I can't help thinking that Tasha must have done this already,
differently and better, but I haven't figured out how to search the SSC
archives.


WHEN IN RAMSDALE

by Bird

(496 words)

And now, dear reader, it pains me to have to report the single incident
in which I subjected my darling to physical pain, for which may my soul
burn eternally.  She and the McCoo girl, had, according to old McCoo in
an urgent phone call, "misbehaved badly, and you better get over here
real quick."  I steered the Melmoth past lawns and lanes, in panic and
despair that they might have been exchanging caresses with some pimply
co-evals, so I was much relieved to discover, on my arrival, that the
girls  had merely been caught shoplifting tawdry earrings.  McCoo,
nonetheless thought this an offense that merited "a good old-fashioned
spanking."  I began to demur, blanching at the mere thought, but he
pointed to the "Danish modern" coffee table  required decor in Ramsdale
living rooms  whereon sat a copy of "Raising Kids Right," by a Reverend
Bill.

McCoo soon had his daughter pulled over his lap and was easily sliding
her shorts down over her slender hips.  Poor Ginny, knowing what came
next, offered a doomed, "Please no," but a second later, her underpants
fluttered at her knees.  She tried admirably to press her thighs
together as her father brought his large hand methodically down on her
boyish bottom, but after a few minutes, cheeks turning carmine, she
began to kick her legs at each impact, all modesty abandoned, and
despite my distaste for McCoo, I will be forever in his debt for the
views of downy ridges and winking buds that his brutishness afforded
me.

I thought he had finished, but he made the girl bring him a large
hairbrush.  I will spare my readers the details of what followed,
though I have been unable to erase from my own memory the poor girl's
sobs and screams and piteous pleading.

When at last she was released, McCoo looked at me, and I realized that
my already suspect status as a real dad was at issue.  I would have to
spank my daughter or else all other aspects of the relationship would
be subject closer inspection. Simulating paternal firmness, I
commanded, "Dolores Haze, come here."  She, too, seemed aware of the
fragility of our situation, for she said quietly so that only I could
hear, "O.K., you can do it.  Just don't touch that hairbrush or I'll
blab everything."

I followed McCoo's script as closely as I could recall it, even
exposing reluctantly Lo's nacreous nates.  I spanked rhythmically, and
as her globes glowed a deeper pink, Lo yelped and kicked and wriggled
convincingly enough to satisfy our audience.

I made it up to her that night.  The silken surface I had so recently
abused I now covered with my most loving kisses, though my efforts
seemed to have less effect on Lo than on me, for despite my initial
tenderness, I was soon in a state of urgency demanding to be wrapped
rapturously in her limbs, and through it all I wept and begged her
forgiveness.