Shannon's Spankings - Part 4

    Shannon had never been whipped, although Henry
had threatened it more than once as the next logical step
beyond paddling unless Shannon mended her ways.  She
really didn't know what to expect, except that it would be a
profoundly unpleasant experience, especially since her
bottom was already so sore that the lightest slap would
make her gasp.

    Henry didn't leave her to wonder long this time,
though; the sting from Liz's paddling had barely begun to
die down when he said, "All right, Shannon, let's get on
with it.  Go to the dining room and fetch one of the chairs."
    She didn't know whether to be relieved or dismayed
that she wasn't going to be made to wait any longer to get
the whipping over with, but for the moment her
embarassment was uppermost on her mind as she
scurried from the room, naked from the waist down, with all
eyes upon her.  The straight-backed wooden chair from the
dining room only made a partial shield as she toted it back
into the living room.  Henry had moved the ottoman back to
its normal place and indicated that the chair was to be put
where the ottoman had been, in front of the TV, facing the
audience.
    "Now fetch the switch.  It's still on the sun porch,"
Henry instructed, and Shannon scurried again, glad to be
away from those fascinated gazes for just a few moments. 
When she picked up the switch, her nerve almost failed
her; she thought of fleeing, and probably would have done
so if she wasn't virtually naked.  Her steps back to the
living room were much slower than her steps leaving it had
been, but all too soon she had arrived.  She covered her
bare front with her hands, the switch in one of them, as she
entered.  Henry was standing by the chair.   He held out his
hand for the switch.
    She approached, starting to tremble in fear, barely
able to keep from pleading with him for mercy.  She held
out the switch and he took it, then said, "Face the chair,
bend over and put your hands flat on the chair seat."
    With infinite reluctance, she did so.
    "Listen to me well, Shannon," he said.  "The switch
was the main means of discipline in my town when I was a
boy, and I can assure you that it hurts like hell.  But I'm
still going to expect obedience from you.  Remember that if
you hadn't disobeyed me to begin with, your punishment
would be done now -- and it'll only get worse if you disobey
me again.  I'm going to give you six strokes with the
switch.  Before I will give a stroke, you will have to be in
the proper position:  hands flat on the chair seat, legs
straight,  bottom properly presented.  Since this is your
first switching, though, I'm going to be lenient.  In between
strokes I'm going to allow you to yell, beg, hunch up, dance
around, or whatever.  I'm allowing it because I don't think
you'll be able to keep from doing it.  But the next stroke
won't be given until you're in proper position and quiet
again.  You've got ten minutes after each stroke to get
ready for the next one, or I'll give you one anyway, but
won't count it towards the six.  It's largely up to you just
how long this will take and how many strokes you get."
     Shannon listened in a daze.  Her choices were all
horrible.  She could bear the pain in silence, or she could
make a spectacle of herself.  She could get it over quickly,
or she could make it take all afternoon.  It was up to her. 
She didn't know how much self-control she could muster;
she hurt so bad already.  At least it was only six strokes.
    "Do you understand?" he asked.
    "Yessir."
    "Very well, let's begin."  He swished the birch limb
in the air a couple of times, and at the vicious whirring
sound Shannon instinctively bent her knees and tucked her
bottom in.  "I haven't even hit you yet!  Straighten up!" 
Henry ordered, and she slowly returned to the required
position.
    The birch whirred again, only this time it connected,
imprinting a fiery line of pain on Shannon's bottom.  She
gasped in shock, howled, "Owww!" and dropped to her
knees.  She gripped the edges of the chair seat and took
deep breaths against the vivid pain.  Behind her, she
heard Kevin exclaim, "Whoa!  That was a doozy!"
    "I can see this may take a while.  Tell me when
you're ready for the next one," Henry said.  He laid the
switch on the floor next to her and went to take a seat on
the sofa with his guests.
    They chatted among themselves as Shannon
continued to crouch in front of the chair, trying to hold down
her panic.  She couldn't take five more strokes of the
switch, she just couldn't.  It was like a glowing poker had
been laid across her bottom, which was still exquisitely
tender from its earlier punishment.  And what made it even
worse was that Henry expected her to initiate each stroke,
to put herself into position with her bottom stuck out and
ask him to hit her again.  She didn't think she could do it. 
But if she didn't he'd hit her anyway.
    Henry was a master at putting her into these
dilemmas, at making her admit that in the end he held all
the cards. 
    She wondered how much of her ten minutes was
left.  She started to stand back up, then lost her nerve and
squatted back down, then worried yet again that she was
running out of time, and finally stretched herself back into
that totally vulnerable, bent-over position that Henry
required, and said, "I'm ready, sir."
    If her heard her, he made no sign, and she said in a
louder tone of voice, "I'm ready, sir!"
    Henry pardoned himself to his guests then, rose,
and approached her at a leisurely pace.  He picked up the
switch; her stomach clenched.  He swished it a couple of
times; her bottom muscles clenched.  Finally, after he had
her worked up to a fever of dread, he raised it and brought
it slashing down again.
    She shrieked, clapped her hands back over the
newly forming welt, and made small frantic jumps from the
pain.  But when Henry laid the switch down and started to
head back for the sofa, she bent back over and said, before
she had a chance to chicken out, "I'm ready, sir!"  She
wanted to get this over with; anticipation was only making
it worse.
    He came back, picked up the switch, and tapped it
against her backside this time before lifting it and once
again whipping her across the bottom with it.  Oh, LORD, it
hurt!  Once again she grabbed her behind and hopped like
she was standing on hot coals -- although she more
accurately felt like she'd been sitting on them.  This time,
though, Henry didn't sit down immediately.  He stood and
watched her for a moment, then said, "How does it feel,
Shannon?"
    "It hurts, sir!" she said with considerable feeling, no
longer caring who was watching or how undignified she
might appear. 
    "And do you remember why I'm doing this?"
    "B-because I dis-disobeyed!" she stammered as
sobs began to shake her.
    "And have you learned your lesson?"
    "YES!  Yes, sir, I'll be g-good from now on -- please,
I p-p-promise, don't h-hit me again, it hurts so B-BAD!"
    "This is working splendidly.  I should have whipped
you long ago," Henry observed, sounding quite pleased. 
He set the switch down, said, "Three more, young lady,
just tell me when," and took his seat on the sofa again.   
    There was no hope for it, he was going to carry this
all the way through.  She had to get back into position --
she wasn't going to risk even one more stroke of that
vicious switch.  After a few moments spent gathering her
resolve, she bent over, choked back a sob, and said, "I'm
r-ready, sir!"
    He came up behind her again, and she almost lost
her nerve and crouched back down as he raised the switch
again.  It made its terrifying swish through the air and this
time, to her shock, landed across the backs of her thighs. 
"Ohhhhh!" she howled, clutching the chair seat and
drumming her feet on the floor in a fruitless effort to relieve
the pain.  But again she held onto her self-control long
enough to gasp out, "I'm ready for the next one, sir!"
    The next one came, on her legs again, and this time
in addition to stomping and howling and dancing from foot
to foot she reached back and frantically rubbed the burning
stripes.  Henry had time to retire to the sofa again before
Shannon could bring herself to ask for her next -- and oh so
thankfully, last -- red hot stroke of the switch.  But finally
she bent and presented her already thoroughly punished
bottom for that last stroke, and Henry complied with her
request for that stroke by landing the hardest stroke he'd
delivered yet, on her bottom again, forcing a final cascade
of shrieking and hopping and frantic rubbing from his
stepdaughter. 
    Finally it was over.  She knew better than to try to
escape until she was dismissed; she knew she might still
have to serve some time with her nose in the corner or
draped over the ottoman again, displaying her well-
whipped bottom.  But at least she wouldn't have to put
herself in position to receive another livid welt from that
dreadful switch.
    "That was six, Shannon," Henry said, "but I've
decided I want you to bend over and receive one more
stroke."
    A shock went through her that almost made her
lightheaded.  "But you said six!" she blurted out before she
could stop herself.
    "I know, but I want you to remember that I not only
make the rules, I can change them at my discretion.  I want
to make sure my lessons of obedience have been well and
truly learned.  I'm going to give you one more, but it could
be two or three or more if you don't do what I say, when I
say it.  Now bend over."
    Awash with tears of fury and outrage and misery,
but under threat of a prolonged whipping with the switch,
Shannon bent.
    "Ask for it," Henry ordered.
    "P-please hit me, sir," Shannon said shakily.
    "Hit you where?  With what?"
    "Please hit me on my b-bare bottom with the sw-
switch."
    "Why?"
    "Because ... because I was n-naughty and I
deserve it."
    "Remember, Shannon," Henry said, adding the final
insult to her injuries, "I'm only doing this for your own
good."
    And with that, he slashed across her bottom with
the switch again, then watched until her frantic dance of
pain died down, and said, "I'm going to set the timer for
fifteen minutes.  Stay bent like that until it goes off, then
you can go to your room."
    Thoroughly chastened, she obediently held the
position as instructed, even though Kevin came up for a
closer look at her welts.  It seemed like an eternity before
the bell rang, and she fled from the room without a
backwards look.  She ran to the upstairs bathroom and
inspected her bottom;  it was scarlet, blistered and striped -
- just looking at it brought on fresh tears.  She wet a
washcloth with cool water and applied it to her soundly
punished bottom, and while waiting for the pain to die down
she reflected on what she'd learned today.  She'd learned
never to cross Henry when they had guests; it turned him
into a maniac.  She'd learned not to disobey him during a
punishment or she would be risking another run-in with the
switch.  But most of all, she'd learned that Liz was her
lifelong and stalwart enemy, and she was determined not
to rest until she'd had her revenge and seen Liz's bottom
spanked just as scarlet, blistered just as thoroughly as
hers was right now.   She wasn't sure how she would do it,
but she would see justice done.

To be continued ..????