In The Shed

My approach is different from that of Rustycook, but there's room for all, I think. To me a spanking story, a fictional one that is, is a fantasy, and I think all fantasies are allowable. Like Rustycook, I don't advocate real life spankings.
Anyway, here's one of mine.

In the Shed
Alex Snow

Mitz was a bad girl that day and she got it good from her mom. She went to bed that night with a hot, red butt and cried herself to sleep. Mitz was so ashamed the kids next door got to watch.
Sometimes her mom was nice as pie, but most days she was real strict. Mitz could play in the yard while her mom worked, but she had to be good. Get mud on her clothes, or get in a fight, and her mom would bring out the strap.
“Hey. You got some cash on you?” said the short kid with long, blonde hair. Her skin was pale as wax, and her eyes bugged out like a frog’s. She gave Mitz a shove.
Mitz shook her head. She was broke. Her mom gave her two dollars a week, which she had spent on chocolate.
“That bites,” said Jean. She shoved Mitz hard and the boy in back of Mitz said, “Watch it,” and shoved back. Mitz tried to duck and tripped. She fell on the rack her mom hung the wash on and knocked it down with a crash. Clean clothes lay in the dirty dust, her mom’s new blouse and Mitz’s jeans and the clean sheets for her mom’s bed.
“Mitz,” her mom yelled. “What the hell is that racket? Can’t I work for half an hour without you getting in trouble? Come here. March!”
Mitz shivered. Her mom was mad as a wet cat. Clean clothes in the dirtthat meant the strap. Louse up her mom’s workthat meant the strap and worse. The fat kid Kip and the girl Jean watched as Mitz jumped up and ran to her mom.
“Please, Mom.” Mitz’s throat was so dry she thought she would choke. “Please, don’t. Not with them here.”
“Don’t what? Talk sense, will you? What did you do? C’mon, spit it out. What…” Then she saw the clothes rack on its side in the dirt. “****,” she said. Her hand flashed out and cracked off Mitz’s cheek. Mitz whimpered. “Look at that. My clean wash. That does it. You need a taste of the strap. Over your bare butt. It’s been too long, Mitz, way too long. All right, in the shed. Quick, now, march! Put your nose on the wall. You know the spot. And wait for me. Don’t dare stir till I get there.”
She went back in and the screen door slammed behind her. Mitz felt tears start in her eyes. They ran down her cheeks, but she made no sound. She just walked real slow round the house and out back to the shed. The two kids, Kip and Jean, trailed her.
“Poor Mitz,” Kip said, his voice mock-sad. “Mommy’s gonna spank her.”
The shed had a tarred roof and wood slat walls. Chinks in the wall let the sun in, and the door leaned open, half broken off the top hinge. Mitz got whipped here when her mom was extra mad.
The shed was hot and the air smelled of dust and wood. Mitz went in and put her nose on the wall. She had to bend down to do it. Her mom had marked a big X on the wall with a red crayon.
“She sure wants it,” Kip said. “Look at her stick her butt out.”
“We should go home,” Jean said, not easy in her mind.
“Fraidy cat. Go on, then. I want to watch. I saw Doug Nilsson get it once. His mom whipped him with a switch. I bet you never saw nothing.”
“I did so. I saw Aunt Sue spank both her kids once. It was fun.”
“Here comes Mrs. Garcia now,” said the fat kid. He licked his lips.
Mitz heard her mom come in and sneaked a quick peek, then put her nose back to the wall. She wasn’t supposed to move until her mom said to. She was scared spitless. She felt like she had to pee, a burn in her gut. Her mom had the strap. It was two feet long and had a wicked, oily black sheen.
It had started to rain, one of the quick rains of summer. In seconds the rain came pouring down with a rush.
“You two kids still here? Well, you can’t go home now. Just stay out of the way. Okay, Mitz, off with your clothes.”
Mitz pressed her back to the wall. “No, Mom, please don’t.” Her mom’s face changed. She dropped the strap and came up to Mitz in three fast steps, grabbed her arm and slapped her, once, twice, a third time, hard slaps that stung Mitz’s cheek and split her lip.
“Don’t you dare sass me, young lady. Get those clothes off, I said. Here!” Her hands tore at Mitz’s blouse. A button popped and flew. She pulled the blouse off and tossed it aside. A cool breeze, smelling of rain, soughed through the shed, and Mitz’s little **** stiffened.
She felt her mom’s hands work at her belt. Mitz was sobbing and gulping. Through a haze of tears she saw the two kids staring at her. The fat boy had his mouth open. Her mom pulled her jeans and panties down to her ankles.
“No, Mom, Mommy, Momma. Please don’t,” bawled Mitz.
Mrs. Garcia dragged Mitz at a stumble over to a big stump and sat down. Mitz fell over her lap. “You, what’s your name, Kip, hand me that strap. And pull her jeans off. The panties, too. Go ahead, they won’t bite you.”
Mitz’s cries became high pitched and hysterical. “Naah, Mommy, Momma, don’t do it, please, Momma, please.”
The strap came down with a crack on Mitz’s soft, pink ***, and she screeched and bellowed, kicking like crazy. “Yaaaaahn,” Mitz screamed. “Ow, ow, owee. Mommy, owahhn.” The strap fell with loud, flat sounds, biting Mitz in the *** and stinging her thighs. She felt her butt swell and burn. Her mom whipped her hard and fast, and her cheeks were wet with tears and slobber.
She jerked like a fish on her mom’s lap, trying to kick away the sting. “Waaahhahnhahhah, Naahn, MommiEEE, nahhah, eeeyah, YAAAHNhahnhah.”
Mrs. Garcia was lean and tough as a wolf. She swung the strap with fierce energy. Her eyes glittered black, and her mouth was set in a merciless line. The strap flashed through the air and came down crack, snap, crack. Mitz’s little *** bounced and jerked.
The two kids, Kip and Jean, watched intently. Jean had her hands up under her dress, rubbing her own butt. She felt a hot tingle between her legs as though she had to pee. This was awesome. The strap bounced off Mitz’s hot little *** again and again and she screeched and jerked and did the splits and her *** turned redder and redder.
Mitz screamed until her throat was raw. She kicked and jerked and screeched. When her *** was bright red, crisscrossed with purple welts, her mom stopped. “G’wan, get off,” she said and gave Mitz a shove.
Mitz jumped up and ran around in a crazy little circle, bawling and stamping her feet. Her eyes were squinched tight and tears ran from under the lids in an endless stream. She opened her mouth wide and screamed, “ Mmaaahhaahnhahhah, naaahn mommy mahhnh.”
Mitz’s mom tossed the strap to the floor, took a cigarette from her blouse pocket and lit it. She smoked the way she breathed, slow and easy. She watched a while as Mitz did her dance, smoking casually.
The boy looked at her, admiring her strong, sinewy hands. He wondered what it would be like to lie, bare, on the blue plush trousers, waiting for the strap. He shivered, a quick pucker of the skin.
The woman seemed suddenly to feel his gaze. Her mouth twisted. She stood up, dropped the cigarette and ground it under her heel. “All right, Mitz, into the house. Your friends have seen enough for one day. You kids go home now. The rain’s stopped.”
She took Mitz by the ear and led her out. Jean followed, skipping along beside them, talking a blue streak. Kip stood in the doorway of the shed and watched them go. It was sort of funny seeing Mitz dancing along in the mud in only her shoes and socks, going “ow, ow, ow” because her mom had her by the ear. But he didn’t follow them. There was something he wanted to do.
He went back in the shed and got Mitz’s jeans and panties and took them over to the window where the light was stronger. He thought Mitz was sort of cute. That’s why he liked to tease her.
The panties were balled up inside the jeans. He took them out and dropped the jeans. It was the panties that interested him. They were blue cotton and kind of worn but still wearable. That was the kind he liked. He thought he would add these to his collection. He had three pair now, the others stolen from wash lines. Maybe Mrs. Garcia would guess he had them but, if she said anything, he would tell how she whipped Mitz. Maybe she’d let him watch again. He sure hoped so.
He crumpled the panties into a ball and stuffed them in his pocket. All of a sudden, he was in a hurry to get home. In his room, he could take out the panties and think about Mitz getting it. Next week, he’d come back and hang around some more. Maybe he’d luck out again.

The end.

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Jun 13, 2011