even worse option.
Lars stepped in front of the work bench and dropped his trousers and underpants. He then bent over and gripped the end of the bench. "Ready." he said simply.
Nick, extended his arm with the strap and found the proper place. He did not bother with the "Please count." as that was standard for their protocol.
"One." said Lars as required.
… … …
"That's it." said Nick, as he hung the strap back on its hook. "I hope that you have learnt your lesson. I don't like doing this at all."
"Me too!" said Lars rubbing his hot butt as they went upstairs.
* * * * * * * * * *
They had finished dinner when the question was asked. "Dad, may I stay out late Saturday? The guys want to go the amusement park and the bus gets back past my curfew. I'm current with my chores and homework."
"Sure, Nick." replied Lars pleased that his fifteen-year-old son was so mature.
© Copyright A.I.L. August 19, 2011
Winning the Lottery
Ackerley wanted to win the pool desperately. It was a tradition in the school that the fourth forum have a pool for who would first to feel the Headmaster's cane. Winning would have been nice for all but for Ackerley it meant a lot more because he was attending on a regimental scholarship since his dad had been killed in action.
Ackerley was in a quandary. It certainly would be easy to break a few rules but that could have unpredictable and disastrous consequence that might risk his place even without achieving the purse. After long and hard thought he came up with a plan. A plan that assured that a merciful prefect wouldn't decide to slipper him rather than send him to the Head the first week of the term.
A few minutes before the Head was scheduled to leave for the weekend, he knocked on his study door.
"Sir, I am here for the cane. Six-of-the-best, I expect." trying to sound resigned.
"I was not expecting you. Come back on Monday, Ackerley."
"Oh, Sir, please don't make me wait all weekend. That would be most cruel. I've already gotten the lecture so this wouldn't delay you more than a couple of minutes, Sir. I know that I deserve them." With that remark, Ackerley slipped off his blazer and dropped his trousers and assumed the proper position over the armchair. "Ready, Sir."
The Headmaster was quite astonished. Never before had a boy been so anxious to be swished. It was somewhat strange but he had a few minutes before he had to leave. He extracted the junior cane from the cupboard. As always, it felt good to hold it in his hands and to flex it. The virgin canvas was properly in position waiting to be marked. Purposefully, he stepped to his place and tapped the lad's bum.
Ackerley tensed as he felt the gentle touch and knew what was to follow six times over. The cane retreated, then there was the swish and the fire as it crashed into his tender bum. It took all his will power not to jump up and scream for it hurt much more than he had expected. He tried to think of the bag of gold sovereigns that would soon be his.
Then came the second cut which was just as bad. One-third the way he thought. Ackerley did his best to find another place for his mind than the fire in his bum. The next three came his way and left their marks. The final cut was the worst for it cut across the other five making a gate.
"That's it, Ackerley. You may leave."
"Thank you, Sir." Quickly, he dressed and left.
It was when they were changing for bed that the marks were spotted. Nobody could dispute his claim to the prize with the Head's trademark gate emblazoned on his bum. All he would confess to was lying to the Head for which the penalty was six-of-the-best.
© Copyright A.I.L. August 22, 2011
Irene hit the headlines on Thursday. "Huge Hurricane in the Caribbean / Will Travel up the East Coast" followed by dire warning of flooding from storm surges in low lying areas especially barrier islands and power outages. Governor after governor, mayor after mayor had news conferences. Mandatory evacuation orders were issued.
But, there were those who would not believe; those who thought they were invincible; those who were so arrogant that they thought they could defy Mother Nature when she was having a tantrum.
So they stayed and partied.
But the storm came with high winds and waves way above normal high tide. The power lines were downed by flying trees. The frail beach house was washed off its inadequate foundations and swept out to sea.
And with it, the foolish pair.
* * * * * * * * * *
A day later, hungry and dehydrated, clinging to a wooden table, a small sailing ship heaved to and hauled them aboard in a fishing net. They proudly told their story. The Captain was astounded by their foolishness. He was positively angry at their demands to be returned home. They were fed and allowed to sleep in hammocks.
In the morning, they learnt their choices. Go swimming or signon as crew subject to strict discipline according to the law of the sea. They protested but that did not last long for the Captain ordered them flogged. They were shocked. They were quickly seized and dragged over a bulkhead and tied down. The tattered remnants of their clothing were cut away leaving them naked.
The ship sailed on for the Captain gave orders and the crew followed them. It was midday before the Captain returned to deal with them. He carried a heavy leather strap – a hand wide and half fathom long. "You shall have a boy's punishment since you are certainly not men." They did not know what that meant but thought it would be less than a man's punishment. As spoiled brats, they did not know what to expect.
The Captain raised the strap and brought it down on the first ass – hard. There was a yell that surely could have been heard a league away. A wide stripe appeared on the target. The boy howled. Five more times the strap was raised and lowered. The boy was screaming like a banshee and his ass was bright red and swollen. The second boy got the same strapping with similar results. They were left tied up for several more hours to contemplate their situation.
When asked again, they quickly agreed to join the crew with lowest possible ranking. The strap was most effective in teaching them that the Captain was a law unto himself and must be obeyed without question.
It was some ten months later that they sailed into an east coast port. They were bound and handed over to the Captain of the Coast Guard Cutter that checked the ship papers as they were undocumented.
Their families did not recognize them when they were rejoined.
© Copyright A.I.L. August 28, 2011
The walk home seemed ten times longer than normal. Blake already knew what was on the agenda for this evening at 21h30 sharp. He knew that the school had called his parents and set the time. There was not anything he could do about it now. He wished that he had tried harder when the altercation was escalating while he was getting stuff from his locker after the fourth period. That it was not his fault he was certain, nevertheless at 21h30 the Judicial Punishment Unit would enter the house. By the time they left there would be a well-strapped bottom. It would be a deep red, swollen, and a fiery pain center that would remain that way for a week. The JPU had just the proper equipment – straps and most willing strong arms to wield them to inflict horrific damage on a kid's ass. The poor kid's parents had to watch and sign off on the punishment. As an object lesson the kid's siblings also had to watch.
Blake was sick already and it was only 15h30. At 16h00 his big brother Milton came home. He too knew what was about to happen but he did not seem terribly concerned. "It's just part of growing up in this town." he said. He brought up milk and cookies for two. "Best do your homework now, little bro. You don't want the JPU coming around again tomorrow. Several of my classmates have already survived this ordeal."
Blake was amazed at how Milt could do his homework without concern about what would happen later. Blake struggled to even achieve a minimal acceptable effort. At dinner, the upcoming strapping was not discussed at all. Blake could only pick at his dinner while Milt ravishingly cleared his plate. They returned to their room to do their homework until the JPU would arrive.
At 21h25 they were called from their room to await the JPU in the family room. Their mother was holding their little sister and explaining for the umpteen time what was about to happen and why.
The bell rang and Dad admitted the JPU. They checked identities and the scheduled punishment. The miscreant dropped his jeans (exposing his buttocks) and bent over the end of the couch. The heavy strap was raised and brought crashing down on the target repeatedly. Everything was as planned. Each hard stroke inflicted great pain and caused the boy to yell. That was expected and was not taken as a sign of weakness. The punishment completed, the JPU took a photo and left.
Blake's little sister was crying in sympathy just like after she got a hand spanking from Mom. Blake and Milt returned to their room.
"It's OK brother; we'll get over this. You couldn't have stopped my fight with that jackass so stop blaming yourself." He paused and got a tube from his pack. "Now, be useful and rub this SportsCream® on my butt, Blake."
© Copyright A.I.L. September 4, 2011
|Strap:||WHACK! * 6|
|Goody-goody:||Yelp! * 6|
|Display:||Dual red glowing cheeks.|
|Classmates:||Smiles and smirks.|
© Copyright A.I.L. September 5, 2011
The End of the Collection
© Copyright A.I.L. Summer, 2011
The URL for this page is: https://yleecoyote.asslr.org/SSC2011.html
Last updated: September 15, 2023