____________________________
| |
/)| KRISTEN'S BOOKSHELF |(\
/ )| DIRECTORIES |( \
__( (|____________________________|) )__
((( \ \ > /_) ( \ < / / )))
(\\\ \ \_/ / \ \_/ / ///)
\ / \ /
\ _/ \_ /
/ / \ \
o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o
o This part of my collection offers a very wide variety of o
o stories. They have been submitted by people from all over the o
o world. Also from alt.sex.stories (Newsgroups). There is no o
o particular order other than offering them to you in alpha- o
o betical directories. o
o I don’t believe in categorizing things. "I don’t want to o
o be typed therefore I don’t type things myself." I think it’s o
o a lot more fun to browse around and find 'little' surprises o
o that you might not have even thought of looking for. o
o Lest we forget!!! This story was produced as adult en- o
o tertainment and should not be read by minors. Kristen Becker o
o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o
Back at the Ranch (Mff, inc, spanking)
by Ted L (c) 1996
Free Distribution
*
In the summer just after I turned 20, I accepted an intriguing
invitation to leave the big city and go out West to help out my
Aunt Ruth on her small ranch. She was recently widowed, and our
branch of the family had not seen hers very often because of the
distance involved.
Aunt Ruth was young, about 36, and now had to handle managing the
ranch as well as her two spunky daughters, my cousins Carol, 13,
and Pamela, 12.
So my visit was a welcome vacation for me and a big help to Aunt
Ruth and the girls. My aunt had urban charm and wit combined with
a Plains attitude about hard work and discipline. One evening as
I arrived in the parlor after coming back from town with supplies
a bit earlier than I expected, I heard a conversation that made
me tremble.
It came from the girls' bedroom upstairs, and the voice was Aunt
Ruth's, more commanding than I had heard before.
"Carol! Pamela! The both of you!" she said sternly. "I don't care
which one of you started it, but we will not have fighting going
on amongst you while there is work to be done."
"Both of you! Over the edge of the bed! Get your jeans and
panties down to your knees while I fetch the licking stick."
"No, mama, no!" wailed Pamela. "Mama, no! We we were just
playing," shrieked Carol.
"Be that as it may," Aunt Ruth retorted as I heard her boots
march across the hard wood floor toward the linen closet, "but
since your father passed, you have been bratty and insolent. I
always stopped him from spanking you too much, but now I see you
have need of it. Prepare yourselves for the licking you both most
assuredly deserve."
"Mama, please," cried Carol. "What about Uncle Teddy?" she
pleaded.
"Don't worry about him, you naughty brat. He's in town picking up
groceries. At least HE knows how to work."
Little did the three of them know that I had moved to the bottom
of the stairwell in order to gain a better stereo effect of my
two impertinent cousins getting what I knew they had long
deserved.
"Young ladies," Aunt Ruth began in a solemn voice. "This is for
your own good, and I will brook no insubordination. PAMELA!! Get
your panties all the way down."
"Mama, not this way," the 12-year-old cried. "Carol! Pull down
your sister's pants this instant or it will be double for both of
you!!"
"Yes, ma'am," the wiser but no less chagrined Carol replied as
she fully bared her sibling's naughty backside.
"Now, get in position," Aunt Ruth commanded with an authority
that made me quiver in my boots. "You may hold hands if you wish.
I am going to thrash you each until you are crying good and loud.
I will alternate, so I don't want either of you wiggling away."
I could now detect a shadow in the room from the fading sunlight
hitting the upstairs window, and saw Aunt Ruth -- now about seven
feet tall in the lengthening evening shadow -- step to her
daughters' left side.
"Pamela, you first," she announced, "for your delay."
SsssswiiisssshWHIP. The shadow of the dreaded licking stick (a
long thin birch rod that had come from the woods around the ranch
house several years earlier) came down squarely across Pamela's
soft white cheeks. "AAAEEEEII," she screamed.
Carol had already began to cry, knowing what fate awaited her.
"Mmmammma, nnnooo, pppleezzze..." she began, only to be
interrupted rudely with a sssssswwwissssshWHIP across HER pouty
upturned bottom. "AAAAHHHHGGGGHHH," Carol cried with no shame.
"Waa! Waa! NGGHH! Uhhhhuhhhuhhh," they cried in unison.
Again, Aunt Ruth raised her right arm, as if her beautiful
daughters were no more than unbroken colts, she snapped her wrist
and the birch stick striped baby Pamela's backside again.
"EEEEEEEYYYOWWWW!!!" Pamela cried.
Quickly, my aunt raised the rod of discipline into the air, and
as Carol's left hand squeezed Pamela's right hand in a death
grip, the switch landed across the underside of the older girl's
cheeks, where they met the thighs. "NOOOOOO! OWWWWW! I CAN'T
STAND IT, MAMA!"
"Then perhaps you shall behave in the future, won't you?" Aunt
Ruth responded, almost tauntingly. As she remonstrated with them,
Carol understood that no more spanks were falling. "Yes, mama, we
will be sooooo good! Please. It hurts like fire. No more, mama.
We've learned our lesson!"
"I am pleased to hear that, Carol, but don't you think that two
swats is not enough for girls who have to have their panties
taken down?' It was, as they say, a rhetorical question. "I will
continue," she continue, "but since you are so penitent, the rest
won't be so hard." Carol didn't quite know what "penitent" meant,
except that maybe the whipping was going to be over soon. She
tried to remember the word so she could use again if a similar
situation ever arose. Her thoughts were suddenly interrupted.
SMACK WHAP WHIP WHAP CRACK SMACK whoooooshCRACK. Aunt Ruth had
picked up the pace. WHAP WHIP SMACK CRACK whooooosssshWHIP
whooooosssshCRACK whoooosssshWHAP! The licking continued in
earnest, and by now there were no more protests. Pamela and Carol
were crying so hard into the bedsheets that they could barely
breathe, much less beg for mercy.
Eventually, silence. Except for the muffled sobbing. "There,
there, my girls. You needed that, and I will be up in a few
minutes to help you put cream on your bottoms. Get into your
nighties and right into bed."
"Yes, mama," they both sniffled.
What happened to them remained my secret for a few days, until
when in the normal course of a lunchtime chat, Carol casually
mentioned that sometimes, in the old days, gotten spankings,
"just a few swats over the knee," Carol confided breezily.
"That's not what happened last Saturday night," Pamela brattily
corrected her. "We got a godawful lickin' -- with our pants down,
too!" Carol, who was developing a bit of a crush on her uncle,
could have killed her younger sister right then and there.
I must have looked embarrassed, and didn't say anything for a
while. "I guess you must have deserved it, huh?" I lamely
replied, trying not to grin at the memory of those lovely
spanking sounds I had secretly eavesdropped on.
"Maybe we did, maybe we didn't," Carol sassed. "But it sure stung
like crazy," added Pamela helpfully. "I bet you wouldn't hurt as
much as Mama."
"PAMMY!" growled her older sister, mortified at Pamela's most
unhelpful remark.
That was my opening. "I wouldn't WANT to hurt you kids," I
grinned, "but I do think you could use a few more over-the-knee
bottom warmings. Come here, Pammy!"
I quickly pulled her over my knee and gave her a few playful
swats across her jeans, and let her wiggle away, giggling.
"Carol, you too!" I said, grabbing her wrists and hauling her
struggling butt over my lap. The couple of swats I gave her were
a bit harder. Carol didn't giggle and she didn't cry, but I could
tell she was mad.
She would get even.
On the next-to-last day of my visit, a Saturday evening, Aunt
Ruthie called me into the kitchen, and over a cup of coffee
started to interview me about my impressions of the ranch, what I
had learned and what I would like to do in the future. I
appreciated the time she was taking. But then, out of nowhere, a
thundering question.
"Just why did you think you could spank my daughters?" I was
stunned. Stammering, I said, "Iiittt wwwasss jjjusst iiinn
fffunnn."
"Ted, I'm not so sure of that. I caught you listening downstairs
the night I had to whip those beautiful young children. I want
you to understand something before you leave here. I MAKE THE
DECISIONS, NOT YOU! I administer the discipline -- NOT YOU! If
you are half the young man I think you are, you must realize that
you overstepped your bounds."
"I guess I did, Aunt Ruth," I replied. "I'm sorry to have done
that."
"Young man, before you leave here tomorrow, I believe you deserve
a taste of ranch discipline yourself."
"Whaaattt?" I stammered.
Aunt Ruth then began talking to me in a low whispery voice about
her hopes for all her family; about what a fine nephew I had
always been; about how I have upheld not only family values, but
unfortunately, too many urban values, as well. It was a voice
like I remembered my mother's when she would whisper me to sleep.
I don't remember exactly what she said, but, somehow, she
maneuvered me into asking for a whipping to be administered by
her. "Let's get it over with," I asked her in a hushed, shameful
voice.
"Let's march," she commanded, suddenly stern again, grabbing me
by the elbow. "Where are we going," I protested?
"Out back. You see that fence yonder?"
It was a three-barred wooden fence about 80 yards away from the
main house. I hung my head and started walking, Aunt Ruth
twirling the licking stick in her right hand as if she was a
majorette while grasping me with her left hand to keep me from
straying.
After an eternity, we got to the fence. "Young man," she began.
"You are about to get a whipping you will remember every time
that railroad car bounces on your trip home."
"Pull down your jeans, Teddy!!"
"Yes, Aunt Ruthie," I replied softly, with shame.
"Your shorts, too!"
"No, no, Aunt Ruthie. I'm too big for that!"
"Young man, I have no intention of whipping your underpants.
There will be nothing between your husky backside and this
switch."
As I turned to face her, I saw to my horror from across the yard
that the light went on in the girls' bedroom, and I saw two happy
faces taking in the show.
In a flash, Aunt Ruth had grabbed my waist with one hand and
yanked down my underpants.
"To the fence," she demanded. "Climb up on that first rail and
bend over!"
I was so stunned, and demolished, that I obeyed.
It was there and then that diminutive 5-foot-3 Aunt Ruthie, her
auburn hair braided into pigtails, gave me a whipping I shall
never ever forget.
ONE TWO THREE FOUR times that switch crisscrossed my bottom. I
was, of course, too old and too embarrassed to actually cry. But
I yelled loud into the night. "Owwwwww! Ouccccchhh!! Yowwwwwww!
Aaaaaaaagh!"
As Aunt Ruthie tired after about 15 licks, she began slowing down
the strokes, both in rhythm and in severity. Darkness had fully
set in, and was I glad. Although the girls got their revenge, and
I got a whipping I didn't think I deserved, the darkness at least
saved my pride. The girls did not get to see how red my bottom
had become at the hands of their disciplinarian mother, and Aunt
Ruthie did not get to see the semi-erection that her last few
licks had stirred in me.
This story may be distributed freely.