Date: Sat, 7 Sep 1996 11:44:58 -0400 X-Sender: teddyt@teddyt.pop.crosslink.net Mime-Version: 1.0 To: laura@netgate.net From: Ted Subject: Counselor Counselor Part I Teddy's life was getting more complicated for now that he had passed his 12th birthday. He had new feelings, and his Mom was just not understanding. They engaged in some nasty verbal sparring, which Teddy always lost and felt bad about, and his schoolwork was going downhill. He also was finding a new crowd of kids, who favored cigarettes, beer and hanging out at the 7-11 late at night as their forms of recreation. The problem was Mom. She was really his stepmother and had taken quite good care of him since his Dad died almost two years ago. His father's last request was that Mom should treat the boy as her own son and that Ted act like a man. Much easier said than done, they both found out. At her wit's end, Mrs. Wilcox, finally heard from a friend about a counselor who specialized in young adolescents. The night Teddy came home at 11 o'clock on a Friday night without having told his mom where he had been, a big battle broke out, with Ted telling his mother she was an old fart (actually, at 40, she was trim and men considered her attractive) and Mom yelling and crying. "It's time you got some discipline, young man," she finally said, as they squared off in the kitchen. Mrs. Wilcox went to the pantry, and procured a wide leather belt. To Teddy's surprise, she advanced toward him, grabbed his upper left arm and pinched him toward the kitchen table. "owwwww," he whined. "I don't know how to do this, Teddy, but I am going to give you a licking, do you understand!!!" "Mommmmm!!!" he whined. "Don't you dare hit me! Noooo!!!!" "You're getting a licking, young man, or you will be pulled out of school and grounded forever!" Teddy, who hated himself already for making his hard-working mother so upset, figured since she didn't know how to do this, he wouldn't put up too much of a fight. She half-wrestled him over the edge of the table and swiftly pulled down his sweat pants. Teddy whined and squealed, grunted and ooofed, but there he was, pinned down by her left hand and his underpants right on the firing line. Just as Mom was raising the doubled over strap, the phone rang. She hesitated for a moment, her spirit sank and she answered the phone. In the meantime, Teddy, no fool, had arisen from the table and scootched his sweat pants back up. The phone conversation was brief, and Mom approached her confused son. "Teddy," she said, her voice aquiver, "Sometimes you make me crazy. Look what you almost made me do?" she continued, almost crying. "I should have done it a long time ago, son, but I just can't." "That was Mrs. Jurgens on the phone, and she's a counselor I want you to see tomorrow. I wish your dad was here, or somebody, to help you out with your problems. But she is very very good, I'm told. And I want you to see her at two o'clock tomorrow. She's just around the corner on Lonely Street." Teddy, now ashamed that he was causing his mother a bad time, and realizing he HAD been a bit out of control, looked up from under his mop of brown hair and said softly, "I'm sorry, mama." There was a long pause as her face brightened slightly with pride, and then he said something he didn't know he was going to say until the words came out. "I'm really sorry. It's all right. Go ahead and give me the lickin' if it will make you feel better." "Oh, Teddy," she cried disappointedly. "I don't believe in hitting children. But what am I going to DO with you?" Teddy, feeling really confused, walked back to the table, picked up the strap, silently handed it to his mother and bent over the table. Mrs. Wilcox was befuddled for a moment or two, then approached him from the left side, and gave his sweats a little tug down to just below his bottom. He shivered and began to wonder what he had done. His mom sorrowfully picked up the belt and doubled it over again and reluctantly began. This was not much of a licking as things went in the neighborhood. With very little force, like a girl trying to throw a football, Mom brought the strap down awkwardly.THWACK. Teddy straightened up and gasped. THWOP. The second one warmed his bottom, but he stayed in position. THWAP whispered the strap against his jockey shorts. Mom felt terrible having to whip her only son, and Teddy felt relieved that this was not so bad -- just a pretty awful embarrassment. But he remembered his Dad's words, and he did mean to make life easier for his mother. Teddy whined and sucked in his breath audibly with each lick of the well-meant but poorly executed strapping. When it was over, and not a mark on him, Teddy scooted to bed. "Remember, two o'clock tomorrow," Mom reminded him as he ran to his bedroom and collection of magazines he hoped would take his mind off the first whipping he had ever gotten. ------------------------------------------------------- At 1:45 the next day, Teddy thought seriously about going to the schoolyard for a touch football game and skipping out on this Mrs. Jurgens altogether. But common sense told him -- and this was a first, common sense getting the better of his mischievous little-boy nature -- that he would make Mom happy if he went. Besides, maybe it WOULD be a good idea to talk over problems with a stranger. He made his way down lonely street, checked the address and tapped on the door of the Victorian mansion. "Teddy Wilcox! I've been expecting you," said Rita Jurgens, a 40-something widow with reddish brown hair that hung in bangs over her green eyes and straight down to her neck. She had sharp but pleasant features and except for the hair color, she sort of reminded him of a "Betty Page" he had seen in a magazine. She led him through the ornate parlor, complete with grand piano with framed pictures of a variety of young men on top of it, to an office near the back of the house. Mrs. Jurgens sat primly on a straight-backed chair and motioned Teddy over to a soft couch that sank comfortably under his weight. He sat at the far corner of the sofa, looking sideways at his new counselor. He noticed several diplomas and certificates framed on the wall, and felt a little more at ease. For 30 minutes, she gently teased out of him how he felt about life -- school, home, playmates, his late father. She was so smooth and comforting, Teddy had no problem talking honestly. Toward the end of the session, confident that the relationship was on solid footing, asked, "Teddy, does your mom ever hit you?" Teddy was stunned. Was she asking about child abuse? "Isn't that kind of a personal question?" he stammered. "Well," she replied encouragingly, "it is, but counseling does have to deal with some personal things." "No, she doesn't," Teddy said firmly. "Except last night, just as you called, she was about to spank me -- but she couldn't do it. I actually made her." "You MADE her spank you?" a surprised Mrs. Jurgens asked, squirming a little bit closer to the edge of her chair. "Yeah," the boy exhaled, a little hard-put to explain his feelings. "Just a little bit of the belt. Didn't hurt much?" "Why did you ask her," Mrs. Jurgens asked. "Were you feeling guilty about your behavior?" "mmmhhh," he nodded shyly. "And I felt bad for making her angry. ... I never got spanked before, and she said she doesn't believe in hitting kids." "But you felt better afterwards?" Silence. "mmmhhh." "Do you think she SHOULD spank you, Teddy?" "NO! I mean why should she? God, that would be terrible! Even if she's my stepmother, she's still my MOTHER for God's sake. I'm 12 years old, don't YOU think that's too old for spankings?" Mrs. Jurgens smiled sweetly and leaned forward. "Actually, no, Teddy. It might be too old for a lot of kids, and maybe not too old for others. Everybody is different, you know." The pause was considerably longer now, as Teddy kept his head down, truly embarrassed and Mrs. Jurgens just kept looking at him, silently putting thoughts in his head. Finally, Teddy stammered: "I-I-I kknoowww I''vve bbbeenn sssome tttrroubbble, and I-I-I hhaattte all the yyyellling Mmmomm dddoes. But I don't want her to start spanking me now." "Well, how about if I do, Teddy?" she asked in a voice so soft and inviting that he felt a warming tingle inside his jeans. "I understand how you feel about your Mom. Maybe I could help out with your dilemma." She straightened up in perfect 19th century ladylike posture in her chair and waited for an answer. When none was forthcoming, and time running out on the session, Mrs. Jurgens changed her tone. "Come over here, young man!! And I mean NOW!" Teddy looked up wide-eyed and saw an entirely different Rita Jurgens. Her eyes were narrowed and blazing, her lips tight. She imperceptibly smoothed the skirt of her black business suit and with a slight wiggle of her upper torso, straightened out the shoulder pads. He tentatively arose and shuffled slowly to her. "This is part of my counseling protocol," she announced, even though Teddy had no idea what a protocol was. "You are going to get a spanking of the kind you have missed out on," she said icily, reaching down to her handbag and producing an angry-looking black plastic, flat-bottom hairbrush. "Whhhattt?!" Teddy exploded. Before he could protest further, Mrs. Jurgens had grabbed hold of his belt and pulled him to her right. Still grabbing him by the waist, she expertly undid the belt and unbuttoned his jeans. As he spluttered unintelligbly, Mrs. Jurgens unzipped the pants, turned him sideways and pulled down the same underpants that had felt the strap last night. Teddy's face turned bright red, and he involuntarily clenched his bottom cheeks. In a millisecond, he was face down across Mrs. Jurgens' skirt, the nub of his manhood-to-be pressed flat against the inside of her left thigh. This was to be no prissy little mommy-licking like last night, he soon found out. His unorthodox counselor raised the her right forearm straight up at a 90-degree angle so quickly it might have been mistaken for a Nazi salute and brought the brush down hard on Teddy's surprised backside. PPPOPPP!!! "AAAAAAYYHHH" he exploded in response to the pain and bucked away trying to escape the nasty fate that had befallen him. Mrs. Jurgens grabbed him tighter around the waist with her left hand and commanded: "Stay put! You are a naughty boy and you are gonna get a good spanking! Stay still!" The harsh tone of her words rang in his ears. Teddy clenched his teeth hard enough to turn his fillings into diamonds and closed his eyes. But still he saw stars when the second blow resounded through his brain. He heard it a fraction of a second before the SMACK landed on the opposite cheek. "OWWWWWW!!! he yelled, kicking his legs against the underpants that restricted him at the knees. "I told you, young man, that you are going to get a spanking. Now take it like a man or I will bend you over the sofa and get the cane! And don't think I won't." Teddy had taken some pretty hard licks playing football and banging around with his rough friends, so he was used to pain. But not like this, and not with such a tongue-lashing as accompaniment. Tears formed in his eyes and as the third application of the brush landed high on his hips, he began crying nonstop. "Waaah Waaaaah Waaah," he sobbed. Pretty soon, he stopped thinking at all, and, as Mrs. Jurgens had hoped, began concentrating on the pain of the long overdue paddling. WHAP SMACK SMACK WHAP WHOP PPPOPP WHACK CRACK CRACK WHAP SMACK SMACK. It went on and on, much more rapidly now, and Teddy was crying like a baby, his previously untouched bottom starting to glow red all over. "This SPANK is WHACK part PPPOPPP of your SMACK WHACK re-SMACK-cov-WHACK-er-CRACK-y. Do WHAP you WHOP under-SMACK-stand!!!" "YYYYESSSS!!!" Teddy shrieked. "No more, No more," he begged, crying even harder, trying to keep his runny nose from mussing his punisher's skirt but, nevertheless, letting a long string of drool puddle on the carpet beneath him. She finished up her treatment with five solid burning imprints CRACK CRACK SMACK WHAP WHACK!!! He lay motionless crying when it was over, barely noticing that Mrs. Jurgens was rubbing his bare bottom in slow circles. When she helped him to his feet, he couldn't face her. He looked down and saw that his boyish nub had grown into a semi-erection. He covered up quickly and pulled his pants back up, still crying like a little boy after his first real licking. "Young man," Rita Jurgens winked. "I expect you here next Saturday at the same time ready to tell me how you behaved all week!" Teddy, trying to adjust his private parts into a semblance of order beneath his jeans while rubbing his blazing bottom, was at the doorway when he heard that. He slammed the door, but not before yelling proudly his newfound motto: "YESSSS MA'AM!!" Counselor -- Part II Preface: Some months ago we learned of an 11-year-old boy whose widowed mother finally took up the cudgel -- in the form of a plastic spatula -- and granted her husband's dying wish that she not shrink from raising young Theodore straight and tall. The boy accepted the punishment by bending over the kitchen table, even though he was now taller than diminutive mom. In their post- traumatic stress, he agreed he would see one of her acquaintances for counseling. She was board-certified psychologist and family counselor specializing in adolescent behavior. There is no need to describe the kind of board she certified. Since publication, the original has been destroyed by a computer virus known as the Ebola Gay. Yet, the story itself -- like a television pilot -- remains timeless and offers an opportunity for introduction of revised characters. -0- -0- -0- It had been a long time since Theodore's awakening across the lap of counselor Olivia "Vee" Gates, and in tribute to his mother, Victoria Marie, he had tried manfully to conduct himself like a little gentleman. But now that he had turned 12, and the metamorphosis of the freckles on the bridge of his nose into pimples was around the corner, avoiding trouble was as likely as a jellied piece of toast falling right side up. It was early June, when grades were becoming immutable. Victoria Marie had even considered hold him back a year in school until he took himself more seriously. She worked hard at raising her little Teddy, who was so easily influenced by the kind of peers who always managed to leave him holding the low hand. He had passed through the "wig" phase that afflicts young men of the '90s, and now tried to dress just a tad more preppy. He practiced honor, to the point of telling the truth always -- especially when it would do him no good. Victoria Marie had gotten a call from the school principal one day informing her that although Teddy had made progress, there was no escaping delivering an in-school suspension for three days. In a single morning, he had called the art teacher a "midget," talked out of turn in shop class and refused to clean his lunch tray. His mother figured that we all have bad days and that once in trouble, there was no point in him turning back. She dreaded going home to confront him, but confront him she had to. Her tears fell long before his would, and it was then she told him he might have to repeat seventh grade -- for his own good. He angrily demanded to spend the rest of his life with his father and challenged his mother to do something about his behavior. Teddy hated angering his mother; in truth, he knew, they were all each other had and he knew that dad's influence would garner him gifts, a little more freedom -- and a whole lot of emotional loneliness and competition from the man's gaggle of girlfriends. Since his first spanking, Teddy had grown -- as young men are wont to do -- and there was no way she could physically punish him. But when he stood glaring at her and venomously challenged, "So what are you going to do -- spank me?" she broke down and cried. "I wish I could! You know I'm trying my hardest." His mother's tears, which had so shaken him at the time of the divorce, suddenly dissipated his petulance. "Aw, mom. I'm trying hard, TOO." He paused, he reflected and he grew a little more. Teddy looked at the kitchen linoleum. He ground the soles of his basketball shoes in a nervous circle. "I'm sorry," he whispered. Victoria Marie hugged him silently, then asked him -- without regard to their lack of insurance -- if he thought he ought to have another counseling session. He simply nodded, and as she squeezed him hard, Teddy felt a tautening of both trepidation and a desire he could not name. As he trudged the next Saturday morning the block and half to Dr. Gates' two-story brick house, partially hidden by vines of ivy and wisteria, Theodore remembered how shameful yet purged he had felt the first time he had been subjected to the woman's retropsychology. It might not be pleasant, but Teddy's debt to his mother was real, and, deep down, it was a debt he had to pay to himself, too. Olivia "Vee" Gates had changed somewhat, too, making herself over into a more man-pleasing mien. But intimidating she remained. "Come in, young man," she said as she opened the door. She was 5- foot-2, or would have been had she not stood before him in four- inch heels. Her hair was considerably lighter now, and the black sweater, ringed at the neck by a gold chain, utlined a girlish figure, accentuated even more by the tight houndstooth miniskirt the rose to just below the tops of her white ribbed thigh-high stockings. Her straight nose and thin lips, her smooth face and blue eyes, were rather pretty, he thought. But there was something in those eyes that made her a successful trainer of lost souls. She beckoned him to the parlor, then looked him over as if he were a calf at a cattle auction. "Bow," she directed him pleasantly enough but in a tone calculated to inspire compliance. His first thought was to reply, "Wow." But he bit his tongue and hoped she didn't notice the faint smirk that he muscled back into a look of contrition. He attempted an inept bow from the waist. The silence that followed was as articulate as the libretto to come. Finally, Olivia pointed him to a hard, straight-backed chair, where he sat facing her as she leaned forward on a dark green love seat. She spoke gently, but without a trace of tolerance as she recounted his recent misdeeds and asked him for possible explanations. He sallied a few rationalizations, but wasn't really paying attention to them, for his eyes were riveted on Dr. Gates' thighs once she leaned back. They were apart, defining even better the mold of her legs and drawing his attention ever farther upward. He knew what he was looking for, and became muddled momentarily when he could not see the line of her panties -- just more cream-colored flesh. He was staring, and she knew it! His eyes had reached the end of the trail it dawned on him that he was gazing directly upon an uncovered and completely bare slit of womanly pussy! "So you are not paying attention to ME, either, are you, Theodore?" she reprimanded. "Huh?" he gulped, noticing for the first time that the coffee table between them was unadorned -- except for two wooden spoons. One was a regular kitchen utensil that would not have caused undue notice. The other was much larger, apparently for use in a chef-sized mixing bowl, and flat-ended, blackened at the business end as if left too long in an oven or if ... if ... overused. "I can see that you are distracted once again, and I'm really not sure it's worth your mother's money to spend our 50 minutes in conversation. Stand up Theodore." He rose, half-knowing he was to become another entry in her research log. "Turn around!" He did so, instantly imagining himself as a fashion model for "Boy's Life." At once he was awkward, proud, frightened. She was more than looking him over, for Dr. Gates knew exactly what she would do. Her command was clearly intended to subjugate him to her will. Always up to a physical challenge on the playground, the current of Teddy's adrenaline drew him willingly under his counselor's dominion. "Take off your clothes," she requested, as easily as if asking that he pass the mayonnaise. He hesitated, his face reddening. When she told him he could leave his underwear on, Teddy unshirted himself and drew down his trousers. She remained silent, until he picked up the cue to lay them neatly on the armchair. "Come with me, Theodore," she directed, handing him both implements. He took them with the reluctance he recalled exhibited by his girl pal Allison when he shoved a bucket of worms under her nose. Clad only in his underpants, he pivoted to follow Dr. Gates' perfect posture and skin-tight skirt up the wooden stairs, turning right at the landing and into a small bedroom. She drew the shades. He stood a little shorter now, awonder at the future flashing before his eyes. "Take your underpants off," she said with all the passion of a teacher announcing, "Turn your papers in." There was nothing he could do but shift the two paddles from hand to hand, slip down his Jockeys and expose his nakedness to her. For the first time, Dr. Gates touched Teddy. She took his hand, and the velvet steel of her palm issued a wave of fresh blood through his still hairless loins. She led him a few steps to the carefully made bed, and Teddy lay down over the edge without any request. He spread his toes for balance and reached forward across the bedspread. He turned his face so he could rest it on his left cheek, staring at a watercolor of a nosegay of wildflowers above the bed. He didn't feel or hear what happened next until he smelled Dr. Gates' perfume wafting toward his left side. She placed her left hand directly across his tailbone and her right hand hard across the top of his left hip. The spanking had begun. He felt the first slap as something quite tender, and the second one just an inch lower as well -- like the relaxing needles of a soothing hot shower. He was more embarrassed than pained, at first, as Dr. Gates methodically spanked his smooth bottom up and down the left side, then down and up the right side. She spaced her spanks evenly and much slower than he he had expected. Teddy's butt was starting to burn, the fire lighting the stiff wick that swelled upward beneath the soft skin of his underbelly. Her hand smarted him badly, but the punishment, he knew, lay more in his required obedience. When his backside was spanked scarlet and Dr. Gates heard the telltale little-man moaning, she stopped. He was panting a harmony of discomfort, chagrin and arousal. "Up," she ordered, and Teddy sank off the bed to his knees, wiping a unexpected tear from his eye, and pushed off the edge of the bed with his hands to a standing position. He looked down in both pride and shame at the erection he could feel the good doctor's eyes appraising. She brushed past him and sat on the bed. "Turn over my lap, Theodore. I'm not quite finished." Again, it was neither a command nor a request. Just a simple statement of what time it was. Teddy was reluctant when he saw the larger of the two paddles in her hand, but he did not dawdle. She put her right forearm under his buttocks and shifted him forward an inch, causing her miniskirt to rise the same inch above her stocking tops, the precise width of his engorged cocklet. With immaculate bedside manner, Olivia "Vee" Gates pressed the wide plane of the blackened paddle flat against both of his nether cheeks. Predictably, he shuddered. Then he hollered. The paddle surprised and stung him like an annoyed hornet, jerking his legs straight out behind him. The sound deafened him to his own yelp. Calmly and systematically, Olivia not only implanted the paddle or reason across Theodore's already scorched bottom, but she began cultivating a fresh garden of desire. He would see Dr. Gates from time to time well into the future, but never again at the behest of his mother. ###