It’s really nothing short of a miracle that I’m still married. Twenty years now, nineteen of them unhappy. What happened? It’s said that small things make a big difference in a marriage, and that’s certainly true for us. There was no way of knowing it at the time, but it all began with what our daughter Rachel brought home from school one day.
It was just a plane envelope, addressed to me. I didn’t know what it was, but Rachel was clearly mortified by what she was holding. She offered it to me with a few mumbled words. When I opened it and unfolded the enclosed papers, I saw the words Corporal Punishment Policy written in bold across the top of the first page. As I began reading it became clear that this was the release parents signed to give permission so the teachers could paddle their children. To tell you the truth, I was shocked to learn that they spanked students in schools. If I hadn’t read it myself I would have thought the practice had died out years ago. While I was taken aback, poor Rachel was positively beside herself, her hands trembling, her face red with shame, and her voice reduced to a whisper. I could tell that putting her never-been-spanked backside at the mercy of a bureaucratic form was nearly more than she could stand. I couldn’t blame her. Her mother and I didn’t believe in spanking her, never mind allowing some rogue at the high school the pleasure of laying a finger on her. I would have sent a letter of protest to the school board, but I didn’t want to cause Rachel anymore embarrassment.
Instead, I did a little investigating and found out that the issue had come before the school board several years before. There had been a gang of vigilante teachers who fought long and hard to retain corporal punishment. The release forms had been a compromise solution. It pained me to think that there were spanking zealots out there devoted enough to their cause to stand up and give speeches extolling the virtues of corporal punishment. It pained me even more to think of the students who had to live in fear of them. It is one thing to be paddled and quite another to know you’re going to get it from someone who is so fanatical about it. People like that aren’t the type to have any sympathy for the poor teenagers. Would letting these kids enjoy their adolescence without fear of a brutal beating be too much to ask? Aren’t the teenage years hard enough without adding a caustic mix of shame and sadism to them? The thought of Rachel at a school where certain of her teachers would eagerly make her classmates cry with pain nearly caused me to send her to a more progressive, private school.
Yet it might surprise you to find out that I never completely dismissed the value of spanking. Indeed, I have since found them to be highly useful when used in the correct setting. Don’t get me wrong: I still think that paddlings should be forbidden in high school, for they are almost always given to those who either don’t deserve them or won’t learn anything from them anyway. In fact, it wouldn’t be overstating my position to say that I’m against the spanking of children under most any circumstance. Children are bound to make mistakes and should be given the latitude to do so without fear of parents who beat their own flesh and blood. I still remember my friends’ tears when they heard they were going to ‘get it’ when their fathers got home from work. Even as a child, I knew it was wrong that a father’s return should cause such terror, even if it was a consequence of having stolen some candy from their sister or failing to do their chores. I remember thinking there had to be a better way to teach right from wrong.
And the failure of the pedagogic component of spanking doesn’t even begin to touch on spanking’s inevitable sexual connotations. The baring of a bottom, sometimes by the parent of the opposite sex, sometimes in the company of other children and adults, often for the purpose of causing humiliation as well as intensifying the pain, just seems sick. It’s simply unnecessary to teach a child that their bottom is something to be ashamed of, to be beaten, or to pay the price of a mental mistake in physical pain. As they grow, children will recognize that many of their body parts have special significance – most of all those body parts that we cover with clothes and hide from the opposite sex. But until then, let them be free with their bodies. The fear and shame will catch up with them soon enough.
In short, spankings aren’t fit punishments for the inevitable misdemeanors that pepper a child’s life. No, a punishment that causes erotic shame and humiliation at the same time it causes physical anguish should be reserved for those who inflict those forms of pain on others. With people like this, getting a spanking may be the best way to teach them how their actions make others feel. They might require a taste of their own medicine. Paddling at high school is no remedy, for these are the ones who would never get paddled in high school. They were the golden ones, the ones who could do no wrong. Even the teachers were scared of them.
In my high school experience, it was the fairer sex that administered the cruelest blows, so it was for girls that I reserved most of my thoughts of punishment. The sort of girl who came to mind didn’t just reject you but held you in contempt for deigning to ask. Their words said no, but their tone says who the hell are you to talk to me? They were the ones who would ask me for help on their homework or copy my tests and then tease me because my grades were good. They could kill me with a single word, and I don’t think I ever fully recovered. Even when I was old enough to have a daughter in high school, I was still haunted by my own high school years. Ultimately, I think this was the reason I had an unhappy marriage. Coming out of high school I married the first girl who said yes to me – Jane Miller – and took a job in quality assurance, where I could tell others what they had done wrong and not vice versa.
It might seem like a lot to conclude from Rachel’s school’s corporal punishment policy, but that was only the beginning. In the end it didn’t just help me understand what was wrong with my marriage; it helped me understand what I had to do about it. It got me wondering about payback for those girls who had made me feel this way. What would happen if the ghosts of all the boys they made feel small and worthless came back to haunt them? What if they had to feel as bad as they made others feel? Once I thought of it, the idea of teaching them a lesson made more and more sense. Soon punishing them became something of a fixation. Hurting them wouldn’t be enough. It would require that I strip them of their dignity, shame them, draw them in and crush them, just like they did to me. I would spank them, hard and long, like they should have been spanked in high school but never were. I would give them what they deserved plus interest, because pain like that doesn’t fade, it compounds.
Though there were many who deserved it, two girls were clearly at the top of my list: Ashley and Rebecca. They were the big ‘no’s’ of my life, the duo I would never forget.
I still saw them around, too. Rebecca worked at the high school and never married. Ashley married a former football star who became a lawyer, but her marriage ended in an acrimonious divorce. At the time mine wasn’t officially over, but it was as good as dead. Jane had finally left to live with her family a thousand miles away.
We were theoretically still working on it, so we hadn’t told anyone, but if working on it required communicating more often than once a month, there wasn’t much work getting done. Ironically, the route back to my marriage took me through Ashley and Rebecca.
I don’t know what suddenly gave me the courage to put my plan for payback into motion, but once I began I found it far easier than expected. The coy teases of high school were the burgeoning sluts of the divorcée set. They weren’t all that now, and far less discriminating in the attention they accepted. They needed to feel good about themselves and if they couldn’t do it by making others feel bad then they would have to do it in some other fashion, often on their backs with their legs spread. They saw how much they mattered reflected in the eyes of others – seeing the look of injury in the eyes of those they bested was good; better still was seeing the look of hunger and need in the eyes of men. I wasn’t going to be gotten the best of, nor was I going to need them. No, in my eyes they would see their own contempt reflected back. I would only give a shit as much as was required to get them bare-bottomed across my lap. In games like this, turnabout was fair play.
It began one day during a chance encounter with Ashley at the grocery store, but even I had no idea how it would go until the missing piece fell into place. I could neither have foreseen nor premeditated anything as awful as what I actually did. It is only with enormous regret – and because it is essential to understanding the rest of the story – that I even relate it to you now, for the lie that made it all possible was something I had never in my wildest dreams thought I would tell. But at that moment it was too great a temptation to resist. With a simple, undetectable lie, I could get the upper hand with Ashley once and for all.
I was on the produce aisle, reading the little how-to instructions that accompany pineapples.
‘So, Bruce Harris can’t even cut up a pineapple?’
‘Ashley?’
‘Don’t you remember me? You had such a little crush on me in high school. You were so cute.’
Little? Cute?
‘Are you okay?’
She sensed the pained look that crossed my face the way a shark senses blood. At that very moment I thought of the only way I could possibly avoid yet another humiliating encounter. I didn’t have time to weigh the moral sacrifice against the psychological gain, nor did I have time to assess the risks and rewards. All I knew was that I could finally win. I could snatch victory from the jaws of defeat. I think the temptation would have been too great for any man to resist.
‘It’s nothing,’ I said, crossing the point of no return.
‘What?’
‘Really. It’s nothing.’
‘No, Bruce, you can tell me.’
I was still having qualms about the plan. Pangs of conscience were making me hedge, but she was merciless, coming in for the kill under the guise of caring concern. The bitch. I began my final approach. Mate in six.
‘It’s just that the pineapples…’
‘Bruce, are you okay?’
‘Well, they remind me of her.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘She used to cut them up.’
‘Who?’
‘Jane. She always cut them up and that’s why I never learned how.’
‘How sweet. You miss her. Is she out of town, Bruce?’
I welcomed her condescension. Pile it on. She was right where I wanted her.
‘Oh, no. You haven’t heard?’
‘Heard what, Bruce? Oh, my God! She hasn’t left you, has she?’
Enjoy your Schadenfreude while it lasts, Ashley.
‘She’s gone.’
‘You mean?’
‘Yeah. Cancer.’
There. I’d said it. Game, set, match.
‘Oh, my God, I’m so sorry.’
‘It’s been a hard year for Rachel and me.’
‘It’s been that long? I didn’t hear anything.’
‘There wasn’t any fuss. You know Jane. She wouldn’t have wanted any.’
‘No, I guess not.’
Her voice faded and she looked very small. What’s it like to be had, Ashley? What’s it like to be the one who feels like a fool for a change?
‘It’s just too hard,’ I said, putting the pineapple back.
‘No, no, no, you should get it if you like it.’
‘It used to be my favorite fruit, but now…’
‘You’ll be able to cut it up. It’s easy.’
‘I don’t even know where Jane kept a knife like this.’ I gestured to the curved knife in the little brochure.
‘Oh, I have one.’
‘I just…’
‘Wait, I have a great idea. Why don’t you come over? I’ll show you how to do it.’ Ashley brightened as she offered herself to me, as if she had come up with a way out of feeling bad.
‘You mean it?’
‘Yeah, why not?’
‘Well, Rachel does have extra band practice this evening. I’m free for a couple of hours.’
‘Sure, let’s forget about the groceries. We’ll buy the pineapple and go to my house.’
‘Ashley, you’re such an angel.’
‘Really, it’s nothing. You can follow me. I’ll be driving the…’
‘The SUV?’
‘How’d you know? Oh, Bruce, you haven’t changed a bit. You always were the funniest guy in high school.’
She let me in the cavernous house her ex had bought to show what a man he was, led me through the marble-floored foyer and into the kitchen. Her Vulcan stove, stainless utilities and cherry cabinets looked mostly unused; only the inside of the microwave was coated with enough grime to look like someone actually lived here.
‘Oh, my poor dear, you must be so lonely.’
She stroked my chest. I knew I was a charity case, but she was walking right into the trap. Pretty soon ‘no’ wouldn’t be a word she was capable of uttering.
‘I’ve been managing.’
‘It’s okay, Bruce. My first year without Ted was just awful. It gets better, though.’
Was that really the sort of thing she would tell a widower? She should be glad I was a fake. A real widower would probably slit his wrists after consolation like that.
‘Does it really get easier?’ I urged her to step deeper into it.
‘Oh, yes, I’m so over Ted, now. It’s just great to be able to be me for a change.’
‘Well, you look great. Have you been working out?’
‘How sweet of you to notice. I’ve been going to the gym. I haven’t been at this weight since Lucy was born. You like?’
She gave a twirl, pirouetting into me, pretending it was an accident. I caught and held her while I kissed her.
‘I guess that means you like,’ she laughed, after we kissed.
‘You haven’t changed a bit. You always were the cutest girl in school.’
‘This is for saying that,’ she said before she pounced, surprising me with her neediness.
‘What about the pineapple?’ I asked, just to make her have to work a little harder.
‘I’ll show you something a lot better than how to cut a pineapple.’
Oh, alright.
The bedroom looked like a floor display at the furniture store, with enough burgundy and deep green to make me think her ex-husband had a hand in picking it out and she couldn’t afford to wipe out his influence. There were clothes strewn everywhere, yet most of the hangers hung unused in the walk-in closet. The house was too big for her alone. Her daughter’s bedroom looked underused, like she spent as little time as she could here. I wondered why. I guess losing custody battles is an occupational hazard for attorneys’ wives.
While I was taking in my surroundings, she was mauling me like she’d been studying late night movies on how to be a lustful woman. She ran her tongue up and down my neck, closing her eyes and moaning like a sex goddess wannabe. She pawed at me in rhythm with her moans, squeezing me harder with each breathy crescendo. I’ve known women who’ve come with less of a fuss. Ashley seemed to be the kind of woman who, in an exaggerated effort to show enthusiasm, would stick her tongue halfway down your throat the first time you kissed.
At that moment I didn’t really want her. It sounds crazy, but she seemed below me. After all the years I’d worshipped her it had only taken her twenty minutes to reveal herself as needy, pathetic, manipulative and controlling. It made me want to spank her even more than I had before, but how to raise the subject was still a mystery. My plan hadn’t gotten that far, but the grieving widower angle had worked so far, so I thought I’d stick with a winner.
‘Wait. Please, Ashley.’ I stopped her after she had already pulled her turtleneck over her head and was untucking my shirt and unbuckling my belt.
‘Oh, Bruce, your cock is so big.’ She purred in faux porn star fashion as she kneaded my crotch through my pants.
‘Ashley, please. This isn’t easy for me.’
‘I’ll make it good for you. I’ll make sure you’re not lonely anymore.’
‘There hasn’t been anyone since…’
‘Oh, don’t worry. The first time’s the hardest, but it’s part of the healing process. I’ll take good care of you, Brucie.’
Brucie? Her determination was nearly overwhelming. She practically had my cock in her mouth, but I knew that if I gave up now I might lose the high ground for good.
‘Ashley. Stop. I’m not ready. Please, Ashley.’
I pushed her head away and she ran across the room. She stood with her back to me, looking out her bedroom window. Then she turned towards me, confused. At first I thought she was going to be mad, but then she flopped down on the bed and began to wail. It was completely over the top.
‘Oh, Bruce, I’m so sorry. I was just trying to make it better. I’m sorry, Bruce. I’m such a bitch. I’ve always been such a bitch to you. I thought I could make it up to you, but I’ve even ruined that.’
‘It’s okay, Ashley. I know you were just trying your best.’
‘No, Bruce, it’s not okay. I’ve been such a bitch to you. I told all these lies about you in high school and you were always so nice to me. Now I just wanted to make you feel better, but I’ve only made it worse.’
‘Ashley, it’s not you; it’s me. I’m just not ready.’ I was being as phony as she was, but then something unexpectedly perfect happened. She looked up at me, with a look that was half contrite, half seductive, like she’d figured out a way to regain her footing.
‘I’ve been a bad, bad girl, Brucie. Ashley has been a bad, bad girl.’ She practically purred it the second time. The final piece was falling into place.
‘What happens to bad girls, Ashley?’
‘Bad girls get spankings, Brucie. Are you going to spank bad Ashley?’
‘Does Ashley deserve a spanking?’ The sudden move to the third person seemed weird, but I played along. She was walking right into my trap.
‘Ashley has been bitchy to you, Brucie. Ashley has been a real bitch.’
‘Then I’d say Ashley does deserve a spanking.’
‘But Ashley is real sorry, Brucie. Please don’t spank Ashley too hard.’
‘Ashley is just going to get what she deserves. No more. No less.’
‘Does Brucie want to see Ashley’s bare bottom?’
‘Atta good girl, Ashley. Show Brucie your bare bottom.’
She raised her hips so she could lower her slacks and panties, which she did with a playful shimmy. This was just a game to her. She thought this was just for fun. At first I was disappointed that she wasn’t more scared, that she didn’t feel the same shame and dread that she’d inspired in so many others through the years, but then I figured it was for the best. She would never have consented like this if she knew what I had in mind. I knew she wouldn’t stand for it once I started either, so I played the Dom role to the hilt, taking the bathrobe tie lying on the floor and binding her hands to the bed frame.
‘Ashley is gonna get it,’ I said, overacting while I knelt above her and tightened the knots.
‘Oh, be nice to Ashley, sir. She’s just a little girl with such a tender butt.’
The ‘sir’ was completely over the top. I was noticing a funny thing about Ashley: she couldn’t let herself be outdone. If I flirted she flirted more; if I missed my wife she missed her husband more; if I overacted she overacted more. It was like she wouldn’t share the spotlight with anyone.
‘You haven’t changed a bit, Ashley. You always were the biggest bitch in school.’
‘Oh, Brucie.’
Her voice, breathy with seduction not with fear, showed me just how ignorant she was about what was about to happen. How could she understand? No one had ever held her accountable before. It only emphasized how badly she needed the lesson I was about to teach her.
‘How did daddy spank little Ashley when she was naughty?’
‘Daddy didn’t spank little Ashley at all. Daddy let her do anything she wanted.’
‘No wonder Ashley needs a spanking so badly. She’s never had one before.’
‘That’s not true,’ she pouted. ‘I got one when I pledged my sorority. It hurt, too. I hated that paddle. You don’t have one of those, do you, Bruce?’
I made a note to myself for next time.
It was still all fun and games with her. I could tell she had read too many stories that made getting a spanking into a bit of frisky foreplay or a Kiss Me Kate-style battle of the sexes. In these stories cute girls squeal with delight and writhe against your knee to add a little clit-action to their butt warming. Sure, those are great stories. I always get hard when I read them. But that wasn’t the sort of spanking I had in mind. This spanking was going to hurt. There wouldn’t be any clit grinding, squealing, or pouting. Ashley didn’t get it.
When I began by rubbing my hand on her ass, she lifted her hips to my touch, practically raising herself on her hands and knees. She spread her legs like I was going to fuck her doggie-style and I got quite a view. She was so excited it wet her pubes, which were au natural, quite a statement of neglect in this day and age. She really was letting herself go to hell. I wondered how long it had been since a man bushwhacked his way through it.
Then I spanked her softly and she giggled. I did it a few more times, beginning to enjoy my cruel secret. I knew what she had in store and the longer she thought it was a game – the longer she thought she was in control – the more satisfaction I stood to gain from my eventual victory. I made the spankings a little harder and she began to coo.
‘Oh, Brucie, make it hurt so good.’
I was careful to progress slowly. I was in no hurry. For a while she continued with her brave face, like this was what she expected and it was still all in good fun. There were still the little comments that were meant to be light-hearted, but she made them through clenched teeth. ‘You must be turning little Ashley’s bottom red as an apple, aren’t you Bruce?’ and ‘You’ve done this before, haven’t you Brucie? You’re a strict daddy to little Ashley.’
She was loath to admit that I had gotten the upper hand. She pulled at the bathrobe ties, but I’d secured them well. Then she began sliding her ass back and forth, trying to evade the spanking. I was bringing my hand down hard. Her flesh jiggled with each spank and the redness spread over both cheeks. I was quite engaged with the experience, losing myself in details like how to cup my hand to spank the crowns of her buttocks and how to flatten my hand to deliver the most sting to the sides of each cheek. Soon I was using my other hand to hold her in place, pinning her so I could deliver my blows right where I wanted them. She’d been silent for a long time, but finally, after a vicious volley, she spoke up.
‘Hey, take it easy.’
‘Excuse me?’ I said, and spanked her even harder.
‘This isn’t funny.’
‘Funny?’ I asked as I hit her almost as hard as I could. ‘Who said anything about it being funny?’
‘You can’t do this to me. It’s not like…’
‘It’s not like what, Ashley?’ She had no answer, but that could be because I was spanking her relentlessly and it was all she could do to bear it. ‘It’s not like you don’t deserve it?’ I asked. ‘Is that what you were going to say? Was all that stuff about being a bitch to me just talk? I guess you just assumed you would get away with it. You’ve always gotten away with it, so nothing would lead you to think otherwise. No one has ever had the guts to do what I’m doing now. No one has ever stood up to you. No one has ever called you on your manipulative bullshit, have they? Well, this is what you deserve for all that. Do you think that being a bitch didn’t hurt other people? You’ve hurt other people worse than I could ever hurt you. It’s about time you owned up to that.’
I had really been laying it on as I spoke to her. I felt a giant sense of relief saying it. It was the truth and there was something satisfying about telling her about the pain she’d caused and causing her pain at the same time. If she hadn’t been bound and stinging, vulnerable and sad, I doubt she could have ever really heard what I had to say. In another context she would have come back with some smart-ass remark, some oblique reference to her superiority. As long as she was in her element – in control, coasting on the old habit of Ashley-worship we all carried from high school – she would have never acknowledged the darker parts, the parts that hurt. But here, exposed and at my mercy, I hoped she could imagine what it had been like for me all those years ago. I hoped I could force her to feel a little empathy.
I stopped spanking her, giving her ass a break so the next volley could make her go through it all again. I was also curious what she would have to say. I continued stroking her ass, taking a detached interest in the damage I’d done, noticing the parts particularly battered and the parts relatively untouched. I studied the places where the red glow began to turn to bruising, and observed odd phenomena like the prevalence of goose bumps on some parts of her skin, and the way some parts were neither red nor bruised but a sort of pale white. I guess it had to do with the way the blood was flowing around that traumatized flesh.
After she stopped squirming and I could stop holding her in place, I was able to use both my hands to stroke her flesh. At one point I put a hand on both her cheeks and spread them apart, looking at her asshole and down between her legs. I blew on her asshole, a bit mischievously, and watched it pucker.
‘Stop that,’ she said, not at all playfully but not with any real conviction either.
‘What’s wrong, Ashley? Embarrassed by your little asshole? Are you suddenly regretting your immodest behavior? A few minutes ago you were the brazen slut, seducing widowers in the grocery store, and now look at you. I can think of a lot of reasons for you to be ashamed, but your asshole is the least of them. Why aren’t you ashamed of all the lies and the gossip, the insults and the manipulation? Why aren’t you ashamed of all the feelings you’ve hurt and all the ways you’ve gotten what you’ve wanted by stepping on others? Aren’t those things more shameful than what’s between your legs?’
‘Why are you doing this to me, Bruce? Why are you saying all these mean things? I was just trying to be nice to you.’
‘You were trying to be nice to me to assuage your own conscience, and you know it. You were embarrassed because you secretly hoped Jane had left me. It would have made you feel better about your own divorce. You thought it would have served me right. It would have given you a chance to rub salt in the wound you left when you rejected me. You’d have liked that, wouldn’t you?’
I began spanking her again.
‘But then I told you about the cancer and suddenly you felt foolish. You’d really stepped in it, and you had to wonder if you’re the kind of woman who would think such mean things. So, to make up for it, and so you didn’t have to feel guilty, you fell back on your old stand-by. You would seduce me. You’ve always been able to make people like you by putting out, haven’t you? Admittedly, not as many people have been lining up for it lately, but Brucie couldn’t say no to you, could he? Not after how bad he had it for you in high school. You would throw him a bone, let him snack on everyone else’s table scraps, and then you could feel good about yourself again. It’s like how you and all your other Junior League friends donate all your used goods to charity so you can feel good about buying new. Well face the facts, Ashley, you’re used goods now, and I wasn’t about to accept your charity, not after how badly you’d hurt me.’
‘Stop it, Bruce. I didn’t mean it that way. Please stop.’
Her tone of voice was sincere for once. I could tell she really hurt, and it wasn’t just the spanking. The words were hitting home, too. No one had ever called her on her game before. I could hold up a mirror to her behavior and what she saw was almost as shameful as her reflection in the mirror on the wall. In both she was exposed – naked and unadorned. She was in no position to rehabilitate her image. For the first time the mirror where she primped and perfected her look showed her something that she hid from everyone, even herself. She had always surrounded herself with faithful followers, sycophants whose affection she bought with favors, sexual or otherwise, and who only told her what she wanted to hear. That way she heard only the positive, only the version spun in her favor. Her looks and actions had always been reflected back to her kindly; now, for the first time, she could see how everyone else saw her.
When I saw how much pain this was causing her I was surprised I didn’t have the urge to let up, to comfort her, or to tell her everything was okay. Having worked myself up I wasn’t in a forgiving mood. My life – so full of compromise and accommodating others – had lacked moments like this, moments when I could tell the truth without hedges or qualifications, without regard for hurting feelings. I thought it might be awkward. I worried that I’d feel more remorse or be overcome by an urge to comfort or reassure. Hell, normally I was the guy people came to for comfort or reassurance; I think they knew I didn’t have the guts to do anything but give them what they wanted. Yet here I was doing quite the opposite, and it felt like the most natural thing in the world. The harder I spanked her the more I felt I could never spank her hard enough. The more she cried out and begged – for by now she was doing both – the more I felt I hadn’t even begun to give her what she deserved.
‘Please, Bruce, I’m so sorry. I am. I told you I was a bitch to you. I know I was wrong. I’m sorry. Really. I’ll never do it again. I won’t. I promise.’ These were the sorts of things she said, jumbled and mumbled, between spanks. ‘Please, that’s enough, Bruce. You’ve punished me enough. It hurts. You have to stop, Bruce. I can’t take it anymore.’
The more she said, the more I spanked. Even when I stopped to give my aching hand a rest, I would poke around, spinning my fingers in the curly hair, tickling between her legs, wet with arousal and red from the occasional stray slap. She still struggled a bit, but mainly her body just stiffened and her breath stopped as she tried to will her way through the pain.
Finally her words ceased and she just began to cry, her excessive mascara staining her pillowcases and her sobs becoming longer and more agonized during the times when I was spanking the hardest. I didn’t really know when it should end, but I knew a finale she wouldn’t soon forget should precede the end. I began to hit her as hard as I could, many times in a row before changing cheeks. She shrieked and cried until every muscle in her body tensed, head to foot locked into a pose of extreme agony. Her fingers were outstretched, her buttocks hardened and rounded under my hand, her crack pressed together, concealing what was between. This was my last chance at Ashley’s ass, for I was sure she would never see me again after this. This ass I was spanking was the one I had dreamt about for so long. I made it count.
Then, finally I stopped. Her crying continued while I collected myself. Ignoring her, I idly tucked in my shirt and looked at myself in the mirror. I didn’t really know what to do next, but the truth was that Ashley didn’t really interest me anymore. I had exorcised the ghost and now she was just a memory. I untied her hands and she just lay there. A tender urge passed over me, but then I remembered how she had never offered me any comfort or mercy and I thought I would follow her example.
‘Won’t you even fuck me?’ she said as I was leaving, but I just kept walking, picking up my pineapple from the kitchen counter on my way out the door.
Next was Rebecca. Having crossed the Rubicon and played the widow – and earning myself a special place in hell for it – I couldn’t turn back now. The truth was, if I was going to sell my soul for anything, spanking Ashley and Rebecca would probably be it. There was no way I could have known that lies wouldn’t even be necessary with Rebecca. It turned out that she was so ready for what I had to give that it would require no lies at all. Rebecca was different from Ashley. Ashley had been the ringleader; Rebecca played second fiddle. Rebecca wasn’t the one everyone worshipped, but she did have the privileged position by Ashley’s side. Basking in Ashley’s glow Rebecca was never at a loss for dates or friends, but it was conditional love – she had to conform to the standards of behavior set by Ashley or be expelled to one of the outer orbits in Ashley’s solar system.
Rebecca Sellers and I lived down the street from each other when we were kids and we went way back. All this combined to make her more approachable and more favorably inclined towards me. When we took the bus to school we would wait at the same bus stop, and when I got a car she would sometimes take me up on my standing offer to give her a lift. I never had that big of a crush on Rebecca, either, so it’s not like she broke my heart like Ashley did. In fact, she only ever did one thing wrong, but it was such a sharp, deliberate and merciless betrayal that we were never really able to talk to each other afterwards.
It started out wonderfully. We had an unexpected day off school – a freak snowstorm or something – and no plans were made for the day. Our parents must have been talking because my mom told me that Rebecca had to stay home all day to take care of her baby sister; her half-sister from her dad’s second marriage. After my parents left and I was alone, I figured Rebecca must be bored so I walked down to her house, too scared to knock on the door but hoping she might be outside with her little sister. I passed her house a couple of times without any luck, but the third time around the block I saw her out on her porch getting the mail from the mailbox next to her door.
‘Hi, Rebecca,’ I shouted.
‘Hi, Bruce.’
‘What are you doing?’
‘What?’
‘How’s it going?’
‘What?’
‘What’s up?’
‘I can’t hear you. Why don’t you come here?’
I spent the rest of the day keeping her company, helping her with her sister and talking and watching TV whenever her sister would leave us alone. When her sister went down for her nap Rebecca and I were alone on the couch watching some movie on cable. It was verging on romantic, the kind of moment that clumsy teenagers all over the world do their best to turn into a first foray into sexual experimentation. It terrified me. I could see a million ways to screw it up and almost no way in the world to do it right. I was so scared – too scared to say any of the significant things on my mind – that I was stuck trying to find insignificant things to talk about.
‘I wonder if we’re going to have school tomorrow.’
‘Me too.’
‘Hope not.’
‘Yeah.’
‘How’s your mom?’
‘Okay. I only see her once a month or so since she was relocated.’
‘Do you like your step-mom?’
‘She’s okay. It’s not like she’s wicked or anything, but it still doesn’t feel quite right.’
‘What’s it like having a baby sister?’
‘I don’t know. Alright, I guess.’
‘Does she always take a nap?’
‘Yeah, pretty much.’
‘I wonder how old you are when you stop napping.’
‘I don’t know. I remember taking naps on cots in preschool.’
‘Me too.’ Actually I didn’t remember anything of the sort, but I wanted to agree with her.
‘You want a beer?’ she asked after a while. In retrospect, I can see that she was as desperate as I was to loosen things up a little, to free us from the ridiculous shackles of adolescent inhibition.
‘Sure.’
We drank two beers apiece and giggled at the movie on TV. We occasionally touched each other on the couch. I still couldn’t be the brave one, though. She was the one who finally broke through.
‘Can I ask you a question, Bruce?’
‘Yeah.’
‘What would you be doing if you were home alone right now?’
‘I don’t know. Probably the same thing we’re doing. Watching TV and stuff.’
‘Is that all you do when you’re home alone?’
She made it sound so lame.
‘I do other stuff, too.’
‘Like what?’
‘I don’t know. I read and do homework. Sometimes I ride my bike around.’
‘Come on, Bruce. Don’t you do anything else?’
She was smiling like she knew a secret, but she couldn’t really mean that, could she?
‘I think about stuff.’
‘What do you think about?’
‘I think about school.’
‘Like math and English and history?’ She was teasing me.
‘No, like the people there. My friends.’
‘Do you think about girls, Bruce?’
‘Yeah, I guess.’
‘What do you do when you think about girls?’
She was in my face, laughing. She had me against the ropes, but I wasn’t going to let her break me that easily.
‘What about you, Rebecca?’
‘Do I think about girls?’
‘No. Do you think about guys?’
‘Yeah.’
‘What do you do when you think about guys?’
‘Hey, Bruce,’ she said, like she was about to say something serious.
‘Yeah?’
‘Do your parents do anything weird?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You know, like…weird.’
‘You mean like calling each other stupid pet-names or dental flossing while watching TV?’
‘No. Come on, Bruce. Help me out here.’
‘Do your parents do anything weird?’
‘Come here.’
She took me by the hand and led me upstairs. Her hand was so warm and sweet in mine that I was in heaven. I didn’t even pay any attention to where we were going. When she let my hand drop we were in her dad and step-mom’s bedroom. She looked over her shoulder at me, smiling nervously, looking for my approval.
‘What?’ I asked.
‘Can I show you something?’
‘Yeah.’
She opened the top drawer of the bed stand on her step-mom’s side of the bed. It was full of dildos and vibrators. I had never seen them in real life. They were old-fashioned by today’s standards: all made from cheap plastic and flesh-colored, the biggest one brown. Some were meant to look like cocks; others were just tapered cylinders.
We were both speechless. We could have joked, but that would break the spell. Joking would be a way to hide how interested we were. She took me by the hand again and led me around to her dad’s side of the bed. She opened a drawer in his bed stand and there was something even more remarkable: a wooden paddle.
Finally she showed the courage that I lacked and turned around and hugged me. It was an inexperienced advance, but I couldn’t have been more grateful. She squeezed me tightly. I could feel her breasts press against my chest, and I’m sure she could feel the hard-on I got when I saw the paddle. I thought I should try to kiss her, so I began kissing her neck and soon we were kissing for real. We fell onto the double bed and made out for what felt like a long time. I was out of breath, probably hyperventilating from excitement and nerves. I wasn’t sure if it would be okay to rub my hard-on against her, so I didn’t until I noticed how much she was grinding her crotch against me. When we paused for a minute I was feeling more daring.
‘Have you ever used any of them?’
‘You first.’
‘Well I certainly haven’t used any of them!’
‘No, I mean, when you’re home alone, what do you do?’
‘Well, my dad has these porn magazines in a box in the attic.’
‘But what do you do?’
‘I look at them.’
‘And?’
‘I jack off.’
‘Me too.’
‘Do you use those things?’
‘Yeah.’
She blushed and rolled over into the pillow to hide her face.
‘Do you want me to do it to you?’
‘Yeah.’
The next hour was the greatest of my life to that point. To be honest, I didn’t know exactly what the ‘it’ was she wanted me to do to her. Back then teenagers didn’t have sex that casually, so I figured I would just try to use the sex toys on her. If she wanted more she could ask. She was still lying face down. It was easier not to have to look into each other’s faces, but it made it harder to get her pants off. At last she more or less did it herself, pulling her jeans and panties off in one swift movement.
‘There you go,’ she giggled.
Indeed. The sight before me was certainly the most remarkable my young eyes had ever seen, and it remains permanently burned into my memory. It has been fodder for nearly every subsequent fantasy and the reference point for ass-perfection against which all other asses are judged. At the time I was nervous touching it, as if she might get mad at me or have second thoughts. But finally I got up my courage and began to stroke the soft, cool flesh. My hand followed its contours, attempting to appreciate every inch of this promised land.
She used her feet to kick her jeans and panties all the way off so she could spread her legs. ‘Use one of those,’ she said softly.
I rummaged through the drawer of plastic penises and found one that looked pretty self-explanatory and not too anatomically correct. It was a classic vibrator, a lipstick-shaped missile with a switch on the bottom. I was still so ignorant of the female anatomy and sexual response that I thought I should put it inside her. I figured it must be shaped like that for a reason. I set the end against the place where I could see the dark flesh of her labia and pressed gently, not sure how hard to push or what the angle of penetration should be. I didn’t ask because I didn’t want her to know how inexperienced I was.
I’m sure I wasn’t doing it right, and I’m sure it must have been uncomfortable, but she was so wet that it slipped in anyway. I turned it on and she began to moan. I didn’t know exactly what to do then. I waited a few minutes and finally she said, ‘Put it on my clit.’
I knew enough about the clit in theory. Now I had to put theory into practice. When I pulled the vibrator out of her it glistened in a way that nearly made me come right then and there. She was still on her stomach, and she lifted her hips a little so I could put the vibrator about where I thought her clit should be. She reached back awkwardly to try to help me, but after a minute of unsatisfying wiggling she turned over, took the vibrator from me and spread her legs. ‘Right here,’ she said.
‘Sorry,’ I apologized, feeling a bit of a failure.
‘It’s okay, I do this every day,’ she said with a smile.
I watched her rub it gently across her clit, but when she noticed I was watching her she stopped. ‘You do it, too.’
‘Me?’
‘Yeah, I’m showing you how I do it. You show me how you do it.’
I tried to think of anything to say, but there was no way I could get out of it. Besides, I was so horny I was just about to die.
I unbuckled my belt, unfastened my pants and pulled them down just like she had. Seated on the edge of her bed with my pants and underwear around my ankles made me feel a little too much like I was sitting on the toilet, but I just grabbed myself and started jacking off. The buzz of the vibrator began again and we awkwardly masturbated together.
‘You do it to me and I’ll do it to you,’ she proposed.
This was a major improvement. I didn’t have to suffer the indignity of looking like a monkey with an itch and I could feel her pussy while my cock finally enjoyed the touch of someone other than me. I held the vibrator in place for a while, moving it around a little like she’d been doing, but soon I grew bored of that and began to explore with my fingers. I eased one inside Rebecca, and then a second. Her cunt was delightfully wet and warm and soft.
‘Do you want me to lick you?’ I asked, wanting to taste my first vagina.
‘Sure.’
I began to lick and lick, sometimes lapping hungrily and sometimes stiffening my tongue so I could push into her soft flesh. I managed to put my fingers inside her too, and she began to moan. I’m pretty sure she faked her orgasm, but regardless, there was much moaning and sighing and flexing and finally a collapse into blissful exhaustion. After a few minutes on her back she looked up at me and smiled.
‘That was really great. Do you want me to do it to you?’
‘Yes please,’ I croaked, then lay back on the bed and she bent over me, taking my cock in her mouth and running her lips up and down it. She was still naked from the waist down and I stroked her ass while she sucked me. There was no faking my orgasm. I hadn’t jacked off that morning and it came quickly, surprising her so much that she pulled back, gasping and giggling at the same time.
‘That was fun,’ she said, delighted at her accomplishment, even as she wiped my come off her chin with a corner of the sheet. ‘My sister is going to wake up pretty soon, so we should probably get dressed.’ Before she turned away she gave me the warmest smile, an affirmation of our private treasure.
And this smile, more than anything, was what made it hurt so much when, the next days and weeks at school, Rebecca spurned me completely. She barely returned a simple ‘hello’, let alone talking to me or doing anything to temper Ashley’s contempt for me. I knew Rebecca liked me, but I found out the hard way that she was too weak to stand up to Ashley. It was sad, really. I should have felt sorry for her, but I hurt too badly to feel sorry for anyone but myself. It felt like a giant smack in the face, worse than if she had just smacked me when I tried to kiss her. The sting lasted longer than any smack could and the humiliation I felt when she refused to talk to me in school was more devastating. Sex never really came out from behind the dark cloud of this betrayal.
The cruel irony of it was that Rebecca suffered the wrath of Ashley not a month afterwards. Rebecca’s punishment for leaking word of Ashley’s make-out session with a pothead not on the high school’s social A-list wouldn’t soon be forgotten by anyone who was there. It happened in the fraught twenty minutes between gym class and lunch. This unsupervised interval in each gender’s changing room always threatened to become a little too much like Lord of the Flies. The lower you were on the social totem pole, the more you were in a hurry to get out of there as quickly as possible. This explained why Rebecca left the changing room on that fateful day without adequately checking herself in the mirror. One more moment in front of one and she wouldn’t have entered the cafeteria with a very visible, very red spot of blood in the crotch of her white jeans.
When, after everyone had had ample opportunity to gaze at this menstrual badge of shame, someone finally told Rebecca about it, she ran from the cafeteria, and we later heard was dismissed to go home and change. She was of course greeted with merciless teasing and laughter when she returned the next day. Though she claimed she wasn’t even having her period and didn’t know how the red spot had gotten there, most viewed this as a lame excuse and teased her even more for denying the obvious.
The truth didn’t come out until after high school, when one of Ashley’s ex-boyfriends, less fearful of her retribution, told the story of Ashley’s cruel plot: she would wait for a day that her own period coincided with Rebecca’s choice of her white jeans. Then she would linger behind when everyone else showered, and smear her own flow in the outside of the crotch of Rebecca’s jeans. Rebecca could hardly be expected to look at her crotch in the mirror as she left the locker room and Ashley cunningly placed the smear towards the back, so that the shocked looks and laughter would follow Rebecca from behind, maximizing the time she would remain ignorant of her humiliation.
While you might think this would precipitate a reconciliation between me and Rebecca, bonded as we were by Ashley’s wrath, the truth was more ignoble. Losers in high school tended to steer clear of one another, believing somehow that together they would offer a bigger target, compounding their suffering and confirming everyone’s low estimation of them. Besides, I don’t think Rebecca ever got over feeling bad about giving me the cold shoulder, and that awkwardness was only exacerbated by her own public humiliation. In retrospect, I wished it could have been so different. I looked forward to setting things right, but I couldn’t have foreseen how right I would set them.
I had set out to find Rebecca, but before I could I ran into Ashley again. This time we were waiting to pick up our kids after a late rehearsal for the high school play. Rachel and Lucy weren’t good friends but they were often in plays together. I wondered if Ashley had signed the release saying they could spank Lucy.
At first there were a lot of parents there but the crowd eventually dwindled until it was just Ashley and me. She maneuvered to stand next to me, acting like she’d just ended up there.
‘You left me all black and blue,’ she whispered. I don’t think she had fully decided whether to play it as righteous anger or laugh it off as a joke. I shrugged. ‘It could have been serious. The bruises didn’t go away for a week. I worried I might need to see a doctor.’ I shrugged again. ‘The worst were the bruises on my thighs. They made it so I couldn’t wear half my skirts.’
Poor Ashley.
‘I had to hide so Lucy didn’t see them. What would she think?’
Probably the truth.
‘You did it so it really hurt. You know you did.’
She said it like an accusation, as if it were something I was inadvertently guilty of and not something I had set out to do from the beginning.
‘Well, what do you have to say for yourself, Bruce?’
‘Hello, Ashley, how are you?’
‘Don’t play games with me, Bruce.’
‘I wasn’t playing games, Ashley, I was treating you in a friendly and polite manner, which is more than I can say for how you’re treating me.’
‘Well, I think you owe me an apology.’
‘What do you think I owe you an apology for, Ashley?’
‘You know what.’
‘For spanking you?’
‘Shhhh. Don’t say it so loudly, someone will hear.’
‘You mean you don’t want anyone to know that you were spanked, Ashley?’
‘Shhhh. No, I don’t think it’s okay for you to do that, and I don’t want people to know that I inadvertently sunk to your level.’
‘If you want an apology, Ashley, insulting me is hardly the way to get it. In fact, your condescension reminds me exactly why I did it in the first place. My only regret is that you evidently didn’t learn your lesson.’
‘Just what are you suggesting?’
Was she asking for it? I was baffled. I expected her to be mad at me. I expected she would hate me. I’d made the calculations in my head and decided it was worth it. After all, what did I have to lose? But this? Did she actually want another spanking? Were all her complaints just invitations? Maybe it hit a nerve in her; maybe someone had finally been real with her; and maybe she wanted it to happen again. Maybe, but maybe not. She looked pissed, not flirty. I could tell she really wanted her words to hurt me. But maybe part of her fell back into this bitchy act while another part struggled to escape. Her inner battle intrigued me. I wanted to draw it out, to bring the fighting to the surface and to see how she dealt with it. At that moment I was pretty sure I would be spanking Ashley again.
‘You baffle me, Ashley.’
‘Why is that, Bruce?’
‘I don’t think you know whether you loved your spanking or hated it.’
‘Well I know I hated it. And I think I would hate you too if I didn’t feel so sorry for you.’
‘There you go again, Ashley. It’s like you’re goading me. It’s like you want something from me.’
‘Dream on.’
‘Have it your way.’
I turned toward the door that Rachel would emerge from. Neither of us said anything for a minute. I began to wonder if I’d made the wrong move, but she finally cracked. She turned towards me, put her hand on my chest and looked up at me, doe-eyed.
‘Please don’t think I’m a monster, Bruce.’
‘Is that what I think?’
‘You’ve only seen my bad side. I have a good side, too.’
‘I’m sorry I’ve never met that side of you.’
‘I’m sorry, Bruce. I really am.’
‘Me too.’
‘I really meant it when I said I was a bitch to you. I know I’d been wrong, but it was high school. What did we know?’
‘I don’t think it’s that easy.’
‘If you can’t forgive something that happened fifteen years ago, then…’
‘That’s not what I said.’
‘What did you say?’
‘I said I don’t think it’s that easy.’
‘What’s not that easy?’
‘Leaving those bad parts of you behind. I think they’ve haunted you ever since. I don’t think you’ve ever grown up.’
‘You’re one to talk.’
‘See, you can’t even talk about it without hiding behind insults.’
She stopped to think. I could see the forces waging war inside her. Part of her wanted to throw it back in my face. She could blame me, insult me, dismiss me as a sore loser from high school, but she could also think about what I had to say, wonder if I saw a part of her that others ignored, and ask me for the only thing she really, really wanted. ‘When you talk to me, I get so scared.’
‘I think that’s the good Ashley speaking.’
‘Yeah, but when the good Ashley is scared the bad Ashley comes out. Then I become all bitchy when really I’m just scared.’
‘What are you scared of?’
‘I’m scared people won’t like me. I’m scared people will think I’m a loser. I’m scared people will hate me because of who I was in high school. People like to see bad things happen to me. You’re not the only one who resented me, but you’re the only one who’s been honest about it. What you did to me was honest. You didn’t lie to get in my panties or let me get away with my act just so I’d like you.’
At that moment I really liked Ashley and felt terrible about the cancer lie. She was being real and I was stuck in a lie, except it was the lie that had allowed things to become real. I couldn’t back out of it now. The good Ashley deserved something better, but I had a bad Bruce, too. Who were we trying to fool? Neither of us would ever completely leave our bad sides behind. Moreover, this was real, but it was also an act. We both knew where we were trying to go, and now I could be certain that I could take us there. ‘I think you need another, Ashley.’
‘Are you sure, Bruce? It hurt so much.’
‘Sometimes things have to hurt.’
‘But it already hurts so much. It hurts to be the bad Ashley. It hurts when everyone is looking at me and hoping bad things happen. Why do I need a spanking on top of all that.’
‘The spankings aren’t meant to hurt like that. They’re meant to make it easier for you to be good.’
‘I know, Bruce, but it’s hard. Will you be gentle? It hurt too much last time.’
‘If it had really hurt enough you wouldn’t have been so bitchy to me. When you whined and complained and insulted me, you were telling me that I’d been too gentle with you. It’s going to take more than that to drive the bad Ashley away.’ Here eyes were moist and she couldn’t say anything else. ‘I’ll come to your house tomorrow after the girls go to school.’
She nodded and dried her eyes before the girls emerged. I watched her ass as she walked away, swaying a little and tingling in anticipation.
Did I think of anything else? Could I sleep that night? Of course not. I’m sure she couldn’t either. I hurried Rachel out the door. I’m sure she and Lucy were the first ones to school that morning. I’d been thinking all night about how I would do it. I wanted it to be different, for we’d be on a different footing this time. It would be premeditated, a planned encounter for a specific purpose. I wanted it to have the desired effect.
‘Do you know that they spank the kids at the high school?’ I asked when I arrived at her house. She nodded. ‘Did they do that when we were in school?’
‘Not to anyone I knew.’
‘I guess it was the 70s and authority had a bad name.’
‘Lucy told me they use a paddle.’
‘Did you sign the release?’
‘You mean did I give them permission to paddle Lucy?’
‘Yes.’
‘No.’
‘Me neither.’
‘Do you think it would be different if you’d been paddled in school?’
‘I don’t know. Maybe.’
‘Maybe the bad Ashley wouldn’t have gotten her way quite so often. Maybe she wouldn’t have grown into such a brat.’
‘Maybe.’
‘I’d like to paddle you for being bad in high school.’
‘But your hand was bad enough, Bruce. Do you even have a paddle?’
‘No, but you do. I’d like you to get me your sorority paddle.’
‘No way; it hurt so bad during initiation I nearly cried, and that was when a girl was doing it.’
‘I’m sure it will hurt more today.’
‘Please, Bruce, I’m not ready for that. Maybe sometime, but not now, it’s too soon.’
‘That wouldn’t do in high school, Ashley, not with the principal. Now get me the paddle.’
‘I don’t even know where it is. I haven’t seen it for years.’
‘Go find it right now, or you’ll get extra strokes for lying.’
She got up and went upstairs. I waited, relishing thoughts of the anguish she was feeling. I knew it would only get worse before it got better.
She returned quickly enough to convince me that she’d known exactly where it was. The bad Ashley still needed to be taught a lesson. She handed it to me and looked very sheepish. I towered over her in a way I had never imagined. I must have towered over her in high school too, but she’d seemed so much larger than life. ‘Thank you, Ashley,’ I said when I took the paddle from her.
‘You’re welcome, Mr Harris.’
I hoped she would play the role, but her degree of cooperation surprised me. ‘I understand you’ve been having some trouble conforming to our code of behavior, Ashley.’
‘It’s not like that, Mr Harris. It’s just that everyone spreads rumors about me and everything gets blown out of proportion.’
‘Are you telling me that you haven’t been doing these things?’
‘Well…’
‘That’s what I thought.’
‘But everyone blames everything on me. They weren’t my cigarettes. Some girl asked me to keep them for her. And when the chaperones found beer in our hotel room, I hadn’t even had any.’
‘There you go, Ashley, blaming everyone else but yourself. I’ve heard you’ve been getting quite out of hand. Your boyfriends fight in the hall. Your girlfriends miss classes because they’re crying in the bathroom. Other students show off for you, mouthing off to the teachers you don’t like or bullying your enemies. Whenever there’s a problem it seems like you’re at the heart of it.’
‘How can you punish me for what they’re doing, Mr Harris? It isn’t my fault.’
‘Do you really believe you don’t bear any responsibility?’
‘It’s not that. It’s just that I can’t help it. Things go badly when I’m around. It’s like I’m cursed.’
‘Well, we’ll see if a good paddling can’t make you a little less cursed. Maybe you’ll start trying to keep things from going quite so badly in the future.’
‘But Mr Harris…’
‘Don’t “but Mr Harris” me, young lady. If you weren’t supposed to be spanked when you deserve it, your parents wouldn’t have signed the permission form. It’s only been the lack of a single, major transgression that has kept you from being bent over here before. I’m typically gentle when it’s your first, but I have the feeling it will take something rather severe to get you to change your ways. We’ll begin with fifteen strokes on your bare bottom, and if things haven’t gotten better by next week you’ll get another twenty. Now please lift your skirt and lower your panties. Then bend over the desk and keep your hands flat. If you stand up or reach back it’s five extra strokes.’
I could tell how hard it was for her to do. She kept looking up at me like she was about to say something, to break out of character, to implore me to stop this game; but every time she did I met her eyes with a firm look that was enough to dissuade her. I don’t think she wanted to disappoint me. Being bent over like that gave me a different view of her ass. This was the Ashley I remembered. This was my tormentor, bent over, bare bottomed and about to get the paddling of her life.
She had been right. The paddle was a fearsome implement with Greek letters and a logo on one side. I swung it through the air a couple of times, then lined it up on her ass, taking my time and hearing her gasp with fear every time she thought the first one might be coming. It must have taken enormous self-control for her to remain quiet, but she managed. Maybe there was hope for the good Ashley after all.
Finally I took a deep breath, took aim and brought the hard wood down across her buttocks, attempting as best I could to distribute the force evenly between the two cheeks. This was no experimental foray into the use of a new implement. I tried to bring it down with the seasoned expertise of a high school principal who did this a couple of times a day. For the role I currently inhabited, the bare buttocks in front of me, belonging as they did to the most popular girl in the school, were all in a day’s work. It was simply my pedagogical obligation to cause them sufficient pain so as to dissuade her from future misbehavior. In my role as principal I would have become accustomed to the tears and sniffles of those proud enough to postpone their outright sobbing as long as possible. I was neither the one crossed by transgressions I was punishing her for nor the one who would receive the benefit of her future behavior. No, I was nothing but an instrument of a justice where the price of transgression was physical pain. As such, I felt more obliged to offer a punishment of adequate severity, for it would do no one any good if it didn’t keep her from returning. In the end a harsh punishment now was meant to result in less punishment over the long haul.
The punishment lacked all ceremony. There was no foreplay or teasing, no reminiscence about the bad old days. The paddle was a formidable instrument, its blunt impact driving her thighs into the edge of the desktop and leaving instant bruising on the strip of flesh where each stroke landed. The paddle was wide enough and her bottom trim enough that there was very little choice as to where to land each stroke. As a result they landed more or less right on top of each other, offering no respite for her beaten skin. Each impact sent a ripple through the flesh before her body could absorb the paddle’s momentum. Moreover, each stroke sent a grunt from her lungs, different from the squeals and curses of the previous spanking. This time she clung to her self-control, admirably not humiliating herself in front of her high school principal, yet not being able to withhold the tears and finally giving in to them around stroke six. After several particularly wicked strokes her hands lifted involuntarily from the desk, fingers outstretched in tense agony, and shot towards her backside, but the good Ashley prevailed and overcame the instinct to protect herself, knowing full well how counterproductive it would be. Her control seemed praiseworthy, but I was determined to offer her no consolation during the punishment. She would endure this alone, as I had endured her cruelty in high school.
I expected more begging and pleading to accompany the more severe punishment, but instead there was just more silence. It was quick. The build up had happened the previous evening and we’d had twelve hours to think about it. Now there was nothing left but the thing itself. As principal, it would hardly do to tarry. I delivered stroke after stroke, slamming her into the desk. Next time I would pad the place where her thighs met the edge of the desktop, but I didn’t regret not thinking of it before. Compared to the pain of the paddling, the added insult to her thighs would be minimal.
I couldn’t say where she was for sure during the punishment. I would guess she was carried away by the severity of it, a severity that deprived her even of her capacity to beg, plead or try to manipulate me. I admired her stoic resignation to her punishment. I expected that it stemmed from a growing consciousness of her guilt.
I was quite possessed by giving the spanking. Only rarely did I take my eyes off her ass, staying focused on the task at hand with a machine-like precision. We delved into the sexual dimensions of it last time; the previous evening we had gone deeply into the psychology of it; this was pure execution. All the questions – what would it be like? How would it feel? Could she stand it? Would it make us feel better – all these and others could be answered afterward, but first the paddling itself drove all questioning aside.
In fact it drove everything aside. When I looked at her ass I saw something pure, some aspect of her being, the bad, the shameful, the punished in its purest state. It was the opposite of looking in her eyes or at her face. It was the opposite of the awe and appreciation that her eyes, lips and face inspired in those who had worshipped her through the years. While one could worship her ass as it swayed down the school corridors in tight jeans or miniskirt, in its current state it inspired quite the opposite feeling. The object of so much worship and adoration was now the object of a severe beating. Looking at her ass this way, it seemed made for only one thing: this. I couldn’t even imagine ever resisting the urge to apply such treatment to any ass in the future. The very existence of such fleshy backsides certainly proved irresistible now I’d tasted the contemplative pleasures of administering such a punishment. In spite of all my thoughtful awareness of the situation, the emotional dynamic, and the baggage that we both brought to this encounter, none of this distracted me from the aesthetic pleasure of it, and I was sad when I finally reached fifteen and had to emerge from my silent ritual.
I stopped and looked down at her. She remained over the desk, making no move to get up, her body shaking gently with quiet sobs and her ass a glorious mixture of blacks, blues, reds, pinks and whites. I could only assume that the bruising from the previous spanking would be nothing compared to this. Additionally, I imagined she had a few days of serious soreness in store for her. Looking at her, inert over the desk, made me realize she’d lost her own volition entirely. She was so deep into her submission that she would do nothing unless I told her to.
‘I’m very proud of you, Ashley,’ I said, a bit officiously. ‘You handled your first paddling admirably. I’m sure you hope it will be your last. Now you can go stand in the corner until you’re ready to return to class.’
She did as she was told, walking towards the corner with a bit of a waddle since she hadn’t been told to raise her panties. Her skirt inevitably fell to cover her ass and I requested she raise it so I could enjoy the view of my handiwork. She obeyed without hesitation and I sat on her couch. I looked at my watch to make sure she remained in the corner for an adequate period of time, and when ten minutes had passed I summonsed her so we could talk about her behavior.
‘How did that feel, Ashley?’
‘It was horrible, Mr Harris. It hurt worse than anything.’
‘I’m sorry it has to hurt so badly, but I’m afraid that’s the only way some people learn. Have you learned your lesson?’
‘Yes, Mr Harris, and thank you… for everything.’
‘You were a kind principal, Bruce,’ Ashley said, after we spent a few minutes letting the scene fade away.
‘How do you mean?’
‘Well, I always fantasized about cruel principals. It used to turn me on to think about them doing awful things to the girls sent to their office.’
‘Like what, Ashley?’
‘It’s really embarrassing.’
‘It’s okay, Ashley. I’d like to hear.’
‘Well, I imagined principals who would forbid girls from going to the bathroom and spank them so hard it made them pee. I imagined principals who would make girls strip nude for their spankings and then invite the whole school to watch. There would be this big assembly and anyone who was going to get spanked would be naked and on display to all their classmates. Sometimes the girls would be offered a chance to pee in front of everyone before the spanking, but if they refused and then peed during their spanking they got twice as many strokes. I dreamt about all kinds of things, Bruce, and I never told anyone before. Sometimes, when sitting on the toilet, I would imagine doing it in front of the whole school before my punishment, the toilet made of clear plastic so everyone could see everything. Whenever I thought these things it would get me so horny I’d have to masturbate.’
‘I guess I was a kind principal, wasn’t I?’
‘Yes, you were.’
‘Were you disappointed?’
‘Well, it hurt so much I don’t know how I stood it. But I thought you might do something worse to me.’
‘I think you might need something more, Ashley. Only now can I see how much you need.’
‘Yes, Bruce.’
‘You see, Ashley, a punishment isn’t over until the ones you’ve hurt have had a chance to see you’ve paid the price for what you’ve done to them. So I plan to invite some of the victims of your cruel whims, gossip and cliques to bear witness to your punishment. I’d like to see what time suits them so we can best arrange the logistics of your ordeal. In some matters the timing is quite crucial. Now, where’s your phone?’
‘But, Bruce…’
‘Mr Harris.’
‘But Mr Harris, you don’t mean…’
‘I don’t mean what, Ashley?’
‘You don’t really mean that you’re going to let anyone see me?’
‘I’m only delivering the punishment you yourself requested, Ashley. I find that deep down girls know what they need. It’s just that most are too afraid to admit it. I’ve found that a paddling can sometimes jar those secrets loose, and I’m glad to see it did so in your case. Now I have a better idea of what you crave, I can serve your needs more effectively. Certainly you can’t deny that having an audience is an essential part of all your fantasies?’
‘No, Mr Harris, but—’
‘I’m sure the thought of anyone seeing you like this horrifies you, but not as much as you terrify them, so your anxiety will at best equal theirs. Moreover, as circumstances forbid us from really gathering together a substantial audience, I’m afraid we’ll have to settle for one particular intimate I have in mind, one who you can’t deny deserves pride of place among witnesses to your shame… Rebecca.’
‘No, Bruce, you can’t. This isn’t a game.’
‘Where’s your phone? Or do you require another paddling to pry this secret from you?’
‘It’s not like you can do whatever you want to me. It was a fantasy, Bruce. I didn’t mean it like that. I’m not going to play this game if you’re going to be like this.’
‘Did Rebecca have a choice when you toyed with her? Did you stop your cruel games when she complained? Have you ever, once, faced any consequences for the humiliation she suffered?’
‘I hate myself for it, Bruce. Isn’t that enough? I know what I did. I knew what I was doing even then. It’s just that I was the bad Ashley then. I’m better now. I really am.’
‘Like the other day in the grocery store?’
‘I didn’t say I was perfect. I’ve let you spank me because I’m not perfect. But now you’re asking too much.’
By then I’d found her phone and was searching in the phone book, and could tell Ashley’s continuing protests lacked conviction. She didn’t want anyone to see her like this, she didn’t want me to involve Rebecca in her shame, and most of all she didn’t want to think about another spanking, but that didn’t mean it didn’t all excite her. She couldn’t hide from herself – even facing the worst humiliation and pain of her life, she was turned on by it. It was her fantasy and she was helpless against it.
I found the number I wanted and dialed. ‘Hello, Rebecca? Hi, this is Bruce Harris. Yeah, it’s been a while, hasn’t it? I’ve been okay. What about you? Hey, the funniest thing has happened. I’m over at Ashley’s house. No, no kidding. Anyway, we were talking about you and hoping you might be able to come over for a bit. No, we’re serious. It’s not what you think. I think you’ll be glad you came. Yeah, I promise. Do you know where she lives? Yeah, it’s the same house. Her husband moved out. Great. An hour? It’ll be good to see you too, Rebecca. No, I promise. It’ll be fine, you’ll see. Bye.’
I ended the call, Ashley looking at me in disbelief. ‘You didn’t really talk to her?’ she whispered. ‘There wasn’t anyone there, was there? You’re just teasing me.’
‘Think what you want, Ashley. We’ll see in an hour.’
‘You can’t really think she’ll be okay with this.’
‘You never really know what someone’s going to think.’
‘But Bruce, this isn’t something normal people do. She’s going to think we’re both weird.’
‘You’d be surprised,’ I said, thinking of the paddle Rebecca had shown me in her dad’s bedside table. ‘Now, we have some preparations to take care of. Please take off all your clothes, and behave yourself in a way appropriate to a principal’s office. I won’t tolerate anymore of this sniveling.’
When she’d obediently finished undressing I told her to make a pot of coffee. At first she looked at me strangely, and it was indeed an odd moment to decide to pass the time with a cuppa, but then it dawned on her what I had in mind and her expression changed to one of mortifying embarrassment and protest.
‘No, Bruce…’
‘Yes, and it’s Mr Harris. Five extra strokes await your next complaint.’
‘Um… yes, Mr Harris.’ She made coffee, dawdling at times but generally too afraid of the paddle to cause any serious delay, and within ten minutes she was sipping her first cup. I told her I expected her to drink at least three cups, but by then she knew the game and didn’t show any surprise. She obeyed my instructions diligently, resigning herself to the inevitable. The silence was peaceful at first. She was growing more comfortable with her nudity, seemingly forgetting it at times as she bent over to pick something up or unconsciously rubbed her beaten backside. Our sudden intimacy felt nice. The sight of her ass aroused me, especially when she rubbed it or hesitated before sitting down, applying weight to the tender flesh as slowly as she could, but not without a grimace.
I don’t think either of us really knew what to say, but finally there was no hiding from what was coming.
‘Mr Harris?’
‘Yes, Ashley?’
‘May I use the bathroom?’
‘I’m afraid not.’
‘But Mr Harris, I really need to pee.’
‘You’ll be able to soon, Ashley, just not yet.’
‘I don’t know if I can wait.’
‘If you don’t you’ll get twice the strokes I was planning to give you.’
‘But…’
‘What did I say about complaining, Ashley?’
She pouted sulkily, but then asked, ‘Have you seen Rebecca lately?’
‘No, have you?’
She shook her head, clearly reflecting on events long gone. ‘That was one of the worst things I ever did,’ she eventually acknowledged somewhat remorsefully, and clearly expecting me to know to what she referred – which I did.
‘Did Rebecca have boyfriends when you two were friends?’ I asked.
‘One or two. She was slow to trust anyone. She was sort of shy. I told her she should just fuck someone and get it over with. I didn’t like it that she was a virgin and I wasn’t. I thought she was judging me. Part of me wanted her first time to be like mine: too much beer, a rough jerk and then you’re just rid of it, once and for all. I could have been sad, but I decided not to be anything at all. It made me worry that other people thought I was a slut though, so I wanted her to be slutty, too. I didn’t think she had a right to be different from me, but she was. I don’t even think she kissed a guy until college. I don’t know when she finally got naked with one.’
‘I do.’
‘Really?’
‘Remember that snowstorm our senior year?’
‘Uhuh.’
‘When we had the day off school, I went over to her house and we screwed around. We didn’t have sex, but it was the first time either of us had gone that far.’
‘What happened?’
‘She was too scared of you to let it become anything more. She pretended it never happened because she didn’t want to be seen as taking your cast-offs.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘I am too.’
‘Have you two made up?’
‘Not really.’
‘Wow, this really is big, then.’
‘Yeah, for all of us.’
‘A funny way to do it, isn’t it?’
‘That it is, but at least now things will be different.’
‘Nothing will be the same, will it?’
‘No, it won’t.’ I reached over and stroked her hair. ‘I’m really glad you’re being brave, Ashley. This is taking a lot of courage.’
‘No, you’re the brave one, Bruce. You’re the one who’s forced the issue. If it was up to me I would have sucked your cock the other day and then bad-mouthed you at the club. You’ve brought the good Ashley back from the dead.’
‘I’ll introduce her to Rebecca.’
‘She might remember her, but it’s been a long time.’
‘It has.’ It was my turn to reflect.
When Rebecca finally rang the doorbell I told Ashley to wait in the dining room, and warned her about letting the temptation to pee get the best of her.
I hadn’t seen Rebecca in a while. Unmarried and without kids, she had evolved differently from Ashley. A bit more cosmopolitan and a bit bookish, like a librarian or schoolmarm. She made a good show of being content with herself and having made a happy life. She had a good job doing multimedia and networking for the school system. Some of the projects she’d done with students made the news when they won awards. In many ways she had probably done better for herself than most of us, but I also knew that you didn’t shed who you were in high school. It stays with you, no matter how you grow beyond it. As soon as she got over the shock, her high school experiences and that paddle in her father’s drawer made me judge that she would be just fine with this.
‘Hi, Rebecca.’
‘Hi, Bruce.’
‘Thanks for coming.’
‘It sounded intriguing. What’s the fuss?’
‘Well, we’re trying to put the past behind us.’
‘It is behind us, Bruce. It happened almost two decades ago.’
‘But there are some things where the simple passage of time isn’t enough. Some things demand a different sort of reckoning.’
‘Oh, Bruce, if you’re talking about what I think you’re talking about, I’m so over that.’
‘A lot happened then, Rebecca. I don’t think any of us are really over all of it.’
‘Have it your way, but what does it matter? What are we going to do, have some encounter group and finish it with a group hug?’
The way she spoke reassured me that there was still some feeling underneath it all. ‘No, we had a slightly different plan.’
‘We?’ She looked worried. ‘A plan?’
‘Do you remember that snow day?’ I went on, ignoring her probes.
‘Of course I do.’
‘Do you remember what you showed me?’
‘Of course, why are you asking me these things? What’s all this about?’ She didn’t mean to be so prickly, but I think she was scared that she might be walking into a trap. I couldn’t blame her for being defensive.
‘It’s okay, Rebecca. I promise nothing bad is going to happen to you. I’m not going to embarrass you or make you uncomfortable. It’s about something Ashley needs to do. I’m just trying to explain it to you. It’s a lot to take in at once.’
‘Ashley? What’s Ashley—?’
‘The paddle in your father’s drawer.’ Again I maintained control of the direction our conversation would take.
‘What about it?’
‘What did he use it for?’
‘How should I know? I always assumed the obvious thing.’
‘Is paddling his new wife the obvious thing?’
‘I can’t think of anything more obvious.’
‘He never used it on you?’
‘No! I thought you said this wasn’t about embarrassing me.’
‘It’s not. I just want you to understand.’
‘Understand what?’
‘Understand where Ashley and I are coming from.’
‘I want to understand, but you won’t tell me.’
‘You’re right, Rebecca, I’m sorry. I’ll tell you the whole story. Last week Ashley and I bumped into each other in the grocery store. She acted sweet, but underneath there was a current of bitchiness and arrogance that killed me.’
‘So what else is new?’
‘This time I decided I wasn’t going to take it. When I got upset she tried to seduce me. It was typical Ashley, she wanted to get the best of me, but if I called her on it she couldn’t let me think she was bad. She took me home and was going to give me a charity blowjob. But instead I told her what I thought of her behavior and gave her a spanking. Needless to say it changed some things. Now there are some other things she needs to be punished for. Not only that, but she told me how she wanted it.’
‘So are you guys a couple now? Are you finally living out your high school dreams? Did you bring me here to rub it in my face?’
‘Not at all, Rebecca. Ashley and I are far from a couple, but things are more honest now and I think it’s beginning to feel better. Anyway, Ashley has something to tell you and then we’d like you to see something.’
‘If this is some sort of apology, it’s coming just a little late.’
‘No, Rebecca, it’s something else. Ashley, could you come in here and tell Rebecca what’s going to happen?’
Ashley appeared shyly. I was accustomed to her nudity, but it took on a new intensity with Rebecca there. I could see it changed everything for Rebecca. For the first time I think she could sense that the shoe really was on the other foot and that this was something she might really want to see.
Ashley blushed. ‘Hi, Rebecca,’ she whispered.
‘Hi… Ashley.’
‘Tell her,’ I prompted.
‘Ever… ever since Bruce called me out on being bitchy with him last week,’ Ashley started, ‘I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it. It’s like I’m so tired of living with all these bad feelings. Last week felt bad – it hurt to hear Bruce say all those things, and the spanking hurt too – but it made me feel like there was some hope. Then I saw Bruce again yesterday and I was a total bitch, and wondered what was wrong with me. But he called me on it again and I realized how badly I needed to get some things out. It’s been hurting for so long. I got another spanking this morning, and…’
‘Show her,’ I instructed.
Ashley turned around and stood still while Rebecca gasped at the bruises. ‘Oh, you weren’t kidding!’ She let out a little nervous giggle, and whilst clearly shocked, I also thought I sensed some relief in her, too.
‘Tell her the rest, Ashley,’ I ordered.
‘After I got it bad this morning, I couldn’t get this one fantasy out of my head. I used to think about it constantly in high school. Even when you knew me and I acted so arrogant, my fantasy was about being ashamed and used and humiliated. It was always the same; I’d been bad and sent to the principal’s office and he punished me in a very particular way. First I’d have to strip naked. Then I’d spend the day there, but I wasn’t allowed to use the bathroom and sometimes he would spank me or make me do chores for him. At the end of the day he’d call an assembly and everyone would know that someone had been bad and it was a spanking assembly. Then they would look around and see who was missing and try to figure out who was going to get it. When they thought it was me the whole school buzzed with excitement and everyone was talking about what implement he might use and how many strokes I’d get. They knew how the procedure went: I’d be brought in, naked, and made to face each direction while the principal described the punishment. Then I’d be offered a chance to pee. A pan would be placed in the middle of the room for me to squat over. Deprived of the toilet for hours beforehand, everyone knew I needed to. But I’d be too nervous and couldn’t do it in front of everyone, even though I faced the prospect of twice the strokes if I peed during my punishment.
‘I used to think about peeing in front of everyone whenever I sat on the toilet, about how awful it would be, and got turned on by it at the same time. After that I’d get my punishment, which was typically divided into four parts, each one given facing a different direction so everyone could see.’
‘So I’m your school assembly?’ Rebecca nodded as it all became clearer. Then something unexpected happened; Ashley got tearful, her voice quavered, and she looked at Rebecca with imploring eyes.
‘No, Rebecca, it’s not like that. I was awful. I deserve so much worse than this for what I did to you. But this is where we start. I want you to help Bruce punish me. I want you to be a witness to my shame. I want you to finally understand how bad I feel.’
‘Okay, Ashley, okay,’ Rebecca’s voice softened, ‘I’ll do it.’
‘Ashley,’ I pressed on, ‘get out a baking pan, set it on the floor in front of the desk where you were paddled earlier, and let’s begin.’
She did as she was told, looking back over her shoulder at me when she bent over to get the pan, a prop I was glad she suggested. I offered Rebecca to sit on the couch, and when everything was in place I led Ashley by the arm to between the couch and the desk, where she would stand in full view of Rebecca while I described the punishment. It would, I decided, consist of fifteen more strokes of the paddle. It was to be a fearsome sum administered by a fearsome instrument, but the most terrifying part of all for poor Ashley was the all too recent memory of the identical punishment she received just a few hours before. The state of her ass would assure that it would be much, much worse this time, plus the presence of Rebecca would make the spectacle of how she endured the punishment that much more fraught.
‘First, Ashley has a minute to prepare in any way she wishes,’ I announced, and by not instructing her to use the pan I made her choose the way to spend the minute, so her slow, hesitant squat over it took on an extra edge. She looked up at us and then closed her eyes, willing her body to let go and get it over with. Her shoulders rose and fell as she took deep breaths and her abdomen tightened as she tried to force herself to pee. But I suspected her attempts weren’t as wholehearted as they appeared. After all that coffee I’m sure she could have done it if she wanted. So I concluded that she wanted the most intense punishment she’d ever imagined. Not being able to pee left open the possibility of losing control during the beating itself and the dire consequences that would entail. When a minute had passed and she was still fruitlessly squatting over her brownie pan, I instructed her to stand up and bend over the desk as she had this morning.
With her in place I took up the paddle again and aimed at her tormented bottom. The first strokes were probably what Ashley and I had expected them to be. Agonizing, to be sure, but not very different from the second half of the earlier paddling. Rebecca, however, had never seen such a thing and her shock at each blow was greater than Ashley’s. She leaned forward on the couch to get the best view possible. I think she wanted to get up and investigate the spectacle closer, but she remained seated. Ashley’s cries, her struggle to keep from reaching back to protect herself, and her fidgeting from one foot to the other all brought Rebecca to life as she relished every detail.
At the halfway point Ashley began to lose her composure. Her cries turned from soft and restrained to constant and sniveling. Her pleas had no coherence. She wasn’t arguing or protesting so much as begging, but she knew it would make no difference. She was, I think, hoping against hope that the inevitable wouldn’t happen, and it almost didn’t, but as the fourteenth stroke hit her and she let out a wail of agony, a torrent of urine began flowing down her legs and spreading out on the hardwood floor at her feet. Once the flow started Ashley made no attempt to stop it. She knew she would receive the extra fifteen regardless and had given up any attempt at dignity or control. She’d been defeated, but I think she’d deliberately set out to defeat herself. She’d been winning her whole life and it brought her little but unhappiness.
When her pissing showed no sign of letting up I aligned the paddle and gave her another stroke, causing the stream to break off abruptly and then begin again with a momentary increase in force. Finally it ended and I stated the obvious: fifteen more for peeing.
But the truth was I didn’t really want to do it. It would be too much. I hadn’t factored in doubling it when I sentenced her to fifteen. On Ashley’s already beaten bottom it was too much. It put me in a quandary because I was afraid it would taint the whole emotional experience to cut it short, to not follow through on a consequence. I paused and was stuck, when Rebecca did something I never would have expected.
‘Let me,’ she said.
I looked at her, confused. Did she want to paddle Ashley? I wasn’t sure what to say to this.
‘I’ll take the last fifteen,’ she clarified.
‘What?’ I was taken aback. Even Ashley lifted her head and turned to look at her.
‘She’s had enough, Bruce, but she still has fifteen more strokes coming. I’ll take them for her. She’s not the only one who hurt people in high school.’
Rebecca was already taking off her shoes. She dropped her jeans and panties in one motion, elegantly stepping out of them, and moved to position herself where Ashley was. ‘Is that okay with you, Ashley?’
She nodded, unable to speak for the tears that threatened to overcome her. She moved aside, collapsing on a nearby chair and making no attempt to dry the pee that remained in her pubic hair or wetting her legs. Similarly, Rebecca moved to occupy Ashley’s place without any attempt to avoid the urine that wet the floor.
Rebecca bent over without pause or ceremony. She didn’t have to be told; she simply did exactly what Ashley had been doing. For me, though, it was an entirely new experience. This new bottom in front of me, the first female bottom I had ever seen when I laid eyes on it almost two decades ago, was still stunning. Its beauty aroused me, and its unmarked paleness momentarily seemed too pristine to mark with the palette of reds, blues, purples and blacks that the paddle would cause. Furthermore, I’d been able to skip the preliminaries with Ashley because we spoke about it so much before; now, with Rebecca, the emotional terrain was unexplored and it gave me pause to begin the paddling without better understanding her intentions. But Rebecca must have sensed my hesitation because she spoke to me before I had a chance to speak to her.
‘I’ve just peed all over the floor and understand that I am to get fifteen more. Please don’t hesitate. I’m ready to get them over with.’
This was a different Rebecca to the one I was speaking to earlier. This was Rebecca free to express her hunger through Ashley’s voice, the voice of the one who peed, not the one who offered to substitute for her. Rebecca’s own motivations, her lingering guilt or anger, and her feelings about the paddle her father owned but had never used on her, would all get investigated in good time. Now it was simply time to finish the previous punishment before concerning myself with any future ones. I tapped her ass a couple of times with the paddle, taking aim and focusing on the feelings the bare bottom called out in me. With this single-mindedness I gave her the first stroke, landing solidly and loudly across the crowns of both her gorgeous buttocks.
‘Oh no,’ she couldn’t stop herself from moaning.
Ashley looked up from where she was resting her head to catch Rebecca’s terrified gaze. Ashley looked at Rebecca apologetically, but there was nothing she could do. The two women, now in their mid-thirties, caught each other’s gaze like helpless schoolgirls, crying together the way they did in seventh grade.
The second stroke made as big an impression as the first. She was scared of them and tensed her buttocks as I swung. This may not have had much of a consequence if I was using my hand, but it was absolutely the wrong thing to do with the paddle, for without the give of relaxed flesh her thighs were crushed even harder into the front of the desk and the pain must have been a good bit worse. She tried to relax but couldn’t help herself, just as she couldn’t help herself when after the fourth stroke she put her hands back to block the next one and stood up while a long series of protests burst from her mouth. Instead of the respite she so desperately desired, her behavior garnered a stern warning to keep her hands in place.
It was hard to punish Rebecca for something Ashley did, though from the rear view they seemed more interchangeable. It wasn’t like their asses looked alike, but it was a uniquely impersonal, even pornographic, angle. It dehumanized them. The very existence of an ass like that was enough to make you want to spank it, regardless of who it belonged to. It was the opposite of looking someone in the eyes, which inspires connection, fellow feeling, empathy and tenderness. Her ass inspired nothing of the sort. Instead, it seemed to offer up a challenge.
The last dozen on Rebecca’s virgin ass were uniformly severe. They were the ones for not talking to me after our magical day together, though I suspected it would take more than just these strokes to right that wrong. God knows what else she’d done that deserved punishment, but whatever it was, she was regretting it by the time I got to the final five strokes.
‘No, please, I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.’ Her voice wobbled on the edge of tears, though I had no idea what she was sorry for.
‘I’m sorry, Rebecca,’ Ashley echoed from where she curled in the fetal position, hugging her knees to her breasts and rocking in shocked despair as she watched her former friend’s agony.
‘Oh, Ashley,’ Rebecca responded with feeling that defied any attempt to define it. Sometimes that was what seemed to come out during the spankings – pure feeling, nonsensical feeling, inchoate feeling. Sometimes it felt like that was what needed to come out most.
‘I know it hurts, Rebecca. I’m so sorry I’ve done this to you. Please forgive me.’ I continued paddling Rebecca while Ashley continued her monologue. ‘You can do it, Rebecca. Just a few more. It’ll be over soon. It’ll be all over soon.’
Ashley’s words softened Rebecca and they both began to cry, for reasons that seemed quite unrelated to the paddling. Beyond the skin of their bottoms, their faces were red and blotchy, tearstained with bloodshot eyes. By the time the crack of the last stroke faded, Ashley had gone to Rebecca’s side and was hugging her, apologizing desperately and trying to console her. They collapsed to the floor, crying on each other’s shoulders.
I should have felt cruel, like a mean-spirited sadist, for inflicting all that pain, yet I didn’t. Something inside said they were lucky to have me. They would never forget this. This was the biggest thing to happen to them in years and they would look back on it as a turning point in their lives. Then they would think of me with gratitude and admiration. I regarded them with nothing but warmth and affection as they cried two decades of sadness and regret in each other’s arms. It was a far cry from the bitterness that characterized our feelings but a few days ago. No, this was not some shameful deviance; it was something we could all be proud of, as unorthodox or even incomprehensible as it may have seemed to an outsider.
It might seem anticlimactic, but we found our way up to Ashley’s bed and cuddled for a while, closing our eyes, holding and touching each other, but never going any further than a caress, even though the two of them were still naked from the waist down. Part of me wanted them to tell me about their punishments. To hear it in their own words would set me off completely, and I would have tried to fuck one or both of them for sure, but they were too drained for words and too drained for fucking, so we just cuddled. But even without any sex, I can’t say I left with any unsatisfied desires.
Now this is where everything began to circle back to my marriage. My time living with my lie was limited. Not only was Rachel graduating in a couple of weeks and going with her friends to backpack around Europe for the summer, but the truth would inevitably come out. Ashley would ask Lucy how Rachel was holding up since her mom had died and Lucy would say, ‘What? I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ And she would ask Rachel and Rachel would say, ‘What? Where did you hear that?’ And then it would only be a matter of time before the whole thing came out. The fantasy couldn’t last forever.
Moreover, the lie had run its course. We’d learned more truths because of that lie than any honesty could have taught us. We were different now and I think we were all a little tentative to make contact with each other, scared maybe that the spell would be broken by the banality of daily life. Given that everything was about to change, I decided to change myself first. I began packing my things, filling boxes and preparing to put the house on the market. By the time Rachel’s mom drove up for her daughter’s graduation, I was ready to follow her back to where she’d moved. I knew it would work out. I was a different man now, and I just knew it would work out.
‘Jane,’ I said, after we returned home from taking Rachel and her friends to the airport for their European vacation, ‘there’s something we have to talk about.’
‘What’s that, Bruce?’
‘I still love you. I want to stay married to you. But there’s something I need to do if it’s going to work.’
‘I’m listening.’
We were in the bedroom, our old bedroom, and we were sitting on the bed that was ours for all those years. I turned to her, screwed up my courage, and told her the things Ashley and Rebecca had taught me.
‘I was nothing but a doormat for years. I’m sorry I’ve been such a disappointment. Your anger has been justified. But I’m ready to be the husband you hoped I would be, not the passive little man I was.’
‘How can I know you’re serious?’
‘You’ll know after I spank you, Jane. You’ll know it if you bare your bottom and lie across my lap and finally get what you’ve needed from a husband.’
She pulled down her panties, right then and there without me asking twice. She smiled at me mischievously, and purred, ‘I thought you’d never ask.’