Another erotic story from the FLOGMASTER!Copyright 1995-2009 by the Flogmaster. All Rights Reserved. Free distribution via electronic medium (i.e. the internet or electronic BBS) is permitted as long as the text is _not_ modified and this copyright is included, but _no_ other form of publication is allowed without written permission. This document _may_ contain explicit material of an ADULT nature. ***READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!*** Anything offensive is your own problem. This story is for **entertainment** purposes only, and it does _not_ necessarily represent the viewpoint of the author or the electronic source where this was obtained. All characters are *fictional* -- any resemblance to real people is purely coincidental.
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Tables Are Turned
(***, F/m, m/f, Intense, Spanking)
Erin sees a spanking and takes action. (Approximately 1,916 words. Originally published 1998-02.)
The incident with Sarah Beecher weighed heavy on my mind for a month after our visit. She stopped coming to the store, and twice I tried ringing her up, but her butler said she wasn't home. She never returned my calls. It was a difficult lesson for me but, like most, a good one. I resolved to be more careful about my associations in the future.
That said, I promptly forgot that lesson.
It was late spring and everyone was enjoying the anticipation of summer. I took to frequent walks in a little park near my apartment. It was delightful to watch children playing and giggling without any thought of tomorrow. I wished I could be that carefree again.
One Friday afternoon, during a bit of free time, as I sat on a bench in park reading, I noticed a darling little girl playing nearby. She was alone, though I saw a man nearby, smoking and occasionally glancing at her. Apparently he was her guardian.
The girl was an angel, with beautiful curly black hair and a sunny smile. She must have been five or six years old. She was climbing up and down on a bench opposite me, walking across it in a teetering fashion, giggling and have a delightful time. For her the bench was as much fun as a jungle gym or a carousel. I smiled at her and she waved at me as she played.
Twice I saw the man scowling in my direction. He was a young man, really just a boy I realized, and he seemed somewhat annoyed by the little girl's actions. Suddenly the girl slipped off the back of the bench, where she had been climbing, and fell. I leapt to my feet in concern but the girl was fine, giggling and climbing back up immediately.
The boy, however, was not amused. He raced over to the girl and began to scold her. "You could have hurt yourself!" he shouted. "Naughty Emma. Bad Emma! Does Emma need a good spanking to learn to behave?"
A shiver went through me when I heard those words. To my delight the boy sat on the bench and pulled the girl across his lap. Her little skirt when up and her white panties came down. The boy began to spank the girl's petite bottom very hard.
I sat on my bench and buried my face in my book lest someone see how intrigued I was by this event. The boy was spanking the girl very hard, especially for one so young, and her cries were noisy and abundant. She kicked her legs furiously and struggled to escape, but the boy held her tightly. I began to grow concerned. After twenty or thirty spanks the girl was sobbing uncontrollably, wailing and pleading, but the boy continued to spank her with a furious rage that I suspected had nothing to do with any sin the little Emma had committed.
After I'd counted another twenty spanks, I'd had enough. This was beyond discipline. I stood and approached the couple.
Seeing me, the boy paused, his hand resting on the girl's red bottom. She slumped over and wailed as though she was dying. I saw that the boy was really a boy -- perhaps fifteen years old.
"Excuse me," I said to the boy, "but don't you think she's had enough?"
"She's my sister and she's been a brat," he answered gruffly. "I can spank her all I want. Mum said so."
"That's all well and good, but it seems to me she's been well-punished."
"Mind your own affairs," snapped the boy, rudely, lifting his palm and giving his sister another loud slap.
"Look at her. How old is she? Five? She can't be more than six."
"She's six and she's a terrible brat."
"I thought she was darling."
"Shows how much you know." The boy began to spank his sister again, reviving her wild cries and kicking legs.
"Now look here, that's enough!" I grabbed the boy's hand in mid-slap, gripping it tightly. He stared at me in astonishment. "Don't you remember what it was like to be spanked?" I asked. "Remember how all you could think about was wanting it to stop, the horrible burning, the stinging, and how you'd never do anything bad ever again?"
The boy's face had fallen slightly, and his cheeks flushed. He looked away. I let go of his hand. Grudgingly he tugged up little Emma's panties and smoothed down her skirt. He lifted her to her feet and set her on the ground. "Go play," he hissed. "And stay out of trouble!"
Still crying, the little girl raced away. I saw now why she played so far from her brother. She stayed within eyesight, however. No doubt that was another lesson she'd learned the hard way.
"That was cruel," I said to the boy.
He shrugged. "Aw, she's used to it."
"That doesn't change anything. She didn't deserve that."
"What difference does it make?"
I grabbed his hand again, pushing my face close to his. "Perhaps I ought to show you what it's like to be spanked for no reason."
Panic settled on the boy's face, quickly erased by a mocking sneer. "You wouldn't dare," he said, glancing around the park. There were others around, but they were at least fifty to seventy-five meters away.
"Just watch," I said. I grabbed the boy's ear for leverage and sat down next to him, tugging him across my lap. He was small for his age. I guess he made up for it with attitude.
I placed my hand on his little rear and waited while he quieted down. He was nervous now, and embarrassed, wondering if I would really do what I threatened.
"You want me to spank you?" I asked.
"Please..." he hissed, but he didn't finish the sentence.
"I'll take that as a yes." I gave his jeans a heavy swat. While his face went crimson, I figured it had to have hurt my hand more than his butt. I quickly secured him over my lap with my left hand and unsnapped his jeans with my right.
"W-what are you d-doing?"
"What should have been done a long time ago," I said firmly. "I'm taking down your pants and giving you a good, hard, spanking!"
I thought for sure the boy would fight me at those words, and I had tensed and prepared myself for violence, but instead he went very still. The jeans slid down without incident, and with that encouragement, I pulled down his underwear, too.
"Oh!" gasped the boy. "Oh, please!"
"At least you are polite," I murmured, placing my hand on the slender cheeks of the boy's rear.
"And religious, too. I should begin praying for your bottom, if I was you. It is going to be roasting soon."
And with those words I began the longest, hardest hand-spanking I'd ever given. My hand swelled up and I couldn't hold a pencil for two days afterward. It really hurt but I didn't care. I wanted to teach this arrogant boy a lesson.
I spanked him for a least twenty minutes, maybe longer. There were a few pauses for breath and scolding, but generally it was nothing but hard slap after hard slap on that boy's butt. At first he seemed to stunned to believe it was happening. He lay quietly and took it, whimpering occasionally, and flushing horribly whenever people approached.
After a while it began to actually hurt and he started to wiggle and kick and yell. Soon he was begging me to stop, then ordering me, then collapsing into sobs and moaning for mercy. I gave him no quarter but spanked on and on and on. His struggles grew weaker and weaker and finally he just lay there and cried like a baby. It was astonishing to watch.
About halfway through the spanking I noticed a wide-eyed Emma watching us from behind a nearby bush. She stood with one hand on her own tender bottom, a mesmerized expression on her face. The boy saw her and groaned loudly, shouting at her to go away, to stop looking at him, to call the police. The girl didn't move. He threatened her with a terrible spanking if she didn't obey, but she didn't move.
I laughed gaily. "See there? She knows who's in charge. I'm in charge, little boy, and you're getting the spanking you so richly deserve. No be quiet and be still, or I'll have your little sister fetch me a switch off that tree and we'll thrash the skin off your arse!"
This seemed to terrify the boy. He promptly began begging for mercy, promising he'd be good. I ignored his pleas and told him to shut up. He quieted then, but when I began working on the backs and insides of his thighs, his cries could be heard throughout the park.
"Noisy, aren't you," I said pleasantly, my hand going up and down like a piston. "I guess you want everyone in the area to know you are getting spanked like a little boy."
The boy squeezed his eyes and mouth shut with a deep groan, and finished the last five minutes of his spanking without a cry. When I stopped he didn't even try to move, but lay across my lap, exhausted and beaten. I caressed the back of his neck and told him it was all done, he could get up, but he didn't move.
For at least five more minutes we sat like that, the boy over my lap, wiggling slightly and moaning quietly. Little Emma was still watching with huge eyes. I waved at her and she smiled shyly and waved back.
The boy shifted suddenly, and I felt something hard pressing against my thigh. I paid no attention to it at first. After all, a squirming boy is bound to have some rough edges. But soon the sharpness grew more intense, more uncomfortable. I shifted my legs and the boy leaned forward, pressing against me.
A chill passed through me. The boy's jeans and underwear had fallen down below his knees. He was a horny teenager, was he not?
As if to answer my question, I felt another thrust from the boy. He was rubbing his stiff cock against the inside of my thigh!
"Bad boy!" I scolded, delivering a sharp slap to his blistered bottom.
The boy only groaned and pushed harder against me. I spanked him again and again, but it only served to make him wiggle harder. Finally I rolled him off my lap onto his feet. He half-stood awkwardly in front of me, his painful, twisted face, red from crying, focused on the crotch of my skirt where it had risen considerably during his gyrations. I saw with horror my panties were easily visible to him. As I moved to straighten my skirt I saw the boy held his penis in his hands, the bulb thick and purplish and oozing. My glance was all the boy needed. He spurted into my lap gleefully, blissful relief on his face as he collapsed in a trembling heap.
I leap to my feet, furious. "How dare you!" I shouted. "How dare you! I ought to fetch a cane and thrash you!"
The boy lay on the grass panting, his face one huge smile of contentment.
"Please," he whispered. "Oh, please...."
More to come next week!