The Romance of Chastisement

The Romance of Chastisement

Tuesday, December 9, 2014

The Annoying Brat and the Very Serious Guy

This story comes from my dusty archives which houses stories written at the turn of the century. The author's name is Placid. Now many of you will say "hey, isn't he the guy who wrote that classic -- Accepting the Unfair?" You'd be right. He has an author page at LSF and that story is his ONLY ONE in their archive. So this was sort of a find. It's an early work, very unpolished, and it turned out to be an editor's nightmare. But for all that I've tried not to disrupt his style or the tone of it too much. I also had to add some text and dialog to make the situation at least somewhat believable (you'll see what I mean). As you will see, it's a cute story.



The Annoying Brat and the Very Serious Guy




Dorothy Fenn looked at her daughter, across to the young man who'd
mesmerized her, and back.  "Cheryl, it's not polite to stare."

Cheryl promptly turned beet red and looked away.  Even at eighteen
years of age, her mother could do that to her without any effort at
all.  "I'm not staring."

"Ummhmm.  I suppose you're not blushing either."

"Mom!" whispered quietly, but with urgency.

"What, afraid that Mrs. Beckman will find out you're scoping out her
oldest boy?"  Looking down the driveway, both could see Mrs. Beckman’s son, Michael. He was working up a sweat in the garage.  Push ups, sit ups, other random calisthenics.
Must have lost his shirt somewhere along the way.  A good looking kid, that's for sure, she
 thought to herself.

"I am not scoping him out."

"Liar."

"Mom!"

The two of them approached the door, dropping the topic at hand.  A
knock, a greeting, smiles and hugs followed, and Mrs. Beckman invited them in.

Soon enough though, Cheryl wandered off from the two older women, and
the sly old ladies began to gossip in earnest.

Mrs. Fenn started it off. "Handsome boy Michael has turned out to be."

"Mmmm.. Spends a quarter of his life working out.  He should be," said his mother.

"Has he found himself a pretty little thing up at college yet?"

"No, he refuses to keep female company.  Says that women are a
distraction," she said shrugging.  "I don't know what to do with him, Dorothy.  He
does his work, makes good grades, obviously stays fit, eats right,
stays out of trouble.  I can't complain about anything that he's doing
except that he lives like a hermit, doesn't hardly keep any friends at
all."

"Oh, I just feel terrible for you," sarcastic, rubbing one finger over
the other in the age old gesture of the world's smallest violin
playing for her bleeding heart. “You have a serious, well mannered son. How awful.”

"Oh, you just shut up.  Do you know how hard it is to deal with a boy
that not only thinks he has it all under control but actually appears
to?"

"Does he sass you?"

"No, he wouldn't dare.  I don't care if he's twenty one or eleven, and
he knows it.  He just has that assumed arrogance, like I am
incompetent but must be tolerated. Always polite though."

"I caught Cheryl ogling him in the driveway.  I think she's smitten.
Probably the whole sweaty, shirtless, muscle bound manly man thing."

Well, that at least made her laugh, thought Dorothy.

Mrs. Beckman went on, "That would
be nice.  He could use the company, but Michael's so serious."

Looking down the hallway, "Well, unless I miss my guess, she's
probably introducing herself right now.  Let's just wait and see."

*****
Cheryl slipped out into the garage and looked over her new find,
impressed.  You have to love a man who ripples when he works out.
Absently nibbling on a cluster of large green grapes,  she watched him for a
while, apparently unnoticed, admiring his back while he went from one
exercise to another.  Laying down face first on the ground, he
returned to slow push-ups, clearly beginning to tire.  Mischievously,
she flipped a grape at him.

*****

Michael was just getting into it.  The workouts were regular and
welcome.  He could wear himself out, spend all his energy and anxiety
in quiet peace, and improve himself in the process.  Being honest with
himself, he'd actually achieved a lot of muscle definition, was in far
better shape than ever.

Moving into another set of push-ups, he was slightly startled to feel
something bounce off of his back.  So he stopped, pressed out to full
arm extension, rotated his head slowly to the side, and saw a grape
sitting on the concrete next to him.  Not quite able to compute that,
he thought to himself, a grape.  No, really, it IS a grape.  What the
hell is a grape doing here?  His thoughts were interrupted by another one
bouncing off his back, landing close to the first one. He heard a small giggle
in the background.

Michael turned his head the other way, trying to see clearly through
the sweat in his eyes. He dimly perceived a young girl leaning against a
plaster wall.  Wonderful.  A teenager.  Just ignore the brat.  She will get
bored and go away.  Pretty thing though, nice brunette, slim. Then it
was back to push ups.

Peace didn't last long though.  Not three reps later he felt the same thump
go skittering across his back. 

Cheryl could see the small muscles in his cheek twitch.  He couldn't
ignore her for long, flipped another grape.

Michael finally spoke, slowly, flat toned, "Miss?"

"Cheryl."

"Miss Cheryl."

"No, just Cheryl."

"Cheryl, is there something I can help you with?"

"I don't know.  How about saying hello or something like a normal
human being."

Michael was annoyed, but still completely in control.
"Hello, Cheryl.  It's a pleasure making your acquaintance.  Did you
come to visit my mother?"  He thought to follow that with, ‘Well then why

don't you go find her?’  Maybe that was too rude, so he didn’t.

"You're Michael, right?  Betty's son?"

"Correct."

"You do this often?"

Not even slightly in the mood for small talk, Michael struggled to
find a polite way of telling this pest to go the hell away and leave
him be.  "Once in a while, yes, and I really like to finish.  Could we have
this conversation at another time?"

"Sure," she said,  flippant, but grinning.

Michael waited for a minute, hoping she would leave.  Unfortunately,
she did not.  Well, he would have to settle for silence.  Back to the
bench.  Overhead press.  Slow, up and down, up and Boink!  Another
grape glanced off of the top of his head.  He could hear her laughing
by the doorway.

Resigning himself to this fate, hoping that she would get bored or
that mom would come and save him, he just pressed on.  Letting out a
sad resigned sigh, he pressed the bar up again, and again, and again.
He had actually just about managed to forget she was there, return to
the pleasure in the strain, Boink, another grape, more giggling.

“Ok. Stop with the grapes, already. Please.”

That said, Michael switched to leg curls.  Flipped over on his stomach, took hold of the handles, slipped his calves underneath the bar, lifted up.  Again, again, again.  He
could see her out of the corner of his eye, walking around now, meddling. 
He refused to let it interrupt his thought pattern. 

It worked for a while, but then there
was an incredibly sudden cold spot right underneath one armpit.  It
made him wobble the bar for an instant, but he kept it from falling.
Glancing her way, Michael could see that his little imp had gotten
hold of his squirt bottle, and had tuned the misty spray down to a
thin stream, the water from which continued to run down his ribcage.

Cheryl just smiled sweetly back at him.  Michael addressed her slowly,
threateningly, "You know, Cheryl, you are a lovely girl but you are
 beginning to test my patience."

"Ooooohhhh.  I'm terrified now.  You know, you're cute when you're
angry."  She could see the muscles in his cheek twitch again,
obviously clenching his teeth.  But it was back to ignoring her.  So
she waited a minute, gave him one more squirt right in the center of
his back, and waited.  No response, but she knew it was getting to
him.

Her mother opened the door to the garage behind her.  Glancing about,
Dorothy could see that Michael was holding something in, and Cheryl had a
pleased grin on her face, water bottle in hand.  "Hey girl.  I think
Mrs. Beckman could use your help in the kitchen."  She waited while
Cheryl put down the bottle and flounced out.

Michael continued his workout, much relieved. God bless your kind
soul, Mrs. Fenn.  May you live long and well.

"Afternoon, Michael, it' been a long time."

"Good afternoon, ma'am.  Been a few years I think.  It's good to see
you again.  Please forgive me if I don't come over, I'm all sweaty..."

"Stay put.  I can just talk from here.  Looks like you met my
daughter..."

He tried to keep it off of his face.  He really did, but lying to Mrs.
Fenn was like trying to fly paper airplanes backward through a wind
tunnel.  Best of luck.  "Yes, ma'am.  I did."

Dorothy just laughed, "Went that well, huh?"

A long pause, Dorothy watched with no small mirth while Michael
filtered through all possible word choices, "The interruption was
probably good for me."  Michael was a little confused when she broke
out into gales of laughter.

Hardly able to speak, she laughed, "Very good.  Very good.  You've really gotten a
little polish on you.  I'm impressed.  I almost believed you for an
instant, but no.  What has she done now?"

"She just felt that I should pay her more attention, but I
was rather involved in my workout, so she encouraged me to ... take
notice."

"She should be better behaved, but she's a brat and hard to train, not so
polite as you, young man."

"She should ..." he started, stopping himself before shooting his mouth off,
"…probably do well given a little more time."

"Oh, come on Michael.  I've known you since you were little.  Speak
your mind.  I'm not a stranger."

Thinking about that, "She should probably have her butt tanned."

"So, what's stopping you?"  He just stared out her with a bewildered
expression on his face.  So she went on, "Well?"

What!? He thought. "Well ... propriety.  I mean..." scratching his head, workout
forgotten.

"Propriety!  You?  If my daughter cannot perceive that she should
leave the lions alone, then she should be taught that lesson.  I
wouldn't let propriety stop me.  I'm more than a little surprised that
it would stop you."

His expression focused.  She could see him reconsidering given new
information.  Regaining his command, "I'll be certain to keep that in
mind," he said, his tone just a tad ominous.

"You do that."

But he completed his workout without further incident, to
his relief.  Finally, tired, he made his way back into
the house, walked in complete oblivion past everyone there, and
bounded up the stairs to his room, and the shower.

*****
Half an hour later, Michael came back down, the familiar post workout euphoria
still firmly in place, to find his mother and Mrs. Fenn getting ready
to go out.  His mom spoke to him, "We're going to go see a movie and
do some shopping.  We haven't had time to talk in a long time, so we
kind of wanted some time to ourselves.  Think you and Cheryl can
manage here by yourselves for a few hours?  We should be back by
around midnight."

Not what he wanted to hear, nope, not at all.  Resignedly he said, "Yes.  I'm sure
we'll do just fine."

Then quietly his mother addressed him, "Loosen up.  She's a nice girl.
Try to be a gentleman, hmmm?"  As she said it, Mrs. Fenn winked at him
and smiled.

"I'll do my best."

Then she turned and said the most startling thing he’d ever heard. “But if she keeps acting up like the brat she can be, you have my permission – no – my blessing, to paddle her sassy fanny. It will do her a world of good.”

Michael just stared in slack jawed surprise. But the thought was intriguing.


Just before walking out the door, Dorothy approached her daughter
quietly and whispered into her ear, "Have a care pursuing this man,
Cheryl.  If you make him angry, you will reap the whirlwind, and I
don't want to hear one word of complaint from you when it happens."

"Poo.  He's a puppy.  I can handle myself just fine."

"You've mistaken a lion for a puppy, Cheryl.  You've been warned.
Make your own decisions."

Michael was nonplussed.  Paddle her fanny?’ Was she serious?
Finding Cheryl in the den watching TV, that seemed peaceful enough, so he
settled into a chair and watched with her.

But of course, it didn't last long, "What school do you go to?"

Conversation would be required, he thought with a sigh.  "Texas A&M."

"Really, I hear that's a great school.  What is your major?"

"Mechanical Engineering."

"Do you like it?"

"I plan to make a living at it."

"Is that a no?"

Shaking his head at his own dilemma, "That's an 'it doesn't really
matter’ so I don't think about it.'"

"How sad.  You should like what you do."

"Why, no one else does?  If you pick something you like, you will only
corrupt one of your passions.  Might as well be pragmatic."

"Are you always so cheerful and outgoing?  I mean I can hardly get a
word in for all your blabbering."

"You'll have to forgive me.  I'm not much for small talk."

"Hadn't noticed," and flung a pillow at him from the couch.  He didn't
look surprised, but he didn't bother to dodge either.  He just sat
there, looking annoyed, while it bounced off his head.  She picked up
another.

"Cheryl, I know you're just trying to be friendly, but I'm just not
..." thump.  Another pillow.  “…in the mood.”

She looked around for more ammo.  "Cheryl, just one more pillow and
I'm going to...".  Thump, another pillow, square in the face.

“You’ll what?”

“When was the last time you had a good spanking?”

“You wouldn’t dare!” she said and threw another pillow, hitting him in the nose.

Then, Cheryl's eyes grew wide because Michael rose from the chair in a blur of motion,
 like a lithe cat.  He crossed the distance between them before she could
finish letting out her breath.  The last pillow never made it's
flight.  Cheryl was unceremoniously grabbed, flipped over, and lifted up
by the back of her jeans.

"What are you doing?!"  she said, laughing.  Her hands and feet flopped on the
ground and she was half carried toward the back hallway.  Giggling,
she stopped his motion at every doorframe by grabbing it and holding.
But Michael was patient, and eerily methodical about prying her hands
loose and pressing on.

Cheryl found herself dragged into his bedroom which not only looked
but very distinctively smelled male.  Tossed onto the dark blue
coverlet, she took a moment to appreciate the plain simplicity of how
the room was set up.  It felt like being in her dad's office almost.
Hard to describe.  "Well, Michael.  That's quite a leap forward, but I
usually don't sleep with men on the first date," she quipped, smiling.

Michael locked the door.  Slowly he rolled up his sleeves while she watched, mesmerized.
  "I didn't have dating in mind."

The game had changed, and now it was making her nervous.  Only now did
she think that maybe her mother had warned her correctly, and that
this was not working out as planned.  "What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to give a brat the sound spanking she so obviously needs."

Quietly, suddenly very frightened of this intense young man, "What?"

"I'm not going to repeat myself.  We can do this the hard way or the
really hard way.  Take your pick."

"Michael, no.  You can't spank me.  I'm too old, and
you're not my dad." Her hands were up defensively as she backed away.

"The really hard way, then."  It was so effortless as to be terrifying.
Michael hoisted her off the bed, swept her hands out of the way and
unbuttoned her jeans.  A rough tug, and her pants were down at her
knees.

"No! No!  Stop it!"  She flailed with her hands, trying desperately to pull them back up.
Useless.  Her feet simply swept out from underneath her, and dangling
upside down, Michael pulled her jeans completely off, exposing her panty clad
 bottom and slender, tanned legs.

Looking down at his struggling victim, wailing and wriggling in her
panties, Michael had to admit to himself that she was in fact, very
much worth looking at. But that was not going to stop him.

"Are you going to stop struggling now?"  Clearly not, but she obviously
knew that there was nothing she could do. She started to cry and
continued to fight anyway.  "I didn't think so.  More then."  A quick
twist and tug, and Cheryl found her shirt flung up over her head with
her arms trapped in the air.  No matter how hard she pulled, she could
not keep Michael from pulling it off of her.

Now only clothed in thin white panties and bra, Cheryl tried to cover
herself with her hands, but there was very little she could do to keep
him from seeing round curves, smooth unblemished skin.  "Michael.
Stop.  Please stop.  I'm begging you."

"No, I don't think so, and pulled on her again."  Once again, she
resisted with every ounce she had.  "Still fighting me?  Nude then."

"Nnooooooo!!!"  but it was childishly easy to press her flat on her
tummy against the coverlet and unfasten the stay on her bra.  Not
letting her move at all, Michael slipped one hand down the back of her
panties, truly enjoying the firm feel of her struggling bottom,
forcing the slight fabric down and off.  Her bra was taken from her
and flung across the room.

Now, naked, humiliated, weeping, she heard Michael speaking to her
again.  "Have I made you a believer yet?"

Between sobs, "Yes.  Yes.  I believe.  I'm sorry.  Please let me have
my clothes back."

"After I spank you, then you can have them back.  Not before.  Now do
we continue doing this the really hard way, or will you accept the
inevitable and make it easier on yourself.  I think I have already
demonstrated that I can make you regret fighting me, no?"

"Yes.  I won't fight."  And the hands were lifted from her.  Michael
sat down on the edge of the bed.

"Stand up now."  Covering her breasts with one hand, and her womanhood
with the other, Cheryl slowly rose to her feet.  "Put your hands
behind your head."  For just a moment, she looked like she might flee,
but something in Michael's eyes told her that would be a bad idea.

What a sight she was, small round breasts, taught little pink nipples,
slim, round curves, and a small furry thatch that could not quite
conceal her small, pink, woman's lips.  Michael looked her over for a
moment, Mercy!  Standing, moving his hip to one side to adjust the
large lump in his trousers, "You have tormented me from the very first
moment that I met you.  I have met some annoying little girls, but you
take the cake.  Did it not occur to you that I might not want to be
disturbed?"

Her voice hardly a squeak, "I'm really sorry.  You looked so buried in
that garage that you needed digging out.  I didn't mean any harm.  I
swear."

"You didn't mean to hack me off?  Right.  Are you going to tell me
that you didn't see I was getting angry?"

"No, but...  I didn't think it would be such a big deal.  Honest."

"You didn't think I would do anything about it, did you?" He sounded very serious,
very pointed.

"No."

"You were mistaken.  Trifling with me is a poor idea.  Go stand in the corner.
 Keep your hands on your head.  I'll give you fifteen minutes to ponder before I spank your bottom for you.  Go." With a firm swat to her posterior, she was off, nose against the
corner.

It was strange.  Her belly knotted with fear, Cheryl knew Michael was very serious now.  She instinctively knew there was nothing she could say or do to change his mind.  She was humiliated beyond comprehension to be forced to stand stark naked in his corner, but even still she could feel the warm excitement of arousal deep inside her.  She knew she was not merely horny, but almost desperately in need.  Michael was more than handsome, he was downright gorgeous.  He was strong and decisive.  He knew what he was doing, and she was so completely helpless to stop him that it made her want him, so badly.

Michael stared at her pert little bottom and swore to himself that he
had never seen anything so lovely as this girl standing before him.  She may be a pest, but standing naked in that corner, she was a very cute pest.  Still, he was going to do this. She had deliberately baited him and that required a response.

Before her fifteen minutes were up, fear had taken over Cheryl again,
and she just cried softly in the corner.  She was a complete wreck by
the time she got any relief.

"Come here now."  He was sitting on the edge of the bed, waiting,
looking very calm.  She was terrified.

Damn, she is spectacular!  Trembling, she walked over to him, not
even trying to cover herself.  Hands still over her head, Michael
tugged her over one knee.  He turned one arm behind her and locked her
legs in place with his free leg.  Now that bottom peeped straight up
at him, waiting to be punished, and she knew it.  Her small, pink
flower peeped out from between her legs, glistening.


Michael ran his hand over her thighs, felt her shiver as it passed
over the round globes.  On a whim, he slid his hand slowly down the
crevice of her bottom.  Somehow he wasn't surprised that she lifted
her hips up willingly and allowed his fingers slide across her most
intimate of places, warm and soaking wet.  He stroked her sex slowly,
for just a few moments listening to her moan before taking his hand
away.

"I'm going to spank you now.  Do you understand why?"

"Because I pestered you while you were working out," she said quietly, still
scared.

"And while trying to watch TV, for being completely relentlessly annoying
 when it was plain that I did not like it.  Is that clear?"

"Yes, sir."

That little endearment took him a little off guard, but he kind of
liked it, sir.  What a concept.  A moment later he brought his hand
down on one cheek, then the other, back and forth, not too hard for
now.  He took time to enjoy the feel of her soft skin, and to watch
her tremble, feeling a sting but no real pain yet.

That didn't last long. He began to spank a little harder, then faster.  Slowly, Michael
increased the intensity and the pace until she was not only wriggling
in his lap, but panting and yelping at every third or fourth swat.
That lithe little body danced back and forth, up and down, it was a
wonder to behold.  Her little cheeks turned pink, then red.  Now
several swats on one side before switching back to the other, and even
harder yet.

"Michael, please stop.  Please.  I've learned my lesson.  I promise I
have.  I'll be a good girl."

Stopping the warm up spanking, he rubbed her bottom cheeks and thighs, "Good.  Then
we'll get straight to the real spanking and be done with this in just a few
more minutes."

“Real spanking?” She sputtered.

Gasping, Cheryl looked back to see Michael raise his arm high.  She shook her head in self denial as he raised it up and tightened her cheeks in anticipation, knowing that in just a
moment, that strong hand would set her tail on fire.

She was not disappointed, howling aloud at the first lick, she could
not imagine how much that smack stung her.  But
then his hand landed again, and her other cheek joined the blaze.  Not a
moment later though, she understood that each lick would hurt worse
and worse. This wasn’t a gentle paddywhacking. Loud swats echoed through the room, but not nearly as loudly as her pitiful wails. His palm spanked her fanny into a stinging red mass with  volleys of firmly applied smacks that echoed loudly in the small bedroom.

She fought, tried to kick, wriggled back and forth, trying with all
her will to move her bottom out of the path of that hard hand before it could whip down onto her bottom again.  No good.  None at all, and then it was time for the backs of her thighs
to feel it, and her struggles renewed with even more
ferocity.  She simply could not take one more swat.  It wasn't
possible to live through it, but her bottom felt it anyway.

Michael watched her bottom and thighs turn deep red.
Cheryl wriggled for all she was worth, but he held her quite easily
and spanked her harder and faster yet.  Eventually though, reduced to
nothing more than quiet sobs, limp, no fight left to her, Michael
stopped, and let his palm rest on her hot fanny.  Cheryl just kept on crying.  He figured
she would for a few more minutes, so he just let her lay across his
lap.

She offered no protest at all to him after he let go of her arm and
gently rubbed both her bottom and her back with both hands,
massaging her hot little rump.  Michael was beyond thoughts.  He was
impressed with this little display more than he could imagine.  Even
in tears, she was beautiful.  So he turned her over gently in his lap, and
stroked her breasts slowly.  Cheryl arched her back to meet his hands
as they ran casually across taught nipples.

Breathing hard, Cheryl slipped to her knees between his legs and leaned forward, offering herself to him while unfastening his trousers, unzipping his fly.  Cheryl eagerly fumbled with his
pants, trying desperately to pull them, along with his underwear, off
of his legs.  Michael stood, pulled his own shirt off, and Cheryl paused to
take a long look at the solid cock presented before her.

She ran her hand over it tentatively, sure that something that hard
would have to explode any moment, but it did not.  Instead, Michael
lifted her into the air, bumped her back against a wall, and let her
slide down on top of him.  Cheryl cried out aloud as he slowly pierced
her on the way down.  She was even in further disbelief when he
withdrew and stroked her again, and again, and again. Neither of them
lasted even five minutes before climaxing together, forcefully, almost
violently.

Laying her gently down on his bed, as if she would shatter, "I'm not
sure how or why I decided to do that.  I didn't intend to take such
advantage of you, but I just couldn't help it.  You're so beautiful,
and you seemed to want it so bad.  I just..."

Shushing him with a finger over his lips, "Thank you.  If you'll make
me feel that wanted again, you can spank me any time it gives you
pleasure."

"Careful there, with your round little tail, I can't think of any
occasion that I would not enjoy spanking you."

"Then come visit me a lot.  Sore is OK.  Sore is good.  You are one
hell of a man."

Changing the subject, growing sleepy but still running his hand over
her body, "So what kind of movies do you like?"

"Anything with sex, violence, and destruction."

"Hey!  Now there's a coincidence!  As it just so happens..."


Hours later, Dorothy and Betty arrived home.  Not seeing the young
ones, they called out but got no response.  Wondering, now more
curious, they looked around, in the garage, upstairs.  Michael's
bedroom door was closed.  Betty whispered, somehow knowing that
something was up, "That's odd, he never closes his door..."

Dorothy motioned for her to be silent, and they tip-toed up the rest
of the way, went around through the spare bedroom to his bathroom,
from the back side.  They cracked open the door, and the first thing
that Dorothy noticed was Cheryl's panties laying on the floor just
beside the entrance.  Leaning inside, Michael and Cheryl were lying
naked in his bed, curled around one another.  Cheryl's bottom was
bright red and covered with welts.  Betty opened her mouth wide in
shock, but both kept their silence.  Dorothy smothered a giggle with
her hand and the two mothers slipped back out and downstairs.

Becky could hardly contain herself, "I just don't believe it!"

"Don't knock it!  Don't knock it.  We've been planning on marrying
those two off for years, and if they decided to make their own deal,
then by all means let them at it."

"I suppose you had nothing to do with it at all."

Dorothy only smiled, all sweet and innocence.

"Her bottom was so red.  Did Michael spank her!?"

"Oh yes, and did a real bang-up job by the looks of it.  Good for him.
I'll just bet she’ll need that on a regular basis. Call it a hunch..."

2 comments:

Leigh Smith said...

Thanks for sharing the story.

Our Bottoms Burn said...

I did not think the situation was totally unbelievable. Stretched, yes, but it retained some elements of reality. In fact, the story brings back some memories. Thanks for sharing your find.