Cynthia's First Spanking - F/ff

Here's a story submitted by Biggest Brat. 


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 "Beep, beep, beep", went Cynthia Johnson's watch.  Cynthia quickly shut the watch off.  Although she'd carefully muffled it under her pillow, she was still afraid that her father, a true night owl might hear it.  Or her little sister, Eliza-brat (short for Elizabeth).  Or her big, ANNOYING sister, Barbra.  Her mother, equally irritating, was thankful a heavy sleeper.  Cynthia hopped quietly out of bed, landing on her toes and bending her knees so as not to make a sound.  She slipped on a pair of jeans, a white bra, and a dark blue t-shirt and stole quietly down the hall and out the front door.  Outside, she breathed a sigh of relief.  

"I did it", she muttered to herself.  Now for the fun part.  Today has been her first day back to school.  Most teachers were a bit more lenient these day since kids were still just out of Summer vacation, but Denise Roads (Ms. Roads), Cynthia's new English teacher, had called on her friend Dorothy Hess and her for "persistent chatting", even though Cynthia had just been trying to learn about the new boy whom Dorothy had met at her summer camp.  She'd given both of them a 1-hour detention and told them they were lucky they didn't get a spanking from her.  


During lunch, Dorothy had simply told her to meet her behind old man Dickinson's barn if she wanted revenge on old Rocky Road.  Jumping onto her bike which she had carefully stowed behind the potted palm tree, she set off for old man Dickinson's barn.  Once she got there, she was rather relieved to see her best friend standing in the shadows as well. 

 "Did you get everything?" asked Cynthia.  

"Of course", hissed Dorothy.  "Leave your bike here and follow me!"  The two girls slunk quietly along the old dirt road, staying in the shadows until they came to a tall white house with the familiar red Ford parked in front of it.  

"Now here's my plan", Dorothy whispered.  "We'll do nothing but use a bit of this glow-in-the-dark paint that I got for Christmas to write on her car: Ms. Roads has a real shine for teaching, but her hobby is illuminating bottoms!  The paint won't show unless you wear special glasses.  At school, we'll nonchalantly hand the glasses to someone and slip a hint about looking a Ms. Roads car, and she'll be sure to find out--that it's done; not who did it."  

"Heck, what if we get caught", Cynthia whispered frantically.  

"We won't, if you'll shut up and let me get on with the task", hissed Dorothy in a deathly quiet voice.  

The girls did a job that would make Leonardo Da Vinci proud, and were just about to sneak back home when a voice snapped, "Would you ladies care for a lift?"  It was Denise Roads, dressed in a loose dress and high heels.  

"My DECORATED car, NOW!"  

Stunned, the two teenagers obeyed.  Denise drove straight to Dorothy's house where rapid fire door knocking finally brought Mr. Hess to the door.  It was 3 o' clock in the morning.  After many phone calls, tearful (if not heart felt) apologies, and lectures, Cynthia's parents arrived.  After seeing that all was in good hands, Ms. Roads departed.  The Hess family informed the Johnson family what had occurred.  

Cynthia's  parents, who thought Cynthia was an angel, were equally shocked and dismayed.  Dorothy's mother then excused herself and when she came back she held a wooden spoon, about a foot and a half in length with a sturdy appearance.  

"I'm sorry to disrupt everyone, but I need to get to the bottom of things with Dorothy, if you know what I mean.  Dorothy, please get over my knee."  

Knowing only to well that protesting would only make it worse, Dorothy draped her body over her mother's knee.  Mrs. Hess didn't beat about the bush:  <CRACK><CRACK><WHAP><CRACK>.  

"Owwww, no mommy, please", yelled Dorothy.  

"You mean please bare my bottom and spank me very well", snapped Mrs. Hess, sarcastically.  She then raised Dorothy's skirt and pulling her underwear down to her knees, continued the spanking.  

<CRACK><CRACK><CRACK><BAM><BAM><BAM> went Mrs. Hess's very capable wooden spoon. 

 "I sure <CRACK> hope I'm <CRACK> getting through your  <WHAM> bottom to <BLAM> you brain <WHACK><WHACK><WHACK>.  I <CRACK> knew you <CRACK> could be naughty,<CRACK><CRACK><CRACK><CRACK> but I never thought you would go THIS far.  <SMACK><CRACK><WHAP>.  You <CRACK> are <CRACK> going <SMACK> to <CRACK> wash <CRACK> Ms. Hess' lovely <BLAM> car <WHAM> tomorrow, but <CRACK> for now, I <CRACK> guess I better <BLAM><CRACK><CRACK> just spank <CRACK> you.  <CRACK><SMACK><WHACK><CRACK><WHACK><CRACK><CRACK><CRACK><CRACK><CRACK><SPLAT>.  

Finally, Mrs. Hess lifted her sobbing daughter to her feet and told her to go to her room--which Dorothy did, quickly.

Mr. Johnson, who had been talking quietly to Mrs. Johnson now spoke.  "Now that I've watched how you discipline Dorothy; I think I'm starting to see the effectiveness.  I predict that Dorothy won't make that mistake again."  

"Hopefully not", sighed Mrs. Hess.  

Mr. Johnson cleared his throat. "Mrs. Hess, I'd like you to spank Cynthia. Considering that this is her first time receiving corporal punishment and that I presume this wasn't her idea, I was thinking about 30 strokes, just as hard as Dorthy's, of course.  

"Noooooo please daddy DON'T LET THEM!" shouted Cynthia, knocking over a framed portrait in the process, but not really caring. 

"Cynthia, you're up to 40 strokes now and paying for that frame out of you allowance", replied Mrs. Johnson.  "Get over Mrs. Hess' knee before I make it 50!"  

A sobbing Cynthia eventually had to be physically dragged over Mrs. Hess' knee where her father held her tightly. 

Cynthia bucked, screamed, and kicked during her 55 (yes, 15 penalty strokes for disobedience where added at the request of Mr. Johnson) blazing slaps of that horrible spoon.  

On the way back home, Mrs. Johnson had a discussion with Mr. Johnson while Cynthia sniffled in the back seat.  

"You know dear, I think we should re-introduce spanking in our home as a disciplinary technique."  

"My dear, I agree with you completely", murmured Mr. Johnson.  "I believe I still have my father's razor strop after all these years." 

 "Oh yes, and I have my mother's special spanking slipper", exclaimed Mrs. Johnson.  

Still crying in the back, Cynthia listened with horror to her parent's conversation.  Things were definitely going to change, for bottom or for worse.