From: misslilyo@aol.com (MissLilyO)
Subject: New Story:  TRICK OR TREAT by MissLilyO  MF/mmff, nc, no sex
Date: 28 Oct 1996 22:15:18 -0500

Happy Halloween, dear hearts of Assville!!!  This story contains scenes of
spanking of teenage types, so...if you're a teen, you better not read this
because it'll give you nightmares!  And if you don't like spanking, you'll
turn into a pumpkin if you read any further.  For the rest of you, have
fun!  Love,  Lily!
_________________________________________________

TRICK OR TREAT by MissLilyO

Mr. and Mrs. Jones walked along hand in hand, scuffing their feet
joyously in the beautiful maple leaves tumbled in crimson and gold
piles under the trees.

"I do SO love this time of year, don't you, dear?" said Mrs. Jones,
sweetly.

"Oh yes, my dumpling.  It's always been our favorite, that's for
certain," he beamed at her.

They were such a pleasant couple, a real boon to the neighborhood, in
the view of the folks along Maple Street.  Dressed in their usual
garb of bulky knit sweaters and thick sweatpants, it was difficult to
determine much about their figures, but the gray hair suggested both
husband and wife were in their mid-50's.  They appeared to be
comfortable financially, and they were certainly friendly people,
always taking the time to stop and visit on their twice daily
constitutionals.  Yes, nice people who knew how to keep up their yard
and mind their own business, in the judgment of the neighbors.  The
Jones home sat at the end of a quiet lane, a grove of lovely trees
separating their property from the neighbors' a little and giving
them privacy and blessed relief from any traffic.

"Well, dear, I suppose we'd better head for home," remarked Mr.
Jones, "as we have much to do before tonight, don't you agree?"

"Oh, you're so right, darling," she replied, agreeably, as they
turned back toward their cozy home.

Halloween was the best time of year in the view of Mr. and Mrs. Jones
who had no children of their own.  How they delighted in the
inventive costumes of the little ones who stopped by to call "Trick
or Treat" when the door was opened!  They made sure to have plenty of
delicious treats for the children, in several baskets which they
placed right beside the door.  To be sure the youngsters felt
welcome, Mr. Jones strung colorful plastic pumpkins in the windows
and turned them on, much like some people did their Christmas
lights.  With black cat cut-outs in the windows, and a big jack-o-
lantern on the porch in a display of corn stalks and gourds, the
Jones were ready to welcome All Hallow's Eve.

It had been their experience over their many years that there were
two kinds of visitors who came to call on Halloween night.  The first
group, for whom the tasty treats of Tootsie Pops and miniature candy
bars had been purchased, were the little children who dressed as
ghosts, and princesses, and pirates, and little Frankensteins.  For
them, it was a thrill to yell "Booooo!" and watch the feigned shock
of the adults who happily filled their little bags with treats.  A
watchful parent or older child stood back a ways to guard and guide
their charges , and the Jones' always made sure to nod their thanks and
acknowledgment to these responsible citizens who looked after the
children.

There was another group, however, that was not as welcome.  These
were the older teenagers, the ones without supervision and
discipline, the ones who waited all year for Halloween to provide a
cover for malicious pranks.  These were the bullies, the rowdies, the
mean-spirited ones who gave teens a bad name, in the view of Mr. and
Mrs. Jones.  But just as they painstakingly prepared a treat for the
little innocents, their preparations were no less detailed for the
second group.

"Oh dear!!!  How scary!  What HAVE we here, dear?" cried Mrs. Jones,
as the children giggled in delight.

"Why, we have a very scary goblin, and a Mighty Morphin, and a big
black gorilla!  Oh!   I think we'd better give these monsters a very
nice treat!"

The children squirmed in their pleasure at having had so dramatic an
effect at this warm, cozy house on Maple Street, and happily held out
their sacks while Mr. Jones put treats in each.  Waving at the man
standing out on the side walk, Mr. Jones closed the door and smiled
at his wife.

Two more batches of ghosties and clowns and movie monsters came, the
children more than pleased at their reception at the Jones house.
Then Mrs. Jones put her fingers to her temples and said, "They're
coming, dear."

"Very well," he said, and switched off the string of pumpkin lights,
and turned off the porch light.

A few moments later, the doorbell rang several times, insistently.
Mr. Jones waited a moment before opening the door.  "Yes?" he said,
blinking rapidly.

On the porch stood two big boys, at least age 15.  "Trick or treat,
man," one of them said.  The boys were wearing make-up on their faces
rather than masks, and had sprayed bright neon colors into their
hair.

"We don't have any treats," said Mrs. Jones, a little afraid.  "We
aren't feeling well.  Aren't you boys a little old to be going house
to house tonight?"

"No treats, huh, grandma?" sneered one boy.  "What's the matter.  You
too cheap to spring for some kiddy candy?"

"No, but my husband and I just want to be left alone tonight,
please," said Mrs. Jones, her tone a bit tentative.

"Yeah, right.  *--k you, lady!" said the other boy, using an old
Anglo-Saxon epithet.

"Please boys!" protested Mr. Jones.  "Don't use that kind of language
around my wife.  Please go along now, both of you."

His protest led to more swearing and the boys bounded off the porch
and headed 'round the house, already pulling spray paint cans out of
their jacket pockets, intent on delivering a "trick" since no "treat"
had been rendered.

The boys had thought they might encounter a bit of resistance here
and there, but they were plenty tough and knew they could count on
being fleet of foot and clever beyond words.  However, they were a
bit unprepared for the unyielding clamp of Mr. Jones' hands on their
wrists as he caught them in the act of spraying his house.  "You boys
will just have to come inside with me," he said, pulling them along
easily.  The boys yanked back, but found themselves in an unmovable
grip.  One boy took a swing at the elderly man, but his fist
connected with nothing but air, and before they knew what hit them,
both boys were pulled downstairs into a dimly lit basement and in a
flash were secured to two sets of cuffs, hanging from the walls.  The
cuffs were attached to metal stakes driven deep into the concrete of
the basement walls, and it was apparent they were meant to stay put.
It became further apparent that their cries and screams would not
carry beyond the basement walls, given the thick acoustic paneling
everywhere else in the room.

Soon they were left alone, eyes wide with fear, yet each trying
boldly not to show the other they were afraid.

Another round of darling children stopped by, to the obvious
enjoyment of Mr. and Mrs. Jones, and again their little sacks were
fairly bulging with goodies as they trotted off to rejoin their
mothers waiting at the end of the walk.

"Another group is coming, dear," alerted Mrs. Jones, as her husband
again switched off the lights.  This time a gum chewing girl dressed
as a punk rocker stood on the porch with two other girls.  One of the
girls had a cigarette and was dressed like a popular TV personality
with long black hair and a form-fitting black dress with a plunging
neckline that showed cleavage enough to make a grown up woman
envious.

It wasn't long before their attitude showed through, and Mr. Jones
"invited" the girls into the basement just before the Elvira wannabe
threw eggs at his car windows.

At last the hour grew late enough to assure that all the little
ghosts and goblins would be tucked safely into their warm beds for
the night, some no doubt nursing tummy aches for having eaten more of
the candy than they should have before mom or dad could put it away
and ration it for the days to come.

Mr. and Mrs. Jones looked contentedly at one another and turned off
the pumpkins, as well as their porch light, and locked the house up
for the night.

"Well, dear, it looks as if we have a productive night ahead of us.
Everything looks fine up here, let's get started, shall we?" said
Mrs. Jones.

"After you, my pet," he said obligingly, and the two headed down to
the basement.

There, lining the walls were nine youngsters, four girls and five
boys, all securely cuffed to the wall restraints, all looking a bit
more subdued than when they'd first dared to threaten a "trick" for
Mr. and Mrs. Jones.

As the teens watched in amazement, Mr. Jones took off his bulky
cardigan sweater, showing a well-muscled torso with the tone of a
much younger man.  Somehow he looked taller, as well, more imposing
than the mild, middle-aged man they'd first met on the porch.  But
more amazing was Mrs. Jones, who wore a form fitting sheath dress
under her long sweatercoat.  Her breasts were large and upthrust, her
gray hair swept up in a patrician twist.  The dress was also gray and
of expensive cut and material, giving her an air of barely bridled
power, an attractive woman of unquestionable authority and dignity.
She no longer wore the oxford flats, but had replaced them with high
black patent heels which set her slender ankles encased in the pale
gray hose off to perfection.

"Boys and girls, you've all come to our home tonight with a
proposition for us.  If we do not give you a treat, you threaten to
trick us, and indeed came with the very intent of vandalizing our
home and treating us with disrespect.  This, despite the fact that we
were polite to you, and have done none of you any harm.  This is
unacceptable behavior, and my wife and I will tolerate none of it.
It has long been our belief that naughty children grow up to be fine
young men and women as long as they have some standards and
discipline in their lives.  While we cannot begin to supplant that
which has been missing in your upbringing, we can amply demonstrate
to you a life lesson here tonight:  the plain fact is, you must be
prepared as adults to pay a price for every decision you make.
Tonight the price is, you shall be tricked, and Mrs. Jones and I
shall be treated."

"Indeed," said Mrs. Jones, fluidly taking up the lecture.  "Tonight
you'll see what happens to mean-spirited boys and girls at our house,
as each of you is given a very firm, very thorough spanking on the
bare.  When Mr. and Jones and I get through with you, we guarantee
you'll want to stand up for the next week, and we believe you may
just become a bit more respectful hereafter to your parents and
teachers.  If you don't, rest assured that Mr. Jones and I are quite
capable of finding you and repeating your punishment.  I believe
before the night is over, you'll see that to be so."

One of the boys, in a show of bravado, sneered, "My dad's a lawyer
and he'll sue both your junky asses if you lay a finger on me.
You're both dead meat for even detaining us.  That's kidnapping, you
bastards!"

"Oh, I don't think anyone will be suing us, son," answered Mr. Jones,
mildly.  "And I intend to lay more than a finger on you, young man.
In fact, I believe we'll just start with you.  Dear, would you like
to do the honors?"

Mrs. Jones moved gracefully over to a straight-backed chair and
brought it to the center of the room, right in a spot of light from
an overhead fixture.  Her choice of location gave the other
youngsters a fine view of the proceedings.  She held in her hand a
wide ruler about 18" long.

"Your name is Jeffrey Hauenmark, I believe," she said to the lawyer's
son.  "Jeffrey, you and your friends intended to knock over all the
flower pots on my deck, and had cans of spray paint with you for the
purpose
spraying nasty words all over the side of our house.  You
will come over here this minute, you naughty boy, and receive your
punishment."

Without Mr. Jones making a move in his direction, the cuffs fell away
from his wrists.  The boy made as if to bolt toward the basement
door, but he was held in the thrall of some unseen vice-grip and
propelled inexorably forward till he was standing directly before the
stern and beautiful older woman.  "Wha-?" he started.

"You be quiet, young man," she ordered firmly.  "Your behavior is not
to be permitted, and will now be punished.  Get those jeans off,
NOW!"

Her manner was so authoritative that the bold contemptuousness for
adults slipped away from Jeffrey, and he became an uncertain little
boy again.  With trembling fingers he unfastened his jeans and slid
them off.

Without a word, Mrs. Jones took the waistband of his undershorts in
her fingers and yanked.  Down they came, and the embarrassed boy tried
to cover himself from her steely gaze.  She reached out and pulled
him across her lap, and he reached out to the floor with his hands to
steady himself as she lifted his bared buttocks higher.

Any thought of stoicism fled Jeffrey's mind as the sizzling sting of
Mrs. Jones' ruler bit into his upturned bottom.  He yelped like a
little kid, barely able to catch his breath before the next spank
rained down on his helpless white fanny.  There was no doubt that
Mrs. Jones was an artist as she painted the blazing stripes across
that clear canvass.  Soon Jeffrey was begging and sobbing to be let
up as the good oaken ruler worked its magic.  His flailing was
ignored, and the silver haired woman held him on her lap easily,
spanking and spanking until she was satisfied at the rich red glow of
his well-stung cheeks.  Jeffrey was embarrassed at the half-erection
he was experiencing as his groin rubbed against her firm thighs
and soft dress.  He could hear the snick snick of her stockings under
the dress as he moved against her and it was somehow both humiliating
and erotic.

Another nod from Mr. Jones and the boy was suddenly on his feet being
propelled back toward the wall, his bright red buttocks visible to
all as he shuffled with his underpants down around his knees.

"I believe we'll take you next, young lady," said Mr. Jones, pointing
at Lyssa Meyers.  Lyssa was quite a sight with her white face make up
and dark burgundy lipstick, the black leather studded jacket over a
very short leather skirt, torn net tights and combat boots.  Mr.
Jones brought a warm washcloth over and in a few seconds of judicious
scrubbing had washed away the heavy cosmetics.  Under all that war
paint, Lyssa was actually a very pretty young girl, and as he dabbed
at missed splotches on her face, Mr. Jones tsk-tsk'd over her choice
in fashion.  "What a pretty girl you are, Lyssa," he said, not
unkindly.  "Why would you want to hide under all that grease?  Aren't
you proud of who you are, dear?"

She started to spit out some nasty reply, but he silenced her with a
raised hand.  "Don't you dare say that, young lady!"  He turned the
girl around facing the wall, lifted her skirt and tugged her sleazy
net pantyhose down and made her step out of them.  He gave her three
very firm swats with his hand over her panties for the ugly words
she'd been about to utter.

The cuffs fell away from her wrists and he pulled her firmly after
him over to a low padded bench, where he seated himself comfortably
and drew the girl over his knees.  With one practiced movement, he
had her panties pulled down, baring a heart-shaped bottom.  She cried
out and begged him not to spank her bare.

"Oh pishposh!" he scolded.  "Of COURSE you'll be spanked bare.
That's the only way naughty girls are spanked in this house!  And I
intend to see to it you don't forget this lesson for a long time to
come, missy!  I guarantee your bottom will tingle the next time you
even think about going to one of those clubs with fake
identification.  The very idea that a 15 year old girl is out
drinking alcohol and having free access to drugs makes my blood
boil!  And tonight it's going to make your bottom boil!  Dear, would
you?" he added, directing his gaze at Mrs. Jones.

"Of course, my love," she said, and rose, smoothing her skirt.  She
walked over to a table and picked up a wide, oval-shaped hairbrush.
"Just the thing for reminding naughty girls what they need," she
said.

He took the brush from his beautiful wife and brought it down, the
brush landing with a satisfying SMACK! on the bared bottom of the
bratty teen.  She let out a piercing howl, which did absolutely
nothing to deter the delivery of a sound, little-girl paddling to her
shapely heinie.  Soon she was kicking and crying and begging to be
let up, promising she'd attend all her school classes and never go
near the grunge club again!  On and on he spanked, branding her bared
cheeks with the oval fire.

Soon Lyssa joined Jeffrey as a member of the red-bottom club and
stood sobbing, trying to press her burning butt against the cool
concrete walls.

Little Elvira-to-Be was brought over to the low, sectioned bench
where Mr. Jones had sat to paddle Lyssa.  "Now, Mary Beth," Mrs.
Jones said to her, "I want you to pull up that awful dress and pull
down your little panties for me."  Witnessing the two foregoing
punishments was sufficient incentive for Mary Beth to be cooperative,
and she did as she was told.  "Good girl.  Now lay out flat on the
bench, dear," instructed Mrs. Jones.

The girl did, and found that as soon as she had lain outstretched
that her wrists and ankles were restrained by some unseen means.
Mrs. Jones pressed a pedal at the base of the bench and the middle
section began to rise up at a joint.  The thick padding kept the girl
comfortable as the bench began to move to lift her bottom up to a
prominent position.  Another pedal caused the two sections to which
the girl's legs were fastened to lower, separate, and move forward
toward her chest.  At last, the girl was kneeling with knees wide-
spread, her weight comfortably supported by the bench.  The gaping
group was treated to a delightful vision of the rather plump teen's
abundant charms, her thick curling chestnut nether locks peeking out
between her white thighs.

"There now, comfy?" inquired Mrs. Jones.

"Pleeeeeeeeeease!  Let me go!  Let me go!" implored the teen.  Her
attitude had done a one-eighty since Mr. Jones had caught her with a
vicious knife making ready to slash the tires on his motor home.  No
longer the defiant vamp with the over-developed mammaries, she
sounded now like a little girl caught with her hand in the cookie jar
for which she now had to go over mommy's knee.

"Oh, not to worry now, dear," assured Mrs. Jones.  "You shall be let
go in time, but not before we strap a little reminder into this
naughty upturned bottom of yours.  What a pretty and plump little
thing you are.  I shall enjoy the "treat" of applying some old
fashioned discipline, young lady."

She reached for a sturdy leather strap which had one end cut smaller
for a nice hand-hold.  That she was also in excellent shape
physically was borne out by the crisp strokes which Mrs. Jones
delivered to that fleshy fanny.  With each kiss of the leather, Mary
Beth's generous bottom wiggled deliciously, little ripples moving
through her muscles.  The leather sang lightly as it parted the air,
and Mary Beth sang even louder as each sizzling CRACK connected with
her exposed cheeks.  Stepping back, Mrs. Jones sent a round or two in
such a way that the very tip of the strap lightly flicked the curl-
covered pouch peeking through, causing the girl to buck and thrash in
a most appealing manner.

And so it went, during the course of the evening.  Each surly,
threatening teen was changed in the flick of the wrist, to a well-
punished, repentant youth, vowing a course of rectitude and good
citizenship hereafter.  Nine profoundly well-paddled posteriors
glowed crimson, and 18 hands longed to be free to rub away the
terrible sting.

At last, Mr. and Mrs. Jones deemed it was nearly time to bring the
youngsters upstairs.  The cuffs dropped away, and the youngsters
urged to rearrange their clothing, which they did with ginger care.
"Up, up you go, children," ushered Mr. Jones, shooing the kids up the
basement stairs.

"Do have a little glass of cider before you go," urged Mrs. Jones.

If a single one of the duly disciplined teens had any inkling of
refusing this gesture of hospitality or answering with some
disrespectful retort, it was not in evidence in their polite
acceptance.  The cider was ice cold, refreshing, and absolutely the
best they'd ever tasted, swirling golden in frosty little glasses,
redolent of the rich fragrance of fresh-picked apples.

"Round and round the cider swirls,
Carrying you boys and girls
To a place where you'll forget
The spankings you received, and yet,
you'll remember to behave,
Or face the consequences grave."

As Mrs. Jones softly spoke the chant, the children filed out.  The
clock began to strike midnight as the door closed behind the last
youth.  All the kids were home in their beds much earlier than usual,
and parents and school authorities noted a marked improvement in
their demeanor thereafter.

A short few days later, before the snows of November began to fall,
Mr. and Mrs. Jones' big motor home pulled away from the house on
Maple Street. Mr. Jenkins gave a friendly wave as it rolled past, and
then did a little double take, swearing it had looked as if no one
were driving the vehicle.  He knew, of course, that his neighbors
were going south for the winter, as they'd stopped by his yard on one
of their walks. "Mrs. Jones and I always like to drive to where it's
nice and warm for the winter," Mr. Jones had told Jenkins.  "We'll be
leaving right after the 31st."

As soon as the motor home rounded the corner, well out of sight of
the neighbors on Maple Street, it simply disappeared with a
little poof.  Mr. and Mrs. Jones had themselves actually left just after
midnight on Halloween.  They preferred flying to driving.  "I do like
to get an early start, don't you, dear?" asked Mr. Jones.

"Yes, love, I surely do.  This way we'll have plenty of time to find
a nice little house and get all settled in before next Halloween.
And may I say, sweetness, that you were magnificent as always, this
year."  She gifted her husband with a brilliant smile of admiration.

"As you were too, my dear," he said, fondly.  "In fact, I'd like to
find a nice quiet spot and show you just how really amazing I think
you are!"

With that he headed his broom in the direction of an abandoned house
atop an ocean cliff, and Mrs. Jones followed after him, her delighted
laughter making the centuries fall away so that he felt just 18
again.


MissLilyO@aol.com)