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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(*****, M/f, Severe, strapping)
A woman remembers the worst strapping she ever received--at age sixteen, from her loving Grandfather. (Approximately 2,382 words. Originally published 1996-01.)
My worst spanking ever was given to me by my Grandfather when I was sixteen years old. I had never been spanked by Gramps before; at least not that I can remember, and that was part of the humiliation and fear.
I was staying with him for a month one summer. My parents had gone on a cruise--their first real vacation since I was born. I was at that horrible, bratty teenage age--insolent, arrogant, and downright uncontrollable. (I think that might have been part of the reason my parents needed a vacation.)
Anyway, I did my best to make Gramps' life a living hell. I refused to help out around the farm, ignored his rules, and openly flaunted my disrespect. If I ever deserved a spanking it was that one from Gramps!
The straw that broke the camel's back was when he caught me in the barn with Jimmy Williams, a seventeen-year-old boy from two farms over. He and I had met earlier in the summer and he was part of the reason for my rebellion. Gramps had told me I couldn't see him. "That Williams boy is trouble, girl. Got a girl with child down in Stayton last year. You say away from him or I'll tan you good, I will!"
I ignored his threats. Gramps always talked like that. His speech was filled with ancient phrases and silly ideas that the modern world has seen fit to abandon. Everyone knew that spanking was passe. No one did _that_ anymore. Even my parents had stopped when I became a teenager.
But when Gramps caught me and Jimmy in only our underwear and a lot of straw he went through the roof, and I soon learned that he didn't realize that teenage girls were't supposed to be "licked" any more.
"Please, Gramps, you can't be serious!" I begged as I watched him approach me with a heavy razor strop. "No one does that any more. Besides, I'm too old--I'm sixteen!"
"I dun care if yer twenty-nine!" shouted the old man. "If ya live in my house ya abide by _my_ rules and ya take yer lickin when ya deserve it!"
I began to cry then, for I knew there was no escaping his wrath. I could see he was really upset and I was frightened. He was an old man--he looked so mad I thought he might croak over with a heart attack or something. Besides, he was Gramps and I did love him. He was great when he wasn't mad at me. I suddenly wished desperately I'd hadn't been so bratty all summer and I wished I had never met that Jimmy--he wasn't really that cute, even. All I really wanted was for Gramps to forgive me, to be the old Gramps I knew and loved, not this purple-faced, razor strop swinging madman.
"Please, Gramps, I'm really, really sorry!"
"Not yet, ya aren't! Now git on over to that railin and bend across it!"
Sobbing, I obeyed, wondering why on earth I was doing so, knowing exactly what was to happen. I'd heard horror stories from my Mom about how he'd strap her and her brother and I knew that I was in for the same. Always naked, in the barn, and with the razor strop.
"Take off them prissy things of yours," growled Gramps, indicating my panties (my bra was somewhere in the haystack), and though I protested, I soon found myself embarrassingly naked before my grandfather. I bent over the railing as he instructed, my bare legs and bottom sticking out behind me. I gritted my teeth and waited.
But he didn't begin right away. "Now hir's what we's gonna do," he said sternly, standing next to me and turning my chin so I had to look at him. "Ya's gonna get twenty with the strop on each leg an' each buttock. But ya's gonna half to count and ask me for each. Ya half to ask for it, ya hear? Say to me: 'I want five on my left leg' and then I'll give 'em to ya. Do ya understand?"
"I t-think so, Gramps," I mumbled. "But please, do we have to do this? I'm really sorry, Gramps! It will never happen again, I swear!"
He humrumphed at that and warned me that miscounting or forgetting to count would add extra strokes. "If ya want I can make it twenty-five..."
"Oh, no, Gramps, please!"
"Alright, then, girl, hurry up an' ask for yer lickin!"
Sobbing, I tentatively asked for two strokes on my left cheek. They came, then, quick like lightening and I shrieked and bawled like a baby. I'd never felt anything so searing in all my life. It was agony, pure agony, and I couldn't stop sobbing for a whole minute.
"Better hurry it up, girl, or this is gonna take all day," growled Gramps finally.
"Please, can I have two on the other side?" He granted my request with enthusiasm and though the pain was horrendous I managed to bear it with a little more decorum. I soon was ready for the next--ready being a strongly subjective term, I might add.
I gritted my teeth. "Please give me five on the left cheek, Gramps." They came, hard, fast licks that seared and blistered the skin and made me wiggle with uncontrollable terror. I sobbed and begged him to stop but he just threatened to add extra strokes if I didn't cooperate, so I tearfully asked for five on the right cheek. He stepped on that side of me and gave me five backhanded blows that took my breath away.
I now felt woefully licked but I knew we had barely begun--just seven on each cheek and none on my thighs yet! How was I going to live through this?
Asking for more strokes at once was better--it made things go faster--but it sure hurt a lot more. I decided my thighs were going to have to take their share though I really feared how much that strop would hurt. "Please give me three on my left thigh."
He made me pull my right leg out of the way so that the strop could curl around my left leg and strike against the tender inside of my thigh. My shrieks must have been heard in Paris. I know I startled the horses and I heard the chickens go crazy outside. The whole farm must have been on edge because of my strapping.
Sweat poured off my naked body and my throat felt dry and sore. But we had an eternity to go on yet. "Five on the right thigh," I asked and received. "Two on the left leg," I asked for next, wanting to keep things even. I did _not_ want to lose track of where we were!
To keep things even above I asked for three on each buttock and those stung horribly but not nearly as bad as on my thighs, especially when the strop struck high up, near my crotch. Though it was the hardest thing I ever had to do I asked for five more for each thigh, sobbing and breaking down between each searing series.
Now I was at ten each--halfway done! Oh, the horror. I truly wished I had never set eyes on that pimply Jimmy Williams and I vowed that I would _never_ disobey my grandfather again. "Please, Gramps, isn't that enough? My legs feel like raw meat!"
"Good!" he exclaimed. "That's jus' how ya should feel. Now keep goin'!"
I let out a big, tearful sigh. Better get the worst over with first. "Please, let me have t-ten strokes on my l-left leg." After the first stroke I knew I had been foolish to ask for ten at once. There was no way I was going to bear this. By five I was drenched with sweat and my knuckles were white as I gripped the railing with all my strength. Tears flooded down my face and I held on for dear life, my legs kicking without my control. Gramps threatened to tie me down and I managed to keep my leg still for number six but number seven was too much and I began flailing and Gramps didn't get a good blow so he said it didn't count and he was going to add an extra one for me not staying still. I somehow managed to take the next few without moving but ten and eleven had me howling and convulsing. Gramps sighed and said it was good enough. He waited.
I cried for a long time until I could tell he was becoming impatient. He threatened me twice and finally I spoke, my mouth as dry as dust. "Please, Gramps, please give me f-five on my right thigh."
He gave them to me and they burned like fire but my left leg was still in far greater agony. I asked for the next five on my left bottom cheek and those seemed to sting with a surprising pain. I had thought the thighs hurt so much more that the buttocks would be relatively easy, but now I knew that my bottom was almost as tender as my legs.
I took five on my right cheek and then the final five on my right thigh. By this time I was almost cried out. I had no more tears and could only shudder and convulse as I tried to weep but couldn't. My legs and bottom burned and throbbed and I had never felt more miserable in my entire life.
"Please, Gramps, may I have the final five on my left cheek?" He gave them to me and they were his hardest yet. Stepping well back from me he brought that strop down with a fury I thought only nature could possess. I could feel the welts bubbling up under the skin of my cheek and I screamed at each terrible bite of that strop.
When he stopped I sobbed and prayed that it would be over soon. I knew we were almost done but I felt exhausted. I was sweaty and dirty and my body was wracked with pain. I didn't know how I was going to come up with the courage to request the last few strokes. I wished beyond wishing that there was someway to avoid those last five. If I could have sold my soul to the devil in exchange for those five at that moment, I swear that's what I would have done and been happy at the bargain.
Instead I opened my mouth and, voice trembling, tearfully asked for the last five. Gramps went to my right side and pulled back and delivered five quick, searing blows that had me dancing and quivering in pain and fear. It was all I could take. I cried with relief when he told me it was over and I could get up.
"Are ya gonna be a good girl now?" he asked and I couldn't stop sobbing and muttering "Yes! God, yes!"
All I wanted to do at that moment was run away and sulk and feel sorry for myself but Gramps wouldn't hear of it. He took me out to the side of the barn and hosed me down. The spray was ice-cold and I thought I would die the sensation was so intense. Quickly I began numb, though, and I soon was grateful that the water was so cold. I felt relief and I showered right there in front of my grandfather, rinsing off my body and washing away my tears.
I was cold and numb when he stopped and had me fetch my clothes. I didn't put them on but went straight to the house to my room without a word to anyone, and I curled up on my bed and cried and felt sorry for myself. A while later there was a soft knock and Gramps came in carrying a plate of chocolate chip cookies and a tall glass of fresh milk.
"Gram says ya might want somethun ta eat," he growled in his gruff, awkward manner. I could see he was concerned about me but didn't want to show it.
"Thanks," I said softly, and took a cookie and bit into it. It was warm, fresh from the oven. I took another bite and then another. I felt a warmth in my belly that almost matched the warmth of my backside.
I nodded. "I'm really sorry, Gramps."
"I know," he said gently. "Ya had that one comin all summer but I kept puttin it off and hopin ya'd change yer behavior..."
"It's okay, Gramps. I know I deserved it. It sure was hard, though. I don't want to _ever_ go through that again."
"Well, mind yer P's and Q's an' ya won't have ta," he said with a broad grin. "Now, why don't ya just take a little nap. Ya look tired." I _was_ tired. Exhausted, to put it bluntly. I stretched out on my stomach and Gramps pulled a sheet over me. It hurt a little as it settled across my bottom, but it felt good and comforting, too.
"Good night, Gramps," I murmured, already half asleep.
"Night, darlin," he whispered and I heard him shut the door. I lay there a bit, quiet and just feeling the warm soreness of my body. It almost felt good, now. I wanted to hate Gramps, to feel angry that someone I cared for could hurt me so badly, but I couldn't. I knew he had done the right thing and though I hadn't liked it at all it was what I had needed. I knew that my life was different now, that I would never be the same person I had been. Somehow even then I knew that was a good thing.
Years later, I know I owe Gramps an eternal debt. I cannot imagine what my life would have been like without that day at the barn. I just know that I grew up a lot that day, and if it hadn't been for that terrible licking, I would have grown up with other, perhaps far more painful and more permanent lessons.