Subject: New story: Peter's Paddle (M or m/f, nc, no sex, bad language)
From: Kent Stoneking <kentls001@worldnet.att.net>
Date: 6 Feb 1999 20:36:31 -0800
This story is a sequel to "The Tattletale", the first story I ever posted on ASS ... I'm reposting it tonight, for contrast. If either story doesn't show up on your server, let me know, and I'll e-mail it to you.
About the header: I'm not certain if the spanker is considered adult or not. He's in his late teens. The spankee is in her early teens, so if this will offend you, please read no further.
As with "The Tattletale", any similarity between the family in this story and a certain B---y B---h TV sitcom family is purely coincidental. Really. I mean it.
* * *
Peter sat expectantly in the family living room, waiting for Cindy to come downstairs. She thought she'd be going out for the evening, but Peter had other plans. He had a little surprise in store for his youngest sister.
As Cindy entered her teenage years, her natural exuberance blossomed into an all-out wild streak. Rebelling against parental authority, she'd fallen under the influence of the wrong crowd at school. She'd adopted their speech, their dress, all their behavioral mannerisms. Their parents thought they could talk her out of it (with the occasional grounding thrown in). Peter had other ideas.
He recalled Cindy's earlier years, when she'd had a real problem with tattling. The entire family (well, actually the children; they'd managed to keep their parents, and the housekeeper, in the dark) banded together to break that bad habit. Peter theorized another application might bring Cindy back in line; leastwise, he knew he had to do something.
Now, with his father pitching a deal to an out-of-town client (accompanied by his mother), his oldest brother and sister off to college, his other brother and sister at a band concert and a debate tournament respectively, and the housekeeper spending the weekend with her boyfriend, the time seemed ripe to put his plan in action. A quick trip to the garage to retrieve a necessary item, and Peter was all set.
He heard the girls' bedroom door open; a few moments later, Cindy came down the stairs. He could hardly believe she was only 14. The heavy-duty makeup, halter top, leather micro-miniskirt, and spiked heels gave the impression of someone much older. Only the frilly cuffed anklets and golden curls (she still wore her hair that way) hinted at the child within.
"Going out. See ya later," she muttered, heading for the front door.
"Cindy, wait. We need to talk. Sit down, please," Peter requested, indicating the sofa cushion next to him.
"My friends are waiting, Peter. Can't we talk later?"
"This won't take long." Actually, that depended on her.
She shrugged her shoulders, then sat next to him. "Okay, talk."
"Cindy, the whole family's worried about you. The way you've been acting, the way you've been dressing, your behavior ... what's going on?"
She rolled her eyes. "You sound just like Mom and Dad."
"Well, Mom and Dad usually make a lot of sense. You ever thought about that?"
"It's really none of your business," she snarled.
"Cindy, you're my sister, and I love you," he replied, gently but firmly. "That's why I'm making it my business. It really isn't proper for a girl your age to dress like that, and run around with that type of crowd --"
"This is bogus. I'm outta here," she snorted, getting up.
Well, he'd given her one last chance. "You're not going anywhere, young lady, until we've finished our discussion!" He lunged up, seized her wrist, and pulled.
"Peter, let go! You're hurting me!" she cried, teetering unsteadily on her heels. Gravity won out, and she toppled, face forward, across her brother's lap.
Paying no attention to his sister's protests and struggles, Peter brought her arms behind her, gathered both wrists in his left hand, and pinned them to the small of her back. With his right, he took hold of the hem of her tight leather skirt and started working it upwards. "No, Peter, NO!" Cindy shouted as she realized his intent.
As Cindy's skirt raised up over her hips, Peter's rage shot up another notch at what he saw beneath. "Thong-style panties, eh? Well, if you're going to show off this much of your butt, we might as well see the rest of it!" He'd intended to spare Cindy's modesty, but it seemed "modesty" wasn't a word he could associate with her right then.
"Don't you dare -- OOOO!" Cindy squealed as Peter grabbed the waistband of the offending garment and yanked it down to mid-thigh. Her struggling and squirming exposed all her feminine charms to Peter, who realized how grown-up she was getting ... then immediately squelched that thought. She was his sister, and this was business, not pleasure, dammit!
Reaching behind the sofa cushion, Peter took out the ping pong paddle he'd strategically concealed there earlier. Cindy, meanwhile, angrily demanded her release in no uncertain terms: "Peter, let me go! Right now! You hear me, you fucking bastard? LET ME GO!" He mentally added her language to the growing list of issues to address.
Peter rested the paddle momentarily on Cindy's rump while he adjusted his grip, gauging the range to his target. At the touch, Cindy looked back over her shoulder, caught sight of the paddle, and hollered, "Peter, NO! Not with that thing! I won't let you! You can't do this to me!"
Time to show her what he could and couldn't do. He raised the paddle high and brought it down squarely on the crown of her left buttock. CRACK! Cindy yelped as a bright pink blotch formed on the impacted flesh. Pleased by this result, Peter repeated the blow on the other summit. CRACK! Just like a couple of carnations in bloom, he thought, and set about increasing the bouquet.
As Peter applied the paddle to his sister's quivering bottomflesh, she continued squawking her displeasure. CRACK! "OWWW! Stop it!" CRACK! "OWWWW! "Stop it right now!" CRACK! "OWWWWW! Asshole!" Obviously she wasn't receptive just yet, so Peter put all his energy into spanking.
Several roses bloomed among the carnations when Cindy ceased her protests and laid still across his lap, her breathing rapid and shallow. "So, are you ready to listen now?" Peter asked, halting the paddle momentarily.
The voice was almost a whimper, but there could be no mistaking the words. "Fuck ... off ..."
She always had been a stubborn little brat, Peter thought as he raised the paddle again. He noticed the very tops of her thighs, right where they connected with her backside, were quite pale compared with the rest of her nates, and aimed there.
CRACK! "YIIIII!" CRACK! "AIIIEEE!" Cindy's struggles broke out anew as the swats landed on the tender area. Her frantic kicking and squirming told Peter he'd found a vulnerable spot, so he concentrated his efforts there. He had no trouble whatsoever keeping his petite sister in place.
The constant battering broke through Cindy's resistance, and she soon adopted a more contrite tone. "Peter, please!" CRACK! "This really hurts!" CRACK! "Please, Peter, no more!"
Time to give her another chance. "Now are you going to listen to me?"
A small movement of her head, which may or may not be a nod. Not good enough. CRACK! "I said, are you going to listen to me?"
"Yeth ..." she replied in a very faint voice. He noted with some amusement her lisp had returned. So much the better; part of his objective was to show her she wasn't all grown up, that she was, in many ways, still a little girl.
"All right," he said, softening his tone and lowering the paddle momentarily. "Like I tried to say earlier, Cindy, we're all really worried about how you've been acting lately -- "
"Ith none of your buthneth, Peter!"
Still defiant? They'd see who caved in first. CRACK! "Don't interrupt me!" CRACK! "You're listening now." CRACK! "Understand?"
"Yeth." Still sullen.
CRACK! "Yes what?"
"I underthtand!"
Not quite what he was after, but an acceptable response. He continued his lecture, punctuating certain points with paddle swats.
"Now, then," CRACK! "as I started to say earlier," CRACK! "it isn't proper" CRACK! "for a girl your age" CRACK! "to be running around" CRACK! "with those punks." CRACK!
"They're my friendth, Peter!"
"Friends?" he snorted. CRACK! "What kind" CRACK! "of friends" CRACK! "are those?" CRACK! "Do you honestly" CRACK! "think" CRACK! "they really" CRACK! "care" CRACK! "about you?" CRACK!
"Y-yeth ..." she sounded less sure of herself.
"Really?" CRACK! "More than" CRACK! "your family?" CRACK! "More than" CRACK! "Mom" CRACK! "and Dad?" CRACK!
"Mom and Dad don't care about me."
That gave him a moment's pause. Cindy's statement hinted of a deeper problem, an issue that should be discussed in greater detail ... later. Not right now.
"You don't" CRACK! "think Mom" CRACK! "and Dad" CRACK! "care" CRACK! "about you?" CRACK!
"No, Peter, they don't."
"Then why" CRACK! "have they" CRACK! "been arguing?" CRACK!
She laid quietly for a bit, then: "Mom'n'Dad have been fighting?"
"Yes," CRACK! "they most certainly" CRACK! "have." CRACK!
"About me?"
"Yes," CRACK! "Cindy," CRACK! "about you." CRACK! "Haven't you" CRACK! "heard them?"
"N-n-no," Cindy replied, then sobbed loudly. Although she'd been crying steadily since early in her spanking, she'd managed to keep her reactions quiet. It seemed (as often happened) Peter's words hurt more than the paddle. Well, he could be kind later; now he needed to be cruel.
"Of course" CRACK! "you haven't." CRACK! "That would" CRACK! "involve" CRACK! "thinking about" CRACK! "somebody" CRACK! "other than" CRACK! "yourself." CRACK!
"Peter, pleathe! I'm thorry!"
Enough. He put the paddle aside and released his grip, waiting patiently as she cried herself out. The carnations had completely disappeared from her rump, replaced by a mixed arrangement of roses and violets. He started to pull up her panties, then realized there wouldn't be much point.
Eventually, Cindy's wails died down to sobs and moans. She slowly pushed herself to her feet, her legs shaky and unsteady. Peter got up himself and went to hug her. She stiffened at first, then, realizing he meant her no further harm, melted under his embrace.
"I'm didn't want to have to do that, Cindy," he said, stepping back to look directly in her mascara-smeared face, "but you really had us all worried."
"I realith that now, Peter, and I'm thorry," she replied, reaching down to rub her flaming buttocks. "But ... did you have to thpank me tho hard?"
"Would you have listened to me if I hadn't?"
She thought for a while, then, mustering up a rueful smile, shook her head, no.
"Okay. Why don't you go upstairs, wash that gunk off your face, and put on something a little more appropriate? Then we can talk some more."
Cindy glanced at the front door. "My friendth --"
"Don't worry. I'll get rid of them."
"What'll you tell them?"
"The truth." She cringed. "That you're not feeling well, and that you won't be going out tonight."
Smiling again, Cindy said, "Thankth, Peter. You're thwell." She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek before scampering up the stairs. Peter watched until her crimson bottom disappeared from sight.
After disposing of his sister's so-called "friends" (the boy with the blue hair and the nose ring behind the wheel just shrugged his shoulders and said "Whatever, dude" before speeding away), Peter resumed his seat on the sofa. He picked up the paddle and inspected it closely. The session with Cindy turned out so well, maybe he could put the same methods to good use elsewhere. Next time his middle sister, Jan, fell into one of her self-pitying moods ... or his oldest sister, Marsha, got a little too full of herself ... a good, solid dose of the paddle might be just what they needed.
Yes, Peter thought, looked like he and his trusty paddle had their work cut out for them.