"I met her after school..."
(m-f cons hard voy)


"It's right there," I said.

We walked along the road, getting closer with every step. We reached a corner, but I did not peek around it as I had done the previous day, and the day before that. I knew full well she was there.

I turned around the corner, Kenny and Trish still behind me...

... and I saw her. A pair of tight jeans, a turquoise cut-sleeved shirt; her amber hair and jade eyes, few freckles on her face. She sat on top of the stone wall dominating the street from above; she sat still and tranquil, a book in her hands, her feet dangling over the edge of the wall, waving above the pedestrians' heads. She wore light blue cotton socks, her shoes placed neatly on the wall.

I stopped beneath her, and so did Kenny and Trish. I stood there for a while, watching her. She had not noticed me. Yet. But I knew she would...

"Call her," said Kenny.


"What's her name again?" Trish asked.

"I don't know."

My friends looked at each other behind my back, or so I felt. And still I waited, one minute, then another. I shut them both up waving my hand, and still we kept waiting. One more minute, one more.

Then, finally, she raised her eyes from the book and glanced at me. Not a smile or a wave or anything. There was no need for that. I knew she knew I was there all the time.

She was waiting for me, I was sure. Like all the other times.

In a flash she slammed the book shut, put it in the small bag she had close by, grabbed the bag and the shoes and descended the other side of the wall. There had to be a stairway or something, but I did not know. And I did not care, and I did not want to know. to me she was just the little girl on top of the wall with her feet hanging over the street. I did not want to know how she got there or got down, nor who she was. Her interests, her favourite music genre, her favourite team, her school, her friends... it was not relevant. Futile.

Kenny and Trish flanked me on both sides. "Why she was shoeless?" Kenny asked.

"She likes it that way. And so do I."

Trish shrugged, but Kenny murmured something like "cool!".

A few seconds more, then she was aside us. I felt happy and smiled to her, and she smiled back faintly, but I could tell my friends were surprised, if not shocked. I too had been dumbstruck the first time.

She wasn't taller than a metre and a half, still a child in size, but you could not tell so from her face outlines.

"Hi," I said.

Again she smiled back, still without a word. Her smile was captivating. Radiant, like her.

We walked towards my home, which was a couple of blocks away. With a few calculations I would eventually find out that the wall was exactly halfway from my home and my school.

I kept her close to me while we walked, my hand holding her arm firmly but gently. Sometimes I just loved to hold her hand, others a wrist or an elbow, or circling her shoulders. But delicately holding her arm between her elbow and her shoulder was the best of them all. I think she liked it the best also.

We got home after a few minutes' walk. Streets echoed with noises, but I could hear her breath getting heavier, just like mine. The four of us stepped in from the front door, with Kenny and Trish whispering something to each other behind my back. I think they were trying to figure out whether it was all a fraud or not, if I would really do it or not. They were bound to find out very soon.

My home was small back then, small but very well kept. Mom made a point of keeping it clean, and cared that I did the same. At first I had thought of entering from the rear door to avoid the kitchen, so I could send her to my room and tell mom something like: "Me and Trish and Kenny will be doing homework". But then I saw mom's car was not in the yard, and since she was not home there was no danger.

Once in, we threw our bags down and took off our coats. It was early spring, and it was still a bit windy, but even being sleeveless her skin was warm to the touch. Kenny helped himself from the fridge and offered us a soda, but I refused mine and she refused hers with a mild shake of her head. Still holding her arm, I led her to my bedroom. Oh, she knew perfectly well where that was anyway.

In we went. It was tidy, but not that much after all. I closed the door, then sat on the bed and pulled her to me, just like that, without warning. My two friends leaned against the wall opposite me and Kenny said daringly: "Let's see what you can do."

"Yep I'm curious..." said Trish, a bit more hesitantly.

I nodded. I looked at her, and she smiled a nervous smile. Now I was sure, she was breathing heavy. It was utter trepidation what she was feeling. Like me. Like she had been waiting that moment for a week – and, in fact, she had. She wanted that, and so did I.

I smiled back, and ruffled her hair sympathetically.

I stared into her deep green eyes, then looked at my friends waiting and watching.

Did they really think I would not spank her?

* * *

"Bend over."

And she did, until she was laying across both of my knees. She shifted and squirmed a little, finding the optimal position, and I let her do it. I felt an intake of breath from Kenny and Trish, now staring transfixed at us. Now she was almost perpendicular to me, maybe a little oblique. Her feel, with those socks every day different, twisted and laid over each other in a nervous dance. Her hands were on the bedspread, and so were her chest and head, one cheek laying on the sheets, she staring blankly at the wall. We were not used to public, but we had both agreed we would like to try, and now it was too late to back off.

In front of me laid the most beautiful little bottom I had ever seen in my life. Every time it produced a shock and a thrill in me. Pert, prominent, round, full, perfectly shaped. Morbid. A masterpiece of nature. Never in my life I would meet a better one.

I was keen to start by then, but I waited a few seconds more, enjoying the sweet tension that was building up in the room. Then I shifted her on my lap, so that my target was placed the way I wanted it. I moved it around a bit, only to end up placing it back where it was – she knew exactly how to position herself.

Then it all began.


There was a loud crack, and an intake of breath from her, as her hands instinctively grabbed the sheets and her head bobbed up in surprise. A small wrinkle appeared on her forehead. My friends jumped up in surprise as well, Kenny raising his eyebrows and Trish bringing a hand to her mouth.

I waited one more second, and then...


Two. I usually did not count, but it was unavoidable at the very start.

I caught my rhythm and stopped counting, just as planned. After that latest stroke her face was already in pain, but she had not yelped or cried out. I knew it was not really hurting – not yet – but there was a definite sting, like an urge to scratch spread all over her buttocks. I knew that from my own long, wide experience.

I kept it up at a steady pace for one long minute, smacking hearty smacks although not at all the hardest I could deliver. I did not want to get tired so soon into the spanking, and I did not want to hurt her more than it was needed. I did put effort in it anyway, and when I stopped for a brief pause I saw she was clenching her fists and her eyes, obviously fighting hard not to cry out.

I looked at Kenny and Trish: he was smiling, she still looked shocked (but the fact she was there and was watching it told me she was not that shocked after all). Then I looked at my charge, and once again our eyes met.

I looked for the consent as I always did, the authorisation to proceed, to keep it up, to continue the game. It always worked like that for us. It was a fair relationship, and it worked by the rules we had silently established.

After a few more seconds – maybe a hesitation on her side, maybe a simple wait – I saw her nodding. She sniffled a bit. Her tears were there, now it was only a matter of time before they came out.

"Get up," I said. She pointed her hands on the sheets and knelt on my right. "No, stand up. All the way."

She did as told, getting down the bed, standing up straight on the floor in front of me. She brought a hand back to rub her backside, and I allowed that; sometimes, as a part of the game, I punished her for doing so. Once I had been extra-severe about this, so harsh she still remembers that day... but that is another story.

While she rubbed, I brought my hands to the front of her jeans and started undoing them, causing a little shriek from Trish and something like "wow!" from Kenny. I pulled down the zipper and unfastened the one button. Her shirt fell down to a little below the jeans waistband, and I sneaked my hand beneath it to check if she had a belt. I also asked her, and she shook her head no.

"Good for you," I said.

She giggled.

Finally I pulled the rough jeans tissue apart on both sides, revealing her underwear. I saw she had worn yet another pair of panties. She changed all her underwear (panties, vest and socks) every time we met, not only out of hygiene but also because she knew I liked variety. I lowered the jeans down to her knees, and noticed how my beholders' look moved to her covered bottom. I deduced there was some colour already showing.

She had an admirable taste in dressing. With dark blue jeans, light blue socks and turquoise shirt she had worn white-and-turquoise panties, perfectly pairing with the rest of her clothes. But for the first time the panties were not made of cotton; they probably were on the inner side, but outside they were made of some morbid fabric that may have been wool. It was the kind of underwear you could see a toddler wearing, but she had them there and then, and I was thrilled and positively amazed by her choice. I brushed them oh so briefly with my fingers while peeling her jeans down, and I shivered.

Gently but firmly I re-took hold of her arm and bent her again, this time letting her legs dangle over the edge of the bed. As she laid upon my knees and thighs her cut-sleeved shirt rose up her back a bit, so to reveal some inches of her tanned, bronzed skin. Her panties also rode up her bottom, enhancing its rotund shape under the layer of tissue. I could not resist one second longer: I shifted her weight on my left knee and started spanking her again.

Those tears she had came out after the third swat or so. I rose my arm as high as my shoulder and I brought it down with strength, making it impact mightily on her aching buttocks. Her tiny, subdued cry eventually reached my attentive ear, and pushed me to spank her harder.

I smacked her upturned rear end again and again, making every smack a bit tougher than the previous one. She was crying freely, although not frantically, when I stopped for the second time, after having delivered thirty swats or so to her backside. I stopped just for a few seconds, the time I needed to insert some fingers in the waistband of her panties and pull them down to her knees. But as I did so I saw her jeans had descended to her ankles, and so I brought the panties there as well, grabbed the jeans as well and pulled them all right off, leaving her socked feet free to kick as much as she liked.

As for me, I would remain in awe of that beautiful sight for hours, but it was time to accomplish my ultimate task.

Trish was bewildered and wide-eyed, not making a move, but I could tell Kenny, though amazed, was starting to enjoy the show a little. I met his eyes and I pointed at my desk behind him, and he turned round.

"Give that to me," I ordered.

And he too was wide-eyed when he passed me the big, oval shaped, red maple hairbrush that was laying on the table. Also her had understood my intentions, and was now weeping a bit harder.

"I'm sorry," I told her, "but today you're in for it big time."


And I spanked the first hearty smack down on her buttocks, which were both almost covered by the big hairbrush. I got a screech and a long wail in response, and again she bobbed up her head in pain and surprise. On her bottom I saw an oval shape left by the hairbrush, whitish at first, then back to a deeper shade of pink than the rest of the flesh.

I whacked again, again on both cheeks, but lower, getting the same exact response from my charge. She managed to stay in position, though, and clutched the bed sheets with both hands, crying freely into them.

I kept it up, soon finding my pace of about one spank every two seconds. I swatted down on her bottom mercilessly, and she squirmed and wiggled so much I had a bit of trouble keeping her in place. I told her twice to stay still, but she did not comply, and I announced the following ten were for her disobedience. I made her really feel those, impacting her lower butt, right there where thighs start, the infamous and well-known 'sit-spot', where it hurts the most afterwards.

After those she did try and take her punishment with more composure, although she still squirmed a bit, but I allowed that given the circumstances. And also because I liked it.

Twenty more smacks later the spanking was about to end, but surely she had no way to know that, and just kept up crying with all her strength, coughing and gasping now and then, breathing hard. She laid limp now, she just laid there and take it, and when I saw this exhausted, finally submissive behaviour I quit smacking her.


Two more hard swats, one per cheek, ended her spanking.

I stood her up, and she immediately brought her hands back to massage her buttocks, and I allowed that for now. She was now totally careless of whatever modesty there was in her, and as she danced around, hopping up and down like the cutest bunny, she showed me, Kenny and Trish her inflamed behind as well as her front. I allowed her some more seconds to recover, then I led her to the nearest corner, where I delicately pushed her against the wall.

"Fifteen minutes. Do not move and do not rub now, sweetie," I added. "You know better. Okay?"

She nodded. I loved her. I knew I loved her, and I kissed her hair, perfumed with fruit-flavoured shampoo.

"Sunny," I then whispered into her ear. Somehow she smiled through her many tears, and I smiled back before leaving.

* * *

"Who's that? Where d'you find her? What's her name? Why? How long...?"

Trish and Kenny bombarded me with questions as we headed to the living room to have a drink. I surely needed one. She surely needed one, and I would buy her that and more as we would go to the nearest cafeteria later in the afternoon – where she would eat and drink standing up, of course.

I did not answer any of my friends' questions by the way, but then Kenny asked me one that I could actually answer to:

"What's that you told her in the end? Bunny?"

"Sunny," I corrected him. "It's like a pass word. For her safety. If she says that during the spanking it means she wants to quit the game, and I must stop right away."

Kenny and Trish looked at each other, and then at me, with a weird, almost funny look of utter bewilderment. I never found out if it was the word 'game' or the word 'quit' to have caused most of that reaction, but probably a mixture of the two.

"You mean," said Trish, "that she could stop you whenever she wanted to?"

I nodded. "Yes, she could."

"And she did not?" Kenny asked.

I shook my head. I shrugged. I smiled. "No, she did not."




The author is completely against the practice of non-consensual spanking applied to children and teenagers as a form of discipline: it is dangerous, violating and potentially abusive. All my stories are archived at http://www.geocities.com/haley_brimley/