From: gaetana@aol.com (Gaetana) Newsgroups: alt.sex.spanking Subject: Little Green Apples Date: 10 Aug 1994 16:30:06 -0400 Message-ID: <32bdce$6ar@search01.news.aol.com> Note: Usual author's disclaimers precede this, including warning about sexual content and graphic scenes involving minors No one is required to read it, however : ) (Gaetana) Little Green Apples - Part 1 By late summer, being out of school wore thin. Katydids sang, the asphalt glimmered hotly, and the hot muggy days took on a sultry sameness, games, books and even afternoon TV palled; idle young hands and imaginations sought novelty and usually found it. In Gina's small Virginia city in the late 50's, summer activities were unstructured and not yet dominated by camps, leagues and lessons. Gina and her friends, in their 10th summer, were still kids, but Gina's body was quickly moving into early puberty, the boys still young and awkward but emulating tough masculinity. This era of do-it-yourself adolescence was ending and no one knew it; yet it was not a time without its painful lessons. Minor errors of judgement might be scolded, but disobedience, "back- talk", and major infractions of house rules earned, without question or exception, vigorous spankings, paddlings or strappings (only varying by implement and venue of administration from household to household). The kids were candid (almost bragging) in admitting to each other when they'd "gotten it" - no point in denying since the punishment was usually audible for a block, especially in summer. Gina's parents were better-educated and generally more tolerant than those of many of her friends, but when she strained even their indulgent, the punishment administered was often compounded for the past 3 or 4 complaints, accompanied with a shouted lecture: "...and THIS is for last week when you...."! Mrs. Browning's old apple trees were an enticement to the kids year-round, although her yard was off-limits. The trees were just the right height for climbing, with low-hanging twisted limbs and a stout, gnarled trunk, Gina and her friends were in and out of them constantly, playing at cowboys & Indians, cops & robbers, pirates and other rowdy make-believe. But in late August, the three old trees were heavy with knotty green fruit, nowhere near ripe, but tempting on hot afternoons to bored kids hot and sweaty from running and climbing in the sun. There were other girls in the neighborhood, but they spent long hours playing with paper dolls and coloring books and Gina, always more interested in drama and role-playing, often sought the company of the boys, who "tolerated" a girl's presence since she was imaginative and brought variety to their action games. On such a steamy August afternoon, perched in the largest of Mrs. Browning's apple trees, Tom Cassidy, Paul Zimmer, Teddy Roberts and Gina ate a considerable number of Mrs. Browning's little green apples. A couple of hours later, Gina and the boys began to lose interest in the game. In truth, Paul and Tom began to look a little greenish themselves, and Teddy claimed to hear his mother calling him. Gina had begun to develop a dull stomach- ache but really didn't want to go home. Her aunt and uncle were coming for dinner, her mom was cooking up a storm, and somehow Gina lacked her usual hardy appetite. In fact, her stomach felt full and achy. The memory of a dozen or so tart little green apples gave her a queasy feeling at the moment. Gina found a comfortable place in the deep shade under the grove of apple trees and curled up to rest. Drawing up in fetal position eased what was becoming a nagging stomachache. She dozed and pondered how to explain her lack of appetite for mom's big company dinner... She was awakened by her mother's unmistakable sharp call: "Gi-NA!! You'd better not make me call you again!" Oh-oh - how many times had her mother called her already? She nervously started to jump to her feet, but stopped still half bent over by the cutting pains in her abdomen...oooh, what a stomachache she had now. She couldn't really straighten up and her belly felt distended and painful. "GI-NAH!!" yelled her mother, "You'd better get here NOW if you know what's good for you!!" She knew what THAT meant...and she began to trot the few backyards to her house, holding her tummy with both hands. "I'm coming, Mom!!" She called, hoping to forestall her mother's growing impatience. "I didn't hear you before!" This was almost true and she hoped it would defuse the anger she heard in her mom's voice. "H-hi, Mom," Gina faltered when she saw her mother at the back door, flushed and sweaty from the kitchen, apron covered with flour and cooking juices, and the big wooden spatula in her hand - arms folded, with body language spelling trouble. It was nearly dinnertime, and Gina knew she was dirty, uncombed, and crouched over with an obvious belly-ache. Through the open kitchen door she saw her aunt peering curiously out of the kitchen. Her uncle and their two kids, 8 and 6, would be in the living room watching the news on their black & white 12" TV. "You get in this house and get washed up for dinner, young lady," her mom hissed. Your father is about ready to whip you good!" "Mom...I don't feel too good. I - I've got a really bad tummy-ache..." she trailed off. Something in her mother's look said that wasn't going to get her a lot of sympathy. Her mom reached out and felt her head. "You don't have a fever," she commented. "You better not have been eating green apples from Mrs. Browning's trees. You kids have been warned about that!" "Oh, NO, Mom"- Gina denied instinctively. With a sudden jangle, the phone rang. Gina couldn't hear the conversation and her belly was throbbing with pain. She sat on the edge of a kitchen chair, bent over and holding her abdomen. Her mom was looking daggers at her. "Really," her mom nodded. "That's exactly what I thought but Gina sore they weren't!" Gina's head shot up, startled. "Thank's, Ann, " said her mom, hanging up the phone. "Well, I guess you DO have a belly-ache, missy - Paul's mother says he's doubled up with cramps too, and admitted you kids were eating those little green apples all afternoon. Haven't you been TOLD to stay out of Mrs. Browning's yard?!" This last was delivered while she hauled a groaning Gina to her feet and toward the living room. She forced her to stand in front of her dad, uncle and her two little cousins. "John, I don't know what I'm going to do with this girl. She's disobeyed, come home dirty and belly-aching when here we have company for dinner, and on top of that, lied to me about eating tons of those green apples from Mrs. Browning's trees!" Her dad looked more bemused than angry, but he obviously felt the need to present a united front, especially in front of relatives' kids. "Well, Nancy...first things first. Will dinner hold while we take care of this?" Gina's arm was in her mother's vise-grip but she was curling over in obvious distress, her face wet with tears of embarrassment, pain and fear. "Oh, I suppose - if it's not already ruined, it'll keep. Excuse me, folks - go ahead and watch the news while I give this child what she needs!" "Mom! I'm FINE! I just didn't hear you...I don't need anything...ooooh!" Jerked upright suddenly, Gina moaned from the griping pain in her stomach. "Oh yes, you do, young lady! You need a good enema for that belly-ache and a good spanking for your disobedience!" As big as she was, Gina began to whimper and struggle. "Noo, Mom...No, No, No!" It was useless; she was being propelled bodily down the hall to her room. Her kid cousins were staring, but she was only dimly aware of the kids. Her mother pushed her over the foot of her own bed. The pressure of the bed actually felt good against her throbbing belly, but not for long. Still holding the flat wooden spatula in her hand, Gina's mother couldn't resist administering a few heated preparatory whacks to her daughter's pantied bottom. "MOM!! DON"T!!" Gina howled. "You stay right where you are and get your pants down," her mother ordered. You'll get your paddling but I guess I'd better take care of your stomachache first. You better not move an inch - I'm getting the enema bag!" Gina wept as she obeyed her mom, drawing her cotton panties down to her knees and then lying with her hands holding her stomach and aching in dread. Enemas were an occasional, if dreadful, fact of life. No one called the doctor for tummy-aches when a quart of soapy water up your behind solved most of life's ills, from her mother's point of view! Her mom returned with the ugly red enema bag, obviously quite full. Gina protested tearfully, again, "Mommy, Mommy, I don't wanna enema!" Her speech had regressed to early childhood, she felt so powerless and scared. Her kid cousins were peeking around the corner of the hall, her dad and other relatives oblivious as they stared at the TV. "All right," said her mother, "Pull that skirt up so it doesn't get all wet." Gina obeyed, sobbing, "No...No...please, Ma!" Her mother made a great ritual of hanging the enema bag up over the poster bed's finial, and greasing the ugly black enema tip with Vaseline. Gina couldn't look - her belly ached and she didn't think she could stand what was coming. With her little cousins avidly watching, Gina's mom matter-of-factly spread her buttocks wide and began shoving the dreaded hard rubber nipple into her anus. It HURT! "MOM...STOP...OWWW!!" She clamped her butt together, but the tight resistance made it hurt more. "You'd better just relax and take it, young lady," warned her mother. The enema tip pushed painfully and inexorably up into her rectum and Gina gave herself up to sobbing. She heard the awful click of the valve on the bag and the familiar pressure of hot soapsuds entering her bottom. "OOOOOOWWW!! Enough! Enough!" Gina howled, but her mom was used to this. She'd get the whole bag full and have to hold it while marched to the bathroom. "Cut it out," her mom muttered unsympathetically, "If you hadn't gorged on those little green apples, you wouldn't be having to take this." Gina bucked and unashamedly...the pressure in her belly was unbearable and she felt she couldn't hold any more...COULDN'T! When she felt she was going to burst, her mom clicked the valve shut and pulled her to her feet. She was NOT (Gina thought with horror) going to march her to the john in front of these kids, with the hideous red bag in tow and her pants down! But Gina's practical mother was unconcerned about appearances and propelled Gina, tearful and groaning, up the hall to the bathroom, only releasing her once inside with completely unnecessary instructions to "empty herself." Gina groaned with relief, expelling the terrible pressure. Her stomach felt a lot better...but now she was afraid to go out and face the punishment ahead. Her mother finally called. "All right, that's long enough! You get on out here and get your whipping. I've kept dinner for these folks long enough!" Humiliated, Gina crept out into the hall, trying to summon courage and dignity. Her father had joined her mother at the door. He didn't have the wooden spatula in his hand. He held his belt. In the background, she saw her two little cousins, grinning broadly from the living room door. Gina was desperate. "Daddy," I still don't feel too good. I'll never do it again, OK? It was really Mikey's idea, OK? I..." Gina's dad looked sterner and sterner. "Gina, you're making it a lot worse for yourself. Paul's mother told you mom exactly who's idea it was. Get over that bed, and NOW!" Her face collapsed in a grimace of tears. She wasn't feeling like such a grown-up right now. An enema in front of her snotty little cousins was awful enough...but every kid got those. Now she was...no, it was too much! Gina starting sobbing and her dad lost patience, taking her skirt by the waist and marching her briskly back to her room and over the foot of the bed again. She'd pulled her panties back up in the bathroom, but down they came again, her dad jerking them all the way to her ankles. Gina's hands flew instinctively back trying to cover her bare behind, and were roughly and instantly removed with the order to "keep those under your belly!" She closed her eyes and whimpered. She'd only gotten her dad's belt across her ass a couple of times and remember those times vividly. SMACK!! Oh, not vividly enough! The first whack was fiery and landed dead center of her buttocks, followed by SMACK!! SMACK!! SMACK!! Gina's head flew back and she howled, no words coming: "WAHHHH!" SMACK!! "WAHHHH --- NOOO --- Dad DEE!!" SMACK!! "Dadd-EEE! It HURTS!! Please!!" She managed to plead, but to no avail. Her father pressed his left hand on the small of her back, pinning her hands firmly under her tummy, and administered, slowly and stingingly, 6 more flaming whaps. Every single smack seemed to ignite deeper flames on her behind. She was simply howling now, and the howls continued non-stop until her father decided her bare fanny was crimson and blistered enough for a lasting lesson. Her drew her immediately to her feet, her knees wobbling and her backside stinging unbearably! In a low intense voice, her father delivered a warning lecture that was almost worse than the spanking she'd just taken. He fairly hissed orders at her, describing in painful detail how much worse her next spanking would be if a) she ever disobeyed; b) she ever embarrassed her mother in front of company and ruined a good dinner by being late and c) if she EVER lied to cover her misbehavior. Knowing her little cousins were listening, Gina tried to swallow her sobs, but couldn't stand up straight and knew how ridiculous she looked half-crouching and holding her bare red behind, panties around her shoes. "Now you come out and apologize to everyone," finished her father. Gina's head came up fast, unbelieving! "Daddy, no...! I CAN'T!" she started. "You want some more of this?" he raised his belt. Fresh tears started down Gina's flushed cheeks. She shook her head silently and her father led her to the living room where, chastened and stinging, in front of the entire family, Gina apologized to her mother, aunt and uncle and snickering little cousins and was required to sit wincing, her now swollen and purpling backside on two "pity-pillows", through an endless dinner, of which she was required to eat every last bite. Gaetana (Note: The story told above, although embroidered as to names and details (they never did cure me of that), is for the most part painfully true. I was encouraged to write it by several wonderul people in this newsgroup. Although it may not be to everyone's taste, I can assure you that it was even less to mine!)