Old Faithful

Story Fiction F/f NC Wooden Paddle
Allison's pulse quickened with sudden panic. Aunt Julia Conway was a world-class spanker who had taken many years to refine her technique, and understood that the key to success was pacing. Moderate discomfort should give way to writhing, shrieking torment; the last few minutes should be a fugue of agony from which there is no escape...

"Hold it right there young lady!!"

Allison Fairfield froze in shock, eyes swiveling towards the kitchen door. A cold finger ran the length of her spine. She knew that tone, recognized the naked anger in her Aunt's voice. It was a tone she had come to fear over the past three years, one she'd learnt to treat with the utmost respect. Her pulse leapt into overdrive as the adrenalin hit her bloodstream. She'd been caught sneaking in through the back door, and now she was in trouble.

Literally breathless with surprise, Allison turned to face the tall, blond virago looming in the doorway. Julia Conway stood with her hands straddling her wide hips, face simmering with rage and relief. Relief because her wayward niece had finally arrived home; rage because it was two-thirty in the morning. She loomed in the doorway, staring down at her niece in slow burning contempt.

"Where have you been?" Julia demanded, her words slicing the air like a razor. Allison flinched like a frightened child, her mind whirling with panic. Aunt Julia wasn't just angry. She was utterly furious. Her eyes glittered with emerald fire, her mouth was a taunt red line. Allison could almost feel the heat radiating off her in blistering waves. She wavered before that scalding gaze, frantically searching for an excuse, an escape route; some pretext by which she could evade imminent justice.

Nothing much came to mind.

She'd been caught red-handed, after all. All her lies and schemes and covert little deceptions had come to nothing: Julia had snared her with an almost dismissive ease, laying the trap with the confidence of long experience. What had she been thinking, creeping through the kitchen like some rank amateur? Julia Conway was a predator, patrolling her territory like a hungry barracuda. Allie had seriously under-estimated her Aunt's considerable intellect, and now the mistake was going to cost her.


"I assume you realize what time it is," Julia said, striding into the kitchen with a menacing, determined step, "I've had the police out looking for you since midnight, Allie!"

"The police?!" Allison cried, her voice high and thin, "Aunt Julie, you didn't -"

"Yes I did. They weren't terribly impressed - and neither was I. I've warned you before about your curfew. Ten-thirty by the latest - no exceptions." She halted two paces from the girl, her lean, pantherish figure framed in a rectangle of fluorescent light. Her glare could have felled a Minnesota Bull. Allison wilted in open dread, knowing what was coming next.

"B-but it w-wasn't my fault, Aunt Julie", she stammered, falling back from that livid, unforgiving gaze, "I just d-didn't -"

"I don't care what your story is, young lady!" Jules cut her off, voice rising by at least two decibels, "if you're late, you call home! That's the rule, Allie - and you know it!!" Which was true. She had drummed this precept into the girl's head every week for the last ten years, ever since she'd first moved in. There was no room for misunderstanding under Julia Conway's roof. Lower lip wobbling in dismay, Allison found herself reduced to the status of a pleading child.

"Please Aunt J-J-Julie," she began, desperate to avoid the punishment she could feel hanging over her head, I'm ruh-really s-sorry -"

"Not as sorry as you're going to be!" Julia interrupted, dismissing the girl's apologies with an impatient wave of her hand, "I think it's time you were reminded who sets the rules in this house. Now - go to your room and change out of those clothes. I'll be along to deal with you in ten minutes."

Allie's mouth flopped open. The verdict had been reached, her worst fears confirmed.

"No, no, PLEASE Aunt Julie," she wailed at the top of her lungs, "I don't want a SPANKING!!"

"Well, a spanking is exactly what you deserve," Julia replied, her expression literally blazing with threat, "Now get to your room."

"Aunt Julie -"

"This INSTANT!!" Julia yelled.

Bursting into a squall of frightened tears, Allison fled the kitchen, wailing in misery as she bolted down the hallway. Julia watched her from the kitchen door, her face lined with maternal displeasure. She'd had it up to here with the girl's willful disobedience; her dishonesty; her malicious, lying deceit. Here she was, skulking around the house at two-thirty in the morning, crying innocent and reeking of Jim Beam. Did she think she was an idiot? Came down in the last shower?

By God, she was going to teach that girl a lesson she would never forget!! Allie's bottom was long overdue for a spanking, and Julie was determined that the debt would be paid in full. As for the method of payment ... well, this required far more than a few glancing slaps to the rear. It was time for a good, healthy dose of Old Faithful. It was, after all, a long established family tradition, one which never failed to achieve the desired results. Allison's cheeks would be smarting for weeks to come; she'd see to that personally. She'd already paid a visit to the girl's bedroom in preparation for the main event. She could well imagine the look on Allie's face when she realized precisely what she was in for.

Yes, Julia thought to herself, hitching up her jeans an inch or two, Old Faithful will do nicely on this occasion.

Allison sprinted down the corridor, choking back her tears like a little girl. Her head was spinning with apprehension; she simply couldn't believe this was happening again. She was going to be spanked. She knew from prior excursions over Julia's knee that the pain would be excruciating. Julia Conway was a world-class spanker, having had close on a decade to perfect her technique on Allie's defenseless hynie. The knowledge of her impending punishment had her weeping with terror. Could there be anything worse than a hot, throbbing bottom?

Aunt Julie was a most formidable woman: strict, uncompromising, and self-assured. Undisputed mistress of her domain, her decisions were both ruthless and intractable, particularly where matters of discipline were concerned. She had established a strict regimen of conduct governing her ward's behavior, under which the slightest transgression would be met with the most humiliating of penalties.

No, there was nothing worse than a well-smacked fanny. It was something Allie detested from the very core of her being. Her Aunt's spankings were absolutely degrading; an embarrassing, juvenile form of correction that she sought to avoid at all costs. Of course, evading justice was no longer an issue; judgment had been passed, the sentence handed down. Allie was way past the point of no return.

And she knew it.

Sobbing with apprehension, Allison burst into her room and made straight for the bed. What was she going to do; how was she going to escape? Her heart was literally pounding in her chest. Warm tears spilled down her cheeks. Biting hard on her lower lip, she willed herself to stay calm. She had to pull herself together, think straight, form a plan. Outright acquittal was obviously out of the question, but plea-bargaining might be a possibility, even at this late stage.

Maybe she could talk her Aunt down to five minutes rather than the usual ten. They were both adults, both rational human beings. Surely there would be room for negotiation. She'd only been a little late (well, four hours actually), it wasn't as if she'd come home reeling drunk (not this time, anyway). There had to be some loophole, some technicality, some mutually satisfying agreement they could reach with a little judicious discourse.

Unfortunately, Allison was out of ideas. She'd never had much success arguing the case for the defense, and the present situation seemed little short of hopeless. There were no mitigating circumstances, no alibis, no grounds for appeal. She couldn't claim ignorance of the law, couldn't plead the Fourth. The sentence had been passed and justice would be served to the fullest extent of the law.

She was trembling on the verge of hysteria; the fear of an imminent spanking was overwhelming. She was literally seconds away from discipline, and nothing short of divine intervention would divert Julie's palm from her bottom. Unfortunately, her prayers were most unlikely to be answered, considering the recent omens. If she'd thought things couldn't get any worse, then she was very sadly mistaken. Hesitantly crossing the room, Allison began to understand the full extent of her predicament:

Pausing in front of her bed, she stared down at the special gift Aunt Julia had left for her.

Her jaw dropped in mute shock, her knees buckled with sudden panic.

Lying on the coverlet was a polished cedar hand-paddle.

Old Faithful.

Nooooooo, Allie moaned under her breath, not the paddle, not the paddle, PLEASE God, not the paddle again!! A moist flush engulfed Allison's belly. She should have known what to expect, should have seen this coming. She knew her Aunt well enough to have second-guessed her, at least in this regard. She backed slowly away from the bed, head reeling with adolescent misery. Old Faithful was a personal message from her doting aunt, an unmistakable sign that her penalty would be painful beyond conception.

Aunt Julie believed that a red hot derriere was the best deterrent to future misconduct. It wasn't enough to turn Allie over her knee like a naughty five-year old, not by a long shot. Subsequently, her spankings were an epic of punishment; an ordeal few girls her age could even imagine. Vigorous though her Aunt's hand could be, it was nothing compared to the paddle. That glistening brown surface could raise blisters the size of dinner plates on her tender young buttocks, and the afterburn often lasted for days!

It was so unfair, so unjust. So wrong. She hated being treated like a little girl, hated dropping her knickers and presenting her nude, white buttocks for inspection. She loathed the wailing, tremulous tone of her voice when punishment was imminent. Going over Julia's knee was the ultimate act of submission, a complete surrender of her most basic, human rights. If only she had the courage to stand up to her Aunt's domineering presence; summon up the nerve to defy her commands. She often fantasized about casting off her shackles; facing her nemesis down and emerging triumphant from this incessant battle of wills.

Needless to say, Allison knew that was never going to happen. Refusal was out of the question; she'd spent too many years under Julie's thumb to resist her influence. The mere threat of a hot, throbbing bottie was enough to reduce her to tears. Julia was so much stronger than she was, so confident and self-assured. Allie could barely look her in the eye at the best of times. The spankings were inevitable, unavoidable, a consequence of her own natural timidity. She would simply have to live with them.

Today more than ever.

Whimpering in despair, she took off her denim jacket and started unbuttoning her blouse. She had maybe ten minutes to get ready, and she couldn't afford to delay a moment longer. There was a rigid protocol she had to follow, a ritual she had observed for the last ten years. Julia insisted that she submit to her spankings wearing nothing but her bra and panties (as a little girl, she'd often been smacked in her underwear; immediately before bed so that she'd spend the night with a hot, stinging bottom) If she wasn't ready by the time Julie arrived, she'd be certain to suffer an extra minute or two under the paddle.

Hastily shrugging off the blouse, Allison reached back to loosen her scanty red mini, groping for the zipper with trembling fingers. The enormity of her punishment filled her mind; she could already see herself spread over Aunt Julie's lap with her cheeks raised and her underpants banded 'round her knees. The image literally dominated her consciousness. Allison could think of nothing else: she was going to be spanked - extremely hard - on her naked behind. And there was absolutely nothing she could about it.

It's not fair, she wept silently. Stepping out of the mini skirt, she stood up in her fresh white lingerie and walked quickly over to her dressing table. She was running out of time; she had to move her antique highback chair over by the bed. Tall, awkward and somewhat cumbersome, it took all her strength to drag it across the floor. Julie referred to it as the Seat of Learning, but Allison had always considered it the bane of her life. There was something vaguely sadistic about the Ritual of the Chair. Not only did she have to go passively over Aunt Julie's lap; she had to find her a comfortable seat for the performance. It was all so horribly demeaning.

She can't do this to me! Allie cried to herself. She was eighteen years old; a mature, sophisticated woman. She'd started university last fall. Julia had no right to humiliate her this way. She wasn't a minor, wasn't some truant schoolgirl who had to bare her bottom because she skipped her morning classes. It just wasn't right: she was too old for a spanking!! She'd been subject to her aunt's authority since her before her ninth birthday. When was Julie finally going to start treating her like an adult?

Before Allison could pursue this chain of thought any further, her reveries were interrupted by the sound of footsteps. Stern, unrelenting footsteps echoing ominously up the hall. Allison's eyes widened in terror, a bolt of panic tore through her system. Her time was up, Aunt Julie was marching up the corridor like the crack of doom, coming to pull her pants down and paddle her impudent young bottom!!

"No!!" Allie sobbed, still struggling with the Seat of Learning, "no, no, no NO!!" Things were happening too fast, she hadn't been able to finish all her preparations.

Julie would have the perfect excuse to add another three minutes to her spanking (not that she needed much provocation; Allie had given her all the incentive she needed, let's face it). Blubbering in misery, Allie hauled the spanking chair to the foot of the bed and turned to face the door. She could hear Julia's footsteps clacking loudly on the hallway's timber floorboards. The sound set her teeth on edge; her tummy began clenching in tight little knots. Her eyes darted between the open doorway and the implement lying on her bed.

I don't WANT a spanking, Allison simpered to herself, protectively covering her bottom with both hands. It was a wholly unconscious gesture she'd used since early childhood, back in the days when Auntie Jules used to whack her tail at least once a week (employing her open hand for minor offences and the brush for the more serious variety. Old Faithful didn't make its first sensational appearance until Allie was well into junior high school).

Just at that second, those menacing, ominous footsteps came clocking into her bedroom. Aunt Julia stood just inside the doorframe glaring down at her niece, arms folded in a kind of cool, patient rage. She'd been waiting all night for this moment, and she intended to relish the occasion as long as possible. This would be a spanking to remember; the stuff of legend and urban myth. She could already feel the paddle descending on her niece's naked buttocks. God, she was going to whale some butt tonight!

Seeing the look on her Aunt's face, Allison threw herself on the mercy of the court. Eyes sparkling with liquid fear, she lapsed into a catechism of remorse; wailing apologies and begging for one last chance: please, Auntie Julia, I'm really sorry I came home so late, I'll never do it again, I promise I won't, don't spank me Aunt Julie, please don't, it really hurts, I can't stand it -

Julia shook her head in vague amusement, savoring Allie's evident consternation. She knew how much this was going to hurt; knew she had no one to blame but herself. Her desperate pleas added considerable spice to the experience; the girl had been testing the limits for weeks now, moping around the house and pouting like a brat whenever she couldn't have her own way. Her little escapade tonight was just the latest in a long line of furtive acts of rebellion. Well, Julia Conway had very little respect for passive resistance, as her whimpering young ward was about to discover.

"OK, that's quite enough!" Julie snapped, striding grimly towards the Seat of Learning, "you know what you've done to deserve this. You're going to be spanked, Allison - long and hard on that naughty little bottom of yours. By the time I'm finished, you'll rue the day you ever crossed swords with me."

Face working with emotion, Allie broke into a fresh storm of tears:

"No, Aunt Julie, don't, it isn't fair - I'm not a child, you don't have the right to treat me like one! I'm eighteen years old, you can't spank me, you can't!"

"Don't you argue with me, young lady," Julia replied angrily, "you're going over my knee, and that's the end of it. I've put up with as much of your sulking and insolence as I'm willing to take. I don't care how old you think you are, Allie - you've earned yourself a spanking, and that is precisely what you're going to get."

"But Aunt Julie," Allison bawled, stamping her feet in helpless anxiety, "I don't want a spanking! It'll HURT!!"

"Oh, yes, it's going to hurt, all right," Julie agreed, eyes flashing with thinly-disguised pleasure, "I can promise you that much. Now - no more arguments, little miss. It's high time I smacked your buns."

Allie knew better than to disobey at this point; the consequences of refusal were unthinkable. Tottering forward with halting, uncertain steps, she stood next to the spanking chair awaiting Julia's next instruction.

"That's better," the older woman commented, scrutinizing her niece with a forbidding gaze, "might as well get started right away. You know what comes next, Allie." Julie paused, allowing her words to sink in, then continued in a tone that brooked no debate:

"Take down your panties."

"Nooooooo!!" Allison cried, shifting from foot to foot in childish dread, "no, Aunt Julie, don't make me bare my bottom! Let me keep them up, spank me on my panties!!" She was losing all self-control; her peach was literally inches away from a thrashing, and all her attempts to forestall the inevitable had been fruitless. Dancing about in her flimsy white underthings, she looked no older than twelve (and sounded considerably younger).

Unfortunately, Aunt Julie had reached the end of her patience. Leaning slightly forward, she glared down at her niece in cool, steely wrath.

"I said - take DOWN those PANTIES!"

Weeping with shame, Allison bent over and peeled down her briefs. Her smooth, dimpled cheeks pumped back and forth in anticipation. A thrill of gooseflesh rushed down her inner thighs. Allie shivered as much from embarrassment as from the cold. This was the point at which her punishment became a nightmare. Her tushie was now completely exposed; she was practically nude from the waist down. She'd been spanked this way since her thirteenth birthday; in all that time, she'd never grown used to baring her bottom.

Allison straightened up, crossing her hands in front of herself. Standing before her aunt with her panties stretched around her knees, she could feel her fanny-tops clenching in the chill morning air. Why was this happening to her? She'd been terribly naughty, she knew that, but she didn't deserve such abject humiliation. She couldn't conceive of anything worse than this. No one should be forced to display their bottom-cheeks for a spanking, especially at her age.

"All right," Aunt Julie remarked, then reached down and picked up the hand paddle.

Old Faithful was an authentic 1920s seat-warmer, a quaint reminder of those bygone days when willful daughters were dealt with in the traditional manner. Larger and heavier than the average table-tennis racquet, Old Faithful possessed a flawless ebony surface and a long grip for maximum swing. Julia had found it in a Chamberlain antique store some five years before, divining its purpose immediately. Allison had despised the vicious, black thing from the very start, as the merest touch seemed capable of raising the most painful blisters. Fortunately, her aunt used it more as a deterrent than anything else, and Allie had soon learned to keep her conduct down to an acceptable level.

Not this morning, however.

Julia turned the paddle over in her hands, testing its weigh and balance, then sat down on the Seat of Learning. Making herself comfortable, she squared her knees and motioned her niece forward. There would be no scolding, no lecturing, no further recriminations. Julia had wasted more than enough time in idle chatter: months of discussion had achieved nothing. Old Faithful was poised for action and Allison's denuded buttocks awaited the summary ruling.

"Bend over my lap," Julia told her curtly, eyelids narrowed to slits.

"No, Aunt Julie, please," Allie wept, stumbling forward with her panties constricting her movements, "don't use the paddle, you don't know how much it hurts, I'm sorry, PLEASE don't smack my bottom, please-" She climbed helplessly over Julia's knee, folding herself into a human jack-knife so that her upraised cheeks were gaping at the ceiling. They twitched and primped with expectation, firm and ripe and alabaster pale. Allison moaned her final entreaties in soft, hopeless whispers.

"... no, please no, don't, I'm sorry Aunt Julie, please, no, don't ..."

Taking a deep breath, Julia lifted the paddle up and back over her right shoulder.

Allison welded her eyes shut, straining every muscle in her body -

And Old Faithful whipped down.

There is a commonly held belief that human flesh goes numb beyond a certain point; that a young girl's bottom will feel nothing after a few minutes of sustained punishment. Nothing could be further from the truth so far as Allie was concerned. An experienced 'hand' knows how to stretch a spanking out to the very limits of endurance, increasing the force and velocity by slow degrees. Julia Conway had taken many years to refine her technique, and understood that the key to success was pacing. Moderate discomfort should give way to writhing, shrieking torment. The last few minutes should be a fugue of agony from which there is no escape.

Dangling limply over her aunt's thighs, Allison kicked and struggled in mounting distress. Varnished wood grain seared her buns with a kiss of fire. Old Faithful leapt from side to side, raising an angry pink blush over her jostling hindquarters. Allie knew from prior encounters that things were going to get a lot worse - her spanking had barely begun, and her aunt wouldn't be satisfied until her derriere was a mass of purple blisters. Nor could she hope for any lessening of her penalty. Aunt Julie was furious with her, angrier than Allie had ever seen. She'd probably extend her paddling by a good five minutes - at the very least.

Working with infinite patience, Jules gradually intensified her swing, switching her focus from haunch to upper-thigh. The effect was both dramatic and instantaneous - Allison voiced a long, keening howl and tried to scramble off Julie's lap. The attempt was an unqualified failure, needless to say. Old Faithful lashed down with lethal accuracy, scorching the air in its wake. Pushing her palms against the floor, Allie looked imploringly back over her shoulder.

"Ow!! Aunt Julie!! Stop it!! Don't! Oww!! I'm not a little girl!! Stop it!"

Julia ignored her ward's shrill protests and continued without a second's hesitation. She felt no pity, no regret, and no compassion. The girl hadn't shown the slightest consideration for her feelings when she'd disappeared into Westside last night. Two-thirty in the morning without so much as a phone call to ease her fears. The Westside was one of the roughest parts of downtown Chamberlain, notorious for its drugs, gangs and street-crime. Teenaged girls went missing out on Pitt Street every second week. Julie had good reason to be worried; Allison might have the body of a young woman, but she was still a little girl in every other respect.

"You have no idea what you put me through, young lady," Julia growled, mostly to herself, "but I'm going to make sure you remember this lesson for a long time to come." Redoubling her efforts, Julia layed the paddle up and down Allie's naked thighs. Livid, crimson marks sprang up on her shanks, glowing halfway to the knees. She wriggled her hips in a pointless effort to avoid that scathing caress. Old Faithful's cedar edge bit into her wobbling plumps regardless. The pain was nothing short of excruciating.


Screaming fit to burst a lung, Allison felt her ego dissolve under a torrent of disgrace. How could this be happening to her? Here she was, a freshman at Greenmeadows Uni, dangling from her auntie's lap with her panties slipping towards her ankles. Her bottom was pulsing with outrage, blazing like a storm beacon on a winter night. If dropping her pants had been mortifying, then this was an exercise in degradation. She would never forgive Julia for this ordeal of shame, no matter how long she lived.

Leaning in closer, Aunt Julie braced for the grand finale. The prelude had finished; Old Faithful was doing an admirable job. Allie's fanny-tops had darkened to a shimmering scarlet hue bordering on violet. Jules paused for several moments, relishing the spectacle. No doubt about it, there was nothing quite so gratifying as the sight of a freshly-smacked bottom. Especially one as indisputably naughty as this.

Well, can't afford to sit around admiring the view, Julia thought, then returned her attention to the task at hand. Allison's seething posterior was a veritable opus, but the concerto was still a few notes shy of completion. Strengthening her grip on the seat-warmer's handle, Julie drew back for the next volley. Old Faithful swept down in a blur of motion, detonating against Allie's shuddering cheeks. Sharp, explosive retorts echoed around the room, punctuated by piercing, girlish screams.


"Oh, it hurts, does it?" Aunt Julia inquired amiably, shifting her position to allow for greater accuracy. Allison's fingernails ripped at the carpet, her hair flailed wildly around her face.


"Oh, we have a long way to go yet, little miss." Julie told her, lashing down twice as hard.

"OWWW!! NO!! NOOOOO!! PLEASE!!! STOP!! YYYEEEOOOOWWW!!!" Hands clutching at empty air, Allison attempted to hurl herself to the floor. She couldn't endure another second of this torture. Molten steel seemed to be coating her cheeks. She had to get away. Unfortunately, retreat was an impossibility at this stage. Aunt Julie was an amazingly strong woman. She shoved Allison back to the central position with an almost contemptuous ease - and the spanking rolled on.

Had anyone else been watching, they might have noticed that this was an unusually long paddling, clocking in at close on seventeen minutes. The last three were the most harrowing, as Julia accelerated her tempo towards the end. Concentrating on the fleshy overlap between thigh and buttock, she tanned Allie's jiggling melons with renewed vigor. A gentle smile played across her lips. There was no denying the excitement she felt; wielding Old Faithful over her ward's recalcitrant butt. If it wasn't for Allison's constant misbehavior, there'd be no fun in life whatsoever.

Unfortunately, no performance can go on forever, no matter how entertaining the venue.

Julia laid the paddle down and held Allie over her knee in a broken, sobbing heap. There was no sense in prolonging the agony (so to speak); the lesson had been well and truly taught. Extending the sentence would be little more than overkill. Anyway, Julie was well satisfied with the results of her early morning trip to Bottieland. Allison was weeping like a six year old, she was most unlikely to ignore her curfew ever again.

Jules allowed the girl several minutes to exhaust her tears, then helped her sit upright on her lap. Allie moaned softly as she tried to find a comfortable spot - her poor little bottom was so sore! It felt huge, bloated, inflated to thrice its normal size. The blisters were likely to reach half-way down to the back of her knees. She'd have to wear jeans and long skirts to uni for the next two weeks if she didn't want her friends growing suspicious.

Still smiling that gentle, satiated smile, Aunt Julie slipped an arm fondly around Allison's waist. Allie surrendered herself to the older woman's caresses, melting gratefully against her shoulder. Julia snuggled her up in a surprisingly warm embrace, kissing and touching her as a mother strokes an unhappy child.

"So," Julia purred, running a feather-light hand over Allie's tummy, "are we ready to behave ourselves, babygirl?" There was an element of playful menace in her tone, a sense that she was toying with the half-naked teenager. The message was clear: tread carefully young lady, or you'll be straight back over my knee.

"Yes Auntie Julie," Allie replied, still weeping under her breath.

Julie's fingers traced small, teasing circles around her belly button.

"No more sneaking out to the Westside?"

"No." Allie closed her eyes, squeezing two large tears down her cheeks.

"No more drinking until three in the morning?"

"No." Shaking her head, she lowered her gaze to the floor.

"No more lies, no more sulking, no more backtalk?"

"No, Auntie Julie," Allison whispered breathlessly, "I promise." She had never felt so ashamed in her entire life.

"Good," Julia said. Placing a hand under Allie's downcast chin, she tilted the girl's face up to meet hers. Again, there was that sense of unspoken threat: the spanking was finished, but Old Faithful was still within easy reach. Julie's smile thinned to a knowing crescent.

It was time to re-establish the ground rules.

"Now - listen very carefully, young lady. I don't intend to tell you twice..."

Swallowing her dignity, Allison nodded agreement to each of Julia's terms.


The following two months witnessed a remarkable transformation in Allison's character. Auntie Jules imposed a strict policy of Zero Tolerance over her conduct, under which the smallest infractions would be punished with red hot bottom. No questions were asked, no excuses were accepted: the instant she stepped over the line, she was made to lower her panties for the paddle. The result was sixty days of continuous spanking, during which Allie's pert young botts were constantly smarting. Spanked on average at least twice a week, her fanny became intimately acquainted with Old Faithful (along with a variety of wooden spoons, rulers, hairbrushes and anything else that could bruise a teen's bottom).

In addition, Allison's social life was severely curtailed. Grounded for the remainder of the year, her curfew was reassigned to 6.30 PM; weekends inclusive. The standard punishment for arriving home late was a spanking on the bare - sometimes with the feather duster if her attitude warranted a little extra. Discipline was usually metered out in the dining room after dinner. Once the table had been cleared, Allie would be sent to fetch the duster - an antique Boston maid-swatter with a two hickory foot handle; one of the most formidable weapons in Julia's arsenal. Liberally applied to Allie's tender little botts, it never failed to hit the mark -literally.

Handing the duster over to her tight-lipped aunt, Allison would take down her jeans and panties for her pre-spanking display. As mentioned above, this was the part she hated the most, a complete reversal of her independent status. Once her pants came down, she was no longer an adult, no longer even a woman: she was a naughty little girl with her plumps exposed for quick justice. It was juvenile, it was demeaning, it was embarrassing beyond belief - but Allie knew better than to object.

Biting down on her protests, she would thrust her buns out in rude exhibition while Jules subjected her to a somewhat lengthy scolding. Allison had to remain doubled over with her panties banded 'round her knees until the lecture was concluded. At this point the festivities began in earnest. Julia would draw back her right arm and the hickory would swish down over Allie's alabaster fesse, making her dance and squeal in pain. Needless to say, the duster always excelled in its function; ten minutes of white-hot agony left Allie breathless and trembling, her bottom criss-crossed with glowing stripes.

The spankings began to taper off once the probation period had passed, but Old Faithful was never long out of sight. Julie warned her that the paddle would be brought forth at the first sign of rebellion - a threat Allison took very seriously indeed. Well aware that her aunt would make good on her promise at the earliest opportunity, Allie applied herself to improving her behavior. The transformation was both immediate and impressive. Lacing an apron around her waist, she became the very model of the houseproud teenager, performing her chores without complaint. Spending more time at home led to a steady improvement in her grades, and she somehow managed to resist the temptations offered by the Westside's glittering nightlife (no mean feat considering how popular she was; her friends were constantly trying to drag her off to the Blue Heat every weekend).

Strangely enough, it wasn't long before she found herself back over Julia's knee. Despite her best efforts, Allie simply couldn't control her adolescent temper. Being eighteen, she naturally felt some degree of resentment towards her over-protective guardian and made her sentiments known at regular intervals. Such confrontations invariably led to one of Aunt Julia's "High Level Discussions," most of which involved a one-sided exchange between Julie's hand and Allie's bottom (it goes without saying that Old Faithful proved to be a most engaging conversationalist). Such debates generally lasted around fifteen minutes, give or take a few 'breathers' as circumstances required.

One may be prompted to ask why Allison continued to live under her aunt's domineering authority. She wasn't a child after all, and given her unusual situation, she had every right to pack her bags and move out. Paradoxically, in spite of her multiple encounters with the brush, the paddle and the stick, Allie stayed on at the Conway residence until well after her twenty-first birthday. At the time, she reasoned that she had no other choice than to bite the bullet and drop her pants. A cash strapped university freshman, she simply couldn't afford to move out. Her bank account was an economic vacuum. Julia was paying all of her tuition fees and living expenses. Seen from this perspective, a hot, throbbing peach was a small price to pay for her aunt's undeniable generosity.

Or so she told herself.

The truth was, Allie didn't want to leave. She'd spent more than ten years under Julia's roof, growing physically and emotionally dependant on her surrogate mother. She couldn't imagine living anywhere else; the mere thought frightened her far worse than the sight of Old Faithful descending towards her undefended hynie. More importantly, spanking had become a normal, almost integral part of her life - along with the tears, shame and disgrace she suffered every time the cedar scorched her buttocks. While she certainly didn't enjoy having her fanny tanned, Allison was far too timid to face the prospect of living alone; at least for the time being.

Another three years would pass before Allie Fairfield finally worked up the courage to emerge from her guardian's shadow. Her varsity years were an epic of bare-bottomed torment. It was, perhaps, the sole constant of her existence, as unvarying as the phases of the moon. There was no respite, no break in the program, not even after Allison sat her final exams. Hardly a week went by when Old Faithful didn't pinken her lush, ripe cheeks for one reason or another. As a matter of fact, on the very night of her graduation, Allie spent the evening crying into her pillow with a well-spanked tushie.

Not that she had any cause to complain, mind you. She only got what she deserved.

And that, dear friend, is another story entirely.

"OLD FAITHFUL" (The Spanking of Allison), copyright (c) Perry Symon Fowler 2003. All rights reserved.

Contributed by Perry Fowler, received with thanks.

-- The End --