The Mission

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Another erotic story from the FLOGMASTER!

Copyright 1985-2016 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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The Mission

(****, M/f, Intense, schoolgirl paddling)

A girl will do anything to join a popular club. (Approximately 1,255 words. Originally published 2004-01.)

The target was there, standing in a crowd of people in the cafeteria. He wore a nice navy suit with a white shirt and burgundy tie.

Becca moved forward. She was armed and ready, the package in her hand. Timing was everything. She mentally marked out the distance in her head, walking forward. Her heart was thumping mightily, but it was too late to stop now.

The man turned as Becca passed. Perfect. She lifted her hand and squeezed. The man's chest exploded into pool of red, his face huge with astonishment.

Becca ran.

The escape route had also been carefully planned. She darted out the main doors and down a particular corridor. Behind her she could hear furious pursuit and cries of outrage. She ran down the corridor and was stopped cold. The door at the end was locked. She panicked, but it was too late. Several people stood at the end of the corridor and there was no way out. She was trapped.

Becca stood silently and waited. Her face was pale, and she was afraid to look up. The man approached her. Even without seeing his face she could sense his anger. Out of the top of her eyes she could see the horrible red stain across his shirt, tie, and suit jacket.

Slowly, Becca held out her hand. The ketchup packet was still there, and some of the excess had stained her palm red.

"Come with me," said the principal coldly, and Becca nodded somberly. She was a trapped rat. There was nothing she could do.

In his office, she was paddled. She'd expected it, of course, but she hadn't realized how painful it would be. He was angry and gave her the maximum allowed, twelve hard swats. And he didn't hold back.

She'd been paddled a couple years before, in her freshman year, but it had only been three swats and had hardly swung. This time he swung hard, with all of his strength, and he was a big man. Every blow hit like a brakeless semi, knocking Becca against the big oak desk she was bent over. At first she felt only the force of the blow. Then the ache began to seep across her buttocks and throughout her body.

First there was a fierce stinging. It was across the surface of her butt, like a million tiny ants nibbling away at her skin. Then the pain dove in deeper, like a tunnel machine, and her whole body began to ache. It was about this time, after forty seconds or so, that the next blow would arrive and the process would repeat itself, only more intensely.

By the time the twelfth and final spank had been delivered, Becca was crying a bit, and her butt was incredibly sore. She hastily wiped the tears off her face, thanked the principal and apologized, pulled her jeans back up, and quickly left his office.

The others were waiting, as planned, in the south-east bathroom. Becca grinned at the other girls bravely, pretending it was nothing.

"Did he paddle you?" asked Monica.

"Hell yeah," nodded Becca.

"Let's see," grunted Lee, the pretty blond leader.

Becca obliged, taking down her jeans, an unexpectedly ominous feeling, a flashback to moments earlier when she'd done that in the principal's office. But this time she also took down her panties, and the girls crowded around to study her blistered bottom.

The round cheeks were deep crimson, with the plumpest, lower part of each cheek a dark purplish-red. That was where Mr. Tomlinson had concentrated the paddling. The skin there had grown hard and crusty, then cracked and was blistering. It hurt just to be looked at, and Becca bravely blinked back the tears.

"Wow," muttered Veronica. "He really tore into you."

"I'll say," said someone. Another added, "He must have it in for you, Becca."

"You'll be fine," said Lee. "We all took it. It's nothing." She gave Becca's rump a loud slap with her palm. Becca leaped up, yelping.

Lee glanced at the others, then at Becca. Soberly she nodded. "You're in."

Becca beamed. "You mean it? I can join?"

"As of this moment, you're officially a member."

"Wow, thanks, Lee! Thanks, everyone. It's an honor!"

The girls gradually left -- their hall passes were only for ten minutes. But Becca stayed, putting some water on her sort butt, and dreading what was to come.

To an extent, she felt elated. She had taken a dare and done it, gotten herself royally paddled. She was now a member of the coolest club in high school.

But what the others didn't realize and she'd never told them, was that what this _really_ would cost her. Most of them thought the paddling was enough to show how tough she was, that she deserved to join their group. But Becca knew, sadly, that this was just the beginning.

Her parents were the old-fashioned type. As long as she could remember, her father had said the old cliche, "Get spanked at school, get spanked at home."

So though Becca's ass was throbbing now, she knew the paddle had been mild compared to the strapping she had coming at home. Her Mom worked part days, so she'd be home when Becca arrived. She'd probably get things going with a good hand-spanking and hair-brushing. That was her speciality.

Then Becca would have to wait in the living room, pants down, beaten red ass on display, for her father to get home. That would be horrible. The waiting would be bad enough, but when her father got there he'd be so disappointed in her. And she couldn't even tell him why she'd done it. He would think she was just being childish, and no doubt he'd really lay on the strap.

Strappings were usually over the back of the sofa in the living room where there was plenty of room for her father to swing the big leather belt. A typical strapping was double her age: thirty-two strokes. But somehow Becca didn't think this was a typical strapping situation. No, her father would be outraged and angry at her behavior -- attacking the principal with a ketchup packet! For that he'd probably double -- or even triple -- the normal dose. She'd probably be over that couch for thirty minutes of torment. That would be forever.

Oh she hated that strap. It was big and heavy and every swipe left ugly weals across her skin. They'd swell up, all puffy and tender, and since her father always whipped her thighs (especially the insides) as well as her butt, just walking would cause the weals to rub against each other producing unendurable agony. The next few days would be miserable ones.

At least, thought Becca grimly, she'd been smart about one thing. Today was Friday. She'd have the weekend to recover. Maybe by Monday she'd be able to sit again. She dreaded the thought of church on Sunday. Two hours on those hard wooden pews. That was not going to be fun. But it was still better than going to school freshly whipped.

"But I'm in!" she thought with forced excitement. Somehow, now that she'd done it, being a member didn't seem nearly as attractive to her. Was it really worth it? Had she done the right thing?

Hell, it was stupid to ask that now. It was too late. She'd already done it. Now she had to go home and pay. And pay. And pay.

This club sure had expensive membership fees.

The End

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