Emulating Tom

The truth, or one’s personal truth, can be so convoluted and so full of embarrassing revelation that telling it can only make some things worse. Sometimes the truth will not set you free, or get you what you want, and you need to resort to creative alternatives. 
Innocent lies. In retrospect, Cheryl Lansing now wondered if there was such a thing. She had thought a lie that helped someone might not be a bad thing, especially if it could benefit her as well. Lies can be mean, or they can be useful, but Cheryl had ultimately come to learn that even telling harmless lies is like getting on a rollercoaster. Once on, you can’t get off until the ride is finished….and the ride itself is full of unexpected ups and downs.  

Cheryl’s tumultuous ride began months earlier at school when, just as eight grade was half over, two unrelated things conspired to instill a growing compulsion in her. One was the introduction of a particular book in their English class. Their teacher, Mrs. Harding, had them all read The Adventures of Tom Sawyer by Mark Twain, a book that was rapidly falling out of favor in many school districts due to its racial insensitivity. Mrs. Harding warned her class about some of the terms they might find, but said the book, though a product of its time, was still of great literary value and she wasn’t going to be someone who “threw the baby out with the bath water”. As reading assignments go, Tom Sawyer was a difficult book at times. The language sounded alien, from another world and another era. But when Cheryl got to the part where Tom covered for Becky and took a nasty punishment that she rightfully deserved, her face felt hot and her palms perspired. She couldn’t explain it, but that passage captivated her. When Tom’s love turned to him and gratefully cooed, ‘Tom, how could you be so noble?’ her eyes watered, but it was the brief description of Tom’s merciless beating that dampened a different part of her anatomy. Cheryl possessed the soul of a true romantic, and yet when reading and re-reading that section she never once imagined herself as the doe-eyed Becky gushing at her heroic Tom. Instead, despite never having been a tomboy herself, Cheryl always pictured herself in Tom’s place, sacrificing herself for love as her bottom twisted under some vicious assault. Oddly, she had never had these thoughts before. Somehow Tom Sawyer tripped a switch deep within her, making corporal punishment a very tantalizing thing to think about.

While ‘rods and ferules’ had long since disappeared from schoolrooms, Anderson Middle School still occasionally employed the paddle when called for. Cheryl had certainly seen it used over the years, even though she herself had never felt its sting. In her whole school career, Cheryl had never misbehaved badly enough to warrant the paddle, though she knew her parents, like all of the others, had signed the consent should it ever be necessary. Misbehaving was just not in her nature, and yet now she could not help but be fascinated at the prospect of feeling that wooden menace burn into her soft bottom. She continually wondered what it would be like. The grunts, yelps, and scrunched faces of past miscreants as the paddle struck did tell her something more believable than the post-punishment boasts about it not being so bad. It sure sounded bad. And if those kids were telling the truth, why did they always return to their places so slowly afterwards? And why did they always lower themselves into their seats so carefully? No one ever just popped up after a paddling, darted back, and plopped themselves down with a grin. That suggested a truth no one wanted to admit: those paddlings must hurt plenty. And yet, she seemed morbidly desirous of the pain her classmates publicly downplayed yet actively tried to avoid. 

Her curiosity grew in the following weeks until she even contemplated intentional misbehavior to provoke a paddling just so she could see what it was like, but her pride in being honest, helpful, and obedient, did not allow her to go through with the ploy. Instead, she continued on as ‘the good girl’, perhaps waiting for a good enough reason to resort to such a contrivance. Enter Tranquility Feldon, a late semester transfer student whose father had just been relocated to the town from California. Though named ‘Tranquility’, the girl’s nature belied the appellation. Born to two successful ex-hippies, now firmly entrenched in the Reagan-era establishment, Tranquility was unused to strict discipline of any kind. There was no paddling in her old school and she had made it a point to repeatedly refer to the presence of a paddle in her current school as “barbaric”. She claimed she had never been spanked at home, nor subjected to any loss of privilege. As a result, she just did as she pleased and landed herself in varying degrees of trouble frequently. However, perhaps because she was new, Mrs. Harding, who was usually pretty strict, seemed to give the new arrival more latitude than her other students. When she did punish the girl, it was only with detentions, essays, or ‘lines’. Still, Cheryl and her class knew Mrs. Harding‘s patience was not limitless. It seemed to everyone that it was just a matter of time before Tranquility’s luck, via Mrs. Harding’s mercy, would run out and the aloof brat would finally experience the paddle she so caustically ridiculed.

The thought of this flippant newbie being paddled appealed to most of Cheryl’s class, being just the thing needed to shut her up. But Cheryl felt differently. She shuddered at the thought of Tranquility bent over Mrs. Harding‘s desk, because while Cheryl knew that she was supposed to admire the athletic boys in her class like her friends did, she found she only had eyes for the petite, freckled, blonde, free spirit from the West Coast. Tranquility also didn’t seem to care too much about the boys, which made Cheryl think they perhaps shared a uniqueness that could not be openly talked about. Still, despite her efforts to catch the girl’s attention, Cheryl seemed as invisible to her as the boys.  

Recalling Tom Sawyer and his brilliant act of heroism, Cheryl knew precisely what she could do to win Tranquility’s attention and favor while satisfying her own curiosity about being paddled. She did not even have to stoop to misbehavior………. just confess to someone else’s like Tom did. Given the new girl’s attitude, Cheryl needed only to wait for the inevitable and steel herself for the sacrifice to come. But while Cheryl figured her chance would come quickly, for whatever reason, weeks passed without incident, making each uneventful school day feel like a missed opportunity for happiness. 

Some nights, as her frustration increased, Cheryl would half-imagine and half play-act an elaborate scenario in her bedroom. In it, she would come upon Tranquility stretched-out in a dungeon and bared for punishment by some faceless specter holding an old weathered and splintery paddle. Expressing her outrage at the prospect of anyone laying a hand on the callipygian waif, she would offer to trade places with her love telling the shadowy figure she would gladly take double the punishment so long as Tranquility remained unscathed. Then Cheryl would actually lay face down on her bed and expose her bottom to the cool, dark night while pretending to suffer innumerable swats for the sake of another. After her behind was beaten raw and blistered with imaginary welts, she’d picture being released into the arms of her love. The appreciative girl would soothe her tortured behind with gentle caresses as she repeated, “oh Cheryl, how could you be so noble?” As she imagined this scene, Cheryl’s hand always seemed to find its way to a place where a few moments of touch would release a floodgate of ecstasy. But so far it was all only a fantasy in the dark. What she wished for was the opportunity to make her dream real. 

One Friday, just after lunch, Mrs. Harding ushered in her class and instructed them to settle down. She asked them to take out a sheet of paper and answer the questions she had written on the blackboard prior to their return. She smiled at the predictable groans, warned them all not to cheat, and turned towards her desk to review her agenda as her students struggled with their answers. But in pulling out her chair, the sharp-eyed teacher espied two equally sharp thumbtacks glinting threateningly on the seat, each placed carefully to presumably stick her squarely on each buttock as she sat. No one had ever dared to pull such a stunt before and Mrs. Harding possessed a pretty clear suspicion as to the probable identity of the guilty party. Rather than give anything away, the clever teacher pretended to remember something and went to the supply closet rather than sit and busied herself until the quiz was complete. After collecting the papers, she addressed the class. 

“It seems we have a practical joker among us,” she began. “And while I’m not without a sense of humor and can laugh at a harmless prank as well as anyone, this particular prank is not harmless at all. In fact, the whole intent of this prank is to hurt someone for the sake of amusement. This I find to be deplorable. A little earlier I noticed that two rather pointy tacks had been carefully and intentionally placed on my chair. Does anyone know how they got there?” The teacher now focused solely on her newest pupil.

Cheryl’s eyes quickly darted to Tranquility who looked trapped in Mrs. Harding’s gaze. 

“Tell me, Miss Feldon, might you know who the guilty party is?” the angry teacher asked.

The usually smug blonde squirmed and flushed. Her reaction betrayed her guilt while she tried to force an answer. But before she could confess, Cheryl blurted out, ”I’m sorry, Mrs. Harding. It was me.”

It was hard to tell who was more surprised by the sudden confession, Mrs. Harding or Tranquility Feldon.

“Really, Miss Lansing? What would possess you of all people to do such a thing?” the teacher asked suspiciously.

“I….I just thought it would be funny. I didn’t think you’d be seriously injured or anything….just a little sting. I’m sorry,” Cheryl explained.

Mrs. Harding looked both hurt and disappointed for a moment, then turned to Tranquility and said, “I’m sorry I suspected you Miss Feldon, but it now appears I was wrong.”

The relieved blonde barely managed an ‘it’s OK’ before the teacher refocused her attention on Cheryl. “Stand up, Miss Lansing. Miss Lansing, what you did was cruel and stupid. You have never behaved this way before and I am surprised at you. However, despite your usual good behavior, this stunt calls for serious punishment. Since your idea of humor is watching someone else experience pain in their backside, I think it may well be a fitting punishment that you provide a similar entertainment for your class. However, since even I would not subject anyone to those tacks you left for me, I have another means of inflicting some sting to your backside which may be far more effective. But, don’t worry, Miss Lansing. You will not be ‘seriously injured’, ‘just a little sting’ as you say, which I’m sure the class may find just as amusing. You may also consider that a lesson in irony. Please come to my desk.”

Cheryl bowed her head in both fear and anticipation, “yes, Ma’am,” she murmured.

“Take this note to Principal Williams’ office and come right back.”

Cheryl did as she was told. She knew from watching others what the note said. It was a request for the dreaded paddle. The secretary would look up her name in the school files to be sure a consent form had been signed and then hand the paddle to her to bring back to class. It was an exercise in efficiency and humiliation for the offender to be officially cleared for punishment while also having to walk the paddle through the hall. Anyone seeing you knew without question what you were in for. For Cheryl the walk was exhilarating as she imagined her impending punishment as the ultimate sacrifice and expression of her feelings for Tranquility. She did not even mind the smirk on the janitor’s face or the snicker from the runty boy returning from the restroom. Rather than think of escape, she hoped for a genuine ordeal, the worse the better to demonstrate the degree of her devotion.

Upon her return, things moved swiftly. Mrs. Harding ordered her to the edge of the desk and instructed her to bend over. “You are very lucky you weren’t around in my day, my dear. A stunt like this would have seen a student paddled right on their bare bottom for all the class to see…..which is exactly what they’d deserve in my opinion.“

Cheryl heard Mrs. Harding’s stern words through a martyr’s euphoria realizing that such an added indignity was just the precise thing to make her sacrifice the epic spectacle she hoped it would be. “You are right, Mrs. Harding,” she admitted, “that is what I deserve.” 

And without a second thought to modesty, Cheryl swiftly flipped up her skirt and lowered her panties in a single fluid motion, leaving her bare self exposed to the teacher’s view. Positioned to the side of the desk as she was, the class could only see her hips and thighs anyway, and even if they could see more, what did she care? The boys’ gawking meant nothing to her. She only hoped Tranquility would appreciate her exposure and her sacrifice. 

“Well, Miss Lansing, I do admire your apparent contrition,” Mrs. Harding remarked. “I intended to give you 24 swats over your clothes, which is the maximum allowed. And while a standard paddling of 24 strokes is no joke, two dozen on a bare bottom is a very serious punishment indeed. But since this baring was your choice, I will not amend that number and punish you as you are with the full amount. However, since this is a bit unusual, if anyone is offended by Miss Lansing’s exposure, they may wait in the corridor until her punishment is concluded.”

Presented with this choice, not a single student opted to miss out on the chance to see someone paddled on a bare rump. Each sat motionless and transfixed by the spectacle. Mrs. Harding was not surprised and resumed, “very well. Now then, Miss Lansing, keep your palms flat on the desktop, or I will be forced to start over. Are you ready?”

“Yes, Ma’am,” Cheryl agreed and waited for the first swat.

A crisp ‘clap’, louder and sharper than any heard previously, echoed through the silent room. Cheryl’s eyes went wide at the power and shock of the stroke. The bite of the initial impact slowly morphed into a radiating burn. The second stroke fed the fire. All eyes watched intently as the ‘good girl’ among them now received the worst paddling they ever witnessed. Clothing had always muffled the sound of the paddle to a degree, even though anyone who had ever felt Mrs. Harding’s strokes knew they stung plenty even over one’s clothes. None could imagine what these powerful swats might feel like on bare skin. If the sound was any indication, they assumed it hurt a lot. Furthermore, unencumbered by clothing, the class marveled at how each impact sent a wobbly wave of Cheryl’s flesh all the way to her hips. The visual effect was oddly, yet lewdly, mesmerizing. 

Cheryl’s eyes teared as the count progressed. She naively rationalized ‘24’ as not a terribly high number. Yet since the paddle was long enough to punish both bottom-cheeks in a single stroke, a paddling of 24 swats was more like a hairbrush spanking of double the amount. As the heat built up behind her, she kept mentally repeating “took without an outcry” as a mantra to avoid yelling out. She could not truly be the Tom Sawyer of her fantasy if she vocalized her pain. Instead she just accepted each stroke as a necessary component of her plan……and if Tom could do it, so could she. 

Mrs. Harding continued to punish the behind offered her while periodically glancing over to Tranquility Feldon, who appeared both confused and awestruck by the scene. The mouthy blonde remained uncharacteristically speechless, her expression unlike any other in the room. The others, boys and girls alike, even those one could count among Cheryl’s friends, all bore a comingled look of sympathy and satisfaction, sympathy at the obvious severity of the paddling, and satisfaction at seeing the one student that grew up among them who had never been paddled, finally getting a taste. Tranquility looked more like a death row prisoner who had been pardoned by an anonymous benefactor. Suddenly the clever teacher pieced the puzzle and deduced that despite Cheryl’s admission of guilt, she was paddling an innocent student. She paused at the realization. There were six strokes still to go and she wrestled with what to do next. 

Based on Cheryl’s adamant confession and willing acceptance of this undeserved fate, combined with her voluntary baring and overall stoicism, the teacher realized that if she asked Cheryl what to do, the girl would no doubt tell her to continue. It seemed a bit odd and irregular, but after thinking it through, Mrs. Harding decided to finish out the punishment and allow Cheryl to experience the full extent of her martyrdom, believing that it would be even more cruel not to. However after she landed the final swat, she made no further attempt to scold the girl and just instructed her to adjust her clothes and return to her seat. When the bell rang to end the day, she called Cheryl to see her.

“I hope we will not have a repeat of today’s activities, Miss Lansing.”

“No, Ma’am,” Cheryl promised.

“I must say for a girl who had never been paddled before, you took your punishment amazingly well. I hope Becky Thatcher appreciates it.”

Cheryl blushed hard at the comment causing Mrs. Harding to smile. “Funny, you look more embarrassed now than you did when you bared your behind. It’s OK. I think I understand. But remember, there is often a steep price for being a hopeless romantic. Now go run along and don’t worry, I won’t call your mother, I think you already got much more than you bargained for and certainly more than you deserved.” 

“Thank you, Mrs. Harding,” Cheryl replied and turned to leave, but as she neared the door, she paused in thought, then turned and hurried back to her teacher and gave her a hug before turning again and bolting towards the door.

As she exited, Mrs. Harding called after her, “oh and Miss Lansing….”

“Yes, Mrs. Harding?”

“Please be sure to tell ‘Becky’, ‘no more tacks in the future’. Understood?”

Cheryl blushed again with a nervous bite of her lip as she replied, “Yes, Ma’am. Thank you, Ma’am.”


Safely outside, Cheryl looked hopefully for Tranquility. Not seeing her at first, Cheryl felt betrayed and foolish but as she neared the street, she espied the blonde waiting for her. 

“Hi,” Cheryl greeted awkwardly.

“Hi,” Tranquility replied even more awkwardly. “Hey, um, what was this all about? I know you didn’t put those tacks there because I put them there.”

“I know, that’s why I confessed. I couldn’t bear to see you get punished.”

“Why? What’s it to you?”

“I…….um, I really like you. I did since the first day you came,” Cheryl admitted while blushing.

“Well, I guess I like you too, but still.”

“You do like me?” Cheryl’s eyes widened hopefully.

Tranquility sensed Cheryl’s use of the word ‘like’ differed from hers and explained, “I mean I guess you’re OK. You’re not a jerk like some of the kids here, but that’s kind of it….ya know. I don’t like you in any other way. I mean …..you’re a girl and I know some girls like girls, but I like boys. I just don’t like any of the boys here.”

“But I took a paddling for you! I’ve never been paddled and I got the worst paddling ever just so it wouldn’t happen to you!”

“I know, but you shouldn’t have. I’ve never been paddled either, and even if Mrs. Harding decided to punish me for the tacks, she wouldn’t have been able to paddle me. My parents refused to sign the consent. They don’t believe in it. Without the consent, the school can punish me with other things, but not the paddle.”

“You mean I went through all that for nothing?” Cheryl asked on the verge of tears, now understanding why Mrs. Harding never paddled the misbehaving newcomer. “I tried to save your butt and have you notice me and like me and ….and…none of it worked. None of it mattered one bit. And now you’ll probably laugh at me and tell the other girls what I did and why.”

“No I won’t,” Tranquility assured. “You tried to do a nice thing for a nice reason, and even if I wasn’t going to get paddled, I still would have ended up staying after school for a week or writing a zillion lines until my hand fell off….or something. You did save me from that and I owe you one. So …no, I won’t tell anyone why you did it, and even if I can’t promise to be the kind of girlfriend you hoped for, I can still be your friend. Hell, you’re the only person who has done anything nice for me since I’ve been here.” 

“I would like that,” Cheryl conceded. “So maybe this wasn’t all for nothing.”

“Not at all. I’ll tell you something else. When school got out everyone was talking about what happened. I think you’d be surprised to hear what some of the kids were saying.”

“I’ll bet,” Cheryl frowned. “They were probably saying what an idiot I am for admitting to the tacks. Or making fun of how I pulled my own panties down when I didn’t have to. They probably think I’m a freak.”

Tranquility laughed, “oh no, my brave little friend. They were saying how they never knew you were so tough. They all said they thought you were this timid little ‘goody-two-shoes’ but they were wrong. They thought the tacks were hilarious even if Mrs. Harding never actually sat on them, and they all said they never saw anyone, not even any of the boys, take a paddling like that without at least a yelp. As for the baring? They thought it was your way to show that you weren’t afraid of the paddle one bit. You’re actually a bit of a hero right now.”

Cheryl chuckled at the revelation. “Hmmm, me a hero. That’s a hoot. The hero is supposed to get the girl….and that obviously didn’t happen. And besides………… I didn’t even place those tacks.”

“Well I’m perfectly willing to let them go on thinking you did.”

“Thanks,” Cheryl nodded.

“Don’t mention it. It wouldn’t be too smart for me to admit it anyway.”

“True. Besides, Mrs. Harding already knows it was you.”

“What? How? Did you tell her?” Tranquility asked suddenly concerned.

“Why would I take a paddling like that for you and then tell her anyway? I’m stupid, but not that stupid. No, somehow she figured it out on her own, but I don’t think she’s going to do anything about it. But she did tell me to tell you not to do it again.”

“She did? Crap. But hey, that’s cool. There’s no way I’m pulling that stunt again,” the blonde promised shaking her head.

“Good, because if there is a ‘next time’, friend or not, you’re on your own!”

“Yeah I can’t blame you, but I can’t believe your school actually paddles kids and that your parents are OK with it. I can’t imagine myself getting what you got today. I mean I know you were super cool about not yelling out, but just hearing the smacks and seeing your face I could tell it hurt. Say, if you don’t mind me asking, how are you doing back there? Like are you…..in pain?”

Cheryl laughed at the question.

“OK, stupid question. But seriously…..are you OK?”

Cheryl smiled at Tranquility’s sincere concern. “I’m OK. It was a pretty hard paddling but it was still just a paddling. I’ll live. Now, sitting?” Cheryl speculated with a crooked grin and roll of her eyes. “That might be a different story.”

Tranquility smiled at the comment and nodded, “so no bike riding for a while?”

“Definitely not until these hot little hams have cooled a bit.”

“Speaking of those hams, what do you think of Monica?” Tranquility asked with a squint.

“She’s OK. I’ve known her since 1st Grade. We aren’t really close or anything, but I’d kind of consider her a friend of sorts. Why?”

“Well, when the girls were all gossiping about your punishment before, Monica sort of let it slip that she thought you had a cute behind. Not sure if that means anything….but….I figured I’d let you know.”

The two laughed a bit awkwardly and then grew silent. Eventually Tranquility shifted a bit and said, “Well, see you Monday I guess.”

“Yeah, see ya,” Cheryl concluded, then turned and walked home with her mind flooded with thoughts. Nothing had turned out like she expected, but then again, things didn’t turn out so badly either. 

Once she arrived home, she could see her mother waiting for her frowning with folded arms. 

“You’ll never believe the call I got today from your school,” Mrs. Lansing began. “Mrs. Gerard, the secretary, informed me that you were paddled with the maximum of 24 swats..... for putting tacks on your teacher’s chair?” Cheryl nodded. “I don’t know what you were thinking, young lady, but you can forget TV tonight. It’s straight to your room after dinner. We’ll discuss this more tomorrow.”

“Yes, Mom,” Cheryl sighed, feeling deflated and elated at the same time. When she went to bed that evening, her bottom still burned but her spirits were buoyed by the things Tranquility had told her. OK, maybe she didn’t get her Becky Thatcher the way Tom did, but at least she got some benefit from her gallant gesture. And her curiosity about being paddled was definitely satisfied. She didn’t even mind being sent to her room. It gave her time alone with her thoughts. 

Despite her plan’s disappointing failure, she was not sorry she did it. Even the paddling took on a very exciting aspect in retrospect. Cheryl changed into her nightgown but discarded her panties in her hamper. Given her current state of mind and the thoughts running through it, it would just make things easier. She re-lived the day in her head as her hand again meandered southward. She imagined how she must have appeared to her classmates with her naked bottom thrust outward, dancing and hopping as the paddle slammed into it. Her bottom chafed on the sheets but it wasn’t enough. Carefully, she got out of bed and went to her vanity and sat her bare bottom down on the hard wood. It felt vaguely uncomfortable but still wasn’t enough. She wanted something more.

Her eyes darted to her wicker rocking chair, a cliché of white purity, adorned with a dozen stuffed animals resting on its floral cushions. She boldly cleared away the fuzzy companions of her youth, avoiding their guileless glassy-eyed stares, then tossed aside the cushion. With a deep breath, Cheryl hiked up her nightgown and sat. Ouch! The network of rattan provided a surface more than merely unpleasant. Wincing, she thought again of the paddle and adjusted her weight so that the woven ridges dug into her sore bottom. Her hand rediscovered her privates, now slick and gooey. She mentally re-lived her ordeal, both as participant and spectator, as she rocked back and forth on the evil seat sending alternating waves of pleasure through her crotch and pain through her bottom. Her breathing increased, she began to perspire. And just as she pictured the last paddle-stroke blasting into her bare bottom for the whole world to witness, she ground herself downward and exploded in orgasm. 

Regaining her composure, she quickly put things back as they were and climbed back into bed. Feeling a bit guilty at having forever perverted her once-innocent furniture, she hugged her pillow in place of a person, and fell asleep contented in a satisfaction never felt so fully before.

- --------------

Cheryl rose to bright sunshine feeling refreshed from a night’s sleep. An exploring hand under her nightgown examined the condition of her bottom. Even a day later, the skin felt slightly warm. The throbbing sting had dissipated to a sort of vague tenderness, like a mild sunburn that didn’t hurt all of the time but made you wince if touched too roughly. 

She knelt up on her bed and lifted the gown as she surveyed her bottom in the vanity mirror. Two pink patches still stood out distinctly on the underside of her buttocks as stark souvenirs of her strange adventure. She stared at them feeling a bit proud of herself when she heard a knock at the door. “Are you up?” she heard her mother ask.

“Yes, Mom. Come in,” she replied as she hastily lowered her nightgown.

Cheryl knew her mother would want to discuss the call from school, but felt some relief that Mrs. Harding herself had promised not to call. That would have been very bad. But Cheryl’s relief vaporized once she saw her mother enter with a hairbrush in hand. Mrs. Lansing looked at her daughter and said, ”I really should have done this yesterday, but I figured since you were punished pretty hard at school, that it could wait until today.”

“But, Mom, why do we have to do this at all? I was already punished,” Cheryl whined plaintively, acutely aware of how little she wanted what was about to happen and how little her wishes mattered.

“You know the rule, sweetheart: ‘Punished at school? Punished at home’. And just because I never had to before, doesn’t mean you’re immune now. But before we begin, would you mind telling me why you did such a foolish thing?”

Cheryl appreciated her mother’s choice of words. Since she didn’t specifically refer to the tacks, but rather the ‘foolish thing’, her false confession certainly fit that description. Giving an evasive shrug, the confronted daughter honestly replied, “looking back, Mom, it was foolish, but it seemed like a good idea at the time.” Cheryl knew there was no easy way to explain her way out of her predicament without revealing things to her mother she would rather not admit. She was trapped in her own web of lies, harmless though they once seemed. 

Cheryl then circled her mother as the woman sat on her bed. With an extended index finger, Mrs. Lansing made an upward swoop and downward point, wordlessly indicating what she expected of her daughter. Cheryl groaned and just pulled her nightgown high up around her waist regretting her decision to not wear her panties to bed. More embarrassed now than she had been in front of her class, she hastily lied, “sorry Mom, but my butt was so hot last night that I took off my panties.”

“That’s OK, sweetheart, they would have come down anyway,” she explained, utterly disinterested in why her daughter was already bare. The remark wasn’t angry, but the matter-of-fact tone frightened Cheryl more than if it had been. It confirmed what she already suspected and feared: her mother wasn’t playing around. At school, she really wasn’t afraid of her impending punishment because she desired it. There she bared her bottom as part of the show, but now it was expected and not for any prurient purpose but merely because her Mom wanted a completely unprotected and vulnerable target to spank. There was nothing even adventurous or heroic in it. It was just.......scary.

She felt a hollow sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach as she realized that this was the reality of punishment. Her school paddling was almost entirely initiated and orchestrated by her. Even Mrs. Harding was merely a player in the scenario Cheryl so carefully designed. That’s why it was still sexy to think about it. Her school paddling was the materialization of her specific and precise fantasy. She may have been the victim, but she was a willing victim in near total control. This spanking was unexpected, undesired, and totally out of her hands. And yet, Cheryl couldn’t fault her mother. She was acting on what she had heard and given the circumstances, who could blame her for taking serious action? She knew her mother loved her and Cheryl couldn’t help but whisper, “I’m sorry Mom, I do love you,” before passively placing herself across her mother’s lap desperately aware that her current predicament was utterly devoid of any type of personal appeal whatsoever and yet impossible to escape.

“I hope this teaches you a lesson, young lady,” her mother scolded an instant before cracking the hairbrush atop her daughter’s plumpish buttock. Additional swats followed quickly. The residual embers of Cheryl’s smouldering bottom were quickly rekindled to a fiery state and beyond, until her quivering cheeks were fairly ablaze. The hairbrush may not have had the same impact as Mrs. Harding’s larger and heavier paddle, but it still hurt plenty and, unlike at school, her mother was not confined to 24 swats. What the hairbrush lacked in force, was more than made up for in a cruel combination of quantity, alacrity, and maternal zeal. 

The spanking seemed to go on forever. But there was no audience now. No need for stoicism or silent endurance. There were no witnesses to impress, and no one to appreciate her sacrifice or sympathize with her pain. She was all alone, just a silly, girl whose clever plot backfired utterly and who was paying for her mistake like a plain old regular kid who misbehaved. The paddling at school at least resulted in some good and provided a painful lesson in wishful thinking. This spanking hurt even worse yet served no purpose whatsoever other than to show what a true, unwanted spanking felt like. Cheryl simply let her tears flow freely as she yelped and sobbed at the pain and unfairness of it all, feeling her bottom burn hotter and hotter. Like Tom Sawyer, she had done nothing wrong, but unlike Tom, there was no waiting admirer to ask, “how could you be so noble?” As her mother’s hairbrush landed relentlessly, she realized Mrs. Harding was correct about the high cost of naïve romanticism. Silently she cursed Mark Twain. “Oh my poor bottom,” she thought, “I doubt I’ll ever sit comfortably again………and it’s all Tom Sawyer’s fault!”

-----the end

Author’s postscript: This is the second time I’ve made a reference to the classic “how could you be so noble” scene from The Adventures of Tom Sawyer. (Crushed is my other story where a boy imagines himself briefly as the heroic Tom.) When I was young, that scene made a lasting impression on me, but later in life I always thought how much more likely such a sacrifice was to backfire or fail rather than be rewarded. Still, strong, heroic, and unselfish acts continue to appeal to the romantic in me while the cynic in me sees another perspective.

Art by Sassy Bottom