Choose Your Own Spanking
19

(****, ?/?, Edgy, Could contain anything.)

This is an interactive story where you get to choose how the story progresses. (Approximately 653 words. Originally published 1998-02.)

You run out to the garage, tears blurring your vision as you run. You know you are in for a terrible whipping and you are very afraid. But you are even more afraid of making your father even angrier by delaying things, so you grab the thick strap off the peg and rush back inside.

As you hand it to your father you cannot help but think of how your bottom is going to feel in a few moments. You tremble as he takes you into the living room and orders you to lower your jeans. "Underpants too," and weeping, you comply.

You bend over the back of the couch as commanded, feeling naked and vulnerable, your bare ass tingling in the unusual exposure to the cool air. You wait.

But the stroke does not come down. "You could have burned the house down," says your father. "I am really ashamed of you. You ought to have more sense than to go burning things!" You feel really bad now, and tears come to your eyes. You wish he would whip you really hard, so you wouldn't feel so bad, and your wish is suddenly granted.

Thwack! The heavy leather wraps around your ass and you gasp and cry out in astonishment. You'd forgotten how badly it hurts. The pain is fantastic, the way the stinging slowly blends itself throughout your body, tingling and throbbing and biting. Again and again the strap comes down, usually with a pause between each stroke to really let the pain sink in, but occasionally as part of a three or five stroke series that leaves you screaming, dripping sweat and gripping the couch like it could save your life.

Your father whips your ass soundly, but does not neglect your thighs and legs. This is even worse, especially when the tip of the leather strikes the tender insides of your thighs. You cannot control your weeping.

The whipping seems to have gone on forever when you hear your father say, "Only five more. Now stand still, these are going to hurt."

"Like the previous didn't?" you want to say but don't, for you are too busy writhing and wiggling your poor bottom after each brutal stroke.

There are only two strokes left when the door opens and in steps your mother. She stops in astonishment, her mouth open at the sight before her. Your backside is facing her, so she cannot miss the sight of your reddened buttocks and legs. "Oh, dear," she exclaims in horror and surprise.

She turns quickly but it is too late. Entering behind her is a young couple, smiling and admiring the house, when they freeze at the sight in front of them. "Oh, dear," your mother says again.

"Sorry about this folks," says your dad putting a heavy hand on the small of your back to keep you in position. "Almost finished though. Just two strokes to go!"

He delivers them, hard lashes to the plumpest part of your rump and you run squealing and weeping to your room, covering your nakedness from the visitors the best you can, but you really don't care that much. You are much more intent on simply getting away so you can lick your wounds and recover a bit of dignity.

As you leave you hear your mother say something to your father about "clients" and you realize that your mom had brought home some of her real estate clients for dinner, as she ocasionally did. It was a great way for them to see the neighborhood and learn about the community.

"In this case they learned something about family values," you say to yourself, groaning, as you stretch out face down on your bed. Thankfully you are completely naked now, and though your skin blazes you feel much better than you did a few minutes earlier.