Vague Memories

Another erotic story from the FLOGMASTER!

Copyright 1985-2020 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.

Vague Memories

(****, M/f, Severe, non-consensual paddling)

An old man recalls a childhood friend's punishment. (Approximately 1,762 words. Originally published 2020-05.)

I'm old now and my mind isn't so clear any more. I hear a lot about "fake news" these days and for all I know that's what this is -- I'm not at all sure what memories are real and which are just my imagination.

You see, I fantasized about Hannah getting spanked so many times that it's possible none of what I think of as real actually happened. How can I know?

But perhaps I should back up. I just realized you have no idea what I'm talking about. You don't even know who Hannah is, or me for that matter. My name is Carver. That's a first name. I won't tell you my last name as that's none of your business. This all happened back when I was 11 or 12 years old.

Hannah was a guest of a friend of ours. The lady was older and alone, but she had a big property with lots of land for me to explore. She was only a few blocks away and I used to hang out there often as our back yard was tiny.

During this summer, a family came to stay with the lady for a couple of weeks. There was a mom and a dad and this girl, Hannah. She was short, chubby, and blond, and about 12 or 13, I think. She was older than me. Not by that much, but enough that she lorded it over me. For young kids, even a few months age difference is significant.

I immediately became fascinated with Hannah. It was hot and she wore shorts and I noticed she had a prominent bottom. I'd never paid much attention to girls' bottoms before, but either this bottom was extraordinary or I'd suddenly gone through puberty.

All I knew was I couldn't take my eyes off that big rump. I'd follow her around as we roamed the fields and climbed trees. The more I looked at it, the more exciting that bottom became. It was so round and plump it seemed remarkable. It stuck out considerably and when the girl walked, the heavy mounds would bounce and jiggle. Depending on the shorts she wore, the cheeks were revealed either by shape if the cloth was thin and snug, or weight if she had on cutoffs. I was soon addicted to watching.

Now this is the part where I'm unsure about my memories. I'm positive Hannah was real and I know she wore a variety of tight shorts, but even to me the next part sounds far-fetched. Did it happen? Or did my obsession her butt inspire me to imagine this?

What I think I remember is that one day I went over to visit. It was summer so we had lots of free time. I usually cut through the fence rather than walk around to the front of the house. This meant I came up from behind the house and Hannah and her father didn't see me. They were outside and he was scolding her about something.

I never did quite figure out what she'd done, or maybe I just forget. It doesn't matter. The main point is that her father was about to discipline her. I instinctively understood this. Not wanting to interrupt, I ducked down between some bushes and watched.

The man had Hannah by her left arm and he was swinging the slab with his right. The thing was about four inches wide at the business end, smaller at the grip end. It might have been two feet long. It was clearly to be used as a bottom implement, connecting with Hannah's plump derrière. From the angle and shape of the narrow board, it wasn't used like a school paddle, horizontally across both cheeks, but vertically, impacting one bun at a time. It made a loud whack sound when it hit and I thought it absolutely marvelous. I'd never thought of striking Hannah's ass until then (I think -- if this was all my imagination, maybe I did), but once I saw that, I loved it and dreamed of it all the time.

Her father was shouting at her, but his back was to me and I couldn't make out what he said. Hannah was yelling, so it was noisy. The paddle was making the occasional splatting sound, too. I could only tell from his stern tone that it sounded like a command. Whatever he was saying Hannah was reluctant to do, for he redoubled his efforts with the paddling, smacking her again and repeating the command. It sounded like "down," but that didn't make much sense. That was something you said to a dog, not a girl.

Except after a few whacks that Hannah clearly didn't appreciate, she did something extraordinary: she took her jeans down! Now her butt was clad only in thin white panties, with half the rounded cheeks bulging out. It was tremendously exciting to me. I couldn't believe what I was seeing.

But her father kept yelling "Down!" more often and I was confused. I saw the paddle snap across her buns, usually in a quick double-strike, one whack to each cheek. Hannah yelped and moaned, complaining, but eventually she had enough and she pushed her underwear off her hips and down to join her shorts.

Now I was extra-interested. I knew little about the female body except that it had me curious. I mostly just saw Hannah's butt, however, since her back was to me. That was still exciting to me and it grew more thrilling as her father spanked her. That slab stung those buns, making them bounce and wobble. I saw the skin was pale but where the wood hit, it left a reddish mark that gradually grew darker and soon looked sore.

I should point out that it wasn't like Hannah stood there and posed for me. No, she was the definition of the word animated. She jumped around, flew through the air, and tried everything to get away from that awful stinging wood.

But she was trapped by her father's strong grip and her clothing tangled around her ankles. She couldn't do much but dance and wiggle, and nothing she did helped her escape from the burning paddle. I found that I loved all her movements. It was exciting seeing her writhe and shake her booty. It was a little like when I followed her through the woods, drinking in the sight of her bobbing bottom, except this time she was naked and a slab of wood was vigorously stinging her cheeks.

To this day this is still my favorite spanking fantasy. I like a traditional over-the-lap spanking as much as the next guy, but seeing a girl jump about as her buns are reddened is the most exciting thing. I just loved the way Hannah tried to escape and couldn't, her father lifting her to her toes with one hand while he paddled her with the other.

Hannah's chubby cheeks also defined my ideal bottom. They were so round and juicy, plump enough to burst, with plenty of bounce when the wood impacted them. She was a short girl, still young with developing hips, but she already had a fine bottom, heavy for her age. I have no idea what she looked like grown up, but I imagine it was more of the same, only larger.

I don't remember how long that spanking lasted. It seemed over far too soon for me, though I doubt Hannah would have agreed. When it was done, she sported twin cherries behind, two glowing globes that were practically steaming. She was still jumping, hoping from foot to foot and howling, those heavy cheeks jiggling deliciously. Even when she finally calmed down and stood still, her butt shook from her sobs. Then her father left and she stood there naked from the waist down, out in the grass behind the house, ruefully massaging those buns while I watched with all the intensity of a scientist studying a critical experiment.

Eventually she went and tugged her panties and shorts back up, her tears dried, and wandered off. After a while I sauntered out as though I'd just arrived. She was much nicer to me that day, less snooty, and I noted that she didn't want to do any activity that involved sitting, like checkers or watching TV. I wanted to ask her about her spanking, but I didn't, knowing that I would have been mortified if someone had asked me about one of my spankings. Hannah acted like nothing had happened and I didn't let on that I knew.

But after that day, I began to fantasize all the time about her being spanked. I imagined so many scenarios, bad things she'd done to deserve a belting or switching. I pictured the resulting punishments so vividly that after a while, I wasn't sure which were real and which weren't. Even that first one has me confused. Did I imagine it? Or did it really happen? Why would her father take her outside to paddle her?

I suppose in the end the truth matters little. If I believe it was real, perhaps it was, at least for me. Real enough, any way.

Likewise I have a vague memories of spanking Hannah. In one we were playing house and I was the dad and she the little girl who got into mischief and needed to be spanked. I put her over my lap and slapped her bottom while she protested and begged for forgiveness.

In others, we made wagers -- who could run to the end of the field and back the fastest, that sort of thing -- and when I won I always claimed my reward of being able to spank her. I just used my hand, but I got in a few good smacks that made Hannah complain.

I'm not sure if those were imaginary or real either, but in them I sure had fun. I still think about Hannah often. I never saw her again after that summer. I don't even know her last name. I'm not sure if she was related to the lady or just friends, but her family never came for another visit as far as I know. I wonder if she got spanked again -- she was young enough to get a few more before they dwindled -- and I wonder if she grew up and found a husband who spanked her. I sure would have been willing, but our lives weren't meant to intersect any more than that one summer.

The End