This story is adapted from a story by CS who originally wrote this as a slightly different type of story. My adaptation places the setting in a sorority house and we all know what sorority sisters do to maintain discipline.
A Sorority Spanking
The clock on my bedside table reads quarter to eight. Although it is a bright summer morning, with birds singing their little hearts out just beyond my window, somehow I can’t quite get into the mood. Perhaps that’s because in exactly fifteen minutes my bedroom door will open, Betty will come in, and after a few well chosen words, she will turn me over her knee and paddle my bare fanny until I won’t be able to sit down for a week.
Fourteen minutes to eight. I brought it on myself. We don’t have many rules in this house, but those we do have are both fair and firmly enforced. When I decided to spend my sophomore year summer in the KAT sorority house with my sorority big sister, Betty, partly so I could earn a few credit hours, but mostly so I could be very close to a certain very handsome young man, Betty and I came to a few agreements. One of them was that although I was on my own at college, so that Betty didn’t need to stay up worrying, I would be home promptly by one every night. That didn’t sound too tough, but a few goodbyes in the moonlight got a little out of hand last night, and I didn’t roll in until two. One hour is good for sixty spanks right off the top (or on the bottom, as you might say.) Of course, if Betty had caught on the fact that I had had a few drinks (I don’t turn twenty-one for two years yet) or that my panties were crumpled up in my purse rather than covering what they were designed to cover, I could have expected a somewhat more vigorous blistering. Luckily enough, because sixty spanks are more than enough for my taste, I don’t think she caught on. Last night she just gave me a brief hug, told me I could expect a spanking in the morning, and sent me off to bed with just a friendly swat on the bottom. I just hope that she is still feeling as friendly today.
Did I mention that Betty is my big sister and in our sorority, big sisters can and do spank their little sisters? Well, they do, especially for those living right in the KAT house where rules are strict.
Eleven minutes to eight. I got up at seven, showered, and brushed my teeth. Then I put on a white “baby doll” nightgown with matching almost transparent panties to wait for justice to come knocking at my door. The outfit is in keeping with Betty’s standing instructions, but I really don’t see a need to look like a refugee from an Annette Funicello movie just to get my rear roasted. Betty thinks it makes me look cute, just like a little girl again, and of course what she says goes. Frankly, if cute gets me out of a few whacks, I’m all for it. I turn my back to one of my dressing mirrors, pull my top up, and take a good look at what those little panties contain. Cute maybe, but I’m not so sure that little is the accurate word to use. I’m a bubble butt (although a very shapely one, thank you very much!), and if those panties were just a fraction tighter, I think that they would burst under the strain. Oh well, not to worry. When Betty gets started, they won’t stay up long enough to matter anyway!
Nine minutes to eight. Time to get things set up for the main event. Occasionally I get the paddle, while lying on my bed over a couple of pillows with my bottom pushed up in the air. Sometimes, particularly at bedtime, Betty just sits on the edge of my bed and I go over her knees that way. For a formal spanking like this morning’s, however, I have to take the armless chair from my dressing table and place it out in the center of the room, midway between the two my full-length dressing mirrors. When the chair is in this position and I am over Betty’s knees, I can look straight ahead into one mirror and see the look on my face (at least for as long as I can see through the tears), as well as the heart shaped silhouette of my bottom sticking up for Betty’s tender ministrations. If I am really curious, I can look under the spanking chair to the mirror behind me to see how my entire bare bottom is faring. Watching oneself get spanked is a very strange sensation. Sometimes I see a paddle collide solidly with my backside and think dispassionately, “Well that was a good one!” The loud smack and the sudden blast of pain, however, remind me instantly that the situation is very personal and very real indeed.
Eight minutes to eight. Usually Betty doesn’t get dressed before a morning spanking. She will show up in slippers and a bathrobe. The bathrobe is soon removed to reveal a sleeveless nightgown (the better, she says, to get swinging room.) She pulls the nightgown well up on her thighs and invites me to stand between her knees. Then she bends me over her left thigh until my nose is well down toward the carpet and locks her right leg over my calves. This ensures that no matter how I struggle I will get every bit of what is coming to me. This position and the mirror in front of me give me a ringside view of that lovely valentine bottom silhouette that so many men find so erotic. Frankly, I’d happily trade places with any of them and watch their little heart shaped bottoms glow under Betty’s strong right arm rather than mine.
Seven minutes to eight. Did I mention that Betty is ambidextrous? Yep. If walloping my fanny with one hand becomes just too tiring, Betty is perfectly capable of turning me over the other knee and starting all over again. I swim. Betty plays tennis. I wish her forte was something a little less muscular – say like watching TV. At the ripe old age of twenty-one, she is an extremely handsome woman, slender where she ought to be slender and curved where she ought to be curved.
If she has any fault it is her sense of humor. When my nether cheeks are being set on fire, you may rest assured that I take the whole event very seriously indeed. Betty, on the other hand, likes to discuss the situation with me in the most lighthearted way, even – or perhaps especially – when reducing me to wails and tears of repentance. This isn’t cruelty on her part, In fact, anything but. She explained to me years ago that warming a sorority sister’s bottom is just as much a duty as making dinner, and should be taken no more seriously. In our sorority house, when a spanking is over, it is over. No recriminations, just a cuddle to make sure everyone knows they are still loved, and then on with life. Someday when I am a big sis, I hope that I will have the same point of view. But now, when it’s my fanny on the line, I see a lot less of the humor in the situation than I might if I were doing the paddling.
Five minutes to eight. The second hand takes an eternity to go around, and yet before I know it I’ll be bare bottomed and howling for my misdeeds. Betty used to use a hairbrush, but she has upgraded her instrument of choice. Now she has a lovely hardwood paddle. It is about 12 inches long, a quarter inch thick, and is made of highly polished (mostly by my fanny, I’m fairly certain) maple. It has about a dozen little holes drilled through it, which add an extra (and from my point of view, quite unnecessary) sting when applied to a bare bottom. Betty says she likes it because she can apply it to one cheek at a time or to both at once. Of the many fanny smackers she has used on me over the years, she says this one gives her the most bang for the buck. I’d say the most tingle for the single, or the most holler for the dollar – but I think that I will keep those clever thoughts to myself, at least for now.
Three minutes to eight. I find my hands creeping around to caress my rear elevations – as if that will do any good now! I wish I hadn’t gotten carried away last night, but the back seat of Fred’s car was such fun. And now my back seat has to pay the price! Oh my God, I left my purse with my panties in it downstairs. Do you suppose I left it open? Do you suppose Betty looked inside? And that little hug – do you suppose Betty smelled alcohol on my breath? My hands are frantically cupping my fanny now. Oh Lord! What am I in for?
One minute to eight. Time to compose myself. Be calm, Betty didn’t notice the panties or my tipsy condition. It’s just a spanking! It’s just a spanking! Over the knees, panties down, then a cool breeze. A few hot whacks, some wails and tears. Only a minute or two, then some hopping and rubbing. A cuddle on Betty’s lap and it will be all over.
The minute hand isn’t crawling anymore. It’s racing around the clock face now. I hear footsteps in the hall and a knock at the door. My mouth is dry and I swallow hard. It’s eight o’clock. If that isn’t the milkman outside my bedroom door, I’m about to get spanked!
It took 48 hours, but at last I can sit comfortably enough to write this down.
Although I’ve been spanked many times, my knees still trembled as I walked across my bedroom to open the door and admit Betty. True to my predictions, she was wearing a warm fuzzy bathrobe and soft slippers. She was also incredibly cheerful. No wonder! She wasn’t the one getting the spanking.
Betty gave me a big “good morning” hug, set her trusty paddle down by the chair, and suggested that we sit down on the bed and talk first.
She took my hands in hers and said, “Cyndi, it goes without saying that I’m going to warm your fanny this morning for getting in late, but there are a couple of other matters we need to discuss before we get started.”
My heart sank.
Betty continued, “If you wanted to keep it a secret that you let your boyfriend pull down your panties, don’t you think you should have been a little more careful than to leave them peeping out of your open purse in the living room?”
I felt like babbling out all sorts of excuses, but since I couldn’t think of any good ones, I just sat silently.
Betty looked me straight in the eye. “I want an answer now, and I want the absolute truth. I know that you and Fred had sex last night. Were you protected?”
“Oh Betty,” I was appalled. Playing back seat bingo was a lot of fun, but there was no way I wanted to become an accidental parent. “Of course I was protected! I know better than that! How could you even think that I wouldn’t be?”
“Honey, I just wanted to make sure. I don’t mind the fact that you are sexually active, and I think that Fred is a great guy, but sometimes people get careless in the heat of the moment.”
This conversation was taking a definite turn for the better. Although I could expect a smacking for being late, at least my fanny wouldn’t pay an additional price for my love life. Maybe I was out of the woods now. Betty’s next words dashed my every hope.
“Of course there is the matter of underage drinking – Did you really think that I wouldn’t smell the liquor on your breath when I hugged you last night? How much did you have?”
“Only a couple of beers.”
“OK, three or four.”
“One last time. HOW MANY?”
“Okay, maybe a sixpack!”
“And Fred had the same?”
“And so,” Betty looked fairly grim now, “Both you and your underage boyfriend were under the influence, and you got in his car and you let him drive you home!”
My “Yes,” in response to this question came out as a mousey squeak. Staying out too late was what you might call an administrative matter. Getting into a car with an underage friend who had been drinking was a major no-no. My backside hadn’t even been touched yet, but all of a sudden I felt as if my rear was the center (and the size) of the universe, in horrified anticipation of what was to come.
“I’m sorry! I’m really sorry!” I said, as I looked down at my feet.
“Sweetheart,” Betty lifted my chin with her fingertips and looked deep into my eyes, “You don’t even know what sorry is yet – but you soon will!”
Betty stood up and took off her robe. She wore only a silky sleeveless nightgown in her favorite shade of hot pink. She seated herself on the armless chair in the centre of the room, and pulled he nightgown high up on her bare thighs. “Come here Cyndi!” she commanded.
I walked across the bedroom in little baby steps until at last I stood between Betty’s shapely thighs. She tugged the panties of my babydoll over my all too ample hips, and slipped them on down to my knees. Then she bent me over her left thigh until my bare bottom was fully exposed and my nose was halfway to the floor. Although I should have just kept my eyes closed, I couldn’t resist checking the view in the mirrors. To the front I could see both my own horrified gaze and the valentine of my upturned bottom. When I dipped my head and spread my legs just a bit, I could look under my Betty’s thighs to the mirror behind me, and see my entire fanny (and quite a bit more besides!) all turned up and ready for her tender ministrations.
Reaching down to pick up her paddle, Betty said, “Cyndi, first you are going to get sixty spanks for being an hour late. Are you ready?”
Hell no! Who’s ever ready for a spanking? But I had to answer.
“Yes,” I squeaked, once again doing my dormouse imitation. In the mirror in front of me, I saw Betty raise her paddle on high and bring it down across the broadest part of my bottom with a solid SMACK! Some people (if I am to believe the somewhat doubtful testimony of several of my closest female friends) can take their spankings with grace and dignity. Not me! My bottom felt as though a bar of hot iron had been laid across both my cheeks, and I let our a shrill yelp. By the time Betty had laid a solid pattern of smacks across the center of my bottom from its lower rotundities up to almost where the groove separating my cheeks begins, my yelps had turned to wails. Quickly glancing back between my legs to the other mirror, I could hardly believe how red my bottom already was, and how it shook like jello with every swat.
Then Betty began to use her paddle with more finesse, only spanking one cheek at a time, and turning every single untouched spot from a calm alabaster to a vivid scarlet. I tried almost everything to escape the intolerable sting of the relentless paddle. My fanny cheeks bucked and swerved from side to side in a futile attempt to get my blazing bottom out of range, even if for only an instant. I tried to kick my legs, but Betty’s leg across my calves made this fruitless. My torso bounced up and down and my breasts almost spilled out of the top of my brief nightgown. My hands clutched my Betty’s ankle, then the chair legs, and from time to time covered my face. The one thing I didn’t do, however, was to reach back to try to cover my bottom. Years of experience had taught me that the price for this impertinence was solid swats across my oh-so-tender thighs – which didn’t stop until my hands were taken away – and didn’t even count against the number of spanks that I was due to receive!
As I noted before, I’m certainly not a heroine when being paddled. My wails turned to howls and tears began to stream down my cheeks. Smack! Smack! Smack! The steady metronome of the paddle continued to set me on fire. “Oh God! Please Betty! I can’t stand it! I’m so sorry! I’ve had enough! Oh please! No More!”
As if in answer to my prayers and tearful supplications, the sixty spanks for being late came to an end.
“You can rub now,” said Betty, “But just stay right where you are.”
If my hands had been attached to my bottom by bungee cords, they couldn’t have gotten back to my rear elevations any more quickly. I frantically rubbed all over my backside, and gently cupped my tender lower cheeks, in the hope that the sting would go away. It didn’t.
I looked in the mirror in front of me, and saw a little smile on Betty’s face. “I’m so glad,” I thought, ”that she’s proud of a job well done. I wish I had been around to see her get spanked by her big sis!” Bit by bit I got my sobs under control, especially when Betty rubbed my back until my sniffles subsided.
As I calmed down, a certain amount of embarrassment set in. Betty has seen my bare backside on innumerable occasions, but having your fanny turned up as the center of attention for a well deserved walloping is something you never quite get used to. Having it turned up all red and hot for a second spanking about to start was even worse.
Although these thoughts brought a blush to my facial cheeks as well, Betty quickly directed my attention to other matters.
“Cyndi, when my sorority sister spanked me, she always told me how much she hated to do it, and that it was entirely for my own good. I always wanted to tell you, especially before you have a little sister of your own, that’s the silliest thing she ever said. As a freshman pledge, sometimes you drove me crazy. Blistering your fanny was the only thing that kept me sane. Last night I worried when you came home late, and when I smelled liquor on your breath, I was scared half to death. I dreamed all night about a call from the police saying you had been in a horrible accident. I just want you to know that I am happy that you inherited that solid round fanny. You can take a lot of spanking, and because I love you more than I can say, you are going to get it. And I am going to enjoy every minute!”
Tears began to trickle down my cheeks again. This time more of shame than pain. When Betty told me to stand up on my tippy toes and push my bottom up even higher, I obeyed without question, even though it exposed my most tender spots, where my hips meet my thighs, to the paddle. I heard a swish and a splat, followed by a blaze of anguish across my lower bottom. Betty had begun again.
My previous spanking, thorough as I thought it had been, was just a warm-up to this main event. With my head almost down to the carpet, looking into the mirror behind me was almost was almost unavoidable. Betty raised her paddle more than shoulder high and brought it cracking down fast and furiously across the most tender spots on my bottom. I didn’t have any time for wails. I went right to howling at the top of my lungs as my big round rear end felt like it was being scalded with hot lava.
“OH GOD, OH NO! PLEASE STOP! BETTY! AHHHH! IT HURTS! IT HURTS! I’M SORRY! I’LL NEVER, NEVER, NEVER DO IT AGAIN! OW! OWW! OWWWWW! AHA! WAAHA! AWA! AWA! AWA!”
I remember the sights and sounds of that spanking as clearly as if the whole thing was on videotape. Betty had a grin look on her face and her breasts were heaving with exertion as she applied that paddle to my bare fanny with all her might and main. The smacking and whacking sounds were as rapid as firecrackers on the Fourth of July as that paddle collided with my rear in a blur of motion. My cheeks gyrated and churned as I frantically tried to everything I could to alleviate the horrible burning sting, but all to no avail. My tears ran down my face and puddled on the floor. My mouth was open in one continuous yell of agony as I beat my fists on the floor. In short, it wasn’t a very ladylike performance.
That’s ok. I defy you to do better when your bare fanny is being set on fire by one very angry big sis! For a while I thought that she would never stop. When at last she did, I jumped up and danced around clutching my fanny as if the paddle were still landing on it. When the pain died down a little bit, I tugged up my panties and just stood there and sobbed. Through my tears I could see Betty extending her arms to me. I sat down in her lap (although with my blazing fanny carefully stuck well out to the side so it wasn’t touching anything) put my arms around her, and cried out both the pain and my shame at my conduct.
Betty hugged me too, and I could see that she also had tears running down her cheeks.
We both cried for a while, and then I got the hiccups.
“Betty,” (Hiccup), “I deserved every bit of my spanking,” (Hiccup), “and I know you’ll do it again whenever I need it. But it won’t ever be for getting in a car again with someone who has been drinking.” (Hiccup).” I’ve learned my lesson about that!
“I know sweetie.” She stroked my hair. Then she helped me to my feet and into bed, and brought me a glass of water.
She leaned down and kissed me. “You were out pretty late. Why don’t you try to get a little sleep now, and I’ll call you for lunch.”
I gave her another hug. Then I got the giggles. “I know you love me, but when you really feel you have to show it, couldn’t you just try candy and flowers instead of that damn paddle?”
She smiled, turned me over, gave me one last gentle smack on the caboose, and pulled up the covers over me. “Sorry sweetie. The best way to talk sense to a foolish little sister is via the bare bottom. Believe me, I know!”
With one last hug and kiss, she went out, closing the door. As I closed my eyes, I looked at my bedside clock. The time was 8:31.