Just Desserts

Story Fiction M/f NC Wooden Paddle
Mary actually dreaded her father's palm more than anything else. His long, steely digits left blisters that no belt could match, streaking her thighs with bright, crimson welts. As for the brush, Maria would have chosen it over her Daddy's hand without even a moment's hesitation (and had on several occasions, when the option had been granted). In any case, she was due a long, hard spanking.

Part One: The Plank

"All right! That's it, young lady!!"

Ralph Mitchell was sick of Mary's backchat. He'd had one of the worst days in recorded history and the last thing he needed right now was a mouthful of his daughter's sneering contempt. Arriving home from work, he'd anticipated a little consideration from his family, maybe even some quiet recognition of his paternal status. He was the one who brought home the bacon, put the food on the table and payed off the mortgage, for chrissake!!

All he wanted was to be treated with the respect he deserved. Forty hours a week in the Office From Hell, and all he could look forward to was Maria's snide remarks. She'd started in with the catty sideswipes the moment he'd stepped through the door, sulking and pouting like the spoilt brat she was. Well, he'd had enough about as much as he was going to take.

The lady in question stood before him in growing trepidation. Maria had been expecting one of his endless tirades when he'd called her into the living room five minutes before: he told her off at least once a week these days. She usually ignored his periodic rages with cold, adolescent disdain (he was an adult, what would he know anyway?). On this occasion, however, she'd recognized the thunder in his voice and realized she was in serious trouble.

Worse still, she knew she was completely in the wrong. Ralph had issued endless reprimands over the past week or so; she couldn't plead ignorance or ask for a second chance. Truth be told, she'd been deliberately baiting her father for days now, wilfully pushing the envelope to see how much she could get away with. Well, it seemed she was about to find out.

"I've had it up to here with your insolence and disrespect, Maria!!" Ralph was storming, "there're going to be some big changes around here, and we may as well start with your little attitude problem!!"

Mary listened in mounting apprehension, hoping it wouldn't end with the verdict she dreaded so much. Biting her lip against approaching tears, she prayed that he'd let her off with a warning. Unfortunately, they were long past the point of no return. Once Ralph Mitchell made up his mind, nothing short of an act of God could alter his decision.

"Up to your room, young lady," he told her, gesturing towards the staircase, "I'll be along in five minutes. It's time for a nice, long spanking over my knee."

Mary's eyes widened in sudden terror.

"No, Daddy, no! I don't want a SPANKING, noooooo!!"

She began pleading for mercy, her huge brown eyes glistening with approaching tears. She put her hands to her lips, stammering out childish apologies: "I'm sorry Daddy, PLEASE don't be angry, I didn't mean it, really I didn't, I'll NEVER do it again, PLEASE don't SPANK me, please Daddy, don't-"

Unfortunately, Ralph was singularly unimpressed by his daughter's twelfth-hour repentance. As far as he was concerned, there was only one way to deal with his daughter's misconduct, one which involved a stern hand and an extremely sore bottom. Maria was going to get precisely what she needed - and a little more for good measure. Placing his palms firmly on his hips, Ralph leaned in close to the girl, eyes smouldering with slow-burning rage.

"Get up to your room this instant," he growled in tones that brooked no debate. Mary's blood nearly froze in her veins. There would be no escaping the final judgement on this occasion. In a few minutes she'd be standing before her Daddy in her vest and panties, begging him not to spank her naughty young bottom.

Moaning in panic, Mary ran upstairs with her hair streaming out behind her. She knew how much it was going to hurt. Parental discipline was a regular event in the Mitchell household; hardly a month went by without a swift, sharp sojourn over her step-father's knee. Her last spanking had taken place only six weeks before, after Ralph discovered she'd been cutting classes at school. It was a night she'd remember for as long as she lived...

Mary had been going AWOL since the beginning of the term, and her grades had suffered a major downturn. Ralph had been nothing short of furious when he found out, and warned her he wouldn't tolerate any further lapses. Mary had naturally chosen to ignore him. He wasn't her real father, he couldn't speak to her like that. What right did he have to threaten her with a spanking? It was her life, she could cut as many lessons as she chose. No one could tell Mary Mitchell what to do, she didn't have to answer to anybody.

How wrong she'd been about that!

She'd been called to the living room for a good paddling over the sofa less than a week later. The festivities had begun with a bald-faced scolding on the carpet. Waving his finger in front of her face, Ralph had systematically reduced Mary to a frightened child, lower lip quivering in despair. She could tell by the steely glint in his eye that she was in for a good ten minutes at the very least. Outright disobedience required a great deal more than two week's grounding and a few extra chores. Burning justice was top of her father's agenda. Mary's heart had literally skipped a beat when Ralph announced his decision, instructing her to remove her shorts and take down her underpants.

"Daddy, No!!" she'd cried, her hands flying protectively to her rear, "not a SPANKING Daddy, PLEASE, it's not fair!!" She wavered from foot to foot, haunted by the vision of her naked buttocks raised in trembling expectation. She was too old for a spanking, there had to some other way!!

"Please Daddy, you CAN'T spank me, I'm too old for that, you can't, you just CAN'T!!"

"You heard me right the first time, young lady," Ralph growled in low, dangerous tones, his expression hardening with anger, "Now get those pants down and bend over the sofa!"

Mary gasped in shock.

Her pulse slammed into overdrive.

Bare bottomed over the sofa: it could only mean one thing.

"No, Daddy, no, nooooooo!!"

'That's right, little girl," Ralph replied, folding his arms across his wide chest, "I think you're ready for a dose of the Plank!" He inclined his head towards the long wooden implement hanging over the mantlepiece: four feet of smooth, dark cedar, its surface gleaming beneath the den's harsh fluorescents. Mary's lips quivered in fear.

"Daddy, no, PLEASE not the PADDLE-"

"Yes, I think ten minutes under the Plank will do you a world of good," Ralph told her in wholly unambiguous terms, "Now get those shorts off before I really lose my temper!!"

Sobbing in open shame now, Mary started to unclip the fly of her blue denim shorts (they were those trendy, cut-away Levis everyone was wearing that summer; cost her nearly fifty dollars at Jay-Jays). She slid them down to her knees, pausing momentarily before dropping them to the floor. A single thought dominated her mind, glaring its message in huge neon letters:

He's going to SPANK me!!!

Mary stood up in her lacy nylon panties, her cheeks blushing with embarrassment. She wasn't a child anymore; she was long past that stage where she could parade obliviously around the house in her underwear. She was a senior in high school! What eighteen year-old girl wants to strip down to her lingerie in front of her father?! She crossed her hands over the soft pink triangle of her panties, gaspingly aware of how sheer the fabric was.

Ralph's voice cut through her tense reveries, making her jump.

"Good," he commented dryly, taking the Plank off the wall, "now get your fanny over that sofa, little girl."

Mary looked back at her father one last time, eyes brimming.

"Please Daddy, don't s-spank me, I p-promise I'll b-be good, truly I will, please don't p-paddle my bottom Daddy, p-please-"

"Right now!" Ralph snapped, his meagre supply of patience exhausted.

Mary hurried over to the lounge; a long, brown-leather Oxford situated near the middle of the study. She was almost collapsing with anxiety: her spanking was imminent. In a matter of seconds, she'd feel the first stunning kiss of the woodgrain. Biting back on a mouthful of whimpers, Mary leaned as far as possible over the upholstered backrest, thrusting her lush, ripe posterior into the air. Her round, pantied cheeks literally bulged out towards her father.

"All right," Ralph grunted in nodding approval, "get those panties down, young lady."

"Nooooooooo," Mary groaned in misery. This was the part she hated the most, the moment at which her fragile ego was stripped of all feminine dignity. She could imagine nothing worse than offering up her naked buttocks for punishment. He couldn't do this to her, couldn't humiliate her like this. It just wasn't right!

Of course, the thought of refusal never so much as crossed Mary's mind. She'd been unpardonably naughty, testing her father's patience once too often. She was in dire need of a well-smacked bottom, and she knew it.

Reaching back with both hands, Mary peeled her tight, clinging briefs down to her knees. She couldn't help herself; she had to obey. Immediately. The consequences of even a moment's hesitation were unthinkable. Tears slipped from her cheeks, she started blubbering under her breath. Her tummy was a mass of knots; she felt utterly degraded. Here she was, doubled over the lounge with her undies fluttering at half-mast, sobbing like some spoilt little girl ready for her first spanking.

"You can quit that whining too, young lady," Ralph warned her grimly, "you've had this coming for a long time. Now hold still and keep your legs straight. It's time to whack those buns!!"

Mary clenched her cheeks against the expected blow, fusing her eyes shut in childish denial of the inevitable.

Gripping the handle with both fists, Ralph hefted the two-foot cedar paddle high over his right shoulder, tacitly ignoring Mary's whispered entreaties (no Daddy no please don't I'm sorry). He'd started out with twenty furious smacks to her lush, ripe derriere, systematically working her plumps up to a merry, glowing pink. Maria had screamed as each blazing stroke descended, frantically begging Ralph to stop:


Her pleas had been premature to say the least. She knew from bitter experience that a reduced sentence was most unlikely given the severity of the crime. The Plank whipped across her tender young shanks, scalding the flesh beet-red. The pain had been unspeakable. By the end of first volley she'd reached the outer limits of her endurance. Ralph paused at the five minute mark, resting his arms and allowing the gasping, panting girl to catch her breath.

And then her spanking had really begun.

Ralph had laid in with his whole shoulder, branding his mark into Mary's slim upper-thighs. The girl had kicked and hopped in blue-fire agony, shaking her botts and shrieking at the top of her lungs. She'd never imagined a paddling could hurt so much. The flat, varnished wood had been white-hot steel against her supple flesh. The ordeal had lasted a good ten minutes. Her nude, trembling bottom tops had shone like a beacon, and the scorching print of the Plank had been visible the entire length of her thighs.

That had been six weeks ago. Painful though the paddle had been, it would be a walk in the park compared to what she was facing now.

Part Two: The Mitchell Protocol

Mary collapsed onto her bed, sobbing in open misery. She couldn't hold the tears back any longer, they fell freely from her small, doll-like face, darkening the ruffled pillow clutched in her arms. Her pulse was racing in her throat, butterflies were cart wheeling though her belly. She was going to be spanked! Eighteen years old, president of the Prom Committee at high school, and she'd been sent to her room like a naughty little girl. Ralph was going to blister her bottom - and there was nothing she could do to stop him.

Sitting up on her elbows, Mary wiped her glistening cheeks with the heel of her hand. She hated being spanked! It seemed so utterly degrading: offering up her bottom tops for parental inspection, knowing full well they were going to be smacked the colour of a ripe strawberry. Her father was a most enthusiastic spanker - a virtual maestro of the disciplinary arts, having had literally years to perfect his technique. He knew how to stretch out a spanking so that it seemed to last forever. His hands were huge and flat and calloused; hard as granite against her tender little bottie.

She stood up, looking anxiously around the room, listening for his approach. Her mind was cycling up to near-hysteria: her spanking was getting closer by the second. She could already see herself drawing her knickers slowly down her thighs, revealing her alabaster cheeks by teasing degrees. There had to be some way out of this nightmare. She wasn't six years old, she was a young woman, an adult. Ralph had no right to punish her in such a humiliating manner.

Whimpering in quiet anguish, Maria drew her t-shirt over her head and began fumbling with the belt of her jeans. She had to strip all the way down to her scanties before Ralph entered the room. She was required to submit to her spanking in nothing but her singlet and panties, it was one of the rules Ralph had set for her years ago. She'd protested against this gratuitous disgrace many times, arguing that he had no right to see her undressed, but Ralph had brushed aside her objections with cold, paternal disdain. He was her Father: she'd damn-well go over his knee buck naked if that was what he decreed.

Maria was eternally grateful it had never come to that.

Laying her jeans over the bedstead, Mary straightened up, looking out through the bedroom door. Her heart was galloping like a runaway stallion. Any moment now, she'd hear Ralph's heavy boot-steps starting up the stairs, and then it would all be over bar the screaming. She hurried over to the writing desk on the other side of the room, taking hold of her straight-backed study chair. The one her father always used whenever he decided to whip her impudent young bottie.

Mary dragged the chair out to the middle of the floor, simpering with anxiety. Preparing for her discipline was an ordeal in itself. There was a protocol she had to follow; a procedure which had to be obeyed. If it wasn't completed by the time Ralph arrived, she could expect an extra five minutes over his knee. First there was the striptease, then the chair, followed by the curtains (which had to be thrown open to offer the neighbours a prime view of her naked buns being clapped). Finally, she had to wait kneeling in front of the spanking chair in her snowy white undies, ready to present her buttocks for the spanking they so richly deserved.

She pushed open the drapes, glancing out into the street. The sun had set an hour before. With the light on in her bedroom, the window would become stage on which her 'instruction' would be visible to half the burb. Ralph believed that Mary's punishment should set an example to young women everywhere; a graphic demonstration of what happens when rebellious daughters backchat their fathers.

She turned back into the room, catching site of herself in the cheval mirror; a slim young girl in white, full-brief panties - the kind with a lace trim around the waistline. Her ivory skin was suffused with a delicate, pink glow. She was literally burning with embarrassment, knowing that her nubile, adolescent body was on exhibition. Mary couldn't believe this was happening to her again, couldn't believe that she was submitting to another long, hard spanking like a disobedient schoolgirl. She scampered back to the chair in her socks and undies, knowing she'd never have the courage to defy him. He was her Daddy and his word was law; at least in the Mitchell household.

She heard Ralph's footsteps ascending the staircase just as she settled into the humiliant position. Her tummy fluttered with dread, the room seemed to lurch around her. She started blubbing with fear, her eyes streaming warm tears. Her time had finally run out: her father was coming up the hallway to spank her bottom!!

Noooooooooo, Mary cried to herself as those ominous footfalls approached the doorframe. It was a hard, purposeful tread, the stride of a man determined to fulfill his familial duties. And fulfill them he would, no matter how much Mary wept and pleaded. She jammed her palm into her mouth, biting down hard. A long, frightened moan welled up from her diaphragm. She was rapidly losing all self-control.

He's going to SPANK ME!! Maria thought wildly as Ralph walked into the bedroom. A tall, wide-shouldered man with a five o'clock shadow and horn rimmed glasses, he stepped straight up to the spanking chair, methodically rolling his sleeves back to the elbows. Mary broke down completely as Ralph took his seat. She started wailing apologies, begging his forgiveness in a quavering, tearful voice.

"No Daddy no, I'm sorry, please don't, PLEASE don't SPANK me, I'll be good from now on, really I will, I PROMISE, please don't Daddy, PLEASE don't-"

Ralph ignored her. His face was rough, sculptured granite, his brow furrowed with annoyance. He'd had a gutful of his daughter's insolence. Nothing would satisfy him more than a damned good spanking and fortunately, the girl had given him the plenty of incentive lately. Placing his palms flat on his knees, Ralph looked down at Maria with an angry, black stare. He was in no mood for her delaying tactics. He wanted to get straight down to the business 'at hand', so to speak.

"Not quite as smart as we thought, are we?" he observed beneath lowered eyebrows, "I've put up with your wise-ass cracks long enough, young lady. It's high time you were taught a little respect for your elders. You're going over my knee for the spanking of your life, Maria - and if you thought the Plank was bad enough, then you're in for one hell of a rude awakening."

Mary lapsed into a fresh squall of tears, begging him to let her off with something less juvenile - two weeks grounding, extra chores, hand written essays: anything that didn't involve a hot, throbbing tushie. Her voice quavered at the brink of despair; she knew that her words were falling on deaf ears. Judgement had been passed, and the court was closed to all appeals.

"You had your chance, little miss," Ralph told her sternly, "Now stand up, bend over and pull down those pants!"

"Daddyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy," Mary groaned. Rising to her feet, she looped her thumbs through the waistband of her low-cut underpants. Refusal was out of the question. She was unwilling to enrage him any further; a single moment's hesitation would earn the most severe retribution. The blood rushed to her face as she turned around, bending low from the hips so that her long, golden hair swept the floor.

Every nerve in Maria's body seemed to be tingling with electric fire. Her breath came in quick, shallow spurts. She blinked her eyes several times, spraying droplets from the lashes. Baring her bottom always left her breathless with guilt. This was all her own fault: she couldn't deny her culpability any longer. If only she'd kept her mouth shut, if only she'd buttoned her lip and treated him with the respect he was due. Why did she always provoke him like that, smarting off day after day until he finally lost his temper?!

Gasping with shame, Mary began to slide her panties slowly down her thighs.

Part Three: End of The Road

Leaning forward in the chair, Ralph was afforded a heart-stopping view of Maria's lush, ripe cheeks. The girl had a truly magnificent bottom, no doubt about that. Firm and smooth and milky white, it was easily the most spank worthy derriere he'd ever laid eyes on. He grunted with satisfaction, reaching out to pat the supple folds of flesh just below the bulbs. Mary voiced a tiny scream, frisking her melons back and forth in expectation.

Ralph applied a light slap to his daughter's bottomtops, enjoying the way they jostled about in silent protest. The skin was completely unmarked, bearing no sign of the paddling she'd endured six weeks ago. Those insolent young botts were practically begging for a spanking.

Well, we'll soon see to that, Ralph thought, shifting himself into a more comfortable position.

Humiliation surged over Mary in hot, fluid waves. Standing here with her dainties banded 'round her knees, she felt unspeakably small and defenseless. Her buttocks were practically thrust into Ralph's face, clenching and unclenching in the cool evening air. She couldn't stop crying, couldn't take hold of herself, knowing that her punishment was only inches away. She hid her face behind her wavy blond locks, weeping like a five year-old.

"Alright, that's enough!" Ralph growled impatiently, "come over here, young lady - you're going over my knee."

A sultry flush swept through Mary's torso as she straightened up, covering herself with a modest hand. Her mind was a whirling vortex of conflicting emotions. How had it come to this? How could she be standing here with her bare tushie on open exhibition? She glanced desperately around the room, her thoughts wheeling in an endless, frantic loop. She'd reached the end of the road; there was nowhere left to run. She shuffled forward with her eyes downcast, panties constricting her movements to baby steps.

Ralph reached out to draw her closer, gripping her forearm just above the wrist. Mary was a slim, delicate girl, looking much younger than her eighteen years. She seemed to weigh no more than a kitten as Ralph guided her across his lap, shifting her by the hips until she lay in the most vulnerable position. He wanted a clear shot at his daughter's buxom rear.

Once he'd settled the girl into place, Ralph pulled her briefs all the way down to her ankles. She murmured hopelessly through moist lips: No, Daddy, no, don't, please, Daddy, no, don't. There was no struggling, no kicking, no defiance whatsoever. Maria was submitting completely to his authority, knowing that nothing could save her now. She'd worked extremely hard for this spanking; testing her father's patience with her sharp tongue and contemptuous manner. She was only getting what she'd earned for herself, no point in complaining about that.

She lay over Ralph's knee with her bottie staring up at the ceiling, cheeks strumming like guitar strings. The seconds seemed to spin out to eternity as she waited for the first scalding blow to descend. Mary had no illusions regarding how much it was going to hurt. She'd had her fanny whaled far too often to delude herself in that respect.

"I don't want a spanking," she sobbed.

"You should have thought of that before you started in with the backchat," Ralph replied, raising his right hand high over his head, "now hold your tail up and lift your feet off the floor. It's time you got what's coming to you!!"

And with that, Maria's spanking began.

Part Four: The Mitchell Technique

Three words could be used to describe Ralph's spankings: long, hard, and extremely painful. Ralph Mitchell was a world-class master in the science of punishment. He'd had over a decade to practice on his daughter's pretty little fesse - and speaking in all fairness, Mary had given him every possible excuse over the years. He lowered her underwear at least once every six weeks these days (and as often as three times a month when her conduct was particularly unacceptable). Consequently, he had an intimate knowledge of his daughter's most sensitive regions.

The Mitchell Technique tended to be exceptionally thorough. A typical session lasted at least ten minutes and could be extended by another five depending on Mary's behaviour. Ralph employed a rolling overhand stroke that had her bottomtops glowing within the first sixty seconds - the proverbial 'warm up' leading to the main event. And in the words of the immortal poet Vanessa Williams, Ralph Mitchell always saved the best 'til last.

Lashing down faster than the eye could follow, Ralph's wide, burning palm covered the girl's entire bottom; branding his mark from the top of her cleft all the way down to the middle of her thighs. He generally spanked both sides in quick succession, concentrating mainly on the pudgy bulge in the lower half of each cheek. From there he could work his way down her lean shanks, scorching the soft flesh while Mary shrieked at the top of her voice. By the end of five minutes, her hynie was a brilliant, glaring scarlet - and you didn't need to look very closely to see how red it was.

It virtually goes without saying that the Mitchell Technique was unusually hard. Ralph possessed the large, muscular frame of a man who enjoyed working outdoors when he wasn't busting his hump down in the office. His palms were rough and calloused, the hands of a lumberjack or a steel worker who'd made good in middle age. Maria had good reason to fear them. They'd been applied to her peaches too many times to number.

Although Ralph was expert in the use of the paddle, the strap and the hairbrush, Mary actually dreaded her father's palm more than anything else. The hand was an amazingly versatile instrument: it could be molded into a variety of different shapes and reach places that the Plank couldn't touch. His long, steely digits left blisters that no belt could match, streaking her thighs with bright, crimson welts. As for the brush, Maria would have chosen it over her Daddy's hand without even a moment's hesitation (and had on several occasions, when the option had been granted).

Finally, the Mitchell Technique was indescribably painful. Ralph believed that a true spanking required far more than a few half-hearted slaps to the rear, and always set out to validate his theories whenever he draped Mary across his lap. His palm fell like lightning from an angry sky, exploding against her bottie-cheeks like the wrath of Zeus. Each staccato thunderclap wrenched a scream of pure agony from her lips. Shock waves seemed to roll through her haunches as that intractable palm found its mark with uncanny accuracy.

The worst part for Maria was that she simply couldn't get away, no matter how much it hurt. Writhing and kicking over her Daddy's lap, Mary would howl for mercy from the first volcanic strike. Her shrill tones could be heard echoing halfway round the block according to some reports. Nor could there be much doubt what was going on when the high, rich sound of palm on bottom was accompanied by this:


Which was precisely what the neighbours heard as Maria's discipline commenced.

Part Five: Swift Justice

Ralph's hand swept up and down with stunning force, burning its splayed print into the girl's quivering cheeks. A volley of ear-splitting shrieks filled the room. The time for whispered pleas had passed; Maria's lungs could barely contain her screams as she twisted and squirmed on her Father's lap. Her eyes bulged from their sockets, her legs thrashed in agony.

Ralph held his daughter firmly in place as he seared her hynie up to a fine, subtle pink, pressing down on her back to prevent her rolling off his knees. Her peaches pumped and danced in response to those loud, reverberating slaps; huge, glistening tears streamed down her face. She howled incoherently, conscious of nothing save the white-hot pain flashing across her posterior.

Mary beat her palms on the floor, wailing like a soul in purgatory. It was her worst nightmare: she was having her bottom smacked! Ralph was tanning her naked fanny-tops, bruising her dignity as if she were nothing more than a naughty little girl. She was breathless with shame, hurt and wounded pride. Ralph's hand blazed from side to side, relentlessly scorching its way around her derriere. Her cheeks felt huge and swollen, the flesh drawn tight as a drum.


Indeed it did: Maria's bottom was literally smouldering with crimson heat. Ralph dismissed her yelps with an impatient grunt, laying in with a vengeance. She'd been unpardonably rude to him, treating him like the village idiot as he stepped in through the front door. He was determined to show her who wore the pants in this family once and for all. He'd make sure this was one lesson she'd never forget - no ifs, ands or buts about it.


Maria bawled in misery. Her denuded bottie was as red as a traffic light, as sultry as a tropical sunrise. It rippled and shook with each smarting crack, flickered and shone with a simmering, carmine light. Ralph's palm lashed into her cheeks, her bulbs, her thighs. Mary shouted out her pleas in a high, keening voice, begging her Father for an end to her ordeal:


Some minutes later, when Ralph was satisfied his sorry little miss had been sufficiently chastened, he lowered his hand to one side, shaking out the pins and needles with a rueful smile. He felt a kind of grim, tired pleasure: it had been a long, hard day and now he could relax in the knowledge of a job well done. His daughter's errant bottom had been spanked the colour of a passion-fire rose. The verdict had been pronounced, the sentence carried out, and justice served for one and all. Now it was time to rest on his laurels.

Maria lay doubled over her Father's lap, quietly sobbing over this latest humiliation. How could this have happened to her again? How could she have bared her tushie with hardly a flicker of resistance? She'd given in so easily, and offering up her naked fesses as if she'd actually deserved to be punished. Could there be anything more embarrassing?

Worse still, her freshly-smacked bottom felt as though it had been sitting in a blast furnace for the last hour; she'd probably have to sleep on her belly for the next month! Her cheeks seemed to pulse and throb with each thudding heart-beat. Closing her eyes, Maria imagined her melons inflated to three times their normal size, heat rising visibly from her sizzling, purple flesh (probably nowhere near that bad, of course, but that was how it felt).

"It hurts, it hurts ..." Mary cried softly, her botts trembling like two bowls of raspberry jelly.

"I should say it would," Ralph agreed serenely, unrolling his sleeves with the air of a man well-pleased with recent developments. Things had worked out for the best, despite his earlier misgivings. The law had been upheld, the culprit punished, and now he could look forward to a quiet evening in front of the box with his feet up on the coffee table. What more could a man ask for?

Guess there's nothing like a good, hard spanking to turn a bad day completely around.

"JUST DESERTS" copyright (c) Perry Symon Fowler, 2002/2003. All rights reserved.

Contributed by Perry Fowler, received with thanks.

-- The End --