RLS 18: Best Friend

Another erotic story from the FLOGMASTER!

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The RLS Series is a collection of _real-life_ stories retold by the Flogmaster. Names and places have been _changed_ to protect the naughty. All are based on the personal memories of individuals and are written in the first person. Literary license may have been taken for a more dramatic presentation.

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Best Friend

(*****, M/f, Severe, strapping)

A woman tells about seeing her best friend receive the strapping of her life--and the strange way watching it affected her. (Approximately 3,217 words. Originally published 1996-01.)

This is what I remember of something that happened when I was in high school. I was sixteen at the time, which is probably why it made such an impression. I certainly would have thought I was too old for such a thing. My reaction puzzled and fascinated me for years.

What happened was this: I watched my best friend get a spanking. Here's the story...

* * * * *

We'd come home from school and were hanging out in her room when there was a sharp knock at the door.

"Go away, Andy!" Brenda shouted at the door, thinking it was her little brother. The door opened and suddenly her father was there. For some reason I remember thinking that he looked very tall.

"It's not Andy," he said in a somber tone.

"It most certainly is not," I said with a huge smirk and a broad wink at Brenda. I had a sort of crush of her dad, you see. Nothing serious, of course, but he was rather handsome and it really bothered Brenda and that just encouraged me.

But Mr. Henderson didn't even look at me.

"I just received a telephone call from Principal Wrenchen," he began, and Brenda and I stared at each other in horror. What could the principal want with her dad? Whatever it was it was certain to be bad.

"Apparently he spoke with your algebra teacher, Mrs. Larson, this afternoon. She said you two were late to class again today. The third time this week. She also said you came in smelling like ash trays." The tall man glared at Brenda. "Following her advice, Mr. Wrenchen examined the contents of your lockers. He assures me that he found two packages of cigarettes--one in each of your lockers. What do you have to say for yourself?"

Brenda's face had gone white and she wasn't looking at me. I felt horrible. I squirmed and looked out the window, feeling like a rat in a trap. How could we have been so foolish? Now we'd be grounded for a month!

"I am ashamed of you, Brenda," Mr. Henderson was saying. "You are in high school now--almost an adult. It is time you started acting like one. And I don't mean by smoking!" he snapped angrily. "I have half a mind to--"

He suddenly turned around and looked at us. We were sitting on her bed and studying our shoes quite intently. "Amy, your mom is on her way over."

I felt my heart sink. Great, so he'd told my mom. I could hear her screaming already.

"What do you think she will do, Amy?"

I stared at him in puzzlement. "Do?"

"How... will... she... punish... you?" he uttered slowly as though speaking to an idiot, which in my frame of mind at the time wasn't too inaccurate.

"Oh, uh, or," I stuck my toe into the carpet and played with the strands. My face felt hot. "I suppose she'll ground me, sir."

"No spanking?"

"Sir?" I stared at him in astonishment. I could feel Brenda cringe beside me but I couldn't look at her. I was too embarrassed.

"She won't spank you?"

"Uh, no sir, she doesn't much believe in that sort of thing. It's kids stuff, anyway," I shrugged, trying to be casual. "I'm in high school." I said it proudly as though I'd just won a gold at the Olympics or something, not just gotten older. He should've slapped my face.

"Hmmm," was all he said, his hand on his chin. I fell silent, blushing, wondering what all this was about.

"You are not part of this family, Amy," he said to me, "so of course how you are disciplined is none of my business. But if you were my daughter you wouldn't fail to taste the strap after a stunt like this!"

I gasped and felt tears spring to my face. "How could he talk to me that way!" I thought. I felt angry and yet ashamed, because I knew he was probably right. I did deserve to be punished. But I didn't see what gave him the right to judge me.

"Your mom will be here soon. In the meantime, though, I think it might be beneficial for you to observe Brenda's punishment. Perhaps watching someone else in pain will help you realize the consequences of your actions. And I'm sure my daughter will remember this punishment even better if there's an audience."

Mr. Henderson glared at his daughter and I saw Brenda was crying and shaking her head at her dad. But his face was hard and stern. I had never seen him so angry, so cold.

"Go get the strap, Brenda." I gasped.

"Daddy, please..."

"Now, Brenda. Or I'll double your punishment!"

Silently Brenda rose and left the room. I sat in shock and stared at the very different Mr. Henderson in front of me. This was a monster I had never known. I couldn't believe he was going to whip her. That was barbaric! No one was spanked any more. It just wasn't done.

Brenda was back a minute later carrying a thick leather belt. It had no buckle or notches but appeared to simply be a huge strip of leather. She handed it to her father and I could see she was pleading with him but he was cold and heartless. Something about his hard expression made my stomach do little flip-flops. I could feel a stirring between my legs at the thought of Mr. Henderson using that strap....

Her face flushed bright red, Brenda seemed to collapse. With the slow walk of the condemned all too aware that the pace was far too rapid she crossed the room. Totally ignoring me as she passed, Brenda took the chair from her desk and deliberately set it in the center of the room. She climbed aboard on her knees and bent over the back, her back toward me. Her father stood behind her.

"Twenty of three," he said quietly, and Brenda shuddered. I wondered what that meant. "Do you understand why I am doing this, Brenda?" The girl nodded, her long auburn hair falling around her face. I could no longer see her expression but I could see her father, and I had a very clear view of Brenda's butt sticking out behind her.

"It will not happen again, Brenda. Is that clear? When you are eighteen you can smoke if you choose, but until then, if ever catch you with a cigarette this whipping's going to seem like a jog in the park." Brenda nodded desperately. She wanted this over with. I, however, was finding myself quite intrigued by the proceedings. I was very glad I wasn't in her shoes, but I couldn't help but wonder how she felt, especially with me watching. I wished I could see her face.

Mr. Henderson drew out the belt and glanced back at me, nodding. "You should be next," he said with scorn, as though I was somehow getting off scot free. It made me feel ashamed. I looked away.

Brenda was wearing a pair of tight jeans and I bet she was ever so grateful now. Unfortunately they were the kind with the smooth backside guys found so alluring; no back pockets, which meant less protection. She whimpered slightly and fidgeted a little, waiting for it to begin.

"Count them out for me," said her father sternly, and he swung the belt in a wide arc from well behind him. It caught her butt low, right where you sit, where the cheeks meet the thighs. Brenda gasped or cried out or something, and then I heard her voice, trembling slightly, but amazingly clear, if a little high pitched: "One."

"This is too incredible," I remember thinking. "I can't believe I am just sitting here. I ought to call the police or something." But I just sat and watched as Mr. Henderson pulled back and gave his daughter another stroke. Again and again he whipped her bottom, the belt loudly smacking her rump. Brenda was squealing and wiggling now. At ten he paused and told her she'd better settle down or he'd have to start over. She became very still.

By the time Brenda called out "Twenty," she was sobbing. I couldn't believe she could just sit there and take those strokes. Every blow sent shivers of terror down my spine. I couldn't imagine being whipped. Just the thought brought tears to my eyes. I felt myself trembling as I sat on her bed and watched.

At some point I remember thinking that Brenda had a really beautiful ass. I couldn't help it. I'm not a lesbian or anything, but just seeing her round ass thrust out like that to receive those painful lashes turned me on. Her bottom was so round and firm and when she wiggled it after a hard stroke I could feel my panties getting wet. I began to blush when I realized what I was doing.

But then something distracted me. Brenda's father had said something I missed and Brenda was unsnapping her jeans and pulling down her pants! She pushed them down to her knees and leaned forward again. She was crying audibly and I realized with a horror that the whipping wasn't over! He was going to whip her in her panties!

Almost as soon as I'd thought this I heard the belt whistling down and that dreadful "wack!" as it struck her ass. Brenda let out a really loud suppressed moan and I sat up in shock. The sound was much louder now, less muted. For the first time I noticed a red blotch near the outside edge of Brenda's underwear. The panties clung to her tight ass and gave her little protection. I wondered why he bothered with them at all.

I felt a huge surge between my legs when I thought that. I still blush to think of how naive I was back then. If the very idea of spanking was foreign to me, the idea of a bare bottom spanking was incomprehensible. But even scarier was how excited I became. I found myself hoping that he'd do it, pull down her panties and give her another twenty. I could hardly wait. I knew it was weird but I didn't care. All I knew was that at that moment that was what I wanted. I ached to see Brenda's naked ass whipped. I could feel myself coming just thinking about it!

Of course my thoughts weren't all that clear back then. I was only even vaguely aware they were sexual thoughts. They were thoughts and I reacted and thought more and didn't much control them. I knew I was excited but I didn't take the time to figure out why or even that the excitement was sexual. I just felt.

The whipping was going on in fine form. Brenda was groaning and weeping, struggling to lift her head after each stroke and utter the count.

I could hear her voice cracking and I knew she was in great pain. This business of sitting quietly and counting the strokes out loud was a tremendous struggle. I couldn't imagine where she got the strength.

Finally she cried out "Forty!" and sobbed as she reached back and pulled down her panties. I saw her look back at her dad, her eye sockets blotched red from crying, her face wet. She looked incredibly sad and humble as she pleaded with him silently, her face imploring. He pointed to the wall away from her and she turned away, crying harder.

I couldn't take my eyes off Brenda's bottom. I'd seen her naked before, many times in fact. But I'd never really noticed how shapely her ass was. Seeing it in front of me now, bright red and striped by the heavy belt, I was suddenly conscious of how attractive she was. The ugly red blotches seemed to enhance her beauty rather than detract from it. I noted a few red marks curving around the seat of her bottom, wrapping around to meet her thigh, and the redness seemed to make her cheeks even more round and firm.

"Smack!" The belt must have stung her unbelievably. Brenda was quivering and shuddering, the muscles of her buttocks contracting helplessly. I heard her sobbing and gasping for breath. Finally she cried out "Forty-one!" I could only stare at the large red welt left by the belt. It frightened me so much I couldn't move, but the strange thing was I wasn't sure if I was frightened because it might have been me being whipped instead of Brenda, or if I was scared because I was enjoying this so much. I mean I had to be really sick to enjoy something like this, right?

But I couldn't help myself. My panties were soaked by the time it was over. Sixty strokes of that belt she'd taken! I couldn't believe it. The image of the white skin of her bottom turning pink and violent red as she was whipped bare bottom stayed with me for weeks. Every time I looked at Brenda that's all I could see. We'd be at school and chatting with some boys or girlfriends and I would be silently watching Brenda, stealing glances at her ass and remembering how it had looked, all red and punished.

I certainly didn't even try to understand my feelings at the time. I was more confused than a Woody Allen movie. My emotions were on a roller coaster. I was terrified. I was turned on. I felt sorry for my friend. I wanted her to get spanked some more. I was a little worried I'd be next, but even more terrified that I wasn't worried enough: I actually felt a little bit, well, intrigued by the process, wondering how it felt. My palms sweated just thinking about being naked on that chair and sticking out my bare ass for the belt.

I wasn't whipped. Not five minutes after the whipping there was a knock at the door and Brenda's mom stuck her head in and told me that my mom was waiting. To my dismay she wanted to talk to Mr. Henderson first.

Mr. Henderson nodded and leaned forward and kissed Brenda's forehead and gave her a hug. He wiped a tear from her eyes and smiled at her. "Brenda, darling, you know I love you, don't you?"

She nodded through her tears, throwing her arms around him and hugging him. I couldn't believe what I was seeing. Brenda had pulled her clothes back on and was sitting rather awkwardly on the chair and hugging her dad. Hugging the man who had just whipped her ass off! I felt my heart fluttering and I sat down rather heavily on the bed. I felt exhausted and drained. I just didn't understand any of this at all.

Mr. Henderson nodded at me and left. "I'll call you when your mom is ready to leave," he said quietly and I nodded.

The room felt silent and empty. I stared at Brenda and at the floor and wondered what to say. She didn't say anything for a long time and then she got up and put the chair away. She came and stretched out on the bed. I noticed she was lying on her stomach. Her jeans looked way too tight for swollen bottom and I could tell she was uncomfortable.

"You ought to, uh, change into something more comfortable," I said. She nodded, not really looking at me. "I can't believe your father did that," I finally blurted. Brenda blushed slightly and looked at the blanket between her fingers.

"He's rather strict," she whispered. Suddenly she looked straight at me. Her face was flushed and she was quite embarrassed, I could see. "I can't believe he made you watch!" she exclaimed, and I could tell she resented my intrusion.

I nodded. "I'm sorry! I-I've never been spanked," I said. "I had no idea--"

"It's okay," she said smiling ruefully at me. "You had no choice."

As though on cue we hugged each other and I kissed her on the cheek. My eyes were stinging with tears. "I'm so sorry," I blubbered. "It was-all my fault. I talked you into trying those cigarettes. It's all my fault."

"Shush!" Brenda said putting a hand over my mouth. "It's done. It happened. That's it. It's over. In our family once you are punished for something you are forgiven. Daddy will never mention it again."

I stared at her in surprise. "Never?"

"Never. It's as though it never happened."

"Wow. That sounds great. My dad never lets me forget anything I've done. He still brings up that incident with little Furbur every time someone mentions a puppy dog." Both of us laughed, remembering the horrible mess that dog had made in the living room after I lied for two days saying I had taken him on his walk when I really hadn't. We'd been in grade school then, and Brenda had been over at my house when the mess was discovered.

"He sure looked ashamed of himself," said Brenda laughing.

"Poor puppy. Holding it in all that time until... He really tried."

We giggled, the awkwardness of moments earlier almost forgotten. But in the back of my mind I kept thinking about what Brenda had said. For me the concept of forgiveness was just as foreign as the spanking. It struck me that there were some advantages to getting a whipping and having the punishment over with quickly. She'd remember it, certainly, but she wouldn't have to go for weeks sneaking around the house trying to outwit her grounding and feeling like a criminal every time her parents looked at her.

"It would be wonderful to feel clean and forgiven," I thought. I still felt dirty inside. We'd done something forbidden and I was ashamed. Brenda had taken her punishment and was free. I wouldn't be free for a month, if ever. Unless... a horrible thought struck me. What if Mr. Henderson was encouraging my mother to adopt his discipline methods? The whole way home I was on pins and needles. Mother wasn't speaking to me. She was furious. I kept waiting, my heart in my throat as we neared the house. Suddenly a whipping didn't seem like such a good idea any more....

I was grounded for a month. No TV, six o'clock curfew. Every night, even weekends. I was miserable. The worst was that my parents wouldn't speak to me. Oh, I mean we talked, but they would often glare at me for no reason or shake their heads as they talked as though I were hopeless. But they wouldn't speak to me about it. It was just assumed I would understand what I'd done.

I spent many lonely nights in my bed staring up at the ceiling and thinking longingly of Brenda's bare tush getting whipped. I wished desperately my own dad would just come in and tan me good and proper and we could forget the whole mess, but he didn't. For a while I seriously considered asking him, but I didn't have the nerve. Besides, I was worried he wouldn't do it.

The End