From: gaetana@aol.com (Gaetana) Newsgroups: alt.sex.spanking Subject: Haunting memories Date: 6 Aug 1994 16:59:04 -0400 Message-ID: <320tio$hum@search01.news.aol.com> It was to be a Stephen King adventure. The big white frame Victorian house had stood directly across the street from our elementary school, abandoned and empty for as long as anyone could remember, perched alone on a weed-filled block squarely between the 5&10 and the mom & pop grocery that survived mainly on snacks and junk food sales, since the supermarkets drained off the larger market. We kids had developed "haunted house" legends for years and dared each other to explore it, but somehow in that year of adolescent daring there was a symbiosis of hormones and imaginations - the time had come. There was no place higher on the Forbidden List for kids (unless it was the pharmacy that was reputed to have porn magazines under the counter), but that was an unproven and fascinating rumor). The house was boarded up and desolate- looking. None of us were old enough to remember seeing it occupied. The girls dared the boys and the boys postured bravely, but no one acted on the bravado until this 7th grade year. Three of us (Gene and Dick - the latter, incidentally, one of the Twins) and I, ever yearning for the dark adventure of the books I devoured) channeled our newly raging hormones into goading each other into "doing it". There would be consequences if found out - inevitable, painful and immediate! We didn't talk about it, actually. By age 12 and 13 you don't really want to share your most recent bare-butt paddling with friends, let along the opposite sex. But there weren't many secrets and the open windows broadcasted the smacks and sobs that attending a really severe session with the paddle or the strap. As we got older and bolder, our parents seemed to be sure our moral fiber was located in our behinds and good behavior was reinforced with fiery regularity. But if no one "told" - - we swore each other to secrecy and decided it was "now or never." On a warm Friday afternoon, we met after the last bell and skipped the usual dawdling trip to the 5&10 or the ice cream counter, waving friends off with excuses about homework. And we headed directly to the "haunted house" with our plan in place: I would keep watch in front while both boys would work their ways around the house, trying to find a loose board to work off a window. It didn't take long...while waiting for the boys, I tried the front door and found it amazingly unlocked! I slid around the corner of the house and whistled to the boys. In moments we were in the shadowed and musty entrance hall of the haunted house! The hall ran straight back to a broad stairway. The house seemed to be set up as a boarding house, with a shower room, a large dining room and empty kitchen on the 1st floor. The stairway beckoned forbiddingly. We swallowed a feeling of foreboding and started up. The stairway was split half-way up by a large landing. The old wooden stair-treads creaked and I remember watching my feet, trying to tread softly - even though we knew the house was vacant. I was between the boys, Gene leading the way and Dick behind me, when I glanced up and straight at the enormous, slowly rotating blades of a huge ventilator fan, centered in the window on the landing like a gigantic black spider. I was almost scared enough to retreat back down the stairs at that point -- almost. But the boys seemed unfazed by what was just a piece of machinery and I wasn't going to be teased forever as a scaredy-cat girl! Putting it behind me, I skittered up the other half of the stairs to the 2nd floor hallway. The second floor of the old boarding house was all bedrooms. As soon as we entered one we realized, with a thrill of guilty discovery, that although the house looked deserted, and had been used - and recently. There were a few old, bare mattresses on the floor of each room. In the corners were stacks of canned foods and soups...and little bottles with unidentified substances: pills and liquids. In one room there was a collection of empty Sterno cans and matchbooks. Most fascinating of all was a cardboard box I found, not large but heavy for its size, filled with metal printing plates. Gene dashed in from the front bedroom with a handful of filthy magazines and comic books, his dark eyes glowing with excitement. We pored over these for a few minutes; I'd never seen anything like these graphic sexual images (although I'd drawn some of my own and been caught with it, with memorable consequences), and remember blushing furiously to be sharing these with my two male friends, even though Dick and I had already shared some clumsy sexual experiments by this time. With a sudden frisson of fear, we realized that the transient occupants of these rooms could show up at any time - we were old enough to have figured out that vagrants must be crashing in the old place on a fairly regular basis. Why hadn't we thought of that!? Loathe to leave but quickly overcome with guilt and foreboding, we collected some "trophies" - I took the printing plates and some of the little pill bottles, and some letters. Gene and Dick divided up the porn mags and comic books. We scurried down the stairs, past the menacing ventilator fan, and out the front door, safe and undiscovered - we thought. It was good to be back out in the blazing sunlight from the gloom of the old flophouse, the physical exertion a relief from suspense. We split up and ran for home, Dick & I for the same street, since we were neighbors. We ran into our homes, still clutching our pilfered treasures. Straight into a waiting firing squad of angry parents, betrayed by Gene's little brother who, left out of the loop of conspirators, ran straight home and told! I still vividly remember the confusion, disbelief and terror I felt at that moment. What did they know...and how? It was obvious I was in trouble: My mom was in the kitchen door, looking disbelieving and somewhere between disappointed and worried. My dad, however, was standing four-square, arms folded, and - furious. Talk about red-handed. I had both hands and my skirt pocked filled with stolen property (I didn't think of it as such, but subsequent events convinced me): bottles of unidentified drugs, printing plates and someone's mail! I remember the rush of adrenaline, my brain sending frantic fight or flight messages, and the impulse to turn around and run. At least I didn't have the porn magazines, I thought crazily. I almost did run, but my shreds of clear thought told me I'd have to come home sooner or later, with the punishment correspondingly more severe if I ran. I instinctively opted for verbal skills: "Hi..." (Well, that was a brilliant start - glaringly ignored). "Young lady, do you have any idea how much trouble you're in?" That was my Dad. Sure, I had a pretty good idea; he was holding the wooden hairbrush in his hand! As I write, I swear I still feel the anticipatory tingle I felt then..."Daddy..." (maybe a little-girl approach?) "We...we didn't do...anything. We just thought..." "You DIDN'T think!" He raised his voice and I shrank back a bit. "You didn't think about the danger, or the fact that you were trespassing, or...." (glancing at the guilty stores I was still carrying) "..stealing!" He finished. "Put those things down." He gestured at the dining room table with the hairbrush. "And you get into your room. You're going to get the spanking of your life, so get ready." My remaining bravado crumpled at that. "Noo...Dad - Daddy! Mom - we just...(sniff) wanted to know...(sniff)..what...was...in..." I stopped, cut off by the glare and the extended hair-brush holding hand...pointing down the hall to my little bedroom. My room, the site of spankings, enemas and other painful memories, but also of recent fantasy explorations of a newly arousable and changing body, sharing of secrets and speculations with my best friend, Annabelle, creation of my own brand of adolescent pornographic drawings, fermented into a off-center brew of pleasure and pain with a lifetime kick! I waited for my Dad, who was on the phone to Gene and Dick's parents. When I heard his steps in the hall, my stomach and loins both fluttered. I suddenly realized my hands were holding my bottom protectively. Another set of footsteps...my mom was going to watch me punished. She usually either was the administrator of punishment - usually the quick, hot spontaneous spankings laid on my retreating bottom while she secured me by the arm...eliciting yowls and protests, but nothing like what was coming to me now. I flushed with anticipated humiliation. But then they were there and it was happening... My dad entered, followed by my mother. From the waist down, I felt a strange quivery heat...fear was in the lead, but the other pulsating feelings I'd experienced with fantasizing and reading myself into intense arousal were in the mixture. I felt trapped and helpless. My dad pointed to the foot of the bed, between the foot-posts. I was to bend over it in the all-too-familiar position. I grabbed a pillow to put under my belly, in a pitiable attempt at defiance, because the footboard would press painfully into my tummy. I threw my parents a pleading look, but it was obviously way to late for that. "Get over that bed, and get your pants down, girl," he growled at me. "Now, let's get this understood. You did go into that old house?" I was in position and awkwardly and reluctantly lowering my underwear. "Y-yes, but..OWWWW!" I was caught off-guard when my dad lifted my skirt and whacked the first spank across my buttocks, "WAIT, Daddy!" He ignored me: "Haven't we told you about going there?" This was rhetorical - of course they'd told me. I didn't have time to answer anyway, as the second flaming whack seared my bare butt! "YOWWWW!" "And you TOOK things! Didn't you think you were stealing?" (SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!) "OWWW, DAD! YOWWW! Noo-oo-o!!" He paused after this last onslaught with the heavy hairbrush. My behind blazed and I longed to comfort, rub it as lay there exposed and sobbing. "You're lucky to be here getting paddled and not in the police station, young lady!" He drove his point home with more hard spanks, aimed unerringly at the bare fullness of my bottom. I couldn't take it, wailed, "Daddy NOOO!!! YEEOWW-OUCH!! It hurts too much....PLEASE STOP!" I tried to roll over, bucking away from the incendiary blows..."NOOOooo!" This as he grabbed my arm and flipped me right back on my belly, and started a hard, slow series of whacks. I gave myself up to yowling, unable to plead anymore. The smacks were unceasing and blazingly painful. He finished with a series of loud admonitions for future behavior, punctuating each with a hard single smack, intended (successfully) to emblazon the concepts in my adolescent mind: "You ever going to go in that house, or ANYBODY else's property uninvited? " "Nooooo" I wailed. "You ever going to disobey again> "NOOOO!! - I lied, but meant it at the moment, ardently! "You EVER going to take anything that DOESN'T BELONG TO YOU? " "NOO--NOO--OWWWW--OWWW---No, NEVER!" (Never did, either!) "All right, stand up...if you've learned your lesson!" I stood, shakily, aware of my tear- streaked face and running nose. I was a mess...not at all the daring heroine now. My mother looked almost sympathetic but stern. "You're confined to your room for the evening...forget dinner," Dad said; they left the room. I threw myself on my belly, rolling side to side on my virgin bed, my hot buttocks cradled in my hands. Then, drawing up to my knees, I rocked back & forth until my fingers, still clasping my bottom, worked their way forward to my bare throbbing genitals. I knew the boys were by now similarly nursing flaming bare bottoms and I began to picture them, bucking and hoarsely crying out as their tight young asses were being blistered. There in the growing dusk, tears drying on my face, eyes shut and crimson-assed, I gave myself up to my first spanking orgasm. Epilogue: The printing plates were genuine, but unexciting, newspaper plates from those pre-computer publishing days; probably souvenir's of a retired printer. The mysterious pills were saccharine...probably lifted some old diabetic derelict's supply, for which I undoubtedly deserved the spanking! The porn was appropriated by my friends' fathers, they were given even worse whippings than I received, and I'm now sure their dads thoroughly enjoyed the purloined porn!