From: misslilyo@aol.com (MissLilyO)
Subject: New Story:  THE SPANKING BOOTH by MissLilyO
Date: 27 Sep 1996 12:06:27 -0400

THE SPANKING BOOTH by MissLilyO

Every small town has a benchmark event that the old-timers refer to
archly when they meet for coffee at the diner in the morning.
Springville is no exception.  Usually, it's  The Flood of '54, or
The Day That Movie Star Came to Town, or The Week We Had That Locust
Invasion.  Around Springville, however, when the corn prices are
holding steady and nobody has been making time with anyone else's
wife, they talk about the Night of the Spanking Booth.

It sure wasn't the first school carnival the town had ever seen, and
as TV reception wasn't the greatest, such events tended to be pretty
well attended.  The gym, still smelling slightly of old socks and
sweat, had been transformed by the kids in the third grade, who had
made crepe streamers, gaily colored flags from construction paper,
and bright signs decorated with crayon artwork.  Peterson's Hardware
had rigged up a dunk tank and Coach Jeffers, sitting on the platform
in his swimtrunks, was good naturedly taunting the pitchers.  Despite
his jeers, business was off.

The Ladies Auxiliary had donated some beautiful two and three layer
confections, but even so this year's Cake Walk was not as well
attended as everyone had hoped.  The Craft Booth was doing only
modest business in potholders made from plastic soda can rings, and
little refrigerator magnets made from frozen orange juice can lids.

There was no question about it:  the uncertain economy had made the
townsfolk close-fisted in the Fall of 1991.  People just weren't
spending the money the school had hoped they would.  Principal
Hargrove depended on the proceeds of the carnival to purchase little
"extras" for the school, and he had his heart set on a computer for
the children to learn on.  Now it seemed he'd barely have enough
money to buy a couple of new mats for the wrestling team.

People were owly, short tempered with each other.  Sheriff Jenkins
had been called several times to break up fights at the Broken Spur,
and had even had a couple of domestic calls, a most unusual situation
in this Bible belt community.  There was a spirit of discontent in
the air that was almost palpable, even on school carnival night.

Rick and Mitzy Bowman sat disconsolately at the Kissing Booth.  The
husband and wife team had volunteered for the third year in a row to
dispense kisses for $1.00 per buss, but fear of bodily fluid exchange
was apparently keeping all but the boldest of takers from stepping
forward.  At one point, Carl Runyan looked like he might plant one on
Mitzy's ruby lips, until Mary Runyan spotted him and shot him the
Scowl from Hell.  He beat a hasty and obedient retreat, hangdog
expression rearranging his features from Lothario to Loser instantly.

Rick and Mitzy had lived in Springville for eight years, but small
towns being what they are, folks still referred to them as "those new
California people."

"How's it going, Rick?" asked Don Hargrove, hopefully.

"Not great, partner," he said.  "I guess we're losing our touch."

Don's face fell a little more with each lackluster report.  This
year's carnival wasn't going to be a record-buster. He'd had high
hopes for the Bowman's booth, as both were attractive people, and
last year, when times had seemed a little brighter economically, the
pair did a LOT of kissing.  In fact, their booth had far outdistanced
the others in proceeds.

Sighing, Rick and Mitzy leaned over and kissed each other.  "Well,
babe, even if those deadheads don't want us, *we* know we've still
got it!" Rick teased.

Mitzy gave him the I-Want-You lift of her left eyebrow, causing a
familiar stir in his loins.  Married for nearly 15 years, they had
lost none of the edge of their desire for each other.  Whispering so
as not to be overheard, Mitzy said to her husband, "Why don't we just
close this little booth and go home.  You can spank me for not being
more kissable!"

"Don't tempt me, sweetness," he said, smiling at her.

As they often did, both started to say the same thing at once. 
Laughing, Mitzy said, "You first."

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" Rick asked her.

She gave him a saucy grin.

Soon they were giggling, running for the office to grab a felt
marker, and some other implements that would be needed.  Fifteen
minutes later, the Bowmans sat in the newly dubbed "Spanking Booth."
"Naughty wife in need of reminders?  Husbands neglecting their
responsibilities?  Teens need to lose their attitudes?  Neighbor
being obnoxious?  Come in for some old-fashioned discipline!!" read
the new sign.

Before long, Ed Carson showed up with Marge in tow.  "Say, what's
this mean, Bowman?" he asked.

"Just what the sign says, my friend," answered Rick.  "You think
Marge here needs a spanking?"

"Well, yes.  Yes, sir, I believe she does," Ed said tentatively.

"ED!" gasped Marge, indignant, embarrassed.

"Well, Marge.  It's true.  You know it is.  You went and ran up that
there MasterCard when I plain as day said you didn't need no Ginzu
knives and $60 tooth whitener.  We can't afford the bills we got
now.  As it is, we sure can't buy any kinda meat that you'd need no
Ginzu knife to cut.  Hamburger can be cut with your fork.  Talking to
you don't seem to make a difference.  Maybe a dose of the strap would
help."

Grinning at Ed, Rick scooted back his straightback chair and patted
his knee.  "Just bring her right around here, Ed.  Oh, so you're both
real clear on this...when Mitzy and I give a spanking, it's a *real*
spanking.  That means it's for discipline, and that means it's bare.
You got a problem with that, Ed?"

"No," said Ed.

"YES!" shouted Marge.

Ed won.

Marge found herself face down over Rick Bowman's broad lap, her pedal
pushers down to her knees, white cotton panties nested in them. Rick
nodded his thanks at Mitzy when she handed him the big oval-shaped
wooden hairbrush that she always carried in her purse just for
"emergencies."

"Marge, this spanking is to help you remember that your marriage is a
partnership.  Ed is working hard to provide for you and the kids and
you should work with him in managing the family budget instead of
going behind his back like you did.  Surely you can see that, can't
you, dear?" Rick asked her.

Finding herself over Rick's knee like a naughty school girl had made
Marge suddenly docile, subdued.  She *felt* like a naughty girl.
"Yes, sir," she answered, in a small voice.

"Okay, Marge.  Twenty smacks with the hairbrush.  Oh, Ed?  That will
be $20.  Okay?"

"Okay, sure," Ed said, a slow smile overtaking his usually grim
mouth.  It had been some time since he'd seen his Marge's bared
bottom, and he had forgotten how nice it looked when not encased in
flannel and chenille. 

Rick brought the brush down smartly on Marge's left cheek, causing
her to stiffen out straight and cry out with the sudden sting.

"Ohhhh! No! No!  Please, you can't!" she yelled.

He smacked her again, pleased at how nicely she marked.  Marge really
did have a wonderful ass.

"OHHHH!  Pleeease!  I can't bear it!" she cried, her distress genuine
as the hairbrush's sting blazed into her tender tush.

"Well, then, dear.  Next time, maybe you'll remember you that you
'can't bear it' before you call that toll free number on your screen
and order a bunch of stuff you guys can't afford!" scolded Rick.

WHAPPPPP!  SMACK! SPANK!

A crowd had gathered, fascinated by the scene before them.  Children
and parents both were wide-eyed, mesmerized by the sight of the drab
Marge Carson having her white bottom warmed by the singing hairbrush,
reddening her cheeks to a blazing crimson.  On the 20th spank, Rick
helped her up, and Mitzy rose with a tissue to dry her tears.

Ed was looking at his freshly flagellated wife with a new light in
his eyes.  Instead of her normal churlish demeanor, she seemed
softer, and looked up at him contritely.  "I'm sorry, Ed," she
whispered.  And he kissed her, unembarrassed by the witnesses around
them.

"Step right up, folks!" called Rick, barker-style.  "Come one, come
all!  Let's have a naughty boy for Mitzy to spank!"  He was having
the time of his life.

To everyone's astonishment, Rachel Billings stepped forward with her
husband, Charlie.  "Charlie Billings, you get over here and turn up
your cheating ass!  You think I don't know about you and that hussy
at the Golden Dragon?"

Blanching, Charlie started to protest.  "But, but, honeybunch!"

"Don't you honeybunch me, you two-timing rat!  If you think you're
going off with that little slut after I gave you the best thirty
years of my life, you got another think coming!"

Charlie was so surprised that his usually timid wife had not only
caught him cheating, but was asserting herself, he forgot to protest
at the humiliating scene in which he was the lead actor.  The only
reason he'd strayed with Tootsie over to the Golden Dragon Chinese
Restaurant bar was that she had a certain aggressiveness he admired
in women.  His Rachel had always been so mousy and accommodating.
Now Rachel had emerald fire in her green eyes, her color was high,
and she seemed much younger than her forty-six years.

"I want his bare bottom barbecued good, Mitzy!" declared the wounded
wife.

Mitzy, only too happy to oblige, had been very firm in taking down
his trousers and yanking his shorts down, and then guiding the
stunned spouse over her lap.  He had to put his hands on the floor to
steady himself, but was surprised at how securely she held him.  She
picked up the heavy wooden ruler they'd borrowed from Don's office,
and laid it lightly on his clenched fanny.

"Charlie, has Rachel been a good wife to you?" she asked.

"Y-yes," he replied, suddenly deeply ashamed for his childish
behavior with a waitress half his age, and with less than half the
class of his own loyal wife.

"Then this spanking will help you remember that the next time you get
a hankering for somebody else's egg rolls, won't it?" chided Mitzy.

With that she began smacking the sturdy nates of Charlie Billings,
owner of a plumbing business.  Charlie kicked and cried and begged,
but Mitzy sternly hushed him and spanked the hapless husband till he
promised in an anguished voice that there'd be no further footsie
with Tootsie.  She gave him thirty solid whacks with the ruler, and
without a word of protest, Rachel extracted three ten dollar bills
from her purse and paid her dues.

SueEllen Dobson spotted Tootsie, the object of Charlie's erstwhile
affections, standing on the edge of the crowd, looking on with morbid
fascination at his being bared like a naughty school boy and spanked
by a beautiful woman.  SueEllen, never one to mind her own affairs,
called out in her buzz-saw voice, "There's that hussy from the Golden
Dragon now.  SHE oughta get a spanking too for messing around with a
married man!"

"Hey!" said Tootsie, fidgeting nervously with her bottle bleached
hair.  "You can't do that!  I didn't know the creep was married."

"Like hell you didn't, Tootsie!" spoke up Cassie Sinclaire.  "I heard
rumors about you and my Henry too!  You sure as hell knew HE was
married.  It's about time you learned a lesson!"

Others chimed in their agreement and dollar bills appeared from
nowhere, waving at Mitzy and Rick.  Several pairs of wifely hands
propelled the mammarily-gifted waitress into the spanking booth.
"Heat up the hussy!  Warm up that little candy ass and teach her to
leave our husbands alone!  Spank her good!"   Normally well-mannered
Presbyterian and Methodist ladies in the school gym that night became
a chorus of wronged wenches demanding justice.

Sternly, Rick looked at the waitress standing nervously before him.
"Well, young lady!  What have you got to say for yourself?"  The
force of his words reduced the usually bold bimbo to an uncertain
girl again and she stammered out a stilted reply.  "I..dunno..."

"Speak up, young lady.  Don't you mumble to me," he said, frowning.
"Is it true you've been offerimg your favors to married men, Toosie?"

"Well....I...that is..I..."

"Well????" he demanded.

"Y-yes, I guess so."

"Young lady, don't you think any more of yourself than to behave that
way?  I think you need a good old bare-bottomed spanking to remind
you that if YOU don't care about yourself, nobody else is going to
care about you either. Get those shorts down."

Blushing furiously, the usually brassy blond regressed to a tractable
teen once more and pushed her short-shorts down and with them the
silver lame panties.  Her tush was round and lush, tan lines showing
clearly where she'd paraded around the lakeshore on her days off in a
bikini.  A collective gasp of appreciation from the men and a tsk-tsk
of jealous disapproval from the ladies punctuated her trip over
Rick's lap.

Surprisingly, no one made the slightest attempt to cover the eyes of
the children in the crowd, who stood silent, nearly invisible.  The
kids were too smart to interrupt the chance of a lifetime by
reminding their parents of their presence with stupid questions.  A
hundred pairs of joyous eyes carefully recorded the events of
carnival night for midnight masturbatory moments for years to come!

Tootsie was something of a legend around town.  She sported "big
hair," tons of mascara, and was rumored to buy her clothes through
the Fredrick's catalog.  Judging from the sequined halter tops, and
see-through blouses she poured out of to opulent perfection, there
could be some truth to the rumors.  Now, here was their local good
time goddess, panties down around her dimpled knees, bottom lifted
high over Rick Bowman's lap, awaiting a bad-girl spanking.  Yes sir,
this was sure one red letter day in Springville.

Realizing that they were surely in the midst of a genuine Happening,
Rick opted for high drama.  "Tootsie," he asked sternly, "what is
your real name?"  His tone left no room for negotiation.

"Geraldine Marie, sir," she said, hearing her mother's voice from
long ago ringing in her ears.  ("Geraldine Marie!  You get your
naughty butt in here this minute!  I'm gonna tan your hide for you,
young lady, so you won't sit down for a week!  You march right up
stairs and get my hairbrush.  I better find you in the corner with
your panties down and that brush in your hands when I get up there!
Did you hear me, Geraldine Marie?")

Involuntarily, her generous bottom clenched and unclenched,
remembering the fire of her mother's hairbrush as it worked its
cleansing magic on her bared fanny.  She and her mother had spent
many sessions upstairs with the hairbrush.  In fact, Geraldine
couldn't help but think in the moments before Rick began her
spanking, that if her mother had lived, maybe her life might have
turned out much differently.  The thought made her sad and tears
began to escape her eyes, twin tracks of black ink marking their
progress.

SMACK!  A collective exhalation could be heard from the crowd, who
had been tensely holding their breath as Rick raised the hairbrush.
With that first blazing spank, Toosie retired, and Geraldine Marie
took her place.  There was a shuffling of feet as some of the menfolk
boldly moved around to a better vantage point to watch the effect
this spanking was having on Geraldine's heaving bosom.  Many a one of
them had often closed his eyes and dreamed of resting his weary head
on those lush pillows while poised over his wife, prepared to render
his marital due.

For her part, Geraldine cried silently, letting the years and the
fears and the men in the bar slide away from her as Rick spanked her
back to a better time in her life.  Rick Bowman was a talented
spanker, and he paused from time to time to rub away the worst of the
sting and give the upturned girl some encouragement.

"There, there, Geraldine.  You're being a brave girl.  Now you don't
want to have a bad reputation any more, do you, dear?  Things have
been hard for you,  haven't they?  But you can do better, Geraldine.
Much better.  You know that, don't you?"

And then the brush would come swooping down, smacking with a
satisfying splat, flattening out those chubby cheeks, which would
then plump up so beautifully.  As the sting intensified, Geraldine's
thighs began to scissor a little, treating the transfixed audience to
a glimpse of her luxuriant sable curls which framed a perfect
pussy. More than one wife nodded sagely, as if to say, "I knew she
wasn't a real blond."  More than one male hand strayed to trouser front in
an
attempt to cover the visible reaction to this visual virtuosity.

Rick longed to let his fingers float into all her interesting curves
and crevices during those rest periods in which he rubbed the weeping
waitress's crimson bottom, but Mitzy kept a keen eye on the
proceedings, and he dared not.  Even so, memories of her squirming
atop his swollen front would come on wings of guilty reflection for
months afterward.

At last, the final dam burst within Geraldine Marie, and she sobbed
her little heart out.  They were the earnest tears of a contrite
little girl, and for some reason a chord of sympathy was struck among
the formerly wounded wives.  One of them finally stepped forward and
said, "That's enough, Rick.  Come here, girl.  Come here to me,
honey."  With that, she helped Geraldine up from Rick's lap, gently
tugged her panties and shorts up over her throbbing tushy cheeks, and
enfolded her in a warm hug.  Soon other ladies were crowded around,
patting and hugging and reassuring the girl, while the men looked on,
baffled at the change.  Something had been lost that night, that was
for sure, though they'd have been hard pressed to tell you just
what.  Somehow they knew, however, that Tootsie wouldn't be working
at the Golden Dragon bar after tonight.

Between them, Mitzy and Rick spanked forty-three people:  wives,
husbands, barmaids, teenagers, and seniors.  Not everyone in
attendance at the carnival entered into the spanking booth that
night, but at least 100 more went home and created their own little
booth in the privacy of bedroom, basement or den.  The sounds of
paddles on posteriors, of belts on bottoms, of scolding and scalding,
could be heard all over the town the Night of the Spanking Booth.
The carnival raised $1100, $800 of which had come from the Bowman's
brilliant booth.

The next day saw a town with a fresh view of the world.  Maxine's
Stationery and Gifts had a run on candy and mushy cards.  Students
paid closer attention in class, many with grimaces as they shifted
from cheek to cheek on the hard wooden seats.  Wives moved with a
little stiffness at the grocer's, and Agri-Tech Feed Store saw some
customers whose red faces matched the red bottoms covered up by their
overalls.  The Broken Spur hired a country band and held a dance that
Friday night, and not a single fight broke out.  In fact, there was
harmony in town for the first time in a long time.

Of course, nothing stays the same, people move on or move in, a new
set of politicians changes the way the financial winds blow.
Springville's school got its computer, thanks to a generous donation
from an anonymous benefactor.  It arrived with a note that said,
"Don't thank us, thank the Bowmans for this money.  They changed our
whole lives."  Principal Hargrove never said anything, but he always
rather thought the money had come from Ed and Marge Carson, who had
continued to act like a couple of newlyweds, following Marge's trip
to The Booth.

The Bowmans moved back to California where they started the New Age
Discipline and Aroma Therapy Center and became millionaires nearly
overnight.  There were more burned butts in Big Sur than the sun ever
was responsible for after they opened their center.  Geraldine
"Tootsie" Marie Carpenter got a student loan from Lorraine Appleby at
Farmers First Bank and went to the community college over in Ritzburg
where she got training to be a hair stylist.  There are some who say
Lorraine occasionally stops by Geraldine's shop late in the afternoon
to pick up the loan installment payments, have her hair styled, and
make good use of the big oval hairbrush Geraldine has in a shadow box
on her shop wall.  No one has actually seen it, but the satisfying
sounds of a well-spanked naughty girl repenting have been said to
emanate from the shop behind the "Closed" sign now and then.  And
Lorraine IS about the same age Tootsie's mom would have been, had she
lived.

The town still doesn't have a McDonald's or a Burger King, for which
fact owners of Big Ben's Burger Barn are mighty glad, and there are
still more beat up pick up trucks than there are mini-vans.  The
Bijou Theatre has started showing the occasional R-rated movie, to
the consternation of Reverence Dilland and Pastor Finch.  Oh, and
even though TV reception has improved vastly since Peterson's
Hardware and Video started selling those satellite dishes, the
Springville Elementary School Carnival is still the best attended
event of the entire year.

MissLilyO@aol.com)