When Becky Came, Part 03

Dad stepped into the living room. His stare locked on me like Becky wasn’t even in the room. When he spoke his voice was quiet and gruff. “What on Earth are you two doing?”

An evil smile rose on Becky’s lips for me as she tried to appear innocent for my folks’ benefit. I tried to ignore her and forced my eyes to look more in Dad’s direction than hers. I said, “I accidentally walked in on Becky in the bathroom and she didn’t take too kindly to it.”

Mom joined Dad, keeping a step behind him and said, “I should certainly think she wouldn’t.”

Becky glanced at my Mom and said, “Back home, my mother would beat his butt til he isn’t so accident prone.”

Dad hooked his thumbs into his belt and asked, “How does one accidentally open a locked door?”

“It wasn’t locked,” I said.

Dad turned to my cousin. “Becky?”

Her smile faded. In fact, her expression turned downright sour. “Well that’s still no excuse for him to go barging through closed doors.”

Mom looked Becky over from head to toe as if she had only just then realized Becky was less than fully dressed. “Didn’t your mother teach you modesty?”

“Of course,” Becky said, trying to shield herself from view with her arms, “but that’s not the point.”

“No, the point is you baited this situation,” Dad said, “and used the opportunity to flaunt yourself, chasing your cousin around the house wearing nothing but your underwear.”

Mom shook her head. “I don’t think either of your parents would approve of this behavior, do you?”

Becky pointed her hairbrush straight at me. “He walked in on me!”

“And if you hadn’t wanted it to happen you probably would have locked the door,” Dad said.

Mom nodded. “At the very least you’d have put some clothes on rather than run around the house in your whites.”

Dad held his hand out to Becky. “Give me that brush.”

I imagine Becky knew what was going to happen right about then. She took a step back from my Dad and hugged her hairbrush to her chest like it was a stuffed bear. Her head shook from side to side and her lips quivered with the protests undoubtedly raging through her thoughts. The really telling part though, was the red flush that decorated her cheeks.

Keeping his hand outstretched, Dad stepped forward. “I’m not going to tell you again, Rebecca Mae. Give me that brush.”

Becky must have figured out she was only going to make matters worse cause she stopped backing away. She put her brush in my Dad’s hand and chewed on her lower lip. Dad grabbed her by the arm and took her to the couch with him. He sat down and she got pulled over his lap. If there was a struggle between them it was only in Becky’s mind.

Dad brought the back of that hairbrush down to meet Becky’s panty covered bottom with about as much force as she’d used when swinging the thing at my head. That’s to say I know it stung about as good as a fire ant bite. My cheek and hand were still tingling with the aftereffects and that made me a bit more sympathetic than I otherwise might have been. The smack of that aqua blue acrylic bouncing off her butt had Mom and I blinking in tune with every spank.

Becky stayed pretty quiet considering. Her legs did some involuntary kicking and I could see her hands squeezed into tight fists that had her knuckles turning white. She let her wet hair fall over her face so I couldn’t much tell if she clenched her jaw or blamed me, but I’m guessing she did both.

It didn’t take long before her panties started to glow pink from below. Dad didn’t count his spanks and neither did I, but I reckon she got a good couple of dozen before he gave the brush a rest on her sore posterior. Becky was squirming real good on his lap and I think she didn’t know he’d stopped for at least a minute after he had. The sting can be like that sometimes.

Dad said, “Now I don’t expect we’ll be doing this often, but the only reason I’m not pulling your panties down this time is because Ritchie is right here watching and this lesson was as much about modesty as anything. That being the case I think it would be counter productive, but if you ever go running around my house in your underwear again, I’ll blister your bare butt in front of God and anyone else who happens to be around. Is that clear?”

Becky’s voice had the sound of suppressed tears. “Yes, sir.”

Dad patted her bottom lightly and helped her up off his lap. “Up you get,” he said and pointed her toward the corner behind the front door. “You can go stand in that corner now and think about what you’re going to do differently to avoid another trip over my knee until your Aunt tells you otherwise.”

Becky didn’t argue. She walked to the corner and planted her nose against it without a backward glance. I guess not everything was as different in Los Angeles as she wanted me to believe. There weren’t no doubt in my mind she’d been in corners before and her bottom had likely been red and redder on occasion as well. That’s just the way things were and we all knew it, even if we didn’t always want to admit it.

When Becky Came, Part 02

A couple days later is when the real trouble began. My folks had gone off to church and I’d slept in until the rising summer heat made it too hot to stay in bed. Now I know it was mostly my fault and I ain’t making excuses, but I was still yawning and wiping sleep from the corners of my eyes when I left my bedroom. I wasn’t much used to sharing spaces having no siblings and I guess what part of me remembered Becky being around just assumed she’d gone off with Mom and Dad to church. The bathroom door wasn’t locked either and it swung right open for me. I stopped in my tracks only a half step inside and if I’d backed out right then and closed the door things might’ve stayed a bit calmer.

Becky stopped wiping a hole in the fog on the mirror and turned her head real slow like in my direction. I was blinking trying to figure out if I was still in bed asleep or if my bathroom really could produce that much steam. It was humid enough on the outside, but in that little room it was thunder storm weather. Becky must have thought I was blinking for different reasons though cause she let out a blood curdling scream that probably could have been heard on the moon.

I took one step back and said, “Sorry.”

She grabbed a towel and draped it in front of herself. It was only then, it’s the truth I swear, that I realized Becky wasn’t wearing anything except bra and panties. If it’d been my intention to catch her like that I’d have at least brought along my Polaroid to capture the moment. Course she didn’t see things quite the same.

“Pervert!” she screamed and grabbed her hairbrush off the counter to wave menacingly in my direction. She took a step toward me and lost her hold on her towel. It fell to the floor between us and she stared down at it looking betrayed while I gawked at her nearly non-existent tan lines. I wasn’t blinking no more until the back of her hairbrush smacked up against the side of my cheek.

“What the,” I said and took another step back, stopping myself short of actually cursing in front of a lady, “heck was that for?”

I’m guessing Becky didn’t have an answer. She raised up her hairbrush and swung it toward me again only I managed to get my hand in the way before it struck my face. The crack of it against the back of my hand echoed in the hallway and left me shaking my hand something fierce. When I saw her raising the brush again, I decided it was time to run. I could have taken it away from her, but I was taught not to raise a hand to a girl and though the situation suggested it might have been an exception to the rule, the wild look in her eyes scared me.

Had I stopped and thought about direction before running, I would have headed straight for my room and barricaded the door, but I was still half asleep and not thinking. I wound up in the living room and Becky stayed right on my heels. Somehow we ended up on opposite sides of the couch and it was just big enough to keep her from hitting me. She moved left, I went right and so on. It was safe enough except she showed no signs of giving up.

“Coward,” she said.

I bristled at the word, but stayed on my safe side of couch. “I said I was sorry.”

“Why don’t you come on over here and my brush will teach you about sorry,” Becky said.

The clock on the shelf behind her told me my folks would be home soon and I knew that wouldn’t be good if we were still in the living room, specially with Becky more undressed than dressed. I imagined Dad would more or less have expected me to have gone blind under the circumstances and try as I might I couldn’t help staring at my cousin.

“Maybe you should go get dressed?” I said.

“What’s the matter?” Becky asked. Her tone had the taunting ring of a playground bully. “Are you afraid your Mom and Dad might find out you’re a Peeping Tom?”

“It was an honest mistake,” I said.

She shook her head. “It’s only honest if you tell the truth.”

Our little dance might still be going on if it weren’t for Mom and Dad coming in the front door. The slam of the door had Becky and I both looking to them and they stopped pretty short on entering the house. Dad’s face got that dark look I knew was never a good sign and Mom couldn’t seem to keep her jaw from dropping. I imagine from their perspective, things had to look pretty bad.

When Becky Came, Part 01

When Becky came into my life on the 5:15 bus out of Houston, I presumed we’d be friends. She flew in from Los Angeles and I’d have picked her up proper from the airport except Dad didn’t want me wasting gas on account of the shortages. It was the early days of summer 1979 and I reckon bus travel wasn’t so bad back then anyhow. Truth to tell, most days I’d have rather taken the bus than drove Dad’s yellow station wagon anyway.

In those days it was good manners to be early and so I was there a waiting a good while before the bus showed. I parked across the street from the stop and got out to lean up against a telephone pole just far enough away from the Mustard Mobile to claim they weren’t my wheels should Diana Lancaster happen by me. It wasn’t as though we’d ever talked, but I was smitten with her just the same and there’d been a rumor running round the last days of school she’d taken to fancying me too.

My thoughts were all about Diana until Becky stepped off that bus. Now I hadn’t seen Becky since we were both barely out of diapers and other than a few pictures my Aunt sometimes slipped into Christmas cards, I didn’t have much of a memory of her. She had the family dark hair and the same nose I shared with my Dad too, so it wasn’t hard to recognize her. Course as she walked across the street toward me in platform white sneakers, I wasn’t looking at her nose or her hair. My eyes were glued to the frayed threads of her cutoff shorts bouncing against her perfectly tanned upper thighs and when they got tired of the threads, her long, bare legs were plenty captivating as well. In hindsight, it’s a good thing Diana wasn’t around that day.

Becky dropped her bag at my feet and strutted over to the passenger door. She blew a giant bubble of grape gum until it popped and then planted a single hand on her hip while fluttering her eyelashes in my direction. “I thought all you cowboys were supposed to be perfect gents?”

The sun blazed down on us from a cloudless blue sky and I was starting to feel faint on account of the heat. I’m sure it had nothing to do with my eyes feasting on the enormous amount of bare tan skin Becky was displaying or the bead of sweat that ran from somewhere beneath her tube top down to her bellybutton. My tongue got a little dry or a little twisted or a lot of both and when I opened my mouth the only thing that came close to coming out was drool.

Becky tossed her hair from side to side and said, “Lord, don’t tell me you’ve never seen a girl before.”

Her words shook me free of my stupor and elicited a touch of embarrassment that threatened to turn my cheeks pink. The feeling gave way to bravado when my muscles flexed to handle the heft of lifting her bag off the ground. Not looking at her, I said, “I’ve seen girls before, but I ain’t never seen one dressed like you.”

She  looked down at her self and then back at me. “What, this? All the girls back home dress this way.”

I shook my head and said, “I’ve got to take a trip to LA.”

Becky wasn’t much conversation on the ride home. She found Dad’s collection of 8 tracks and had the Eagles popped into the player before I could even buckle my seat belt. The windows were rolled down and I’m not sure if Don Henley or Becky was crooning louder while I drove. Either way, Dad was frowning when I pulled into the driveway.

Things might have gone wrong right then and there, but I guess Dad wanted to be fair as possible. After all,  Becky was going to be staying with us for a good long while, attending the University of Houston beginning in the Fall. I imagine she rightly deserved a warning or two before being introduced to our manner of discipline. It might just have been Mom had supper on the table though and was waiting for us inside.

Dad stopped me at the door with Becky already inside and out of earshot. “You best mind your manners and keep your eyes above her neck. She’s your cousin and I won’t have you leering at her no matter how badly she’s dressed. Am I understood?”

I swallowed hard and nodded cause there weren’t no doubt he meant business. “I was going to suggest she change before Mom sees her.”

“Never you mind,” Dad said, patting me on the back and guiding me inside. “Your Mom and I’ll have a chat with her after supper. You just ‘member what I told you.”

I said, “Yes, sir.” And we joined Mom and Becky at the table for dinner.

It weren’t no surprise when after dinner I was sent to put Becky’s bag in the spare room. I offered to unpack for her, but Becky wasn’t too keen on that. Setting her bag on the bed didn’t take much time and Mom had already taken care of the sheets and putting fresh towels in the bathroom so I just loitered around knowing I wasn’t wanted anywhere near the conversation they were having in the kitchen. When Becky finally came to her room, she popped a grape flavored bubble in my face and pushed me outside her door.

She looked at my feet and said, “That’s as close as you get to this room from now on.”

I shrugged. “If you need anything—

“I don’t,” she said and closed the door.

Update for June 2011

It’s that time again. If you guessed that means I’m doing something different again, well, you know me too well and should probably take a break from reading this blog. Don’t worry, I won’t be mandating a break, in fact, for those who like visiting multiple times a week, I’m going to give you a reason to do it other than re-reading Monday’s post. Yes, you read correctly. ITS will now be posting more than one time a week. Isn’t that amazing? Just say yes, or nod your head and nobody gets hurt.

As of June 1, 2011 I will be posting a new part from my latest story, three, yes that’s right, 3 times per week. Start the fireworks, turn up the music, and dance like the world is going to end. If you’re into Rapture predictions, we’ve only got until October 21 and if the Rapture isn’t your thing, the Mayans only gave us until December 21, 2012, so in short, the end is near anyway. Okay, the world probably won’t be ending anytime soon, but that’s no reason not to throw a party when world altering events happen, like yours truly posting a full 3 days a week. It’s okay, you can jump up and down and it’s unlikely anyone will see you.

After very careful consideration and hours of debate, I chose three very special days of the week for this prestigious honor. Obviously, Monday had to be included. That’s been the day for some time in which hordes of spanking inclined readers congregate on ITS to enjoy the latest salacious words from my keyboard. And of course Friday had to be included as well seeing as that was the original posting day when ITS first began. For the third day, I flipped a coin, created a hugely complex algorithm, prayed in all four directions of the globe, consulted a psychic, trekked to the farthest corners of the Earth, and meditated while standing on burning coals. The answer seemed obvious and so I checked and rechecked myself until finally I settled on the humpiest day of the week, Wednesday.

To recap, ITS will now be posting three times a week, Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. How long will this miraculous feat continue? If God knows, he isn’t talking, but if you ask me, and I know I’m not God or even a fallen angel, I would say it should last until the end of June at least. Why the end of June? Well the obvious answer, and the correct one by the way, is that I have a story all planned out and fitted perfectly for three days a week posting through the end of June.

For the insanely curious and anyone else who would just like to know, the new story is called When Becky Came. She’ll be arriving on June 1, 2011, although her own calendar might be subtracting 32 or 33 years. Don’t worry, she’s not a time traveler, just a brat. And we all know ITS readers love brats.

We’ll see how things go, how many people enjoy stopping by three times a week and reading the slightly shorter bits of story, and take it from there when it comes to July. So, please let me know if you love the new format, hate the new format, or just wish I’d shut up.

Hugs,

Ash

ps. Happy Memorial Day!

Choosing The Implement

Decisions, decisions. For the spanker the quandary can often be simplified by the offense committed, the number of times said offense has been committed and the attitude of the spankee in waiting. However, this is not the decision being discussed here. Today, the topic, and the choice, is when the spanker decrees it time for the spankee to make the fateful choice as to which implement will soon be impacting their very own buttocks. And should it seem a simple choice, then the choice has not been properly orchestrated.

The first step in crafting a truly difficult decision is limiting the options. Speaking purely in terms of a disciplinary situation, the spankee will opt for a wet noodle if the option is left on the table. For best results the spanker should select between two and three implements which the spankee will then have the pleasure of selecting one. If possible, the spanker should also avoid leaving a spankee’s preferred implement in the mix unless its selection can be discouraged in some manner that makes it less preferred than normal.

The second step is to ensure that the selection only makes a difference in the mind of the spankee and not in the effectiveness of the discipline. This is to say, not all implements are created equal and political correctness aside, they should not be treated equally. For example; Given an option between 10 swats from a small leather paddle or 10 swats from an oak sorority-sized paddle, the leather paddle would win out 9.99999999 times out of 10.  However, the decision can be complicated if the number of swats from the leather paddle are increased by triple and an additional stipulation of the leather paddle being applied to bare buttocks whereas the wooden paddle would be applied over clothing. On the other hand, a hole-drilled, blister-inducing wooden paddle versus a thick, welt-raising cane offers a relatively even choice. Either way, the spankee isn’t going to be sitting comfortably without an over-stuffed pillow.

The third step is to limit the time in which the spankee has to make the decision. A minute or two is sufficient in most cases although it can be an interesting dilemma to leave a spankee considering while serving a little pre-spanking corner time as well. The more time a spankee has to consider the options can be a good thing in terms of increased anxiety, but without a hard limit with consequences (like getting spanked from all) the spankee can effectively put off the decisions, in effect lowering their anxiety, until the spanker takes back control of the situation.

The fourth step is to keep the spankee guessing about the spanker’s intentions. It may comes as a surprise to some spanker’s, but if the spankee can be certain their choice will result in a lesser punishment, they will choose it. But, if the spanker never makes it clear whether the spankee’s choice will result in a spanking from the chosen implement or a spanking for the un-chosen implement(s), the spankee will further complicate their choice by considering the possible results. It’s best if the spanker avoids any detectable patterns in how they proceed following the spankee’s choice, but at the very least they should attempt to establish a pattern that goes beyond a mere three or four occurrences.

Giving the spankee a choice in implements is good way to engage them in the disciplinary process. When the choice is arranged properly, it becomes less about how little discomfort they can escape with and more about what they deserve. This type of thinking will erode much of the resistance a spankee might display and helps them to mentally assign the blame for the discomfort of the spanking on their own shoulders, where it belongs. Involving the spankee in the implement decision process is an especially valuable tool for spankees lacking acceptance for their discipline despite needs to the contrary. It should be noted that such individuals may initially need additional motivations (extra swats, harsher implement, longer corner time, less protection in the way of clothing, writing lines, exercises, chores, etc.) to push forward and make a decision.