Choose Your Own Spanking
20

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

This is an interactive story where you get to choose how the story progresses. (Approximately 923 words. Originally published 1998-02.)

"Please, Dad, I'm really sorry. Not the strap, please, anything but the strap!"

Your father looks at your sternly. "Fine then. Get the cane!"

Your face pales to chalk-white. "T-the c-c-cane?" you mumble. "But Dad!"

"You've got sixteen strokes coming. Do you want more?"

Sixteen! The worst you have ever gotten was twelve, and that was unbearable. Trembling, you race out to the garage and return with the cane. You are shaking and crying. The cane is even worse than the strap. The whipping doesn't take as long, but each stroke from the cane feels like ten with the strap. Even worse, the cane leaves brutal marks that won't fade away very quickly. For a week, perhaps two, you'll have trouble sitting.

The cane is long, white, and very thin and bendy. You hand it to your father and at his command go into the living room and drop your jeans. Thankfully he lets you keep your thin cotton briefs on, though for something like the cane it makes little difference. You bend over the back of the couch and wait.

"If you stand up or reach behind I will finish the caning on the bare," he says firmly. "If you do it a second time I will start the caning over from the beginning. Do you understand?"

You nod frantically.

"Good. Now I want you to count each stroke out loud for me. If you miscount or I can't understand you, I won't count that stroke. Are you ready?"

"Not really," is what you think, but you say, "Y-yes, sir." And the caning begins.

There's a hiss of air followed by the gunshot-like CRACK! You stand on your tiptoes and wiggle your bottom frantically. "Arrrgghh!" you gurgle, moaning deeply. A searing band of fire stretched across the top of your buttocks. You gasp for air but nothing happens -- you cannot breath. Hot tears drip down your face.

CRACK! Another stroke! Your agony intensifies. Now there are two pulsing lines of heat across your ass, the second on slightly lower than the first. CRACK! At the third something snaps and you begin to sob loudly. You clench the couch as tightly as possible and hold on for dear life, your whole body shuddering with spasms of pain. CRACK! You suddenly become aware that you are drenched with sweat. Every nerve in your body is tense.

CRACK! That one was full across the center of your butt. CRACK! That one was a bit lower. CRACK! Number seven was at the base of your bottom, where the flesh is the plumpest. The searing heat burns deep and you want to curl up and die. CRACK! "Murrrgggfff!" you scream and wiggle frantically. That one caught you where the thigh and buttock join and the tender flesh there sizzles as though you were touched with a red-hot poker.

"Stay still now," commands your father. You try but it is very difficult. CRACK! Oooh, that one is across the top of your thighs. CRACK! Another on the thighs, a little lower. Your arms instinctively jerk with the reaction to reach back and grab the backs of your legs, but somehow you restrain yourself. CRACK! Another on the thighs. You cannot take much more of this. But still the cane comes down, each stroke a half-inch or so lower than the previous. CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! Your back of thighs burn all the way down to your knees. Your legs feel like nothing but stripes of pain.

"Be still now. Only two more," says your father firmly. "These are going to _really_ hurt."

You wonder how anything could hurt any more. You try to calm yourself. It is almost over. Your whole body aches as though you have just been beaten and battered rolling down a rocky mountainside. Your muscle clench and unclench without your control.

CRACK! It takes your breath away. With a furious wave of pain it washes over you. It is far worse than any previous stroke. This one was diagonal, from the upper part of your left buttcheek to the lower right buttcheek is a thick, throbbing welt of pure agony. Below it are what feels like thousands of furious points of pain as every crossed stripe is suddenly, painfully awake again.

CRACK! It's the final one, another diagonal, this time from lower left to upper right. With all your strength you restrain yourself from leaping up and grabbing your ass and running out of the room. You want to plunge yourself into a beautiful swimming pool, to soak your poor thrashed body in the cool, soothing water. But you somehow hold on. "Wait. Wait. Wait," you tell yourself, though you have forgotten why you must wait.

"You may get up now," says a booming voice and suddenly you remember that getting up before being told was a serious crime. Slowly you rise, but your body is stiff and sore. Every movement brings agony. Your buttocks and thighs pulse with a thousand prickles of pain. Tears still drip down your face though you are not even aware that you are crying.

"T-thank y-y-you, D-d-addddy," you murmur sadly, and you head for your bedroom where you will be able to sob in peace.

"I hope you learned your lesson," says your father.

You nod frantically. "Never again," you whisper, shuddering. The relief that the caning is over feels so good you feel like shouting. Instead you begin your slow and painful search for that bottle of skin lotion.