(c) 1999 by Jefesse
CRASH-BAM!
I'd been rear-ended. By a big old station-wagon. I pulled over to the side of the road, as did the culprit.
I got out and inspected the damage. The rear bumper was partially crumpled. Dammit! I bet this would cost a lot. Hoped my insurance would cover most of it.
As I mourned over my poor fender, I sensed the presence of someone standing behind me.
"Oh, I'm so sorry! It was entirely my fault, sir. I should have been paying attention."
I turned around. The speaker was the driver of the car which had done all the damage. A woman. Very pretty I thought she was, with a childlike face and an artless manner, which were now accentuated by her obvious concern and remorse. She was dressed in a short summer dress, which fluttered gently in the soft, cool breeze.
I found it difficult to be too hard on such beauty; unfair, I know. "That's alright. It could happen to anyone, miss." I put my hand lightly on her bare shoulder to comfort her. I could feel her tension.
"You can call me Susan. And no, it's not alright! I really should have been paying attention to the road. Instead, I was daydreaming. Watching the clouds in the sky rather than the cars in front of me. Please sir, I deserve a sound spanking."
I'd been living in Spankland for almost a week, so I was not taken completely by surprise by her request. (I wasn't exactly prepared for it, either!)
The company I work for had decided to set up a branch office here in Spankland, and I was sent to manage it. I expected to spend several years here at the least, and I had done some research. The inhabitants of this bucolic country still live by the old traditions, and had many strange customs. One of those was a tradition of corporal punishment. Aside from its use for the discipline of recalcitrant criminals and naughty children, spanking is used here to settle civil disputes.
In fact, it is a long standing custom in Spankland, that whenever one citizen feels the need to confess a fault, apologize for misdeeds, or show remorse or contrition to another, the proper way to do it is to offer up their bottom for punishment! They do this willingly, and are proud of their tradition; they see it as one of the reasons their nation is still peaceful and their people are warm and friendly. Spankland is the home of "few lawyers and many sore bottoms", as their saying goes.
That was the theory, as I understood it. It seemed like I was now going to have the opportunity to put the theory into practice with the errant lady before me. This was the first time I'd been asked to punish someone, and I didn't want to insult this young lady by refusing. I was willing to punish her -- "when in Rome ...," as they say -- but I was unsure of the protocol.
"Um, I'm really just a newcomer here," I confessed. "I've never done this before. Um, do you think you could just give me some idea of what would be appropriate, miss?"
"Oh, certainly!" Susan grinned at me, and seemed to relax a little. "I already know that you're from foreign parts; it's a small town, and word gets around. Let me give you some pointers.
"First of all, the choice of punishment is entirely up to you. I have no say in the matter at all, after I ask for it. You should feel free punish me until you think that justice has been served.
"But I'll tell you what I would do, if it were up to me." She looked down at her feet. "I was reckless and negligent, and my actions caused expensive damage to your car. I realize I deserve severe punishment." She hesitated, and looked at me for a minute. "I see that you are wearing a thick leather belt. I think, sir, that you should arrange me face down over the hood of your car and apply a sound strapping to my bare bottom."
I was shocked. "Out here in the road? In public?!"
"Oh yes! It's the only way to make things right." She blushed a little. "It is terribly embarassing whenever I have to expose my bottom and privates to anyone who looks on; or in this case, to all the oncoming traffic. People will slow down to take a look, and in a small town like this where everyone knows everyone, I can look forward to being greeted with questions like `So, how does your bottom feel?' for the next week or so."
She looked into my eyes. "But I need to show you that I'm feel truly sorry for what I've done. And I've always said that negligent drivers are a menace to themselves and to others, and they should be made an example of. I can't make an exception for myself, can I? Besides, it could be worse."
"How worse?"
She giggled. "Well, once I got in big trouble. You see, I was attending a play with some friends, and I couldn't help but make comments on the bad acting and the silly costumes. Well, I got to be pretty loud and boisterous. Eventually, they just stopped the play, and I was carried up on stage, bent over a stool, and given a sound caning in front of 300 people. You should have seen the theatrics I made! Then I had to remain on the set until the end of the last act. I was made to stand at the corner of the stage with my back turned to the audience and my panties at my ankles; everyone got to watch me wiggle my punished bottom when they got bored with the regular drama."
She rubbed the seat of her skirt, remembering. "That was the only time I was in the limelight, and I tell you, it's not an experience I care to repeat! An old-fashioned strapping-in-the-service-lane is nothing compared to that."
"Hmm. It sounds to me like this won't be your first roadside spanking. Should I take that in to account?"
She put her hands behind her back, and stared at her toes again. "Um, yes sir. This is the third accident I've been responsible for this year. I need you to teach me a lesson I won't forget."
There was nothing to say after that. I motioned with my hand and Susan glided to the front of my car. She placed her hands firmly on the center of the hood and lowered her body onto the still-warm metal. As she pressed her belly and breasts onto its surface, her skirt rode up, exposing bare thighs and a pantied bottom.
Knowing that the moment of truth had come, I whisked those panties right down to her feet. I was dazzled by the sight of a perfectly round bottom exposed to the light of day. She arched her back to present her upturned target to the ministrations of the strap, while pressing her legs tightly together. It was a beautiful sight: wide hips and round orbs, and shapely legs tapering down to small, elfin feet.
After a few moments I recovered my wits, and considered the task at hand. It was hard to bring myself to punish such beauty, no matter how necessary it might be.
I think she knew that I was hesitating. "Sir, I need to be properly punished. Please don't be afraid to lay the strap on long and hard. We Spanklanders are used to taking it."
I still stood there, transfixed. She turned her head to look back over her shoulder at me. "Sir, please think about what I did to the rear-end of your car while you deal with mine."
That brought me back to the present. I remembered the accident and the state of my vehicle, and decided that this lady, sweet as she was, needed a strong dose of the strap-medicine to set her straight.
I slowly unbuckled my belt. She heard the CLINK of the buckle, and shivered.
I bent the belt over, and pressed it together between my fingers. The leather was smooth, but tough and hard.
I gave her no warning. THWACK. I applied the stroke to the center of her bottom, not using my full force. A thick red line soon appeared on each of her cheeks.
THWACK. Another stroke, lower down. The pain made her stand on tippy-toes for a second, but she was soon back down, in place for another stroke.
CRACK-THWACK! I delivered several dozen more strokes in succession. I enjoyed the resilience of her quivering bottom-flesh under the impact of the strap. She began to gasp after each one, and was soon crying out "Ouch!" and "Oooh!" each time. She began to pump her feet and thighs, and to twist her torso to one side or the other, involuntarily. It seemed as though her bottom was floating and bobbing in the soft breeze of the afternoon.
I stopped suddenly, and asked her how she felt.
"Oooh, sir, it huuurts, it huurts! Oooooooh!"
"It's supposed to hurt, isn't it?"
She composed herself a little. "Yes sir."
"Do you feel you've had enough?"
"Oh yes, I certainly do! I'm so sore." She wiggled her reddened bottom at me, as if to direct my attention to the sore spot.
I was not entirely convinced by her protestation. I knew she was a Spanklander, and was probably used to much worse. I said so. "I don't think you've had nearly enough, my girl. That was just a taste of what's to come."
I laid in to her again, hard, with my full strength. The THWOCKs and CRACKs of my doubled-up belt began to have an affect on her. She began to sob and moan, and to wriggle and kick her legs out behind her.
SPANK! "Oooooh! It stiiings." CRACK! "Oooh, oh please, sir!" THWACK! "Oooh, sir, I'm sorry, oh!" SMACK-THWOCK!
I continued the punishment, and she continued to bawl and writhe her legs while I tanned her reddened buttocks.
After a while, a car drove by and slowed to a stop next to me. The window slid down and a man looked at the scene.
"Nice work, stranger!" he said. "Sis has been wanting a good lickin' coming to her for a while now. Don't let up 'til she's begging for mercy. Hey Suzy! You stay right there 'til this nice gentleman has leathered your backside good, do you hear?"
Her brother's appearance had made me stop for a minute, and gave her a chance to recover her breath. "Oooh. Yes, Dan, I will. I promise."
The young man drove off, apparently unconcerned that a total stranger was roasting his sister's rump. "Susan, I can stop now if you can't take anymore," I offered, not feeling as strict as her brother.
"Oh, no sir!" she whimpered. "I -- I can take it, sir. I won't wimp out."
I continued with the punishment. As the belt bit into her bare bottom, she squirmed and squealed, but to no avail.
At one point, another car drove by. It contained a couple, man and woman. As it slowed down to allow its occupants to observe the action, the woman flashed a "thumbs-up" sign at me.
At long last, Susan's bucking and writhing subsided, and she became like a whimpering sack of grain. I decided to end the punishment then.
"Susan, the strapping is over."
She immediately reached behind her and pressed her palms on her stinging flesh. "Oooch!" she said.
"None of that, Susan! Hands down, naughty girl." She immediately complied, returning her hands to the hood of the car. "Your strapping is over, but your punishment is not. You are going to stay right there and let your bottom cool in the breeze until I say so, and you can think about the lesson you've learned while you're at it!"
"Yes, sir," she whispered into the hood. I let her chill her raw, burning flesh for ten minutes. She wriggled and squirmed involuntarily, as the bitter breeze tortured her burning behind with it's sudden gusts.
Eventually, I told her, "It's all over now." She raised herself slowly from the car, and pressed her hands to her behind, not yet covered by her skirt. I thought she would not be able to speak to me for the shame, but apparently Spanklanders are raised to be polite. "Sir, thank you for spanking me," she said. "You did a magnificent job. You could've been a born Spanklander."
"Susan, are you sure I wasn't too harsh with you?"
"Oh no sir! That was just what I needed. I'll remember this for weeks!" A sly grin appeared on her face. "If I don't, I might need to have another `session' with you."
I could see that she was in no condition to drive home, and I offered to take her to her house. She agreed readily. As she started to walk to the side of the car, she stumbled, and blushingly realized that her panties were still bunched around her ankles. She kicked them off and stuck them in her purse. "My bottom's much too sore for panties right now," she explained.
I drove to her house. She spent the trip curled up in the back seat, keeping her bottom away from any hard surfaces.
When we got there, she said, "Let me ask you to come in for a drink. After all the hard work you've done, you could use one, I bet!" She winked at me. As I entered in front of her, she closed the door behind me, and then she ...
But that's a story for another day.
