The Romance of Chastisement

The Romance of Chastisement

Friday, July 20, 2012

Story Contest Redux

The story contest over at KLSF ( is finishing up. Final voting tomorrow ends at midnight GMT. I don't know how many who read this blog are members there, but if you are, go vote. It helps to make the results more accurate if readers vote on all the stories, and not just some of them. I will admit, I have a dog or two in that fight and I'll publish those stories here after it's all over. What are my chances? Honestly, I have no idea. Tastes in stories are so wildly diverse that it is impossible to predict winners. I've tried and I'm terrible at it. My favorites don't win. Apparently my criteria are very different from those of the majority of the readers. That being said, I have had some small success at these things. My best statistic is that I have finished in the top six in all the contests except the poetry challenge. So, (knock on wood) we'll see. And BTW, I thought my poem was damn good.

Tuesday, July 10, 2012

New Story

Below is a new story. For some reason this posting did not register on the network, so this is just a notice that the new story is right below.

Tuesday, July 3, 2012

Story Contest

Over at KLSF otherwise known as the Library of Spanking Fiction ( there is a writing contest underway. The entries have all been posted and readers can view and vote for their favorites. I've reviewed most of the stories at this point and I have a few observations as to how I think stories in a contest like this ought to be judged. These are my criteria. I know not everyone will agree, but I think most are valid.

First, it is instructive to note that this is a "picture" contest. Entrants are instructed to write a story inspired by a picture. The story must be at least 500 words. Other than that, it's wide open.

Here is the picture.

So it seems fairly simple. It's a "Last Will" story, at least at first blush. Therein lies the first challenge. In the spanking story genre, stories about last wills are not new. In fact there is one here on this blog called "The Beresford Heiresses". That story follows to some degree a plot line that is actually quite common in tales of this type: So and so has died and has bequeathed a gift, but to receive it there are conditions which usually involve the acceptance of punishment for some past fault or manner of living.

So my first judging criteria is originality. Can the writer come up with a plot or story idea that is fresh and original? Sadly, most of the entries have not done this. I would guess that nearly 70% of the stories I have reviewed use the plot I've described above. In fact, I'd venture to say that half are essentially the same story differing only in character and style of writing. So in my view a story that employs this standard plot line would have to be really special to get any traction with me. If you are going to use that stock "last will--gift--accept punishment" story arc, there had better be a very clever wrinkle or something else that lifts it out of the ordinary.

Next is sheer writing ability. Does the story move or is it bogged down with unnecessary fluff? Are the descriptions vivid or moribund? How about the dialog---does it sound real? Can we see the characters in our mind's eye or is it just a lot of talking heads and confusing? How about structure? If I'm reading a long string of declarative sentences, sometimes it reminds me of a third grade reading book. Imagery? If it's bogged down with overly florid metaphors and similes, it is at best amateurish, and at worst a Bulwer-Lytton contest entry.  So the ability to vividly move the story along and portray the characters is very important.

Next on the list is credibility. Do I believe what is happening?  Or is it so outrageous and unrealistic that there is no credibility whatsoever? I have written about this elsewhere on this blog, but for me, a writer must get me to suspend disbelief or the story is just too outlandish to accept even as fiction. This is a very real problem in this genre. Absent substantial justification, spankings between adults do not occur as a matter of course, and in many stories the penultimate scene can sometimes read like pure criminal assault and battery. The plot line must cleverly set it up.

Finally, and this is a minor point here, but did the writer incorporate the picture somehow into the story? If this were a professionally judged writing contest that would be a big factor, e.g., how cleverly the author worked the picture into his theme.

I will now admit that I have entries---more than one. I will not say what they are, but I will say that I have tried to avoid the pitfalls I have pointed out above. One thing I have learned about these contests, however, is that I am spectacularly bad at picking the winners. I am nearly always astounded.

Sunday, July 1, 2012

The Great Cheerleader Bet Pt 2 (M/F)

I brought back three gin and tonics. "Here you go," I said.

"Thanks, Danny. You are looking good these days," said Lynne.
I told her I try to stay in shape. I complimented her on her beauty. She blushed. Mandy must have seen that she was getting to be the third wheel here. "I'll let you two catch up." And she left.

As we talked I could feel that old feeling return. I think she felt it too, because we spent the rest of the party together telling each other all about our lives since high school. All the successes and failures, the dreams realized and shot down. It was like we were the only two people there. It was Lynne who suggested we get out of there and go to her place.

"I'm actually house sitting for one of my listings," she explained.

I followed her in my car to a trendy neighborhood of new homes. It turned out to be a large five bedroom house with a big family rec room. She made me a drink at the wet bar and we sat on the couch together.

"Do you ever think about that night, the night of The Bet?" She asked mischievously.

"Oh, every now and then," I lied.

"Too bad we got rousted," she ventured.

"Yeah, too bad," I said. "You'll have to admit, it was getting interesting."

Lynne gave a little shiver and shifted closer to snuggle up. "I'll say. You had such a nice touch Danny." This was getting very interesting. Like déjà vu all over again, as Yogi Berra might say.

I put my arm around Lynne and pulled her closer. "I was inspired by my red hot backside, girl. Just in case you forgot. You really let fly with that paddle."

 "Oh, I'm sorry. Poor Danny." She put her hand to her mouth. A guilty move if there ever was one.  "But you had such a cute tushy," she giggled, recovering.

"At least," I continued thoughtfully, "it was you and not Anita Worthington."

"Oh!" She sat up suddenly and faced me. "You don't know what happened to her?" Her eyes were wide with surprise. No, I had no idea. But Lynne told me.

"Some of us had to get to Long Lake and set things up. But we were all supposed to go back on the team bus, so this was a problem. Anita and Kyrie Vonn noticed Mrs Finch, our coach, taking her own car. So they figured they would skip the bus and get a ride with two guys they knew, who drove fast. They figured they'd sneak in and get Anita's car and get out to the lake. But as it turned out Coach Finch was waiting at school for the bus and checked everyone as they got off. Anita and Kyrie weren't there. Well Monday there was hell to pay. Coach Finch did not want to toss Anita and Kyrie off the squad because we were still in the state tournament. What I heard from Kyrie later was that she called them to her office, you know, deep in the basement and chewed them out. She told them that she had informed the office, but that she had asked that she be allowed to deal with them herself, and not involve the school discipline policy.

"She said, 'You know girls, I ought to kick you off the team for that.' Now the thing was, Finch was practically an institution at Glenview. She was a good coach but had this reputation for being quirky and eccentric. Some of the girls were sort of afraid of her and there were rumors about her methods of discipline. So she says, 'No, I'm not going to kick you off. I'm going to let you stay on the team.' And Kyrie said they breathed this big sigh of relief. But, she said, she was going to punish them, and then she reached in a drawer and pulled out this long wooden ruler. Kyrie said she just about died when Finch said she was going to spank them good and hard with it. She said they could choose, either way. Off the team, detention, the works-or, take the spanking. Then Kyrie described what happened. 

"Anita went over Coach Finch's knees, just like a little kid. She flipped her skirt up and before she could even squawk, yanked her panties down. Then Finch started spanking her bare butt with that ruler, laying on crack after crack. Kyrie said Anita's bottom wobbled with every lick and the ruler left red weals. She was crying and blubbering and kicking her feet, and Finch had to tell her to be still several times. Then she resumed smacking her behind. When she finished Anita was a sobbing wreck. Kyrie got it next. She said it was the most awful feeling, going across that woman's knee and having her panties pulled down. She said the smacks from that ruler felt like fire. She had tears in her eyes and was wiggling like anything. She said Finch just went on and on until she was bawling, not a shred of dignity left. They both had bright red bottoms and sitting was almost impossible for a day."

I was listening to this and getting turned on. First, I had this mental picture of the snooty Anita Worthington sprawled across the lap of the formidable Coach Finch getting her bare fanny tanned with a sturdy ruler. Talk about justice. Second, here we were alone and Lynne is describing this spanking in lurid detail. She was snuggling closer. Things were looking good.

"Quite a story," I said. "It couldn't have happened to a more deserving girl, and speaking of deserving girls..."

"Now Danny," said Lynne, no doubt alarmed by the gleam in my eye, "We won that bet fair and square." She looked around the room. Then her face brightened as if hit by an idea. "Of course, there could be a rematch. If you're not chicken, that is," she teased.

"What do you mean, rematch?"

"They have a ping pong table right over there," said Lynne pointing. She thought for a minute, finger in her mouth. "Ok, here's the bet. One match. Double down on the original cheerleader bet---loser gets twenty four whacks with the ping pong paddle."

"You're joking." But even as I said it, I knew she was serious. This was a different Lynne. I liked to think it was me, but whatever, this was one very uninhibited girl. Her eyes were glowing with excitement.

"It's your chance, Danny," she cooed. "But I warn you, I'm pretty good. And I did so like paddling your cute buns that night." Lynne giggled.

That giggle did it. I was going to get her back. As they say, with guys it's all foreplay anyway, and if this was what floated Lynne's boat, I was in. We got off the couch and took up positions at each end of the ping pong table. Then Lynne pulled a shocker.

"I'm not playing in this cocktail dress," she said. She'd been wearing a little black number that hugged her luscious figure like a glove. She walked over to my side, turned her back to me and said, "Would you help the lady off with her dress?" What guy would refuse?  I unzipped her with fumbling fingers and before my eyes Lynne slipped out of the dress revealing that mind blowing figure, clad now only in a bra, garter belt with stockings, and panties. I'm sure my eyes were popping out of my head.

As she walked back to her end of the table I was treated to the sight of those undulating buttocks barely constrained by her brief panties. I was still in shock when she announced, "Ready. Here we go." And she served. I was still standing there with my jaw dropped and it was a smashing shot that I had no chance to return. It was the same with serve number two. She won game one 11-6. I was still trying to catch up when she won game two. A match is the best three out of five and I was down two to zip.

She was a good player. And playing in her lacy undies was her secret weapon. How was I supposed to keep my mind on the game when what I see are Lynne's jiggling tits? I knew I had to get my mind on the game or I would soon be sporting a red hiney. I took a deep breath and focused. I managed to win game three. Having recovered somewhat, I went on to take game four, but barely. It was a 13-11 cliffhanger.

The last game would decide the match. So Lynne naturally decided to cheat again. "I can't move in this bra," she said. "It's too constricting. You won't mind if I just take this off, will you Danny?" Of course my eyes were probably as wide as saucers as she unhooked her bra and let it drop. The sight of those high firm breasts springing free froze me to the spot. It was her serve and all I could see were hardened nipples jiggling back and forth, up and down. It was three-nothing before I scored a point. I refocused and soon we were tied 11-11. You have to win by two. We were both sweating. Lynne was mesmerizing. She was not only sexy, she was plainly excited, her expression gleeful. A wild light shone in her eyes.

She served. I had to lurch to get it. It put me out of position. Lynne saw my predicament and grinned, but in her haste she slammed the ball into the net. My advantage now. I only needed one more point. Lynne tried a brave smile, but she looked worried for the first time in the match. My serve. It was right at her and she returned a hard shot. I had to step to my left and backhand it. It floated toward her, an easy shot to return. But her shot sailed over the table. She had slipped on the discarded bra just as she swung. I had won.

Lynne's face wore a look of abject shock. It was as if she could not believe what had just happened. "Oh, no! I, uh, slipped," she said lamely.

"Yes, you did." I was grinning from ear to ear. And I was now taking in the vision of the gorgeous Lynne standing there practically naked, still holding her paddle. My boner was quickly returning. I gripped my paddle in my right hand and held out my left and offered, "Shall we?" I pointed to her hand holding the paddle. "By the way, we won't need that. I have one." I held up my paddle.

She let her ping pong paddle clatter to the table.

Lynne let me take her by the hand and lead her toward the couch.
"What are you going to do, Danny?" she asked in a breathless voice.

"Collect on our little wager, Lynne. You have twenty-four swats coming, remember?" I led her toward the couch.

"Are you going to make me bend over the couch?" she asked, now compliant.

I contemplated the lovely girl at my side and said, "Nope. Your story about Anita Worthington gave me an idea. I'm going to put you across my knee, naughty schoolgirl style."

"Oh!" she exclaimed.

I sat down and swung her around. Before she could react, I flipped her face down over my lap. The feel of Lynne's lush body sprawled over my lap was electric and the sight of her jouncy bottom which was now the uppermost portion of her anatomy, was eye popping.

"Ohhh, Danny," she breathed. It sounded like excited anticipation. Sometimes it's hard to figure women. She had really tried hard to win the match, but having lost, she now seemed almost excited by the prospect of getting her fanny paddled.

"One more thing, Lynne. Lift up."

"Ohhh," she gasped as she felt my fingers in the elastic of her panties. "Do you have to do it bare?" Her voice was a throaty whisper.

"Yes, I do," I said as I slid the panties down. As I said before Lynne had an ass for the ages. Proud twin globes, perfectly rounded in form, with a dark disappearing crease in between. I patted the mounds with the paddle. She shivered.

"Not too hard, Danny. Please?"

"Hmm," I said. "If I recall, you gave it to me pretty good the night of the bet. But we'll see. Here goes."

I raised the paddle and brought it down with a sharp smack! Her bottom cheeks quivered. Smack! Another one right across the crowns of her luscious buttocks. She wriggled and gasped softly.

"You'd better count," I admonished. "That's two."

I proceeded to spank Lynne's lush behind with the paddle at a leisurely pace. I measured out each swat carefully, taking a pause between smacks. I wanted just the right amount of force, a brisk smack that would generate some sting, but not be overly painful. But while I didn't want to hurt Lynne, I had to remind myself that she had paddled me pretty hard those ten years ago, plus she had really tried to win our "rematch', had cheated in the attempt, and I had to wonder whether if roles were reversed, would she be swatting me as hard as she could? I think yes.

So I continued to apply crisp paddle spanks to her wriggling fanny. The swats brought forth a few squeals. For several minutes the only sounds in that room were the splats of the paddle and Lynne's vocalizations.

Splat!..."Ouch! 12"...smack!..."owww! 13".....smack!....oww, ow, Danny!, 14"

As I continued the paddling I was mesmerized by the sight of Lynne's jouncy bottom globes quivering with the impact of each smack. They were getting red too. The light pink blush that had arisen after the first couple of swats had become a healthy shade of red.

The sting must have intensified because now each smack brought louder yelps. Still I continued. Smack!...."ow!Ow! 21." Smack!..."Ahh...yow, ok, Danny. 22!" She protested, but her body language sent a different message. She was writhing over my lap non-stop now, and had begun to raise her hips up and down, her motion almost timed to the swats.

After swat twenty-four, I stopped. I put the paddle down and caressed Lynne's hot bottom, squeezing and rubbing. She made no move to get up, but instead arched her ass against my hand. She purred like a cat, "Oh, Danny, you brute---but keep doing that." As I rubbed she parted her legs. I could see the glistening folds of her labia. She was wet. I let my fingers slip down between her legs and into her slit. "Yes..ahh, Danny," she moaned. I had to smile to myself. After all these years, rounding third base at last.

She started humping up and down against my fingers and I knew this time, I was headed for home. I lifted her up and relieved her completely of the panties. She went to work on my belt buckle and my shirt buttons. We kissed and fondled while standing there for several long moments before ending up on the couch in 69 position, Lynne on top. I breathed in her musky scent and stabbed my tongue into her, searching for that little button. Her excited gasp told me I had found it. She had engulfed my erection with her mouth. I was going out of my mind as she ran her lips up and down its length and swirled the head with her tongue. When I could stand it no more, I rolled her over and got to my knees between her legs. She took my erection in her hand and guided it to her entrance. I plunged into her, sliding up to the hilt. For a moment we were motionless, like at the top of the roller coaster. Then we began to move, slow thrusts and returns at first, then picking up speed. We rode each other fiercely for several minutes, our motions growing more and more frenetic. Finally in a paroxysm of blinding pleasure, we both came.

The rest of the night was less frantic, but no less passionate. Lynne had a remarkably responsive body and I was able to bring her to climax again and again. She especially responded to rear entry, doggie-style, while I squeezed and (even after the paddling) lightly spanked those resilient cheeks as I thrust in and out. What a night.

With that our new bond was forged. What had begun as an eighth grade, puppy love, affair had now come full circle.

We're an item now and all I can say is this. Life does throw you a second chance every now and then, and as with the second Great Cheerleader Bet, it's wise to take it.