Island of Susans

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.

Purchase this story in print form!

Don't like reading on screen? This story is available in print form in Ultimate Archive: Volume 1 at the Flogmaster's Bookstore. Purchase your copy today to encourage the Flogmaster to write more cool stories.

Island of Susans

(**, M/fffff, Severe, Teen paddling)

An incomplete story, this tells of a scientist who creates a private island full of naughty girls that need spankings. (Approximately 3,566 words. Originally published 1995-11.)

My name is Dr. Monroe. I am a scientist. I have a private research laboratory on my own island off the West coast. The island originally belonged to my father. He made his money in the oil business. But he is gone now, as are my other relatives, and I am all alone.

Well, not exactly alone.

There's Susan, you see.

I first met her in 1974. She was amazing. A vibrant young lady full of enthusiasm and good cheer. The way her smile would light up a room was positively astonishing. No one could be sad around Susan.

She was extraordinarily pretty, too. She had a cute face with a petite nose, a wide smile with a row perfect white teeth (that looked absolutely delicious when she licked them), and the body of a goddess. She was of medium height with a trim figure, moderate-size breasts, and an ass with so many jiggling curves a structural engineer couldn't figure out how it worked. (Believe me, I know. I've spent a decade studying that bottom of hers and I still can't comprehend why it drives me crazy.)

I fell in love with Susan from the first moment I saw her. As a graduate student at the university, I was assistant-teaching one of the entry-level biology courses that she was taking. I couldn't take my eyes off her. My lectures became quite entangled, I must confess. Every day when she walked out of my class it was all I could do to not rush after her and grasp that hot little bottom in my hands and bury my face into that silky brown hair that she bobbed about so perkily.

I finally confessed my adoration for her, but poor Susan told me she couldn't return my affections. She was engaged to a young man back home. They were to be married in the summer. Everything was set. It was just bad timing, I mean, I was a nice guy and all, but it was just too late.

At first I was furious. I had worked myself into a frenzy over her for months, only to be thwarted at the last minute. I hated her. I wanted to take her across my lap and paddle those gorgeous buns of her until she was so blistered her panties hurt.

As the weeks passed, of course, I calmed down and became more rational. We were civil to each other, and I never let on how frustrated I was with her. But in the back of my mind a plan was forming. A devilish plan, perhaps, but I could not stop myself. Both the scientific and the personal benefits drew me. I began my preliminary research. It certainly seemed possible, though it might be expensive and it would take time. But I had plenty of money and all the time in the world. There was only one thing I needed, one thing I _had_ to have in order to begin.

Late that spring I convinced Susan I needed some of her blood for a biology experiment I was doing. "I've got samples from several others but I need one more volunteer. What blood type are you?"


"Perfect! Exactly what I need. I don't have any B-negative." So she cooperated. No doubt if she had had any idea what was in my evil brain she would have ran the other direction. That was the last time I spoke with her.

The summer of 1974 I began my research. I dropped out of school and began building the laboratory on the island. It took two years of study and equipment development before I was ready for the first real tests. Another three years passed in laborious experiments before I had perfected my methods.

Then in early 1979 I started growing the first clones of Susan. I did an even dozen with the first batch, concerned that all might not survive. Over the next few months everything seemed to be working perfectly, so I began work on the second and third batches, modifying and improving upon my techniques.

That spring I became a dairy farmer. People on the mainland thought I was nuts bringing cows onto the island, but I didn't care. Let them think I'm eccentric. Probably keep them out of my hair.

Implanting the embryos into the cows wasn't as big of a problem as you might think. It had been done before, though not with human embryos, so I was able to follow existing research.

In the fall I had the first birth. Within a week I had eight perfect little babies. (Not all survived the birthing process.) Mrs. Ortega, the Mexican maid my father had hired almost forty years ago, took care of them for me. Nearly sixty and the closest thing to a relative I had, she never asked where the babies came from. Perhaps she simply thought I was prolific.

By the mid-eighties I had over three dozen little Susans all over the place, each batch a few months or years apart. They were wonderful dolls, miniatures of the perfect Susan I knew so well. I taught them myself, making sure all were properly educated and trained in the ways of the world, but of course none were permitted to leave the island.

Raising dozens of little girls isn't an easy job, but I managed. I am naturally precise. Therefore my rules reflect that precision. I ran a strict household and from the very beginning the girls knew that any infraction of the many rules resulting in immediate punishment: a sound spanking delivered right in front of all the others.

Now that the girls are older, this has not changed. Susans I (the first series) are now sixteen years old and I am quite strict with them. As the older ones they have to live up to a higher standard. Girls fifteen and older are punished bare-bottom, as this humiliation is part of the punishment. Depending on the offense, I usually use the wooden paddle or leather strap, and occasionally the cane. Susans IV, V, and VI (ages 13, 10, and 6, respectively) are punished the same way, except that they keep their panties on. (The very young girls I spank with my hand or a wooden ruler.)

It is indeed a very interesting life I lead. The classroom takes up most of my day, and I rarely spend time in the lab except late at night. The older girls help me teach the younger ones, so I am mostly an advisor and guide. We have a wonderful time. The girls all adore me, even when I have to punish them, because they know I only do it because I love them so much. This is a duty am I inclined to perform on average a dozen times a day, some days more, some days less. Usually these are mild routine spankings, but typically several times a week I have to get out the cane. Lately this has been happening more and more with the older girls as they go through those "rebellious" teen years.

The girls are usually quite cooperative, bending across my desk in the main classroom and lifting their skirts. They are not happy about the cane, of course, and are usually quite frightened. But they do not want to make it worse by arguing, so they take their strokes in stride. I have gotten to be quite an expert caner, and I can deliver six sharp strokes evenly spaced across a girl's plump bottom in the span of two minutes. I make the girl thank me for it afterwards, as this makes her appreciate the punishment more. Then she must stand in the punishment corner for an hour or so, skirt still pinned up, while the rest of the girls giggle at her.

But I am sure you must be wondering how in the world I can tell the Susans apart, for of course as clones, they are physically identical. When the girls were quite young I realized this would become a serious problem, so I developed a coding system. First I divide the girls up by age (meaning by clone batch). Susan I's wear red ribbons, Susan II's blue, III's yellow, IV's green, etc. In addition, each girl within her group has a unique color assigned to her. All her clothing is made with this color prominent, and that color becomes the girl's nickname. So I've got Susan Yellow I, Susan Red IV, Susan Blue II, etc. It can be a little confusing, but in general it works perfectly.

Once a few years ago Susan Green I and Susan Blue I tried to switch their colors for a day. It worked for a while, but then I caught one of the other girls calling Blue "Green" and the jig was up. The caning the two miscreants received was very public and quite memorable, let me assure you. A number of the girls just watching were crying before it was over.

Today I don't have a caning to perform, but a series of paddlings. In many ways I prefer the paddle to the cane. The cane is too severe in most cases. But the paddle is wonderful. It causes the whole bottom to sizzle delightfully. And it can be used more generously than the cane.

The girls before me today are Blue I and II, Yellow I, Red I, and Pink III. The five of them were assigned the task of caring for the cattle this week, and one of them failed to shut the main gate last night, allowing the cows to eat Mrs. Ortega's tomato plants. Since the guilty one will not admit her misdeed I am forced to punish all five of the girls. I decided to use the paddle and not the cane, even though this is a serious offense, in the hope that the naughty girl will confess and I can then cane her bottom in addition to her paddling.

The paddle I use is one I designed and made myself. It is a little different from most paddles. I cut it from a thin oak board so the paddle is very hard but not that heavy, which means I can deliver a larger number of strokes and thereby prolong the punishment. What is most different is that the "business" end is round. It is quite large at a foot in diameter, and the handle is very narrow and long. It reminds me of one of those pizza paddles used in old-fashioned Italian restaurants for sliding a pizza deep into a hot oven, though of course this one is on a smaller scale. But I can really haul back and swing that thing with amazing force.

Blue I is the first before me, and at sixteen she looks astonishingly like the adult Susan I remember. She smaller and younger, of course, but her eyes have that same startling blueness and her smile and perfect teeth still take my breath away. Her breasts are rather prominent on her petite figure and her ass is so firm and round I cannot wait to sink the wooden paddle deep into those cheeks.

"Is it you?" I ask firmly. "Do you want to spare the others and confess?" Blue I shakes her head, tears in her eyes. "All right," I say. "Hands on the desk and get in position. You're getting twelve of the best." I could see her stiffen at this news. Twelve was quite a lot, though on a couple of occasions I'd seen fit to give up to twenty.

Blue I was standing about two feet in front of my desk, her legs a couple of feet apart. She bent over slightly and placed her hands on the desk. I watch her grip it firmly. She knew from experience what the penalty was for letting go.

Carefully I lift her skirt and tuck it into the waistband. With her bottom completely exposed the view was breathtaking. No matter how many times I have to do this the beauty of Susan's ass always amazes me. But Blue I and all of the girls here are over fifteen, so I quickly grasp the sides of her white panties and pull them down to her ankles, helping her step out of them, one foot at a time. I toss them aside and go pick up the paddle.

I aim carefully, then pull back until the paddle is well behind me. Whoosh-SMACK! The sound is like a cannon roar and all of the girls jump. A cry of pain escapes Blue I's lips and her hips wiggle frantically as she tries of absorb the pain. With barely ten seconds breathing room I pull back for another blow. Whoosh-SMACK! Now Blue I's bare cheeks are a bright, angry red. It fades to pink almost immediately, but soon it will not.

Whoosh-SMACK! Whoosh-SMACK! Whoosh-SMACK! I give her three quick ones in a row. The force is somewhat less but all three in rush like that is almost more than she can take. She is dancing on her tip-toes now, moaning loudly and weeping. But her feet stay in position and her hands do not leave the desk. Her ass is a wonderful shade of bright scarlet.

With four others to go I can't waste a lot of time, so I quickly finish the paddling. Blue I is cooperative, never once losing position, but she is sobbing and begging me to stop by the twelfth stroke. Her bottom is the color of tomato paste when she goes and stands by the wall, hands on her head though I know she's aching to touch her blazing rump.

Blue II is next, just to give me some variety. She looks pale and terrified, surprised that I called her next. But she obediently gets in position. About seven months younger than Blue I she is just bursting with fresh femininity. She cannot conceal her blush when I bare her tush and expose her secret opening between her legs.

Whoosh-SMACK! She yelps at the first blow and squeals at the next, taking her hands off the desk for a second. "Okay, we'll start over," I say firmly, and she begins to sob. "This is one." Whoosh-SMACK! "Two." Whoosh-SMACK! "Three." Whoosh-SMACK! I continue, paddling her as hard as I could the full twelve strokes (not counting her two starters). She keeps in position for those, however, and then it's Yellow I's turn.

Now it is fascinating to me the different personalities that have developed among the Susans. You'd think being all exactly alike they'd all be alike in temperament, but that's not the case. Some of the girls are quiet and obedient and studious, and others are naughty rebels. Yellow I, for instance, is quite arrogant and cheeky. She's spent a great deal of her growing up years across my lap and I have decided to make this paddling especially memorable to her.

I liked the way she thrust out her naked bottom toward me rather smartly. "We'll see how she acts in a few minutes," I thought. I picked up the paddle. Whoooosh-SMAAACK!!! This one came all the back from Kansas, and it was a real zinger. I saw Yellow I's head shoot up and I could imagine her eyes going wide at the pain of that blow, but she did not utter a sound. The same was true for the second and third blows. After the fourth, however, I saw her right leg twitching slightly, and I realized she was having a definite struggle to maintain such control. At least I was making some kind of an impression.

But I was determined to really make her suffer for her attitude. I had a suspicion that she was the one who had neglected to close the gate. So I paddled her harder yet. The muscles in my arms began to ache with my struggles. I couldn't believe she could take such pain so quietly. On the tenth blow I spanked her so hard she broke. With a deep groan that was so low it sounded like a man, she stood up straight and grabbed her ass and began to sob. She knew what it meant and I think that scared her more than the pain she was experiencing.

I motioned for her to bend back over. "Let's start again," I said with a deep sigh and she went quite pale and tears dripped sadly down her face.

In a moment she was back over the table as we started the paddling over. This time she cried the whole time and I was less harsh on her, spanking her no harder than I had the others. Her bottom had blisters when I finished.

Next was Red I. Identical in appearance to Blue and Yellow I, Red I was wearing a pair of tight red pants. These were not forbidden except during school hours, so that was fine. In fact, I very much liked the way the pants showed off Red's curvy hips and round buttocks. But to take her paddling she had to completely remove her pants and underwear, a process I could tell she much resented. Her red t-shirt didn't cover her lower half in the least, so she'd get no protection in front when put on display with the others. (Not that exposing yourself to identical sisters should be that much of a chore--but the girls were quiet competitive and loved to examine each other for the most minute differences--anything to stand out. Red I was sure to be critically examined by the others and there was nothing she could do about it.)

I picked up the paddle which seemed rather heavy now. I was growing tired. Whoosh-SMACK! Red let out a grunt and then a low moan and began to cry. I felt a tad sorry for her. She was generally a good girl, very quiet and studious. I rarely had to deal with her like this. She took the paddling bravely, though, and I toasted her buns soundly, though perhaps not quite as hard as the others.

Pink III was the last one. I was rather frustrated that no one had confessed, but I shrugged and pulled off her little panties and took my position behind her. She was terrified. "D-do you have to take my p-p-panties d-down?" she begged.

"Absolutely," I said harshly, then relented. "But you'll only get eight." I took back and smacked her a good one. Her feet practically left the ground with the upswing. She shrieked and clutched at the table desperately, wiggling her bottom back in a rather obscene fashion, though I doubt she was thinking about something like that at that moment.

On the third blow she let go of the table. We started again and this time on the second one she couldn't hold on. She was crying and clutching her bottom and begging me to stop. "We've got to start over," I said firmly. "You know the rules."

"Please, it hurts too much!" she begged but I shook my head. Sobbing, she got back in position.

"Hold on, Doctor," said someone behind me. I turned in surprise. It was Yellow I. She was facing me and though her face was pale she looked quite determined. "She had nothing to do with this, Doctor. Let her go."

"Why are you so gallant all of a sudden?"

"Because I'm the one who left the gate open." Was there just the trace of smugness in her voice? It was trembling too much to tell.

"I thought as much." I turned back to Pink III. "But rules are rules. I must finish with Pink III before I cane you. It would not be fair to the others to not punish Pink III."

"Please, she's much younger than us," said Blue I.

"We don't mind if she gets off," said Red I.

I shook my head. "Unless one of you wants to take her place? She's got eight more coming."

Reluctantly Yellow I stepped forward. "This is all my fault. Let me take her place."

I stared at her in surprise. "You realize I'm going to cane you, don't you?"

Her voice was soft. "Yes."

"All right, then. Take her place."

Sobbing, Pink III was led away by the other girls and Yellow I bent back over the desk. I checked her skirt to make sure it was fastened tightly, and then proceeded to deliver eight sizzling whacks with that paddle. Yellow I's rump was purple and bruised when I finished and I told her to stand up. She was pale and didn't speak.

"Because you confessed, we will let your bottom rest for a bit. I'll give you your caning in the mess hall tomorrow evening, before supper."

Yellow I nodded silently, and left with the other girls. I followed them to make sure they were all properly displayed on the punishment stage. Then I returned to my office. I sat and thought about what I had just witnessed. Yellow I's sacrifice had been quite impressive, though I did not know why she had not come forth earlier. Perhaps she was growing up. Learning to act like an adult takes real courage. I suppose that meant my discipline had finally gotten through to her.

The End