RLS 28: The Paddle

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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 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.

Please send me your spanking experiences! I will rewrite and publish the most interesting as part of the RLS series. Your anonymity _will_ be preserved. The Flogmaster

Real Life Spanking Series #28--The Paddle

(****, f/f, Intense, Teen paddling, cons)

Two girls test out a paddle. (Approximately 2,680 words. Originally published 1998-09.)

It all started one summer afternoon. My friend Monica and I were the only ones in the house. We were lazing around in the den, getting bored with forty-eight channels of nothing.

That's when Monica suggested we go swimming at her place. It sounded like a wonderful idea, except for one signficant obstacle: I was grounded. I was forbidden to leave the house for two entire weeks. Let me tell you, for a teenage girl to be confined indoors during the first two weeks of summer vacation is pure torture.

When Monica made her suggestion, my eyes, on their own initiative, went straight to the far wall to focus on my father's paddle hanging there. This is a huge wooden board, probably two feet long, six or eight inches wide, and maybe an inch thick. I think he got it in college, part of his fraternity. Now I got spanked as a girl, but while the paddle had been threatened often enough, I'd never experienced it.

When I became a teenager the spankings had stopped, but my father had made it clear that the paddle was still available and would be used "if warranted." That meant outright defiance -- disobedience so extreme that only the paddle could cure it. One of the actions my father considered defiance was breaking a grounding. If you were grounded, you did your time. No exceptions, no escape.

Swimming at Monica's would mean breaking my grounding: a certain recipe for a paddling, if I was found out. I must admit, I found the idea intriguing. I'd already endured a week of prison, and another week seemed like an eternity. But I feared the paddle.

I looked at Monica. "See that on the wall over there?"

She looked up. "Is that a paddle?"

"Yup. That's my father's paddle. I get a dozen with that if I break my grounding."

She looked at me, stunned. "Are you serious? Your father would hit you with that?"

I shrugged. "Yeah. At least, that's what he says."

Monica stood and walked over to the paddle, taking it down and admiring the smooth surface. I'd done the same thing countless times, when I was alone. A few times I'd even patted it against my bottom, toying with the idea of what it must feel like.

"It's heavy," Monica said. She swung it through the air. Her eyes were wide and glowing when she looked at me. "What does it feel like?"

I shrugged. "I... don't really know. Daddy's never used it on me. He always used his hand when I was a kid. The paddle was the ultimate threat, sort of the nuclear bomb of deterrent. It's worked, too: I've never broken a grounding."

"Wow. It feels like it would really hurt."

I walked over next to her, touching the paddle. "I've always wondered..." I whispered, my voice fading. For a long time, neither of us spoke. We just stared at the paddle in awe, fear, and fascination.

"Why don't we try it?" I suddenly blurted, without thinking.

Monica stared at me in horror. "W-what do you mean?"

"Try it. One swat, each. Just to see. It couldn't be that bad."

I could tell from her expression, that though the idea was foreign to her, it had a certain appeal. She licked her lips.


"I'll go first," I said bravely.

"How shall we do it?"

"Uh... I'll bend over the arm of the sofa. Then you... well, you whack my butt!"

Monica giggled as I got in position. I was overbalanced, my face being smushed into the sofa cushions. I felt silly, my ass sticking up higher than my head.

"What are you waiting for?" I asked.

"You're wearing jeans."


"So, denim's thick. I've got on short-shorts. That's not fair."

"Oh. That's a good point," I said thoughtfully. I stood up. "You know, my Dad always spanked me over my underwear."

Before she could protest, I was kicking off my shoes and socks and taking off my jeans. Monica watched me, eyes bright. I stood up. "One swat each, over panties. Hard as you can." She nodded, blushing a little and looking away. I went back to the sofa and got in position.

This time I felt even more ridiculous, half naked from the waist down, my bare legs getting chilled by the air conditioning. My panties felt skimpy, offering little protection. They were an older pair, a bit small considering my recent growing spell. I now realized that far too much of my rear cheeks were exposed along the frilly edges of the panties. But there was nothing I could do about it now. I'd made my dare with Monica and I had to carry it out.

I heard Monica get into position behind me. She was holding the paddle with two hands, and lifting it experimentally.

"I'm going to do this _hard_," she said mockingly.

"Hard as you can," I answered, gritting my teeth for the blow. I knew that when my turn came I would do the same for her.

There was a long pause. It probably wasn't for more than few seconds, but it felt like forever. I could feel my ass twitching, almost impatiently, waiting for that stinging blow. I'd thought about it for years, staring at that paddle, wondering what it felt like. How bad would it be?

I felt pressure first. Something hard was pushing against my butt. No pain, just pressure. Then I heard it: a sonic boom that echoed around the room. It frightened me it was so enormous. My first thought was one of panic. I wondered if the neighbors would hear it. I couldn't believe that my butt could make so much noise.

Then there was a tingling, a slow burning, an itching crawling across my butt. I thought it was mild at first, like when you first taste some extra-hot salsa. But within a second it had morphed into a sharp biting feeling, like a thousand ants with metal teeth nibbling on my skin. Those teeth swelled to bear trap size, clamping down and pinching my flesh. The pain drove in deep, and deeper still. I could feel it sinking through the layers of my ass. Deeper and deeper it went, until it consumed everything. Without my mind realizing it, my hands had found my poor, injured ass. I'd rolled off the sofa, and I danced around the room, howling and swearing and rubbing vigorously.

When I finally calmed down, I saw Monica staring at me in speechless amazement.

"Shit!" I moaned. "That _really_ hurt!"

Her eyes were huge, nearly bulging out of her head. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Holy cow that hurt! I can't believe it." I could see the fear filling her face. She took a step back. "Oh, no you don't," I said quickly. "You're taking your turn."

"Oh, come on. I mean, is that... really necessary? I mean..." She couldn't back out of it. I wouldn't let her and she knew it. Her shoulders slumped forward in resignment. "Okay, okay. But -- but not too hard."

I didn't say anything, and I think she knew what that meant.

She was scared, but she was a good friend. She took off her shorts and got in position over the sofa arm. Her ass isn't, shall we say, as "padded" as mine -- she's far more petit. But she's got great curves. Her panties were a pretty pink with lace trim. They covered her cheeks nearly completely, except for the tiniest bit of round flesh poking out at the base.

Lifting the paddle, I was once again awed by its amazing weight. I had to hold it with both hands. With my practice swing I realized I had to swing it as hard as I could just to get the thing moving!

I pulled it back to my shoulder and took careful aim. Monica was wiggling a bit, out of impatience or fear. Her panties had ridden up into her crack a bit. I could see the distinct shapes of her twin cheeks.

"Come on," she moaned. "Get it over with. I can't stand this waiting!"

I grinned, remembering how it had felt to me, moments ago. I purposely delayed my swing an extra couple of seconds. Then I put all my strength into it, using my shoulders, my arms, my wrists. I swung the paddle down, smacking it into her cheeks.

Once again the sound startled me. It was deafening, a tremendous splattering that chilled me. My fingers tingled as I felt the resistance of Monica's firm flesh recoil through the paddle to the handle and through my hands and arms. It was amazing. With that one stroke it seemed I could feel every part of her bottom. I could feel the way the outer flesh jiggled. I could feel the firmer. meatier, deeper part of her ass as it resisted the paddle, causing the board to bounce off her bottom.

Monica's screech must have been heard around the neighborhood. Before I could move she was up, hands grasping her ass, tears pouring down her face, as she hopped up and down, writhing and flaying uncontrollably. My hands crept to my own bottom, perhaps in unconscious sympathy, as I watched her dance. My butt was warm, too warm. It had a rather pleasant soreness to it, like how your muscles feel after a good workout. I rubbed the tender skin, enjoying the myriad sensations that flooded through me.

Monica had calmed down and stood rubbing her ass and trying to peer over her shoulder to get a good look at it.

"Let me see," I said. I walked up behind her and eased her panties down. Her pale white cheeks were now crimson. The skin was a light pink around the outer areas of her butt, but the center, where the paddle had connected most firmly, her flesh was a deep maroon.

"Wow!" I said. "Does my butt look like that?"

We spent the next several minutes examining each other. I got a hand mirror from my bedroom and we stood in the bathroom and looked at our naked, red butts in the mirror behind us.

Within a few minutes the major pain was gone, and all we were left with was the pink flesh and the intense memory.

"That wasn't so bad," I said, grinning.

"Yeah, right," said Monica. "God, I thought I was gonna die!"

"Ah, come on. Didn't you ever get spanked as a kid?"

"Not that I remember. I think my brother did."

I grinned rather cheekily at her, raising my eyebrows. "Wanna try it again?"

"Hell, no!" cried Monica. "Are you crazy?"

I shrugged. "Wasn't that bad. Kinda feels good now." I rubbed my butt.

She giggled. "Yeah. Kinda weird."

"Of course if you're too scared..."

"I never said that."

"We should do two," I said.

She stared at me. She didn't say anything.

"One's nothing. Two... two in a row. Now that would hurt."

I could see it intrigued her. "I couldn't take two," she whispered.

"Come on. Just two. You have to stay down, though. You can't jump up."

"Oh, God." Monica shook her head, but her eyes were saying yes.

Without even really discussing further, we were both walking back toward the den. I think we knew why we were going, but we didn't say why. When we got in there, Monica stopped, staring at the paddle on the floor where I'd dropped it. She picked it up, swinging it.

"Two," she whispered, her voice reverent with awe.

I grinned at her. "Bare bottomed."


"What's the point of panties?" I said. "They don't protect anything." She watched me closely, biting her lower lip.

"You'll be able to see the skin change color," I encouraged. "Two swats, bare bottomed."

She licked her lips, and then gave the tinest nod, and I knew I had her.

Before she could change her mind -- or me mine -- I slid my panties off and tossed them aside. Naked from the waist down, I walked to the sofa and bent across the arm. This time I didn't say anything about how hard to do it. I knew she'd do it hard.

She did do it hard.

The paddle exploded across my ass. Instantly the tingling pain, the fiery sting, engulfed me. I gasped, struggling for air. My fingers clutched the sofa cushions desperately as I worked not to rise. After a few long seconds of near panic, I crossed a hump and was able to relax slightly, breathing deeply, and almost enjoying the warm, engulfing pain that filled my rump.

The second spank came almost too quickly, hard, right in the same spot. It took the pain to a new, unexplored level. I wanted to scream. My eyes stung and filled with tears. I heard a thumping sound, and then realized it was my own foot, kicking wildly, pounding on the floor.

"Ahhhhh!" I cried in agony. I stood shakily to my feet, wiping tears from my eyes and wondering if I dared touch my blazing bottom. I wanted deseperately to rub feeling back into it, but I hesitated. I feared touching it would hurt it more. Another part of me wanted to prolong the sting, to not disturb it, not bother it, not change in any way the luxerious ache.

I turned to Monica. "There," I breathed softly. "That wasn't so bad."

Her face was flushed slightly, from her exertions with the paddle. I could see the fear growing over her. It was now her turn to go to the sofa, and she knew it. She was plenty confident with the paddle in her hand, but with the tables turned, she lost some of her courage.

I took the paddle from her. "All right," I said. "Let's get this over with. Two swats, bare bottomed."

She nodded quickly, and slipped off her panties. Lying across the sofa arm, her cheeks pulled apart slightly. I could see the pale flesh of the innermost parts of her crack glowing white in sharp contrast to the red flesh of the majority of her bottom. Between her legs the dark diamond of her sex peeped at me as she wiggled.

I didn't take long to admire her figure, but went right to work paddling her bottom. I gave her two hard blows, full across both cheeks. Each struck her low, at the base of her bottom, where the cheeks jutted out so impertinently, and the force of the strokes lifted her onto her tiptoes. She screamed into the sofa cushions.

She was sobbing after the second swat, and I felt a stab of guilt. Her buttocks were blazing red with puffy bubbles swelling up across the lower portions of her cheeks. I realized with astonishment that these were the early formations of blistering.

I put down the paddle. "Monica! Are you okay?"

She didn't say anything for a moment, but lay curled up on the couch, sniffling and wiping her eyes.

"It's over," I said. "It's over."

She grinned weakly at me.

"You should see your ass. I think it's almost blistered."

She nodded. "Yours is the same way."

I was surprised. I reached back and, sure enough, I could feel small, pebble-like bumps across my bottom. The flesh between the bumps had hardened. It was stiff, like leather.

"I couldn't take a dozen," I said bitterly.

"That's okay," she said. "I don't feel like swimming any more any way."

*** Epilogue ***

Monica and I never played with the paddle again. When she came over we sometimes looked at it, grinning silently to ourselves. We didn't need words to express what we shared.

My father never had to use that paddle on me. I thought about it many times after that day. Just the concept of that paddle had held me check during my formative years. After I'd experienced it, it had lost a little of its mystery, but none of it's power.

The End

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