A story by, Mark Shea  
                                      
                                                                   THE TEST!                                                                                 
 

                                                                   PART ONE 
 
                                                        GOING TO THE DINER



​Jennifer couldn’t believe she was waiting in a diner, for a man: who was shortly going to be punishing her!   

On their phone chat, the night before, he had told her: “Young lady. I don’t know what to say. But what I am certain of. Your mother or your father wouldn’t be at all too trilled.  If they knew how you were falling behind on your studies at the college you are at? What do you think?” His tone had a scolding nature attached to it.

“No. They wouldn’t be,” she had said back to him.  In that way of someone recollecting their past.  And need I not add.  Not in the happiest of memories, either.

“And what did they do when they were angry with you, dear?” He had asked. His tone gentler –like that of a mentor, now, perhaps?  

She hesitated, and then answered, a little apprehensively, “My dad used this big heavy strap on my bottom, when he was really pissed-off with me.”

Then after a moment, the man’s words sounded off again, with his polished British accent. “Did he do it to you on your bare bottom, child?” 

She hesitated.  She knew why?! His words were awakening something deep inside of her! Something strong! That was having the affect of making her tremble like a little girl, again! And stirring up feelings, which vibrated like harp strings all the way down her inner thighs, to every word he came out with –in that accent of his! Like some old English headmaster.   

She knew he was in his senior years.  He had told her so at the beginning of their conversation –but with lots of experience in dealing with wayward boys and girls –going back to his teaching years in the south of England.

 “Yes. It was on the bare.  Dad preferred to do it that way. When I was thirteen, he had informed me, I would be likewise getting the strap alongside my sister, Becky, who was then fourteen, and my two brothers, Taylor and Alex. Dad’s way of looking at it was: Since us girls could be as bad as our brothers.  We deserved similarly too receive the same medicine as they got. Before that it was lighter. Maybe a few whacks of a hairbrush, on my hand, or naked seat, if I was really bad. But the strap scared me the most.”

“And did your father use that strap of his quite forcefully?” The elderly man’s voice drove on, enjoying the control he had successfully gained!

“Yes. It was hard,” she had said back in a manner: as if there was at least no need to clarify that bit any further, since her tone had done all that. “You see. Daddy liked to have us wait outside his study. He then called us in individually.  Where each of us knew what awaited? Getting bent over his desk, for several almighty whacks of his thick black strap?” She gave a bemused laugh, “You see.  He believed it made the punishment far worse for us four, if we were allowed to hear the cries of the one he was dealing with –which naturally would have been one of my brothers. As they were always  first,” she ended, with an intonation, as if she was proud of that one fact.

“So, I’m assuming then, his punishments were firm enough to make an impression on that bottom of yours? Bring you to tears?” The elderly man’s words pushed on, to force out of her the answer he was after.

“Yes,” she had said, as she had felt herself getting a little wetter, as her heart accelerated that bit more...

Truth was: it had been several years since she had gotten reprimanded by her dad: leaving home and going off to college, had safely put a good bit of distance between her and her dad’s strap.  What though got her to that diner? Was the realization that with her coming-up exams at college, she hadn’t been doing a hell of a lot of swatting! Which she knew her father would have gone ballistic over!  Worse, when she spoke with him on the phone –across state –she had reassured him: that she was being most definitely a good little girl, and was paying lots of attention to her coming exams.  The white lie had mustard, and grown, till she had decided she needed a taste of the old right and wrong!  So a quick look around Craigslist, found her an ad on the fetish section:

NAUGHTY GIRLS IN THE LOS ANGELES AREA - OF HIGH SCHOOL TO COLLEGE YEARS,  PUNISHED MOST SEVERELY FOR THEIR TRANSGRESSIONS (LIKE POOR GRADES. LAZINESS. BAD BEHAVIOR) BY A VERY EXPERIENCED DISCIPLINARIAN : If you are one of these?  Get in touch! We can chat. And see how we will proceed from there…  

She had! And as they say, the rest was history!

Now she saw he was late.  He said to be at this diner at four.  Now it was ten past.  Maybe another few minutes, she would give him.  Still he could have text, she thought.  She didn’t want to think she had gone away down town for nothing!

She checked details in her mind again.  The spot she was to sit at.  That was all to the book: inside, two up on the left, staring out the window.  There wasn’t even many about.  Several seats up there was a middle aged couple, acting like the happier times in their lives had long gone the same way as the dinosaurs. Then there was a man, looking ordinary enough, like, in a dark business suit, with pepper and salt hair. He was casually reading a newspaper, while he consumed pie, with a serious enough expression. 

Deep down, she didn’t want this to turn out to be a no-show!  Not now!  Especially when she had gotten all psyched up to go ahead with it! Fighting in her head reasons to proceed, and more readily, reasons, not to! The latter being: He could turn out to be crazy!  It was L.A, after all!        

At fifteen minutes past.  She got up.  Her expression holding back anger!  When her cell phone rang!  She accepted the incoming call. And heard: “I told you to sit and wait! That lack of trust on your part now is going to earn you extra.”  The voice then paused, and asked, with a touch of irony. “And how many minutes is it past the hour, now, young lady?”

She looked, “Fifteen.”

“Then even before I deal with you for your appalling lazy attitude at college.  You will now start your punishment with fifteen hard whacks of one of my sturdy heavy canes.  And may I reassure you, it will sting.” The man’s words ended, ramming home, just how harsh her time with him had now gotten.

She could only say one thing, “Yes Sir. I understand.”  Because in her she couldn’t contain herself!  She couldn’t wait too feel it on her ass!  He ordered her to again sit down.  Stressing, how he was observing her, at that very minute, on the diner’s camera, which was feeding live images to the internet.  And how he expected her to remain seated, till he got there. Otherwise, she would have a very, very, sore rear, by the time he had finally gotten finished with it!

This time when the girl sat down, she was smiling, and she felt jittery and wet with anticipation. And then like as if she was playing a game, she turned right at the camera and tossed it a bold look. Wondering, just wondering, if such actions might warrant her more!?  And with that same thought, she wondered yet again, what other tricks had she got!?


                                    

       

PART TWO

    HERE JENNIFER COMES EYE TO EYE  WITH THE MAN SHE ARRANGED TOO MEET

 My recollection of the diner is from several years back. You will never know what it was like for me waiting there for that stranger!  Knowing he was watching me on that camera! Still, I did really only tease it once! Honestly!  Even though, I had bragged previously, I might have been capable of getting up to a hell of a lot more!  And after that, I had lowered my head, obediently, and waited.  Not sure what was about to follow?!

You see. I had read of the dangers of going to meet people off Craigslist. I was no dummy when it came to that! I was well aware of the tales of girls vanishing. And if meeting a man like this might have been bad enough back home in a small town. This was LA, after all, a place where being different and over the top, was seen as the norm! So any crazy fruit could have come through that door!  Ready to drag me off my seat!

So there I was trembling!  A complete bloody wreck!  In one dagger of thought, I really just wanted to get up and go!  I knew no one would have held that against me, if I had!  Especially, when you took into account the odd circumstances how this man had chosen to meet me? By directing me, specifically, to a diner, with had a camera; so he could observe my actions! To any sane person; and dare I add girl, the whole thing had really smelt to me like something out of Silence of The Lambs!  So why did I stay?

Several years later, I have asked myself that same question.  I guess one was obvious: I was failing badly at UCLA.  And two: The voice of that person I had spoken with on the phone had genuinely appeared sympathetic to my needs!  And even understood the guilt I was undergoing for lying to my Dad about college!  Which he had viewed as an extremely serious offense, in itself!  And one for starters, which was going to earn me many tearful minutes at his place!  Since lying –in his estimation, was a most cowardly act.  One which he rammed home, and which he firmly believed, my father would have given me a very, very, sore bottom for!  Which I knew was the truth!  So even during that phone conversation, I had touched my buttock cheeks, by moving my fingers in under the elastic band of my panties.  Thinking what it might feel like –again!  I knew right off from his tone.  He meant business!  And he was very set on giving me a good sound trashing!  So that was why I was so nervous, sitting there, you could say, like a frightened little rabbit!

He did turn up twenty minutes later.  I just herd his voice.  Softly spoken, and English; like that teacher I had imagined from those oldies like, Good Bye Mr. Chips. “Nice too meet you finally dear in person.” I looked up and saw him smiling down at me.  And heard the words in my head: Thank you! Because he had looked as I had imagined.  Thin, tall; a gentleman of class, dressed in a light suit, thanks to the hot California climate –with kindness on his aged face.  Had he been fat, unshaven, unclean, messy in dress, like some slob; doubt I would have stayed.   

“And it’s nice too meet you Sir.”  I wasn’t sure where the SIR sprang up from? But nevertheless it was there.

He laughed softly, “Well, we had better get going then.  My car is outside.  And young lady, the sooner we get to my place, the sooner we can greet more deeply what we chatted about.”  He looked at me then with more authority. “What do you say?”

“Yes Sir.” I replied back.  My voice a little unsure by its intonation!  In truth, I couldn’t even get up from my seat!   My heart was palpating that much! As you can imagine, I was only in part looking forward to it; if this man’s discipline turned out to be anything like my dad’s?!  

But I knew in every fiber of my being, also, nothing was going to prevent me from going after that man! And letting what was to follow, follow!

That was all many years ago.  Now I’m married to a fellow lawyer.  I got two kids.  The stranger I met in the diner, that day, is now one of my closest friends, and dare I say, confidants.  I still visit his apartment, on occasions: Where he politely listens to my indiscretions, while nodding soberly to each.  Before suggesting strongly, I follow him to the room –where I know I am to be punished.  By now, as you can well gather, this is almost like an automatic procedure:  Confessional, then grimacing and baring my chastisement, before finally, the tears of repentance –as my naked quivering buttocks are flogged repeatedly!  That is one thing I have always been grateful to him for. He has never gone light on my punishments, even though we are good friends.  And then when he smiles at me, I know all is forgiven.  The slate has been wiped clean once more. Till I need again to go and see him.         

My dad knows about this.  He was actually happy with the arrangement.  Delighted this Mr. Henderson was able to keep me on the straight and narrow.  I told daddy about this man and the arrangement we had, while visiting our home one year later.  By then I had had several discipline sessions with him –and BOY WERE THEY SORE!  Yea, you are right about that, also.  It was because of that?  I wanted my father to know I had lied about college.  How I had been really coping at my studies.

              

 

PART THREE

HERE JENNIFFER RECALLS HER FIST BEATING BY HER DAD -AND RECEIVING THE BEAST! (A STRAP) SHE ALSO LEAVES THE DINER WITH MR. HENDERSON, IN ROOT TO HIS APARTMENT. 

The door to the diner was like 10 feet from where I stood on the isle, with tables, and a few more people seated from the time I had first entered the place.  But for me as I walked, it may as well have been a century away, and that doorway leading straight to my gallows!  As I followed with a bulge in my throat, and a slight trembling sensation to my legs –like they didn’t want to do as I was telling them to do!

I felt like the naughty thirteen and something year old girl, all over again, waiting outside my dad’s study, as he dealt with my sister inside! I was terrified! Hearing the leather landing on what I knew was flesh –Becky’s backside! Bringing with its sharp clap like delivery –a Cry!  Followed by my dad’s angry intonation and words, “What were you thinking?!  You could have killed that little boy!  Taking the car and reversing it out of the garage like a lunatic!  Only for the good sense of Jeff next door grabbing that boy, he would be dead now!  Run over by two stupid girls who thought they could do anything they wished for amusement!” Then the ominous quietness, before further words rang out from my dad, “So lets see if you find this as amusing!” Again I would hear the strap making further contact.  Again I would hear the loud cry of my sister, followed by yet again my dad’s angry resound.

 And again a reminder, I was to be next!  Feeling the weight of his strap! One he had specifically purchased years before for this one purpose! An evil bitch of a thing with two tails! 

I had been approved too receive a bigger girl’s punishment a few months before.  When dad had decided I too was old enough now to feel the bite of the BEAST, which he liked to refer to the strap as.  And since Becky had gotten me to help her get the keys from inside! GULP!  I too was responsible!  And I knew no amount of smiling was going to stop my dad from telling me to get my knickers off, and bend over his cold Victorian desk…

The door was only feet now. Mr. Henderson was holding it open.  Upright, sturdy, with a straight face.  That threw off not the slightest evidence of what he may have been thinking about. “My car is parked down the street, a little way.  It’s the silver Jag,” he said this as he closed the diner door behind him.

I noticed the day looked slightly bleaker.  Not an unusual sight for the City Of The Angels.  It was still warm, though.  But do you know what? I started focusing in on strange things? Things I would have missed before? I guess because I was so caught up in my own affairs.  But now I seemed to focus in on any visual cues I assumed related to my own predicament.  Like the oriental couple passing me by –as I walked on.  The male dominant in his suit, over the stooped submissiveness of a female: wife, mistress, piece on the side, whatever.

What drew me to them was his angry scolding tone.  His hard face, looking down at hers!  As she did her upmost to avoid his eyes!  I understood this was a part of their culture.  And women did this to show respect.  Same as girls in Japanese porn flicks, crying out with orgasmic pleasure, if even the organ penetrating –and providing such pleasure, was no bigger than a limp cigar like thing. It was all just a part of that culture, passed down for centuries, how women were supposed to act in a certain way around male company.

I did though wonder at the time, if that woman was also in for a hard time?  Perhaps a beating when they got to where they were going?  It was odd too think I know, to focus in on such things.  Or maybe not, considering, the only pressing thought on my mind was my up and coming spanking! Driven on by the man’s words after he had greeted me in the diner,“Well, we had better get going then.  My car is outside.  And young lady, the sooner we get to my place, the sooner we can greet more deeply what we chatted about.”                                               

And then we had reached his car. “In you go,” he said, in his cultured British accent, as he held the passenger seat door opened for me.   I slipped in, sensing instantly how soft it was beneath my trousers, compared to the seating back in the diner.  Which was anything from comfortable?!  I guessed probably to get people to leave after a short while.  And with that he shut the car door, closing me into its upmarket interior, the all leather seating, the all wooden paneling –top craftsmanship, which only money could buy.  Compared to the Toyota that my boyfriends Steve had.  Who would be one of several dead ends, sadly, before I finally met my husband, Gregory. 

 

 

PART FOUR

HERE JENNIFER RECALLS HER FIRST EVER BIG GIRL SPANKING EXPERIENCE. SHE ALSO ARRIVES AT MR. HENDERSON'S FLAT.

 “My place is about fifteen minutes away,” he said, getting in and starting the car, without looking in my direction.  And then we were moving.  Totally in the opposite direction from where I had previously gotten a taxi.  Since I couldn’t trust anyone I knew to bring me to that location.  It would have meant QUESTIONS!  And one thing I certainly didn’t want was for anyone at UCLA knowing about this meeting!

My dad also chose not to look at me either, when he had to punish me.  I guessed it was his way of distancing himself, till the nasty business had been put to rest.  So I guessed this man was the same?  And oddly –because of my dad, I was okay with that!  And okay too with the wetness in my panties.  Which I could not decide if it was pee leakage, or arousal, or sweet rolling down my loins!  I guessed, because of my nervousness: it could have been a combination of all 3.

Had my boyfriend sat next to me, he would have had me laughing.  Not that he knew really a lot about who I was?!  Or my strict upbringing?!  To him I was his sweet Pumpkin Pie.  The girl with the cute smile –showing just how easily us girls could get guys believing in just about anything!

I looked over at the driver.  Then back.  Then realized how the comfort of my seat was so different from my punishments at home.  My dad liked all of us –my brothers included, to sit on a hard bench outside his study, which was most uncomfortable. Something I always imagined came out of some old English borstal, perhaps.  So we were in earshot to the sufferings of the poor unfortunate family member who had gone before us. I guess too he wanted it so that our bottoms were privy to that discomfort, before the main event!  And for me on that day –it was my older sister, Rebecca. Or, Becky, as I and everyone else referred to her as.  Since she hated Rebecca, as she used to always say: It sounded so Victorian, and, old fashioned.           

It was also my first big girl punishment.  Since my dad had decided I was getting too old for the traditional over the lap spankings.  And tougher means had to be called for.  I had felt that same wetness then too, in my underwear.  But I knew at that time, I had slightly urinated myself from hearing the cries of my sister.  You see. I had been aware. I was shortly going to be exposing my naked bottom to that strap. The one my dad had jokingly referred to as, the BEAST!

Earlier my sister had words.  She had been able to say: “No Daddy! I’m sorry!”  She had been able to plead for him to stop!  But what followed, as I listen on then at thirteen, came to no more than howls!  Nothing at all like my laughable sister! But more like some frightened animal: coyote perhaps, caught and injured in some trap.  Even her screams had started to make me cry, as if my brain was calculating from my sister’s duress, the level of pain I might be shortly getting exposed to?  And realized that this was no walk in the park! And a hell of a way above anything I had endured before –with the nightly trips over my dad’s knee in my bedroom.  

I knew it was over then.  At least the awful sounds of that strap landing on my sister’s bottom had ceased!  But not my sister’s crying –which had then turned into a long wail! And then after a further bit of scolding from my dad, for about several more minutes, I had watched her leaving the room hastily, sniffling, and whinging, while carrying in her hand her trousers and underwear.  She not even acknowledging the fact I was on the bench opposite. I guessed because she was so overwrought after her beating. Of course, the fog-like siren, cry, she had blasting out previously, had subsided.  Then I heard my dad’s voice through the open doorway, “Jennifer. Get your ass in here this minute!  And if I have to say it to you again! You’ll wish on this day I hadn’t!”  So wiping my tears away from my eyes with a fist, I forced my legs beneath me too comply…

“We are here,” The driver informed me.  I looked up to see.  I saw a large brownstone.  I was aware the location was in an upmarket part of Los Angeles.  Meaning all the real-estate had basement parking and the best home security money could buy.  But then someone with a two year old Jag wasn’t going to be heading back to some squat?  Was he?  

Mr. Henderson had an apartment on the top floor –real spacious, neat.  I didn’t know it then, he had a phobia about dirt. Which was one of the reasons for his odd way in choosing to meet people?  As this approach gave him a platform to examine a particular girl, without commitment?  Naturally, had I arrived looking whacky, and messed up, I wouldn’t have made to second base – his apartment.  Instead I would have gotten a text letting me knew:  he wasn’t interested.  I didn’t know it then either.  He was very, very, particular in whom he chose.

And that was what he made me understand: as he sat me down on a round couch, after he had given me a quick walk around his place –gym included, where I  had got to observe his array of punishment equipment.  Even a tall wooden platform with straps, which he said was for restraining the really naughty girls –who had ignored his instruction. I gulped at that! As you can well imagine!  And I knew he had seen it. But pretended he hadn’t.

On the couch, as he sat opposite in an armchair, to one side of this glass table, he said, “I would like to be your mentor.  And if you put your full trust in me, I will get you out of this pickle you got yourself into, and back again on track with your studies.  But I can’t do this alone.  You will have to play your part as well.”

I gulped again. “How Sir,” I managed to say.  Before me was a glass jug of pure orange juice, chilled. Next to it my half empty glass, as I had got too nervous to drink any more after he had seated himself opposite to me.

“Do you have a boyfriend?”

“Yes.”

“Then, no texting. No Skype. Or phoning him? And certainly on all accounts, no personal get-together s.  Not until I see a remarkable improvement in your scores. Do you hear me, young lady?”

I nodded softly, said, “Yes. Sir”

He moved his head up and down to that.  As if accepting my words, but not a 100% convinced.  “And if you decide to break these rules.  You must tell me immediately.  And then I’m going to be very cross with you.”

I nodded again.  Knowing suddenly I was a very scared little kid.  No longer holding onto the idea I was a grown up girl, an intelligent young lady, with an IQ of 130. I was just a pretty blonde girl of 5 feet eight inches in height with cute pigtails!  

I knew this person didn’t possess the skill set of the other me!  She couldn’t charm men with her large blue eyes.  All she could do was let her legs tremble!  As she asked herself:  What had she let herself in for?!  As an elderly man of 6 foot looked down on her!

“Finish your juice.  Then off to the bathroom.  The one I pointed out to you.  We don’t want any little accidents occurring shortly. Do we? When I chastise you?” I saw his look then, strong, in charge.  As if he was no longer the kindly sympathetic old man, but suddenly the disciplinarian. Which made he tremble, as I replied with, “No, Sir.”

And with that I got up.  And do you know what I thought about as I went off to the bathroom?  How I had turned down a pretty nice party invite that very Friday, to go to this!  And without a shadow of a doubt, that seemed a hell of a lot of a nicer place to be, than where I chosen to carry my ass to!

I’ll enlighten you more about my first meeting with the BEAST, next time.  And go into greater depth about the chastisement I was only moments away from getting.  So I hope you stick around and stay for that.  One thing I want too let you know about before I go.  Mr. Henderson was also why I found a good man: my loving husband.  I’m sure had I not had him as my Mentor.  I wouldn’t have done so superbly in my choices.  So I really owe him everything:  My beautiful family, my lovely two children, and my husband –so truly devoted to me!  The most special person in my life!  Not that I knew any of this, then, at that moment,  seated on the toilet seat, rubbing my bottom tenderly, after I had cleaned my private parts with a tissue.  

God how I wanted to stay there!  In my mind I thought of the party: the laughter. Aware I was shortly going to be experiencing anything but!  In my mind I had this childish idea: As I smirked, and said, with a sight, “Old Scotty. Get your fingers on those controls.  And beam this silly girl’s ass out of here.”  Naturally I knew that wasn’t going to occur. But a girl can always hope.  Can’t she?          

   

PART FIVE                   
                     
                     IN THIS PART JENNIFER RECEIVES HER FIRST 15 STROKES.

  So where do you want me to go next?!  To my encounter with the BEAST?! Or my agonizing moments with Mr. Henderson on that day?!  Well in truth they are more the one.  Only difference the BEAST was a thick leather school strap walloping into my ass.  And Mr. Henderson’s choice to make me into a teary wreck was a long ridged cane.  

With my dad, 5 had me whinging.  10 had me howling.  And after that I lost count.  Because numbers. Quantities.  Measurements of time.  Weren’t going to halt my pain.  Only my dad had that power.

The cane though I knew was 15.  As Mr. Henderson had said 15?!  Since the number came down to minutes I had sat at the diner that day –before choosing to get up to go. I didn’t understand that peculiar reasoning, either? More strokes for sticking it out longer?  But he did tell me there was logic to it, nevertheless.  Since anyone who couldn’t tolerate 12 minutes on their fanny –wasn’t going to be too set at changing their ways.  Experience had thought him that.  And also since nearly all his girls left at around 15.  And very few made it to 20.  15 was the standard.  And like he had told me: Was just given as a firm reminder.  Not to quit so easily at things; one chose to undertake.  I guessed. Like the diner been a TEST. This caning was also a TEST. To see if someone might challenge him why they were to receive it.  I never did.  So I don’t know what would have happened, if I had?

Now my panties were off. And I was naked from the waist down. Bent over the wooden frame –but not secured. “Right. Young Lady. 15 firm strokes it is then.  And I want you to count them out. And thank me for each one.” He then tapped my bottom hard and quickly with the cane, several times –which hurt- sending goose-pimples down my body-knowing what was to follow. “Like one.  Then thank you Sir.  Understand?”  He said this stopping the tapping.

I said nothing. “You may speak when spoken to, but only when spoken to?”

“Yes Sir.”  And then added, “To everything. I understand. Sir.”

And then it hit without warning.

WHACK!  

A searing explosion of pain! That made my knees buckle!  

Then getting composure.  I answered.  My voice shaking a bit. “1. Thank you. Sir.”

“Get your bottom out firmly!” Pause.  “Good!”

WHACK!       

“2. Thank you. Sir.”  I said after a few seconds.  As I needed that amount of time to focus on the counting!  After the assault on my butt hit me with an agonizing wave of pain!

 The next came out of nowhere!  No initial tap –as if he did that on purpose?!  Just the knowledge it had hit the target!  It buckled my legs!  “You understand why I am going firmly with you, Jennifer?” His voice said with his new tone: the disciplinarian. The one I spotted he had become, before going into the bathroom.

“Yes Sir.” I sniffled.  “3. Thank you. Sir.”  

“Because! Irresponsible ladies will only learn to be less irresponsible!  If they are soundly thrashed!”

WHACK!

I cried out harder this time, since this landed precisely where the previously one had!  Right on the one on the lower part of my buttocks –where thigh met ass! He waited till I had resumed my position.  Even though, I was still sniffling, when I said, “4. Thank you. Sir.”

“And I’m going to reassure you my girl!  You’ll have a lot of this coming your way!  In my company!  For the terrible way you have been acting!”     

WHACK!  

Again a momentary pause until I had straightened up. And then reaching through my pain, forgetfulness, caused by the chemicals rushing through my brain, I said, “6.Thank you, Sir.”

“Do you know what my dad would have done to me, if I had lied where we lived in the South of England?  He would have leathered me into next week.  And well I deserved it too.  My god! Young lady!”

WHACK!                                                                                                                              

“7. Thank you. Sir.”

They say you go elsewhere to escape the pain.  Don’t know if that’s true.  Not sure any amount of trying to drift elsewhere could have got me to some safer place.  My first smooch! Or my first feel up against a wall with some sexy stranger or whatever! I had pulled at some club, or pub.  I think on the count of 7 I knew I was soon going to be letting go.  Because nothing mattered! A stranger was beating my backside terribly sore!  Who had perfect view of my privates –they way my thighs were spread out as per his previous instructions? He even could see I had shaved down there! So nothing was mine anymore!  This elderly man had it all! I knew too I was soon going to let go, from my own estimation of my endurance.  And I knew certainly once he had surpassed 10, and most assuredly by 15, this man was going to hear me cry! And Loud!  I had no doubt about that!  He did on the 13th stroke.  Unlucky 13 you could say.  

As it was 13 too that my dad chose to switch me from his over the knee type punishments, for little girls, to bending over his desk type punishments, for bigger girls: Not that both didn’t come with humiliation. As since my mum died when I was 3 of an inoperable brain tumor. My dad had taken it on himself to rear all four of us.  Not that it was an easy job –with 4 screaming children!  So I never regretted the spankings he administered.  Even his words: “J. It isn’t a proper spanking over your dad’s lap, if I don’t see results.  Results means a child shows repentance.”

“What’s repentance, Daddy?” I had asked at age 6 as he tucked me into bed, after giving my bare bottom a good popping with his right hand.  

And then with his loving smile: “It means you showed signs you were sorry, J.”           

“And did I Daddy?” I had asked, trying to force a smile, as I rubbed my eyes with a fist to shift my tears.

“Yes love.  You did.”  He kissed me then.  And after that, wondered into Becky’s room.  On that night my sister had also been punished.  I was 6.  She was 8.  Neither of us knew then there were more severe beatings than our father’s hand.  I guess because we were naive with our years. I never held it against my dad.  He was just doing what he believed was right.  I guess had my mum lived, she might have been more in charge of us, where dad would have taken care of the boys.  But because she hadn’t, and because he never remarried, it was all left to him.

So what brought me to that?  Oh yea.  Unlucky 13!  Breaking down and crying on the 13th stroke of Mr Henderson’s long ridged cane.  Not that he cared.  He just said: “I have no doubt your dad would have kept going.  What do you think, Jennifer?”

And with a whinge, I answered: “Yes, Sir.”

It was a welcomed sensation to feel the firm, preceding taps, on my bottom again!  To give me prior warning of the blow!  And when it hit, my legs fell beneath me, as if they had no more consistency than water!   And as I was naked from the waist down, they trembled uncontrollably.  Even, after I resumed my position, with my bottom sticking out.  And on that last almighty whack he gave me.  I was crying a lot harder again.  My nose was running.  My eyes were a watery mess!  And my face was red!

And when he told me to turn around, I could feel tears sliding down my cheek harder.  I guessed before that they must have just fallen onto the floor.  But I never thought about that.

I did: about how I looked. Red faced. Expression wise: like a smacked ass.  This was the girl who looked at him.  And then he said: “I think a few minutes of corner-time, for you my girl. Face towards the wall. Bottom out in my direction.  And then I’ll be introducing you to your dad’s favorite implement.  What do you say?”

“Yes. Sir.” I said after a momentary pause. As I was well aware of what that implied.  

“Only. Yes Sir?” his voice rose, with a similar lift to his eyebrows.

“I meant.  Thank you, Sir.”

 “Go then to the wall. And Place your hands on your head.”

 

                                               

 

   

PART SIX     

 

                                     HERE JENNIFER UNDERGOES CORNER TIME.  


I did.  Then he addressed me once more: “If I see you flinch.  Move those hands.  Do anything other than stand there, like a statue.  I will regard this as an attempt to undermine my authority.  And I shall get a lot firmer.  Do you understand me, Jennifer?”

“Yes. Sir,” I sniffled. 

“Do you understand why I am being so hard on you?”

“Yes. Sir.”

“Why?” he snapped, demanding more.

“I was bad, Sir.” I sniffled again. Expecting suddenly for him to rush over and pop my bottom a few times with his hand.  Just out of the sharp tone he was using alone. But this didn’t happen. Instead, I imagined his eyes boring into me, as my chastised buttocks looked back at him.  

My dad would have asked me the same thing. After I had received several agonizing licks of the BEAST! And I would have answer similarly. In fact, I was there –that 13 something year old girl in my mind, when I had said that back to him.      

“And because I want you to remember. I take a girl’s correction very seriously. And I will trash you a lot harder –even restrain you if I have to–if you ever take my instructions lightly. In fact, from now on, I’m going to collect you at your university.  And I’ll expect you to be promptly outside to greet me…”  Again he reminded me how he would get pleasure seeing my tears! Should I undermine his authority! 

 I imagine a normal person would have seen that session to its end!  

Smiled politely at the old fellow!

 And broken off contact!

Deciding his method of correction was far too extreme!  

If not downright sadistic!

As he certainly had derived pleasure from my pain! His actions had clearly stated that!

But I knew I needed him!  

I even knew I required the firm treatment he was offering!  

And something told me too, he knew this?! 

 

On that first day at his nice sized apartment he had told me:  He would like to mentor me.  In fact, he had expressed these wishes prior to my caning, when I had sat down with him on his settee drinking my glass of orange juice.  There too he had let me know how he was mentoring several other young ladies.  Even some who resided at my university – UCLA?  But he couldn’t disclose who they were, due to confidentiality.  Except: ever since they had come under his care.  Their scores had risen exceptionally.

In sessions to follow, he did open up more to me. He told me how he dealt with a long line of girls, in a variety of jobs, all the way from the LAPD, to interns and medical students.Where sassy college students no doubt fitted in nicely?! And like a father he was chuffed they had done well for themselves. Even if it took his patience and determination and his strict mentoring program to do it.  And barking into a telephone to get them to report to him, immediately!  While they came back to him –on the other end of it, the phone that is,  all apologetic-like, like scared rabbit.  He just been happy, as of that moment, he hadn’t lost his firm teacher’s air, at addressing miscreants.

 
Time goes slow staring at a wall.  You come aware of every sound your body makes.  YOUR HEARTBEAT.  YOUR BREATHING.  YOUR NEED TOO EVACUATE WIND. AND IF SO, TO DO IT QUIETLY.   WHICH ISN’T AN EASY TASK, ESPECIALLY WHEN SOMEONE IS WATCHING YOU?  EVEN TEARDROPS CAN TICKLE SLIDING DOWN YOUR CHEEK. BUT YOUR GREATEST WORRY IS OF WHAT’S TO COME.  SO BECAUSE OF THAT YOU DON’T WANT THIS WALL TIME TO END. YOU WANT IT TO GO ON INDEFINITELY! BECAUSE IT IS A TEMPORARY REPRIEVE FROM THE INEVITABLE!  

And then you hear the voice, “Times up. Resume position. Come on! Quickly Girl!”

AND YOU DO, BECAUSE THERE IS NO OTHER PLACE TO GO. YOU KNOWING FROM THE TIME YOU'VE ENTERED, YOU'RE COMMITTED. IT'S THAT SIMPLE. OR FOR ME I GUESS: AWARE I NEEDED TO UNDERGO THIS HARSH BEATING, FROM THE MOMENT I'D CHOSEN TO LIE TO MY DAD!

To me, Mr. Henderson, and that day at his place, that painful discipline session, was like getting my dad’s strap, THE BEAST, all over again, for my appalling behavior!  The only difference:  It was LA. And the disciplinarian wasn’t my father.           

When I was repositioned for the strap: It was harder. Mr. Henderson also liked to scold after every three licks.  By reminding me what a bad girl I was!  And what bad girls got!  Not that I was listening.  Because I was too busy holding back my tears. 

When I didn’t keep position, I got a firm reminder.  I NEEDED THIS. TO BE CONTROLLED LIKE I WAS A PUPPET. OTHERWISE I COULDN’T HAVE COPED. 

It was after that I realized he needed to see me cry –gush!  Something I could understand, because my dad was the same. He too had this idea punishment had to bring on the waterworks. And he had to continue on with the spanking till he was well and truly pleased they were genuine.  That all the signs calculated outright that the pain he made on my butt had finally registered on that foulest of places of my anatomy –my brain. Dad always said that. Our brains were the naughtiest parts, because they thought up the mischief, while our innocent nether regions, had to hold up for the assault, afterwards.

Kind of funny, yea, when you think about it? The way he switched them around, but very accurate all the same, you got to admit. 

And l I knew this man was the same! That he too needed to witness in me that one thing: REPENTANCE!   

I was eight when I heard that word mentioned for the first time.  I remember it was after a firm spanking over my dad’s lap. Where I had bawled like silly, kicking my legs, doing everything I could think of to get away from that hellish place!

Then as he tucked me into bed, afterwards, he said, as I was still sniffling –after the initial blubbering from my beating had passed –since my hiney was still on fire: “You showed repentance, J.  And no dad can ask for anything more than that.”

“What is that daddy? ……..” I had asked, trying to say it, but botching the word, terribly. Like young kids do. As if our tongues won’t let us form the sounds, properly.     

“Repentance means, J.  You let your daddy see by your actions when he spanked you, that you were sorry. So he had no more need to continue on.”

“So if I hadn’t daddy,” I sniffled, “you wouldn’t have stopped?”

He laughed then, like I guess all dads do when the minds of their little ones amuse them,“There is more to it than that, J.  Daddies know either way when the right time is reached.  So you needed fear little lady about your tush getting off worse.” And with that he was bending down to kiss me. And then with a playful slap over the bedclothes, gone, with the departing words, “You keep clear now from mischief. You hear. And your daddy won’t have to be doing this to you again in such a hurry.” 

“I promise,” I had said back.  And then in the dark, I reached down inside my pyjama bottoms, to feel just how hot and tinder it was from my spanking... 

 

AND WITH THAT I CRIED OUT!  LEAVING THE WATERWORKS GO! IN A LOUD ALMIGHTY WAIL!  

And then he stopped.  Just like that.  And I knew why.  It was because of my utterances.  As this had passed on to him, I was expressing physical signs of that word, REPENTANCE!   

After that, it was back to face the wall.  But this time I was making very audible sounds while doing it.  So I didn’t care about my tears rolling down my cheeks.  I certainly didn’t give a fuck anymore I was naked from the waste down in front of a stranger. Because I realized he could do anything he chose with me! Not because he was bigger –6 feet to my 5’8 height.  But because I would have let him! It was that simple.  

I then heard his voice, “Turn around.” I did whinging. “Put your hands down.” I did. Leaving them go gently from the top of my head to my sides.  Like a true obedient soldier, you could say, ordered by a drill sergeant.

This post was edited by Mark Shea at September 19, 2016 10:55 PM PDT

Did some overhaul to this story. If anyone would care to check it out again. Also added the second part.

Nice, Mark.

Jackie. Thanks very much for the lovely comment! Really enjoyed our chat! Hope we can manage another one again soon!

You are so welcome. I really did, too. I look forward to another chat.

Added part four.

Mark, sorry it took me so long to get to this. YOu did a really good job. I thoroughly enjoyed it. Well done.

Made some changes to the story. Over all font isn't perfect? But I'll settle for how it is, as the editor software here is a nightmare to work with. As if it was designed by a sadist. LOL.

You can also read the story here. In far better Style: http://markshea.weebly.com/stories.html

The site is under construction. And doesn't really have a lot on it at present. But I hope to add more shortly. With fingers crossed, in the next month, or so.

Great story. I love the dynamics between them. I would love to see more of your writing.