The knocker-upper (M/F story)

Knocker-upper: "A person whose job was to go from house to house in the early morning and wake up workers by tapping on the bedroom window with a long pole or similarly convenient implement. " - Wiktionary.

 

It was early Monday morning, just before dawn, that I was awakened by a loud, insistent tapping on my bedroom window. Wondering who it was, and how on Earth someone could be knocking on the window of a second-story flat, I eventually managed to force myself out of bed. Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I staggered over to the window, which my sleep-deprived brain took some time to open. When I looked out, I saw a young woman grinning up at me. She was a lanky brunette somewhere in her early twenties, wearing a woolly jumper, a matching skirt, and a flat cap balanced on her head, and was joyfully waving a long pole in greeting. Clearly, the stick was how she'd managed to tap on my window.  "Finally, you're up! Good morning, sir!"

 

I stared back at her, stunned at this behaviour. Before I could think of a response, the woman had walked away, cheerily whistling a tune. What on Earth was going on?

 

I stumbled back to bed, once again reflecting on the strangeness of Londoners. I already had enough of that from my neighbour Sheena, with whom I had a couple of disagreements – I had not expected to find another madwoman so close to home.

 

 

The following day, around the same time, I once again heard tapping. I rose, making sure I was properly awake and ready to speak before moving over to the window. If it turned out to be the same woman, I wanted to be able to ask her to explain herself before she left. I hoped it was – the thought of there being more than one hooligan roaming the streets rapping on people's windows in the dark was too much to bear.

 

"At last!" she laughed when I opened the window. "You were a lot harder to wake today. Good morning," she said, tipping her cap and turning to leave.

 

"Wait a second," I called out. "What's going on? Why are you doing this?"

 

"Well, I'm the knocker-upper, sir!" she exclaimed. When she realized from the look on my face that this meant nothing to me, she explained, "It's a service you find in big cities. I go from flat to flat, waking people up so they can go to work on time!" There was more than a hint of condescension in her voice; presumably, she'd realized from my accent that I wasn't a Londoner.

 

"Well, I am a night watchman, and I don't need to be at work any time soon – in fact, it's only a few hours since my shift ended. So you can stop knocking on MY window," I informed her as civilly as I managed.

 

"Oh no, sir," she said, shaking her head. "When I'm hired to do a job, I do it."

 

"I haven't hired you," I told her, still trying to keep my voice calm.

 

"Oh, I know, sir," she grinned. "Your wife did."

 

"I'm not married!" I called out, but she'd already started to walk away, looking for her next victim.

 

 

When I was awoken on Wednesday by the familiar knocking, I buried my face in my pillow and resolved to ignore her until she went away. When you work all night, having some stranger wake you up after only a few hours of sleep, on the orders of an imaginary wife, is not particularly pleasant. However, as the minutes slowly dragged on, it was clear that she was not stopping until she'd wished me good morning. Sighing, I admitted defeat and rose from bed.

 

"Good morning! Wow, you slept soundly today! No wonder your wife needs help walking you up. Or maybe she doesn't need to get up as early as you do."

 

"I DON'T have to get up early – and I don't have a wife," I repeated, once again trying my best to keep my voice level. "So I suggest you stop bothering me, never knock on my window again, and go find someone who DOES need to be woken up."

 

"Oh, no, sir!" she said. "I've been paid to do my job, and do my job I shall! See you tomorrow!" Before I could respond, she'd tipped her cap and left.

 

I leaned out of the window, sighing my frustration. How could I get through her dense skull? Glancing up, I could see a hint of red curls from one of the other windows, and I realized that my neighbour Sheena was watching me through her window, a smirk on her face. Like I said, we'd had quite a few disagreements, so I wasn't surprised to see the young woman taking pleasure from my suffering. She'd shown a sadistic streak on occasion.

 

 

On Thursday, when I was once again wrenched from my pleasant dreams by an insistent knocking, I decided I was done being nice. Slamming my window open, I did not let her call out her customary greeting, but yelled "Stop knocking on my window! I have told you repeatedly that I do not need your services. I have not hired you, and I don't have a wife. If you knock on my window again, young lady, you will regret it. I warn you." I glared down at her, hoping she'd finally got the message.

 

The girl only laughed. "Yes, a lot of people are grumpy in the morning. See you tomorrow," she called before leaving, whistling merrily.

 

I shook my head as I returned to bed. She'd finally pushed me too far. She'd decided to test me, and I was going to show her that I meant what I said. She'd been warned, and now, she would suffer the consequences.

Hiatus

I'm sorry to have to do this again so shortly after the previous one, but for health reasons, I'm going to have to take a short break from writing stories. Hopefully, I'll be back before the end of the month; if not, expect a new story the first week of April.

If you have ideas for stories you'd like to read, or stories you'd like to see sequels too, feel free to leave a comment. My last story ("Sylvia, ex-girlfriend's mother") received some positive feedback and clamours for more, so I have some notes for sequels I'd like to write, once my health allows.

Sylvia, ex-girlfriend's mother (M/F story)

When my doorbell rang one Saturday evening as I was sitting in front of the TV, I was not expecting to find my ex-girlfriend's mother standing on my doorstep.

"Hello, Roland," she said, giving me a friendly smile. "May I come in? I hope I'm not disturbing you – I should probably have phoned ahead."

"Hello, Mrs. Cohen," I replied, taking a step to the side to let her pass. "Please, come in. I was just watching an old movie and trying to remember if I'd seen it before."

"I've told you a million times to call me Sylvia," she scolded playfully as she hung up her coat.

I first met Sylvia Cohen about two years ago, which was three months into my relationship with her daughter Violet. Violet and I had gone to the same high school, and had started dating shortly after we ended up in the same college class. I only learned later that she'd deliberately chosen the same college as me so that she could get closer to me, which was flattering. She herself had no interest in drama – or at least not in studying it; on the other hand, I soon found out that she was an absolute master at creating it.

I admit I was feeling a little nervous when I met my girlfriend's mother for the first time, but Sylvia had greeted me warmly and seemed pleasantly surprised with the young man dating her only daughter. In fact, she seemed to grow fonder of me with every month that passed.

I had always enjoyed those occasional chats with Sylvia, but it was a bit of a surprise to find her in my home two weeks after my relationship with her daughter had ended. What could we have to talk about now? "So, what brings you here?" I said as I brought her a cup of coffee. Milk, two sugars – just the way she liked it.

"I just had to talk to you and see how you were getting on." She shook her head. "That girl has no sense whatsoever! She just made the biggest mistake of her life by letting you slip through her fingers, and she doesn't even realize it. But don't worry – she will."

I raised an eyebrow at that, choosing not to comment. It was flattering, of course, but I wondered how I'd feel if MY mother had gone to my ex to tell them how much of a moron I was. In my experience, mothers tended to be more supportive, even when they disagreed.

"Not only were you good to her, but you were good FOR her," she said, huffing. "After she started dating you, she was far easier to have in the house, and she got better at picking up after herself. You should have seen her grades, too!"

I smiled. Having someone show up in my living room to praise me to the skies wasn't how I'd expected my Saturday evening to go, but I had no complaints. I was feeling quite good about myself. "Nice of you to say so, Mrs. Cohen. I think it's a matter of setting a good example, and being there for her when she needs it."

She snorted. "You're free to think that, of course, but I think it's all those spankings you gave her."

The cup in my hand stopped halfway to my lips as I stared at her. I was glad I hadn't been drinking when she said it, as I would probably have spat the coffee all across my table – and possibly my guest. I wasn't aware that Violet had shared that part of our relationship with her mother. I certainly hadn't mentioned it to mine.

"Oh, Violet never said anything," Sylvia said, seeming to guess my thoughts. "She didn't have to. I could tell by the way she squirmed around on her chair after one or your little private discussions, and how she'd wear a nice skirt instead of those faded, holey, TIGHT jeans. They're a lot less painful for a sore bottom!" She chuckled. "A couple of times, when she was on the phone with you, I could see her absently rub her rear end when she knew you were upset with her. Thinking about past punishments – or possibly dreading upcoming ones."

"You approve, then?" I said as I sipped my coffee. I saw no reason to try to deny her observations.

"Wholeheartedly. In fact, I think that Violet losing your discipline might be the worst part of this breakup. Some women benefit from struggling to sit on a sore seat from time to time."

"Have you ever spanked her?"

She shook her head. " I've never been comfortable with the idea of taking my daughter across my knee. It just doesn't feel right. That was always her father's job. When he was alive, he handled all the spankings in the house." She sighed wistfully. "Violet's – and mine."

I stared at her. Was she saying what I thought she was saying?

"Yes," she said, once again responding to my unspoken thoughts. "My dear departed husband would bend me over his lap and spank my backside whenever he thought I deserved it – which was often." She smiled at the memory. "I must admit, when I realized that you were spanking Violet, I felt more than a little envious. A proper young gentleman, able and willing to deliver the discipline the young lady so sorely needed." She sighed. "You remind me of him, in some ways."

"I'm sure Violet would have gifted you every single one of her spankings if she could. I never got the feeling that she enjoyed them much – in fact, she pleaded quite insistently for them to stop, every single time."

She laughed. "Good to hear. That must be why they were so effective." Her smile vanished, and she gazed at me. "Now, believe me, despite my …. needs, I would NEVER ask my daughter's boyfriend to put me across his knee. That would be completely inappropriate, obviously." She grinned. "But you two are not dating any more, are you?"

The smoking landlady (M/F story)

Conrad had now rented the basement flat in the house of the middle-aged accountant Rebecca Trask for a little over a month. He considered himself very fortunate for finding the place; the house was old, but well-maintained, and only a short walk from the university where the nineteen-year-old studied.

Earlier that afternoon, a new chest of drawers had been delivered to the house, and Rebecca had asked the young athlete to help her carry it inside. They were now sitting in her living room chatting about life over a cup of coffee. In the weeks he'd been here, Conrad had found it easy to talk to his new landlady.

During the conversation, Rebecca pulled a pack of cigarettes and a lighter out of her purse. She lit a cigarette and took a drag, then raised an eyebrow as she looked at Conrad. "I take it you disapprove of my little habit?"

"What makes you think that?" he replied evenly. "I've said nothing."

"You don't have to. It's written all over your face," she said, smiling.

The teenager shrugged. "Obviously, you can do whatever you want to your own body in your own home. But surely you know it's not good for you – or those around you," he said, managing to resist the urge to cough meaningfully.

She nodded. "I know. I've been trying to quit, but it's very hard. Have you ever smoked?"

"No, but an ex-girlfriend of mine used to."

"Used to? How did she stop?" Rebecca inquired.

"Every time she smoked, I spanked her," he said calmly, showing not the slightest trace of hesitation or embarrassment.

"Really?" she said, looking wide-eyed at him as she tried to process this.

He nodded. "Every time she lit a cigarette, I lit up her butt," he said. "It didn't happen overnight, but with enough encouragement…"

She laughed. "I see! Well, I can imagine that being quite an effective treatment for a young lady! She can protect her lungs and her backside at the same time."

They soon changed the subject. If Conrad noticed that his landlady seemed distracted for the rest of the conversation, as if she was pondering something, he didn't say anything about it.


It was a week later that Rebecca knocked on the door to Conrad's flat. It was a warm spring day, and the teenager was wearing a new t-shirt and an old pair of shorts. His landlady was dressed in a long summer dress. "Mrs Trask! What can I do for you?" he said with a welcoming smile.

"I've told you to call me Rebecca," she chided gently. "Can I come in?"

He stepped aside to let her in, and she quickly scanned the flat as she entered. As she had expected, it was a lot cleaner than most teenagers' living quarters; Conrad had shown himself to be a responsible young man.

They sat down on the couch. Conrad could tell that there was something on her mind, but as she seemed to have trouble putting it into words, he stayed silent to allow her to collect her thoughts. Finally, she seemed to collect herself. "When you started… disciplining your girlfriend, how old were the two of you?"

He cast his mind back. "Well, it was a little over a year ago, so we were both eighteen."

She nodded. "Do you… do you think it would have been effective if she was older?"

He shrugged. "Well, I don't see why not. A spanked bottom will teach a naughty young lady of any age. In fact, she considered herself far too old for a spanking already – which she told me, at length, every time I pulled her over my lap and bared her bottom. I never let that stop me." He looked into her eyes. "Why did you ask? Did you have someone in mind?" There was something in his eyes that suggested to her that he'd guessed what she was thinking of.

She took a deep breath to steady her nerves. "Well, I- I've been trying to quit smoking, as you know. And I was wondering if maybe what I truly need is…" She blushed, avoiding his gaze. " It would probably help me if… if maybe –"

"If I took you over my knee and spanked your bottom every time you smoked?" he said, raising an eyebrow. "Is that what you are proposing, Rebecca?"

The exam bet 2 (M/F story)

 Sequel to last week's story.

 

The previous day, the 18-year-old student Dean had placed his classmate Chloe over his lap, giving her a bare-bottomed spanking for losing their bet over who would get the better grade – before discovering that she'd lied about her results; she had actually won the bet, but told him she hadn't, because she secretly wanted to be spanked by him. When he discovered all this, he'd promised the red-bottomed miscreant another spanking the following day, causing her to grin and give him some insincere protests.

It was now the following day, and Dean was back in Chloe's bedroom, sitting on her bed and ready to fulfil his promise. She stood before him fidgeting, toying with a strand of hair, and he could tell that she was both nervous and eager.

"Come here," he said as he waved her towards him. "I need to look at your bottom."

"You mean you WANT to look at my bottom," she teased.

"That too, of course. But I also need to see whether you're able to take another spanking already, or if we should postpone this."

"There is nothing wrong with my butt," she huffed, but obeyed.

"I'll be the judge of that," he said. He raised her skirt, wordlessly handing her the hem to hold. He placed his fingers in the waistband of her panties, quickly lowering them to her knees. She blushed at being undressed so casually, standing naked before him, but didn't protest at this treatment – nor at being turned around so that he could examine her rear. He rubbed his hand over her cheeks, pinching and squeezing here and there, which caused her to squeal and mutter indignantly.

"A bit pink," he said, "but I think you could take another spanking without problem." He smiled. "Well, we'll soon find out. You know, I think you should change into your gym clothes. Your bottom has always looked good in those shorts."

Pleased at the compliment, she shuffled over to the wardrobe to fetch her training outfit. She raised an eyebrow as she regarded him. "Are you going to leave the room while I change?" she asked pointedly. "Or at least turn around?"

"No," he said calmly. "Why would I do that?"

She shook her head, but was unable to hide her grin. There was something deliciously humiliating about the way he treated her. She pulled the shirt over her head, then unzipped her skirt and let it fall to the floor. Since her panties were still around her knees, the only thing protecting her modesty was her bra – which she quickly discarded. She could practically feel his eyes devour her as she stood there, naked as the day she was born.

She reached for a sports bra, but changed her mind. As far as she knew, she wouldn't actually be doing any exercise, and going without a bra under her gym shirt would present an appealing sight. She very much doubted Dean would object – and if he did, what would he do about it? Spank her?

She stepped out of her white cotton panties, replacing them with the dark, skimpy underwear she used for gym. Picking up her tight, dark grey gym shorts, she slipped them on, feeling them tighten over her rear. She wriggled her bottom in his direction, before slipping on the dark, sleeveless shirt she wore for gym.

She finally turned to look at Dean. Judging from the lascivious smile on his face, and the bulge in his trousers, he'd enjoyed the show just as much as she'd expected. "I've done as you asked, Dean. Now what?" she asked innocently, pretending to wonder what would happen next.

His grin widened. "Now, young lady, you're going over my knee for a good spanking."

The exam bet (M/F story)

"So, Dean, are you worried  about the upcoming exams?" Chloe said. The lanky blonde had a smirk on her face as she sat next to her classmate in the high school lunchroom.

He shrugged. "I've worked hard, now we'll see if it pays off." Dean was far from the tallest guy in class, but he had an athletic physique that many envied. His sandy hair and deep blue eyes had also earned him a few looks.

"I'll bet I'll get a better grade than you," Chloe said smugly.

"Maybe," he said noncommittally, showing no interest in continuing the conversation. He'd never cared about anyone's grades but his own, and at the age of eighteen, he expected a little more maturity from his classmates than these childish games and taunts.

"Hmph!" she frowned, annoyed that he wasn't responding to her attempts to rile him up. "How about this for a bet: if you get a better grade than me, I'll let you spank my bottom."

He stared at her, before glancing around to make sure they were not being overheard. He was about to refuse her absurd suggestion, but when he stopped and thought about it, he realized it had a certain appeal. Chloe had a very attractive bottom, and he'd often admired her too-tight gym shorts when they were out on the track – subtly, of course. He liked the thought of getting his hands on her soft cheeks, and taking her down a peg would be a welcome bonus. "And what if you get the better grade?" he asked.

"Then you'll be going over MY knee, of course," she said, smirking again. "A long and hard spanking, on the bare bottom, until you're sobbing."

He raised an eyebrow. She seemed to have thought about this a little too much, and it was an interesting glimpse into what went on in her mind. She always tried to maintain an image of purity, so it was enlightening to see a glimpse of the real person.

He thought about the offer, before eventually nodding. "It's a bet," he said. It was a risk, but one he was willing to take. The reward if he succeeded seemed worth it.


It was a week after the exams that they finally got the results, and they'd agreed to meet up at Chloe's house to compare. Before heading over, Dean opened his envelope to learn what his efforts had achieved. It turned out he'd received a B. A decent grade, and ordinarily, he'd be satisfied with it, but would it be enough? Chloe was a good student. Would he be able to take her over his knee and paint her butt red? Or would he be forced to bend over her lap, having his own backside spanked?

Envelope in hand, he walked over to her house. She grinned tauntingly at him as she opened the door and invited him inside, and they made their way to her bedroom. Her parents were out for the evening, so they knew they wouldn't be disturbed when the debt was settled.

"You've opened it already," she complained as she saw his envelope. "You've ruined the suspense."

"It was a B," managing to sound calmer than he felt. He showed her the sheet to confirm his words.

Her fingers trembled slightly as she picked up her own envelope, and Dean could feel his own heart beating in his chest. What would happen now? Had he won or lost? Who would end up receiving the promised spanking?

The pantsing (M/F story)

Ashley was heading to the classroom for the final lesson of the day, when her classmate Tricia suddenly placed a hand on her shoulder. "Hey, nerd. I need to talk to you."

Tricia was one of the high school's mean girls. Tall, blonde, curvy, and gorgeous, always in full make-up and expensively attired and manicured. Next to her, Ashley always felt flat, drab, poor, and boring. Tricia rarely spoke to her, and from the tone of her voice, Ashley suspected she wouldn't enjoy this conversation either.

"What about, Tricia?" Ashley asked, trying to keep a calm smile on her face as her heart was beating rapidly in her chest.

"You've been getting quite friendly with Lucas lately," Tricia said. Their classmate Lucas was considered one of the best-looking guys in school  – tall and athletic, with long, sandy hair, deep blue eyes, and a smile you could lose yourself in. "That's going to stop."

Ashley raised an eyebrow. "Why do you care who he's friends with? As far as I know, you two are not dating."

"Not yet, but I'm working on it," Tricia told her. "And I don't like competition, even from someone as insignificant as you."

"We're just friends!" Ashley told her, though that wasn't entirely true, at least from her side. She'd developed some feelings for the boy – most of the girls in class had – but so far, he hadn't picked up any of the hints she'd dropped. Maybe she was being too subtle, or he just wasn't interested. It was hard to tell with Lucas.

"You WERE friends," Tricia corrected her snidely.

Ashley sighed. "Come on, Tricia, aren't you being a bit silly? Trying to decide who's friends with who? We're eighteen, not eight." She wasn't entirely sure why she dared to speak up against Tricia. Maybe she'd just had enough, or Tricia had finally found something she wouldn't give up without a struggle.

"So you refuse my simple request?" Tricia shook her head. "Fine." The smile she sent Ashley as she walked away made a shiver run down the smaller girl's back. Though she didn't show it, Ashley could feel her insides twisting. Speaking up against Tricia always had a price.

She went inside the classroom. The teacher hadn't arrived yet, which was not surprising. It was still a few minutes left before class was supposed to start, and besides, Mr Matthews was often a bit late.

Lucas smiled at Ashley as she entered, and she blushed and smiled back. Briefly, she considered heeding Tricia's warning and taking her seat like a good little girl, but then she discarded the thought. For once, she wasn't going to be bullied.

She walked over to Lucas, and they were soon engaged in a pleasant conversation. Admittedly, he did most of the talking, but that was OK – she quite liked listening to his voice. Lost in his eyes, she didn't notice Tricia approaching. Nor it is likely she would have sensed danger even if she had. She expected Tricia to do something, of course, but later; on the way home from school, or on the way to school tomorrow, or at a party, or something like that. She wouldn't try something in the middle of the classroom, would she?

Unlike most of the girls in class, Ashley never wore tight jeans – she blushed at the thought of the way they'd show off her rear end. She tended to wear baggy trousers, which were a lot easier to put on. And now, when Tricia suddenly grabbed the waistband and pulled, she realized they were also a lot easier to remove.

Ashley squealed in humiliation when she realized that Tricia had not only pulled her trousers down, but her panties as well. She was nude from the waist down in the middle of the classroom. She could feel the eyes of her classmates on her naked form, and blushed so much she almost passed out. Frozen in fear at first, she eventually tried to reach down to put her clothes back on, but Tricia grabbed her hands, holding her in place. The tall blonde smiled cruelly at her victim, clearly enjoying her torment.

Ashley turned to Lucas, her eyes pleading him to help. The boy was staring in shock, just like everyone else, but in time, he regained his composure. He stepped forward, but before he could act, they heard a stern voice ring out in the classroom. "Patricia. What on Earth do you think you're doing?" They glanced at the door, where Mr Matthews had arrived.

Jane's demonstration (M/FF story)

Jane gave an annoyed sigh when she opened the refrigerator door and discovered that she was out of milk. Since she'd receive visitors in the morning and the shops were closed for the holiday, she decided she would need to borrow some from her neighbours – and that it was better to head over and ask them now than risk waking them up early if she went in the morning. She'd lived next door to Mike and Annie for almost a year, and got along very well with them. The couple were always willing to stop for a chat if they saw her while out walking.

She decided to take the shortcut through the gardens, to save herself the trouble of walking out onto the street. As she passed their living room window, Jane cast a glance inside to see whether the couple were home. What she saw stopped her dead in her tracks, and her jaw dropped as she stared with a horrified expression on her face. Annie was lying across Mike's lap, with her skirt raised and her panties around her knees, and he was spanking her bottom.

Jane could not believe her eyes. Mike was beating his wife! And they'd seemed like such a nice couple – Annie had never seemed particularly timid around her husband, or fearful of his temper…

She hurried over to the wall of the house, peeking through the window. A closer look confirmed that she really was seeing what she'd thought she saw. Annie was squirming over his lap, and her bottom was getting redder with every firm smack he delivered. He chuckled, saying something to his wife, though Jane couldn't hear what through the thick pane of glass. She slipped her phone out of her pocket and took a few pictures, in case Annie wanted to go to the police. Jane would talk to her later, let her know that her door was always open for her, and offer to give her whatever support she needed. She considered barging through the door and putting a stop to this at once, but she feared that it would only make the situation worse. Better to wait for it to end, and then have a chat with Annie later – if the vicious brute would consent to let them talk privately.

She continued to stare at the shameful scene, but when Annie turned her head and Jane could see her face, the peeper experienced her second shock of the evening. Annie did not look pained or resigned to her fate or anything of the sort – in fact, the grin on her face was wider than Mike's. Jane believed she had never seen a woman look so happy. What was going on?

Annie had started to kick her legs, and even at this distance, Jane could tell how wet the woman's crotch was. She began to suspect that she had misinterpreted the scene somewhat, and she had to examine the assumptions she'd made.

Jane had no idea how long she sat there in the bushes, watching through the window, but finally, the spanking ended. Mike helped his wife stand up, and though her bottom was scarlet and tears were pouring down her face, there was an expression of absolute bliss upon her face. She kissed her husband passionately, and when their lips finally parted, he whispered something into her ear. She grinned, turning to face the window. Standing there with her panties around her knees, one hand rubbing her burning bottom, she waved cheerfully to Jane.

Realizing that she'd been caught spying through the window when her neighbours were having an intimate moment, Jane blushed until her cheeks were redder than Annie's. She eventually realized that the best thing to do would be to head inside, apologize, and ask if they wanted to talk about what she'd seen. Of course, by the time she made the realization, she'd already run home and locked the door behind her, so it was really no longer an option; it would be far too embarrassing to go back. She'd just have to put it out of her mind for now, and deal with it some other time, when she'd calmed down.

She'd entirely forgotten about the milk, of course, but that was unsurprising.

Prefects (M/F story)

Between classes, I was patrolling the school's more secluded areas, checking to see whether there were pupils smoking, drinking, or committing other mischief. Behind the bike shed, I was surprised to see my classmate Kimberly leaning against the wall, a book in her hands. Like me, Kimberly was a prefect; she was a lanky girl with deep, dark eyes, and long, dark hair that she often kept in pigtails. Some of the teachers said she looked like an angel, and she usually had the behaviour to match.

She seemed lost to the world, and there was a slight tinge to her cheeks as she stared wide-eyed at the in the old book she was reading. I wondered what it was that could absorb her like that. She was so engrossed, she didn't notice me approaching until I was right next to her. Her head shot up, and a squeal escaped her lips. "Oh! William! H-how nice to see you," she said, trying in vain to seem calm as she hid the book behind her back.

I wondered what on Earth Little Miss Manners could be reading that would embarrass her so much, and whether it was something that was not permitted on school grounds – which would surprise me from someone like her. Curiosity overcame me, so I reached around her and grabbed the book from her hand. She made no attempt to stop me, but she seemed deeply uncomfortable.

When I looked at it, it turned out to be nothing that was against school regulations; in fact, it WAS the school regulations. One of the prefects was hiding behind the bike shed, secretly reading the rules. What was going on?

Absently, I noted that there was a bookmark in the section about corporal punishment. I raised an eyebrow as I handed it back to her. "Brushing up on the school rules? Don't worry, I can't imagine you've broken any," I said, smiling.

She grabbed the book, clutching it as if afraid I'd snatch it away from her again. Tucking it away in her bag, she turned as if she wanted to leave, but she suddenly changed her mind. "Did you know prefects at this school are authorized to sp – " She paused, blushing. "To sp – To employ corporal punishment?"

"To spank?" I said, guessing the word that had she seemed to have some trouble speaking out loud, for some reason. "Yes, that was on the rulebooks in the seventies and eighties, wasn't it? The rules were changed in the nineties, I think."

She shook her head. "No. It fell out of favour, but it's still on the books. The rules never changed."

"Huh. That's an interesting piece of trivia. Might be good for a quiz or something, that," I said, smiling gently.

She bit her lip, somewhat annoyed with how lightly I took this revelation. "But you could sp… spank people if they misbehave!" she announced, finally overcoming her difficulties with the scary word.

I shrugged. "Maybe that was acceptable in the seventies, but I cannot imagine it would fly today. Do you?"

She stared at the ground, seeming lost in thought, before suddenly meeting my gaze. "Have you ever been spanked?" she asked, once again taking me by surprise. When I shook my head, she continued, "Me neither. But have you never been curious? Or have you ever wanted to spank someone else?"

"… I can't say I've thought much about the subject," I said, wondering why in the world we were discussing this.

She regarded me thoughtfully, seeming to size me up. Finally, she came to a decision. Taking a deep breath, she said in a quiet, slightly trembling voice: "Would you spank me if I deserved it?"

The prankster (M/F story)

With one eye glancing at the morning paper, Darren stirred his teacup, placed it to his lips, and took a small sip. Suddenly, he grimaced, spitting it back into the cup before glaring at his girlfriend. "Really, Christie? Salt in the sugar bowl again? Aren't you far too old for those childish pranks?"

"Why, Darren, whatever do you mean?" the petite redhead said, batting her eyelashes and trying to look innocent. "I haven't done anything!"

"Oh, so the salt just climbed into the bowl all on its own?" he said, pouring the ruined tea into the sink and making himself a new cup. "Well, if any more salt should find itself in the sugar bowl, or any similar antics, a certain mischievous little prankster is going to find herself over my knee, having her bottom smacked. Is that clear?"

Christie started at the unexpected warning, blushing as she tried to return her boyfriend's glare. This was a new side to her gentle giant; he had never said anything like this to her before. "You're not funny," she muttered.

"Neither are you. The difference is, I'm not trying to be," he told her firmly. "I'm not joking. If you're going to act like a child, I'm going to treat you like one. And that means giving you what you deserve – a good, hard spanking."

She folded her arms in front of her chest, scoffing at his absurd threat. "You wouldn't dare."

He leaned in close, with a stern look on his face that caused her to avert her eyes and made her heart beat rapidly. "Try me and see what happens," he suggested in a cold tone.

Christie had butterflies in her stomach, and there was an unexpected tingling between her legs that told her that she should, in fact, try him and see what he would do. Part of her wanted to see more of this sterner, scarier Darren.

Wrist healed

 The good news: my wrist is healed, so I can type again.

The bad news: There's been little time to write during the Christmas season, and I've already blown through my buffer.

There will be no update this weekend, but I'm planning to spend some of my Christmas vacation writing and editing, so everything should be back to normal in the new year.