Crying ain’t going to fix anythin – Conclusion

This is the conclusion to Crying ain’t going to fix anythin. This part of the story contains a scene which some may find slightly disgusting. The essence of this entire story, including the slightly disgusting part was related to me by a friend after we had a couple too many shots of rum. If you read the first part, you probably guess what is coming. I just wanted to forewarn my readers.

I never knew I could blush as much as I did leaving my dorm room. Couldn’t bare to look anyone in the face, instead focusing on back of mom’s shoes as we traversed the path to the car. I could feel whispers behind my back as we passed my floor mates. “Look at the naughty girl,” “Ah, the little girl got a spankin'”, and similar phrases filled my ears. I was too embarrassed to look up and see if anyone was actually saying anything.

Mom had been luck and found a parking spot in the visitor’s section in front of the dorm.

“Owe” I winced when my tender backside pressed against the leather seat. The stingy sensation was being reignited by the hot leather. I pressed my arms straight down, lifting myself slightly off the seat to provide some relief to the sting.

“Seat belt!?” Mom asked in her rhetorical, why haven’t you done something, kind of manner.

I glanced to my right, only to realize there would be no way to buckle the seat belt without removing one of my hands. I tried to tilt to my right and use my left hand pull the seat belt across my body, my clumsiness assisted me in leaning too far right and falling against the door. I ended up landing squarely on my smarting bottom. With an “Ouch!” I pulled the seat belt across my body and immediately tried to propel myself off my bottom again.

“Enough of that!” Mom scolded, slapping away my hands from getting between my bottom and the seat.

“Grrr” I growled under my breath. I am so glad Mom didn’t hear me, or at least didn’t care, because if she had, I’m sure I would have taken another trip over her lap.

The ride home seemed to take forever, yet was over in an instant, all at the same time. The first half I spent trying to relieve some of the smarting in my bottom, which never really occurred. During the second half my mind started wandering. I thought about what Dad would say, then my friends. My friends would probably be supportive. My Grandma Rosselin though would be so disappointed. I was her first grandchild to go to college, and now I had screwed that up royally. Well, Dad and Grandpa had both went to college, but that was West Point, and she was so happy that I got into a non-military college.

We were about a block from home when mom pulled off the road into the corner drug store. I didn’t even realize we had stopped until mom broke me from my thoughts. “You can stay here. I’ll only be a minute,” she said getting out.

I had been to this particular drug store a thousand times, but this time it seemed different. Foreign almost. I had been at school for three months, but sitting in the car, watching the people go in and out of the store. The kids seemed younger, the adults didn’t seem so old and even though my hometown is quite small, I didn’t recognize a single person. Had everything changed suddenly, or was it just that I had started to change?

Mom returned a few minutes later, a white plastic bag poking out of her purse. I knew what was in the bag, but I didn’t have the courage to ask.

Upon arriving at home, Mom sent me to my room. I hadn’t been sent to my room in a decade, though there has been many times when I have willingly went to my room to avoid getting in further trouble. I felt soo juvenile being sent to my room without supper like a naughty little kid. The saving grace was having some time alone. Mom had said that Dad wouldn’t be back from training exercises until morning, so I had a little bit of a reprieve.

Collapsing onto my bed, for some reason I thought back to British history class on Thursday when the professor was discussion Henry VIII and Anne Boleyn. I wondered if she felt like I did the night before her execution. I dreaded tomorrow’s events, though I accepted the fact I could not change my future now.

I thought getting spanked in front of my floor-mates was embarrassing, but it couldn’t compare to my morning. Mom woke me early in the morning and dragged me to the bathroom. I was still picking the eye crusties from crying myself to sleep when she instructed me to sit on the toilet with my legs spread.

“What!” I asked. I know how to use the bathroom and have been doing it for years without supervision.

“Sit and spread your legs wide, now!” Mom commanded. Instinct, and probably a healthy dose of fear, caused me to follow her instructions without any further protest. I sat down on the toilet and was reminded of yesterday’s bathroom experience.

“Com’on, get your panties down,” Mom seemed annoyed. I had through I was following instructions, but stood up a little to tug my panties down from beneath my night shirt down to my ankles. I completed the slightly awkward task while keeping my nightshirt low around my waist. “Pull that up,” Mom said, waving a white stick at my shirt.

I gave a little pout, which Mom did not like. She simply grabbed the hem of my shirt with her free hand and yanked it up to my neck then thrust the white stick below my crotch. I now recognized it was a pregnancy test. “Mom, I can do it.” I tried to protest, reaching for her lower hand.

“Now stop it! Just pee slowly, I want to make sure you did it correctly!” Mom reprimanded.

I am sure I turned every shade of red imaginable, but I couldn’t bring myself to relieve myself while my mom watched. Using the bathroom was an utter private event. She might have saw me naked hundreds of times, but doing that was beyond embarrassing. My bladder may have been full, but this was too much.

“Com’on pee, or do you need a reminder?” Mom asked.

I think the mention of a “reminder” with the hairbrush scared me more than anything, because I started peeing within a moment. I covered my face as the urine kept coming and coming. I was slightly concerned my cheeks were going to catch on fire.

At some point I finished and Mom withdrew the test. I didn’t uncover my face until she said something. “Did you take a pregnancy test earlier?”

“Yes,” I mumbled, lowering my hands.

“And did it show two lines like this?” Mom asked, holding the test in front of my face. I could smell the acidic stench of urine as it neared my face. There was one line in the left circle and one line the in right circle, just like the test I had taken.

“Yes, two lines, I told you I’m pregnant,” I muttered, looking away.

“That’s ONE line, the line in the right circle means it worked! Didn’t you read the instructions?” Mom asked.

“Yea….hmmm…kinda. It said 2 lines was pregnant,” I protested.

“Two lines in the RESULTS CIRCLE!” Mom said with a long, drawn-out sigh. “Well, get yourself cleaned up. Breakfast will be ready in fifteen minutes. I already told your father last night, and he said he would be home by 9 this morning. I’ll let you give him the good news.” Mom left be sitting on the toilet.

I was relieved at my mistake, though the discussion with Dad scared the hell out of me. I always felt so protected and special when he was around, expect when I was in trouble. He has this amazing ability to turn on and off his inner Colonel. Growing up I had seen him treat me like a princess one moment then turn around and ripe into a Private or 2nd Lieutenant and immediately treating me like a princess. Though when I was naughty, he would turn on his inner Colonel until after my sentence was executed. Then I was back to being his little princess, no matter how old I was.

There are three words that can shake anyone to their core, especially when said in a stern voice by their parent. When dad slowly, started his lecture with my full name, I knew I was doomed. He was going to tan my hide and tan it well. I might as well just get up, drop my PJs and panties and bend over the desk. It would save him the breath of the lecture. Even though I knew it was inevitable, I couldn’t bare to actually move.

“…well, do you have anything to say for yourself?” Dad ended all his lectures with that statement.

It was now my turn to confess all I thought he knew and beg for mercy. He already knew everything so all I really could do was beg for mercy. Something deep down inside me said I didn’t deserve his mercy though. I had screwed up royally and deserved anything and everything he thought appropriate. So with a little hesitation I replied, “No sir.”

There was a long pause before he began again. “Being an adult has new responsibilities, including setting one’s own expectations and consequences.” He said.

This was new, I thought. I looked up from playing with my fingernails to find Dad seated in the other chair, leaning towards me as he spoke. I couldn’t remember him ever sitting down during one of my lectures. Well, I could never remember us both sitting down during one of this lectures.

“Is getting pregnant before being married one of your expectations for yourself?” he asked.

“No, sir.”

“And what is an appropriate consequence for getting yourself into a situation where that expectation could not be meet?”

I knew the answer I wanted to say and it wasn’t the answer he wanted to hear. I didn’t want to risk making him any more mad at me and went with the answer he wanted. “A spanking, sir.”

“And so have you been appropriately punished for your actions?” he asked.

There was something different in his voice this time. It was as if he was sincerely asking for my thoughts rather than going through an exercise. I bit my lower lip for a moment while I contemplating risking the affirmative response.

“Hu sweetie?” Dad urged gently.

He only ever referred to me as sweetie when he was trying to be comforting, not angry. This gave me enough hope to risk the affirmative response. “Yes sir.” I answered meekly.

“Are you sure? The spanking your mother gave you was adequate for the promiscuity, the unprotected sex, the inattention to details when reading the test?” Dad added.

Even the comforting, sincere tone couldn’t convince me to lie. I still felt guilty for the whole episode and if I had truly been punished adequately, I wouldn’t feel guilty, would I? The guilt felt horrible, not as bad as a spanking, but bed enough. And when would it go away? Even though saying no would mean another trip over the knee, it hopefully would get rid of this guilty feeling. “No sir,” I admitted.

“And therefore what should happen?”

“I should be spanked again.”

“OK, prepare yourself then.”

Dad had never put it quite like that before, though this entire line of questioning had been different. I stood up and first looked at his lap, then the desk and finally the space behind us. All three were valid options and he hadn’t stated which one. Over his lap always made me feel childish though the desk seemed like an equally juvenile position. Touching my toes would hurt worst than the other two, but seemed the most adult option. I am an adult and I am taking an adult punishment, so there really was only one choice.

I took three steps towards the back wall, so that I was well clear of any furniture. I contemplated leaving my PJs or panties up, but either seemed wrong. I closed my eyes, hooked my thumbs under my panty waistline and lowered both garments together. I stayed inverted and grasped my ankles to wait for the incoming pain.

Dad’s belt drew tears from me on the first stroke. It stung me to my core, yet I felt relieved at the same time. Cliche or not, but it felt as if each swat was lifting the weight of the world off my shoulders. I had read of the trials by fire of different cultures, and how this physically painful events could bring spiritual enlightenment, though I had never believed them until that moment. This spanking would become my trial by fire into adulthood.

Afterwards the normal hugs and cuddling on Daddy’s lap occurred. It had been a long time since I had felt like his little girl instead of a headstrong teenager taking on the world alone.

I wish I could say that was the last spanking I ever got. I’ve had a few more trips over Mom’s knee or Dad’s desk, though each of them has been at my prompting, rather that of my parents’. I swear Mom almost fainted the first time I came back from college and presented her my hairbrush before confessing to a bunch of things and draping myself over her lap. I know she thought I was crazy, but she carried out her motherly duty.

Spilled Coffee

Yesterday afternoon I was filling up the coffeemaker and notice I had not spilled a single drop when filling the reservoir.  Quite a little accomplishment, even if I have to say so myself, since most of the time there is a small puddle on the counter which I have to wipe up before starting the appliance.

Waiting for the pot to fill, my mind started to wander. First to spilling the water and not wiping it up, which obviously led to a naughty secretary and it was all down hill from there. I have heard of some strange reasons leading to a spanking, but spilling water while refilling the coffeemaker and not cleaning it up would definitely be one of the kookiest. Admitting why you got spanked would be worst than the embarrassment of the spanking itself.

Now spilling coffee and leaving those little brown circles splattered across the counter is a different issue. Coffee is quite obvious when spilled and it it just pure laziness or disrespect for one’s coworkers when it is not cleaned up.

So the question today is, what is the kookiest reason you have known of which lead to a hot bottom?

Crying ain’t going to fix anythin

I paced the small dorm room as all the harsh realities pounded my mind. What should I do? Should I take care of it? Should I just drop out? Can I afford not to end it? What if it cute? What are my parents going to say? How could I be so stupid? I want my mommmy!

The mixture of emotions overwhelmed me. I collapsed onto the futon, curlly up into a ball as the tears started to come. My life was over. I was sure of it. There was nothing left to do. All my dreams had been dashed in one stupid move.

I was so absorbed in my own self wallow to notice my roommate enter. I had left the box sitting on the floor and she instantly knew why I was crying. “Girl, you need to relax! It ain’t the end of the world. Just go to the doctors, and they can take care of it.” My roommate said with an attitude which only comes from growing up in the hood. It was crass like a seargent major, and just as practical.

“What!?” I cried back.

“Crying ain’t going to fix anythin'” she replied.

“Sniff, yea…” I conceeded. Crying wasn’t going to fix anything but it sure distracted from the severity of the problem I faced.

“So get your arse up and go take care of it!” she said rather harshly. The tone sounded familar, though I could not place it. I could not recall my roommate ever using it before, but it sounded familar, and suited her general personality.

“I can’t!” I cried back. “I…sniff…I…sniff…told my mom already.”

“And you’re supposed to be the smart one,” she mumbled, turning towards her desk. “I take it she’s on her way?” I just nodded. “Well you should go get cleaned up. Maybe a shower will help you think straight.”

A shower did sound like a good idea. I had woke up late this morning and hadn’t gotten a chance to shower before Stacey stopped by to run to the store. Maybe a shower would help. It couldn’t hurt.

“Com’ on go,” she pushed my feet off the end of the futon. I slowly got up and grabbed my robe, shower caddy and keys then went off to the floor’s bathroom. It was late in the afternoon, and about a half an hour before dinner so the bathroom was empty. I was glad it was empty, since I didn’t really want to talk to anyone at the moment and My eyes had to be extra red and puffy from crying.

I choose a center shower stall and turned on the hot water. I slowly went through the motions of shedding my clothes and handing them on the hook in the changing space. The hot water felt good, even if it didn’t pull the stress away like I hoped. I leaned my right arm aganist the shower wall and buried my eyes in my elbow.

The hundreds of questions came flooding back. How could this happen to me? What was I going to do? Could I do it? Should I do it? The questions were never ending, like the water pelting my back.

Screeech! The shower curtain flung open, revealing my mom standing there in sweatshirt and blue jeans. As would be expected, by first reaction was short, but earsplitting scream, which I am sure did not help her attitude.

“Get out here now!” Mom growled, taking my wrist and pulling me from the shower stall before I could protest.

“MOM!” I cried out, as a mom performed a nice tango twirl with me then sat down on the little bench all in one fluid motion. It would have been impressive, had I been dressed, or someone else was her dance partner. Neither was true and I ended up staring at the tile floor, sprawled across her demin covered knees.

“What the hell were you thinking! You weren’t thinking, were you!” Mom started lecturing. I could think of only one thing, and immedately reached my hands for the floor. My awkward angle allowed my palms just to contact the tile. I pushed off with my fingers when a firm hand pushed my shoulders forward and down.

“Stay there if you know what’s good for you.” Mom commanded.

“Please! MOM!” I knew what was coming and I would have done anything to prevent it from happening right now. “Not here! Please, not here! My room, home, PLEASE!”

Mom simply answered with a resounding crack of my hairbrush. The intensity of the sting of that first spank shocked me. It was like she took a minute worth of spanks and delieved it in one super swat.

The initial shock wore off very quickly as the second swat landed on my other cheek. It’s sting somehow outdid the first swat’s. I immediately let out a cry and tried to reach back with my right hand. Mom answered my cry with another swat, and then another and another and another. Each swat caused a slight break in my continuous wail.

“HAAA!” SWAT! “AHHH!” SWAT! “AHHH!” SWAT! “AHHH!”

All the emotional pain I had experience earlier was nothing compared to the sting my mom imparted upon my bottom. It was absolute horrible and I tried everything possible to stop it. Kicking, squirming, wiggling, reaching back, nothing could stop that evil hairbrush as it did its job.

Every swat drew out a little more of the fight in me until there was nothing left. All I could do was lay there crying and react to the energy of each new blow. I don’t know how many more I got after the fight was gone, but I doubt it was very many because the next thing I realized was standing before her.

Every nerve in my bottom was telling me to try and rub away the sting while my brain commanded my hands not to go it. Rubbing my bottom without mom’s permission might mean another trip over her knee. I instead tried to keep my hands busy by wipping the tears from my eyes and the snot from my nose.

“Put that robe on and lets get you packed. We are going home,” Mom instructed as she stood up.

I put on my robe and then grabbed my clothes. I turned around and took half a step towards the center of the bathroom and froze. Almost every girl on my floor was standing there, looking at me. “Oh My God! They saw everything!” I thought and immediately ran to my room.

In the back of a cop car

You drove right past
That no trespassing sign
We sat on the tailgate
And watched the planes take off

I thought we had all night
There was no need to rush
That’s when those cops
Came pulling up
And I thought
Man, ain’t this some shit

My daddy’s gonna kill me
But if I survive tonight
I wouldn’t change one thing
Baby, yeah
I know it sounds crazy

But there was something bout the way
The blue lights were shining
Bringing out the freedom in your eyes
I was too busy watching you
Going wild child
To be worried about going to jail
You were thinking that
Running for it
Would make a good story
I was thinking you were crazy as hell
And I was so innocent
But you were stealing my heart
I fell in love in the back of a cop car

Man, they weren’t playing
They sure threw those cuffs on quick
I tried to sweet talk ’em
They didn’t fall for it
But you did
You were on the left
I was on the right
You knew I didn’t smoke
When I asked him for a light
And you laughed
He got mad and slammed the door

Daddy’s gonna kill me
But if I survive tonight
I wouldn’t change one thing
Baby, yeah
I know it sounds crazy

But there was something bout the way
The blue lights were shining
Bringing out the freedom in your eyes
I was too busy watching you
Going wild child
To be worried about law school
You were thinking that
Loving on me
Would make a good story
I was thinking we were crazy as hell
Harvard wouldn’t wait
And daddy wouldn’t understand
I fell in love in the back of a cop car

Side by side
And locked in tight
They were taking their time
But we didn’t mind
We talked
And we laughed
We sat real close
By the time they let us go
I was already gone

Daddy didn’t understand what I saw
Those blue lights were still flashing
When they dropped me off
He was too busy seeing your tattoos
And the cop car
To be worried about my showing that belt
I was thinking that
Running for it
Would make a good story
I was thinking this was hurting like hell
And I wasn’t so innocent
But daddy was stripping my bottom
For I fell in love in the back of a cop car

New Years Recollections and Resolutions, Part III

This is the conclusion to New Years Recollections and Resolutions, Part I and New Years Recollections and Resolutions, Part II.

I was too much of a crying mess to realize what happened next, but this is what I believe happened. After Bethany had calmed down, and was convinced by Jake of the joke it was, she trekked upstairs to find Adam and I, hoping to cool any argument we might be having. Hearing a commotion in the bathroom, she instinctively went to investigate, pushing open the cracked bathroom door to discover a startling scene.

Bethany froze while her brain tried to comprehend the sight we presented her. I was wiggling over Adam’s lap, bare from my belly button to my toes. My hair had fallen forward, creating a blonde curtain shrouding my face when it wasn’t joining my legs in dancing along to the beat of the brush.

“Ah, sorry,” Bethany shuddered backing away from the doorway. Up to this point, Adam nor I had even realized she was standing there. Adam must have paused his work to address her, because the fire in my bottom seemed to stabilize for a moment. Before , then I felt a hand on my shoulder

“No, it’s ok.” I tried to articulate through the tears. Bethany must not have heard me because she kept trying to help me up. “Bethany, please, go,” I said a little more clearly, waving my right hand towards her knees. Didn’t she understand what was going on? I saw her and Jake in the same position a few months ago. Oddly, the exact same position.

“No, I’ll help you.” Bethany took a hold of my hand waving about and tried pulling me up.

“You do not understand, she does not need any help.” Adam told her calmly.

“Shut up and let her up.” Bethany poked her finger into Adam’s chest before trying to help me off his lap again.

What was she doing? This was between Adam and I. “Bethany, It’s OK! Please go, NOW!” I all but yelled at her. This got her attention, causing her to turn and storm out of the bathroom. What had gotten into her?

Adam didn’t allow me to ponder this question for very long, and simply return to work on my bottom once she was gone. And he is excellent at his work, fore the first swat instantly refocused my attention exactly where he wanted it.

Adam returned me to the sobbing mess that I had been when Bethany interrupted before he stood me up. I doubt it took more than a handful of swats, even if it felt like a couple dozen. He said something to me, probably about apologizing or such,
but I had other concerns presently on my mind. When my hands first touched my bottom I swear my fingers could feel the heat radiating off the surface. I even tried to wave some cool air on it but settled on just trying to rub out the fire.

I rubbed and rubbed, my mind focused squarely on my derriere until Adam broke my concentration by wrapping his big muscular arms around me in a protective embrace. With a strong heat below, I could feel all the tension, guilt and other negative emotions melt away in his arms. I was in a blissful state of nirvana. We stood there, me rubbing away the sting while Adam hugged me for an eternity.

Adam let go, slipping his hands towards my shoulders and holding me far enough that he could look down into my eyes. “You should go talk to Bethany.”

“I know,” I sniffled through the tears which still filled my eyes.

“Why don’t you spend a few moments up here and then when you are ready come down and speak with her?” Adam half asked, half instructed me as he wiped a tear from my cheek.

“OK,” I mumbled. He scooped up my clothes and grabbed the tissue box from the vanity and directed me into the bedroom. He led me straight to the king size bed, sitting my clothes and handing me a tissue from the box. It felt good to blow the snot from my nose, even if I was still crying some.

Adam kissed me gently on the forehead then said, “I’ll see you downstairs. I love you.”

“OK,” I mumbled before watching my husband turn leave the master bedroom, closing the door behind him. I held out until I heard the click of the latch, then the flood of tears overwhelmed me. I collapsed face down onto the bed, one arm covering my face while the other rubbed my bottom. The comforter and my tears helped blur the world into a dark abyss.

—-

“Honey, honey, hey sleepy head. Happy New Year!” Adam smiled at me as I regained my senses. I blinked away the sleep from my eyes just in time to see him come in for kiss. His gentle lips sucked away my breath, sending a tingle throughout my body. What a wonderful way to wake up.

Adam left me to return to the pool table were the other guys were waiting on him to shoot. Looking around, the first thing I comprehended was the TV on across the basement from me showed the celebration going on in Times Square.

I glanced to my left to see the girls curled up on the love-seat watching the TV. The movement of my head must have caught Bethany’s eye since she looked straight back at me. Her lips started to fidget as she starred back. I could tell she was trying to avoid smirking at me, but her lips were not listening to well.

My eyes shot away, and I started to blush. “Damn it, she saw everything,” I thought. “How am I going to explain it? Well, would I even have too? She was spanked by Jake after all. Maybe she just understood?” My mind was being obscured by a hundred questions. I needed to think clearly so I sat up and gave my head s gentle shake.

Instantly the fog parted and one thought was left; something was wrong. I was sitting there on the couch and I didn’t feel quite right. It was like something was missing. I shifted slightly and then it hit me; my bottom wasn’t sore. It didn’t have any of the warm tingle feeling you get an hour or so afterwards, there was nothing. It felt like I hadn’t been spanked in days, let along an hour ago.

“Has Adam ever tell you that you talk in your sleep?” Bethany said, letting a broad grin span from ear to ear.

“No,” I mumbled and my cheeks started to catch fire.

“Well you do, a lot, and it was quite interesting.” Brittney added quietly before bursting out into a giggle.

“Don’t worry, it’ll be our little secret,” Bethany whispered.

The rest of the night all I could think about was “what had I said?” I way to embarrassed to ask, but I doubt it was good.

Egogender

There was a comment yesterday on an old story which got me thinking about the gender assignment associated with erotic stories. This topic has come up recently on other a blogs, particularly on the male to female versus female to female literature, which is probably what made me think of gender when I read the comment. That, and the fact the commenter referred to the narrator as male, rather than my intended female narrator.

I have nothing against fiction where a male is being spanked; I personally do not find that situation as interesting, intellectually and sexually, as I do situations where a female is spanked. Intellectually, I find it interesting the thought process by which an adult women allows herself to be physically punished in such an intimate manner while going against prevalent cultural trends of feminism and corporal punishment. Sexually, there is nothing more attractive than the female body, especially when she is demonstrating her emotions. As such, my intention is to have all my stories have involved a female being spanked, insignificant of the gender of the one spanking.

Intentions are not reality. I looked back through my older stories and they broke down into three groups; 3rd person narrative where genders were clear, 1st person narrative where the narrator’s gender should be clear and 1st person narratives where the narrator’s gender is implied at various places, but not regularly reinforced through pronouns (ie. I and my are used instead of she or her).  The comment made me realize that the third group of stories allows the reader to apply their own gender identity to the narrator and visualize the story under those dynamics.

For lack of a better term, I’m going to call this egogender, applying one’s own gender to a situation where the gender is not stated. I spent way too much time looking through linguistic sites online and could not find a previously used term for such a situation. Gender-neutral is close, but it implies the creation, not the perception of the reader. There probably is word for such a situation, but I can’t find it.

My question, do you prefer stories where there are clearly defined genders, especially of those being spanked, or do you enjoy stories where the gender is more ambiguous?