Spanking Times Seven

My new ebook, Spanking Times Seven will be released soon. I don’t have an exact date, but watch this blog for an announcement.

“Spanking Times Seven” is a collection of seven spanking tales written mainly with an M/F orientation. The collection will include stories about a unique “Wife Swap” reality TV show with an interesting twist in the rules; a cat burglar who gets more than what she came for; a medieval slice of life about a constable and a pair of female thieves; some groupies who crash a party for a rock star only to discover they are the entertainment; a hitchhiker running away from daddy who encounters an unlikely rescuer; some roommates who adopt an odd (but sexy) method of keeping household order; and this story–Spring Break Breakdown. Art by Paula Russell


Spring Break Breakdown
The cool “Pina Colada Hour” that promised to be so much the part of each day on this vacation was rudely interrupted by the jangling telephone. Just when I was looking forward to renewing my close acquaintance with Hannah—in the bedroom.
“Your turn,” said Hannah. “They’ve all been for you.”
I winced. She was right. If it wasn’t Jane, my secretary, it was someone she’d given my number to. I’d been running to catch the phone all week. Three days here but it hardly seemed like a vacation. After handling a rather intense case, I’d received a handsome bonus and had decided to renew the conversation with former lover and still current very good friend Hannah Reeves about setting up a law practice in Florida. Hannah was more than happy to meet me in Florida, but she had agreed to chaperone two college freshmen—- her sister’s 18 year old daughter, Wendy, and her friend Holly at Ft Lauderdale for Spring Break. So here we all were, and I was up to my ass in estrogen with the three of them in a two bedroom condo on the beach.
Still it was great seeing Hannah again. In fact it was a passionate reuniting, albeit without being able to indulge Hannah’s penchant for having her lush buns soundly leathered prior to sex. “It’s too loud, Rob, the girls will hear.” I allowed as to how that would be all the better–for them to hear what happens to naughty girls, but Hannah was too embarrassed. That had changed when they left for the beach–we had a window of opportunity. Then, the damn phone.
As it turned out, the phone was for Hannah. “It sounds like law enforcement,” I said. Hannah cocked her head and mouthed “what?” Then she took the phone.
“They what? OK, where? OK. Oh my God. Thanks.” Hannah looked worried. “It’s the police. Wendy and Holly are in custody.”
“Custody?”
“Juvenile to be exact. The little dears were rounded up by the beach patrol. Indecency. They were wearing those thong swim suits. Police hauled them to jail.”
 I gave Hannah my best I-told-you-so look. “Thong suits, eh—what do you know about that?”
Both were blondes with great figures which they had been determined to show off as much as possible. So, they had pleaded with Hannah to allow them to buy these thong barely-there-butt-floss bikinis. They were obviously designed to tease every available male for miles around into hormonal overload.
The problem was the city had passed a new decency ordinance–just in time for Spring break–and the girls had gone out to the beach in defiance of it.
Served them right, getting arrested.
Hannah had let them buy the suits after first declaring, “Absolutely not.” She had wanted to be the cool auntie and had caved to the pressure. I had warned her.
“You bought them after all, didn’t you?”
“They promised not to wear them here,” she said weakly. Then she shook her head, disgusted with herself. “I should have known they’d try this.”
“Well, they did leave wearing their one-piece suits,” I offered.
“But they changed somewhere. I can’t believe this,” she fumed.
“So what happens now?”
“I don’t know. We have to go down there.”
So we drove to the juvenile correction center. The parking lot was full. The place was a madhouse, but we were told that there would be an arraignment for a huge block of kids picked up in a sweep for a variety of youthful offenses. Hannah, who was a member of the Florida bar, was able to get us moved up on the docket. Most of the kids there were unsupervised, on their own, and had no one to plead their cases. The judge, a crusty old cracker who’d been on the bench longer than Moses motioned us back into chambers.
“Says here they got hauled in for wearin’ one of them thong things,” he drawled, reading the police report.
Hannah admitted only what we’d been told.
The judge leaned back in his chair and regarded us thoughtfully. “Way I see it, there’s two ways this can go—one, the girls could get the mandatory Juvie treatment—locked up for three days of Spring Break week. Now that’s door number one. Two–and this one you ought to think about–Juvenile Correction is going to put on a little demonstration. Right out on the beach. They’re gonna show kids what can happen to ’em if they don’t obey the law. We’re overrun with these damn hooligans this time of year, and the county passed a new ordinance. We’re damn tired of paying to incarcerate these kids.

And inside juvie it’s no picnic. They got some matrons in there who don’t take no guff.”

“So now, they’re going to get what us kids got in my day for such shenanigans, and that’s a good paddling. Only now, the county is going to do a public demonstration and what they need are ‘volunteers’ for this little show. The good part is, after they’re done, that’s it. Case dismissed.”
Hannah was in shock. So was I. In return for a guilty plea, the girls were to receive, honest to gosh, a public spanking and no incarceration.
“You want to talk to your clients about it? After all, they’ll be up on that stage, wearin’ those little thong suits and getting a good licking in front of their friends…”
“I can safely say they’ll agree to it, judge.” Hannah was actually smiling. The little madams were going to get it.
The announcement to Wendy and Holly did not go over well.
“You mean they’re going to s-spank us?” asked Holly incredulously.
“In front of all those people?” Wendy was shocked to even ask.
“Well, kids it’s a hell of a lot better than being locked up at Juvenile, isn’t it Rob?” asked Hannah, turning my way.
“It’s pretty grim in the lockup,” I said.
The girls were crestfallen. They were still in the juvenile detention center wearing their thong suits (now covered by a beach skirt and jacket ensemble).
“I could call your parents and ask them what they want you to do…” ventured Hannah.
“Oh, no no,” they both blurted, almost in unison. “We’ll do the, uh, demonstration thing.”
Hannah notified the matron, then signed some papers. Then the girls signed. The matron made a phone call and two juvenile officers showed up. Both officers were Dept of Corrections people. Both wore khaki shorts and white blouses with ties. One whose name tag read “Carla” was a tall Brunette with a thin face and short clipped hair, the other, “Fran” was a stocky blonde. Both women appeared to be in their early forties and very capable. We were to go with them in a squad car to a stage that had been set up on the beach.
The girls were silent all the way there until Wendy asked in a shaky voice, “Are you the ones who are going to…you know…”
“That’s right, miss,” said Carla in a clipped businesslike voice. “You are both getting a break and I want full cooperation–or else. Just think of us as your moms away from home.” Both women chuckled.
The girls just slunk down in their seats, totally mortified. When we got to the staging area, a crowd had already started to gather. The stage was set up at the end of a parking lot facing the beach. It was usually used for bands and music, but Juvenile Corrections had taken it over today. On stage were a few microphones and two sturdy stools. Carla and Fran secured the girls’ wrists in front of them with plastic restraints and pulled them out of the car. Another Dept of Corrections officer, a man, took the microphone on the stage. A curious crowd had begun to gather. It was mixed. There were families with kids, teenagers, and seniors who had been either sunbathing or swimming or walking on the beach, but they sensed something was in the offing and started gathering about the stage in expectation of what it might be.
The corrections guy announced that he was Officer Ruiz and that what they were about to see was a sentence carried out by order of the Juvenile Court for public indecency. Couched in the announcement was a warning that the punishment they were about to see was mild compared to what juveniles might receive for other, more serious crimes. Now the crowd was very interested. The girls were frog marched by Carla and Fran, respectively, to the stage. They had been stripped of their beach shifts and were now clad only in the thong bikinis that had prompted the arrest. No wonder they were arrested. Pale, firm and full, the pair of succulent teenaged bare bottoms on display in those bikinis left nothing to the imagination. When they had climbed the stairs to the stage, they stood, each officer with a firm grip on the arm of her charge, facing the expectant audience. Officer Ruiz regarded them with a thin smile then pulled out a sheet of paper and began to read it aloud to everyone.
“By order of the Juvenile Court of Dade County, Judge Ellison presiding, Miss Holly Sanders and Miss Wendy Woods, having pleaded guilty to violation of county ordinance no. 114.675(a)(2), public indecency, both shall be publicly punished as prescribed by law.”
Turning to Carla and Fran he said, “Ladies, do your duty.” Holly and Wendy started to mouth protests as they were gripped more tightly and escorted over to the two sturdy stools. Almost in unison, the corrections officers sat on the stools, which were side by side and pulled the two juvenile culprits over their laps. The girls shrieked at this indignity. Their pale moons quivered as they squirmed helplessly across the laps of the stolid matrons who held them in a secure grip, learned no doubt by experience with countless other naughty teenage hoydens.

Chuckles swept through the crowd at the obvious distress of the embarrassed teenagers. The crowd now noticed that cute backsides of the two girls were practically bare save for the skimpy thongs that hid only their private girlish parts. With grim smiles the officers each produced an oval paddle. The crowd grew silent. At a signal from Officer Ruiz Carla and Fran raised the leather spankers and proceeded to smack the wriggling bottoms of the hapless teenagers. The girls screeched in indignity and pain as crisp smacks rang out, the sounds of which were effectively picked up by the stage microphones. Holly was the shorter of the two and her legs fluttered as she squirmed in vain over the determined officer’s lap. Wendy’s toes drummed on the floor of the stage in an attempt to alleviate the unbearable sting that had built up from repeated applications of the paddle. The cracks and thwacks of the paddles along with the shrieks and crying of the mortified girls formed a cacophony of sound that attested to the efficacy of Florida justice as the bouncing bottoms of the two girls took on the dark red hues of a bad beach sunburn. After what seemed like two or three minutes of steady spanking, both officers quit and stood up, hauling their blubbering charges to their feet.
But it wasn’t over. Holly and Wendy were grabbed by waist and bent over, tucked under an arm of the officers with their red bottoms on display.

“This,” intoned Officer Ruiz, “is what juveniles flaunting our ordinances can expect—only worse. For you kids out there, be forewarned.”
They released the sobbing girls to Hannah and we bundled them into the car. Both teenagers were crying softly and rubbing their swollen rears.
“Ow,” bleated Holly, as she tried to sit in the car, “they really spanked us hard. My butt is raw. I never got a spanking from mom that was that long or that hard.”
And that was the problem, I thought.
“It was the most humiliating moment of my life,” sobbed Wendy.
“It could have been worse,” remarked Hannah. “You could be having fun in a cell with new friends.”
“Brrr,” said Holly. “If that’s what you call fun, I’m out of here.”
I looked at Hannah and smiled. “You girls go down to the pool–in your one piece outfits. I need to discuss something with your aunt.”
They left. Cooling off their little bottoms in the pool would take awhile.
I looked at Hannah and pointed at the sofa arm. “Shorts down and bend over.”
“W-what?”
“You heard me,” I said, first unbuckling, then pulling my own belt though my pant loops with a slithering sound. “I think 20 good licks should suffice.”
“But what did I do?” Hannah
“You let them buy those suits,” I said. “We were just about to renew our relationship, so to speak,  when that damn phone rang. All because you let them buy those suits.”
Hannah decided to accept her fate. Blushing delightfully,  she shucked down her shorts and panties and assumed the position, bottoms up over the padded arm of the sofa. She gasped and wriggled as I laid on 20 moderate licks although I did put a little more mustard into the last five which produced some sharp “ouches!” and future promises to listen to me. Nonetheless I detected the unmistakable signs of feminine arousal. She was bent over the sofa primed and ready, and I had an erection that would not wait.
Now this vacation could really get underway.
                     

 

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