Subject: NEW STORY-"So, You Want A Spanking..." Part 1 (M/fff, spanking,
semi/non-consensual, parental/quasi-parental, very little sex)
From: email@example.com (Elaryn)
Date: 20 Apr 1998 20:06:53 -0700
Greetings, ASSville. Finally, I managed to finish a brand (dare I say it?) spanking new story.
DISCLAIMER: This story contains non/semi-consensual spankings and very little sex. It does involve two parental spankings and one in loco parentis spankings (M/fff). If this sort of story bothers you, offends you or squicks you, please read no further! The content of this story does not, in any way, imply that I approve of the practice of spanking as a punishment for children. YMMV.
I was curious when my best friend, Marcy Cavender, slid into her desk with some amount of carefulness - not like her at all, really. Usually, she'd dash into class, just ahead of the bell, and slam into her desk. Today, though, she sat slowly and cautiously, as if sitting down hurt. I flashed her a grin and said, "Hey, girl - what's up?" Then I noticed her expression - she looked way down." "What's wrong," I asked.
"Nothing. I-I'll tell you later," she replied in a low voice.
I'd known Marcy since I started high school. The Cavenders had a dairy farm out in the boondocks and had a large family - seven kids, in all - which I guess the needed to do all that farm-type work. Marcy was the oldest girl; she had an older brother, James, who was away in the Air Force (guess he got tired of milking cows). Her folks were nice - sort of warm and snuggly - but kinda old-fashioned and strict, too. Marcy was 17 - same as me - but was not allowed to wear "excessive" make-up or stay out past ten o'clock at night. Most of the time, she wore neatly pressed skirts to school - not the "uniform" jeans everyone else wore. Her dad commonly wore the stereotypical farmer's overalls and straw hat. Marcy's mom usually wore some kind of house dress (unlike MY mom, who had a 9-5, Marcy's mom was a genuine, old-fashioned, "June Cleaver" housewife - the kind who stayed home and baked cookies.) I liked them a lot, and Marcy, too, but visiting them was sort of like going to another planet for a few hours.
At lunch, I steered Marcy away from the crowded cafeteria and toward a private bench under a tree. It was our "special spot" where we could talk away from curious ears. Marcy was still sitting carefully, I noticed. I also noticed she was really quiet - not that she was very noisy to begin with. I waited until after we'd finished eating. "Um, Marcy," I started, not sure how to ask, "are you, like, feeling okay?"
"Oh, I'm fine, Shanna," she replied, looking away. "I can't come over after school today. I have to go straight home."
"Straight home?! How come? Come ON, Marcy - something IS wrong!" I gave her shoulder a light shake.
"I-I got in trouble last night," she whispered, "and I'm grounded all this week."
"No kidding - what'd you do?"
"Dad caught me sneaking a cigarette behind the barn."
"He grounded you a week for a cigarette?"
"Well...it wasn't - you know - a normal cigarette," she admitted with a blush.
"It-it was...it was a marijuana cigarette, and he caught me with it, and...and he-he was so angry, Shanna. It was awful! He said I should be..be ashamed of myself, and-and that I could get into big trouble with the law..." And-and...then he t-took me back in the house, and he told Mom, and SHE got all upset. They made me go to my room and wait for them... I had to miss supper."
"So...what happened then?"
"After supper, he and Mom came up to my room, and they talked to me for a long time about all the kinds of trouble I could get into. Mom said I was grounded a week....and Dad....said I h-had to have a spanking. Then he spanked me on my bare butt with a paddle."
"A spanking?! At your age? Ya know, I thought you were sitting down like it hurt. Did they hurt you? You want to go to the nurse and=96"
"SHANNA - NO!! Stop it!!!" Marcy had never used that tone of voice with me before - harsh, angry, strident. I was so surprised I edged back from her a little. "Shanna...I'm sorry I yelled at you." Her eyes were brimming with tears. She put one hand on my arm. "Please don't be mad at me...or-or think I'm stupid. I-I deserved it, Shanna. I was wrong, and I knew it, and I deserved it. Please don't get upset." She managed a watery smile. "It's not like the first time I've ever been spanked, really. D-don't your mom and dad...."
"Nope. Never. Well...once, when I was three or four, Mom said I tried to run into the street, so she dragged me back and whacked my ass...but seriously, I don't even remember it. They wouldn't hit me, no matter what I did. All MY parents do is talk about it, night and day. On and on. Forever. Amen. But spank me - as if!!" My mom was a social worker with children's services. Dad was a shrink. They thought that spanking was 'barbaric' and 'maladaptive' and a whole lot of other long, psycho-babblish words. Instead of getting my ass tanned for being bratty, I got psychoanalysed! I have to admit - privately - that sometimes, I'd've rather just taken the beating and gotten the whole thing over with instead of listening to Dad drone on about my sub-conscious, or Mom wonder about the 'quality' of her 'parenting interactions.'
"Well, mine do," Marcy said, with an odd touch of pride. "It's not like they just whip us for every little thing, Shanna, but there are certain things that need...stern discipline. I dunno - it gets it over with quickly...and afterward...I feel better - not as guilty. Cleaner. You know?"
No, I didn't know, but how to explain it to her? "Well, if you can't come over to MY place, can I come over to your place? We really have to get going on those Civics study questions, and we don't have a week."
Marcy smiled softly and said, "I'll call my Mom and ask her."
We spent the evening at Marcy's, and I have to admit, I kept eying her parents on the Q.T. They didn't LOOK like child abusers or sickos - as always, they were sweet and warm and cuddly. Marcy's mom gave me a big hug and fed us milk and fresh cinnamon buns while we studied, then asked if I could stay for supper (but only if MY folks didn't mind, which they never did...if they were even home. Mom usually worked late, and Dad often had late appointments). Dinner was scrumptious - baked chicken with REAL mashed potatoes (I know, cuz I helped mash 'em!) And TWO kinds of veggies and a big salad and hot, fresh, homemade bread! There was a peach cobbler for dessert. After supper, Marcy's dad insisted on driving me home, then walked me to the front door and waited while I let myself in.
"You going be okay all by yourself, young lady?" he asked. As I expected, neither Mom nor Dad was home yet.
"I'll be fine, Mr. Cavender," I said.
He looked uncertain. "Well, you lock up that door tight, while I wait right here. I'll give you a call once I'm home to make sure you're okay."
"Thanks, Mr. Cavender. You're a sweetie." I gave him a quick hug, then closed and locked the door. I washed up and got ready for bed, wondering how such a sweet guy could beat his daughter until it hurt her to sit down. It seemed strange to me. I thought about asking my mom, but she'd probably get all weird and want to know who is was, and then... Marcy would know darn well WHO had the social worker for a mother and WHO she told about her getting a spanking, so that was out.
For the next couple of months, I gradually forgot about the whole thing." School let out for the summer, and one day, my parents announced they were going to be taking a very special vacation to celebrate their twentieth anniversary. A two-month cruise, to be precise! Dad had partners who could take his clients; Mom had LOTS of vacation time. I grinned at them, picturing TWO WHOLE MONTHS of glorious, parent-free living. Freedom! Then Mom dropped the bomb.
"...and since we're planning to be gone for two months, Shanna, we've decided you can stay with your best friend, Marcy Cavender."
Dad chimed in, "It's a wonderful environment for you - quite a change of pace from suburban life. And it'll be good for you to spend extended 'quality' time with someone in your own peer group. Marcy is such a lovely, well-adapted girl."
If only they KNEW, I thought. "But Dad," I protested, "I-I'm seventeen!! I can handle myself alone! Didn't I do okay when you guys went to that week-long conference? Pleeease?? Give me a CHANCE!"
Mom was already shaking her head. "I just don't have a good feeling about leaving you all alone for two whole months. We'll be out of contact, and seventeen is still underage." She looked uncomfortable. "Shanna...it's NOT that we don't trust you. We do. We just think it's better this way. It keeps temptation out of reach."
"What are you trying to say, Mother? That you'll come back and find me knocked up?"
Mom gave me her most sympathetic, 'social worker only trying to help' smile." "No, Shanna, but remember that in my line of work, I see a lot of nice young girls, just like you, who thought they could handle a situation all by themselves - but couldn't. We're responsible for you, Shanna, and we think this is the best way to handle this."
I frowned, but dropped that line of argument. I felt kinda lousy for talking that way to my mother. She DID see a lot of screwed-up kids, and somewhere inside, I agreed with her and Dad. But being stubborn, I still had to try." "Wh-what will the Cavenders say?" I asked, hoping they had not already made the arrangements. "I hate to just...barge in on them."
I should've known MY parents, because the next thing Dad said was, "Isaac and Louise said they'd be delighted to have you stay with them. We've worked everything out. You'll go over there a week from tonight, after seeing us off at the airport."
'Isaac and Louise,' was it? THAT was a scary thought. I tried one more shot." "But who'll get the papers and the mail," I asked.
Mom smiled approvingly. "It's nice to hear you're being so responsible, but please - don't even worry about it. We're having the post office hold the mail, and we've stopped the paper delivery. We asked Dick - Dr. Gayvran's son...you remember him - to mow the lawn once a week."
I remembered Dick Gayvran, all right - a real creep who looked like a choirboy, when he wasn't trying to get his hand where it didn't belong. "Okay, Mom. But it's not like I'm a big baby or something. I'd be okay."
Dad shook his head. "Honey, work with us here. Try not to be so resistive." We know you like Marcy, and she likes you - you're very adaptively bonded. And her parents spoke very highly of you."
"I know this feels like abandonment, but we'll keep in touch," Mom added.
So, it was settled. I was going to be a captive of the spank-happy Cavenders for two whole months. So much for freedom! So much for sleeping whenever I wanted and staying up late. So much for house parties. But other than running away, what could I do except pack my bags?
Okay...it wasn't so bad - at least, not at first. I was very careful to mind my manners and be as polite as I could be, which got me a lot of praise from Mama Cavender. The downside was having to help Marcy with all her chores." MAJOR downer!! (Except for getting to run the tractor - I gotta admit that was pretty awesome!) Then there were Marcy's younger sibs: Tammy, who was fifteen, was a royal pain-in-the-ass-pest and whined when she didn't get her way." Elizabeth (but everyone called her Betty), age twelve, was a tomboy and mostly played with her twin brother, Peter. Michael, age eight, was at the age where he liked to bring home nasty, slimy things in his pockets, which made helping with the laundry a MAJOR gross-out! Finally there was Jill, the 'baby,' five years old. She was really cute, and Marcy and I liked to dress her and play with her long, blonde hair. It was just like having a live doll to play with!
Tammy and Marcy argued a lot, and one night, I overheard Tammy getting a scolding from Mr. Cavender about some prank she'd played on Marcy. I really couldn't hear exactly what he said to her, but the NEXT thing I heard Tammy say was, "No, Daddy - please!" Then I heard a loud slapping sound - WHACK, WHACK, WHACK!!! I could also hear Tammy yelling "OW!! OUCH!! Daddy - PLEASE!!!!"
I must have stood there a long time, because Marcy came up and grabbed my arm, looking a little nervous. "Come on, Shanna - let's go to my room."
"But what about-"
"She deserves it, the little brat. Come ON!" Marcy tugged harder. I looked back at Mr. Cavender's study. Marcy hissed, "You wanna be NEXT!? Come ON!!"
Once in safely in Marcy's room, I gave another glance back over my shoulder." "He-he's hitting her," I stammered, probably sounding way stupid.
Marcy rolled her eyes. "Of course he's hitting her," she said, sounding annoyed. "If you REALLY want to know, he's spanking her bare butt with a wooden paddle, and I hope she can't sit for a week when he's through with her!" Tammy thought she'd be real cute and put some dye in the laundry I was doing." It's all bright green now, bed sheets and towels. Good thing it wasn't anyone's clothes!"
"But why would she...?"
"Because she's a little brat! Because she wanted me to get in trouble!" She sank onto the bed. "I have no idea why she did it. You're so lucky not to have any brothers or sisters!"
Marcy rolled over onto her back and exhaled loudly. She was really pissed at her sister, and I could understand why, but I don't know if I'd've wanted her to get hit like that. I waited a few minutes while Marcy calmed down before asking, "What did you mean when you asked if I wanted to be next, Marcy?"
"Oh, that - Daddy once caught James out in the hallway, listening, when Tammy and I were getting a licking for TP'ing his car, and Daddy told him that if he ever caught anyone listening in the hallway when someone else was being punished, that person listening would get an even worse whipping."
"H-he can't DO that - I'm not even his kid! My parents would be way pissed." They might even call the cops or something."
Marcy looked disbelieving. "They'd call the cops because you got a spanking?"
"They think it's child abuse. They're totally against it. They think it's barbaric and maladaptive and cruel and a whole lot of other things. They've never hit me - not for anything."
"Really? NEVER? Never-EVER?? No matter what you do?" Marcy sat up and patted my arm consolingly. "D-don't they love you, Shanna?"
Her last question really surprised me, and it took a little while for me to answer. "L-love me? Don't be silly, Marcy. Of course they love me."
"I'm sorry, Shanna - it was a dumb question. It's just that MY parents say that if you really love your children, you'll correct them AND punish them when they need it."
"Well it's not like they just let me do whatever I want!" But for the most part, I thought, they did.
"Shanna...a spanking is NOT the worst thing in the world."
"Umm...d-doesn't it hurt?"
"Silly! Of course it hurts! But...not forever."
"Okay, so, like, what does he DO? You know...like when he's going to spank you...or something?"
"Well, it depends on what we did wrong. Sometimes, Mom'll just tell us to turn around, then give us a few whacks with a wooden spoon over our clothes. That usually happens if we squabble while we're helping her in the kitchen. She'll say, 'Stop it now! Turn around! WHACK-WHACK-WHACK!!!' then we get back to work. If we did something really bad, we either get it in Dad's study or in our rooms. Dad usually handles those spankings, though sometimes, Mom does it. Anyway, we get called into Dad's study, and he tells us that we did something wrong and that as much as he hates to, he has to punish us for own good and because he loves us. We talk about what we did that was wrong and why it was wrong and how we can correct it. Then," Marcy gulped softly, "then, he calls us over and bares our bottoms. With the boys, pants and underpants come down. With us girls, he lifts our skirts and pulls down our panties. It's SO embarrassing - especially now that I h-have hair 'down there,' but Dad doesn't care. He always says that he used to diaper us, so that makes it okay." Anyway, then he has us lay across his lap...and then...he starts spanking."
"Does he hit you very hard?"
"Depends on what we did, but yes, pretty hard. He says he likes to make a good first impression." She actually smiled.
I asked, "Are you going to hit your kids?"
She considered for a moment. "Probably. I think it works better. I mean, I'd rather be paddled than have to get a long lecture all the time."
Our conversation turned to lighter stuff, but that night, I couldn't sleep very well. I kept thinking about what Marcy said, '...if you really love your children, you'll correct them AND punish them when they need it.' My parents DID correct me...but they almost never punished me - and certainly not like Marcy's dad.
The next couple of weeks were quiet. Then, Marcy's older cousin, Elinor, invited us to a youth group party a couple of counties over. Elinor was in college and still acted 'fresh off the farm' when around the Cavenders. Around other kids, it was a whole different story. Anyway, she got their permission to take us to and from this party. Marcy and I were actually going to be allowed to come home at eleven o'clock (rather than Marcy's usual curfew of ten).
The actual party was as dull as I thought it would be, with a lot of adults around. Elinor acted as innocent as usual. Marcy knew a few people there, but I knew no one, so we hung out together and talked. The actual party lasted until eight-thirty. But after the party, a bunch of people piled into a couple of cars, and headed for some guy's place. His parents were out of town, so he had quite a lot of people there - mostly his own age or older, though a few, like us, were younger.
There was a lot of drinking going on, as well as a few joints and hash pipes and other stuff. A lot of people were pairing off and doing a lot of kissing and groping. Some of the guys looked kind of big and scary and not too sober." I could tell Marcy was already nervous, and I have to admit I was, too. Elinor abandoned us for some guy, flinging herself into his lap and kissing him. He grabbed her by the titties and she squealed. Marcy and I just looked at each other over our beers.
"Big mistake," I whispered.
"And how," Marcy responded. "Elinor's gonna GET it when Aunt Hester finds out about this."
"How're we going to get home?" I asked.
She said, "There's Bill Keenan - from Geometry. Maybe he'd take us home."
Marcy waved Bill over. He reeled toward us with a silly, drunk grin on his face. I remembered all of Mom's lectures about drugs and alcohol, and I had a bad feeling about riding home with Bill. But drunk as he was, he looked friendlier than some of these college guys. "Hi, Bill," I said. "Can you do us a big favor?"
He grinned amiably, and placed a loose arm around Marcy and me. "Sure!" What'cha need?" He withdrew his arm from Marcy for a moment, and grabbed a beer from a nearby table.
"Bill," I said, "we sure could use a ride home. You don't live too far from the Cavenders."
"Daddy'd even let you stay 'til morning," added Marcy.
"You wanna LEAVE? NOW? But this'z a great party," he protested. "Lookit - all this beer and food and stuff... Aw...c'mon, girls..."
"Bill, we don't even know anyone here except Marcy's cousin, Elinor and you," I told him. "And a lot of these people are way older than us."
"Bill," Marcy chimed in, "we have GOT to get home by eleven. If we don't, we're going to be in big trouble."
"BIG trouble," I added.
He looked puzzled for a moment, then replied, "Oh yeah...tha's right. I gotta get home early, too." He fumbled for his keys and flashed a triumphant grin when he finally found them. "Hokay, ladies - le's GO!"
Marcy and I exchanged looks again, and I remembered what my father had always said about getting into the car with a drunk driver. But it sure beat walking home, and besides, he wasn't THAT drunk, was he? Bill's "car" was actually a somewhat battered pick-up truck with some of the letters in "TOYOTA" painted out so it spelled "YO" on the tailgate. I squeezed in between Bill and Marcy as our chauffeur coaxed its engine to life.
"Here we go, girls!" whooped Bill, putting the truck into gear and squealing, backward, down the drive and onto the road for several hundred yards. Marcy shrieked and clutched my arm. I was too startled to even scream. Bill turned and grinned. "Aw, c'mon! It's just like one o'them rides at the State Fair!"
"Just get us back to Marcy's in one piece, Bill," I said through gritted teeth.
"No problema, senorita!" proclaimed Bill in badly accented and slurred Spanish. Then with a screech of tires, Bill shifted gears and zoomed up the highway." At least the cab of the truck was facing forward this time. Marcy had her eyes tightly shut and was still gripping my arm like grim death. I was dimly aware that sometime during our 'blast-off,' my beer had spilled into my lap, and I suspected Marcy's had done the same thing. Bill still had his, though, and was taking swigs between high-power turns, burping loudly every few gulps. Well, we could always tell Marcy's folks that some doofus had dumped beer on us at the party - it would even explain why we left early.
Suddenly, there came a brilliant light behind us and the blare of a siren!" Marcy opened her eyes wide. We heard, "STATE POLICE...PULL OVER TO THE SIDE, NOW!!"
"Shit..." I whispered to Marcy, "we're history..." She nodded and looked very scared.
Bill got out of the truck and grinned amiably at the officers, a man and a woman. "G'd evenin' officers...how c'n I help ya?" He staggered toward them, beer can extended in greeting.
The two state troopers looked at each other with disbelieving expressions. The man relieved Bill of the beer can and said, "You've had a bit to drink tonight, son, haven't you. What's your name?"
Meanwhile, the woman approached Marcy and me. "Hello there. Can I see some identification?"
Marcy and I fumbled for our purses. Marcy said, "She's staying with my folks." Her parents are out of town for a couple of months."
"Marcy Cavender," she read, "Cavender... You wouldn't be related to Isaac and Louise Cavender, of Cavender Farms, would you?"
Marcy nodded glumly, looking very shame-faced. "Uh-huh. They're my parents."
The lady trooper grinned. "My uncle Walter just happens to be their veterinarian. Hey Phil," she called to her partner, "this here is Isaac Cavender's daughter!"
The man, meanwhile, had been lecturing Bill. He turned, taking Bill by the arm, and ambled over to his partner. "And who is THIS young lady?"
She read, "Shanna Foster-Bauer. She's staying with the Cavenders, according to Marcy, here."
"I don't have to tell you kids that driving with someone under the influence is a really stupid idea," Phil the State Trooper began, "and it goes without saying that one way or the other, you three are in serious trouble. Where'd you get the beer?"
"We were at a party, man," explained Bill. "There was lots of it."
"And where is this party being held," asked the lady trooper, whose name tag read 'Perkins.'
Marcy answered, "At the Osborn place. Chuck Osborn's folks are out of town this weekend." Officer Perkins went back to the patrol car, and I figured that the party was soon to receive some uninvited guests in uniform.
"Aw gee, Marcy, what'd you hafta go'n tell 'em THAT for?" complained Bill." "Now Chuckie's gonna get his ass kicked when his daddy finds out!"
Phil gave his prisoner a little shake and said, "William Dennis Keenan, when YOUR father sees you in this state and finds out you drove, with two passengers in the truck, you will learn the real meaning of 'trouble.' I hope, for your sake, that Bob wears you out with that old razor strap he keeps in the barn." That's what I'd do if you were MY son!"
"What are you going to do with us, Officer," sniffled Marcy.
The male trooper smiled and said, "Under ordinary circumstances, we'd take you three back to Juvenile Hall, and your parents could pick you up in the morning. But seeing as how we know the Keenans and the Cavenders, I think we'll just escort you home and let them deal with you. And since Miss Foster-Bauer is staying with the Cavenders, she's their responsibility."
"Your father can pick up the truck in the morning," Officer Perkins told Bill." Then they piled the three of us into the back of the patrol car and drove us back to Marcy's place.
The Cavenders were waiting up for us and were quite upset to see how we arrived. Mrs. Cavender invited us all in. Then the state troopers explained about the party, the alcohol and how Bill had been weaving all over the road when they'd pulled him over. Mrs. Cavender fixed the nice state troopers some coffee, while Mr. Cavender called Bill's father. Bill looked sick to his stomach and more than a little anxious about facing his father. Then the Cavenders made polite small talk with the state troopers for a few minutes, walked them (with Bill) to the door and said good night.
"Marcy Emilia Cavender, what on Earth could you have been thinking, letting your cousin Elinor take you to a party like that, and then getting into a car with that young man, drunk as he was?" said her mother. "You never called us, as we have told you to do. You and your friend, Shanna, here, could have been maimed or killed in some kind of terrible accident, and I am just beside myself! Young lady, you are in a lot of trouble, and believe me, you are getting the spanking of your life!"
Mr. Cavender was quieter, but just as angry and upset. A fire seemed to smoulder behind hid usually gentle eyes. After a dark look at his daughter, he turned to me and said, "I'm very disappointed in you, Shanna, and your parents will be when they learn of this. Go upstairs and move your things to a guest bedroom. Since you're not my daughter, I won't spank you as you deserve, but I AM going to put you and Marcy in separate rooms for the next week.."
Marcy had already started crying; I felt close to tears myself. I slowly went upstairs to do as Mr. Cavender ordered. It didn't take me long. By the time I finished, Marcy and Mrs. Cavender were already in her bedroom, and Mr. Cavender had just finished climbing the stairs. He had a wooden paddle in his hand and his sleeve was rolled up. I swallowed hard.
"Good night, Shanna."
As he turned to enter Marcy's bedroom, I said, "Wait - please! Can I talk to you a second, Mr. Cavender?"
"Very well, Shanna - AFTER we're finished with Marcy." Seeing my disappointment, he said, "You weren't going to beg me not to spank her, were you? She's getting her little bottom paddled, and that's that."
"N-no sir - that wasn't what I wanted to talk to you about."
"All right then." He entered Marcy's room; the door closed behind him. I had a brief glimpse of Marcy, lying face down on the bed, bottom already bare.
I scooted into my new room and lay down, wondering if I would have the courage to go through with my idea. Back in Marcy's room, I could hear their voices, then the unmistakable *KER-ACCK* of a paddle on bare skin. I could hear Marcy cry out after each paddle whack. My tummy felt all fluttery, especially considering that if Mr. Cavender was willing, I'd soon be in the same position as Marcy. I can't tell you why I was suddenly so curious about getting a spanking, but it was all I could think of. Now if this were MY parents, there would be lectures and scoldings, and maybe a trip to a therapist...but a spanking would be out of the question. Would Mr. Cavender even DO it? After all, I wasn't his kid.
Marcy's paddling seemed to last forever, but finally I heard her door open and close. I heard quiet footsteps approaching my door, then a soft knock.
"Shanna? Are you awake in there?" asked Mr. Cavender softly.
"Oh, Honey, she's probably out like a light, poor thing. Leave her be," whispered Mrs. Cavender.
"N-No...I'm awake. Come on in."
They came in and sat down. Mr. Cavender, who was still holding that wood paddle, sat down on the corner of the bed while Mrs. Cavender took a nearby chair. "What did you want to ask me, Shanna," he said. My mouth suddenly felt dry and the butterflies in my tummy took wing. I stammered a few moments while the Cavenders waited patiently. Mr. Cavender scooted closer to me and placed a paternal arm around my shoulders. "What is it, Shanna? Is everything all right?"
'F-f-fine," I stuttered. "E-everything is-is f-fine! I j-j-j-just... I mean... It's like..."
"Honey, calm down," said Mrs. Cavender, leaving her chair and taking up a position on my left side.
"S-sorry... I'm just... I don't know how to...to..." My eyes flickered to the paddle, now lying on the floor.
"Oh, that's sweet of you to worry about Marcy like that," said Mrs. Cavender, who had followed my glance, "but Marcy's just fine. She won't be sitting comfortably for a day or two, but considering what could have happened to the two of you, she's a lucky young lady, and so are you."
"Marcy is fine," repeated Mr. Cavender firmly. "And you'll be fine, too. Just get to sleep, and we can talk more about this in the morning."
He was going to leave, I thought - oh no! Impulsively, I leaned over and whispered in his ear, "Maybe I deserve a spanking, too, Mr. Cavender."
He looked surprised and said, "I beg your pardon? What did you just say to me?" Mrs. Cavender gave me a quizzical look and waited.
I blushed and hung my head, unable to meet their eyes. "I s-s-said that...that m-maybe I deserved a-a spanking...too, Mr. Cavender."
"You certainly do deserve a good spanking for that little stunt you and Marcy pulled tonight," he said, "but that duty lies with your parents."
"They won't, though. They never hit me," I said. "All they do is talk and talk and talk. I've never been spanked - ever! Not for anything."
"Shanna, your parents do what they feel is best for you, just as we do for our children," said Mrs. Cavender gently. "This sounds like something you and they need to talk about."
"They never will. Never." Thinking quickly, I tried a different tactic." "Ummm, look... I'm here, staying with you, and it's like...you're my parents right now. MY parents are a thousand miles away. And is it fair that Marcy gets spanked and I don't, when we did the same thing wrong? It was even MY idea to ride with Bill tonight."
"And what will your parents say," asked Mr. Cavender, reasonably, "when they find out?"
"Do you HAVE to tell 'em? I mean, if you just tell 'em you punished me, they won't even ASK how..."
"Deceiving your parents, young lady, about anything, is not a very nice thing to do," said Mrs. Cavender in a frosty tone. "Isaac and I are going to discuss this, outside, and we'll let you know what we decide."
"And," Mr. Cavender added, "you may rest assured that whatever we decide, your parents will be informed. Fully and completely." They stood and left the room, and frustratingly, went far enough away that I could not hear what they were saying.
I must have waited half an hour, because the knock at the door woke me up. The Cavenders entered and sat on the bed again. Mr. Cavender spoke first.
"Shanna, I'm going to spank you."
It was one thing to contemplate a maybe-spanking...but a for-real, right-now spanking... I gulped audibly. My mouth felt all dry again, and I could feel myself starting to shake. "Okay," I squeaked. "Wh-wh-what do you want me to d-d-do?"
Mrs. Cavender said, "Flip over onto your tummy and pull down your pajama bottoms. Then put your hands up here, under your pillows."
I obeyed and waited, feeling more scared than ever. Mrs. Cavender placed a comforting hand on my back. Mr. Cavender said, "Do you understand why you're about to be punished, Shanna?"
"Y-yes, sir. I went somewhere I had no b-business being, and we didn't call you to pick us up. We got into a car with someone who'd been drinking too much, which was dumb and dangerous. And...and-and I wanted you to lie to my folks about how I got punished for being so dumb."
"That sounds about right," said Mr. Cavender. "Hang on, because here it comes."
The first stroke took me by surprise, despite his announcement. I was too startled to even yell. It hurt like hell - much more than I'd expected. The second whack hit the other cheek, and I gasped in shock. The third was harder than the first two, and I felt tears spilling out of my eyes. Mrs. Cavender held me tight as Mr. Cavender rained stroke after stroke onto my bare bottom." After twelve, I lost count. I was yelling and begging him to stop - promising to be a good girl from now on, if only the spanking would stop. The paddle found its way to my lower cheeks and upper thighs, and in spite of myself, I started kicking and squirming like mad, trying to evade the merciless paddle." Mrs. Cavender held me tighter and whispered, "There, there, darling - don't be brave. Let it all go." Despite the pain, I felt somehow comforted and protected even while I was being punished.
By the time Mr. Cavender was finished paddling me, I was sobbing incoherently and my bottom felt like it was on fire! I found myself in Mrs. Cavender's arms as she stroked my hair, dried my wet face and whispered motherly nothings to me. Mr. Cavender must have pulled up my pajama bottoms because I could feel the light cloth on my burning cheeks and it prickled and stung, just like cloth on sunburned skin.
Mr. Cavender took my chin in his hand and lifted it gently so I met his eyes and said, "I know that hurt, Shanna, but it hurts a whole lot less than getting arrested or getting into an accident would have. I want you to think about that, okay?" I nodded quietly. He smiled, and his eyes twinkled, and he said, "We can talk more about this tomorrow."
"What do you mean, 'more,' sir?"
"Well, in addition to the bottom-warming you just received, you and Marcy will have a few extra chores to keep you occupied. And you, young lady, are going to formulate an explanation for your parents."
"Yes, sir. Th-thank you, sir." After a last kiss and hug good night, the Cavenders left the guest room, and I was left to think about what had just happened. I was definitely gonna be sleeping on my stomach tonight, and sitting down for breakfast was gonna be a little uncomfortable. One thing was for sure: I was never, EVER going to get in a car with a drunk driver, ever again, no matter how sheepish I might feel about calling my parents (or the Cavenders) for a ride home. I realised Marcy was right - I DID feel 'cleansed.' I guess that's what my folks would call 'closure.' I felt loved, cared for and looked after in a very special way that seemed to go straight to my heart. Don't get me wrong - I was NOT going to go out of my way to earn another 'appointment' with Mr. Cavender's paddle. But the rest of my stay with the Cavenders was going to be...interesting, to say the least.