SSC: Games I

Rate This Story:

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.

Purchase this story in print form!

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

SSC: Games (Prologue)

(****, F/fm, Intense, Youngster, n/c discipline)

While camping, someone tells the ultimate scary story. (Approximately 492 words. Originally published 1997-07.)

"How far to Route 10?" I ask the gas station attendent.

He shrugs. "Five, maybe six miles."

I return to my car, my stomach jumping: a half hour to the campsite. In a couple hours I might be naked and weeping. The possibility makes me shiver.

We started the games in college. Six of us: Melinda, Mary Jo, Alice, Dinah (me), Richard, and Steve. We were always together. It wasn't sex--just friendship.

Our third night camping we'd run out of ghost stories and strip poker had lost its edge. Finally Steve said he had a _really_ scary story. We laughed but wanted to hear it.

"What's the scariest thing a child can imagine?" he began. "I'll tell you. There was once a little boy and girl. They lived not far from here. Every morning their father vanished over the mountain and every night he come home the same way. The children were told never to go far for the wicked witch would eat them."

We giggled at this but Steve ignored us.

"The children believed and obeyed. One day, chasing butterflies, they wandered far from home. Soon they were lost. It was growing dark and they grew frightened. Just as the sun disappeared, the boy saw a cabin. But when they knocked who should open the door but the tallest, meanest, wickedest woman they could imagine. She was old with wispy white hair and when she spoke her voice sounded like rusted metal rubbing.

"The children went pale. This was the evil witch! The woman pulled them inside and shut the door. The little boy saw the raging fire in the fireplace and knew they were going to be eaten. His sister began to cry.

"'Children shouldn't be out this late,' scolded the woman. 'Naughty children!' She went to an old chest and slowly drew out..."

At this point Steve paused in his tale, looking each of us in the eye. We were all riveted, the fire fallen low, the night cool and dark and mysterious. No one made a sound.

When Steve had wrung out all the suspense, he continued.

"When the witch turned around she was holding a _huge_ wooden hairbrush! Oh, the fright of the children was replaced by mortal terror, for while they had no idea what it was like to be eaten, they knew too well the feel of a hairbrush on their naughty bottoms.

"The little boy dropped to his knees. 'Please don't spank us!' he cried. 'We'd rather be eaten!'

"The old woman froze. 'Spank you? Eat you? Why, child! I'm doing my hair so I take you home!'"

Steve grinned at everyone. "What do you think? Scary enough?"

Melinda began to giggle, then Alice and Richard.

"I thought it was scary," I said shivering. "I'm terrified of spankings."

"Me too," whispered Mary Jo.

"Beware of the spanking-monster tonight," joked Richard.

Everyone laughed.

That was how it began.

The End

Rate This Story: