The Y2K Blues

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Another erotic story from the FLOGMASTER!

Copyright 1995-2009 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 Y2K Blues

(***, M/f, Severe, semi-nc schoolgirl)

A girl learns that postponement has a penalty. (Approximately 2,958 words. Originally published 1999-12.)

"Happy Birthday!"

"Fuck off," muttered Amy bitterly, glaring at her friend.

Cheryl laughed, shaking her head. "You must be the only teenager in America who's upset about turning sixteen!"

"It's not that, it's... it's something else."

"What?"

Amy blushed and poked her toe in the carpet. "I can't tell you. It's too embarrassing."

"Come on, we tell each other everything!"

"Not this."

"I'll keep teasing you," warned Cheryl. "I'll remind you every day that you're sixteen."

"Turning sixteen doesn't bother me. It's that my birthday means we're only three weeks from the Year 2000."

Cheryl frowned. "Y2K? You're worried about Y2K?"

"Not the computer bug," said Amy. "Something else." She hesitated. "You promise not to tell? Not to anyone?"

"Of course."

"It's a long story... I'll have to explain back a bit."

"I'm staying overnight, remember?"

The dark-haired girl sighed. "Okay then. I've really been wanting to tell you. It's been driving me crazy."

She licked her lips. "You used to get spanked, didn't you?"

Cheryl giggled. "Yeah, you remember. You and I used to get in trouble together! My Mom would take the wooden spoon to our bottoms." She paused, her face going somber. "That was back before..."

"Yeah, before my parents... the accident. Anyway, you know what a spanking is like."

"Sure."

"Well, I still get spanked."

Cheryl's eyes blossomed. "You're kidding!"

"Nope. My uncle's really big on discipline. After he moved here to take care of me, he explained I wouldn't get any special treatment because of my parents or anything. He was fair. He only spanked me when I deserved it. Unfortunately I deserved it a lot!"

"That sounds like you," grinned Cheryl.

"Yeah. The worst was a few years later when I turned ten. That year I was a real brat. I probably got a spanking a week."

"Probably deserved more."

"Hey! Who's side are you on?" She tossed a pillow at Cheryl, who ducked. "Anyway, that was also the year we started riding lessons. Remember?"

"Of course. We were crazy about it, going every weekend."

"Well, one Friday I got a really hard spanking. With the hairbrush. My butt was so sore the next day that riding was hell. Mrs. Krepple kept criticizing my riding form because I couldn't sit in the saddle right. But I didn't dare tell her what the problem was! It was so embarrassing."

"My butt used to hurt just from the riding," commented Cheryl. "Riding on a spanked butt musta been really bad."

"It was. So bad that the next week I did a foolish thing."

"What?"

"I'd earned another spanking (that was also foolish, but pretty typical) for Thursday night. I even remember what that one was for: Betty Parkins and I got in a food fight during lunch."

"I remember that!" cried Cheryl. "You stuffed Jello down her pants!"

Amy couldn't resist a giggle. "Yeah, that was pretty cool. But Mrs. D. didn't think so -- she called my uncle and told him what happened."

"Uh oh."

"Yup. This time he promised me a paddling I'd feel for a week!"

"Ouch!"

"Oh, the paddling didn't bother me nearly as much as how it would effect my riding on Saturday. That's all I kept thinking about the whole night. Finally he arrived at my room, carrying that horrible wooden paddle, and I begged and begged and begged for him to postpone it."

"Did he?" asked Cheryl breathlessly.

"He did. But he explained a concept that was new to me: interest."

"Uh oh."

"Uh huh. He said I could postpone the spanking and paddling, but each day I postponed it would earn the interest of one hand smack and one hairbrush smack per day."

"That's not so bad."

"That's what I thought. And it wasn't. I chose to take my spanking on Saturday night, so there were only two extra hand spanks and two swats with the hairbrush."

"That's nothing."

"Exactly. But the real problem was I'd set a precedent." Amy beamed at her use of that word. They'd been studying supreme court cases in history class and Amy really enjoyed it.

"A precedent?" Cheryl looked puzzled. She hated history, especially the dry court stuff.

"Like in law. You know, once one court decides something, it's a precedent for other courts to make the same decision. It just means that once something's done once, it's likely to be done again."

"Ah! So once you postponed a spanking, that became a habit."

"Exactly!" cried Amy. "At first it was just a day or so, to avoid a sore bottom when riding, but then there were so many times that a sore butt was inconvenient... the weekend we went to Six Flags, the Backstreet Boys concert, a date with Eric--"

"Hey, wait a sec!" interrupted Cheryl. "We went to the Backstreet Boys concert just a few years ago. You were thirteen!"

"Yeah."

"So this is like recent stuff."

"Unfortunately."

"What does that mean?"

"Well, once I started postponing my spankings, things just sort of snowballed. By the time I was eleven, my uncle and I had come up with a whole list of rules. First, a spanking couldn't be postponed indefinitely: you had to set a specific date. Second, once a spanking was scheduled, it couldn't be changed, no matter what."

Amy sighed. "That last rule made this really difficult. I mean, how was I supposed to know what mood I'd be in a week or two from then? I'd often set a date for a spanking thinking it was way off and it would be fine, but then when that date arrived, I'd find it was right before I was going to a birthday party, or a school play, or something else I'd forgotten about. It meant I had to really plan my spankings carefully. It also meant I put them further and further off."

"Ouch."

"You said it. Those extra swats per day started to really add up. A week wasn't too bad... but two or three weeks... ouch!"

"So what did you do?"

"Well, you know me: I've always been too clever for my own good."

Cheryl laughed and nodded vigorously.

"I had been doing some reading, always a dangerous thing, and I'd read up on banking and interest rates. I'd read how banks have different interest rates for different kinds of loans: short term versus long term."

"Ah!"

"Yeah, you can see where this is going. So I went to my uncle and explained the situation and we came up with some special 'long term' interest rates."

Amy paused for a moment, until Cheryl eagerly pushed her: "Which were?"

"Well, it gets kinda complicated. It was a long discussion, almost a debate."

"Gee, a debate. That doesn't sound like you!"

Amy tossed another pillow at her friend.

"Yes, a debate. We argued over every aspect until we came up with terms we both could agree on. Basically I wanted to be able to postpone a spanking for a longer period, say a month or two, but I didn't want 30 or 60 extra hairbrush swats!

"My uncle's point was that such a postponement should mean some sort of severe penalty, but he agreed that so many hairbrush strokes would be too many. So he suggested we use something other than a hairbrush."

Cheryl's eyes widened. "What?" she whispered, scarcely daring to breath.

"Well, we settled on several things. Short term interest rates were the same as before: anything less than a month was one hand spank and one hairbrush swat per day. Long term interest rates were for anything longer than a month. We agreed that any long term interest was an automatic double hand-spanking, followed by the interest. The interest was one swat with the *BIG* wooden paddle per _week_ of delay, plus one stroke of the _belt_ per month of delay."

"Oooh," murmured Cheryl. "That could get interesting."

"Yes. Basically a three month postponement would be a double hand-spanking plus twelve paddle swats and three belt strokes."

"That's not that bad, is it?"

"No, it's not. Actually quite fair. But my uncle added a couple twists. First, he said if I postponed my spanking for longer than a month, the spanking would automatically be on my bare bottom."

Cheryl's mouth fell open. "No way!"

"Yup. I didn't like it, but he said that was the whole point. I wasn't supposed to like it. He was quite insistent upon it, saying the embarrassment would be a good punishment for me. And since I figured I wouldn't be postponing very many spankings for such a long time -- I just wanted the _option_, you know, just in case I needed it, like in an emergency... well, it seemed like a reasonable compromise. After all, a bare bottomed spanking couldn't hurt that much more than one over my panties, right?"

"Uh, I guess."

"Anyway, that's what I thought at the time and that's what we agreed upon. But my uncle wasn't finished yet. He also said I couldn't postpone any spanking at that interest rate for more than one year."

"Ooh!" gasped Cheryl. "A year would be... fifty-two paddle swats and twelve with the belt!"

"Exactly. We're getting a bit stiff, here."

"Yikes."

"But my uncle proposed an _second_ long term interest rate for _really_ long term postponement."

"You mean... delaying a punishment for longer than year?"

"Exactly," nodded Amy. "Uncle Jack proposed that I could postpone a spanking for years if I wanted to, at the following 'interest' rate:

"First, both the hand-spanking _and_ hairbrush portion of my spanking would be doubled. Second, as before, I'd receive one stroke of the belt for every month of delay. Third, for every _year or fraction thereof_ of delay, he'd add two stripes with a switch."

"A switch?"

"Yeah, a long thin branch cut from a tree. At least that's what we'd planned to use, but it proved inconvenient 'cause in the winter it's hard to get a good switch, and anyway, we don't really have any good trees for switches near the house. So Uncle Jack bought a cane."

"A cane?"

"That's what he called it. Says that's what they spank boys with in England. It's basically a wooden rod, though. It doesn't have a curled handle like most canes. It's three feet long and thin and incredibly bendy -- he can bend it almost into a U-shape. It stings like you wouldn't believe! And every stroke leaves a red line across your butt. Afterward, it gets all puffy and swollen and sorta crusty on the edges."

Cheryl's was staring at her friend in disbelief. "You... you've been caned, then!"

"Yes. A few times. That's my problem. See, Uncle Jack and I made this arrangement when I was eleven. We worked out all the details and I wrote up a little contract and we both signed it. I even used my computer to print out calendars for the upcoming years and there I wrote in the scheduled punishments.

"At first it was just the occasional month or two delay, but when I turned twelve I really hated getting spanked. It seemed so... childish. So I started postponing them for longer and longer periods. Three months. Four. Then six. Once I'd hit six, I realized that meant twenty-six paddle swats -- it made more sense to go ahead and postpone the spanking for a year.

"I got my first caning when I was fourteen. I'd postponed a big punishment from just after I'd turned thirteen, so I thought I'd be getting two strokes of the cane. But I'd forgotten the wording of the agreement. It said two strokes per _year or fraction thereof_. I'd postponed my punishment for fourteen months, so that mean four strokes of the cane!"

"Oh my God!"

"You've got that right! Oh God, it hurt so bad I thought I'd die. I *never* wanted to feel that again. The only problem? I'd already schedule two more for the next year!"

"Oh no!"

"It got worse. That year I got in *big* trouble. Remember Stacy Morgan?"

Cheryl gasped. "You got caught shoplifting with her!"

"Yup. And I postponed the horrible, horrible whipping I was supposed to get."

Suddenly Cheryl understood. "It's for next year, isn't it!"

Glumly, Amy nodded. "That's not the worst of it." She wiggled uncomfortably. "I was really a naughty brat when I was fourteen. I thought I was so sophisticated and adult -- God I was a moron! I kept pushing my uncle, defying him. Going out with boys, using too much make-up, buying clothes he didn't approve of, all sorts of shit.

"And whenever it came time to pay the piper, I chickened out. I postponed the punishment. Stupid, stupid, I know, but I wasn't thinking. I guess I had a vague idea that I'd be sixteen and older, and a spanking wouldn't be such a big deal to a big girl, but oh God, Cheryl, I'm afraid! I'm really afraid!"

Cheryl looked at her friend and tears came into her eyes. She gave Amy a long hug and felt the other girl trembling. "It can't be that bad, can it?" she asked.

Amy stood and went to her desk in the corner. "It's worse than you can imagine," she said bitterly. She opened a drawer and drew out a binder. Inside was a computer printed calendar. She flipped through to the next month, January 2000.

"Look," she said.

Cheryl gasped and went pale. In January alone there were three spankings scheduled.

Amy quickly turned the pages. "Only one in February, two in March, two in April, one in May, oh God, _four_ in June, two in July, three in August, one in September, two in October, one in November, and look at this! *TWO* in December. Both are after my birthday, which means they'll be three years away. Eight cane strokes."

"Oh my God!"

"And forty-eight belt stripes, too."

"Oh, Amy! What are you going to do?"

"I don't know," said the dark-haired girl with a sniffle. "I'm really frightened. But it's my own stupid fault!"

Cheryl stared at the calendar in horror. "Why didn't you spread them out more, why do so many at a time? Wouldn't it have been better to have a few when you're seventeen?"

For an answer, Amy showed her the year 2001. Except for December, every month had one spanking scheduled, and January and June had two.

"I got most of these when I was fifteen," Amy whispered. "They stop when I'm eighteen because Uncle Jack won't let me postpone any past seventeen."

"Why did you do this!" cried Cheryl. "You won't be able to sit down for the next two years!"

"Since I wasn't immediately being spanked for anything, I think I got a little carried away with my behavior.

"I'll say!" said Cheryl, shaking her head. She studied the writing in a spanking square. "What does this mean? It says, 'S2x, H2x, P24, B29, C6.'"

Shuddering, Amy responded, "That's a double hand-spanking, double hairbrushing, 24 paddle swats, 29 stripes with the belt, and six strokes with the cane."

"Ah!" said Cheryl. The code wasn't as complicated as she'd thought. "Why are there paddle smacks? Wasn't the paddle just for punishments less than a year?"

"The rule is, I get my original spanking plus interest. The original punishment varies, of course, depending on what I did. Uncle Jack sits me down and says, 'For this you're going to get a regular hand-spanking and hairbrushing, plus twelve with the paddle,' or whatever, and it's up to me to decide if I want to postpone it. If I do, I get the original plus interest."

Cheryl flipped through more pages. "Why does this one say 'S4x'? Does that mean a quadruple spanking?"

"Yup. Apparently whatever I'd done earned me a double spanking already, and since I postponed it, that was doubled to four."

"How many is a regular spanking?"

Amy looked grim. "Three times my age."

Cheryl tried to work the math. "This one is for when you are seventeen, so that would three times seventeen times four? No way!"

"Yeah, something like 200 spanks. I figured it out once."

Cheryl flipped back to the year 2000 and browsed for a bit. "Ooooh," she gasped. "This one's horrible: S6x, H4x, P24, B33, C6!"

Amy peek at the book. "Oh, yeah. That one. That was for when Uncle Jack caught Billy Wheeler and I naked in the garage smoking pot. Uncle Jack was sort of upset."

Cheryl laughed. "Gee, I wonder why."

Amy shook her head. "We hadn't even done anything. We were naked because of the pot. I didn't even really like Billy, not like that. But I was so relaxed and everything was funny and we started taking off our clothes. Then Uncle Jack came in and I thought I wasn't going to be able to sit for a month!"

"So you postponed it."

"Yeah. I think I did that a little too often."

"Ya think?" Cheryl closed the book with a shudder. "I don't know what I can do to help you," she said. "It's a cliche, but you've made your bed and you've got to lie in it."

"I know. I'm still glad I told you about it. It's been depressing me for a long time."

"I bet."

"Every time I hear someone on the new talking about the Y2K problem it reminds me of my own Y2K problem. Frankly, I'd be happy if 2000 _was_ the end of the world. It's certainly going to be my end."

Cheryl gave her friend a long, comforting hug and then crawled back to her sleeping bag. "Just talking about all that makes me tired somehow," she said. "Good night, Amy."

"Good night."

The End

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