“I’m ashamed.” Marianne’s voice was low, almost a whisper.

“Of what, Marianne? What you did or the fact that your bare butt is up in the air?”

His hand squeezed gently against her waist making her aware of the nakedness just scant inches below his fingers. She shiv­ered and felt the skin of all four cheeks blush. “Both,” she answered honestly.

“Good. Let’s hope it helps to make this memorable.” He drew her further up his lap and proceeded to do just that. A barrage of sharp, unrelenting blows peppered her bottom. The fragile emotional state she was in made it impossible for her to keep from immediately bursting into tears. Her sobs did nothing to deter Joe from his task. Soon the bouncing hillocks on his lap were bright red with a faint scarlet glow to the uppermost crests.

The color of her posterior was the last thing in Marianne’s thoughts. In fact, she wasn’t thinking much at all. The radiat­ing burn in her buns was successfully driving everything else from her mind. She tried to reach back and cover her anguished bottom but fell forward every time she let go of the hammock. That just made the extra-sensitive, lowest part of her buttocks the main target. Quickly she grabbed the hammock again and tried to tuck her backside under, but Joe’s thigh was in the way. It was useless. Nothing could stop the retribution he was meting out to her miserable behind.

Joe knew that Marianne must be hurting both from the way the sting was building up in his palm and from the pitiful sounds she was making. Still, he wasn’t convinced she had been punished enough. The foolishness of her behavior warranted a totally unforgettable ass blistering.

A movement in the grass caught his eye. Turning he spied something that made him momentarily believe in fairy godmothers. Bernice must have read his mind. There, just barely within reach, was a dark wooden paddle. Glancing around, he saw that Marianne’s brother had disappeared again. Obviously, he thought they should have some privacy.

Thinking that her torture was finally over, Marianne started to get up. She desperately wanted to rub her fiery bottom. Needed to rub. She felt Joe lean over then sit back up, forcing her downward again. “Hey!” she cried out, confused.

“Hey what? We’re not finished, little girl.” He wiggle the paddle, getting a feel for it’s heft and bBernicece. It looked like a frat paddle only not quite as large. “Butler University” was printed on the surface in bold letters.

“What do you mean?” Marianne risked loosing her bBernicece long enough to run her hand across her face, wiping away the water from her tears. “I’ve had enough.”

“Oh, really? What makes you think that? I happen to think you’ve not had nearly enough. From what I hear, you’ve been told numerous times that you take too many risks. You’ve probably been spanked before, too.”

Marianne was silent on the matter.

“Have you, Marianne?”

“Have I what?”

“I don’t think this is the time to play dumb. Has Bernice spanked you before for your dangerous risk-taking?”

“Yes,” she mumbled.

“I didn’t hear you.” Joe was irritated. He was getting more convinced by the minute that she was far from fully chastised.

“I said, `YES!'” The stinging in her bottom was distracting and she was getting angry at still being over Joe’s lap. Years of living recklessly made it difficult to assess the danger she was in.

“Watch your tone! It doesn’t seem that your previous spank­ing did the job. Does it?”

Again, Marianne was silent.

“Marianne. Answer me.” The warning was clear.

“I guess not.” It was as much as she would capitulate.

“You guess not, huh? Maybe the spanking wasn’t hard enough. Did he spank you hard?”

Suddenly, Marianne caught on to where the conversation was going. No way was she going to paint herself into a corner. “Yes! Yes, he spanked me hard. Very hard!”

“Evidently, not hard enough. Were you bare?”


The Pain Files

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